#the author oneshot

[fruttymoment]

Accurate The Author lore

[oneshot-confessions]

*whispers in your ear* Aromantic Author

​

[wouldyourfavepaychildsupport]

the author from oneshot

[denkoarts]

Final Moments

Day 13 of Freeware Month - "The Author's final days"

Some rambling about this under cut

I headcanon a "bad ending" for the author being the catalyst for the events of freeware. Instead of meticulously planning things out in advance and putting his trust in a player he will never meet, he instead tries confronting the conscious world himself.

It ends poorly. The Author alias is stricken from the memories of all residents, solstice is prevented, and the author's children are likely also removed.

Of course, this headcanon was in no small part influenced by his fate depicted in The Three Nikos. It got to the point where I was once interested in making a fangame based around this, really emphasizing the title of the original game.

The Author had One Shot of his own, and boy did he screw up here-

[kingarubin]

I should probably go to sleep, but I just wanted to post this ^^;;

[ghostlybumblebees]

the author: i made a simulation of my dying world in an attempt to give everyone in it a happy ending.

me, god: you fucked up a perfectly good ai is what you did. look at them. theyve got depression.

[helloiamduck]

I'm a day late, but "The Old World".

(Prompt 01 from OMN's Freeware Challenge)

[youhavemorethanoneshot]

it is two am this guy needs to pack up and leave my head

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - I - Nightmares

MASTERLIST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.8K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: "Feyd-Rautha he's psychotic", at least thats what people say. Only, people forgot to add that your father's decided you were to marry. It's been over a decade and Feyd's committed to have the marriage and you with him as he ascends as heir and na-Baron of Geidi Prime.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: abduction, masterbation, voyeurism

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️

“Another one?” Your best friend and fellow Bene Gesserit sister asks as you wake in another cold sweat. Nodding you sit up in bed blinking through the darkness. Leia lights the lamp and a yellow glow shines into both of your faces. The first vision was a decade ago, you had been sleeping under the stars. Pale skin and a bald head. A large brute of a ban killed another. Then there was a boy clearly terrified but shaking with anger too. Black eyes, black teeth, pale skin, a temper. Year after year the visions became angrier, more psychopathic. Handing you materials Leia climbs into bed beside you and you begin your account of the vision.

“Will you tell the reverend mother?” She asks.

“Not yet” you confess ordering your thoughts and placing the coded message on the scroll. Leia watches in silence. This vision was in a black room probably on Geidi Prime. You were asleep on a larger black bed with four posts. You were asleep only to wake up to the black eyes looking down at you. He’d never spoken before but he’d said two words in the strangest grittiest words before. “You’re mine” unlike all the other dreams you felt him in the bed, felt the friction of him coming closer, felt his breath on your skin, the heat coming from his body.

“Are you alright?” Leia asks, handing me a glass of water.

“No” you confess as the two words haunt you. There’ve been all kinds of visions. Brutal murders, sick torture, murderous games with concubines, moments of tyrannical rage and now. Now he’d come for you. Stepping out of the bed you find solace in the coolness of the stone on your feet. Leia follows and you search your things for the herbs that dull your senses. It’s a necessity for sleep and reprieve. Since childhood you’d been careful not to share but as you’ve grown it’s only become clearer and clearer the subject of your dreams. He was tall, strong, angry, well off, psychotic and some would say handsome. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the na-Baron and your original betrothed.

“What is it?” Leia asks.

“He’s coming for me mother must teach me the way” you say against your training with fear and foreboding.

——-

Feyd’s earliest memories were of you, he’d been with his father on your home planet looking into your cradle. Your mother was beautiful and your father kind. You were peaceful and little and he’d held you in his arms. He felt protective and during the commitment ceremony he’d meant every word. As a second son your world was promised to him. Even as a child the differences between your two cultures were glaring to him. The freedom to play and be a child, the kindness of the people and you was something to look forward to. But then Rabanne had murdered his father, and his mother had been indifferent and after a few years it enraged him to no end. In a fit of anger he’d killed her. Even with all of his concubines he’d never felt as peaceful as he had with you in his arms as a child. He’d stopped a genocide in your home world looking for you only to find your mother’s kind eyes fearing for her life. He’d done right by sending her to a peaceful planet instead of taking her life. He learned you had been taken by the Bene Gesserit sisters which meant you could be anywhere. No matter where,  he intended to find you.His heart felt like a displaced magnet. Angrier still was the fact that he imagined you living a full life without him. Unbothered, not tortured by the distance as he was, happy and serene. Still he could not disclose his search to anyone in fear for your life. He would have to move carefully to keep his commitment to you.

 Another planet, stepping off the ship he’s given respect by the procession awaiting his arrival. His heart races; he knows your close. Sticking earplugs into his ears he applies the fasteners having his guards to the same. No one would use the voice on him today. He moves quickly spilling no blood. He can feel you. He’s getting warmer. He can feel it. Moving quickly he heads down into the belly of the academy moving quickly through the bunkers. His heart pulls as he passes an entryway stopping when he has a familiar sensation. Heart racing violently against his chest he stops Turing to face the steel door, he stops breathing allowing the violence of his heartbeat to reverberate through him like a war drum. Feyd-Rautha signals for his men to wait outside. Using the code scrambler he gets into the door. Hiding you hold your breath ducking down into the thick of your clothes, the sound of the alarms system’s failure are blaring. Fear racks through you as you try to keep calm remembering the Bene Gesserit mantras. Fear is the mind killer. The noise stops and you relax a little waiting for an announcement. Heavy boots hit the floor forcing you to freeze, the steps come closer stopping in front of the closet. Leis screeches and its muffled, trembling you contemplate your next move. The steps come closer and you see the door open, light filters in. You cover your mouth hoping for safety until a black eye meets yours.  Familiarity and horror paralyze you. Pale skin and a bald head. The face from your nightmares. Feed-Rautha Harkonnen. Pinching yourself you discover he’s finally free’d himself from your dreams and is now material. He steps in separating the close from around you leaving you crouched against the wall with no cover before sitting on your bed and watching you like he has all the time in the world.. His smirk is unsettling and it takes a moment before you stand feeling silly and all too vulnerable crouched in the deep closet.

“Get dressed” he croaks but you’re shaking like a leaf. Snarling he procures robes from the closet placing one over your head. The trembling intensifies. And he steps back feeling rejected. Leaving he has his men pack up your things and then there’s a barrage of people asking you all sorts of questions from what you like to wear and eat and do and it’s all so much. You’re loaded onto a Harkonnen ship and placed in a room alone. Looking through the window you gaze into space. When a few hours have passed you hear the door open and know it’s him before it closes. He takes a seat in his leather robes. You turn to face the man who moves like a snake. He’s more terrifying in person than in your dreams. His eyes watch your every move drinking you in. Parting his lips and showing his black teeth.

“Are you comfortable?” His words come as a surprise. It’s the thing you’ve least expected. It takes a moment before you nod, trying not to be rude as you look around the room.

“Yes, thank you” you respond.

“We are heading to my home world. I understand you have different needs. The Mentats are sourcing food and clothes if there’s anything you need let them know” he explains sanely.

“Ok” you respond, your hands begin to shake again. You sit on them trying to hide the true fear you feel. House Harkonnen is known for many atrocities. 

“I’m sorry” you apologize, terrified and embarrassed.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks.

“A Harkonnen” you confess and his snake-like eyes look displeased.

“Do you know who I am to you?” He asks, forcing you to frown.

“Nothing” you respond only to regret it instantly. Feyd-Rautha takes a breath inflating his chest as he trembles with rage, the paleness of his skin flushing as searing anger bubbles to the forefront. He stands stepping back from you in fear of hurting you.

“My father and yours promised us to each other” his fierce voice cracks as he struggles for control. His terrifying blackened teeth make your eyes shut. He’d done terrible things to people, slight and then slash that's how it went. He was one with his knives and happy to use them. You wait for life to end, your breath to hutch and everything to fade into darkness but it doesn't happen. You hear boots hit the floor three times. Bravery, curiosity? Perhaps it was so quick and painless that this is purgatory? You open your eyes and see Feyd has given you more distance. He’s recalled his anger and he stands stoic, fierce and regal.

“Do you not remember?” He asks because that day had been so monumental to him.

“I had heard heard whispers but …” you trail considering the realities and the odds. Your visions, how you’ve been in hiding. Out of all the things they call him; liar isn’t one of them.You consider the possibilities and it comes to you. Your heart begins to race, you feel stinging in your thumb, like a pinprick. A commitment ceremony was held. The realization is dizzying. “You wish to be married?” You ask and he nods. “To me?” You specify and he nods again. “But I’m nobody from an extinct world. I’m not even a high ranking member of my order” you declare in truth.

“No, you will be na-Baroness Harkonnen” Feyd says, taking a step in your direction. He watches you try to make sense of it. He’d never considered your reaction to being found, he hadn't expected fear or reluctance. He expected your inherent trust in him for you to cling to him for support and comfort as you once did, for you to relish his touch and be most comfortable in his arms.

“na-Baroness” you whisper, looking up at him. Pride fills Feyd at the sound of the words coming from your lips, utter perfection.

“My wife” he rasps and somehow your fear seems unfounded. “I made a vow that I do not intend to break” Feyd says recalling you in his arms as a babe. Your eyes looking up at him without fear in your swaddling helpless, innocent, true and his. A knock at the door causes him to withdraw, he turns standing in front of you. The guard tries looking around to you until Feyd stomps a foot. The man averts his gaze telling Feyd your landing is imminent. Nodding he straightens his gown as he stands tall. Feyd-Rautha holds out a hand. You take it with a deep breath and it seems to amuse him. The heat of him feels familiar. “There will be a crowd, I will send you along in a pod” 

“With who?” You ask standing with him.

“My men” he specifies and it's unsatisfactory. Grabbing your head dress you place it on your head and move forward that way. You hold his hand he secures yours warmly walking at your side. You keep up with him and as the door descends you start to tremble. He stands in front of you as you try to overcome your fear. His eyes are reassuring, his strong hands gripping yours in solidarity. There's no weakness in him. He’s all strength, cunning, volatility, rage and psychopathy. His eyes urge you to get a grip but the roar of the welcome party is unnerving. Your fathers reign ended to a crowd. Soldiers came and there was shouting, there was cheering and you had no time to say goodbye before your mother put you into an escape pod with a scroll. You arrived at an outer planet to find out your father had been beheaded. It’s why you hate crowds to this day.

“Not today” he whispers motioning for someone to come get you. The roaring is violent and you follow them into a pod lighting up at the sight of Leia. The two of you embrace each other warmly. In moments you’ve deemed each other okay. The guards watch the two of you closely. Sitting beside her you take a moment to check the beauty mark on the inside of your thumb. It had been there as long as you could remember. You should be terrified by your current predicament, inadequate training, no  preparation, playing a part of an unsanctioned plot of sisterhood, at the mercy of perhaps the galaxy’s most unbalanced man. But he’d been nothing but reasonable thus far outside of your abduction. 

The cheers from the people are thunderous, they celebrate his return with conviction. Once outside the pods you become acquainted with the sprawling palace halls. Uneasiness fills you and your hand clasps Leia’s for comfort, something your guards eyes settle on. Saying nothing you follow behind him seeing a Mentat among your escort. You’re brought into a grand hall with a stately black stone table. Fresh colourful food is on one side while rare organic meat is on another, the sight of the bloody dishes and iron rich aroma sickens you and Leia.

“I wish to retire, I am exhausted” you declare unable to sit. The silent guard turns to you nodding. He motions for a Mentat to guide you and Leia to your quarters. You're separated from her after a long hug. Your room is far grander than your quarters at the academy. It has a familiar quality of the ones from your home world. The colours are less sterile, the hues less grey. Pulling open the drawers you find lush vibrant fabrics, the sort of robes you remember your mother wearing before the fall of your house. It's a strange thing. Turning you lean against the dresser puzzled by the days events and not nearly as scared as you should be.

Finished and energized by his warm reception Feyd-Rautha heads to the dining hall. He waits against the door when he hears no chatter. Bracing himself for anything he pushes open the doors to find the room empty with the exception of the Mentat and a few guards charged with your care.

“She wished to retire” the Mentat explains.

“Did she eat?” Fey’d asks.

“No” The Mentat responds. Feyd’s mood sours, settling into a rage, if it were anyone else he would have dragged them back out of the room, placed a collar around her neck and forced her to do as he pleased but it wasn't anyone, it was you. 

“Set the table in my quarters” he demands heading into his rooms. Undressing he removes his armour until all he has on are slacks and a tunic. Feyd dismisses his staff sitting at the table and pressing a button. A screen emerges from the wall with a wide panoramic view of your quarters on display. He watches you as he eats, watches you let your hair down from the ornate style of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood. He watches the sway of your hips as you go from room to room. He watches you admire the artwork that's been placed there. Feyd-Rautha watches you with pride and admiration, you weren't trying to run as far as he could see. He watches as you return to the sleeping chambers. He feels himself stiffen as he watches you undress, standing he drops the rare meat drawn to the screen with a crooked grin as you make your way to the cleansing chambers. The bounce of your breast, the softness of your skin, everything has him solid as stone. He watches you step in and the misting of water commence, the beads of water glisten on your skin, he zooms in to get a better view of you unguarded. The surprise in your expression as the automatic system goes through the washing ritual.

His thoughts are heinous and depraved, his need for dominance, ownership, acceptance and submission are more than he can take. Releasing his manhood from his plants he begins stroking it roughly. For the first time he doesn’t call his concubines to satisfy him. They would all fail miserably, no one but you would ever again, but this night he would have to do. He needed you so bad he felt desperate. Stroking himself faster he’s practically salivating as the chamber begins drying you, the way your hair blows, the surprise in your eyes, the suppleness of your skin. It takes everything in him to contain his hunger for you, control his passion, his need. He wanted to be inside you marking you, claiming you with his seed. Watching your expressions change as he takes you further and further into the pleasures of passion. You would be his wife soon enough. His hands would never leave your warm flesh. He would keep his manhood sheathed inside you training you well. Coming hard from his own fantasies Fed’s shallow breaths bring him to a stark realization. He would do anything to have you stop trembling at the sight of him, he’d try to be as patient as possible. He needed your submission, your acceptance of him, and he needed it to be real, to want to share his bed. Looking up at the screen he watches you dress in sheer bed robes. Climbing into the large bed he watches you find comfort in it. 

“You’re mine” he says to the screen as a promise.

🖤

Thank you so much for reading 🩶 let me know if you enjoyed, want to be added to the taglist or anything else on your mind 🩶 comment, like & reblog for more Feyd. xx

TAGS: @elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22

[imasiphy]

[the finale]

[ashbub]

believe ✦છ

arcane: sevika x gn!reader

contents: cursing [2.5k unedited] @parkersgarage this is heavily inspired by the oneshot they wrote! check out their works <3

IN WHICH: sevika makes you believe

❝ im living on overdrive, all the time ❞

Sevika just had a way of pissing you off. 

Perhaps it was her bluntness, her casually dry sarcasm seeping onto the ends of her coiled lips every time she spoke. The way her soft gray eyes would flicker when she managed to briefly get your attention away from your hunched-up tinkering over your cluttered desk.

 Maybe it was the way her choppy dark locks softly tickled the ends of her bronzed skin that you were ever so tempted to run across with the back of your thumb during the long nights she was away, lingering with the comforting yet faint scent of cheap booze and swirls of cigar smoke.

 Or, more recently, it was the way she was bleeding all over your damn carpet.

"Sevika, what the actual fuck?-" 

You seethed out with a hiss, your bottom lip slightly curled as she roughly dropped the prosthetic metal arm on the edge of your busted-up desk with a faint clatter. Your crinkled-up eyes gingerly running over the messy collection of tangled-up wires and bent-up bolts that scattered across the wooden surface. 

You lightly pushed up the end of your thinly wired glasses up the bridge of your furrowed nose, dryly inspecting the damage with a soft click of your tongue before turning towards her harrowing presence. Her scarred bottom lip trickled with faint remnants of smeared dried blood, scattered bruises trickling across the edge of her face- her Roman nose looked slightly crooked, most likely getting it bashed in, fresh cuts adorning her rough skin as she smoothly leaned into your work desk with a jagged sigh coating her words. 

It was a bit different from her usual bar brawl look though- not the same slightly caught up with light night gambling and the sweet taste of a new win lingering on the edge of her mouth. 

She looked tired. 

"Just needs a quick fix, dollface." Sevika’s voice was rough, the smooth words sliding off her tongue like a gravelly whisper, the edge of her usual self-assurance still present despite the blood splattered on her calloused skin and the damage to her arm that was dragged on the surface of your desk. "Figured you could patch this up."

You glanced at the mess of wires and metal plating surface- The arm looked like it had been through hell and tossed over the Piltover bridge for shits & giggles—scratches and dents marred it's sleek finish, and a few of the smaller components dangled precariously from frayed connections. 

"A quick fix?" you repeated with a soft laugh lingering on your curled lips. You softly adjusted your thinly coiled glasses with a quick shove up the bridge of your nose, your eyes slightly crinkled up. "If that's all you needed, you could have done that your damn self-" 

Your dingy apartment barely had enough space to fit the mess you called a workspace. The flickering fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting an erratic, sickly yellow glow across the room. Blueprints sprawled chaotically across the floor, pinned haphazardly to the walls, or forgotten in piles atop the desk. Tools, screws, and scraps of metal littered every surface, and the acrid tang of solder and oil clung to the stale air. The window was perpetually cracked open, letting in the faint hum of Zaun’s underbelly.

You turned over to look at her from your desk, a slight tug at your bottom lip.

Instead, you lightly snatched up the battered prosthetic arm, its weight heavier than it looked. Holding it up under the soft hue of the light above you, you gingerly turned it over in your hands, inspecting the sheer extent of the damage. 

Her chapped lips pulled into something just shy of a smile, though it wasn’t quite smug— "Didn’t think my favorite little mechanic would mind getting their hands dirty," she murmured out, her voice low, with a subtle warmth that danced on the edge of teasing. It wasn’t the words, though, that got under your skin. It was the way her storm-gray eyes seemed to latch onto you as her fingertips carefully tapped the surface of your wooden desk with a slight hum.

It was the kind of teasing you heard faint whispers between the streets of The Undercity- murmurs calling you Sevika's “Pretty Little Tinkerer”

"Sevika," you bit out finally, your voice tight as your smooth fingertips ran across the surface of the arm with a soft sigh, "this isn’t a ‘quick fix.’ Half the circuits are fried, the frame is bent beyond repair, and these joints? They’re done for." You half haphazardly tossed the arm back onto the desk with a resounding thud, its impact shaking a glass jar of screws precariously close to the edge. 

Her expression didn’t waver. The faint bruises on her jaw caught the flickering light, but her eyes stayed locked on yours, calm and unhurried as though she were absorbing every inch of your irritation. There was no cockiness, just a quiet watchfulness that made your pulse flicker unevenly. 

"Relax," she said finally, her voice steady but soft in a way that only stoked the fire under your skin. "I know you’ll fix it. You always do."

You clenched your jaw with a slight click of your tongue, forcing your focus back on the scattered mess of your desk, your oiled-up fingers gingerly flexing in frustration before reaching for the tools scattered across the surface. 

"You’re impossible," you muttered with a light hiss, letting the tension in your voice bleed into the room as you sorted through the mess. The soldering iron hissed faintly as it heated up, mirroring the simmering heat in your chest.

Behind you, Sevika stayed silent, her gaze still heavy on your back. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was there—a quiet weight you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you tried to channel your irritation into fucking untangling the mess she’d handed you.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as you tore your gaze from her, turning sharply toward the battered prosthetic arm on your desk. The clatter of tools filled the space as you hastily grabbed what you needed. Your voice was lower now, rough while smoothly turning one of the busted-up bolts quietly.

 "What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into, Sevika? Every time you come back home to me, you come back, you come back hurt." 

You adjusted your leather pants as you crouched to retrieve a roll of bandages from the corner. The thick material creaked softly with the movement, the belt cinched snugly at your waist holding an assortment of small tools and stray bolts you had yet to organize. 

“It's nothing.”

“Nothing isn't gonna scrub out the blood dripping on my carpet.”

Sevika had a way of filling the cramped space with her presence, and not just because of her size. Her towering figure seemed to soak up the weak light, making her seem even more imposing against the backdrop of your cluttered home. She leaned heavily against the edge of your desk, her metal arm a battered mess, the prosthetic sparking faintly as it collided with a pile of wrenches. Her usual attitude seemed dimmed, but her faint small smile was still there that she reserved for you was still there, tugging at her curled lips even as fresh bruises marred her skin.

"I have been dealt worse." Sevika’s gaze shifted away, the tension in her jaw easing as she turned toward your cluttered desk. Her gray eyes moved over the chaotic sprawl of blueprints pinned haphazardly to the wall, their edges curling from neglect. Some were smeared with faint fingerprints of grease, the lines of your meticulous designs almost hidden beneath layers of ink corrections and frustrated scribbles.

Her attention dropped lower, taking in the rows of jars crammed along the edge of the desk—each filled with bolts, screws, and mismatched metal scraps. The faint clinking of loose pieces echoed as her metal arm brushed against one, sending a lid rolling off onto the floor. She didn’t flinch, her focus already wandering to the tools scattered across the workbench: screwdrivers, wrenches, and soldering irons, all marked with the stains of your labor.

 "The whole situation has been growing dire, our attempts to control everything that has been brewing have been leading to chaos." 

Your wired glasses slipped down your nose as you stood, and you shoved them back into place with a grease-stained hand, leaving a faint smudge. 

"It doesn't have to be." You finally spoke.

 "What?" 

“I could be up there, with you, Sevika—helping you.” You set your wrench down with a decisive clink, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the room. Rising slightly from your chair, you pressed your palms flat against the surface of your desk, leaning forward as your tools and bolts rattled from the sudden motion. Your gaze softened, warm but resolute, as it locked onto hers.

“I know I’m not much of a fighter like you,” you continued with a slight rustle into your locks of hair for a moment, your voice steady despite the faint quaver of emotion before looking back at her with a soft laugh, “But if I could put together a few bolts—really show those topsiders—”

The words hung in the air as you held her gaze. The faint glow of the desk light highlighted the sheen of oil on the palm of your smooth hands and the subtle tension in your posture. 

Sevika’s eyes flicked down briefly to your hands, pressed firmly against the scarred wood of the desk, then back up to your face. Her expression shifted, just slightly—the smallest crease at her dark brow, a flicker of something unspoken behind her stormy gray eyes. She took a breath, her broad shoulders rising and falling, but she said nothing yet, her silence heavy in the space between you.

"And what? So you could get hurt? Get involved in the crossfire of all this shit?" Sevika’s voice cut through with a sharp laugh, though the subtle tremor in her tone betrayed something deeper. Her hand shifted to rest on the desk beside yours, her thick fingers brushing past scattered bolts and oil-stained papers as if grounding herself against the weight of her words. Her gaze bore into you, stormy gray with a soft flicker.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound raw and uneven as it slipped past your lips. "And what do you want then?" You pushed back from the desk, standing now, your movements sharp while waving your curled-up fingers through the air with a slight sigh. "For me to sit pretty down here and tinker away while others die? While there’s a big fat fucking chance you could die-?"

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you turned away sharply to look at her, your soft hands gripping the edge of the desk until your knuckles stiffened. Tools roughly clattered from the sudden movement, and a lone wrench tumbled to the floor with a dull thud, but you didn’t flinch

She could die.

 Before you could stop yourself, your hand rose, trembling slightly.

Your fingertips brushed the edge of a fresh bruise on her cheek, her soothing skin warm beneath your lingering touch. The rough scrape felt raw underneath your soft graze, gingerly tracing the faded scars that still trickled across her face. Slowly, the back of your thumb quietly traced over the darkened patch of skin with a soft breath. Her face, always so sharp and proud, softened under your hand for a moment. The scar running down her cheek caught the faint yellow glow of the overhead light, stark against her bronzed complexion.

Her breath hitched, the tiniest intake of air, as her chin tilted slightly toward the warmth of your palm. For a fleeting second, her usual stoic mask faltered, replaced by a slight softness. Her long lashes, thick and dark, fluttered as she hesitated, her gray eyes flickering towards yours.

"I couldn't-" You whispered quietly, "I-I don’t know what I would do without you."

Sevika's jaw tightened, her plump lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she smoothly leaned into your quiet hand, the weight of her head pressing gently against your palm. Her fresh scars and cuts faintly press into the soothing touch of your warm fingertips.

Then, without a word, she turned her face slightly, and her pursed lips brushed softly against your palm for a brief moment. The kiss was warm and deliberate. Her chapped lips smoothly grazed your touch. Her crinkled-up eyes fluttering shut as her lips lingered across your soft skin, and you could feel her light breath ghosting over your fingertips, steady and grounding into your warmth.

 "I won't, [y/n]. Y'know that." 

"Do I?" you softly asked, your strained voice barely above a whisper, "What if you never come back to me one day, Sevy?"

Your darkened eyes traced her face quietly, lingering on every bruise and faded scar that was carved into her bronze skin. The fresh purpling on her cheekbone, the faded remnants of old battles across her jaw— The space between you warmly lingered with a faint breath.

Sevika’s dark brows furrowed, her expression hardening- Slowly, she reached out, her large, calloused hand enveloping yours. Her grip was firm, almost desperate, as her thick fingers curled tightly around yours, holding on as if you might slip away.

"Hell could try to drag me down into its fucking depths," she whispered into your fingertips as the warmth kissed your flushed skin, her soothing voice low but steady, "but nothing in Zaun—nothing—would keep me from coming back to you."

Her smooth thumb brushed against the back of your quivering hand, the roughness of her touch grounding you even as her words made your chest tighten. She quietly leaned closer to the edge of your fingers, her head dipping slightly, enough to have her choppy locks tickle your face. You could feel the heat of her skin, the tension in her clenched jaw, her gray eyes slightly flickering. 

"You have to believe that," she finally murmured, her grip on your hand firm.

"I—" The word faltered on your lips, and you looked down at your joined hands, her grip warm, grounding you in a way that both comforted and overwhelmed.

“Sevika-”

"Do you believe that [y/n]?" Sevika’s voice softened just enough to make the question linger in the space between you.

You took a shaky breath, forcing a small smile to your lips before pressing the edge of your mouth to the edge of her fingertips quietly.

 "I’ll try," you murmured quietly, your voice steadier this time.

Sevika let out a low chuckle at the remark, her warm thumb brushing over the back of your hand one last time in a smooth circle before releasing you. "Now, let’s get me cleaned up, huh? I’m pretty sure I look like shit."

"You definitely do," you quipped with a warm hum, already reaching for a clean rag that was tucked away in the wooden drawers of your desk. She raised an eyebrow at your quick response, but the ghost of a smile tugged at her chapped lips.

a/n: i just needed to write a bit for arcane holy moly- let me know if you guys wanna see more arcane stuff? i was thinking of writing for more characters so let me know in my inbox if you have a suggestion, im on a kick right now lol :')

[oneshot-confessions]

I'm EXTREMELY ashamed to admit this, but for a long time (maybe years? I've know this game for a pretty long time), I've had a fictional crush on The Author. Yup, out of all characters, the one we know barely anything about.

I'm so ashamed of this that I actually pretend to not care at all about the character, but when I look back on some convos I've had, it's pretty obvious I know a concerning amount of facts about this guy.

Please tell me I'm not alone in this, or that at the very least I'm not the world's craziest freak.

​

[sadslay]

- BASOREXIA ⋆☆ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

(n.) the overwhelming desire, or sudden urge, to kiss someone.

warnings — set during s1 ep6, very short (sorry), light nsfw content

daryl hadn’t known you for long, no more then a few weeks at most but in the short time he had known you, he felt as though he’d known you for years. thanks to not only his brother’s judgements but also his own, he believed you to be some entitled snob that would never looked twice in his direction. his jaw had just about hit the ground when he had discovered you had both grown up in the same neighbourhood, even went to the same community school before him and merle had moved away.

he could never describe the way he felt around you. daryl had always understood he was never smart, not in the ways that mattered or not in the ways that would impress you but he was sure - so goddamn sure - that were was a word or two to describe the way he’d felt about you in the short time he had come to know you. the word daryl was searching for - but would never find - was basorexia.

sitting on a countertop behind a rounded table, watching the others cheer and pour drinks brought a sense of familiarity to you. it reminded you of a simpler time. you focused on lori and rick as they playfully bickered on weather or not their son should try some of the red wine dale was serving, but daryl - who sat beside you, nursing a bottle of beer- was entirely focused on you. the way you looked under the white led lighting of the cdc bunker and the way you giggled as carl pushed away the small cup of wine he had just tried. everything you did was perfect in his eyes, absolutely everything.

“you gonna share that bottle dixon?” you queried, gently nudging into his shoulder as you flashed him cheeky grin.

daryl let out a breathy chuckle, not saying a word before handing you the brown bottle, watching you intently as you brought the bottle up to your lips.

“you should stick to soda pop kid.” shane mumbled as daryl stood up to walk around the table, in hopes to secure another bottle as the current one had almost run out.

“not you glenn.” daryl smiled - that was one of the first times you had seen him genuinely smile - leaning in to grab another bottle before teasing, “keep drinkin’ little man, i wanna see how red your face can get.”

“it seems to me we haven't thanked our host properly.” rick spoke, standing up to look at the man who had reluctantly let us in an hour or so prior.

“he is more than just our host.” t-dog smiled, raising his glass of red wine.

“booyah!” daryl cheered, raising a bottle of spirits into the air before sitting back down beside you, offering you a sip of the new liquor.

you placed the empty bottle of beer beside you before taking the bottle what you assumed was whiskey and cheering, “booyah!” before taking a swig.

“so when are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, doc?” shane asked, breaking the cheers and thanks coming from around the room, and almost instantly everyone fell quiet. “all the ah the other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?” he asked, looking at the lone scientist.

“we're celebrating, shane.” rick answered quickly, sitting back down beside his son. “don't need to do this now.” he added.

“whoa, wait a second. this is why we're here, right?” shane asked rhetorically, looking at rick before continuing. “this was your move, supposed to find all the answers but instead we uh we found him.” shane explained, his very tome and expression seeming on edge and untrusting. “found one man. why?”

“well, when things got bad, a lot of people just left. went off to be with their families and when things got worse, when the military got overrun, the rest bolted.” the scientist explained, the entire mood shifting.

“every last one?” shane asked sarcastically.

“no, many couldn't face walking out the door. they... opted out. there was a rash of suicides. that was a bad time.” the scientist continued, his voice shaky as he explained the fate of the cdc.

“you didn't leave. why?” andrea asked, placing her half empty glass of wine onto the crowded table.

“i just kept working. hoping to do some good.” he explained.

“dude, you are such a buzzkill, man.” glenn groaned, looking at shane as he slumped back into his chair.

later that night, after every had begun settling in for the night you found yourself lying awake in a sleeping bag a meter or so away from glenn. your hair was still damp from the warm shower you had no more then an hour prior. you pulled yourself up from the sleeping bag, wrapping your arms around your chest before wandering out into the hallway to find all but one light left on. daryls room. the door had been left open, allowing you to lean up against the doorframe as you watched daryl pull a clean shirt over his head and shoulders before noticing the brown bottle by the head of his sleeping bag.

“still hoggin’ the bottle huh dixon?” you giggled, causing daryl to spin around as the rest of his shirt fell down his torso.

he weakly scoffed as his eyes traced up and down your body, most of your legs exposed from the shorts you had found in some drawers while a baggy shirt hid most of your figure.

“d’yer reckon we could find the rest of ‘is stash?” you asked eagerly, looking up at daryl as a breathy chuckle fell from his lips.

“nah, yer cut off woman.” he chortled, as you walked further into his room “yer already drunk as i am.” daryl added.

your eyebrows almost immediately pinched together as you dramatically scoffed, “that shower sobered me up real good.” you teased, bending down to grab the bottle before taking a sip of the room temperature liquor. “‘n what would be so wrong with that?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest.

“nothin’!” he defended, his hands weakly rising into the air before dropping back by his side. “s’just you look like you can’t handle your booze is all.” daryl teased.

you dropped down onto the near by couch as you slurred, “i can handle my liquor jus’ fine.”

closely you watched daryl as he plopped down beside you, taking the brown bottle from your hand before taking another swig.

“women can never handle their liquor.” he mumbled, a weak laugh escaping his lips, making you frown.

“dixon.” you mumbled, looking across to his eyes as they remained focused on the bottle in front of him. “that sounds like a challenge.” you smirked causing the man to look up with a devilish grin plastered on his lips.

he extended his arm, offering the bottle to you. you took the bottle from daryl causing a soft giggle to leave your lips as you brought the rim of the bottle up to your mouth. taking another swig of the brown liquor - burning your throat - you rested the bottle in your lap.

“yer gonna be wasted.” he noted, trying to hide the grin sneaking onto his lips.

“you’ve never even seen me drink,” i scoffed, “for all you know i could’ve been a drunk before all of this rubbish.” i added, handing the bottle back to daryl as he shuffled a little closer.

“‘cept i do, yer told me ‘bout an hour ago that you barely had your first drink before the world went to shi-.” daryl teased, his words cut off as your hand covered his mouth, quietly shushing him.

“i told you that in confidence, and i said first legal drink.” you pouted as daryl’s hand lifted up to connect with yours that was still covering the majority of his mouth.

you could feel daryls breath on the palm of your hand as he let out a small chuckle but as his hands slowly began to peel yours away from his mouth, his lips began to purse, leaving a soft kiss on your skin. you watched him as his lips continued further down your wrist, his hand loosening before finally letting go to reattach at the base of your neck, pulling you closer to him as you lips met. quicker then you could have ever imagined the kiss grew heated and passionate as you found yourselves pulling each other closer. in an act of desperation you pulled yourself onto his lap, resting your knees on either sides of his hips as you sat down on his lap, but it still didn’t feel close enough.

when you had suddenly pulled your lips away from daryls, leaving him confused and afraid that he had overstepped, but as your hands cradled his cheeks and a smile began to creep onto your lips he was left in a state of confusion.

“been waitin’ for yer to do this for a while.” you grinned, your eyes wandering around daryls face, admiring every little detail thanks to the close proximity.

“thought you were only doin’ this cause you’d been drinkin’.” he answered glumly, his hands still loosely hovering over your hips.

you shrugged weakly, a smirk creeping onto your lips as you whispered, “needed some liquid courage.” before your lips connected to his prickled jawline.

“scared of me huh?” he asked, his grip tightening around your waist as your delicate kisses began to tickle his skin.

“m’not scared of you.” you mumbled into the crook of his neck, slowly beginning to work your way back to his lips.

but just as you went to reconnect your lips, daryl slightly pulled away, his eyebrows pinched together as he whispered, “ya think i’d say no to yer?”

you stayed silent, shyly nodding. heavy breaths filled the room as a weak muffled scoff left daryls lips. you let out a little chuckle at your own foolish mind for getting in the way of an action you had been wanting to pursue for some time now.

“didn’t think i was your type.” you commented, combing a piece of hair out of your face before your hand reattached to the base of daryl’s neck.

“didn’t think i was ya type either.” he breathlessly chuckled, his hands remaining firmly gripped onto your waist.

a soft giggle left your lips as your lips momentarily connected with daryls before pulling away to whisper, “your one hundred percent my type.” you smiled, your very words making daryl scoff in disbelief before your lips reconnected with his.

daryl was in heaven on earth. he had never imagined this happening and now with you on his lap, your mouth slowly beginning to part from his lips as you trailed down his chin and jaw, your entire body now beginning to slide down. his chest rose and fell heavily as you rested on your knees, your hands now beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.

“ya- yer don’ have ta-“ a groan slipped from daryls lips as you began to peel away his jeans, the very action sending him into a euphoric state and with you on your knees before him, something much more lustful and libidinous began to grow.

the following morning daryl woke up to you wrapped around his body, the sleeping bag - intended for one person use - was sprawled out over your two bodies, providing some warmth. your arms were wrapped around his torso, and your legs were intertwined with his. daryl looked down at you, admiring your soft delicate feature as you peacefully slept for the first time in months.

daryl thought you were so deep in sleep that nothing could possibly wake you, so when a strand of your hair fell across your face, tickling your nose and lips, daryls hand rose from his side. as he began to brush away your hair, your eyes began to flutter open, causing daryl to freeze as he trucked the strand of hair behind your ear.

“morning.” you grumbled, your arms pulling away from the warmth of daryls body to stretch.

“mornin’.” he hummed, following your actions of sitting up right, the pair of you sitting shoulder to shoulder. “yer hungover?” daryl teased, beginning to rub his face before combing his hair out of his face.

“shut up.”

[cutielando]

the last social media au was so cute!! maybe one where george’s gf is a famous romance book author and when they make the relationship public his friends cannot believe posh “arms against the wall 2023 intro package pose” george could be the inspiration for all the smutty scenes his gf is famous for (only if your comfortable of course!)

romance is in her books | g.r.

social media au

my masterlist

Instagram

liked by zendaya, georgerussell63 and 301,584 others

yourusername working on something very special 🌸

view all 50,195 comments

booklover101 YAS BITCHES WE'RE GETTING A NEW BOOK!!!!!

chillypeppers Y/N on her way to releasing yet another banger😮‍💨😮‍💨

zendaya what u cooking bby?😉💞

yourusername something with an extra bit of spice🥵

user1 is nobody else wondering who she's writing the *explicit* scenes about?

user2 lol she most probably has a boyfriend or something

user3 or maybe she's just like any other young woman lmao

lilymhe i'm literally obsessed with the way you write🤤

yourusername thank you baby. i'll let you in on a secret later for this ;)

user4 we all want to be lily right now :((((

landonorris do you ever run out of things to write?

yourusername not really, no

lilyzneimer the book is coming along beautifully ❤️

yourusername thank you honey✨🌸❤️

oscarpiastri did you give her a sneak peek??????????

yourusername ...maybe

oscarpiastri deeply betrayed

georgerussell63 my beautiful girl this comment has been deleted

user5 GEORGE????????

user6 IS GEORGE THE SECRET BOYFRIEND?????

charles_leclerc can't wait to read it

yourusername you’re just like one of the girlies charlie 🌸🌸🌸

user2 the amount of money i spend on her books is so unhealthy but i don’t care. TAKE ALL MY MONEY BABY 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

user3 is it a stand-alone or is the new book going to be part of a series?👀

yourusername i’m planning a new series soon, but my next release is going to be a stand-alone 🌸

user4 i love her, she is the sweetest 🥰🥰

iMessage

george 🩵

i might have just fucked up

y/n ❤️

you're hopeless

george 🩵

do you think people saw the comment?

y/n ❤️

judging by the way my phone has been blowing up, i think they have

george 🩵

i'm sorry, my love

y/n ❤️

it's okay, don't worry. now we can mess with the fans for a bit ;)

Twitter

Instagram

liked by georgerussell63, zendaya and 401,639 others

yourusername “racing hearts” is now yours, my lovelies. this book holds a very dear place in my heart and i hope that it will speak to you like it spoke to me when i first started writing it. thank you to everyone who came to the book signing yesterday, you make my life all that more special ✨❤️🌸💞

view all 98,374 comments

georgerussell63 beautiful book, who were you thinking about when you wrote it?🤔

yourusername you know, just a random Brit

georgerussell63 must be one hell of a guy to get a book of his own

yourusername he really is

zendaya you have outdone yourself once again. reading your books has become a MUST ✨✨✨

yourusername thank you honey 💞💞💞

landonorris you went wild again, didn’t you?

yourusername i might have

landonorris do i even wanna read it?

yourusername honestly? probably not

lilyzneimer it’s even better than what i thought 💞

yourusername i always have a trick or two up my sleeve 😉🌸

charles_leclerc someone should censor you

yourusername where would be the fun in that?

charles_leclerc how does your manager approve of this?

yourmanager i’m one of the girlies 🌸

charles_leclerc that explains it

booklover101 THE WAY I SCREAMED WHILE READING IT HAS ME INSANE

booklover101 YOU DESERVE EVERY AWARD IN THE WHOLE WORLD

chillypepper i have no words. i said it before and i’ll say it again. she is the best author of her generation

user1 never beating the dating allegations now

user2 she literally named her main character RUSSELL, HOW DO PEOPLE STILL THINK HER AND GEORGE AREN’T DATING??????

user3 George is the luckiest man in the world😭😭

user4 he must really rock your world if those scenes are anything like the real thing

yourusername you have no idea 🤭

mercedesamgf1 I couldn't put it down. Amazing work, Y/N!!

yourusername thank you admin 🌸💞💞

liked by yourusername, lilyzneimer and 601,583 others

georgerussell63 Words can't describe how proud I am of you. The way you connect with your readers, the way you give life to every story you write never ceases to amaze me. I'm thankful to be able to watch you do your thing, watch you inspire so many young writers to chase their dreams. I love you 💞 P.S. Yes, I am the inspiration behind the sexy scenes ;) tagged: yourusername

view all 99,281 comments

yourusername your support means everything to me. thank you for always being here for me, helping me through my writer's block and cheering me on. i love you more than you know💞🌸

georgerussell63 i love you more❤️

landonorris i know way too much about your personal life now, mate

georgerussell63 jealous?

landonorris as if

yourusername don't fight boys, what would Russell and Brendan think about you two fighting?

landonorris BRENDAN IS ME?????????

yourusername oops👀

user1 i am in love with their love😮‍💨❤️

user2 going to jump off a cliff, brb

user3 i cannot believe i know stuff about George Russell's sex life👀

user4 George's? HOW ABOUT OUR PRECIOUS LITTLE Y/N'S?

alex_albon simp

georgerussell63 how can i not be? just look at Y/N

yourusername baby🥹💞❤️🌸

alex_albon you two make me sick. i preferred it when you weren't public

georgerussell63 and i preferred it when you shut up

lilymhe we are all in love with Y/N ✨❤️👀

yourusername but you’re the one who has my heart baby 💞💞

georgerussell63 ?????????

yourusername sorry babe 😁💞

mercedesamgf1 Our favorite couple!❤️ liked by yourusername and georgerussell63

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[tuliptired]

could you possibly write an Egon Spengler / female reader love triangle fic! With a lot of jealousy on Econ’s part? I love your Egon fics!

I Wish That I Had Jessie's Girl

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minor violence and being not so nice to a lady (its not Egon dw)

its been a minute...wtf yall know about plumbing???

better formatting on Ao3!

You put the phone down dreamily, smiling to yourself as Janine clung to your shoulders, having listened intently to your call. It was Duke, a friend staying with your neighbor. You had taken to talking one morning, you let it slip about your place of employment, and soon enough the boys were ridding his boiler of a spirit. He would call you during work hours, simple things like asking if you made it in ok, if you had dinner waiting- things that didn’t warrant calling a ghost hotline, but he was so sweet that you couldn’t resist. He had the cutest accent you’d ever heard, and not to mention the pure charisma he exuded with sandy hair and tanned skin. You sighed, leaning on your hand as you remembered him saying he “just wanted to talk to the sweet girl on the other end.”

Before you could indulge in your debriefing with your friend, the garage opened, and outpoured four men in brown. It didn’t take a genius to guess what they missed, brains filling in the blanks as Janine shook you around and you both giggled like highschoolers. 

“That line is for work calls,” Peter scolded you lightly, picking up the phone and inspecting it. Janine rolled her eyes, going back to whatever was on her computer and you looked down at your paperwork, a little embarrassed.

“You don’t get it,” Janine typed fast. The men groaned, as Peter fell into Ray’s arms dramatically.

“Oh, I get it.” He did his best at mocking your voice. “Oh, Duke, run away with me into the sunset!” Ray played along, doing a worse impression of you as your face burned from the teasing. “Duke- let’s go horseback riding on the beach!” 

Winston joined in, sounding like a belle. “Run up the phone bill, Duke!” 

As you tried to speak up to put an end to the symphony of phony-you, Peter interrupted you. “Duke, I haven’t had a real date in months- of course I’ll marry- ow!” He rubbed his forehead, eyes flickering from the spot he was struck and the golf pencil clattering to the floor. Soon, the other two men were pelted as well, covering their faces as you tossed writing utensils like rice.

You placed the container down. “It’s not my fault if he’s a romantic,” you defended yourself, straightening your clothes. Ray and Winston raised unbelieving eyebrows at you, bending over to pick up the mess. 

Ray stood with a small handful, unbending at the waist. “Just don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him, that’s all.” He had the cadence of a worried older brother, which made you uncross your arms. 

Janine leaned in to you. “Knows guitar. Beautiful brown eyes. A little dumb.”

You nodded. “A cute smile.” 

“So tall!”

“Deep voice.”

“Southern voice!” 

Ray looked offended then, placing a hand on his heart. “I’m southern! What makes him so special?”

Janine pushed her glasses up with her ring finger, crystal chain swinging as she did. “Kansas doesn’t count.”

“Well, excuse me if I’m not as good as Mr. Baywatch,” he stood with his hands on his hips.

Winston looked at something over your shoulder. “What do you think, Egon?” That’s what you were forgetting- you mentally cursed yourself for foregoing the quiet man as he started up the stairs. He paused, looking over the banister. 

He was silent, mouth opening but words hesitant. “I wouldn’t be tripping over myself for a plumber.” The rest of the men erupted in laughter, Janine telling them off, swatting at them as she said that they were just old and bitter. Your head fell into your hands, mind spiraling with ways you’ll get them to let it go.

You sat behind your desk, sipping on the coffee Egon had brought you. Just the right kind from just the right shop- in exchange for your help in the lab. The liquid warmed your insides as he watched you, waiting for a verdict. 

You put the paper cup down. “It’s the right kind,” you admitted. He didn’t budge. “ Thank you , Egon.” He was satiated, as the door opened and you turned your attention away. It was Duke, the sudden appearance making you jump, quick to fix your hair and tug on the hem of your shirt. He was all smiles, sauntering up to you with a few things in hand. Egon looked unamused, making a small amount of space for the man.

“You have another ghost?” You beamed up and him, nervous in the air of the spontaneous visit.

He laughed, voice rich like honey. “Hey, sweet girl- I can’t see you?” You shook your head light heartedly, subconsciously leaning forward in your seat. He held up what was in his arms. “Brought you something.” a little coffee cup with a yellow sleeve, and a thin batch of flowers. “You didn’t already have, right?” He hesitated before he put the cup onto the wood. Your eyes widened a bit, as he hadn’t noticed the forgotten favor from Egon that you quickly placed in a short, open drawer space underneath the actual table top. You felt bad, doing it in front of your friend, but he’d just have to understand, right? 

“Not at all,” you assured him. “Thank you, so much. You didn’t have to.” You brought the drink to your lips, taken aback by the taste. This was the kind you hated. From the place you made a point not to visit. You smiled weakly, taking the flowers in your hands. Pre-cut flowers, destined to die in a week.

He grinned back at you, before something flashed behind his eyes. “Before I forget- the bathroom pipes in your walls? The ones running through your bedroom? They’re sounding a little shaky, you might wanna get them looked at.” He leaned a hand against your desk, the other in his back pocket.

You heard a small snort that didn’t come from either you or the man trying to court you. You nodded, once. “Thanks. If my apartment floods with toilet water I’ll know who to call.” Duke looked around at your workplace, either impressed or concerned as he craned his neck towards the ceiling.

He let out a low whistle. “This place has to be at least half a century old.”

“Octogenarian.” Egon spoke up, evading your gaze as he stared down the other male. 

“No kidding,” Duke stilled, before looking around again. You cleared your throat, placing a hand over his.

“Thank you, again. I don’t know anyone who’d go out of their way like this for me.” You locked eyes for a minute, just smiling at each other before Egon interrupted, again.

He started toward the lab. “The samples are ready.” You sighed out your nose, remembering how these were the ones you were particularly excited to look at under the microscope. 

You patted his hand apologetically, before getting up as Egon disappeared into the firehouse. “Duty calls. I’ll see you later?” Duke looked a little disappointed, but he agreed nonetheless.

“Later,” he gave your hand a squeeze as he strolled towards the exit. 

Egon had a few slides set up, as well as seedlings and sprouted plants off to the side when you arrived. You sat in your designated wheely, short-backed chair, silent and a hefty amount of awkward as he messed with something behind you.

“He got the wrong coffee.”

“I know.”

“And you hate store bought flowers. He tried to charm you by offering to fix your pipes.”

“I know. ” You swiveled around to face him, self-conscious as you remembered the fact that Egon was standing there for the entire ordeal.

You closed your eyes as you put your hands out. “Look. Everybody makes mistakes. So what if I’ve mentioned it to him a few times.” Egon ceased what he was doing and gave you a single look as you slumped back in defeat. “Just drop it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he turned the microscope’s light on, “now, these are samples of Platanthera ciliaris grown with ectoplasm, rather than cut prematurely with store bought fertilizers-” You cut him off with a light punch to the arm. He slid the scope in front of you. As you put your eye to the lens, your mind blanked upon looking down at blurry shapes and colors. This part always got you. 

“How do you…” You gestured to the knobs on either side without raising your head. He was quiet before placing light fingers on your right hand, guiding the knob forward, your skin prickling at the touch. Nothing changed as he retracted his hands.

“It’s still not…” You were about to sit back, to let him try it himself, when there was something in your way as wheels screeched across hard floors. A warm body, a respectable distance behind   your own, and warm hands encompassing yours. He silently guided the knob again, back and forth until the slide was clear.

You hoped he couldn’t feel your heart through your clothes as you swallowed. “That’s- good. I can see.” Your breath was taken away at the sight underneath you, yellow and orange and green cells as far as the slide went. Little square boxes, reminiscent of sliced citrus fruit sitting in the long tendrils of the plant. With the ectoplasm, their cell walls grew thick, and seemed to breathe, coiling and writhing. Before Egon could back away, you voiced your awe.

“It’s beautiful,” you said honestly. He stayed where he was.

A beat or two of silence, but he spoke eventually. “I know. It did wonders for their growth. It makes me think, what could this mean for human development?”

You watched on as the cells seemed to twitch, reminiscent of an animal stretching itself. “Living, retentive material on a living, thinking human being? Is that ethical?”

He didn’t say anything as he raised the brightness for you. “I’m unsure.”

You could see even better now, the remaining bits of dirt clear on the root of the flower. “Venkman could help.”

“Perhaps he could.” 

It was comforting, the way he was close to you. Undoubtedly, he was in a bit of an awkward position- his lower body was rolled away from the small of your back. But it was almost funny the way he nearly let all of his weight rest on you, while barely touching you at all. The scientist didn’t go out of his way to touch people, and when he did it was stiff and rigid. But he was languid now, deep breaths in tandem with yours as you reveled in the quiet. He started going out of his way for you very far into your employment, and your coworkers swiftly teased you both for it in the privacy of a room the other wasn’t occupying. He let you have the good chair, he brought you the good coffee. He let you watch on and talk endlessly while he worked, something that the other men didn’t have the privilege of. He listened to you divulge him in a topic he never previously cared for, as you ate all of his food. So to be touched, as brazenly as this, was simultaneously surprising and expected. He was your friend. But he was Egon, so his pelvis would stay out of contact with your body as he leaned forward onto you.

But the presence was lost, as the scrape of wheels against the ground made you raise your head, a bit disappointed. He had a little slide in hand, with another flower. It was your favorite, marked “ectoplasmic”, incased in clear material. He had the ghost of a guilty smile as you took it from him, marveling at the new color created. 

You managed to glow so hard you nearly felt your cheeks ache. “You’re spoiling me.”

Janine was bored, taken to filing your nails to match her own in the middle of the slow day. The compact radio on your side of the desk went on, playing your station of preference as you let her work on you. She stops filing, blowing the dust off the edge.

She eyes you for a moment, before going back to your hands. You narrow your eyes as she keeps her head down. “What? What was that for?”

“Your aura is all outta whack.”

You frown. “Well then, I apologize for my ‘aura’.” Janine wasn’t pleased, cocking one eyebrow as she dragged the file back and forth. 

She sits up a little straighter, bringing your hand up to her eye. “This is bad. I’ve only seen something like this in my sister.”

You sneak a look down at your nails. “Your boy-crazy sister?”

“I’m telling you- this is bad.” Janine drops the file, holding your hand. “And I can tell what’s happening.” She takes a pause, as if her next words will hurt coming out. “You’re in love.”

“Alright, you got me,” you pull your hands back, surrendering sarcastically. The little woman grabs them again, insistent.

“So you’re not in love with Duke?”

“I mean-”

“So you’re stuck between two lovers?” 

Taking your hands back again, you roll away from her, eyes widening and voice reaching a ditzy pitch. “I am not in love with Egon!”

She has an expression reminiscent of a psychiatrist as the light catches in her glasses. “Honey. I never mentioned Egon.”

You freeze. Without thinking, you rise from your chair, only to be pulled back down. “You’re just confusing me,” you protest.

She cages you into the receptionist booth. “The only thing confused is your heart. You’re stuck between two guys and now you have to choose one.” You scoff, crossing your arms. She keeps on, voice lowering a bit as if she remembers the men upstairs.

“I see it, we all see it. Except the two eggheads,” she flicks you between the eyebrows with manicured nails. “Friends and coworkers don’t do what you do.”

The spot on your face stung. “I’m telling you, he’s just my friend,” you almost pleaded.

Janine’s eyes nearly rolled off her face. “Of course. He lets you bother him all day because you’re friends? He’d lay himself out on the ground for you to walk on if you asked. You just don’t think he would because you’re too scared to lose him if you make assumptions.” She presses a finger to your chest. “But you should’ve seen the two of you the other day.”

Your blood runs just short of icy. “You were there?”

“Egon does not touch people. And there you were, this 6ft scientist hanging off of your back like a koala.” She smirks to herself as she lets up, rolling back to her spot and starting to work on her own nails as you sit there, stunned. “You like the big-weird-doctor,” her voice teases you.

There’s nothing for you to do but roll back to your own spot, silent as she keeps going. “And you’re not gonna say anything to Duke?” His name snaps you back to reality as you turn your head to face her.

“I don’t…” You try to argue your case, barren as it may seem, but it served no purpose when nothing came to mind.

“So you’ll say something to Egon?” Her face brightens with hope.

“I…” Nothing, again, as you search the floor for some sort of answer.

“So you won’t say anything to anyone and you’ll die an old hag?” She whines, setting the file down against the wood, eyebrows furrowed as you throw your head back, squinting at the ceiling.

Your brain was scrambled, not knowing whether it was on the offensive or the defensive. You make a resolve without thinking, tone self-assured. Or, in denial. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about. And I’ll…be with Duke because he actually likes me.” She starts to speak, but her words are cut off by a low, shaky rumbling reverberating throughout the firehouse. Both pairs of eyes instinctively flit downward, until a creaky note followed by a loud spraying noise and a curse resound from above you. 

The voice of the man in question cuts through the very loud chaos happening in your walls, calling down the hall. “The lab sink! It’s flooding!” The sounds of running water and creaky metal fill the space. Amidst the noise, you can hear Ray announce that “he’s got it!” as he makes it to the lab along with two other sets of feet, and you rush to the staircase.

“No, you don’t! You’re an engineer, not a pipefitter!” You leant on the railing, waiting for a response. You got one, as the madness quieted for a second, Janine coming out from under the desk. In an instant, it erupted again, even worse as you and Janine’s hands went flying towards your ears. There was a hellish cacophony of metal, gushing water, and creaking inside and outside the wallpaper, comparable to construction. You stumbled back to the desk, fingers pressed into your hair.

“Who do we get? What number do we call?” Janine hands you the phone, yelling over the endless pandemonium.

You have to yell back. “No one, after the work Ray did- no commercial plumber would come within 50 feet of our driveway if he wanted to keep his license.”

She shakes the phone at you, exasperated. “Well, what do we do? This place is falling apart!” You’re forced to take it then, holding back a sigh as you bite your cheek and punch in the only number you knew to contact.

Duke was underneath the sink unit, working hard as he lay on the towel you gave him to stay out of the inch of water that accumulated onto the floor. “It’s a good thing you called me when you did,” he marveled as he reached for a tool in the worn satchel you held like the daintiest picnic basket.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that I did.” He sends you a smile from the ground, and you return it, until you hear the slosh of something dragging against water. Duke looks to the side, and you do the same as you look up, expression flat. Egon was in his chair, working at his workbench like there wasn’t centimeters of stagnant water at his ankles. You knew he was freaked out of his mind, he was just being difficult.

“Egon,” you inquired sweetly.

“Hm?” He was playing innocent.

Your voice retained the same sweet cadence. “Why are you here?”

Egon gazed at both of you incredulously, like he had no idea what he was doing wrong. “It’s my own laboratory, I think I reserve the right to be here.”

Your jaw clenched. “Of course. Hey, Duke, tell me again about your football team,” you hid the venom in your voice as your stare didn’t leave Egon’s sitting figure.

Duke shined when he recalled his years in high school sports. “Oh man, you have no idea. I was the best running back in Valentine. I was riding high, ‘till I tore my ACL. Could’ve gone pro.”

Egon spoke as you were about to praise the former athlete. “Interesting you mention football injuries. Many players can develop CTEs and never notice.” Duke blinked, nodding slowly.

“My head’s okay. I think.” 

“I’m sure. Poor impulse control, rage issues, and eventual dementia but- there’s no way we’ll know until you’re dead.” He shrugged, smile lopsided.

“And what a cute cadaver you’ll be, with cute Duke Juniors at your side after they do the autopsy,” you bent slightly, voice saccharine and expression strained as you got Duke’s attention again. It felt mean to think this, but he was a little easy to please.

“It might not be the CTE that gets him, after all. In fact, plumbers are easily at risk for infectious diseases. Hepatitis, staphylococcus. On account of the fecal matter and septic water.”

Before you could distract him, Duke looked offended, brows knitting together. 

“Nerds like you don’t get sick? With your samples and your tests?” He glanced at Egon sideways.

Egon simply shook his head. “No. Because I’ve never swam through human shit for a paycheck.”

Duke almost got up from his spot underneath the sink, sitting up on his forearm and pointing a tool towards the seated man. “I didn’t go to some big school for years just so I could be called doctor like you did. You don’t even patch anyone up,” he retorted harshly. Egon, the man who avoided confrontation, seemed smug and amused by the insult, ready to spit back himself.

You squatted to be level with him, internally thankful that your legs were strong enough to prevent you from falling backwards into standing water. “I’ve never told you how cool I think it is that your truck is so tall. I didn’t even know they made them that big.” God, you sounded like a cheerleader as you rested a hand on his chest, but it worked.

He was content with that as he wiped his hands off on a rag. “Y’know, sweet girl, I’ve been meaning to ask. Tomorrow’s Friday, wanna come out to the bar on 5th and Franklin? I’ll show you a good time.” He spoke low, eyes lower. Egon didn’t give you time to respond, as he was fully turned towards the both of you, face more than annoyed.

“She hates that club. And she told you that, because it has to do with why she doesn’t have her license, and she tells that story to everyone. Were you the exception, or did you just not care enough to remember? Because she won’t jump into bed with you on the spot?” For the second time that day, your blood turned to icy as you stood up fast, water splashing onto Duke’s shirt underneath you going unnoticed to everyone in the room but him as he grabbed the hem. 

You could barely control the anger in your voice as it rose in volume. “Egon,” was all you had to say, firm and frustrated as you stood with hands on your hips. He looked like a scolded child, wordlessly wading through the flood and following you outside.

You stood standing across from each other, Egon very interested in your shoes. “What the hell is wrong with you?” You questioned him, infuriated as you pinched each of his ears, pulling him down as he winced in pain. 

When you let go, he weakly soothed his red cartilage. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, immediately regretting his choice of words as your eyes lit aflame.

“What don’t I understand? That you didn’t mean to be a jerk to the guy trying to ask me out?” Egon took your reproach, until he couldn’t anymore.

“He doesn’t really like you,”’ he said reluctantly. 

“How would you know?” You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. Was this why he was being so petty?

Egon sighed, before looking frustrating and starting off on a tangent. “He got you the wrong coffee, the kind that gives you a stomachache. And he got you store bought flowers that died within a week. Anyone who’s ever known you will know to get you a potted plant so you can keep it alive yourself. Not to mention that you’d have more stimulating conversation with a mailbox than him.” Egon looked choleric and uncomfortable as he tried to reason with you, voice raising slightly.

You took a step towards him, lowering your voice as you weren’t all that far from the lab- only down the hall. “At least he’s trying! In all the time you’ve known me, how many people did you know to actually try?” It sounded pathetic out loud, but it was true, right? For as long as you could remember, you knew that you’d eventually have no more room to nitpick. He had a brief, hurt expression, eyebrows flying together and mouth open slightly. He looked away once, before nearly begging you.

“He’s only trying because he thinks you’re a challenge!” He put both hands on your shoulders in a moment of desperation. “I’ve lived among men all my life. Even the most mild mannered guy has only one thing in mind, taking you to a club like that. He lets you talk and talk because you won’t think twice when-”

You pushed yourself away, a cynical smile as your face burned inside. “Oh, I’m sure Janine would be surprised to hear that coming from you.” You stepped toward the door, ready to open it and accept his invitation. Egon took a step towards you, as if you were an animal.

“What? I’m trying to tell you, he is an insincere neanderthal of a man, and he’ll do nothing but treat you like dirt.” You were ready to snap then. This was all too much for you, abstract emotions having nothing to do but manifest as frustration. Janine’s words mixed with Egon’s, resounding as negative affirmations through every corner of your head. 

This was all so confusing, and now here he was, telling you that the love you were receiving for so long was superficial. Wasn’t he supposed to be your friend? That hurt most of all, memories of the handful of times you were alone at night, spilling your thoughts out. You were tired, and he did more listening than talking, but you can remember him reassuring you that “ someone will love you. He’ll stop being scared and he’ll tell you with a beautiful flower in hand.” Who cares how you felt about Duke? The love he promised is here, and now it’s up to Egon to tell you it’s not true? You could barely feel tears in the corner of your eyes, disdain making them dry.

Taking a slow, yet shallow breath, you grabbed the door again, turning your back to him. “And you’re being an ass. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not at liberty to tell me who I should and shouldn’t be with.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, but if you did you’d see the visual representation of someone’s heart breaking into splinters. “I’m gonna go out with him and have fun. And drink.” With that, you were back in the lab, a little shaken as you put on a faulty smile, cheerily saying yes to his invite.

The next day came, and Peter let you go early since they’d finished all their scheduled jobs and Janine was still around. As you thanked him for excusing you, Egon stood wordlessly at the workbench.

You got nice and dressed up, perhaps a little better than you would otherwise. But this was for you, and partly to prove a point. Duke let you know how nice you looked during the ride from your place to the bar, granted he spent the rest of the drive going on about the truck itself. You seldom paid attention, mind so focused on enjoying yourself that you forgot to be in the moment.

At the door, you had to use a different form of identification to get in on account of this same club’s (teenaged?) bartender swiping your license to use for herself. Duke made some wayward comment on you proving that you were of age in some clandestine way, and you just sighed out your nose, handing the unamused bouncer your ID. 

The inside was hot, and loud. You couldn’t walk too far without bumping into someone. You only frequented places like this with friends, so a date was new territory as he sat down at the bar without looking back. He ordered a large beer, for himself, and insisted that you order another drink after you had nursed yours. You declined, you needed to remember tonight, and he seemed almost annoyed at that. The air was a little tense- it was hard to have a good time when only one person’s throwing back. It was only getting better when you did the cheerleader thing again, letting him pick you up with one arm and impress you with another round of shots. You suggested he slow down, and again denied another drink, and he seemed irritated again. You felt a little despondent yourself as he wouldn’t talk, before something across the bustling room got his attention and he halfheartedly excused himself. 

It didn’t take long before you found him in the corner of a bar, trying to impress much younger, much drunker girls. Drunken asshole. You dragged him back by the wrist, talking sweetly to him as you promised him a dance earlier in the night. He got excited, beating you at getting to the floor. As your sultry air fell, you caught a glimpse of bright colors in one of the booths, pointing in your direction. God damn it.

“What are you doing here?” You leaned against their table exasperated as 3 out of 4 of them beamed at you. Winston, Peter, and Ray each had the same dress shirt, buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to different degrees; in purple, red, and green respectively. Egon opted for a dress shirt he had at home, a simple light blue under a sweater vest and tie. He looked nothing sort of tense in the crowded environment, even more so now that you were in front of them. You scrunch your nose in sight of their outfits. “Did your tour bus break down?”

Winston put down his glass. “How’s your date going?” You closed your eyes and raised your eyebrows.

Peter looks over your shoulder at Duke making his way through the crowd. “He looks juiced.”

“It’s fine. Why are you here?” Ray smiled, putting a hand on Egon’s shoulder. 

“Can you believe this was Egon’s idea? Here, no less?” The man looked into your eyes sheepishly as you glared down at him. 

“Oh, I can believe it. Well, I hope you and Rosenberg enjoy your night.” You gave Egon a mocking grin, before departing to find Duke. You did, and he was, again, with another girl. You got his attention, and he was excited to dance- just extremely handsy. So much so that you had to hold his wrists to keep his hands on your waist, rather than your front or rear. 

Eventually, he spoke low and into your ear, but it wasn’t the titillating, sensual way that one would towards someone they were trying to romance. It made the hair on your neck stand for the wrong reasons as it registered as sleazy, predatory. Drunken words:sober thoughts, Janine’s voice sounded in your mind. 

“C’mon, let’s go to my place,” Duke finally ended his slurry of obscene suggestions as his hands tried at grabbing your wrist, motioning to lead you out to the apartment he didn’t even own. You resisted, heartbeat racing as you tried to politely let him know you were fine here. His half lidded eyes became aggravated as he tried again to drag you out, this time with a tighter grip and a stronger force. You couldn’t stop his strength as he started to pull you away from the safety of a crowd and towards the dimly lit exit, fingers digging at his in a desperate attempt to free yourself from the grips of this man with a getaway car and a plan. 

You were able to escape his tight hold, and he spun around, irate. “I went through all this trouble to listen to you bitch and moan about stupid shit, and you won’t even sleep with me?” As you stood there, dismayed, he managed to spit out a disgusting, derogatory insult at you, looking down at you in the flashing lights of the club. Drunken bastard. 

You were appalled, and before the record could change, you brought your hand up and to the side of his face, hard. He was stunned by the slap, cheek red as he looked back at you in disbelief. Your fear turned into great offense and disgust at the sight of the man in front of you. In an attempt to regain his pride he took a step forward, enraged and embarrassed. As he got almost chest to chest with you, he reached for your neck. 

Before he could choke you out, there was a hand on his shoulder. Almost as quickly as he looked over his shoulder, there was a fist connected to his other cheek, and you could swear a tooth or two came flying out. 

It all happened so quickly that you could’ve blinked and gotten to where you were, talking to a police officer outside as Duke and Egon were seated on the curb, handcuffed. The officer nodded as you gave your statement, and let Egon, who was sitting calmly, off with a warning as he wasn’t intoxicated and acted in your defense, while Duke hurled expletives and beer from his spot against the road. The car sped off with him in the backseat, and you tiredly sat down next to the tall man, stretching his wrists out from the handcuffs.

“Hey.”

Egon’s face was illuminated by the fluorescent lights of a 24 hour grocery behind him in the entertainment filled street. His brown eyes were soft and slightly rounded, albeit worn. “Hi.” He looked at you expectantly with a trace of worry as you scanned him. He looked beautiful at night. “Are you okay?” He bashfully held both of your hands in his.

You nodded. He didn’t seem to believe you, examining any part of your body that was exposed. You pinch his ears again, pulling him down. “Thanks for spying on me,” you let him go, “But. Thank you for being there, really. I’m sorry I didn’t listen when you were warning me.” He looked guilty as he rubbed the tops of his ears.

“I should be apologizing. It’s not my place to police what you do. I’m sorry I acted childish.” You let out a small huff, leaning your head on his shoulder. He was a warm refuge in the cooling air of the night.

“But, you wouldn’t have had to if I just rejected him.” 

He hummed. “True,” he agreed without thinking. He realized what he said as you let out a short laugh. “Objectively, it is true. But you shouldn’t blame yourself for him being disgusting. This could’ve been avoided if I had just gained the courage to tell you.” You sighed, before freezing.

“Tell me?”

It was his turn to freeze, eyes on the ground as he sat still. You shook his shoulder a bit, trying to convince him to let you in.

“Tell me what? C’mon, no more secrecy from now on.” He pursed his lips, sitting like a deer in headlights. He swallowed, battling something in his head before he rose silently, stopping in front of the tiny grocery store. You watched on as he robotically made it past cut and wrapped bouquets, artificial and destined to wilt soon. He stopped in front of a little potted thing, tiny compared to the others on sale but precious and hardy in its own right as its blossoms were finished blooming.

Egon took a breath in, and you stood to be with him. “I promised you. That the love of your life will be there with a flower in hand.” He looked between you in the pot. “If you’ll have me?”

The sounds and colors of the club melted away, painting you both in light like oil portraits. How blind you were. He looked grecian, his nervous face bathed in blue.

 “Of course. Even if you had to act like a caveman for me to realize."

[butterfly-stitches]

AMERICAN DREAMING.

[ Explicit MDNI ]

AO3

Pairings: Russell Adler / Bell, Russell Adler / Reader Russell Adler & Bell, Russell Adler & Reader Ensemble: Russell Adler, Bell (Call of Duty), Female!Bell, Reader

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence ☁️ Major Character Death ☁️ Memory Loss ☁️ False Memories ☁️ Brainwashing ☁️ Past Brainwashing ☁️ Identity Issues ☁️ Loss of Identity ☁️ Depression ☁️ Dissociation ☁️ Psychological Trauma ☁️ Medical Trauma ☁️ Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD ☁️ Flashbacks ☁️ Stockholm Syndrome ☁️ Hurt/Comfort ☁️ Hurt No Comfort ☁️ Sad Ending ☁️ Character Death ☁️ Older Man/Younger Woman ☁️ Parenthood ☁️ Family Dynamics ☁️ Family Bonding ☁️ Made For Each Other ☁️ Oral Sex ☁️ Penis In Vagina Sex ☁️ POV Second Person > Other Additional Tags to Be Added <

Synopsis: Life is but a dream… Fleeting, inconsequential. A stone unburdened by the snowfall of winter and snowmelt of spring. Like a river it flowed, a surging tributary of memory and memoir. Ever going, never ceasing. But to you, life was not fleeting nor inconsequential. Life was not dreamlike. To live, was to suffer. To suffer, was to live.

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

Chapter 1: reality, reverie.

Words: 20,020 Chapters: 1/1 Summary: In which you face reality and reverie …

Something wasn’t right.

Even in the embrace of sleep, just on the verge of consciousness, you could tell. Warm, comfortable. Cozy even,  and… safe. That alone made you stir, shifting against the confines of something that held you close. Too close. Restrictive, digging into your skin. Suffocated you. Drowning, you were drowning. No, you were being dragged underneath the water. Again, you stirred. Struggled against the hold. Again and again. But to no end, as you were only being dragged down further into dark waters. Still, you fought against the restraints you couldn’t see. Freeing within yourself a sudden violence armed with teeth and claws. A trapped, aggressive beast awakened after all this time.

You fought. Fought hard, fought strong and desperately. But, it still wasn’t enough to free yourself. Further and further, like deadweight, a stone thrown into a lake, you free fall into the deep, dark depths below. Light above you, fading away in the darkness. Your lungs burned, nostrils flared. Everything in you, ached for oxygen, choking for air. Pressure built into your chest, heavier and heavier, threatening to split your ribcage open. Screams silenced by water, your mouth filling with water. Air bubbles escaped your open maw, your frantic releases of breath leaving an effervesced trail as you sunk. Buried in a watery grave, pressurized and all consuming. Death was slow. Your death was inevitable like grave soil being thrown over your coffin. 

Your sight blackened but you thrashed about still, screaming and fighting in the throes of inevitable death. Then you heard it. A symphony of sounds, echoing like a whale song. Cacophonous and jarring as it reverberated in your bones and repeated in your head. An evocative vocalization that you began to understand, to recognize. It called to you, spoke a name. ‘Bell, Bell, Bell’   it said, repeating over and over like a mantra. From a voice that you knew wholeheartedly, deep down in the intertwisted threads of the tapestry of soul and flesh. Something reached for you, strong against your skin. Pulling you up and out of the water. You jolted awake. Bleary-eyed and fearful. Everything around you was but a blur of colors and shapes. A warbling in waterlogged ears, a chorus of inharmonious noise. 

Your world was rendered all but a kaleidoscope of sight and sound. A clarity absent to your senses and sensibilities. But touch, though averse and scarce, was not beyond you. It was a deliberate feeling that you focused on, even as your body ached like sunken stones. Something held you down still, something tangled around your body, constricting like a boa. The hold you felt was trapping, capturing. Freedom revoked. It made you start to panic, fighting against its hold again. That viciousness returned like a cornered animal. All tooth and claw. Running on survival, guided by a pure instinctual reaction.

“Bell!”

At that name, at the voice in your ear, you immediately stilled. Chest heaving with your heavy intakes of air. There was something solid behind you, holding you tight against it. A respiring that matched your own until it synced with you. Something that was living, breathing. All blood, bone and skin just like you. A warmth emanated into you, one that you couldn’t help but indulge in. You were shivering, all shaking bones, quivering lips and sheened with cold perspiration. In the lingering feeling of being underwater. Doused in freezing water. 

With a stuttering breath, you leaned back into a wide chest, the weight of burly arms around you providing you a heaviness that was more comforting than it was tenacious. Like the singing of a mother after a nightmare. It brought you back down within the gravity of reality, the weight of the world settling onto you. And you felt yourself relax. All fight leaving you as you fell limp against the person holding you. Racing hearts beat into a slow thrum. Skin pressed into skin, your shaking gone. Your sight began to clear, the instinctual takeover of your brain waning away like fog over a harbor with the onset of sunrise. Yet even then… you were still held, embraced. Allowed you the time to adjust, to process your surroundings. To recognize the illusions of dreamscape, the falsehood of truth in the face of actuality.

You were in unfamiliar surroundings. In a bright bedroom, on a bed. Early morning sun peeking through the window curtains behind you, streaked across the white wall in front of you; streams of sunlight washing over the room and onto your body. The sheets beneath you stuck to your clammy skin, your thin nightgown like a second skin. Duvet tossed away, a throw blanket tangled around your legs. The warbling in your ears, nothing but birdsong. That voice in your head, belonged to the body behind you. Who had you in their arms, limbs around your own.

You took a breath, inhaling. Smelt the familiar scent of salted skin and a faint musk. Deep like leather and aftershave. Cedarwood and bergamot; a rich smokiness that filled your lungs. Though comforting, evoking a sudden feeling of safety, such a scent was like smelling salts to your disoriented mind. You were wide awake now, though still uncertain if not confused. A sudden soft yet loud banging on wood, and you instantly recoiled, tensing up with panic. Your eyes darted to the door along the wall you faced. Fight-or-flight response started to take hold again. A firm squeeze of arms around you and you leave the trap of your mind, of your ingrained instincts, even as the banging on the door continued, voices calling on the other side. 

“Bell.” The person behind you said, warm breath against your neck. A word that made you attentive, responsive. It was spoken firmly, yet gentle. You focused on the voice, the body pressed against yours. Coming down from your panic attack as you calmed down. Breathing slowed but your body still tensed by the noise, alarmed. Gradually and gingerly, you were released. The body pressed into yours moved away, the warmth at your back disappearing. In the blur of the sun, you watched as the person entered your sight, heading towards the door. A man; tall, wide-shouldered and bare-chested. Disheveled hair shimmered like gold. The expanse of a broad, muscled back tensed as he turned around. 

You watched as he opened the door. Slow and careful. Using his body to block the opening from the voices on the other side as if to protect you, hide you away from prying eyes. As if the voices would burst through the door forcefully. It seemed like that rang true, was an expectation, as something did try to dart inside only to be stopped by the man. Whatever it was that wanted in, protested, verbalized their displeasure at him. But the man was adamant with his tone, assertive with his position. Yet just as gentle as his words were with you. Hushed voices, questions answered briefly, low spoken words. Too quiet for you to overhear. Whatever the man had said to them seemed to work as the voices quieted and silhouettes disappeared from the doorway and the pattering of feet sounded down the hall.

Running a hand down his face, the man closed the door, making sure to lock it. He turned, eyes glancing at your rising form before he dipped away into a side room. You heard the rush of water from a sink and less than a minute later, heavy footsteps on the carpet towards your side of the bed. You straightened up as he stood over you, something in his hand and you reacted. Scooted backwards, clawing at the sheets in an attempt to escape. Kicked out your legs as the man reached over, the beginning of a scream forming in your abraded throat.

“You need to calm down.”

But you couldn’t. Violence was all you knew, all you were. A wild animal deep down inside, hidden behind the façade of domestication and domesticity. 

“Bell.”

A pet’s name, a moniker he saddled upon you. Straining at the leash to get away, you crawled further to the other side of the bed, on his side of the bed. The warmth from his body still radiating from his spot, seeping into you as your palms tightened around the sheets. He gave you a disapproving look as if you were nothing more than a misbehaving dog — his disobedient pet. One he was determined to bring back to heel. Your eyes were on him as he slowly sat on the edge of the bed, opposite of you, the mattress dipping with his weight. He held a damp towel in his hands, showing it to you. Letting you know what he had was innocuous. But you remained in your far corner, unconvinced. 

You studied him from afar, watching every little movement of his. Anything to signal danger and warrant a reaction from you. He was patient nonetheless. But something in you knew that wasn’t typical, accustomed to his persistent, proactive nature. A go-getter who was on the verge of fanatical and obsessional in his pursuits. But the longer you watched him, stared at him. The more you wracked around your brain. The more you became nostalgic. A remembrance tingled in the back of your head. He was no stranger to you. No threat. 

He read you easily it seemed. Called out for you again. Bell . Your name on his tongue, a gentleness, a fondness just for you. You only watched as he reached forward to you, for you. You were face-to-face now as he settled next to you. In the sun, in the warm glow of the early morning, you saw him for who he was. Who you remembered. His name was on the tip of your tongue. You searched his face; all scar-faced, square-jawed, stone-faced, and blue-eyed features of him.

“Adler.” You whispered. 

He pressed the damp towel to your forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat. The sudden coolness made you flinch. You tried to move from it, but his hand went to your chin. Held it firm, keeping your head still as he tapped it along your brow. 

“Adler.” You said again, more to yourself than anything. 

He stopped, mouth pressed into a line as sharp eyes flicked down to you. You went slack in his grip, eyes fluttering. You pressed yourself into his body, tucking your head underneath his chin. Though he was surprised by it, Adler didn't protest. He wrapped his arms around you, your face in the crook of his neck. Taking in the smell of him greedily. Adler pulled you down with him, onto the bed. Broken memories played, too quick to grasp, too minimal comprehend but enough to give rise to some sort of response. An ache in your chest, conflicting emotions. But above all else, you clung to the arms around you. The only thing that gave you a sense of solidity, of feeling real. Your name again spoke above you, into your hair, and Adler pulled away slightly, looking down at you as he rose up, pulling you with him. With you still curled into his chest. 

“You need to take your medication.”  

You only pressed yourself harder into his chest, the speckling of hair there scratched against your cheek with your nuzzling. 

“Bell.” 

Gently, Adler pried you away. A hand on your shoulder, as he held you inches from himself. Dark blue eyes on your face. Whatever he saw there, whatever expression you showed, made his eyes narrow and his mouth twist.  

“Your medication. You need to take it.”

You blinked up at him, processing what he said. From his slow unfurling palm, he revealed a capped syringe. An unknown liquid in its barrel. Your eyes widened, panic coming once again as alarms bells blared in your head. Realizing that he had hidden it underneath the towel, right underneath your nose. Like a dog’s medicine hid within a treat. Betrayal simmered, over the fear. And his face hardened at your realization. 

“Focus, Bell. I need you to focus.” 

Your eyes flicked to him, then back down to the syringe in his hand. Inattentive, unsure. Your mind fought against itself. Trust and mistrust, a cocktail like oil and water in your mind. His hand gripped your shoulder harder, nails into your skin as you began to pull back. Cowering from the raised hand holding your medication. Memories again, more debilitating than before. They played like a broken cassette tape in your head, experiencing them again as if renewed, reimagined. A touch of death that stained you, a resuscitation that saved you. Blood on your tongue, swollen nose seeping into your mouth — bleeding wounds.

Metal chairs, gurneys. Interrogation rooms, your reflection — bloodied and bruised — stared back at you in the dark glass. Red, white and blue. The national colors of bloodletting, of broken bones, of sorrow sown. Threats and questions. Questions you refused, threats you disregarded. Drowning, you were drowning like before. Dragged forcefully underneath dark waters, swallowing you whole. A drumming noise inside your head, a ringing in your ear. The water didn't drown it out, only amplified the overwhelming din and it only grew louder and louder inside your pounding head.

A sudden sharp pressure in your eye socket and you squirmed against the person that held you down. Your eyelid forced open as it slowly sunk into your cerebral. You grit your teeth, grinding your jaw against your molars. Then you screamed but you were soundless; mouth opened in a voiceless wail. As quickly as it came, the sensation subsided and the needle was carefully pulled from your cornea. The afflicted eye stung from the intravitreal injection. Then, a strange tranquility befell you, reined you in. Stopped your aggression. A calloused hand cupped your face softly, turning your head to the side. A worried look on his face as Adler scrutinized where the needle went into your eye, the needle just missing the blood vessels from all your movement.

His sweaty body was over you, you soon noticed. Panting down on you with uneven breaths. His other hand held your arms across your chest, his legs tangled with yours. Keeping them pinned to stop you from thrashing and kicking out at him. Adler moved away as you came to, giving you space. Letting you rise up on your own. He sat back, moving to the other side of the bed again, watching you intently from the distance he put between you two. You, yourself, took deep breaths, trying to steady your breathing and slow your rising pulse. A heavy silence waned in the bedroom, the mingled heavy breathing of both you and Adler was the only sound in the bed space. The morning sun sat higher in the sky now, shining down harder in the room, and onto you both. Noises outside the bedroom, more voices and a pattering of feet. A restlessness that beckoned you towards it. You turned towards Adler, who met your eyes. His body leaned forward, his hand reached out slow and onto your bare knee. And squeezed it. 

“Bell.” Your eyes rose from his hand on your knee, to his face. Focusing on him.

The next words that he spoke, made you falter. A strange conglomerate of distant phonics, of harsh sounding syllables. A Slavic language. One that made your ears perk up, though you struggled to understand what he was saying to you. But it wasn’t foreign to you, you knew it deep down inside. You could feel the rhythm of the language. It thrummed in you, spoke to the blood that rushed into your veins. Russian . You could speak it naturally, fluently. Your mouth opened, lips dry and throat raspy. Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Questions existing, but words were lost to you. Adler stood from the bed, walking back into the bathroom. He returned with a disposable paper cup full of water, a couple of pills in his hand. 

“Pain relievers.” He explained in Russian, answering the questioning look you gave him.  

You took them from him, making a show of swallowing them down as he watched you take mouthfuls of the cool water. When you drank all the water in the cup, he left to fill it up again. And you gulped it all down, your parched mouth and dry throat relieved by the drink. He took the cup from you when you were satisfied, setting it on the nightstand next to him. You both stared silently at each other, things unspoken. What transpired weighed down heavily on the both of you. Your gaze flicked down from his face, to his scarred lips, down to his chest, to his arms. Wholly taking in the sight of him. An awful realization and then sudden shamefulness overcame you as you tore your eyes away, to the hands in your lap. He scooted closer to you and you met his eyes again, admiring the blue of them. But you couldn’t help it when your eyes wandered back to the marks that littered all on his skin. Red welts and scratches, bumps and bruises forming. All by you.

“I’m sorry.” The apology was rough sounding still, Russian wobbly on your tongue. 

Adler hummed. Letting your fingers trace along all the marks on his chest, around the dried blood of crescent marks of his arms when your nails had dug into them. All the way to the small bruises and finally to a bite mark on his wrist.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  You told him. 

“ I know .” He reassured, his chest rumbling as he let out a soft hum. Your fingers traced back up to his face, lingering over the deep trenches of a lightning strike scar, and stopping to a contusion forming on the underside of his strong  jaw. Your fingertips ghosted over it in your studying.

“Haven’t gotten hit like that in a while.”

You knew it was an attempt to lighten the mood, but you couldn’t help but let it wound you. Deflated, you tried to move and pull your hand away from his jaw but his hand was quick to clasp over your own. So easily Adler enveloped it entirely, holding both against his bruising jaw. Yet you still couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Bell.”

Back to English now, as he intertwined your fingers together, moving both your hands from his jaw to his rough lips. Turning them, to kiss the back of your knuckles. But something else caught your scrying eyes, marks on your own skin. All over your arms. Scratches and welts similar to the ones on the man in front of you. All from yourself, all self-afflicted. 

Silently, Adler cleaned up your scratches and cuts. You didn’t flinch as he did. Unfazed by the cold sting of the cotton ball across them. Soaked in disinfectant that he pulled from the first aid kit, retrieved from underneath the bathroom sink moments ago. You watched him care for you, inspecting each inch of skin, and tend to your wounds. So attentively, so… lovingly . That realization made something stir within you, in the confines of a twisted soul. Deep seated, deep rooted. Bile rose in your throat. Wrong, this was all wrong. It wasn’t right. Wrongness you felt underneath it all. By the way your skin crawled, the hair on your nape standing on ends, and muscles tensed up. Fight or flight instinct on overdrive.

D̷̡̫̯̪̺͚̬̥̘̭̻͈̼̐͌͒o̷̹̻͚͔͇̠̓͛̉̂͐̿̐̔̒̈́̚͜͠͝͝ ̵̨̱̬̰̰̺̝̠̐̍̀̐͐̉͒̆̾̽͂̽̏n̵̯͐̊̓̊̉͑͛̽͊̅͝ó̴͖̝͍̩͊̏ț̸̢̬̪̙̯͎̝́̃̓̒̈́͋͜͠͝ ̵̢̟͊̐̓̅͋̒͝t̸͚͐̎r̸̢̼͔̜͒̃́̃́͋̐̓̏̒̇̕ȗ̶̬̓̇̇s̶̨͙̘͇͓̗̯̓͊̾̈̂̿̎͛̏̃͛͘͘͜͜͠͝t̴̜͙̗̺̯̘͍͎͓̮̱̤̣̝̔ ̷̨̝͔̻͕͉͔͙̔͆̃̄͛̃̿̃̚̚͝A̶͔̘̟͓͙͊̋͐̆̓̕͠d̵̛̲̲̯̫͇̘̱̿̈́̂͜l̴̯̫̠͚̗̺̞̀̄̈́e̸̢̢̥̩̦͓͕̣͎͍̞̞̦̦̮̗͐̃̏̓̄̈́̚͜r̸̢̲̦̼̗͙͆͛̔̓́̅̈͊̋̕͘͘̚̚͝

Lies. Lies, all of it lies. This wasn’t real. Nothing was. You looked around, saw everything for what it was. Head pounding, memories that weren’t your own stuffed in your head. You were a shell of a woman, a discarded shed of old skin repurposed. Disturbed metamorphosis, an empty chrysalis, from where a butterfly would have emerged, unfurling its wings for flight, only to be picked open like a old wound and swallowed up. Hollowed out until all that kept you together was the name given to you and the person who gave it to you. This wasn’t you, you weren’t this… Bell. And this man in front of you who tended to you so delicately, wasn’t the savior you saw him as. Not a pure and noble heart, but had one as black as night. You didn’t know him, not truly. He was not your safety, not the gravity keeping you on your feet. 

You should loathe him, you should fear him. You shouldn’t trust the man in front of you. You knew it all as true. 

But love and hate always tasted the same to you. 

Hadn’t it?

“Who I am?” You asked as he tended to your throat, where you had clawed and scratched at it in your sleep. Adler stopped and looked at you then. Quiet as the weight of your words settled onto him, while weighing out his own. 

“Bell.” Adler soon replied, bringing your intertwined hands to his torso, over the red scratches across the expanse of his chest, right to the center. Where his heart beat against your open palm. “You’re Bell.”

Noisiness from behind the door again, shadows moving underneath the door frame, knocking on the door’s wood more rapidly in succession. More impatient. A harsh sigh left Adler’s scarred lips in response. He stood from the bed, packing away the first aid materials back into the plastic kit box. Tucked it underneath the bed frame. 

“You should lay down and rest.” Adler grabbed the duvet from the floor and pulled it over your bare legs. You blinked at the action, at him. His form disappeared into another space in the bedroom then back out. A walk-in closet you realized. Staring at his back as Adler pulled a shirt over his head and headed towards the door.

“I’m dangerous.” You told him in English, Russian was suddenly sour on your tastebuds. “I can’t trust myself. I don’t know who I am.”

“Then trust me.” He said, exhaustion was clear on his careworn face. Bags underneath his eyes. But there was something there, beneath his words. An undercurrent in the baritone of his voice… something akin to defeat in his tone. A vulnerability that you recognized, a weakness mirrored within yourself. Something you both buried away within yourselves. You swallowed then, running your tongue across your teeth. You shouldn’t put your trust in him, or believe his words. Yet… and yet. Without another word, you nodded at him. You believed him.

Adler ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back. In a semblance of tidiness. 

“Lay down and rest.” Adler repeated, hand on the doorknob as he gave you a once over. “I’ll wrangle the kids.”

Your head snapped to his face, eyes wide like saucers. 

“ Kids ?!” You repeated as if such a word was foreign to you, even spoken in your mother tongue.

Adler gave you a look, lips pressed tight together. Knuckles whitened as his hand flexed around the turned doorknob. 

“Yes. I’ll deal with them. Just… please lay down. You need to rest up.”

At your speechlessness, and with a one last longing look, Adler left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. But even as he left, you were still sitting up, staring at the door right where he had stood moments ago. You heard muffled sounds behind the door, far down in the hallway. You blinked, feeling your body start to slacken, your body heeding Adler’s words as you nestled into the covers. Right on his side of the bed. The blankets and pillows still smelt of him. A scent that, like the smoking of a beehive, calmed the thoughts swarming around in your skull. You closed your eyes, relaxing, but it wasn’t enough to slumber. The sensation of sinking, of being dragged down, down, down. Made you afraid to fully commit to sleep once more. Still you laid in bed, underneath the blankets. Basked in his warmth and smell. 

But eventually, you grew restless, tossing and turning. Felt his absence deep inside. You threw the covers away from yourself, standing on shaky legs towards the bathroom. Then to the bedroom door, wrapping a silk bathrobe you grabbed on your way out around your nightgown. You stared at the door. The edges of your surroundings started to fade away around you as it stared back at you. The sensation was jarring, like freefalling. A loss of gravity. You had to move away, stepping back until you felt the bed behind you. You sat on it for a moment, letting the motion sickness and the upturning of your stomach peter out.

Facing the door once more, you took a breath and grabbed the doorknob. The door shook, rattling against its hinges from your touch as you tried to pry it open. But to no avail. Trapped, you are trapped. You pressed your hands onto the wood, pushing against it. Beneath your palms, the door creaked and then it cracked. Fissures in the wood grain, splitting open as the layers started to peel like wood shavings. Rot and corrosion bloomed by your hand, by your simple touch. Like stab wounds, from the cracks in the door a deep scarlet poured out. Stained the wood grain darker. The smell of metal in the air. And before you knew it, the wood door was gone, wasted away. But in its wake was another door. A red metal door like the ones leading to an underground bunker. It beckoned you. Whispered to you, called you in an accented voice that sounded far too familiar. A faraway memory. It said your name, your true name. One you had long forgotten. An itch in the recesses of your mind, a jolt down your spinal cord. A hesitancy in your step, in your hand that hovered over the metal door bar. Fascination or recognition, you couldn’t tell what drove you forward. You lifted the bar up with an audible click, pushing against it until it opened. 

You went through, blinded by a bright light on the other side. Behind the door, you were met with a long hallway that stretched on and on. Miles upon miles. Faint laughter echoed from the end of it and you walked forward, following the sound. Just when you thought you reached the end of the hallway, it grew longer. The end was more imperceivable than before, indeterminate in its entirety. Seemingly going on and on indefinitely as you stared down the way. But still you continued onwards, voices in the distance. Although it was nothing but a maze of white walls, white tiles, and linoleum flooring. 

There were wide windows all along the length of the long hall, a consistent width apart. The windows peeked into lab rooms full of medical equipment, surgical tools, flickering projectors in the ceiling, and T.V.s sat on metallic utility carts; cassette tapes stuck in their players. You stopped at one of the windows, looking inside, curious. You scanned around but like a moth to a flame, an old habit, your eyes instantly trained to the T.V. display, waiting expectantly. The streams of static on the screen flickered. A bell clanged, white noise in your ears. Fixated on the sudden flashing images, the pieces of war footage playing then it stuttered, only to rewind and start again. 

A single exhale and blink of dry eyes, and you were suddenly inside the room. Strapped down to an integration chair. You tested the restraints, feeling how they cut into the circulation of your wrists and ankles. Another clamor rang out, and your body sat straight in the seat, expectant and attentive. Pavlovian conditioning —  a dog that waited for their kibble. The display screen flicked on in front of you. Like staring into an endless void, on a blackhole’s event horizon, your surroundings melted away and your body jerked forward. Pulled into a fierce orbit, lunged headfirst through the playing T.V. screen. Warped into some sort of dark backroom.

Two projectors, right beside each other, both sat on small wooden tables on either side of where you stood. Their lights converged, shone nothing onto a single projector screen in front of you. There were a few show slides slotted into both of their compartments, in random order, in different spacings. All you needed to do was change the slides and the projectors would display them on the screen. You changed the slides on the projector to your left, it clicked a couple times as you rotate by the empty slots to the first inputted slide. The left slide showcased a split image, the other half missing like a photo torn into two pieces. It was hard for you to make out the image, to grasp what it showcased. You stared at it for a beat, before moving to the projector to your right. Flicked through its rotation, the first slide of it closer in slot than the left one.

Then the display was completed, the other half of the image found. Whatever it showed, whatever it was, grew clearer the longer you stared at it. Red, you saw red. Another red bunker door. You stepped forward towards the projector screen, confused just as you were intrigued. In front of it now, your body in front of the projector lights doesn’t cast a shadow onto the image or screen. As if you were non-corporeal, a ghost lost in limbo. But unlike you, the display image of the red bunker door wasn’t intangible. You reached forward and pulled the handle bar up. And it opened and you walked through it. 

A sequence of fading whispers, a little girl’s giggle, while you looked around your new surroundings. Dark, damp, and dank. A cavern, like a hollowed out chest missing its heart. Stalagmites and stalactites jutted out like jagged teeth, water dripping from the ceiling above, trickling down and pooled in the eroded stone. You heard something moving in the cave, somewhere in the dark, slow and steady, like the dragging of chains across the floor. More childlike giggling from afar, and the noises got louder, more disturbing. Inhuman and innumerable. Feet shuffling onwards, a thousand marching on. Dripping liquid onto the cave floor, louder than the cave condensation. Of a removed heart, still bleeding and beating outside the body. You gathered yourself, looking around in the dark. Tried to pinpoint the sound’s source in the dark, squinting but you couldn’t even see even an inch in front of your face. 

You backed away, until your foot caught something on the floor. You reached down for it, patting around the rock empty-handed until your fingers brush against something cold. It is heavy in your hands, but the feel is familiar. A pistol and an extra mag, loaded already but with the safety lock in place. You held it, old training coming back to you like clockwork. A flashlight attachment on your pistol flicked on wasn’t enough to penetrate the dark. From the shadows, eyes glowed like they do on trail cams. Predators on the hunt. You shined your flashlight to them, only to see rotten bodies. Flesh falling off the bone, gray skin – stringy and gamey. Walking dead. Rumbling roars and screams from ripped open throats. The rapid resonate of dragging limbs, peeling flesh, congealed blood splattered in globs. 

They all lunged forward on decaying legs, too quick to be natural. You dropped a few of them with shots to the head and torso, they dropped like sandbags only to be trampled over by the others, their positions replaced. But they only kept coming and coming, and your pistol soon clicked, the chamber empty. You run, legs shaky on the uneven rocky surface. Deeper and deeper into the cave you went, kiting them through. Glowing eyes right behind you. You reloaded your last mag, shooting the ones leading the pack then running forward to gain distance. You went until your lungs burned, your legs aching. Until your pistol was empty, the flashlight attachment dimming out. But ahead, in the dark, a blaring light. An escape route. A bunker door, the light at the end of the  tunnel. 

You were sprinting to it, the once wide cave seeming to get smaller. Gradually, the surrounding cave walls narrowed around you. You had to slow, to squeeze through the gaps and holes, the sight of the bunker door in the distance are only glimpses now behind the small openings. A crowd of dead right on your trail, a misstep, a moment of being too slow, and they would catch you. You were hyperventilating now, your skin abraded and cut from squeezing yourself through the narrow gapes and crevices. But the light was closer, the bunker door just out of reach ahead of you. Your body against a stone wall, pressing against the solid form. One with no opening.

Animalistic roars echoed against the rock and stone catching up to you. Dimming light of the flashlight scanned around the wall, anything that dictated a path forward as you desperately searched around. Shining on a pile of loose stone at your feet. You wasted no time, no effort. Dropping the empty gun, low light shining to the dark behind you. You clawed on the rock formation, pushing and rolling away heavy stones. Uncaring as your fingernails were chipped and torn from the nail roots. Leaving bloody handprints behind onto the discarded stone surfaces. 

Underneath the rubble, was a crawl space uncovered  in the stone wall. Cramped and claustrophobic but without nowhere else to go, the undead behind you as encouragement, and you went on your belly. Squeezing yourself into the passageway. You crawled on, forcing yourself through even when the space grew smaller around you, compressing down onto your body. It became harder to breathe in such a tight space. You were panicking, breathing uneven. The crawl space constricted, like a fist around your throat. Something reached in behind you, arms extended to grab for you. A mass of rotting hands outstretched, bodies colliding as they tried to enter the small spacing all at once. They clawed and crawled, teeth gnashing against their loosening  jowls behind you; fingers grasping out for you. A bear trap around your foot as multiple hands curled around one of your legs. Hauled you back, your skin scraping against the stone. You kicked out at them, fingers digging into rock for purchase. Sharp pointed stones, loosened by your movement, cut into your body as you were dragged back.

But you saw it ahead of you. A distant light, a red door – opened. And you saw him. Adler on the other side of the door. Standing, staring. Waiting for you. You called out to him, but to no avail. You were voiceless and he remained there in the doorway. The tear of fabric being ripped, cracked teeth sunk into flesh. The burst of skin breaking. Pain in your leg, shooting up your spinal cord. One of them had your leg in what remained of their mouth, as others clawed at your bare calf. You were being eaten alive, torn apart, dragged back. You fought against them still, kicking and shaking your captured leg as much as you could in the small space. You were tired, bleeding out. Still you pulled yourself through the crawlspace, eyes frontward. Towards Adler who awaited you. A final push, a final effort and you were on the other side. Your extraction within reach. 

You grabbed a rock, between both hands, and down onto the undead hanging off your leg like a tick. You brought the stone down and the head caved it, split open like overripe fruit. But even then, it didn’t let you go. You brought the stone down again and again, until the head was nothing but a splatter of brains and shattered skull pieces on the stone. The hands around your leg were next, as you slammed the stone onto the rotting arms until they snapped at the elbow joint. Limbs loosened on you, as they fell to the side, lifeless. Freeing you. You crawled backwards. Yellow glowing eyes deep in the crawlspace, bodies conjoined and mutilated, forced into a single space. More arms outstretched from the other side, growls and screams in your ears. 

You pushed yourself onto your feet, limping. Hobbled forward as fast as you could, adrenaline numbing the pain. You called Adler’s name, relieved, exhausted. You get closer and closer, your blood swirling into the ankle deep pool you push yourself through. On the threshold now, and the image of Adler grew fuzzy. Red, red, red. He was a maroon figure, his face was blurred. Like a glitch, a horizontal blear twisting his identity. The door slammed shut, metal mechanisms inside shifting and grinding as it locked in place. You called out to him, pounding your bloody fists against the metal. The metal handle bar unmoving as you pushed it. Rumbling roars and screams, bodies yanked themselves out from the crawlspace. Inflamed eyes in the dark. You pushed and pulled, banging on the door. Blood prints on the metal, a darker red smeared all over. Screaming, wailing. Adler, Adler, Adler . But he was never there to save you. Only to drag you down, down, down. Deeper in hell and to keep you there. Laughter, laughter all around you. The undead were laughing at you, cackling like hyenas in the deep of night. 

You pushed the bar up once more, desperate and frantic. Underneath your fingers, the door starts rusting, metal oxidizing. Painting peeled away. Door handle rusted in place. Still you pushed, all your might, all your effort. Flakes of verdigris crumbled, falling like ash on your skin. The handle squealed, corroded metal grinding against each other, as the mechanisms are forced to move. The metal handle snapped in your hand, but the door creaked open; Not fully but with a sliver of opening. The bash of your shoulder against the bunker door and it moved gradually, hanging off of its hinges, the bottom of the door scraping against the doorstop. The dead scrambled to you, limbs missing, slower than before. 

But you made enough of an opening to squeeze yourself through it and you push yourself through. Falling onto your hands and knees onto the other side. You looked up to see a stipple ceiling. Sun on your face, plush carpet against your palms. No pain in your leg, no scrapes on your body. Elbows and knees unscathed. Shoulder not dislocated from your battering against metal. You looked behind you only to see a wooden door ajar and a bedroom behind you. A girl’s laugh in the distance filled your ears. 

But it felt real. All of it felt real. Too real, to be nothing but night horrors.

“Mommy?”

A small voice down the hall and you snapped your head to it. A small child at the end of the hallway stared at you. Face dipped in shadow, features obscured. You were frozen, still on your knees. Head pounding, confused. But something inside you tugged at the title. A mother’s love, a mother’s embrace. A mother’s sacrifice. The child scurried down the hallway towards you and you recoiled. A phantom pain in your leg and you reached down for a weapon at your side that wasn’t there. The child jumped to a stop, looking down at you with big, blue eyes as you tensed up. 

“Mommy, why are you on the floor?”

Silent and still, you were emotionless, motionless. An uneasiness that made your body stiffen. Your mouth opened but you couldn’t speak. The child watched you curiously, attention waning as they balanced on the balls of their feet. Soon the child joined you, kneeling down. From the way they smiled, the child thought it was a game. 

“You can’t be on the floor, silly.” The child chastised and you only stared at them. Grubby hands outstretched. 

You expected them to claw you, to rip open your skin. But they only grabbed your wrist. With all their strength, they tug on your hand, trying to help you up. It took you a moment to process it as anything but a threat to you. Gradually, you stood up as the child helped. Who thought it was because of them that you were able to get up. You didn't pull your hand away, even as the child intertwined their own. You let them lead you down the hall, the smell of food wafting ahead of you both. The child took you into the living room. You recognized the blonde man in the kitchen next to the living area. Who stirred something on the stovetop, whatever it was that he was cooking, smelt delicious despite your nausea. 

“I found her!”

The child announced, letting your hand go and bouncing like a bunny to Adler. The child tugged at his shirt, pointing to you with a toothy grin. Adler’s head snapped towards you hovering in the threshold of the hall. A pointed look aimed straight at you, sharp eyes narrowed, and mouth pressed tight. Another face appeared, bounding from the living room. Another child. Taller, older than the first. They smiled at you, shyer. But went to you nonetheless, hugging your waist. Eyelashes framed over blue eyes,  staring up at you. 

“Now we can go have a picnic!” The youngest exclaimed, beaming up at the man in the kitchen. Obviously too excited to be contained as they hopped up and down. Using the countertops for stability.

Adler patted the child’s head, stopping his jumping up and down with a firm hand. Eyes still on you. “Not today. Your mother’s sick, she needs to rest.”

There was a command there. A jab at you that made your skin prickle.

“But you promised.” The child whined on. The oldest around your waist made a disappointed sound too.  “You said we can go.”

“I know I did. But not today, kiddo. We can go next time.”

Both children sulked, huffing and awing at Adler. But Adler didn’t relent, absolute with his decision. He walked forward, his shoulders tensed. A few steps and he was stood in front of you. His attention went to the oldest at your hip. 

“Come on.” He jutted his chin to the side, a gesture for them to move away. “Let your mom go. She needs to go back to bed.”

You didn’t know what overcame you as your arm wrapped around the child’s body, protectively. Keeping them in place, close to you as you took a step forward. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Adler. He stared at you, eyes flitting down to your hand clutching to the child’s pajama shirt. You had trouble reading what he was feeling, what he was thinking. Yet Adler had always been like that, you thought. Difficult to read, to predict and to understand. Like you.

“We should go.” You finally said, your voice shaky and raspy. A clearing of your throat and you steeled your spine. “Let’s go have a picnic, Adler.”

The children audibly agreed. You released the oldest that clung to you as they moved and joined the youngest at Adler’s side, who was tugging on his shirt, begging and pleading. He was displeased, you could tell. But you challenged him nonetheless, eyes meeting his own. A chorus of: ‘Please, dad!’, ‘Can we go!’, ‘Mom says we can.’ ‘You promised we could go.’ chanted out in the tension between you both. And eventually Adler let out a deep sigh, shoulders heaving as he did. 

“Alright.” He agreed. That defeated tone returned but it was quickly gone as the children cheered happily, clinging onto him now. 

You watched them, a sudden emotion fluttering your heart at the sight. Of Adler’s small smile, though strained, it was genuine. Of the children… your children. Their happiness you felt as your own. The early morning forgotten, the wounds, the memories, the hallucinations, the night terrors. The ringing inside your own head. Your suffering, your pain, your detachment from the world. 

It was all worth it for this. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as the oldest grabbed your hand again. Clasping the smaller hand back, you walked to Adler whose attention went back to you. He let out a huff, an annoyed sound. But he leaned down, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. A sudden softness on his hardened features. The smell of something burning, rising smoke in the kitchen made Adler quickly duck to the stovetop towards the simmering pan. You were led by your hand again to the dining room, that was connected right to the kitchen. You sat down, watching the child run off to the living room to join the youngest sitting on the sofa. Your gaze shifted. To the television. A sudden feeling as you focused on the screen. White noise, your sight wavering. 

Something clunked down next to your arm and you blinked up at Adler leaning against the tabletop. A fresh cup of tea next to you, a coffee of his own in his hand — a dark bitter brew. No sugar, no cream. 

You smiled your thanks, eyes back to the children. But Adler’s eyes were on you. 

“Saturday cartoons.” Your head turned to him right as he took a sip from his steaming mug. “They wanted to watch them. I can turn it off and cover the T.V. if it’s bothering you again.” 

Your eyes fluttered at that, giving a quick look back to the living room then back to him. “No, it’s ok. Let them enjoy it. I'll live.”

But he was unconvinced. Lines on his face, more prominent. Those ending words of yours made his frown deepened.

“I’m fine.” 

But you didn’t know if you were trying to reassure him or yourself.

He shook his head at you. “No, you aren’t, Bell. You’re not fine.”

Something inside ached. For him, for you. 

But before more could be said, Adler left into the kitchen. His back to you. Alone now, you sat there wordlessly. Taking slow sips of your tea. It helped you think. Its warmth spread throughout your body, reinvigorating you with a comforting feeling. Your wary eyes looked around as you finished the rest of your tea. Training was still an instinct as you took mental notes of the windows and doors, places to hide, places to bunker down, ways to escape, choke points and objects to use as defense. You wondered if Adler did the same.

But you were not alone for long, not lost in your own head. Soon Adler served breakfast, a simple meal of eggs, bacon and toast. He seated the children, though they protested. Wanting to eat in the living room so they could watch their cartoons. Only to be upset when Adler shook his head no. He served you a plate, your eggs made the way you liked; an additional bowl of sliced fruit on the side. Along with a cup of warmed bone broth in case you couldn’t stomach the solid food. The kids were quiet as they ate, heads turned to the television across the way. Like them, you and Adler ate quietly as well. Both lost in your own thoughts. 

You ate as much as you could handle, taking a few bites here and there of your food. But mostly you nibbled on your toast. It helped your nausea, abating the queasiness you felt. When the children were done eating, they gathered their dishes, rushing to put them in the kitchen sink. Before racing into the living room and onto the sofa just as a new cartoon show began. You pushed your plate away towards Adler. He grimaced at it, at the food you barely touched. Yet wordlessly took your plate, adding your breakfast to his own to finish. You sat there quietly, forcing yourself to drink the broth. It was enough of an effort to ease Adler’s disgruntlement. 

But mostly, your attention was to the children. Your children; yours and Adler’s. Who had eyes just like the man sat next to you, reading a newspaper. A deep dark blue. Their faces, a blur in your withered memories. Their names you didn’t remember. But that pull, that motherly instinct in the back of your head was all that you needed to know. There was a time you think, some time ago where such a life. Such a domestic thing was not meant for you. Surrounded by death and secrecy, a pact of self-sacrifice. Of yourself and others. By your own hand, the world’s strings pulled taunt like nooses. Such a life was never for you. But you wondered if you had wanted such a life. Had you yearned for it still? Or did you accept it, for a cause. Or had you never wanted it in the first place? A family. You tried to recall but no answer came to you. As Adler grabbed both of your dishes, taking them to the kitchen to start cleaning up. You walked to the living room. Hiding in the shadow of the archway as you watched your children. The oldest sat on the sofa while the youngest was on the rug in front of the television. Playing with a toy as they watched, the same one as one of the characters of the show. 

You avoided looking too long at the screen, an old habit you’re struggling to fight off especially now. Whispering bells in your head again, tolling in a soft breeze. You found yourself moving on your own accord. Walking into the living room, taking a seat on the sofa. You were at the far end of it, tucked away in the corner. Distance put between your oldest and yourself. Observing closer, wanting to be closer despite yourself. But still cautious. Your vicinity wasn’t as ignored as you hoped, as your oldest moved closer to you. And your youngest began to show you their toys, the ones from the cartoon they’re watching. Your youngest chatted on, giving you all the details of the show and the characters. Pointing them out on the screen. Your oldest at your side, listening along, and adding more details. And you listened intently, engaged, intrigued. Your heart ached.

A feeling at the back of your neck and goosebumps rise on your arms. You grew stiff, turning around to catch Adler watching you from afar, leaning in the archway. Closely. Too closely. As if you were dangerous, a muzzled mutt. But you were, weren’t you? So volatile, so impulsive. Even you couldn’t control yourself. It was only a matter of time before you lashed out again. A commercial break that caught your attention as your oldest wanted you to look at a toy product – some sort of puzzle cube with multicolored squares on each side. But when you turned back to the archway, Adler was gone. You tried not to be on edge, that wrong feeling returning once more. 

Something was draped over you, something soft in your lap. A throw blanket. You run your fingers through the soft wool as Adler interjected himself between you and your oldest. Forced apart from your side, they expressed their complaint, but eventually acquiesced as he made room for them to lay against him. The other arm was thrown around you, pulling you close to his side. You inhaled his scent, conflicting feelings subsided and you went lax against him. The rest of the morning was spent like this, all of you in the living room. Your face pressed into his shoulder when looking at the television grew too much for you to bear. Focusing instead on the sounds of his breathing, of the smell of him. All of him against you. Until it was just you and him in the living room. 

Eventually, the kids had run off somewhere when Adler changed the channel and flicked on the news. But soon they grew impatient as the afternoon came. Asking when you all were leaving for a picnic. Adler brushed them off, using your dozing off as an excuse to delay and obfuscate. But when you stirred, looking up at him from his chest. You gave Adler a pointed look of your own. It was enough to get him on his feet, knees audibly creaking. And you followed suit. The kids rushed to their rooms, getting dressed to go. You went to get ready too, into something casual and light. A sundress you decided on, your favorite one you think. A pretty long cotton. Didn’t Adler get this for you? You pulled it over your body, smoothing the wrinkles out in the fabric, and  stood in front of the bathroom mirror. A stranger stared back at you. Sickly looking. Hollow-eyed with a haunted look, hair frizzy and brittle. Life drained from your face; wan and ghastly.

Shell-shocked.  

Feelings of repugnance. Of sadness and of disbelief. 

Was that truly who you were? That person who was staring straight back at you, was you?

Warmth at your back as a body stood behind you, into your back. Fingers went to your shoulder, brushing against your collarbone and pulled a loose strap of your dress up. Your eyes lifted upward to meet Adler’s in the mirror. Watched him bend down, mouth going to your neck. You bared it out to him, instinctively turning your head to the side. Marred lips traced up along your jugular vein — slowly and steadily. Sharp blue eyes kept your gaze in the reflection as he did. A small act, yet you were already worked up. Breathing hard, heart beating in your chest. A death grip on either side of the porcelain sink. Adler stopped behind your jaw, right on the thrumming pulse there.

“Ready?” He asked, voice husky. Lips still on your neck.

You nodded, breathless and speechless. He took a step back from you, giving you a nod. Your eyes were still on his in the mirror.

“C’mon.” 

You ran your tongue across your lips deliberately as Adler watched. Turned fully around to face him. Taking in the sight of the man in front of you. Light sandy brown hair brushed down and groomed to the side. Always stylish, always well-coordinated. Even in leisure clothing. You followed him out of the bedroom. A cardigan sweater in your arms. The kids were waiting by the front door. Your oldest was holding folded quilts and a straw picnic basket, and the youngest was with an armful of toys. You tried to help carry supplies, plastic wrapped food, drinks, anything you all needed. But Adler was quick to stop you. You both agreed to let you at least hold the picnic basket. While your oldest helped Adler with packing the cooler. 

You shielded your eyes from the sun outside, a burst of white light that blinded you as you stepped out of the house. The day was warm and mellow with a cool breeze like a soft sigh. It made your sundress flutter, a relief against your heated skin. You stared out at a suburban neighborhood full of large family homes, green lawns, and white picket fences – the all American Dream. It was almost nauseous, the manufactured appearance. People were out and about: walking dogs, mowing their lawns, sitting on their porches talking to each other as their kids played outside. You kept your eyes downcast, not wanting to garner any attention or be greeted by overly friendly neighbors. But you could feel their unsubtle eyes on you. 

In the driveway sat a vintage muscle car. Adler’s most prized possession, besides yourself. You headed to the sedan parked further down the driveway where your youngest child waited next to it, talking to a neighborhood kid riding their bike. Boasted about the picnic you were going to have. It wasn't long until your oldest appeared then Adler afterwards. A cooler in one hand, car keys and his iconic shades in the other; a portable radio tucked underneath one of his arms. It seemed Adler had the same idea as you, kept his gaze away and not making any eye contact with the neighbors. 

You sat in the passenger seat while the kids and him packed some stuff in the trunk. So quickly that it wasn’t surprising that an efficient man like Adler would teach your children to be as well. Before long, you were all on the road. Assured beforehand that the drive wasn’t too long. You stared out the window to the blurring shapes of the surroundings passing by. Music in your ear, filled the silence inside the car. A song that Adler particularly liked started and he turned the volume dial up. Gary Wright’s “Really Wanna Know You” played louder from the car speaker. He rested a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly. The other wrapped around the steering wheel. You took a peek at him from the passenger seat. The interior of the car reflected on his sunglasses. Noticed him mouthing the lyrics.

Adler pulled the car into a municipal park. Surprisingly vast and full of greenery — trees, shrubs, fields of long grass and plants. Picnic tables underneath the shades of towering pines and oaks. Benches were set along the sidewalks. Hiking trails that lead further in the park grounds. A playground was at the forefront of it, surrounded by a pit of play sand. Your children were restive, overly excited just by the sight of it. But were made to stay and help unload the car before they could go run off and play. With a nod from Adler, like missiles, they beelined straight to the playground. Adler carried the cooler, radio, and disposable dishes. You, on the other hand, had just the picnic basket in the crook of your elbow and the quilts. You followed Adler towards a picnic table across the way, in the shade of an overarching American basswood – a lush crown of heart-shaped leaves swayed with the subtle breeze. It was more private, situated just on the edge of the treeline yet it was still near eyesight of the playground. 

But you and your family weren’t the only ones there enjoying the nice weekend. People were there walking the trails. Other parents sat on the benches near the playground, other families on other benches. Kids in Various age ranges were also on the playground; running and tumbling in the grass. And your children made friends instantly. You kept a watchful eye on them, on others in your peripheral. Aware of the strangers, of any possible threat or hazard. All while Adler fiddled with his radio – pitches of high and low frequency static emitting with his tinkering. Until he grew annoyed, slamming a fist on top of it until it juddered with music. You scoffed at him, eyes still focused on your children on the playground, playing tag with other kids. 

“Ok?” Adler settled down next to you with a long, weary sigh.

You nodded at him, pulling your cardigan sweater over yourself and leaned closer. Knees touching, his body heat transferring into you. The radio was a nice thrum in the background as you enjoyed the sight and smell of the surrounding nature. It was a salve to your broken mind, a tortured heart. You both stared straight ahead towards the playground. 

“Are you mad?”  

Your question was softened, spoken as you exhaled an uneven breath. 

He was quiet for a moment.

“No.” Adler rubbed the underside of his jaw where the bruise blossomed. “I’m not mad, Bell.” 

You felt him relax next to you, shoulders dropping as he leaned his weight into you. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more for him or you to add. With that, a silence befell between you both, in each other’s company. Guilt and shame came and went, soon replaced by a stifling numbness. You focused externally instead. Adler next you, the soft breeze against your face. The tumbling of the canopy above you. Another one of Adler’s favorites playing from the crackly radio on the picnic table. The laughter of children in the park; yours amongst them. All of it; the pace of the world around you.

But such tranquility was only temporary as your children ran towards the picnic table. Out of breath and sweating, gulping down cold bottles of cola from the cooler. Before running off again like energetic puppies. It was a pattern. Going to play then coming back to get refreshments before returning to the playground again. By the third time, you expected them to be too tired to play anymore. But you underestimated their energy. The youngest tugged at your arm while the oldest did the same to Adler, wanting both of you to get up and join them. Adler was the first to give in, luckily for you. Letting the kids drag him up and away from the picnic table; his sunglasses handed to you for safekeeping. Though by the look Adler gave you as he was taken away, it was deliberate. Letting you have the time to rest and relax, saving you from their clutches. Although your kids definitely tried.

So you sat back and resumed your relaxation. Watched Adler play with the children, chasing them around as they screamed and laughed. A warm feeling spread throughout your body, a feeling you didn’t want to think too much about. One that was too bittersweet for you. Then a strange thought, a bewildering realization as you started to ponder more on it. Of your childhood. One that you didn’t remember, couldn’t remember. Even if you tried. It was a time lost to you. A blank space in the gray matter of your brain. To remember was to stare in murky water. At a muddled reflection. You wondered if you were the same as a young girl. A wild child without a care in the world. That drove your parents crazy. Or if you were a quiet child. Shy and sweet – your parent’s pride and joy.

Did you have siblings? Cousins and grandparents? Were they alive? Dead or excommunicated? Were you excommunicated? Did you even have a family? 

That query made you queasy, made you startled. 

What did you remember? 

Not very much. Always forgetful, always unstable. Always lost in your own head. Gathering the pieces of your shattered mind until your fingers bled. Putting them together to make a mosaic. A tattered paper collage that made a semblance of a begotten past. All you really knew was the here and now. All you knew was Adler and the bits and pieces of your long history together. Camaraderie, kinship; Enduring war together. Bled together. Fought together. Together , always together. Then a relationship beyond warfare. Beyond bloodshed and despair. A soul, once long lost and far forgotten. He was your world, your everything. The reason you were here breathing still. Still living, and still a part of a world that was so cruel and unforgiving. Despite all your reservations. 

Did Adler feel the same towards you? Were you his purpose now? His everything? Like he was to you? Did both of your children occupy the same space in his heart as you think it did yours? 

A man like him was not easily readable; reticent as he was. But his actions spoke volumes. From the picnic table underneath the span of the basswood, where you watched your family, there you felt it. An understanding between the uncertainty of past and the certainty of the present. Memories like sand between your fingers. No matter your identity crisis, memory issues or brain trauma, Adler was there. Now and always. Like he had been throughout your deployment together, during your clandestine operations. You were his shadow. His protégé. Two sides of the same coin. Eyes that always found each other in a battlefield. Always accounted for each other afterwards. Shared rations, shared canteens. The stench of cigarettes as you smoked side-by-side. A mutual respect. A symbiotic bond. 

It was always ever you two — Bell and Adler. Adler and Bell.

Always had been.

Even now as he and your children walked back to the picnic table as the afternoon sun came and went; giving way to the early hours of the evening. As the sky exploded in watercolors of yellow, orange and pink. You stood up, smiling. It was a small upturn of your mouth. A strange, unpracticed facial motion. But with such a sight as the man you held dear and both of your beautiful children together, you couldn’t help but want to smile. And snap out of your torment and conflicts. Even if it was only temporary, just for now. You approached Adler, the children at either side of you both. Hair out of place. His dark polo was drenched at the collar and underarms, khaki jeans stained from wet grass. And you couldn’t help the fleeting feeling of wanting to taste the salt of his skin. You shared a look with him, unspoken communication between you both. A wordless exchange just like on a battlefield.

You ushered all three of them to the picnic table. All exhausted, breathless, and sweaty. And unsurprisingly starving. You pulled all the plastic wrapped food from the cooler and the bags on the table. Setting up the family picnic, a simple one. But one nonetheless. Everyone was practically salivating as they watched you set it up. A platter of sandwiches, chips, potato salad, pasta salad, sliced seasonal fruit, deviled eggs, and lemonade. Cola and water in the cooler. And with your go ahead, all three immediately dug in; your children had to be corrected more than once from their table manners. Even you served yourself a plate of food. In the corner of your eye, the hint of a smile on Adler’s marred lips. Sparse for him just as it was for you. By the time you finished eating, so had everyone else. Even the peach cobbler, Adler’s favorite, remained untouched. A treat for later you imagined. 

Reinvigorated and re-energized by their meal, you and Adler watched in surprise as your children went to go play again. Most of the families there had left beforehand, but there were a few still there; the remaining children on the playground too.

Adler let out a sigh next to you, arms across his wide chest. “I’m getting too old for this.”

You leaned towards him, staring up from where you lay against his shoulder, and laughed. In the setting sun, he was a god to you. Hardened face dipped in half-shadow. The searing hue of the sunset highlighted the other side; scars, skin, and all. Made his eyes that much brighter, his hair like aureate silk. But at this angle, you also could see the years on him. Of his time on the field that whittled him down: a battle-hardened veteran, a calculated agent. A red-blooded American patriot through and through. Wrinkles and lines on the planes of his face, crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes. A slight grizzling in his golden mane as you brushed your fingers through it.

Still good looking as ever, still in shape.

Aged like a fine wine. 

“You’re practically dust, old man.”

A hearty chuckle rumbled through you, deep from within Adler’s chest. 

“Don’t get me started on you, kid .”

An old nickname that made you stare up at him and playfully glare at the side of his face. Your nose crinkled and face grimaced before huffing  and nestled back against him.

As the sun started to disappear in the horizon, in the shadow of dusk, you and Adler began to pack everything away and clean up. You called for your children, rounded them up while Adler put things in the car. Not even a few feet down the road, and the youngest and oldest were already asleep in the backseat. The ride home was pleasant, a companionable silence between you both, listening to the lowered radio. Cruising to the blues. Sunglasses perched on Adler’s face despite the dark. You found yourself starting to doze off, your head leaned against your arm on the car door. Until a hand on your shoulder shook you. You jumped a bit, blinked rapidly at the blurry face in front of you. 

“Bell, c’mon.” 

Rubbing at your eyes, you stretched a bit before getting out of the passenger seat. The youngest, still asleep, was slung over Adler’s shoulder while the oldest groggily slid out of the backseat. Tasked with putting away the food and drinks while Adler put your kids to bed, you grabbed the rest of the food and the cooler, leaving the rest of the stuff in the car to be put away tomorrow. The day had come and gone. Faster than you anticipated. The entirety of it weighed down on you. The strain of it held in your shoulders, in your neck. You opted to take a much needed shower. Hot water pelted against your body, washing yourself of the stress and weariness and down into the drain. 

The duration of your shower was longer than you thought. Making even Adler worried as he knocked on the bathroom door to make sure you were still breathing. By the time you got out, the entire bathroom was filled with steam. The humidity made you lightheaded. You expected Adler to already be in bed but you were surprised to find your bedroom empty and the bed untouched. You padded across the carpet, towel wrapped around your body towards your dresser. The curtains blew open with a sudden breeze, making you shiver. The balcony door was slightly ajar. Let in the night air inside and the smell of pungent smoke. You dressed yourself swiftly into just another nightgown and walked towards the balcony. There, leaning against the wood guardrail, was an outline of a tall, imposing figure. The flicker of a small ember where a lit cigarette rested between thick fingers. 

“Thought you wanted to quit?”

You joined the shadow on the balcony. Arms around yourself as you looked up at a dark night, the moon eclipsed by passing clouds. The flickering light of the cigarette reflected in his sepia lenses.

“Hm… I said that?”

You rubbed at your bare arms as a cold wind blew against your skin. Hair still damp, your nightgown was helpless against the chill. And you moved closer, seeking his body heat. “Something of the sort.”

Adler inhaled, the cigarette burning brighter with his deep intake. Then exhaled. 

“Can’t shake off old habits.”

You hummed at him, plucking the cigarette from his fingers just before he could take another hit of it. Adler turned to you, curious and interested. Watched you take a long drag. Saw your own reflection in his sunglass lens from the bedroom light behind you. Instantly, the addictive taste of nicotine filled your mouth, a rush of dopamine straight to the brain. You let out a soft sigh, smoke curling out of your lips. As you savored the taste of it on your tongue.

With an effortless motion, Adler retrieved the cigarette that was taken from him. And puffed at the end of it. “Thought I weaned you off of cigarettes.”

“You did. Doesn’t mean the cravings ever stop.”

He passed you the cigarette again. “Hm, guess so.”

You both stayed like that. The comfortable silence of the night. Smoking in each other’s company. Reminded you of the times in Vietnam after a long, hard day. Adler let you finish the rest of the cigarette, disappearing into the bedroom, wanting to take a shower to wash the day off too. Adler didn’t leave you much, having smoked most of the cigarette. But you weren’t picky, grateful for his scraps like a starved dog. When it was finished, you snubbed the rest of it against the railing. Uncaring for the stain of soot and ash on the white paint. Then discarded it in an ashtray on a coastal glass side table in the far corner. Where your potted plant sat on top next to it. Leaves yellowed and withering, but saved. But not by your nurturing care that was for certain. You realized that your revitalized plant had just been watered, by Adler no doubt. You went inside, locking the balcony door and nestled yourself into the bed covers. But you couldn’t fall asleep. Something in your chest prevented you, like the beat of your heart was too much for you to bear. Your mind was disquiet, running rampant. The older man was the centerfold of it all.

Adler didn’t take as long of a shower as you had. He walked out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. Hair darkened from his shower and brushed back. His upper body was on full display in the glow of the table lamp, stray water droplets rolling down the expanse of his chest, down to his abdomen. Adler disappeared into the walk-in closet. Coming out a minute later, dressed in loose fitting pajama pants and a plain T-shirt. 

He flicked the lamp off, plunging the bedroom into sudden darkness. You felt the mattress dip as he got under the duvet and settled on his side of the bed. 

Adler wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. You burrowed your face into his chest. Head tucked underneath his chin. The smell of his body wash and the fresh scent of detergent from his shirt filled your nose. Your body relaxed against him. Feeling him do the same against you. Your lips pressed to his cheek, a goodnight kiss he thought. Until your lips strayed to the bruise on his jaw then dipped down to his neck. Where you found his pulse, running your tongue against it slowly. Feeling it began to quicken underneath. His body tensed against yours. Arms tightened around you, fingers digging into your waist. 

“Go to sleep, Bell.”

A low, sleep-ridden voice said above you. It was a warning. A chastisement. A command he expected you to follow. But you were in no mood to listen, let alone close your eyes and go to sleep. You swallowed, moving away from Adler’s neck. Then back up to his face and ghosted your lips over Adler’s. He stirred, body still tensed, but laid unmoving. 

“ Bell .”

Another warning. Spoken like a growl right before the bite. But you were determined, undeterred.

Your hand went to his face, thumbing softly at his scars. “Adler.” 

He leaned into your touch. Stubbled and scarred cheek against the plush of your hand.

“ Please .” 

You didn’t need to ask twice. 

He was hesitant at first, worried. Fingers pressed into your skin, keeping a gap between you two. Warm breath fanned against your face. But you guided his head down to yours, brushing your lips together with his. It was a chaste kiss. Lips against each other for a fleeting moment before separating again. Where tongues just barely brushed, barely stroked into each other's mouth. Before you both braved another then another.  Until such restraint was forgotten in light of unbridled passion. A crash of mouths, a hungriness between you both. Blood rushed throughout your bodies. Hearts racing, heat rising. The hint of smoke on his tongue. 

Just as quickly, you both pulled away from each other. Panting, out of breath. Lips swollen. And all you and Adler could do was stare at each other. Wide-eyed and mouths agape. But the standstill didn’t last long. Adler was the first to close the gap again. Arms around your waist pulled you flush against him, your fingers in his hair. Lips locked to yours in a searing kiss. Siphoning the air from your lungs. You gasped for breath as Adler angled his head, pulling you into a deeper kiss. All tongue and teeth. His desperation matching your own.

You moved forward, Adler chasing after your lips when you pulled away. And quickly straddled him. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you still. Dilated eyes met dilated eyes as you stared down at the older man from above. He was a mess underneath you already: hair disheveled, skin flushed, the rapid rise and fall of his chest under your palms. Marred lips bruised from the aggressiveness of you both. You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful sight below you. To have such a man like Adler at your mercy. Looking up at you so eagerly. So hungry for more. 

But  in your admiration you let your guard down. And Adler had full intention to take advantage of that. He shifted, quicker than you anticipated, and before you knew it you were on your back. Him over you, caging you against the mattress with his frame. A slight upturn of his lips at your surprised gasp before you were swallowed into another kiss – softer and slower this time. But just as devouring. You squirmed against his hold. Felt him shift again, a knee hooking underneath your leg and pushing it aside as he leaned forward, body pressed down onto you. 

Adler left your mouth, lips across your jaw before dipping down. Lips to the pulse underneath your jaw like you had done to him. His teeth tracing it as it throbbed against his tongue before he bit down – leaving the indentation of teeth in his wake. The morning came back to you, standing in front of the mirror. Watching Adler against your throat. You wished you could see him now like you did then, as he kissed down the column of your neck, tongue trailing all along your jugular. Nipping at your collarbone towards your chest. Nipples poking through the material of your nightgown. 

Hands at your hips that held you still hiked your nightgown up, bunching it at your abdomen before it is pulled over your head and tossed on the floor. Bared to him now. He admired you for a long moment, piercing gaze taking your nakedness in, all along your goosebumped skin. He pulled his shirt over his head. Then Adler pressed his lips between your breasts, ever slow and ever steady. Ignoring your whimpers, your impatience. Heeded his own need to savor you. To evince your worth. His mouth left a scorching path down your abdomen. All across the scars and marks that littered your body, new and old. To the recent bruises, scratches and cuts. On the florets of old gunshot wounds on your torso and midriff that still felt freshly healed and much too tender against Adler’s scarred lips and light stubble.

His head descended down, down, down . Your fingers threaded through his mane of hair, feeling his warm breath above your hips. Calloused hands against your thighs, the one he hooked with his leg was thrown over his shoulder. His body settled between your legs. Already so wet. His mouth kissed up the one over his shoulder. From your thigh all the way up to your ankle. Then back down in a trail of wet kisses. You watched, heavy-lidded, your eyes meeting Adler’s. As he buried his face between your spread legs. You choked a gasp, tugging at his hair. Your thighs wrapped around his head, hips automatically  bucked against his face. As Adler eased you open with his tongue slowly. Kissing, sucking, licking, lapping. Your hips lifted up from the bed, legs taunt, but he held you down. Using his arms wrapped around your waist to stop your squirming and the width of shoulders to pry your legs open even wider. 

Adler was merciless with his tongue. Swirling around the most sensitive part of you. Sending jolts of electricity shooting up your spine, right up to your foggy brain. Added onto the heated pressure that was building in your core. You were already making a mess, dripping down your thighs onto the sheets. Your breathing only grew more uneven, more quicker. Chokes and moans fell from your lips, encouraging the man between your legs. Adler leaned on his side, moving an arm from underneath your waist only to go back and resume to his assail on you. He pressed a thick digit into you slowly, between the lapping of his tongue. Until he was up to the knuckle. Though you moaned at the feeling, you wished he filled you with something else. Adler pumped the finger into you, curling it against your tight, slick walls. Then, after a few moments, added a second. His fingers were calloused but clever. It didn’t take long before you were keening off the bed. Mouth agape, hands clenched around the sheets, hearing the sounds Adler was making between your legs. You were already close, right at the summit. But it wasn’t surprising, adroit and ambidextrous as he was. 

Your fingers shot to his hair again, pulling as the pressure in your core grew more and more. Your thighs squeezed against his head, legs shaking, hips rolling against the movements of his tongue and pumping of his fingers into you. But Adler didn’t relent. He was never a man who could. You were close. So, so, so close. Right on the edge, fire coaxed underneath your skin. Heart bursting, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. Focused solely on the pleasure Adler was giving you. You begged and pleaded, sighed his name in broken breaths. Russell, Russell, Russell. Until your breathing stuttered, breathless as you began to quiver. Like the snap of string, the unspooling of thread, your orgasm crashed over you. Hard and unexpected. Pulled you down underneath the depths, slamming you against the ocean floor. 

Mouth opened in a silent cry, body rose, hips rolling, fluttering around Adler’s fingers, tears rolling down your cheeks as Adler talked you through it. All the emotions, all your pain and suffering, all your fears and insensibility surged forward. A hurricane of mixed, conflicted feelings. Then all at once, it was gone. And you felt… you felt. You didn’t feel much of anything. You didn’t know what to feel. At peace? Unburdened? In limbo? It wasn’t numbness or detachment. But something you couldn’t quite name nor explain. In its wake, as you came down from your orgasm, all you could do was stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Tears were still falling from your eyes from an unknown cause. Hands intertwined with yours, grounded you as you laid there motionless. 

Carefully, Adler moved away from between your legs, kissing lazily against your salty skin. Up to your collarbone and neck, then a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. He laid beside you, not holding you, but there just so you could feel the tangibility of him. Of the warmth of him next to you. Skin against skin, heart beating in the ribcage next to yours. 

“Bell.”

Your name was whispered in the crook of your neck. Your hands intertwined with his once more. You blinked, shaking through the fog in your mind. Turned your head, eyes meeting Adler’s as he stared at you worriedly. His eyes still dilated, his face drenched with your wet slick. Watched him as he licked his lips. You leaned forward, kissing Adler again. Tasting yourself on his lips. His hand cupped your jaw, deepening the kiss. He pulled away from you, kissing away the tear streaks on your face. Your arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer until he hovered over you. Adler was tense again, searching your face.

But you wasted no time, fingers following along his happy trail, tugging at the waistline of his pajama pants. Adler was quick to get the message. Still hesitated, still worried that it was too much for you. Convinced only by your gentle kiss and your pleading eyes. He helped you tug away his clothing, relieving the tightness there. He was rock hard; heavy, ruddy, and curved. You couldn’t help but ogle, licking your lips. Wanted to run your tongue on the underside of it, along a thick vein. Reciprocating, giving him the same pleasure he gave you. But you were both too eager. Your arms were still thrown over his neck, keeping him still as Adler settled between your legs again. Wished he would hurry up already. But the man had other plans. Osculated along the inside of your thigh again, all the way up to your ankle like before. 

“Adler.” Your voice was hoarse, growing frustrated at his delay. 

He ignored you however, still taking his sweet time. Sucking on the skin until he left welts and marks all over. Then did the same to your other thigh. Only stopped when he was satisfied. You pulled him closer, feeling him finally prod against you. Adler hissed low and you winced as he entered you. Still oversensitive, still overwhelmed. Still unused to the size of him. He pressed himself into you leisurely — inch by inch. Much too tight to take him in all at once, but you took as much of him as you could. 

Adler stopped, feeling you squeeze around him in a vice grip.

“Bell.” He hissed through his teeth, “I need you to relax for me.”

You heard the strain in his velvet voice, felt the tensity of him above you. You took a slow breath, trying to get your body to relax. It worked somewhat, Adler eased up. But you could feel him throb inside you. Surprised by his restraint. He searched your face. Pulled out of you carefully, then drew his muscular thighs closer for leverage and sunk his fists into the mattress on either side of your head. Your hands on his shoulders gripped tight as Adler enfolded over you. A measured thrust and you both threw your heads back. He rocked his hips slowly, grunting as you clung to him. Legs wrapped around his hips, whimpering and keening. His face in the crook of your neck. Teeth on the underside of your jaw. His pacing was relentless, persistent. Not too slow, not too fast, but steady. Unwavering, as he fucked you into the mattress. But you wanted more. You wanted his brutality, that calculated violence. The agony and misery. You wanted him to ruin you. 

He already had. 

You were in a muddled state already. Cried out his name as Adler sunk deeper into you. Having been fucked wider to take all of him now. A hum of approval low in Adler’s throat, pleased by how well you took him. Like you were made for him. And only for him. Falling on his forearms, his body pressed on top of you. Flattened by his weight, caged by him. Large, calloused hand over your mouth, to muffle the noises you made; cries, whines and moans. His other ventured down, between your legs, where you were both connected. Felt him cup you, deft fingers rubbed against you. You tugged at his hair, sweat sheening on you both. Adler growled in your ear as you constricted around him again, writhing underneath him. Overstimulated. Your eyes closed shut. It was too much, it was all too much. 

Adler panted above you, jaw clenched. Your name spat through clenched teeth. But you were too lost in the feeling of him pistoning in and out of you, your toes curling, breathing unstable. Bed frame wobbling under you both. Adler removed the hand from your mouth, shot out to the headboard. His other hand left from between your legs, grabbing your jaw. Pulled it forward to face him, forcing you to open your eyes and meet his own. Your mouth opened wide, wanting to cry out. But Adler shoved his fingers into your mouth. Fingers glistened from your sticky slick, curling inside your cheek. Making you taste yourself again. You wrapped your lips around his fingers, sucking them clean. The only sounds you could make now was incoherent babbling. As Russian filth was whispered in your ear. 

Close. You were both so close. 

Together, always together.

Adler pulled his fingers from your mouth, throwing your legs over his wide shoulders. Placed his hands on your hips in a bruising grip; knew it would leave prints afterwards. He was even deeper now that you thought possible. Still kept that steady pace of his. You pulled him into a messy kiss; all tongue and swollen lips. As the foundation of your orgasm grew stronger and more powerful. You broke the kiss as you felt it building higher and higher. Ready to all come crashing down. Adler could feel it too by the way 

you tightened around him. It only encouraged him. His pace grew faster, enough to make you arch up from the bed. Your nails clawed at his back. Mouth agape in a silent scream. Then it crashed over you. Harder than your first. More violent and intense. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fluttered around Adler, gushing over both your thighs. And it wasn’t long before he followed suit. A guttural groan deep from within his chest and a hard thrust into you. Then another and another, rocking your body forward, making the headboard slam the plaster. As he spilled himself inside you. Groaning and growling, his head thrown back. Exposing the column of his throat and the bites you left there.

“Fuck. FUCK.” 

Then a few final thrusts and he collapsed on top of you. Panting, kissing along your neck. As you both came back down like falling feathers. You both laid there like that, in each other’s arms. Trying to catch your breath. Eventually, Adler rolled off of you, pulling himself out as you winced. You could feel him start to spill out of you already, mixing with your slick on your thighs. You had the mind to take your fingers and push it back inside you where it belonged, and by the way Adler watched in deep thought, he shared the same idea. But instead, the older man grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor and cleaned you up. Tossing it away when he was done. Adler pulled you close, your head to his sweaty chest as you let out a drawled out sigh. Ear to his rapid heartbeat, cheek nuzzling against his coiled chest hair. His arms wrapped around you, his legs intertwined with yours. Skin against skin, souls bared to each other. 

“Sleep, Bell.” 

His hands rubbed at your back softly. As he kissed your forehead and let out a deep sigh. Already falling asleep. Your eyes felt heavy. You were exhausted and satisfied. You were starting to ache everywhere; knew that you would feel it all in the morning. Adler fell asleep before you, soft snoring into your hair. His deep breathing lulled you. And for once, sleep came to you easily… 

And yet…

Yet…

Something wasn’t right.

Even in the embrace of sleep, just on the verge of consciousness, you could tell. Cold, uncomfortable. Unbearable even, and… unsafe. It made you stir, shifting against the confines of something that held you close. Too close. Restrictive, digging deep into your skin. Suffocated you. Drowning, you were drowning again. Being dragged down underneath dark torrents. But there was no sudden violence to save you, no inner animalistic urge to weaponize. You were pacified, a limp body lost in the depths. A corpse sinking to the endless bottom. 

You couldn’t fight. Couldn’t fight hard, couldn’t fight strong or desperately. Nothing was enough to free yourself, nothing would ever be. You were a deadweight, a stone thrown into a lake. Free falling into the deep, dark depths below. Light above you, fading away from you. Everything in you, ached for oxygen. Your lungs burned, nostrils flared – choking for air. Pressure built into your chest like wet concrete. You opened your mouth to scream, but your cries were silenced by the water, your mouth filling with it. Frantic releases of breath left an effervesced trail as you sunk. Down, down. Further and further. Buried in a watery grave, pressurized and all consuming. Death was slow. Your death was inevitable like grave soil being thrown over your coffin. There was no more fighting the throes of inevitable death. No screaming and no mercy.

Your sight blackened until all you saw was red. Red, red, red . The color of wounds, the color of bloodsport. The color of hellfire. Then you heard it. A symphony of sounds, an echo like a whale song. Cacophonous and jarring. It reverberated in your bones and repeated in your head. An evocation that you began to understand, to recognize. It called to you, spoke a name. ‘Bell, Bell, Bell’   it said, repeating over and over like a mantra. From a voice that you knew wholeheartedly, deep down in the intertwisted threads of the tapestry of soul, bones and flesh. An echo, a whisper in the nothingness. 

“Bell, we've got a job to do.”

We’ve got a job to do. 

We’ve got a job to do. 

W̸̡̾e̸̙̽’̷̮̅v̷͎͝ë̶̥́ ̸̳̈́g̸̓ͅō̸͎t̶͎͆ ̷͚͘a̵͍̔ ̴̘̈j̵̦̈́o̴̮̊b̵̥́ ̸̖́t̶̢̓o̵͔͌ ̴̢̀d̵̻̕o̵̲̎.̸̞͝

A trip down memory lane. A series of memories: the smell of napalm and gunpowder. Sweat stinging the eyes, the taste of blood and mud in the mouth. Mazes of wire and explosives. Booby traps, land mines. VC rats scurrying in escape tunnels. The flash of the muzzles. The clink of bloodstained dog tags as they were yanked off of dead soldiers. Shadows between the trees; VietCong hiding in plain sight. Gunfire, a helicopter crash. Burning remnants of it stuck in a canopy. Thrown in a firefight in a paddy field. A voice, a narrator to the palimpsest of your own narrative. A tour guide through your own head; the devil on your shoulder. Old ruins, a fork in the road. Across a river, a rope bridge. A tunnel. A burning village. Then a red door. Always one at the end. You cannot escape it.  

You walked through the door. A bright light blinded your sight. The sounds of a tropical jungle, palm leaves and elephant grass brushed against your skin. An oppressing heat. A long, white hallway that stretched on and on. Miles upon miles upon miles. Imperceivable, indeterminate. An endless iteration, a feedback loop. White walls and one way windows. Lab rooms full of medical equipment, surgical tools, projectors, and flickering television screens. 

Purgatory . 

White noise in your ears. In the distance, a bell swings. But there’s no ring.

Your surroundings started to crumble, decaying right in front of you. The walls cracked, the foundation split. The windows shattered. Falling, it was all collapsing in, from the ceiling to the floor. And all onto you. You sprinted through, running down the deteriorating hallway endlessly. A voice in your head again; another red door in front of your face. Through it again as always. And there in the middle of endless darkness was a long metal table. You knew what to do even with a broken mind; took a seat at the head of the table. Right where you knew you belonged. Faces, faces all around. Other people in the room, sitting around the table too. And a towering man with silver, slicked back hair and a thick mustache. He looked at you, talked to you in an accented voice that sounded far too familiar. Too familial . He said a name, your true name; Your real name. One you had long forgotten. You blinked at him as the man spoke, words like a distant echo. It reverberated in your head. Resurfaced memories. Of a plan. One you helped contrive.

‘Nukes. Europe. Detonation. Safety of Solovetsky.’

Solovetsky .

From the safety of Solovetsky.

Something reached for you, someone. You started to wake. Your body ached all over. Your left eye throbbed. Your sight burned – white, white. Too bright. Bright lights above you. Bleary-eyed; eyes seeing and unseeing, like a camera lens trying to find focus. Your surroundings were nothing but a blur. A warbling in waterlogged ears, a chorus of inharmonious noise. 

Sepia shades in the dark, a looming figure crept out from the shadows.  

“Bell, no more fucking around.”

You tried to sit up. But you’re restrained to a metal gurney. Forced to lay down on your back. There was relief there, seeing Adler. Affection and admiration, relief. Underneath all your confusion, all your dubiety. The fogginess in your head, the conflicting emotions that bubbled in the cauldron of your sensibility. He wasn’t alone in the dark room. But your eyes always looked to him. Only him. Pinpointed him wherever and whenever. Adler grabbed you roughly, a hard grip on a tactile vest you were wearing. Forced your upper body up from the gurney, the thick strap around your chest that held you down, cut into your ribs and stomach.

“What did Perseus say? Where is he?”

You stared at Adler. It was all you could do. Alarm sirens in your head at the way he looked down at you, acted towards you. Like you were nothing to him. There was no subtle softness on the rough features of his face. No crinkling of his crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes as he looked down at you. You weren’t in the bedroom like you expected, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Wrapped in his embrace, your children sleeping in. 

Children. 

Where are your children at?

Your gaze darted around, eyes bulging with a sudden panic. But all you saw was Adler. Your tongue was like lead, heavy and stuck to the roof of your mouth. Your jaw ached like you’ve been grinding your molars together. Despite it, you tried to speak. Throat dry and scratchy. 

Where are your children? Are they safe? Where are you? 

Who are you, really?

Disoriented, Adler assured you. You were just disorientated. Help is what you needed. But it wasn’t just your own, Adler needed it as well. An exchange, you both needed to help each other. 

Bullshit. It was all bullshit. 

Adler wasn’t pleased with you. 

“‘Bullshit’ is what your whole life will amount to if you don’t come clean. Tell us where Perseus is!”

Adler was unrecognizable in that moment, not the man you remembered. One you held dear to your heart. This wasn’t him, was it? This wasn’t the Adler you knew and cherished. He wouldn't subject you to this. Adler would never do this. Wouldn’t he? This man wore his face, spoke his words. But he wasn’t Adler. You blinked up at him, this wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. You tested the restraints, feeling how they cut into the circulation of your wrists and ankles. And his grip on you only tightened, fist flexed around the rough textile of your tactile vest. Your head throbbed. You felt your chest tighten with the constricting compression of pain. Emotional turmoil churned inside you. This fake Adler, this impersonator was the cause of your pain, of your suffering. The puppeteer behind the scenes. A conjuring of your worst fears. 

What did this man do to you? 

“We gave you a second chance when you were shit out of luck. Now we just want some assistance in return.”

He dropped you with a harsh push, and you fell back onto the gurney. A second chance. Tit for tat; quid pro quo. Someone held up a blue folder; a dossier soiled with a dried bloody handprint. 

Then you remembered. Remembered it all. 

A quick succession of memory; Betrayed. Bleeding out in the back of your hummer on an airfield. Blood stained dossier in your lap. Melting metal and burning rubber – a gas leak. The wreckage of a plane on fire in the far distance. Dying, you were dying. Left for dead. But these people, this man with the face of Adler. They’re perfidious. Manipulating you, you were nothing but entertainment to them. Like picking a scab and watching it bleed over and over again. 

Lying. He’s lying. He put all that shit in your head. 

“The CIA reinvented you, Bell.”

Reinvented you; built you back up. Fragments of your consciousness, stained-glass windows. Shards of you too sharp to fully put back together. You were just a golden joinery of flesh and bone. Nothing but haphazardly put-together. A shell of a person. A conflict of your own self. Memories that weren’t your own stuffed in your damaged brain. Menticide, MK-Ultra. A fabrication, a falsification. Of identity, of background, of bonds. They used you and your expertise. Used you for their own bidding. Adler used you, pretended your ties together.

But this was all a trick. It was all in your head, a torment specified for you. Your children were real, they were safe back home. And this man, he wasn’t truly Adler; Adler would never do such a thing to you. You've been through so much together, done so much together. 

Together, always together. 

It was a macabre joke, all a sadistic game. They were toying with you.

These people were sick. Sick in the head, more than you.

“Are your hands clean, Bell?”

Were they clean? Cleansed of wrongdoings like Adler said? Weren’t you a sinner, just like them? 

Purgatory. 

This was purgatory. Consequences, punishment. What you deserved for sins that stained your soul. For a past, a personhood you cannot remember. A false identity given and granted by them, for you. A trick, a false reassurance. Integration, interrogation. Interrogated? You were interrogated? No, it was a confessional. An admission. One you fought, one you refused. You weren’t a sinner like them. Like they claimed you were. Purgatory. 

This purgatory was all in your head. A delusion. 

Fuck this. Fuck them. 

“I don’t think so. You’re still holding back on us, and we are going it out of you.”

Again, ‘Adler’ seized hold of you. Hand curled into a fist around your tactical vest. With the other the older man grabbed your jaw, rough fingers digging into your skin. He forced your head to the side. Face-to-face with him now. 

He leaned down closer.

“We have a job to do.” 

Your brain went blank, something within you triggered. Like a switch. Enchanted, hypnotized, mesmerized. Stuck in a trance. You instantly relaxed. Eyes to those behind his shades. Waited for his direction, for his command. A dog at his heel. 

He released you slowly, stepping back from you.

“The trigger phrase kept you in line but it didn’t give us everything we needed. Your innermost secrets were always locked behind a door.”

The red door. Always an obstacle in your way. A gateway through the labyrinthine corridors of a shattered psyche, the ruins of broken mind. For which all paths converged and led back to him. Back to Adler. Like a northern star; a flame in the dark. He was always the one to reel you in, to ground you. A planet caught in his gravity.  But this trick, this manipulation tactic was not untrue. This brutal man that stood over you was not a figment of your imagination, no matter how much you blinked.  Nor was he a trickster or an impersonator. This man was Adler. And what you both had… your complicated and complex relationship. It was never real. None of it was. Your past together, even your future together. Your children… none of it was real. Pain deep in your chest, coiling around your heart like thorn vines. The mother inside wailed and sobbed, grieving for what you never had in the first place.

You watched him as he talked on. Words he was saying to you, seeped into your head. You probably hate them right now, he said. Hate, you should hate. It was the only understanding you needed; nothing of the stakes, of a threat of nuclear fallout, of the death of millions off the face of the earth. A realization. One that you couldn’t fully heal from. A pain that broke your rhythm. A flow of agonizing hurt washed over you, a remembrance of a ghostly past and a once tangible future. This was purgatory. Not one manifested by your woes and fears, or created by your own head or designed for you. It was a byproduct, a fact of life. To live, was to suffer. To suffer, was to live.

It had all been a dream, a fantasy. Hopeful wishing in light of your suffering. The only source of strength and hope you could cling onto. You shared no life with him. No allegiance, or connection. You didn’t know him, not truly. He was not your safety, not the gravity keeping you on your feet. Your world crumbled, unfurling at the seams. Between the subtle shading and the absence of light laid the nuance of illusion. Of the lie fed to you, of the life spun for you, of the personhood falsified unto you. You should loathe him, you should fear him. You shouldn’t trust the man in front of you. You knew it all as true. 

“This is your chance to define who you really are, Bell.”

But love and hate had always tasted the same to you. 

Remember?

“Where is Perseus?” Adler asked you, expectantly. 

The voice of that tall silver-haired man in that dark room, in your ear once more. Whisperings in your head. Truth on the tip of your tongue.

From the safety of Solovetsky.

….Solovetsky.

“Solovetsky. It’s the Solovetsky Monastery.” You told him. 

Adler repeated the word.  “Solovetsky.” 

He sent whoever was there out of the room, appointed tasks in preparation for what’s to come. You watched as he untied your restraints around your wrists and legs. Undid the one around your chest. Without hesitation. 

“You made the right choice, Bell.”

Truly? Had you truly chosen correctly?

Adler clasped your hand, helped you up from the gurney. The heat of his palm seeping through your fingerless gloves. The hand on your shoulder, steadied you as you stood on wobbly legs. 

“You’re still one of us.”

One of us. 

It was bittersweet beneath it all. 

All the conflicting emotions, the pain and fear, the grieving for a life you never shared together. The memories that weren’t yours, but Adler’s. In that, you at least shared. But despite it all. You did what you always had done. Even now. You put your trust in him. Followed him dutifully. Heeded his words. It was all you knew. All you knew how to do. Whether it was implanted into you or learned over time. His ambition, his will; your purpose. A fatal flaw. Following him to the ends of the world, to hell on earth by his side. As the cards of fate were shuffled and played. 

Even now after the all-out assault on Solovetsky, the foiling of Perseus' plan. You were found and rescued from underneath all the debris: rubble, concrete and metal sheets. Rebars stuck out of the remnants of the monastery like broken bones. Voices on the other side. A figure between the dust and smoke, fires burning around you. Adler appeared in front of you, and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief at the sight of him. He extended an arm out to you there on the ground. 

“Take my hand, Bell.” He said.

And you did.

Reached out for him. Let him pull you back on your feet as you steadied yourself. Listened to his triumphant speech afterwards. Of the evil you helped stop. Without your knowledge at first, then with it afterwards. 

“This is how wars are won, Bell.”

You couldn’t help the chill that ran down your spinal cord as he spoke directly to you. Goosebumps rose. Felt like ants marching one by one, up and down your skin. It was a declaration of devotion. Not to you, never to you. But to his country. For the safekeeping and welfare of the Western world and its idealisms. You were nothing but a means to an end. A stepping stone in the cobble path. Just another pawn on the chess board sacrificed for the checkmate. The early morning broke through the clouds of smoke. The fires still burned bright against the waning dusk, even throughout the incoming dawn. Soon the leeching light of the fires was but a memory. Fleeced clouds roamed through the pastorals of a calm sky, subsiding away, and freeing the sun from its subjugation. The sun rose, blooming against an azure sky, unfurling its golden tendrils, to bare its fierce face once again. Apprehension prickled along the back of your neck, the hairs there stood at end. You couldn’t shake off the feeling and that fight or flight instinct was becoming very hard to ignore. 

Yet, you still followed right behind Adler as he led you up a hill. Towards a cliff that overlooked the Arctic sea. He was a few paces ahead but still looked back towards you to make sure you were still following. As if you would bolt in a split second when he turned his back and wasn’t looking. The smell of brine became stronger as you reached the top of the cliff. Carried on the cold winds, the exhale of wintry dread. Of death’s call. The taste of salt was a sharp bitterness on your tongue, making your mouth prune and your thirst more fierce. You watched him take a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the cool scent of the sea. Adler leaned a leg on top of a rock and peered over the edge. He lit up a cigarette, taking a drag of it, and stared out to the sea. 

You stood only a couple feet away, just observing him. Wallowed in uncertainty, in the unknown. In the aftermath of the truth revealed. The dealer’s hand had already been dealt, but you didn’t know what it read. What it entailed when it came to you. The roar of crashing waves battered against the jagged rock of the cliffside in your ears. Filled the silence between you both. But it wasn’t enough to drown the endless stream of thoughts in your headspace. 

Adler turned towards you. Cool and impassive. Wholly inscrutable to you. 

“Arctic air. Clears the head, doesn’t it.”

An ice breaker, something to cut through the tension between you both. Then came his praise, and something inside fawned at his words. A simple acknowledgement that was everything to you. 

“I just want you to know that this little thing that’s happened with you and me. It was always for the greater good.”

Adler flicked his cigarette away. Your eyes watched him waste it, as it fell down into the sea. More praise from him. You were a hero, he told you. That dreaded nickname tumbling from his lips again. Kid . More talk about being a hero. Heroism, sacrifice. Sacrifice of the self, of others. Sacrifice. You were the sacrificial lamb, another pawn on the chess board sacrificed for the checkmate. For the greater good. Why would it turn out any different? You served your purpose. You were no longer useful. 

It would always end this way, with your death at the very culmination. You were just another loose end that needed to be dealt with. 

“... it was never personal.” 

You habitually wobbled on the precipice of life and death. Between luck of the draw and the short end of the stick. Firm-footed at its edge at the very last second. Death had been elusive to you once. A mercy neither given nor received. But now, you saw the margins of error permitted in between. You barely felt the bullet as it struck through your chest. Scarlet bloomed beneath your fingertips, stained your skin like overripe raspberries. Shedding liquid dripped onto the ground in splatters. A contrast of color that was vibrant against the mellow pigmentation. There it burgeoned under the sun, roses and scarlet sage. Sarcodes and carnations. Bouquets and garlands, a gathering of plucked lifeblood. Your knees buckled as your body went slack and you collapsed to the ground. Clutching at your lower chest, you grimaced at the excruciating pain of a deep-seeded wound. The bitter taste of a sob was on your tongue. But you swallowed it down, let it simmer out as the coppery taste overpowered both the bitterness and the saltiness in your mouth. 

You could only lie there on the dirt, bleeding and exhausted. Supine in your own pool of blood, your eyes to the sky. Watched the seagulls glide in and out of your vision carried by the oceanic winds and the clouds floating above you. Blood swarmed in your mouth. Your respiration stuttered, uneven and wheezing with every breath rattling your ribcage. Dirt and gravel shifted as heavy footsteps approached you, stopping inches away from where you lay. You turned your head, letting it loll to the side. Wanting to look out to the horizon in the distance. The boots in front of your face moved. Feet planted next to your head instead, giving you a clear view of the sight over the cliffside. He was quiet as he stood next to you, looking out the horizon like you were. But you felt his eyes glance down at you every so often. Waiting for your last breath. 

There was a strange comfort there with him by your side. As a bedside presence, as company as death creeped in. Nobody wanted to die all alone. And at least a man such as Adler had the decency to stay. But underneath the solace, there was a hard truth. The realization that he only wanted to make sure that you died. That all loose ends were gone. 

You knew as well as he did that death would eventually come. He had aimed for a quick kill, a merciless end to not prolong your suffering. But your fast draw of your pistol from your side as you mirrored his action. Moved just slightly with your unholster as you stared down each other’s gun barrels. But it was enough for him to miss his mark. Only for the shot to hit your chest instead of your head where Adler initially aimed. Now you would suffer, your own doing you supposed. Self-afflicted in a last ditch effort to live. Or rather take him down with you. Together, to the depths of hell. Tit for tat; quid pro quo. 

The sound of metal clicking above you of an adjustment of a pistol. You took as much of a stable breath as you could, expecting another gunshot to come. To quicken your death, take you out of your misery like putting down a dog. All to finish what was already started. But no shot rang out, instead the pistol was holstered to his side and buckled around his thigh. You were not worth the waste of another bullet it seemed. You felt his eyes stray from the horizon, down to you. You heard him let out a deep, weary sigh. After your bloodied coughs sent blood droplets onto the ground next to his boots. Your chest heaved and you gasped out aloud for air, like you were being submerged. Head pushed underneath the frothy surface. Drowning in your own blood. Your body had accepted death, but your soul refused to rest; psychosomatic prodromes. A restlessness that couldn’t be overcome.

Fighting still, even in your death throes. 

“Sleep, Bell.” 

A whisper on the wind, a ghostly graze along your cheek of a feigned loving touch. One last command, one last instruction. 

Whether you knew it or not, unconsciously or consciously, you heeded those words. Your eyes fluttered close like butterfly wings as you started to go limp, letting go of it all. The horizon began to fade in your blurring sight. And soon after, you lost all feeling. The cold winds against your skin, the sounds of lapping waves and the taste of brine and blood  — they were nothing to you now. Clutched in the cold grip of death. Where a frostbite numbness overcame you like you were plunged in a tub of ice. Doused in freezing water. Senseless and insensible. Capitulated. Your life was beyond you now. Below, where the cliffside stretched down towards the sea. To the ebb and flow of turbulent waters.

Blue. Dark blue. 

The color of Adler’s eyes. One of his favorite genres that played on the radio. The complexion of a corpse. The quadrangle that held fifty stars on the national flag. The color of solitude so cold. The expanse of water as it swallowed you whole. Body tossed over the edge, lost to the sea. Paths intertwined now to be untangled for good.

Here, on this heroic day, you dreamed a dream. 

In your brain’s oscillations of replayed memories, a last recall of life events just before death.Of a life not merited. Of a life lost to you. One that was never yours to take. You lived a false life in a world that was falser still. Enraptured by the being of your damaged brain. Deluded, deceived. How it comforted you with vivid illusions of the intangible of your own life in the haziness of hoary dreamscapes. Influenced by your capture, shaped by the man you should loathe. But instead who you found comfort in. You only made it easier for them to erase you, for him to manipulate you. The beginning and the end; the end to your beginning. 

The ‘what-ifs’ and ‘should-haves’ all but questions gone unanswered. A mirage in a desert, right before reality set in when you looked too close, got too close. The sounds of your children laughing, their arms around your waist. Clinging, attached to the hip. Their cries to you when they had nightmares. And your consolation afterwards. Adler in the doorway. Watching, always watching you. Sharp eyes that found yours. In the gap of the evidence board when you were out of line of sight. He kept you close. Right under his thumb. The feel of Adler next to you, on you, inside you. Flesh to flesh, skin on skin. Lips to yours. Scars shown, souls bared. Fates so intertwined, so interlaced with each other, that neither of you knew where you ended and he began. But such deep ties needed to be severed. For his own good more than yours. 

And here, on such a heroic day, the complexity of the mind was incomparable to the simplicity of the heart. 

Beloathed, behated, betrayed, yet still beloved; dearly in life as in death. Heartbroken, heartsick. Disheartened. A heart that beat against contused ribs. Flames of love buried beneath ash and cinder which laid still your tender heart. But there were no asphodel fields to bury you. No tombs to house your remains. You had no headstone, no eulogy, no mourners to mourn you. No church bells in the distance. Only you, to mourn and grieve for what you never had. You would be the unspoken, the redaction. Another lost and forgotten file in the archives. No one would ever know. You would never be known or remembered. Removed from all historical accounts. Blacked out, scratched out of the records.

To Adler, you were a temporary asset. To Perseus, you were a traitorous rat. And to you? Who were you in the eyes of yourself? You thought you knew once. Even when your memories were but sand grains in the cusp of your palms. Although you felt more ghost than human, watching as the world went on without you. You were nothing but an echo of a heartbeat from a long dead heart. Where life was not for you. Never was for you. Such life was beyond you now. Where the planes of reality and dreams had collided. You were never anything more than what you needed to be. What you needed yourself to believe yourself to be. For such a life, for a family. For Adler by your side, was only conjured by a midst of madness. A madness you had thought another found beautiful. But it only made you a liability. Your brain trauma, your memory loss, your identity crisis; it was the only guarantees you knew about yourself. A byproduct of a supposed life of soldiering and espionage. Self-sacrifice. The same thing that Adler drilled into your head. It had always been for the greater good. He prepared you for this. For your eventual end. So here, it was reaped and sowed. 

Here, on this heroic day, there remained only a revered silence. 

For a dead dreamer and a sullied dream. 

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

A/N:

Critique welcomed and encouraged as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ).