#tangible life. i wonder if i could have gotten over it by now had it stayed dead in the ground where it laid

[mirmidones]

my mum texted me completely out of the blue 'have you heard from [old friend] lately?' and i had a minor breakdown about it and then 3 hours later resurfaced to text back 'no' pointedly not asking 'why' bc i don't wanna know but now she's answered 'ok thanks' and now i'm mad what the fuck

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Theoretically ~ P.P.

A/n: And another request!!

Request: “Male reader x Andrew Pete, After a long day of thinking about it and wondering if he and Peter were ready, reader proposes?” By anon

Word Count: 1800+

MASTERLIST

It had started slowly, but Y/n had realized after it had been going on for a while so it had felt sudden and startling.

First there had been the exact moment kisses between them had become casual. They weren't startling and didn't make him jump, heart racing. Peter would be on his way out the door and would say goodbye, leaving a kiss on Y/n's mouth very quickly before dipping. And that felt right. He'd sink into the feeling, his chest warm, but it wasn't buzzing and burning like it used to be.

Then it was the increased PDA. Peter had always been repressed and reserved, hating attention and confrontation unless he had his mask on. But they'd gotten slowly into the habit of having little to no personal space, and being generally touchy. One day, Peter didn't take Y/n's hand just "to show him something" and then drop it when someone looked over. Another day Y/n stared lovingly as long as he wanted and Peter never made a joke about it. After that, Peter lay his head on Y/n's shoulder on the subway and sighed, relaxed. When they kissed, grinning, on the side walk waiting for the light to change for them Y/n knew it was okay to do that more often.

Those were followed by the casual way Peter referred to Y/n as his boyfriend. Even spoke about "his boyfriend." Before he'd said "partner," brushing it away that he was dating someone of the same gender. He wouldn't use Y/n's name even when people knew who he was talking about. And then one day he introduced Y/n as his boyfriend - something he'd heard later from MJ.

The day it clicked was when Peter got caught up in an especially rough back and forth with Doc Oc, who had kidnapped Y/n in an attempt to hurt Peter. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and the panic afterward had been tangible, but Peter didn't implode like he so often had. He was focused on Y/n, tending to him and reassuring him he was safe. And he didn't blame himself or hate on himself or push Y/n away. It was... startling, honestly, when Peter wrapped around him instead and whispered a simple, "I'm sorry this Spider-Man stuff caught up to you."

Y/n ran his hands through his boyfriend's hair, and realized that he was home to Peter, the same way Peter was home to him. That they couldn't have denied each other even if they wanted to. Even if they'd have tried. They both knew it.

And he smiled, realizing that maybe they hadn't said it yet, but this probably meant they were in love after all. And they'd been in love for a while, so much more than a young romance. They'd be together for a very long time.

"I knew what I was getting into, Peter," he reassured softly. "I know we'll always figure it out. Together." He sighed. "Plus, now you know how I feel every day."

Peter nodded. "That's fair."  And that was it. No argument, no anger, no spiral.

The confession of love had followed soon after.

When Y/n got a succulent and Peter started calling it Jimmy, and referring to them as Jimmy's dad, something settled deeply into Y/n's chest. He wanted to do this forever. He wanted to be with Peter for the rest of his life.

That was a terrifying thought.

Peter had been getting better. A little more grounded, and much more experienced. Every day he was softer with himself. Every day he opened up more, and let Y/n help when he could. Every day he smiled more, laughed more. Every day he showed Y/n off more, being proud they were together and being loud about it too. They moved in together, and after that everything was theirs - not individually Peter's or Y/n's. Like they never had to worry about moving out or going separate ways or breaking up. Like this space was theirs and it always would be, even it it was a different space.

It was the teasing look in May's eyes as she grinned at Y/n over the cup of tea she was drinking that was the last straw. She put her cup down and in a gentle voice, began, "You want to ask me something?"

Y/n blushed. "You saw through me then."

May raised an eyebrow, her smile teasing. "In the years you've been with Peter, your worst fear as been time and again proved to be imposing on me. You only ever come by when I invite you, with Peter, or explicitly to help with something. I've never seen you ask to come over completely unprompted with nothing else in mind but spending time together." She leans back in her chair. "Not that I'm complaining."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he got sheepish. "I'm sorry May. I don't mean to be around so little."

She waves her hand back and forth, and if to scatter the words in the air. "Don't he silly. I don't take it personally. You should come over more often though." She took another sip of her drink. "But that's not what you're here to talk about."

Y/n swallows hard, interlacing his fingers so he can hold onto something as he begins. "You know Peter so well," he began. May nodded; Y/n had come to her asking advice several times now. "I was thinking... maybe..." He cleared his throat, nervous. Once he said this to May it was in stone. Was he ready? Was Peter? "Do you think Peter is the marriage type?"

May froze, eyes wide. Y/n went solid and still as stone, only breathing again when May's shock flipped to glee. "You're thinking of proposing."

Okay. This was a good sign. "I was thinking about it," Y/n said slowly. "But I don't know if Peter would... want to. Or if it's too soon. Or if there's too much going on already with the whole Spider-Man thing." He shrugged, running his hand through his hair.

May nodded again, mulling Y/n's concern over. Every day Y/n thanked god she actually considered things rather than just jumping to "I want to see my boy married" like some aunts had before. It was a relief to know he could trust what she would say next.

"Have you talked to him about it?"

And sometimes Y/n wished she wasn't quite so good at what she did.

"Well-"

May cocked an eyebrow, her expression turning into something akin to 'you know what I'm going to say.' And it was true. Y/n did. He let her say it anyway. "I can't speak for my nephew, Y/n."

"I know," he sighed. "But I don't want to go in blind or jump the gun or scare him away-"

May chuckled. "That boy has seen more than I could even imagine." She paused for a second. "Normal things do scare him more than any villain in a suit could. But he's better about it than he used to be. And if you eased him into it, or took your shot, and we're ready for some possible rejection and not take it personally, it could be fine."

And there it was. The real reason Y/n was stressed. Because sure, Peter might not be ready, but if he wasn't and he ran and Y/n was crushed it could lead to the end of their relationship. They could both react very poorly...

This would mean Y/n would have to do it somewhere privately. It would have to be very low pressure, open minded. Understanding. Gentle. And it was a little heartbreaking that was the case. Y/n wanted to be a little loud, a little dramatic. And he would have to let that go.

May reached over, taking Y/n's hand. "It also doesn't have to be now. It should be when you're ready. The moment will come, and you'll know. You should only do it then." Her gaze was so soft and patient that Y/n could only absorb what she was saying directly into his soul. "Don't try to make a perfect moment. Let one come."

That advice stayed with Y/n until the moment came. He thought it had a few times but then it wouldn't quite pan out, or something would interrupt them or they'd need to stopper what they were doing and table it for later - when they moment was gone. But one day they were laying in bed, out of breath and grinning after Peter had stolen Y/n’s favorite jacket and Y/n had tried to take it back by force. Peter was much stronger than Y/n of course, and had plenty abilities to overwhelm him, but decided to play fair and shenanigans had turned into raucous laughter that had stolen both of their breath away.

Y/n looked at Peter and something warm and sweet touch him. May’s words came back to him full force in that moment and he was stunned to realize-

This was the moment.

“Will you marry me?” Peter turned, eyes wide, and immediately Y/n panicked. “Maybe not know. We don’t have to say now. But maybe one day.” His voice got dry when suddenly Peter took him by the face, kissing him.

The kiss was king and deep and passionate. Y/n felt something wet ion his cheek and realized Peter was crying.

When it ended, Peter pressed their foreheads together. “You’ve been so patient with me. I know you have. I know I’m not… easy. But I’m yours, and that was always enough for you.” He chuckled, seeming near giddy. Y/n felt his throat close with how much hope swelled in his chest. “I would love to maybe you. We can figure exactly when and how. Is that okay? If we don’t know exactly when?”

Y/n melted, raising a hand to run over Peter’s jaw. “I would marry you anywhere, any day, in any way that we could muster. Even if no one was there. Even if no one knew.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You cheese ball.”

“Your cheese ball.” Y/n beamed. “For the rest of our lives?” It was timid, hopeful.

Peter sighed. “For the rest of our lives.”

Neither would ask more than that.

-

Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

[jenanigans1207]

Me, who hasn’t even gotten to s15 yet, writing a fix-it fic? More likely than you think!

—

“I made a deal with the empty,” Cas whispers to the space between him and Sam. “I offered it my life in place of Jack’s. And the empty agreed if it got to take me the moment I felt true happiness.” Cas steadies himself to say the words for a second time— the words he never even thought he’d say one time. “I knew that we were out of options and that if I summoned the empty, I would be able to take Billie with me so that Dean would make it out. So I— I told Dean that I love him.”

The sharp breath Sam takes this time is tinged with so much sadness that it’s tangible.

“Fucking hell.” Sam mutters, shaking his head and ignoring the longer pieces of his hair that fall into his eyes. “Now I’m mad at you. Fuck, no wonder Dean took it so much harder this time.”

“I never intended to tell him how I felt, Sam. But it was the only way for him to make it out alive and I— I needed him to survive. That was the only thing that mattered.” Cas doesn’t regret it, even now. He knows that he’d do it a million times over if it was still the only way to save Dean and he’d never regret it. “And I know it’s not something he wants, which is why I had assumed that he would simply try to erase any memory of that night, so he’d never have to deal with a confession such as that.”

When he looks up, Sam is pinching the bridge of his nose and staring down it at Cas. True to what he’d said a moment ago, he does look mad at Cas, but not in the same way that Dean had looked mad at Cas before he’d stormed out earlier.

“For the fact that you know Dean as well as you do, you sure don’t seem to know shit about him when it relates to you.” Sam mumbles, finally dropping his hand with a sigh. “Okay, listen. I won’t speak to Dean’s feelings— not because I don’t know them but because Dean’s already going to kick my ass for telling you all that I’ve already told you and even I know that his feelings are something he should tell you. But I will tell you this: Dean blames himself for everything bad that’s happened to you. He blames himself for you falling, for every ounce of blood that’s on your hands, and every hard time you’ve had in the last twelve goddamn years. That shit keeps him up at night, trust me.”

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Dean, to some extent.” Cas replies. “But that doesn’t make it Dean’s fault. They were all my decisions.”

“I know that. And you know that. But Dean? Trust me, Cas, he’s put everything that happened to you high on the list of reasons he hates himself. And it’s a long ass list.”

“I know it is.” Cas mumbles.

“So you must understand that not only did you tell Dean you love him— something he wouldn’t have reacted poorly to, by the way— but you used it to— to die. Literally you made loving Dean the cause of your death, you realize that, right? And I know, Cas, I know you didn’t mean it like that. But to Dean and his fucked up brain, he got you killed. The one thing he’s never been able to tolerate and he is now the direct cause of it.” Sam explains and it’s so stupid, it’s so stupid—

But it’s exactly how Dean’s brain works and Cas knows that.

And that’s fine, sort of, because he still wouldn’t change the fact that he confessed to save Dean. He didn’t have time in that moment to think about how it would mess Dean up and a messed up but alive Dean was better than the alternative so that was fine. What wasn’t fine, however, was the fact that Cas never thought about it after. Now that he’s back, now that he’s had time to see how Dean reacted and how he handled Cas’s death, he still hasn’t spent any time to think about the role he played in that or the ways he could have made it worse. And that is unacceptable.

Cas sighs and deflates in the seat. He feels like his strings have been cut, like there isn’t an ounce of fight left in him. He feels like he could simply sit here, glued to this chair, for the rest of eternity.

The thing is— Cas isn’t unaccustomed to messing up or hurting Dean. He’s not inexperienced at crossing lines he both does and does not see. It’s not new for him to let Dean down or betray him. But this— this is something else entirely and they all know it. Because Sam is right, Cas is one of very few people who has been gifted Dean’s trust. He knows that and has spent twelve years cherishing that fact on a daily basis, grateful and awestruck that he had been given something so beautiful and precious. He knows that he has been granted insight into Dean that nobody else, not even Sam, gets. That he has been the only one that has been able to get through to him sometimes.

He has been indescribably privileged to be this close to Dean at all, let alone for this long. He knows that, it’s the greatest blessing of his eternal life and he knows with an unbridled sort of certainty that nothing else will ever honor him in the same way, nothing else will ever even come close.

And through one careless remark, one remark made out of an attempt to deflect his own shortcomings, he has shattered twelve years of a bond that has held strong through everything else. He has laughed in the face of the greatest gift he has ever been given and he was too blinded by his own shortcomings to even realize he was doing any of this.

“I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” Cas asks, looking ruefully at Sam.

Sam’s smile and huff of a laugh in response is sad and a little amused. “Yeah,” He says after a minute. “You have. But like I said, Dean’s never been one to deny you second, third, or even fiftieth chances.”

“I’ve never hurt him like this before.” Cas points out.

“Nobody has ever hurt him like this before.” Sam remarks, and it’s clear that he doesn’t mean the statement to hurt, but it does anyways. “But that’s because he’s never cared about anybody like this. The way he is with you, Cas it’s— he never has been and never could be that way with anyone else. Whatever you two have, it’s completely irreplaceable.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s unbreakable,” Cas says dejectedly.

Sam stands up then, walking around the table to clap Cas on the shoulder in the way the Winchesters always do when they’re trying to be heartfelt or encouraging. It’s the closest they come to physical affection when nobody’s life is immediately on the line and it helps Cas feel a little better.

“Cas, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Dean will never let you go now that you’re back. He could spent the rest of his life spitting mad at you, and he’d still do it from no more than five feet away. When he comes back— and he will— he’ll be mad and he’ll be hurt, but he’ll be right here. You’ll have a chance to fix this.” It’s encouraging and terrifying in the same moment but Cas is grateful for Sam’s vote of confidence nonetheless. “Just don’t ask me how to fix it, because I sure as shit don’t know. You two have never gone about things in a way I can understand.”

Cas looks up at Sam, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for your insight, Sam.”

“Just remember,” Sam’s hand slips off of his shoulder. “There’s a reason that Dean cares as much as he does and takes your death as hard as he does. And the reason sounds a lot like something you said to him.”

“I thought you weren’t going to tell me how Dean feels.”

“I’m not.” Sam answers as he heads towards the door. “I’m just hinting at it. It’s different.”

He swings through the doorway and around the corner before Cas has a chance to say anything else.

[ay-miphae]

I like hearing peoples' life stories, so it might be cool to hear some of your life story (as much as you are willing to tell)

*this is in response to that reblog about asks and rants and such

Hell yea thank you for such a loaded ask, this took me awhile to think about but I have not forgotten but now that Inktober madness is over I’ll go for it.

Hmm. Life story is interesting, I don’t know if there’s much of a tangible story there yet. I’ve come to realize I don’t have a very strong sense of identity or self, rather basing my identity off my hyperfixations so that’s often the closest I get to describing myself. But I have this whole blog for that purpose lmao, and also for my interests in music and drawing. But a significant constant in my life (that I don’t talk a whole lot about here) is coffee.

It’s a little silly I know. I am a little too dependent on my beloved bean water and you guys are free to tease me about that lmao. But it’s always been here.

It was there in my childhood years, the smell of fresh brewed coffee from the kitchen every morning. My dad still drinks black coffee (almost) every morning, and I think I must have been 4 when I insisted on trying it the first time. “Yea I like it!” (I did not. It was very bitter.)

Sometimes the grocery store would have coffee samples, where I had a field day trying them all and somehow growing to like the taste. And then I realized I could add milks and flavors and be creative with it. Enjoying coffee of any kind became a source of comfort and something I looked forward to and cherished through my early teenage years. Maybe a cafe run with a friend that was just so special and unique to me, or the time it iced over all the streets and my dad and I brewed a particular brand of coffee that gives me nostalgia every time I taste it, or making myself a bit of something to tide me over a long night of studying.

When I was old enough to get a job, that’s naturally where I gravitated. Don’t get me wrong - customer service takes a lot out of you - but it was something I genuinely enjoyed for awhile. Like - wow, I get to make a coffee for this person? That’s so cool! I mean the magic certainly gets lost after countless afternoon rushes and unpleasant customer interactions. I don’t know though. I guess it’s still a special thing I get to do, and it feels nice to put artistic craft and care into something that would have meant the world to me a few years back.

I’ve never been that close with my parents. But somehow the bean water still works wonders. Buying a Chemex coffeemaker for my dad for Christmas, deciding that we wanted an espresso machine at home, talking over getting some coffee to go. A little outside my comfort zone, but I guess little steps count. Not to mention the times my closest IRL friend (@samevanssatscores hi) and I have yoinked ourselves to the local coffee + records shop to bond over going absolutely feral over iced lattes and records neither of us have ever heard of. And meeting both of my online best friends in person and being so excited that hey! we’re having coffee (or boba) together! in person this time!

So I guess this is my long-winded ode to bean water, which, sure, is a universal drink that keeps millions of people awake each day. But it’s not just function, it’s about the experience of enjoying it and connecting via it, and that’s something that’s only gotten more and more true in my life.

[fbfh]

dad!leo x parent!reader hcs

wc: 1.2k

genre: tooth rotting domestic fluff, parents au, regular family and found family, past hurt/lots of comfort, post canon domestic bliss

pairing: leo x gn!parent reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, brief implied fucking like rabbits but otherwise sfw, you and leo have a bigass family, brief mentions of past trauma unmet needs and general rough conditions, building the life you wanted as a kid, found family demisquad and their children, brief mention of Leo's extended estranged family /pos, Leo is a fucking amazing dad, aged up obviously (you have a passel of kids and careers and a house)

a/n: I will carry as many children as he wants. deadass. /srs. I want the white picket fense and the ketchup fights and the minivan. I will become a full blown soccer mom for him oh my fucking god

tags @yesv01 @avashaye @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @thatmultifandomloser @yelenabel0vaswife @almostjollypizza @Fictionalcomforts  @lizziebitch33  @jacksondeeznuts @girlfriendwhoseawitch @urmum-xoxo @Asunnyhunny @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @legramilis @youkissedareaderinthedark @mrscarolscaramoucheplease @cosmiq-cloud @anything-forourmoony @i-dont-remember-a-lot @chasingpj @1dpjohoohp @mystic-writings   @babiesimagines @dreamerball @demirunner @if-only-i-was-fictional @lubsana @if-only-i-was-fictional

Bark bark bark woof grr ruff ruff

Or should I say loud aggressive cat meowing noises

Both are appropriate responses to seeing dad!leo

First of all

First and foremost

You’re going to have a bigass family with him

Not just because he always wondered if he would have had siblings if his life had been different

Not just because he always craved being from a big family deep in his bones, taking years to mourn silently when it really sunk in that that wouldn’t happen for

Because yes

While those are major factors

But also let’s be real

You cannot fucking keep your hands off this man

How could anyone be expected to look at him and not get fucking pregnant

He stretches and his tummy shows a little where his shirt rides up and you’re suddenly holding a 6 month old with his daddy’s eyes in a fluffy little bear onesie

No idea how it happens

But the odds of anyone being around Leo for any period of time and not ending up with a fucking passel of of little rugrats

Fluffy haired ankle biters with sweet grins and intelligent eyes 

Just like their dad

Is zero

Plus holy fucking shit

He can’t keep his hands off you either

He’s fucking insatiable, always craving your touch, always covering you in kisses and sweet nothings

And you wouldn’t have it any other way

So yeah with your chemistry duh you’re gonna have a big family

Once you start you can’t really stop

Before you know it you wake up one morning to find Leo making pancakes in the kitchen

He’s handing out juice boxes and sippy cups of milk

There’s a kid clinging onto each leg, giggling their heads off when he shuffles around, and one hanging on his back, watching while he cooks

He narrates dramatically to the other kiddos and babies, who are enamored with Leo’s cooking show

You stumble into this scene, walking past little shoes and various toys, legos, and barbie dolls strewn about

There’s a tangible warmth, and it’s not just from the stove and piles of fluffy pancakes

One or two of your kiddos run over and hug you with the sweetest greeting you’ve ever received 

Their little hands grab up at you until you scoop them up, approaching the counter

“Oh thank god, my sous chef has arrived”

He greets you with a kiss and hands you a coffee or tea or whatever else you like to drink in the morning, just the way he knows you like it

“I think we all know I can’t handle this kitchen without you” 

The way he says it, the look he gives you means more than any words or any look you’ve gotten from anyone else

You fix hair and kiss foreheads for a few minutes before you start getting plates of pancakes and bowls of cereal ready

It’s routine, practically automatic by now

But there’s nothing you cherish more than these sunday mornings together

You and the love of your life and your big old passel of rugrats all gathered around the kitchen table, discussing uneventful dreams and schedules for the upcoming week

Between coordinating homework assignments and ballet lessons and soccer practices it hits Leo every single moment 

Of all the things he’s built, his life with you will always be his favorite

His most precious, favorite project

You look so pretty in the morning, you always have

So as your “sunday morning breakfast bops” playlist reverberates through the room around laughter and chatter and singing along

As you sing off key and dance around with him and dance with your kids to Selena and 80s hits and throwbacks to when you were still teenagers, unable to fathom making it to 20

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful

When he kisses you, you taste like coffee and maple syrup

Your hair is a little messy and you’re wearing one of his shirts, tucked into a pair of shorts

Your wedding rings gleam in the sunlight streaming in through the lacy curtains 

Burnin’ up by the jonas brothers comes on shuffle, and one of your older kids asks to hear the story again

They’ve heard it a million times, but they adore hearing you recount the lengthy inside joke related to this

They love hearing about all the times you had with all their aunts and uncles (aka your friends) before they were born

They imagine what it was like to live through the 2010s, a decade they’ve only seen in movies and tv shows and online in little time capsules referenced here and there

They think about how cool you must have been, running around and living an idealized version of your lives

Leo listens, just as enamored as the rest of them as he listens to you recount the events he lived through with you 

A little part of him still can’t believe it’s real

He can’t believe he created the warm, loving, lively household

The big supportive family 

That he always dreamed of having as a kid

And now that he’s older, he reached out to some distant relatives, cousins and aunts and uncles

He’s surprised that he’s been able to somewhat reconnect with his extended family 

And even more surprised that they’d welcomed him with open arms

It hits him again that not only are his kids going to have a safe, stable, loving home life

But they’re going to have relatives to visit at family reunions once in a while

They get to spend holidays with their cousins and aunts and uncles (aka your friends and their kids) 

Any occasion y’all can find to get together and make some food and spend time together is always one you’ll take

You have little parties and get togethers and cookouts for every occasion you can think of

No matter where you go, there’s always vibrancy and life and togetherness 

Sometimes other neighbors and friends will pop by with their kids too

You’ve become the family in the neighborhood that anyone can go to

And that’s something you take pride in

It’s rubbing off on the kids too

Their teachers have told you time and time again that they’re always the first to invite kids who are by themselves to play

To make sure no one gets left out

All your hard work

All the sacrifices are paying off

Because you and your friends are determined to be the first generation of demigods to not only live to adulthood

Not only build lives

But stick together

You’re creating such a tight knit community

A family of other demigods

You’re sticking together

Chiron has been praying for times like this for as long as he can remember 

And he’s reminded that all the hard work and suffering and sacrifice are paying off too

He knows every time he shows up for someone’s birthday party or some minor holiday get together 

Half of you and your friends kids call him grandpa 

He’s waited so long to see the demigods he trains live long enough to have kids

He never could have imagined being a part of their lives too

All around, things really turned out better than any of you could have expected

But you still think nothing can top sunday morning breakfasts 

[jazlynriddle]

Welcome to your life - Pt 2:

Acting On Your Best Behaviour Ch 9:

Summary:

They'd seen it in their fellow orphans often enough to recognise the pattern and were now forced to admit, despite their hopes to the contrary, that Isidora had likely suffered similar side effects.

No… they'd always known she had. The Keeper had just wanted the power that Ranrok had, enough to convince themselves that they would be able to handle it better than that naive woman.

With the start of the Keeper’s sixth-year in Hogwarts, comes a whole slew of headache-inducing challenges from the most unexpected of places. Between insignificant pests throwing wrenches into their plans and tedious teenage drama, that the Keeper is entirely unprepared for, they wonder if they'll make it to their NEWTs without losing their sanity.

Or worse, Ominis or Sebastian.

Warnings: Sebastian x MC x Ominis! Drug Addiction! Spoilers! Slow-burn corruption! Dark content! Fucked up 1800s orphanages! MC has no love for Anne or Solomon! Dubious happy ending (it's happy for MC, Seb and Ominis at least).

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warning: More fluff and more character study! I feel like so many chapters have been sweet that you guys might be wondering when this fic is actually going to be as dark as I warned.

Just, trust me. It's going to be really really dark but I just need to lay groundwork before we get there! There's slow burn romance fics, and then there's this fic, which is slow burn descent into hell instead.

I just go where the story naturally leads, and I think the fucked-up-ness has a greater impact when you can see how things got fucked up, like in Sebastian and Ominis' canon story honestly.

This sixth-year is a lot of preparation for the story to start taking an escalator down into the depths of madness where I can unleash my full horror visual novel descriptive potential xD

Sebastian sighed as he placed his hand on the Keeper’s forehead, their head resting against his leg while they slept on their side on the couch beside him. He was relieved that after a little over four hours their fever had finally broken. He and Ominis had spent the entire time taking turns to maintain and stabilise their lover's temperature.

While it hadn't been the most fun way to spend an entire Saturday afternoon, it had actually felt good to be able to care for the Keeper in a more tangible way. Hearing the Keeper attribute their victory over their addiction to Ominis and himself had been… well, he wasn't sure how to describe it.

Honestly, it had surprised even himself how affected he'd been by their murmured words.

Sebastian would never admit it aloud, but his many failures wore on him. He'd failed to save his sister with the relic, he'd failed to convince his uncle that he could save her, hell he hadn't even managed to convince Ominis of that. The last two months had felt like yet more failure, failing to outsmart the bullies, failing to find a way to help his partner with their addiction, failing to find a way into the Undercroft.

It had stung when the Keeper came to them with a plan, cooked up by Onai and her group of 'better friends'. The fact that, in the end, it was neither him nor Ominis who managed to contribute substantially to an actual solution, had hurt his pride.

A part of him understood that it was technically the Keeper themselves who'd figured out a solution to their own problem. That they'd simply used Onai and her friends. Still, it felt wrong, that wasn't what was supposed to happen. After the Keeper finally opened up, and actually asked him and Ominis for help, it was supposed to be the two of them who saved the day.

So, while Sebastian wasn't sure what he and Ominis had done to earn those words, he knew that hearing the Keeper say them, had really gotten to him. It made him feel a lot of feelings, and this time, he wanted to understand them, rather than simply feel them.

He'd learnt that much at least.

"Here." Sebastian glanced up at the sound of Ominis' voice, and was greeted by his gentle smile along with a steaming cup of tea. "You're only ever this quiet when you're tired. Would you like me to take over for a bit?"

Sebastian chuckled, accepting the tea but shaking his head. "Nah, it's fine, I was just thinking."

"You were? Now there's a surprise." Ominis teased, lowering himself to sit on the floor in front of the couch.

"Har har, very funny, Ominis." Sebastian rolled his eyes and took a sip from his cup.

"How do they look?" Ominis asked, reaching up and loosely grasping the Keeper's hand with his own.

"Better, I think they're out of the woods." Sebastian sighed at the tea's relaxing warmth, before setting his cup down on the table. "Hopefully they'll wake up naturally before our housemates start returning after dinner."

"Think they'll remember what they said?" Ominis asked with a dreamy smile and Sebastian felt his chest warm again.

"Knowing them, probably." Sebastian grinned, glad to see Ominis wear that expression again, it felt like forever since he'd seen that calm and peaceful smile.

Deciding that it was fine since the common room was empty, Sebastian gave in to the urge to run his fingers across Ominis cheek and lean down to press their lips together gently.

Ominis made a soft sound in surprise but easily relaxed into the kiss, moving his lips gently against Sebastian’s, and Sebastian happily gave him control of the pace. It had been ages since they'd had a few minutes of peace and just enjoyed each other. The warmth and comfort of each other's presence.

"...why are you guys always starting without me?"

At the Keeper’s voice, Sebastian felt the corners of Ominis' mouth curl upwards against his lips and felt his own follow. With a last lingering touch against his lips, Ominis leaned back to speak.

"I thought you liked a good show." Ominis grinned teasingly as he stood, listening to the Keeper groggily push themselves up into a sitting position.

"I do, but I think I'd rather be a participa-" The Keeper's words were interrupted by a yawn and they shook their head for a moment, before frowning. "Did I say something weird before I passed out?"

Sebastian grinned and Ominis chuckled, which seemed to be all the confirmation the Keeper needed, and they covered their face with a muffled groan. "Ugh, yeah no, I remember, let's just-"

The Keeper made a cutting motion with their open palm while clearing their throat, and Sebastian snickered under his breath at the rare sight of the Keeper flustered.

Shooting Sebastian a glare, the Keeper asked. "What time is it?"

"Tempus." Sebastian flicked his wand. "A little past five."

"Hm." The Keeper frowned. "The bullies still haven't found us?"

"They're probably searching the other side of the castle or even yet searching for each other." Ominis suggested thoughtfully.

"In that case, we might as well take advantage of their incompetence. We can make a quick trip to Feldcroft for some privacy." The Keeper smirked, making to stand, and immediately losing their balance.

"Gah-" Sebastian quickly slipped his arms under the Keeper's to keep their knees from hitting the floor. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sebastian peered down at them. "That was close, you alright there?"

"Yes…" The Keeper grimaced, they were weaker than expected. Well, at least Sebastian still had the reflexes that saved them a detention back in the library.

"Merlin’s beard, I know you want to get going quickly but you literally just passed out from a fever a few hours ago. Can you please be more careful?" Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh.

The Keeper grumbled under their breath, but understood that he was right, they shouldn't let their urge to taste the Pain energy once more overwhelm them. They sighed, letting Sebastian move their arm to his shoulders so he could support them.

As the Keeper stumbled by with Sebastian, Ominis took their other arm, supporting them from the other side so that they could move even faster. The gesture, despite his chiding, warmed their heart and together, the three of them quickly made their way over to the floo.

"I'll go first, then." Sebastian carefully removed the Keeper's arm and stepped forward.

The Keeper's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I can floo just fine."

"Sure you can!" Sebastian grinned as he disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

"Are you sure you-"

"Yes, Ominis, I'll be fine. I can floo just fine on my own!" The Keeper insisted, stepping out of Ominis grip and into the floo powder.

The moment they emerged from the ash on the other side however, the Keeper lost their footing on the uneven flooring and gravity began to drag them towards the rocky ground. They braced themselves but to their surprise, felt themselves slam into something comparatively soft instead.

"Oof-" Sebastian released a lungful of air from the impact as he caught the Keeper against his chest. "And that's why I went first."

The Keeper's grumbling was muffled in his shirt and Sebastian laughed breathlessly. "You know, when I wanted you to fall for me, this wasn't what I meant."

The Keeper felt their face warm at Sebastian's words as Ominis stepped out from the floo in a cloud of ash.

"Are they alright?" The sound of Ominis' feet hitting the ground came accompanied by his worried voice.

"Yeah, just a bit winded I imagine." Sebastian quipped as he cradled the Keeper in his arms proudly.

"Hey, I can at least talk for myself." The Keeper sighed with a resigned smile as Sebastian loosened his embrace to support them again.

"I'd save my breath if I were you, we still have a bit of a walk." Sebastian grinned as Ominis moved around him to take the Keeper's other arm again.

The Keeper huffed lightly, shaking their head. "I must be going soft."

Fortunately, the short walk wasn't too bad with Sebastian and Ominis' help, and the Keeper sighed in relief as Sebastian lowered them onto their bed while Ominis got a cup of water for them.

Admittedly, it was nice being cared for this way, if a little unsettling. How quickly they had gotten comfortable with receiving help and showing weakness around their partners. How quickly they'd lost their barriers and ego with these two. Yet, it didn't feel like a bad thing.

These were the contradictory thoughts and conflicting feelings in the Keeper's mind as they reached into their satchel and withdrew a jar of pain energy. Before, they wouldn't have even considered taking it in front of anyone. How things had changed…

"Hard to believe that human pain can be both addictive and a source of strength…" Sebastian frowned, gazing at the jar contemplatively as he sat on the bed beside them.

"Really?" The Keeper hummed. "I think it makes perfect sense. It's hard to let go of one's pain, even when it's poisoning you. Both you and I have used our pain and suffering as driving force and motivation. If you think of it that way, this is exactly how pain behaves."

"And if you let yourself drown in it, you become a monster that only wants to hurt others." Ominis added, taking a seat on the other side of the Keeper, offering them the glass of water.

The Keeper nodded in thanks and accepted the glass, draining its contents in a few swallows. Sighing in relief, they passed the empty glass to Sebastian for him to set down on the bedside table.

"Yes, pain is a strange thing. It is at once a barrier of protection and a dividing wall. It separates people, making it hard for those who have suffered to connect with others unlike them. Yet it also brings people together, together in shared suffering." The Keeper smiled, taking a deep breath, and placing the jar on their lap.

They'd once thought their suffering had been worth it to meet Sebastian and Ominis. They were glad they still felt the same way.

"I won't let pain control me." The Keeper took Sebastian's hand in one and Ominis' in the other. "I will be its master and become stronger for it. I will use it to protect both of you."

"Excuse me, but who are you calling a damsel in distress?" Sebastian grinned broadly. "I'll have you know that it'll be me protecting the two of you."

"Great, I guess I'll let both of you do all the work then, best of luck." Ominis waved his free hand in a flippant gesture.

"Hey!" Sebastian protested, unable to hide his smile while the Keeper laughed, their heart lighter than it had ever been in their life.

This must be what happiness feels like.

Ominis took a moment to enjoy the pleasant sound of the Keeper's laughter, waiting for them to calm before tightening his grip on the Keeper's hand. "In all seriousness, however, we'll be holding you to your word."

The Keeper nodded resolutely. "I won't let either of you down."

With that, the Keeper released their hands and picked up the jar again. Twisting off the cover and drawing their wand, feeling the desperation surge once more. Their hand shook again, causing their wand to clack against the side of the jar loudly as they tried to stabilise their grip.

To their surprise, the Keeper felt Sebastian's hand over their own, supporting them as they drew out the energy and raised it before themselves.

They closed their eyes and allowed the sweet burning energy to flow into their body. Almost instantly, the Keeper felt the ever-present stress of the last two months ease. Their body still felt awful, aching from the accumulated stress, but their soul basked in relief and the tightly wound muscles under their skin loosened steadily.

It felt like being able to take a full breath of air after living on a mountaintop for days.

The urge to draw out another jar immediately began gnawing at them, but they quashed it, pushing down the itch with a vengeance.

Releasing a breath, the Keeper opened their eyes, and flicked their wand. "Lumos."

The Keeper grinned in triumph at the steady glow of light. It flickered slightly from time to time but was already far more stable than it had been when they'd last attempted the spell. No doubt their magical control would gradually return to its usual state as their body readjusted.

"How do you feel?" Sebastian asked, uncertain if he was unsettled by the red glow in the Keeper's eyes or if he was aroused by it instead.

"Better." The Keeper smiled reassuringly, relieved to feel more like their usual self again.

Ominis smiled, hearing strength return to the Keeper's voice, and he held out a hand. "Good. Now, give me the extra jars I know you collected."

The Keeper blinked twice, before huffing lightly and pulling out two jars from the satchel with a resigned chuckle. "No getting around you, I see."

"Two is one and one is none. Don't think I've forgotten what you said." Ominis gave a small smirk as the Keeper placed the jars in his hands.

"You're too sharp for your own good." The Keeper shook their head with a helpless smile. "I guess you'll be hiding them here somewhere."

"Actually, I'll be placing them, right here."

To the Keeper's surprise, Ominis leaned past them, groping for their satchel, to place the jars back into the Keeper's bag.

"Wait. What?" Sebastian's eyes were wide with confusion.

Ominis shrugged. "If you end up in a sticky situation, you might need the extra jars and we may not always be able to get back to Feldcroft to collect them."

The Keeper stared at him as Ominis continued. "Besides, I trust you. None of this works if we don't trust you. So, I choose to trust you. With everything."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, and the Keeper felt their tear ducts burn, they laughed quietly. "You are… unbelievable. Thank you, Ominis."

Sebastian felt his heart swell with affection, as the Keeper covered their face with a hand, their voice trembling on the last words.

Ominis really is amazing, being able to choose to trust, rather than just feeling it. Sebastian smiled, feeling proud of his lovers. He knew he wasn't the brightest when it came to feelings, so he was grateful to have two partners who could do what he couldn’t.

He would catch up to them.

One day.

The Keeper glanced around as they stepped into the Three Broomsticks, easily spotting the bullies hovering on the upper floor like the last time they'd met Natty's group here.

They had been mildly amused when they'd gone through the diaries yesterday at Feldcroft and found that the bullies thought that the Keeper’s poor magical performance last week might have been a trap. Explaining why they hadn't tried to duel the Keeper directly despite having seen their weakness.

The two idiots had congratulated themselves on their wit and intelligence when they came to that conclusion. It had been enough to make the Keeper laugh for an entire ten minutes. Just when they thought the bullies couldn't get any more daft.

To the idiots' credit however, they'd shown up in Feldcroft just an hour after the Keeper and their partners did. Having correctly guessed their location, preventing the Keeper from getting a report from Tynx during the visit, but that was fine since they'd managed to finish going through the diaries at least.

Seeing that the rest of the Natty group had gotten here first, the Keeper made their way over to the table with a small smile.

"There you are, how'd it go then?" Garreth greeted with a wide and excited grin.

"Smoothly enough, here." The Keeper placed the two journals on the table as they took a seat. "I changed the appearance of the covers with a charm, so the bullies won't be able to recognise them."

"Brilliant! Good thinking there." Garreth grinned excitedly as he picked up a diary and immediately began thumbing through it.

"How are you feeling?" Poppy asked as she eyed the Keeper’s eyebags with concern.

"Perfectly fine, you needn't worry, Poppy." The Keeper gave her a reassuring smile, they were certainly feeling better than they had all week, thanks to everyone's help.

It was curious. Even though the Keeper felt the most gratitude towards Sebastian and Ominis, they could also feel a small amount for this group. Without the unknowing cooperation of their friends, they wouldn't have been able to achieve this outcome so easily and painlessly.

"Did you guys manage to transform back without being seen?" The Keeper asked with a small frown. Honestly, they'd rather the bullies not realise that this group were helping them against the two of them.

After all, as the famous philosopher Machiavelli once said. 'No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution.'

"Yeah, it was pretty funny watching Selwyn run around in confusion for an hour." Poppy giggled with a mischievous glint in her eyes and the Keeper snorted lightly, at least someone was having fun.

"What in Merlin's name is this!?" Amit exclaimed and the Keeper looked over to see him staring at an open diary.

The Keeper chuckled, they could guess what had garnered that reaction from the Ravenclaw. "Those bullies’ best attempt at English apparently."

Amit looked appalled. "Ugh, even Gobbledegook was easier to read."

"I've seen worse." Garreth shrugged as he flipped through his, somehow seemingly capable of understanding the garbled mess of squiggles on the pages. "Blast! There's missing pages in here!"

The Keeper's eyes widened as though they were surprised, inwardly however, they were relieved that they'd removed and burned any incriminating pages yesterday. They hadn't been expecting any of their friends to be able to read the bullies' handwriting, but they were nothing if not cautious and fortunately, that had paid off.

The Keeper frowned, leaning over Garreth's shoulder to peer at the torn strips of paper along the journal's spine. "Perhaps they hid any incriminating evidence elsewhere. They are Slytherins after all, I suppose there must be some level of cunning in their skulls."

"Where could they have hidden those pages though?" Natty frowned, her tone wrought with frustration and the Keeper felt the slightest pinch of guilt for their part in that.

Natty would be feeling a lot more of that frustration if the Keeper had their way. The last thing they needed was more attention on the bullies and by extension, themselves. While Natty was a friend, the Keeper didn't like her enough to risk themselves or what they were protecting for her.

"I'm not sure." The Keeper shook their head. "I suppose we could try searching, but I wouldn't know where to start."

Poppy sighed despondently. "After all that effort… I guess we'll have to try something else."

"Well, I'll still give these a read, there's still some excellent material in here that we can use to make things unpleasant for those bullies." Garreth grinned as he shoved the diary he was holding into his bag, before plucking the other out of Amit's hands.

"I suppose while Garreth is going through them, we'll just take turns escorting our friend around." Natty suggested and the Keeper had to withhold their grimace. Great.

Poppy nodded vehemently. "That's right, we can't let those bullies have another chance to hurt them."

Amit also nodded. "Agreed, we can meet up again next weekend and see if we can think of another plan."

With that settled, after finishing their butterbeers, the group gradually dispersed to run the errands they'd set aside for their operation yesterday and the meeting today. The Keeper sighed internally, while they were grateful for the effort, keeping up appearances for this whole thing was immensely tedious.

As Poppy disappeared through the door, leaving Natty alone with the Keeper, she hesitantly spoke up. "I noticed yesterday that Selwyn was following Gaunt."

"Was he?" The Keeper asked, feigning nonchalance.

Natty nodded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "He was, I don't suppose you'd know why."

The Keeper gave her a tight wry smile. "Do you really think I'm the only person they're bullying?"

Natty's eyes widened, and she flinched at the Keeper's suggestion. She hadn't considered that possibility at all and found herself deeply troubled by it. If Gaunt was also being bullied by Selwyn…

"If you want to believe that you're the only one who doesn't have the option of tattling to an authority figure, so be it."

Then she had essentially condemned a bully victim for not defending another bully victim. Natty felt guilt gnawing at her insides. Had she prematurely judged Gaunt and shamelessly victim-blamed him without realising?

Uncertainty welled within her chest.

Seeing that their words had disturbed Natty, the Keeper stood. They would let her come to her own conclusions. "I'll see you tomorrow, Natty."

With that, the Keeper left the pub, with the bullies trailing them out as always, leaving Natty to her thoughts.

Notes:

Hogwarts Legacy's story honestly has some of the most unexpectedly well-weaved layers of symbolism in a fictional story that I've seen since the 2018 movie, Annihilation. With the way they address Pain as a concept being so potent, elegant and most importantly of all, blunt and easy to understand with a thematic reading.

I do hope I've been doing it justice with this fic x'D I also feel like most "righteous-minded" assholes start out actually trying to do a good thing, but simply didn't realise that they need to consider that they might be wrong, while they were young enough to learn it, and thus also never learn to apologise when they're wrong.

As an opinionated person myself, I am constantly trying to learn as many perspectives as I can, to try my best to support an opinion that is comprehensive, rational, objective and understanding. There is no argument that I won't consider, and I don't discard any of them as invalid without justification.

Thus, I can say with confidence that Sebastian doesn't deserve to be sent to Azkaban. An objective overview of his story, the way it was told and supporting evidence point to the Developers wanting us to spare him.

The parallel with San Bakar killing Isidora and Player killing Rookwood. The fact that Solomon is literally the final boss of his story. The sheer amount of literary effort that went into showing his reasoning and circumstances.

The fact that Ominis literally says "I don't want to lose Sebastian, but I don't think we have a choice." and that the game will give you a chance to back out from the option of turning him in. The fact that Sebastian learns from his mistakes if you show him mercy, and in contrast, he gets worse if you turn him in.

All these point to the Devs trying to teach the players understanding and compassion. To look beyond the crime and instead to what caused the misguided actions of a naive, inexperienced and earnest child.

To support attempts to improve orphan care legislation, mental health care for both veterans like Solomon and traumatised kids like Sebastian, and of course education, to prevent tragedies like this from happening.

Sebastian is the way he is because he is full of love. Love messes with the head, even for adults. For a kid who watched his parents die at his feet and is watching his twin die slowly in agony, that love becomes twisted with pain and fear. No child can handle that without adult guidance. Any that do are the 1% that grow up to change the world together as activists.

For people who don't see this… honestly, I don't know how to help them.

[potetosaradas]

Problem Solved

Summary: Rick comes up with an unlikely(?) solution that settles the decision of choosing Prime or Diane. Rating: T

DISCLAIMER//NOTES: This fic was never meant to published or shared and thus it's in a permanent state of work in progress-- this fic was supposed to be part of Bad Habit, but it never made the cut :') but with the upcoming hype around S7, I wanted to share this for anyone who might be interested in reading my delulu thoughts ><

Dedicated to @cyanichexanthine for encouraging me to share this and supporting this silly fic <3

Blue light washed over pale skin, edges of bone and muscle defined by deep shadows in the artificial light. 

“Take care of him for me…”

A shaky hand stroked down a smooth cheek.

“Be good to him.”

The hum of machinery buzzed lowly in the background as a monitor counted out a steady, stable pulse. 

“Love him better than I ever could.”

----

When Prime woke up the next morning to cold empty sheets, he wasn’t surprised. Disappointed and lonely maybe, but not surprised. Out of habit, his hand came up to rub the scar on his ribs, feeling the tender healed skin and remembering the way Rick had kissed him there the night before. 

There was a strange knot brewing in his chest, gnawing and burrowing at the cage of bones surrounding his heart. Prime was feeling a lot of things as he sat up, but mostly he felt a cold realization that things were truly changing between them. The sex had been bittersweet, tender and heated in the moments that passed far too quickly but it was a mockery of the connection and passion they had shared together in the past. 

He didn’t believe in fate, but whatever it was, he clearly felt the divide in the path that they walked together. Prime felt with absolute certainty that Rick was now walking down a path that did not include him and it brought out a desperation that Prime didn’t even know he was capable of feeling. He had been so certain that Rick would choose him— how could he not? He’d seen their future together. He could feel it in his mind so tangibly that it had become real. All of that was swirling away like bath water into a drain and Prime was left feeling cold and alone. 

Anger swept over his body and he snatched the half pack of cigarettes from the makeshift bedside table, lighting one and smoking it in mutinous silence. This right here was why he never got attached to anything or anyone. He knew he’d fucked up when he found himself starting to rely on Rick. The worst part was that it had felt so easy and natural. They were so in tune with one another that they didn’t even need words. They’d just known what the other needed.  He’d never known what that level of comfort and understanding was like and it was all consuming. Prime had gotten himself hopelessly addicted. He felt safe in the knowledge thinking that Rick had felt the same way. He knew Rick had felt the same way. He saw it in his eyes and felt it in his body. And yet, Rick was the one pulling away so easily for someone who didn’t even inspire him to be the best version of himself and it made Prime burn. It would have been better for the both of them had he left Rick to fuck up his life on his own, but he couldn’t. He saw the same haunted look in Rick’s eyes and to Prime, it was a cry for help. 

As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, Prime found himself wondering and poring over every moment that led to this point. Was there any point in time he could have prevented the rift between them? He thought about the day they’d decided to go to Shoney’s for breakfast. How small and insignificant that choice had seemed at the time. It had been a toss up between Shoney’s and some no name diner on the corner of Main and 3rd. He imagined if Diane hadn’t been on shift that day. Would it have been another waitress that stole Rick’s heart? He should have ripped up that receipt when he had the chance. For not the first or last time, Prime idly considered wiping Diane’s existence off the face of the Earth, wondering if that would make a difference at all. With that thought, he crushed the butt of the cigarette out in a makeshift ashtray and got out of bed. 

After Rick stabilized portal fluid, he hadn’t been back to the lab very often. Long gone were the days they used to spend holed up on this distant moon and the stretch of days enclosed in the ship as they traveled to and from Earth. The absence of the extra body only served to make the modest apartment feel bigger, emptier and quieter. Prime glanced at the small square table where they’d shared countless meals and hours plotting out schemes and problems. Now the table was littered with loose leaf from Prime’s research on time travel and there was virtually nothing to show that his twin had occupied the space at all. 

He glared at the table as if it caused him great offense. He didn’t need Rick. If anything Rick needed him. The lie made him laugh quietly.  He’d existed on his own just fine until he met Rick, now everything seemed determined to remind him of what he longed for the most. Irritation at his human weakness caused a surge of spite to rush through his veins and Prime decided to throw himself into his work. If Rick didn’t want to make a choice, Prime would make that decision for him. 

For one week Prime barely slept as he kept his hands and mind busy with completing the time machine modelled after the portal gun they designed together. He had to keep himself busy otherwise he’d find himself stalking the house at all hours of the day and Rick had expressly banned him from doing that. There was one thought in his mind that he kept coming back to in the late hours of the night as he worked through the final equations, a feverish, desperate thought that maybe he could use the time gun to correct their timeline. 

Even though he had been determined to avoid thinking about Rick, Prime couldn’t help but keep one eye on the portal gun log that sat open in the basement though. Partly because he was curious to know where Rick was traveling to but mostly to keep tabs on his partner. The last entry had coordinates marked for Rick’s home and it hadn’t changed from one week ago. Usually Rick would call or text to let him know if he was planning on coming over, but Prime’s phone remained silent. He refused to call or text Rick first and spite alone drove him to work like a madman. 

In an effort to drown his thoughts and feelings, Prime had started to feel numb. He hadn’t even felt half as satisfied when he’d completed the time gun even though he’d been working on this project for a little over two years. The time gun sat in front of him and Prime could barely even look at it. When Rick had perfected portal travel, they’d gone out and celebrated, partying hard and getting completely sloshed. The elation of success could hardly be contained as they kissed each other on the mouth and cheeks stained with alcohol all night, proud of their accomplishment. It had been a great night. They used the portal gun extensively, traveling to all their favourite planets and a few more new ones. It was thrilling to be able to make trips to places that would have otherwise taken days. They kissed for every successful portal opened and closed. When they got home late the next day, they’d fallen into Prime’s bed and made slow, achingly sweet love until they fell asleep bathed in starlight. 

The loud buzz of his phone vibrating against the worktop jolted him out of his thoughts and he checked the caller ID. As if Rick had sensed his thoughts, the call was coming from Rick’s home phone. Usually, Rick would call him directly from a private number. Something about this call felt strange. 

“Hello?” He answered guardedly. 

There was silence on the other end. 

“… Rick?” A familiar soft voice asked in a strange tone. “Is… is that you? Honey— where are you? Are you okay? Who's… whose number is this? Please come back home. If this is about what happened last week… I’m sorry. I didn’t… I just want you to come home… please.”

Prime’s fingers gripped his phone tightly, trying to make sense of the call. Rick wasn’t at home? His eyes flicked over to the portal log but the coordinates hadn’t been updated. He wanted to feel smug about the fact that there was conflict between Rick and Diane but worry overwhelmed any satisfaction he felt. 

“I’ll… I‘ll be home soon.” Prime said in a strained voice and hung up. It was better to keep the conversation short and sweet. The longer he had to hear her voice, the more nauseated he felt. 

He pushed a shaky hand through his hair and tried to rally the facts in his head. If Diane didn’t even know where Rick was, it must be quite serious. He must’ve been missing for days for her to be this worried. 

Prime grabbed his portal gun sitting on the other side of the workbench and punched in the coordinates to Rick’s last known location. 

When he stepped into the garage, the first thing he noticed was that everything was neat and tidy as if it had been untouched for days. Rick worked like a whirlwind, papers scattered, equipment strewn everywhere in the process of building something. Prime was the same way. The spotless workbench gave Prime a strange sense of anxiety. It wasn’t normal. 

The garage felt warm. Unusually so. Getting on his hands and knees, Prime felt warm concrete under his fingers. His keen eyes picked up a place on the floor where dust had been disturbed. There was a faint outline of a trapdoor, so thin you would have missed it. A laser scanner emerged as Prime approached and as he placed his hand on it, the trapdoor slid open silently revealing metal rungs of a ladder that extended deep underground. 

As Prime made his way down into the darkness, the air became warmer and he could smell the stale smoke of cigarettes and marijuana. The short corridor opened up into a larger room cramped with machinery, cables and tubing feeding into one large glass tube. What available wallspace was completely covered in drafts and papers documenting research and tracking progress. It looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d been busy. His gaze fell on Rick who was bent over, embracing someone whose face he couldn’t see. Angry jealousy surged through his body. He drew his laser pistol.

“What the fuck is this?” 

Rick turned around slowly and Prime saw how exhausted Rick looked. His eyes were rimmed with red and there were deep shadows. They could barely focus as they took him in. Prime’s gaze dropped to the man standing behind Rick and his eyes widened.

“You— you cloned yourself? You… you made a successful clone?” He couldn’t help but add on in slight admiration. Cloning was something they’d always talked about doing together. 

“Yeah.”

“Is this what you’ve been doing for a week? Why didn’t you call me. We could have worked on it together—” 

“You said I couldn’t make a decision so… this is it.” Rick waved tiredly at the clone and sighed. 

Prime stared at the clone who stared back at him unflinchingly, trying to put two and two together. What did making a clone have to do with…

“Tell me that’s for her.” Prime’s eyes cut towards Rick’s accusingly. “You made a clone to take care of your bitch spawn so we can be together, right?”

“...” Rick’s silence said it all.

“Right?” Prime’s voice took on a waver. “Come on, baby. You can’t be serious.”

“Maybe… in an alternate reality if it had just been Diane, maybe the choice wouldn’t have been so difficult. But we have a kid together now. There’s— I can’t let Diane do this by herself. It’s my responsibility too. And… And I want you to be happy too. The clone has—”

Prime took three strides forward, grabbing the clone by the arm and yanking it into a kiss right in front of Rick’s shocked face. It had Rick’s exact likeness and it smelled and tasted just like him too. The Rick clone tried to kiss him back but Prime didn’t even give it a chance before he pushed it away violently. The clone fell back against the desk, throwing out a hand to catch himself. Prime felt nauseous. 

“You know what I think of your clone?” His voice trembled with anger and adrenaline. Without thinking, he aimed his laser pistol at the clone’s head and pulled the trigger. The clone fell to the floor with a heavy crunch, blood seeping out of the head wound. Rick let out a harsh, strangled cry and turned on him.

“Prime! What the fuck? You motherfucker— Do you know how long it took—”

“How could you possibly think I’d be okay with your clone? That’s the biggest insult to everything that we are. You think I’m with you for your body? You think that some clone is going to be able to replace you?”

“The clone has all my memories—” 

“I don’t give a rat's ass if the clone has two dicks. What were you thinking? Were you just going to send the clone in your place one day and think I wouldn’t know the difference? I want you not just some shitty xerox of the person that you are.”

“Then tell me what I should do!” Rick said angrily, hands balled into fists. “I’m trying so hard to come up with a solution that doesn’t fuck up the lives of the two people I love the most in this universe. Nothing I can do will make you or Diane happy. Sure, it’s not fucking ideal but I really thought that—”

“Well you thought fucking wrong.” Prime spat out. “Great idea, but you’re sending the clone to the wrong person. I refuse to spend the rest of my life with a substitute. You need to make a real decision, Rick. Blood will be spilled. There’s no way to avoid that.”

“Well that’s fucking bullshit. There’s an infinite amount of choices— there has to be a solution that will—”

“Let’s just skip to an alternate dimension— one where you never even met Diane or had a kid. It’s literally that simple.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not? The answer to all our issues is sitting on the table over there.” Prime gestured to Rick’s portal gun.

“Because… I’m just not that guy who would abandon their family.”

“But you’re okay with being a cheater?”

“... That’s low and you know it.”

“Truth hurts, baby. Doesn’t matter if it’s hard to hear, doesn’t make it any less real.”

“...” Rick looked away, ashamed.

“I’m going to tell her.” Prime said quietly. 

“You— what?” 

“I’m going to tell her— about us.” Prime continued in a stronger voice. “I’m going to tell her about every single time you were getting railed in bed when you were supposed to be at home eating dinner instead.”

“No, you will not.” Rick grabbed his arm. “If you do that, I’ll never be yours.”

Prime laughed and pushed Rick’s arm off.

“Don’t you see? You’re already not mine.”

The words hung heavy between them as they looked at one another with a mirrored expression of resentment and misery. 

Prime turned on his heel and started walking towards the entrance. 

“Stop!” Prime felt Rick grab at his jacket. “Stop it. Don’t take another step or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Prime turned to face Rick, a sneer on his lips. “You’ll hurt me? Babe, you’re already hurting me.”

“Just don’t hurt Diane.” Rick muttered. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“But I do? She gets you but I get a clone?”

“Just— just give me some time to work— to figure something out.” Rick’s grip tightened on his jacket. “Just don’t tell her. Please.”

[honeysmokedham]

TIMING: July 10th, 2023 PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Nora @honeysmokedham LOCATION: The Mines SUMMARY: Nora is a fresh made crystal monster who had previously been telling everyone she was dying. Emilio is making sure Nora isn't dead. They talk. CONTENT WARNINGS: Parental Death TW (mention) Sibling Death tw (mention) Child Death tw (mention) (the emilio trauma pack tw list)

Concern ebbed in his gut as he made his way towards the mines. He didn’t know what to do here. It was a bad feeling, the helplessness that had been eating away at him ever since Nora told him she was going to die. It kept dragging him back to that familiar living room, with blood on the floor. How many times, he wondered, could you fail to save the people you cared about before failure became the only thing you were good at? How many graves could you dig before the dirt became a permanent fixture beneath your nails?

Nora was alive, but he hadn’t saved her. Nora was alive, but there was still something wrong. Those pictures she’d sent, with the same purple crystals that had been popping up all over town clawing their way from beneath her skin, they set him on edge in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He felt cold and uncertain and everything was wrong. Dread sat heavy in his chest, paranoia worse than its already impressive default state. 

He stopped in front of the entrance to the mine, leg aching. He sent a quick message telling her he was there, hoping he wouldn’t have to venture into the mines but prepared to do so if it became necessary. Emilio would crawl into the earth if he had to. If crawling into a grave meant he didn’t have to dig another one, he wouldn’t hesitate.

"I don't understand why he's dancing." It was their second watch-through of Morbius. Apparently one hadn't been enough to get into the spirit of the movie. Whatever spirit that was supposed to be, Nora didn't know. She wasn't sure she'd ever find it. A ding from her phone. Nora fumbled it into a reading position. More often than not she found herself dropping her phone thanks to the crystalline talons that tipped her fingers. "Mimi is here," Nora noted to Cass. "I gotta go talk to him. I told him the banshee screamed for me, I don't think he believes I'm alive." Nora extricated herself from the fort the pair had made. The mines were turning into a comfortable home. "I'll be back," Nora told her friend, throwing in one of Matt Smith's atrocious dance moves as a fair well. 

The trip to the entrance of the mines was easy, it was familiar. As familiar as the walk down into her crypt, or the walk into Axis. It was a home. The familiar scent of Irish Spring Soap and cigarettes met her as she neared the entrance. Nora wondered how close he'd gotten, would he enter the mines? That would be nice. Everyone should live in the mines with her. A big family of her favorite people in her favorite place. She was sure that the mines would fix his knee. Just like the mines had saved her life. "'Sup Mimi." Nora made sure her approach was dramatic. Glowing crystals coming out of a darkness that was exaggerated by her illusions. "Welcome to the mines." 

Nora stood there for a second. Two seconds. Three. "Death looks good on me, don't you think?" And like that, she was a kid showing off something she was proud of. Nora did a slow turn, arms held wide, making sure he could see her full monstrosity. "Sick right?" The pictures didn't do it justice. The pictures didn't capture the slight glow or the way they made soft chiming noises when Nora moved. 

Somehow, some part of him hadn’t believed she was alive until now. Logically, he’d known she was. He’d spoken to her, he’d seen the pictures she sent. He knew she was alive, was well enough to talk and look as happy as he’d ever seen her in the photos she sent. Still, there was a flood of relief as she came to the surface — breathing, moving, and tangible. There was no twist in his gut that meant undead, despite her claims that she’d died and risen up down in the mines, and that was a good thing. 

“You’re not dead,” he told her, though he was pretty sure she’d argue. She usually did, when she had her mind set to something. And she seemed to have her mind set pretty firmly to this. Still, saying aloud helped just a little. His heartbeat slowed, his shoulders released some tension. She wasn’t dead.

She also wasn’t normal. He’d half-hoped the pictures she sent him were doctored in some way or another. Emilio might not have known much about photoshop, but he knew that people more talented than him could manage some pretty impressive feats with it. But here Nora stood, in front of him in the flesh, covered in those goddamn crystals. He took a step forward, watching her with a wary eye as she turned. Sick was one word for it, though he figured the way he was thinking meant something a little different than Nora’s use. “What the hell happened to you? Are you —” He choked on his words a little, relief that she was alive and concern that something was wrong fighting it out in his head. “Are you okay, kid?” 

“Anymore.” Nora added the correction to the statement, she wasn’t dead anymore. It was an important distinction. Important to her because it had been a life changing event. It had shifted her world, it had shattered her bones, it had remade her in the image of the mines. Death had wrapped its boney fingers around her heart with the intention of crushing her, but she had been pulled back to the mortal coil with a purpose. The purpose of being an acolyte to the mines. Nora didn’t miss the relief that seemed to seep over Emilio’s features. It came in the subtle way his jaw seemed to unclench, his shoulders relaxed, and a new calmness entered him. “I keep telling you. Death couldn’t keep me. I remain ungovernable.” 

He hadn’t been listening to her. That was typical Emilio. Nora shook her head in the way of the sitcom actors. The way that said, oh there goes Emilio! Being so silly again! “I told you what happened.” She’d spoken it into her phone until her phone got all the words correct and she could send the message explaining her transformation to him. “I’m,” Nora reached out a hand, staring down at the purple talons that made using her phone so difficult now. She flexed the fingers, straightening them and curling them, eyes fixed as if transfixed by her own movements. “I’m perfect. Look at me. I’m perfect.” Nora knew the words she wanted to use to describe how she felt. She knew how to wrap the sentence that explained this is how she should have always looked. How right it felt, but she didn’t need to say them. It was obvious just looking at her. 

“What about you, old man?” Nora allowed a smile to creep over her. “How’ve you been doing? Any new cases? I bet the mines could solve all the cases.” Nora turned and cast a fond gaze at the mines, the mines where all the answers to life remain. She wished Emilio could see that. 

“Me and death go way back. I’m usually pretty good at telling when it’s around.” It was dry, the way his jokes always were. She wasn’t undead; he knew that, and she had to know that he knew that. Emilio might be a shit hunter where action was concerned, but he could still sense the things he was supposed to be after. He still knew when something had been wrapped up in that blanket of death and uncovered as something else with the same certainty as he knew his own name. And Nora hadn’t. There was so much relief in knowing that Nora hadn’t. Emilio was trying, he was trying to be the kind of man who could look at something undead and not feel a sense of disgust wash over him. He could hang out with Metzli, could exist near Zane without wanting to kill him on the spot, could talk to an undead stranger in a bar and not pull a blade. He was getting better. But there was still that deep-seated sense of unease that came with it. There were still years and years of conditioning, of being told that it was bad was wrong was not okay. It’d take a long time to get out from under that. And so, the relief. Nora wasn’t undead.

But Nora was stubborn.

He knew that about as well as he knew his own name, too. Knew that she’d argue with him about it until she was blue in the face — or whatever color her purple gem-face would turn when she ran out of breath. She’d decided that things were a certain way, and she’d fight for that. She always did. In all honesty, it was one of the things Emilio had always admired about her. She was a good kid, strong. And she liked this. The gems, the mines, all of it. She liked it. That much was clear.

He was still going to fix it, of course. He didn’t trust anything like this, and he’d get her back to the way she’d been before if it killed him. If she hated him for that after… he’d learn to live with it. He’d learned to live with worse.

“Yeah,” he said, “okay. Perfect. Are you in pain?” Maybe that was the better question. He wanted the answer to be no, even if the answer being yes might make her more likely to be willing to let him change her back. The idea of her being in constant pain, of it hurting all the time made his stomach clench up. Emilio knew what that felt like. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all Nora. “Me? Kid, I didn’t really come here to talk about me. I’m fine. Cases are what they always are. Don’t think the mines will change that.” Though they might solve a few of the missing person files on his desk. 

“Old drinking buddies, right?” Nora quipped. Emilio shrouded his past in mystery. It had to do with Mexico. It had to do with a family that was gone, dead or missing was never clear. She knew his mom was dead, she thought he alluded to some siblings had gone that route too, but there had always been a line drawn when Nora asked a question that went too deep. A simple, I don’t want to talk about it. Nora reached out a crystalline hand and gently patted it against his arm. An abbreviated version of her cataloged comforting touch. “I know you don’t believe me, but he’s not coming here. He can’t. The mines will protect us.” Nora turned, giving the mines a longing look. 

Even while standing just at the entrance, she felt the pull. It called her back. It asked why she was standing outside its embrace? Why didn’t it want her to be cradled in its being, consumed by its energy, and protected by its walls. The outside world felt wide and empty. Had she always lived in the large open world without caring before? Perhaps it was why she made her home in a crypt, the subconscious realization that the mines were for her. The crypt had also protected her with four walls and a ceiling deep within the ground. What was a crypt of not a mine for human bones? 

“Pain?” Nora ran a talon against her jaw. It had been weird, losing all the flesh of her jaw to make way for the crystal. It had hurt in the moment of her death, but now? “I feel heavier, but it doesn’t hurt.” Nora patted one of the shoulder crystals. “Sometimes I run into the walls.” Spatial awareness was something she was working on still, now that she had to be aware of every crystal jutting out of her flesh. Trying to lean back was the hardest, the sharp crystals back there hadn’t done her the deficiency of being the same size, which might have made it easier to lean back against them. “I’m perfect, Mimi. This is everything I’ve always wanted to be. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t bother me. It’s a blessing.” 

Then Emilio was deflecting back at her. Nora gave him her most deadpan stare, built with extra intensity. “You should talk about yourself sometime, you know. You’re deserving of space. The mine knows that, the mine wants you here.” She knew she probably sounded like an evangelical preacher, trying to convince the sinner to lay down his sin and accept Jesus into the church, but Nora worried about Emilio. Nora wanted him to find the same happiness she had in the mines. “The mines and I, we’re here to help. We want to help you.” 

“Right. Drinking buddies.” The joke wasn’t as funny as it usually was. Not in this moment, not even with Nora standing in front of him in one piece. Death was a familiar thing, but it never seemed to have much interest in Emilio himself. It took the people around him one by one, broke them down bit by bit and ground them into powder. His father died before he could form a solid image of his face in his memory, his oldest brother was gone before he turned thirteen. He was thirty-four years old and an orphan, a widower, a father whose child was already in the ground. Death was an old drinking buddy, sure, but not one who had any interest in taking Emilio home.

So there’d been that fear, when Nora first started telling him that she was dying. There’d been that familiar grip of panic, that old ache that took him back in time to a living room floor and blood on the walls. Emilio and death existed in a quiet cohabitation, but there were so many people he couldn’t stand for it to take. Nora had quickly cemented herself as one of them, as a name right up at the top of the list of people he thought ought to be untouchable. And still, he almost couldn’t let himself believe she was here until her hand found his shoulder, until those rough crystals brushed against his shirt. Nora was here. Nora was alive. And death could fuck off, this time. Death could go right back where it came from.

“Okay,” he said quietly, because there was no arguing with her when she was like this. She said the mines were a death free zone, and he knew they weren’t but he knew his arguments would fall on deaf ears all the same. If he were a little less exhausted, he might try it anyway. He was as stubborn as she was, and he knew he was right about this one. There was no safe place in the world that couldn’t be made unsafe, were no walls death couldn’t walk through. He thought back, as he always did, to that living room in Mexico with the cross on the wall and the iron doorframe. He thought of the nights he’d fallen asleep on the couch with a baby on his chest without fear, without anxiety. 

He thought of how the only difference between a safe place and a casket was whether the hearts that sat within it were still beating.

Nora’s was. He could hear it in her chest, a strange echo through the crystals in her skin. Beating oddly, but beating all the same. It could change in an instant, he knew; it only every took a second for one heartbeat to fail to give in to the next, for one breath to become a person’s last. But Nora was alive for now, and maybe that had to be enough. 

His shoulders slumped in quiet relief as she said there was no pain, and he let himself believe her even though it seemed impossible. She was able to stand upright, at least, and wasn’t that more than he could do himself most days? Even now, his leg ached on the uneven ground, as if protesting its own existence. (And maybe Emilio could relate to that sentiment, just a little.) “Well, try not to run into walls.” It was supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one, didn’t feel like one. Nothing really did when he felt like this, when the world was heavy. (Everything was always so goddamn heavy.)

He didn’t know what to believe here. Nora swore that she was better than fine, that she was perfect, but his heart still felt like a jackhammer beating down on his ribs, breaking them up into pieces. He was still in that goddamn living room floor, still washing the blood out from under his fingernails. Maybe he always would be. And Nora was talking about him, was saying he deserved space, and he didn’t know how to tell her that she was wrong. He didn’t know how to put to words that the things he deserved probably weren’t the things she wanted him to have, didn’t know how to say that the space he took up would be so much better if it were filled by someone else, someone who’d been gone for years now. 

“I’m not the kind of guy you help,” he said, rather than try to find those ever-elusive words. “You can tell the mines that, too.” He was quiet for a moment, unsure how to proceed. “Said you had a friend down there. The two of you managing all right?”

There was concern written all over his face in bold lettering. Its script spiraled around his features with every word he didn't say. Emilio didn't speak much, he never had. But today he didn't need to. Each look he gave to one of her crystals was a sentence she could hear clearly in his soft voice. The voice he only used when he knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to fix it. The voice that told her he was listening, and he heard her, but he couldn't fix it as much as he wanted to. The unspoken sentences were ones of concern and disbelief. But Nora knew the disbelief wasn't for her, per se, but for the crystals. The story. In a town that was full of the strange and unusual, could she blame him for that? Would she think it was hard to believe something good could happen in this town if she was a jaded old man? Who was to say? 

"Wrong. I help you. That's literally my job, dumbass." A pause, before adding. "Assistant? There was a word Nora had always wanted to use. It was apprentice. But it felt too big. Too official. It sounded too much like a, I want to be like you. Even if she did. Even if she looked up to a guy who couldn't accept any help. Neither could she, if she was being honest. "The mines are listening. I don't need to tell them anything." They sang in her bones, they whispered to her crystals. It wasn't a literal voice. As much as a mine shaft looked like an open mouth, the mine shaft vocal chords with the cart the box moving up and down to activate the tone. It wasn't true. No, everything Nora knew from the mines she just... What was the best way to explain it? It was in her. It was her. She was the mines and the mines were her. Their ideas were her own, and if she had her own ideas? What did they matter? The mines wanted what was best. 

At the entrance, standing near the open sky, Nora wondered if she actually felt that way, or if something was wrong. But a glance down at her crystalline body reminded her of the favor the mines had done for her. It reminded her that she loved the mines with everything she was. "If the mines don't want to help you, they won't. But they want to help everyone. Remember that." He was stubborn. He would stay stubborn. Nora would let him have this for now. 

"Cass." Nora supplied the name because Cass deserved to have her name remembered. Nora glanced back into the darkness. "She's down there. We've been watching things together. It's great. we are fine down there." Words that Nora felt like she repeated a thousand times. Every one was so concerned about the people living in the mines when they should be concerned about living outside the mines. They were missing the beauty of the depths within. For someone who had struggled with words her whole life, she felt like she finally might have them. But only the words that would tell people about the mines. If only they would believe her. If only they wouldn't look at her with faces painted in concern. 

"If you change your mind, come. Whenever you want." Nora listed the steps. You start at this tunnel, and you head down. You take the fourth right, there is a winding path but don't leave it. Those multiple little ones will take you to other caverns. Then you take a final right, left, right and straight. Then there was a home. Waiting for anyone who would take it. "Oh. I haven't seen Babadook and Munch in a while. They are refusing to come to the mines. Can you keep an eye out for them? Babs can feed himself, but..." Nora shrugged. "He doesn't look like other dogs. If hunters are after me, they are after him too, right?" Because god forbid anything be different in this town. That wasn't true anymore. The mines welcomed everyone who was different. 

"I'm going to get back to Cass now." Nora didn't want to admit it, but standing in the open made her uncomfortable. The mines were a soft embrace closing in around her. This? This was an open hell. Anything could go wrong out here without the watchful eye of the mines. "I'm serious, Emilio. Come to the mines sometimes. Just think about it. It'll change your life." 

“You get paid for jobs,” he reminded her. Not that he hadn’t offered to pay her a hundred times now, not that he wouldn’t have shoved cash into her bag when she wasn’t looking if he hadn’t known she’d probably respond by hiding it in his fridge or something. Nora deserved a lot more than he could give her, but he still wished she’d let him give her something. He still wished she’d sleep on his couch instead of sleeping in a crypt or in a mine or wherever it was she decided to lay her head that week. But she wanted freedom, and he understood that. She wanted to be able to pick where she slept and what she did, and Emilio would never take that away from her. He’d never dream of it. “Yeah. Assistant. You pick whatever title you want, okay? We’ll get matching business cards.” Another joke, just as flat and empty as all the ones that had come before it. Even on his best days, Emilio’s humor was dry and flat and unfunny to pretty much everyone but him. 

Nora seemed to understand it better than most, at least. Seemed to understand him better than most. She didn’t tend to laugh, because she wasn’t really the laughing type, but… She also didn’t give him odd looks or chastise him for his poor timing. It was part of what he liked about her, part of why she was one of the few people he wanted around even when he was in a slump so deep that the idea of interacting with anyone at all was exhausting. He wasn’t sure when that kid who’d tried so hard to scare him in the cemetery all those months ago had become the exception to so many of his rules. He tried not to think too hard on it. Some things were better when you just let them be.

And maybe, in turn, he could understand the… appeal of this idea she’d built for herself. Of this vague concept that told her the mines were a healing place, this notion that they could help anyone. It was a tempting thing to believe, he thought. It reminded him a little of his relationship with religion, of how he used to cling to the idea that there was a God who loved him, a higher power who’d chosen him for something bigger, a big important thing somewhere in the universe that saw him not as an inferior version of the older siblings who’d surpassed him but as something worth loving all its own. That idea seemed just as ridiculous to him as Nora’s new mine obsession now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still understand why it was a tempting thing to cling to. He wished he could still believe in it. He wished he could look at himself and think that something — God, a mine shaft, his mother — could love him just as he was.

“Cass,” he repeated, because that was easier than accepting everything else that she was saying. The mines were a delusion, and it hurt a little, because the idea that Emilio was fixable, the idea that there were things that weren’t irreparably broken and that he could be one of them was a delusion just as grand. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would think possible without some malicious outside force insisting upon it. “I’m glad you’ve got someone.” And he was glad it was someone better than him.

He nodded, pretending there was any chance that his mind would ever change. Unless he got hit with whatever magic made her this way, he didn’t see himself scrambling to join her in the mines any time soon. But the rest of her request… “I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promised. “Go by the crypt and make sure they’re all right, make sure there’s nobody sniffing around that shouldn’t be.” He was good at steering hunters away from things. It was a skill he figured he’d be using a lot more now that Rhett was in town. 

Sucking his teeth, he nodded. She was going back to the mines, and he wasn’t. Even if he’d wanted to, just the idea of making that trek made his leg ache. It was a bad pain day. There’d been a lot more of those since Nora retreated to the mines; a side effect of Emilio pushing himself harder than usual. Probably a side effect he deserved, if he was being honest with himself. “I’ll think about it,” he lied. “Until then, you stay safe. Okay?”

Matching business cards sounded nice. Because Nora wanted to be a private investigator. As Nora thought about that want, the first passion she’d discovered out of painting since childhood, the thought struck her. If she lived in the mines, how would she be a P.I. Nora glanced over her shoulder, the entrance was a mouth waiting to consume her. It called to her. A Siren song that made her heart dance with joy. She turned back to Emilio. She could be a private investigator in the mines, she decided. He’d come in there and finish training her. Then she’d be the second best P.I. in the mines, until Emilio got old and retired and stayed at his cavern as a consultant while Nora took on the mantle of best private investigator. Because that was surely the life the mines were offering for her, it was the life she wanted. 

“Cass,” Nora agreed. Nora was glad she had someone too. Nora was glad about Cass all the time. The fact that she hadn’t left. The fact that she’d forgiven Nora. The fact that she existed. “It’d be better with two.” Because who was she to give up her last attempt to get someone else in the mines. Later, Emilio would take that seriously and deliver someone else to Nora’s mine, but it wouldn’t be him. It would be another crystal blessed and Nora would be just as pleased, just as thrilled, to have more people in her home to call family. 

“Thank you. Oh. Babadook has recently started terrorizing a retirement home. Oaks Lawn. I did one of those read to the elderly programs,” Nora wasn’t sure that was an actual program, she just showed up and started reading. “And told them a story about how a big dog with tentacles appearing meant a mass death event. Then showed them Babadook. I thought it would be funny.” It was. “But Babadook has really enjoyed hanging out there. He’s a bit of a legend now. You’ll probably find him there if he’s not at the crypt.” Babadook was a good dog. She missed him. She hoped one day he would stop by and visit her, but it was hard to convince a dog without a phone, or the ability to speak a similar language. 

“Okay.” Nora agreed. She nodded, the tips of her mouth moving up into a smile. It wasn’t her usual rare micro smile, but something close to a real smile. Something foreign to her since her modeling days ended. “I just want you to be happy.” Nora told Emilio, blunt as usual. “And I think you could be happy with us in the mines.” She turned away, eyes focused on the darkness within. “But we’ll be safe. The mines will keep us safe.” And she let the mines swallow her whole once more. 

[red9]

@devilsbaptist continued.

              “I’ve been.. busy, that’s all.”  

              It was all an excuse, hidden behind a casual lie. Something that seemed to come far too easy for him, as if the other were incapable of seeing right through him. Yet it was clear he was avoiding it, if not evident enough in the way his eyes avoided his. The way he was so quick to go for his lighter, a nervous tick he was unaware he even had at all. Fresh cigarette lay loose between his lips, a curtain of loose locks giving him relief from those piercing eyes that burned right through him. To think he’d gotten in too deep, all in an act of cowardice. To think all he could have said was no, taken a bullet like his friends who refused to give in. Instead he stood, willingly helping those that were seen once as the enemy. He himself was never a good man- not in that life, or this new one he was thrust into. At the end of the day he was there to study, observe, the thought always lingering in the back of his mind that one day- when the time would come- he would run away and not look back. Until then he would play their little game, playing with the plants and people was just a bonus along the way. 

              Somehow he got lucky, being spared and thrown in under Faith, showed kindness and in turn helped with the development of Bliss. Now here he was, in a place of his own, testing new strands to feed to the Angels and see how they’d respond. Each trial and error bringing progress, stronger batches meant stronger reactions, in turn making the others bend at the will of the brothers like they wanted all along. It was why he was still working, checking to ensure his batch would be complete in time for his next ceremony. He couldn’t imagine any other reason he’d come around, knowing he had deadlines to meet and shipments to deliver to him. It’s what kept him up at night, working late, making sure everything would go according to plan for his next big performance. He’d heard plenty talk about his work, firsthand experiences and those who went to admire. It was only a matter of time before he’d be called- each passing day bringing that inevitable moment upon him. He was never a religious man, couldn’t bring himself to believe in any god or higher power. It was all smoke and mirrors, nothing tangible or real. Why would this be any different? 

              Fingers danced around the lighter in his grip, the sound of metal clinking open with a graceful flip of its lid. Three beats of silence filled the space as he tried and failed to light it- clink, clink, clink- before a soft glow illuminated his profile, burning away at the end of the cigarette as he took a moment to toss his head back, releasing the smoke from his lungs with a sigh.

              “-Besides, you wouldn’t want me there anyway. Wouldn’t want your holy river to run black the moment I touch it or something.” A joke, but there was a part of him that wondered if it was true. Gaze flickered over to him, finding the confidence to finally meet his gaze as he leaned against his desk. “I’m just the man that delivers, you get what you need, everyone is happy, eh? I’m sure you’ve got a long line of people ahead of me anyway, just waiting to be cleansed and all that. I’m the least of your worries-” At least, that’s what he hoped. If anything, he was simply making excuses just to delay the cleansing that awaited him.

[crobones]

@huxandthehound

and then monsterboyfriend again as well

crack theories ahead because I'm just full of those

potential reasoning for Claudia having healed that also shows how morphed and biased Louis' memory could be is that, Louis didn't even try to find medical help for Claudia. Just went straight to Lestat with a girl and an idea. She could've truly been dying, or she could have just been passing out and not truly about to die.

Louis may have been looking for a connection so ardently that he thought Claudia was more injured than she truly was. He wasn't thinking right, and then he remembers later that he begged Lestat more desperately than he'd first thought. It could also be the reason why Lestat was at first adamant in his refusal. Lestat only changed her to make Louis happy.

What I'm saying is, he may have saved her before her injuries would begin to threaten her life, thus being easier for the Gift to heal her. Something more complex like PD could be harder to truly have any tangible effect on, but could possibly stop progression.

Second crack theory: the Gift heals physical wounds, but neurological disorders might be beyond its power. We know quite a few vampires and I don't think it cured any of them of their potential psychological issues, to be quite frank, let alone the trauma they each had from their lives before the Gift.

Paul heard voices he believed to be God and the Devil, and showed signs of hallucinating. Louis saw the "ghost" of Lestat for over 70 years. We don't know the du Lac family history in regards to possible hereditary psychological disorders, or how quickly or differently they may have developed. (okay, this is a subplot 2b to my crack theories, really, but I digress)

essentially, the point made about the Gift's effects on physical injury versus anything mental or neurological has some merit. It may prevent mental/neurological issues from progressing, but it might not cure them.

but I also agree that the show won't likely go there, or even anywhere near I've wondered and gotten lost on the map. but i now have things to consider if I ever decide to write this fic

I remember seeing a post about someone wanting to write a fic about Daniel being good representation for someone with parkinson's/a physical disability, and how it got "magically cured" upset them, and so they planned on a slight rewrite I think? a longer fic? idk I can't find the post. essentially, I want to read the perspective of what might've occurred in relation to his disability, written by someone more informed on the subject than myself. whoms't've of you did the thing know you're out there

[bonesofapoet]

Inferno

[ vampire!eddie munson x you ]

author’s note: did someone say 2k of eddie being a vampire but in a heartbreaking crimson peak-esque horror way and not a queen of the damned spicy way? no? well i did so here we are!! this is a darker read with mentions of blood, implied murder, violence, death, feelings of anxiety, intense fear with a side of heartache and angst

word count: 1790

If you were gifted the chance to do everything differently that night, would you?

Yes. A hundred times over, until I got it right. But, of course, there are parts that will stay the same, inevitably, because our hearts are intertwined and the adoration I hold for you will outshine, always, everything else.

—

The moon had risen high and bright against a sky so ominous, a chill slipped down your spine every time your eyes drifted out a window. It was full, the moon, guarding the stars and stories they told under its watchful eye, even as wispy clouds of silver drifted by to obscure its radiant glow.

It was the first week of April, but you could have sworn this specific taste of ‘eerie’ screamed October, instead of an approaching spring storm. You could have sworn that the nocturnal wildlife of Hawkins, Indiana, was jabbering and echoing with the unmistakable breath of life only a moment ago.

Except now, it was silent. Save for the candles crackling where they lent their light to your small apartment on main. The air had shifted - both in spirit and tangibly - you could feel a tension begin to build; the flames flickered just a little bit more than usual because - it was weird, really.

They cast wild shadows that danced on every surface, even though there was no breeze. The windows cracked to welcome in the chilled night air brought no wind, no relief from the stagnant indoor air sponsored by the cold, snowy Ohio weather. Your heart began to race with wonder, and your palms began to clam up all nice and sweet, but there wasn’t-

A thump sounded through the front door.

You froze. Slid wide eyes from the movie, paused on screen, to the door across the room.

A proper knock came next. The knob began to twist almost immediately. It jiggled once, twice, thrice, and you watched with eyes wide and alert now, the tension wrapping snug around your shoulders with a cry for any sort of attention.

“Shit -” your eyes narrowed at the voice, widened at the sound of your name falling through the other side of the door. “It’s just me, sweetheart, no need to get the bat to defend your honor. C’mon, I forgot my key.”

The blanket of tension slipped from your shoulders, no longer strong enough to keep you in its claws. You recognized the voice, relaxed almost immediately into the cozy little nest you had curled into, once you settled in for a movie night. Adrenaline pulled you up out of the safety of pillows and blankets, carrying you on shaking legs across the room. Your name - desperate - fell through his lips once again as a trembling hand reached for the knob while the other wrenched the lock.

“Jesus fucking christ, Eddie,” the words spilled out in a huff. You stepped back to tug the door towards you; the action was jerky and unsure. Lingering fear dripped down your spine along with all the embarrassment you had ever felt in arguably, your entire life. Have you not gotten enough sleep lately? “You scared the shit outta-”

The candles in your apartment guttered out.

No more soft glow to illuminate your silhouette for Eddie’s bloodshot eyes, but he heard candle wax dripping down the pillars as it splattered to the floor from the shock of their quick death.

It was just you, Eddie, and the harsh fluorescent hallway lighting as it shined unkindly over you - a merciless stabbing, this light, as it beat down on his eyes already sensitive and bloody from his earlier mistakes.

And you -

Flinched, almost, when your eyes adjusted to the light, bright enough to cast a little visibility on the shadows eating Eddie alive. You were about to speak again, to ask why the fuck he seemed so out of it, ground control to major Tom -

But then it slammed into you hard enough, quick enough, unexpected enough before you ever had the chance. It knocked you off balance. Forced a harsh breath from your lungs, an open door to welcome that shuddering tension back into your body, your heart, your soul - it pawed at you, latching onto it’s opening with a relentless grip of iron, metal, steel, unbreakable - as you took a step back from Eddie, still lingering in the doorway to your apartment.

It seeped in slowly after that, the fear. A feeling so ancient, a fear so primal, you had never felt anything like it in your life. Not even in the Upside Down. Something wasn’t right.

And Eddie -

A silhouette hunched, leaning heavily on a forearm braced against the doorframe. Dark stains spread generously down the white glow of his beloved Hellfire uniform; similar splashes seeped into the denim of his vest, the white of his patches and crusting on his pins. He was breathing heavily, his head turned away. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Sorry - I just - I think you have to invite me in.”

It snapped you back to the present, his voice. Calm, even, despite the evidence that something terrible had clearly happened, and Eddie was, without a doubt, tangled in the strands of a web woven intricate and impossible to shred through to freedom.

Your grip on the door had tightened.

“I’m -  are you -? What? Did someone try to jump you again?”

His laugh is low and easy, coming just as quick as it usually does. It didn’t draw a smile from you tonight, because it sounded fucking sinister this time, and your skin had begun to crawl. 

Something wasn’t right.

“Nah, it was the other way around this time. Some assholes thought it’d be a good idea to -”

Eddie hisses - he fucking hisses - and doubles over clawing at his stomach. His body slumps against the threshold, knuckles white on the wooden frame. Jagged cracks spiderweb out from where his hand meets the surface. A crunch sounded loud, deafening in the silent hallway.

A small chunk of wood fell to the floor.

“Shit - okay, come on, let’s get you inside.” Despite being wide eyed and unsteady yourself, you reached for Eddie without a second thought. “We’ll get you cleaned up - jesus, Eddie, I need you to walk - you have a key, for fuck sake, you’re obviously welcome here. Always.”

It was a struggle getting inside, with Eddie leaning against you as you half dragged him into your apartment. That blood curdling fear was growing stronger, but Eddie was injured and something was not right. It added up, yeah?

It had to. It had to.

The absence of candlelight had plunged your home into an unsettling darkness. Long shadows were cast on the floor and along the walls from Fright Night, the movie still paused on a dim screen. It did little to help you see Eddie as he groaned when you half dropped, half laid him on the nearest couch with a huff.

There would be stains on the furniture, and maybe even the floor - it was a half thought, unimportant in the grand scheme of this newfound nightmare.

You ignored the stickiness clinging to your hands making your fingers stick together as it congealed and dried on your skin. Clothes, now damp on the side Eddie leaned so heavily into, began to cling to bare flesh beneath the fabric. The pounding of your heart grew louder and louder. You switched on the nearest lamp, fingers slipping off the switch once, twice, thrice, success.

He flinched into the shadows that could still touch him. You hurried for the first aid kit, that feeling of fear still startling stark and unfamiliar, eating away at your nerves one by one by fraying one.

It was odd, you thought, how this unease began just as Eddie arrived home. How the night had been calm, peaceful, normal - then nocturnal life stopped singing. The precursor to a tension building hard and fast never to dispel, not even when Eddie arrived to chase the shadows away.

Eddie Munson, who could chase all your horrors away.

Instead, he brought more with him

“Babe?”

His call startles you so, the supplies almost fly out of your hands. You right your grip, holding on so tightly your fingers are beginning to fucking ache. You waste no more time returning to his side, cautious now. Alert. Curious.

“I’m here,” your tone is soothing despite the tremor you couldn’t quite silence. He’s still curled into the shadows, face buried in the back of the sofa. “Where does it hurt? Eddie, darling, c’mon - I can’t tell this time, there’s so much blood.”

It’s weaker now, his laugh. Shaky. A crimson stained hand rubs down his face. “Yeah, uh. About that.”

A stab of that fear hits your body hard and fast for the third time that night. It rolls down your spine in waves, hands shaking harder, breath coming just a little bit faster with each passing second. Adrenaline was your lover now,  it seemed, and Eddie Munson had no idea he'd just been dethroned.

“You’re not making sense, Eddie.”

It’s hard not to reach for him. Harder to ignore the voice in your head whispering, shouting, pleading for you to back away slowly, run far and fast and never dare to look back, but.

Your hope was your undoing, in the end.

Hands stained with the blood of Eddie’s sins reached for him regardless, body leaning in close to get a better look at what you could. He was putty in your hands, head turning smoothly when you took his chin and gently pulled his face toward yours.

Your eyebrows fell together, heart sinking at the bloody tears falling from his brown eyes tinted black.

“I’m sorry, my Highness,” his voice was all heartache and giddy schoolboy joy, an eternity of dread and the thrill of the hunt. He sounded like your Eddie, but deep under the shadows there was something else. Something new. “Blood is the only thing that helps.”

Still bloody with tears, his eyes softened when you stuttered out questions about not understanding, about wanting to know what he’s done. There was a hand on your back then; a soft touch was tracing up your spine all gentle and soothing, the calm before the storm.

“You’ll learn soon enough,” he says, leaning closer. He guides you towards him with the hand on your back. “Just close your eyes.”

He didn’t wait for you to do so, but it didn’t matter. All you saw was a flash of long, sharp teeth, and all you felt was a tear in your neck as Eddie pulled you closer. The full moon was freed from the clouds smothering its light, and it blanketed two bodies intertwined, illuminating the carnage that was unfolding right before its eyes.

All you could think before this darkness claimed you for its own was. . .was. . .

[vidalinav]

Nesta peered up at him with soft blinking eyes, and he couldn’t bare to look at her when his heart was caught in his throat. Cassian looked at her hand instead, where it laid on his arm. His shirt was trapped in her fist, gripped so tightly by her fingers. He wondered if she felt it too. That permanent goodbye, tangible in the midnight air. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brows furrowing in a way that felt too familiar. Cassian wished to memorize that look, but he found that he already had. It had been tucked in his pocket for safe keeping, for so long now that he’d only just begun to realize that he didn’t need to hold onto the memory so tightly anymore. 

Now, he yearned to learn her all over again. Tuck it in his heart instead, where all this precious love was stored. Somewhere where it couldn’t escape him. 

“I have to leave soon,” he spoke. Quietly. So the night might not hear him and his whispered dreams, so the moon wouldn’t call him a fool with its thousand eyes.  

The only sound out of her lips was a soft, “oh.”  

It made him ache. The perfect picture of her that he couldn’t quite capture. He wished he still had the symphonia... to record her voice like it was music. He wished he hadn’t stupidly gotten rid of it. Cassian had thrown it at the wall. 

In those first days, he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t keep looking at it without seeing her face, wishing that her body was next to his. That he could dance with her one more time. 

Now... how would he remember her--hold onto her? 

But Nesta merely wrung her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was filled with nervous movement and Cassian grazed his gaze over her form, checking to make sure every part of her was untouched and unharmed. 

Her perfect pink lips parted, and under the light of the streets, he could see a blush bloom on her face. “I think you should know,” she started, breathless as she spoke, “that I liked you being here. Every minute.” 

All this time and it was slipping right through his fingers. 

Nesta’s voice hushed, her eyes looking away unsure. “I... I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.” 

Cassian closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm. She wasn’t fae and he thanked his lucky stars she couldn’t hear his rampant heart. The truth spilling from his lips would be his downfall. 

But some truth couldn’t be contained. Like stars, they fell across the skies, tip toeing across his skin. “I swear, I wished for you every night.” 

Nesta gasped at the words, something small and soft. “Then why are you leaving?” 

“Because,” Cassian groaned, shaking his head, trying to align his thoughts. “Because I don’t belong here, Nesta. You don’t belong with me. You belong here.” 

He was nearly pulling away, ready to run, to get away, but Nesta’s grip on his arm traveled to his neck. She tilted his head down, peering up at him with big, moon-bright eyes. Call me a fool, he wanted to beg. 

“But your hand fits perfectly in mine,” she whispered across his lips. He breathed in her scent, tried to commit it to memory. That perfect hint of lavender. “And your heart,” she said, moving her hand to his chest. “It beats and I swear I’ve known that song all my life.” 

“You were just suppose to be a dream,” he croaked. His eyes stung and he couldn’t help but pant, trying to expel all that ache from his lungs. 

“Then dream of me, Cassian.” And with those words, Nesta kissed him. A touch so soft and sweet, she might have been bringing him back to life. “But I’ll still be here in the morning.” 

~

@arinbelle @rarephloxes​

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Jesper Fahey x gn! Reader - Terribly Sweet Dreams

A/n: Nobody knooowwwsss

Warnings: mentions of killing, death, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Summary: You could never forget that stupid face, you could recognize it anywhere. It was Jesper Fahey, your partner for life.

Pairings: (Romantic) Jesper x reader

Pronouns used: No pronouns

Pov: 2nd person

The thing about sleep is dreaming isn't inevitable.

Most if the time when you sleep you dream but never remember, so by the time you wake up the dream is slowly fading from your eyelids. You forget. Even as you wrack your brain for the information you knew you had before but the images are dusted away before your eyes.

But you could never forget this.

His face is before you, long eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks as he leans in closer to you. His arms wrap around your waist holding onto you tight, you can feel his touch, rough, but so real and tangible it makes you cry.

His grey eyes seem to sparkle like his musical laughter - a song, no a symphony of beautiful music only written by the best poets. It plays over in your head as you look at them.

He does chuckle and the sound is so wondrous you gasp as the tears leak from your eyes and you grip onto the front of his jacket pulling him impossibly closer. His scent fills you, it's something you haven't smelled for a while. It's something that you've longed for, and now you have it.

Your lips nearly touch, and his hand brushes over your cheek. The feeling too real to be anything but reality.

"You- your alive?"

His trademark smirk plays on his lips and he licks them unconsciously as he look at you. He thumb brushes your bottom lip and he pulls you in a for kiss.

It's sweet like candy, yet simultaneously you can taste the Jurda on his lips, and the whiskey on his tongue. He must have been gambling again, some tiny part of you scowled, yet you didn't have the heart to pull away to scold him. You just wanted him, you wanted to be reminded that he was alive by the taste of his tongue clashing with yours and the feeling of his lips against your own.

Eventually you pull away and he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and looks up to you;

"Did you really think you could kill me that easily darling?"

You shoot up awake, your breath erratic and your hand went blindly for the pistol under your pillow and the other at the unoccupied side of your bed.

You hold your pistol up looking around ready to shoot, but when your other hand meets the cold emptiness of the other side you are only reminded of what can't ever be.

That wake less dream was something you yearned for, the comfort of his arms. Yet you were sure it was there to taunt you, Jesper had said that if you were going to kill him, he was going to haunt you for the rest of your life. He had said it jokingly at the time, but now your paranoia has gotten the best of you and you wonder if it's true.

The only thing you could be sure of though, the only truth that lays in front of you always is that you did indeed kill Jesper Fahey. In cold blood you had raised your hands and dropped his heart beat so low, so it would never beat again. His laughter creased, and his smile remained frozen on his face as his lips were stuck almost finishing forming the words; "I love you."

The dream felt so real, you could still feel arms around your waist, and the smell of his trademark jacket, the whiskey and jurda on his lips, the sound of his giggles, and the sight of his dazzling grey eyes. By the saint, how you missed him.

"Did you really think you could kill me that easily darling?"

No. No thing, living or not could rid Jesper Fahey off the face of this earth. He would remain here, in the little ways, or in the big.

Jesper Fahey, the man you love, miss, and killed.

The thing about sleep is dreaming isn't inevitable unless your dreaming about him.

Words 669

-thedelusionalreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[elysiadjarin]

Day 1: Somnophilia

Day 1 of Kinktober! The first prompt is of course, somnophilia. Here’s my masterlist for my Kinktober challenge.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Consensual somnophilia, cumplay, unprotected sex, nonhuman character, exophilia

Tags: Hat Man x reader, exophilia, kinktober

He Comes at Night

At first, you hadn’t been sure whether it was just another case of sleep paralysis, or actually something… else.

He always came at night, standing in your doorway as you lay on your back, unable to move. Though you were used to sleep paralysis and the oftentimes terrifying figures that came along with it, this one had been different every time it showed up. It just stood in your doorway, never really moving, just watching. You never felt the usual fear that came along with most sleep paralysis demons, just a sense of… calm.

It had gotten to the point where you’d simply learned to ride it out, accepting the calm of its presence until you fell back asleep. If anything, you’d started feeling a sense of comfort from its presence. Even living alone, you felt as though it were there as another presence, just to keep you some company. You’d even thought with a flash of amusement that maybe it was there to protect you.

But that was until a few nights ago. You’d found yourself abruptly awake again, immobile in bed. But it had been different. Your eyes wouldn’t open, and you distinctly felt something heavy on your blankets, pinning you to the bed. It felt far more tangible than anything else you’d ever experienced in a moment of sleep paralysis, and it unnerved you.

Of course, that’s when you heard… that. A whisper, slithering around you, crawling against your sheets as tangibly as the weights.

Sssso delicioussss. A poke at you. He’ssss finally not here. Hey, are you… awake?

Despite the situation, it wasn’t so much fear as annoyance that gripped you in the moment. If this sleep paralysis demon was enacting paralysis on you, why would you be able to respond?

A low cackle raked down your spine. That’sssss right, you can’t move, can you. Well, you won’t need to, sssssoon. Don’t worry, the chilling voice sneered, I’ll make ssssure you can feel it.

You’d just started to feel the panic set in when the weight was ripped off of you. A loud, fearful shriek pierced through the room, followed by a distinct crunching and gurgling.

I didn’t mean to, Hat Man, have merccccccy— The voice choked off in the thick air, just as your eyes snapped open.

Thick, black slime dripped from the mangled, gangly body that hung limply in the air. The figure that had been standing in your doorway every night now stood by your beside, a giant arm outstretched as dark talons clenched around the smaller creature. The black ichor dripped from its claws, and it threw the broken body down on the floor like a rag doll. It turned its head toward you again, but relief had crashed through you at its appearance.

The tall figure, now that it had appeared so close to your bedside, clearly towered at least seven feet tall. But even when it bent its whole body over, face nearing yours, you still didn’t fear it. It had leaned over, close enough that you could imagine that you felt its nonexistent breath on your face. Then it brushed against your forehead, as though it had kissed you gently back to sleep. You’d fallen back asleep as though knocked out.

And now, as you stood at your kitchen counter, holding a mug of tea, your mind had started to wander. Specifically, you’d started to wonder about your mysterious guardian. What had started out as a private sort of joke had turned into a reality, and you weren’t entirely sure what to make of it. The sensations and feelings had been far too concrete to be just a hallucination or just part of another sleep paralysis experience. Even now, you could still feel the sensation of the soft, gentle wisp of shadow brushing across your forehead.

Sighing, you dumped the mug into the sink and headed for bed, pulling at the hem of your large T-shirt. In the room, you slid off your shorts and put them on a chair, only in your underwear and shirt to sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took a moment to glance around the room. Your mind wandered to the weird, creepy spirit from the night before.

Tentatively, you decided to speak into the darkness. “Hey… I don’t know if you’re here right now, or—or listening, but… Hat Man. If you’re there, thank you. For saving me,” you said, tugging at your shirt. “I know I usually can’t move or talk, but… if you want company, you can come sit or lay down.” A little embarrassed at your own offer, you flopped back on the bed and rolled under the covers, burying your face in your pillow.

Even if it — he? — were there listening and you weren’t just talking to thin air, what would he think of your invitation? Was that too forward? Or weird?

You weren’t sure when exactly you fell asleep, but you certainly jerked awake sometime later when the bed next to you dipped. Your eyes opened, this time, and you saw the hulking figure almost meekly slide into bed beside you. His weight made your body slightly tip towards him, and he shifted to face you just in time to catch you against his chest. You noticed, now fully pressed against him, that he did have a slight, dusky sort of warmth, like the faint touch of a sunbeam filtering though curtains.

His giant talon paused, and he seemed to vacillate, as though unsure what to do with himself now that he was there. Tentatively, his fingers brushed against your arm. Your body seemed to gain a little bit more movement, just enough for you to sigh and lean further into his chest. He made you feel safe, and his presence was comforting. He didn’t seem to mind your advances, so you decided not to feel guilty as his giant arm wrapped around your back.

A soft, wispy hum escaped you, and you let yourself relax with the minimal movements the paralysis seemed to be allowing. You half-wished you could talk, just to speak with him. But at the same time, you could feel the drowsiness descend again. He felt too comfortable, and the solid weight of his body against yours made you melt like putty into the bed.

As you fell asleep, you swore you could feel the Hat Man brush another soft kiss to your forehead.

~

“Whoa, wait, you got yourself a Hat Man?” Your Tiefling coworker gave you a surprised look. “They usually only come into your life because they’re drawn in some way to protect you. Have you been doing okay? Staying safe?”

You nodded. “Well, I mean, now I am thanks to him,” you clarified, eyebrows furrowing. “What with my sleep paralysis and that weird… other thing.” You shuddered a little in disgust at the memory. “He’s been protecting me from whatever that thing was, I’m assuming.”

Harlow gave you a long look. “I didn’t want to really bring this up before, but do you know of anything in your heritage that might be… well, attractive to spirits? I’ve noticed before that you seem to draw the attention of non humans.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Well, you’re not wrong,” you admitted, rubbing your arm. “When I was born, my grandmother told my parents that I had ‘the blood of a beacon,’” you said. “I had a talisman she gave me, but… it’s been years, so maybe the potency has worn off.”

He nodded. “Probably. Especially if you have beacon blood; I’m not surprised you drew a Hat Man to protect you. You might as well be the Ultimate Desire for them,” he remarked.

Your eyes widened at his comment. “Ultimate Desire?” you asked, startled. “I mean, I know that my blood is attractive to spirits for its potency in spirit energy. But what does Ultimate Desire mean? And why would Hat Man want that?” You noted that he called it a Hat Man. So it apparently was a type of spirit or entity.

“Hmm.” Harlow pursed his lips. “Well, an easy way to put it would be… the Hat Men are guardians of sources of energy like you. They’re fueled by the energy you have, so… it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that he’s a personal bodyguard manifested by your beacon blood. The more your proximity or attention ‘fuels’ him and the more energy you give him, the stronger he’ll be and the better defense.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Huh. So I’m basically… the ultimate source, I guess. I mean, for Hat Man.”

“Yep!” Then he gave you a sly grin. “So, you gonna get up close and personal with him?” His eyebrows wriggled at you teasingly.

Flushing, you reached over and shoved his shoulder. “Harlow, seriously!” you groaned.

He laughed, rubbing his arm exaggeratedly. “Aww c’mon, I’m just saying. He’s basically the one least likely to betray you. In other words, the safest way to get laid—“

You flounced off, leaving him to laugh and try to wheedle his way back into your good graces. Still, your mind wouldn’t stop wandering to the Hat Man. Wondered how much safer you’d feel if he decided to be just a little more handsy…

Whacking your face with your binder, you shook your head and scolded yourself. Really, Harlow must be influencing you more than you expected.

~

You slumped against the counter, groaning.

Maybe Harlow really had gotten to you, more than you’d really anticipated at first. His words kept ringing through your mind, leading to thought trains that you hadn’t really anticipated.

He’s a personal bodyguard… The more your proximity or attention ‘fuels him’ and the more energy you give him… He’s basically the one least likely to betray you.

With a defeated sigh, you picked yourself up and dragged yourself to your room. You’d wanted to go to bed early, for more reasons than you’d care to admit to yourself. Still, even as you turned the lights off and went to go change, you wondered if he would return tonight. If he’d still join you. If he’d stay.

Tugging at the T-shirt you’d slid on, you hesitated for only a moment before sliding your underwear off. Tossing it aside, you slid into bed, rolling onto your side and staring at the empty space across from you. Reaching out, you smoothed your hand against the sheets.

“I wish you were here, Hat Man,” you whispered into the quiet darkness.

To your surprise, your body almost instantly froze. A dark shape walked into view by the side of the bed, and the now-familiar talons lifted the sheets to slide into bed beside you. You vaguely wondered if the sleep paralysis the whole time had just been the spirits and now your Hat Man having an effect on you thanks to the lure of your blood.

Before you could think too much about it, though, the burly figure slid closer. Still, he didn’t hold you like he had before, and a pang of disappointment rushed through you. His arm lifted, then he seemed to hesitate.

Your body loosened a little, giving you that smidgen of movement you’d been granted last time. Without even a moment of thought, you rolled forward and snuggled into his chest again, the dusky warmth of his body soaking into you again. You sighed, gazing at the lines of his chest and the slashed scars that crossed the dark planes. Almost thoughtlessly, you traced your fingers against the edges of the scars.

You wondered how he’d gotten them. Were you the reason? Because he protected you? A pang of guilt ran through you for a moment.

He shifted, finally putting his arm around you again, as though he’d been waiting for the permission. His head bent a little, and he carefully seemed to nuzzle your hair, as though checking on you.

A little sleepy, you glanced up at him, noting the curve of his jaw. “Hi,” you breathed, your murmur quiet and wispy. Still, he pulled back and seemed to observe you curiously. His eyes, you finally noticed, had a faint sort of pale blue glow, dim in the darkness and only obvious from how close you were.

“Thank you,” you whispered, every word an effort. “For— this—“ Your fingers slipped across the lurid scars on his chest, your eyes starting to slide closed. But you fought it for a moment, determined to just… thank him. Properly. Mustering as much energy as you could, you sluggishly forced yourself up a little, just enough to brush your lips against his chin, the closest part of his face you could reach.

The talons tightened briefly against your waist, as though they’d convulsed in surprise. He seemed to freeze in front of you, processing what you’d just done.

You let out a sleepy hum, the drowsiness descending on you far faster than you would have liked. You wanted to talk with him. You wondered if he had a voice.

~

Harlow took one look at you. “Ohhh, someone’s sexually frustrated.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t— Harlow,” you whined, feeling your entire face heat up.

He leaned against your desk with a sympathetic grin. “Look, if I call you out it’s only because I’m in the same boat or I’m about to help you. In this case both applies. Anyway, so, spill the tea.” He tilted his head, his polished horns gleaming under the office lights.

You sighed, then confessed everything to him. From the way you’d started feeling about your Hat Man to the way you’d started to… fantasize. Frustrated, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“I just… I don’t know if it’s because I’m lonely and he’s there, or if I— I don’t even know,” you sighed, closing your eyes in defeat. “I just don’t know.”

He chuckled, reaching over to pat your arm. “Look, like I said, Hat Men are there for protection. And by the sounds of it, yours is actually attracted to you. Spirits and entities like him don’t actively search for contact like that if they’re not interested in it.” He pursed his lips. “Not to mention, if you do actually get some— how big is he?”

You gave him a half-hearted glare. “Harlow—“

He snickered. “How tall is he. Seriously, you’re the one with the dirty mind here.” He flashed you that infuriating smirk as he teased you.

You rolled your eyes, giving up. “I don’t know, probably around seven feet? It felt like it, anyway, when he was standing beside the bed.”

“Oh so he’s stacked.” Harlow cackled. “But really, as I was saying, if you do bag that one, it’s quite the mutual benefit. It’ll be a direct method of energy transfer, not to mention that he’s absolutely probably going to be loyal to you if he gets those kinds of privileges.” He shrugged flippantly. “But that’s besides the point. Here’s what I’m going to suggest, so take this as you will.”

You left work that evening with your face burning but a solid plan from Harlow. You’d figure out later if you wanted to smack him or thank him.

~

That night, as you crawled into bed, you let out a breath and sat there, clutching the blankets. Biting your lip, you glanced toward the door.

“I hope you’ll join me again, tonight,” you ventured, calling out into the darkness of your room. Swallowing, you twisted the sheets in your fingers. “And… of course, you don’t have to, but… I’d love to be able to… to talk to you. Or— or hear more about you. If you can or want to communicate. I just…” You sighed.

“I don’t know if I have to not move when you’re around. I’m not sure how that works, but either way, I— I like having you around,” you admitted. “So… thank you. For protecting me. I hope you stay. You’re welcome to make yourself at home, here.” Taking one last glance at the door, you turned over and lay down. You self-consciously rubbed your legs together, almost embarrassed by your lack of clothing besides the T-shirt.

Would it be too obvious? Was it too much? Or maybe would that be enough-?

The bed behind you dipped just as you felt yourself seized by the paralysis again. But this time, it already felt minimal, as though the tight hold had been laxed even more than before. You rolled back, feeling your back hit the warmth of his chest. Every night, it seemed that he gained a little more solidity and form, and even more of a distinct body heat. The large arm wrapped around you again, sliding across your side and down your belly, talons slipping under your waist.

You hummed, the calm and contentment washing over you again with his presence. “Hi,” you murmured, your fingers managing to curl around one of his talons.

This time, to your mingled surprise and delight, you felt the soft huff of air against your neck like breath. It wasn’t really a sound, but it was something a little more. His face nudged against your neck and shoulder, while his lower body curled up as though to surround you as much as possible. Your heart pounded, almost giddy with the happiness that rushed through you.

“Missed you,” you breathed, your words less slurred than before. You weren’t fighting the sleepiness as hard tonight, and you wondered if it really was an effect that your Hat Man had on you or if it was something else. Still, you relished it.

His movements behind you paused, and you panicked for a split second, wondering if you’d scared him away. But then he nuzzled against you again, another huff washing over your neck. In the next moment, you heard a soft, rumbling growl, so deep that you almost wondered if you’d imagined it. The moment you heard it, your breath hitched. Your stomach clenched at the sound, heat pooling between your legs.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip helplessly, your entire body both aching and on fire where he touched you, held you. Chest heaving with a burning breath, you tried to control your reaction, suppressing your shiver. You didn’t want him to leave. Wanted him to stay.

Like a whisper, words bloomed in your mind, so softly that it took you a moment to realize you didn’t hear them aloud. So pretty. So soft, so kind. The deep voice, laced with a soft Brooklyn accent, took you off guard as it slithered through your mind.

Your back arched slightly, heat splashing across your cheeks. Before you could quite stop yourself, the way you arched made your ass press back against him. A soft gasp wrenched from your lips as you felt something distinctly hard and thick press back against you. It twitched slightly, and you could feel something damp soak into your T-shirt, smearing against your skin.

A low grunt sounded behind you, just as his hips jerked away. Abruptly, his body started to slide away from you, as though he were going to leave.

The desperation flashed through you, and you found yourself suddenly free to move. You rolled over, hand reaching out.

The both of you completely froze. Your eyes, wide open, riveted on his, your fingers splayed across the scars on his chest. His blue eyes, dim but clearly focused on your face as his chest heaved under your hand.

“Please,” it spilled from your lips, quiet and desperate in the silence. “Don’t leave.”

After a moment, he gingerly lifted his hand and reached for your face, talons barely brushing across your cheek. The whisper floated through your mind again. Sorry… The embarrassment was clear in his voice, and a pale blue flush spread over the area of his cheeks. For some reason, it made him even more endearing.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered back, sure that your own cheeks were flushed with arousal and embarrassment.

He drew closer again, as though he couldn’t help himself. His face neared yours. So pretty. So warm. Sweet. The murmur was followed by the revealing of his mouth. A maw that split open the dark silhouette, black tongue sliding over sharp fangs. Wouldn’t want ta take advantage, sweetheart. Your acceptance of his advances seemed to embolden him. Don’t wanna be too greedy.

You swallowed. “I… I want you to.” Your breath quickened a little, glancing down at his maw. “You can… I— I want you to have my energy,” you offered shyly.

The eyes flared, trailing down your body. Want you. Soft. Sweet. Pretty. He seemed fixated on the description, repeating them again. Still, you couldn’t help but find yourself liking his attention.

“You can have me. Whenever.” You bit your lip briefly. “Even if I’m asleep, if you need energy… if you— if you want.”

His breath washed over your cheek as he bent closer than ever before. Kind. His telepathic voice washed over you, saturated with adoration. Kind to Varen. His tongue gently swiped over your cheek.

You half-whimpered. “Kiss?” you pleaded, desperate for more contact.

His mouth slid across yours, gentle and without a hint of teeth. His tongue flickered over your lips, and you welcomed it. His tongue slid across yours, lithe and gentle. His talons wrapped around your waist again, pulling you into his chest. His name slipped from your lips, soft and needy, and he responded instantly in the way his body shifted closer, half-pinning you under him. His lips slid across yours, trailing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

To your frustration, you could feel yourself getting almost unbearably sleepy, the drowsiness tugging at you again. You suddenly wondered if it had to do with him drawing on your energy, feeding off of it, but in the next moment you were completely distracted by the way he gently rutted against your thigh.

Despite your best efforts, you fell asleep.

You dreamed.

Dreamed of Varen, mostly, your mind fantasizing about his claws wrapping around you, pushing you further into the bed, hands wandering further. Of him sliding your T-shirt up, tangling his talons around it, using it as leverage to keep your body still as he slid his cock between your thighs. You swore you could feel it, could feel his talons pricking faintly against your skin as he rutted between your thighs, his tongue dragging over your shoulder and up the arch of your neck.

You could even feel the way his precum started dribbling down your skin, smearing across your thighs, mingling with your own wetness, coating his cock as he slid it against you. And then his cock angling up, just as his talons tightened around your hips and pulled you down against him. His tip slid into you, just as his breath washed over your shoulder.

You woke up as Varen’s maw closed over your shoulder and he pulled you all the way down onto him. Still groggy and half-disoriented from waking up, you could only let out a strangled whine and arch your back, unwittingly pressing yourself further against him. The insistent throb of him inside you and the way your body clenchedaround him was proof that it wasn’t just a dream.

You were still groggy, whimpers spilling from your lips as you lay there pliantly, not resisting anything he was doing. You stayed half-asleep, already blissed out just by the sensation of him filling you.

So good. His soft accent curled through your frazzled mind, satisfied and soothing. So pretty. Doing so good, sweetheart. It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything. Gonna take care of you, pretty.

The knot in your core kept tightening, coiling with every gentle thrust he made, his hips fairly rolling against you. He shifted behind you, his claws gentle but decisive as he rolled you onto your stomach. His body followed, pinning you under him as his legs tangled with yours and his talons around your hips held you in place. He mouthed your shoulder, just barely pricking you with his fangs as his tongue soothed over the soft bites.

Your eyelashes barely fluttered, your body bathed in the dusky heat of pleasure. Despite being half-asleep, the way he steadily pumped in and out of you was so careful, so gentle. You already felt entirely wrecked, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whined. The angle and the way he curled up inside you kept hitting that one spot that sent stars flashing behind your eyelids every time he thrust. Your fingers clenched in the pillow, body trembling. You were so close.

Pretty little thing. Varen cooed, infatuation saturating every word, every thrust into you. Being so good. So… close… The soft, deep growl rumbled through his chest and down into you as well.

The tight coil inside you burst, like a coiled spring. The dusky heat washed through your body in a wave of pleasure, your orgasm roiling through you with a steady but undeniable strength. Varen fucked you through it, extending your orgasm as you trembled and sobbed out his name. He never let go of you, whispering your name as he kissed your throat and praised you softly.

It wasn’t until you’d come down that he came, jerking against you and letting out a low moan. His hips pressed flush against yours, his seed spilling into you with a rush of warmth that settled in you, soaking into the rest of your body. You basked in it, utterly spent and satisfied in a way you couldn’t remember ever being before.

Vaguely, you felt Varen roll back onto his side, pulling you along with him. Though he didn’t pull out of you, he still nuzzled against your neck and curled around you, pulling you flush against him.

You fell back asleep to the sensation of warmth and comfort.

When you woke up the next morning, Varen was gone. The only proof you had of last night was a small smear of faint blue on your inner thigh and the feeling of warmth still pooling in your belly, like a kernel of heat. With a smile, you looked up at the doorway again.

“Thank you, Varen,” you said softly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The only answer you received was a small flash of blue that flickered in the doorway.

~ Bonus! ~

Harlow took one look at you as you walked into work before letting out a whoop. “Heck yeah, bestie got laid!” He laughed, hugging you.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be annoyed at him, though you shook your head with a sigh. “Thanks for your advice, Harl,” you said, smiling.

He grinned, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Course, what are best friends for? Best wingman award who?” he cackled. “Anyway, tell me the dirty details. Oh, should we go celebrate?”

You shook your head. “Never change, Harl. Never change.”

[13uswntimagines]

Cutie Pie (Christen x Reader)

Request: christen x reader one? Maybe where the reader has a child (1-2 years old) and the Team doesn't know. Reader and her child are at a game right behind the bench and the kid accidentally drops his paci down to the bench and the teammates there interact with them without knowing that it's christens girl? Reader also is really tall and fit and a tomboy!

“Alright half-pint, you ready for this?” You asked the little girl in your arms, bouncing her just a touch as you stepped through the stadium gates. 

“Yeah, Mama!!!” She cheered around her pacifier, staring around the stadium in awe and wiggling excitedly. 

You were happy that she loved coming to games so much, as they were kinda a big part of your life. You weren’t quite sure what you would do if she didn’t. She was your soul and a certain soccer player had your heart, and you were glad that you didn’t have to choose between the two. 

You smiled indulgently down at her and kissed her slightly chubby cheeks. “I’m glad baby,” 

She wiggled again, her little bounces getting more and more wild with every step you took in the stadium. You hadn’t really planned on having Riley, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without her and her wonder at everything around the two of you.

“Chris?” She asked as you passed a giant poster of the national team, pointing towards where your favorite forward’s blinding smile was blown up 100 times its normal size. 

You would be forever grateful for how amazing your girlfriend was with your daughter. 

She came into your life nearly a year and a half ago, and you had been extremely reluctant to introduce her to your 6 month old (You didn’t want either of them to get attached before you knew it would work out), but Christen took the role of parent very seriously. She treated your little girl like she was her own, and the two had an unbearable bond. You knew that even if things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to, Riley would always have a friend in the forward. 

“You bet. I’m sure she’s super excited to see you!” You said, glancing down at your ticket to and looking for the right section, navigating through the crowd without issue (something you were used to considering how private you and Chris were about your relationship, the only person on the team who knew about you was Tobin). 

“She score?” Riley questioned, her pacifier bobbing adorably in her mouth and her little eyebrows furrowing. 

“I’m sure she will, just for you kiddo,” You smiled, blowing a raspberry into the little girl's neck, and earning a giggle. “Now, do you think you can help me count the rows so we can get to our seats?” You asked as you passed under the sign with your section number and the pitch came into view. 

Riley nodded, puffing her little chest up. She may only be 2, but you and Christen had been working hard on her colors and numbers. She still needed help, but she was super smart for her age. 

“Alrighty then baby, let’s go,” 

*****

The team wasn’t usually this distracted. They were a group of highly competitive women who were at the top of their game, which meant that they could usually block out all of the noise from the stadium, even if it was just warmup. However, the cutest kid they had ever seen was sitting just behind the bench, being held by a very attractive lady. 

“Oh my gosh, have you seen the little girl?” Kelley asked, slinging an arm around Christen and Tobin’s shoulders, nodding towards the toddler in the stands. 

A gooey smile (something that didn’t go unnoticed by Tobin) broke across Christen’s face the second she saw her two favorite people. She noted how you had dressed the little one in the jersey she had gotten her for Christmas, a bold 23 visible every time she flashed her back towards the field. There was just something about having a part of herself visible (something tangible) on the girl she thought of as a daughter. “Yes, she’s absolutely adorable in that jersey,” 

She wiggled her fingers at the little girl who squealed excitedly and waved back. Her mom wrapped a protective arm around her belly to prevent her from accidentally wiggling under the guardrail. 

“Too bad it’s got Press’ number on it” Megan laughed, wrapping her arm around Christen’s other side, nudging the woman’s ribs. Christen rolled her eyes and shot the little girl another little wave, giggling when she bounced wildly in her mother’s arms (Christen might have also greatly appreciated the way the girl's reaction forced you to flex to prevent her from falling). 

“And her mom doesn’t look too bad either,” Ashlyn added, wiggling her eyebrows. 

The woman behind the little girl was tall, and the black ink that swirled up her arms only served to make her muscles more visible (Christen would call her drool-worthy after she finally told the team she was dating her). 

“You’re married, remember?” Ali grumbled, slapping her wife in the stomach. 

“Yeah, but If I wasn’t…” Ashlyn shrugged, cackling when Ali hit her harder. Christen frowned, suppressing a sneer. You were hers, even if the team didn’t know yet. 

Tobin smirked, gently grabbing her training outfit to prevent her from moving forward. “Come on, you can go flirt later. We have to get changed for the game,” She laughed towards Ashlyn, subtly pulling Christen towards the tunnel. 

The rest of the group laughed and followed after them. There would be plenty of time to say hi to the small child later after they had won. 

The forwards still sent another small wave towards the toddler clearly frowning now that her favorite person was walking away (she also may have winked your way just for kicks). 

*****

You could tell that Riley was having a blast. Her little hands wrapped around the bars of the railing so she could be as close to the action as possible. She waved to every player as they passed her (no matter how many times they did) and giggled exuberantly every time they waved back. 

It seemed that the team on the bench was far more interested in making your little girl laugh than watching the game (and you could only imagine how it would be when they finally realized that one of their teammates was basically her second mom). 

“Babe, you gotta stay a little away from the edge alright?” You said softly, tapping her shoulder when her little head went just a little too far through the bars. 

She definitely had your tendency to get in over her head. She ignored you, too enamored by Christen darting down the field, and shooting the ball. It sailed right past the goalie’s hands and before you could grab your little one she was leaping up and down, head still through the bars screaming “Goal!!” as loud as she could around the pacifier. But her enthusiasm caused the small object to fall out of her mouth.

“Uh oh,” Riley said, turning to you, her bottom lip trembling. 

You scooped her up, and she immediately nuzzled into your neck. “It’s ok babydoll,” you murmured into her hair, bouncing her and looking over the railing.

You leaned over the side, only to see one Kelley O’Hara holding your daughter's pacifier and rubbing her head. “Lose something?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow up at you. 

“Sorry, she got a little excited,” You said blushing a little bit. A little smirk graced Kelley’s lips you looked absolutely adorable with some red in your cheeks and paired with the backward cap it made you practically irresistible. 

“Don’t we all when Pressy scores a goal?” Megan winked up at you, wiggling her fingers at your little girl when she peeked up from your shoulder. 

“That’s fair, but she’s a very big fan,” You smiled, bouncing the little girl in your arms and blowing a raspberry just under her chin. 

“Well in that case, why don’t you two come down on the field? You know, so we can return this?” Ashlyn asked, grabbing the pacifier out of Kelley’s hand and jingling it a little. 

“What do you think babydoll?” You whispered into your daughter’s ear, as she was suddenly too shy to look at the soccer players who she had been interacting with not even minutes ago. 

“Wanna go,” she mumbled into your neck, just loud enough for the girls on the ground to hear. Kelley smiled wildly. “Well, little miss speaks after all!”

“Come to the stairs and we’ll get security to let you down. The games about to be over anyway,” Megan said, pointing towards where a little stairway was located. 

You nodded and headed in that direction, unaware of Christen’s furrowed eyebrows on the field. 

*****

“Oh my gosh, that kid is freaking adorable,” Alex said, trotting up beside Christen just as the final whistle blew. Christen turned towards where Alex was looking, awing at the sight before her. 

Riley was shyly standing behind you, clutching the back of your tank top so tightly that it was pulling down the collar (simultaneously showing off some of the swirling lines she knew spread across the skin of your shoulders). 

She would peek out to get a glance at one of the soccer players vying for her attention, and then tuck back into you the second she realized they were looking at her. 

“Isn’t she?” Christen smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. She might not be biologically related to your daughter, but she was 100% her other mom. She loved that little girl so much it hurt  (even when her pigtails were crooked- you were great at a lot of things but hair certainly wasn’t one). 

“Your gooey is showing,” Tobin said, nudging the forward. Christen opened her mouth to respond but was cut of by a very excited squeal. 

“Chris!!!” It yelled, just before a little body collided with the forward’s legs. She quickly bent down to lift the little girl up, throwing her in the air before allowing her to settle on her hip. “Missed you,”

“I missed you too babydoll,” Christen said into your daughter’s hair, holding her tight. She absolutely loved her job, but one major downside was that she couldn’t take you and Riley with her all of the time. At least she had Tobin to keep her up to date most of the time since you lived in Portland, but there was absolutely nothing like holding her two favorite people in person. 

“You better at hair and clothes,” Riley mumbled into her neck, pulling back just a bit to wave her hand around her head. You tried. You really did, but there was a reason you always kept your hair short. You weren’t into bows and frilly things, but your little girl absolutely loved them. So you did your best and were very grateful that Christen was so good with that kind of stuff. 

Christen threw her head back and laughed “I know baby,”. She rubbed Riley’s belly “Did you enjoy the game?” 

“Yeah, you score goal for me and mama,” Riley cheered and kicked her leg as if recreating the goal. Christen laughed again and began walking in your direction. “That’s right. I scored just for my favorite girls,” 

“Hey I scored too you know, and I want some baby bear hugs,” Tobin said, appearing over Christen’s shoulder. 

Riley wiggled wildly in Christen’s arms, practically throwing herself at her favorite aunt. “Aunt Toby!!” She yelled as Tobin dramatically spun her in circles. 

Christen watched the two with a wide smile, only looking away when she felt a presence beside her. 

“Hey superstar, you looked amazing out there,” your smile was evident in your voice as you wrapped your arms around Christen’s waist from behind, kissing her ear and resting your head on her shoulder. 

She signed happily and leaned back into you for a second, before spinning in your arms. “Hey darling,” she said, leaning up and placing a kiss on your lips. 

“Wait, you know Christen?” A voice appeared very close to you, and you reluctantly pulled away from your girlfriend to look at one Kelley o’hara’s wide eyes. 

“Well she’s my girlfriend, so yeah,” Christen shrugged, leaning up to kiss you again. 

You hear Kelley and several other team members sputter, but you were far too preoccupied to actually care. That was until a little voice joined the mix. 

You pulled away when you heard little feet approaching you, squatting down to catch your very excited little girl. You stood with her in your arms, unable to stop you smile when Christen wrapped her arms around the two of you. 

“Yes baby?” Christen asked, running a hand down your daughters back to try and settle her excited wiggiling just a little. 

“Mama, mommy, we go eat with aunt Toby?” Riley asked. And Christen’s sent her an indulgent smile blinking back tears (you were happy that Tobin was so accepting and great with your babygirl). Sure Christen might not have been biologically related to her, but Riley was 100% hers.

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

Ay um... here's that fic snippet I was working on for Big E x reader that fulfills a god worship kink lol.

If there's anything you learned over the course of your life, it was this: to love a god is not for the weak of heart. The lines between devotion and pure stubbornness become blurred, to the point where your whole being depends on your love and faith. Your feelings of complete and utter surrender to a power higher than can be conceived mean nothing if it's not backed up with a faith stronger than ceramite. 

Looking back, you'd like to believe that you were strong enough to love your god. You hoped that he understood that the fire that burned in your eyes was not a small flame that could be snuffed out. It was a firestorm that could engulf a planet and wipe out everything that didn't exalt his image. Were your feelings heresy to everything he stood for? Maybe. But love is not rational, and besides, he humored your fire. You suppose he took pleasure in warming his hands on it. And he was your god, when he turned his gaze upon you. It was an even more blasphemous thought to claim that he could be yours, him who held the throat of the universe in his hands, but he was. 

You were older now, much older, and all the wiser for it. Time has allowed you the privilege of retrospection. It also meant time had taken what it was due from you. Gone were the days where you felt as if you could live on nothing but conviction and saint's fire, your body was too weak for you to entertain the thought. The roaring blaze of fidelity to your god had changed as well. It had not cooled, may you be damned if it ever did. Rather, you believed it had tempered itself into something else, a sun to light the last days of your peaceful life.

Your god was the one that gave you this peaceful life, on Bucolia IX. That was his last gift to you, nearly 40 years ago, when he brought you here and showed you the house that would be yours. The house was a far cry from the majestic soaring cathedral spires of Monarchia, the home of your childhood, but it was a wonder. It was cozy, and built in an ancient style of Terra, a picture perfect relic of times past. You wept bitterly when he showed you it, despite the treasure of peace he was bestowing upon you. It wasn't Monarchia, where the worship of him pulsed in the city's veins, and it wasn't by his side, where you almost couldn't bear to leave. This was a banishment of the worst sort. Didn't he know that you lived for him? He had cut you off from him.

But, you adjusted. If he wanted you there, you would stay. And you did, for years. 

You didn't know your wealthy neighbors in this coveted garden world that well. Maybe when you died, you'd rot in the house for days until someone found you. Would your god plan your funeral? Probably not, he had more important things to worry about. You were half-convinced that he'd forgotten all about you.

You thought about death more and more every day. It should have been morbid to do so, but it didn't feel that morbid to you. You were only human, and an old one at that. Death was beginning to seem more tangible than all the memories of your youth. Your god would have never understood that. He would live to see the end of the universe, you thought. Him and his superhuman sons. All else compared to them are as insignificant as the flies on a corpse. 

It was the biggest miracle of your life that you had gotten to know the god whom everyone in the Imperium called the Emperor. There were countless people who would have sacrificed everything for

even a scrap of your life, and the fact that you could call a paradise world normally reserved for the hyper affluent home showed that the miracle was still at work. What made you any different? You used to believe what he told you, that you were special because you were his most devoted worshiper, out of all life in the Imperium. You had time to doubt his reason now. If that was truly the reason, he would have killed you for being the most devoted to him, because your faith was incompatible to the Imperial Truth. The love for a god that preserved you through your whole life was anathema to the very god you worshipped. 

Did your god love you? Was that the reason? It seemed arrogant to think so. Your god loved the big picture. He loved humanity, as a large, collective concept. Lofty ideals were what he was devoted 

to. To love a singular human, a completely average one at that, was unbelievable to assume. Gods did not do that. Especially him.

And yet, you wondered.

Okay, anon, this is faaaarrrr from stupid. I love it!