#story: foggy press radio

[imaginationxlost]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

tagged by @indecentpause to share seven snippets!

Long, so Under the Cut. Also from a few different WIPs! Because seven snippets is a lot!

One, from Sleepless:

My sword meets Zias’ and the force of the clash sends me skidding backward and I gasp for air, blinking quickly at him.

“You’re slacking today, Jack.” He says, smiling, and laughing slightly. “That normally wouldn’t have got you like that. Rough day at school?”

I keep my sword up defensively, staring at him. He’s talking, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re pausing in practice. “You could say that,” I say faintly, and his smile immediately falls away.

It was. I got reprimanded in AP Calculus for not paying attention, and the teacher didn’t at all care that I already knew the material.

Because I’ve taken this class before. So she called me out in front of the whole class, and took my poetry note pad. She didn’t even give it back at the end of class, so both my arms, from my wrist to the inside of my elbow are covered in tiny red writing.

And it was just second period, so I was more than a little stressed for the whole day.

“Please don’t make us start over in grade nine again after this. I’m so tired of high school.”

“Well,” he lowers his own sword, “for what it’s worth, you’re probably too old to pass as ninth graders at this point anyway, but you’re still too young to not be in school.”

“Hey, if we can pass as seventeen, we can pass as eighteen. We- We don’t have to be in school.” I relax out of the fighting stance, since he did. “Please, I don’t…”

Two, from Foggy Press Radio:

It was Halloween night, and Noah had his costume’s hat off and was fidgeting with it in his lap while he waited for Lucian to get back, when Haley sat down next to him.

“Your date ditch you?” She asked, fiddling with her tiara in her temporarily pink hair, “I still can’t believe you went with Pokemon rather than dressing as Finn to match me and Liz.”

“I didn’t feel like being the third wheel to Bubbeline,” he responded dryly, “And Lucille offered to make the costume for me; so why wouldn’t I?”

“Lucy’s running around as Elesa, isn’t she? I thought I saw her.”

“Yes, she is,” Noah muttered, “She loves matching costumes. Jenna is dressed as Iris. And no, Lucian didn’t ditch me, he just had something to go do. I’m just waiting for him.”

“I love,” Haley said, elbowing him, “That you didn’t even deny that he’s your date. Hilbert.”

“I’ve given up on that argument,” he put his hat back on, fixing his bangs under it, “and unless you want me to call you Bonnibel, don’t call me Hilbert again. Besides, when I played, his name was Noah. He is the player character, after all.”

“Oh tch, you’re no fun, Noah.”

Three, also from Foggy Press Radio:

Liz stares at him for a long moment before continuing like he said nothing, “Ghosts are a very broad topic, and one that deserves to be looked at on a more individual level, but for tonight, we’re doing an overview of the whole subject. The history of belief in ghosts and ghost hunting, and even a little fraud thrown in for Noah, because he is right sometimes, even if he’s an idiot about his boyfriend.”

He just sighs, staring down at the floor, while Haley bursts into giggles.

“You know, No, she’s right. You are an idiot about Lucian. When I dated his sister last summer-” Liz scoffs, but Haley presses on like she didn’t, “I saw a lot of him, and I’m poooositive he misses you.”

“He was at our house on Monday,” Liz says, “so I think that’s being worked on, but Noah’s still an idiot; because he definitely wants Lucian to be his-”

“Shut up Liz!” he snaps, leaning forward on his knees with both hands crossed to cover his eyes, and she stops talking at once.

“Noah? Are you okay?”

“Just move on,” he mutters.

Four, from The Fair Folk (ohhh I haven't even introed this one):

People are staring; who wouldn’t at the nineteen old kid waiting for a bus with two instruments and a large suitcase?

I’ve always hated people staring at me; hated attention and the spotlight. Every competition won, every round of applause had me sprinting off the stage as soon as I knew I was safe to. 

The only thing I had to turn to for comfort was the very thing that put me on that stage in the first place. It was inescapable. It even reshaped my body as I grew up with it.

I look at my hand, trying to ignore the staring of strangers. My fingers are twitching, yearning to touch an instrument to ease this anxiety. My long, calloused fingers and muscled palm; hands that literally grew differently for having been a musician growing up. 

“Do you know how to play both of those, Mister?”

“Not a Mister,” I say reflexively, glancing down at the kid, who can’t be any older than three or four, “and yes, I can.”

“Oh, sorry Miss!  That’s cool though!”

“Not a miss, either kiddo,” I say, smiling despite myself, “it’s Mx.”

“Oh! Oh! You’re non-binary? Mommy’s sibling is; it must be cool to be however you want. I like being a girl but boys get cooler toys.”

I don’t bother correcting her that I’m agender specifically, and instead just crouch down next to her and grin, “I’ll let you in on a secret,” I stage-whisper, “you can be however you want too. There’s no reason you can’t play with so-called boy toys ”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” I say.

Five, from Eyes Wide Open:

“I wish you weren’t involving yourself in this…” I say softly, and she scoffs. “I mean it, Mia. I wish you weren’t. You… you weren’t born into this like the rest of us-” I push my bangs back to show the tattoo there for a second. I intend to get that removed eventually, if I live that long. I refuse to have them marking me forever. “You could have- should have been able to just… live, but…”

“Well, my life was never gonna be free of it all. Even if it was just in the way all of you were affected, or the precautions for if something like this did happen. It’s never been normal, and I’d MUCH rather hang with you and make sure you’re not on your lonesome than maintain some false sense of normalcy.” She shakes her head. “I don’t wanna be normal if being involved lets me help my favorite big brother-cousin.”

“You’re too goddamn nice, Mia…”

“Great!” She laughs. “Can you tell that to my history teacher? He seems to think I have an attitude problem.”

I snort. “Maybe that’s because you do. Don’t talk back to your teachers if you want them to like you, Mia.”

“I’ll stop talking back when he stops being WRONG!”

I laugh into my hand, actually smiling. It’s been a while since I laughed, like, for real. Mia’s good at that though, making me laugh.

Six, from Storms (Anna's perspective):

“Yeah,” he starts tapping his fingers on the table whilst taking a long drink, “Thank you for letting me help, Anna. Issac wouldn’t have. He still thinks of me like the helpless fourteen-year-old I was when our parents died.”

“Hey, you’re still a kid Ethan. It’s his job to look out for you.”

“You’re only three years older than me,” he says dryly, “It’s weird for you to call me a kid. Maybe more like two and a half, depending on when your birthday is…”

“Sorry, anyone still in high school is still a kid to me.”

“You’re nineteen!”

“I’m twenty in May,” I say with a grin, “I’m closer to twenty than eighteen. You don’t get to claim half years with me, kid.”

“Ugh,” Ethan puts his head down on the table, “I still don’t think the age gap between us is significant enough for you to be calling me a kid.”

Seven, from Storms (Issac's perspective):

I immediately regret walking away once I do, having to hold myself up on the railing at the top of the stairs. No one else is up here. Ethan is at work, and Lexi is supposed to be at a friend’s house. If I- If I finish going up the stairs, I will be alone. I don’t want to be alone, but I know Anna isn’t following me, because I hear her voice, with her talking to them in the dining room. I don’t really know what she’s saying, but she’s not coming after me.

I sink slowly to sit down on the steps, trying to breathe slowly. What am I so scared of anyway? That Anderson will somehow be around the corner when I go up these last two steps? That’s patently absurd, and I know it’s absurd. So why is my heart racing? Why am I stopped here on the steps, starting to cry again like a goddamn little kid?

tagging:  Doing this always makes me anxious but lets try @novel-emma, @asher-orion-writes, @blind-the-winds , @kjscottwrites , @andromeda-grace , @radley-writes, @talesofsorrowandofruin

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Could you please do one where Ronal and Tonowari react to the reader or OC, which ever is more your thing, having lots of battle scars from the war in the first movie? 🧁❤️ I love your writing! It’s so awesome to read and I can’t wait for the next part of your Tonowari x Ronal x OC fanfic!

(Stunning, beautiful, elegant. Gifs by @stallislump )

Pairing: Ronal/Reader/Tonowari

Taglist: @mooniequeen

Warnings: non-gender specific reader, fluff, mentions of war, scars, heavily implied stuff (nsfw? idk, but I'd read this at work)

Na'vi Words: ikran - mountain banshee, olo'eyktan - male clan leader, tsahik - spiritual clan leader, kelku - house/home

A/N: This is short but sweet. I hope you like it! (Note: Stand alone! Not a part of the tsamsiyu ta'em series)

~~~~~~~~~

They had noticed your scars the first day they met you, a Na'vi flying in on an ikran alongside the gunship Jakesully had radioed in to help Young Kiri. They knew Sky People were coming, but they weren't expecting you.

The Metkayina have heard many stories about the clans that came together under Toruk Makto's leadership. Even from as far as the reef, the Na'vi heard about the war with the Sky People and the casualties left behind. Such war and casualties were shown on your skin, displayed like a story. Long, thin, cut-like marks ran up and down your legs and part of your torso, while small, circular scars riddled your right shoulder and chest. The skin that healed over your wounds was a pale blue compared to the rest of your skin and stripes. When Toruk Makto introduced you to the olo'eyktan and tsahik of the Metkayina, they couldn't take their eyes off of you.

Your style and the colors of your attire were not of Omatikaya. Tonowari and Ronal later learn that you were originally from the Tayrangi clan but stayed with the Omatikaya after the war. As they got to know you, they learned that your family members were great warriors but had tragically died in the battle of the Hallelujah Mountains. After their deaths, you saw no reason to return home with your clan and made a life for yourself in the forests with Toruk Makto's clan.

Considering you as an entrusted friend and ally, Jake had asked you to stay in Awa'atlu for a little while so he would feel more secure and able to protect his family. And while you stayed among the Metkayina, both Tonowari and Ronal grew closer to you and wished to learn more about you and your stories... specifically the story behind your scars.

Originally, you didn't feel inclined to share the story, simply stating that you earned your scars in the battle against the Sky People. However, as you grew closer to the Metkayina clan leaders, you began to let yourself be more open and vulnerable toward them, which is where you find yourself sitting with the pair, alone in their kelku. It was a late night and their children were out with the Sully children to show them the beauty of night fishing.

It was Tonowari who boldly reached his hand out and gently grazed a scar on your shoulder, his thumb tenderly pressing into the raised, circular mark. "Who did this to you?"

"The Sky People," you found yourself saying without hesitance, "I fell off my ikran and survived," you originally pointed to the long, thin scars you earned from falling and crashing, then you moved onto the rounded scars around your shoulder, "These scars are from their weapons made of metal. They call them guns and bullets. Any closer and they would have pierced my heart."

Neither of the clan leaders looked pleased by that statement, and Ronal took her husband's boldness a step further. The tsahik leaned down and placed a chaste kiss over a bullet-shaped scar that was located near your collar, her warm lips leaving behind a tingle underneath your skin when she pulled away.

The look she gave you sent your heart racing, her gaze heated and foggy as she stared at you through her lashes, "Thank the Great Mother that they didn't."

One thing led to another and you found yourself in the pair's undivided attention all throughout the night, together learning where each and every one of your scars were located on your body. While you weren't necessarily self-conscious about the scars (you were mostly proud and showed them off as proof that you survived and won a war), you had begun shying away from their touch whenever they got too close to any specific markings. But over time, throughout the night, you began to relax and feel safe, allowing the two Reef Na'vi to explore you in ways you've never felt before.

~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

[browniefox]

The Very Best Fics - 2

I am making a second 'best fics according to me' because it is very long. You can access the previous post from here.

On this list is: Daredevil, Disco Elysium, Trigun, Psych, Mob Psycho 100, Undertale, Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy VII

Daredevil

My Guardian Avengers (Can I Get A Refund?) - prettybirdy979

Daredevil needs to protect a certain law firm in Hell's Kitchen. He's a little slack about protecting this Matt Murdock fellow though, and the Avengers are only too happy to step in to help. Matt is SO not okay with this. (Shut up Foggy, so what if it's his own fault!)

Prettybirdy979 has done 'Daredevil meets the Avengers' like ten times, and you know what? they hit it out of the park every time. Hell yeah! This one is just as fun, and it's always nice to read a new (uh, new-ish) fic from an author you love :D

Disco Elysium

Excerpts from the Case Notes of Kim Kitsuragi - Hosekisama

Excerpts reference Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois' belief that he can (and does) "reload" his own life after failing, like some kind of video game character.

Disco Elysium plays with so many fun video game mechanics, like the 'jamrock shuffle', so honestly the idea that Harry would think in terms of 'reloading' is way fun! I love the ambiguity of whether or not there actually are saves or loads.

Trigun

Start here - AsterAspera ( @aster-aspera )

The first time he wakes, he is in a room. Heavy curtains hang over dusty windowsills and there are crumpled sheets on the bed and crumpled sheets on the floor. The world is quiet while his body screams. Every soft, fleshy, vulnerable part of him is on fire, writhing and roiling in unbearable agony. He wants to move, get away from the mattress that digs into his skin like fingers, like knives, like roots, but his body is frozen without his consent, time stretching endlessly around him as he fights an ocean of pain. And suddenly there are hands on him and worried grey eyes and he wants to scream but his throat is already scraped raw.

We love QPR Vash/Meryl/Wolfwood, and we love stories that drop you into something and you have no idea what's going on. Such a good and interesting fic that drops ideas of what has happened, but also you're not totally sure, and it really puts you into Vash's head for the fic.

I Just Want To Slow Dance With You by easternCriminal

"Wolfwood swears at the radio, and then finally the static parts like the sands after a storm and the warm, slow sounds of a guitar comes out from over the dunes and fills the small room." oOo A soft domestic moment, inspired by Start Here by AsterAspera

Inspired by the fic above, a scene between Meryl and Nicholas (and Vash) as they try and figure out what their dynamic is now. Wonderfully domestic.

Rinse and Repeat by easternCriminal (@the-east-art)

Somehow, Meryl can head the monotone flatline of his heart. And she wakes up again on the road. Meryl starts to realize what is going on.

Time loop, time loop, time loop! Time loops where you're trying so despeartelyl to save someone! Time loops where you start realizing some sacrifices have to be made! Time loops that make you hate and love someone like you never have before!

Press my Corpse against the Wall by Rayawastaken

Meryl kept thinking back to Tonis, small and still so young in his mothers arms. She kept thinking about the fact that if she held onto him a bit stronger, if she had more conviction, he might still have both of his arms. And about how if she had any less of it, Wolfwood might have not woken back up again in that bar. Surely, getting a bit scratched up was worth saving someone’s life. But that’s not how Wolfwood saw it. To him, she’d forever be just some defenseless little thing that stumbled around helplessly and had to be protected. And for all that he complained about Vash having a self-sacrificial streak, he'd rather bleed out on the floor than admit he had needed help. - Wolfwood almost dies, Meryl saves him and gets hurt in the process. They have a fight about it.

I love Mashwood, but the dynamic between Wolfwood and Meryl is often under represented. I especially love this fic's exploration of the fact that Meryl, of the trio, is the most human and the position that puts her in a lot of the time.

CHANGING NATURE (‘TIS THE SEASON) by ainosyn (@tristamp-gunpede)

“How could anyone kill you without killing a part of themselves?” and “I can’t help it, it’s my nature.”

An exploration of all the different ways the story of Trigun could have gone, or could have been told, and about what is inherent to someone's nature. I love this, such a great character study of Knives and Vash.

Never understood a single word he said by aboxthecolourofheartache (@aboxthecolourofheartache)

Meryl drums her fingers on the steering wheel, and Wolfwood gets the sinking feeling of spotting bullshit at a hundred yarz and being unable to do anything about it. “Is it really buried treasure? I don’t believe you,” Meryl sniffs. “You’re stalling or something.” Vash’s lips curl up at the corner and, yes, there’s that mischievous little dimple that heralds doom. “Only one way to find out. If it is buried treasure, next night at a motel is on me. What do you say?" “Hot showers and everything?” Meryl squints at Vash sidelong, she the very picture of suspicion and he of innocence. “Cross my heart,” Vash vows, making a solemn X over his chest. ~~~ A detour turned nightmare, water from the rock, Three Dog Night, and unconventional gestures of trust.

MUST READ MUST READ MUST READ!!!! Best Trigun Fic I think I've ever read, with perfect characterization of Meryl, Vash, and Wolfwood that all feel distinct and accurate, a lot of fun interactions, and just a hint of the good good 'Vash isn't human' stuff I live for.

Psych

All We Are by jumpfall

"I want eyes on Spencer ten minutes ago!" Shawn thinks that maybe another hostage situation is just what they need to bring the team together again.

Love when you find a fic that captures the vibes of the canon so well! The team-as-family in psych is so good and fun, it's what makes it all worthwhile, you know? The characters in Psych are really good, and I'll be honest I live for the times that Shawn manages to actually be selfless and care about others.

the robbed that smiles steals something from the thief by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

That one in which Shawn is a con-artist, a liar and a thief.

Hell yeah, EclipseWing, all my homies love EclipseWing! This one is so fun! It's nice to see a Shawn who doesn't get into crime solving but still needs to find something to preoccupy him becoming a theif instead, it's so in person I love it!

Mob Psycho 100

Come Morning Light by NotHereForIt

Reigen is standing in a world that exists, but doesn't, in front of a house that is Mob's, but not, with a man that's dead, but isn't. In which Reigen thinks he's dreaming, and he very much is not.

Dream walking time, hell yeah! In which Reigen helps Mob through is dreams. Poor Mob has PTSD, but at least he's not alone.

knife trick by ruthwrites (@ruemilley)

There wasn’t a rule, exactly, that said that Ritsu wasn’t allowed to spend time with his brother. It was just something that was understood, like how Ritsu understood he wasn't supposed to press his hands along the sharp edges of his mother’s kitchen knives. (or: an age swap where only Mob and Reigen's ages are changed. Shigeo asks his little brother if he wants to walk him home after school. Ritsu should say no. Ritsu does not say no.)

The ending of this one sticks with me, ugh it's so good. Swap au's are so interesting, and I love the way it's done here, especially with Mob and Reigen being swapped, but Ritsu still being the same age.

citrus by orphan_account

He can just barely see Reigen pacing, purposefully quiet. He’s not smiling or laughing like he usually does on the phone. He looks sad. No, he looks upset. Shigeo doesn’t get a chance to wonder why before Reigen is walking back out, eyes carefully trained on his phone before he flips it shut. “Mob, we have a client to go to. I would have taken you home, but your parents aren’t there.” “Why would I have to go home?” Reigen goes quiet for a moment. “We aren’t dealing with a spirit.”

Reigen getting to deal with big problems through his job, and baby Mob learning important life lessons, what more do you need?

I know who I am when I'm alone by RedWritingHood

I'm something else when I see you. The world revolves around the suffering of Kageyama Shigeo. It fails to anticipate the determination of the Greatest Psychic Detective of the 21st Century.

In which Reigen is in Mogamiland and is as stubborn as a mule - even if he doesn't know what he's fighting against or for. A great moment of Reigen being able to comfort Mob - more or less. There are struggles that come with trying to accomplish that.

Undertale

Second Contact by Ononymous

To the participants, monumental days in history rarely feel very monumental when they wake up that morning. A young man at his summer job in the middle of nowhere was about to learn this the hard way.

I love this fic, of Asogre and Frisk meeting the first human outside of the Underground, told from outsider pov. It's a fun continuation of the story, and of how a poor service employee has to be the one to deal with the mess first.

What Little Monsters Are Made Of by Mangaluva

Nobody understands why you keep Flowey. You're not always sure why you do. But you found a way to save everybody else.

A story about love, and a story about believing in someone or something, and about how it's never too late. Post-Game, exploration of the relationship that builds between Flowey, Frisk, and the rest of the monsters over the years.

Kingdom Hearts

Scar Tissue - mimiplaysgames

Terra doesn’t remember certain things. He’s not in control. Even after everything they have been through, he still has the Guardian to contend with.

A little confusing to read sometimes, but super interesting look into after effects of having one's heart stuck in various places, and how it impact Terra without him even knowing it. At the end of the day, Terra is a guardian.

Umbra, Penumbra - end_alls

Roleswap where Vanitas is the one raised with care and compassion in the Land of Departure, and Ventus… is not

A fun and interesting role reversal. In general, the concept of 'too much light' is not explored enough in Kingdom hearts, so a fic that goes into how Ventus is left so incomplete without Vanitas is great.

Affecting Eternity - b-na_hime

One new Keyblade Master. Two new Keyblade wielders. Three thousand ways it could go horribly wrong…

Riku trying so hard to train Lea and Kairi when he's never been formally trained either. Great relationship building between them and how each of them feels about being a keyblade wielder.

reflections, refracted. - vvingblade (@vvingblade)

It's been ten years since then. Time has passed, and wounds are slowly healing. Ven thought he'd moved on, that the memories no longer bother him. All it takes is a single muddled spell to prove him wrong.

Ven has some serious PTSD and it rears its ugly head. Also, Ven can kick ass when he believes his life depends on it. Great Ven characterization that fleshes out Ven a bit more than he usually is.

Final Fantasy VII

The Fifth Act by Sinnatious

Cloud has an accident with a Time materia, and finds himself in the middle of the Wastes at the start of the Wutai War. There are people to save… and for that, there are three people who need to die.

My favorite time-travel fix-it for FFVII I've found so far. Good characterization, fun interactions, and I love how much it grapples with the question of 'should Sephiroth die, when he hasn't done anything'.

A Feather's Edge by Boomchick

Rescue arrives for Sephiroth while he is still a child. It arrives in the form of a blank-faced blonde-haired hero who cannot look at him; Who tends his wounds, and speaks kindly, but whose eyes are filled with hate and fear. If only Sephiroth knew the rules of this world outside the labs, maybe he could figure out how to stop making Cloud so angry...

An interesting look into, even if Sephiroth was saved, how messed up he is since childhood and how that impacts how he views people, sitautions, and relationships with other people. Kinda wish it was a little longer, but also I think it ends where it needs to end, if that makes sense. Really love Cloud trying to grapple with being a good adult for a child while battling his PTSD over said child.

In the Woods, Somewhere - DoveFanworks

On an ordinary day, two against one would hardly feel fair. But today was not an ordinary day, and Gods damn if this man wasn’t proving to be worth every bit of their combined effort. It was ludicrous. Unheard of. Before today, he would have thought it impossible. But somehow, someway, this man, this stranger who had come from out of nowhere, was fighting off two of the most powerful fighters in the world. At the same time.

Unresolved Time Travel au where Cloud takes on the three Firsts and kicks ass! I love how thought out the fight scenes are, taking into account the abilites of everyone involved and what they're capable of. Wonderfully orchestrated, wonderful to read.

Rebound - emrald_writes

Genesis knows the moment that they step into the little town that whatever it is plaguing them it isn’t a curse.

I Love fics that have surprisingly in depth worlds that makes you feel like you're looking into a world so much bigger and more thought out than you expected. Such an interesting magic system and a fun mystery to boot. I will say, the ending feels a little strange, but the rest most than makes up for it.

As They Bask in the Material World - Traxits

Every year, Reeve tours the outer reactors. This year, Veld is unable to escort him, so Tseng gets the job. It's just his luck that the car breaks down, and perhaps the best idea was not to spend the night in Cosmo Canyon…

Hi welcome to the beginning of the 'brownie falls in love with reeve' section of this. Anyway, great and interesting relationship between Reeve and Tseng, and EXTREMELY cool take on how young Reeve would react to Cosmo Canyon.

Before She Hangs Her Head to Cry - Traxits

Reeve had been reasonably certain that no one was in his office. It seemed like a logical assumption to make, given that he was not there and that no one short of the President had a key. One day, he would learn to stop assuming anything when he counted the Turks among his friends.

Not enough people talk about Reeve and kidnapping Marlene! Love the backstory that is hinted at for Reno here, getting to see Reeve's thoughts and such, and how Marlene's upbringing shows up throughout her actions. The characterization is just, *mwah*, beautiful.

Little Birds by katineto

Marlene's Papa is gone, and she is scared—or, the kidnapping, from Marlene's perspective.

Reeve is terrible with children. I love seeing Marlene's POV in the whole mess, trying to make sense of what is going on and feeling so scared.

Through Another's Eyes by CorsairOriginal

Elmyra Gainsborough had only wanted to live a life in peace, but war keeps coming to her door. She had only wanted her arrangement with Marlene Wallace to be temporary, but now that she's a part of Elmyra's life she has to face the consequences of that decision. Director Reeve Tuesti didn't choose to become a spy, but orders from President Rufus Shinra are not to be refused. He didn't choose to admire a group of renegades, but now that they're a part of his life he can't walk away so easily. ~ "Through Another's Eyes" is an in-depth view of the major notes of Reeve's story in Final Fantasy VII, starting from Marlene's abduction by Shinra to the end of the original game--rewriting some concepts and adding elements from the Compilation of FF7, including Before Crisis and FFVII Remake.

THE PINNACLE OF REEVE FICS. So so so good! Great relationship of Reeve with everybody, and how he deals with the events of FFVII. The moment at the end when he finally meets everyone? FUCK YEAH, that's what it's all about baby! Fic that got me hooked on the inspire!Reeve characterization.

I'm Fine - WinterEvenings

“Cloud!” His eyes snap open, but it doesn’t do much good. All he can see is darkness anyway. They were trapped. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

Cloud is so fucked up as far as priorities and his own health is concerned. it's terrible and wonderful at the same time. Gotta love a good dose of whump.

[pandakong]

https://www.iam8bit.com/products/oxenfree-ii-lost-signals-2xlp

With its eerie atmosphere and sharp-as-nails dialogue, Oxenfree II: Lost Signals calls to mind both ‘80s horror movies and coming-of-age stories alike. Developer Night School Studio weaves together a rich tale of returning home to find that not everything is the same, deftly building on the themes established in the first game.  And as was the case with that first game, music is a crucial part of Oxenfree II’s DNA. scntfc has once again crafted a foreboding, mercurial synth-powered soundscape, one that adds a whole new layer of intrigue and mystery to Oxenfree II’s foggy, treacherous cliff tops and streets. The music seems to whisper: “Danger is just around the corner, but so too is hope.”  It’s a soundtrack that quite simply demands to be immortalized in classic iam8bit fashion. That’s why we teamed up with publisher Netflix to bring you this — the Oxenfree II: Lost Signals 2xLP. Pressed on Radio Disturbance Red vinyl, its otherworldly grooves let you enjoy the music & mood of Oxenfree II, again and again.  The ludicrously talented Calder Moore crafted cover art worthy of the moody music you’ll find inside, calling to mind the brain-bending, jaw-dropping visuals present in the game itself.  It’s time to tune in to the signal. The Oxenfree II: Lost Signals 2xLP has arrived. 

[taywitchcrafts]

The Best Day

Inspired by me listening to the best day and crying over how much I love my dad, and by my incurable TLOU brainrot, here is 2k of Joel being an amazing dad, Sarah being an amazing kid, and both of them being happy for fucking once.

Tags: No Outbreak!AU, WORLD'S BEST DAD JOEL, basically a songfic, there is a speech and I have not written a speech in 6 years so apologies if that sucks. Liberties taken with: depicting the 90s and early 2000s, the way US schools work, the amount of speech development a 3 year old should have. I used the show's timeline for the years, btw. Crossposted to AO3

PLEASE ignore any mistakes, I am disabled, dyslexic and brain foggy.

1992

The kitchen is a veritable mess, a painting set spread across the dining table, and a plastic sheet protecting the wood from staining. Sheets of A4, some wet with paint and some already dry, cover seemingly every surface. Swashbuckling pirates, beautiful princesses, dwarves and poison apples- at least, those were the artistic vision. In reality, they're mostly stick figures with splashes of colour, painted haphazardly by the very focused 3-year-old sat at the table. Sarah babbles half-coherent explanations of everything she paints, and Joel diligently labels them with a biro, sure to tell her that every single one of them is a work of art. Tommy stands in the corner, a camcorder in hand, a smile on his face as he watches his brother and niece. Sarah holds her most recent work of art up for her beloved uncle to see, the watercolour paint running down the page a little- Joel hadn't been able to get proper watercolour paper, hadn't really known where he might, so they're making do with printer paper. It doesn't absorb the paint nearly as well, but it'll dry eventually. He hopes.

Tommy squints at Joel's scribble at the top of the page- Cinderella- and smiles at her. "Belongs in the Louvre, that does." He says, focusing the camcorder on the page. "What's the L-... Louvre?" Sarah asks, taking a moment to get used to the new word. "It's an art museum, sweetheart," Joel says, kissing her forehead. "Uncle Tommy's right. You're a superstar. But even superstars need rest, or they ain't able t'shine. So let's clean you up, and then it's time for bed for you, baby girl." Sarah pouts, but her argument is interrupted by a yawn.

Sitting on the edge of the sink while Joel scrubs her hand, she scrunches up her nose. "Daddy, why doesn't Cinderella just leave, when they're so mean to her?" She asks, with all the gravity of someone asking a politician how they plan to tackle a brewing war. He hums, thinking on how to phrase this. "Sometimes, sweetheart, people are so mean for so long that the people they're being mean to feel like they have no way to get away from it." He frowns. "You ever feel like that, you tell me, yeah? I'll come and get you away. No matter what."

A few minutes later as he tucks her into bed, freshly clean, she reaches up and presses her tiny fingers into his cheek. "You're so strong, Daddy. Like Superman." He smiles down at her. "And you're pretty as a princess, baby girl." He switches her nightlight on, kisses the top of her head. He's about to offer her a story, but she's already fast asleep. He sighs, staring down at her for a few moments.

"I'll keep you safe from anythin' that might hurt ya." He whispers, promising her even though she can't hear him.

1994

When Sarah is 5 years old, Joel takes her to a pumpkin patch. The sky is grey-blue when they arrive, and he makes sure to listen to the weather report on the truck's radio before deciding whether to bring the umbrella out of the back seat. He unclips her from her car seat, and he doesn't even have the door shut before she's running off. His laugh is exasperated but affectionate as he runs after her, hurriedly locking the truck, but she's already lost in a sea of people.

Panic grips him, as well as regret that he didn't take his anxiety pills this morning, and that he didn't think to tell her to hold onto his sleeve while he locked the car so she wouldn't run off. He's looking around desperately, trying to focus more on finding her than the dangers he can see that she could run into, when he catches a glimpse of her- a flash of lavender on the other side of the crowd. Where she gets her speed, her energy, he'll never understand, but he musters his own and runs after her, into a field he's sure they're not meant to be in. Hopefully, farmers understand that whims of a 5-year-old.

He catches up to her only when she comes to a stop, clearly having exhausted her sudden burst of excited energy. He comes to a halt next to her, taking a moment to catch his breath. His physical fitness applies to manual labour, not long-distance sprints. "Sweetheart, you can't just run off like that, you'll give me a heart attack-" He begins, but when he looks down at the way she's smiling, at how her big puffy winter coat makes her look like a penguin dyed lavender, at her fascination with the way the horizon is slowly turning gold, he can't help the affectionate laugh that spills out of him, bringing his gentle lesson to a halt. Sarah glances up at him when she hears his laugh, wrapping her tiny arms around his calf and hugging tight, and he calms immediately. She has that effect on him.

He sits down in the field, among the corn, holding onto the back of her coat to stop her running off as they watch golden hues paint across the sky, fading in places into pinks and purples. He fishes his Fujifilm out of his coat pocket, holding it up to snap a photo of her against the sunset, just as she turns back to smile at him. The result is a candid snap of the grin she reserves only for him, an unreserved beaming smile that warms his heart every time it crosses her face. She sits in his lap as the sky fades to grey, falling asleep with an ease that seems reserved only for kids. They'd done none of the things she'd said she wanted to, but she seemed so happy that he doesn't mind. She's probably forgotten all of it anyway.

He carries Sarah back to the truck, putting the Snow White soundtrack into the cassette player in case she wakes up when he starts it- which, of course, she does. She sings along, quiet and groggy at first but getting louder. As he pulls into the McDonald's drive-thru, she turns to look at him. "Can we go to Snow White's house, Daddy? I wanna tell her she's my favourite." Joel smiles, his heart swelling all over again. "I'll give her a call, sweetheart. See if I can arrange it."

He saves up for months, and takes her to Disneyland for her 6th birthday.

2002

Not long before Sarah finishes middle school, she walks into the house at 4 pm on a Thursday and devolves into a flood of tears. Joel's barely been home 5 minutes, exhausted and aching, but he cradles her in his arms instantly, comforting her in soothing whispers before he even knows the problem. As soon as she's calm enough to explain what happened- how her friends decided out of the blue that they hate her, and never even told her why-he's grabbing the keys to his truck. He lets her pick the tape, and sings along with her even though he hates Atomic Kitten, because he loves her more. He drives until her tears are dry, until she's smiling in the passenger seat and rolling her eyes at his awful jokes.

The town they end up in is miles from home, and he smiles down at her when she clings to his coat sleeve while they queue at a hot dog stand, the same way she used to when she was a tot. They eat their hot dogs on a park bench, while she tells him about how Liz Hurley has just given birth, and what Britney Spears is up to right now. He listens intently, as he always does, even though he's struggling to keep up with the speed of her rambling. When they finish eating he follows her into the nearby mall, making a mental note of anything she says she likes, for birthday gift ideas. He gives her $30 and lets her buy whatever she wants, smiling enthusiastically when she drags him to checkout with a purse shaped like a guitar, a set of plastic bead bracelets and two sweatshirts. It comes to $35, and he doesn't hesitate to hand another 5 dollar bill over, even when she offers to put the bracelets back. She falls asleep in the passenger seat on the drive home, and Joel smiles to himself. She grows more every day- sometimes he swears he blinked the day she was born and ended up 13 years older with a teenager - but Sarah's still his little girl. She still needs her dad, and he's always gonna be there.

Keeping her safe, like he promised her 10 years ago.

2008- May

Joel sits on a rickety plastic chair in a rundown auditorium next to his brother, and watches his baby girl accept her high school diploma. The golden sash around her shoulders makes him swell with pride, and though he promised himself he wouldn't cry, his eyes are watering the second her valedictorian speech begins. Inspiration was the theme she'd told him when he asked, but she'd refused to let him read it. He soon understands why.

"I can talk about my literary inspirations, or my political ones, and you can nod and agree with me, but I wouldn't be doing myself justice." She says, a third of the way into her speech. "But the worst injustice would be to my biggest inspiration of all. My father." Joel's vision blurs with tears, and he's immediately grateful for Tommy's rare moment of foresight in insisting he bring a packet of tissues. "My father is my rock. My biggest supporter and my best friend. He keeps me grounded, he gives me strength. He's on my side even when I'm wrong, but he never lets me dwell in ignorance. Without him, I would never have arrived here. He's been with me through all the hard work, 18 years of painful life lessons and unfortunate regrets- but also the moments of joy and love, the things I'll never forget. He taught me to work, to endure, to keep going no matter what. And he taught me to laugh, and to love, and to find joy even in the mundane. Of all my inspirations, of all the stars I wish upon- my dad shines the brightest."

Joel might as well be sobbing, and he doesn't care a bit who sees him. He'd been worried when Sarah got accepted into Columbia, that her moving so far would create an emotional distance between them, that she'd grow up and forget about her old man. For some reason, it had never occurred to him that she loved him so much that he would be unforgettable. That she would call him her biggest inspiration... He'll be crying over that for the rest of his life. He glances over at Tommy, finding him blubbering just the same. The key difference between them is the camcorder he holds, the same one he's been using to record key moments in her life since he bought it 15 years ago. Joel hadn't even realised he'd brung it with him, but oh, he's so grateful for him in that moment.

A permanent record of the proudest moment in his life- tied only with the day Sarah was born.

2008- July

He takes her to Disneyland again, for her 19th birthday. Just a month before she's due to head off for college. The itinerary is far removed from the one they followed 13 years prior- replacing The Country Bear Jamboree with Star Tours, Goofy's Bounce House with the Haunted Mansion, the Mad Tea Party with Mark Twain's Riverboat. That evening, in the twin hotel room Joel booked, Sarah comes out of the bathroom after brushing her teeth and catches him by surprise with a hug that practically winds him. He's stumped by what prompted such a forceful display of affection, until she looks up at him with tearful eyes and whispers: "I had the best day with you today, Dad."

And Joel realises that excitement for the next step in her adventure isn't the only feeling they share. That the ache in his heart at the idea of leaving her behind in New York next month, the feeling that she's growing up too fast, the need to find a way to grasp the sands of time and slow them down just for a moment, so he doesn't have to let her go- all of that is shared as well.

"Me too, sweetheart." He whispers, kissing her forehead. "The best."

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 17: Fever Dreams

Miles of lush forest and boggy marshland pass in her rearview, opening up to rolling hills and an endless stretch of highway as Rebekah makes her way north. It had been less than a day since she’d said goodbye to her eldest brother and the two pain-in-the-ass women she’d spent the better part of the last two months with. But she hadn’t left the city straight away. After extracting promises to take care of each other, she’d made her way to the heart of the French Quarter - and to Marcel.

She fidgets with the radio knob, trying to brush away the memories of their ill-advised tryst. All she wanted was some closure. That’s what she told herself as she cornered him on the balcony. But then there he was, flesh and blood and handsome as the devil, only arm’s reach away after a century of thinking him lost forever.

Rebekah kicks herself for how easily she folded and fell into bed with him. She can hear Nik’s smug ‘I told you so’ even now.

It doesn’t matter, she thinks as a semi-truck flashes its blinker and she taps her brake to give it space to merge. The road sign tells her it’s twenty miles to the Arkansas border. Soon New Orleans and all its complications will be another foggy footnote in ten centuries of memory.

Rebekah guides the vehicle to the offramp for the interstate when her phone rings, buzzing frantically from the console. Lucie’s name flashes across the screen and her stomach swoops.

Before it can go to voicemail, she seizes it and swipes to answer. “I know you must miss me terribly,” she quips, despite her unease. “But you’re coming off as desperate.”

“I know you’re on the road,” Lucie says, and Rebekah hears the strain from the other line. “I just…have you heard from Elijah?”

“Not since last night.” Her lips press together, a taut, bloodless line. “Lucie, what’s going on?”

“Call me paranoid, but something I noticed last night's been bothering me.” There’s a pause. Rebekah hears her steady breathing through the phone. “Before you and Hayley showed up, did Elijah tell you about his run-in with Klaus?”

“He mentioned it. Why?”

“He was looking a little rough when he first came by. I checked him out and everything was already healed…except,” Another pause. Rebekah can picture her worrying her lip. “There was a bite mark from Klaus. It looked pretty bad, but he swore it was fine- “

“God dammit, Niklaus,” she curses, slamming on her brakes. The car behind her honks, swerving around her.

“I don’t understand.”

“The venom from a werewolf's bite is lethal to a vampire,” she explains, pinching the bridge of her nose as she pulls off to the side of the road. “And Klaus is part werewolf. It’s not enough to kill an Original, but Elijah is in for a rough couple of days.”

There’s a sharp inhale from the other end. “Rough how?”

Rebekah forces down a shudder, trying not to think of the debilitating fever, the constant acidic burning under the skin, and that’s not to mention the hallucinations.

“Lucie, listen to me,” she says, shifting the car into a U-turn. “The bite won’t kill him, but he’s a danger to himself and others until it runs its course. I’m on my way, but you need to find him. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, tossing her phone onto the passenger’s seat as she ends the call. Jaw set in determination, she presses a leaden foot to the accelerator, speeding back towards the one place she had been trying to escape, hoping to save Elijah from Nik’s impulsiveness. Again.

____

Seconds after Rebekah ends the call, Lucie is in her car, navigating the square blocks leading out of the Garden District. It’s slow progress as she cranes her head from one side to the other, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar suit. With every passing minute, her urgency grows, a discomfort that makes her skin crawl.

She’s never seen the after-effects of a werewolf bite. Until only moments ago, she had no clue about their venom or the danger to vampires. Now, her mind flashes with the worst possibilities. Elijah crumpled in a ditch somewhere, or suffering at Klaus’ mercy. When they’d last spoken, he had mentioned seeking his volatile brother. And then another reality crashes over her. She sees Elijah covered in blood, tearing through unsuspecting tourists in his fragile state. Marcel won’t tolerate disruption in his city, especially the kind that threatens to expose them all.

The car picks up speed as she turns out onto St. Charles, swearing when she has to stop for the streetcar.

By the time she makes it to the French Quarter, crowds pack the streets, shoulder to shoulder. T-shirt-clad tourists spill out onto the asphalt, darting out between cars and contributing to the congestion. Before long, she gives up on her car, wedging into a narrow spot on a side street to continue her search on foot.

It’s Saturday night and winding through a sea of people surrounded by tall Italianate buildings, Lucie realizes she’s looking for a needle in a very large, drunken haystack.

Then, out of the corner of her eyes, she catches a white button-up shirt. Her heart stutters as she doubles back to a back alley and sees a dark-haired man crouched over.

“Elijah, thank god,” she breathes, seizing him by his shoulder. Disappointment is immediate when she turns him by the shoulder, finding glassy eyes in an unfamiliar face. The drunk man slurs something incoherent, wiping his sweaty face with the back of his hand.

She lets go, and he staggers into the wall, but Lucie has already woven her way back onto the main street to continue her search. Music and voice meld into a steady hum that vibrates around her with each step, so overwhelming that she almost misses her phone ring.

She doesn’t recognize the number when she wrenches it from her bag, elbowing a passing stranger. But she can’t chance missing it, not when Elijah is lost somewhere in the city.

“Hello?” she answers, plugging her ear with a finger as she steps into the shelter of a corner drugstore. Fluorescent beam down overhead, a blast of air conditioning slamming into her.

“Tell me you’re near the French Quarter,” Sophie Deveraux’s voice cuts through over the soft, warbling pop music coming from the store’s speakers.

“How did you get my number?”

“No time,” she snaps. “Got a glimpse of Elijah near Dauphine. He looked pretty out of his head.”

Her pulse pounds in her ears. “You saw Elijah? Where?”

“Last I saw, he was on the corner near St. Ann’s. But he was moving fast.”

Lucie is already moving, slipping through the automatic doors and back out into the crowd. “Sophie,” she shouts over the din. “Thank you.”

“I didn't do it for you. He’s a danger to everyone in the Cauldron. Just take care of it before Marcel gets involved.”

The line goes dead. Lucie shoves the phone into her bag with shaking palms, shoving through the press towards St. Ann’s. It only takes her fifteen minutes to make it to the other side of the Quarter, but it feels like an eternity before she escapes the busy fervor of the major hubs and spills out onto the quiet side street.

She bolts for the cross streets Sophie had given her, only to find the corner empty. Raking a hand over her face, she fights down the sting of tears, her frustration a hot and bitter pill.

There are no more leads and with superhuman speed, he could be anywhere by now. She should have made him stay, should have pressed harder about the bite. Despair and guilt are threatening to overwhelm her when she hears it.

A little rustle of movement on the other side of the sleepy church where Agnes had died. If the street weren’t so still, she would have missed it altogether. She follows the noise, feet carrying her to the shadowed alcove. Straining her eyes against the dark, she makes out an overturned crate and piles of discarded litter. And there, with his shoulder pressed against the wall to support his weight, is Elijah.

He doesn’t look up when she approaches, doesn’t show any sign he notices her presence at all. Instead, his head remains bowed, features barely discernible from the back of the alley.

“Elijah,” she calls softly. As she draws close, she notices the dirty state of his clothes, the erratic rise and fall of his chest. “It’s me, it’s Lucie.”

All at once, his head snaps up, eyes glassy and skin flushed. She watches the sweat bead at his brow. A fuzzy flicker of recognition flashes in his eyes. “Lucie? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” comes the simple reply. She doesn’t miss the way he stiffens when she closes the distance, stopping a few paces away to give him space. “Heard you might need a hand.”

He doesn’t resist when she narrows the rest of the gap, only watches her with a detached curiosity. “A dark strand of hair tumbles into his face as he shakes his head, bewildered. “I was dreaming about our first days in the governor’s home. And when I came to, I was here…”

“Yeah, you can thank your brother for that one.” She gestures towards his arm and his eyes follow, brow furrowed.

“Niklaus,” he growls.

“You can kick his ass later. Let’s get you out of here.”

She reaches for his wrist. The world spins by in a dizzying blur and before she can even blink, he has her pressed against the brick wall. His fingers dig into her biceps as he bears down on her.

“Celeste,” he breathes, expression pained. “How are you here?”

Lucie struggles to keep a lid on her growing panic, her right hand rising to wrap around one of his forearms. “Elijah, it’s Lucie. ”

“No,” he growls, his head shaking from side to side as his grip tightens. “No. You can’t be here. I was too late…I found your body. Whatever cruel trick this is, you won’t get away with it.”

Fear dissolves to anger, his hands vice-like around her. Lucie winces in pain, scrabbling against him, digging her nails into the flesh, hoping it might snap him out of it. If any of it registers, he gives no sign. All Lucie can do is brace herself and watch as his delirium takes control.

Just then, he’s jerked back by a powerful force, breaking his grip on Lucie. She stumbles back against the wall, looking up in time to watch Rebekah shove him into the far wall.

“Elijah, stop,” she commands. Pinning him in place, she forces him to look at her.

“Rebekah?” His eyes flicker and confusion gives way to sudden clarity. His eyes dart from her to Lucie, sagging into her grip. “Lucretia, I…”

“We need to get him home,” Rebekah calls over his head as he collapses into her arms, eyes locking with Lucie’s. 

Lucie doesn’t need to be told twice. Shoving off the wall, she falls into step behind Rebekah. The primary thoroughfare is still packed when they reach it, Elijah’s arm draped over her shoulder with Lucie at his side. They attract the odd look, explained away by a Bourbon Street bender.

Neither so much as exchanges a glance until he’s settled in the backseat of Lucie’s sedan. She drops bonelessly into the driver’s seat, glancing back at him as she buckles her seatbelt. Elijah’s face calms in sleep, the lines between his brows gone and his expression peaceful despite the flush to his skin.

Lucie eases the car back out onto the road and for the first time in hours, with Rebekah’s convertible following behind, it feels like she can breathe.

____

They settle him down on the bed in Lucie’s childhood room, the one she’s shunned for the living room couch. He’s a few inches too tall from the frame, shoes hanging over the edge before Rebekah pries them off and tosses them to the side.

Lucie heads for the kitchen, returning with a damp dishtowel to press to his burning forehead. He sighs when the cold fabric hits his skin. It’s only when he’s fast asleep beneath the cover, under the watchful eye of band posters, that the two women retreat to the living room.

She makes them both tea, if only for something to keep her hands busy and mind distracted. The ceramic handle radiates a comforting warmth as she hands it over to Rebekah, who’s nestled on a cozy patterned love seat. She murmurs thanks, blowing at the steam when Lucie takes the spot opposite to join the quiet vigil.

For a long while, neither speaks. Lucie peers into the contents of her drink while Rebekah stares out the window, fidgeting with a strand of hair.

“I didn’t think you would make it back so fast,” Lucie says when she grows tired of the silence.

Rebekah tears her focus away from the view outside to look at her. “Funny, isn’t it? Every time I try to leave, this family pulls me back in. It’s like a curse. ”

“I know the feeling.” Lucie taps her fingers against the mug, the rhythm betraying her lingering anxiety. “You know…you left pretty late last night. Shouldn’t you have been at least two states over by the time I called?”

Rebekah’s eyes narrow. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too clever for your own good?”

Lucie shrugs, taking a small sip. “Can’t help it. It’s in my nature.”

“If you must know,” Rebekah says, slouching back into the cushions, “I made a detour to say goodbye to Marcel. ”

Hot tea catches in her throat and she splutters. In the forced proximity of the last months, she’s heard enough from Rebekah about her tumultuous relationship with Marcel to understand her reluctance to share.

“So…you shook hands and parted as old friends?” she intones.

Rebekah stills. Over the rim of her cup, Lucie swears she catches the hint of a flush on her high cheekbones. “Not exactly…”

“Tell me you didn’t,” she groans, hiding her growing smile behind the mug. But when Rebekah seems reluctant to meet her eyes, she knows she guessed right. She’s ready with a fresh round of teasing when there’s a rustle of movement from the other room.

Both of them freeze, eyes trained on the hallway.

Lucie moves first. Pushing herself out of the chair and placing her mug on the table, she says, “Stay here and figure out how you’re going to tell me all the juicy details. I’ll check on him.”

Then Rebekah’s up too, at her heels before she reaches the hallway. “Because that went so well last time.”

She rolls her eyes, heading for the bedroom. “He was just sound asleep. I’m pretty sure it’ll be fine if you sit this one out.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Rebekah huffs, padding after her. “You’re not the one who’ll have to watch him mope for the next century when he accidentally rips your throat out. Now scoot.” she elbows her out of the way so she can be the first to the bedroom.

Annoyed, Lucie cranes her head over Rebekah’s shoulder. The bed’s occupant rests against the pillows. Lucie, annoyed, cranes her head over Rebekah’s shoulder and sees the bed’s occupant resting against the pillows. He has shifted onto his side in his sleep, facing towards the doorway, with his eyes closed and skin appearing pallid beneath the light spilling in from the hallway.

“Looks like he was just adjusting,” Rebekah whispers, relieved. Still, as if to confirm, she sweeps inside to hover over him. Her fingers brush against his damp forehead, their touch light. Lucie catches the way her brows knit together, the subtle frown on her full lips. And the look on her face - she’s never seen Rebekah look so tender.

Then, she clears her throat and when she pulls away, the mask is firmly in place, like it had never happened at all. Turning on her heel, she skates past Lucie, pressing the dishtowel in her hands. “I think he could use a fresh towel.”

She disappears down the hall, likely resuming her perch in the living room as Lucie runs another towel under the tap.

The floorboards creak when she steps back into the bedroom, tiptoeing towards the edge of the bed, afraid the lightest of sounds might break the fragile peace. The hardwood bites as she drops to her knees, inspecting him with a careful eye before dabbing at his brow.

She pauses when his jaw ticks, brows furrowing. As he grows restless, Lucie wonders what he’s dreaming of.

“You know, for the smartest person I know, you’re a fucking idiot,” she sighs, rocking back onto her heels. “You’re lucky we found you when we did.”

It’s ridiculous, she knows, talking to an unconscious man. Yet while he can’t hear her, there’s a comfort that comes with filling the space. Something that makes the atmosphere in the room almost seem normal, like he could just be sleeping off a wild night, not fighting against hybrid venom.

She stays a little longer than she needs, leaning against the dresser with her eyes shut, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Only when it seems she’s in danger of sleep herself, she rises, determined to make Rebekah tell her the rest of her story. But before she can steal towards the doorway, she’s stopped by a pressure at her wrist.

Her eyes drift down to where Elijah’s fingers wrap around it, following the line of his arm up to his face, where he’s watching her through half-lidded eyes.

“Wait,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

Even in his weakened state, his grip is firm as he guides her back. Lucie sits at the foot of the bed, questioning how lucid he is, and waits for him to speak. When he only continues to watch her half-focused, she squeezes his hand. “You should try to rest. It’ll be better if you can sleep through the worst of it.”

He shakes his head stubbornly as his fingers ghost the imprints he left on her biceps. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t myself- “

“It’s alright,” she says, with a sad smile. “I know you weren’t. Now, sleep. We can talk about it when you’re better.”

Elijah seems content with that, one hand dropping back down to his side. The other grasps her wrist, more gently this time. His eyes are heavy. He struggles to keep them open. She can almost pinpoint when the fever takes hold once more, and he murmurs something so soft she has to crane her head to catch it. She leans in close to check his temperature. The second skin meets skin the world around her vanishes.

The sensation is disorienting, like being pulled through a veil. All at once, Lucie stands amongst the opulent furnishings of a gilded entryway, so lavish that she takes a couple of seconds to recognize the foyer of the Mikaelsons’ manor home. Her eyes dart to the place above the divan, where she’d thrown Klaus into the wall. The patched hole is gone, replaced with an oil painting she’s never seen before. The same crystal chandelier shines overhead, throwing sparkling refractions against the wall. But when she examines it closer, it’s candlelight, not electric bulbs, creating a soft glow.

She takes a step back, overwhelmed by the abrupt change in her surroundings, and nearly collides with a woman passing only inches in front of her. The woman’s velvet gown sweeps across the floor, hand tucked in the crook of a man’s arm. He’s dressed in a brocade surcoat, something embroidered and straight out of an eighteenth-century period piece. They disappear around the corner in a peel of laughter.

Lucie follows the thrum of voices and distant music to what she remembered as an oversized living space, stunned to find a modest-sized ballroom instead. Bodies brush by, gathered in clusters to mingle or helping themselves to colorful morsels as servants pass by with silver trays.

The woman nearest to her has her back turned, hair pulled into a half-up style laced with pearls that offset the deep red of her hair. Lucie feels a frisson of anticipation shimmer down her spine. And then she turns, curls spilling down her back, and Lucie’s breath hitches.

From her large green eyes to her fair round face down to the smattering of freckles across her little upturned nose, she’s a dead ringer for Arabella and Vivienne. It’s only the faint hint of crow’s feet, the high cheekbones, and the stronger set of her jaw that differentiates her from the twins.

Her lips pull into a bright smile, and Lucie stills, wondering if she can see her. Until she says, “Elijah.”

And that’s when he crosses straight into her line of sight, dressed in a silk coat in a rich royal blue. His hair is longer, and it falls into his face as he tips his head to bow and press a kiss to the back of the woman’s gloved hand.

“Miss LeMarche, might I say you look radiant this evening,” he murmurs, voice thick with an accent Lucie usually only catches a hint of sometimes if she’s listening close.

The woman straightens the blush-colored fabric of her skirts, clasping her hands in front of her as he rights himself. “I must admit, I was surprised to receive an invitation. Your kind are not usually so keen to fraternize with the covens.”

“We do not all share in the same poor taste,” he assures with a smile.

“Speaking of, how is that cunning paramour of yours?”

“Celeste is well, though regrettably, she could not join us tonight. She sends along her best.”

The woman opens her mouth to speak but pauses when she sees something over his shoulder. “Ah,” she says, smile tight. “I see your charming brother has decided to grace us with his presence.”

Seconds later, Klaus appears at his elbow. His hair, a similar length to Elijah’s, is swept back and his face is clean-shaven.

“Well, if it isn’t the scion of the garden district herself,” he says, emerald coat rustling as he dips into a perfunctory bow, though he refrains from taking her hand. His lips curl into a polite smile that fails to reach his eyes. “I am almost offended you think I would miss my own party.”

“You must forgive me, sir,” the woman says sweetly. “It’s only that when I arrived and you weren’t in the very center of attention, I feared something might be amiss.”

There’s a choking sound from Elijah. As he retrieves his handkerchief, Lucie suspects he’s using it to disguise a laugh. The look on her face remains placid, even while Klaus eyes her murderously.

“Your concern is admirable,” he says. “I would have been here sooner if some hairy pests hadn’t waylaid me in the Treme.”

The name jolts Lucie, a flicker of recognition sparking within her. Treme, she thinks, where werewolves used to live before Marcel pushed them out of the city.

“It’s a very brave or very foolish man that refers to someone with the power to kill him as a pest.”

“Are you calling me a fool, Miss LeMarche?” Klaus asks, a deadly undercurrent cutting through his polite tone.

“Of course not,” she says, with a little bow of her head. “Simply making a polite observation.”

“Speaking of pests,” Elijah cuts in, taking a sip from a flute of champagne he’d acquired moments before. “Where is your young protégé, Niklaus?”

Lucie doesn’t miss the way the atmosphere seems to shift, even as the woman murmurs, “Off tearing the wings of a butterfly. Or perhaps licking the new governor’s boots.”

Niklaus’s face doesn’t reveal any sign of offense - if he is indeed offended. He turns his head, peering at some unknown point over his shoulder. “You witches are all so predictable, always wringing your hands over any power that might surpass your own. Are you so threatened by his potential?”

“Potential?” Elijah scoffs. “Is that what you’re calling it? The boy grows more ambitious and overbearing by the day.”

The woman hums in agreement. “I am still unsure why you string the greedy little maniac on the way you do.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste. On the other side of the room, the band tunes up for a waltz. “It’s only a matter of time before he affixes himself to your coattails.”

“Well,” Klaus responds, a gleam in his blue eyes. “If you lived for centuries like we do, you might also learn to see the bigger picture.”

“Does this bigger picture include a plan for when he discovers you do not intend to turn him?”

“A problem remedied by time, love.” He grins, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Your kind have such short lifespans. For all we know, the lad could meet with an unfortunate accident.”

The smile slips from her features, green eyes hard. “You are playing with fire, Klaus Mikaelson. You should show more caution, lest you burn us all up with you.”

Klaus goes still, eyes narrowed when Elijah interrupts once more. “Enough talk of supernatural politics.” He extends his hand to her. “Melodia, might I steal you for the next dance?”

The scene grows fuzzy at the edges before fading away. It’s like surfacing from a deep, icy lake, and Lucie gasps, blinking the familiar shapes of her bedroom back into focus. Her thoughts are racing. She knows without a doubt that what she had just seen was from Elijah’s memory. He had known her ancestress, she had once walked the very halls Lucie had spent months confined to.

She struggles to make sense of, to piece it all together. The room feels too hot like there’s not enough air for her to catch her breath.

“Melodia, wait.” Fabric rustles behind her as she makes for the door, brushing past Rebekah, who had been hovering near the threshold. All she wants is the solitude of the garden, a chance to clear her head and settle back into reality.

She’s halfway down the hall when she hears an alarmed cry, followed by a resounding crash. resounding crash. When she reels around, Rebekah is nowhere to be seen. Before she can so much as blink, she’s face to face with Elijah, his eyes fever-bright and glassy.

His hand presses over the flat spot just below her clavicle, urging her backward until she meets the wall. “You can’t,” he murmurs, a current of something like regret churning beneath the anger. Black floods around his irises, eclipsing their color as inky veins dart across the skin beneath. He’s lost somewhere, far beyond her reach. “I won’t let you.”

“Elijah, no!” Rebekah screams as he lunges forward. And all Lucie feels is fire, white and blinding, as he buries his fangs in the soft spot between her shoulder and her neck. She cries out, a choked sound muffled by his chest. She smells copper, feels the searing trail of fresh blood drip down her clavicle. Her hands plant against his chest, throwing her entire weight into shoving him off. He doesn’t budge an inch.

A flash of blonde hair streaks across her hazy vision as Rebekah grips him by the shoulders and tosses him bodily down the hall. As he crashes into the hutch in a crumpled heap, she steps in front of Lucie, blocking her from sight.

The hallway is in shambles. Shattered glass glitters against the hardwood, their frames broken and hanging haphazardly from the walls. There’s nothing left of the hutch but splintered pieces of oak. And amongst the wreckage, eyes still black and blood dripping from his mouth, Elijah rises, chest heaving and shirt stained a gory red.

Rebekah tenses, ready to defend, when there’s a sharp gasp behind them.

Three sets of eyes move towards the source and there, standing in the entryway, is Cami O’Connell, her eyes blown wide with shock.

[lostximagination]

Can you keep a secret?

[slothspaghettiwrites]

Bath Me In Your Love

Bath Me In Your Love - Cosmic Giving Fic Raffle

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Warnings: Cockwarming, Mommy Kink, D/s Relationship, heavy making out, subspace, fluffy adorable Lee, feelings of guilt that are quickly squashed.

Relationships: Sub!Lee Bodecker x Mommy!Reader

Word Count: 1810

Summary: Lee needs a break, and Mommy has just the thing.

A/N: my sweet, sweet @achubbydumpling requested more Suga'bear!Lee and that is what they are getting! All the yummy, cozy vibes we need.

This work has Adult Content. By clicking “Keep Reading” you have agreed that you are over the age of 18 and are willing to view such content. My work is not to be copied or translated onto any other platform. I have discontinued my taglist - follow @slothspaghettilibrary to be notified of when I post.

Lee was quiet on the drive out of town. It had been a long time since the two of you got away to spend any quality time together. Since Thanksgiving, he had been pulling extra shifts, covering for deputies with families and demanding wives as the Christmas season kicks everyone up into a tizzy. He’s been jumping from one stressful case to another hellish meeting at town hall for weeks. You could see how it’s running him down, hell even Lee can see how it’s running him down. But he couldn’t give in to his needs yet. This was good overtime pay, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the prize.

The pretty pearl necklace in the front window of the jewellery store on main street called to him, singing to him like a siren. He knew you’d look gorgeous in it, that it would be something you would wear forever, but would never agree to buying it because of just how expensive it was. But today, he made the last payment on it. The long, slim box was tucked into his jacket pocket all wrapped up pretty and you were none the wiser. With your gift Christmas sorted, he could finally relax a little and spend some time cuddling with his best girl instead of reading reports.

“Sheriff Bodecker.” Your voice rang out in the bullpen, all the deputies looking up from their paperwork.

There you stood, wrapped up as pretty as a present in your wool cape and driving gloves. Lee felt the blush spread across his cheeks at the tone you used. To the other deputies, you just sounded stern, but Lee knew that voice. Mommy was done playing games.

“Hey, Darlin’, what are you doin’ here?” Lee dropped his gaze to his watch, trying to remember if he agreed to have lunch with you today. “It ain’t lunchtime yet?”

“Grab your coat, Lee.”

Your tone left no room for argument. Lee did as he was told and retrieved his things from his office. He dutifully followed you outside to your car, where you slid behind the steering wheel with an effortless grace. Once inside, he took a deep breath. The smell of your perfume clung to the soft fabric seats and the corners of his lips turned up. He missed you.

“Buckle up, buttercup, we have a long drive ahead of us.” You smiled sweetly as the engine roared to life.

“What?”

“Shh, just let Mommy take care of you.”

Lee stared out the window as the white and grey streets of Meade zipped by and soon it was all asphalt and desolate corn fields. Your hand moved from the steering wheel to lie on his thigh, giving him a squeeze without taking your eyes off the road. The weeks of overtime finally caught up with him. His eyes drifted closed as you hummed along to the song on the radio.

“Suga’bear, c’mon, honey, ya gotta wake up for me.” You cooed, pressing your lips to his cheeks as Lee grumbled and tried to pull you closer to him.

“Five more minutes.”

“We are here Suga’, once we are inside, you can cuddle me all you want. I got a surprise for you.”

Lee opened his eyes slowly and looked around. Ahead of him was a decent sized cabin, surrounded by trees and sloping, foggy mountains even further back. He blinked and sat up a little straighter in the car. How long had he been asleep?

“C’mon, I already lit the fire and unpacked the car. Well mostly,” you grinned at him, “Still gotta unpack my sweet boy.”

He huffed at your little joke and got out of the car. A freezing breeze whipped up around his feet and he stomped his boots to try and beat the chill away.

“You know kidnapping an officer of the law is a crime, don’t ya?” He teased, following you up the snow-covered steps towards the cabin. “Where the hell are we?”

“Tennessee,” you smiled at him, a slyness on your lips that made him shiver from more than just the cold.

Inside, the cabin was like something out of one of those fancy home magazines- all warm and cozy with soft furnishings and dark stained wood panels. Lee blew out a heavy breath, wondering when you’d had the chance to put all these together, but then you’d been on your own a lot recently with all the extra shifts he’d been picking up. Guilt swept through him again just thinking about all the things he’d missed. Lee swept his gaze over the place again as he moved further inside the room. The one-room cabin had a big ole bed and worn couch, a small kitchenette, and a set of double doors leading somewhere.

Your hands wrapped around his softly, that sweet and sexy look on your face that had his heart melting more than he’d ever admit. You pulled him along towards those doors, looking back over your shoulder to wink once, before pulling the doors open to reveal a balcony overlooking snow-covered trees.

And a hot tub.

A hot tube littered with candles and two steaming hot mugs of cocoa.

How long had he been asleep in the car?

“I wanted this Christmas to be special.” You murmured. “And I’ve missed my Suga’bear. Mommy needs you, baby.”

Lee’s insides twisted up. His chin trembled at the weight of your words, of the work, of the stress of just being Sheriff Lee Bodecker every day and night nonstop. He didn’t wanna play sheriff anymore.

He just wanted to be your Suga’bear.

“Mommy, I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You pulled him into your arms, holding his face to your neck as cooed sweet things into his ear.

“Mommy knows, sweetie, that’s why we’re here. Wanted to give you a special treat this Christmas. Just the two of us, no neighbors, no deputies, no anybody but the two of us.”

“Yeah?” He asked, voice turning as soft as cotton candy, feelings tingles of sweetness all over his body.

“Uh-huh, and I wanna start by getting you all warm and gooey, Suga. You gonna let Mommy do that?”

Lee nodded, words feeling like too much or that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wanted to not have to think so he could just enjoy being with you like he so desperately needed.

“Then come on, honey,” she slid his jacket off. “Let’s get undressed and get our Christmas started then.”

A blink later, you were sliding up next to him in the hot tub, gripping your hot chocolate close to your chest. Even with all the bubbles, he could see your nipples, the curve of your breasts, thighs squeezed together so tight. You were so beautiful, so good for him. He felt his cock twitch; the arousal bubbling up in him just like the bubbles in the hot tub.

He took a big gulp from his mug, chocolaty goodness coating his tongue and warming him up further and making the stress melt. The water sloshed as you stood up, baring your body to the ice cold wind before you set both mugs aside. Your fingers slipped under his chin, thumb sliding over his bottom lip before you saddled up in his lap.

“Suga’bear, you are the only thing I wished for this year.” You smiled at him, licking the little cocoa mustache he was sporting. “Wanna be all wrapped up in my baby and takin’ care of him.”

Lee whimpered, his hips bucking up and his mouth reaching for yours. He was ready for that. He wanted that, too. He’d let you guide him anywhere you wanted this trip to go. As your other hand slid down his chest and across his tummy, he couldn’t help how his cock fattened up, just that easily teasing him so gently. A flush crept across his cheeks.

A groan came from high in Lee’s throat when your hand wrapped around his cock, giving him a firm squeeze.

“Mommy,” his voice wavered, fingers digging into your hips to keep you from slipping.

“You wanna be inside me, baby?” You stroked his cock slowly, pulling his foreskin back to tease his sensitive tip. “You wanna fill me up?”

Lee looked you right in the eyes, a pout on his lip and neediness sinking into voice.

“Yes, please, Mommy.”

You sank down onto his cock slowly, and Lee savoured every second. The feel of your walls stretching around him had him gasping. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to hold himself together, to fight that bit of cozy, tingly sensation that’s coursing through him and straight to his cock. Your hands both moved to lie on his shoulder, gently digging and pushing at the tension knots.

His head lulled forward, face pressing in between your breasts. Lee decided he could die happy right there. His arms wrapped full around you, pushing his cock deeper into your warm pussy, both of you letting out weak groans.

“Tell me why you been workin’ so hard lately,” you commanded.

“Cause wanted to get ya somethin’,” he mumbled, hugging you closer to his body, needing you to surround him.

“Yeah, Suga, whaddya get me?”

Your nails dug into his scalp, scratching and massaging around his neck until he couldn’t stop moaning. His cock jerked inside as the muscles around his shoulders relaxed further. You pressed kisses on to his head, pulling him up and up until your lips landed on his. The slow, easy way you controlled him just had him slipping down into that cotton candy place.

“Got you pretty, pearl necklace, Mommy,” Lee’s cheeks warmed and a sweet smile graced his lips. “Wanted to make sure all the other people in town knew I treated you best and that I could give you whatever you wanted.”

“You’re my best boy, Suga’bear, don’t need to get me expensive things.” You cooed and rolled your hips gently, a little moan in your voice now. “You wanna give Mommy what she wants, baby?”

He nodded as your lips descended into his again, your tongue teasing his until you could suck it into your mouth. Lee whimpered, hips bucking up harshly to meet your slow grind. He needed your touch, your sweetness to coat him until he felt like the good boy you deserved.

You released his mouth, a line of drool connecting your lips together still until you licked it away.

“Mommy needs you, honey, let me have my sweet boy.”

Your hands brushed across his cheeks, his shoulders, his chest. Delicate fingers twirled around his nipples before returning to grip the back of his neck, pressure seeping from his skull. Lee would never understand how he got so lucky, but he was going to spend the rest of this holiday showing you how much he loved you.

“Okay, Mommy.”

[a-bang-for-your-bucky]

The Devil Between Us

Chapter Three: Hard Hitting Facts

read chapter two here

Summary: Matt Murdock is many things. He’s a good man, a good lawyer, and he’s The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen…. You tried your best to accept and love Matt as he is, you tried to love Dare Devil… But what are you supposed to do when Matt chooses The Devil over you…. and his unborn child….

Warnings: ANGST (it's back), Explicit language, talks about gun violence and anti-gun politics (If you have seen The Punisher Season 1, this chapter is based around the interview with Stan Ori.), talks about bombings and terrorism, please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Thanks @acrossthesestars for beta reading! You are so appreciated and loved! Moodboard by the talented @mylifeisactuallyamess! We are getting into it now y'all.

One month later….

Matt lied. 

He lied about everything. He never stopped going out. Deep down, you knew he would never stop. Daredevil was who he was. Maybe even the biggest part. 

What you didn’t expect was for his college girlfriend to come back into the picture. Foggy told you all about her. Elektra had pulled Matt away from his studies, almost causing him to flunk out of law school, until one day she just vanished. Matt never spoke of her again. 

The hardest thing you had ever done was walk away from Matt, still madly in love with him. It was a choice you had to make for the sake of your child. Elektra brought out a darkness in him, one you had never seen before, a darkness you didn’t know he was capable of. And once you found out, you packed your things, for real this time, and found an apartment a few blocks away from Karen. It was small, but it was perfect for you and the baby. 

According to your last appointment you were just at ten weeks. Only about the size of a kumquat, Matt’s child was already causing problems. Why do they call it morning sickness when it lasts all day?, you thought to yourself, exhausted from being up all night vomiting. That night bled into the next morning, and you slept through your alarm. You rushed around the small space to get dressed, already resulting in being late for work. Luckily, you had an understanding boss -mostly. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was all over the news, online and in the papers. Ellison pressed to get you to write the stories, but you kindly declined, passing them off to Karen. With a sad smile, you told him that she would do a much better job. 

You chose to cover politics. Senior Stan Ori was the politician in question. You had been following his gun control campaign from the beginning, and today, you were interviewing him after the bombings of the ATF field office and the 10Th Precinct Police Station. The bomber had written you a letter, thinking you would understand and agree with his ‘work’ after your involvement in The Punisher case. Your emotions had been running high and you put out a reply without thinking of the consequences, without caring. Things were only made worse when the bomber, now known to be Lewis Wilson, called in while you were on a radio show. You had called him a terrorist, a murderer, a coward and he hadn't taken that lightly. He demanded answers, questioning your responses and loyalties, before calling you a pawn, saying you were just like everyone else, and hanging up.

You were running late. Your alarm didn’t go off, you spilled coffee on your first outfit, and you had the worst time hailing a cab. Rushing into the Royal Hospitality hotel, you hoped and prayed for this to go like any other interview. Smoothing out the wrinkles of your pencil skirt, you went up to the reception desk and gave them your name, flashing your press badge. The woman at the desk made a phone call and asked for you to wait in the lobby. 

Doing as you were asked, you sat down in one of the plush chairs. It wasn’t long until you were greeted by a tall man, armed with a pistol, and a panty dropping smile on his face. “You must be here from The Bulletin.” He said. You flashed him your I.D. and introduced yourself. “Billy Russo. Let me take you to the good senator myself. I just need your weapon.” He did his research, you thought. You handed him your Kimber and he handed it off to a guard, before turning on his heels, walking toward the elevator. 

Billy attempted to make small talk with you. The man was charming, more charming than anyone you’d ever met. There was a smoothness in his voice as he let you know that you were safe as long as he and his men were in the building. You wanted to believe him, but you had a gut feeling something bad was going to happen. Exiting the lift, he walked you to the senator's hotel room door. “Here you are, sweetheart.” Billy said with a toothy grin. 

“Do you call all the girls ‘sweetheart’ or am I just lucky?” You quipped, raising an eyebrow at him. The last thing you wanted was to get involved with anyone, let alone someone like Billy Russo. His whole demeanor told you he was a ladies man, and he fucking knew it.

“If I said you were just lucky?” He purred, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip.

You laughed, “Then I’d tell you I’m not interested.” Billy huffed, crossing his arms over his chest with an amused look plastered on his face. He gazed at you with dark, piercing brown eyes, as if he were trying to hypnotize you. “Look, you strike me as the type of guy who isn’t used to being turned down. I’m pregnant, in a complicated relationship with the father, and still not interested.” You watched his grin drop quickly. You pointed toward the door. “Can I go to work now?” Billy nodded, accepting the rejection. “I do have one question for you, Mr. Russo. If you don’t mind, of course.” 

Billy smirked, obviously curious as to what you wanted to say. “Ask away.” 

You cleared your throat, “An anti-gun senator hiring a military contractor for his personal security, a little hypocritical wouldn’t you say? I can’t wait to see what he has to say about that.” You were confident in your question. Confident enough to see Russo stumble before answering. 

Billy chuckled, “Well, hopefully he says ‘If you want the best, then Anvil is the only choice.’” He paused, before adding, “And if he doesn’t, you can quote me on that.” The smirk returned almost instantly as he knocked on the door, notifying his team inside that you were here. 

“Can I ask, how did it feel on the radio, when Lewis Wilson threatened your life? Both our lives?” Senator Ori asked, as if he were interviewing you. 

With your notebook in one hand, and your pen in the other, you sighed. “Not good. But that’s just another reality of living in this city, especially as a woman. The world is a dangerous place, Senator.” You crossed one ankle behind the other, leaning forward a bit. “Back to you. I can appreciate everything you are doing here, but rhetoric and real lives, those things are worlds apart.” 

“They don’t have to be.” He replied quickly, shaking his head. 

You scoffed, “Says the man who in an hour will be downstairs with a bunch of New York liberals who paid $10,000 a plate for his campaign.” 

“Not for my campaign, to be clear. All proceeds are for the families of the victims of the bombings.” Senator Ori stated, causing you to mumble a ‘fair enough’ before jotting it down in your notebook. “Money that would not need to be made if there weren’t victims of this senseless violence.” 

You continued your interview, getting into a bit of a debate. It was easy for you, arguing back and forth. You were glad you had your recorder going as your notes were long forgotten, and this was good information for your article. Dare you say that Ellison was going to love it. 

You didn’t realize what was happening until it was over. There was a blast from the door, knocking you down to the floor. The alarm blared loudly as you tried to catch the breath that was knocked from your lungs. You could barely hear what the Anvil guards were saying over the siren. There was another boom, then smoke started to fill the room. You went to sit up with what little strength you had in time to watch the guards fall. A figure, who you assumed was Lewis Wilson, shot them execution style. 

Instinctively, you ducked behind the chair you were sitting in. You watched as a masked man went directly to the senator. Reaching out for your bag, you remembered then that the Anvil personnel took your personal weapon. “Fuck.” 

Senator Ori was begging for his life as he crawled across the room, away from the shooter. When he reached you, you moved in front of him. “Don’t shoot, please. Please, please don’t–” Lewis pulled the trigger, but a large figure jumped in front of the bullet with a grunt. 

You used the distraction to try and run to safety. As you scrambled for your footing, you noticed a gun discarded by a dead body and swiped it, stuffing it into your purse. Stan was right behind you as Lewis flanked in on your right after firing off shots at the other man. Senator Ori used his position to push you right into the crazed man’s arms. 

This is how I die.

Tags:

@mylifeisactuallyamess

@shakespeareanwannabe

@writeroutoftime

@aleksisok

@afuckingshituniverse

@sofphe

@hellskitchen-whore

@accountdeletedpleasedisregard

@two-unbeatable-beaters

@starry-night-20

@toomanystoriessolittletime

@inpraizeof

@myownwutheringheights

@bugwritesstuff

@morganflo

[imaginationxlost]

Last Line Tag

tagged by @blind-the-winds

I’ve been stalling on finishing Storms’ third draft by editing Foggy Press Radio to a second draft, so here's that.

Liz knocks three times on the table next to her microphone as the broadcast starts, “Good evening Fogridge, California. This is Liz Mason for Foggy Press Radio.  It’s September 14th, 2018, 8:33 PM and G’mar chatima tova to any Jewish listeners for the upcoming Yom Kippur next week. May you all have meaningful fasts. It’s 52 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and would be pleasant if not for the rain spitting on and off. 

“Why the knocking?” Haley asks, and Liz shushes her.

“I’ll get to it! But first, we’re to start off with the local news segment! And it’s on you this week, Hay. What’s our Blindthicket news?”

“Oh no,” Noah mutters, “don’t just turn it over to Haley. That’s just going to be a disaster.”

“Shut your mouth, Noah!” Haley says while laughing, “I’m a great presenter!”

“If the only quality of a great presenter is being engaging, sure, I’ll give you that.”

Tagging people makes me anxious, and I already made myself do it once today. Do it if you want, and say I tagged you.

[everlarkficexchange]

the song of my heart (plays in you)

Written by: @thelettersfromnoone

Prompt 108: Everlark fall for one another over a blood transfusion. It happens not once, but twice. His blood runs through her veins, and now hers runs through his. What are the odds they would save each other’s lives? [submitted by @mandelion82]

Rated: Teen and up; mentions of: car wrecks, physical and mental trauma, amputation.

Tags: One-shot, Soulmates, Time Jump(s), Blood-Oaths.

Word count: 2342.

Notes: Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own. Thanks to @javistg and @xerxia31 for being amazing hosts for this exchange ❤️

“The blood [of the covenant] is thicker than [the] water [of the womb].”

“Mama, tell the story again?” Grey eyes peek up shyly through dark eyelashes, fingers curling the folds of her mother’s nightgown. “ ‘bout the dream-people?”

“It’s late, darlin’,” Mama murmurs with a soft smile. She presses a kiss to her daughter’s brow. “Papa will tell the long version tomorrow, hm?”

The girl’s lower lip pops out in a pout- papa is the better storyteller, but she wants to hear the story tonight. She snuggles against her mama’s belly, whispering a ‘night-night’ to the baby they say is growing in there.

“There once was a boy who was called to war, to fight for a king in a land far from home. Though he survived many times in battle, one day, an enemy struck him, and he was hurt, something terrible. At death’s door, his friends brought him to a healer’s house, who saved his life. As he recovered, he grew to love the healer’s daughter, and she grew to love him. In time, when he was recovered, his king came calling on him again. Before he left, the boy and the healer’s daughter made a blood-oath. They drew their own blood, and held their wounds against one another. They vowed that, from that moment until they met again, the song of their blood would call out for one another, no matter how far.”

Her little hand reaches over to mama’s, pressing their palms flush. “Like this?”

“Mhm,” Mama interlaces their fingers, kissing her daughter’s knuckles. “Just like this. Every night, while he was away, all they needed to do was close their eyes, and they could feel one another’s feelings, and see through one another’s eyes.”

“Till forever?” The little girl’s eyes are growing heavy, a yawn coming in spite of her best efforts. “Mama, it’s til’ forever, right?”

Mama doesn’t answer straight away. When she does, it’s soft as a butterfly’s flight; “Till forever, until they found each other again.”

The little girl’s breathing evens out, eyes slipping shut. 

(She’s always wanting a happy ending.)

She’s twelve and using the computer unsupervised the first time she looks it up on a whim. She is meant to be researching poetry, but that quickly becomes dull. 

Instead, the rabbit hole of the web sucks her in.

According to the internet page that comes up, a Blood-Oath Soulmate is defined as a myth, steeped in legend: a couple who, when faced with separation, make a blood-oath that allows them to see, hear, and feel one another across the thousands of miles. 

The origin, exactly, is unclear. It’s a myth with several cultural variants- in her own region, Twelve, and in the northern regions of Åtta, Tio, and Tretton, the war is won, and the boy returns to the healer’s daughter. By contrast, in the southwest, they say the boy earned a glorious warrior’s death, and the girl grieves but honors his memory. In almost all the other regions, the myth is drawn out, many side-adventures and evils hinder the boy’s path home, and by the time the boy finds his way back to his love, amidst a continent of misery, they both are old and grey. It’s not clear where the myth started, some say it’s a retelling of an old Sumerian tale; others, that it comes from Viking oral lore. Some, still, argue that they all are true, that the same fate spreads itself throughout time, throughout the world, in different ways. 

All modern experts, essentially, concur on the matter of the story’s implausibility. The human body replenishes its blood count within weeks, one discussion board points out.

It was just a myth to make humans feel their love could be impermeable, or withstand the tests of distance and challenges, claims another. Or, one user with a profane avatar states, the modern meaning is just guess-work and the cultural context and any kernels of truth will forever be lost.

And everyone knows there’s no such thing as a soulmate.

Kat feels her stomach clench as she quickly exits the browser, lonely in the wake of her father’s death, and her mother’s subsequent depressive episode, and still clinging to her mother’s hushed telling of a love that is palpable down to the bone.

(She can’t decide if knowing it’s ‘just a story’ hurts or helps more. The veneer of childhood is always treasured for a reason.)

She is seventeen when it happens. 

A flash of a medical room. Harsh fluorescent lights. Thick, strong hands trying to block the light out. Starched sheets, scratching skin. A pinch of a needle and stifled shout- 

She wakes covered in sweat. 

Something is wrong, niggles at the back of her mind. Her pounding heart beats out wrong, wrong, wrong. She pushes it away, presses the thought down. She manages to lull herself back to sleep, a deep, imageless thing, but the wrongness sticks with her. 

The next night is nearly identical, except the stranger’s hands are tearing off the bedsheets. A stump of a knee rests where a leg should extend. A panicking voice, a nurse, shouts for help as the struggling and screaming begins-

“Where’s my fucking leg?!”

Kat wakes with a jolt, strangled gasps as she pushes her own blankets off, hands grasping at her limbs, the phantom terror and horror bringing bile up her throat. 

What was that?

A dreamless sleep doesn’t find her again, her eyes bruising with nights of nightmares and days of exhaustion. The hospital, the scratchy sheets, the nurses and medications and injections. 

One week, then another.

She’s in Civics class when it occurs to her. 

The blood drive, at the beginning of May. She’d turned seventeen, and finally weighed enough to donate blood.

Could it be…?

She sleeps in, one Saturday morning, when they are fitting a prosthetic on her stranger; crutches and halting steps as those beefy hands grip support bars.

“Just a step further,” a voice encourages. 

Shame and frustration, and a deep, croaking voice lashes out of the throat-

“I can’t!”

You can, you can, you can, she tries to will the stranger her confidence.

The figure stills, and for a moment, she thinks they can hear her. 

“I’m done,” they say, and in spite of the disappointment on the nurse’s face, a man in a white lab coat agrees, and helps them back into a wheelchair.

Kat feels the sinking failure, the desperate yearning to help this person, this stranger. There are only nurses and doctors, in her dreams. She knows what it means to be lonely, even when there are people around; what it means when you wake up in emotional pain, but have no one to share it with.

She wants to tell her stranger it will all be all right, but the weeks pass and she can only confide her secret to herself. They wouldn’t believe her, even if she could say it in person.

Where is your family? she tries to ask.

They never seem to hear her.

(Waking becomes harder, but she can’t confide in anyone that she wakes wishing she could live in her dreams without them thinking she’s gone mad.)

They are kneading dough, seated at a wood table in a cluttered kitchen. The prosthetic is fitting to the leg, tender today but not sore, exactly. She can smell the flour and feel the silky-smooth texture between her fingers. Smoothe jazz music is playing, from a radio over on the counter. She feels a hand squeezing her stranger’s shoulder.

“Looks good, Pete.” It’s a gruff voice, but not unkind.

“Needs to rise,” her stranger- ‘Pete’!- retorts. They don’t look up, but she can feel a flush on her ‘Pete’s’ cheeks.

“We got some coursework from the school, then.”

(She doesn’t realize this is the last she will dream of her stranger.)

The dreams evaporate, after eight weeks, as abruptly as they had begun.

In the aftermath of her first dreamless night in over a month, she wakes to the dawn breaking with no images from her stranger. 

‘Pete’. 

She tries to will herself back to sleep, compel visions back from the brink. It’s the first night she thinks to try and remember the names of the doctors and nurses, or the location of the hospital. The nametags are foggy in her memories, a nurse Jackie or Jenny and a last name they had abbreviated to, ‘A.’ 

The internet doesn’t help her any more than her own mind can. ‘An amputee named ‘Pete’ who likes to knead dough and is doing high school coursework at home’ doesn’t do much in a White Pages search. 

She writes it all down, then, each snippet and sound she can recall. She keeps the journal under her mattress, knowing her mother won’t bother, and her baby sister wouldn’t dare to look. 

Like a madwoman, she rereads her own accounts, adds notes to it every morning, hoping the dreams will start again. But every morning, the dreams seem more as if they were fantasies, and her journal reads like fiction.

A year passes. 

Her dreams now are either blank, or memories of ‘Pete’.

She could blame it on her family friend, and his stupid insistance that she attend Prom; or maybe the girlfriends she eats lunch with, who guilt her by saying that everyone needs a life outside of school, and after-school jobs.

Kat had only driven into town because she needed a damn dress. Two weeks later, and she would have been exhausted from Prom as she crossed the school stage, collecting her high school diploma.

Nothing pans out the way she imagines it will, though.

She’s alone in the car when a truck in the oncoming lane overturns at a curve in the road.

Pain bursts on her head. Flames against her skin. Crushed metal, and broken glass. In the distant fog of wailing sirens, she can hear first responders attempting to call out to her. 

The only thing she remembers seeing clearly, between the accident and the hospital, is smoke rising into a blue, cloudless sky, through a shattered windshield.

“You lost a lot of blood, Kat,” the doctor says, tone not unsympathetic. “We had to do a transfusion.”

“Oh.”

She blinks, a haze of morphling in her preventing her from fully comprehending. Some broken bones. A neck brace. Burns on her face and arms, but not as bad as they first had thought- she won’t need skin grafts.

All small mercies.

Her sister and mama are there, balloons and flowers and hugs a-plenty. Get-well-soon cards from several classmates and family friends.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” her mama murmurs, as the doctor leaves.

“Okay.”

Mama runs her fingers through Kat’s knotted hair, while her sister clings and tells her how much she loves her.

She’s not numb, not beneath the morphling. But she’s so damn tired and her skin itches under the bandages. 

(She can’t comfort her family while they try their hand at comforting her.)

She is washing her hands in the hospital room sink, when she feels a jolt, a compulsion; a chill down her spine and gooseflesh down her arms. She looks in the mirror, and feels in awe, feels a foreign elation. A burst of affection, a warmth. 

She can’t reckon with it, can’t justify it. 

It’s just… her own face. Sloppily braided dark hair. Healing stitches on her cheek, and forehead. Silver eyes, surrounded by a bruise, set in a narrow face. She gulps, leaning in closer, and trying to grasp the sensation. Out-of-body, might be the right term- dissociative, she’d read about once, for Health and Wellness. 

There’s a knock on her door, the nurse doing a check, and as Kat turns, the warmth dissipates.

The nurse comes in not long after, checks her vitals and asks a series of questions.

“My name is Katniss Everdeen.”

That warmth in her chest is back, the hair at the base of her neck stands straight.

She scrubs her hands over her face, focusing on the simple questions the nurse is asking.

“I’m eighteen years old. I’m graduating from PPH12 in Sommen in one week. I’m at Merchant Memorial Hospital.”

In the bathroom that night, she stares at her own reflection, and wonders if maybe that feeling of someone looking over her shoulder- more like looking through her eyes- if maybe….

She fogs up the mirror, and writes her room number. She stares at it, for a time, before scoffing at own ridiculousness, and wiping it away with her towel.

She only has one day left before being discharged, though she’ll miss graduation and the parties that would entail. She can’t say she is particularly disappointed; she’s never been a party person.

She’s awake when the door to her shared hospital room opens. She pays it little mind. The curtain around her bed is pulled taught, her roommate jabbering away on their phone about the food service as if this were fine dining, rather than a hospital. Kat is reading a get well card, this one signed by the whole senior class and class advisors.

There’s a thrumming in her veins, but that might be them weaning her off of the morphling.

Curtain rings scrape against metal, and she barely glances up, the nurse rounds due any minute now. Normally, though, the bubbly nurse who does the day-shift is already bustling with an overwhelming enthusiasm that makes Kat question how exhausted the nurse is at the end of the day.

Maybe it’s a different nurse or a doctor or mama, or- 

The blue eyes that are boring into hers are ones she has only seen in her dreams; she can finally see blonde curls framing them, familiar thick, strong hands brushing through the curls. 

“Pete?” she croaks, certain she’s finally lost her damn mind.

His eyes widen at the sound of his name, lips parting. 

“I found you.” 

A tone of surprise, as if he’d driven all this way, but in expectation of disappointment.

“Peeta,” he introduces himself, edging closer. His hand carefully takes hold of her own. “And… I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Katniss.”

(Her name has never been spoken as sweetly, and her heart has never felt so full.)

[designatedbreadbox]

The Disappearance at St. Toivo; Part I, Pt. II

Diavolo x GN!MC

What would you do if you unknowingly stumbled upon a strange mystery? Would you chase it down, or walk away? Would your answer change if you found a diary that predicts the future? One diary, one mystery; in what way are they connected? If you found out the truth, would you regret it?

*Story takes place in Bialystok, Poland!

A/N: I will use black borders as a page break because I had trouble putting pagebreaks that'll suit the story. Apologies for that and for any grammar mistakes!

Wordcount: 4.1k

....In order to tell the story right, I would have to start from the beginning; your beginning. Now then, let's begin, shall we?

Sleepy tears started crawling through your eyes before you hurriedly rubbed them away. You loved your job, in all honesty; the thrill of looking inside old buildings, learning the history behind them and then remodeling them was what made you pursue your career. However, this was one of the few times you seriously considered and almost acted upon throwing your dress shoes at your boss.

The morning was too cold for your liking; meanwhile, you can hear the cheeriness in his voice how the morning was 'perfect'. Why couldn't this wait? Only 9:31 A.M. in the morning and already you felt tired.

First, you barely showed up to the office and made your way to your desk when your boss's assistant, Barbatos, handed you a file. Then, you were immediately asked to inspect the building and you didn't eat anything. Now here you are, standing infront of a decayed, chipped, hollowed-out creepy orphanage. While hungry, mind you.

Just. Perfect.

You read the file after rubbing your eyes again, trying to clear away the fogginess.

"St. Toivo's Orphanage was used to house the orphans of deceased parents, parents who couldn't afford kids, and single parental figures who gave the child up for whatever reason. During its 'Golden Age', it was largely empty due to the fact that most kids had loving homes. However, the orphanage would reach maximum or go over maximum capacity during its 'Blackened Years'. The 'Blackened Years' mainly refers to both world wars, with high emphasis on WWII.

Just seven weeks after WWII ended, the orphanage shut down completely. No one took notice until its founder, Toivo, went 'radio silent'. Upon discovery, local authorities found that neither the children or caretakers were there. Their disappearance is unexplained to this day.

Whatever you find in there, MC, you can keep. It's could be a trove of unfound treasure; who knows what's inside! I doubt you'll find anything, though. A large majority of the occupants were children, after all. Send me pictures of stuff you find that're cool or fascinating!"

- Diavolo

Pardon? Your boss just sends you off into a decaying building without anyone to assist you, with that information?! Even in the morning, the building looked scary and it seemed to rival the towering trees. The windows were cracked; broken in some places. The outside paint was chipped, fractured, complete with spots of mold. The orphanage had a total of three stories; remodeling isn't going to be easy here.

Everything metal looked rusted and the stone statue of a praying angel looked....wrong, somehow. As if it was out of place here despite it being so beautiful. The angel's head was tilted up to the sky; her delicately-cut curls were gently pressed against her head. Thin lips curled slightly into a gentle smile; her face depicted happiness and hope. Her hands were flat against each other and the angel even had soft, finely crafted eyelashes. Her wings were spread out slightly, rather than them being tucked behind her back. Upon closer inspection, you noticed the details in the individual feathers. The folds of her dress gave hints at how her legs were positioned and how the dress flowed lovely over her shoulders, down her back and over her chest. Even though you were getting disturbing and eerie vibes from her, she was clearly made and handled with love.

Slowly walking up the steps towards the entrance, you kept a side glance at the angel; for whatever reason, you didn't trust it. It didn't help that the statue towered over you by a good foot or two. You reached for the handle and jiggled it when you heard a large crack. Panicking, you thought you broke it; relief filled your senses as the door opened with loud groaning.

A second look at the angel and you could've sworn it was shifted a bit in your direction. Quickly stepping into the house, the door swung behind you, propelling you forward. You tried catching yourself, but you tripped over something and tumbled to the floor. The clipboard with the file flew a few feet away from you, hitting something wooden with a thunk.

Brushing yourself off as you got up, you saw you tripped over what looked like an alphabet block. Bending over to pick it up, it was small in your hand, but it's the perfect size for a child.

The borderlines were dandelion yellow due to the amount of time and weather it endured. It had small nicks and scratches, clearly fulfilling its sole purpose to be played with. The side you were looking at had a bee; the bee's face was eroded, almost making it unrecognizable. Other sides had a sun, a canary, a daffodil, and the sketch of an egg. Turning to the final side, carved and painted neatly was the number 7. Just below the seven was a small, horribly written name. After a few minutes of trying to figure what it said, you deciphered it to read "Amelia Piotrowska".

"'Amelia Piotrowska'." You repeated. "What happened to you?"

You snapped a picture of the block 7-side up and sent it to Diavolo. He must've been waiting for you because he rapidly texted back.

You: [Picture of the block]

You: I tripped on this on my way in. Looks creepy.

You: There's also a giant praying angel statue in the front. Something's wrong about it.

Cute block! What did the statue look like? :Diavolo

Oh, by the way! :Diavolo

You're only scoping out the inside of the building. I forgot to mention that. :Diavolo

You: Towers over me by 1 - 2 ft. It just....looks wrong.

You: And wait, the actual part of my job is later on?

You: I'm here just to take a 'first look'?

Yep! Thought you could have some fun. :Diavolo

So have fun!~ • . ☆ :Diavolo

The green icon indicating he was online went gray. This is just ridiculous at this point. You huffed and put your phone in your pocket; no point in complaining now. The morning light was streaming through the windows, so it wasn't that terrible to see in. Near you was a receptionist desk of some kind; top shelf had a small flower vase and a box of crayons. You picked up the clipboard and set the block on the desk. The main portion of the desk showed a dried bottle of ink, random papers littered everywhere, and a few fountain pens.

A quaint, simplistic clock sat ontop as well. If Mammon was here, he would already be thinking of a way to make a profit from it. The chair looked surprisngly plush even with the lusterless colors. The orphanage clearly had money to go around and it really showed; a radio was even pressed against the wall to your right. Whether it functioned or not was up to discovery. Looking around, you observed that the wallpaper was peeling, curling in on itself, showing the bare walls. Drawings and doodles of every kind were scattered here and there; the floor and walls acting as the canvases.

Not wanting to be slowed down somehow by the clipboard, you placed it on the desk.

Now then, lets see what this creepy place has to offer, You mused.

A door led to a nicely-sized hallway that had staircases on either sides leading to the floors above. A few doors were spaced evenly and in front of you was a set of double doors. Debating whether or not you should investigate the ground floor first, you made up your mind as you walked to a staircase. The ground floor can be saved for last when you leave.

The smooth wooden railing felt cold, expectedly. Every step creaked under your weight, some louder than others and once you swore it would've snapped. Though the receptionist area had seemed to be spared, the second floor had vines growing all over the walls. It wove itself through the small cracks in the floorboards, gently stretching into the ceiling above with no care at all. The air smelled clean, fresh even compared to the still, dust-filled air on the floor below.

Opening a random door on your right showed a child's room with two beds on either side. Toys and drawings were scattered all over the place. Disturbed bugs crawled quickly away into tiny crevices. Sunlight poured into the room; the beds weren't made and a red coat rested on a bedpost. You chose to inspect it out of wonder; the number 44 was marked on the tag. You frowned. Either the kid who slept here stole the jacket or was borrowing it, because this was room 8; nowhere even close to 44.

The fabric felt thin in some places, particularly at the elbows and collar. You put it back down before exiting the room. You barely closed the door when you heard the sound of something being scraped against the floor. Pausing to hear if it'll happen again, you convinced yourself it was due to a mere imagination. An auditory illusion you made up yourself after reading what happened here.

Curiosity got the best of you and you hastily sped-walked down the hallway, counting the number of doors. The last door you counted on this floor was room 30; meaning a total of 60 rooms for children, excluding the caretakers.

You were all for exploration in creepy places because lets be honest, your sense of self-preservation sucked like no other. But you were absolutely not going to take the time to go through 60 rooms in the name of adventure. Even cherry-picking your way would take some time. You chose to go up another floor rather than look again on this one.

Second floor was identical to the first. An exact mirror image, really. The second random door you chose was door 57. The room had a bunkbed with a singular bed on either side to prevent blocking the window; with to the wardrobe closet, the room felt really small and cramped. Then again, the file said something that the orphanage would go over maximum capacity to accomodate for everyone.

You ventured down the hallway, barely peeking into random rooms you chose. You tried opening one, but it wouldn't budge. After ramming your hip against the door, you opened it to reveal that most of the room was blocked by a tree that grew in through the window. There wasn't any possible way you could get through even three more steps into the room. Frustrated at you lack of finding anything that might've made the trip to the orphanage worth it, you didn't bother closing the door. You stormed down the hall into a random room and threw yourself onto a bed. Would you regret it later? Absolutely. Did you care right now? No.

You stared off into space, thinking of what to have for breakfast or lunch; maybe dinner if you thought hard enough. You diving deep into your thoughts when you realize an abnormal split in the ceiling. Slowly sitting up, you saw that it was indeed what you believed it to be: a secret compartment built into the roof. Luckily, your height plus the bed's height was perfect enough to reach the compartment. Maneuvering the board gingerly, an object fell onto the bed. You tossed the board to a corner in the room and held the fallen object.

It was a black diary, torn and worn down from so many years of neglect. It was dusty and dirty; the bedsheets were able to clean it to a respectable level. You sat down on the bed again, this time opening the pages. The first page was written in beautiful caligraphy. It read, "Property of Amelia Piotrowska, room 44: Please don't read this! I beg of you!"

You contemplated for a few seconds...

Maybe it would be best to respect the wishes of Amelia. Dead or alive, going through someone's stuff is irresponsible and rude.

....is what Satan would've said if he was here. But he isn't, so nothing but morals was holding you back from reading it at this point. You took another photo and sent it to Diavolo; after all, you unknowingly made a promise to send him images of the things you found interesting.

You: [Picture of diary]

You: Look at this. Belong to someone named "Amelia Piotrowska".

You: Maybe I'll find who her crush was, lols.

You turned a page and were dissapointed to find that it had some water damage on most of the pages. Ink was smeared so badly in places you didn't bother trying to decipher the words. Now that you were more awake, you energetically started reading what was available on the page.

"......ame is Amelia Piotrows....I'm 10....I am back here...agai...I hope I can....hem all. Last time I tried, I didn't know what I was doing. I'm smarter this time, thoug.... Quinn wa....first to dissa..ear, then Joanna. I nee....be the social outcast for this to work....lost my power to see th...I need to writ....own as much as I rem..ber! That's the only way.........nd fix this mess! I may be small, but I am mighty! I have hope I can win. No, I will win; I, ......will triumph!"

......What...?

So....everyone didn't dissapear at once? You assumed the adults killed the kids, buried them, then fled the country. But from context, before that happened, two kids went missing. In addition, this couldn't have been her first time staying at the orphanage. Rereading the page didn't magically make sense to you. The way she wrote it down made it seem more than just a childish fantasy of hers.

You tried to reason with logic. What was suppose to be a small sneak-peek into an orphanage now opened doors of unanswered questions that needed answering.

Amelia, what were you planning?

Why did you need to be a social outcast?

What did you mean by "smarter this time"?

How did you know about their dissappearances?

Why are you trying to save them?

What did you need to remember that was so important that it seemed like your life depended on it?

You head swam and churned with questions like a tornado. Despite your better judgement, you flipped pages until your gut told you to stop. This page, however, was damaged so badly that barely any of it was readable.

"..a tall man..ith black hair..nd red eyes. He drinks poisoned coffe...nd complains. Someon...lse walks in with a black book. They sit down befo...the explosion erupts......"

Now what in the fuck is this? At first, you were curious, worried, and wondered what Amelia was talking about on the very first page. Now it just seems like a dream she decided to write down for fun.

You closed the diary, got off the bed, and exited the room. Shutting the door behind you, you started to make your way to the closest staircase when out of nowhere, you leg fell through the floorboard. Trying to keep calm, you slowly and gingerly hoisted yourself up and away from the hole. You peered through the hole only to see a flash of something move out of your line of sight. Panic was back now as you looked again through the hole, tying to see what moved and gave up to your limited vision.

You gave up taking your sweet time to leave and grabbed the diary as you practically flew down the steps. Snatching the clipboard on your way out, you didn't take the time to acknowledge the scraped against the sides of the doorframe. The ground floor rooms can wait for another time because right now your only thought was getting the hell out.

Nervously walking back to your car, you took a final look back at the orphanage. You knew you were going to come back here eventually; that was inevitable. But from your view, the inside looked dark whereas when you were inside, everything was pleasantly lit. You passed slowly by the angel statue, getting another look at her heavenly, disrequieting features. Her facial expression seemed to shine brighter than before and her hands remained being cupped together. Were they always like that? Who knows. Like you would remember a small detail after your leg fell through the floor.

You walked faster to your car and and opened the door. Tossing the diary and clipboard onto the passenger seat, you put the key in the ignition and turned on the car. Your eyes didn't leave those of the angel's as you backed away from the building and made your way to the brother's home.

You pulled up into their driveway and as expected from them, it was decked to the nines with glamorous flowers and stunning lampposts. Asmo must've been picking flowers for a new bouquet because he was out in the front, on his knees holding a pair of garden scissors. He saw you step out of the car with the diary and ran up to you, dropping the scissors to the ground.

"MC, sweetie! Hey~! How are you? How's my little superstar? ❤"

Your heart and face grew a little warm and fuzzy from the nicknames. "Good to see you too Azzy. How's everyone? I, however, am hungry."

He started guiding you to the front door.

"Oh~? 'Azzy', hm? Sounds cute! And you know how they are. Mammon being broke as always and Lucifer being a complete stick in the mud! And you poor dear. Don't worry, I'll cook up something for you! Besides, what's that?"

"It's a diary I found during a house inspection; and thanks, Asmo. I can go for anything right now."

He giggled. "Comin' right up, Captain! ❤ "

He opened the door and let you in first, then followed behind while closing the door. Satan was in the living room on the couch watching what looked like a murder-mystery series. Lucifer, Levi, Mammon, and the twins were no where to be seen; so far, anyway. You gave Satan a headpat while you plopped yourself right next to him. Asmo strolled to the kitchen and the diary took its place on your lap.

"Hm?" Satan finally noticed. "Ah, MC, you're here. Are you okay? You look tired. And what's that damaged thing?"

You waved the diary around infront of you. "This here is a diary I found while inspecting the local orphanage."

"St. Toivo's, right? Was that your new assigned building? Have you opened it yet?"

"Yea, but only 2 pages. 3 stories total, 60 rooms altogether to house atleast 120 children and from the looks of it, some rooms had a 3rd bunkmate. I didn't bother checking to see if any shared a 4th."

You intentionally left out the part where your leg fell through the 2nd story floorboards and the hauntingly gorgeous angel to avoid panic. You loved them all to death, but sometimes they can be...a little too much in terms of your personal safety.

"Oh. I can't imagine the amount of money and adults were needed to care for all of their needs." A sharp inhale. "And that's still excluding if there were any babies."

"Ugh, agreed. As I said, I didn't bother checking. So, how-"

You were cut off as heavy footsteps came from the stairs. Craning your neck to get a better view, you saw that it was Lucifer and as per usual, he wasn't happy. He was holding a mug a little too tightly while glaring at Satan. Lucifer's voice had a calm, deadly tone to it that chilled your spine.

"Satan. Why did you poison my coffee, with salt?"

The most shit-eating grin appeared on Satan's face.

"Poison? My bad, dear brother, I must've mistaken the salt for the sugar."

"...We both know you're lying. And hello there, MC. I'm not going to bother asking what that thing is."

He turned away walking to the kitchen when a loud pop erupted from the kitchen. Asmo ran out with uncooked dough on his face and apron. Satan raised his head to get a better look and you did the same. You couldn't see Lucifer's face, but you tell it was full of dissapointment.

"Ah! I'm sorry MC! I was making this cute, fluffy pancakes I saw on Devilgram but it like, exploded on me! Then again, that was kinda obvious, judging how it got on my face." Asmo whined.

It....exploded..?

'Asmo, when you said it exploded', You sat up straighter, 'did you mean, like it popped? Like an explosion?'

"Hm? Yea, I guess you can say that. Point is, a majority of it is around in the kitchen and I need to clean it up. Why?"

"Call me crazy, but, this corresponds to an entry in the diary I found at the orphanage."

Lucifer looked between all of you. "Excluding the fact that you kept the diary, what entry? Perhaps it's a coincidence."

"Maybe." You flipped the pages to find the right one. "We'll see."

After finding the correct entry, you recited it word for word, filling in the blanks when needed. When you were done, you looked back up to everyone. They were all in shock, surprise, and a bit of horror. As a "coincidence" as it may be, no one could deny that the person described in the diary was, indeed, Lucifer. They, including, you made the connections that the "explosion" was Asmo cooking and you were the to person walk in with the 'black book'. Denying what had happened and what was written was easy to do, but difficult to ignore. An awkward, baffled silence filled the air; no one knew what to do or say besides exchanging looks with each other.

Satan broke the silence. "...What uh...what else is there? Like, could..you read another entry?"

"Sure, uhm.....'The automated projector shuts off and everything goes dark. Minutes pass before the door opens to reveal a man in a brown jacket.' That's all that's written in messy letters." You said hesitantly.

"We don't have an automated projector. If we did, it would be in my room."

Asmo chimed in now. "Yea. Satan craves knowledge, so if it's an antique of any kind, he's getting his hands on it."

"And adding onto Asmo's point, if we did have one, I would've bragged about it at some point."

He's right; he absolutely would've said something and especially when Lucifer was around. Satan's notoriety for antique items as well as books is what probably kept every antique store in town alive. As if on impeccable cue, the lights went out and Asmo screamed at the sudden change in lighting. Lucifer made a noise in surprise while Satan got up to try turning on a lamp. You remained on the couch, waiting for the lights to turn back on.

"The lights are a no-go. Maybe it was a power outage." Mused the 4th born.

Lucifer spoke like he was annoyed. "Perhaps. I can go check the breaker box and hope it works eno-"

The front door bursted open to show Mammon holding a huge bag with a grin on his face. Though his eyes were mostly hidden behind his glasses, you can tell he obviously had gleams of mischievous light in them. His grim faded once he took awareness of the situation and how pale everyone's face was.

"Why's everyone lookin' at me funny? And why's the lights off?"

"..MC, did the diary just...?" Lucifer spoke slowly.

"Predict the future? I think it just did."

"Huh? What diary? What's this 'predictin' the future' talk anyway?"

Asmo and Satan hastily took turns filling him in on what he missed so far. Mammon's face showed a variety of emotions, ranging from disbelief to shock and then finally to terror. Lucifer took a seat in an armchair with his hand to his temple. Mammon had a hard time believing a word he was told; but one look at Lucifer, the eldest and most responsible person he knew was all it took to believe this outlandish story. You phone vibrated, signaling you recieved a message; it was from Diavolo.

Cool diary, MC. Anything special written in it? It looks wrecked. :Diavolo

And I feel bad for Amelia; we'll never know what truly happened to her. :Diavolo

Or to rest of the kids and caretakers. :Diavolo

"Uh, guys?" Anxiety laced your words. "My boss is asking what was written in the diary. What do I say?"

Lucifer snapped his head up. "Lie. We know that the diary is telling the truth in its entries. It's highly unlikely, basically impossible that Diavolo would believe any of us."

"But I never lied to him before! What if I get fired?"

"Well, if you tell the absolute truth, he might think you're crazy, unfit for a job, and then fire you. Lying is your only option here."

"Wow. I didn't know you could be so dishonest, Mr. Kiss-Ass." Laughed the mischievous blond.

"Satan, focus! This is important!" Asmo snapped.

"What? It's technically true. We both know it."

"Enough chattin', both of ya! MC, hurry up and send the texts already. Not good to keep him waitin'."

"Oh, uh, alright then... here goes nothin'..."

Within less than 3 minutes, you regrettingly lied to your boss about the diary's contents.

You: Mainly cheesy 10 year old drama. Some pages have water damage, though. Hard to read.

You: Here I am, in 2021, reading about 76-year-old child drama. Kinda funny.

You sighed, exited the chat, and put the phone face down, waiting for his reply. One way, or another, you knew you were going to regret lying to him. That was an unavoidable consequence that you had set up for. You could only hope that the potential damage wasn't too big for you to handle. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place: potnetially lose your job because you told the truth, or lie to have him convinced you weren't going crazy all of a sudden. The only thing you could do right now, was wait.

[elephantsneedwater]

I finally wrote something about my V and River. I hadn’t really planned it just allowed it to flow. I think it’s a great set up for a deeper story. Please, let me know what you think. I would love to hear any and all feedback!!

ACT 1

———————————————————————-

I clenched the steering wheel and swallowed hard. I hadn’t been back in almost two years, had to take time for myself- especially now that my time was up and passed, and I was still alive. The morning sun reflected off my cyberware decorating my fingers. It’s been months since I’ve had to use my mantis blades, and in a way I liked that. If I held the wheel any tighter I might just break it.

I couldn’t explain it, Hellman had conveyed a very painful and depressing last six months but after my body had effectively shut down and I expected myself to never wake up, my eyes opened the next morning. The recovery didn’t last as nearly as long as the sickness, but I stayed to myself- with the help of Panam, of course.

She allowed me to stay with her and the clan while I recovered, knowing I was never going to actually stay. I had already walked away from the Nomad life once, I wasn’t going to go back to it. Not when I had so much to live for in Night City.

With a flick of a finger I rolled down the window and allowed the dessert heat to flit through my ginger hair. Long wisps of hair flew around in the wind. Tucking a piece behind my ear, turning down another dirt road, I wondered if he would like how long my hair was now.

The train tracks alerted me to how close I was to my destination and I slowed my car down turning into the lightly populated area. The same woman who sold overpriced clothing stood in the beaming sun by her rack while the rest of the small town, if it could even be called that, meandered about.

My heart was pounding and I chugged at the water bottle I left on the seat next to me. Mouth suddenly dry. I came to a stop a bit away, knowing my car wouldn’t be recognized. Shutting the engine off I surveyed the trailer. Toys of all sorts, splayed across the sandy ground. His grill was nowhere in sight and I wondered why, Summer was just starting.

Leaning my forehead against the wheel I bit my bottom lip. This was a bad idea. You stopped speaking to him. Cut him out. He kept calling and then eventually you stopped hearing the ringtone you picked out for him. Why come back now? What if he’s moved on? What if he doesn’t care?

But that was a chance I had to make. I didn’t realize how much I needed him until I had stopped thinking about him. It had hit me like a ton of bricks, my heart felt heavy, head was foggy. I had thought I was getting sick again, that my time was finally up, I was so low I even wished I could speak to Johnny.

I wanted to talk to the one person who was the reason I was dying just so he could tell me what I already knew. I was lonely. Sitting back I glanced at the time on my dash.

9:34 AM.

He’s probably be back around lunch time. Always liked to cook for the kids. Rubbing my hands over my dark jeans I wiped the nervous sweat off. Flexed my feet in my worn sneakers and grabbed for my large sweater. It was his. He had given it to me one night while I was staying over. Said it was his dad’s. I didn’t want to take it- knowing the story behind his parents- but he insisted, said: “It was his favorite. You’re my favorite. It’s only right you should have it.”

His scent was light practically gone on the fabric, I closed my eyes and leaned back allowing the warm wind to list me to sleep. I could wait a few more hours.

——————

A loud unmistakable rumbling engine jolted me awake and I snapped my head to see his truck pulling up closer to his home. The door opened and I stared at him, my breath caught in my throat.

It was now or never, V.

Get out of the car.

My eyes were glued to his large retreating back, he had on a white button down and dark brown slacks. PI business must be booming, I thought. His favorite boots were still his go to, they kicked up loose sand as he walked to the front door.

The door creaked loudly as I pulled myself out of the car. I tied the sweater around my waist, adjusted the strap of my favorite shirt and walked quickly towards him.

“River.”

The moment I spoke he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, a dark brown eye widened in surprise at the sight of me and his lips parted, he was speechless.

“Nice calves.” I chuckled crossing my arms at him.

Mentally I knew that was a horrible way to say hello after so long, but it was honestly the first thing I could think of.

River just stared at me, fists clenched. His muscles strained against his shirt as if he was fighting himself to not approach me. I could see the hesitation and excitement in his face.

“Valerie?” His voice was soothing and deep, I wanted him to say my name again but as I opened my mouth the front door opened and a woman with black curly hair and an expensive dress came walking down the rickety steps, her heels unbothered by the tightly packed ground.

“River, Joss is ready.” She called to him and I noticed his shoulders tense.

Blinking for the first time since we met eyes he looked over his shoulder at the woman his voice oddly soft as he spoke.

“I’ll be right there, Lila.”

A deep dread filled my stomach and my body grew hot in a panic. Who was this? Was this why he was so dressed up?

My eyes flickered back and forth between the two and I watched Lila close the distance between them, her hand coming up to press against his back.

River’s gaze never left me and in them I could see his conflict.

“Oh, is this a new client? I thought you were staying away from the job for the next two days.” Lila’s electric blue eyes scanned over my body and I suddenly wished I dressed less casual.

I looked like a dud compared to her. A smirk appeared across my lips and I cocked my head.

“Not working? River would never,” I taunted keeping my eyes on her.

Her jaw clenched and her smile was forced, “Yes, well all his clients know he has his rehearsal dinner this week. I’m a bit surprised you’re even here.” She seethed, respectfully.

“Lila.” River said turning to her, “She’s not a client. An old friend. Tell Joss we’ll leave in ten.”

Lila nodded, glancing between the two of us before planting a kiss to his cheek before turning back to the house.

River and I stood in silence waiting for the door to click shut. It finally did, the sound lingering in the air it was deafening. He bit his lip and shifted uncomfortably as he stared at me. I knew I looked different and I knew I was the one who stopped speaking to him, but seeing her made me wish I had died and didn’t have to witness the man I loved in the arms of another. With a quickness I turned on my heel and briskly walked back to my car. My keys were biting into my palm and as I reached for my car door, felt the warm metal against my skin did he speak.

“Friday. Noon. Where we first met.”

I caught his eye and the small wistful smile across his lips before he turned around and children’s laughter filled the air as Dorian and Monique came rushing out to greet their Uncle. I ducked into the car, blasted my radio to drown out their voices and peeled away my foot heavy on the gas.

I needed a drink and I knew just the place that would serve me until I couldn’t lift my head anymore.

[lostximagination]

Idk what to caption this but... three gays. Three gays with a school sponsored radio show.

[alpineglowx]

I'll Do The Same {Din Djarin x OC} Chapter Eighteen: Signal

pairing: din djarin x female oc

warnings: none, but some sweet fluff!!

***

This was beginning to happen a lot.

Waking up suddenly in strange places, surrounded by new things.

But for once, it was calm.

Thell looked around first without moving her head, letting her eyes scan the room. She was in some circular hut made of wooden posts and composed of straw and branches. There was a single window above her head, letting in wisps of fresh air that soothed her soul.

Her mind was still foggy, the events of the past week muddling into one. When she was barely conscious, she could see kind brown eyes hovering over her, pouring water onto her lips. Sometimes, when she could barely see in the night, she heard tromping around in the hut and heard soft talking. But it wasn't English, and Thell didn't recognize any of the words.

It felt like that lasted that way for days, falling in and out of consciousness before waking up in pain all over again. Sometimes she felt soft caresses on her head, like Din used to do, before realizing that the gnarled hands were brown and wrinkled, and the woman tending to her was the one who found her, half dead in the woods. The pain would last for hours, trickling up and down her body like a virus. When it finally did go away, she was too exhausted to do anything but pass out.

It felt like she had lived a lifetime before she could finally wake up properly, and feel able enough to sit up. Thell only hurt when she rose, her bones cracking as she pushed herself to sit up. Her body felt heavy and as if she had been sleeping for years. A course blanket covered her legs on the straw mat she had been sleeping on, and tan bandages wrapped on her upper arm where she had been shot. There was one on her wrist, too, where the drug had been injected. Where her vambrace had been-

She shot up, throwing the blanket off and stumbling off the bed, crashing to the wooden floor immediately. She grunted, hissing in pain while trying to stand up sideways.

The doorway, covered by a small blanket, waved open, and in walked a woman just a few years older than her, black hair streaming to her waist and soft brown eyes. Thell looked up at her from the floor, hair hanging in front of her eyes.

"... where am I?" Thell croaked. She flinched subconsciously as the woman neared her, and she seemed to notice immediately, drawing away and opening her hands.

"I... I'm sorry, I feel so out of sorts," Thell mumbled, pressing a hand to her head. "Everything's so muddled right now... my vambraces, where are they?"

But when she looked back at the woman, she was only staring blankly at her. Thell groaned and pointed to her arm.

"My armor. Do you know where my armor is?" She asked, patting her forearms.

The woman put a finger up, saying something softly before rushing back out of the house. Thell sighed, leaning back on her hands.

There wasn't much in the small house beside the mat she had been sleeping on, and shelves lined with other baskets and herbs. Medicinal supplies, it looked like.

From her spot on the floor, she could see her tunic and outerwear crumpled in a heap on the top shelf. Whoever had dressed her wounds had left her in her undershirt, a simple black shirt without sleeves that hung loose across her hips. Her brown pants seemed unharmed, except for the small charred spot where the electrocution rod had stung her. The memory surged through her like it was happening all over again, and Thell squeezed her eyes shut, trying to slow her breath before she freaked out again.

Turning sideways, Thell clung to the mat as she pushed herself to her feet, lazily grabbing her belongings from the shelf. She had just found her vambraces, to her greatest relief, when the curtain moved out of the corner of her vision.

Thell stumbled back, falling into a corner filled to the brim with baskets. They poked at her skin, but the fear she felt was overwhelming. It was the same woman from earlier, and the older woman who had come to her in the woods. Her breathing lessened, just slightly, before she sank against the baskets. They approached slowly, offering their hands so Thell could heave herself up.

"Thank you," she whispered, knowing they wouldn't understand anyway. She brushed off her undershirt, swallowing hard as their eyes flickered over her's. She was still shaky from the surprise intrusion, which bothered her. Had she always been like this? What had that drug done to her?

They stared back at her with wandering, curious eyes, and Thell shrank back.

"Um... does anyone here speak English?" She asked, to which they stared back at her. "English? Anyone?"

They seemed to finally understand the one word, but the looks on their faces and the shakes of their heads that they gave told Thell enough. She sighed, resting one hand against the wall as she tried to think. She needed to figure out a way to communicate with them, to see if they had a signal that could reach the Mandalorian, or anyone else she knew for that matter.

"A droid!" She exclaimed, turning back towards them. "Do you have a droid?" She mimicked droid sounds, even trying to show with her hands what she meant. The younger woman took her hand, leading her out of the hut and into the sunshine outside.

It was bright, brighter than Thell remembered, and she heard laughter. Actual laughter. It felt like years, decades since she had heard that sound from anyone. There were kids running at her feet, playing with balls or chasing each other through the village. The village itself was large, with towering houses made from wood and stone, but no electricity that Thell could see. Everywhere she passed by, people were laughing, bantering with one another or eating food.

She couldn't believe her eyes; it seemed too good to be true after all she had been through... how long had she really been there, anyway?

Thell was still limping, but the immediate pain of her injuries seemed to have subsided, and the woman led her with her arm looped in her's. She wanted to cry at the gentle touches, compared to the anger and violence she had been shown at the base. She could see bruises along her arms and ankles where she had been thrown, a testament to what she had endured. She couldn't let her gaze linger long though, because it only made her relieve those memories.

And every loud sound, every children's cry that turned out to be playful, caused her to flinch. She would shrink back against the woman holding her arm, leading her through the village. Someone walked right past her shoulder and she had to hold in a shriek. Her heart was pounding and she had no idea why.

What in Kriff is wrong with me?

But the small gang of droids that the woman led her to were her saving grace. The woman said something in that language she didn't recognize, and they all seemed to congregate around her, whirring excitedly. Thell fell softly to her knees, exhaling deeply. They all seemed to be in good working condition, despite the mud that caked their legs and the faded paint jobs.

A red R3 unit scooted up close to her, whirring a string of beeps.

"Oh, gosh," Thell breathed. "You have no idea how happy I am to see someone like you."

She raised her hand to smooth it over the metal top of the droid. She had always liked droids, having grown up with several in Darand's household. It was the only other language she was fluent in.

"Please, um... thank these people for me, and for their hospitality. They saved my life."

The R3 unit swiveled his capped head to the group of people beginning to stand around her, whistling a series of beeps. Thell felt several people's eyes on her, heard the soft murmuring of the crowd. The young woman was still beside her, and patted her gently on the shoulder.

"I... I need to find a way to reach a Mandalorian," Thell spoke to the droid. "Or, or someone. Anyone I know. Uh... can you radio in to Nevarro? Or are we too far?"

The R3 unit hummed softly, an affirmation in their language that made Thell smile, actually smile.

"Okay... uh." Thell ran a hand through her hair. "Just radio in. I don't know. The main town should do.... Kriff, I hope this works."

The R3 unit beeped excitedly, and Thell could only watch in wonder as several of the villager's children ran off and returned with a single, large antenna and attaching it to the droid's head. The orb on his head blinked red, then yellow, then a bright blue as he whirred, rocking on his little feet. Thell's heart raced, hoping desperately that somehow she could reach Cara and Karga.

There was a crackling sound that emitted from the R3 unit, one that sounded like she was beginning to reach them. She heard small sounds of wonder emanate from the people, who had moved back a few feet to give her space.

Thell raised her hand to the droid, right over where the speaker sat.

"Please, please work," she begged under her breath.

A long silence ensued, and Thell had nearly given up until she heard a familiar female voice.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Thell pushed her hand against the droid, tears building in her eyes at the sound of her friend's voice. "Cara! Cara, it's me! It's Thell!"

"Thell?" Cara answered, her voice crackling and distant through the speaker. "What are you doing? How'd you call in?"

Thell exhaled, slumping forward. "It's a long story, Cara, but I need your help. I was with Mando," she explained, catching herself before she spoke Din's actual name. "And we got separated. I got sent to this Empire base with Grogu but we got split up... I need your help, please!"

"Kriff, slow down, kid, slow down. Are you alright?"

Thell paused, wondering that herself. "I... I'm okay. I'm safe right now. But I don't know where I am. I woke up by a river, and these people took me in and cared for me... But the kid's gone. I don't know where he is."

Cara was silent on the other end for a long time before she spoke again. "What's your plan?"

"I... I don't know how to contact Din, and I thought..." her voice broke. "I thought that if I called you it might work, and thank Kriff it did... I need you to reach him for me."

"I'll do you one better."

Thell blinked. "What? What do you mean?"

"I'll patch him through. Hold on just a sec, kid."

Thell's heart pumped, and she could feel her arms trembling against the droid. All had but gone silent around her, the easy song of birds the only thing that filled her ears.

That was until the static changed to a higher pitch, and then went flat. On the other end, through endless amounts of static, she could hear him.

"Thell?"

Hearing his voice sounded like home, and Thell swore that if she didn't truly love him before, she did now.

"Din?!" She nearly shouted into the speaker.

He sounded breathless."Kriff, it's good to hear your voice. I've been looking for you for two weeks," she heard him say on the other end. "Are you okay? Are you safe?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," she lied. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't okay. In actuality, she wondered if she was worse off then she thought.

And two weeks? She knew it had been long... but not that long. How long had she been in the Empire base, or even the village for that matter? How long since she had last seen Grogu?

"Where are you?" He asked.

"I, I don't know, some forest planet in a village," Thell stuttered. "No one speaks English here, I don't know the name. Theres droids here but I don't think the planet has a name."

"What do the people look like? Are there any significant landmarks around you?"

Thell's eyes darted around the landscape, to the people hovering around her.

"Uh.... nothing really, some ruins, mostly just forests and a river. They have dark skin, and purple tattoos on their faces. Kind of rural but their village is advanced."

"... I know where you are. I'm coming now. Is the kid okay?"

Thell's heart stopped, and she paused, bracing her hand against the droid as she sobbed. Several of the people around her made worried noises.

"Thell, what's wrong?" He sounded desperate. "Answer me."

"He... He's gone," she cried, digging her forehead into her hand. "I think he's still alive but we got separated. I tried, I tried so hard, Din."

He was silent for so long she thought they had lost the connection, but on the other end she heard labored breathing.

"Din?" She asked quietly.

"I'll be there in a few hours," he said, and the line went silent. The R3 unit whirred softly as Thell slumped, digging her face into her hands and sobbing. She felt the few people crowd around her, touching her shoulders gently before helping her back to her feet. The older woman from before had her arm looped around her's, patting gently and smiling with such great warmth towards her.

She sat with the woman, relaxing in the warm sunlight, not talking but getting to know her just the same. Thell let the sun warm her back, soothing her injuries for the time being. There was only so much the healer of the village could do while she waited. She waited and watched the children in the village and ate strange colored broth that made her sick to her stomach.

She only heard the familiar whirr of the Razor Crest entering the atmosphere as the sun was setting. The golden sun cast rays of pink and orange, reflecting off the metal of the ship. It circled in on the village, descending just beyond the treeline.

Legs trembling, Thell rose to her feet, hand braced against the old women's arm. She felt her tug on her, just softly to get her attention. Thell looked back at her, at the deep amber eyes that told so much. She raised a hand, pressing a finger to her lips and then onto Thell's forehead. She blinked, wanting to understand the gesture but knowing she couldn't ask even if she tried. Instead, she dipped her head, offering the woman a kind smile and squeezing her hand.

She led Thell out into the wide crowd of people whose direction was locked where the Razor Crest had landed. The old woman guided her through the throng, the villagers separating and looking at her in wonder while she limped closer. The woman brought her to an open spot in the crowd, where she could look out beyond the lines of houses and barriers of trees.

As soon as she saw him, even the small glint of Beskar in the forest, Thell dashed towards him with one last glance at the woman who had taken care of her. One hand clutching the bruise on her side, she stumbled past the villagers, gently pushing them out of the way.

"Kriff... Mando!" Thell called, remembering to use his fake name.

She shoved past the few remaining stragglers, pain screaming at her from her wounds and bruises, her eyes blurring. She ran harder, breath coming in painful pants as she limped to her Mandalorian. She had just come out into the clearing where she could see him clearly, sprinting towards her. Pain shot up her leg, and she tripped, hands smacking against dirt. Wincing, she heaved herself up, just as Din came running towards her.

The pressure of the Beskar hitting her own chest would leave a bruise, she was sure of it, but it didn't compare to the joy and safety she felt being reunited with him. Upon impact, he nearly threw her sideways, colliding with her so hard she had to dig her heels into the ground. Thell collapsed against him, her arms trembling from the effort it took to keep herself wrapped against him. Sobbing, she clawed at his shoulders, fingers squeezing his tunic as they both dropped to their knees. For moments, her shaking arms threatened to let go, but the hold around her back was secure, and he tugged her closer across his knees. He was even stronger than she remembered, cradling her head with one arm while the other hung across her back. She could feel the lip of his helmet dig into her hairline as she pushed her face into the tunic on his collarbone.

"I, I was so scared, Din-"

He sounded like he had been to hell and back. "It's okay."

She shook against him, feeling him squeeze her tighter. "I-I thought you had been killed, I thought something had gone wrong."

"Thell," Din said softly beside her. "It's okay. I have you."

She suddenly leaned back, letting her hands rest against the Beskar steel of his helmet. She had never wished so badly to see his face, to run her hands over his soft cheeks and see those eyes she had been dreaming of for months. She wanted to kiss him again, despite the guilt she felt for telling him she loved him.

He didn't deserve it, not at that point. She should have waited for the perfect moment, and it gnawed at her soul.

And the tears ran fast.

"I had the kid," Thell sobbed. "We were together in this place and we almost got out but I lost him. I went back to l-look for him and they grabbed me out of nowhere." She hung her head, letting her scalp rest against the Beskar chest plates.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye. I-I'm so sorry, Din. I-"

"Hold on, tell me on the ship."

He wasted no time in scooping her into his arms, holding her tight with one arm slung under her back. Even seeing the ship again calmed her soul, even though she knew Grogu wouldn't be on it. She would be looking for him everywhere on the ship: his seat, his own bed, the bundle of her blankets that lay on the floor. Her heart ached with sorrow as soon as she thought about him.

Her hand was clutching tight to Din's arm, so hard she thought she might break it. But he walked with her steadily, up the ramp and helping her into the sleeping pod.

"I'll be right back," he said before disappearing up into the cockpit.

Thell nestled her nose against the blankets in Din's bed, the ones that were thrown around haphazardly. How was Din, really? Had he fought sleep every night because he knew they weren't there with him? The thoughts wracked her brain, and she sobbed in agony against the blankets.

Din was by her side in moments, hoisting himself up into the bed beside her and gathering her in his arms. As soon as she felt him, Thell flinched, actually remembering that he was truly there and she wasn't just imagining it.

"Thell, stop," Din said softly.

She hadn't realized why he had said it until she raised her head, and realized she had been pushing him away from her, with more force than she had meant.

"I..." Thell started, shaking her head. "I'm sorry..."

She was still clutching his arm tight and suddenly released, causing him to look down at her.

"What happened to you? You're shaking like crazy... and Dank Farrik, you look as pale as a ghost, Thell."

Thell trembled, turning her face away. "I was s-so scared, Din."

"You're safe," he replied, holding her head. "I won't hurt you."

Thell's lip trembled. "But... they did! They did hurt me!"

Even in her state, she noticed the way he went rigid. He was staring down at her through the visor, one hand supporting her neck.

"Where?" He asked, but it didn't sound like the Din she knew. He sounded angry, even with just one word.

Thell inhaled shakily, swallowing as she peeled back the blanket.

"Here," she said softly, pointing to the injuries on her arms. She showed him the dried blood on her scalp where she had been knocked out by the butt of a blaster, and told him of the marks and remnants of the electrocution rod on her thigh. Along with that were a mixture of yellowed bruises along her arms and legs.

He seemed to space out, staying silent for a long time after she told him.

"I..." she started, gripping his hand. "I was trying to protect Grogu." She sobbed again, eyes squeezing shut and digging her forehead into his knee. "I-I tried to get to him, I did," she sobbed. "I couldn't-"

"Thell," Din said, somewhat sternly to make her look at him. "It's okay."

Her lip trembled. "B-but... Grogu. I-I turned around and he was gone... I left him there, all by himself."

"We'll get him back."

"How?"

Din paused. "... I'll figure something out."

Thell shook, shaking her head, until she felt Din's hand reach out to her face.

"Let me help you, kar'ta."

It warmed her immensely to hear the nickname, the one still unknown to her. So Thell obliged, sitting up in the cot while Din gathered the precise medical supplies. He sat down in front of her hanging legs, just even with her sternum so he could look up at her.

"M-my leg," Thell said softly, touching the fabric across her thigh. She had always been modest, never showing too much of her skin unless she needed to. And in the case of Din, and only ever having seen his hands, she felt nervous. But like he always did, he seemed to sense her anxiety, moving to squeeze her knee gently.

"This isn't anything it doesn't need to be," he said. Thell blinked back at him, mulling over his words and the gentle grip on her knee.

"O-okay," she breathed.

He had just raised his fingers above her leg when Thell flinched, catching movement from the corner of her eye. Din sensed it too, shooting to his feet with his hand resting on his blaster.

It was the young woman who Thell had been with earlier, standing at the curved opening of the cargo hold. Her eyes skimmed back and forth between them, trying to send an unknown message.

Thell put her hand on Din's arm. "It's okay. She's the one who's been taking care of me."

"What does she want?"

"... I don't know."

The woman stepped closer so she could start speaking to them, and Din was watching her carefully, back held straight.

"She says we can stay in the houses for as long as we need, while you recover."

Thell's brow twiched. "How do you know that?"

"The helmet, it... It translated it for me." He turned back to her. "I need to see if I can find where you were kept. This would give me a chance to... if we stayed."

Thell blinked, amazed by his courage. She could never imagine going back in a place like that.

"Yeah... okay." When Din turned around to speak to the woman, Thell gripped his arm.

"I... I want to stay with you. In the same house, I..." Thell shuddered, pushing her hair behind her ear. "I need to be close to you."

Din turned to face her fully, clad in the armor she had missed so much, not missing the gentle way he leaned down, cupping her face between his gloved hands.

"I'm not leaving you... not again."

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Organization XIII - Aesthetics, Part 1

No one, but I always love these when I see them floating around tumblr, so I thought I’d make one of my own. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Buy me a coffee here!

oOoOoOo

Xemnas - nostalgia for a time before you were born, cracked or shattered mirrors, seeing things for as they are instead of what you want them to be, eyes with no emotion behind them, the intense feeling of walking alone in a graveyard, foggy mornings, ink stains on parchment, cold-blooded, blood red wine, classical music on a violin

Xigbar - the feeling of being overwhelmingly self-satisfied, stretching after sleeping for a long time, the faint and lingering scent of cigarette smoke, the mysterious atmosphere of a smoky jazz bar, swearing too much, a local radio station at 2 AM, old lipstick marks, sharpie writing on bathroom walls, taking risks, adrenaline, biting your lips, worn combat boots

Xaldin - falling in love too quickly, the steady burn of alcohol, unsent love letters, early morning exercises, hopeless romantic, a breeze that lifts your hair, endless discipline, getting easily attached to people and things, walking barefoot on damp grass, a suspicious forest path, black and white photographs, the painful satisfaction of cracking your knuckles

Vexen - cold hands with long fingers, red and stinging cheeks, tiny but messy handwriting, ink on fingertips, the clinking of test tubes, getting easily distracted, sharpness of icicles, ice cold glares, a headache from intense research, hundreds of pages of unfinished work, sharp cheekbones, the cold side of your pillow, mom jeans

Lexaeus - finding sand in your car months after you’ve gone to the beach, the satisfying feeling of a job well done, mom friend, callouses on hands, the smell of oak and moss, the comfort of a home-cooked meal, bitten nails, oak and cedar, autumn leaves crunching under foot, the endless motions of kneading bread, the feeling of being tucked into bed by a loved one

Zexion -reading under the covers with a flashlight, steaming coffee, fuzzy and comfortable sweaters, old and well-loved books found at the back of a used bookstore, having a lot of random facts about everything, trembling fingers, items with sentimental value, a quiet lake with crickets in the background, biting the end of your pencil, the creak of old book spines

Saix - exploring abandoned buildings, the feeling of being watched in an empty room, speaking with body language instead of words, dancing in moonlight, night owl, walking around unnoticed, eavesdropping, overhearing dark secrets, efficient, keeping detailed lists, a dark city skyline

Axel - secret handshakes, sticky sweetness of melted ice cream, the smell of smoke from a candle that’s just been blown out, unapologetically messy hair, would die for their friends without hesitation, roasting marshmallows, a wicker basket full of baked goods, extra crispy bacon

Demyx - loud laughter, a salty sea breeze, the sound of muffled music playing in another room, pressing the snooze button, tangled up earphones, not being able to sit still, proudly dancing alone in your room, doing things at the last minute, cuffed jeans, grass stains on t-shirts

Luxord - the rustic sound of music playing on a gramophone, waking up too early, frayed vintage photographs, worn brown leather, disappearing every now and then and coming back with an interesting story, long strolls on cobblestone streets, coffee stains, the sound of an antique typewriter

Marluxia - breakfast in bed, the feeling of receiving a bouquet of your favorite flowers, the stinging cool feeling of aloe vera on warm skin, fruit smoothies, goes thrift shopping as often as he buys designer, freshly baked pastries, homoeroticism in old literature, clothing with colorful patterns, pastel nail polish, faux fur coats

Larxene - the hair on the back of your neck standing up, rubbing wool socks on a carpet to raise static electricity, red lipstick and sharp eyeliner, femme fatale movies, jack of all trades, eyes glowing in lamplight, yellow eyes in the dark, bruised knuckles , remembering conversations from years ago, bare feet with polished toes

Roxas - naps in fluffy sheets, warm sunsets, sea salt ice cream, being way too honest, wearing your heart on your sleeve, a sweatshirt with holes for the thumbs, caring deeply about your friends, unashamed love for cartoons, warm and wrinkled bedsheets, patches of sunlight in between trees

Xion - good skin care routines, fields of wildflowers, pixie dust, lost in thoughts, friendly eyes, loving too deeply, midnight talks, borrowing clothes from friends without them knowing, fuzzy socks, doodling in the margins of notebooks, picking wildflowers, cute stationary, villages with tiny houses