#the burns really stuck w me from that dream i needed to draw it

[chrzannekk]

david scar headcanons ! the scars on his back and arm are from the time the wolf attacked him, but the burn scars are a headcanon from his childhood hc that davey was physically abused by his family and they boiled hot water and sugar on him as a 'punishment'. now david is the kinda guy to wear a shirt at the pool bc of this

[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[chainhead]

ink

leon has tattoos. ethan was never informed.

leon/ethan. mild swearing. smug leon, done-with-life ethan. fluffy!

It's fine. It's fine. This is totally fine.

Is it weird? Is he weird? God, he must be weird. It's nothing to get this riled up over, yet here he is, peeking over at Leon every now and then to catch a quick glimpse of the ink that spirals up his forearm.

Ethan bites his lip. Twirls the pen in his hand and clicks the button on top a few times, his desk work momentarily forgotten.

No, this isn't normal. Then again, neither is Leon with tattoos, so how is one supposed to think? React? He's been pretty good about hiding his (admittedly disturbing) attraction to the special agent; but things like this… well, they're on the same level as glasses, or piercings. A small change that—for a select few—can turn their entire world on an axis.

How far up do they go?

Does he have more?

When did he get them, and what do they symbolize?

"Ethan?"

The blonde startles, blue eyes flickering up in embarrassment.

Leon blinks at him. "What's your damage?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. "Nothing, sorry. Just a little spacey… today."

"I'll say."

Ethan hurriedly scoots closer to his desk, quickly turning his attention back to the papers that scatter across it. He isn't even sure what he's supposed to be doing with these, or why he even got assigned to deal with them, but if things keep going the way they are, he's gonna be here all fucking night.

Ethan frowns. And then he hesitates, realization dawning on him slowly that… hey, doesn't Leon work crazy late hours, too?

No.. no, no. He's on the clock. He needs to pay attention…

"Ethan." It isn't a question this time. Ethan meets Leon's gaze with a sheepish expression, and the other man draws his brows together. "Seriously, what's going on with you?"

How does one go about confessing their guilty, weird, quid-pro-quo attraction to their superior without coming off as a freak? Better yet, how does one go about it without getting fired? Ethan feels a cold sweat prickle beneath the collar of his button-up.

I like you. I like you. I like you.

"I like…" It's like there's a solid chunk of ice stuck in his throat. "Well, I mean, your… you know."

Leon's look of concern quickly shifts into one of bewilderment. "No?" He says, real slow-like. "I don't know."

Ethan wants to die.

"It's just…"

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Ethan's hands are clammy and cold and he regrets even opening his mouth; wishing he could've just opted to say that he feels sick and his head hurts, and maybe even take the rest of the night off so he could reflect on all of this – perhaps over a nice glass of red wine. Instead, because he's terrible at socializing and even worse at socializing with Leon, he's currently staring the agent down with terror flashing in his eyes.

Leon doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's dying to get this over with, just like Ethan is.

"Y– you can't get mad," Ethan stammers, clenching his fingers.

More silence.

Ethan sighs. Then, finally, he lays down his cards with a quiet, "Your tattoos."

Leon tilts his head. "... Mine?" He asks, a bit delayed, and Ethan has never wanted to evaporate into thin air more than he does right now.

"Yeah."

"Like, the ones on my arms?" Leon rotates his wrists, glancing down at his own artwork. 

"Yeah."

"Ah." 

Great. When should he start packing up his belongings? Now? Tomorrow? There's a spare produce box in the break room, and he only has a couple of personal items on his desk. His name placard, a picture of his childhood dog, a cup full of pens he got on clearance at Staples…

Although Ethan doesn't get to stand up or prepare before Leon is speaking again, his voice surprisingly nonchalant. 

"And...?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. That's a good question. "They're… distracting me?" Vague enough to keep matters civil. He can do this. "And that's why I'm a little… slow, today. I think. Because they're doing that. Distracting me, I mean."

Leon hums, acknowledging that he heard Ethan's answer. He waits, silent until Ethan manages to scrounge up the courage to meet him eye-to-eye, and then he laughs.

There's something to be said about the way in which Leon handles all things; from topics as serious as bioweapons wreaking havoc on unsuspecting townhomes, to things like this – Ethan admitting he's intrigued by the older man's ink. He's good at finding the balance while still remaining cool and collected, and that's a trait Ethan's always admired.

Because, sadly, he cannot do that.

"I knew there was something about you, Winters," Leon says jovially, as if he's uncovered some grand secret. He leans back in his chair, pushes himself a little further away from his desk, and says: "Do you want to come have a better look?"

Ethan nearly chokes on his spit. "W– wh– what?"

Leon's grin widens. He's enjoying this. "I can't have distractions in the workplace. So if you're curious, and think it might help you refocus, I implore you to get your ass over here and take a gander."

The blonde flusters, his lips screwing into a scowl. Implore. What did this guy know about words like that?

Regardless, he still obediently gathers himself to his feet, taking the necessary steps to close the distance between him and Leon. The fine hairs on the back of Ethan's neck stand at attention, and he's acutely aware of the personal bubble he is now officially bursting— not that Leon seems to notice, or mind.

Infact, the only thing he does when Ethan comes to stand beside his chair is jut both arms out, letting Ethan do whatever he likes.

Instinctively, Ethan grabs them. Then panics, because holy shit, he's touching Leon fucking Kennedy. Then double panics, because why did he do that? Why is he still doing it right now?

"Uh…"

"You just wanted to hold hands?"

"N– no!" Ethan exclaims, immediately letting go. Leon bursts out into full-bellied laughter, and the blonde has to take a deep breath before he passes out from his nerves. "Jesus, Leon, I– I was trying to bring them a little closer."

"Oh right, the bad eyesight," Leon drawls. "I forgot you wear glasses sometimes. Near-sighted?"

"Far-sighted. Now shut up and let me look," Ethan snaps, finding his second wind. He reaches for Leon's arms again and finds relief in how the older man wordlessly obliges; giving Ethan the opportunity to twist his arms and inspect the patterns that dance across them. It's not a situation Ethan could've expected, or even predicted, but Leon's right about one thing—this is definitely scratching that terrible itch he feels, somewhere deep down. No more needing to sneak creepy, uncomfortable glances to figure out what they are.

However, he'll always wonder where the tattoos lead. And how many more of them Leon has, hidden underneath all those layers of fabric.

"I see." Ethan nods, smiling faintly as he releases his grip again. "They're cool, I wasn't expecting you to have them. Then again, I've never seen you wear anything other than long sleeves."

Leon quirks a brow. "You pay attention?"

Ethan's smile drops. "Oh. I mean, not in like– not in a weird way, that isn't what—"

There's the sound of a scoff, and then Leon's hands are on Ethan's wrists, gently pulling him down to his level. The blonde stumbles forwards and catches himself with a knee on Leon's chair, and the situation is so intense and utterly stifling that Ethan has to rear away with his eyes narrowed in firm on the office door.

"Ethan," Leon coos.

The blonde makes a noncommittal sound in his throat. 

"Ethan, c'mon, look at me."

There's no way this is happening right now. No feasible way. He must be dreaming.

Ethan registers with rapt attention as Leon let's go of his wrists in favor of bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks, and whether Ethan wants to submit or not isn't really an option anymore. Determinedly, the older man coaxes him to meet his gaze again.

"Shy?" Leon teases, and then quickly changes his tune when Ethan struggles in his grasp. "Okay, okay, I was just kidding! Damn."

"Leon—"

"Hold on for a second, sweetheart. I've got a few things on my mind." Ethan's face burns as he tries to process this, process the feel of Leon's touch as it sears itself into his memory. His heart pounds so fiercely in his chest he fears that Leon can feel it, but if he does, he doesn't comment.

Leon brushes his thumbs over Ethan's cheekbones. "You thought I'd be mad?"

"It's... unprofessional," Ethan breathes.

"What is?" Leon asks. His eyes are so blue. "Wanting to see my tattoos?"

Ethan nods. Leon snickers, pulling him that much closer, and the blonde is enveloped in the smell of bergamot and gunpowder and something spicy like sage, and… what was the question again? He can't think clearly when he can feel Leon's words flit across his lips.

"The only 'unprofessional' thing I see is the subordinate about to climb into his boss's lap," Leon murmurs with a wry smile. Ethan lets out a small gasp, jolting, and Leon makes sure he doesn't slip away. "Woah, hey! I never said I didn't like it."

"L– Leon, I don't understand what's…" Ethan stutters, shivering, feeling the traces of electricity that follow Leon's fingertips. He doesn't know whether to lean into him or settle his entire weight on top of Leon, so to play it safe, he refrains from doing either.

The agent takes a moment, eyes sweeping over Ethan's features, before letting out a soft exhale. "Well, now you've seen them. I hope that helped you find some kind of clarity..."

Not even a little bit, Ethan thinks miserably.

"... But it'll probably kill you to know that there's more than just this, and I can assure you, they are much more interesting." Leon chuckles as he tugs the blonde in one last time, and kisses him, right on the corner of his mouth.

"Still distracted?" He whispers.

Ethan can't even think of a proper reply. His brain has turned to mush.

"You…"

"Mm?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. "You're a fucking asshole."

Leon throws his head back and laughs, and when he recovers Ethan is already swooping in for another kiss. To hell with professionalism.

[coexiising]

Fade Into You - Chapter One

SUMMARY ◆ You keep having these reoccurring dreams of a strange man, but after speaking with him for the first time, you wonder who he is what what he wants with you

WARNING(S) ◆ Suitless! Darth Vader, Eventual Romance, Sith Anakin Skywalker, Eventual Smut, i make up rules of the force, angst, force sensitive reader

NOTE ◆ here’s my spin on suitless vader! i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i like writing it!

                  »»————-　★　————-««

You only see him in your dreams.

A flicker of an unknown presence that you haven’t ever felt before and it consumed you whole. Every time you closed your eyes and your mind drifted into your subconscious, you saw him. At first you didn’t know what this being was, if it was someone from the past that you couldn’t quite remember or someone you had seen in passing. Though, as the days went on and the dreams didn’t go away, you soon realized that you were dealing with someone with a powerful presence. No one should be able to infiltrate your dreams the way that he did.

It always started the same way. You would walk around the dimly lit corridors of an unknown building, darkness felt through all sides of the Force the more you pressed on. Your dream self would turn the corner and he would be there, back facing you as he looked out the large window. And you would join him in standing, glancing out at the large horizon, molten lava falling and pooling along crimson rocks. It was disturbingly peaceful, standing there with this stranger. The two of you never spoke, all intents of words forming died in your throat. It didn’t feel like a dream. Dreams were supposed to be made up of your imagination, though you never believed you could think of a place like this. It was so lifelike, almost to the point where you could feel the heat rising from the ground as you stood.

Last night, as you stood with this stranger, focusing your attention on a specific volcano that erupted in the distance, you spoke out a quiet, “Who are you?” He was an enigma, and it wasn’t as though you were the one making these dreams happen. It was as if you were dropped here every night. There was something familiar about him, like you knew him but didn’t at the same time. Like a stranger and a friend. It had to be him controlling this.

You could feel his emotions shift, and hearing your soft voice seemed to snap both of you out of this daze. You turned to him, but he was already looking at you. He stood taller than you, a strong build of a body dressed in all black along with a cloak that would tread on the floor behind him as he walked. You seemed to be around the same age, his features still bright with youth, a sharply cut jawline and messy dirty blonde hair that looked as if someone had tousled through it with their hands. Though, the most distinguished feature that this man had was his golden-yellow eyes, looking down at you as though he was staring into your very soul. You had never seen eyes like that before. It seemed dark, sinister, yet you felt yourself drawing closer to him.

As alarming as his aura was, for some reason you knew that he wouldn’t hurt you. You didn’t know why you trusted a complete stranger, but something in the Force told you to.

“Who are you?” He asked, relaying the same confusion that was laced in your voice prior. It wasn’t mocking, he really didn’t know what was going on here either. His eyes never left yours, hand coming and grabbing you by the wrist. The touch was unexpected and his grip was almost painful, though not in the way one would think. It was almost a burning sensation, like the very collision of your skin against his was causing hot, white fire. “And what are you doing here?”

“Y/N,” You answered, the words basically pushing out of your mouth. His gaze almost softened, another wave of confusion looking over his dark features.

You didn’t have the chance to answer his next question, explain how you were dreaming and how you didn’t know why you were here at all. Because it was as if some other force was pushing you out of your dream, bringing you back to reality. Soon enough his touch was gone and you were waking up, eyes fluttering open to the grey ceiling of your room above your bed. Glancing at the chrono on your side table, you saw that it was still early in the morning, no one would be up except maybe the council, doing their daily morning meeting before the day started.

Settling on the realization that there was no way you were going to get back to sleep, you moved to sit on the edge of your bed, feet falling against the floor. You hissed, feeling a sharp pang of pain shoot through your left wrist. There was a ring of burned skin around your wrist, red and blistering in some places and in the shape of a hand. The dream. Your thoughts took you back to that moment where the man grabbed at it, and realized that the burning sensation you felt was real and wasn’t a figment of your imagination after all. His touch physically burned you. The thought was unsettling, that you had such a connection with this unknown man that he could touch you through the force. Yet, on the other hand, it filled you with more wonder.

                                            ~

They say that attachment leads to the dark side.

Growing up in the Jedi Temple for all these years, you had repeated this to yourself multiple times. Whenever you find your heart pick up with worry over another fellow Jedi, you repeat what you had been taught. Over and over again you did this, until it stuck and your anxieties subsided enough to where you were sure your emotions were not getting the better of you. However, as much as you did not want to admit to yourself, you wondered how you were supposed to live your life without growing attached to anyone. You were Jedi, a peacekeeper, a guardian. It was your job to be compassionate, to fight for the good and keep the peace of the galaxy. And you did show compassion in anything that you did, even though at times you knew you were growing closer to the people you served with. It was a hard balancing act that you were still wavering on, and suspected that most Jedi had these same thoughts, they just never voiced it out loud.

It was later now, the shimmering lights of Coruscant illuminated the hallways of the temple, making shadows dance across the walls to any type of movement. You couldn’t sleep. In fact, you really didn’t want to sleep because you knew what would happen if you did. You weren’t scared of him, whoever he was, a hidden stranger in the depths of your subconscious. Though ever since you were given the burn on your wrist, you had been uneasy to the thought of closing your eyes and drifting to that place. Deep down you felt through the Force that he wasn’t trying to hurt you, and perhaps maybe he had done it without his knowledge. Was he even a person? The man seemed to be, though looks can be deceiving and the thought of speaking to him once again seemed too consuming to even imagine.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure walking towards you. The familiar Force Signature relaxed you, not bothering to turn and keeping your eyes focused on the trails of ships making their way to one place or another for the evening. Obi-Wan was a friend of yours, more so a companion that you grew to know throughout the war. You were younger than he was, but he never treated you much differently despite his obvious position over you in the Order. Should you tell him about your dreams? It was the type of thing you knew you should inquire Master Yoda about, though you found that once in a while when you came to the old, wise Master, he didn’t hold all the answers that you hoped for. Obi-Wan was a friend. You could trust him.

“Good evening, Knight Y/N,” Obi-Wan greeted, his taller figure standing beside and joining you in looking out the window. “Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep? It is awfully late.” His tone was wavering, skeptical, like he knew something was off just by being close to you. Your aura was off, stems of cool waves emitting from you the deeper you delved into your thoughts.

How were you supposed to answer that? The normal Jedi response would be ‘I’m just fine, thank you’ but you weren’t. You were confused and you weren’t sure what to do. You still looked ahead as you asked, “Master Obi-Wan, do you know anything about how the Force ties into dreams?” You turned to face him now, eyes showing a mix of curiosity and anxiety while he was already staring at you. The more he searched them, the more concerned he grew, you could feel his signature reaching out towards you while he remained motionless as a statue.

It wasn’t in his nature to walk away from someone who needed help with an issue, but your question was odd. “What kind of dreams?” He asked, voice in a hushed whisper.

“I’m not sure, they’re hard to explain. It feels like I’m inside of them and in control of them to a certain extent,” You replied.

“Is there anyone there with you?”

You hesitated, closing your eyes and seeing the picture of your stranger staring down at you. The golden curls that framed his face, those eyes of his . . .  They were all with you now even as you were awake. It was a loaded question, you thought, especially when he felt so close now. The moment you opened your eyes and were once again met with Obi-Wan’s ocean blue ones, you took in a breath and remembered that you were within the safety of the Temple. No one could touch you here. “Yes, there’s a man with me,” You responded. Your heart was beating endlessly against your ribcage, this being the first time that you have actually spoken about your encounters. The burn marks on your wrist felt like heavyweights, rejoicing that you were acknowledging them, acknowledging him. “I don’t know who he is, it’s like he is a stranger, but not at the same time. And I just want to know what it all means.”

“I’m not sure myself. I’ve never heard of this happening before,” Your friend said solemnly, dissatisfied with himself that he wasn’t able to come up with a solid answer.

“That’s what I was afraid of.” You sighed, feeling foolish at thinking you could solve this problem that easily. Things were never that easy, especially when it came to the Force. There was so much that you didn’t know, so much that no one knew. And it was somewhat agonizing. You were in tune with such a powerful part of the universe and you didn’t know the first thing about it. All these years you spent at the temple and all the years to come, were they going to amount to anything? Were you going to be satisfied in the end? “Last night was different though, we spoke to one another.”

“You haven’t spoken before?”

“No, we never did. And he didn’t seem to know who I was either or what was causing this to occur. But I don’t know, Obi-Wan, for some reason I have a bad feeling about this. Like I shouldn’t be messing with the Force in this way.”

Your friend didn’t speak for quite some time, his calloused hand reaching up to scratch at the blonde beard he had grown out over the years. His eyes shifted from yours to the ground, making your hands clench together without your permission. In this moment, you berated yourself for ever saying anything about it. There was obviously something wrong and he didn’t know how to tell you, or even worse, he would have to tell the council. What if these dreams were the dark side tempting you? What if you weren’t strong enough to be a Jedi and were doomed to fall? You were spiraling, and it didn’t help that Obi-Wan wouldn’t even look at you.

It felt like an eternity went past before Obi-Wan said, “I think that you should try and communicate more with him.” That seemed like the last thing you thought he was going to say. And it seemed dangerous, unlike most plans that Obi-Wan had where he guaranteed that the most would be safe. But then you remembered he was completely going into the wind, he knew as little as you did. “If the Force is truly causing this to happen, then it must be a good thing, right? Us Jedi, we need to trust in the Force wherever it guides us.” Trust in the Force, Y/N.

Master Obi-Wan had a point. The Force wasn’t supposed to do anything without purpose, at least, you needed to believe that was true in this moment. So you quickly said goodnight to the man and turned on your heel towards your room, hearing only the echo of your footsteps as you thought. You would go to him, whoever this stranger was. You would go to him and finally get to the bottom of whatever was happening to you. You were a Jedi, you could do this. And as you got ready for bed and settled into the soft beige sheets, you ignored the way that your wrist felt as if it was completely submerged in fire.

[reylofanfictionanthology]

TO FIND YOUR KISS - AUTHOR REVEALS!

Here are your authors for this year’s exchange!

To Find Your Kiss collection on AO3 | Treats Masterpost

GIFT FIC MASTERPOST

- Reap the Stars by XarisEirene for abbytheatre08

The prompt: After Ben's death, Rey goes mad and turns to the dark side. Only Ben's not dead anymore. ----------------------- She is consuming fire, magnificent in her rage. She will burn the galaxy to its foundations, until the ashes rain down and pile high as mountains. She will gather them into bouquets and scatter them like petals upon his grave.

He will be remembered, and they will not.

Call him The Light Bearer and Joy Giver. Call him He Who Loved and Laid Down His Life. Call him Ben.

- we are question marks that hang above the endless unexplained by LittleLostStar for AlwaysEverlark

The first time she walked into his club, she was looking for a job. Kylo took one look at her—the stubborn pout of her lip, the determined glint in her eyes, the ruddy glow of her face where the sun had kissed it—and swallowed a lump in his throat that was shaped like the words you’re too good for this place.

They needed a singer. Kira Johnson could hold a tune, knew the old standards, and had a knockout pair of tits to boot. A few slinky ballgowns and a touch of lipstick, and she’d more than do the trick of distracting suckers long enough to part them from their money.

The club solely needed to break even; anything they made on top of the Syndicate’s cut was gravy, and Kylo Ren had been lining his pockets with his own take for long enough that he could see Kira for the lump of clay that she was: rough-hewn, misshapen, but soft and supple and sure to curve under his touch.

- Eighty Bucks Says Sweetheart by strangeallure for Amoreusou

Ben likes puzzles. Rey needs help with a bunch of them. Good thing it's a slow day at the office.

- Seldom Visions by SpaceWaffleHouseTM for Andrina_Nightshade

After visiting an old Sith temple, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren has fallen  into a deep sleep when he pricks his finger on the point of a red  crystal. Rey become is the first to find him, but his rescuer isn't just  any general or pilot, it's the woman he shares a soul with, who haunts  his waking hours, who still sees him even in his sleep.

- The Dyad by Lady_of_Haven for aneighthdomain

Based of the Prompt: Groundhog Day scenario. Ben and Rey keep getting sent back to the first time they met and no matter what they do, Ben always dies so they stop trying to change events and just live a life time in the year between and couple of weeks and run away together.

- The Delegation by Vivien for aNerdObsessed

A humanitarian delegation from Naboo arrives at Niima Outpost. Rey is skeptical, to say the least.  

- Saudade: The Love That Remains by shipperofdarkness for AnneAnna

Saudade (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains"

In those first few weeks, everything had been muddled in a haze as the Resistance tried to rebuild all that had been lost. Rey had buried herself in the work. It’s what she’d always done. Don’t think of your parents, don’t think of waiting, scavenge and repeat.

But it’s different.

Her parents hadn’t wanted her.

He had.

Her parents hadn’t loved her.

He had.

And in his wake, the wound had split Rey’s soul to the bone, like the scar she’d given him all those moons ago. It's a blessing. And a curse. And all she has left. It’s the love that remains.

- i don't want you like a best friend by irridesca for anopendoor

It’s not like she hadn’t seen this coming—Rose told her weeks ago that he was invited. It was an inevitability Rey was always going to have to face, she just didn’t think that Rose would be so merciful as to also give every guest a plus one.

But Rey can’t really be upset—and she is totally, unequivocally not upset—that Ben's bringing someone because, well.

She is, too.

- Love is Weakness by crossingwinter for bittersnake

“He’s someone I found on my recent trip to Corellia,” Rey replies placidly, her face practiced in its boredom. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Love is weakness,” her grandfather reminds her, the way he has for years. It’s why he doesn’t love her. He will not be weak. It’s why she doesn’t love him, either.

- in sickness and in health (with health being less likely) by thehobbem for BlueButterflyKisses

Deciding to spend the rest of their lives together is the easy part for both Rey and Ben; the trouble is in how to propose.

- Snowed In by darlingreadsalot for Blueyedgurl

Never in her wildest dreams did Rey Johnson think she would ever get to  meet her favorite other Kylo Ren. She also would have never entertained  the idea of the scenario she found herself in. How did a hike in the  woods lead to a snowstorm and taking shelter in a remote cabin in the  woods? The idea was so ridiculous but had become reality. Stuck inside  with a handsome stranger surrounded by a winter storm, Rey wonders what  will happen with no power and only one bed. Will they be polite  co-habitants stuck in a strange set of circumstances or is there room  for something more?

- Curses, Comforts and Capybaras by Andrina_Nightshade for Bombastique

Arrogant CEO bites off more than he can chew when he angers a witch... And suddenly finds himself transformed into a capybara. Can kindhearted wildlife rehabber Rey Niima help him break the curse?

- To Heal a Broken Soul by Reykenobi68 for Cat2000

Ben survives the fallout of Exegol, but his connection to the physical world is in danger. Rey tends to him as she searched for a way to heal him.

- holding me like water in your hands by literallynoonecares for Ceallaigh

After Hux finds out Ben killed Snoke, Hux encases Ben in Carbonite. Rey refuses to let Ben stay frozen forever so she mounts a rescue.

- Like a Thief in the Night by firelord65 for chagrins

Their bond won't let them be alone. At least this time it's the middle of the night and they can't get into a shouting match.

- The Chance by darknessvisible for Crysania

When Rey and Ben, long time co-workers who have never been able to admit their feelings to each other, go on a weekend retreat to work on a movie adaptation script together, a Nor’easter leaves them snowed in. On Valentine’s Day.

- Awake by QueenOfCarrotFlowers for cuddlesome

Something inside him is awake, and something inside her is about to wake up.

An alternate interrogation scene.

- darkness rises, and light to meet it by politicalmamaduck for czechia

After the throne room, Jedi Ben Solo and Kira Ren meet again a year later.

- Not Quite a Fairytale by Crysania for DarkMage13

Rey lets a stranger use the phone of the café she works at late one night. It changes the whole course of her life.

- The Canvas of Your Skin by tearoomsaloon for darlingreadsalot

She was incapable of touching him without drawing  blood, it seemed. Lines like vermillion paint streaked where her fingers  sketched down the contours of his face, his back, and now his chest.

In  which a Force bond is splintered, a resurrection goes wrong, a kiss is  forgotten, and two almost-lovers avoid speaking for the better half of a  year.

- You Won't Escape Me ('Cause I Set You Free) by DarkMage13for DoorKeeper9

“W-What are you doing?” She would have been more irritated if she wasn’t shivering.

Kylo rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let hypothermia kill you.”

“S-Stripping me is not going to kill me? That makes n-no sense.”

Rey needs a kyber crystal and Kylo is trying to prevent her from getting into more life-threatening situations. It's definitely not because he cares about her. Nope.

- Fleeing the Storm by Padawan_Writer for driverfever

As the granddaughter of an merciless aristocrat, Rey’s  life hangs on a thread at the hands of the French Revolutionaries. When  her childhood friend, Ben, offers to platonically marry her in order to  take her to his home in England to safety, she has no choice but to  accept.

But her suitor and revolutionary Hux won’t give her up so  easily. Hounded by revolutionaries and falling in love, Rey and Ben must  use all their wits to flee Paris and make it to England.

- Equal Measure by misszeldasayre for dustoftheancients

When Princess Rey of Coruscant calls upon the cursed Sir Kylo Ren to help her escape her grandfather the emperor’s political machinations, she discovers freedom in the ancient familial magic that binds them together.

- Benimina Solo's Late On-Set Force Ability by MissCoppelia for Evangel10n

Benimina Solo has never, not even once, had an ounce of Force Sensitivity. She's done a great deal to move on with her life after failing out of her uncle's Jedi training school. So when Rey Palpatine comes into her life and suddenly everything changes, she's not a happy camper.

- Splatter by DoorKeeper9 for expendable

“You’re Palpatine’s girl,” he says coldly.

“His chief of staff, yes.” Rey’s eyes narrow. “And you have your hand on my ass, Kylo. Kindly take it off.”

“Or what?”

AKA powerful corporate rivals Kylo and Rey put the hate in love/hate.

- The Haunted Mirror by AlwaysEverlark for FangirlintheForest

When Rey travels to UK to attend the reading of his grandfather will, a  grandfather she didn't know existed until that very moment, she finds a  house, and a old story that will haunt her...

- i'm your secretary by OccasionallyCreative for firelord65

Kaydel pressed her lips together in a thin line, passing a pile of  datapads over the desk. “I don’t know what that pretentious nerf herder  has put into your brain, but these are tales of the key roles women have  played in past rebellions.” She stood, tapping the pile. “They’re great  reads,” she added, with a pointed raise of her eyebrow.

- and they danced across the sky by chagrins for flipflop_diva

When he was still a child, he constantly watched the blue butterflies as they danced in the sky.

They  seemed to be calling him, aiding him each instance that icy-cold  darkness flowed through his very veins. The magnificent creatures saved  him from the voices. They drowned out the incessant chatter in his head.  Temporarily cleared away all the anger. During those brief respites,  watching those blue wings flutter in the sky, Ben felt free.

But that’s another life. Another world. Another time. Another, another, another.

And Kylo's no longer a child.

No. He welcomes the darkness now. Embraces it.

- Finding The Answer by Cat2000 for FrenchMartiniPlease

Rey pines for Ben Solo…so why does her soulmate mark always drain of colour whenever she gets close to him?

- Almost Unforgettable by maq_moon for HopeRebel

The woman in the mirror has blood on her clothes, cash in her bag, and a letter from her husband telling her it's better to forget. Well, he got his wish. She forgot everything-- including her name. And she wasn't the only one afflicted.

It'll take the combined efforts of gumshoes, a flatfoot, a washed-up Hollywood starlet, and more to get to the bottom of this bad business. In the end, these things always come back to the beginning.

- The Curl of a Sigh by okpianist for irridesca

During the last song in Maxine’s set, a song she announces is called  “Soul Companion,” Ben heads back out to the lobby to look for Rey. He  finds her not with his eyes but with one broad shoulder, when he bumps  into her and knocks her gig bag out of her hands and onto the plush  carpet.

- and they were roommates by myownlittleinfinity for Lady_of_Haven

When Ben loses a bet to his roommate, Rey, he has to eat her out for 30 days.

- torn away from you (my heart is broken) by bittersnake for lakerose

The Force binds more than minds.

- 3 Days in Vienna by anopendoor for Like_A_Dove

Kylo Ren, trained mercenary Alpha assassin, is on a  mission—assassinate Chancellor Palpatine and bring his underground  authoritarian regime to an end. It’s what the First Order demands, for  the better of society.

It should be an easy task. He’s been  getting close to the Chancellor and his cronies for years. So how is it  that the unexpected appearance of an Omega, with a seemingly similar  mission—and a wholly inconveniencing scent—become a distraction he  hadn’t accounted for?

- If You Take Me flipflop_diva by literallynoonecares

Rey sighed wistfully as she watched her two friends lean in toward each other as they danced, their lips meeting and melding together as they seemed to become one person instead of two separate beings. She had seen them kiss so many times, but this kiss … it was special.

“I just want someone to kiss me like that,” she mused softly to herself, her eyes not leaving her friends.

“I could make that happen if you wanted.”

- Confidence and Desire by MBlair for LittleLostStar

“Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You  don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually, the  confidence will follow.” - Carrie Fisher

- Love brightens even the most monstrous parts of ourselves by Lutrosis for LRRH17

No one knows since when the giant, black bear has lived in the forest near Theed. Many stories about the origin of Kylo Ren circulate in the small village. After Rey has run away from Jakku, and arrived in Theed she has heard them all of, but has never actually meet the creature. This changes when her and her friends get attacked by bandits on their way back from Otoh Gunga.

- Your Sweetness Comes With Sugar on the Side by AnneAnna for Lutrosis

Rey's daughter loses her mother as she wanders around the Supermarket. Ben finds her and the two connect over both being Type 1 diabetics. They find Rey, and Ben and Rey are instantly smitten. As they date and fall in love they discover that Jade and Ben are connected more than they thought and healing is brought to the Solo/Skywalker clan.

- Allegories, or Allusions to Real Life by czechia for maq_moon

“Boys, please stop arguing.” Rose rubbed her temples. “Poe, we get it,  you’re childhood best buddies, you’ve got a better grasp on his  character than some rando of a rando you met at a party. Finn, for  fuck’s sake, we’ve been working with Ben for months. I’m pretty sure if  he’s a serial killer or whatever, it would have come out by now.” Finn sat back in his seat, grumbling. “Not how serial killers work.” Rey  was going to have a headache if this continued any longer, so she lied  through her teeth at the reality of a new player joining their D&D  party. "He seems nice." She didn’t trust a single inch of skin on that  man. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

- We’ve Met Before by PoliticalPadmé (magnetgirl) for MBlair

Rey and Ben meet, move in together, get engaged, and marry.

- Invite the Wild In by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily) for midwinterspring

Kylo Ren, the mysterious senator who appeared from out  of the deserts of Jakku and somehow brought them back to life, has spent  a long and unproductive session on Hosnian Prime. Now, it's time to go  home. After all, there's someone waiting for him and so much for them to  do together.

(The ancient Sith had some interesting rituals.)

- Purim Party by Lorelei713 for MissCoppelia

Rey goes back to visit her foster mother for a Purim celebration. She meets Ben Solo who's visiting his parents, who are friends with her foster mother. They have an attraction to each other right away, but try to play it cool.

- The Banished Heart by stellardarlings for misszeldasayre

On Rey of Niima’s nineteenth name day, Jakku gains a new wizard.

Jakku is a withering outpost of the kingdom, and its people hope the new wizard - the mysterious Kylo Ren - will bring them the rains the land needs to heal. Rey is a lonely, clanless girl living in Niima, and she has a secret. One she hopes the wizard will be able to help her with too.

- The Smuggler's Bride by tmwillson3 for MyJediLife

Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the  late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her  doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces  sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only  person who can save her.

- Annabel Lee by driverfever for myownlittleinfinity

Rey keeps finding these ... notes in her locker. She doesn't quite get them. They seem like love notes, but she doesn't know who they could be from. Meanwhile she's paired up with Ben Solo (who hates her despite her gigantic crush on him) for this English assignment. Who knows how THIS will go.

- with my body i thee worship by yodalorian for niennathegrey

Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only person who can save her.

- the losing game by KoreRosemarinus for no_big_deal

Sith Princess Rey Palpatine is given a peculiar gift for her Life Day: a Jedi. Not only that, one who is boorish, spirited, and stubborn. But, he presents an opportunity: one that could liberate her from a life under the thumb of her grandfather. She has seven weeks to change his heart before all her freedom is taken from her - forever.

- standing right in front of you by reylotrash711 for notkellymarie

When Senator Solo's engagement is pushed forward, he and his Jedi  bodyguard, Rey, travel to Naboo alone for the announcement ball. The  pair despise each other, constantly bickering and disagreeing with each  other, which makes spending extensive amounts of time alone together all  that more difficult. Until of course, one of them breaks...

- the good, the bad, and the smuggling by Priestly for OccasionallyCreative

Ben Solo is a seasoned smuggler. And he’s not bad at it, either. But  when bounty hunter Rey offers him a temporary partnership he can’t  refuse, Ben will find himself pushed to the limits of his skill,  patience, and resourcefulness on a job that’s dangerous enough to be his  last.

It’s like his dad used to say: bounty hunters are nothing but trouble, kid.

- Whatever our souls are made of...his and mine are the same by writergenie for Padawan_Writer

Ben and Rey meet only after Kylo has defected from the First Order and  returned to the Resistance and his mother. Will the dyad still find a  way to be?

- You're My Dark Princess by Evangel10n for persimonne

Five years after the defeat of the First Order, Rey is no longer the woman we knew. Having no war to fight, Rey turns to contract killing. Not quite a bounty hunter, no, an assassin is not that honorable. She no longer relies on the Light side to guide her or the Dark, not claiming either side. She is a completely different person, lost, angry, numb. One day she is hired to kill a man she knew intimately, but he doesn’t remember her. What is she going to do? She has two choices here, kill the past or save a man she thought was dead.

- They say that only the dead have seen the end of war by Juulna and Annaelle for politicalpadmé

“He traded his life for mine,” Rey choked, stomping back and forth in front of him so fast he could barely keep track of her. “He died. He died so I didn’t have to—and it’s not—it’s—after everything he’s gone through—it’s not fair.” Tears were running down her cheeks now, and Poe wanted to do nothing more than hug her, but there was nothing he could say—nothing she would want to hear. Poe remembered all the people he’d lost, all the times he had raged and screamed and cried about the unfairness of it all. “Leia sacrificed herself to bring him back,” Rey declared suddenly, ceasing her constant pacing around the fire as she looked straight at him. “And he sacrificed himself for me—and now no one’s going to know. All he’ll be remembered as is Kylo Ren, but he was—he was so much more.” She exhaled with a shudder and whispered, “He was a part of me, and I—I don’t feel whole without him.” ~

A Force Ghost Ben/Rey love story, with a side of rebuilding the galaxy.

- Cicatrix by cuddlesome for Priestly

Getting cut up by Rey on Starkiller awakens something in Kylo.

- I Will Always Be With You by Ceallaigh for Prix

But she wouldn’t be able to hide her pregnancy for much longer. She was starting to show, and her friends would start asking questions. She would have to give them answers, some of them would not understand, and none of them would accept.

She carried his child. The tiny spark of light woven with darkness, just like her. Just like his father.

—————

The world has gone dark More times than you Or your mother Or your grandmother Can remember. And every hurricane That was meant to be The end of it all Had instead ended In sunshine again.

So believe me When I say; You will survive this And the next one too.

World’s End—Nikita Gill

- all my daydreams are disasters by persimonne for QueenOfCarrotFlowers

During her search for the infamous Luke Skywalker — the man who predicted a devastating earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri — Rey finds herself entangled in Luke’s family history and with his brooding nephew, Ben Solo.

- on what ground I was founded (when I first saw you) by midwinterspring for redbelles

Kylo dreams of Rey after the Battle of Crait. And the yearning is mutual...

Some Force Bond dream smut inspired by "Shrike" and "NFWMB" by Hozier.

- Last Summer by Abbytheatre08 for Reykenobi68

Rey had started to get used to Ben not living next door anymore by the time the holidays came around. Then he's back for the holidays. Rey is really expecting things to go wrong after the way he left at the end of the summer. ut is it really going to be that bad.

- The Long Way Home by VR_Trakowski for reylotrash711

In the aftermath of Exegol, Ben and Rey are divided by  misunderstandings.  It will take time and danger for them to work things  out.

- Under the moonlight by Takekurabehime for shariling

I don't know why I followed you here. She wanted to reply. Maybe because  you're so tall I couldn't help but notice you. Maybe it's because of  your hair or the way you move, or maybe it's because of that kind of  melancholic look in your eyes. There is something about you that I find  terribly attractive and I don’t know what it is: maybe the moon or the  alcohol or the wolf I have met before infected me with some strange  parasite and now I am hopelessly attracted to dogs, I do not know. She  could have said one of these things, any of them, instead she said:  “I've never bitten anyone before, and I want you to be my first.”

- Fallen by Reykenobi68 for shipperofdarkness

Prompt: Devil!Ben and Angel!Rey or Angel!Ben and Devil!Rey. How do these two on completely opposite sides fall in love and defy worlds to be together?

- come away with me by HopeRebel for silentfleur

Rey owns a tinker shop, but her life changes when she meets Ben Solo and is cursed by a witch. Not necessarily in that order.

- A Picture of Me Without You by the-reylo-void (Anysia) for SpaceWaffleHouseTM

"I suppose I'd somehow struggle through / But I'd hate to picture myself without you."

It's impossible not to have a soulmark. It's not a big deal, not in the lax and gin-soaked speakeasies of 1920s Manhattan, but it's still a heavy weight to bear, as Ben Solo and Rey find out side by side.

- Lips Raw With Love by MyJediLife for stellardarlings

Their kiss on Exegol wasn't their first kiss...

Nor would it be their last.

- Everyone Makes Divine Mistakes by no_big_deal for Takekurabehime

Jedi Knight Ben Solo is sent to Naboo on an errand of mercy (and to visit his grandparents). He arrives in springtime; but will he be able to complete his mission without finding himself distracted and bewildered when love and intrigue waft through the fragrant air?

- Glitter & Gold by aionimica for TearoomSaloon

Rey is lead singer in an up-and-coming glam metal band. They've finally  got steady performances, but that means playing at the same club as the  Knights of Ren, whose lead singer definitely isn't interested in any  competition.

- To kiss like lovers do by FrenchMartiniPlease for the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Ben and Rey spend their formative years growing up together in Medieval  Scotland and it looks like they will end up together. Circumstances  intervene and Rey loses her chance to be with him. Devastated, she  carries on until the day clan Ren attacks Castle Jakku lead by the  notorious killer Kylo Ren.

- Snow Turns To Rain by aneighthdomain for thehobbem

For a moment, he wanted to ask what she meant, but  if he was being completely honest, he already knew.  He asked himself  that same question over the years, and none more often than tonight,  since seeing her again.  Was leaving worth it?  Was going their separate ways worth leaving each other?

“I’m  not sure,” he said finally, shaking his head.  “I’m happy...” he said,  and she tensed a little, so he continued, “with my work.  I’m glad I’m  doing what I love, but....”

“But?”

“But it wasn’t the only thing I loved.”

- Change the Dance by expendable for theresonatinglight

- Meet Me in the Woods by FangirlintheForest for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)

“What do you mean no one goes in there?” A chuckle. “It’s  haunted. People see all sorts of weird things in there and some don’t  ever come out. You’re better off living with your curiosity.” Rey  wakes in a shadowy forest with no memory of where she came from, only  her name. With the help of the resident guardian she takes a journey to  figure out her past, and maybe even discover her future.

- permanent calligraphy (your name on me forever) by theresonatinglight for Thursdaygirl

As they continue to work together, two things become clear. One: Ben  Solo is an enigma. He’s preppy yet humble, privileged yet introspective.  He’s the opposite of lazy; she kicks herself every day for assuming  otherwise. And two: Ben Solo will never love her.

- show me the stars. by shariling for tmwillson3

“I don’t hate Christmas, I just don’t love it the way  you do.” Lifting his head, he pulls a face, loosening up a tangled  ornament of a poodle with pink, curly fluff. Rey snatches it from him  possessively, tossing it back to the cart. “No one loves it the way you  do, to be fair.”

“Now that’s the truth,” says Poe, who Finn invited about half an hour ago to keep him company.

“People have bad taste, I don’t know what to say.” Huffing, Rey  scrolls through her phone with more intent. “Neither of you are helping  me, anyway.”

“What’s the problem?” says Poe.

“Rey thinks her hot neighbor hates her —”

“He does hate me.”

“ — When really he’s been flirting with her for the past, oh I don’t know, how long have you lived there?”

- I realized that I need you, I wondered if I could come home by Blueyedgurl for VR_Trakowski

Rey is doing exploration work for the Resistance, searching for force sensitive planets so any force sensitives that they find have a place to train.

One day, midflight she finds a slip of paper with the elegant scrawling words of the ones that came before. The ones that she found when Ben still roamed the galaxy.

When she lands on a dark and barren planet she is forced to face the feelings she thought she buried.

- Shadows of the Moon by dustoftheancients for walkingsaladshooter

The hallways got darker, the corridors grew longer.  Shadows stretched across the walls. The ghosts of Breha Manor grew each  night.

Rey clutched her necklace. Ben met her gaze.

And every night, there was weeping.

- show the way (the world could be) by niennathegrey for writergenie

In the aftermath of the Battle of Crait, Rey struggles to find her place among the Resistance. However, her lingering Force bond with Kylo— Ben— whatever name he calls himself— complicates things, blurring the line between friend and foe.

When the tension threatens to boil over and a desperate plan goes awry, Rey begins to wonder whether there really is a line between light and dark after all.

(Stars do burn brightest in the blackness of space.)

- why don't we go (somewhere only we know) by LRRH17 for XarisEirene

The bond snaps back into place, even stronger than before. He is here. With Rey, yes, but with Luke - Luke, who is looking at them now with that same dangerous glint in his eye that haunts Ben’s dreams.

- renewed, transfigured, in another pattern by midwinterspring for yodalorian

Rey mourns on Tatooine while Ben is stuck in the World Between Worlds. But neither of them are alone, and blue butterflies light a path back to each other.

[cousinwingding97]

Silver Memories

Chapter Five: Corvus

Warnings: Description of killing someone. This one is a long one as well, so the next chapter will be shorter since this took a lot out of my brain. Enjoy!

Mando listens as you describe the nightmare, or possible vision for lack of a better word, with rapt attention. Every detail is seared into your brain much like the memory of being whipped that keeps playing over and over; this one feels different, though, like an out of reach dream rather than a bone deep memory. You don’t know which is worse and you wouldn’t mind some happy memories to play in the darkness of your mind while drifting to sleep.

He shrugs it off saying it’s just a nightmare or memory before turning back to the flashing lights of hyperspace. You want to argue considering the details seem more recent and there was no sign of pain and destruction while you two were on Pollis Massa, but he cuts you off with a, “We’ll find out from my friend what it is. For now, try not to let it bother you.”

Yes, brilliant idea. Can’t believe I didn’t think about not letting it bother me, you think to yourself. Even with his words, you can’t help but notice that Mando seems much more tense in the shoulders. You’re wondering if he is just trying to make you feel better in his own way.

“Do I have enemies?”

“W-what? Why do you ask?”

“Well, I mean the dream made it seem like that guy wants to kill me or capture me at least, I was found in a cell; I can’t help but feel like people don’t want me around.”

“Everyone has enemies. Yours probably grew in number just from hanging out with me.”

“Why? Do people not like you?”

Mando lets out a small sound like a disbelieving laugh, “Most people aren’t too excited about a bounty hunter sullying their place of business In case we end up causing a mess or chasing after them. I’m not welcome to most places.”

Something twists in your heart. It feels like pity or just discomfort with the idea of people judging based off the armor and job Mando performs. “Don’t you get lonely?”

Mando shifts in his seat, “I’ve never really thought about it,” he says, but you can’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over you. A desire to fit in and be loved, but only ever being held at arms length or feared. The emotions don’t feel like your own; in fact, you know they aren’t since you can’t place any experience to that feeling. It feels more like Mando’s due to the tinge of anger underneath it all. Why wouldn’t a child be loved unconditionally and why should anyone be untouched by the love and kindness of others?

“You have,” you breathe out more to yourself. The realization hitting you like a punch to the gut, slamming all of your emotions out to be filled with his. “You’re lonely. No one gave you what you really wanted.”

You can almost see the faceless warriors demanding excellence, violence, pure fight from every child instead of the love a child needs. A desire for every child to perform perfectly without any thought or care towards what actually children need to develop and thrive. It hurts. You don’t know why, but your heart feels like there are claws hollowing it out from the inside. Your breath starts to burn in your lungs.

“Stop it.”

“You just want the gentleness and love, you want to be loved, yet you can’t have it now.” The words flow out of your mouth, unwelcome.

“I said stop.”

“Everyone is too scared of you. Mandalorians are warriors first. Nothing else.”

“Snap out of it!” Mando literally snaps his fingers in front of your eyes and just like that, the spell is broken. You can breathe again and once you can, all you feel is numb, as if all of Mando’s emotions took your own, leaving you with nothing. Your eyes focus on Mando again. He’s staring at you. The T Visor reflects the stars of hyperspace making it look like there’s a mini galaxy in his visor instead of the black void you had grown used to. You know he’s angry by his tone and the stiffness of his body language, but you aren’t scared of him now. He won’t hurt you because he’s not angry at you, just exposed from your earlier invasion into his mind. His walls are up even higher now, you can’t help but feel like you’ve backtracked in his trust of you.

“Sorry, I just... felt you. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

He tilts his helmet subtly. Something has changed between you two and he senses it now. Less fear and mistrust on your side and more on his side now with more questions for each of you.

“The sooner we find my friend, the better. Maybe she can help you control whatever this is.”

The rest of the flight is spent in awkward silence.

———————————————————————

Corvus looked absolutely dreadful from the viewport of the Vanguard. A foggy, barren dead planet. Dead trees, fog that clouded everything like a cloak of death. Your mood was already sour from the flight with your emotions plus Mando’s silent brooding now adding to the ever growing list of negative emotions about the current state of affairs. You absolutely hated everything about this place already. The dark gloom ate into your soul.

Mando was quiet as ever. The rest of the flight he remained silent and didn’t even look at you. You figured it was probably the invasion of privacy, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help any of this! He had a right to be angry, but it still pissed you off that he seemed to be taking it out on you when you couldn’t even control what was going on.

Only when the ramp lowered and you were standing on this new planet did he finally speak to you, “Last I saw, Ahsoka was this way.” He hadn’t even stopped walking to say that, so you had no choice except to follow. Begrudgingly, you did. Like I have a choice in which way.

As if this planet couldn’t get worse, there was a silence weighing heavily around you, broken only by animalistic grunts and growls every so often. You jumped each time, scouring the area for any threat. The thought of holding on to Mando’s arm entered your mind once or twice, but his lack of reactions gave you an ounce of courage. Even if he still didn’t speak to break the heavy spell of this planet.

“Are we in danger?” You whispered into the fog.

“No.” Was the short reply.

“Then why are you not speaking?”

“Because I don’t have anything to say.”

“Even back on the ship? We are about to see a friend of yours, I’m apparently able to feel emotions through unknown powers that may be growing, I have creepy visions or dreams and you have nothing to say?” You abandoned the whispering for full volume talking, but still keeping it from yelling just in case.

“Until we know more, there’s nothing I can say.”

“More like won’t.”

The Mandalorian turns to you with a sigh, “We’ve been over this once. I’m not going to trigger you if I can help it and there’s not much to say. I hate to say it, but I’m just clueless as you are and I’m taking a shot in the dark hoping that she can help us. I’m sorry, but this is the best I’ve got right now.”

It hits you like a laser shot. Mando doesn’t know and that terrifies you. This whole time you had been following his lead thinking he knew what to do in order to bring back your memories, but he’s just as lost as you. You had been blindly trusting this man to help you and he doesn’t even have the answers. Sure, he knows more about you than you do, but the visions and emotional tune-ins are new to him as well.

“Did I not have these abilities before?”

“I don’t know.”

Mando leads you through the dead forest. Over logs, around boulders and deeper into the fog. This planet may have flourished at one time, but it looked like a graveyard now to you. There were shapes in the distance of creatures, but the lack of light coming through the fog didn’t show much detail, letting your imagination draw up horrible images of what may lie beyond the fog.

“Why does your friend live on a creepy, haunted planet?”

“It’s not haunted, just damaged. When I met her, she was freeing the locals from a tyrant who tortured those within her walls.”

“Do you think she’s still here then?”

“Maybe. The locals should be able to tell us more. If not, we can at least stock up on supplies.” The idea of people living on this planet is a tad bit surprising to you.

After hours of walking, the forest seems to give way to a grey wall. There are people posted along it, and upon seeing the silver armor, there’s a sudden rush of noise and clamor. A gate housed in the middle of the wall opens revealing an elderly man making his way towards both of you.

“Mandalorian! Welcome back! Come in, come in! Night is falling. You can rest within our walls.”

Mando doesn’t say anything, but does reach up and clasp forearms with the man who now notices you. “Oh, miss! We hadn’t expected you to be back as well. Glad you both could join us.”

You immediately looked to Mando in surprise. You had been here with him too. You must’ve have met this friend while she was here. It made sense, but you were starting to wonder how long and for what reason you stuck around.

Mando kept walking without even noticing you. The village within the walls was lively. Houses lined the main street and bustling with activity. Vendors shouting their wares, children playing in the street and racing off down the winding streets veering off to the rest of the village. Even with the plain grey and brown neutral tones of the buildings, there was life within these walls that made you smile. It was a complete night and day difference compared to outside the walls.

People were happy here and happy to see you and Mando. Villagers would point at you two and wave. Some even clapped Mando on the back or hugged you. It was starting to overwhelm you. Did you know these people? Were you from here?

Mando noticed your growing concern and cut off the old man’s ramblings, “I’m sorry, but I need to find Ahsoka Tano. Is she here? My friend here lost her memories and needs her help.”

The old man looks to you in surprise and sorrow, “Oh, you should have said something earlier! My apologies, miss. Unfortunately, Ahsoka is not here at the moment. She’s taken up a new adventure outside of our walls. She said she would be back in a few days though.”

“And when was this?” You blurt out in despair.

“Two days ago. She will most likely be back very soon if you can wait.”

“Did she say where she was going? Maybe we can find her quicker.” Mando asks.

“No, I’m afraid not. To be honest, I can’t even say if she’s on this planet with absolute certainty.”

It takes all the strength in your body to hold your mouth shut to keep from screaming.

“You and your friend are more than welcome to stay with my family in the meantime, if you wish. After everything you did for us, it’s the least we can do in return.”

Mando accepts the offer for both of you. The man leaves to go tell his wife and family in order to prepare the house for you two. When he’s left, Mando turns to you.

“I’d rather not wait if we don’t have to. Are you alright staying here while I scout out the area and see if I can track her down myself?”

“Mando, I don’t know these people despite their knowing of me! Do you trust them? And what if this Ahsoka lady comes back and you’re not here?”

He holds a hand out as if to calm you, “I won’t leave tonight. That will give me time to see if these people are fully trustworthy and let you get comfortable with them. Is that better?”

You roll your eyes in annoyance. It was, but still not fully satisfying. “Again though, what if she shows up? I won’t know her. What if we miss her?”

Mando tilts his helmet in thought. His hands settle on the belt on his hips. As if the answer came to him from touching his belt, he suddenly reaches in a pouch and grabs something. Gingerly, he reaches out his fist to you. You lift your palm and he drops a black device into your hand. It’s small and round with an oval end and a piece that juts out from the bottom. There’s a blinking blue light on the oval end.

“Here. It’s a communicator that connects directly to my helmet. It may look small, but as long as it’s on and in your ear, it will connect to me. I’ll tell the old man to let everyone know that if Ahsoka shows up, to come to you. If she does, you just press the oval end and tell me. Does that help?”

You look at the device again and gently put it in your ear. The fit is perfect and light. You press the button to test it and Mando nods in confirmation that it worked.

“Okay. That’s fine. Just don’t be gone too long. If I have another episode, I’d rather it be by someone who is already used to my weirdness.”

If you hadn’t turned on the device to test it, you never would have heard the very small breath that passed through your ear. It was a laugh. A gentle huff, but a laugh that you could hear due to the connection to Mando’s helmet. You smiled fully in pride knowing you secretly made him laugh.

———————————————————————

The old man returned to find you and Mando shopping for new supplies. Both of your arms were full by the time he came back and showed you to his house that was within eyeshot of another gated larger house in the middle of the street. You didn’t get a good look at it, but you felt like that place held a lot of sorrow and pain within its walls.

The old man, whose name you learned was Ko, introduced you to his family. His wife, Leeda and their eldest son with his wife and a young grandson. They were extremely polite to you and Mando, catering to anything and everything. They took your bags and set them on the table by their laundry room and ushered you into the kitchen for dinner. The food smelled delicious, permeating the whole house with spice, meat and melted butter. You had no idea what it was, but sitting down to eat the seared meat and baked vegetables brought you to the most light-hearted you had felt since waking up. You ate with vigor and listened to the family speak of anything and everything. 

The grandson brought up something you had forgotten until he piped up, “Mr. Mando, why aren’t you eating? Mom says that we have to eat if we are to stay strong!”

You had been distracted with the food and hadn’t even noticed the hunk of metal sitting next to you not saying a word or eating. His creed not even allowing a meal in the presence of others, but there he sat in silence, forgoing any part of impoliteness to even mention that he couldn’t eat. Everyone’s eyes were now on Mando as he sat in awkward silence. You set the silverware down in shame. How could you forget something like that? The poor guy hadn’t had food in who knew how long? He’d been with you this whole time.

“Jax, hush! That is impolite to ask of a Mandalorian.” His mother piped up.

“No, it’s okay. I ate recently. If I can, I’d like to take some to my room for later.” You knew it was a lie. He hadn’t had food recently. There was no way unless he had hidden tubes beneath that armor, but the family seemed to buy his lie. 

You suddenly stood up announcing, “We are actually really tired from traveling so much and shopping, I am afraid we must retire. Can we see our rooms?”

Ko looks up startled, but laughs it off, “Oh yes! Of course! I should’ve known you two would be so tired. Come, come. I will show you to your room.” 

You smile at him as he stands to show you to the rooms. You were just relieved that Mando would eat soon. He must have been starving! It was astonishing you that he was still standing without a hint of exhaustion or shaking.

Following Ko out of the dining room, you were led down the hall full of family photos, to a door at the end. One door. “Here’s where you two will be staying. I’m sure you will find it comfortable.” The two of you. He meant both of you. He meant for you to stay in the same room as Mando. Oh, please have two beds. You opened the door hesitantly and lo and behold, one large bed. It was so cliché you couldn’t help the small giggle that tickled out of your throat. Before you could protest, Mando chimed in that it was perfect and thanked Ko for his hospitality while gently pushing you further into the room to close the door. 

You immediately went on the defense, “Why did you tell him this is fine! You need your privacy to eat! I can’t stay here.”

Mando had been holding up one hand while balancing the food in his other, preparing for a fight. He seemed to pause at your words. “You want to leave?”

“Yes! If it means you get to eat, then yes, I will leave or hide in the bathroom, whatever you need. I know you haven’t eaten for at least a day.”

He sets the food on one of the side tables next to the left side of the bed. He shuffles on his feet thinking about his next move. You move to leave thinking he was trying to come up with a nice way of telling you to get out. Before you can, “You can stay. If you want. Just as long as we sit on the floor facing the opposite way. Only if you’re comfortable, though.”

You can’t tell if it’s a plea or just him trying to make it seem like all of this is no big deal. You have no idea, you can’t really deny the fact that you want to stay. The idea of being out there with people who act like they know you makes you far more uncomfortable. “Alright.”

You cross the room to the right side of the room, pretending to notice all the details of the room instead of thinking about his heavy gaze. He watches you the whole time. You try not to fidget or trip over yourself in the midst of his watchful gaze. You turn your back to him and slide down the side of the bed until your legs are in front of you straight out and your butt hits the cold floor. You awkwardly give him a thumbs up over the side of the bed, “Anytime you’re ready.”

You hear a hiss and a clank of armor onto the wood table. You freeze. Your body immediately wanted to turn towards the noise. The curiosity alone makes you want to look. Maybe you had seen his face before all of this had happened and it would help trigger your memories. The thought leaves as soon as it enters. You weren’t about to betray his trust with something this monumental to him.

The quiet sounds of him sliding down to the floor and then starting to eat greet your ears. It’s so quiet and you can’t help but fill the tormenting silence with anything to distract yourself from what’s right across the room from you. It would be so easy to take a peek and the temptation leads you to studying everything around you. The room is large compared to the small compartments of Boba’s ship and the Vanguard, not large enough to distract you though. The view of the wall and its single picture of Ko’s family isn’t entertaining after a few seconds. The only window is right above the bed so you can’t look out of it without risking seeing Mando.

Boredom finally reaches its peak within your brain so you call out to the other side of the room, “How do they know me? They keep treating us like we are gods. What did we do?”

There was no way to prepare for the voice that greets your ears. You hadn’t thought about how Mando’s voice would sound and even if you had, it would never compare to reality. A warm rumble of whispered honey caresses your ears and slides down your body in a comforting bass, “This planet was under the control of the Empire. The ones that ripped your memories from you. We helped free them.”

“We?”

“Ahsoka, you and me.”

“How’d I do anything?”

There’s a pause for faint chewing. You felt kinda bad for insisting that he eat and then not letting him have that luxury by constantly asking questions.

“You think that trick you did to catch that little guy on the flying lizard was an accident? Luck? You helped a lot in that fight.”

As if hearing your next question forming, he interjected, “That’s all I will say. Why did you care so much about me eating?”

The change in topic throws you. All bubbling questions leave your mind as you try to focus on the answer.

“You still don’t seem to fully trust me, you haven’t shown any concern earlier, so why now?” He asks as if to clarify his question.

“I don’t know. I’m still struggling with it. These people act like decent people, the Empire must be the bad guys here for what they did to me and this town. I guess you are the closest thing I know to be good. You are trying to help me as far as I can tell, putting in more effort than Boba or anyone else so far, but here I am not offering any sort of help back. I get that I don’t know what I can and can’t do; however, that shouldn’t stop me from making sure my pilot is in fit condition. Maybe I hate your guts with my memories, maybe we were best friends. I’ll try to stay more in the moment and trust you until you prove otherwise, as long as you are more open with me about yourself. And not about your personal stuff, just tell me if you need rest or food, okay? It won’t ruin your scary image, I promise.”

He’s quiet as you hear him finish his food and set the plate back on the table. When you hear his voice again, it’s the blasted coder instead of sweet honey, much to your disappointment.

“Alright. Only if you do the same.”

You take that as permission to look at him again, so you stand and turn to him. His thighs are pressed to the bed as if trying to be close to you without crossing to your side of the room.

“We are pretty much on our own. I’m not used to counting on others, but you are too selfless and caring to be a burden. If I ask you something, I want you to be honest. I can’t help you if you end up passing out, having an episode, or worst of all: dying. I’ll do what I can to earn your trust.”

Your cheeks warm unwillingly. It sounded like Mando cared about you, so maybe you could trust him fully after all.

“Alright. Two-way street. Neither of us breaks these rules.”

“Fine. First question, is it alright if I sleep in here? Just as a precaution. I'll sleep in the chair, so you can have the bed."

The question catches you off guard. You honestly didn't know. The idea of him just watching you while you tried to sleep didn't sound like a lot of fun.

"Uh, are you actually going to sleep or just watch me the whole time?"

He seems to realize the way that sounded stutters a little, "I-no, uh, I meant, stay in here and sleep so I can be here in case something happens. Which it shouldn't, but just in case."

"As long as you promise to actually sleep. You need rest just like anyone else, you know that right? As far as I know, you aren't an android or anything. Are you a species that doesn't require a lot of sleep?"

He sighs and makes his way to the refresher off to the side of the bedroom, "Just get some rest."

Rectuantly, you lay down to get some sleep. The bed is cold from lack of use along with the night temperatures. You can hear water running as you lay there staring at the ceiling along with soft clanging as you imagine Mando removing his armor. You couldn't sleep with that kind of stuff going on. The mental image of what Mando might look like under the armor paired with that voice had your thoughts racing.

Once the door opens again, you catch a glimpse of Mando in just sleep clothes and his helmet before he turns off the light. It's a startling sight. Casual clothes and only his helmet? You never expected this. It was like seeing a rare creature out mythology in comparison to this. Almost intimate. You could see some tan skin barely peeking out of his tunic. He was still broad and large, yet more human. The skin looked human at least.

This was going to be a long night.

Sure enough, the next morning had left you waking up exhausted. Even knowing you were safe with Mando, the thought of a strange man at the foot of you bed still left you feeling restless, almost exposed. You had tossed and turned all night only catching bits and pieces of sleep every so often. When you awoke, Mando was already gone from the room. His weapons and armor were gone as well.

Leaving the room and entering the kitchen brought you back to a life outside of Mando and traveling with possible threats following you everywhere. Ko's family was already up and fixing breakfast together. The grandson, Jax, looked up to see you enter the kitchen. He grabbed your hand and dragged you over to help fix food with them. They were nice people that went to lengths to make you feel safe and at home with them.

You tried to make efforts to get to know them. It felt awkward with the almost hero worship they treated you with though. You had no idea how you had helped these people and if you even deserved it. What if Mando had just made it sound like you had helped so you wouldn't feel worthless?

They all had their own things to do after breakfast. Jax went to school, Ko's wife went out back to tend to her garden, and Jax’s parents, Lillian and Idris, went to visit another family. Ko at least invited you to drink tea on the back porch while watching his wife work in the garden. You gladly accepted.

"It is nice to have you and the Mandalorian back in our city. It's a good reminder that we are not easily forgotten. Mando did tell us you have been forced to forget everything, including yourself.”

You hum into your tea mug, noncommitedly, "Some Empire jerks took my memories. All of them. I don't remember ever being here."

"Well, I'm sure a part of it would be gladly forgotten. We were not a happy place until you and Mando came along. Ahsoka as well. Of course, it's not hard to expect from a Jedi. That is what they do."

"A Jedi?"

"Yes, the guardians of peace in the galaxy. You really have forgotten everything." His gaze of pity just makes your stomach turn. You didn't want pity. You didn't blame anyone but the people who did this to you.

"Is there anything you can tell me about myself? What was I like?"

Ko laughs in response, a genuine belly laugh, "You were a spit fire. You saw the injustice that was going on and you personally wanted to take on every guard and mercenary yourself. Mando had to hold you back. If it hadn't been for the need to find Ahsoka, you would've killed anyone in your way."

You couldn't help your eyes bulging our of your head. You? Killing people? Fighting in general? It was a crazy idea. You wanted to think this old man was crazy, but there was plenty of lucidity in the old man's eyes. He was telling the truth.

"What did I do? How'd I fight?"

"In any and every way. You didn't hold any punches. You used anything within your range. Blasters, staffs, even your fists. You were a sight to behold. You were kind to everyone in the city that was being held hostage here. You did whatever it took to free us. We are extremely grateful. We will do what we can to help you."

Once you had finished your tea, you left Ko to his own devices in order for you to think over everything he told you. You retreated to the solitude of the room you were sharing with Mando to rummage through the thoughts flying through your brain. The fear of accidentally triggering another violent memory had you curled up on the bed. Nothing happened though. You had taken a hot shower to calm down and changed into the clean clothes Leeda provided, yet now here you were with the spear you had stolen from Utapau. Mando had let you keep that at least. You were holding it trying to see if it felt familiar in your hands like a hidden instinct or muscle memory. Nothing was coming to you though.

You waited until night to check in with Mando. Perhaps a tad bit reluctantly, but you did worry about him being out there by himself.

"Mando, you there?"

The crackle in the communicator filled your ear and then his voice filled your head, "I'm here. Is everything okay?"

"That's what I was going to ask. Everything's fine. Just a little boring. It's almost strange to be living a quiet life after the past few days."

He chuckles lightly into the communicator, "I'm sure we will be on our way into trouble eventually. It's typical for me."

You smile tightly. You could wait on the trouble. "Any sign of Ahsoka?"

The answering sigh tells you enough, but still he answers, "None yet. I'm just trying to pick up any sort of trail. I'm found her camp from last time I met her and it looks abandoned. The only clue I found so far. It looks like she dismantled her camp fairly recently so that’s a sign she’s been here at least.”

"Hopefully she's okay and this isn't a wild bantha chase."

"I'm sure she is. She's a powerful warrior."

"Yeah, Ko said she's a Jedi. Apparently that means she's some sort of warrior."

"What else has Ko been telling you?"

"Just that apparently I know how to fight expertly as well." Your tone turns accusatory.

"Yes, you do. Don't ask though, I don't know where you learned or even all the things you can do."

Your pettiness still gets to you a little as wish him a quick goodnight and cut the line. It still frustrated the amount of information everyone knew. You really needed to stop taking it out on Mando. You felt a little guilty as you went to bed that night.

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

The next morning brought your regrets to the surface again as you awoke to a sudden boom and shaking of the house. Screams followed the explosion as the reverberations faded away. You practically fell out of bed running towards the door to find where you hoped the others would be.

You call out for Ko and the others but there’s no response. You look throughout the house and finally find them all gathered by a door offset from the kitchen. Ko had gathered his family and was leading them down through the door down a set of steps leading to what you assumed was a basement when you cried out to them, "What's going on? What was that sound?"

Ko turns to you and grabs your arm leading you to the basement, "The Empire is back. It's a small party, but they are bombing the city!"

Your heart freezes. Is this because of your vision? Is this all happening because of you? Guilt flares in your heart. If you caused all of this pain and suffering, kriff, probably some deaths, all because of your presence, you didn’t know how you would forgive yourself. You reach up to the communicator in your ear only to find it missing. In your confusion and haste to find the others you had left it behind in the bedroom. You left it on the table like a mindless wamp rat.

You turn to run back to the bedroom all the while Ko tries to yell at you to come back to the safety of the basement. You hear more explosions outside, but you have to let Mando know. The basement won’t be safe for long if the house falls down around them. Mando may not be able to do much, but you have to warn him so he won't walk into a trap and possibly find Ko and his trapped family should the worst happen.

You reach your room and pratically fling yourself onto the table to grab the communicator. Stuffing it into your ear, you immediately open the channel. "Mando!"

"What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"The Empire's here!"

[maxwell-grant]

Have you read the short story Norvell Page wrote as a wedding present for a Big Name Fan about Dick and Nita's first meeting? Any thoughts on it? My main is that Page does not go where you expect him to based on that description.

I did! Actually it was one of the first Spider stories I read. And yeah, to an extent, it's absolutely not what you'd expect from something set in The Spider's world. And on the other hand, it's absolutely what makes the most sense for these two characters. Because, yeah, Norvell Page could have done what he usually does, and written some over-the-top action where Dick and Nita happen to meet during it.

But no, that wouldn't work. Because, for all the turmoil and chaos in The Spider, for everything that he and Nita go through, there are many times when, sturdier even than Dick's resolve is their love for each other, the deep understanding and affection that carries them through hell itself time and time again.

And so, when it was time to showcase how such a romance started, Page wisely deviated from his usual narrative style, and instead told a very, very intimate and personal story, a long and extended conversation between the two, and more importantly, between Page and the reader. Between The Spider, and You, peering into The Spider through the eyes of Nita van Sloan.

I think for a start, it's an interesting coincidence that this meeting takes place on a cruise ship, and it involves Dick rescuing Nita from suicide. I say this because Margo Lane's first meeting with Lamont Cranston, in the pulps, was stated to have taken place on a cruise ship, and of course, the first time we see The Shadow in the pulps, he's rescuing Harry Vincent from suicide, and both Harry and Margo are The Shadow's main supporting characters. I'm not saying it was intentional, but it's an interesting fact. And more so because Dick doesn't really rescue Nita.

Her scarf whipped in the wind on deck, and it blinded her... and a hand touched her arm, and a voice spoke to her.

"If it's intentional, don't let me stop you," the voice said, "but you're heading straight for suicide."

Nita looked then at the stop toward which, blindly, she was going, and it was a chain barrier beyond which was the sea. And she looked at the man who had stopped her and it was Richard Wentworth. And his words had been a shock to her.

"You wouldn't try to dissuade me from suicide?" she asked.

Wentworth's brows were tilted whit a hint of mockery, but his eyes were very grave. "Every man is master of his own soul, and hence of his body," he said. "And your eyes are wide open and awake. So it would be a considered action. I'm not sure, under those circumstances, that I would have a right to meddle in another's business."

Nita said, "I think you can help me."

Wentworth shook his head. "Only you can help yourself," he said, "but it may be that someone else could help you find the way."

The whole text is a great example of how wonderfully realized of a character Nita van Sloan is in ways so unlike the typical pulp or superhero girlfriends at the time, because the text is written from her perspective, and half of the text reads like an extended character breakdown of who Nita is as a character and person. And the other half of the text is almost entirely comprised of Dick Wentworth spouting philosophy and talking in-depth about his reading of her and what's upsetting her, talking about God and fate and so on. And like so many other attempts to explore serious theological/psychological/philosophical/etc concepts explored through pulp fiction, half of it is bullshit, and half of it is fascinatingly disturbing and thought-provoking bullshit.

"Self-contempt," Wentworth's words were very quiet now. "Is second only to self-pity among the greater sins. Self-analysis is a dangersous thing. You need so much charity. And any person who is advanced enough to think about himself at all is apt to be over-stern in his judgment of himself."

He said to her, "If you don't honor youself, who will honor you?" And, a few moments later, "There is conceit in ruling others, but none in mastering yourself." And, "There is no arrogance so great as self-righteousness."

Nita clashed with him violently, "You are being self-righteous in judging me!"

Wentworth laughed. "I am speaking only truism. It is you who judge yourself, not I." He was serious, then. "My dear," he said, "I would be presumptuous to try to teach you. No man can teach another. But one who has been along that same trail would be less than a man if he failed to mark certain signposts and certain places where there is water to drink so that another, traveling that same road, may know where another struggled and what he has learned. But, as no man can travel a road for another, so no man can teach another. You must work out your own salvation."

"That sense of separation between the inner and outer self," Nita rushed on, "between yourself and the world ... while you were talking, I could almost feel that difference disappearing. The feeling is gone now, but ..."

"All progress is three steps forward and two back," Wentworth said, slowly, "and this is good because thus all ground is three-times covered and triply learned."

And I should probably clarify by this point that, it's not so much Dick Wentworth talking in this story, as it's Norvell Page himself. In fact, he admits as much in another letter he had sent to his readers that he was prone to talking philosophy by this point.

There was a time when the burden of writing just one more Spider seemed too much to undertake. (After all, the magazine is in it's ninth year!) But I never feel that way any more. I know now that the Spider actually does help people; that there are those who appreciate his idealism even though it is expressed in violence.

Especially in the last half dozen Spiders, beginning with the 100th I believe, I have tried very earnestly to teach a little of the philosophy and faith, of which we all need so much in these days.

Here's the thing about The Spider: It's not that the character is mad. Well, okay, he IS mad, I don't pull these over-the-top maniacal cartoon meme descriptions out of thin air, but that's because he lives in a batshit insane disaster horror world where there IS no sane response other than joining the carnage to overcome it. It's not just that Wentworth who is a madman. It's that Norvell Page was a mad man, and Dick Wentworth was Norvell's Page alter-ego, by the man's own admission.

Friends have informed me that I moved about the company as one in a trance: there were some who were concerned about my health, so oddly did I behave. Of course, only my body attended that occasion. My mind was entirely engrossed in Dick Wentworth's big problem - back in my study on a sheet of paper stuck in my typewriter

I did not dream that night; in the morning I restlessly paced my floor thinking, thinking, thinking. I sat down at the typewriter, stared at the words and the keys. Suddenly, as if by magic, Dick Wentworth seemed to move of his own volition. My hands raised, my fingers literally flew over the keyboard.

No matter how ridiculous it seems, I will always feel that Dick Wentworth, creature of my own fabrication, guided me through that tough scene.

No two people can live together without being influenced by each other to some extent. So constantly has Wentworth been in my mind, it is as if we were roommates - partners in everything.

Page has talked about how close of a connection he feels to the character, about many ways he's emulated his mannerisms, even some pretty embarassing anectodes where he claims to have "accidentally" used the character's "indomitable will" to scare waiters or drawing connections between The Spider's cast and real people he's met. Others who met him remarked that he talked of the "Spider" characters as though they were members of his family, or drinking companions.

Even before I got into The Spider, I had heard of rumors that he used to present or discuss stories in his office by putting on a cape and jumping from desk to desk, swinging a yard stick in his hand, and I can't find any source that confirms it, but I don't doubt it in the slightest. A lot of pulp writers had really weird lives, and Page was no exception. He was a journalist who frequently dug into his newspaper clippings for grisly stories to incorporate into narratives. I mean, just look at the dude's eyes, he's seen some shit.

When he was 3, his mother fell down a manhole while they were walking down a Chicago sidewalk. Norvell, terrified, thought she had dissappeared and never quite got over the experience.

When he was a little older, according to some family members, his parents had tickets for the Titanic and escaped disaster when Norvell begged them to cancel the trip for reasons unknown.

Norvell again played a hand in the family's escaping disaster when, one Christmas the family home caught on fire. Candles on the tree had been left burning. He quite arguably saved everyone's life. Waking first, he threw his mattress out of his window, grabbed his infant brother and sister and ran screaming through the hall as he went back to jump to safety. His screams woke his parents who then jumped to the mattress themselves.

Norvell lied about his age and experience to the Norfolk "Observer", claiming to have been writing for Richmond's "Times Dispatch" and was hired there.

His father managed Thomas Edison & Hugo Wurlitzer's ad accounts, and had always encouraged him to write, envisioning him as another Poe, whom his Great-Uncle had worked with as an editor

It is rumored that, in NYC, while at the "World Telegram", he became involved in fellow editor Varion Fry's effort to rescue artists and scientists from occupied Europe. President of the American Fiction Guild, he edited their newsletter for some time. Among his closest friends were fellow writers Ted Tinsley and L. Ron Hubbard and Surrealist painter Max Ernst.

WRITER'S REVIEW 35.08: Norvell W. Page, whose bloodthirsty Spider novels would do justice to Ghengis Khan, demonstrated his bloodlust the other day by accidentally killing a sparrow.

He wrote until 1943, when he abruptly stopped without warning. He dissappeared, for all intents and purposes, from both New York, the arts world and the pulp world for good.

His wife of 20 years, Audrey, had died and this, along with the U.S. involvment in WWII, led to his returning to VA where he would go on to be an intelligence worker in the Truman, Kennedy and Eisenhower Administrations.

He died suddenly of a heart attack in August of 1961.

Surviving family members do not know where he is buried.

I think this is a story that Page might have told differently had he written it earlier in his career, before he got tired, before he underwent his depression and loss of weight that caused him to briefly stop writing pulps all together, in a time period before the World War had cast an oppressive miasma on the world. In a time period where most of the horrifying nightmares he infused into the stories were really just that, nightmares, that he didn't live long enough to see turn into prophecies.

Because that's another thing about The Spider that makes the character more than just a batshit vigilante: As over-the-top as the stories were, a lot of them also inevitably turned out to predict some form of catastrophe in real life.

Written with an eye to the horrors festering in Germany at the time, The Mayor of Hell now reads as an infernal vision of the Homeland Security Act.

The poisoned products found in The Red Death Rain and The Pain Emperor call to mind the Tylenol killings of the summer of 1982, and the hundreds of poisoned products cases that followed.

Bio-terrorism plays large in the Spider mythos, with bubonic plague in Wings of the Black Death, rabies in The Mad Horde, and cholera in The Cholera King foreshadowing the Anthrax scare of 2001. The same could be said of the terror gases from Kingdom of Doom and Green Globes of Death and the nerve gas attack in the Tokyo subways in March of 1995.

Masters of the Death Madness unfolds as a nightmare meditation upon suicide, which has become one of the principal weapons of modern terrorists. One scene involves suicide bombers.

Another scene chillingly presages the Jonestown massacre of 1978: a grand procession lines up to drink from a bowl of poisoned wine while surrounding gunmen pick off anyone who refuses to drink.

The modern reader will recognize the psychological and sociological effects of a citizenry living under the threat of terrorism, so chillingly evoked by Page: the grating loss of safety, the imminent threats lurking in familiar objects, the way security can no longer be taken for granted, the kind of skittishness that empties a building at the first sign of an unknown white powder.

The eeriest of all the modern terrorist parallels appears in a novel called The City Destroyer, originally published in 1936. It features a set piece involving the collapse of a fictitious gigantic building, supposedly the tallest in New York City, called “The Sky Building.” When it fell, it wiped out five city blocks and claimed 1,000 lives. And perhaps it’s worth noting a further parallel that occurred in the 1970’s, when Pocket Books tried to revive the Spider; they repackaged him in a paperback series, striving for an image of what was then cool and thrusting Richard Wentworth into a contemporary setting.

When Pocket Books reprinted and updated The City Destroyer in 1975, the collapse of the Sky Building was replaced with the collapse of the World Trade Center - Stuart Hopen's essay on The Spider

Regardless of how much reality Page was infusing into his stories (because, again, he took a lot of his material from newspapers) or how much he foresaw intentionally or not, writing The Spider definitely took it's toll on him, and as the magazine neared it's final stretch with him on the helm, certain parts did began taking a more philosophical or religious tone, as more of Page's own beliefs, more of Page's attempts to use it as a vehicle to do good, began to bleed through the page.

And ultimately I think that's also what the story of Dick and Nita's first meeting is about, sort of an extended analysis not just of Nita, who Page himself said was a character he conceived as "the epitome of womanhood" and everything he thought admirable about it, but also of Wentworth's own character, and the things Page wanted to get through in his time.

Religion crept deeper into the series with each succeeding year. By all accounts, Norvell Page was a man of deep faith and spirituality who just happened to be writing the exploits of a hero whose idea of mercy was a bullet in the brain instead of the stomach.

In the 100th novel, Death and The Spider, Wentworth battles Death itself - or so it seems - and on Christmas Eve, he is shot so badly while protecting the President from assassination that everyone believes he's dead - including himself.

Dead or not, he forces himself to fight on, sustained only by reciting the 23rd Psalm over and over again.

Nita laughed and accepted a cigarette. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Don't," Wentworth's voice was sharp. "I told you I am only a channel. Don't confuse me with the Source."

It stopped words on Nita's lips, and it gave here a new respect and a new and sudden attitude toward this man beside her, this man who could laugh and jest with everyone about him, and who could teach like a very oracle ... and who carried about him such a sense of dedication to high purpose. He might seem apart from the world, but he was utterly and completely of it.

Nita said, half-laughing, half-serious, "May I like you? And may I admire your ... adjustment?"

"Don't envy my adjustment," he grinned at her. "Have one yourself." He snapped flame to her cigarette with his lighter, and his lean, strong hand was steady and sure as his eyes, as his voice. He was speaking to her but he was looking at the lighter. "I have found my mission," he said quietly.

[cream-and-tea]

ALL FALL DOWN EXCERPT. chapter six (seven??) Umbra POV. edited. featuring: yearning! oh my god so much undiluted gay yearning! my self indulgent symbolism and meta ridden dream sequences. just a smidgen of childhood trauma. blood, unreality and vomit mention.

happy birthday to every lesbian! all of them! as a treat to myself i thought i’d share some unbelievably sapphic content from AFD. which is saying something because this wip is 97% pure sapphic content by volume. enjoy!

{transcript under the cut}

Taglist {ask to be added/removed}. @bigboldgold​ @pimclementine​ @dragonwritesthings​ ​ @svpphicwrites​ @semblanche​ @mo-is-writing​ @definitelynotclayface​ @keep-looking-here@wordsbynathan​ @oasis-of-you​ @wildswrites​​ @alicewestwater@plutoslittlecosmos@mouwwie @waysofink @a-completely-normal-writer@wannabeauthorzofija @magic-is-something-we-create

I don’t see anything at first, just feel. Feel warmth and light and the taste of blood on my lips.

I blink open my eyes and the world is bright and blurry around the edges. I’m laying on my back, on the lawn of my childhood house. House, not a home. Never a home. Grass pokes at my legs and arms. The sky is soft and light, a blur of gold and rose and crimson bleeding around the edges. It looks like sunset, or sunrise, but it’s as light as midday and the heat surrounding me on all sides feels like water, thick and hot and clinging to my skin.

I feel a weight in the palm of my hand and when I turn my head she’s there. Her with her skin pale, almost translucent in this daylight. Her with short wisps of hair falling into her face. Her eyes turned to the sky. Her lips parted slightly in a smile, like she’s had some funny thought and is just about to share it. Her hand in my hand, twining us together.

Sonder.

A wave of nausea coils in my gut. Something isn’t right. This is wrong, this is wrong, the colours are too bright. It’s all too bright . She's too bright.

The air smells like overripe fruit and honey and blood. She turns to face me with a dreamy sort of smile on her face. Eyes sleepy from the heat. The air ripples around her.

“Hello,” she says. Like it’s the most matter of fact thing in the world. Like this is somehow normal.

“You’re here,” I say and my voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. I should be angry. I should be so goddamn angry at her. I should be shocked and confused and angry. But it’s just so bright and hot and I feel all sluggish and slow. My mouth is thick with the taste of this place.

“I am.” Sonders eyes are soft, so painfully soft. I want to scream but I’m not sure why. She looks at me like I’m a cracked piece of china, something to cup in her hands and hold even if it cuts. I think I’m going to be sick.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Umbra.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap, she just sighs. It’s somewhere between a breath and a laugh. A sad, sad laugh.

“You don’t make any sense,” I say.

No response. A flat paper fish, like one I scribbled out in purple and yellow in kindergarten, swims past.

“I hate you.” Those words are dead in my mouth, familiar as breathing.

“No, you don’t. Not really.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you though.” Before I can blink she brings her hand up, the one not holding mine. She touches my face (gently, so gently.) Traces my jawline. I shudder under her touch. My skin is soft, saline and if she pressed too hard her fingers would sink into it like melted butter. She doesn’t though. Of course she doesn’t. Maybe that’s why I lean into the touch, almost involuntarily. In the moment, this moment, I think I need it. Need it in some core of me. She smiles and it’s tired and sad, the saddest thing I think I’ve ever seen. I can feel bile hot in my throat.

This has to be a dream.

“This isn’t real?” I breathe out, and hate how the words come out disappointed.

“Yeah. Probably,” she sounds real though, so like her. Grainy and soft and faded out. Like there could’ve been sharpness there, like there should be, but it’s all been sanded down and hollowed out. “You’ll still be the same though, when you wake up. Still stuck. You’re so stupid sometimes Umbra, I wonder if you even know what you’re doing at all.”

She huffs, turning back to look at the bubbling, distorting sky. Something in those gray eyes gone bitter. “We’ll still be all– all fucking trapped running in circles. I’m tired. Tired of me and you. Tired of all the blood.”

“W-what do you mean?” I slur, my words aren’t working right anymore. The sweet, almost rotten smell is becoming unbearable.

“Look,” she says, and gives my hand a squeeze. I look down to where our fingers interlock and all my breath congeals in my chest. They’re coated in blood. From the wrist down. Her hand, my hand, our hands together, dripping in red. I wonder who’s blood is who’s. I wonder if I could pull away from her if I tried. I can’t turn away, can’t move. The air is humming and shifting around me. I can taste vomit in the back of my mouth. The grass feels like a thousand tiny needles stabbing into my skin.

I force my eyes away, and when I turn back to her Sonders face is only centimetres away from mine. So close. To close. Too much. There’s no smile on her now, only the exhaustion. But her eyes are still soft and warm looking into mine.

I draw in a sharp breath as she moves, cupping my cheek with one hand and pressing her lips dryly to where my neck meets my jaw. I’m on fire. I’m burning up. There’s an inferno crawling under my skin. I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to–

“You need to wake up,” Sonder whispers. I can feel her say the words, quietly against my skin. I feel the sun and the heat and the blood coating my hand and hers. And then I feel nothing at all.

[darlingpetao3]

Give Into the Symptoms (EoWells x Reader)

Rating: M (Smut)

Summary: When an unknown substance is accidentally released into the medbay, you find yourself isolated along with Doctor Wells, and both of you start to develop some very interesting symptoms...

A/N: Happy Friday! Here’s some super hot smut to spice up your day! Word count - 3,223

Tag List: @blogforhoes​

Team Flash likes to joke that being accident-prone is your superpower. Little did they know, one accident in particular would catapult you into a world of suspicion and realization…

It’s one of those days - a day in between just having caught the latest meta terrorizing the city and having another one pop up. You have forgotten your travel mug, and are searching the Labs for it. Oh, right!

You remember setting it down while visiting Caitlin in the medbay, then got distracted. There it is. You jog into the room, but remember that’s probably not a good idea. What if you trip on absolutely nothing and fall flat on your face? Not if you can help it.

But that doesn’t seem to help you.

When you reach for your mug on the desk, it’s like everything happens in slow motion (later, you find yourself wondering if this is how it feels for Barry) - your arm knocks over a series of test tubes holding different coloured liquids. Some of the substance splashes onto your skin, whereas the rest of the matter falls to the ground. It gives off a pungent aroma. You can practically see the fumes rising from the desk and the floor up into the air. In the shock of the accident, you let out a yell, and find that whatever the hell chemicals just touched your skin feels like it’s burning.

“Miss (Y/L/N)!” comes the familiar voice of your superior (and friend? You’re fairly certain you’re friends… You hope you’re friends...) Doctor Harrison Wells. The scientist zooms in on his motorized chair at the fastest speed it will carry him. “What’s happened?”

His voice is a mixture of surprise, concern and impending protocol.

“Ow, ow, I knocked over chemicals on the desk, ah!” you try to explain while shaking your affected limb. “Some on my arm.”

You shout in wild staccatos while Doctor Wells helps usher you to the emergency wash station to ease the moderately uncomfortable sensation. Even after the cold water sprays on your skin, it’s Harrison’s next few words that shock you even more than the water temperature or the burn.

“You need to remove your shirt. Quickly.”

“I- what?”

Doctor Wells wheels over to one of the cabinets in the room and plucks one of the many overly stocked S.T.A.R. Labs sweaters to toss it at you.

“There will still be remnants of the concoction on your shirt. It will continue to soak through the fabric and reach the rest of your body. It cannot be touching you. Hurry. Unless you want to try to bathe in that sink.”

You have your shirt off faster than you could say “the Flash.”

You remove your shirt so fast, in fact, that Doctor Wells hasn’t even had time yet to turn away or avert his eyes. Instead, he witnesses the entire thing.

“Oh, well…” he utters, possibly embarrassed, turning around too late. His eyes one hundred percent saw you in your bra. And now you will let that tiny factoid harass you for the rest of your life. You shrug on the classic navy sweater with the organization’s logo stretched across your chest. It is not your size, but it will have to do.

“Alright, I’m decent,” you say to the back of his dark-haired head. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat after he faces you again, but you can’t decipher its meaning. But that is the case with many things when it comes to this man.

“We have to self-isolate ourselves.” Harrison’s voice is calm but firmly urgent. “We’ve both been in contact with each other and the substance. Quick, initiate lockdown.” You know just what to do and sprint to the door to the room. You smash the emergency glass and press the Big Red Button. Instantly, metal barriers drop down to seal the doors and windows, locking you in with the secret object of your affections and an unknown substance.

Only time will tell what will happen to the two of you next.

***

Nothing.

Nothing has happened! God, you are so bored.

“How long are we supposed to be stuck in here?” you ask.

“So far, it’s uncertain. This is an unknown substance. But we must stay isolated so as not to pass along the contagion. We both came in contact with the substance particles, so we may eventually show symptoms.” Harrison hums.

“What?” you ask.

“This unforeseen circumstance may be worth taking notes. For posterity. Do you have a pen?”

Naturally, Harrison would find a way to take this unfortunate situation and turn it into a learning experience.

Always a scientist.

Maybe that’s why you admire him so much. Well, more than just admire…

At first, time passes incredibly slowly. You don’t know what to say in the awkward silence between you and Doctor Wells, so you try to keep yourself busy. This proves extremely difficult, however. All there is in this room are Caitlin’s medical journals, test tubes and various other tools, and a medical bed. Yes, there is a computer, but it was set up solely for data entry. No internet. Not even so much as Solitaire!

And the metal barriers seem to have blocked out all signals to your phone.

Even Doctor Wells’ chess set was out in the other room!

This is hopeless.

You hop up on the medical bed and recline a bit. You’re starting to feel a little strange, but you can’t figure out what exactly is wrong with you. Is this one of the symptoms, or have you finally gone mad from being cooped up? You start to mentally examine yourself.

Your skin tingles, but in a good way - not like how it burned earlier. Your entire body feels comfortably warm, and you find that when your eyes fall on Doctor Wells, that’s when you start to feel hotter.

The man sits in the corner of the room, studying one of the journals. Every so often, he’ll lick his finger and turn the page...

You swallow hard, now wholly distracted by his lips. They’re so pink it should be a crime. But the real outrage is the curves of his arms. At first, you were going to ask whether he wears such muscle-defining sweaters like this all the time, but really you know the answer to that is yes. Your eyes take you on a vicious cycle of drinking him in, admiring every piece of perfection that is Harrison Wells.

“Miss (Y/L/N)? Are you feeling alright?” he shakes you from your ogling.

“Huh, what? I think so…”

“Are you developing any symptoms?”

Is horniness one of them?

“I’m not sure.”

“Write down what you’re feeling, anyway,” he suggests. “It could be helpful.”

You do so, taking the pen and paper you’d found earlier and jot down what you’d been feeling. You’re noticing a bit of lightheadedness too, so you add that to the list. But you hear something mid-scrawl.

“Did you know that you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?”’

You lift your head. Did he just…?

“I’m sorry, w-what?” you stutter. Doctor Wells removes his glasses in one motion, letting one of its arms touch his lips, which bend up into a smirk. He wheels over to you in the bed, the closer he gets, the hotter and unsteadier you become. Your vision seems altered - rosier than usual.

“I believe you heard me correctly,” he answers, “and I mean it. You make me want to…”

“Want to what?” If you don’t settle yourself down now, you’re going to jump the man.

“It isn’t proper what I want to say.”

Oh, now he’s holding back?

Fuck it. You need to know. You slide your legs off the bed and, without much further thought, kneel between his widespread legs on his chair. Your hands gripping the armrests instead of literally anywhere on the man himself like you would prefer. Leaning in close, so much so that you share the same dangerous breath.

“I need you to tell me,” you beg.

Doctor Wells just blinks at you, then frowns.

Wait. Something’s not right here.

You pull back and examine the situation, and then the scariest words come from his mouth:

“Miss (Y/L/N)? What are you doing?”

You try your damndest not to scream. Did you just hallucinate all that? Oh God, I imagined him coming on to me, didn’t I??

Jumping back far away from him, you turn around to hold your head in your hands. Is this all one big fever dream? Is this a symptom? What’s real? What’s not? You sure as hell don’t know anymore. All you do know is that you’re hot and bothered and almost mauled your boss because of it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” you say. “I’m just…” You’re completely frazzled. “I’m just going to write it down.”

New symptom: horny hallucinations

You try to let the next half an hour pass without feeling this strange woozy sensation. In doing so, you close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing while lying down. But it’s still too hot. You’re still too hot. You remove the sweater, entirely forgetting that you aren’t alone in this room. Doctor Wells has been quiet for far too long. And it would appear he’s been watching you. His elbow rests on his chair, hand covering his mouth as his eyes rake over your body. You look down to his lap, an accident.

Good Lord, he’s got…

The curve of him is all too apparent in his pants. The way he’s sitting only draws attention to it. It’s like you have instantaneous tunnel vision. His growing self is all you see and all you care about. You go to him, no longer wondering or caring if this is all an illusion, it’s not even a thought in your brain. All that remains is this unrestrainable animal lust for his body. Consequences be damned. You kneel in front of him.

“(Y/N)...” he exhales. He doesn’t sound stunned or taken aback by your extreme forwardness. Instead, it sounds like a warning.

“Suddenly not so formal, hm?” you say. “Good, because we’re about to get better acquainted anyway, Harrison.” Doctor Wells doesn’t make any motion for you to stop your advancements, just stares lustful daggers at you while you practically claw at the man’s buckle and zipper. You reach into his pants to wrap your hand around the single thing in this room that you believe can heal you. His sheer hardness is unveiled and in your firm grasp. Doctor Wells’ groan shifts into a growl. Well, hello. His brow furrows but in the sexiest goddamn way.

Heavens above, you’re desperate to taste this man, eat him, swallow him, consume him.

New symptom: salivation

Your tongue darts out for a slow lick. But the slowness doesn’t last because the need is greater than anything you’ve felt. Soon, you surround your lips around his cock and take him further in your mouth. Further, letting the underside of him brush against your flattened tongue. On your way back down, you swirl around him, which makes your colleague, your employer reach a hand into your hair. He grips a handful at the base of your head. Harder. Pull it harder.

Doctor Wells does just that, and perhaps you did say out loud that after all? You aren’t sure of anything anymore other than you feel on fire, and you need more. Your blood hurtles through your veins. A ceaseless throb makes itself known between your legs. More so than before, that is.

Going in for the kill, you return your mouth to him, meanwhile reaching your own hand past the waistband of your jeans to touch yourself. You need to get off just as much as you want him to. You feel like you’ll keel over if you don’t deal with yourself too.

Harrison’s bobbing head stops to stare down at you.

“Are you-? Fuck, (Y/N), are you-?”

You hum around him in affirmation, and just after you do, the scientist pushes you off of him. In any other situation, you might be mortified that a man told you to stop blowing him, but this is no ordinary situation. Your vision blurs for a second in a surge of lust. You’re like an animal that’s just been denied their meal. There’s so much more to eat.

You stand up, chest heaving, and positively do not believe what you witness next.

Doctor Wells’ hands clutch the chair’s armrests again, but then you watch as he moves his foot. He takes a step onto the floor, then stands to a full six feet. It’s a fucking miracle- no. It truly is a hallucination. A dream. It’s a fantasy.

There’s a flash of danger in his eyes, while yours widen, big and round as his prey. The tables have turned. He’s stalking you, walking you back until you hit the metal barrier where the door once was. Captured.

This hallucination is fucking wild and I am here for it.

Might as well give in to the symptoms, right?

Harrison leans down by your ear and inhales your scent. Sweat, desire, desperation.

“I can’t resist you,” he says as if it’s difficult to even speak through the palpable sexual tension.

“I’d always imagined you saying that,” you confess, because why not? This isn’t real anyway. “I can’t resist you either.”

“I’m aware,” he chuckles into your neck, where his mouth quickly attaches. You swallow twice. “You seemed rather hungry back there.” Your pulse is starting to skyrocket again.

“Still am.” Your fingers find the hem of his soft black sweater and begin to lift it up over him. Might as well indulge in this glorious sex dream. Harrison helps you of course. He seems to want this as much as you. You’re both a series of grabbing hands, flexing muscles, and greedy touches as each and every article of clothing finds its rightful place on the floor.

Fucking hell, sex-fantasy Doctor Wells looks like an actual god. Part of your brain wonders how much of his usually-covered appearance is accurate. The rest of your brain (and another part in particular) thinks, Get in me.

The look on his face says it all. He’s going to ravage you.

Harrison, faster than you could ever imagine, spins you so that your exposed breasts press against the metal barrier. Your palms rest flat against the cool metal as well, bracing yourself for whatever the man has planned. Whatever it is, you want it. Now.

His hands run down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite your entire body feeling hot as all hell. He steps closer, so close that his whole body presses against the back of yours. His still hard cock digs into you from behind. You reach around and take hold of it and start to pump. The scientist rumbles into your neck, where he licks and nips and sucks and fuck- bites. You squeal. By the way his body twitches, you think he rather enjoyed hearing you like that.

If you weren’t already a mess, Harrison’s fingers take over the job you tried to accomplish on yourself earlier. His fingers are greeted by your already sopping desire.

“You really were serious, weren’t you?” he says at the slippery feel of you. “Do I always arouse you like this?”

“God, you don’t even know.” It comes out a bit strangled. “All the time.”

“Are you ready for me?”

“Do you seriously need to ask?”

He doesn’t answer you, but instead takes his length to press it against you from behind. Finallyfinallyfinally. A little more. Just a bit more. More. Further in. With each inch, you whine for all of him. Doctor Wells growls into your shoulder once he’s reached as far as he’s able to sheath himself inside you.

It’s only when he starts a steady pace of thrusts that you almost believe this is all real. The feeling in your gut tells you it’s real, but the rest of you insists it’s a very very heated symptom. His mouth is still attacking your neck, any bit of skin he can get to. The current mark he’s leaving is starting to hurt but in the best way.

“Fuck,” you swear, knowing your climax is just on the horizon. You’re nearly there. “Faster. Faster,” you ask of him with what little ability you have to form words. Doctor Wells chuckles, almost evilly, into your ear.

“That I can do,” he replies. His hips snap repeatedly, a deliciously rapid speed. Skin against skin slaps to quick beat. His fingers circle at the same pace. And with a surprise, sharp smack to your ass, this wicked combination is your undoing.

You come apart like a crumbling mess, crying out as you do as the man repeatedly slams into you, now seemingly for his own gain. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, an orgasm this powerful, is it even possible to have one this...

***

You blink your eyes open.

You’re still in the medbay, but the barriers on the door and windows have been lifted. And you’re definitely still clothed in your S.T.A.R. Labs sweater and jeans. So it was all a crazy dream?

Regardless, you’re never going to be able to look Doctor Wells in the eye ever again.

Speaking of the man…

He rolls in on his chair with a pleasant and calm smile.

“Feeling alright, Miss (Y/L/N)?” he asks, concerned. “You took quite a spill earlier.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

You don’t remember falling. You remember a whole lot of an X-rated fantasy, though.

“I didn’t, um…” you aren’t sure how to phrase this. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing or potentially fireable, did I?”

Doctor Wells raises an eyebrow in one of his classic moves. “I don’t believe so. Other than the falling, of course. But you needn’t feel embarrassed about that. It could have happened to anyone.”

You nod slowly, relieved that you didn’t blow your boss under the influence and proceed to fuck against a wall. Although… no. No. You are relieved. Yes.

“I see the barriers are up,” you note. “I take it that isolation is no longer required?”

“You would be correct,” Harrison confirms. “Doctor Snow rushed in, with the appropriate hazmat gear and did some tests. You were out long enough for the results to come back. We’re in the clear.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

“Quite.” Harrison smiles at you, but there’s something different this time than previously. You aren’t sure what it is. “I will leave you now. Feel free to take a few days off. I know that was probably a lot to take in.”

“Right. Yes, right, thank you, I will.”

“Take care, (Y/N).” Harrison wheels away out of the room and out to the corridor. You take a breath and step out of the bed, feeling a bit uncomfortable as you walk. And then, in the reflection of one of the mirrors on Caitlin's work desk, you see it.

A deep-purple mark on your neck.

When you press your fingers to it, it hurts a bit. It’s fresh. But how can that be…?

Can that-?

Did he really-?

But then that means…

Oh shit.

~

Anonymous Request: Hey dear🤗 I want to request a EoWells story. Reader gets exposed to a VERY powerful aphrodisiac at star labs and the reader asks harrison to help her😏. And he gets exposed to it too. And both go totally crazy and do shameless dirty stuff to each other and together (maybe they always had feelings for each other). And Harrison reveals his secret( that's he's not paralyzed) to get more and more from her. Lots of smut!🙈 Plus add whatever you like. can you plz?🙏🏻

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Not Like That || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: After the events of The Red Room

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan struggles with what she learned in the basement from Lydia and herself.

"To stay here forever

is not like that, nor even

simply to lie quite still,

the warm trickle of dream

staining the thick quiet.

The drawers of this trunk are empty.

They are all out of sleep up here."

-Adrienne Rich

CONTAINS: discussions of physical and emotional abuse from the past, lenan sidhe control, and fae customs. Brief mentions of vomit.

Morgan stayed in the doorway long after Remmy had taken their bag and staggered up the stairs to their room. She couldn’t feel her fingers, or hear the door close behind her. She looked at the lock and the car in the driveway, the blood on her hands from where Chloe had fought her, and the rips in her clothes and the shine on the hardwood floor. She looked until her eyes were too flooded with tears and she could only press herself against the door to keep from sagging and called for the only person she wanted right now. “Deirdre—? Deirdre!” She dragged herself along the wall, still calling for her hoarsely. “Please—Deirdre?”

Pruning flowers turned out to be surprisingly therapeutic, with everything on Deirdre’s mind, she welcomed the bit of gardening she’d taken up. It was so great of a distraction that she paid no mind to the lights turning on in her house behind her, or even Moira mewling at her feet. And only when she had a respectable bundle of flowers, pruned and ready to be stuck in a vase to wilt inside, did she finally turn to look into her home. “Morgan?” The flowers slipped between her fingers, their glass patio door slid open seconds later. “Morgan!” Deirdre ran to her, scooping her girlfriend into her arms. She noticed tears first, blood second, torn clothes third. “What’s wrong, my love? Come, lean on me.” The task of lifting Morgan up and getting her to some place comfortable for them to sit and hold each other was an instinctual one. She soothed and cooed all the way there, whispering unintelligibly about how it was okay—even if she didn’t really know what she was saying was okay.

Morgan clung to Deirdre with all she had. She couldn’t tell if she was lifted off her feet or if she was merely dragged along by Deirdre’s brute strength. She gasped for words, for any of the questions she had burning in her throat. “Please—” She croaked, digging her fingers into her skin, coughing with sobs. Deirdre was the only real thing left on the landscape of their home, the only anchor to cling to. “I—we—Remmy asked me over and we—saw—I don’t know what to do. We couldn’t help her and I don’t—” She wasn’t making sense. Despairing, Morgan sobbed in her girlfriend’s arms, curling up tighter against her body. “We found Lydia...in her basement...feeding...on her prisoner. We heard the way she...spoke to her.” Morgan fastened herself to Deirdre’s body, head buried in her neck. “Did she show you? Have you known how she...keeps them…?”

Deirdre waited and listened. Suddenly, her reassurances stopped. The circles she had been working across Morgan’s back with practiced pressure fell away, and she pulled back, just enough to look at Morgan. Some manner of confusion settled into her, she didn’t know which part Morgan took offense to, or if Lydia’s feeding was simply upsetting to look at. But she knew, without doubt, that it had hurt Morgan. Just how, she could figure out later. “Where’s Remmy?” She reached out to hold Morgan’s face in her hands. “I need you to tell me where they are right now. Are they there? Did they go to a friend’s? And the human...where’s the human?” She leaned in and kissed Morgan’s forehead, pressed her head against hers as they parted. “Can you tell me that first?”

Morgan gulped for breath, trembling in Deirdre’s grip. She couldn’t make her lungs remember how to breathe and whimpered, choking on her own cries as she tried to remember. The look she gave Deirdre as she held her away was panicked: no, please no, please don’t push me away, please. When she was finally able to draw in a full breath, it tore raggedly through her throat. “Remmy’s upstairs. In their room. Chloe is with Lydia. We didn’t...we couldn’t free her. Remmy wanted to trade themself, but we’re dead and useless and we can’t do anything for anyone and…” Her body shuddered. She wanted to be folded up again, she wanted to understand, she wanted to be forgiven, she wanted so many awful, impossible things.

“Remmy’s here?” Deirdre blinked, she hadn’t even noticed. But it was better, perhaps, that she was hearing this from Morgan and not Remmy. Morgan would hold far more understanding for the things she was about to say. “You shouldn’t have freed her,” she started, voice gentle and forgiving, “doing so would endanger Lydia, and Chloe. She’s not herself anymore. She is Lydia’s. And there’s nothing you, or anyone, can do about that.” Not that anyone should do anything about it, but she held her tongue on that point and simply shifted and pulled Morgan closer again. “She is already dead, Morgan. Do not feel bad for leaving her there.” But more than that—more than that—Chloe was a simple, putrid, inferior human. Morgan would not weep in guilt for a cow-turned-steak, and the humans were no different. Not in any capacity. Deirdre pressed her lips to the side of Morgan’s head, lingering there. “I knew,” she said, “I knew and I found nothing wrong with it—I find nothing wrong with it.”  

“Dead?” Morgan sobbed. “What do you mean? I don’t understand. She...she wasn’t dead, she was just...she was hurt. Lydia was hurting her and I don’t understand!” She pressed back into Deirdre’s grasp, giving up the fight against her body for stillness. “It’s not...I don’t mean what she has feed on. No one should have to...that’s not it.” She tried counting her surroundings, but her mind was weighted somewhere down the road in Lydia’s home, in that basement… “They were underground, in the basement. I didn’t think it was her. The way she was talking to her… it was like how my mother talked to me, when she was pretending to comfort me after I was punished. Like it was my fault she locked me up. And I thought, Lydia would never talk to someone like that, saying they made her do things she chose. But it was her. It was Lydia and I saw her make that woman… what do you mean she’s not herself? It’s just magic brainwashing, right? It wears off. She could recover and choose for herself and she could...she could be okay if the magic was allowed to wear off, right?”

Deirdre continued to hold Morgan close, with no more understanding than she had before, but growing more desperate to soothe her pain away. “She will be dead, eventually, I mean.” Deirdre tried, but she found herself struggling to form the right words. She didn’t know how far along Chloe was, but she also knew that she didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, the moment Lydia had chosen her, she was dead. Her fate was sealed, as it ought to be for a human. “It’s how leanan-sidhe eat, Morgan. Their kisses inspire love and devotion, and to keep them happy, you have to be clever about it. But it’s not--it’s not terrible. Lydia isn’t terrible with them. It’s just food; they’re just food. It’s no different than cattle raised on a farm.” She tried to search for what was wrong, the comparison to Morgan’s mother was a good starting point, but she knew Lydia was only feeding. And Chloe was only human. The pain Morgan felt wasn’t shared, and Deirdre needed Morgan to explain it better; but it seemed neither of them could reach any piece of understanding. “I-I suppose it could wear off…” Deirdre grimaced at the idea of freeing Chloe. “But why would you do that? Chloe is Lydia’s. To break them apart would be painful.” For Lydia, she’d meant. She didn’t much care how Chloe would fare after. And though Lydia would also recover, Deirdre couldn’t get the point in separating her from her rightly deserved food. Deirdre gulped, a quivering voice given to her desperation, “w-why does this bother you?”

“I-I’m...sorry…” Morgan stammered through her cries. She was being so useless right now. She couldn’t hold still, she could barely speak, barely remember breathing, she was just barely more than useless. She heard her mother’s voice in her mind, snapping at her to stop. To be better. She wasn’t raised to be pathetic and lazy and was she trying to be sent back to her room and cause her mother more grief? Did she not understand what this behavior was putting her mother through? Morgan stiffened at the recollection. Deirdre didn’t ask her any such questions, but Morgan could hear the distress in her voice. She apologized again and again, waiting impatiently for the panic to subside from her body.

When her body finally stilled, a stone-like numbness was left behind, leaving her feeling heavy and tired. “Chloe looked as old as me,” she said faintly. “I actually slung her over my shoulder and tried to drag her out of there. I thought if I was fast enough, we’d all have a chance. But the magic, the way it makes her...Lydia made her cry so bad but she still fought me to drag herself back. She wasn’t happy. She was being hurt, to keep her under control.” She grimaced and tried to press in further. She didn’t have the focus or control to mind her grip, but she wanted so badly to feel the comforting weight of Deirdre anchoring her. She whined and tried to fasten their bodies together tighter still. “You would never have hurt the animals on your farm like that by choice,” she said. “And she’s a person. I was looking right at her. And she’s a person; like I was a person. I didn’t think I was being complicit in someone else’s abuse every time I went to see her there. I didn’t think she was the kind of person who...used people like that, who could be cruel. Is this...is this really her whole species’ legacy? Do they all keep people hostage in their houses and hurt them so they stay ‘good’? Is that really supposed to be the ‘best’ way for them to live?”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t be.” Deirdre breathed her assurances out with the gentleness she reserved for Morgan. There was some point she was still missing, but comforting Morgan took greater importance. She pressed kisses where she could, held her tighter, moved her hands around to soothe—everything she knew Morgan liked, everything she could feel Morgan was asking for. But while her body knew the language that needed to be said, her brain didn’t. Morgan’s mother was bad, and anything that might have reminded her of that would also be bad, but that wasn’t exactly what Morgan was saying. “It’s okay,” she mumbled, continuing her affection even as Morgan’s panic seemed to settle. “But we never fed from those creatures, and they are—” She gulped. They were, admittedly, different from humans. Not so much in value, though perhaps in their complaints and understanding of the world. “She is a…” Deirdre struggled to find her rebuttal; confusion grew on her features, and she stared at the wall beyond them with furrowed brow. She wouldn’t deny that Morgan had been human, once, and in some way, she still was, but in her mind the two were separate. She slumped and waited until Morgan was finished, gathering her thoughts between the pauses and questions. “How are you made complicit if you’re not participating?” She asked quietly, she still couldn’t understand what was wrong, but she knew Morgan thought something was. It occurred to her that she might have had more luck if she pretended like she did, but she’d always been honest with Morgan, and she didn’t want to stop just because she thought Morgan would disagree. She trusted that Morgan would try to understand her, just as she was trying to do. She trusted it. She trusted her. “I haven’t known a leanan-sidhe who didn’t,” she said, “and the ones I did know treated their humans far worse. But more than that, there are fae without their powers who will still keep humans as pets. Sometimes to serve no real purpose. We had a few, for a while.” She trusted her. With a trembling sigh, Deirdre brought voice to the thought she’d let loom in the air: “what does it matter if it’s the ‘best’ way? They’re just human. This is what they’re meant for.” Her words were not of the convincing sort, they were plain, and steady, and confused.  

“She’s a person,” Morgan emphasized. “Like me. Like I’m a person. And Remmy and Blanche and my students and Ariana and Nell and...and even if it’s too awful to think of her life as worth the same as yours or Lydia’s, the way she’s kept there, the way she was being punished…it’s cruel.” Morgan shook her head, body tensing again. “I didn’t do anything for her. Sometimes ambivalence can be harmful. When you could do something, anything, and you just don’t because you can’t be bothered--haven’t you been hurt like that too? People just standing by and watching, like you’re just part of the background when you’re small and hurt and you just want to be left alone? Didn’t you ever wish so hard someone would at least try? Or care enough to at least look upset?” She lifted her head to look at Deirdre, her expression wide and bewildered. She couldn’t help but sink with disappointment when Deirdre looked the same way. She and Lydia were so close, it didn’t seem like much of a surprise that she knew. Even if she hadn’t, Morgan hadn’t imagined anything like Remmy’s outrage. But seeing the absolute lack of understanding on her features, as if Morgan had started speaking in a different language, sunk another one of her hopes and dulled the light in her eyes. “She was in the same house as me, and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even wonder. And I still can’t do anything. The worst part is I know I...I can’t do anything for her. I don’t want Lydia to get hurt. No one else can find out about this, because they’ll be horrified and want to do something too, and Chloe is going to suffer and die hating herself and feeling so small and I’m going to let her because I can’t…I don’t want to hurt my friend.” Morgan shivered, her skin crawling with disgust at herself. “I don’t understand why it’s like this,” she said, her eyes welling with tears again. Morgan’s voice pitched high, pleading, though she wasn’t sure for what. “Help me understand why it’s…is it fun? Does it make your people feel stronger against the Wardens and the people who hurt you by taking one of their own and making them a thing? Is this a cultural recompense for how imbalanced things are? Is it just too dangerous to get back at the people who actually hurt fae? Or do people just do it out of habit at this point? I just...I don’t understand. If she had wanted me when I was alive, would you have given me over? You said you couldn’t bear to even pretend I was your toy girl, but I’m not any different from Chloe, Deirdre. Is that what I was really meant for? A magic leash and someone to make me work until I bleed?”

“T-that’s not the same,” Deirdre offered meekly, shrinking into herself. “And that’s not--I don’t---” She swallowed thickly, uncomfortable with the comparison Morgan drew, and worse with knowing how angry she could feel at the people who’d watched her pain. But this was different, she told herself this was different. She waited, and she listened, and she spent a moment composing her thoughts away from the jumble that bubbled in her stomach. She continued to hold Morgan, now in some part for her own sake. Would lying be so bad? Deirdre could see Morgan deflate with her confusion; something wither behind her eyes and her own heart sank at the sight. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Morgan, and the part of her that knew how to perform to people’s ideals considered doing what she’d done all her life--play a part. But this was Morgan, and she’d always been honest with Morgan, and even as her blood ran cold with fear, she wouldn’t give Morgan anything less than the truth. “But Chloe’s not thinking about that. She can’t think about that. Magically, she can’t.” Deirdre whimpered, desperate for the two of them to reach the understanding that always came so easily. “And why would you consider that there might be humans in Lydia’s basement? That’s not something anyone thinks of. You don’t...hold any blame for thinking of Lydia as your friend, for not knowing. But--” But did she hold any now? Was freeing Chloe the right thing for her to do now? Deirdre grimaced again; she had no answers to offer, and more questions herself. “No it’s just--it’s convenient. To feed like that, off one consistent human. It’s more sustainable. And Lydia’s abilities...they do think that they love her. They are devoted to her, that is by no trickery of her words. That is, at its base, magic.” And they were human, what did it matter? What did it matter? Deirdre grew increasingly stiff, and though she didn’t intend for it to happen, her grip on Morgan slackened and her body began to throb under the tightness of Morgan’s clinging--against her weekend’s injuries. “No…” she let out a tearless sob, a pathetic hiccup of sadness. “I would never let anyone do that to you. I don’t--Not all humans are---” But the topic was too complex for Deirdre’s mind, too heavy against the things she knew, and the strange things she was learning. “S-some humans are just food. Some rabbits get caught, some go on. It’s just how it works. I don’t--” She swallowed again, whimpering. She didn’t like these questions, she didn’t like this conversation, she didn’t -- “H-how did you find out about her basement anyway?”

“It is the same,” Morgan’s voice was barely above a whisper, but her tone was insistent. “What I am doing to that woman right now is the same thing as what the people who watched you get hurt did, the same thing the people who ignored me get hurt did too. And maybe they have reasons, maybe they can be forgiven, but they did it and it hurt and it was awful. I am doing something awful.” They both were, but Deirdre’s look was turning to fear, and Morgan couldn’t bear to levy that kind of guilt on her. “Having magic re-working her brain doesn’t make it real. It’s not the same as real love. It is nothing like what we have. And we would never, never treat each other so horribly. We are never going to make each other suffer that way.” She fixed Deirdre’s gaze with her own, both of them trembling with fright at the weight of what hung over them. “I’m not a rabbit; I never was. I was just a human who was trying to find a better life. I wasn’t any more special than Chloe. We’re the same. She could have been me. She didn’t do anything to deserve this, that I know of. She was just there, and someone decided she had to suffer. And—maybe it is better that one person suffers like that instead of a dozen or a hundred, but I don’t understand why Lydia has to put her into that awful place, like her whole life isn’t already being sacrificed. And I don’t mean the house, I mean the place you and I were put in when people we loved hurt us. The place where I would’ve pitched myself off a building if it would’ve made my mother say she loved me back. That desperate, lonely, self-loathing place we both know. Except there’s no ‘after’ for her. Because the big all-powerful fae magic said so and  I care too much about my friend to even try again. Because I love Lydia.” She lowered her head, hating herself for the truth. “Please don’t go,” she whispered, draping her arms around Deirdre again. She stayed there for several moments, still trembling at the realization at what she was capable of.

“Remmy messaged me because they…” Her voice halted as she realized what the truth must have been. “They heard gunshots coming from the basement a little while ago. They were worried that someone might be hurting Lydia. So I said we should look for clues, make sure everything’s okay. And so we went. And there they were.” She let out a shaky breath. “Remmy’s destroyed about it. They didn’t even look at Lydia when we left. They’ve been hurt all their life, they were kept in a cage by another fae, they can’t bear to be in a place where something like what’s happening to Chloe is going on. I don’t think they’ll stay here long either, I have to go over and get the rest of their stuff tomorrow, though.”

“No it’s not, Morgan. It’s not the same…” But if there were any words to explain it, Deirdre couldn’t find them. She didn’t try very long to, either. The topic made her sick in a very particular way, a way that she couldn’t name. The feeling it drummed up was too terrible to even attempt to voice. She quivered and whimpered wordlessly at it, until Morgan moved along to something she could stomach verbalizing. “I don’t mean it’s real love...just that Chloe doesn’t know better. When you tried to take her, it won’t--I mean, you can’t take her away like that. She’s oblivious to whatever Lydia does.” She had meant to make it sound like her ignorance was some blessing, but having been a child under her mother’s thumb, she knew all too well that it wasn’t. It was, instead, a different kind of evil. The terrible, nameless feeling bubbled again. “You are a--” No, Morgan wasn’t a rabbit. Deirdre swallowed. The feeling grew, hitting the back of her throat. Her mother’s voice barked between the pounding of Deirdre’s heart in her ears. “Some people just---it just happens to them. That’s just---” And if there were words to justify it, Deirdre couldn’t find them either. Humans are worth nothing. But what of Morgan then? What of the woman she loved, who was worth everything? “W-what else is she going to do? Chloe thinks that she loves her, and she’ll be desperate for Lydia’s attention as long as she’s being fed from. Wh-what else is---wouldn’t it be worse if she was mean to--she’s not--” The feeling was in her mouth now, and despite Morgan’s plea, she pushed her girlfriend aside and rose with a start; bolting to their kitchen, draping her head over the sink. She hadn’t thrown up in quite some time, it wasn’t usually how her sickness or anxiety would manifest itself. But it was as if she was given too much, too soon, and her body had rejected it. Deirdre gripped their counter tightly, heaving. “G-gunshots…” She breathed, running the tap to wash her mouth out. Gunshots didn’t make sense. Why would Lydia hurt them like that, if it hurt her just the same? And shouldn’t Sammy have been there too? Or--- The feeling rose up and emptied out of her again. She groaned and shoveled more water into her mouth.

“How do you feel?” She called out, working vigorously on getting the taste out of her mouth. If anything, it gave her something else to focus on. “Do you want to see her still? Go back there? I could go if you’d like to avoid it.” Deirdre groaned, pulling a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. Maybe that would help. Maybe all she needed was to drink something. The taste had turned from acid to blood to acid again. The wound in her stomach, which hadn’t gotten much of a chance to heal, sent pain shooting through her body. It seemed like everything was rejecting itself. “It’s just what happens,” she mumbled, “that’s what the humans are for. And that’s just how she feeds it’s---” Deirdre took a long, suffocating sip of her water, spitting it all out into the sink as she found her throat burned, and her body wouldn’t accept anything more.

Morgan was too unbalanced from her panic and her sadness to catch Deirdre before she doubled over at the kitchen sink. Instead she stumbled behind her, knocking into the walls and furniture on numb feet until she was in the entryway, supporting herself against the counter. “Gunshots, yeah,” Morgan said in a whisper. “I didn’t ask about that, I didn’t think to. I don’t know why she...what would make her do that to someone she was keeping, if she needs them alive.” Morgan fidgeted where she stood, not knowing if she should give Deirdre her space as she processed this, or if she should be holding her hair and making tea. Morgan split the difference and shambled over to where they kept the kettle, and filled it up from the other side of the sink before setting it to heat.

“I don’t know how I feel,” she said, reaching over to tie back Deirdre’s hair. “I want to know she’s okay. I left things with her as best I could, and I know she doesn’t understand why either of us feel the way we do, especially Remmy. I want her to stop being cruel, and I want her to not feel so…” Morgan shook her head. “She was really hurt by how things went, and I don’t want her to hurt. And I can’t have both, or either, I guess. I feel like I should never want to see her again, but I...I don’t know.” She combed her fingers through Deirdre’s new ponytail, imagining how it ought to feel so she wouldn’t have to think about her willingness to see Lydia again. “Just because it’s what happens, doesn’t mean it’s what me and Blanche and Erin and Nell were made for. I don’t believe you really think I was made to spend my life being broken by someone. And I’m not upset about how she was made, about what she needs. That wouldn’t be fair. It’s the part where she’s keeping a woman hostage and crushing her inside while she does it. And with the magic, the desperation it makes people feel, it’s probably worse than anything I ever suffered under my mother.” She eyed Deirdre, wondering how it compared to the way Deirdre ached for approval. “I’m good to pick up Remmy’s stuff tomorrow. But you should probably go see her too. Tonight, or I can drop you off or...I don’t know. But I don’t want what happened today to stop you from being her friend. You need each other.”

Deirdre stared into their sink, watching her distorted reflection in the shiny stainless steel. Her grip on the counter slackened as the world spun, and she was remembering why sudden movements and exerting pressures were bad for her now. She’d have to ask Lydia what that was about, when she got the chance...which then begged the question of why Morgan and Remmy hadn’t just asked either, but what did that mean then? That they’d never find out Lydia’s secret and keep their conditional opinions? Only fae can understand each other. Deirdre heaved and ran the tap again, forcing her twisted reflection out, and the chilling voice of her mother to find a different host. “I don’t understand it either,” she shut the tap off, letting the plopping of water droplets play against the sound of the kettle. Why was the kettle being used? Deirdre looked up, noticing for the first time that her hair had been tied, and Morgan was beside her. Some job she was doing of comforting her, how laughable was it that the roles had to be switched? She didn’t even care that Lydia held humans in her basement, she gave no concern to how she spoke to them or the punishments she dolled out. “I think you underestimate my apathy, Morgan.” Deirdre breathed, only just coming back to herself. The thought of Blanche and Nell being hurt was upsetting, but if it was what must happen, then she didn’t care. If it was what a fae thought was apt, it wasn’t her business. But as she thought of it, her insides lurched again—though she had no way of telling if it was from residual iron pain or some manner of panic. Everyone has their roles… Deirdre’s jaw tensed. “There are things humans are made for.” She felt sick again, but she wouldn’t budge. Her mother was adamant in her head, and her thirty-two years of life meant something. “How else is she supposed to speak to them? They’re nothing. They’re meant to be nothing.” They weren’t people anymore, and she couldn’t grasp what was so hard to understand, or why Morgan’s denial made her feel like she was being gutted. Deirdre turned her attention back to the sink as the kettle whistled. “Do you...want me to go?” Was that it? Did Morgan think she was some monster too, for failing to find any issues? “You said you still love Lydia is that….is that true? Are you—“ Deirdre tensed, she refused to empty any more bile into their sink, and forced herself—just as her mother taught her—to remain steady.

“If you really don’t understand, I’d rather you just own that than parrot back everything your mother told you,” Morgan said, her voice suddenly sharp and heavy with sorrow. “I know it’s easy not to care about people you don’t know, and even easier not to care about ones you don’t see, and no one gives a shit about everyone, that would just be absurd. I would never ask for that. But if you could not talk about me like I’m a thing just because this is a challenging moment for you, I would appreciate it. Because that is what you are doing.” The kettle began to seam and Morgan took it off the burner and began to prepare a brew for settling Deirdre’s stomach. She shaved a fresh piece of ginger into the steeper and passed the mug to Deirdre. She did not answer Deirdre’s question for what felt like a long time, wrestling with her anger and her own selfishness. “I’m scared, and I feel sick, and I’m sad, and I hate everything and I want you to go back to holding me, because you’re my person and I need you.” she mumbled at last. “But I want you to do what you want too. And I know Lydia needs someone right now. If you want to go be there for her, you should. But before any of that, I need you to tell me that whatever happened in the past, whatever our friends or other fae homes choose to do, we are not going to be the kind of people who keep and hurt others like they’re our personal things. Whatever else happens, we are not going to be cruel in that way.” Morgan finally met Deirdre’s eyes. She didn’t have the strength to steel herself against anything. The edge in her voice had already dulled. She was weary, lightheaded, and aching to feel again, and there was no strength inside her to hide any of it. She envied her girlfriend’s resolve and feared what she was about to use it for. But she couldn’t be anything less than honest with Deirdre’s last question, however much it cut her to say it simply. “I still love Lydia, yes. I don’t feel like it says anything good about me, but I do. And I still love you. Even right now, like this. I love you always.”

Deirdre stared back at the sink, though she’d cast it away, she was now desperate to find her reflection. Her eyes that looked like her mother, her nose, her lips. If she could find the face, she could easily summon back its words—as Morgan put it, the parroting back she knew to be truth. She took the cup as it was offered to her, and tried in its murky depths. “I never liked keeping humans like that. They were wrong; hollowed out. We had this one that wouldn’t stop smiling because he’d been bound to, and when my mother finally grew tired of the sight she—“ Deirdre took a slow sip of the tea brewed for her, she welcomed the bitterness and spice, anything above the everything else she was feeling. “We had so many that were missing pieces of themselves, because someone didn’t enjoy how they acted. We can’t bind humans like a leanan-sidhe and so it was always a little clumsy. And the distaste for a smile or sad eyes always grew. They were....” She began to search the tea frantically, she wanted an escape from the story she dug herself into. She’d only been a child then, and a child when all of them had gone, but the image of them was burned into her mind. But all she could find were eyes that weren’t quite as sharp as her mother’s, a mouth that frowned, and a face that was softer. “I can tell you,” she heaved, “that I never want a human kept like that here.” But she told herself again that there was nothing wrong with what her family had done, and less wrong with Lydia’s actions. This is what humans are for. This is what humans are for. This is what— “Please don’t make me decide.” She set the cup down and turned to her love. “I’m tired of choosing things, picking sides.” She moved and wrapped her arms around Morgan, as she wanted to. “I know you’re in pain, and I want to stay. And I can’t—“ She couldn’t make that choice over going to Lydia. She loved her, she cared for her, and she knew exactly how devastated she must have been in the present moment. To think of Lydia alone, in her house, in the wake of this pain, was far worse a horror than the dissected humans. “Just...tell me you want me here, and I’ll stay.” But to leave Morgan alone was its own agony. She paused, “ and I’m sorry, you’re not a thing to me. That wasn’t what I wanted to say.” It was clear to her that when she said humans were useless, Morgan was the obvious exception. “I think—“ Deirdre swallowed. She thought loving Lydia meant everything good about Morgan, but she felt her opinions too wrong to voice anymore, and she held them. “Do you—Are you going to go back for Chloe? Do you want to? Is that...something you want to think about now? I can—I can take the question back if—” She shifted trying to hold Morgan tighter. “Do you think loving me says nothing good about you either?”

Morgan should have known that Deirdre’s mother would have formulated something even worse than what Lydia had devised for Chloe. She began to feel queasy herself, but it affirmed her belief in Deirdre to know that she would never think of doing the same. She was complicit, like they all were now, and probably had been for longer because she loved Lydia and her humanity was bundled away under so many layers of hurt and conditioning, seeing something so normalized in its horror couldn’t reach. But she wasn’t the kind of person who could perpetrate that with her own hands, her own words. She wouldn’t be spilling her guts in the sink at the thought of it if she was. Deirdre would never. That meant something.

She welcomed Deirdre’s arms around her and sagged into her grasp. A dry sob of relief cut through her lips. She didn’t want to be the one who decided how lonely Lydia was going to be tonight either, but she understood that Deirdre was tired, and the past few days had been difficult, and that she couldn’t stomach any more guilt for the day. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t want Lydia to be alone. And I don’t want her to hurt Chloe worse because of what we did. But I don’t want to be alone either. Please stay with me…” She buried her face deep in her shoulder, too ashamed to look as she made her plea. “I want to help Chloe, but I don’t want Lydia to starve, and I can’t just pick someone off the street at random to take her place either. That would be just as bad. And I don’t know anyone horrible enough to be given to her, not with the way I know they’re going to be treated. It’s hopeless.” She sighed, nodding encouragement to Deirdre as she held her tighter. Yes, I need this, please. “Right now I don’t know if I’m a good person at all. But I know I’m better than I was before because of you, what you’ve given me and what you’ve let me give back. That has to count for something.” Whether it was enough in the grand scheme of things, Morgan wasn’t sure.

“Do we have to be good people?” Deirdre asked, “do you have to be a good person? Do you want to? Does that matter to you?” Morgan’s ideology was still one that perplexed Deirdre, but she understood then that there was a line Morgan drew here---she would never hurt someone like that. And to do that would make her-- Nausea choked up Deirdre again, she gulped and squeezed Morgan against her despite the weakness of her body. “I think you’re good. I don’t know if my opinion matters anymore, but I think so.” Deirdre leaned them up against the counter, her body growing heavy and tired. She wanted to sleep, and wake up in a time where she didn’t feel so sick and terrible. One of the medicines she’d ingested earlier must have left a bad reaction, she figured. That must have been it. “Lydia won’t hurt Chloe, I don’t think. And it can’t be just anyone, you can’t just replace her with anyone. The people that are fed from have to be...special.” It wasn’t so simple, and it was wholly too complicated, and she didn’t know how much Morgan knew already and how much she could stomach explaining now. “Can we go to bed, my love? Is that okay? I want to---I think it’d be better.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never really asked myself before,” Morgan admitted. “I don’t know…” She shuddered in Deirdre’s arms and forced herself onto her toes so more of their bodies could connect. “Your opinion always matters,” Morgan said. Deirdre wasn’t going to win any morality highground contests, but she tried and she cared, and when she was brave enough, she could be astoundingly kind and understanding. She had tuned so much of her horrors into wisdom and she loved Morgan with such intense purity, it astounded her sometimes. And she could never be like Lydia, no matter how brutally she’d been conditioned to do it. Morgan reminded herself of all this as she lifted her head to kiss her love’s jawline. “It’s hopeless for her,” Morgan rasped. “I understand that. Please…” Don’t remind me.

Bed sounded like a much better option than staying propped against each other in the kitchen. Deirdre’s weight was shifting downwards, and if they were going to have their energy give out early for the day, they may as well be somewhere soft, where they could hide their faces in their pillows and each other. Morgan agreed by way of leading Deirdre up the stairs, arms still partially entwined. She lingered at the door as she closed it behind them, letting out a sigh that took the rest of her strength with it. “I’m ready to rest for awhile if you are, but I need to get this out first because it's important: you need to be careful with Remmy. I know I have serious gaps in my understanding, but with them...they aren’t going to be okay. I don’t know what the right way to handle this is besides waiting a couple days for Remmy to pull themself together, so just be careful.” She untangled herself as she spoke and shambled over to the hamper in the corner of the room to dump her dirtied clothes before crawling into bed. She looked over at Deirdre, inviting her in by peeling back the sheets on her side and offering a look of the saddest longing.

“Does it?” Deirdre breathed, wincing at the misery in her own voice. It didn’t seem like Morgan much valued her mother’s thoughts, and Deirdre and her mother were of the same mind. Or so she had wanted to argue, but instead let anguish claim her expression and bitterness tinge the ends of her words. “I don’t mean like that...I just mean...I’d have to kill her if she was freed.” Her eyes were stuck on the wall beyond them, watching the texture, remembering what the walls in her family home were like---was there more tooth? Were the shadows darker? “If you’d like something to blame, you could make it me.” But she listened, and when she shook her head and came back to herself, she could hear what Morgan was asking her. “Sorry,” she frowned, “I don’t mean---don’t listen to me.”

She was glad to be pulled along to their bedroom then, where everything was theirs, and she wouldn’t dare look for her mother in any reflections. It was far easier to be herself there, whoever that was. She imagined Morgan would be as relieved as she was, but was met with a deep, wilting sigh. “Remmy?” She blinked. Would she not normally be careful with them? As Morgan moved to the bed, Deirdre stood there in confusion and considered it. She knew she could be crude at times, and while Morgan understood her better than most, she assumed what Morgan was saying was to not tell Remmy she thought Chloe’s life was meaningless. But… “You want me to lie to them?” She said, trying to piece it together. Deirdre frowned, pulling off her own dirt-stained clothes before crawling in beside Morgan, holding her just as they always did. “I--should I not tell them that I knew all along? It seems in poor taste to lie now.” But if Morgan thought it the wisest thing to do, she could follow her advice. “I can wait to tell them, if that’s better.” But what would be the barometer of Remmy’s emotional integrity? When did she know it was okay to share her truth? “I thought I was always careful.” Well, that Deirdre knew wasn’t true. She’d tossed Remmy in front of a car, after all.    

“No, don’t lie,” Morgan said faintly, latching onto her girlfriend and burrowing in. “That’ll only make it worse whenever the truth comes out later. And I know you know Remmy and I are different in the way we think about things, so you’ll be tactful, so...maybe what I’m trying to say is...be careful with yourself. I’ve never seen them as angry as they were today. They might say something hurtful, and I want you to be okay.” She pressed a soft kiss to Deirdre’s neck and pulled the covers higher so she was practically buried out of sight. “Just give it a day or two. Or maybe whenever they reach out to you. I don’t know anything right now, I just feel like they’ve hurt enough for today, and you need a break too.” She was quiet for a moment, breathing slowly to match Deirdre’s. “And about what you said before… I do care very much about what you think. The things you say wouldn’t excite me or bother me or fascinate me or whatever else if they didn’t matter. And I wish you wouldn’t be in such a hurry to be blamed for things you didn’t do. I don’t understand that. You aren’t Lydia, you didn’t do these things, I don’t want to blame you. You don’t have to be blamed for the things that upset me…”

“With myself?” Deirdre blinked, shifting to pull Morgan closer to her. Her hair was a fluff above the sheets she pulled up, and the sight itself brought a smile to Deirdre, even if the topic wouldn’t. “I think I’d be okay, no matter what Remmy said. And I owe it to them, to share the truth. They may not want to stay here, knowing I knew about Lydia. And that choice should be up to them.” She couldn’t imagine leaving the topic to sit for a day or two, when she knew what needed to be said and what Remmy deserved. If they didn’t like her after it, she had no problem staying somewhere else while Remmy regained themself here. “Lydia and I....aren’t too different. I mean, she’s my friend, and I care for her. And I won’t let her take this on alone. I may not have done anything, but I knew, and I wouldn’t feel right being blameless where she’s sitting at home, torn up.” There wasn’t much she could give Lydia now, and certainly nothing to bring Remmy back, but fairness seemed like an apt start. “Lydia and I have done a lot of wrong together, I wouldn’t let her take that on alone, I won’t let her take this. If something upsets you, I feel like I’m due some blame.” But she was spent from the topic, and only marginally better being able to lie down and speak. She wanted rest, and she wanted to believe Morgan that she was allowed a break. “I love you,” she mumbled, “...thank you for...well, everything.”

“Well I’m not going to be upset at you just because you want me to,” Morgan mumbled. “And maybe it’s awful and biased and I’m sure someone else would say an accessory or an accomplice or a bystander or whatever else is just as bad, but I’ve hidden or run from awful things I could’ve helped too. Nothing even close to this, but…” Morgan sighed, unsure how to finish the thought. “You’ve always told me the truth, in everything but this, which wasn’t yours to tell. I wasn’t surprised when you said you knew. How could I be? So I’m not upset either. I’m...disappointed. A little sad. But none of that requires blaming you. Or if it does, I’m going to forgive you.” Eventually, when her insides didn’t feel like a pulpy wound. “I don’t know what I’ve done that’s worth thanking, but I love you too.”

“Lydia’s secrets aren’t mine to tell, no, but I--I see a lot. A lot of people in worse places than Chloe. It’s not my place to do anything about--” Deirdre swallowed thickly; Morgan might not have appreciated a regurgitation of her mother’s words, of being an observer first and foremost. Her truth was that she did do something about it, where she could. Justice was never so cleanly delivered among the humans, but it could be by her hand. She frowned. “Nevermind.” There was nothing she could say now that wasn’t simply her mother’s words, and she hadn’t yet decided if they were hers too. Death and Fate were not hers to meddle in, but there was nothing said for working just beyond its reach. The affairs of fae were...different. “I’m sorry,” she said, “it never struck me as anything terrible, anything to share in the first place.” It still wasn’t exactly striking her as bad, except for the inexhaustible sickness that coiled around her stomach when she thought about it, and held it against what Morgan had said. She sighed, heavy from the topic. She felt as if her tongue was swollen, and her throat three sizes smaller. “Let’s just...rest now. I think we’ve both deserved it.”

Morgan didn’t have any more words to give. She peeked up from the covers just enough to look at Deirdre’s face in all of her heavy, awful sorrow. There was something comforting in even her frown lines and the droop of her slanted eyes. Morgan touched her cheek tenderly with just the tips of her fingers and reminded herself of how soft it felt for something so cold. She wondered how long it would be until the rest of her melted from the ice and came free. And what if it never happened? Morgan found that she couldn’t entertain that thought with much seriousness, not in the span of five hundred years. If was time enough for Regan to control and accept herself and learn to be whole again. Time enough for more kind humans to pass through their lives, for trees to grow to their fullest and oldest selves and the home that had been a torture chamber and a prison to be changed brick by brick. People who wouldn’t change didn’t get sick with empathy, and their capacities for kindness weren’t half so deep. There was a difference, however pitiful and fine, but it made a difference to Morgan. She only had to help things along and wait. And however badly it spoke of her, Morgan knew as she closed her eyes and prayed to the darkness for quiet that she would.

[ajoy3fanfics]

Missing VIII

Kagome blinked once, twice, trying to figure out if the figure standing in her doorway reallywas her ex-fiancé, before closing them tightly, looking half way psychotic. ‘Deep breaths, girl. Its not really him. You’re seeing things, just like before. Its not really Inuyasha, just wishful thinking. You’ll open your eyes and poof, he’ll be gone.’ She counted to three and felt her heart race as the man before her clearly had not disappeared, but neither did he take a step towards her.

She tilted her head, taking in his full image. His shoulders were hunched as he dug his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, a twisted scowl on his face as he altered from completely avoiding her gaze and giving shy, unsure peeks in her direction. His entire body looked tense, and more infuriatingly,hot. How could he look so damn goodjust standing there? It pissed Kagome off that she could go months without seeing him, but the second she did she was weak in the knees and her stomach in knots.

It used to be something she liked, back when they were a couple. The man would so much as look at her with those amber eyes and she was a puddle of want. Now… Now she needed to get over it. They- well, there was no ‘they’ anymore. It was he and Kikyo. She and Koga. They were nothing more than history, over and done with, and yeah, she sometimes longed to revisit, especially on those long, lonely nights, but that wasn’t reality. She couldn’t let Inuyasha have this effect on her, not anymore. Giving herself a mental shake, she gripped the grocery bags in her hand, knuckles turning white and let out a shaky breath.

“Inuyasha?” She asked. Her voice made him snap to attention, eyes trained on her, somehow hard and fragile all at once. “What are you doing here?” She did her best to hide the lump in her throat, but the words still choked her. She didn’t want Inuyasha to notice that seeing him here was like witnessing a ghost, a piece of her past she wanted to wrap herself in.

It was hard to look at her. Rationally, he knew Kagome was different, but fuckit felt so familiar- like coming home, because damn it, this washis home. And she washis woman.

Is. She still ishis woman. He couldn’t let Miroku keep swaying him. Seeing her ready to open theirdoor, to theirhome, still in her work clothes, ingredients for their dinner bagged and ready to be cooked… it just felt right. This was where he belonged. Not with Kikyo or Miroku or anyone else on the damn planet. With Kagome.

He needed to go home.

Closing the distance between them, he stood over Kagome, her frame smaller than he remembered in his absence. Kagome sucked in a breath, hating and loving the scent of him that was filling her head and making her dizzy. Kagome was certain the hanyou could hear her heart beating at double speed as he locked eyes with her, bending slightly as slid his hands over hers, causing her to jump at the unexpected contact. Inuyasha had managed to transfer the bags into his own hands and removed the weight from hers. He gave her a crooked smile and said, “I’m here to help with these,” He motioned towards the bags, slightly nodding his head. “What else?”

She was wordless, in complete shock as she watched him walk to the doorway, and wait, raising his brows when she didn’t move to unlock the door. “You coming?” He asked. The whole thing was off. Did- Did he lose more time, more of his memory? Did he forget that they were not together? She winced thinking about having to go through that situation again. The break up was hard enough, but having to do it a second time was torture. She really wasn’t sure she would be able to withstand it a third time. Swallowing hard, she stood her ground.

“I- I don’t think it’s a good idea you’re here.” Kagome bit her bottom lip, watching for a sign of… well she didn’t know what.

“Why?” He questioned, tone clipped. “You’re boyfriend going to get mad?” His expression seemed to change into something darker. Kagome felt like the wind was knocked out of her; she wasn’t sure if she should be happy that he wasn’t worse off, or upset, the way he was talking. Hearing her ex talk about her current dating situation made her stomach sink. He spoke low, his sharp fangs bared with his threat. “Bring him. Let him say it to my fucking face.” He could feel his blood boiling, feel the rage building inside of him, ready to take on whoever dared to warm his fiancés bed. Inuyasha took in her surprise, her eyes wide with shock, the way her body language changed and knew he needed to calm himself down or he was going to blow everything. “Look, I’m- I’m sorry.” He said, breathing out deeply. Kagome arched her brow; sorry wasn’t something the hanyou said often. “Can- Can you just open the door? I only want to talk. If… if you don’t want me to stay, I get it. I’m not trying to make things hard for you. I can set these down and leave. I just want to talk. Even if its just 5 minutes. I’m-“ He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as if the white tiles could grant him the words he needed to convince her. “I’m so fucking confused. I just- I just need to clear a few things up. I’m really struggling, Kagome.”

She considered, for a moment, telling him to leave. Set down the bags and just turn around. His problems were not hers,not anymore at least. But when was the last time she had seen him so vulnerable? When had he needed her, reallyneeded her like this? It was only natural that he had questions, and logically, the person he would turn to for answers would be her.

Even after everything he had put her through, she wouldn’t be able to turn him away. Crossing the space, she took her key and unlocked the door, hesitating before she pushed it open, stepping aside so the hanyou could pass through. He muttered his thanks as he placed the things down on the table, taking a not so subtle look around the room.

Not much had changed. The kitchen was tidy, a few odd dishes drying on the rack, the living room still arranged in the same manner. The pictures on the wall were different. Faces he recognized in places he had never gone- things that had happened after they split. Not for the first time, he thanked God that she hadn’t moved, that he could find her easily, that things seemed normalhere. “I can’t believe you’re still here.” He mumbled. This had never meant to be permanent, just a cheaper spot to live while Inuyasha and his team worked on their home. They figured they could accrue a savings if they lived in a less than stellar house and pour it all into the plot of land Inuyasha was building their dream home on. He said his comment in what he meant to be gratefulness, however it rubbed Kagome the wrong way.

“Well you didn’t leave me with much of an option.” She said, rummaging through the groceries as she began to put things away. Turning in her direction, he walked over to the table and grabbed a jar of peanut butter and opened the cabinet door, placing it on the bottom shelf. A small moment he relished. A small piece of normal. A small piece of them. “What do you mean?” he asked. Kagome did not look his way as she answered, choosing to focus on her task.

“You left me in a mountain of debt and a lease.” She answered, tone cold and precise. “We had deposits and payment plans on everything from the furniture to wedding venues and when we made purchases it was based off of a two income household. By the time I was able to pay off some of it, staying here was the cheapest option.”

Inuyasha did he best to hide his surprise. How could any of that be possible? Okay, so they did break up, but was he really so much of an asshole that he wouldn’t help set her right? He thought about her car, how worried she was about the high payments, but he insisted that she get a decent vehicle, adamant he would help her. They were a couple, right? What was his was hers, no question. If she needed some help paying for a car that would keep her safe he was happy to do it. Inuyasha had a sinking feeling in his gut as he thought of it now. “How? Why didn’t I take half the debt, or help pay it off?” He asked. “Was I really that much of an ass?”

It was hard to stay mad at him like this, helpless and unsure of everything, but Kagome refused to be swayed. “Post break up Inuyasha wasn’t my favorite version of you.” She looked him up and down, still helping unpack her things and gods, she must’ve seen him do this a thousand times. It brought back a tender memory that softened some of her anger. “Besides,” She sighed, “its not like I asked you to help shoulder it.” She put the last of her things away and leaned her back against the counter.

“Why wouldn’t you ask?” He questioned. “Why put yourself through so much bullshit? I would’ve-“

“I’d rather pay it off for the rest of my life than ask you for help.” She cut him off, a colder side than Inuyasha could ever remember. She had always been so light, happy. This slow burning anger, is this what he had reduced her to? “You shouldn’t have to ask, I should have fucking known.” He hung his head and lowered his voice. “I’m so sorry, Kagome.”

“You had other things on your mind.” Kagome folded her arms over her chest and squared her shoulders. She needed to draw a line between them, and having him knee deep in regrets he couldn’t even remember would do no one any good. She tried to soften her tone without sounding cold. “What did you need to talk about?”

“Well, for starters this. We need to go to an ATM.” He said, eager to right his wrongs. “I have money in the bank. How much-“

“No, Inuyasha.” She said.

“Not no, Kagome. How much mon-“

“No.” she answered more firmly.

“But-“

“Just stop!” She screamed, finally losing her temper. “You can’t fix everything all the time. You-“

“You always have to be the hero, don’t you?” She was crying, tears uncontrollably rolling down her plump cheeks as her anger came to a full boil. “I used to love that about you, you know? I was always so proud that my boyfriend was the one who stuck up for the underdog, my fiancé was the one who would be the first to jump in and defend someone. I bragged about your sense of justice.” She laughed, bitter, devoid of any warmth, giving him a chill. “You couldn’t just leave her alone, could you? She needed help and you just hadto step in and make things better, even if the cost was me, or us?” Her eyes… he had never seen them so full of anger, so full of betrayal. He had turned her into this, turned her kind soul into a jaded one. How could he come back from this?

Inuyasha blinked as his jaw fell open, the ringing in his ears so intense he stumbled, catching himself on the chair. Kagome rushed to his side, any anger she had completely dissipated, his safety and health the most pressing matter on her mind. “Are you okay?!” She asked, gripping his shoulder, urging him to turn her way. “Inuyasha, look at me! Do we need to go to the doctor? In-“

He gripped her hand, wrapping his large fingers around her small ones, taking deep breaths of air, before he spoke. “I’m alright.” He said. “I’m okay.” Without thinking, he leaned his head against hers, closing his eyes as he tried to process what in the hell had just happened.

“What-?”

“I think, I think I had a memory resurface.” He shook his head slightly so that he wouldn’t jostle her. “I’m not sure.”

“That’s great then.” Kagome smiled. “That’s good, right?”

Inuyasha raised a brow as he looked at her. “It wasn’t a particularly good one.” He swallowed hard, his voice still hoarse. “Either way, this is the first that’s come back.”  Kagome seemed genuinely surprised by this. It had to be being home, being with her. She had stood up to get him a glass of water and pushed the glass towards him. Wordlessly he thanked her, a slight nod of appreciation. She always knew what he needed without asking.

“Should I call Miroku to take you home? Or to the doctor?”

Well, maybe not always.

“I don’t need a doctor.” He waved her off. ��And I’m already home.”

Kagome frowned. “Inuyasha,” She started. “We talked about this. A lot.”

“And it doesn’t change the way I feel.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Inuyasha, Im- I have a boyfriend.” Well, sort of a boyfriend, but he didn’t need to know that. Nervously (seriously, why was shenervous that she was dating?) she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You had a fiancé first.” He ground out, reaching for her hand. He needed to touch her, needed the skin to skin contact. She tugged her hand, but he refused to let her go.

“And my finance cheated on me and left me for another woman.” She reminded him, giving her hand another tug to gain freedom.

“I cheated?” he asked, his hand going slack. “I really…” It didn’t seem possible. He never even thought about being with someone else, let alone act in it. Taking the opportunity, she removed her hand and shrugged.

“You said no, you never physicallycheated, but I wasn’t sure. There were a lot of times I think back on and…” it was hard to finish her sentence, almost if she spoke it out loud it would make it true. “But emotional cheating is just as bad. Maybe worse.”

Inuyasha nodded, because what else could he do. He fucking agreed. “I’m so sorry Kagome.” It felt like a broken record, that he just kept saying the same few phrases over and over but he truly meant it.

“Look, it’s the past. Theres no reason to dwell on it. You moved on, I moved on. It sucks that you cant remember, but maybe that’s a good thing. A fresh start, you know?” She gave him a small smile, a kindness he didn’t deserve.

“I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to forget.” He said low. “I want you back. I never wanted to lose you in the first place, but obviously I screwed things up. I need you Kagome.”

How many times had she envisioned this? Heard it play out in her head, in her dreams. In her fantasy, she was able to over come the hurt, but reality left the confession feeling bitter and a little too late. She shook her head. “No.”

Inuyasha looked up towards the ceiling, searching for the right thing to say, the right way to phrase his thoughts without putting his foot in his mouth. “I get it.” He finally said. “Its going to fucking kill me, but I understand.” Kagome bit her lip as she nodded, the pressure of the conversation heavy and tense.

“Could- Do you think I could still see you?” He asked, a delicate hope in his eyes. “I know it’s a lot to ask… but I need some normal and fuck, Kagome you’re my normal. I know I can’t go back to being your fiancé, but… can’t we go back to friends?”

Could they? She had so much anger, so much unresolved shitwith Inuyasha, was that even possible?

Was it something she even wanted?

“I don’t know…” She answered honestly.

“We used to be friends. We were friends first-“

“Barely!”

“But still friends first. Wasn’t my fault you couldn’t keep your hands off of me.” He wiggled his brows suggestively.

“Sure, because I was the one making advances.” She snorted.

“Fess up Higurashi, you couldn’t keep your eyes off my ass and you know it.”

Kagome shrugged. “It was a really nice ass.” Pointing her index finger at him she chastised, “But I never made the first move.”

“And it drove me fucking crazy.” He admitted. “You drove me crazy.” He said with a smile.

“Ditto.” It felt easy, and gods, that was dangerous. A heavy silence fell over them, the magic of the moment gone.

“We always had fun hanging out.” Inuyasha said.  “Just dinner, or a movie or-“

“That’s dating. We cant date. I don’t think Kikyo would be thrilled with that idea.”

“Fuck Kikyo.” He hissed. “I haven’t spoken to her since that day at the hospital.” That seemed to surprise Kagome, although she was remiss to show it. “I get it- youre with Koga and Ill fucking deal with that on my own…I just… I want to be around you. I need you in my life.”

Kagome was sure that this was a mistake.

There was no such thing  as being friends with an ex, not really.

But he was hurting, and he seemed genuine. As long as they kept a boundary, maybe it would give her the closure she was aching for and finally be able to move on with her life.

“Okay.” She said weakly. “We can… tryto be friends.”

Even though she knew it was a mistake, her heart felt so full watching the smile reach his eyes

[sweetdeathwrites]

If I Don’t Have You

Pairing: Howl/Reader

Summary: I have nothing. In which Howl is a coward.

Warnings: in which the whole thing is 2nd POV as always, angst, sadness, unrequited love... or is it?, vent fic, Let’s Keep Making Bad Choices Challenge!, mean but true depiction of Howl Pendragon Jenkins

Word Count: 2,719

(posted on Luna/AO3. Original A/N below.)

(his is p much just a vent fic :/ i'm really in love w Howl and have been feeling kinda low for a while. Inspired by I Have Nothing by Whitney Houston......I've been listening to Whitney on repeat for like 6 days straight and I cry every time to this song pls help also this is unbeta'd as usual so. yeah)

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“You’re not leaving again, are you?” You try not to sound too needy but it’s hard when everyone’s always walking out of your life. Howl stands with one hand tugging his red cloak tighter around him, smiling gently down at you– with pity. “No, love. Not yet.” Your shoulders droop with relief but still you can barely keep your stomach from turning over in nervousness. His fair blond hair floats around his face and he draws nearer, taking one of your hands and uncurling your fingers from your palms and pressing kisses to the grooves your nails left there. There’s never enough time with him. Howl is always running from someone or something and he always makes it out by the skin of his teeth. You want to tell him to stop running, be can’t run from himself, but you know he wouldn’t listen. He’s a coward and you love him for it. He takes your hands in his and pressed them to his chest so that you can feel the steady beat of his heart. It soothes you just enough so that you can meet his eyes. “Not quite yet, but there’s something I need to check up on,” his clear blue eyes stare into you with an intensity that’s too intimate for you to bear and you want to look away, you want to never feel the lightness in your chest that comes with being by his side, but you are pinned like an especially interesting butterfly to a board when it comes to him. You want to stretch your powdery wings and let the sun catch in your many colors but at the end of the day, it’s Howl that gets everything. “It won’t be long, at the most I’ll be back in the morning.” He’s as selfish as you want to be. Apparently he can see the despair in your eyes because he coos and wraps his arms around you, kissing your hair and holding you tightly. “Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart, don’t give me that look– it hurts me more than you know.” “You don’t have to leave.” “Darling, please don’t.” “You can stay here, with me,” you tug on the sleeves of his poet shirt pleadingly and try to will the tears out of your eyes, “You can stay here, or we can hide– we can hide out deep in the mountains! Or by the sea! Doesn’t that sound nice?” You hold him even closer, begging to the cosmos to let him stay, let him stay. With tenderness enough to make you cry, he pulls you from him and brings his face to yours, kissing away your tears and brushing your hair away from your hot face. The doorway blurs into his face and you can see the wheel that dictates his location leering at you from behind him, answering you more directly than Howl ever would. “I have to go.” He smiles again and it breaks your heart. He’s such a charmer, a ladies’ man, an all around knock-out and you hate him for having to share him with everyone else. “It won’t be long– didn’t I tell you it won’t be long?” “You don’t have to,” you repeat, “You don’t have to do any of this. We can just run away! That’s what you always do, right? Take me with you this time!” Howl is quiet, still smoothing your hair down, and Calcifer’s flames crack and pop in the silence between the two of you. Calcifer is probably used to this happening– not only between you and Howl, but the countless others that he’s stolen the hearts of. Calcifer pretends to sleep and mind his own business. Howl says it in a small voice, “You know I can’t do that.” His chin comes to rest on your head and you want to enjoy his warmth but you are hurting too much for even that. “Why? Why can’t you?” Howl doesn’t answer but he does press one last kiss to the crown of your head before turning to the door and exiting, the chime of a bell unfittingly happy in this situation and cementing the weight on your shoulders with even more force. The silence kills you and you want to chase after him but you know that even if you did, he’d already be gone. “Why don’t you take a seat?” Calcifer’s voice creaks out and you slowly drag yourself to the rocking chair that sits in front of him. It’s warm there and you could recall the many times you fell asleep talking to Calcifer, laughing and exchanging outrageous tales with him, trying to out-brag each other. Now, Calcifer’s stare was too much for you. You buried your tear-stained face in your arms, sobs and wails finally escaping your body, too small to hold them all in. “There, there,” Calcifer muttered softly, “It doesn’t last that long. You’ll get over him in no time.” And when you didn’t stop your crying, “Hey, you could always give your heart to me, right?” You wanted to laugh at his quip but all that came out was another broken sob. When you had finally calmed down, you tried to ground yourself with your surroundings. The chair you were sitting in was a redwood rocking chair, smooth with age and well-loved. Calcifer sat in front of you, above a bed of stone and logs burned within him. A clock chimed somewhere that seemed far away in Howl’s magical castle, or maybe several– it was hard to tell him this distance. The castle lurched and hissed gently, moving like the sea on a calm, clear night. Moving far, far away from the people that were after Howl. “Hey, Calcifer?” “Hm?” “Why is Howl such a coward? Why must he run?” You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve, patting the spots on your wrist wet from crying. The fire demon sighs heavily, flecks of red and gold rising from his mouth. “He has no heart. Howl doesn’t feel deeply and what he does feel comes from running from the world as soon as he gets his fill of excitement and cheap thrills.” “I wish he wouldn’t.” “I wish he wouldn’t, either.” Sniffing, you dry your tears with the back of your hand one last time and steel yourself for Howl’s return. He said he would be back before tomorrow. You had to trust in him. Calcifer picked up on your change in demeanor and recognized your desire to be strong, with or without Howl. “It passes, you know,” he says in a hushed voice, “Feelings always pass and rot away. You humans don’t live very long, so it’s best to forget them as soon as you can, before you get attached.” You laugh bitterly and Calcifer’s eyes widen comically at your strange response. You were supposed to agree with him! Or fight him! He’s never encountered someone as heartbroken as you to laugh in a situation like this. “I’m afraid it’s far past that, my friend.” “You don’t mean…” You lean back in your seat and let the chair rock you gently, holding you in Howl’s place. “Who knows? Maybe I do.” The fire sputters and Calcifer’s flames grow higher, brighter for a few seconds before his orange glow settles to a cooler temperature. “You can’t! Howl is a coward! If he finds out, he’ll run before you can say a word!” This makes you close your eyes– in surrender? In acceptance? You’re not sure– and you hum before replying. “I can’t help it, the same way Howl can’t help running away.” But Calcifer is relentless; maybe he picks up the concern that Howl lacks. “Howl might not be able to help it, but you can! You can run away before he can run away from you! You don’t have to love him!” You wince at having your feelings bared so carelessly in Howl’s castle, even if he wasn’t there to hear it. The walls have ears– or at least, the fire does. “I think,” you began slowly, “that Howl tries to fill the void where his heart should be with this. With fleeting glances and kisses in the dark. How desperately he wants to feel it burn as brightly inside him as it does for me. When it doesn’t– and when someone like me starts getting a little too close to that void for him to bear– his first instinct is to find another source of emotion. He just wants to feel something again, Calcifer– is that so wrong?” Calcifer doesn’t answer for a few long moments and you are content to rock in your chair slowly, letting exhaustion curl at the edges of your vision and pull you into a land far away, where you dream of moving castles and talking fire demons and steaming potions and a version of Howl that never leaves. “If he knows, he’ll run.” Your eyelids slide closed and your lips curl into a sad smile. “He already knows.” What rouses you from your slumber isn’t the morning sun or Calcifer complaining about the supply of wood he lives off of going low. What rouses you is the slam of a door and the violent sound of a bell being ripped from the doorjamb, clattering shrilly on the floor. As you jerk awake, a blur of white and red and yellow passes you, floorboards creaking loudly under his frantic paces. When you have the presence of mind to ask what’s wrong, Howl turns on you before you can open your mouth. “I have to leave.” “Wha–” “I have to leave, she found me– the Witch of the Waste, she’s found me again, I need to leave, right now.” Howl is suddenly in front of you and his clothes are torn and singed and he smells of smoke and iron. He looks more alive than you have ever seen him and urgency bubbles to the surface of his jewel-blue eyes, hands cupping your face desperately, starved. “I’m so sorry, my love, I’m so, so sorry.” He kisses you fiercely, teeth and tongue pressed against you and his hands are shaking and you think he’s crying but then you realize the wetness on your cheeks is coming from your own eyes, not his, of course, it wouldn’t be his. “Darling, sweetheart, my precious flower, I have to leave.” He presses kisses all over your face. “I have to leave and you can’t come with me.” You’re stuck in a haze, in an ocean of static and white-noise, and you hear this news with the cotton where your brain should lie. You want to scream and cry and beg him not to go, never to go, but he pulls you up and holds your waist tightly to him, as close to him as he possibly can, and steals all the love you have to offer before he disappears off the face of the earth for heaven knows how long. What you do know is that this is the last you will ever see of Howl. “Don’t leave me alone, Howl!” is the first thing to break from the seam of your kissed-pink lips. The next are varying begs and pleads and curses for him doing this to you. “You can’t leave me like this!” Howl shushes you and he’s still shaking, and a small part of you whispers evilly to you that he’s shaking because he doesn’t want to leave you behind. You know that’s not true. “Howl Pendragon, Howl Jenkins, Howl– Howl! Do not do this to me, please, Howl, don’t do this–” but you are being led to the door anyway, Calcifer sadly bidding you farewell and wishing you love and happiness in your life – “Take me with you, Howl! Howl!” Howl opens the door that held his multicolored, magical wheel and when he’s not kissing you he has his face pressed into your neck, kissing you there and wherever he can reach of you, hands clutching yours or squeezing your waist and hips or urging you to kiss him deeper with a hand between your shoulder blades or on your neck or tangled mournfully in your hair. Then you’re on the step outside his door, wind rushing by the two of you almost painfully exposed on his balcony, the gears and legs of his mechanical castle working double-time to escape the threat that will soon come to follow him. Your tears are drying before they can even fall, the wind is so strong, but Howl kisses them away anyway. “My dear, I will never forget you. I hope that you will remember me as I will remember you.” Then Howl leans in and kisses you one last time, slowly, pouring all the feeling he can muster in his existence without a heart into this last kiss. It’s so agonizingly lovely, romantic and sweet, enough to weaken your knees in any other situation. You kiss him back anyway, taking what you can from him while you can. You can understand why the Witch of the Waste chases after him so relentlessly. You would probably do the same, if you had the power to. “Howl, I–” he looks at you expectantly for as long as he can until there’s no time for soft words and he leans over and his may rings brush against your skin as he smooths your hair down, fruitlessly as the wind raises it again in the same second, and his opulent bracelets sing in a tinny voice and you never want to forget that mundane sound. “Goodbye, love.” And he steps backwards through the doorframe, trying to take in the your visage in as long as he can before he’ll never see it again, before it’ll fade from memory, before you’ll fade from existence. “Howl, I love you!” you shout, and the door shuts but you can still hear the sound of the lock sliding into place over the wailing wind. Howl has left you standing on the steps to the entrance of his castle and made it very clear that you aren’t meant to be a part of his life any longer. You feel an empty hole in your chest, aching and pulsing with each beat of your vile heart, and you wish you took Calcifer up on that offer of taking away your heart. At least you would be able to live without this pain. You descend the rusted steps of Horrible Howl’s living abode, trailing your fingers over every inch of peeling metal and every flower on every vine that crawls up the house. The castle lowers itself and slows down enough for you to step off that final perch, into a field of flowers and soft grass beneath an open sky, beside a lake so fresh and clear that it’s surface is as still and reveals the persistent life beneath it like crystal. The air that breaches your lungs in gasps is crisp and the house bids one last, sad goodbye to you, creaking miserably as it took large bounds away from you, much faster now that it does not have to care for your safety any longer. You sit down and cry in a field of lavender and bluebells and pink roses, not bothering to stem your sobs or the paradox of your achingly empty and too-full broken heart. The perfumes they give off, the picturesque scenery, the romanticism of it all; all of it was most likely one last gift from Howl, the ethereal lover that he is. There is one glaring difference between you and Howl that you can be glad for. You may have to live with a bleeding heart for the rest of your days, but at least you don’t have to live as a coward.

[beckzorz]

PREMONITIONS 2 (5/8)

or, Adventures in Pursuit of a Seven-Year-Old Seer

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 2483 Summary: It’s been over a year since you met Bucky, and you couldn’t be happier. If only you could figure out why your precognitive niece is burying you in abstract crayon art… Warnings for part 5: Mild swearing, mild violence

Canisteo. Steuben County, New York. Population: 3,254.

Distance from the city: 300 miles.

Expected travel time? Five hours.

How long does it take you to get there?

Seven. Fucking. Hours.

A semi-trailer truck crashed on the highway an hour out of the city, blocking all three lanes and setting traffic to a standstill. You’re stuck in the same spot for almost forty minutes. After that, things pick up, but just barely. The cars inch along until, finally, you beak free of the bottleneck. With every minute that passes, you can’t help but imagine what horrors your family is going through. It’s an effort to unclench your hand from the wheel to change gears, adjust the heat, try to listen to the news…

Every minute is torture.

When you finally pass the “Welcome to Canisteo” sign, your heart leaps. Finally! You can swoop in, find your family, save them…

Find your family…

Main Street is quaint, almost disturbingly so. Light, colorful buildings with detailed facades line the sidewalk. The last snow was a week ago; what remains has gone gray and yellow. Weak winter sun streams in through thin clouds overhead.

You drive up and down Main Street, passing banks and restaurants and people wandering around during the lunch hour. No one is familiar. The sun on the snow is blinding, and you alternate between squinting and blinking.

After your second U-turn, you pull over. You peel your hands away from the wheel and go into park. Your hands are stiff, stiff with cold and terror. They tremble as you pull the key from its slot. You shove your hands between your legs and press your forehead against the steering wheel, vision blurring.

You’ve followed Gemma’s map. You made it to Canisteo. But what are you supposed to do now?

Well, sitting in your chilling car isn’t going to accomplish anything. You check the signage—yes, you’re good to park here—and stuff the map of Gemma’s drawings into your backpack. The bag is a solid weight on your shoulders as you wander through the center of town. Things seem as tranquil as they appeared at first glance. The restaurants aren’t too busy, the sidewalks are neatly paved, traffic is limited. After a lifetime spent in the city, the serenity is more disturbing than anything. Even if your neighborhood is relatively quiet, there’s still the hum of the subway, the cars and taxis…

This place feels halfway dead.

Every person you pass gives you a look, and you prickle under their stares. Sure, you’re a stranger. What of it? There’s no harm in city folk visiting small towns.

Your shoulders are around your ears by the time you duck into a cafe for a bite to eat. You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, and your gut is cramping. You force down a sandwich. Nausea curls at your gut as you eat—more wasted time! these twenty minutes might be the difference between life and death!—and you try not to cry into your tea.

If you get so hungry that you pass out, you’re no help.

But having eaten, you have to come to terms with the fact that even sated, you don’t know what to do.

What if Canisteo isn’t the right destination? There’s no message for you here, not that you’ve seen, and you have no idea how to grill the locals. Interrogation is a skill you don’t have, be it as a good cop or bad. You don’t know how to weasel information out of people—being honest is what you’ve been taught, what you know. How the hell are you supposed to magically discover the—lair? Hideout? Maybe they’re upstairs in this very building. Who the hell knows! You sure don’t.

You bite your lip hard as you stare down at your empty plate. You will not cry in a cafe. You will not.

“Are you alright, miss?”

You flinch and stare over at the older man looking at you from the next table. Your heart races. Why is he bothering you? Does he know? Is he one of them?

“Y-yeah,” you manage. You unclench your fists, force a smile. “Just trying to figure out where my brother got to.”

The old man nods and turns back to his bagel and newspaper. Your hands shake as you gather your things. Is the man watching you? Are the eyes you feel on you malign or concerned?

Are you even thinking straight?

You flee the cafe, not once looking back until you’re locked in your freezing car. From here, you can just make out the man at the cafe window. And all he’s doing is sitting there, bagel and newspaper in hand.

You sag in your seat, breath coming as heavy as if you’d just run a marathon. Through the windshield, Canisteo’s tranquility laughs at you.

Why did Gemma summon you here? What are you supposed to do?

Were you even supposed to come?

Hands shaking, you pull out your phone and try Bucky. You haven’t tried since the last call before you left, and he hasn’t gotten back to you. But it’s been almost eight hours. Maybe now…

“The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message at the tone.”

You let Bucky’s voicemail message finish before hanging up. You don’t bother leaving a message. What is there to say? ‘Hi, Bucky, I drove halfway to Canada because Gemma’s abstract art looks like a Google map and that definitely means I’m in the right place!’

Right. Because that sounds so convincing.

You bang your forehead against the steering wheel and stare mindlessly at the dashboard beyond. The plastic of the wheel is cold against your face. Focus, dammit. There’s no point in letting yourself get paranoid. Gemma’s never led you astray before.

Astray, no. Into trouble?

Your hand drifts to your side, where under your jacket and shirt a scar lingers. The one time Gemma had led you into trouble, you’d been shot saving Bucky’s life. You were fine, in the end, and you’d gotten a dream boyfriend out of it to boot. For whatever reason, the assassin had never come after you, and nothing like it had ever come up again.

But now?

Kidnapping isn’t the same as murder. But as much as you’d stopped the bullet, it was Gemma who’d put you where you needed to be.

Your breath catches. Slowly, you sit up, tension clogging your throat. That fateful night was well over a year ago, but revenge is a dish best served cold.

Is this kidnapping to do with last Halloween?

“Oh god,” you whisper.

The silence is deafening. Your heart thumps in your chest. No wonder Bucky’s been off the grid. Of course he’s been ignoring your calls. If there are assassins involved, he’d certainly try to keep you out of it. He was apologetic about you getting shot even when you were a stranger. Now that you’re dating…

Certainty settles over you like a wet blanket. If anything happens to you, Bucky will blame himself. And you aren’t about to let that happen to the man you love.

The man you love?

Your lips part and your eyes widen.

Well, shit.

Sure, you and Bucky have been dating for almost a year. You’ve teased each other, shared longing looks, and reached for each other in moments of distress. But neither of you have ever mentioned love.

Maybe you’ve told him you love his body, or his hair. Even his arm, with all it can do. But not him.

Hell, it took months for you to even put a label on each other. You can still remember the summer day you took Gemma upstate when Bucky first called you his girl.

Your throat burns; you clap a hand over your mouth. Oh god, why didn’t you realize it before? Of course you love him—he’s perfect. Funny, beautiful, smart, sexy… And he’s had nothing but respect for you from day one. Not like so many others, who roll their eyes at your boring job or wince at your cheekiness. Bucky just grins.

Before now, you’ve never really worried about his superhero status. By the time you see him after missions, he’s back to his usual fantastic shape. The things you’ve worried about are more mental than physical.

But now?

If you hadn’t been there, if Gemma hadn’t brought you to the right place at the right time, Bucky might have died last Halloween, gunned down in the street with his milk and his phone. Steve would have arrived too late. You… you never would have met him. Your heart clenches at the thought. You can’t imagine life without Bucky Barnes. He’s your everything.

You take your phone in hand again, your finger hovering over Bucky’s name. He might not answer now, but he’s bound to listen to your messages at some point. You tap on his name and press your phone to your ear, your jaw set.

“The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message at the tone.”

This time, you don’t hang up right away. Instead, you wait for the tone.

“Hi Bucky, it’s me. It’s, uh, around one pm. I know you’re busy, but I w-wanted—” Your voice shakes. What if this is the last message you leave him? What if he doesn’t feel the same? You swallow away your fear. “Sorry. I wanted to tell you I love you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but no matter what happens, I love you. So damn much, Bucky.” Tears are pricking at your eyes. You’re sure you sound wrecked. “Please be safe. No matter what happens to me, please take care of yourself.” You sniff. “Bye.”

You hang up.

---

The next four hours, you drive around Canisteo and the surrounding towns. There’s no sign of Matt, Sarah, or Gemma, let alone any assassins. With every hour, your heart drops. Isn’t there supposed to be some special time window for finding kidnapping victims? You can’t remember it off the top of your head, but it’s been close to twenty hours.

What about Sarah’s morning vitamin? What about Gemma’s? It’s the middle of winter—are they warm enough?

Are they even alive?

You try not to consider that.

The sun sets around five, and you go back to Canisteo to grab dinner. Maybe there’s a villain at the convenience store. Maybe it’s the woman with the pink hat and bubblegum, or the skinny teenager with skin-tight jeans.

Probably not the teenager.

Hopefully not. No teenager should have to be involved with anything remotely connected to this—but then you think of Gemma, and what she is going through at age seven, and you can barely muster a smile for the cashier.

There’s a hotel five miles away, and you drive to it with a heavy heart. For all your determination at dawn, today has been nothing short of wasted. What good has your upstate adventure been? You haven’t found your family, nor even a hint of them. Bucky and Steve are on the case—what was the point in getting involved yourself? You’re no detective. You certainly aren’t a hero, either.

You check into the hotel. When you get to your room, you pull the curtains tightly closed and dump the contents of your backpack on the bed. Gemma’s folder, your laptop, some granola bars, and a water bottle is all you thought to bring with you. You don’t even have a toothbrush. And of course, you’ve forgotten about the granola bars until right now. Great. More money wasted.

You open your laptop and log into the spotty wifi. You put the rest of your things back in your bag and stuff it under the bed.

It’s been over four hours since you called Bucky. There’s no harm in trying again, right?

“The number you are tryi—”

You hang up. There’s no point in leaving another voicemail. He’ll get it eventually. You curl up on the bed with just the bedside lamp on and search Google maps for likely lair locations. A warehouse here, an abandoned building there�� They could be anywhere, and you just don’t know.

You hate not knowing.

An enormous yawn cracks your jaw. You don’t know how you can be tired after everything that’s happened. Then again, terror is exhausting. And you’re no help to your family right now. Tears come again to your eyes—you’ve never cried this much in twenty-four hours—and you wipe them on the stiff pillowcase.

Then your phone rings.

You sit up so fast your vision blacks out. You feel blindly for your phone. Your vision clears as your fingers finally catch hold of your phone.

It’s Bucky. You answer in a flash.

“Bucky,” you breathe. “Oh my god.”

“Darlin’, what’s going on?”

Bucky’s voice fills your ear. Tension you didn’t even realize was there seeps out of you at the sound. God, you love that sound. You hold the phone with both hands, fingers curled around it as though Bucky could feel you holding onto him.

“Are you okay? Did you get my calls?” you ask.

“I’m okay, yeah.” He sounds exhausted. Has he slept since last night? “I saw you called. Didn’t listen to your messages yet, figured I’d just call back. What’s going on? Did the police get back to you at all?”

In the background, you can hear someone else talking. Steve? It’s impossible to tell.

“No,” you say. You bite your lip. “Do you have any news?”

“We tracked them upstate, but we don’t know exactly whe—”

“Finger Lakes?” you interrupt.

Bucky’s brief silence is tense. “How do you know?”

“Because Gemma left a map,” you say, gaining confidence as you continue. “The art she left me—it was a map, Bucky. A map to Canist—”

A bang on the door cuts you off. You stare in horror as the knob turns, gray plywood splintering against the dark rug.

“What’s going on?” Bucky demands. “What—”

“They’re here,” you gasp. You scramble off the bed and run to the bathroom, locking yourself in as the front door slams against the wall. Your hands are shaking so bad you can’t even tell if Bucky can hear your harried whispering. “I’m in Canisteo. No, the hotel near it—Gemma’s map is under the be—”

You scream as the bathroom door bursts open. A man in dark clothes and a scarf and goggles over his face rushes at you. The phone drops from your hands as you careen back, and you can dimly hear Bucky yelling at you through the phone.

The man grabs your neck and slams you against the wall. You see stars as your head ricochets. The man lifts his foot and slams it down on your phone.

The screen cracks. The line goes dead.

The man slams you against the wall again, and then you see nothing else at all.

[ritualmichael]

The Touch - Michael Langdon Mini-Series pt 3

warning: pre-smut kinda. idk what this is. i just know it made me thirsty. happy halloween. part two here.

The next day, everyone was gathered in the common room like you all did everyday. Although most of them annoyed you if you were around them for too long, being alone today wasn’t something you wanted to do. It was one of your bad days where you woke up in a mood that you couldn’t shake. Thoughts about your family and how you would never see them again, how you missed your old routine at home, or that the person you were destined to marry one day was gone. Days like these occurred often. 

“Hey, whatcha’ got there?” Emily asked, sitting down next to you on the couch. You had your drawing pad perched on the arm of the couch, drawing instead of engaging with everyone else like you would do most days. Emily always picked up on your moods, knowing when she should approach you or not. 

You looked up at her and attempted to give her a smile but it didn’t work out.  She was the one person you ever willingly showed your drawings to - at least some of them that is. You liked to show her your family and tell her everything about them because she would always intently listen as if she knew that you just needed to get it out of your system sometimes. 

You slid your drawing over to her and she carefully took it from you, smiling gently as she looked over it. “I will never understand how you’re so good at this...” She shook her head in amazement as she spoke, taking in the drawing of the hands that was sprawled across the paper. You were testing out your abilities, hands always being something that gave you a hard time. 

“It’s not that good,” you said softly, taking the drawing pad back when she hands it to you. You were a bit surprised that she didn’t recognize the rings that adorned the strong fingers, but maybe you were the only one who took notice in such small details about the new man at the outpost. Emily did have Timothy though, so she never showed much interest in Langdon as did the others. 

“Another one of those days?” Emily asked, scooting closer to you so that you both seemed as if you were in your own world, away from the nonsensical conversations of the others. You sunk down into the couch more, getting comfortable and nodding at her. “They seem to just keep happening. I don’t know what to do,” you answered.

“Just keep drawing, if anything good comes out of these days its that you’re getting better and better. Maybe Venable will commission you to paint a big portrait of her so that she can hang it on the wall,” Emily chuckled, giving your shoulder a little bump. She always knew how to make you smile even when you didn’t want to and you were thankful for that, even though you were stuck in this hellhole, you had Emily. 

After a long time of listening to Andre and his mother bickering, Nana’s long stories about her glamorous life (that took a long time and made you wish you could’ve had the chance to live as lavishly as she did) and having small talk with Emily, Timothy and her snuck away to what you assumed was Emily’s room. You knew that the two had a thing with each other but you guys never discussed it in fear that Venable would overhear. Once they left, you decided that maybe being alone after all wouldn’t be too bad, you had enough of everyone’s empty conversations for the day. 

When you got back to your room, you dropped your pad of paper onto your bed and walked over to your wardrobe. Wearing the heavy gown all day was exhausting, so you took it off every chance you got. Slipping it off, you were left in the short slip that you had to wear beneath it, and felt free of the itchy fabric. With a sigh, you crawled onto your bed and flipped through your drawings, smiling weakly at some of them. You laid back against your pillows, getting comfortable and kept flipping until you reached your drawing that you just did in the common room. Grabbing for your pen, you darkened parts of the knuckles and you could already feel your face growing hot as you thought about yesterdays interaction with the man whose hands you’ve seemed to draw. You couldn’t help it, the feeling of his knuckles still seemed to linger on your skin and you craved to feel more of that burning touch. Even if it was Langdon. 

You grazed your fingertips over your cheekbone where he touched, your eyes fluttering closed and you thought about how it would feel to hand his hands touch you other places. Grazing your sides. Running up and down your back. Fingertips tracing patterns on your thighs. You couldn’t stop yourself from dreaming about how good it would feel, your breathing growing heavier. It had been too long since you had been touched like you needed. 

“So, you are like the others.” You heard a voice, your eyes flying open and you quickly scramble to sit up, shoving your thin slip dress down that you didn’t realize you had hiked up your thighs. 

There he was again, Langdon. Standing at the door, it half open with his hand still on the nob. Of course he didn’t knock or even make a sound when he came in. You were both angry and embarrassed and couldn’t tell which one was making your face hot and bright red. You tried to catch your breath, shoving the drawings beneath your pillow. 

“W-what?” was all you could get yourself to say. You watched as he closed the door behind him, his eyes beginning to roam along your very exposed body. You wanted to wrap yourself in your blanket but your mind was all over the place. What was he talking about? Why was he in your room and why did he think it was okay to keep scaring you like this? 

“These little fantasies,” he shrugged. You watched as he took steps towards you, making you sit up and press yourself against the headboard as he got closer. “Touching themselves and imagining its me.” He had a proud smirk on his face and you wanted to smack it off, but you never would.

“I-I wasn’t-,” you started but he quickly cut you off. 

“No? Then please tell me what that little act was then. I could practically hear you whimpering from the hall.” You watched, mortified, as he sat down at the edge of your bed, once again violating your personal space. Did you get so caught up in your daydream that he really heard you? There was no way. He was just doing this to rile you up and you weren’t going to let him. 

“Why are you in my room? Again,” you glanced down, making sure that you were covered up and really started to regret taking off your gown. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel his burning stare on your body. 

“Just trying to figure out why you weren’t in the common room with everyone else. I guess I now know why.” There was a hint of amusement on his face and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

“That is not why,” you declared.

“Tell me then,” he said, turning towards you and letting his eyes run up your legs. Your had to force yourself to let go of the breath you were holding. Something about him looking at you made you freeze up.

“I just needed to get away from them,” you said, “to be alone.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself from looking down at his hands that rested on his thighs, making you readjust yourself. Everything about him always seemed strong but smooth, as if every step he took was purposefully seductive and intimidating. His hands seemed like they could cause so much harm but also be so gentle.

“Thats too bad. Also, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stare?” his voice made you look back up at his face, a slight smirk tugging on his lips. 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to knock?” you asked, noticing for a second that the smirk seemed to falter. You watched, frozen in place, as he scooted closer to you and reached out, his hand wrapping around your ankle as if to trap you onto your bed. You breath hitched in your throat as he leaned in closer, his frame much larger than yours. 

“You’re truly getting brave, thinking you can just say whatever you want to me,” his voice almost sounded like a growl and you could feel his cool rings pressed hard against your skin, making you want to tug away from his grasp. His cold eyes scanned your face and you tried to calm your breath but you couldn’t help it as it came out heavy and jagged. You wanted to curse at yourself for letting him have so much power over you. 

“Don’t touch me,” you tried to pull out of his hold but it tightened. It didn’t hurt, that wasn’t his intention. He knew that he didn’t have to restrain you too much, you were practically helpless towards him anyway. Thats when his hand started running up your leg and you squirmed a little, goosebumps running up your body. You had the urge to push him away, really tell him to stop, but you didn’t want to. 

“But isn’t that exactly what you want?” he said lowly, his hand slipping under your knee and gently pulling you closer to the spot where he was perched on the side of your bed. You didn’t resist it either. 

Your body felt like it was on fire and you pushed out every nervous and scared thought telling you to get far away from him. You had ached for the moment to come when you could feel some human contact and he knew it, you could tell by the way that his hand started to run up and down your thigh slowly. 

“I-I don’t-“ was all you could say before your words were cut off by him grabbing your waist and pulling you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips. Your first instinct was you push at his chest and try to climb off but your hands seemed to lack any force, causing you to stay right where you were. 

His blue eyes pierced into yours, being at the same level as him allowed you to notice features about him that you didn’t before. You could feel his fingers lightly digging into your hips and it made your wriggle for a moment before freezing, remembering that you were on his lap. You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. 

“Do you want to be left alone now?” he spoke lowly, just loud enough for you to hear since you were close enough. One of his hands left your hips and ran up your side, reaching your neck. There, he ran his fingertips lightly over the delicate skin and you tilted your head to the side without thinking, which only made him smirk. You were letting him win but you didn’t care in this moment. 

Instead of speaking, which you found it hard to do right now, you simply shook your head at his question. You body was hot, every trace of his touch felt like it was been permanently seared into your skin and you loved it. Those hands that you drew we’re now touching you, making you want to melt into them. 

“Of course not...” he mumbled, resting two fingers under your chin and lifting your head up to look at him directly. There was something about the intense eye contact, that you would normally avoid, that made the sensations running through your body heighten. “Because you’ve been thinking about this. Thinking about someone who would finally touch you and make you feel good.” He knew he had you now, especially since you caught yourself leaning into his touch as he uttered those words. 

You were already in so deep at this point, any thought of how wrong this was had disappeared from your mind. All you could think about now was the man beneath you and the way he spoke, as if every word was luring you in more and more. 

He watched with pride as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip and you opened your mouth slightly, a shaky breath leaving you. You could tell that he was basking in all of the power that he held over you, like you were a puppet that reacted to him perfectly and exactly how he wanted. His hand that still rested on you hip pulled you closer and you gasped as you felt the rough material of his pants through the thin layer of your underwear, those being the only things separating you now since your dress slip had bunched at your hips. 

He leaned in, his nose brushing against your neck and your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. His hand grasped the back of your neck gently and kept your head tilted for him, his warm breath on your skin giving your goosebumps.

“I can give you what you’ve been craving,” he whispered in your ear, a whimper leaving your lips at his words. Your hands that still rested on his chest gripped his jacket, trying to release some of the tension in your body. All you wanted right now was to feel more of his warmth and his lips against your skin.

As if he could read your mind, his lips grazed over the shell of your ear while his hand snaked around to your back, pressing you closer to him so that your chests were against each others. He started to leave agonizingly slow kisses down your neck, causing weak whimpers to leave your lips and your eyes to flutter closed. The sensation was something you didn’t realize you missed so much until you had it. 

Tentatively, you ran your hands up his chest and to his hair, where you paused. Langdon spoke huskily between each open-mouthed kiss against your skin, urging you to go on. You slipped your fingers into his hair, gripping it when you felt his teeth nip at your collarbone. You were unsure if he would like it but when you heard a small groan come from the back of his throat at your grip on his golden locks, you knew he did.

You whined softly when he pulled away from your neck, your breathing heavy and you could feel his kisses on your skin still. You wanted to feel them forever. 

He slipped his hands down to your thighs that were spread at his hips, his warm skin against yours while he slowly ran them up and down your thighs. You knew that he was consciously making this whole moment slow and painful for you and that he was enjoying it. His touches were amazing but you craved more. So much more.

“Langdon, please...” you said softly, trying to pull yourself even closer while running your fingers through his hair. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” he said, shaking his head gently. You knew that his first name was Michael but it never felt right to call him that, just like you never called your teachers by their first names. He just seemed superior. 

You gave him an obedient nod, dropping your head onto one of his shoulders as you tried to stop yourself from getting too needy. Soon all of the worrying thoughts rushed back into your head, making you suddenly realize what you were doing and who you were doing it with. 

You lifted your head and tried to climb off of his lap, starting to say how you shouldn’t be doing this but you quickly felt his hands grip your thighs, stopping you from climbing off of him.

“What are you afraid of?” he looked at you with his brows furrowed. You glanced at his lips as he spoke and they were slightly red from when he was kissing you. He really looked otherworldly right now. 

“Venable said we can’t do this,” you said. 

“You and I both know that she has no say over what I do,” he remarked, “or who.” 

You blushed at his words, shaking your head and trying to climb off of him and this time he let you. It was like there was a small devil on your shoulder telling you to completely submit yourself to him and a little angel telling you that you should resist his temptations. It was hard to tune either one out. 

“You’re not scared of Venable,” he said, standing up and straightening out his jacket that you had tugged on minutes before. Once again, he towered over you with such an intense look that made you want to crumble. “You’re scared of what it would feel like to be out of control. Careless.” 

You watched him as he started to walk slow circles around you, his hands clasped behind his back like always. “You haven’t felt recklessness in a long time.” The feeling of his presence circling you like a buzzard would for roadkill made you want to push him out of the door. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to,” his voice said from behind you and you listened as your door opened and closed. You let out a long sigh, knowing that everything he said was all too true. What was this spell he had over you?

part four here.

tags (lmk if u wanna be tagged): @areyouhappeh @nolixxx @crybabycth @heelsamizayn @htxlmaoo @dreamybadlands @oldworldsoul @lukeyasheycalymikey @xxxunluvablexxx @royalworldtraveler @dragonsandtitties @teasbees-knees @dudesorriso @silkyhoneybaby @kaliforniacoastalteens @quacksonbarnes @psychoticobsession

[x-unnamedgraves-x]

finally decided to fool around and do a little drawing idea I had: take a bunch of lyrics I associate w/ a character and go ham. there were some songs where I had to try hard to not just copy all the lyrics, and one that I actually forgot to include completely lol

song list and the legible version of all this text below:

Not to put too fine a point on it

Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet

Please could you stop the noise, I'm trying to get some rest

When I am king, you will be first against the wall

Well, you could say that I'm well liked

But I'll never be friendless, oh

Oh, you could say that I'm alright

Or you could say schizophrenic

Among my frivolous thoughts

I believe there are beautiful things seen by the astronauts

What have you done to my necktie?

Youve tied it up in a knot

It's embarrassing to find out, deep down I just want things to be easy

Don't mess with me, I'm a big boy now and I'm very scary

I punch my walls, stay out at night, and I do karate

I loved you Yesterday, before You killed my family

Someone help me

Understand what's going on inside my mind

Doctor I can't tell if I'm not me

Try not to notice how

Color is cycling slowly and fading and now

It's all gone.

When you were locked up in your room alone Neglecting even just to touch the phone Salty tears rolling down your cheeks Like they had many times before

Sometimes it can seem like a nightmarish dream

And I’m falling with nothing to hold

But that’s all right, that’s okay, I can look the other way

Upon a path of old primrose, beyond the smoke and smoldering chrome

There lies a place I might call home

I wonder if they have wondered or will ever wonder

You oughta be ashamed You oughta be destroyed I'll chop you into little bits And feed you to my dogs I want you to be left behind those empty walls

Rapidly aging and melting away

Buzz-saws for hands and monsters of clay!

Bring down the government

They don't speak for us

I'll take a quiet life

I've gone half crazy worried about you

Wake from a dream where I was stuck losing my teeth

Lucky for me, it was all fake, not what it seemed

You know, I don't see any germs

This neither denies or confirms

My prevailing suspicion

Of its composition

Turn off your porcelain face, I can't really think right now and this place

Has too many colours enough to drive all of us insane

Don't you see their bodies burning Desolate and full of yearning Dying of anticipation Choking from intoxication? Lie awake at night.

Underground, boxed and glum

All my fears are overgrown, will someone burn this grove?

Subtle oddities

Completely lost upon your eyes

Hands Of time will wring my neck

Every little moment spells regret

But I don't have to feel this way

Welcome home! It's been a while. Do you miss your head, with your tattered clothes and your bloody nose?

Are you dead? Sometimes I think I'm dead

Cause I can feel ghosts and ghouls wrapping my head

This is all I have, this is all I need

Get a load of this monster He doesn't know how to communicate His mind is in a different place Will everybody please give him a little bit of space

Get a load of this trainwreck

His hair's a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet

I'll watch you burn in hell I'll see you in your grave I'd like to watch you suffer for The evil that you made

(not in lyrical order, just in the order I looked them up)

Jukebox The Ghost - Half Crazy

 Jukebox The Ghost - Schizophrenia

 Lemon Demon - Sunbeam Light Show Flower Seed

 Lemon Demon - Birdhouse In Your Soul

 Bo En – My Time

 Radiohead – Paranoid Android

 Radiohead – No Surprises

 Lemon Demon – Subtle Oddities

 Owl City – Angels

 Lemon Demon – Rainwater

 Tally Hall – All of My Friends

 Mother Mother – Omen

 Be More Chill – Voices in My Head

 Tally Hall – Hymn For a Scarecrow

Cavetown – This is Home

 Jack Conte – Bloody Nose

 Tally Hall – The Mind Electric

David Byrne – Twistin in the Wind

 Jack Conte – Kitchen Fork

 Cavetown – Boys Will be Bugs

 Serj Tankian – Empty Walls

 Lemon Demon – Nightmare Fuel

[tywvin-archive]

tagged by @rctrokyo and @chrisevan, thanks a lot! ♡

rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 people

tagging: @lilttlebird @rhyssand @kleopatrar @helenstroy @lokiofasgcrd @leiaaorgana @leejordan @hermiuone @hermnione @jaimelannnisters @tonvrogers (only if you want to do it! sorry if you were already tagged)

nicknames: lennister, leni, ele (yes, my dad is really creative can you tell)

gender: male

star sign: capricorn

height: 163cm or something like that? i haven’t measured myself in so long

time: 13:56

birthday: 23 Dec

favorite bands: the beatles, queen, arctic monkeys, fito y fitipaldis whenever i talk about a spanish band/artist/whatever i feel stupid? y’all don’t know them i feel like i’m talking nonsense

favorite solo artist: hayley kiyoko, elvis

song that’s stuck in your head: sanctify - years and years

last movie: i feel pretty i’m so mad amanda schumacher starred in this movie because it was so damn good and i hate her

last TV show: the handmaid’s tale i haven’t finished season 2 yet but i love it

why did you create this blog: i had an old one that was completely messed up and unaesthetic and i really wanted to use tumblr because i liked it but having that blog stressed me out because i hated it so i created a new one that fulfilled my aesthetic needs! lmao

what do you post/reblog: i generally reblog and post pale/b&w fandom posts and quotes, photography, mythology and lyrics

last thing you googled: ¡qué guapa soy! título original this was because i didn’t know how i feel pretty was called in english, apart from that i wanted to buy a transparent iphone case lmao

other blogs: none because they’re inactive atm (and will probably always be)

why the url: i would die for tywin lannister any day of my miserable life @ the person who has @/tywinlannister: fuck you, fuck you hard (please give it to me)

i follow: 345

followers: 707

lucky numbers: 9, 18, 23

instruments: i used to play violin but dropped from music school, and we learned a bit of bass guitar, guitar and drums in highschool!

what are you wearing: an old tshirt they gave away when my city commemorated its 150 anniversary and an old swimsuit my dad gave me because all my bottoms were in the washing machine fashion icon

dream job: as always, astronaut but i’m blind and lazy so writer, which i won’t ever achieve, so probably taking care of plants in a botanic garden or working with animals at a shelter i just wanna be a pirate

last book you read: i’m reading aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe atm but i’m procrastinating it because i know it’ll make me cry again

top 3 universes: got/asoiaf, narnia, lotr/the hobbit

tagged by @leiaaorgana, thank you!

rules: We’re snooping on your playlist. Set your entire music library on shuffle and report the first 10 songs that pop up, then choose 10 victims.

i need a dollar - aloe blacc

kings of the weekend -  blink-182

let ‘em in - wings

heart of the country - paul mccartney

mama said - the shirelles

the other side - hugh jackman (the greatest showman)

madeleine - new politics

pretty visitors - arctic monkeys

curious - hayley kiyoko

new york city - john lennon

tagging: @ohbiwankenohbi @lillyevans @lilttlebird @kleopatrar @lokiofasgcrd @polydeuce @ben-solo @lahnister @hemswortth @francisabernthys (don’t feel pressured to do it tho!)

tagged by @tonvrogers thank you!

Rules: Write the first 10 songs that come up on shuffle (no skipping) and quote your favorite lyrics from each song, then tag 10 people.

hump the bump - red hot chilli peppers

it’s hard enough to be yourself

jet - paul mccartney

jet with the wind in your hair

detroit - red hot chilli peppers

can you see the rising of old yesterday’s remains

sunday bloody sunday - john lennon

you claim to be majority well you know that it’s a lie you’re really a minority

london calling - the clash

quit holding out and draw another breath

we will rock you - queen

somebody better put you back into your place

c’mon girl - red hot chilli peppers

everything inside of me is burning up for you to see

people are strange - the doors

people are strange when you are a stranger faces look ugly when you are alone

like a champion - the baseballs

since you came along i can do no wrong

drive - halsey

sick and full of pride all we do is drive

i’m tagging whoever wants to do this! because i feel like i always annoy my mutuals when i tag them so, there you go! if you feel like doing it just say i tagged you :)