#suicide trigger alert

[greynatomy]

limited

alessia russo x reader

hello 👋

this fic is inspired from the movie ‘seven pounds’. have you watched it? i had this idea after i finished watching and was bawling my eyes out.

i think i’ve made it known to some that i like angst on my birthday, so as a gift from me to you, here’s some angst.

let me know what you think

wc: 8.8k

trigger warning: suicide

———

in seven days, god created the world. in seven seconds, i shattered mine.

Alessia Russo had always known that her career wouldn’t last forever. No footballers did. But a career ending the way Alessia’s did come unexpected — abrupt, final, and out of her control.

Alessia was living the life of her dreams. Signing for Manchester United after playing for the University of North Carolina, she felt unstoppable. Nothing can slow her down… until. 

Eighty minutes into the match against Manchester City, the score is tied at two. Alessia was running down the right side, ball at her feet when…

“Alessia Russo has gone down!” The announcer screamed. “Russo has not moved. The medical team is rushing to her now.”

The stadium was eerily silent, players on the field formed a circle around her and the medical team to give them privacy. Everyone was holding their breath. The stretcher came out and carried Alessia away, still no signs of life.

“I was just told that both teams have decided to forfeit the match. Everyone’s a bit shaken up, understandably so. Thank you all for watching. Prayers and well wishes to Alessia Russo.”

Once Alessia becomes conscious, the first thing she hears is the beeps from the monitors, wires attached all over her. She was confused at first, the last thing she remembered was running down the pitch and now here she was laying in a hospital bed.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” A nurse walked into the room, checking that everything is still in good order. “I’ll go ahead and call your doctor.”

More waiting.

“It’s nice to see you awake.” The doctor says, sitting on the stool.

“What happened?” her voice was raspy, throat was dry.

“Well, this isn’t easy to hear, but you suffered a cardiac arrest.”

“What?” She was speechless.

“We found out that you have a congenital heart failure. It was surprising to us that it hadn’t been caught before.”

“What-what does this mean? I can still play right?”

The doctor sighed, “I’m sorry Alessia.”

Football is… was her whole life. What was she supposed to do now?

The news of her retirement came as a shock to everyone. No one knew. Not even her teammates, her friends. Alessia just up and left, the social media post was the last thing people — except her family — had heard from her. 

You were sitting on a chair placed in the corner of the living room. The room was almost pitch black, all the curtains were shut. You were staring into space like you’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks. You were a void. You shut everyone out.

The phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Sighing, you slowly get up from your seat, trudging to where the phone is. 

“What?” you grated out.

“Well, hello to you too sunshine.” the voice on the other side replied.

“What d’you want Samuel?”

“Can’t a brother check up on his sister?”

“If that’s all you’re calling for then goodbye.”

You were about to hang up the phone when, “Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up yet.”

“What is it?” you put the phone back to your ear.

“I wanna come see you.”

“Goodbye, Samuel.”

You hung up, carelessly throwing the phone somewhere. You needed to get out of the house, so you threw on a jacket and made your way out, walking to a cafe not far from where you live. You sat at a table in the corner observing all the people in the room. The bell of the front door rings, alerting everyone of another customer.

You see a flash of blonde from the corner of your eye, but you were too occupied with staring at your cup of coffee. Eventually getting bored, you scan the room again, seeing some new faces. One particular face intrigues you though. She was alone, like you, staring out the window. You don’t realize that you’re still staring until her eyes lock onto yours.

Her eyebrows furrow, probably wondering why you were looking at her. Curious, she gets up from her seat, cup in hand, and walks towards you. You move your gaze back to your coffee hoping she doesn’t walk up to you.

“Were you looking at me?” she asks, sitting down on the vacant seat across the table from you.

“Huh?” you reply, looking at her.

“I was sitting over there,” she points to where she was sitting. “Were you staring at me? Why were you staring at me?”

You take a sip of your coffee, taking a deep breath. “You intrigue me.”

“I-what? I intrigue you?” She was taken aback, not expecting that to come out of your mouth.

“Yeah, I don’t know. There is just… something about you.”

“Do you recognize me or something?”

“No? Am I supposed to?” you ask, now curious as to why she would think you would recognize her.

“Story for another time.”

You both start talking about anything and everything, the conversation easily flowing.

“Alright, listen. I gotta run, but it was great chatting with you.” You chug the rest of your coffee, smiling at Alessia as you walk away.

“Wait!” she exclaims, a hand grabbing onto your arm. “I’d like to continue our conversation.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I’d like your name and possibly also your number.”

A small smile makes its way to your lips. You pat your pockets, hand going into your right pants pocket pulling a pen out. Taking the napkin on the table, you scribble your number on it, clicking your pen to be put back in your pocket.

“Name’s Y/N. Yours?”

“Alessia.”

“Well Alessia, I’ll be waiting for your call.”

With that, you walk away, leaving Alessia with a giddy smile on her face.

Pulling into a parking spot, you grab all that you have and head to the counter. You don’t see anyone, so you walk around when a person steps out from behind the curtain, signaling you to walk back to the front.

“Welcome to the Travel Inn, can I help you?”

“I need a room.”

“How many hours?”

“A couple weeks.”

Turning the key into the lock, you push the door open, quickly scanning the room. Setting your things down, you sit on the bed, reading over a newspaper you’ve kept for the last couple of months.

Seven Killed In Fatal Car Crash, One in Critical Condition

That night kept replaying in your mind.

The next day, you’re stood at Alessia’s front door, her inviting you over this morning.

“Hey, come in.”

Sitting at the table, she places a fresh cup of coffee in front of you.

“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip. “This is good coffee.”

You both picked up where you left off at the cafe, the conversation easily flowing. Alessia was light and full of life, but you can tell there’s something hidden beneath it all.

“What’s your story?”

“What?”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt, but the happiest people usually have the saddest story.”

You can see a sad smile appear on her face like she was reminiscing.

“I used to play football.”

“Used to?”

“Yeah and not to brag but I was pretty good.”

You chuckle, “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Well, one game, I was on the field and the next thing I was lying in a hospital bed.”

You pause, your mind going back to your memories.

You look around the room. Everything is a bit blurry.

“Wh-where am I?” 

“Ms. Y/LN, calm down please.”

You rip the oxygen mask off of your face. “Emily! Where's my Emily?”

“Hey,” a touch on your arm brings you out of your head. “You okay? You spaced out a bit.”

“Yeah, sorry. What happened when you woke up?”

Alessia bites her lip, trying to keep it together.

“I was confused. I mean one moment I was on the pitch, running towards the goal and the next I was waking up in a hospital bed. I didn’t know why I was there, wires attached all over me.” You reach across the table, placing a comforting hand on her own. “They told me that I was lucky to wake up. I asked them if I would be able to play football again and they said ‘One more match could be the last thing you ever do.’ There was only one thing I had to do and so I announced my retirement.”

Your heart aches as you listen, the weight of her words sinking in. You squeeze her hand gently, offering a silent support before speaking.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” you say softly. “Giving something up that’s been your whole world… I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes flicker with a mix of pain and acceptance. “Yeah, but I had to choose life, even if it meant letting go of the dream.”

You nod, understanding the sacrifice. “You’re still that player, though. Everything you achieved—everything you fought for—that doesn’t just disappear.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”

The air between you shifts, heavier with understanding but lighter with hope.

You get back to the motel, carrying a glass tank, the guy behind the counter following behind you.

“You know you can’t take that in.”

“That’s good to know.” You smile at him, opening your door. “Have a good night,” you say, shutting the door on him.

You step into the warm cascade of water, letting it wash over your skin. The droplets trail down your body, mingling with the weight of your thoughts. The day has been heavy—every day has been heavy—but for a brief moment, the water feels like a release.

“C’mon! Just tell me where else we’re going!” she grabs onto your hand, the one that was resting on her thigh.

You run your hand across your face, clenching your eyes shut.

“I’m not telling you!” you glance at her, smiling at her before you look back toward the road. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Let me surprise you.”

“It better be good then baby.”

You turn the shower off, drying yourself off with a towel. Stumbling out of the shower, you wrap the towel around yourself, taking a seat at the edge of the tub.

“Oh, you have no idea!”

It happened so fast.

You’re driving, the road stretching out ahead of you, the hum of the engine steady beneath your hands. Her laughter is still ringing in your ears—light, warm—filling the car with life. You glance over at her, just for a second, catching the curve of her smile. She’s happy. They all are.

Your heart was full.

And then—

Metal twists. Tires scream. Glass explodes into a thousand stars. The world flips and everything slows as you’re weightless — suspended in the wreckage of a single, irreversible moment.

You hear it before you see it — the crunch of steel, the splintering of lives. 

Her laughter is gone, replaced by the sound of cries.

You reach out, but your hand finds nothing.

The car settles. The silence was thick and suffocating.

Standing in front of the mirror, you stare at yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. You want to forget it all, but you can’t.

You call her name — desperate and pleading. Your voice cracks, but there's no answer, just shallow breaths fading, then nothing at all.

You see her face, all broken and bloody. Her warmth was stolen away in an instant.

Your chest caves under the weight of it. The guilt floods in, sharper than any shards of glass.

This is your fault.

You scream.

You killed the person you loved.

Tears stream down your face.

The adrenaline wears off. You’re laid next to her, clutching her body in your arms. That’s how the paramedics found you, passed out, your arms around your lover.

You wake up but don’t open your eyes just yet. 

For a few seconds, you let yourself in that in-between space — half-asleep, half-aware, floating just outside of reality. The bed is warm, your body heavy with exhaustion from all the tears you shed last night. You wanted to stay in bed, not having the motivation to get up. 

Your eyes open.

The ceiling stares back at you, unchanged, but you know the moment is over. The memories from that night haunt your mind. You are about to close your eyes and drift off when your phone rings. Not looking at the screen, you answer.

“Hey, sorry for calling you so early,” you hear through the phone, making you sit up.

“Alessia,” you say breathily. “No, no. You’re fine, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to know if you wanted to, uh, you know, have breakfast with me? And maybe spend the day together? You know have to. You could be busy. Shit, I should’ve asked that first. Are you busy? You probably are…”

You listened as she rambled, the corner of your lips twitching up. 

“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” That made Alessia stop her rambling, her side of the call going silent for a moment.

“Really?” she asks, not quite believing you.

“Of course. How could I say no?”

“Okay, cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, see you soon then.”

“You will.”

Hanging up, you go back to staring at the ceiling, trying to find motivation to get out of bed.

You ended up spending the whole day with Alessia, wasting the hours away. You were still wary around her, not wanting to get attached. Despite being so guarded, Alessia was determined to get some information out of you.

You’ve now found yourself walking alongside her, somehow making it to the beach.

“You’re like a locked book,” Alessia said one day as they walked along the pier.

“Maybe I like it that way,” you replied.

Alessia frowned. “What are you so afraid of?”

You stopped walking and turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “It’s not fear, Alessia. It’s reality. Some people aren’t meant to stick around.”

Alessia’s heart clenched at the finality in your voice. She wanted to push further, to break down the walls you had so carefully built, but she could sense that you weren’t ready.

“Are you okay?” Alessia asked, concern threading her voice.

You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You hesitated, taking a deep breath, then said, “If you could start over, knowing everything you know now, would you do anything differently?”

Alessia blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d try to hold on to the things that matter more. The people who matter.”

You nodded, expression unreadable. “That’s a good answer.” Before Alessia could reply, “Let’s head back,” you say, walking ahead of her.

The walk back to Alessia’s was silent. Stopping in front of her door, you stare at her, Alessia oblivious to the way you are staring at her as she fumbles with her keys. Finally getting the key through the lock and twisting, you move your gaze when you notice hers moving toward you. 

“Have a good night Alessia.”

“You don’t want to come in?” Her eyebrows furrowed, looking disappointed.

“Not tonight,” you give you a small smile. “Sleep well.”

Dragging a giant cooler to your room, you were once again being trailed by the man from the front desk.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of shady stuff you got going on, but what are you bringing now?”

Opening the door, you step inside, dropping the cooler on the floor.

“Goodnight Steve.” You shut the door in his face.

“It’s Dave.”

You carry the cooler to the bathroom, opening it up, and you grab a bag, holding it up in front of you. You dump the contents out into the tank you brought in the night before, the water inside sloshing gently before settling. The room is quiet — too quiet — except for the soft hum of the filter. The glow from the tank casts a faint blue light, flickering against the walls, reflecting in your tired eyes.

You stand there for a moment, just watching.

The jellyfish drifts through the water, its translucent body pulsing in slow, rhythmic movements. Weightless. Effortless. It doesn’t fight the current; it simply exists. Something is mesmerizing about it, almost peaceful.

You rest your hand on the glass, fingers resting lightly. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.

You take a breath, steady, measured. You’ve planned every step, considered every detail. And yet, standing here, watching this delicate creature move with such quiet grace, a strange feeling tugs at you—something you can’t quite name.

But it doesn’t matter.

You pull your hand away from the glass.

The jellyfish continues to drift, untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest.

It doesn’t know what it’s here for.

But you do.

“The first time I ever saw a box jellyfish, I was twelve. My father took us to the aquarium. I never forgot what he said, that it was the ‘most deadly creature on Earth.’ To me it was just… the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

You called your friend over, wanting to discuss a few things. You’re sat at the desk, filling up some paperwork as he stood watching the tank.

“I talked to your doctor the other day, send over your files in the morning.”

“Is this everything?” you ask, not looking up from the papers. “Any questions?”

“Same one.”

“Same answer then.”

“You know, I was thinking last night, when we were fourteen and we made that pact.” You look over at him briefly. “Remember on the beach, in front of your grandparent’s house, we, uh, we agreed that we would never, never date each other’s girl. And I remember the day you told me that you liked Stacy Miller, that you were gonna ask her out and I said, ‘Woah! Hey, man, you can’t! Her and I already did it.’” You’ve put your pen down, paying all your attention to him. “But we didn’t. I wanted to, but she… liked you more than she liked me and — so I lied to you because I was so jealous and I’m carrying around this- this lie in my heart for the last twenty—”

“Stop it,” you throw a book at him. He stares at you. “Stop it. Stay focused,” you tap on the side of your head forcefully. “Do what you promised me.”

“What, you think I’m…”

“Do what you promised me.”

“You think I’m gonna let you down now.” He stands up, pointing a finger at you, accusingly. “I’ve known you my whole DAMN LIFE! Okay.” He taps on the papers you’re signing, “This, this! This is not something you do every day. Okay. This, this…” he waves his hands towards you, “is not easy for me. I’ll make sure everything goes to plan,” he wipes the tear that fell from his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him as he cries, not wanting to cry yourself. “Thank you.”

You’ve managed to avoid Alessia for three days after that night at the beach. You didn’t do much, spent most of it in your room. 

Sat on a chair you placed in front of the tank, you watched them float through the water. They somehow give you peace with how they move, almost innocently, something you’re quite sure you don’t have anymore. The sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your thoughts. Hesitantly rising from your seat, you trudge to where your phone is, answering and holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

You hear someone take a deep breath. “Y/N?” The person sighs, “Hi. I’m sorry I called so late.”

“Alessia? Um, did-are you okay?”

“Uh, I was- I was having trouble breathing after going for a walk. And I fainted,” your eyebrows shot up in concern, “an ambulance had to come and take me to the hospital.” She takes a couple of breaths. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I called you and I just-I wanted to — Y/N? You still there?”

You lock the door, walking out of the motel. “Yes.”

“Do you ever think about dying, Y/N?”

“Every now and again.” You answer, walking on the sidewalk.

“My face is, um, blue-ish. It’s not exactly a good sign.”

“You should try to rest. Just-why don't you try and get some sleep?”

“I like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you too.”

“Would you tell me a story?” You look around, contemplating whether you should. “Please.”

“Okay, um, alright. Once upon a time, there was a, uh, little girl named—”

“—Lucky me. I just got it on reserve like that, okay.” You hear the rustling of sheets through the phone. “Let me guess, her name is Y/N?”

You chuckle. “No, actually, this little girl’s name is Jane.”

“I like the name Jane. Go on.”

“Jane’s little sister was always pestering Jane to make paper airplanes ‘cause she’s, you know, good at it,” you shrug. “But Jane had much bigger dreams than making paper airplanes.”

“‘Kay. Then what happened?”

“Then one day Jane went out to the backyard, put leaves and taped branches to her arms and started climbing the big ol’ tree. Her little sister said ‘Jane! You can’t fly!’ She said, ‘Yeah? You just watch!’” You couldn’t see, but Alessia had a smile on her face. “Got all the way to the top, and jumped.”

Alessia’s eyebrows furrowed. “How… tall was this tree?”

“Um, it was pretty tall. She broke her arm.”

“Oh-oh, my god! This is a horrible story.”

“Well, no, no. It gets better. Um, from that experience, Jane realized that she wanted to fly. So she dedicated her life to making spaceships.” The sounds of the city can be heard in the background, but you just keep walking and talking. 

“I thought you said this was a good story?”

“Oh, well, yeah that is,” you stutter, not expecting to be called out. “Until the-the dragon showed up.”

“Oh, okay. I see. Now it’s getting better. I like dragons, especially dragons in space.” You can hear her voice fading.

“Yeah, these were fire-breathing, space dragons with really bad attitudes.”

“I see.”

“I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fall asleep and when you do, I’ll just hang up.” You suggest.

“M’kay. Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for listening. And for talking.”

You don’t say anything for a while. “Try to fall asleep.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Alessia.” Phone still pressed up to your ear, you walk through the automatic doors. “Alessia?” Not getting a response, you keep walking until you reach the room. “Alessia?” you ask again. Looking through the window, you see her, lying on her side on the hospital bed, asleep. 

You hang up the phone and just watch her for a moment. She looks peaceful.

Stepping inside her room, you stand by her bedside, eyes scanning over her face, almost like you were trying to memorize them. You drag a chair to where you stood, sitting in it, never taking your eyes off of her.

The next morning, Alessia’s eyes flutter open. The sunlight peaking through the window blinds shines in her face. Pushing herself to sit up, she looks around the room, a bit startled, she sees a figure by her side, sitting — slouching — on a chair.

“Y/N,” she said softly, hoping to wake you up, but with no luck. She tries again a bit louder, that doing the trick.

You jolt awake, the loud call of your name pulling you out of restless sleep. Your neck protests, stiff from hours spent slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and for a moment, you’re disoriented— caught between your dreams to the blinding fluorescent lights overhead. 

You hear your name again, a bit weak but certain.

Your eyes snap to the bed next to you.

She’s awake.

You stand abruptly, moving closer to her bedside.

“You’re awake,” You whisper as if saying it aloud would make it not real.

“Yeah and you drool in your sleep,” you bring your hand up to wipe at the corner of your lips. Seeing a teasing smile on Alessia’s face makes a chuckle come out of you. 

“You’re an ass.”

“Hey!” She reaches out to swat at you. “Don’t call the sick names.”

“Oh, I apologize, my queen,” you give her a mock bow.

Shortly after your banter, the door opens, and a doctor walks into the room.

“Good morning!” the doctor was overly cheery in your opinion. “How are you feeling Alessia?”

“I’m as good as I can be.”

“Well, I’ve got some news. As we’ve briefly talked about last night, your heart isn’t getting better,” your jaw tightens. “That being said, UNOS has you at the top of their list.”

Alessia froze, not believing the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. “What?” she asked in disbelief.

“The first heart available is yours.” She was emotional, understandably so. She hands something to Alessia. “This is a pager. When a heart becomes available, this will go off and you take yourself back here.” The doctor decides to give her some space to process everything, you following her out the door.

“How long does it usually take?” you ask once the door clicks shut. “How long does it take for a heart to become available?”

“It honestly is hard to say because it just depends. We can’t just take a heart from anyone.”

“How long do you think she has until her heart completely shuts down?”

“That’s also hard to say, but I’d give it a couple of weeks.” She sees the look of defeat on your face, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just have some faith.” You nod, thanking her, and step back into the room.

Alessia was looking into the distance still trying to process the doctor’s words. You place yourself next to the bed, not saying a word, offering some silent support. She gently grabs your hand, startling you from the contact, giving it a light squeeze. You squeeze her hand back, communicating without words. She pulls you closer, resting her forehead to the back of your hand, wanting to feel closer to you.

You walk through the lobby of your motel. The manager trailing you again, asking why you’ve now got a bag full of small fish. You tune him out like always, closing the door on his face.

Popping the top of the tank off, you rip open the bag, pouring the contents in. You sit on your bed, watching the fish swim around. The fish run into the tentacles, dying almost instantly. You don’t flinch, just curious about the fee—

The next morning, you’re picking Alessia up to go home, her having to stay another night for observation. The same doctor from yesterday escorted you both out, pushing the wheelchair Alessia was on. She gets in the passenger seat, you reach in the put her seatbelt on for her.

The drive to Alessia’s house was silent, but not uncomfortable. As you pull in front of her house, she breaks the silence.

“Have you- have you ever been in love?” 

You swear your heart stopped. “Alessia, please,” you say, almost pleading.

“You have!” her tone teasing. You didn’t answer. “Yes, you have. C’mon, you can tell me.”

“Um, yes. But it ended.”

“What happened?”

“Stop it.”

“No, tell me.”

“Stop it!” your voice raised. “Get inside. You need to get some rest. Maybe sleep.”

She hastily takes her seatbelt off, practically jumping out of the car. 

“Alessia, hold on.” 

“Just leave.”

“Alessia!” You get out too, chasing after her.

You’re both standing in front of her door staring at each other.

“Thank you for everything.”

You go back in your car, hands grasping at the wheel, and then you scream. You scream all your anger, all your pent-up feelings.

A few hours later, Alessia was making lunch when she sees movement outside of her kitchen window. There you were, pulling on weeds.

She goes up to you, questioning what you are doing.

“Is this your way of saying sorry?”

“No, I just, uh, saw these were getting overgrown, so decided to take a day off.”

She watches you work for a while longer before stopping you.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says, a hint of longing in her voice.

She leads you into the house to a room at the end of the hall. She unlocks the door, one you hadn’t really noticed before. When she pushes it open, you’re met with a room that isn’t like any other in the entire house. It’s not grand or overly decorated — if anything, it feels a bit hidden, almost like a personal secret she doesn’t show just anyone.

Inside, the walls are lined with framed jerseys, newspaper clippings, and photos capturing moments from her time at university. A glass cabinet holds an array of trophies and medals, each carefully placed yet slightly tucked away as if she doesn’t like to make too much of a fuss about them.

You step closer, eyes scanning the awards. There are championship medals and even a few personal accolades from her standout performances. One shelf holds a pair of worn-out boots, laces frayed, their soles bearing the marks of countless games.

“These were from my first goal in uni,” she explains, stepping around you and picking them up with a nostalgic smile. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”

You watch as she moves through the room, her fingers grazing over the items, each one holding a story she remembers like it was yesterday. There’s a quiet pride in her voice—not boastful, just appreciative of the journey she’s been on.

“You don’t show this room to everyone, do you?” you ask softly.

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. I don’t like to dwell too much on the past, but… sometimes it’s nice to remember where it all started.”

You take another look around, imagining the countless hours of training, the sacrifices, the triumphs. Seeing it all in one place, tucked away in this private corner of her home, makes you appreciate her journey even more.

As you turn back to her, she’s already watching you, a curious look in her blue eyes. “So, what do you think?”

You smile. “I think you are incredible. And I think you should be really proud.”

She exhales, almost as if she needed to hear that. You see a pink hue forming on her cheeks but don’t pay them any mind.

“Look,” she pauses, trying to find the right words. “I don’t really know anything about you or where you came from, but you keep showing up. And I’m glad.”

“Okay.” you nod, looking at her.

Then, with a playful nudge, she says, “Come on, you hungry? I’ve got lunch ready.”

You pause by the door, looking around for a while longer. Thoughts of what more she could’ve achieved if it weren’t for her heart filled your mind. It shouldn’t have ended like this. You walk out, closing the door behind you.

It’s been a week since then. You and Alessia grew a lot closer, but the memories of the accident become more frequent when you sleep. Or at least when you do get to sleep. You knew your time was ticking. 

You’re limping to your room, bracing yourself against the wall.

“What the hell happened to you?” The manager asks as you walk past, but you ignore him. “How much longer are you gonna stay in my hotel?”

“Motel,” you correct him.

“How much longer?”

“Actually, I was planning on dying here,” you say, no amusement in her voice.

“Well, you need to pay in advance.” You block him out, shutting your room door.

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. You search under the piles of paper scattered on the bed for it. You answer once you find it, holding it up to your ear.

“Hello.”

“Hey, it’s Alessia. Are you- are you sleeping?”

“Yeah, uh, no. I’m, um, how are you?”

“I’m good. Was wondering if you were busy later? Come by to say ‘hi’ say around seven?”

“Busy? Uh—”

“Look, I totally get if you don’t want to hang out with a dying girl,” she gets out.

“No, no. I- I can come at seven.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye,” she whispers, a smile forming on her lips.

At seven on the dot, you’re at her front door. You knock, the door opening shortly after. 

“Hey! Come in.” She shuffles away towards the kitchen. “Do you mind if we eat outside?” she asks over. 

“Eating?” you ask, not expecting it.

“Yeah, you didn’t eat yet did you?” you can hear in her tone that she was worried you did.

“No, um, um. No.”

“Well, it was a surprise, but you’re on time.” She’s getting a dish out of the oven, placing it on top of the stove. “Um, I haven’t cooked anybody food in a while, so I hope you like it. Don’t lie to me.” She lets out a nervous giggle. She then grabs a present, wrapped neatly with a bow on top, holding it out to you. “This is for you.”

“Dinner’s ready and you’re not,” she walks away, holding the dish, “so hurry up. Chop chop.”

You go into her bedroom, stopping by the wall to look at all the pictures that lined it. Seeing Alessia setting a table outside, you open up the present, seeing a shirt. You quickly get dressed, walking out to the backyard. She’s sitting at the table as you stand in the doorway, gesturing towards the shirt you changed into.

“You look great,” she says, giving you a wide smile.

“Yeah, uh,” you look down at yourself, “it’s pink.”

“It’s salmon,” she says like it’s obvious. She waves her hand for you to come. You walk up to stand next to the table. Taking your time, you take it all in.

“You’re so nice.”

“So are you.” You take a seat, a bit uncomfortable with how intimate it all looks; candles, wine. “Everything is vegetarian. Um, I hope you like eggplant parmesan.” 

You fidget in your seat, not really knowing what to do. “I, uh, haven’t treated myself very well in the past few years.”

Alessia nods in acknowledgment. “Start now.” You grab your silverware, “Bon appétit.” You take a bite, pausing at the flavors. “What do you think?”

You look towards her with sincerity, “it’s delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

The conversation started flowing easier after a bit. The awkwardness going away. Soft music fills the air around them. The song changes and Alessia perks up. She gets up towards the speaker, turning the volume up. She starts swaying to the music, getting lost in the melody. You sit back and just watch her. You couldn’t look away, mesmerized by how she moved, how happy she looked. 

She then turns to you, a teasing smile on her face, holding her hand out to you.

“Oh, no. I can’t— I don’t dance.”

“Come on. Let loose.” She grabs your hand in hers, pulling you up and you know you didn’t have a choice. She pulls you close, placing one of your hovering hands in hers, the other on her side. The music changes to a slower song. You start swaying, trying not to be stiff. Her head rests against your chest. You hope she couldn’t feel the way your heartbeat starts to speed up — she does but doesn’t say anything. She pulls her head away after a few moments.

The air between you crackles, thick with something unspoken but impossible to ignore. You’re standing too close, your breaths mingling in the charged silence. Their eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your pulse stutters.

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. You turn your head slightly, hoping she won’t see, but of course, she does. Her fingers, gentle and unsure, brush against your jaw, tilting your face back toward her.

“Hey,” she murmurs, searching your eyes. Her concern only makes the ache in your chest tighten.

You don’t know why this moment — why she — breaks you open like this. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding. Maybe it’s the way she’s here, close enough to touch, even when everything in you tells you to pull away.

But you don’t pull away. You do the opposite.

With a shaky breath, you reach for her, grabbing the back of her neck. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as you closed the distance, pressing your mouth to hers. It starts slow, tentative, but the second she kisses you back, something in you snaps.

You pour everything into it—every unsaid word, every suppressed feeling, every ache that’s been sitting heavy in your chest. She meets you with the same urgency, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The heat between you builds, wiping away everything else — the pain, the doubt.

You feel her hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You exhale against her lips, a soft, needy sound escaping before you can stop it.

Then you’re moving, tangled together, finding the bed without ever breaking apart. Clothes fall away, but it’s more than just hunger now. It’s desperation, longing, a need to feel — to be seen, to be held, to be hers.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart. You feel free.

Legs tangled under the sheets, you both hold each other close, the rain can be heard pouring just outside.

“Do you wanna play a game?” she asks, voice soft, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere.

“What game?” your fingers trace the features of her face.

“What if game.”

“The what if game.”

“Mhm.” Her fingers caress your face. “What if… my pager goes off… and it’s a heart and it works and my body doesn’t reject it. And what if I have time.”

You’ve become a bit speechless, but after a few beats, it was your turn.

“What if… we have children? What if we got married?” You can see tears forming in her eyes, threatening to fall. She kisses your shoulder, trying to hold back a sob. The tears finally fall and you hold her close. “I love you,” you mumble. She pulls away from your neck, hand grabbing your face to pull you in. “I love you,” you say it stronger. She kisses you.

She falls asleep in the comfort of your arms. You lay on your side, head propped up on your hand as you watch her, watch how peaceful she looked.

You carefully slip out from under her, making sure to not wake her up. Quietly getting dressed, you look at her once more. Everything you’ve bottled up with her slowly hitting you one by one. Leaning down, you give her forehead a gentle kiss, before slipping out.  

You run.

The rain pours down, drenching your clothes, but you don’t care. Your breath is ragged, your footsteps heavy, your body pushing forward as if fueled with determination alone. Your soaked shirt clings to your chest, water splashing with each step.

You push the heavy hospital door open, breathing heavily, steps filled with a purpose.

“Alright,” you reach the nurse’s stations “Is Doctor Briar on- on duty tonight?” you ask, out of breath.

“She’s… doing her rounds,” the nurse looks at you in concern.

“Can you tell her it’s Y/N Y/LN? It’s very important.”

“I’ll, uh, page her.” The nurse picks up the phone, paging the doctor, eyes not straying away from you.

You were close to hysterics, thinking that you didn’t have enough time. You turn around, find a chair, and take a seat, still breathing heavily. Hearing a door open, you turn your head to the right, seeing the doctor walking towards you. Getting up, you meet her halfway.

“Hey.”

“Is it Alessia?” she asks, concern in her voice.

“Uh, no. No. I’m sorry. Is there- sorry.” You try to find the right words. “Do you have any more- any optimism about Ales- Alessia that you did the other day?”

“When- when you’re looking for donors with a rare blood type,” you nod, listening intently. Eyes bloodshot. “the odds go way down.”

“To what? They go down. What’s- give me a percentage.” The doctor’s reluctance to answer makes you raise your voice. “Give me a number.”

“Three, five percent.” You put your hand up, not wanting to hear anything else. “I’m sorry. I- I wish the numbers were higher.”

“Thank you.” you walk past her. “Thank you, thank you,” you’re mumbling, walking out of the hospital.

The rain pours heavily on you, but you don’t think about it. Pulling your phone out from your pocket, you quickly dial a number.

“Hey,” you whisper once the person picks up. “It’s time. I love you,” your voice breaks. You hang up, not giving him a chance to reply.

Stepping into your room, you pause by the door. 

You stand in the dim motel bathroom, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest like an iron vice. The letters were written, and your affairs are in order. You have spent almost a year preparing for this moment.

You twist the bathtub knob, water rushing in as you slit open the bag of ice. The ice tumbles into the tub, the chill spreading as you check the time on your watch, carefully placed on the edge. Hurriedly, you jot down a note and set it on the floor beside the tub.

The hotel phone feels cold in your hand, dialing the dreaded number.

“999 emergency.”

You’re breathing hard, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.

“I need an ambulance,” you run your hand down your face.

“I have you at 9216 Street.”

“That’s room number two.”

“What’s the emergency?”

“There’s been a suicide,” you sigh.

“Who’s the victim?”

“I am.”

“You are really gonna need to stop looking at that thing,” you let out a laugh, looking over to the person in the passenger seat, driving the both of you to somewhere special.

“Why? Is it gonna crack?” The woman is holding her hand out in front of her, admiring the ring that sits on her finger.

“Oh no. I paid extra for the non-cracking kind.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.”

A notification from your phone pulls your attention from her. Taking it out of your pocket, you read the text, occasionally looking back at the road.

“Honey, why don’t you just turn that off?”

“Yeah, hold on. Sorry, no more. No more work, I’m almost done, almost done.”

“Y/N!”

You don’t expect it, hearing tires screeching, horns blaring, her screaming. You swerve, narrowly missing the car, but there is another one. It hits head-on to your passenger side.

You’re flipping.

Flipping.

Flipping.

Then everything stops.

Bracing yourself against the wall, you step into the water, fully clothed. The water, ice cold, makes your breathing unsteady. Now sitting, you grab the edge of the tub, hands turning white with how hard you’re gripping.

Your mind drifts back to Alessia, how beautiful she looked lying next to you in bed. How warm her hand felt as she rested it on the side of your face.

You grab the bucket filled with the jellyfish that was placed on the foot of the tub, quickly dumping them in the water before you have second thoughts.

Then you feel it.

A searing pain explodes across your body as the tentacles wrap around your arm, your chest. It is fire and ice all at once, electricity surging through your veins. Your muscles seize, your breath catches, but you don’t fight it. You let it take you. 

You bite your tongue, holding a scream in. You grab the shower curtain, pulling so hard that you rip it off. The scream you try to hold in can’t be contained.

You’re running. 

You don’t know where to, but once you’ve pulled yourself out of the car, you run, climbing up the steep hill you fell into.

You clutch onto the curtain, the pain becoming unbearable, hyperventilating. 

You see the aftermath of the crash, freezing in disbelief.

Hugging the side of the tub, you let out another scream.

You’re running, seeing something in the distance. A flash of red.

Red.

The color of her dress.

Fully submerged in the water now, your energy draining. 

You stop next to a body, crouching down with your hands out. Legs giving out, you slowly crawl up to her.

Everything feels numb. The pain doesn’t feel painful anymore.

“No. No no no.” Your voice cracks, hands hovering, afraid to touch her. “Baby, wake up.”

Your fingers brush her cheek — still warm. A flicker of hope flares in your chest. You press your palm to her face, stroking the cheek that you’ve kissed a thousand times. “Come on, look at me. Open your eyes.”

But she doesn’t.

A strangled sob tears from your throat as you gather her into your arms, cradling her against yourself, rocking back and forth. Leaning down, you press your forehead against hers, body shaking with grief, mind clinging to denial, as if you hold her tight enough, love her hard enough, that she’ll take a breath, that her eyes would open and everything would be alright. 

But she doesn’t.

A sigh of relief escapes you.

Your vision blurs. The walls of the motel bathroom fade. The sound of your own heartbeat roars in your ears then softens, then slows. The pain becomes distant, then almost peaceful.

Then — nothing.

The sound of the heart monitor fills the room. Doctors and nurses surround the bed, doing everything they can.

But they couldn’t.

Beeps wake Alessia from her deep sleep. Her eyes shot open, narrowing on the pager that sat on her bedside table. She’s in disbelief, grabbing the pager making sure she wasn’t dreaming. She looks around, trying to ground herself.

“Y/N?” she sits up, excitement in her voice.

Next thing she knows, she’s laid in a hospital bed being rolled into the operating room. 

“Hi. How are you doing?” The doctor greets Alessia, ensuring her that this is real. She doesn’t say anything, still in a state of shock.

Your friend breaks down in his office, not wanting to believe his best friend is gone.

Alessia’s new heart beats strongly in her chest, still unknowing of where it came from.

Your brother sat on a chair in your motel room, finding your newspaper clippings pinned on the wall, all about the accident. He never understood why you shut down, why you distanced yourself.

Now he does.

He held a stack of envelopes, each with a different name, the same names that he found in a list in your notebook.

“About a year after the accident, I got sick. I got, uh, lung cancer. I needed a double lobe transplant. Y/N could only give me one of course.” Your brother, Sam, sat at the table, Alessia sitting across from him. “That must’ve planted the seed cause six months later she, uh, donated the right part of her liver to this woman.” He gives her a picture, you stood next to a woman in a hospital bed, smiling widely. “Her name is Holly.” She brushes her thumb over your face, tears now streaming down her face. 

Once Sam had left, she opens an envelope, pulling the paper out. 

My Dearest Alessia,

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I wish I could have had more time, more moments, more laughter, more mornings waking up to the sound of your breathing. But time isn’t something I deserve anymore.

I have carried the weight of my past, every mistake, every regret, and every life I have shattered with me. No matter how much I have tried to let go of my past, that night still haunts me. You once told me that love has the power to heal, but Alessia, some wounds run too deep. Some burdens cannot be lifted. Not even by the hands of someone as beautiful as you.

I have spent my days trying to make up for the lives I took, giving away pieces of myself in the hope that it would bring back the ones I lost. And now, I am giving you the last piece I have left. Not because I feel I owe it, but because you deserve life. A full one. A long one. A life without fear, without hesitation, without the pain that has held you captive for too long.

I have seen the way you look at the stars as if you are searching for something, some hope, some sign that things will be okay. I hope that after tonight, you will look up and know that you were loved. That you changed me. That you gave me something I never thought I’d have again. Peace.

Please live, Alessia. Live enough for the both of us. And if you ever feel the darkness creeping in, remember me not in sadness, but in love. In every heartbeat. In every breath.

Forever yours,

Y/N

She clutches the letter to her chest, legs giving out from under her.

Later that night, Alessia lays in the bathtub, feeling numb as the water surrounds her. Slowly, she sinks under the water, stopping for a moment once her ears are under just to hear it.

Lub-dub.

Lub-dub.

Lub-dub.

She places her hand over her heart to feel the beats momentarily before fully sinking under.

Alessia’s hands trembled as she stepped into the small music shop. The warm notes of the piano fill the air. She scanned the room, her breath caught between anticipation and fear.

Then she saw him.

A man sat in the corner, watching the pianist play their songs. His expression was calm, and peaceful, as if everything was right with the world.

Her heart pounded as she stepped closer. He turned to her, sensing her presence. 

“Hi,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ezra smiled. “Hi.” His head tilted slightly as if reading her silence. “Can I help you with something?”

She opened her mouth to speak but the words failed her. Instead, her gaze locked onto his eyes—warm, deep brown, achingly familiar.

Your eyes.

Her breath hitched. A sharp, unrelenting ache surged through her chest. It was as if he was standing in front of her, looking at her, seeing her.

She tried to hold it together, but the tears came fast, unbidden. A sob escaped her throat before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, shaking, overwhelmed by grief and love crashing into her all at once.

Ezra frowned, concern washing over his face. “Are you okay?”

Alessia forced a nod, wiping her cheeks. “I just—” she swallowed hard. “You have beautiful eyes.”

A small, knowing smile flickered across Ezra’s lips, as if he understood more than she had said. “Thank you.”

Her chest tightened. She could barely breathe, but she could feel you, right there in front of her. And for the first time since you were gone, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from the pain or hold onto it forever.

She was back.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Alessia stood on the edge of the penalty box, her heart pounding — not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, electrifying thrill of the game. The England shirt clung to her, damp with sweat and the weight of everything she had been through settled in her chest. But it wasn’t heavy. It was powerful.

The ball came to her feet—a perfect pass, spinning toward her as if fate itself had lined it up. For a split second, everything else disappeared. The surgeries, the hospital beds, the whispers about whether she’d ever play again. The months of grueling rehab, the moments of doubt.

None of it mattered now.

With one touch, she controlled the ball, took a deep breath, and struck it cleanly. Time slowed as it soared through the air, past outstretched hands, and into the back of the net.

Goal.

The stadium erupted. Her teammates swarmed her, wrapping her in tight embraces, their voices became a blur against the roaring of thousands. But Alessia barely heard them. She staggered backward, hands trembling, sinking to her knees as the weight of everything came crashing down. 

She choked back a sob, looking up at the sky, wishing — hoping — that somewhere, wherever you may be, that you could see her now. Pressing a hand over her heart, she felt it beat strongly.

Thank you.

Her teammates pulled her up, holding her as she sobbed. As the final whistle blew, a new wave of emotion hit her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sky once more. She swore she could hear your voice.

“I am so proud of you.”

[klemen-tine]

Glass Bones and Paper Skin Part 2

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

First Part

Part 3

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect, stalking

This is more of the family side than it is of Bruce. Next part will be everyone.

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“Young Master Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, opening their arms and sagging in relief once they hugged the butler. The three hour car ride had been tense, with everyone asking questions and Y/N trying their hardest to be polite while not losing it. The fashion show still fresh in their mind, and the clothing Francesca had given them was gently folded and placed in the trunk of the car. 

“It is good to see you, Alfred. It’s been too long.” The old man huffed, “Indeed. A year of only phone calls and cards does make it seem like it was a century ago since I last saw your face… in person.” Y/N smiled, giving Alfred a playful look before remembering where they are and how they got here. 

The smile on their face became practiced, expression smoothening out as they turned to face the rest of the family who were all waiting patiently. Dick was smiling brightly, unraveling his scarf and walking forward, “Hey Alfie, you should have seen our Y/N walk. They really made the show.” 

“I find it insulting they made you walk last,” Damian chimed and crossed his arms. Y/N gave him a small smile, “Being a closer is as much of a compliment as being the opener.” The young boy scrunched his nose, “I preferred the show in Paris.” 

“Francesca Gabbana designed the piece, Alfred you’ll have to see it.” Tim was the one carrying the case that had the piece in it. The old man hummed, “I saw it on the television, but perhaps seeing it in person will be better.” Jason shrugged, walking in and gently nudging Y/N with his larger shoulders, “Although, did she have to make the Bat symbol just the front piece? It barely covered anything.” Y/N could see his jaw clench like the very thought of other people seeing Y/N’s stomach. 

Bruce was the last to walk in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over his arm, “Fashion designers do not care about function, only beauty.” Y/N smiled tensely, “It is a form of art.” The older man smiled at Y/N, and the model couldn’t get rid of the image of the Bruce they saw backstage. 

“Of course it is. One of the most demanding forms of art as well.” Y/N couldn’t place the tone, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Alfred shuffled, “Well, dinner is almost ready. Young Master Y/N, if you want you can wash up in one of the guest bathrooms. Your room is currently being used as a trophy room.” Y/N chuckled, “Oh dear, you’re not hanging up my photos are you?” 

“I did tell you I would be.” Y/N shook their head, “Thanks Alfred, but I don’t have any clothes here.” An arm swung around their shoulder, and Y/N stiffened under the sudden touch. Jason was smiling at them, “C’mon Y/N, we have some clothes for you.” Y/N felt the sudden spike again in their spine, alerting them that something was amiss and only bad things would happen if they asked questions. From how everyone was looking at them, Y/N specifically, it was like they were waiting for Y/N to ask. Impatiently waiting for that landmine to explode in front of them. 

“How kind of you, I wasn’t expecting that.” Y/N jumped over it. 

“Of course! How could we not have clothes ready for when our younger sibling comes home. Even though it’s been almost three years, I hope everything still fits right.” Just to land on another landmine. Y/N kept the smile on, years of being talked down to by photographers have helped them create the perfect mask of politeness. 

“So, which bathroom in which guest room?” Tim stepped forward and gently guided Y/N out from under Jason’s arm and further into the manor. Y/N stayed half a step behind, taking in the gothic manor and the decorations littering the hallway. 

Out of all the siblings, Y/N is closest with Tim. Not really siblings, and not really even friends, but if his relationship could be described as a length rope attached to each person, Tim’s would be the second shortest. Right after Alfred. They are close in age, and Tim was the first one to comment on Y/N’s photo when Y/N had first started modeling. 

It was only once, and it may have been in passing, but Y/N had held that interaction close to their heart. The first and last comment from a sibling about their modeling. An acknowledgement of sorts, that made Y/N momentarily believe that they were noticeable, only for that to be squished that same day. 

“You’re photo in the Cosmetology magazine, it looks really good. Red suits you.” 

The way that color looked on Y/N was the same as how a red rose looked on a green stem; like it was always meant to be. Y/N has seen the comparisons between them and their mother. M/N L/N was a beautiful woman, with large eyes and pouty lips, the very definition of innocence. A puppy-dog look that fit so naturally on her face. 

A white rose. 

While Y/N had a more sultry tone, a more powerful presence, one that demanded attention. 

A red rose. Not so innocent, or pure, but who can be when you see your own mother dead in the bathtub. Drug allegations and the loss of her popularity caused her downfall, and she loved her popularity more than she loved her child. Y/N finds it hard to blame her, because after they have gotten a taste of what beauty can get them, they can see why their mother got addicted to the camera flashes. 

The assurance that yes, they are beautiful. They are beautiful and worthy of the cameras. 

But with every camera flash, is a terrible comment. A terrible blog, highlighting their faults and insecurities. Someone dissecting every motion they made, every microexpression, ever comment. 

“Here you are, Y/N.” Y/N’s attention snapped back and sure enough they were in front of the door. Tim waited patiently for Y/N to enter, “Thank you, Tim.” The young man shrugged, “Sure. Clothes can be found in the dresser and shoes in the closet.” Y/N nodded, waiting for the other to leave. Instead Tim turned around and faced Y/N, waiting for the other with a raised brow, “You’re not going to ask about the clothes?” 

Y/N gulped, “I feel like if I ask, I won’t like the answer. I’d rather live in ignorance for now.” They walked past Tim, opening and closing the door, but before they saw Tim grin and a smile played out on his lips, “Smart.” 

They locked the door, and when they turned around Y/N nearly collapsed. They pressed their back into the door as they stared at the room in mild terror. Their room from their condo, fully paid off condo, was present in front of Y/N. The same color palette, the same furniture, hell even the bookshelves are the same. Gulping, Y/N walked further in and when they opened the dresser, their jaw clenched and fingers shook. 

The exact same clothes. 

The bathroom was their saving grace, or so they thought. It didn’t look like their bathroom in the condo, save for the same colored towels. That was until they opened the shower and saw full bottles of the same brand soap, shampoo, conditioner, masks, everything. 

“Just like home. It is just like home, Y/N. Only in the Manor.” They mumbled to themselves, stripping in front of the shower stall and jumping in and not even waiting for the water to get hot. They wanted in and out as quickly as possible. Washing their hair, their body, and not even bothering to do the usual masks and scrubs. 

Jumping out, they quickly towel dried themselves and threw on the robe that was so familiar. 

“Routine… keep to the routine…” Body lotion, while the skin is still damp so it can absorb into the skin better, followed by an oil. For the face it was a double cleanse, first an oil based then water-based, followed by toner, retinol, serums, hyaluronic acid, moisturizer, and face oil. Teeth will be after the meal, but hair… 

“Moisturizer, blow dry, and then oil.” Y/N continued to mutter, trying desperately to not go crazy as the familiar brands flashed across their face and they had to use it like normal. They had too. Cause if they don’t, then Y/N knows that they will go crazy. 

They don’t bother to look in the dresser again, already on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and instead they opted to flop onto the bed. Y/N buried their face in the pillow, and tried to not think about anything. They tried to force their mind blank, just how they did on the runway. 

“Y/N, are you ready?” Only it wasn’t working. Sitting up, Y/N stared at the door and contemplated answering. The carefully crafted facade was cracking and Y/N doesn’t know if they can keep the mask on any longer. From the multiple shows this week, to the shows earlier today, then this, the mask had outworn its use and now it is slowly begging to be taken off. 

“One minute please.” Only they can’t. Not here. Definitely not here. 

Peeling themselves off of the bed, Y/N stripped out of the robe and grabbed the first shirt they saw, underwear, and jeans. Their house slippers were right next to the dresser, and Y/N wanted to cry. All of it was getting too much and they're not sure how much longer they can be doing this. 

Opening the door, Dick and Jason were the ones waiting for them. Dick grinned, “How insulting of you to look so great in only jeans and a crew neck, making the rest of us look like toads.” Y/N chuckled, closing the door behind them, “I am a model, its my job to look good in every style of clothing.” 

Dick laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulder he pulled the other close. Close enough that Y/N could smell the detergent used on Dick’s clothes, and body heat radiating off of the other. They started walking, Jason keeping silent while Dick chatted to Y/N, catching the other up on the past year. 

“There are more to the family now, but they won’t be at dinner today. Cass is with Steph, Duke is studying, and Barbara has dinner with her own family to join.” Y/N nodded, ignoring the small sting that others can be welcomed in while they couldn’t be. Instead, they kept the conversation polite, “How nice! It must be worthwhile to have so many people here.” Dick grinned, and there was a type of sharpness to it that had Y/N squirming. 

“Yeah, but it was never really a full house because not everyone was here.” A jab at Y/N, who muscled through it, “Well, modeling is a travel-heavy job. There was no time to come back.” The brothers stayed quiet, leading Y/N to the dining room table where everything and everyone was sitting and waiting patiently. 

Bruce caught their eyes, and motioned for them to sit at the empty seat next to him, Tim on the other side. Y/N walked over, and took the seat graciously, trying to ignore the weight in their stomach that was making their throat close. Alfred emerged, and like the true butler he was, he began setting their plates in front of them. Perfectly made and being presented beautifully on the white ceramic plates with gold leaf designs. 

Their favorite meal, one that always had Y/N running down the stairs when Alfred would announce his plans to make it, sat perfectly in the center of the plate. Its been so long since Y/N had it, no one quite makes it like Alfred does, and plus its just not really in Y/N’s diet. 

But Alfred made it. Alfred put his time and effort into making it, and Y/N is not going to spit on that. Once everyone had their plate, the dinner table became loud with chatter. Just like hoow it used to be. Dick would carry the conversation for the entire table, Jason would make sarcastic remarks, Tim intelligent ones, Damian’s would be snide, and Bruce would look exhausted the entire time. However, he still partook in them, letting his kids have the family moment of conversing with their parental figure. Smiling and chuckling as he did so, Bruce tried to be that good father figure. 

And Y/N just sits there. They eat quietly and think about their next photo shoot, the next trends that they need to hop on, the workout routine they need to adhere by. Questions do not get thrown their way– 

“Now that fashion season is over, what are your plans Y/N?” E/C eyes blink owlishly, staring at Dick in wonder as all eyes focus on them. 

“Oh, uh, um, well its normally rest season for us, but I have plans to schedule a few photoshoots, commercials, and I know Maya has been talking about me becoming a brand ambassador.” Y/N wants to keep the momentum. Y/N wants to be kept busy to get and stay away from here. 

“You’re not going to rest?” Jason questioned, raising a brow and Y/N shrugged, “I plan to take a few weeks off, but modeling doesn’t really have a set time.” It isn’t a 9-5 job, or vigilante job. Y/N will have to make public appearances, showing up to Galas, grand openings, other fashion shows, fashion shoots, and a lot of traveling. 

Bruce hummed, “Sounds like you’re running yourself thin.” Y/N gulped, “It sounds like a lot, but most of it is traveling and getting ready. Besides, I like being busy.” In high school, Y/N would go from school the the modeling agency where they would schedule photo shoots and commercials. Then it would be meeting with dieticians, personal trainers, estheticians, and then more meeting for future goals. The next steps. 

Y/N was always busy, but so was their mother and she managed. She was a single mother and a high end fashion model. If she can do it, then there is no reason Y/N can’t. 

“But there are other stuff right? Like you need to get facials to make sure your skin looks nice, and working out,” Damian chimed in, and Y/N blinked in surprise at the youngest contributing to the conversation. They smiled, “That’s not really tiring, it’s just time consuming.” 

Alfred walked back into the dining room, a dessert platter in his hands, “Then it is good you will be resting here. Take a few days to enjoy being free.” A cheesecake was set down in front of Y/N, and Alfred pointedly stared at the half eaten meal. He gave Y/N a raised brow, and while the model would normally smile and reassure the man that they would eat later, their face was full of shock, “What do you mean a ‘few days?’” 

Bruce wiped the corner of his lips with a napkin, “A few days. Rest here for a few days, it’ll be good for you and for everyone else.” Y/N gulped, “Why is it good for everyone else if I stay?” 

“Of course it’s good for us. Family sticks together obviously, and with you running off, it really sent things haywire.” There it was again. The phrase ‘running off’ as if it was something Y/N actually did. They smiled, “You’re sounding like Tim. I did not run off, I moved out.” Bruce’s brow furrowed, “ ‘Moved out,’ huh. I didn’t realize moving out meant leaving without so much as a goodbye.” 

“The things you left behind, you scheduled people to grab them and throw them out. Alfred was the one to stop them from touching your room,” Dick stated. Those blue eyes keep Y/N locked in their seat. The smile on the oldest sibling’s face was anything but kind, “It’s like you wanted to erase yourself from this manor. You left behind almost nothing that would trace you to us.” 

“Not a number to call. We had to get it from Alfred,” Jason chimed, taking a bite of the chocolate mousse cake. 

“Or a letter explaining where you went.” Damian took a sip of the tea. 

“Or an address.” Tim gulped his cup of coffee, all of them watching Y/N. They way their sibling’s shoulders tensed and that fake smile became more and more downturned. Bruce spoke once more, “It seems like you don’t even want to be a Wayne. Taking your mother’s last name despite the controversies.” 

Y/N’s smile turned bitter, “I took her last name because Wayne is more influential and I wanted to start with as little influence as possible. Plus, legally my last name is still L/N.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze, “And look how many speculations you got for drug use.” 

“...Since when did you read gossip?” 

“The moment my kid’s photo is attached to that piece of gossip.” Y/N is still aware of all the blogs accusing them of drug-use, the same blogs that accused M/N. People using her photos to compare their features and just cause more drama. 

Y/N took a bite of the cheesecake, and the tension at the table was thick. Usually it was between Dick and Bruce, or Jason and Bruce. Never between Y/N though. Although, Y/N never spoke at the table so maybe that is why they were arguing? Can this even be considered an argument? 

Alfred cleared his throat, “While talking is appreciated, arguments stay away from the dinner table.” So it was an argument. Y/N apologized to the man and took another bite of the cheesecake. Their mind filled with the workout they are going to have to do to burn this off. 

++++

Alfred watched the child he considered a grandchild drink their tea, brewed in the darkness of the kitchen and now sitting at the dinner table again. While a year may not seem long, for Alfred it was. Y/N, who had been there for half a decade, had been glued to Alfred’s side. The man always taking the teen to and from school, and then sometimes to their gigs. 

It was Alfred that took Y/N to their first audition to be a model, and it seems like it was only a few days before he received a call from a woman claiming to be M/N L/N’s manager, and while she may not be Y/N’s manager, her daughter will be. Alfred liked Maya. The young woman always let him know of Y/N’s gigs, she would pick the young teen up and drop him off, and she tried to be as helpful as she could. Maya was a woman born to manage models and their busy and demanding schedules. 

What Alfred didn’t like, was that Maya still had the old school model critiques. Alfred gaped at the woman when she handed him a list of diets for Y/N to ‘lose weight.’ A 15 year old Y/N, who was already slender, now being told they had to be skinny but toned. A child being told that ice cream was no longer an option, and their favorite burgers were banned. 

He furrowed at the training regime, wondering how agencies can expect a teenager to be toned like their already full adult models. Nonstop cardio, ab workouts, and toning exercises. Then strut practice, because if Y/N was M/N’s child, then they were made for the runway. Born to walk in front of cameras and audiences. 

“If Y/N wants to be a model, then sacrifices have to be made,” Was Maya’s response to Alfred's inquiries. She assured him that Y/N would still be eating, and she encouraged Y/N to eat, but now those meals were restricted to certain foods. 

Alfred watched as Y/N struggled at first, their own plate different from the others, and how the blisters on their toes and heels bled through their socks and bandaids. The old man watched as the training and strut practice became an everyday routine. Y/N walked on the wobbling plyboard, barely wide enough for one foot, and the amount of times they fell off of it. The books stacked on their head for good posture and balance, followed by walking on an incline in those uncomfortable shoes, then training the muscles to the point of exhaustion. 

He had watched the child-like baby fat on Y/N’s cheeks melt off and expose cheekbones that looked tight against the skin. Y/N still looked beautiful, not more or less, but Alfred could see the exhaustion in those young eyes and how Y/N juggles modeling and being a student. 

Y/N didn’t even go to their high school graduation, choosing instead to head to Paris for their first ever abroad photoshoot. That kickstarted the traveling and runway model career. Once Y/N got their highschool diploma, they were out the door and becoming busier and busier. 

“I see you still drink onion skin tea so late at night.” Y/N smiled up at Alfred, “Of course. I was shocked to see that you still keep the skins.” The older man sat across from Y/N, nursing his own cup of tea “Of course. In case you ever visited, I thought it would be great to have some in stock.” Y/N gave Alfred a ‘really?’ look, continuing to sip on the still hot tea.

“I saw the piece you wore today,” Alfred started the conversation. 

“It truly is a beautiful piece of work.” Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Did you know about-” Y/N waved a hand in the air, “- about Bruce calling to commission a piece?” The old man took a sip of the earl gray. Y/N shook their head, unable to be upset, “Alfred, a call about that would have been appreciated.” 

“An address would also be appreciated but seeing as you have withheld that information, I saw no harm in sharing Master Bruce’s commission.” Y/N deflated, rubbing their forehead with their fingers, “Alfie-” 

“You only use that name when you know you’re about to be in trouble, so you might as well just say it, Young Master Y/N.” Y/N’s cheeks blushed and their lips pouted, “Alfie, I told you that the reason I didn’t tell you my address is because I am always traveling. I’d feel awful if you showed up and I wasn’t there.” 

“There’s a wonderful contraption called a cellphone, Young Master Y/N. I would call before making that trek over.” Y/N groaned, setting his cup down and trying not to crumble in front of the grandfather figure. Answering to Alfred was always harder than answering to Bruce. 

“Alfie–” 

“Young Master Y/N, I understand your hesitancy is sharing in your life with others. Life was lonely here, and I understand wanting to forget that. However, having only a number to call you is terrifying. What if something happens and I cannot help you?” Y/N gazed sadly at Alfred, “Life wasn’t lonely, Alfie. I had you, right?” 

Alfred Pennyworth, Y/N’s saving grace and lifeline. The person who is proof that Y/N was not alone in the Wayne Manor. The butler always willing to lend an ear when Y/N vented their frustrations, and when tears escaped their E/C eyes. He is Y/N’s biggest supporter. Always buying a magazine that had Y/N in it, and he would listen to Y/N critique the pose and the facial expression. Then he would give Y/N a slice of cheesecake and compliment Y/N, in both the photo and in person. 

Always reassuring the other that a cheat day will not set him back, and rest is what the body needs the most. Reassuring Y/N that their mother would be proud, that Bruce notices them, and that Y/N’s siblings do in fact love them. 

“Besides, why would you even want to visit? My place wouldn’t be as grand as this–” 

“It would be to make sure your fridge is stocked and that you are eating. You have always been the worst when it comes to eating, and I worry that your fridge and pantry are empty.” Alfred doesn’t have to guess that Y/N’s fridge is empty, because he knows it is. 

He knows that Y/N’s fridge is empty besides some drinks, and that the pantry is only snacks. While Y/N may have the excuse of being gone for so long, traveling and whatnot, Alfred knows that Y/N does not spend a lot of money on food. Y/N spends more money on clothes, jewlery, facial and hair care products, than they do on groceries. 

Y/N doesn’t even look ashamed. Nervous, yeah, but not ashamed. They sip their tea without making eye contact. Time to change the subject. 

“Why is Bruce, and all the boys, all of a sudden interested in what I do?” Alfred didn’t Y/N out on the obvious change in conversation, but he let it slide. The old man sighed, “Why would a parent not be interested in what their child is doing?” 

“Alfred.” 

“Young Master Y/N, you have worked tirelessly to get to the position you are now. With no help from the family, you had spent your late mother’s money to audition, then to pay your managers, and now you are making it big within the industry. Is it wrong for a parent to congratulate their child?” Y/N bit their  lip, “So its because I’m finally someone now? Was I not worth attention because I chose not to be Robin?” 

“Young Master Y/N–” 

“I don’t care about that. Like I told Bruce, it wasn’t abuse or anything, he just simply didn’t have time for me and that’s fine. I’m not mad about that.” Alfred watched Y/N get worked up, and E/C begin to shift in nervousness, “What I am talking about is why did Bruce pay off my Condo, and why does he have access to my bank account?” 

Silence fell across the table. Y/N staring at Alfred expectantly, while the butler finished his tea. Once done, he grabbed his and Y/N’s tea cup and headed towards the kitchen. 

“Perhaps, that is a Master Bruce question.” Y/N made a sound of annoyance, throwing themselves back into the chair and scrunching their nose. Standing up from the table, Y/N said goodnight to Alfred, and proceeded up that stairs and into dark hallways. Y/N wasn’t ready to go back to the guest room, feeling their heart rate spike whenever they thought of the replicated room. 

Instead, they walked down familiar halls towards a room-now-turned-trophy room. They reached for the doorknob, but found themselves unable to open it. Y/N didn’t want to see all the photos Alfred had kept throughout the years. Rather, what caught Y/N’s attention was the lacking of doors in the hallway. There used to be two more doors on their left, but instead there was now one. The area where the second door was, was perfectly sealed and now blended into the wall. 

Y/N took a deep breath, and opened the door. They used to be guest rooms as well. The two rooms had queen-sized beds and armoires for the unexpected guests that popped up. Y/N’s room used to be a guest-room, but they ended up liking the privacy because no one else’s room was around their’s. In fact, it was the guest room across from Y/N’s room that they had turned into the practice room, seeing that no one came down this hallway. 

However, clearly people were not because of the renovation done. 

When the door opened, Y/N sought out the light switch. The room was pitch black, and the last thing Y/N wanted to do was trip over something. Feeling around the wall, Y/N rejoiced when they felt the familiar switch and flicked it on. Once the bright light filled the room, Y/N took a deep breath. They were expecting a game room, or an indoor swimming people because that seems like something a rich person would do. Turning two guest rooms into a pool despite it being on the second floor. 

Something not exactly normal, but expected. 

Y/N didn’t expect this. Gone was the wall that separated the two bedrooms, making it one long room, and all the furniture was absent. No more beds, armoires, and it looks like even the bathrooms were gutted and turned into part of the room. All the tables, rugs, sofas, everything that was once in those rooms, were now gone besides the chandeliers that hung on the ceiling. Filling the room with a bright light, that didn’t fit the manor aesthetic at all, and illuminating everything that was in the room. 

While the furniture was gone, the room was not empty. Mannequins lined the walls, on their own podiums and glass cases. While seeing them bare would have been scary, seeing them dressed in the clothes that Y/N had worn on the runways was more terrifying. Y/N, in the runway season alone, walked 86 shows. That is the runways season alone, not including the other smaller shows they have done since graduating high school almost a year ago. 

These weren’t all of the clothes they have worn, there was still a large amount and they were the most iconic pieces. Pieces that a designer would never want to give someone. 

Y/N walked further in, taking in the first mannequin on the right, and they noted that the mannequin looked eerily similar to Y/N. Only missing the facial features and hair, but it looked like the proportions were almost spot on. 

The plastic doll had on the outfit from a runway show earlier in the year, when Y/N walked for Versace. A simple long blazer with deep V cut, stopping mid-thighs where only an inch of skin was shown before thigh boots bedazzled in gold, diamonds, emeralds, and other precious jewels took over the rest of the legs. The earrings they wore were poked into the mannequin's own ears and the bracelets hung off the dainty wrists. In the glass case, next to the mannequin, was the photo taken of Y/N when they were walking. 

The next case was a piece they wore when walking for a newer fashion-designer, one that Y/N did for free just to get to their name out there, and the piece was a gorgeous suit, dyed a beautiful vermillion red that had the slighted shimmer of gold in it. Y/N’s runway photo was once again next to the mannequin. 

The entire room was full of these iconic runway looks, with Y/N’s photo right next to them, and they surrounded all sides of the room and some of them in the middle. Almost like an art gallery of sorts, and Y/N looked at every single one of them. Not in amazement or judgment, but more of horror. 

Y/N knows some of these fashion designers. They have known some of them since they were a child and watching their mom get fitted by these exact same designers. No matter how much she begged, they would never let her take one of their creations home. These clothes were meant to be either safe-guarded in a museum, in their own collection, or in some cases bought by a celebrity and worn to an award ceremony as advertisement. 

In other words, Y/N knows that some of these designers would rather gnaw off an arm then give away their precious creations. Yet, here some of those precious creations were, hanging on the mannequin shaped like the model. 

In the center of the room, like it was the main show, was the Batman-inspired piece. All that was missing was the photo, which wouldn’t be published for another few weeks. 

Taking a deep breath, they stared at the reflection in the gold-plated bat. They were trying to process all of this. It’s one thing to have photos, because Y/N is a model and photos are expected, but to have the actual clothes they wore. Clothes that Y/N knows the designers would kill for, dressed on mannequins that looked almost exactly like Y/N was another thing.

Y/N backed out of the room, turning the lights off and shutting the door silently. They stared at their own door, sweat beginning to break out on their forehead, and they went against their instincts and opened that door. 

A trophy room, Alfred had said. The walls are decorated in their photos, and the bed is still as immaculate as the day they left. Turning the lights on, Y/N couldn’t help but to smile as the time capsule in front of them. From their very first photoshoot, when Y/N was a gangly 15-year-old with still chubby cheeks, to the most recent photoshoot of a now 18 almost 19-year-old Y/N. Their confidence can be seen in their pose and gaze, something their younger self lacked. 

Y/N walked closer to the walls and looked at all the different photos. Some candid, some posed, some in the water, and there’s one where they are in Greece. Some had Y/N fully clothed with barely and inch of skin, and some were of Y/N with barely an inch of clothes. From makeup, to shoes, to perfume, to clothes, Y/N’s photo was pinned on the wall or framed. 

A photo caught their attention though. It wasn’t one from a website, or a magazine, but an actual photo. Y/N looked closer, and they recognized the set from when they were 16-years-old posing for an editorial magazine. 

However, the angle in which this photo was taken from, Y/N knows there were no cameras there. All the cameras were in front or on the side, not behind. Another photo caught their eyes, and it was the same thing. A photo from behind. 

Once they started looking for them, Y/N could begin to spot them all. Photos that they know no photographer took. There was one that had their blood chilling and fear rising in their chest. It was a photo, taken at night and through one of the windows in Y/N’s condo. Y/N had one wall in the living room that was basically all windows, letting in the morning sun and led out onto the gated terrace. It was high enough that they had no neighbors that could look through those windows. 

In the photo, Y/N was wearing their pajamas and their hair still looked wet. They were sitting on the counter of the island in their kitchen, eating raspberries and watching Youtube on their TV. It was such a close photo, close enough that the reflection can be seen in the glass. 

Y/N recognizes the blue and black, and when Y/N’s eyes drifted to another photo of them in their home, bile rose into their throats. The morning sun illuminated the warm neutral color palette in the living room, and Y/N was out on the terrace sitting at the patio table they had set up out there drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. They had their shirt off, exposing ribs pulled tightly against skin and abs that remained toned even when Y/N wasn’t flexing. The shorts they had on exposing soft skin and pedicured feet, their slipped laid forgotten under the chair they were sitting in. 

They recognize that book. It was a book they read in the height of summer, meaning that this photo was taken half a year ago, when it was okay to sit outside in the warm summer mornings and let the skin begin to circulate. 

What chilled Y/N even more was that whoever took this photo was on their terrace with them. They were on Y/N’s terrace, and Y/N didn’t even know. The Wayne family has known Y/N’s address the entire time. They knew where Y/N was staying, they knew Y/N’s photoshoot schedules, and they knew Y/N better than Y/N thought they did. 

“I didn’t think you’d come in here.” Y/N’s head whipped around and there was Dick, or Nightwing, still in costume and smiling at them. 

“The hell is this?” Y/N held up the photo of them on the terrace, and Dick shrugged, “I’ll admit, those photos we took. But we didn’t take the other ones.” 

“What other ones?” “The ones of you at the photoshoots. I know you saw them, but we didn’t take those.” Y/N glared at Dick, and pushed themselves close to the wall as Dick walked in. Damian was right behind him. The oldest brother walked to the photo that originally caught Y/N’s attention, “You had a stalker, can you believe that? He took hundreds of photos of you, and all we did was make him stop.” 

Y/N’s lips pursed, “How do I know you’re not lying?” Dick unpinned the photo, and with Damian’s help, trapped Y/N against the wall next to the photo of them outside. He held up the photo, “Because, Y/N, as you can see we prefer more… candid photos then staged.” 

Y/N snapped, “There is nothing candid about that photo! That is an invasion of privacy! Trespassing! So is that one!” They pointed to one of them sitting on the counter. Damian grabbed their arm, and Y/N wanted nothing more than to shove the kid off. 

“And so is that one.” Dick pointed to one of Y/N wearing only a large shirt, a towel around their shoulders as they walked into their kitchen. 

“And that one.” 

“And that one.” 

“That one there.” 

“There’s that one too.” Y/N looked at all the photos, hidden next to the magazine photos, and they were all of them in their home. Horror morphed on Y/N’s face when there was one photo of Y/N in the bedroom, in the midst of taking their shirt off. 

Dick continued to smile, and Y/N could see Jason and Tim peeking in from the doorway. 

“You did a lot on your own, Y/N. You built a name for yourself, became a highly sought after model, it really is amazing.” Dick walked closer, “But you know what all of those photos have in common?” Y/N stared into blue eyes, terror swimming in those E/C eyes of theirs. 

“You aren’t even aware of your photo being taken.” The truth unsettled Y/N enough to try and squirm out of Damian’s grip and to get away from Dick. They didn’t need to be pointed out. Y/N is aware that in every photo taken without their permission, they were not once aware of it. Even when they looked like they would be only a few feet away, Y/N not once looked bothered. Y/N doesn’t even remember that feeling of being watched. 

Tim and Jason stepped in the room, making it seem crowded and even if Y/N got out of Damian’s grip, there was no way they were getting past all of them. 

Large hands gripped Y/N’s forearms, feeling like they would bruise the skin if Y/N struggled. 

“So tell your big brother Y/N, how do you expect us to trust you on your own when you can’t even notice someone on your terrace?” 

________________________________________________________

Part 3 is coming soon....

[starkeygirlposts]

Goosebumps in my Sleeve V

This chapter has been a labor of love. I feel so lacking in creativity, but yet writing is all I can think about! Once I sit down to write, my mind goes blank. Anyway, this chapter is a little all over the place but I wanted to delve into some other topics/scenes from the timeline. I hope you enjoy this one! Please beware that this is NOT proof read and most likely contains several errors. I will eventually get around to proof reading it. Summary: You've been dating Rafe Cameron for 3 years, and one day Ward and your mom tell you they're getting married.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader Trigger warnings: angst, stepcest, drugs, swearing, pregnancy, smut(a whole drawer of warnings), discussion of suicide, swearing, domestic violence, mama and daddy kink, breeding kink, mention of abortion, talk of death and killing, idk what else lol 18+ mdni

SERIES MASTERLIST

THEN

To say that Rafe got possessive once you found out you were pregnant would be an understatement. Nothing you did was okay with him if he didn’t know about it first. No schedule change or unpredictable plans were allowed to be made without an argument ensuing and a slew of angry texts and missed calls.

You’d try telling him that you needed to keep everything normal and the same as it was before so to not draw any unnecessary attention to the two of you and your situation. But he’d tell you he "didn’t give a fuck”, and “that’s my kid you’ve got in there so you tell me this kind of shit.”

More times than not you’d wonder if you’d only become an incubator for his precious cargo. Whether or not he cared solely about the baby under your heart or also about its mother. So when you go grab tacos with two of your closest friends, you finally lose it when Rafe blows up your phone wondering where you are and why you didn’t tell him you wouldn’t be home. You’d left the house at 6:30, not knowing where Rafe was or when he would be home. Maybe it’s the sinking feeling in his gut when he silently opens your door to find your bedroom empty, his mind racing to the worse case scenario, or maybe it’s the demon buried deep inside of him needing to control your every move.

Your sat at the table at your favorite Mexican restaurant not even five minutes from tanneyhill, chip half dipped into the bowl of guacamole when your phone chimes. The conversation between the three of you halts, and you wave your hand, telling them to continue as you flip your phone over, already knowing who the alert was from. You try to keep a straight face as you read the message.

7:02PM Rafe: Where are you?

You look it over, re reading it three times before debating sending a simple reply, instead deciding to push the power button and set it back down on the table, flipping the silent switch before you do so.

You don’t exactly know why you don’t want to answer, as if the reply takes too much energy. But the two things that come to your mind first is that you not only feel suffocated, but you want to forget for just a moment.

Then at 7:08 he calls you. You obviously don’t answer.

7:08PM Rafe: This again?

2 more missed calls.

7:12PM Rafe: Am I really that shitty of a boyfriend that you don't even want to answer me?

7:15PM Rafe: You’re testing me aren’t you? Why?

7:19PM Rafe: You know I can see where you are right? You’re sharing your location with me.

You stopped sharing your location with Rafe.

7:21PM Rafe: Are you fucking kidding me? I swear to god I will show up there in 5 minutes and drag your ass out of there. Turn your location back on. I’m putting my shoes on right now.

You started sharing your location with Rafe.

7:22PM Rafe: So you can read all my messages and turn your location off and on but you can’t reply?

7:23PM You: I’m with my friends. Girl friends. I’ll text you when I’m leaving.

7:24PM Rafe: Yeah but that doesn’t work for me. I want you here now so wrap it up. If you need me to get you let me know.

You can’t help but scoff, raising your eyebrows which elicits a question from one of your friends asking you who’s texting you. You put your phone in your purse and try to forget about Rafe’s overbearing for an hour with your friends. Casually, you tell her it’s your mom going off about you not telling her you wouldn’t be home for dinner like you’re 14 years old. But when not even fifteen minutes go by and your friends are sat across from you looking over your head at what’s behind you, you ball your fists and finish the last sip of your drink before relaxing in your seat. You almost wish you would’ve just told them the truth. You can see the confusion on their faces as they blink from above you to eye level with you.

You can feel him next to you, but you pretend you don’t. Your friends mutter a confused “Hey Rafe…” before he’s bending down to your level to look at you. Reluctantly, you turn your head to look back at him and his brows shoot up. He silently places a $100 bill on the table and calmly tells you “Let’s go, we’re leaving."

You make the mistake of rolling your eyes, looking back to your friends.

“My friends said hello, Rafe. Why don’t you say hi?” You briefly look to both of your friends, hoping your gaze offers a silent apology.

He straightens back up, pulling your chair out for you. You finally look up at him, his eyes still locked on you as you now meet them with yours. “We haven’t even ordered dinner. I’ll be home in an hour.” You try to tell him, but he’s got your bag in his hand and his hand wraps around your upper arm, pulling you to your feet. His lips are next to your ear, hot breath casting a wind across your neck.

“Do not make a scene here. We’re leaving. Say goodbye.” He tells you, and you look back at him once more before looking down at your friends and telling them that your mom made your favorite and you’d rather avoid a blowout. The girls nod skeptically, looking at you and then at each other and then back to you.

“I’m really sorry, I’ll text you.” You tell them simply, before Rafe is tugging you to walk in front of him. His hand finds your lower back to guide you out of the restaurant and your phone vibrates in your hand. You glance down at it to see the name of you and your friends group chat pop up in your notifications. It reads a simple question.

“Are you okay?”

You take a deep breath, as deep as you can as you walk to Rafe’s truck before you type out a quick reply.

“Totally fine, so sorry. My mom’s been a maniac she Rafe’s just trying to avoid another explosion. I’m actually grateful lol"

Both girls love the message, and you quickly slip it into the pocket of your jeans as his arm leaves your back to open the door of the truck for you. You look back at him and he raises his brows, thrusting his hand forward for you to get in. You huff and relent, grabbing the inside handle and climb in.

You scoff and shake your head, pissed and upset as he climbs into the drivers side. He starts the engine and pulls into the street, not saying a word to you so you take the silence as an opportunity.

You don’t think before you speak, and you regret it instantly.

“Maybe I should’ve had an abortion."

The words fly out faster than you mean for them to, your tone dripping venom as you look ahead at the lit up road, totally vacant. He doesn’t respond, and you look next to you to him, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. His brows are furrowed and his lip is curled in disgust. You know he heard you when he cocks his head and swerves the truck violently into the shoulder.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His tone drips with hatred, his head cocked but keeps his gaze straight ahead. You’re watching him, turning your body fully in your seat. You wonder for a brief moment if you should grovel, mumble out a quick “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” But for the briefest moment you wonder if you actually did…

“No…no, no. Say that again. Say it, I dare you.” He says darkly, finally turning his head to look at you. Your eyes connect and he’s staring at you so deeply you wonder if he can see the turning of your insides.

You’re silent, and his eyes squint like he’s trying to see better.

“Come on baby say it. Say it again. I want to hear you say that shit to me again.” You flinch when his hand jets out to grip the back of your neck harshly, and you cry out in surprise, muttering a “Rafe, stop.” before he’s dragging you closer to him, your belly jutting into the console. His nose presses against yours and he shakes your head as if to wake you up.

“Did you actually fucking say that? About my baby? Wish you would’ve done it, huh? You hate me that much?” He’s seething, seeing nothing but red, glitter sparkling his vision as he tries to focus on you. You try your best to pull your head back, but it’s no use as his grip is strong on your neck keeping you pressed to him. The bow breaks and you can’t help but shout;

“I don’t know, do you hate me that much?! It’s so fucking hard to tell!” Before you continue, his head cocks, his cheek meeting you nose as he takes a deep breath and laughs humorlessly.

“What the fuck? What are you talking about? Are you okay? I mean shit I know hor-"

You cut him off, pushing him back with your hands on his chest to be able to look at him.

“No Rafe! I’m not fucking okay! Thank you for finally asking! Why did you have to ruin tonight for me? Why wasn’t I allowed to get dinner with my friends? Five fucking minutes away from our house? Did you see any guys there? Any drugs on the table? Any alcohol? I didn’t even get to eat dinner! But because I’m having your baby it doesn’t matter right?"

He scoffs and furrows his brows in confusion, trying to get a word in but you slap him instead. His cheek burns, his lips parted in shock as he looks at you and rubs the mark. He shuts his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking at you with intent. Your chest heaves and your hand goes to cover his on his cheek and you can’t help but mumble a “sorry…I -"

He cuts you off, hand leaving his face to grip yours.

“I am fucking terrified, okay? Aren’t you? You’re not — you don't get it! Baby you don’t fucking get it. Listen to me…no, listen to me!” You try to wrangle your head out of his grip, but both hands reach over to grab both of your cheeks between his hands, forcing you to look at him. His pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and his nostrils flared.

“Look at me, you remember that night don’t you? I know you do. Look at me and tell me. Do you mean it? You wish you aborted the baby?” He asks you this rhetorically, but maybe you really do wish you’d just done what Ward told you to. You take a deep breath and fight the tears that threaten to spill over, and they do when you clench your lids closed in regret. Your hand subconsciously drifts to your middle and you shake your head in Rafe’s hands.

“Say it, I need to hear you say it.” His voice is soft now, coaxing you to open your eyes and when you do, he’s ducked his head to look as close at you as he can and you quietly say “No.” He silently nods his head once, and you can’t help the tears that fall down your cheeks and over his fingers.

You’re still shaking your head and you tell him again. “No, no I shouldn’t have…I didn’t mean it. I want her.” You tell him honestly and you see him smile for the first time in so long and he leans down to kiss you, pecking your lips deeply. Your body is rigid against his, sobs shaking your form as you say again “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, I know you didn’t baby, it’s okay, I know.” He tells you like he’s comforting a child. “I need you to hear me right now, okay?” He asks, serious, pulling away from you to bring your head up to meet his gaze.

“I paid people so you’d get to keep the baby. My father will pay people so that we can’t. Whether that’s right back where we were, or ripping her from your arms. Tell me you understand that. You are not safe. We are not safe.” He says, shaking his head.

You look at him, silent for a moment, and your mind betrays you. You allow yourself to imagine the moment your baby comes out of you and instead of Rafe there, it’s Ward. And instead of your slimy baby being placed on your bare chest, they’re whisked away from you without any words exchanged.

Your hands absentmindedly find Rafe’s forearms that are still holding your face in his hands and you mutter a small “I understand."

“Yeah?” He asks you, and you nod and tell him again that you understand.

“Don’t bring me back there tonight, I - I can’t go back there right now.” You softly say, your mind mushy and your emotions ruined.

You see him nodding, and he calls Topper, asking him if you can use his pool house.

Next thing you know you’re pulling into Top’s driveway, his parents away on vacation and it’s probably the only reason Rafe came here rather than paying for a hotel room.

When you get inside, and the blinds are drawn, you settle on the edge of the made bed having kicked off your shoes and unhooked your bra. You’re watching him pace around to make sure the windows are locked and covered well enough, and when you assume he’s satisfied with the barricade, he finally looks at you. You and all your messy glory. But you’ve shed your pullover and now you’re just in a thin tank top, your bra removed and he looks down to your bump. It’s more prominent, unable to be hidden in regular clothes, and he laughs when he sees the makeshift hair tie closure on your jeans.

You can’t remember the last time you heard him actually laugh. Not laugh without humor, not scoff, but actually laugh with genuine joy. You can’t help but smile with him as he closes the space between you, brushing your hair back from your face and tipping it back so you can meet his eyes.

“Getting bigger, huh?” He asks, still smiling and you nod, hand resting on the biggest part of your belly. At 14 weeks, you were unable to wear most of your clothes, save for 2 pairs of jeans that still closed with a makeshift tie, and some oversized tops and sweaters. You were afraid that you were approaching the point where wearing sweaters in the heat of summer would raise suspicions. You mumble a quiet “mhm”. Your other hand drifts down to said makeshift tie to undo it, freeing your lower belly from the restriction. You shift so you can wiggle them down and over your hips, Rafe watching your movements. You move to stand in front of him and tug the denim all the way down to your knees, allowing them to slide the rest of the way off and kick them off with your feet. His hands drift down your neck, over your arms, to your hands and he grips them, bringing each up to his mouth to kiss each palm while watching you.

You’re watching him back, eyes glued to his as he presses slow, open mouthes kisses up your arm until he drops them and palms your lower back with one hand while the other cups your neck to tilt your head up so that he can crane his neck and press his lips to yours. It feels like too long since you’ve been kissed like this by him, your shoulders slumping in relief as his tongue slips past your lips to flick against yours.

You’re putty in his hands, kissing him back as eagerly as you can while your hormones rage and your emotions are tangled. Your hands rub up his back and around to his biceps, falling down to his elbows where your hands cup, trying to pull him closer to you.

As he takes a breath, you pull your head back to speak.

“You’re gonna love her more than me, aren’t you?” You ask shyly, unable to look at him when you ask, your hands falling away from his body to find the edge of the mattress, lowering your body down to sit.

You don’t see the furrow in his brow as he looks at you confused, his fingers reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear as he cradles your chin in his palm. He moves to his knees before you, and you allow yourself to look at him as he does, looking at you with worry.

“Why would you say that? Gonna love ‘em just as much as I love you.” He tells you, trying to say the right thing. Truth be told, he did love the baby inside of you more deeply than he understood. But wasn’t that normal? Wasn’t he supposed to? Did he love the baby more than he loved you? How was that even possible?

“There wouldn’t be any baby in there if I didn’t love you as much as I do.” He tells you softly, and you nod in acceptance.

“Not just a way for you to continue your legacy?” You ask quietly and now he’s truly confused. He tells you to look at him, and you do.

“I’m gonna tell you this because I don’t want to hear any stupid shit like this again. M’kay?” He asks you, and you nod.

“If we didn’t make her, I don’t think I’d still be here right now.” Now its your brow furrowing, and your hands move to grip his, cautiously asking him what he means. He takes a deep breath and flutters his eyes closed like he’s ashamed.

“You know what I mean, baby. Don’t make me say it. Can’t live without you...you know that.” He tells you honestly and the tear that falls from his eye as he looks at you through saggy lids tell you everything you need to know.

You gasp without meaning to, and you can’t help the guilt brewing in your gut. The idea of a world without Rafe in it makes you want to throw up, your hands gripping his like a vice, and you beg him to never say that again.

“I can’t…I couldn’t do this without you.” You tell him, tears threatening to fall and he pulls you to him to cradle your head under his.

“You don’t have to. I’m here.” He says simply, pulling back just enough to lower his head and kiss you again, his lips soft and hesitant against yours like he’s asking permission, and you lean back on the bed in approval, relenting and his hands snake up to your bottom, fingers squeezing to drag you further up the bed, settling on his knees in between yours.

Your lips find a pace against his, allowing him to find clarity in your movements. Your hips mindlessly buck up against his and he breaks away from your lips to run a hand down the valley of your breasts down below your belly to the hem of your tank, pulling it up and over your head to leave you bare except for your panties that remain the only barrier he can’t see past.

Your chest is heaving, watching him hover above you, and your hands find their way to the hem of his own shirt, tugging on it trying to lift it but needing his help and he chuckles, pulling the shirt off from behind his head, throwing it to the growing pile of your clothing on the floor.

He watches your face as he drags his fingers past the top of your panties to use the tip of his pointer finger to brush down the middle of your panties, the pressure against your clit making you arch up off the bed to gain friction. You moan his name and look down at him. He’s leaning back on his calves, shirtless and watching you squirm in need of more.

“What is it baby?” He teases, cocking his head while he watches you in fascination, his fingers ghosting over your clothed slit, and you nearly cry in frustration. “Please don’t tease me, Rafe.” You groan, using your feet to try to tug him closer to you. But he tuts and tells you to “Relax”.

“Mama’s needy huh?” He croons, watching your expressions with lust, finally using his fingers to tug the crotch of your panties to the side so he can rub your cunt properly.

You throw your head back with a “yes!” falling from your lips. He uses his pointer finger to push inside of your gummy walls, his thumb coming to rub firm circles on your clit, the pressure tightening the knot inside of your gut. He adds his middle finger inside of you, curling his fingers upward to push at the spongey spot inside of you, knowing your body so well.

His other hand comes up to rest on the swell of your belly, your hand instinctively covering his and lacing your fingers through his. His fingers thrust in and out of you at a rapid speed, your hips bucking up off the bed when you’re about to snap. “Gonna make me cum Rafe!” You squeal, pushing out to feel yourself gush around his fingers, pushing up on your elbows to watch him. He’s watching his fingers fuck in and out of you, the wet squelch of you taking him in over and over. You collapse back against the soft mattress again after your chest stops heaving.

Rafe’s fingers leave your core and you can’t help the frustrated grunt that leaves your lips without intent. He climbs off the bed to unbuckle his jeans and push them down his hips to the floor, his boxers going with them. You lean up on your elbows again, watching him with hooded lids, heavy with bliss as he climbs back between your legs, using his palms to trail up your calves and behind your knees to press them into your chest, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead.

“Such a pretty mama, doing so good for me baby. You ready for my cock?” He asks sweetly, trailing kisses down your cheek to your jaw and finally locks his lips with yours and pulls back to look at you. You nod at him meekly, looking up into his eyes and he tell you to “Use your words, pretty girl."

“Yes, yes please, need your cock. Please fuck me Rafe.” You ask with confidence, chasing his lips with your own, craving the contact. His hands tighten on the backs of your knees, almost folding you too tight. He’s careful not to rest himself on your belly, though. He locks his lips on yours as he lines himself up with your cunt, but collects your wetness on his mushroom tip as he lets go of one knee to guide himself up and down your slit before guiding himself inside you in one smooth thrust. He stills when he’s buried all the way inside and your mouth falls open in a sharp cry.

“Oh, fuck…so fucking deep. Oh my godddd”. You whine, craning your neck up to press your forehead to his, his bangs hanging in your eyes. He pulls back to rest on the backs of his calves, using both hands to once again press your knees beside you in a mating press and tells you to look down at yourself.

“Look how good your pretty pussy swallows me baby. She takes me so well. Shiitttt” You whine in defeat, trying to drift your eyes downward, but at this angle flat on your back, you realize your belly is too large to see past. You huff in defeat and tell him “can’t see, rafe…tummy's too big.”

Something snaps inside of him and he hastily brings a hand behind your neck to grab a fistful of hair from the back of your neck to crane your neck up at an uncomfy angle, and you try thrusting your head back, but he stuffs a pillow behind you instead, tugging your head up farther. “Look down baby. Look at yourself dirty girl. Watch daddy fuck you.” You whine a moan at the name he gives himself and you look down again with the pillow behind you, watching as his cock drags slowly out of you, shiny with your slick before disappearing again. It’s painfully slow and you groan out.

“Fuck, Rafe…so deep, hurts so goooood.” You whine out, hands finding his forearms to steady yourself. The pressure he’s building inside of you is becoming too much and you can’t help but clench around him. He feels it and chuckles, leaning down to breathe against your lips. “Noooooo baby, don’t do that. You can take it, you’re doing so good baby girl don’t push me out.” He’s speaking to you in a higher pitch like he’s coaching you through it, continuing "Just…fucking…take it” punctuating with each thrust his long cock makes inside you, bruising your cervix over and over. You whimper at his words, your nails digging half moons into his skin and you can’t help the mewls and whines that pour out of your mouth.

He starts to fuck into you at a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours with lewd wet sounds, white cream forming around the base of his shaft as his sock leaks seed into you. “Fuck baby, m’gonna cum…need you to cum too. Can you cum for me?” He asks, lightly tapping your cheek with his hand, too fucked out to hold his stare. You look back down to where he’s disappearing inside your body, his thumb now rubbing your pearl and you clench around him before letting go, pushing out again and gushing around him. He groans and paints the inside of you with his seed, mouth agape with curses and moans pouring out like music to your ears. Hearing Rafe cum was one of your favorite moments together. Getting to hear how blissed out he was to be with you. How you were the one who made him fall over the edge.

He’s breathing heavily, hot breath fanning over your face as he all but collapses on top of you, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck and up to your ear lobe where he nibbles and whispers; “I love you so god damn much baby. Don’t ever wanna hear you question it again, kay?” His voice is lazy and groggy, but you nod eagerly and crane your neck so he’ll look at you.

You’re searching his eyes, finally telling him that “I love you…and I love her too.”

----

NOW

Rafe’s hand on your belly moves to leave your skin but the hand resting atop his keeps it where it is. You break your stare with Sarah to look over to him, his eyes trained on the road but you see the clench in his jaw and cringe on his face, his nose scrunched in revolt at having to listen to you describe that night to his sister.

Your other hand snakes around the back of his neck to cradle the cheek that faces the truck window and you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder to press a gentle kiss his neck. You know how hard it is for him to relive one of the worst nights of his life, knowing that somewhere inside of him almost believes that it was real.

“I’m sorry.” You mouth against his neck and bring your cheek back down to rest on his shoulder.

Your eyes flutter closed before quietly saying “I think I’ve shared enough.” Before opening your eyes again and locking them with Sarah’s, her head nodding briefly and you can see the tears brimming her bottom lids.

It’s a sick thing to talk about, you know you’ve overshared, but it’s reality for you, Rafe and the little girl underneath your hands. It was the only way to really allow her to understand any of this. It’s hard to still give a shit about other people, but you think salvaging an aunt for your daughter isn’t beyond reach. So you’re trying. Whether that’s okay with Rafe or not.

His voice jolts you suddenly. annoyed and tired. “How much longer am I driving here, Sarah?” He asks while keeping his gaze ahead. She nervously fumbles her phone, stuttering with nerves, you watch her hands tremble as she turns her phone upside down and tap it back open. “U-Uhhh, it’s just straight ahead for another mile and then you’re turning left.”

He doesn’t acknowledge her answer, instead following John B’s tail closer, clearly antsy. He huffs out a breath, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Y/N and I are going to the Bahamas after your friends load the cross into that piece of shit. I need you to keep dad occupied until tomorrow.” He’s curt and to the point, looking over at her briefly, Sarah nodding once and saying “Yeah, yeah, okay. I can do that.”

You wonder if you’ve traumatized her, dragged her into your fucked up reality. How could you not have? It was not an easy pill to swallow knowing her father truly was a monster. You think that up until now she thought that family was above all else to him and that he’d prioritize herself and her siblings above all else. You’re a little bit sorry you had to be the one to crush that idealization.

Sarah’s telling him to turn left and as he does, suddenly questioning “Hey Sarah?” almost innocently. You look up at him in wonder. You couldn’t have guessed what came from him next.

Sarah hums as he asks almost petulantly; “You think dad would ever make you kill your kid?” He turns his head to look at her and she looks back at him sharply, sucking a breath between her teeth, taken aback. Your own head flies to look at him and you can’t help but rush his name out of your lips in a scold, and you tense, stomach clenching in unease, shocked tears forming in her eyes and she finally shakes her head. It’s a trap question - that you’re smart enough to know and you know she is too. He doesn’t expect an answer. Because he knows that she knows the answer and that he knows it all the same.

No. Ward would never. And that’s why he wrapped his hands around her neck that night and shoved her underwater. Ward seemingly took away his little girl, so he’d take his away, too.

You wince and it hits you hard that your daughter will not be having a relationship with her aunt. Not if her dad can help it. The hatred he feels for his own sister stems so deep inside of him that allowing the idea of his child to grow to love someone he so deeply hates makes him sick. He will not allow his own flesh and blood the chance to be rejected by her like he had been his entire life.

It was his way of telling you without telling you that no - Sarah would not remain in your life and more importantly, your daughters.

For the first time, you have no rebuttal. Because you finally understand how deep the betrayal and loyalties lie, and there was no way to explain it away or reason differently. And for the first time, you're okay with the outcome.

Please leave a comment, and reblog! I’d love to hear from you guys what you’d like to see in this story via ask box/requests. I will answer any and all submissions! NOTE that I will NOT add you to the tag list if you are only commenting to add to the list.

See y’all soon!

[abyss-seer]

*Trigger Warning*

Confrontational Pick A Card Read

What is the truth that you do not want to confront when it comes to realizing, your childhood desires ?

Trigger Warning, this reading is 18 + and contains themes of suicide and r@pe, Please read it only when you feel comfortable about it🙏🏽. And this reading of mine isn't going to be linear at all. It is just a read to channel out your anger, your fire, the inner Goddess Pele in you. So please take your time with this read. It covers a lot of vulnerable topics. If something triggers you then leave it and come back later.

USE YOUR DISCERNMENT. DO NOT FOLLOW ANYTHING BLINDLY.

*******INDIVIDUALS SEEKING LEGAL, MEDICAL, OR ANY PROFESSIONAL ADVICE ARE ADVISED TO SEEK PROFESSIONALS OF THESE RELATED AREAS. ********

THE GUIDANCE IN A TAROT CARD READING IS MEANT TO BE TAKEN AS A SECOND OPINION ONLY. THE GUIDANCE GIVEN IN TAROT CARD READINGS IS AN INDIVIDUAL OPINION THAT THE VIEWER IS ADVISED TO TAKE AS A FRIENDLY OPINION OR ADVICE OF THE TAROT READER. THE TAROT READER IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ACTIONS TAKEN BY THESE INDIVIDUALS.

Individuals seeking mental, emotional, or psychological attention are advised to seek mental healthcare professionals, or the National Health Care Helplines of their respective countries and consider the opinions, resources, and guidance of these professionals as their first priority and the tarot reader's words as a friendly opinion or as a friendly advice.

What is the truth that you do not want to confront when it comes to realizing, your childhood desires ?

Here are the three piles

This read has a ton of quoted words in double semi colon. They seemed channeled words to me. Along with what your cards were trying to tell me.

____________________

Pile 1

Its as if you close your eyes to them. As if you are blind to them. The thing that makes you blind towards confronting that truth within yourself is your guilt. That guilt of leaving someone who loved you or whom you loved in utter chaos and despair while they were "silently" calling onto for your help. They may have doubted you for being so siren-like towards them. (Seducing them and letting their ship sink). "You must have doubted them" it's as if you thought they were doubting you the whole damn time only to realize they were utterly devoted towards you. Hence letting their ship sink because you thought they knew how to save themselves. But the ship sank and "he" never came back. "Travis Scott", the name travis could be significant. This pile could be shy and they might hesitate a lot from confrontation and feel as if an attorney or judge is about to sentence them. They wanted me to jump to pile 3. So someone who also doesn't like being talked about that much.

"You are too close to the truth" I heard the spirit say. I asked "What do they need to realize?" I heard "Avoid, Avoid Avoid avoid avoid, danger alert danger alert danger alert"

I guess its obvious why you haven't got past this issue (or the way some of you like to refer it "this pu$$y / d!¢k " ) Its not the sexual attraction its the guilt. And your Avoidance plays a bigger role in it. You need to realise, this is it, you have done it, it your past karma, leave it behind for now. Leave this desire right away and move on.

Take it how it resonates I ain't forcing anything. Wait and come back again only if you want to with an open mind.

"This ain't nothing to be afraid of, nothing but solidarity is required for this sh!t" It came through.

"Sowing seeds" You are being asked to sow seeds for your childhood desires persistently. Swati nakshatra coming through.

Avoidance tactics are not gonna help you. Its only going to keep you stuck, not away from your feelings which you have tucked away already but from your future desires as well as your dreams of becoming successful as it weighs your mind over n over, like a loop, in repeated patterns of behaviour as an excuse to get by your past deeds. Its your mind that is doing this to you, guilt tripping to you that you do not deserve this anymore when you know more than anyone else how much you deserve it too. Then will you let one bad deed spoil your day or corrupt your soul. You don't need to take this tension. Leave this past deed behind for the past and save it for future lessons.

"Ooh she mine,ooh she mine - Party Monsters"

"Heat Waves - Glass Animals"

"Wildest Dreams- Taylor Swift"

Damn! The truth you don't want to confront is that you are extremely possessive of this person and obsessed over them coming back to you to take you back, you may dream or fantasize by Ariana Grande coming through or fantasize about this person's $mexy thingy all the time, even though you don't want to admit it too. And it hurts you, to have left them behind for no reason for no one for nothing only a piece of shreds in the name paper money in a bag.

You could be gaslighting yourself into thinking, you couldn't possibly like them or should like them. There's some taboo here or your stubbornness interfering, as you couldn't ever imagine in your wildest dreams to have this person like you back. The truth you didn't want to confront yourself is the fact that you sabotaged your widest impatient dreams of yours in just a second thought. Didn't even think twice about it. Someone's name could be Nick, Peter, Ronald. Reminds me of donald duck juniors. There could have been a lie in this relationship and lots of misunderstanding and supposedly a lot of 'misandry' 'racism' by someone who broke this relationship. ("Manager" i heard, "there's something they all must be saying or talking about" I can almost hear Daffy duck saying that, for being a bad ducky and getting offended with Rose, lily and jasper for snitching with sometimes rose, sometimes lily being the one snitching about them)

You might hate being snitched on yourself and hence might sometimes do more mischief or overnoise or shout and then shout at others for listening for voice. There's something about your phone card that you don't like.

It just seems as if your fear of being snitched or gossiped is just your controlling nature of buying other people's silence so that you don't get in trouble. Im getting fraud, embezelment, stealing intellectual property or province out of greediness and rebellion out of a tough provincial goverment or really bad or controlling leader. This seemed to have caused you a lot of pressure built up around you.

And your anger could be due to the fact that this stolen whatever this is could have called a heavy guilt and same making you feel as if you do not deserve the wealth, and you may get angry in life when you got to let go of the so called possesion that you might consider as your own possesion. When this was taken away from your life karmically. You got angry in your fate. And you might often hide your embarrassment and your shame by using a set of avoidance tactics. This was initially not a very long post till I expanded it and realized how sensitive this pile could actually be. Dear pile 1, yes you did wrong but that doesn't mean you need to be demeaned, belittled or fooled every single time by people who are now doing the same things that you once. I need you to take a quick look at yourself and confront yourself. Yes you were wrong and yes you shouldn't have cheated a person. But what has happened has happened so move on. Everytime you feel the anger seething in for some injustice or something bad that happened to you. Just cool down and think about the situations in your life that led you to this same action once and just try to understand this person's perspective for doing ill to you. You have to just come to terms with the fact that you will always be a villain in some people's lives, all you can do is just come to terms with it and accept it. Hence don't let the snitching get the best of you.

Another thing if you feel witchcraft being done on you or towards you by somebody or someone to change your fate and steal your money then yeah this is a confirmation as I was seeing a big troubled black genie like figure around me in my room. If there are a series of groundhog events in your life, then please cleanse your energy and clean your space from these unpleasant groundhogging (bad luck bringing energy). Hope this reading made sense .

Love you , Bye. Hope that helps :⁠-⁠)

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

Pile 2

"My hands feel weak, it's probably not from that clenching fist in anger anymore." "Feeling a strong grip on my shoulders, my desires, my hands,.....they are slipping away right now those dreams and desires in my hands are slipping away from me, my budget, my plans for making up my dreams and now.... Iam currently holding onto the clutches that have long since taken away my pearls" "Very dreary, dreadful yet dreamy (wet) desires " There is a dread to your life, winnowing and drenching you in salt water lake isn't going to eat you away my child" It seems to be about drenching away yourself in your desires, only to come back alive to the shore. Pile 2 you are very very desirable and "passionate to the floor" like it doesn't matter to you if what or who you are passionate about or desire to have dissolves in your little salt lake or not, you desire them and that's it, you will have them, no matter. "Even when the sky starts fallin, even when the sun don't shine" I heard "the sky is not falling, drippin"

Idk why your channeled messages are going so straightforward. I'm channeling "Rumi".

"Then I looked in my heart and there I found Him— He was nowhere else" – Rumi

Iam imagining a scenario, a couple drowning in the middle of salt lake (Im getting Dal lake in Kashmir) suddenly it starts raining and the husband starts drowning, the girl could save herself, she could have survived, but instead she decides to stay there and die there "all alone". The husband and wife stayed with each other for the rest of their lives.

And that painful love is not what you desired for yourself in your childhood. The only thing you didn't desire was to not be sent alone, to be left out alone, and you are someone very very gorgeous as a human being with scars of loneliness. It's like if your person is gone you don't know who else to win over to keep over again in your life as there is no one that seems to appeal to you the way you appeal to them. Half way mistakes, meeting people half way in your journey only to desire for so much more. Pile 2 you had and still have so much more to desire for, so much pain, so much ecstasy, just like Chandeler (someone deflects with humour or has a humorous personality) so much suppressed emotions and anger (im getting chandelier mushroom meme) then why do you not let it out? Why don't you live them a little? It isn't all about romance, life isn't ending there. "Love isn't forever, every breakup doesn't mean patch up, then why?"

Why waste up your empty thoughts and desires on someone without waiting for a wait or a quick break? You're burning up yourself like a moth drawn to a flame, breaking up yourself, burning out again and again in this weight or desire of love or this person or these people. You need to decide which juniper berry (a cone that masks like berries) are you? The blue one, pine one or the christmas fake one? Someone here could be atheletic, maybe into sports or skincare and may use a lot of juniper cream, jojoba and eucalyptus oils and lactates on skins as essentials. Maybe they rub it on their skin for some properties. "This person does cream in their job" someone here owns or works in some sort of cremery whether it be body shop or eateries (whipped cream, icing) uses dollops of it everyday or has had it recently. Some March babies here.

Now I want to refer to you as Dear Creamery, this is definitely a past lover's message, or you might get his/her dreams (train dreams)(trying to catch the bus while trying this person out) to see him. Ok yall having some 18+ dreams right now

Dear creme Bruleé, you might be harsh on the inside to yourself a lot. (It seems your person knows how much of a softie you are and they really want to know, how to people end up projecting this harsh perception as a result of your of smooth finished outer core to an extent that you may end up taking it to the depth of your core, almost end up crashing and breaking your insides (ideas, fantasies) when its no longer needed. That's why they might think you are brutal to the core at the start as you loving and hating yourself manifests as loving and hating people for bearing habits or patterns similar to yours.

Remember everyone, each and every human is connected, you interacting with yourself in the harshest way possible results in you behaving the same way with other people around you with similar remorse for having acquired a learned behaviour from you after being with you for a long a time. "THIS IS NARCISSISTIC" just channeled that. Treat people around the way you would treat yourself. That means treat yourself nice and right.

Your person wants to tell you that you have so hard on yourself and to your inner child as well to a point and an extent to which you beat yourself up extensively, self harm or self hurt when you aren't able to have something that you desire to the extent that you even stop yourself from achieving it anymore that you take the loss to your head, aren't able to move on from it and then do something dangerously su!cidal to yourself so that you can stop dreaming and desiring it later on. What an intense emotion! For some you this could be due to the unbearable pain of losing a loved one (i heard to fire, idk, i'm really really sorry if that has happened with you) and now every loss in life has become so unbearable to a point that all you want to do it is k!ll yourself or something else at the slightest sense of loss or being left alone or all alone. You cannot deal with yourself "They cannot deal with themselves when that happens" Spirit is legit telling me.

It seems like there was a fight to which you lost yourself over and over again and again and now that has ingrained into your brain (Sheesh pile 2, im sorry i dont mean to sound condescending, but if this is what chain of events you are going through,I'm sorry, My spirit is channeling "I'm hardly negative on my readings but this time I channeled fire, I channeled what indestructible inner rage was like". Yes pile 2 this is what it is, I channeled the sacred rage through you, and it asks you to be brave, fierce, bold towards your dreams and pursue it. Wherever this fear came from, don't ever let it stop. There are asking me to burn the sacred fire within to ask you of this. "You are being bloodied and your blood has flowed and will flow thousand times over, will you not be bloodied in the battlefield,yes you are wounded and you will be wounded everyday, afterall life is a battlefield then why give up now? Whats there in being wounded once, are we gonna get scared and stay in our scars or should we move on, heal our scars, face our shadows, and take the time that it takes to feel closing up of our scars and experience our body heal. Is it that hard to experience the closing up of your wounds? Remember the first time you got hurt, it hurt but then once the wound healed, the pain was gone, only fear remained that all of it would happen again if not tomorrow. Why fear it? The next time you will stronger, smarter, and better than this. You will have improved. Then why fear it? You have survived the worst.

Author's note : (I would like to share this personal experience with you, once upon a time I was SAed brutally, had to get hospitalized in a near death condition, but I survived. That bs, and that mfer came back in my life once again and did it all over me once again but this time with a gang, but I had learned by then, my wounds healed (cause i gave myself enough time) and I was stronger once again, this time I did give my best fight, little did I know I would get overpowered once again and again and again and again all of this happened with me multiple times in a row, i didn't know what to do, i didn't know why life had given me all that, but each time I grew faster, sharper and manipulated my way out of all this. All I am telling you is I managed to find a good life after all that, nowadays I don't fear it or him anymore hence could suave my way through it all and could give a life sentence to him and his bunch)

"The worst will be dealt with the last, up closely" I heard spirit say, This tyrant will be dealt with, you are being asked to focus on yourself and deal with your own desires, "I heard that story". Iam really sorry if some of you are going through anything similar. Iam really sorry, but all Iam trying to tell you is if you have a story to share and you feel like no one is going to believe you then please talk to a therapist or a mental health care professional, or a trusted friend, family member or advisor. Let it out, take others support to heal yourself. Love yourself enough while going through the process of letting those wounds heal. You can tag your story, there are hundreds of communities, thousands of people, servers ready to help you, so please don't lose hope, you are right here, feel yourself while you experience the closing of those wounds. I understand its hard, it can be really really hard, and there are times you might want to give up and lose all hope. So ask for help, ask for support to help you heal. Please do it if you want to, if and only if you are comfortable to do so, please peek through that shell you have created around, there are so many people out there and yes there might be a chance where they may not be able relate to you. Yes there might be a chance you will feel paranoid, and lost because of this but trust me there are helpful people out there. Please try to talk to them. Please reach out. Seeking justice or not is your choice, and you don't have to do that if you don't want to do that. There is no judgement or shame in it. You can do whatever you wish to do with this and no one will question you for it. You are allowed to take your time to heal and come back in your sacred space. If you are already in this energy, please continue to do so. You are already doing pretty great. Know that there is no pressure on you to file a case, and not wanting to do so is fine. Its alright. You don't have to feel bad, guilty or anything for not wanting to have to do anything with that energy. Its fine.All you do right now is relax and do not let this fear judgement of shame get to you for deciding not wanting to have anything to do with a tyrant on a legal scale. Its your wish. No one is judging or shaming you for this.

Don't let this fear ever dictate your life ever again. You do not need to act like some suave or people please anymore, if there are people pushing you to do so, please push them aside and focus on yourself, you are your own biggest priority right. Love yourself like there's no tomorrow my love, you may feel like you are going through it at times but don't let this fear of "feeling this in my body again" get you, your present or your future ever again. Yes these are post traumatic symptoms but don't let these take over you ever again my love ever again. Don't ever lash out on yourself for not being able to avoid trauma symptoms and trauma pain. Never again my love, understood, Never again. Accept your now, the change happens, you are beautiful when you are who you are, and that person or that sense of identity you carried with you for all those years can change due to this kind experience, no matter what this experience was for you. Let the person within you emerge, stop immersing her back in those of suppressed depths just because you do not recognise who this new angry inner self is anymore. She is you and she needs her way out. Let her be assertive and set her boundaries, she is trying to protect you. Let your sacred fire to reach your desires come out, don't let this passionate fire born out of these suppressed emotions burn you from within. This fire within you doesn't deserve that. You don't deserve that. I hope you understand "Yourself". Love you so much. Bye my loves, take care of yourself.

____________________________________________

Pile 3

Forhead pain, feeling vulnerable body pain issues, severe body pain issues due to an injury, Someone's name could be "Casey, Casidy, Cassey" Maybe some disney character's name. Iam hearing " loathe and pain" being loathed on, hated, (almost witch hunted kinda stereotypes), someone showing someone their place based on caste, race, religion or gender, sect or creed or bloodline (im getting racial slurs and blood number, like blood donor's number) Iam getting Mr. Kim Taehyung, someone's own sibling or brother jumping death unscathed. Iam also getting someone's listening to their son's old recording, or a dead loved one's tape recorder, somebody listening to their older son's music and his creations, preserving someone's art, culture and his beautiful memories. "Creation process" "Young Haul" "stealing from young - a line from Sabrina Carpenter's because I liked a boy" "Homewrecker Homeboy" " threw it off the baseball track/rack/team"

"my homie stole me so now Im a good $lut" "stealing your childhood dreams" Iam also getting "shallow dreams"

Let's pause shall we now? Pile 3 whats taking you so long to confront this individual or these people, cause Im seeing a lot of demeaning attitude been projected on you. "Bean" "skinny brat" ok, who are these people? "I know these people are being converted, they really ruined my life" Im getting and channeling BANKS (Jillian Rose Banks), I also got Tyra Banks , but I think this can indicate someone being in the fashion industry, "method recording, method acting"

"you do not deserve to get this crustie musty baddie "alone". What I mean by that is stop taking racial slurs on your face. Time to Queen/King Up. Mostly gently raise the fires of hell and unleash those hound dogs you had been gatekeeping for so long. Whoever these people you need to proceed with them/in them with a gentler approach in life. I heard they are the ones gatekeeping you for so long shortly after xyz incident". " You do not deserve this Anjelly/Angelino/Angelic gel, suavé fontigo/contigo"

The truth is you are hiding behind the scenes, you have dimmed your light, you are working with a level of people who can't stand the way you have reached and processed your success by following a different approach and they cannot swallow the hard pills anymore. Its just too much unprocessed, unappreciated success that is being constantly disturbed, and disrespected along with constant social disregard of a saintly and lovely individual.( "I am getting Lively human being, so you could be someone very energetic, Blake Lively and her recent lawsuit, idk about what, I scroll past mood bummer headlines")

This is bad pile 3, "its the constant disrespectful attitude that has made me charge her/oppress her over some issues". Someone's dirty laundry is being made public. This is baffling. Its like you have got so many leeches and you are baptizing them right now. Iam getting "Trident" Idk I was getting more of a Poseidon percy jackson vibes. Silver screen,bad vibes overall. Idk what this is "idk why spirit wants me to refer you as Blake Lively" "friends are really short and brown haired, teen code 16-19, under 19, rule magazine, percentage book"

God don't even ask me what I was channelling "now Iam getting Brittany is embarassing, spaces, spheres and spades and shades and her work of art is debuted, attention bulborg" someone's name could be similar bull-bohr pronounciation, Stanley is a christian boy" "origin story". Some of you could have gotten bullied by people throwing glasses, at your face, or a lot of insects. Theres a lot of glass shattering noises here. Im sorry if you went through that. Dear pile please know that no matter what you through in life, you dod not deserve someone doing this batsh!t towards you and please know that they won't get away from that all so easily.

Oh my God pile 3, what is this extra surplus channeling. So many full stops, so many breaks, as I was getting before, I feel like someone's specific dyed brunette friend is actually blonde in her hair and has a short stature and height and she isn't like her usual behaviour anymore finally turning from a friend to enemy. This person has been envious of you is trying to push you off your chance, opportunity, throne whatever. But the thing is the position or "the place that everyone got in their was to be pulled down by their facade". So what facade have you been wearing. "Abby Winters, if that's a brand name, no gurl stop hiding behind materialistic heavy you won't even carry with yourself once your soul has departed" "stole a dollar store cash bank, Dylan" "ABBA could be someone's favourite"

Thatz it!!!! Iam done no more channeling. Why is there so much spying info here and really a lot a lot of unneccesary spamming, like some corrupted file or broken record. Gosh! Pile 3 do you often deflect with the truth by spamming or ranting unnecessarily. Cause that is a lot. I just realized I was manipulated into doing something or writing so many things about things which can be related to or unrelated to. But whatever it is, my intention is not spamming. This is time waste content. There's a lot of content on social media and apps, "dating love shows, comedian platforms, game shows" Its like a black hole to be. It seems like pile 3, you do not try to take yourself too seriously which is a good quality to have, not at the expense of your time and energy being wasted. Its okay if you don't bother with disrespect and don't wanna bother yourself with the hatred. But the main problem with you is (Twitter notification) NOOOO NOOO DONT YOU GO THERE. STAY WITH FOCUS LADY/LAD FOCUS!!!!!

Coping through information overload or causing diaspora for yourself because you cannot deal or confront yourself from facing these negative tides of emotions that sweep to you through other people,and you know its happening, but instead getting impacted by the overwhelming and overflowing waves and tides of these non sensical, wierd abrasive and rash self talk (negative self talk), sometimes even overcatastrophising assumptions and projections of what other people push onto you and making it your new identity to simply co-exist, you my dear pile 3 has compromised on your legacy, wealth, status and honour a lot many times cause people don't accept you, or your status and leave it unappreciated leaving you no room but to define your self worth (by prophesising things, some of you could rebuilding an ego using psychic business to define who you are) using productivity or wealth or something special enough to set apart from other people to feel good about yourself.

And whatever that could be, that could include doing something to feel special different and untouched despite feeling the initial hatred and despise for being left alone. This just seems like some "predator attacks prey" response, its as if you were witch-hunted, ostrasized, discriminated against, "im also getting k!lled, so maybe some of you, lost yourself and your personality in this process. So whatever that hatred was which set you apart from rest (im getting "against a wolf pack" "Dont Go Insane" by DPR IAN) was what became so comfortable to live with, without any company all on your own that now friends and good people seem alien to you. These people might try to help you, but you might guard up your wall against them in fear of getting hated on (Iam also getting "r@ped" someone could have gotten hate r@ped or something like that to shut them up as people around them did not like them) And dear Pile 3 if this has happened to you, this is straight up evil and devious. People know that you did not deserve this (Iam also getting Sun Bae and date r@ped) someone could have gotten threatened with embarrassing photos of themselves or even got harassed just for talking about their opinions. Gosh Pile 3 Iam so sorry for all the embarrassment and shame you went through just for sharing your opinions, and constant hate you receive for being the so called unworthy one to an extent where you start feeling like you deserved everything you went through, cause Iam feeling like someone feels that way, to a point where they get triggered talking to new people or making new friends cause they are scared that the new clash in opinions will again make them feel as if they deserved the pain they went through. This is so sad pile 3, I am so sorry that you had to go through this. Hope you are doing well. Please get yourself a psychiatrist's help if any of this has happened, please know that you never did

Dear Pile 3 , its giving and receiving love, that dream that you hold so dear to yourself, that you always wanted to have and fulfill despite that loneliness in your life was giving and receiving love and support through family and friends. Forming bonds, developing deep and close connections, building a shell for yourself and your family, protecting your loved ones. Harmony is all you could have ever desired while suffering alone in your lonely little shell. I feel so sad for you pile 3.

It just feels like a bunch of superficial family members or friends who could have gravely betrayed made you give up on your hope and dreams to ever find a family, good friend circle ever again which could have shredded your sense of confidence in other people and your self beliefs. Making you feel as if having a family, meeting good people or having a good friend circle is impossible. Not only that you feel as if people are constantly ready to sneer at you, make fun of you or actually demean you in front of other people which wouldn't even be that much of a big deal as the triggered sensations in your body might make you feel.

Remember Not everybody is here to exploit and have faith in yourself and others around. Try to set a strict set of a boundary as you can and do not let anyone cross. For example Don't go out with strangers at night, don't invite people in your house if you are all alone. Lock all the doors and windows before you sleep. If someone does call you out, it doesn't always mean they are suspicious, you can always tell them that you are uncomfortable to do so and if you are uncomfortable to do so all alone, try taking a neighbour or bring a tazer or self defense equipment just in case.

I'm also getting that some of you may not know the cautionary rules or were never taught so. You can always check safety tips for living alone or with a partner (Im getting Hannah Montana in my head, lots of Disney kids. Some of you could love rom coms and could have been disney binging kids,) You could be someone who upholds a lot of traditional values in general but could come off as the complete opposite to many who might think of you as someone not wanting love and harmony (for eg some people might think that feminism is all about fighting with the other gender which is nothing but a way of asking equal love and compassion and not being treated like an object) so yeah even though some movements may get a bad rep due to a select few, some people might assume you to be those few. Hence may have got misunderstood many times which is pretty sad honestly. Im sorry pile 3. You should check out pile 2 only if it calls you.

Now lets talk about the actual problem here pile3, you fear seeing your dreams come as you feel that it is impossible to achieve so in a society, friend circle, or family like this. No matter what that circle was it left you disappointed to the point that you stopped dreaming of it and may have started fantasizing or doomscrolling as a way to get past these disappointments and triggers you feel with new people. Your paranoia of having different opinions than others or being different could have just triggered these past experiences to a point and extent that you end up acting on your feelings and start hating people or isolating yourself from connection you would really crave or want. That's why learn to discern between your feelings and reality. Do some creative vocations like art, craft, music, sculpting to let these emotions out. Once you find a channel. Let your feelings get out of your system as there can be a lot of suppressed anger and hate that can lash out on others. Thats why wait, perceive your biggest unprecedented fears, and do not channel them/lash them out on other people. This is your message for the day. Please take care of yourself. And do not perceive yourself as all the traumatic and evil things that some people projected on you just because most do not agree with your opinions. Your opinions and your perception is unique on its own. Stay confident in yourself about it, You never deserved anything bad for having an opinion. Please know that. And I hope you understand that as well. Thank You .

________________________

[moonydustx]

HEAR MY WISH! So, did you hear the new song from Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga? "Die with a smile" could you write something like that with Trafalgar Law x Reader (reader dies)

I'm not even going to talk about how late I am with this, I'm a shame. And yes, I've heard the song and I love it. Maybe I deviated a little from your request. I hope you still like it

Besides the music, completely based on the ending of Superman & Lois (I still cry about it)

Eternity

info: lots and I mean LOTS of angst, but with a fluff kinda happy ending. spoiler alert: everyone dies. Life after death (I don't really know how to define that).

Trigger warning: Implicit mentions of violence and suicide (We don’t have anything explicit or detailed.)

Law x F!Reader

Before his body met the icy water, the last thing he saw were your eyes.

Open, adorned by your hair. Two orbs that were full of love for him. Now they were outlined by blood and remained open without any shine.

The sounds of gunshots and exasperated screams became increasingly distant, increasingly muffled by the sea that embraced Law and took him away from all that. It no longer made sense to be there.

The idea of ​​staying gained many meanings for Law throughout his not-so-long life. Staying at war and dragging everyone he could to his pre-defined tombstone; staying alive and avenging and honoring those who had been killed as a shield for him; staying by the side of the family he chose, as a source of protection and support. That included staying by your side, as a source of love, something he had recently discovered he was capable of.

But now, considering that the human brain developed until the age of 25, dying at 26 means that perhaps Law didn't know all the meanings of staying alive. Or that at the very least the knowledge was still new and fresh to him, as fresh as the smell of blood he had smelled not long ago. Your blood. His crewmates blood. In the end, he, for example, chose not to stay alive. And if he chose not to stay alive, why was he standing there, on the edge of the same port where he had chosen to sink into the salt water?

A few blinks and a few mumbles were enough, and little by little the smoke-filled scenery was replaced by a breathtaking sunset. That fast, just as he used his own powers to change places. His brain was still trying to understand what was happening. Why is the sky so beautiful, just like the grass so green at his feet?

"It's really strange to get here." A female voice caught his attention enough that he barely paid attention to what she was saying. Word by word.

Hair flowing, an almost anxious smile adorned the teenager's almost angelic face. He didn't know who it was, but it was so familiar and comforting to look at.

"…I mean, lucky mommy and daddy got here first, I'd be dead if I got here alone. Well, technically…" she continued with the barrage of information.

She was dead? Mommy and daddy got here first? A familiar face.

Mommy and daddy got here first.

Oh

Tripping over his own feet, it took a few seconds for Law to compute that the person he had trapped in his embrace was different from the last time he saw her. No more dark circles and the frightened look. The white spots seemed to have been left behind.

"Lami!" His voice came out as a relieved whisper, pulling back enough to be able to observe her. "You've grown up!"

"You too, little brother." The girl laughed, an almost impossible happiness to contain. "I'm just sad that you're already here."

"Here?"

"Well, here we are, mommy, daddy…"

"Me!" Bepo's voice arrived before he could even gather Lami and Law in a hug. "You're finally here, captain."

"It's good to see you, man." Law returned the gesture and quickly got away from the bear.

Looking into the distance, from where he had seen his furry friend running towards him, Law could barely contain a smile on his face. In front of the stunning sunset was him, who had long been what he called home and who now he imagined was at the bottom of the ocean. The Polar Tang in all its glory and around them, some distracted friends were talking.

However, what caught his attention were two people sitting side by side who seemed to be looking sideways in his direction. Even though they were still far away, Law could feel his heart pounding at the sight of such silhouettes.

"Go on, they're waiting for you." Lami's voice said in the background.

The previously fast paced steps were now almost unsteady. If he closed his eyes, Law could see the last time he saw them, it was as if the heat of the flames met his skin. However, now it was different. Still hesitant, he only felt the muscles in his body relax as he was pulled by his mother's arms, who hugged him as if he were still her little boy.

"Oh my sweet child, how long it's been!" She exclaimed, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes. With one hand, she touched his face and with the other, her husband's face. "Law, you're just like your father."

The three of them remained there for a few seconds - in fact, for almost an eternity and yet that was little compared to how much the pirate had missed (and felt guilty) for having lost those two.

"I'm proud of you." His father said, ruffling the dark strands on top of his hair.

"Me too." The woman added, but soon sulked. "I mean, you could have eased up on the tattoos and not gotten into so many fights…"

"Mom." Even with his scolding tone, the word sounded incredible on his lips.

"Besides, you weren't eating properly! Did you have to stay up late working? She was right."

She.

God, he didn't need to listen to her name to find out who the "she" was that his mother was referring to. Noticing the surprised face drawn on Law's face, the woman couldn't stop laughing, knowing that was exactly what he needed to hear.

"Go on, she's waiting for you." His father warned, nodding toward the submarine.

"You made a good choice, my son. My daughter-in-law seems like an incredible woman."

Still stunned by seeing those faces he loved so much and imagined how they would look in his head, Law headed toward the submarine. Familiar faces and smiles from his companions followed by shouts of "the captain is here" accompanied him with every step, with every wave he gave.

For a few seconds he wondered where you really were and, as I said, it was only seconds until he found out. Heading toward the submarine's infirmary - the place where he had gathered the courage he had gained over the years of partnership to finally kiss you - something interrupted him. A familiar smell of cigarette smoke, with something else burning.

Law took a few steps back and found him, hiding in one of the cracks, putting out the ashes of what had been a fire on his coat.

"Look who's here." Corazon's voice came out excited, accompanied by a laugh. "What a man you've become!"

"Cora, I… I" Law would be lying if he said it was easy to control the avalanche of emotions that were raging through him all at once. It was like being recognized as a man, like a mission completed. All of this behind the eyes of the scared and hopeless child he once was. "I -I became a pirate a-and I defeated Doflamingo, along with Luffy, but…"

"We can leave that for later." He stroked the younger man's dark hair. "You have an important meeting waiting for you."

Law just nodded and continued walking in the direction of the meeting point.

Did his hands make that much sweat when he had your first date? He couldn't say, but at that moment he was nervous. What if you were furious? What if you weren't there?

As if by magic, everything seemed to be ripped away from him. At least, all the fear and insecurity. There you were, standing there waiting for him. The same clothes you wore the first time you kissed, the same smile. God, how beautiful you were.

"You!" your voice came out excited, but soon your eyebrows lowered, in a melancholic tone. "Does that mean they got you too?"

Law just shook his head. It wasn't the time for him to remember what he had done, to pass on this burden that he knew would be an immense weight for him. When he got closer, the first thing he did was not hug or kiss you. He reached for your clothes, pulling them away enough to see the part of your body that covered one of your most important possessions, your heart. The smooth, immaculate skin drew a smile from him. The last time he had seen it, there had been a hole surrounded by blood there.

His tattooed fingers caressed your skin, an immense joy imprinted in each touch of seeing you whole, there. His fingers slid down your body until they found the freedom to pull you into a hug.

"It was a nightmare out there." he said, still buried against the skin of your neck, feeling your fingers tangle against his hair. "The world was ending, everyone was gone, you were there and then…" he sighed deeply, feeling your scent against him.

Law then pulled away just enough to put your forehead to his. The ring that you both wore on a necklace seemed to shine with the orange light that came in through the window.

"Do you remember that promise?" he picked up the ring that fell on your lap.

"We are one. If you fight, I fight; wherever you go, that's where I'll go."

"That implies that I couldn't leave you alone here, ever." he smiled broadly, a smile you hadn't seen in a long time.

"And how are you feeling?" At that moment, his hands held you like the most precious thing.

And maybe in the real world you two were still sinking in salty waters. Maybe the bastards who had hit you had taken your bodies. That no longer mattered to Law.

"I'm happy." He smiled once more, his lips almost touching the heavens. "I finally have everything I've ever wanted."

[this-hopeless-war]

i haven't been online so here's some headcanons idk if i've posted before im eepy

(tw talking about sh, kinda dark so don't read if that's triggering, that part will be at the end and separated so you can easily skip it)

Ace fucking loves snow

Dallas has shitty vision but he doesn't want nor can he afford glasses (and let's be honest, he'd break em within a day)

When Pony turned 15 Soda started teaching him about cars and etc, when pony was 16 he got a job at the DX 

Due to them working together Pony started to like Steve more

Darry hates when it rains because it means he can't do his roofing gig and he'll come home stressed/grumpy over missing a day of his paycheck

Dally can go a scary long time without sleep, he'll be up for 2 days straight and still be socializing and shit

Dally and Two-Bit once had a drinking contest that didn't end well for anyone involved 

Two-Bit took high school drama (thinking about this is genuinely how I get through the day at school)

During the week Pony was gone, Soda vented to Steve a lot, they honestly grew a lot closer

The first time he was alone after Pony and Johnny got back, Steve cried from relief

⬇️warning here's where talk of sh starts (also added some resources at the end if you read them then feel distress😨)

Steve has had issues with sh (OUGH I love him)

And because of it being in an environment where mental health isn't really talked about at all or very understood, he doesn't really know that sh is, like, an actual thing, he just considers it a way to take out emotion when fighting isn't doing it

And no one ever really acknowledged it (they can see scars on his arm)

Though i'm toying around with headcanons for a bit in my head where (TW) he relapses at the back of the DX after a REALLY bad night where his dad said and did some not-so-handy-dandy things and Soda walks in (Spoiler alert: Steve gets a hug and cries but Soda doesn't cause he thinks he should be tough abt it or something, when he gets home he does though)

After that Steve is at the Curtis's even more and Soda even goes over to the Randle's a couple times cause when Steve is feeling really horrible he calls him up

I also have vague ideas for a bit with Evie

Where she, like, does smt abt it cause she's worried and he's always dodged questions

not 100% sure how it'll work yet though

This is a post of a list of hotlines for the USA, if you found this triggering or are in distress in general please message/call one

⬆️There are help lines everywhere, please done hesitate to search up the numbers for your country and call/text them

And here's just some websites or apps that can help you in times of distress

Have a handy dandy day!

[smuttopiaa]

MUTUALLY PARASITIC #1 - Inspection

WARNINGS : Non-con, but kinda dub con, slight stalking, drug use, self hate, attempted suicide, mention of self harm scars, low self esteem, overdose.

Just a huge massive trigger warning! Please protect yourself.

-

Today was bleek, like the days blending into each other, similar to some painting being smudged slowly overtime, distorting day by day. The days blended into each other, everyday was the same. Awake by Four o'clock in the afternoon, high until you crash around Five AM, the only thing you chased was that high, that's all that mattered, each day pieces of you were being chipped away. Not that you cared. Your parents dragged you to an island, like that would fix your issues. But it only isolated you.

The only person you knew was Barry, your dealer. But he didn't count as a friend, although you chatted, but it was short chats.

Here you were again, at Barry's rusty trailer. The only place you knew on the island. You knocked on the door, and Barry let you in. The trailer was poorly lit, by orange light bulbs, and the pale moon that watched over the sky. You stepped in, seeing a face you've seen before, but never dared to talk to. "What you want today?" Barry asked, while the blond boy stared at his phone, "The usual,"

As the brunette stepped into the other room, you caught a glimpse of dark blue eyes, that belonged to the blonde. "Your new." He noted.

"Just moved here." you replied without looking at him.

"I'm Rafe."

"Y/n"

Barry waltzed back in the room, handing you a clear bag, the Xanax pills poking exposed to the whole world, while you handed him a fifty dollar bill. "You good, though?" Barry asked. "Yep." you lied before walking out, not even bothering to say anything to Rafe.

You entered your car, and zoomed off to the beach. It was you favorite place in the obx, parked in the parking lot, overlooking the dark waters, that were once so vibrant, colorful, and full of life, but now, all that life drained by darkness. It reminds you of you. The moon watched as you sat in your car, swallowed three pills. Then waited, but all that met you was self hate, tears pooled in your eye. "Fuck!" you screamed, hitting the steering wheel. On the dashboard you made eye contact with the small bag which contained five more pills. You didn't even hesitate, as you swallowed the all. Then silence, the buzz that drove you from your home, out to the cut was gone. You sat in your car, and waited.

Your body started feeling heavy, like you were floating on air, in the clouds where your shitty reality seemed fake, you felt at peace. You were nodding out, slumped over your car seat. But then the unexpected, a knock at your window. You jumped out of your haze, as alert as you could on a shittongs milligrams of Xanax.

It was the blonde. Rafe.

You rolled down your window, "Are you okay?" he asked, your brain was as slow as a snail so it was hard to interpret what he was saying. "Huh....? I um...yea I am okay." you manged to say. "Xannys kicking in huh?"

"What are you-How'd you get here?"

"Truth be told, I followed you."

"Thats not creepy or anything."you slurred. He chuckled more to himself. This should've been a bad sign, but your brain is fried, and you didn't really care." Right, mind if I hang out with you for a little bit? " which sounded more of a statement than a question." I have a feeling I can't say no." you shrugged. He so kindly opened the door, and you so intoxicatly stumbled out. You felt uneasy, like your legs were gonna give out, like the world was spinning on its axis and you were ammune to gravity. You didn't quite know when it happened, but you remember making contact with the floor, the cold pavement touched your face. Then darkness.

You re-gained concousiness. You were in a car, moving slowly. But you were too weak to say anything, too weak to move even. You were trying to keep your eyes opened, but you couldn't. Then that same darkness overtook you.

Again your eyes opened. Only this time, you were met with light, too bright of lights. And you were wet, the clothes were still on, and you seemed to be in a bathtub. The bathroom door opened, and in came that blonde. Rafe! You remembered his name, you opened your mouth to speak but you couldn't utter any words, shame, guilt. You felt like such a failure. A sob escaped your mouth as you tried to speak. "It's okay." He rushed over to you. Embracing you tightly, as you sobbed into his shirt, without a doubt staining it. "Shhhh. It got you." He said, gently runing his hands over your hair. You didn't know him at all, but in that moment you felt safe.

A few hours into the night, you memory was still hazy, but you remember being sat on his bed, you'd changed, into an ill fitting shirt, which you assumed was the blonde's because it hung losely on your frame. You were alone in the room, staring off into the distance, trying to make your brain work, but it seemed to lag behind. You heard the door open, Rafe stepped in, a warm smile plastered on his face. He silently sat next to you.

"Thanks." you said looking at him, In turn, he looked into your eyes, you felt captivated by his deep sea eyes, they grabbed grabbed you and held you. "Why'd you take all the pills?"

"I don't know." you scoffed sadly, in truth they were many reasons, you couldn't pick a single one out. "Is it for the same reason you cut yourself?" he said looking at your exposed thighs, you quickly put your hands over them in embarrassment. "No need to feel ashamed." He put his hands over yours, and you couldn't help but notice the size difference. "The darkness makes us do things, that we can't explain." He utters, his eyes deeply engraved into yours. His rough yet soft hands cupped your cheek, pulled you closer, so close you could feel his breath. "Don't hurt yourself, your too beautiful." He smiled. It was the first time a guy has called you beautiful.

Most of them opted to call you 'hot', 'fine' and other objectify names, but no one has ever used the word beautiful to describe you. You leaned in, smashing your lips against his. His other hand interlocking with yours. Quickly his tounge slipped onto your mouth, you could taste alcohol on him. He scooped you up, putting you on his lap, his hand on your lower back, the other cupping your jaw, his tounge intertwining with yours. Uncontrollably you started grinding on his, rising memeber. You could hear as he softly moans into your mouth. This seemed like a bad idea.

He threw you on the bed, stripped his shirt, before climbing back on top of you, slowly grinding into you. You could feel arousal pooling inbetween your legs. His cold palms, sneaking up your thighs, his digits sliding over your panties and Inside of you. A soft moan escaped your lips as he slid his fingers into your entrance, then slowly begnning to slide in and out of you. This was a bad idea. This shouldn't be happening. You tried to stop rafe's fingers, by grabbing at his wrists, but you were much too weak.

"Wait, this isn't a good idea." you choked out, but he seemed to be deaf to your protests. You attempted to push him off, but it didn't work. So you resorted to bitting his shoulder, "Ow what the fuck." he let up a little bit, you felt a sharp sting as he struck his hand across your cheeks. You used this opportunity to get out from under him, running into the bathroom, "Get back here." He screamed, running after you. You shut the door behind you, but before you could lock it, he burst right in.

He grabbed your throat and squeezed, his puplis dilated, like predator looking at it's prey. You clawed at his hand, at his chest, but nothing, he only squeezed harder. He shoved you over the bathroom counter, bending you over. "Please don't!" you screamed, resisting as much as possible, but only seemed to turn him on more. "Shut the fuck up!"

"Rafe please get off me!" you yelled, tears pooling into your eyes. You tears stream down your face as he slammed his cock into your vagina. Not letting you adjust to his length, before he began thrusting in an out of you. "Get off of me." you sobbed. "Aww are you crying, shut up and take it!" he thrusts into you. It was making you sick that your body was reacting to this, it felt good physically, not mentally. The harder he pumped into you, the closer you were to climax. "Come on baby, I know your enjoying it." He said after a moan escaped from your lips.

You could feel your belly tightening up, the coil snapping, he was pushing you over the edge. Your vagina pulsiated around his thick length. Your brain became foggy, thoughts unclear.

" Oh fuck baby! Your pussy is taking me so well. Good girl." He whispered into your ears. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping on skin, and rafe's groans and dirty talk. You clamped up as orgasmic euphoria washed over your body, you felt rafe release inside of you. He paused for a moment, panting. Then he slides out of you. "Hope your on birth control." He shrugs, getting into the tub, drawing the shower curtains, and turning on the shower.

You slumped down to the floor. You legs were shaking. Your emotions heightened. Emotionally you felt violated, you sobbed silently on his bathroom floor. You felt disgusting. You were disgusting.

You managed to pick yourself back up. Putting on your soaking wet clothes. You walked out of the room, down the stairs and out the door. You didn't really know how to get home. You wandered on the streets for what seemed like hours, before eventually finding your way back home.

The front door was unlocked. You stepped inside, locking the door. Your heart froze as you heard soft footsteps behind you. You turned only to see your step dad, you scoffed and walked past him, saying nothing. But the look of confusion painted on his face lasted in your memory longer than you wanted.

You rushed to your room. Locking the door behinding you. You entered the shower, scrubbed your skin raw, hoping to scrub the flith off your skin. Tears rolled down your cheeks, as you came to the horrifying truth. You liked it.

I hope you enjoyed. Critisim is highly appreciated.

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter XI: To Be A Perfect Heroine…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

EXTRA TW: MENTIONS OF suicide (just in terms of the Swan Lake storyline!) And again this is a reminder to read the general trigger warnings. This is a heavier chapter that hits MOST of those warnings and your safety and comfort comes before everything! Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you would like clarification about this chapter’s subject matter.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! It’s been a long time coming for this chapter. I hope this one can finally answer some of the questions you’ve all been having…in more ways than one <3. I hope you find somewhere comfy to read this and get a snack because this baby is over 10,000 words. More than 18 pages, 11-sized font on my Google Docs. Some of these scenes I’ve had in my mind for 2 years!! Hope you love this one.

Happy Reading,

Dan

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇒

MASTERLIST

November 11, 1895

The Royal Opera House’s Backstage, Your Dressing Room

Just as you warned the stubborn Earl, his insistence to speak with you made you late. If you wanted your makeup to be flawless for the final performance, you couldn’t stretch for your usual 30 minutes. And you did want your makeup to be flawless. It wasn’t an option, under Natasha’s leadership.

At least your pre-performance routine was just as ingrained into your subconscious as the show itself was. Every step you took to ready yourself helped you submerge deeper into Odette, a desperate attempt to comprehend the last two days of your turbulent life. Starting with your stage makeup, you spread rosewater across your face to rid it of debris. Natasha used to handle this routine for you, but Ciel asked you to start taking care of your own makeup, purchased by him. It was a precaution he insisted upon, given that Amelié died from a poison that invaded through the skin.

You made careful eye contact with your reflection in your vanity mirror, noting your bitten lips and tired eyes. You sighed, eyes darting to the clip of stationary attached to the corner of the glass. Ciel’s home number was still adhered there, the Earl adamantly refusing to remove it in the event of an emergency.

You pressed your face into a towel, drying it. The familiar smell of rosewater alerted your senses; awaiting the stage was like electricity crackling through your veins, despite your melancholy. Still, your mind was rightfully conflicted, overdrawn.

William Wood was not the killer you had been chasing all this time. Ciel suspected that Natasha was. Gwen had apparently lied to you to harm your relationship. But even still, Ciel once warned you that he was a liar. A manipulator who tended to work people like the game pieces his company manufactured. Only the best were so difficult to decode:

“I care about you more than you know, Y/n.” Ciel always sounded so at ease, so sure. You felt that he always had a perfect arrangement of words sitting on the tip of his tongue, to falsely promise, to serenade. To lie.

“You do not,” you had insisted, ignoring the earnestness in his sapphire eye. It couldn’t be real. You felt a flare of stubbornness in your chest, urging you to shove him away.

“I do.” He refused to blink. Adamant in spite of the weight that his accusation had.

Natasha Wood was one of the only people in your life that believed in you. He didn’t know her like you did.

Before Natasha, you had your mother… Until she died about four years into your studies at the Paris Opera School of Dance. You were nine years old. On top of your enrollment, she couldn’t afford the medication that the doctor’s prescribed for her cough. It had only grown more severe week by week, until she was coughing up blood and her lips tinged with blue. Your father only gave your mother so much money to encourage her to keep their rendezvous— and you, of course —a secret.

“Waste this money on my end of life care? When my shining star of a daughter has her whole life ahead of her? I will not do it,” your mother always insisted. You remembered how her cold hand felt against yours, it was iron, despite being clammy with oncoming death.

After she died, the dance school allowed you to continue studying there, your talent promising enough to be worth fostering. By the time you were fifteen (or fourteen, was it?) you were old enough to make the school a profit through its dance foyer to make up for your free education.

You’d never forget the final rasp of her breath.

Following the curve of your cheekbones, you highlighted your face with a soft shade of pink. The spotlight tended to wash out ballerina’s features. Now, you stared back at Odette, the White Swan. Y/n Y/l/n was the star hidden beneath, but no matter how seasoned a prima ballerina you were, not even you could shove the complete extent of your worries far beneath your costume.

You remembered the shock that pounded at your chest when Violet told you about William quite well, how most of her allegations were true. You thought you knew the owner of the opera house. Could you have been so misdirected by your mentor, too?

Until the second Ciel stopped you from entering the carriage, you had a practiced apology for Natasha waiting on your lips. You were supposed to be so sorry for not telling her about her husband’s infidelity and crimes, for your means of investigating her husband being so intimate. For imprisoning him without her knowledge.

Now? You felt as if you were prosecuting your older sister. Her every word, her every glance. Once it was in search of approval, now, it was for…bloodlust? You couldn’t see it. Natasha could hardly walk without assistance—how could she kill anyone?

Why would she hurt anyone? What motivation would Natasha have? Killing her own cast members? For her husband’s violence against them? It was unfathomable. No version of an explanation would stop bile from creeping its way up your throat–each new explanation that came to your mind was only more vile than the last.

Though, you had to ponder: why would Ciel make such a claim if he was not sure? Your mutual need to solve the case was one of the first feelings you had in common. You should have put aside your pride and joined Ciel to interrogate William, or at the very least, listened to the Earl’s concerns. He had something he needed to tell you, but you simply wouldn’t hear it, too occupied with your own hurt.

It was too late for regret, you supposed. You could only meet him after the show and hope for the best.

Mechanically, you rolled your performance tights up your legs, carefully inspecting them for pulls or tears in your body-length mirror. Satisfied, you slid on your ivory pointe shoes, ensuring they were straight laced and spotless, free of grime. Lastly, you stepped into one of your Odette tutus, this corset flaring into a feathered shirt with gold detailing lining the neckline and bodice. It only felt right to wear for your last Swan Lake performance— it was the first iteration of the costume you wore after inheriting the role from Janet.

Janet’s lifeless face flashed in your mind, painting over that fond opening night memory with a new coat of guilt. The young woman had been a beautiful dancer, and a nice person who provided for her family. And her sick mother’s prescription, you made yourself flinch, dry mouth relieved when you took a drink of Sauternes. You poured yourself half a glass, the previously unopened wine bottle a precaution you tucked in the back or your wardrobe for emergencies. If this evening didn’t qualify itself as an emergency, you weren’t sure what would have.

Perfectly on time, your dressing room door flew open, never following a knock. Approximately 30 minutes before the curtain ascended, Natasha always made sure to lace your bodice for you, always finding fault when another cast member did so. The director pushed the door open with the bottom of her cane, her cool seagreen eyes scanning your makeup, dragging down your figure.

Looking for notes to make, you noticed.

“It is good to see you, Y/n,” Natasha said, her expression unchanging from stormy indifference. You couldn’t place when the director had lost her supportive smile, the warm, yet authoritative way she would request for more—for better—and when a frigid insistence stiffened that inspiring patience. When did fear settle in your stomach instead of admiration? “I was worried about attendance today, after Maisie. Quite a tragedy—she was talented.”

The apology you practiced died on your lips, killed by your surprise and uncertainty. Until now, Natasha never addressed any company losses— she attributed them as disappearances from a ballerina being unable to handle the pressures of the industry. You had assumed she didn’t know better because the press was restricted from covering the mysterious company deaths, the Queen fearing public panic, according to Ciel’s acquaintance in the press. After Maisie Stannard died near the steps of the British Museum’s gala, the press had no choice but to cover the incident.

Therefore, Natasha had no choice but to address it with her employees. It was a loss to the company, now well-known by the rest of the country.

That being said, she certainly wouldn’t reveal that William was currently pacing the confines of a holding cell. All the public knew was that Maisie Stannard was killed—no one knew of any of the other company deaths. William’s arrest was only knowledge of Ciel’s (and his accomplices, of course), the State, and Natasha’s. You couldn’t imagine what the director told the rest of the company in order to explain William’s prolonged, sudden absence—especially after he’d only been back from France for about a week prior to you and Ciel arresting him.

Ciel suspected Natasha of shooting Maisie. Of poisoning Amelié, forcing Janet off of the Tower Bridge–you didn’t even know the gruesome details from Eliza’s body, when they found it. Your guilt for suspecting the currently lacing your feathered corset in her usual meticulous way was so consuming, you forced yourself to think of Violet’s distressed cries to remind yourself of who you were being cautious for. You had to solve this for the victims, their loved ones, preventing any more murders. You had to justify yourself—it was a serial killer investigation, after all.

You would have to touch base with Ciel.

“I cannot imagine who could have done this to her,” you mumbled evasively, finishing off your wine glass with a flourish. You welcomed the selection’s competing tastes of acid and sweet butterscotch, and tried not to lament over the untouched cigar in your drawer. The smoke would have done better to soothe your nerves, but arriving late had limited you.

“A young, beautiful woman, a ballerina who was married to a successful man,” Natasha mused purposefully, “you would be surprised, Y/n. Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made. As Odette, should you not know that? The perfect heroine always does.”

Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made. You were unsure of what to make of Natasha’s words.

Ciel once told you that you needed to make your target speak in an investigation. They already had their agenda—evading you—and sometimes, what they refused to say was more telling than what they did.

Natasha had to be aware of your role in her husband’s arrest; that to some degree, you were an accessory to the Queen’s Guard Dog’s investigation. She was gauging you— whether or not that was in defense of her crimes, as Ciel would have suspected, or looking to get a sense of what Ciel made of Maisie’s death. After all, they’d arrested William, in part, because they believed he was the killer. Was she attempting to learn if they had their suspicions turned elsewhere? If she was their suspect, she would want to know if her cover was still intact.

You needed to control yourself, put on the facade of a sad, yet trusting employee. Blissfully unaware and shallow—the purse dog of a wealthy Earl. Limited, materialistic, uncaring. Almost as if you were reprising the woman you were prior to starting this investigation. In your own way, you could be the perfect heroine.

“I do, of course,” you answered, double-checking the measured bow that Natasha pulled the lace into, each cross section between the eyelets matching perfectly. The director was nothing if not precise, now turning to fasten your headpiece’s clips into your hair, already twisted into a braided ballerina bun. “Odette is too trusting, putting her future in the whims of a man who only just met her,” you admitted, the words making you feel like a hypocrite.

“Speaking on the subject—unexpected ugliness—I want to apologize. I heard about Mr. Wood’s —” you started, deciding that the smartest way to protect yourself from Natasha’s probing was to behave exactly as you had initially planned to. Apologizing would convey the submissive guilt the director would have expected from you. In doing so, you would assure her that there was nothing amiss between you, shielding the fact that Ciel had cautioned you in the first place.

“Twenty minutes to Act One, I expect my company members to be focused on the show. Especially my principal dancer,” Natasha’s piercing eyes flashed, her words dipped in ice, no matter how she tried to inject warmth back into her face. She looked older than she did three months ago, her worry lines more prominent in her fair skin. Exhaustion showed itself in deep bags beneath her impatient stare.

“The Sugar Plum Fairy has the highest jumps, the widest turns. She is the embodiment of grace and poise. I would much prefer you to be spending your spare time on a barre rehearsing instead of surveying my personal affairs. You will be able to continue being my prima ballerina, yes?” She pulled her lips into a wry smile, an expression that was close to pity.

You didn’t expect Natasha to engage with you about her husband’s arrest, but you wanted to watch her. Decode how she decided to evade you, seeing that she didn’t so much as let the words escape your mouth.

Not to mention, you weren’t surprised that Natasha chose to demean your talent. She knew your dedication to managing her opinion of you well, having fostered your need to please alongside the rest of the company’s. All of this to say: Natasha chose to turn the focus of the conversation back to you, denying your disguised request to discuss William.

“Yes,” you repeated, forcing your gaze to fall downcast and self-consciously hesitate to return to meet her eyes. “I do appreciate this opportunity, Natasha,” you added pathetically, watching the director’s warm authoritarianism resettle in her face confidently, reinforced by your obsequious behavior. Her thin lips managed a smile. You had reassured her, and that in of itself, worried you. It proved she was hiding something. “You won’t hear anything more of it from me.”

“Focus is a crucial asset for ballerinas,” Nastasha assured you too brightly given her stormy entrance. She gestured to her cane with her chin—it leaned on your vanity behind you, since she needed both hands to tie your costume and affix your headpiece. You obediently handed the medical accessory to her, more than familiar with the director’s gestures.

“Remember to stop by Polly’s office after tonight’s performance. She wishes to triple check your measurements for a spare Sugar Plum costume. We were hoping to have these appointments finished after practice yesterday evening, but with you here now, I would like it complete,” Natasha said, plucking a stray hair of yours off your shoulder and letting it fall to the floor.

“Of course. I will see her immediately after the performance,” you answered simply, biting back your frustration at her dig. Natasha was subliminally critiquing your decreased amount of time at the opera house. Before Ciel roped you into his investigation, you spent most of your time in the opera house’s studio, fiercely guarding your promotion by rehearsing as much as you could manage. Now, you attended your mandatory rehearsals and classes, but nothing more. Instead, you opted to rehearse in the safety of the dance studio Ciel had Sebastian create for you.

“Do give tonight everything you have, Y/n,” Natasha pressed her weight back into her cane, giving you a final once over before she opened your door, preparing to leave. Each night, Natasha helped you with the finishing details of your costume and circulated through the rest of the company to solve any last-minute issues. “The end of this run also sets the tone for the beginning of Nutcracker season.”

“I will never give a performance that I cannot be proud of,” you replied truthfully, painting on an Odile-inspired devil-may-care smile for Natasha. “Allow me to remind you why you chose me for this role.”

“You know what I like to hear,” she answered, casting a wink at you from over her shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Antoine, the dancer performing as Prince Seigfried, interjected with a clear question on his face. Knowing better than to wait for Natasha, you showed yourself to the backstage wings.

In the chaos that took place backstage, you always focused on the excited chatter of the audience and the pre-performance orchestral music from the other side of the curtain to fuel your adrenaline. You could feel their energy, it radiated in waves. For the next three hours, you were Odette, Queen of the Swans, and Odile, the deceptive daughter of sorcerer Von Rothbart.

You could meet their hardships with the same honesty and emotion you faced your own, and step off the stage to put a real end to this investigation.

That was what set you apart as a professional.

Two Hours Later

The Royal Opera House’s Main Stage

This was the final scene of the show. The Lakeside, Odette’s last stand.

You were poised in the air, the music growing severe as Von Rothbart carried you, pulling Odette out of Prince Siegfried’s protective arms. Until this second, your characters had been entangled with one another, dancing intimately in forgiveness. The music had been soft, portraying a delicate, damaged love slowly on the mend as Siegfried pleaded with Odette, guilty of falling for Odile’s ruse at the ball.

Now, the dark stage flickered, illusions creating the look of lightning and crashing drums replicated rolling thunder.

You entered this scene with a heavy premonition in the pit of your stomach, and you allowed yourself to wear that alarm on your face like an accessory to better portray the story. You were just as distressed as your character, the innocent White Swan. Moments ago, she returned to the lake, heartbroken because Prince Siegfried professed his love to the wrong woman. He had been fooled, but the curse still forced Odette back into her swan form, leaving her to mourn her humanity with the rest of the cursed swans. In spite of her forgiveness, the damage had already been done.

The curse may never be lifted. They could never successfully be in love. It could never be—a sentiment that was familiar to you. Even so, it stung like a fresh wound, never seeming to dull night by night.

The lovers shared a brief dance, only to be torn apart by the sorcerer. Now, the prince reached, his fingers only managing to graze hers longingly. Your eyes followed the missed touch, your head jerking upwards as if you were further panicked by the failed attempt.

Now you were caught between both dancers, each hand held by opposite forces. Love and death, Prince Siegfried and Von Rothbart. At this point in the performance, Odette was dancing on the line between her life and death, breaking the curse and succeeding through love or not breaking the curse and succeeding through death.

Ugliness lurks everywhere and there are always sacrifices to be made, you couldn’t keep yourself from thinking over your old mentor’s words. You always thought of Natasha when you danced.

The woman was everything you wanted to be: a self-starter in spite of her immigrant status, a brilliant talent, thoughtful, confident. She had landed a marriage that had appeared loving and fair, and she was still a dancer, in spirit.

The foreboding melancholy settling on your shoulders, your Odette was more skittish than she normally was. She was rather unsteady as the two men guided and pulled her every which way, one trying to hold, one trying to capture. You allowed yourself to feel weightless: it was the best means for Odette’s dancing to look just as induced upon her as it was in the moment. You even allowed your head to fall lazily in line with your neck with every turn, constructing the facade of a woman succumbing to her curse, tired of begging for a way out of the cursed life that held her hostage.

For a moment, you let the tension leave your body, draping lifelessly over Von Rothbart’s supporting clutches. The sorcerer had successfully pulled the White Swan out of her prince’s hand. Odette was exerted within her life. She knew that her curse was permanent, and yet, she craved her self-determination. Her right to love. The right to live as she wanted to, everlastingly.

The perfect heroine? Were there truly always sacrifices to be made? You wondered, flicking your wrists and positioning your fingers as your Odette confidently broke free from the sorcerer’s grip and stepped up the short stairway. Without another second, she threw herself into the lake. The orchestra played dynamically, the swell of music portraying the death of Von Rothbart, the antagonist collapsing and dying from Odette’s sacrifice.

Their deaths left the prince to follow Odette, preferring to die and reunite with her in spirit rather than live without her. The cast of swans—the rest of the company—remained on stage, watching in equal parts awe and horror. Both you and Antoine, the prince’s dancer, jumped into a stage opening that the stagehands kept lined with mattresses to make the short fall as safe as it could be as the group had a final intricate dance number. You realized that this would be your last time getting back to your feet after making that show-stopping jump.

Now, you were made of energy as the both of you ran back behind stage to the wings to make your final entrance for the season. You could never see the audience under the blinding stage lights, but you could always feel it. The opera house always held its breath, the silences between Tchaikovsky’s masterful creations were always punctuated with quiet sniffles from the audience.

Swan Lake was a tragic love story, after all. You would know—you felt well-acquainted with the idea of tragic love. Falling head over pointe for a stone cold, callous Earl without ever meaning to. In fact, while trying not to in the midst of a murder investigation. The very investigation that you felt you were on the precipice of closing.

Would your story end like Odette’s? you wondered. A young woman making her final stand in the face of heartbreak.

You supposed, this performance was nothing more than a storyline. A fable. Nothing to build silly premonitions over, in spite of the danger of your situation.

After your music cue, the spirits of Odette and Prince Siegfried stepped back out onto the lit stage, hand in hand. You shared one last jeté, jumping across the stage in perfect sync, before the audience to show that their plan had succeeded, ending the show in each other’s embrace in the afterlife.

To signify the official end of the story, the stage lights faded out to allow the company to arrange itself for final bows alongside another passionate swell of Swan Lake’s theme from the orchestra. You and Antoine remained still until the stage was completely black, unwilling to ruin the intimacy your characters created for the audience. Lovers who couldn’t bear to be without one another.

Only when the lights flickered back on, the both of you faced the audience to accept their cheering with gracious smiles, wiping away the bittersweet beauty your characters evoked. The rest of the company quickly filed in around you, mechanically dropping into a curtsy on the same note. The minor characters took turns bowing next, including Wolfgang, the prince’s tutor; the Queen Mother, and the four little swans. In order of prevalence, the main characters swept into bows.

Following Von Rothbart and Prince Siegfried, you took five measured steps in front of the rest of the cast and swept yourself into a deep curtsy. The spotlight burned your skin, the hair pins that kept your headpiece fastened dug into your scalp, and your feet throbbed in your pointe shoes. Sweat rolled down your neck and your lungs felt as if there was fire in them, given how hard your chest heaved, but you were elated, nonetheless. A cheering audience was nothing short of a drug. All of these people were here to see you and your company dance. It was an honor, almost enough for you to ignore the disappointed sting in your heart that Ciel would never see you perform in these roles.

Still, stared into the crowd, beaming. You survived. Only now, another confrontation awaited you. One much more dangerous than a bit of acting.

You never thought you would find yourself cutting off a standing ovation on a closing night of a show. This moment, hearing the appreciation and wonderment you gave to legions of people was supposed to be one of the most euphoric parts of your career. Knowing that the hours of labor, exhaustion, and hunger could culminate into a moment this fulfilling. You had just closed a run of Swan Lake as London’s foremost company’s only principal dancer—by all definitions of the word, you were at your prime as a dancer.

But that didn’t matter to you as much, not at this moment. Instead, you righted yourself from your curtsy, blew the faceless audience a kiss, and exited the stage.

You had an investigation to solve, at last. This fitting would be the last step, you were as certain as Odette, though you hoped your ending might be more merciful.

In your haste, you didn’t bother to stop by your dressing room—there was no need.

Polly would have to make her rounds to collect all Swan Lake costumes, anyway, and by going to her office in this ensemble, you saved her the trouble of looking for one of your corsets. Besides, the last you wanted was Natasha in your dressing room to help you unlace it and there was no reason to waste time walking to the other side of the backstage wing. Especially since there was no possibility of Ciel arriving at the ballet tonight.

Entering Polly’s office helped settle your jumbled nerves, at least for a moment. The space never changed; the aging woman was extremely particular with where she kept all of her tools and materials. Each one had its own exact space in her workstation, and nothing was ever a centimeter out of place. As always, the costuming director’s frail shoulders were hunched as she counted silently to herself, measuring a piece of scarlett fabric. She counted to herself, meticulous eyes narrowing before she cut the piece off the rest of the fabric roll with sharp scissors.

“Hello, Miss Y/n,” she greeted you warmly. Her back was to you, but she always knew her visitor before she turned. “Are you well?”

Without this woman, there would simply be no ballet. In two weeks, she had five variations of Odette and Odile costumes for you each, all perfectly tailored to your dimensions. You imagined that the woman could give Sebastian a challenge in terms of clothing creation and tailoring—she was an institution at this ballet. Typically, no one could manage a lie past her.

You couldn’t settle on how to respond, the silence causing her to turn, standing from her short seat. Polly was short enough to have you looking down at her, somewhat.

“How are you?” you tried for a weary smile, knowing it was thin and unconvincing.

“You look like Natasha, when she was your age,” the woman commented, eying you skeptically. She gestured towards her full-length tri-mirror, and you obeyed, knowing the routine for confirming your wardrobe measurements well. You had to strip from your costume, and Polly took careful measurements of your body, well aware that these corsets had to forcefully enforce a ballerina’s trained body.

You felt yourself redden, uncomfortable with the comment. Until now, Natasha was all you wanted to be.

“All lovesick, is all I mean. Don’t you think William put her through it too? All men do it,” Polly said sagely, helping you unlace the tight knots Natasha twisted your corset into. “Especially with beautiful women like you, who haven’t lived here very long,” she chided, hanging the corset on a wire hanger for you.

“Lovesick?” Your mouth felt dry. Of course you were. You were just as confused about your feelings towards Ciel Phantomhive as you were about your thoughts on the true killer. It might’ve been Natasha. There was a chance, and the thought of such a reality took the air out of your lungs. “I am not,” you tried for another smile, laughing weakly. You always smiled. You always laughed. It was supposed to work.

But with Polly, it didn’t. Your weak smile flickered off, unencouraged by the costume director. Of course—she worked there longer than Natasha did. 18 years, you once heard. 18 years of handling fittings like these for stars on the rise, stars about to implode. Stars in the process of doing just that, leaving disappointment and heartbreak in their wake. An ache for what could have been. You suspected that without Polly’s comforting nature, the company would lose ballerinas much more often due to Natasha’s unfailingly brutal honesty.

In response to Polly’s raised, skeptical eyebrows and set line her mouth fell in, you sighed. Still, her eyes sparkled as if she was amused by something in you. That look made you think of Ciel.

You unfastented your head piece self consciously, “I think it may be Natasha, actually,” you ventured, using one of Ciel’s tactics, at the thought of him. “Share an insecurity, it will create a false sense of intimacy, and they might overspeak. People who feel comfortable with you are more likely to make a mistake.”

“I feel concerned about her,” you made a show of admitting, like you were guilty of mentioning her.

Polly also allowed you to undo your pointe shoes, giving you a spare pair of soft socks for your bare feet. They ached, as they always did after performances—sometimes they throbbed in protest to carrying your weight. At least the clean, soft material was more welcoming than the wood of Polly’s step riser would have been. You stepped up, only clad in your undergarments, but you didn’t mind with Polly.

“I thought she was certainly…spread too thin, but I thought she’s been quite well lately,” Polly answered ponderously. She wrapped her small measuring tape around your waist, pulling it in to match its perimeter. You tried not to think about what you ate that day—there were many more important concerns at stake. Polly knew Natasha better than anyone else, perhaps she knew something you did not. “She wanted me to keep this between her and myself, but I think that more of us oughta know the good news: she started massage and manipulation therapy for her hip.”

Massage and manipulation therapy? That was a practice where doctors had injured individuals strategically stretch and work their healed limbs after a long injury put them out of use. Only, you didn’t know Natasha’s injury was healed enough to qualify her for it—you were under the impression that the director could hardly stand without her cane, much less withstand massage and manipulation therapy. Her mobility was supposed to be almost entirely extinct.

“What use would Natasha have for therapy? I believe she cannot walk or stand without help,” you mused.

“Oh, no, dear,” Polly shook her head, writing your waist measurement on a notebook. She put the pad of paper back down before you could catch the number she wrote down. “She can walk and stand without a cane, and that is all. No running, no dancing, none of that, after what happened. The cane only helps her manage. Now she’s going three times a week to rebuild strength, she told me.”

“What exactly happened? Do you know?” You risked the question, your intuition begging you to press forward. You felt your palms grow sweaty with anticipation. This was what you were missing, you were convinced. One of your biggest uncertainties regarding Ciel’s theory was: how could Natasha manage to kill all of these people without being caught on top of mobility challenges? You tried not to seem too desperate to know, scanning over your curious expression in the length mirror. Polly was measuring the widest point of your hips.

“I tell you this as a warning, only. As something to learn from,” Polly insisted, meeting your eyes in the mirror. You gave her a resolute nod, taking an uneasy breath in. Natasha rarely spoke about her injury, its exact name, the incident that caused it. You assumed she considered it to be a weakness—a failure of hers.

“It was a complex hip labral tear. From over practicing,” Polly told you, noting down your measurement. She continued to repeat the process for the rest of your body. “She was the principal dancer in Sleeping Beauty, recently married to Will. Here all night, all day, few breaks. She was scared, I think, to lose the life she found,” she recalled, painting a fond picture of a dancer not unlike you. Hungry for her spotlight. A moment of appreciation. Wanting to love and be loved by everyone and more.

“But she wouldn’t hear anything about stopping—even after the doctors told her to take the rest of the Sleeping Beauty season on break. She refused,” Polly said, shaking her head. “And then, she tore her hip, ruining her range of motion. They told her if she tried to do anything more than walk, the damage could leave her in a wheelchair.”

A wheelchair. Your blood ran cold, chastened. Natasha was less than five years older than you; not even 30 years old yet. Technically, she would have had half a dozen more years as a ballerina, if she had been more careful.

Still, Natasha’s injury came in her prime. You couldn’t imagine the pain of being in the midst of your breakout role, only to have to stop for an unknown period of time. The thought of having to willingly surrender the euphoria of curtsying to a cheering crowd made your chest hurt. Natasha probably felt as if her life was ending. Dancing was the only part of your life that kept you alive, at least.

“But now, I suppose, she’s rested long enough to start getting help again. And as long as it’s helping her, I don’t mind holding down the costuming fort, so to speak,” Polly chuckled, wrapping her measuring tape around your shoulders. She always liked to ramble when she worked, and you didn’t expect it to work in your favor. You couldn’t believe you didn’t think to speak with Polly sooner.

“And she has three appointments in a week?” You asked, swallowing in spite of your dry mouth and throat. You thought of the calendar you saw at the Yard’s headquarters with Sebastian and Ciel. Where you noticed a pattern. The very pattern that you and Ciel had believed to implicate William.

Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays. All days where the full cast and crew were at the most occupied with full-Nutcracker rehearsals. These were supposed to be nights where Natasha stayed at the Opera House late to handle costume construction with Polly, influencing every step from the sketches to the final clothing ensemble. Nothing went on The Royal Opera House’s stage without her approval, making her take the time to stay late so frequently.

Unless she wasn’t truly with Polly. William would otherwise have no way of knowing where his wife was if she wasn’t at home—he wouldn’t care to verify where she was, so long as he was confident she wouldn’t be looking for him. The only person in the Opera House after hours was Polly, making only her word Natasha’s alibi.

“Yes! He seems like a smart man, Doctor Wallace. She started seeing him in August,” Polly answered, blissfully unaware.

Unless she was truly pursuing physical therapy— which you doubted this timing — she successfully convinced Polly to maintain this lie for her. Telling the whole company that Natasha was assisting her these nights when she was either on a futile mission to restore her leg or killing her employees.

“So she has not stayed late with you since August?” You could have sworn your heart stopped, in that moment.

“She usually stops in one night a week, at some point. But otherwise, it’s just me. And that’s alright with me, dear, I promise,” Polly misinterpreted your indignation as frustration on her behalf. “More hours is more pay,” she gave you another laugh and wrote down another measurement, blind to your distress.

You felt Natasha’s lies crash down upon another like a house of cards. You gasped, feeling your heartbeat raise in alarm. The world seemed to stall for a moment, hesitating alongside you as your chest tightened with just as much rage as it did surprise. You could’ve sworn your reflection in the three-way mirror was shades lighter in panic.

“Polly, I need to leave,” you said urgently. Still in your undergarments, you pulled a robe off of a hook in the wall, tying it around your waist as you walked. You ignored the costuming director’s protests, her asking if everything was alright. You couldn’t falsely assure her. Not when you felt the sky falling down.

“I have something I need to do now. We can finish another time,” you could hardly recognize your serious tone, it was non-negotiable and about the angriest you’ve heard yourself. Tears brimmed your eyes.

You had to finish this. You couldn’t leave her office without finishing this. No one else was going to die in the hands of this woman.

In fact, you hadn’t thought through your destination until you found your knuckles rapping intently against Natasha’s office door, only several doors down from Polly’s. Technically, the space was William’s office, but he rarely used the space, causing Natasha to commandeer it for her own purposes. You were pleased she did—it wasn’t close to your dressing room, making the private space even more of an oasis free from criticism.

“Natasha! I need you. This is Y/n,” you said, knowing the director was there. She never remained in the foyer long. After she finalized patrons’ payment and ensured that each one was satisfied, she retreated into her office to analyze that performance’s sales revenue. She would stay until she finished adding those numbers to the opera house’s monthly financial records.

“You can—” she started from the other side of the door, but you were wiping your eyes, twisting the knob, and entering before she finished giving you permission. Startled, the director regarded you with irritation hardening her angular features. “Come in… You know to knock, please,” she reminded you, intentionally finishing the statement you interrupted. “Now what might I do for you?”

Being face to face with Natasha made the encounter feel all the more petrified. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was almost as if you forgot how to put your incensed words into English. You had so many accusations, so many questions to aim at the woman, you couldn’t decide where to start.

“I only… wanted to thank you. Again. For this opportunity,” you said, starting off the safest way you could think of, yet probe her as subtly as you could dare. “I would not be at this point in my career without you.”

Natasha tilted her head, setting her fountain pen down on her desk. You watched her wrestle with her response: acknowledging your gratitude, subtly poisoning your confidence regarding your career, wanting to gauge if you were investigating her, despite your efforts before the show. Of course. She had to be careful around Ciel Phantomhive’s partner.

“Y/n, you have to remember that you find yourself opportunities. Life is not kind to those who wait for opportunity. That is especially important for you to remember with Lord Phantomhive at your side, now. Never allow yourself to rely on anyone,” Natasha said, fulfilling your prediction and criticizing you. How did it take you so long to notice this pattern in your director?

“These rich men...they are never forever,” she snorted bitterly, taking an uncharacteristic drink out of a wine glass. You never saw Natasha drink. “They use you. And lie,” she continued, hesitating before fixing her posture and rising from her office chair. Natasha picked up her cane and used it to help support her as she walked to her cabinet and picked an open bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Though we should commemorate the end of this season,” Natasha told you with a new degree of stiff friendliness in her voice. She poured some of the dark wine into a clean wineglass for you, offering the drink to you. “You worked hard to make yourself worthy of Odette and Odile. On top of this drama that Phantomhive dragged you into,” she said his name like a curse.

“I appreciate that, Natasha,” You accepted the glass, but you didn’t take a drink, wary of the wine’s contents. “I did work tirelessly, and–”

“And you do handle the scrutiny well,” your director continued, interrupting you. “Better than I ever did.” She only could have been referencing the disdain she faced for marrying William Wood, though he wasn’t a noble like Ciel, he was from an incredibly wealthy family. You doubted British elite society would ever treat a foreign ballerina kindly, much less five years ago.

You were silent, unsure of what to say. In just minutes, Natasha managed to gain control of the conversation, grabbling the upperhand from you. It was effortless for her. The woman was the very picture of composure. You couldn’t help but wonder if she considered herself to be the perfect heroine from her own description.

Was Natasha manipulating you now, too?

“I try my best to ignore them. They do not and will never know me, so I should not concern myself over what they believe,” you replied noncommittally, forcing yourself not to break eye contact with your director. The air was tense. You felt as if she could see straight through you, and right into the real reason you were there.

Natasha hummed begrudgingly, “it is big of you to know that, and so young. Not too long ago, I would have done anything to live your life.” Her smile unsettled you, and at this point, you trusted yourself more than you did her.

“Why don’t we toast?” the director asked, picking up her glass in one hand and again, using her cane to help her walk to you. “To your career. Your partner. Your success.”

“Fine,” you agreed hesitantly, tapping your wineglass against hers. You watched Natsha take a short sip of wine, but you couldn’t force yourself to do the same. There was no way for you to know it was safe.

Naturally, Natasha had been monitoring your hesitation, her smile—which started out thin enough for you to feel suspicious—wavered. “Is there something wrong?”

Your eyes darted to the office door behind you. Suddenly, you deeply regretted your impulsivity. You might have been out of your depth, confronting her without a plan or any support. This was what Ciel had feared when you were arguing with him about your plan to trap William: a situation where you were in danger with no easy way out.

“No! No, of course not,” you said unconvincingly, painfully aware of the symptoms of a long day beginning to encroach on you, as well. Your feet still throbbed, despite being in Polly’s soft socks, made specifically for aching feet. Your eyelids were heavy which was no surprise, since you hadn’t had proper sleep in days. Especially not last night— how could you have slept after Maisie? “I simply…do not feel much like drinking.”

“You? Not wanting a drink?” Natasha replied incredulously. “Come on. Have a toast with me. Why are you being so uptight with me, now? You do trust me, don’t you? I am your director,” Her long nails tapped on her glass, her face molding into hurt.

It was one sip. What was one sip? The wine bottle was already open—it seemed to be the only open selection in the cabinet. How would she only poison yours?

You paused, realization dawning on you. She was manipulating you.

You wondered if Natasha guided you into that line of thinking as she so often did, pointing out when a corset appeared tight on you to motivate you to eat less, asking you when the last time you considered cutting your hair was to inspire you to cut it. Telling you to enjoy Ciel as a subscriber as if sex work was your choice. All you ever wanted to do was dance.

“Are you the one killing us, Natasha?” The question slipped out between your lips before you could stop it. Tears welled in your eyes, and you couldn’t keep the tremor out of your voice. You stared down at the wine in your hand, a tear streamed down your cheek and made a ripple in the blood-red liquor. Your face felt hot.

“What are you asking me?” Natasha’s questioning laugh was hollow. She finished off her drink and left the empty glass on the desk. She was being clear: this was your last opportunity to drop the question.

“Did you kill the missing ballerinas? I mean they’re dying in other companies too, but m-mostly…this one,” forming words felt impossible. You didn’t know how you were controlling your tone so well.

She laughed again, tones of disbelief making the sound sound rough and condescending. Her eyes were ablaze with rage and disbelief. “After everything I’ve done for you, you accuse me of murder?” Her knuckles were white, fingers tight around both the cane and the glass in her hand. “I have half a mind to kick you out of my company right now for this insult!”

This was the only way, you braced yourself. You thought of the victims you were avenging, not of the danger that stood in front of you. And if you died, you were fairly certain Natasha had no way to evade the consequences. There was a backstage full of company members. You trapped her.

Still, you need to commit to guiding her rage. Natasha was too logical for a mistake. Her emotions needed to overtake her.

“I’m not sure why I just asked that, I’m so sorry,” you lied, “we can just forget about this,” you suggested, backing up towards the door. Your hand reached from behind you to blindly search for the doorknob, only for Natasha to put all of her effort in swinging her cane in the slim space between your fingertips and the doorknob.

You scrambled away from the swing—and from the doorknob, unfortunately. In your fumbling, you dropped your wineglass on the floor. The glass shattered on the floor, its contents spilling in a burgundy pool around the fragments. Only in socks, you stumbled on the spilled liquid, making it easy for the director to usher you away from the door. You struggled to stand back up, feeling the full impacts of your performance and the miserable way you treated your body, compiling and attacking you with just as much vengeance as your director did.

You were decently certain that all you had to eat that day was a quick slice of quiche and some fruit. That fuel ran out well before your performance’s intermission and was nothing but a distant memory to your body, now.

“No,” Natasha’s face was devoid of all kindness. In looking into her cold eyes, you had no doubt that she was a murderer. Not anymore. “You asked for honesty. How is this for honest?” She locked the door, continuing to back you further into the wall by the cabinet she took the wine out of, driving you away from the exit and further into the office. Silent tears fell down your face, but you refused to let her see you sob.

“I liked you, Y/n. I thought we were kindred spirits in a world of weak, spineless, nobodies, who want to try to become dancers when they cannot even stand up straight,” Natasha snapped. She didn’t bother using her cane to walk, merely holding it like a weapon. But she cast it aside once she had you against the wall—not unlike the submissive position her husband forced you into in your own dressing room.

You were approximately the same height—if anything, Natasha had a centimeter or two on you. She still had a bad leg, even though she could clearly walk, but clearly, she had a deep wealth of lethal knowledge.

“I never would have thought you would be one of them,” she continued, casting her cane aside for a pocket knife that she fished out of her skirts. You were strangely calm, despite the panicked, rapid pace your breath came and the hot tears that still spilled down your face. “But if it’s you or me, I will always choose me.”

That wine had to be poisoned. You thanked your instincts.

“You have made that outstandingly clear, Natasha,” you retorted. “You even managed to put yourself before your own interests by screwing yourself out of a career!” you yelled back at her, channeling your rage. Every time she snapped at you, each time she disparaged your dancing, the way your body looked, each time she prepared you for a new patron. “And now what’s left of you is nothing but a bitter woman past her prime. And that is your fault. But y-you take out your f-failure on us!”

“And you? You’re an ungrateful bitch,” Natasha hissed back at you, sliding a thin pocket knife against your throat, causing you to cry out. So close to her, you could smell the wine on her breath and her eyes looked bloodshot. Her pupils were dilated.

You needed to find help. Soon, if you wanted to live. Continuing to taunt Natasha in her office would surely end in your death. While such a sacrifice would surely be enough to convict her, you hoped to see it through. You, in your own way, were the perfect heroine. You knew there was a sacrifice to be made, but if you could help it, you hoped to live.

Swan Lake was only a story, after all.

“And you plan to try to kill me in here?” you asked, gasping as she pressed the blade deeper into your skin. You could feel the painful sting across your nerves, down to your fingertips and as pressure against your windpipe. “H-How will you… get away with it?”

“Shut up,” Natasha laughed again, catching on to your efforts to disregulate her. Painfully smart, she was.

You tried to speak again, but Natasha pressed the blade harder to discourage you. You were at a loss, having allowed yourself to get here by storming in with no plan. Fueled by nothing besides rage, betrayal, and regret.

She looked pleased, content with the way she had managed to turn your attack on her into your demise.

Until there was a knock at the door.

“Mrs. Wood? Is Y/n in there with you? I have been looking for her— I must escort her home.”

You would know that voice anywhere, anytime. No matter what. It made goosebumps erupt on your arms. Ciel had come to the opera house in search of you, despite your best efforts to push him away. Despite your best efforts to convince yourself that he was lying and he didn’t care for you, or anyone, save for himself. The accusation felt shallow, now that a real narcissist had you at knifepoint.

“Ci—!” You started, only for Natasha to shove her hand against your mouth before, forcing her to let go of the collar of Polly’s robe, which she had balled in her first to keep your neck close to her weapon. You had both of your hands to fight her knife hand, trying to pry the small weapon out of her thin—frustratingly strong—fingers. Your arms shook with effort.

“No, Lord Phantomhive, she is not here!” Natasha called over her shoulder, allowing you to use one of your hands to push her face further away, hoping her body would follow her head. You had no combat experience, limited to knowing choreographed fighting on stage. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” She mumbled in your ear, hardly having stumbled from your efforts.

The doorknob rattled as Ciel likely realized it was locked.

You had to get her off of you. Well aware that your arms were locked in a stalemate with her knife, you brought your knee up and dug it into her stomach, causing her to curse, holding her stomach in surprise. You used her surprise to push her away and take steps towards the door as quickly as you could manage, only for Natasha to catch your wrist and pull you back.

“Ciel, please!” A sob that had been building in your chest ripped out of you as Natasha pushed you back into the wall, only this time, you were poised on the wall next to the door.

“Y/n!” It sounded like Ciel kicked the door. “On behalf of Her Majesty, let me in there this instant, Natasha!”

“Get him to leave, or I will kill you. Here,” Natasha whispered, taking hold of your chin to force you to look into her eyes. This was the face that 11 ballerinas saw before they died. Natasha’s bloody hatred of you looked just like William’s, irate and predatory. You had no doubt that the woman would kill you.

“Y/n, do what you must to get her off of you! You can handle her!” You heard Ciel call to you, now that he was decently sure that you were with Natasha—against your will. “I need to break this door open. I don’t care if it’s your bloody director’s office—”

“Why are you doing this to us, Natasha?” You whimpered, repeating the question when she refused to answer. You felt blood bleed down your neck where she pressed the blade, but you couldn’t stop asking. You deserved to know. It didn’t feel as if she was pressing hard enough to kill you—you suspected she wanted leverage over Ciel.

“Why are you hurting us?” you demanded. “Why, why, why?”

“Because I should still be the prima ballerina of this company! Like the rest of you ungrateful whores! My husband should want me in the way he wants the lot of you! I should have my applause! My life back! Give it back!” Natasha yelled, slamming your back against the wall by your shoulder. Black spots danced in your eyes, from your exhaustion. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“I want my life back! You don’t deserve my life! I’m brilliant. Bloody brilliant. The lot of you—you’re nothing, but me? Me? I am a real ballerina. You all are nothing, useless little rodents you all are! In spite of my best efforts to teach, you all can never just learn!” tears raced down Natasha’s face, as well.

Her words, her tears, ignited a fresh anger in you. You worked most hours out of the day for this woman’s approval, only for her to feel this much contempt—no, resentment, towards you. She tore you down at every step, masquerading it as support. And blamed you for her vitriol. From an injury she brought upon herself.

“I took nothing from you,” you rasped, “none of us ever did. We all worshiped you. And you kill us for it. You. Are. Deranged.” you said strongly, in spite of your pain. You used the rest of your strength to curl your hand into a fist and push it forward, aiming for her nose to stun her. Ciel, for emergency’s sake, took the time to show you how to throw a proper punch. You made certain your thumb was untucked and….

Immediately, your hand erupted in pain, starting in your knuckles and expanding outward. You felt her face yielding to the force more vividly than you thought you ever could, the sound making a dull thud. Clearly, however, Natasha was in more pain, the shock causing her to drop her knife.

Natasha swore in, presumably Russian, and doubled over. She held her face, recoiling with pain. You caught blood dripping down her lips, coming from her nose. Her face immediately swelled.

Before she could recover, you unlocked the door, revealing a panicked Ciel. He seemed to be bracing himself to kick it down, his left leg braced into the ground while he was aiming to drive his right heel into the bit of wood next to the lock. Of course, he knew how to kick a door down. You couldn’t keep yourself from laughing at how absurdly good the Earl was at everything.

You felt delirious, looking at Ciel with your director behind you, bleeding. Because you punched her. Because she was the serial killer you had been looking for all this time. The seriousness on Ciel’s face made your smile crumple, re-recognizing the importance of what had just occurred. You hadn’t stopped crying at all, your face was soaked with tears as much as it was with sweat.

There was some of your own blood smeared on your chin and cheeks from Natasha’s hands—you could smell the iron, you could see Ciel’s gaze investigating the stains to ensure they weren’t open wounds. He had already sized up the cut on your throat the moment he righted himself and pulled you into him, away from the director.

Immediately, you were safe in Ciel’s warmth, shuddering as he put his wool jacket over your shoulders. He was speaking to you, but you could barely bring yourself to register his words. Ready to collapse, your head heavy and gloomy. You hadn’t noticed you were shivering, and yet, he did. Ciel let you hide your face in his neck, the height difference between you was always minimal.

Sebastian stepped inside from behind Ciel, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Sebastian,” Ciel snapped, knowing the butler was behind him without turning around. He had his stare fixated on Natasha as some company members moved to restrain her, despite her cursing and thrashing. Ciel had made a scene in demanding the door be opened, and Natasha must have been loud enough for onlookers to hear. “Take care of this. I don’t want there to be a media scene. Find us in Y/n’s dressing room when you’re finished.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Sebastian replied. “Very well done, Miss Y/l/n,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling. He put his hand on his heart and bowed to Ciel, but this was the first instance he bowed to his master with you standing next to him.

You could have been persuaded that you imagined it.

“Ciel…” you spoke as he guided you away from the rest of the company, the arriving officers, and Natasha as she protested her arrest. You felt weak. Almost empty for idolizing a woman who hurt you and so many others. Who thought so little of so many who thought she was the template to success.

Natasha and William hurt you all, and without Ciel, you never would have come to know that. And he had warned you. But you didn’t listen, when you needed to.

“Thank you for coming here, anyway. I appreciate that you would…come. After everything,” you said, the apology was difficult for you to say, but needed. “I cannot know why you would be so kind to me, but you saved my life again.”

Ciel took your arm in his, more than aware that you were exhausted. “What do you mean you cannot know why I would be so kind to you?” He asked, an eyebrow raised at you. “I thought I was clear earlier today: I want to be with you. And I should apologize, too, honestly.”

“Mutual forgiveness and we can have another talk, later?” you requested, settling into your chair. Ciel locked your dressing room door behind the both of you for privacy’s sake. He pulled out your First Aid kit from under your vanity to start caring for your neck.

“Mutual forgiveness,” he agreed, settling down next to you.

[sevikaswifefr]

scared

pairing: vada cavell x female reader

warnings: school shooting, guns, suicidal shooter, suicide.

a/n: i’m in a writers block :/ i apologise if this is bad

vads <3

pls meet me in bathroom rn. dying from lack of kisses from my grilfriend.

*girlfriend

I roll my eyes at the message, two more coming in almost instantly after I had read the first ones.

I raise my hand, my teacher raising an eyebrow to glare at me. “May I go to the bathroom please? Girl problems.” I shrug and the teacher cringes nodding and ushering me out.

“Your so needy.” The bathroom door swings open as I walk in and scoff at my girlfriend who sits on the sink counter, legs swinging as she not so patiently waits for me to arrive.

“Ahh correction. I am so in love.” Vada wags her finger at me before hopping down and rushing to wrap her arms around my neck. “Kiss me.” She whispers and I obey, leaning down to the shorter girl and pressing my lips to hers earning a breathy sigh.

Vadas mouth opens as she pulls back, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she goes to speak. But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence as a loud bang echoes through the hallway.

Vadas hand grips mine as we both freeze, eyes trained on the bathroom door waiting to hear the noise again.

And again it happens, multiple gun shots fired followed quickly by cries and screams, footsteps screeching in a panicked state outside the bathroom door.

Tears begin to fall down my face as I drag Vada into the end bathroom stall. “Get on the toilet.” I whisper shaking a scarily larger amount as I clamber atop the toilet seat. Vada follows suit, whimpers leaving her mouth at the sound of every bullet being fired.

My breathing is rapid, choked almost as I hold a hand over my mouth attempting to keep quiet as long as I can. Vadas eyes meet my own, both pairs glassy and swimming with fear, fear that one of us won’t make it out alive.

The silence after is almost worse than the gun shots and it doesn’t help the girl before me is shaking so hard I became worried she was having a seizure. Remaining silent I hold out my own shaky palm, Vada is quick to take it ignoring the clamminess and holding it extremely tightly.

“Is it over?” I manage to ask, my lips quivering as I dare to step down from the toilet.

Vada sobs into her hand. “I don’t know.” She whispers clinging tightly to my arm too afraid to open the stall.

Police sirens echo outside the building, a sliver of hope rushing through me. But that is shattered as the bathroom door bursts open, mumbled sentences being uttered as someone paces the floor outside the stalls.

Vadas eyes widen, hand pressing tightly against her mouth to stop her cries as her chest rises and falls so fast I had to place my hand against her cheek to calm her slightly.

I slowly attempt to clamber back onto the toilet, but of course nothing goes my way as my foot slips into the toilet water, the splash alerting the intruder.

“Who the fuck is there? I’ll fucking kill you.” His voice is psychotic, alert and fuming as he stalks towards the first stall and shoots a bullet through the door.

Vada and I flinch at the sound of trigger, his footsteps gradually getting closer to our stall as he sends a bullet through each door.

Closing my eyes and praying slightly I step down from the toilet and reach for the lock. Vadas hand is quick to latch onto my arm shaking her head frantically. Turning to look at her, I smile as best I can. “I’ll be ok.” I nod and blow her a wobbly kiss before opening the stall door and closing it behind me, keeping Vada safe.

“Matt.” I whisper, the shooters trembling body turning towards my own. In his hands lay an automatic, aimed directly at me as he seethes.

“Please don’t do this. You can’t come back from this is you keep going.” My voice betrays me, breaking multiple times in the single sentence.

Matt’s eyes are filled with tears but his grip on the gun remains strong. “I don’t plan to come back from it.” He replies wrapping a long finger around the trigger and shrugging.

A flood of what felt like fire burns through my shoulder, the force causing my body to smack against the tiled ground. Crying out in pain, my hands fly to my wound, coming back coated in my blood.

Matt stands frozen, his jaw clenched as he turns the gun on himself. I will myself to close my eyes, or at least turn away but it’s as if I’m frozen. Stuck.

And without a moments hesitation the trigger is pulled, Matt’s body collapsing beside mine, his blood mixing with my own as it pools underneath his body.

Tears cloud my view and my head flops against the tiled floor, weak and heavy. “Vada.” I breathe holding my shoulder with much effort as I could muster.

“Va-“ My vision goes black. A pair of creased jordan’s the last thing I see as I fade out of consciousness.

…

“-very lucky he didn’t get her any lower or she wouldn’t be here right now.”

Blinking against the white light I sit up to see my Vada talking to a nurse but as I stir the two turn to me.

“Your awake.” Vada is sniffling, tears falling down her cheeks as she walks over to my bed. “I’m awake.” I whisper grimacing at the pain of trying to sit up.

Vada remains stoic, a scary difference to her normal wild and very unserious attitude. “Your ok?” I whisper, the nurse leaving the room with a simple nod. Vada shrugs, her eyes blank. “I don’t know.” Her hand finds mine, intertwining her fingers in my own. “Get in.” I shuffle over giving her space to slip into my bed ignoring the throbbing of my shoulder.

“I don’t think either of us are ok. And I think right now. That is ok.” I whisper pulling Vadas head against my chest and kissing her hair.

She hums, finger tracing the exposed skin on my hip. “I’ve got you now.” I whisper, running my hand through her matter locks. “And I’ve got you.” She replies turning to look up at me as if reciting a promise.

Silence encompasses the room as darkness falls over the hospital. But my eyes don’t close, and I doubt Vadas do either. Yet I remain still, the only movement is my hand in Vadas hair bringing as much comfort as I can. “I love you Vada.” I whisper. Vadas figure shuffles slightly under my gaze, head leaning back to look up at me.

“I love you too.”

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 4 ~ Purgatory Series.

Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N.

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, violence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Purgatory Series: Part 4.

Softly in the background, played Dean's rock music. Your head rested against the cool window pane of the shotgun side. You were nearly dozing, but still alert; the adrenaline was taking its sweet time to leave your system after the three months you'd mostly spent on the sea.

The fast-passing lights from the lamp posts between the trees of the vast forest illuminated your face now and again. The lull of the Impala's engine purred and revved, far more relaxing than you ever thought it would be. You were curled up into a ball, knees drawn to your chest, and your arms held them for warmth.

You were wearing short white shorts, a sky-blue tank top, a black denim jacket, and Dean's leather jacket that he had perched on you when he thought you had been asleep and cold; you adored him for it.

You had known Dean as an acquaintance and an ally, but with the New Law, things had changed drastically. The turbulence in your relationship faded during this three-month retreat, you were starting to see him as a loyal, permanent friend.

You glanced at the said man. He was softly humming to his music, head bobbing up and down, fingers drumming the wheel, the muscles flexing under the rolled-up sleeves of his red flannel, his black undershirt dancing with his playful aura, atop his blue-washed jeans. The light that struck off the surface of the moon was reflected in his green orbs probbing the specks in them throb like liquid gold. His dirty blond strands were tussled in a way that generated a need to run your hand through his hair.

What an ensnaring visual!

Watching Dean drive in his beloved fascinated you - his concentration, his care, his dedication. It did all sorts of things to you, his kindness. You wondered how Dean driving this sleek beauty made you feel all fluffy inside.

A smirk curled up on Dean's lips and you couldn't even care to think if he knew you were staring or not.

This went on for a while: silence, gazing, dozing off, waking up again, and then staring at him again—until Dean steered the vehicle wrong.

'Wrong turn, Mr. Winchester,' you politely informed, voice raspy from sleep.

He huffed in annoyance. 'How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me by my name, darlin'?'

You smiled apologetically, 'Force of habit. I'm not used to taking your name.' The three months in public had caused you to revert to calling him "Mr Winchester" - a title he loathed, only when it came from you.

'Well, if that's the case, then I took the right turn.'

'How so?'

'I kidnapped you and now we are going on a date,' he said, tongue-in-cheek.

You opened and closed your mouth, taking a few moments to process that. You glanced in the sideview mirrors of the car, and sure enough, none of your security was tailing you. Neither was Dean's.

This sly man.

'A date?'

'Yep,' he popped his "p" as mischief took over his face, and a cute happy smirk stitched itself onto his lips.But he was nervous, it could be seen in the way his pearly whites worried his lower lip.

'About time,' you said, pretending to be annoyed, yet barely sustaining your poker face: a smile was about to expose you.

'You . . . won't protest?' Dean checked.

'I get what I want, Mr. Winchester,' you said with a challenging gleam in your eye. 'Some things I get fast, like the monsters I am hunting. And some things I have to wait for, like the only guy I ever liked - you.'

You were relieved when he chuckled. 'You're awesome.'

You whimpered, dreaming of your first date. You'd been reliving all your memories, as life often passes before your eyes before the end. Castiel's struggle was to keep you from the cold fingers of death, but you kept pushing him out of your head, believing you didn't deserve the help.

He would just have to keep trying:

'What are you doing?' Dean asked when you went to your drawers to retrieve a blue gift-wrapped box with golden ribbons.

'I'm putting this under the tree,' you said, doing exactly that.

He chuckled under his breath. 'You know that the parents only do that so the children think Santa left them presents, right?'

'Oh. They never overtly said that in the movies.' You glanced to the main door of your room. 'Do you want me to don a Santa hat and say "ho ho ho"?'

His amusement triplefolded.

'No, darling,' he happily brushed his lips on your forehead. 'It's so that children think Santa is magic that they aren't allowed to see Santa Claus. Never take part in any trivia,' he teased you. 'You'd lose terribly.'

You scowled. 'It's the children you should worry about—allowing them to believe there's good magic.'

'Aw, well—maybe there is,' he grinned smoothly, 'Would make sense why I found you.'

'Good. Lay on the cheesy. Makes my present more practical.'

He rolled his eyes, smacking your butt in retaliation. You gasp-scoffed; any other person would be picking their fingers off the floor but Dean had done this before . . . And you'd kinda liked it.

It was your first Christmas together, and also the night of your first sexual congress - which is why Castiel shuddered out. He waited for your minutes before diving in again to safer memories.

'The coffee's gone,' Dean groaned, pouting as he rattled his flask. He glanced to see you hiding your laugh. Eyes narrowing, 'It's not funny. I might die of caffeine withdrawal.'

'You had a cup half an hour ago!' you freed your laughter. 'You're like a Basset Hound, you cleaned us out in five hours!'

'What's your point?'

'It was supposed to last us a day,' you mused.

'You don't have to be so mean,' he turned his nose up, frowning at your attitude. 'You know what you signed up for.'

You giggled, 'Okay, princess.'

'What are you doing?'

For you had leaned back to rummage through your duffel bag where you stashed reinforcements. You pulled out an extra flask of coffee you had brought specially for Dean, and a pie you had made yourself.

'Becoming your damsel in shining armor,' you said. 'But that's all I have, so can't whine after you've licked your fingers clean.'

He gleefully took the pie in his hands, 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me!'

You laughed, 'Are you talking to me or the pie?'

He pulled you closer by your neck and slotted his lips against yours, in a quick soft kiss, you could feel his smirk on your lips.

'The pie' he whispered against your lips, kissing you again even though you slapped his chest. When he pulled away, his eyes were raw with emotions.

'But I love you, darlin'.'

Your first "I love you"s sifted through your mind. You were moving chronologically, and Castiel didn't want to find out what happens when you reach the end.

Castiel slightly cursed how the green-eyed hunter taught him to. Roaming your memories cost both of you; you, your life force, and Castiel, his grace. He knew if he didn't manage to successfully meet you in one of your trips down the memory lane, he'd lose you forever.

You were already hyperventilating, writhing and gasping out Dean's name over and over again, because your tortured subconscious somehow knew this wasn't real, and it was starting to really miss Dean. Your Dean.

Castiel was starting to feel your agitation as his own, his empathy grudging his mind but your heart might seize by how overworked it was.

He needed to tread carefully now, perhaps, alter his tactics and go to a memory you and his other self were present in together - a place where he could replace the other Castiel comfortably and breach your nightmarish haze.

Unluckily, he couldn't have chosen the worst possible memory for that.

Dean had sneaked into your room to spend a blissful evening together, falling asleep in each other's arms.If the media knew that you two were canoodling before marriage, they would have your heads. People were usually open-minded, but they weren't being constantly watched by the paparazzi - it was different for you Leaders.

'Good morning,' you rasped, leaning up and kissing the corner of his lips. 'I hate you for waking me up.'

He chuckled. 'I love you, too.'

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles, a smile engraved on his face. A blanket was pulled around the two of you. You were wearing his shirt and underpants, while he was in his boxers. His green eyes twinkled as he played with your fingers, his eyes catching on the soulmate ring he gave you during your engagement.

'What?'

'Hmm?'

'Why'd you seem so happy?'

'Oh, your mom called.'

You grimaced, 'I'm sorry. I told her not to do that. What'd she have to say?'

His grin widened: 'The date for our wedding.'

You gasped, 'Really?' You practically squealed, shooting upright. 'This is awesome! When?'

'Next week,' he smirked, sitting up too.

'Oh, my God!' you shriek-laughed. 'This is great! We will never have to pretend to be formal again!'You threw your arms around him, curling into his lap, and he caught you, laughing at your enthusiasm.

You crushed your lips to his for a long minute until he pulled away, your hearts fluttering in tandem.

'I love you so much!' you exclaimed, unable to stop beaming.

He kissed your forehead, 'I love you more.'

'Impossible,' you teased.

'I'll let you think that because I love you more,' Dean said slyly.

'You're so cheeky.'

'But imagine, this day next week, we'll be husband and wife.'

'I know,' you whispered, and you laced your fingers with his.

You hugged him tightly, your hips straddling his, and he buried his face into your hair, letting all his problems fade, and simply feeling unadulterated happiness for a second.

Your moment was encroached when the door to your room burst open. 'Help—Siege! Attacked! Lady Y/N—Sir-Sir, is—'

'Breathe,' you ordered.

Immediately, you and Dean slipped into your roles. You two untangled, sliding off of your bed; confidence radiated off the two of you, irrespective of the fact that you two were severely underdressed for anyone else to see.

The servant didn't even care that Dean was in your room, shit-scared and pale like a ghost. He was panting, hands on knees, and whimpering in short bursts.

'We've been breached. Lord L/N - he initiated Code Red. Request for all hands on deck.'

You exchanged a glance with your fiancée. 'Request approved,' you and Dean said in unison, eyes still locked, but voices professional.

'Where?' you questioned. 'Who?'

'Uh, the courtyard, swordsmen's training area. It's Castiel.'

Your back snapped straight in shock, jaw clenched with anger and betrayal. Guilt and fear tried to overthrow your other emotions; you wondered what kind of consequences you would face for this . . .

'Noted,' Dean answered for the two of you. 'Go. We'll be there.'

Soon, armored up and armed, you and Dean ran as fast as you could to the makeshift battleground. On your way over, it was impossible not to notice the numerous dead bodies littered about, severed limbs and blood decorating the once beautiful palace like gruesome graffiti.

It depressed you when you recognized most of the faces, and it burdened your heart to know that you were to blame for this somewhat directly or indirectly. Only when, on occasion, you stumbled across a body with a stab wound and burnt-out eyes, did you feel slightly better; even the angels were dying.

Within record time, you had climbed down fleets of stairs, Dean in tow, and were running into the open battle.

'Five o'clock!' you yelled, jumping forward, and Dean blindly followed your command as a huge angel bomb slammed into the ground where you were standing not a second ago.

You both rolled back to your feet, continuing to run. After dodging several more flying magical arsenals like that, you two finally sought shelter behind a tree line, just as a rogue group of fighters passed along the way. But you decided not to help them just yet - you had bigger fish to fry - from what you could see, your aim was the center of the mayhem.

Dressed in a severely abused trench coat, and a suit now painted in God knows how many people's blood - stood the cruel traitor. What shocked you was how much agility he was moving forward with, and he wasn't only killing your people: it was clear that he wasn't below throwing the other angels in the line of fire to protect himself.

Your blood boiled, and rage flooded you. This bastard should not have fucked with your brother's kingdom, he was going to pay . . .

'Y/N?'

You turned to reply when Dean's lips crashed against yours in a firm, devouring kiss. One of his hands made its way into your hair, pulling you closer, and the other stroked your cheek softly, all his actions full of desperate worry, demanding promises of your safety.When he pulled back, concern for you clouded his eyes, and you were sure you mirrored his expression.

'Be careful.'

'Yeah, of cou—'

'Not just of the angels,' he warned. 'Our faction knows he was a friend.'

You hesitated, already knowing the answer before you asked. 'Do you think our people will turn on me? I mean, I didn't know he would betray—'

'I know,' he cut you off in understanding, kissing your forehead. 'But I don't know. Just . . . Just be safe. We will figure this out later.'

'I love you,' you clung to his hand.

'I love you, too, darlin'.'

You releasing him, even though you never wanted to leave. A pit of dread bloomed in your gut, the words to stop Dean from stepping into the battle on the tip of your tongue, but, even though you knew you should have, you couldn't stop him as he ran head first into what would be his demise . . .

Shaking off the bad feeling, you followed suit, your war reflexes kicking in, allowing you to start dropping bodies left and right.You were very much surprised to find hundreds of monsters in here too; it was a combined effort of the three factions of angels, demons, and monsters. How they managed to power down the sigils and the magical borders was ponderable.

Your memory is quite distorted. Parts of the war are fading in and out of your vision.

You chopped the heads of two vampires simultaneously. You'd managed to gank this nest of eight who had ambushed you.

Dean was way ahead of you; he'd already taken down five ghouls, six Djinns, and three werewolves. You both were heading in consistently straight - toward the remnant Leaders and Governors. Your hunters had formed a rough battle circle and were maintaining that position at all costs. Medics were coming and going to save as many lives as they could.

In about twenty minutes, you had been able to join the center circle. The surge of the monster attacks there was more concentrated than anywhere on the whole field. The circle tried to keep shifting, but the monsters wouldn't ease up around them.

Dean was here, pushing back a line of feral rugarus with a little assistance from Joana. Jody, Bobby, Rufus, and B/F were here - all up against different creatures. You couldn't see your brother or Jack on the field. Come to think of it, you hadn't seen Jack in a long while.

But you didn't have much time to yourself when a group of demons set their eyes on you, while you were three-quarters of your way into finishing a group of shapeshifters, dumping them in a heap at your feet.Before you could set the last heart down, they were onto you; you yelped as one slashed for your throat, and you moved back, causing it to scratch your shoulder.

'Dean, fire! B/F, demon blade!' came a shout.

B/F and Dean responded to the call. You only heard it when your name was screamed into the fray of commands.

'Bobby, machette!' You shouted, ducking out of the reach of the demons, and moving onto the angels you'd been assigned. 'Jody, angel gun!'

Your group worked as if parts of a single organism. More commands were screamed, warning the other Leaders in the circle of the weapons they were going to receive and what they had to give, said in this exact order.

You aired your weapon Bobby's way, in return, receiving a gun from Jody's general direction. Reflexively everyone got what they had to. This change was usually made to relieve a pair of Leaders - you think it was Rufus' and Joanna's time for lunch. This also allowed the Leaders to reevaluate if everyone had all the correct weapons for the correct monsters.

Over your head, other weapons were thrown as well, and places were quickly switched. Your impeccable aim slaughtered the bunch of angels. Next to you, Dean unleashed an inferno of fire upon the six wendigos who had wanted to attack you earlier.

And so the war went on, switching back and forth - ruthless killing consumed your little group. The swell of the monsters never ceased.

Sometime later, Sebastian yelled that hellhounds had rampaged the palace - Jo and Rufus were lost, and so were most doctors and civilians. You lost Bobby when he took a blade to his neck for Seth who showed up after a while with back-ups and replenishments in the form of weapons, witches, and more human force.

Still, you were losing.

The grieving soulmates like Jody could only fight so much, she had tears streaming down her face and rage fueled her - but for how long?

Even the youth was struggling to keep up, what of the elderly on the field who might soon start dropping like flies on the ground - but they had no choice. Humans were outmanned.

Castiel was appearing and disappearing. But he was gone more than he was here - sometimes for a couple of minutes, sometimes for hours. Every time looking refreshed and rejuvenated. But he never tangled too much with your group of extremely talented hunters, that bastard.You even cursed him at one instance and challenged him to fight you. He simply ignored your taunts, doing his thing - the seemingly endless supply of his warriors shifting strategies, per his instructions.

You all tried to imply new strategies too, but he was making sure to keep you all occupied so that you couldn't help your subjects. Every human on the field was cornered.

Your concentration first wavered when they killed your brother.

'NO!' you screeched at the top of your lungs, a white ball of energy exploding from your heart and rippling from you in circles - successfully killing all monsters in a five-mile radius. It was your residual archangel powers.

Unfortunately, although the powers managed to kill all the evil - it also managed to weaken your forces by throwing them into the air.

This was bad because no one had known how you'd killed Micheal. People disapproved of using powers to defeat the other factions, they would rather you sacrificed yourself to kill Michael instead of leveling the playing field. Now everyone knew.

Tears welled up and you fell to your knees from dizziness. Your insides were cold and numb from shock. Your brother's eyes glazed over and some more blood gurgled from his mouth as he finally fell limp on the ground, a knife sticking out from his back. A demon backstabbed him in the form of . . . Jody, who now stood over him with a ghastly grin. Before you could even process it, she alleviated her gun, shooting B/F, the last Leader except you and Dean, and most of the humans nearest to you - some die, some take cover. She levied her gun on you and Dean, but never pulled the trigger, tilting her head to one side as if listening to something, and then her neck twisted one-eighty degrees. Black smoke funneled into the air, and her body fell to the ground, unmoving.

Dean's arm slung around you, and you both glanced at each other, equally broken, trying equally hard to not sob in the middle of this bloodbath.

'Tsk, tsk, tsk,' tsked Benny. He was the vampire Alpha's second-in-command and the Captain of the Bloody Princess. 'I really thought that you wouldn't last longer than an hour, let alone days. But, hey, this was more fun, wasn't it?'

'I'm gonna kill you,' you whispered, emotionally wrecked.

'Y/N, no—'

But you leaped out of Dean's reach, practically flying towards Benny. Unexpectedly, someone threw their body weight on you, making you reflexively stab backward.

The gasp was too familiar.

Your entire body froze, and your whole world stopped moving.

Something was terribly wrong, all your instincts screamed: Do not turn . . .

But you recognized it! You recognized him . . .

Your unwilling glance cast to your right, just as Dean's head came to lean down on your shoulder, breath shuddery.

Suddenly, he was on the ground and your memory had progressed. Nothing made sense, including your gibberish words.

'I won't let you die, my love. N-Not while I'm still alive.' A small smile formed on his lips and he locked his green orbs with yours as if he was proud of himself for this little act.

'Why would you throw yourself at me?!'

'Oh, how sweet,' laughed Castiel. He had been standing behind you, and you hadn't noticed him before. 'I didn't think he'd sacrifice himself for you.'

And the heart-breaking understanding dawned on you . . . Dean had seen Castiel while all you'd seen was revenge . . .

A sob tore from your chest, 'You shouldn't have done this—'

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile dancing at his lips. 'That's what fiancés are for, darlin'.'

Incoherent yelling brought you out of your reverie. You looked up in utmost confusion to see Castiel killing . . . himself?

'—fight them,' Dean continued. As if he didn't see this at all.

You gaped at the new guy, a worried look on his face.

You shook your head, tilting it to the side, certain that this shouldn't be happening. 'I-I-I was supposed to duel Benny and Castiel—'

'We need to leave, Y/N,' the lookalike of Castiel said. 'I've been looking everywhere for you. I come from your reality. We should go. Your mind and memories make me very uneasy.'

'Who are you?' you shook your head. 'I need to-to save Dean!' you exclaimed. 'I was . . . this isn't supposed to happen! I don't remember this!'

Castiel's brows furrowed in confusion. 'If you don't leave, you die.'

'B-B-But, if I leave, he'll die,' you said in a low tone, 'he'll die anyway. I'll get him killed. I-I-I don't know . . . he doesn't deserve me, this! I-I get him killed. I deserved to die—I—' Your voice cracked, breaking down then and there.

'Calm down,' he said softly, coming to gather you in a hug. 'I need you to listen to my voice, and you need to breathe.'

You wanted to fight it, you knew you should have. But for some reason, you resisted that urge. You didn't want to hurt this new trench-coated guy, you felt as if, if you hurt him, you'd also indirectly hurt someone you cared about - you just couldn't remember who.

'I don't understand,' you whispered, watching as Dean lay on his side, not even acknowledging the fact that Castiel was hugging you. His eyes were stuck at where you should have battled your planet's Castiel, and it was as if Dean was watching the duel unfold . . .

It should've happened. Why was it not happening?

You should have promised Dean that you'll save him, and then dueled Ben and Cas. And Jack - where was Jack?

'This is a memory,' informed Castiel - something that you had already begun to grasp on.

'Who are you?' you questioned, falling against his chest. 'Please go away. I should've died.'

'Dean wouldn't appreciate that,' he told you. His blue eyes were full of sympathy and pain for you. Why did he even care? You would have killed him if a nagging voice in your head didn't stop you.

The voice was continuously telling you to go with him. To save yourself.

'Come with me,' mumbled Castiel. 'Please. Dean is waiting.'

'He's gone,' your voice wobbled. 'He's dead,' you said it, for the first time in more than seven years . . .

Castiel shook his head, 'Please. He's waiting.'

You glanced at the man in front of you. Two knives sticking out of him - both of them, the price of saving you. He'd insisted that you gain powers to fight Micheal which was when Castiel had become your "friend", and now, he insisted on saving you again . . .

Out of seemingly nowhere, a gold necklace appeared on Dean's neck. You remember putting it there. That and the soulmate ring had been the symbols of your love with Dean - both of which you'd let burn along with the battleground.

As the love of your life bled on the battleground - among the rest of your family, the rest of the Leaders - you felt a part of yourself dying, all over again.

It was over. It was all over.

You let yourself fall back against your savior, stemming the flow of your memories but unbearable crying took over you, as you let the magnitude of what had happened hit you all over again, yet, seemingly for the first time.

You gasped awake in the real world, shooting forward on the forest floor.

Sweat beaded your skin, and you were chilled to your bones but your mind was blank. With an unimaginable effort, you blinked away your tears, toning down your devastating cries to slight whimpers.

Not yet - you can't cry yet. It's not safe.

Your e/c orbs fell on the figure kneeling next to you.

'Castiel,' you said, frigidly. You knew you couldn't attack him. You shouldn't.

He gave you a small smile. 'I'm glad you're okay. Save him, please. Goodbye, Y/N.' A sound of a flutter, a breeze gushed around you, and he was gone.

You tightened your arms around yourself, not caring in the slightest if his company on you was reduced. You mustered your strength and stood up on your jelly legs, but something was missing.

Your mind raced to recollect what had happened before you were forced into an unwilling submission to your past.

You understood slowly that your injuries were missing. You looked down to your stomach and then checked your thigh, giving a once-over to your whole body - if your clothes hadn't been ripped and stained, you would have never known that you had been hurt in the first place.

Then you realized that your bow was missing. You felt vulnerable instantly as if you'd gone out in public without clothes.

You would've thanked Castiel but you didn't because, first, you didn't want to, and second, he left defenseless even if he did heal you.

You decided to ignore his existence until he was needed again as a compromise.

You put yourself on the Purgatory map pretty quickly. You were in the land of Djinns - you had a safe house in here somewhere, this one underground, you believe. They were as good as nothing in here, so technically, they didn't pose you much threat.

You did contemplate freeing yourself from the torture of watching Dean: the stupid American-accented Dean Winchester who you can't have. Technically, he was safe. You sent him to the safest area in Purgatory, rumor for the portal had been spread so a capable monster would come looking for him, and he could this hellhole in his rearview mirror. All he had to do was blame you for how you aggravated the tryst between the Leviathans and the Dwarves, and they would hunt you, and permit him to stay.

Even as you thought it, you knew your goal was too idealistic. Dean came to save you, you doubted he would throw you under the bus - despite your excellent skills.

He really pissed you off sometimes. You honestly can't deal with another man who has a fucking hero complex! That reckless, beautiful fool thought you were important enough to risk his own life and enter an area you clearly told him not to.

To top it all off, he seemed to care about you! Why else would he kiss you?

He obviously cares, and he protects what he loves. Inevitably, he will die like—

No! came an inward scream. Don't go there, your mind warned.

You had to take a second to compose yourself - the state of mental health was extremely fragile.

Out of the mayhem of your thoughts, a broken voice came through, Promise?

Your self-preservation was ravaged by your soft corner for Dean's namesake and lookalike. You did tell him you would find him . . .

For a distraction, you decided to run for the rest of the day.

No monster bothered your jog as you cut down six miles. Within the next hour, you had touched your safe house. You stitched your clothes more or less and constructed a new bow and a hefty set of quivers; you tested them on three stray Djinns. Before evening, you had jogged over to the edge of the Borax forest again.

The army of Leviathans was doubled, parading around the perimeters of the forest. A small camp had also been set up. These monsters whispered around in harsh voices, and tensed at the slightest noises; you even caught a wisp or two of your and Dean's names. You had seen and planned enough wartimes during your lifetime to recognize one; your little stunt yesterday may as well have been a trigger.

Maybe Dean would need you to keep him safe after all. You doubted he had war experience. You know he'd faced apocalypses before, but war and the end of the world are majorly different things. The latter is quick but wars elongate the pain of an apocalypse until you die a little every day.

You shrugged those thoughts off. Eyes on the goal.

Stealthy as a cat, you scaled a tree, tiptoed to the edge, and swung into the Borax forest, absolutely unobserved.

As you trudged further within the forest, now on the ground while the silence deafened you. Not even crickets. You kept an eye out for traps; if you weren't cautious, you might end up hanging upside down from a rope like a lousy Tarzan.

Just because you can swing your own weight now, doesn't make you Tarzan.

Who's Tarzan?

He had scoffed, Don't tell me you haven't watched fucking Disney - what loveless world did you grow up in?

Just because I don't like television or music, doesn't make me an outcast.

Maybe you should look up the word, you bookworm.

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' you growled.

Your attention diverted when the air whizzed, your ears perked up and you ducked, letting it slash thin air over your head.

You raised your hands in surrender. 'I come in peace!' you yelled. 'Please. I need to find my . . . friend. I mean no harm.'

You stood rooted to your spot, aware that you could spook them. You strained your ears until you caught the rising decibels as someone approached you.

You bit your lip, giving yourself up. 'I'm a human. Y/N L/N. And, my friend, Dean Winchester, is still in this territory if the stories of you guys capturing prisoners are correct. I just need shelter, and for you to release him. We'll be no harm, I swear. Please, let me talk.'

'Is it right? You slaughtered the fairies!' came an accusing, squeaky voice.

You nodded. 'They betrayed me. Gave my location to the Leviathans.'

The Dwarves gasped and snarled altogether.

'We had to . . . let go of the fairy population because betrayal is one thing I don't tolerate,' you raised your chin in defiance. 'It was my idea if you still want revenge - I hear you were close to them. But kindly release the other human, he is innocent, just trying to get back home. You know how homesickness feels better than anyone, don't you?'

A pregnant pause.

You closed your eyes just in case they wanted to take you up on the revenge, your reflexes would only get in the way.

'Hand low.'

The Dwarf King emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a magnificent crown of bird feathers, befitting his royalty.

You had to hide your mystery disappointment upon not being attacked.

You gave him a small tentative smile, greeting him with a curtsy.

He scowled, deepening the frown lines on his grimy, old, scarred face. If he stayed very still and closed his eyes, you could've mistaken him for the bark of a tree, his skin color matched it, and his battle scars were appropriately carved on all the visible parts of his skin. Even his clothes were made of leaves - without his crown, he would be undetectable to a person who didn't what to look for. More small people peeled away from the trees. They were even smaller than their king, which would have been amusing if you didn't know how deadly they were when they wanted to be; all just as unkillable as the Leviathans in Purgatory.

'They us shoo - the bad Leviathans,' the King sneered, voice as rustly as a dead leaf in the graveyard. 'We you not welcome, just capture-kill. Why? Why us seek shelter?'

You kneeled to shorten the distance and appear less threatening.

'We don't want you to exclusively protect us, we can do that on our own. We just need shelter, there is a house I built here—'

'It stand still,' he huffed. 'Dwarf no-no land.'

'I see,' you said. 'We can keep that arrangement. If you could just lend us a couple days, you won't even know we are—'

'We want hurt Leviathans,' he cut you off yet again. 'You want hurt Leviathans?'

'Those sons of bitches who want to kill my friend? Fuck, yeah!' you scoffed. 'I want them deader than my will to fucking live!'

His eyebrows knitted together. 'Say again?'

You pursed your lips in amusement. It had been ages since you switched languages to connect with a person - otherwise, you know half the European languages for smoother conversations with your Governors.

'Yes. Y/N and Dean want to hurt Leviathans. Very bad.'

He assessed you for a moment. 'You good fighter?'

The smug, self-assured smirk on your lips was your experience's fault. 'The best. Me the reason for security more, uh, beyond your forest,' you accidentally ended in correct English.

He approved you with a grin. 'Pick her.'

'Pick what now!?'

The dwarves came like an all-consuming wave, their tiny hands floated you in the air. One of them blindfolded you with an evergreen leaf so lithely that you were a smidge scared, the miniature creatures forwarded you hand-to-hand, to what you can only assume is their secret lair. You "accidentally" bumped into trees constantly, at that point you could only protect your head with your hands. They were chatting in a foreign language you knew nothing about.

Then all too abruptly, you were dropped on the ground; to be fair, they weren't taller than two feet.

You knew better than to make a sound or move unless they directly addressed you to do so. Anxious minutes stretched on until finally, the blindfold was loosened.

All of the dwarves had already made themselves scarce, leaving you on the edge of the small lake, between the tall trees and your house just in the middle of the lake.

You were wrong, they weren't ready to share their lair just yet. Instead, they'd bought you to your safe house, the gazebo you'd built in memory of Dean's garden . . .

'Your Dean come,' a squeaky voice made you jump. You hadn't even noticed the small Dwarf, the size of a tennis fucking ball, near your elbow. She grinned at your fright. 'You stay. Behave.'

Did a tennis ball just ask you to fucking behave? If you didn't want peace, you would've thrown her into the lake like a pebble.

She trotted away behind the rest of her population and you wondered how many were watching you from the trees.

All you could do was wait, you supposed. And if Dean wasn't handed to you by nightfall, you would attack them.

The Dwarves surprised you by keeping their word. You were expecting them to be as unworthy and dishonest as the Leviathans, but they gave you Dean, relatively unharmed - if you don't count his unconsciousness and the bumps on his head from being lugged around like you been, as harm. They carelessly thumped the man at your feet.

The Dwarf King was frowning. 'We no like him, know? He try and kill.'

'He stupid,' you were quick to retort. 'He don't know how great you be. I'll make him understand. I hope this no ruin our new friendship?' you extended your hand for an alliance.

He hesitated, before giving in and shaking his knotty hand with yours. 'Friend. But because you promise to hurt sons of bitches.'

'Aw, you learned how to curse,' you laughed, making the Dwarf King blush grumpily.

He waved his hand in dismissal, 'One favor more!' he demanded.

'Okay?' you quirked a brow.

'Teach English!' he forcefully said. 'Leviathans speak good, we rub good English in face!'

'I think I like you,' you chuckled. 'You got style, buddy. Teach English, got it.'

He blinked both his eyes at you and raised his thumbs. You think he was winking.

He and his entourage left the clearing, telling you that they would be by the next day for their first lesson. One of the Dwarf ladies also told you that she was the healer around there, and if you needed anything, she would be able to conjure it for you within a day or so . . . She reminded you of Selina, but then you slammed the door on those memories as well.

Or, well, you tried too. You had this grim feeling that it was too late to ignore your past anymore. Your breakdown was coming, you just hoped you'd be alone for it.

A/N: Welp, the trauma's out of the bag! What did you think of the glimpses from the Supernatural Wars?

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

@stanzie

[wvbaandtheboys]

DREAMESCAPE: RE-DREAMED EDITION!

forthethirdfuckingtime-

Hey punchy peeps, yup it's me again I present to y'all my pride and joy, the Dreamescape AU! This time, redone with an idea I originally discarded when I was first making the AU, but I ended up using for the revamped version! Let's get into the ✨ lore ✨

THIS AU DEALS WITH DARK THEMES! BE CAREFUL TRAVELLERS!

This AU takes place in the span of the 1920s. The Macs live with their single father, Jerome/Doc Louis, having a docile and normal life. Their father works tirelessly to provide for his sons, being a middle class worker. With familiar faces surrounding their everyday lives, the family is content and lives out their days in joy. However, over a tense and perplexing time span, many people in their community begin to pass away unexpectedly with little to no closure on some of their deaths. Hysteria rises amongst the townsfolk; hysteria of a supernatural curse of well known origin, rooted in folklore, that threatens the adult population. And by proxy, the children of the town.

It is the Constellation of Shadows. An arachnoid, nightmarish entity that targets children through the adults in their lives. It invades the dreams of adults while they sleep, and takes them into its dark abyss of a web. It then mutates them, reforms them for its own purposes. Then unleashes them like wild animals to murder the children in their sleep.

Very few families have survived the Constellation's insatiable hunger for terror and demise: there are only two documented survivors of the Constellation throughout the years. Those families were never the same, suffering long term effects that led to either tragedy within them, or them disappearing from the town, never to be seen again. Hysteria once again breaks out, with the message to stay awake and alert at all costs and protect your children, as the Constellation cannot attack if you are not asleep or drowsy. However, it was only so long before the Louis household succumbed to exhaustion, and entered a deep slumber.

However, there is one hope. Father Dream. Father Dream is another folklore figure who, once upon a time, constantly did battle with the Constellation in order to uphold the safety of all dreamers. However, the feast of fear supplied to the Constellation allowed it to best Father Dream and trap him within his own seemingly unending slumber. However, Father Dream was still in control of some of his power. He blesses Mac with a special ability: the ability to resurrect the dead. Now, the Macs must face monsters of familiarity in order to make it out alive. And, in order to rescue their father before he suffers the same fate as the adults before him did. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ With the lore out of the way, let's learn about those adults: WII:

Joe - Chef (27)

Kaiser - Clockmaker (52)

Disco - Radio Show Host (25)

Hippo - Tribal King (50s to Early 60s)

Hondo - Photographer (33)

Hugger - Game Warden (44)

Tiger - Illusionist (31)

Don - Fisherman (26)

Aran - Dockworker (27)

Soda - Ice Cream Parlor Owner (41)

Bull - Priest (40)

Macho - Singer (30)

SUPER PUNCH OUT:

Gabby - Librarian (62)

Hurricane - Meteorologist (29)

Bob - Homeless (36)

Dragon - Lead Dragon Dancer (25)

Muscle - Doctor (37)

Heike - Unemployed (16)

Mad Clown - Clown (obviously shjsjs) (30)

Narcis - Nobleman (31)

Hoy - Retired Teacher (83)

Rick and Nick - Tailors (R - 28, N - 29)

Now, how did all of them meet their untimely demises? TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, WRITTEN DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE/GORE, SUICIDE. PLEASE TAKE THIS INTO ACCOUNT WHEN READING FURTHER ON! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ WII: Joe - No one heard from him for a good while since his restaurant was suddenly closed, so it eventually drew the attention of police. When they went in, they found him in the basement of the restaurant, slumped against one of the walls and clearly long dead. He appeared to die clutching a kitchen knife in his hand. He represents Ataxophobia.

Kaiser - Kaiser’s somewhat anti-social personality did put some off from checking in on him too frequently, but they knew he was in and working when they heard the ticking of the clocks within his workshop. Concern arose when the ticking stopped. When concerned folks went inside the old man’s shop to check on him, They found him sprawled out on the floor, stiff. He was surrounded by clocks, all had their hands frozen at the hour of midnight. He represents Chronometrophobia.

Disco - Way too suddenly did Louie Brown's show get taken off the air. An announcement was made in the newspapers shortly thereafter that the host had passed away. Though they didn’t release details, he was found to have cords of recording machinery taut around his neck, still seated in the recording booth. And with the recording machine on, but thankfully not on the air. He represents Sedatephobia. Hippo - Hippo and his people (women, men and children alike) were quite sociable with the public. Seeing as they weren’t native to the town and after a great tragedy for the tribe, the king seemed to have a certain desperation to be accepted and gain a new home, considering what happened to them. However, the Hippoans were extremely generous and shared their culture with the townsfolk. But, they all just… vanished one day. It was presumed that perhaps Hippo had tried to guide them to live elsewhere, but no one can say for sure what happened to them. He represents Anthropophobia.

Hondo - Though nothing was visibly perturbing about him, laid on either a couch or his bed, his camera was in close proximity. When the photos recently taken on it were printed out, they showed cryptic, vignetted images of Hondo at angles that appeared as though another person had taken it. Though there were no signs that another person had ever been there. He represents Photophobia.

Hugger - He said he just felt tired, and was going to take the winter months to rest. No foul play, no signs of injury, no nothing. He just appeared to have passed in his sleep. He represents Nyctophobia.

Tiger - He was found with red scratch marks all over, which were initially thought to be self inflicted. However, the cleanliness of his fingernails and the angles of the markings made it almost seem like… something was trying to escape from his own body. He represents Rhabdophobia.

Don - He and his wife, Carmen, had been out all day on a lengthy fishing trip. Even when dusk had arrived and fog had started rolling in, the couple still hadn’t returned. Their fishing boat that came floating back to shore, belongings and equipment still on it, but they were nowhere to be seen. He represents Thalassophobia.

Aran - The last his coworkers saw of him, they say he was quietly sitting on the docks with his legs hung over the water. Something he readily instructed others to never do. The very next morning, he was gone. They never found him. He represents Megalohydrothalassophobia.

Soda - When the cold months came over the town, his charming little ice cream parlor closed for the winter as he said he was going to go for a trip to the mountains. After the winter was over, with no word or sign of the man, concern also arose for him. They discovered him a while after. He was completely encased in frost despite the warmth returning. He represents Cryophobia.

Bull - The toll of the church bells at night brought a sense of dread over all that heard it. He was found knelt in a praying pose at the front of the chapel. He was already dead, clutching the jewel of the necklace he wore in his hands. He represents Theophobia.

Macho - The singer known as “Deep Blue” by his many adoring fans had a dark cloud over his head. A rumor mill had churned much devastating gossip regarding his personal life. Some even say it drove him mad. Regardless of the true motive, the performer was found with a slit throat. Some suspect it was a suicide, as the letter opener that cut his throat was in his own hand. He represents Scopophobia.

SPO:

Gabby - Even though he was getting on in years, Gabby always said that there was never a time he felt alive, even since his youthful years, due to the plethora of health issues he had developed over the course of his life ever since he was born. “I don’t recall the last time I ever felt young and spry, if I even did in the first place. So, getting old really doesn’t feel any different.” As such, it was a well known rumor that Gabby read many books to cope, to feel some kind of whimsy in his ever shortening life. He was found dead in his sleep at his desk, an open book beside him. He represents Gentrophobia.

Hurricane - A thriving meteorologist, he loved the experiences of being up in the sky on hot air balloons. On an unsuspecting day during a storm, he suddenly fell unconscious mid flight. A bolt of lightning struck the hot air balloon he was riding and sent him crashing into a building. He died on impact. He represents Astraphobia.

Bob - An impoverished homeless man, he often wandered about with cigarettes on hand. He secluded himself far away from others while he smoked. No one has a clue what really happened to him, as he was discovered lying in the mud. However, it was suspected that he had asphyxiated. He represents Homichlophobia.

Dragon - The dragon dancer troupe traveled to the town from Hong Kong during Lunar New Year. He piloted the head of the dragon during the ceremony. How sadly ironic that such misfortune followed a dance meant to bestow luck. He was discovered slumped in a chair in the dressing room made for the dancers, with the headpiece of the dragon over his body.. and his own decapitated head in his hands. He represents Atychiphobia. 

Muscle - He was alone one night, and that was all that it took. He was discovered in the morning with slit wrists, surrounded by blood soaked gauze. He may have tried to save himself. He represents Hemophobia.

Heike - The once aspiring dancer faced the Constellation's wrath despite being a child himself as well. His limbs were bloody and twisted, yet he still held his signature fan in his hands, and wore his signature performing kimono. He represents Pistanthrophobia.

Clown - The circus was never the same without him. His face was painted half and half with his two circus personas: Serenata the Opera Singer, and Burlone the Jester. He represents Coulrophobia.

Narcis - For the short period of time that night, while his servants were not overseeing him, the Constellation struck. Though efforts were made to enter his bedroom as the realization dawned that he was in danger, the door did not budge until it was too late. He was found with the skin of the left half of his face completely removed. On his fractured bureau, there was a message written in his blood: “The beauty of my heart was never reflected in my face." He represents Cacophobia.

Hoy - The death of the dragon dancer deeply wounded the old man, as he was quite close to him. He died of a broken heart. (Broken Heart Syndrome) He represents Philophobia.

Rick and Nick - It seemed like death wanted to keep them together forever. They were discovered seated on chairs next to each other, their left hands sewn together. It was noted that when there was effort to cut the thread, the fingers of the brothers would twitch violently. They represent Thanatophobia.

[lovefrombegonia]

Mononoke Karakasa rambling (somehow even talked a bit about Pushpa 2):

SPOILER ALERT

tw: suicide, death, depression

So, I have come across two sources (an article and a video essay) saying that the regret of the karakasa was because the ooku was basically, killing all the women they would "fire" from the job, and throw the bodies into that well. But...I have watched the film twice now. Once in original language with english subs, and second time in hindi so that I can focus on the visual storytelling more. I thought that the women who died in the well were not directly killed. I thought all those women lost their identity in order to serve the higher authority (basically, the patriarchal figure head that is the king), they lost their own purpose to live, their drive. They lost themselves completely to become a simple cog in the machine. When they realised that, many couldn't face the reality of their despair. That they have given something so important to them, their identity, and couldn't live with it. Basically, an s-tier level burnout with no purpose, no hope, no support system, not even their own emotions to connect to. Basically, they were dried up flowers that couldn't get any rain of emotions and inspirations. So, many, many, many of them, including, Kitagawa, threw themselves in the well, committing suicide. It happened again and again and again, until with the last one, Kitagawa, the despair gave birth to the mononoke. I never even thought they were getting killed. The most I thought was the matriarchs of the ooku were throwing the dead bodies in the well (assuming those women killed themselves in some other way then jumping in the well).

It's why Kame getting hurt was what triggered Kitagawa the MOST. Someone so full of life and yet so eager to please. Someone who was very much like the woman she rejected and had thrown out of ooku. Neither Kame nor that woman were "good enough" to work in the ooku. But both became important to Asa and Kitagawa. And...let's be for real. Asa is IN LOVE with Kame. The visual parallels make it so fucking obvious now. Kame is the most precious to Asa now. Kitagawa realised it too, she is protective towards Asa but she goes batshit crazy when Kame is hurt because this reminds her of what she failed to do. To protect the ones she cared about. Kitagawa "dried out". She felt no purpose in life. We work to LIVE. We live because something drives us to live, and most of the time, that drive is some form of love. Love for people, love for principles, love for ideas, and love for art. That love was lost for Kitagawa, be it romantic or platonic. Now, Asa was giving up that love too for her ambitions. I don't think it is necessarily implied that Kame sees Asa's love as romantic but she does love Asa too. Seeing Asa give up that love in the end triggered Karakasa to manifest, in the rage of grief to destroy the very ooku and all its people, that it holds responsible for so much deaths and heartbreaks. It's why it went after Utayama, even though she directly didn't cause the deaths or separations.

At least, by the end of the movie, Kame has accepted Asa's love even if she couldn't continue the relationship. We see this cycle of grief seems to break. Kame now proudly wears a new shiny and beautiful comb. It's implied that Asa gave her that new comb, and Kame leaves the ooku, still smiling, hopeful, and still feeling loved (by Asa). She has accepted that this is not the place for her and that's ok. Probably the first time something like that happened there. Asa stayed to do her duty and pursue her passion to be the head scribe. She didn't give up her dream and continued to use her skills without any thought of pleasing the king only. And she still didn't give up the love she had for Kame, as she carried it with her, as Kame's old comb. I don't know for sure if some part of Kitagawa's presence is still left behind, looking after Asa. But that's what the doll seems to imply. The doll is also, no longer incomplete, it has found its beloved umbrella, perhaps showing the doll's identity and making it a bit unique.

We can see other characters like Awashima and Mugitani, too, were afraid to face the reality of their identities being lost with the kaleidoscope and the colorful ball, still appearing to them. When Karakasa's form was unleashed, the souls of all those lost in the well cried together, and tbh... that's when I started shedding tears. That, and the moment when Kame saved Asa from falling in the well. In the end, this is still a story of women's identity being lost and only being defined by what they mean to men (in this case, the king). It's a struggle we all know of. Even now, so casually we are lost in the eyes of others.

It's for the desi side of Tumblr but if you have watched Pushpa 2, you might know where I am going. Pushpa 2 is a sequel to Pushpa, and these movies are action-adventure crime lord dramatic saga of a man named...well, Pushpa. Let me be clear: yes, I did enjoy Pushpa 2 as a whole. I can't deny what I felt. I was shouting in the theatre when Allu Arjun was whooping ass. And yes, I did enjoy the prequel too. I still listen to the Srivalli song every now and then! Ok. Now, back to the point. There is a scene in the movie where after he finds out that Srivalli, his wife is pregnant, Pushpa (the protagonist and hero) performs a ritual dance to beg the Goddess Kali that the child be a daughter. Not a son. It's because...SIGH...it's because Pushpa is an illegitimate son who has no surname. This trauma has affected him deeply his whole life. Other characters in the film, including his own step brother had tortured him and his mother too, over being the son of a mistress. So that's why, he thinks that if he has a daughter, at least, she will have a surname as an identity when she gets married. But if he has a son, he will never have a proper identity. You can discuss whether, in the context, this is a good scene or not. I am not here to discuss the objective quality of that part of the film. I am here to tell you what this made ME feel, as a woman, as a daughter. Subjective. Ok? Ok. It made me feel like I can only be defined by what I am to a man, be it a father or a husband. I watched the film with my brother and even he said that the film shows how a man feels when his male ego is hurt and he has no identity. But the same respect is not shown to a daughter. A woman is not even to have the integrity to crave for an identity of her own? To even miss that she doesn't have an identity? Because she can be defined through a man. So, she doesn't need to bear that pain. A woman is not even allowed to yearn for being an individual. I think this thought never left my mind. It's why watching Mononoke Karakasa affected me, way more than I expected. Here is a demonic entity formed from not even being allowed an identity of her own. Of many "her own"s. And when the mononoke is finally laid to rest, how is that signified? By all the precious belongings, the tokens of all the women's identities lost, dead or alive, being thrown out of the well! Freed of the stagnant, rotting water. It was a violent outburst and it was beautiful as much as it was tiring. I can't wait more of this fucking amazing series to continue.

Note: so...P.S. I thought I lost this whole rambling blog post because I couldn't fucking see it in the drafts! The slow horrific realisation...now I imagined this but it's for the identity I built of myself for the last 25+ years of my life. And all that being discarded...to dedicate my life to be of purpose for a man or his family I barely know about... I can't imagine the suffocating torment I had to live with everyday.

[kittyykattxoxo]

then how do the dead (part 2)

pairing: rhea x liv

summary: rhea ripley has always considered herself invincible. after being manipulated into betraying the one person she ever loved by edge, she begins to spiral as the guilt eats her alive - even more so when he takes something from her that she'd been unwilling to give. faced with the prospect of losing more of herself, a final act of desperation to take control of her life leaves her forced to confront the demons she'd been trying so desperately to hide

word count: 1020

trigger warning: mentions of non-con, depression + bad mental thoughts, suicide attempt. remember if you're struggling that there are resources available to help you

A steady beeping filled the quiet, soft and rhythmic like a metronome.

Rhea’s entire body felt heavy, almost like the weight of gravity had doubled and was holding her down. The strong scent of antiseptic hit her nose before she was even able to fully open her eyes.

The hospital.

Blinking slowly, the bright fluorescent lights above immediately blinded her, stinging her already sore eyes. Her body shifted slightly and she let out a soft hiss as pain shot through her, a throbbing in her thigh that reminded her of exactly why she was here. What she’d done in a moment of pain and desperation.

“You’re awake.” 

A deep voice broke through the fog in her mind, alerting her to the fact that she wasn’t alone. Turning her head slightly, she saw Damian there, sitting next to her hospital bed. He had exhaustion etched over his face, his dark eyes filled with a range of emotions - relief, worry, anger. 

“You scared the shit out of me, Rhea.” His voice was rough, almost like he’d been speaking for hours. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Her throat was dry and she had to swallow hard before speaking, regret beginning to pool in the pit of her stomach as she turned her head away from him. “Maybe you should’ve”

“Don’t you dare say that.” His voice was firm, but not laced with anger - only pleading. “I don’t know what’s been going on with you these past few weeks, but I know this isn’t you. So please, just talk to me.”

Rhea didn’t answer him immediately. Truthfully, she didn’t know how. What was she supposed to say? That she was drowning? That she felt like she’d lost every piece of herself to a man who had taken advantage of her? She’d never spoken about what happened between her and Edge, too afraid that it would make it all real. That people might look at her with shame in their eyes. Or worse, that suddenly everyone around her would look at her like she was this fragile thing that needed to be taken care of. Damian was different, though. He’d always been there for her - even when she didn’t think that she deserved it.

“It was Edge” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as the words clawed their way out of her throat. 

Damian stiffened beside her, a look of confusion on his face. “What do you mean, Rips?”

Rhea’s fingers curled, tightening around the blanket covering her body. “It wasn’t just the mental manipulation, the convincing me to turn on Liv and join the Judgement Day. He -” her voice cracked, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “He raped me, Damian.”

Silence.

Damian’s entire body went rigid, his jaw locking so tightly that Rhea almost thought she could hear his teeth grinding against one another. She’d never seen Damian like this before, not this angry. His hands had moved to clench his knees, his knuckles turning white as he attempted to hold himself together. “Tell me exactly what happened, Rhea.”

Rhea opened her mouth, but almost immediately clamped it shut as the shame curled back in her stomach. “I didn’t fight back,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “I let it happen.”

Damian’s head immediately snapped toward her. “No.” His voice was sharp, but the look he gave Rhea was so gentle. “You did not let it happen, Rhea. He took that choice away from you.”

Tears burned the back of her eyes as Rhea attempted to hold herself together, at least what little was left of her. “I felt like I had to. He made me feel like I owed him for bringing me into the Judgement Day. That I had to prove my loyalty.” A bitter, broken laugh escaped her. “and I believed him, Dames. I tried to tell myself afterwards that it wasn’t real, that it hadn’t happened like I remembered it. But it did happen and God, I felt so fucking dirty Damian.”

Damian’s hands were trembling now. His breathing had grown heavy, his nostrils flaring as his body trembled with a barely contained rage. “I swear to god, I’m going to kill him” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

Rhea let out a choked breath, something between a laugh and a sob. “It’s not worth it Damian, it doesn’t even matter anymore. I’m already ruined.”

Damian’s gaze immediately snapped to her, his eyes blazing. “Don’t you ever say that.” He reached out to grab her hand, holding it tightly and giving it a light squeeze. “He doesn’t get to ruin you, Rhea. He doesn’t get to take who you are.”

Rhea’s lower lip quivered, all the walls that she’d built up to try and block everything out crumbling faster than she had thought possible. “Then why do I feel like there’s nothing left of me, Dames?”

Damian squeezed her hand tighter in response. “Because he made you feel that way, Rhea. But he’s wrong. You’re still you and you don’t have to carry this alone.” 

Tears spilled down Rhea’s cheeks, and for the first time she let them fall freely in front of someone. Let all the pain that she’d been building and nursing herself finally be shared with someone else. 

“I don’t know how to fix this,” she finally admitted.

“That’s okay. We’ll fix it together. You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Rips.”

Rhea smiled, the first genuine smile since before she could remember, because she truthfully believed him. 

A loud knock at the door was what pulled them away from each other, both looking toward it. 

“I swear to god if that’s him he’s fucking - “ Damian began as he rose from his seat, stomping over to yank the door to the hospital room open. He immediately paused and Rhea looked on in confusion, wondering who it could be - obviously it wasn’t Edge by the way that her best friend wasn’t currently committing a homicide. As Damian stepped aside, though, Rhea inhaled sharply, her eyes landing on the one person she had NEVER wanted to see her like this.

Liv.

[quizlythenerd]

Hello! I’m Quizly/Epic, and this is my main blog!

- Any/All pronouns, aroacespec

- I’m more than likely gonna be posting Undertale Multiverse and Hollow Knight things ‘cause special interest / hyperfixation go brrrrrr

- I am a multishipper [as in i ship many things at once and am accepting of most ships] and a sansshipper, if that makes you uncomfy then you don’t have to interact with me [friendly reminder that NOTHING is forcing you to interact with posts you don’t like !! just keep scrolling, bruh]

- Taken by @lemonlimecordial , @the-sleepless , and @residentrodents ! <3

- MINOR ALERT I AM UNDER 18 FOLKS PLEASE DONT BE WEIRD !!!

- I use tonetags for easier reading, I mainly use the abbreviated versions for dms but i’ll mostly use brackets [] with the full term for actual posts!

- Asks and DMs are open !! [i will delete asks and dms trying to guilt trip me for money, i am not risking keeping scammers in my inbox and dms. if you truly need money, you should go to someone else who can help. my blog is not the place for your ask [i am a jobless minor with mainly jobless minors following me]. i don’t want to be rude, but this is a boundary i am setting. please be respectful.]

- I AM AN EPIC SANS KINNIE AND WILL TALK ABOUT HIM A LOT so some content/trigger warnings for my blog are: Medical Malpractice, Suicide, Torture, Abuse, and SA. I will try to keep things cw/tw’ed but i may forget sometimes !!

- ASK GAMES YOU MAY PARTICIPATE IN: nosy anons, emoji ask game

My Tags: #quiz art, #quizly rambles, #quiz asks, #moot, #quizlycomplains

Please maybe go check out the utmv au comic me and sleepless have been working on and maybe ask something so we can actually start updating it again - SNAU

There’s also this post I personally made about snau so you can see it and so I don’t lose it

all of my epic shenanigans

[evereinefaust]

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 ࿐ྂ

Pairing: Mikaela Hyakuya X afab!Reader

Sypnosis: On one fateful night, MC encountered a certain vampire she didn't expect to meet during her guard duty.

Word Count: 1,693

"When will Yu-kun and the others arrive?" You yawned while sitting on a branch of the tree outside the walls. You were given a guard duty at night for any signs of vampires. Of course, you hated the job and you are not that skilled at close combat. That's why you choose a cursed gear suitable for you, a bow. Even though you despise the job given to you, you can't argue back with Lieutenant Colonel Ichinose since orders are orders. "Damn that Guren bastard" You hissed while surveying the area. It is quite silent, but that's a good thing for you because you can enter your world of thoughts without any distractions. But of course, you had to stay alert for any Horsemen of John or vampires. "I freakin' hate this job" Your eyebrows twitched in annoyance as you tried to calm your mind.

Mika. That's the first thing that crossed your mind. Mikaela, Yuichiro and you are orphans of Hyakuya Orphanage. You still remember how close you were to Mika when you were sent to the orphanage. Both of your parents despise you, they even tried to kill you when you were still young. They said that you are a demon, a 'Seraph of the End', and that's the reason you have to die. Being young back then, you didn't understand what they meant. After your parents committed suicide, you were sent to the orphanage. You still remember how you cried on him when you met him.

~Flashback

"Okay, children, [Name]-chan will be one of our family starting today. So please make friends with her" The director told the children who were standing in the room, she held both of your shoulders while you looked away with a slight blush. "Yes!" A boy with blonde hair and blue eyes responded with a smile, all the other children copied him. The director left you and went to the kitchen, you stood there for a while, surveying every face of the children and the decor of the room. "Hi [Name]-chan! I'm Mikaela, I'm an orphan just like you but I have a big family now" The blonde boy went to you and held out his hand to you. "H-hi..." You shook his hand while forcing a smile. "Say, why were you sent here?" He asked. Your eyes widened at his sudden question, trying to hold back tears when you remembered that your parents were trying to kill you. You looked away from him and covered your watery eyes with the help of your bangs. "[Name]-chan, are you okay?" He asked worriedly, he thought that the question he asked you might trigger bad memories.

"I'm sorr--" You instantly hugged him while crying, surprising him on the spot. "I'm okay," You told him as you shook your head. He placed his hand on your head and then gently rubbed it. "My parents tried to kill me because I'm a demon, but one day, they committed suicide then I was sent here" You explained while crying on his back. "It must be tough, huh? But don't worry, we're your new family" Mika comforted you while cheering you up. "Yeah, thanks" You pulled away from him and then wiped away your tears. "By the way, you're not a demon. For me, you're an angel" Mika flashed you a heart-warming smile which made your heart skip a beat. "T-thanks..." You flushed red while looking down.

Then after that, the two of you grew close to each other, and then Yu came along too. Yu is just like you, his parents tried to kill him because he's a demon. That's why he acts like a jerk, not wanting to accept his new family. But Mika is Mika, he befriended the stubborn Yu and convinces him that the Hyakuya Orphanage is one big family.

~End of Flashback

But you know that you lived in a cruel world, all the happiness that you had vanished. Deadly viruses spread and killed humans, leaving only children that are 13 and younger. The vampires had captured you and your family, treating all the children as livestock. But the most horrifying thing that happened was when one vampire killed your family. Mika planned to escape with your whole family, but somehow, it was just a trap. When inside the vampire's estate, he killed all the younger children that were with you. Even Mika. He sacrificed himself for you and the stubborn black haired to escape. You felt really guilty that you left your family there while you were now here, alive. The memory haunts you every night, making it a nightmare. And you only had one reason to live; revenge. Yu also had the same intent, killing all the vampires is his goal. Because he is the only one left, you promised yourself to protect your remaining family.

"Seraph of the end, what the hell is that exactly?" You clenched your fist because of the idea. You heard from Major General Hiragi that the seraph of the end is some sort of plan to end the world. And most of all, you are actually worried when Yu was put into a coma for a week. You don't actually know the details, but Shinoa mentioned something about transformation and demons. Yu-kun, please don't do things that might end your life. When you heard some noises from the deserted city, you snapped out of your thoughts and then held your bow tightly, getting ready to attack. You raised your bow at shoulder level then pulled the string back, and a green arrow appeared. You steadied your stance while waiting for the right time to attack. I just hope I won't mess up or else I'm dead. Sweat appears on your forehead as you try to calm your speeding heart. Once you saw a glimpse of a white cloak, you released the string. The arrow went straight to the vampire at a blazing speed.

"Did I do it?" You muttered to yourself after your attack, lowering the bow, and sighed in relief. But when the arrow neared the vampire, he blocked it with his sword. "Shit! I messed up!" You stood up from the branch as you held your bow tightly. The vampire noticed your presence and then looked your way. Shit, shit, shit, shit! I have to escape or-- "Huh?" Your eyes widened as the wind passed you by, you felt a presence behind you and tried to attack. You swung your right leg behind to get the vampire off the branch somehow, but your swing was too late and he caught your leg. "Let go of me!" You screeched as the vampire held your ankle tightly. "Gah!" You screamed as he crushed your bone.

Your bow vanished from your hand as your face showed agony. Clenching your fist, you aimed it at the vampire but he caught your attack once again. You shot him a hard glare when your head turned to face him, but then your eyes widened at the male before you. "M-Mika...?" You muttered softly as you saw the blonde male with blue eyes, staring back at you with also widened eyes. "[N-name]....chan?" He muttered as well before releasing his grip on your hand and ankle. "Mika-kun! It's you!" You hugged him tightly while tears formed in your eyes. The said male placed his arms around your waist. "I can't believe it! You're alive!" You said with ecstatic, forgetting about the pain in your ankle. "Yes. I'm alive" He said softly, a smile gracing upon his lips.

"B-but how? And why did you become a vampire?" You pulled away from him and wiped away your tears. "Didn't Yu-chan tell you?" His eyes widened in shock, and you shook your head. "Yu-kun has been in a coma for a week after the battle. But he's okay now" You explained to him with a smile. "I see..." The blonde sighed in relief. "So... What happened then?" You asked him again, [e/c] orbs contain anguish, sorrow, and depression when you looked into his cerulean ones. "I..... I was turned into a vampire against my will..." His blue orbs trailed down, avoiding your gaze. "Well, vampire or not, you're still Mika-kun. Having you alive means so much to us, to me" You went to him and gave him another warm and welcoming hug. He stiffened for a moment at your touch, while his cheeks heated and heart rapidly pounding. "After all these years, Yu-kun and I found our lost family. I am so happy" You buried your face into his chest, and you can hear the fast beating of his heart.

"After all these years, I've always thought of you," You said, hugging him tightly. Mika listened closely to what you were saying. "After all these years, I never thought that I would see you again" You continued. He placed his hand on your head and rubbed it gently. "After all these years, here you are, standing in front of me. Embracing me in your arms" You whispered the last part a bit, but still audible to Mika. "I never thought that I would fall in love with my family, even when I was too late to confess" You looked at him in the eyes, you can say that he was surprised by your sudden confession. Tears bubbled in the corner of your eyes as your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. After a while of watching his expression, you pulled away and turned your back to him. "Sorry, I know you might say that I'm stupid" You wiped away the tears as you tried to calm yourself down.

"I--" When you turned around to face him again, he suddenly hugged you much to your surprise. "After all these years, I am still stupid enough not to know your true feelings towards me," He said, hugging you tighter. "[Name]-chan..." He whispered in your ear. "Yes?" You asked while rubbing his back gently. "I love you" He confessed, and you smiled to yourself. "I love you too..."

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Regular Army and Division 6 Machines

The SV-000 is a gunmetal grey tankette, serving as a prototype version of the SV-001, which briefly saw action during the Arms Deal Barrage. It was the first Slug to be successfully constructed from salvaged Tuatha Dé Danann technology, a design approach that would later become a hallmark of other Slugs, including the Slug Gunner, Drill Slug, and Astro Slug. It also set the precedent for all Slugs that it can perform a highly damaging suicide attack called a Frontal Attack, which involves the driver jumping out of the vehicle, and it subsequently exploding upon impact with the enemy. However, it was quickly discontinued due to a critical design flaw: the hatch became extremely difficult to exit when the unit sustained sufficient damage to trigger self-destruction.

The remaining SV-000 units were either destroyed and repurposed for the development of the SV-001 or had their source code stolen by the Amadeus Syndicate, who stored it in their secure cyberspace vault. Only one SV-000 is confirmed to still exist and remain operational, and it's currently in the possession of Red Eye. Notably, unlike its successor, the SV-000 could rapidly change direction with minimal delay.

The SV-001 Metal Slug is a silver tankette and the first fully functional Super Vehicle developed by the Regular Army, following the discontinuation of the SV-000. They were swiftly mass produced after the sudden Rebel Army attack on President Marx's defence facility, stockpiling the advanced tanks in their caches with hopes to launch a massive assault against the mysterious Rebels once the time came. During the Great Morden War, the Rebel Army launched a massive global assault on the Regular Army. Despite prior warnings from the Intelligence Agency, corrupt higher-ups within the Regular Army's chain of command ignored the alerts, leaving their forces vulnerable to the Rebel Army's superior numbers and advanced technologies.

In response, the Regular Army planned a massive counterattack, deploying advanced tanks codenamed “Metal Slug”. These tanks were originally designed to support regular army soldiers and special forces operatives, particularly in high-intensity combat situations. However, Rebel spies discovered the project, and many SV-001s were captured during a crushing attack. With many government and military powers in disarray, the surviving members of the Regular Army high command and Lieutenant Marco Rossi assembled a team consisting of Tarma Roving, Tequila, Gimlet, Red Eye, and scattered Regular troops they could muster to launch a desperate counterattack. Their mission was to retrieve the stolen Metal Slugs, destroying them if necessary to prevent the Rebel Army from utilising them. Fortunately, enough tanks were recovered for use in the final assault, ultimately leading to the end of the Great Morden War.

The SV-001 continued to serve the Regular Army in various major conflicts, including the White Baby Crisis and the Martian Takeover. While the tank boasts impressive technical details, its design has two significant flaws: its height and top-heavy weight distribution, which can cause it to tip over, especially when firing the 127mm low-pressure rifled main cannon. Additionally, the tank's high radar cross-section makes it vulnerable to high-speed guided missiles. Rumours suggest that some individuals received SV-001s with a faulty hatch mechanism. This defect reportedly made it challenging for operators to exit the vehicle quickly after initiating its suicide attack mode, commonly referred to as a "Metal Slug Attack". It relies on gas to remain operational and is capable of firing two types of ammunition: high-velocity Armor Piercer (AP) shells that travel in a straight line, and standard Gnome Bullets, which are low-velocity, arcing shells.

The SV-001 Type-R is an upgraded version of the SV-001, boasting faster movement and higher jumping capabilities than its predecessor. It retains the unique capabilities of the SV-000 and draws design inspiration from the elusive SV-002 project, which was scrapped by the Regular Army engineers and higher-ups. The SV-001 Type-R is often mistaken for the SV-002 because it's considered the closest successor to the original SV-001 that the Regular Army is willing to invest time and resources into.

It features a pair of gun pods, replacing the original 12.6mm Vulcans. Each pod is equipped with a high-speed machine gun and a rocket launcher. The machine guns support various ammunition types, including standard rounds, shotgun shells, and flame shot fuel. Additionally, the main cannon has a smaller bore, allowing for extended range and increased accuracy. The shells fired from the SV-001 Type-R's cannon travel farther and with greater precision than the 127mm high-explosive shells used in the original. However, these advanced features come at a higher production cost, making the SV-001 Type-R a rare sight compared to standard tanks.

The SVW-001 Slug Gunner represents the ultimate evolution of the SV-001. Developed by Regular Army engineers, its design was influenced by the Rebel Army's LV Armor blueprints, which were stolen during the White Baby Crisis, as well as firsthand observations of the Ptolemaic Army's Units during the Martian Takeover. It boasts a unique transformative capability, switching between mech and tank forms. Its arsenal includes a massive 180mm cannon, a 60mm 7-barrel minigun, and a jet booster that enables high jumps and double jumps. Additionally, The Slug Gunner features a pile bunker for close-quarters combat, utilising a revolver-like mechanism with six cartridges to amplify its blows.

While it excels in firepower, its mobility is hindered by a cumbersome design. In mech mode, it moves at an extremely slow pace, although crawling slightly improves its speed. The minigun's range of motion is also limited, restricting it to firing in the direction the Slug Gunner is facing or directly above. However, the minigun can spread its shots to partially compensate for its inability to fire diagonally.

The SVX-15D Slugnoid is a bipedal mechanized Super Vehicle designed for combat in challenging terrain, developed by Regular Army engineers. Equipped with rocket boosters, it can jump to exceptional heights. Its primary armament consists of two 12.6mm Vulcans attached to each side, capable of rotating 360° and firing in different directions simultaneously, although mastering this capability requires practice. The secondary weapon is an incendiary shell fired from its frontal 120mm cannon, located in the pelvic area, which excels at decimating enemy troops. However, the Slugnoid is slow, cumbersome, and loses control whenever one of its Vulcan cannons gets hit.

As secondary ammunition, most Slugnoids carry alternate versions of the iron lizard bombs, humorously nicknamed "fat lizards". These devices resemble bipedal, white cartoon bombs with legs and charge towards enemies, occasionally pausing to "catch their breath" before resuming their attack. They may also randomly trip and explode prematurely.

There are several Slugnoid variants: Slugnoid Type-CS, Slugnoid Type-R, and Slugnoid Type-B. The Slugnoid Type-CS is a bronze-painted version with weak armour, used exclusively for Combat School training to teach cadets and recruits how to operate the Slugnoid with minimal damage. The Slugnoid Type-R is a red-painted version with a reverse-functioning Vulcan, equipped only with fat lizard bombs. The Slugnoid Type-B is a blue-painted version with enhanced jumping capabilities compared to the standard model.

The Slug Trolley, also referred to as the Slug Truck, is a specialised vehicle developed by the Regular Army for rail-based operations. Essentially a customised mine cart, it is equipped with a Vulcan gun for defensive purposes. One of its notable features is the ability to attach additional wagons, which are capable of firing cannon rounds that travel in an arc. However, these wagons have weaker armour compared to the main cart, making them more vulnerable to enemy fire. The main cart has an open, windowless compartment that allows the operator to observe their surroundings. Operators must remain vigilant because the open design makes them susceptible to enemy attacks, particularly from snipers.

The SV-Camel is an animal-based vehicle that offers its rider some protection in the form of a fruit-filled basket. It's also the first known vehicle in the “Animal Ride" series of Slugs. Developed by Regular Army engineers following the Great Modern War, its purpose was to reduce dependence on the SV-001. From their perspective, utilising animals provided a stealth advantage on the battlefield. The dromedary camel boasts impressive speed and is equipped with two 14mm Vulcan cannons. The SV-Camel is primarily deployed in desert environments.

The Elephant Slug is an animal-based vehicle and the second known animal used in the “Animal Ride" series of Slugs. Although it's very slow and can only jump to a very short height, it provides its rider with a high profile, offering some protection. It's equipped with a pair of 16mm Vulcans, but its genetic modification for combat enables it to access additional firepower. By consuming chili peppers or a car battery, the African elephant gains the ability to breathe fire or shoot lightning from its proboscis. The Elephant Slug is primarily deployed in cold and tropical environments.

The Ostrich Slug is an animal-based vehicle that lacks visible protection. It's the second known vehicle in the “Animal Ride" series of Slugs, closely tied to the Donkey Slug. It's a genetically modified common ostrich with enhanced speed and jumping capabilities, allowing it to effortlessly clear large chasms. It comes equipped with a pair of 12.6mm Vulcans, which have a limited firing arc of 180°.

The Donkey Slug is an animal-based vehicle with a lack of visible protection. Essentially a miniature donkey with 13mm Vulcan cannons attached to its sides, it's characterised by its slow movement and weak jump. A wooden carriage with a cannon mounted on top can be hitched to the Vulcan cannons. This cannon functions similarly to those on an SV-001. The Donkey Slug is primarily used in underdeveloped countries, particularly those relying on donkeys for transportation and agricultural purposes.

The SVX-22UG Drill Slug is a specialised drilling machine designed for tunnel excavation, developed shortly after the successful deployment of the Slug Digger during the Invader Conquest. For defence, the drill is equipped with 12.6mm Vulcans for long-range engagements. In close combat, an expendable 400mm heavy-duty bore drill on the chassis automatically activates when contacted. Although it's relatively slow and unable to jump, its ability to elevate the cockpit provides a higher profile and helps evade incoming fire from below. However, operators must remain cautious because the Drill Slug remains vulnerable to certain attacks, such as acid and explosives.

The Protogunner is a prototype of the Slug Gunner, developed for testing purposes and briefly deployed during the Invader Conquest before being swiftly discontinued. Regular Army engineers created the Protogunner using the Rebel Army's LV Armor schematics as a starting point for designing a new Super Vehicle. This prototype would eventually evolve into the Slug Gunner before the events of the Ptolemaic Emergence. Initially designated as the SVW-001 Slug Gunner Prototype, its lengthy name led many to adopt the simplified codename "Protogunner" for convenience.

Due to its prototype status, it offers limited protection to its operator, leaving them vulnerable to attacks from above and the sides. Additionally, it lacks a melee attack, relying solely on its ranged weaponry. However, the Protogunner boasts superior speed and maneuverability compared to the finalised Slug Gunner's mech mode. It's equipped with the Slug Gunner's 180mm multiple cannon on its front, supplemented by a pair of 10mm Vulcan cannons on its sides. Although its body has partial invincibility, it remains susceptible to destruction by anti-tank ammunition and explosions. A notable feature of this Super Vehicle is its ability to perform an automatic Vulcan Fix, locking its side-mounted Vulcans in place. This allows the operator to move the Protogunner while continuously firing without adjusting the Vulcans.

The Slug Digger is a versatile, multi-purpose vehicle that serves as both a subterranean digger and a helicopter. Rapidly developed by the Regular Army and Rebel Army, its primary objective was to infiltrate the Invaders' underground hive. The Slug Digger features retractable drills on its left, right, and bottom sides, enabling it to excavate the earth. Additionally, it's equipped with two 16mm Vulcan cannons that can fire bullets capable of tearing through dirt. Notably, its cannon shots deploy mines that remain in place until triggered by enemy contact or subsequent gunfire.

The Walking Machine is a crawling Slug designed for exploration purposes, originally derived from a haunted amusement park animatronic resembling a humanoid, quadruped zombie. It was redesigned to mimic the appearance of the Mutated Soldier, but with distinct features such as a rotating light on top of its head, a muscular build, and an exposed battery on its back. The operator rides astride the Walking Machine, holding onto reins connected to its cheeks. Its lower profile provides some degree of evasion, and it can jump higher than most Slugs.

There are two variants of the Walking Machine: the Special Walking Machine and Walk Machine Type-B. The Special Walking Machine is a sleeker variant with a different head design and horns serving as handles. Notably, its pair of 14mm Vulcans has been replaced by a Gatling gun inside its mouth. The Walk Machine Type-B is an unmanned, red version of the Special Walking Machine, designed for underground exploration. Although heavily armoured, it relies on a Mobile Satellite deployed from a hatch on its back and a flamethrower inside its mouth. Additionally, it boasts an impressive jumping ability, surpassing that of its predecessors.

The RA-TTT (Regular Army Troop Transport Truck), also referred to as the Regular Army Truck, is a transport vehicle utilised by the Regular Army for deploying troops to the battlefield. Initially, the vehicle featured a simple rifle green colour scheme, but it was later updated with a camouflage woodland pattern prior to the events of the Martian Takeover.

The TIAF600 Slug Mobile, also known as the Wagon Slug and Metal Express, is a modified version of the TIAF 660, a popular civilian vehicle renowned for its compact design. During the conflict in Gerhardt City, the Rebel Army utilised numerous TIAF 660s as road barriers due to their widespread availability. The Regular Army soon took notice and salvaged several TIAF 660s shortly after capturing General Morden to revamp the model for their own purposes. Initially, engineers aimed to transform the TIAF 600s into a heavily armoured transport vehicle with advanced weaponry. However, they were instructed to retain the original design and instead equip it with 14mm Vulcans on the sides and an RPG. Due to time constraints, the engineers had to work quickly, and the resulting vehicle was codenamed the "Slug Mobile".

It boasts impressive speed and jumping capabilities, performing well on roads but struggling with off-road handling. Its Vulcan cannons provide effective defence against aircraft, while the guided RPG under the front hood offers some anti-armour defence. However, the hastily implemented upgrades, particularly the Vulcan's ammo and boosting system, have increased the vehicle's risk of catching fire.

The SVF-07V Slug Flyer is a Super Vehicle designed for aerial combat, developed by Regular Army engineers. Its VTOL capabilities provide excellent maneuverability. However, its H-AV-5963 Revision Vulcans have limited range with restricted firing angles. The aircraft is also equipped with short-range air-to-air AIM-9A missiles, which, although powerful, require time to accelerate after deployment. When dismounting from an airborne Slug Flyer, operators can descend via parachute or utilise Regular Army Jetpack Gear.

Initially, prior to and during the Arms Deal Barrage, the aircraft lacked Vulcans, restricting its firepower to horizontal forward shooting. Its secondary weapons were limited to drop bombs and homing missiles. In response to pilot and technician feedback, the Slug Flyer underwent upgrades, incorporating Vulcans and enhanced secondary weaponry.

The SVH-03 Slug Copter, also known as the Slug Chopper, is an attack helicopter Super Vehicle developed by the Regular Army shortly after the Arms Deal Barrage. Key features of the Slug Copter include dual H-AV-5963 Revision Vulcan cannons with 360° rotation capability and high-damage bombs effective against ground targets, but ineffective against aerial targets. Notably, there have been reports of pilots accidentally colliding with the rotor blades when entering or exiting the vehicle, resulting in minor injuries. Fortunately, no fatal incidents have occurred to date.

The Astro Slug is a single-seat spaceship developed jointly by the Rebel Army and Amadeus Syndicate three months after the Invader Conquest. This sudden development was sparked by General Morden's growing paranoia about a potential alien invasion and the need to engage hostile extraterrestrial forces in outer space. The Pipovulaj Army's swift termination of their alliance with the Rebel Army after winning the war against the Invaders and returning to Mars further fueled this paranoia.

The Regular Army's acquisition of the Astro Slug remains unclear, but a popular theory suggests that they played a role in its development. This collaboration allegedly involved incorporating Martian and Invader technological debris. Interestingly, General Morden allowed the Regular Army to possess half of the produced Astro Slugs. Although this rumour seems unusual, it's considered plausible, especially given the relatively peaceful relations between the Regular Army, Rebel Army, Ptolemaic Army, and Amadeus Syndicate during that period.

The Astro Slug features a semi-automatic cannon on top, but its true potential lies in its ability to equip various weapons during flight. These weapons include Heavy Machine Guns, Laser Guns, Shotguns, and Rocket Launchers, which are mounted on two weapon pods on each side of the spacecraft. Additionally, it's equipped with limited, powerful, unguided missiles for firepower support. Some variants of the Astro Slug are also equipped with two 16mm Vulcan units that move in reverse of the spaceship's movement.

The Golden Slug, also known as the Golden Slug Phoenix, is a flight-based vehicle and the first known Slug to exist. Believed to be a creation of the Tuatha Dé Danann, it was discovered during a joint investigation by the Regular Army and Amadeus Syndicate at Ultima Thule. A team of soldiers and scientists stumbled upon a surprisingly half-functional phoenix war machine while searching for precious materials to utilise for weapons and machine manufacturing.

The origins of the Golden Slug are shrouded in mystery, but rumours suggest that it may have served as the guardian of Atlantis and Ultima Thule. It’s believed to have powered down and crashed into a crystal-filled, snowy cave after the destruction of Atlantis and the disappearance of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Due to its unpredictable behaviour, it has only been witnessed by a select few. Its last deployment was during the artillery bombardment of the Serapion Fellowship's fortress in Arms Deal Barrage, where it nearly went rogue, threatening to kill both friendly and enemy forces. Fortunately, Hyakutaro Ichimonji swiftly dismantled it, preventing a catastrophic outcome.

It's primarily an unmanned machine controlled by advanced AI, but it can also be operated by a single pilot. Unlike the Slug Flyer and Slug Copter, the Golden Slug mimics the flight pattern of a bird, flapping its wings to maintain flight and emitting loud squawks. It has a barrage of heat-seeking missiles located between its "feathers". Additionally, a laser beam is located inside its mouth, which can be switched between a Gatling gun, flamethrower, and poison gas dispenser during its 5-minute recharge period. Furthermore, it contains the Final Giga Blaster, a special weapon housed in its chest cavity. When activated, a camera shutter-like hatch opens, and a Denturion cannon-shaped launcher emerges, producing a large electrical, fiery nuclear energy sphere that causes a massive explosion upon impact.

The SVX-17M Slug Mariner is a Regular Army Super Vehicle designed as a single-crew minisub. Produced as an upgraded version of the Slug Sub before the events of the Extraterrestrial Alliance Clash, it boasts faster movement speed and a sleeker design. Similar to the Slug Flyer and Slug Copter, the Slug Mariner contains specialised gear, Scuba Gear, for operators. This gear is useful if the operator needs to exit the vehicle after it entered suicide attack mode or if the Slug Mariner is destroyed and enters self-destruct mode. The Slug Mariner is equipped with two 10mm Vulcan cannons, which fire incendiary ammunition that sinks after being shot, allowing it to effectively target enemies below. Additionally, it can launch powerful torpedoes that create a large shockwave upon impact, making it extremely useful against larger underwater enemies.

The Slug Sub is a small submarine that lacks a Vulcan, instead relying on torpedoes. When it resurfaces, it can fire homing rockets, which are replaced with depth charges when it submerges. The submarine is equipped with an Emergency Boat, a backup transport featuring a river paddle that's deployed whenever the submarine is destroyed. Due to the rising popularity of the Slug Mariner, the Slug Sub has become less prominent and is often utilised for reconnaissance missions, particularly by the Intelligence Agency.

The Borobune Slug serves as both a freighter and fishing boat for the Regular Army. Initially, it functioned as a construction unit, transporting materials and goods while secretly carrying a single metal container. This container could hold either a ground vehicle or submarine, depending on the mission requirements. The Borobune Slug was exclusively deployed on Pallas Island during the Regular Army's nuclear testing and experimental shipbuilding operations. However, after mutated crustaceans appeared, nuclear testing was halted, and the Regular Army unit fled the island with a single, heavily damaged Borobune Slug, which had barely survived an attack by an Enormous Moray. This surviving unit inspired the Regular Army to produce more Borobune Slugs, which were intentionally designed with a run-down appearance for stealth purposes.

The Middle-Son 1986 is an old U-Boat, originally designed as a submarine, still in use by the Regular Army. Although more advanced variants have been developed, it remains in frequent service despite its outdated design. The submarine has a substantial arsenal, carrying a range of weapons including missiles, torpedoes, and even transporting troops across the ocean. Each vessel is equipped with an anti-aerial machine-gun turret, known as the AA Machine Gun, mounted on its hull. Notably, the Middle-Son 1986 boasts remarkable durability, which surpasses that of the Slug Sub and Slug Mariner. It can withstand damage from repeated bombing runs and continues to operate with minimal damage.

The Middle-Son 1999 is a submarine developed by the Regular Army for reconnaissance and offensive operations in water areas. Originally, only one unit was produced, but it sank after a severe storm in Asian waters damaged the submarine, causing it to crash against a rocky shoreline. Unfortunately, all crew members on board lost their lives. Its wreckage was later discovered in a dried-up riverbed in the Villeneuve Mt. System during the Great Morden War. At that time, the Rebel Army was utilising the wreckage as a makeshift shelter and interceptor. Following the Great Morden War, the Regular Army salvaged the remains of the Middle-Son 1999. This enabled engineers to analyse the materials used in its construction, ultimately leading to the production of additional units. Although there are more Middle-Son 1999 submarines than its predecessor, they have slightly weaker durability and lack an AA Machine Gun.

The PA33-21 Boat is a transport vessel designed to carry Regular Army personnel to privately owned islands and seaside areas. It features strong armour for protection, but has a vulnerability to aircraft-deployed bombs. For defence, it's equipped with three AA Machine Guns, providing powerful force against airborne threats. The boat has a capacity to carry up to 25 passengers, along with additional storage for a handful of weapon crates and barrels of food.

The Augensterm is a Slug designed to operate on both floors and ceilings. Developed by the Regular Army in a secret underground laboratory, this four-legged Slug was created using harvested scraps from Rebel Army tanks and Regular Army Super Vehicles. The laboratory itself was repurposed after being abandoned by the Amadeus Syndicate. Rumours suggest that the Augensterm was built shortly after the Invader Conquest, but its deployment has been delayed due to extensive testing phases. However, the reasons behind its lack of deployment remain classified, known only to high-ranking officials and engineers.

The pilot is positioned higher than in other Slugs, making it more challenging for enemies to score a hit. Its dual 12.6mm Vulcans operate similarly to the Slugnoid, firing at either the same target or in opposite directions. Additionally, the Augensterm is equipped with a harpoon capable of piercing enemy vehicles with ease. A special setting allows the harpoon to generate electricity when attacking. Furthermore, the harpoon can be replaced with an extendable drill designed for close-quarters combat rather than burrowing. However, its relatively slow movement makes it vulnerable to bullet and rocket attacks if the operator is not cautious.

The Slug Gigant is a monstrous walker emblazoned with the Regular Army insignia, currently holding the title of the largest Slug. Its design drew heavy inspiration from stolen Rebel Gigant blueprints, acquired by Intelligence Agency agents during the White Baby Crisis. Unlike the Rebel Gigant, which is primarily used for combat, the Slug Gigant serves a dual purpose as both a war machine and a giant snowplow. It is equipped with a 16mm Vulcan at the front, two movable arms, and a plasma beam attack capable of unleashing explosive force.

The Slug Gigant comes in two variants: a single-pilot model and a dual-pilot model. The primary difference between these variants lies in the cockpit design and the distribution of controls. In the single-pilot Slug Gigant, the lone pilot controls all aspects of the machine from a single cockpit. In contrast, the dual-pilot model features two separate cockpits. The pilot in the forward cockpit controls movement, the forward-facing Vulcan, and the claw-blaster cannon, while the pilot in the rear cockpit operates the shoulder-mounted Vulcan cannons.

The Black Hound was initially a part of the Ptolemaic Army's arsenal, but its software and design blueprints were stolen by Intelligence Agency agents and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. operatives during a raid on the Osaka compound in the midst of the Ptolemaic Emergence.

Originally, it was an experimental, unmanned war machine developed using stolen data disc information. However, the Regular Army, with the assistance of Trevor Spacey, modified the design to accommodate a single operator, replacing its remote-controlled AI technology. The initial version of the Regular Army's Black Hound lacked a functional laser cannon mounted on a mechanical arm. However, this oversight was eventually addressed by Tarma, who successfully integrated the laser cannon shortly after the revolt against the Regular Army.

The Iron Nokana is a repurposed Rebel Army large, multi-purpose armoured combat vehicle. It has been repainted blue and its size has been reduced by half compared to the original. Notably, the Girida-0 mounted on the back has been replaced with a bronze SV-001. The vehicle has undergone significant upgrades, including the addition of durable armour that provides immunity to electric shocks and freezing due to its resistance to electricity and icy cold temperatures. Many Regular Army personnel jokingly refer to it as the Steel Norcana.

The Type-2 Di-Cokka is a Rebel Army tank repurposed by Trevor, utilising stolen software he obtained during the White Baby Crisis. The tank's exterior has been painted blue with a golden iridescence, and the Regular Army insignia is emblazoned on its left side. It has been upgraded to include two short-barreled 155mm H-Cannons, which fire single shots that cover twice the range of the original. Notably, unlike its Rebel variants, which collapse when damaged, this Di-Cokka is rigged to explode into enemy positions when critically damaged.

The LV Slug Armor, also known as Heavy Armor, is an advanced variant of the Rebel Army's LV Armor. During the White Baby Crisis, the Intelligence Agency stole the data disc containing the LV Armor's design blueprints and computer software. The Intelligence Agency then handed this data over to the Regular Army for repurposing. Trevor was tasked with reworking the original LV Armor software for Regular Army use. He integrated an anti-virus program to prevent hacking and reduce the risk of system malfunction. Regular Army engineers subsequently developed a new version with enhanced armour, capable of withstanding heavier firepower.

The upgraded Slug Armor features a 60mm MTS-S/A chain gun integrated into its arm as well as a 100mm cannon mounted on its back. However, unlike its predecessor, the Slug Armor cannot swap weapons. Additionally, the weight of its new armaments prevents it from double-jumping. It boasts high, resilient armour and is equipped with a Vulcan gun and a rear-mounted cannon.

It excels in combat against large enemies, thanks to its ability to fire diagonally, similar to the Slug Gunner's minigun and heavy machine gun. This capability significantly enhances its line of fire. In terms of mobility, the Slug Armor moves faster on foot and can use its hover pack to perform a sliding charge while crouching, potentially running over enemies. Although it can move freely and fire its weapons while crouched, it cannot jump or attack upwards until it stands upright again.

The Landseek is a Rebel Army transport half-track vehicle repurposed by the Regular Army, who seized scraps and a partially damaged unit during their investigation of remaining Arabian Infantry troops in Riyadh during the Extraterrestrial Alliance Clash. The cyan-coloured vehicle is utilised to transport friendly forces over long distances across enemy lines. Compared to the original, the Landseek's most notable upgrade is its significantly strengthened armour, enabling it to withstand anti-tank weaponry. However, its glass and fabric components remain vulnerable to damage.

The M-15A Bradley is a Rebel Army missile tank repurposed by the Regular Army, who dispatched Intelligence Agency agents to steal data on this tank during the Extraterrestrial Alliance Clash. Regular Army personnel commonly refer to it as Brad. The tank has been modified to feature a lighter green color, and several upgrades have been implemented. These upgrades include the addition of a Vulcan cannon mounted on the side and modified missile launchers capable of firing at twice the range of its original counterpart. Furthermore, it has gained the ability to propel itself using rocket boosters.

The Hi-Do is a repurposed Rebel Army tandem rotor helicopter that the Regular Army obtained shortly after the capture of General Morden, acquiring the original aircraft and using it as a basis for their own modified version. Renamed to the Regular Army Helicopter, it's utilised for transporting personnel and Slugs. Similar to the Rebel Army's Hi-Do, it features a homing missile compartment within its nose. However, it lacks the Gatling gun mounted underneath, instead sporting a hatch that opens to deploy a hoist for lifting soldiers. This hatch is also equipped with a powerful magnet capable of carrying large metal crates. Notably, the helicopter has undergone a significant design overhaul, bearing a striking resemblance to the Regular Army Transport Helicopter in Metal Slug 3D.

The Type 95 Ha-Gō is a tankette bearing the Division 6 insignia, frequently utilised by Division 6 special forces operatives and soldiers. Despite being a Type 95 Ha-Gō, its design bears a striking resemblance to the Japonese Tank Soldier in Metal Slug 3. It's capable of firing five cannons simultaneously and launching anti-tank missiles at close range. Initially, only four of these tanks remained before Division 6 joined the Regular Army, after which they were mass-produced specifically for them to use. Many Regular Army and Division 6 personnel commonly refer to it as the Tank Soldier.

The Null Fighter is a single-seat fighter aircraft bearing the Division 6 insignia, featuring a unique design that combines elements of the Mitsubishi A5M carrier-based fighter (cockpit and fuselage) and the Aichi D3A dive bomber (tail). It's equipped with wing-mounted machine guns, capable of unleashing a continuous barrage of bullets. Similar to the Type 95 Ha-Go, there were a handful of Null Fighters available to Division 6, but after their alliance with the Regular Army, mass production began for their use only.

The Crusty Legs is a massive pilot-operated tank developed by the Regular Army and Division 6, designed to pulverize its enemies with its large legs. Only one unit has been produced, and it has been created from the use of Rebel Army tank scraps and salvaged Tuatha Dé Danann technology. When it spots an enemy, it fires two salvos of rolling cannonballs and 7.62mm ammunition rounds. It can power up its special attack, called the Flame Tornado Quadruped, by levitating in mid-air while the base of its feet ignite and generate flames, before charging towards the enemy to burn them. This attack lasts about 10 minutes or stops if the Crusty Legs has taken too much damage.

While the flamethrowers are active, the Crusty Legs replaces its special attack by firing a flaming shot from all three of its cannons. Despite its bulky appearance and slow movement, it’s quite mobile, possessing the ability to evade enemy attacks. If the flamethrowers are not active, it simply jumps in place. If the flamethrowers are active, it staggers backwards slightly to avoid the incoming attack.