#the final chapter ahhh

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  9 / 9

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: ’twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 8 | chapter 9 | This is the last chapter! Please see the end for A/N.

Oddly enough, the initial thought that entered his mind when Y/N's father landed a punch on his face Friday morning was, ‘I deserved that.’

He didn't have difficulty dodging the floor, though, which was a blessing. Rubbing his jaw, he figured he probably wasn't hit as hard as the older man wanted. Stupid idiot, not a real fucking priest, fucking around with his sweet daughter, leading her on. “A real fucking piece of shit.”

As the accusations were hurled at him, his initial thought was, what could the man possibly be thinking?

Father Sylus might have had the same thoughts if the tables were turned, but he wouldn't have expressed them so boldly. Perhaps he understood the situation, and that's why he didn't try to justify himself. He could see where the man was coming from.

Now, standing in the middle of the church office, Y/N's father refusing to look at him or meet his eyes—that struck an awful chord. He kept his eyes downcast as Y/N's father continued his tirade. The words stung, each one a sharp barb, but deep down, he knew there was truth to them. He had allowed himself to grow too close to Y/N, to let his feelings for her blossom into something forbidden and dangerous. He knew that's what anyone would see.

"I trusted you," her father spat, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "I trusted you to guide my daughter, not to take advantage of her. "

Father Sylus opened his mouth to speak. He was hoping to clarify some things, just for the record, and wanted to jump out the window when the words were: "I know this looks bad."

"You got that right." Y/N's dad finally looked at him; his irritation reflected the hell Father Sylus felt.

"Listen to me," Father Sylus made an effort to keep his tone calm. "This is bigger than you, or I, or..."

"Cut the shit, Father." This was Talia who spoke, glaring harshly and leaning against the wall, her finger pointed. The word 'Father' had never been used in a worse way. It was a slap that coiled around his neck, tightened till the muscle there contracted, and struggled against the tension.

"Think of the reputation the Catholic Church already has, going around accusing priests and nuns and bishops of all these -" She hissed, stopping herself. And before she began again, Father Sylus knew what the next words were.

What had to be done to protect the members. Not a fear of anything spiritual. It was the church's reputation as a whole, even if this had nothing to do with what she was speaking about. Even he knew that it wouldn't matter. Father Sylus merely chose not to see the faults, the perverse, or the corrupt except to acknowledge the horror that it was. This never stopped him from helping the people who most needed it.

He had just had dinner with most of them the other day, he had sat across the table with them after seeing a glimpse of life, not having the darkness or the lingering pain that lurked in the depths. Y/N had done that to him, making him believe that one person could do that much for another. Wasn't that what God wanted, too? to heal the blind, the broken, and the battered.

Still...

"What do you intend to do? Go to the local press? The national news channels?" Father Sylus continued, shaking his head slightly, trying not to let the anger get a hold of him. It came from hurt, loss, and a feeling that something was so close to crumbling and couldn't be put back together.

"She's the adult, but I should have never been so blind." Y/N's dad sounded upset and broken, really. It made the whole thing ten times harder.

"I'm calling the bishop, " Talia said, grimacing and picking at her fingers. The way she was unable to still herself was an annoyance. It was the sight of a restless mind struggling for rationale while the chest was heaving for solutions. She obviously did not think before the statement was released and in the air. She did not ponder such moments of stress, as she was like her.

"You can't." Father Sylus shot a look over to her.

"Why not?!" Y/N's dad spat, bristling as he stepped closer to the two. He did not look like he cared for the answer, but the words fell nonetheless.

And Father Sylus didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to put his feelings out there in the open without having them pulled apart, not having them twisted in front of his face.

"It doesn't matter. We all just need to be realistic about this." It fell with the delicacy of a pin dropped on a rug. It could be felt and heard but would not break anything.

It was difficult not to recoil from the words, not to flinch as they were released, a blade striking the target as the man across from him spoke again. "I expected more from you."

Father Sylus swallowed down the guilt, straightening. He had to remind himself it wasn't just about him. There was someone who cared for him dearly, someone he cared deeply for. And he would die before feeling regret eat him from the inside out, as it certainly was trying to do now.

It didn't stop there, however; Talia shoved off the wall and stared wide-eyed. "Why didn't you stop this sooner?"

He sighed, feeling irritated at the insinuation. "Why do you think?"

That stopped Talia short. It was blunt and not entirely his intention. But Talia was his friend. If he could call her that, he trusted that she knew what he meant.

Father Sylus knew they were all human, with their own desires and temptations. Every day, he prayed for strength to resist them, but when he eventually gave in, he did not push away those thoughts. Instead, he had acted upon them.

You learn something from your mistakes. Only this wasn't a mistake. In seminary, Father Sylus was taught to trust himself, that his heart and his mind and God would lead him the right way. He didn't understand back then why the other priests seemed so set in their views, so careful to examine every word and question the meaning behind it. But he was beginning to now, more than ever. A clarity had washed over him like the first rays of light entering a dim cave; it had struck him with vigor.

Talia knew. He saw it in her eyes, how she took a slow breath and glanced at the floor, clutching her skirt in her hands. She wasn't often silent, and it didn't take long for the silence to get to him, nor the stress from both Y/N's dad, and the situation itself.

"It still isn't right." She whispered, and he thought it was supposed to sound harsh, but instead, she only sounded defeated. Her words had lost their bite.

Father Sylus closed his eyes, tilting his head up to the ceiling for a moment, praying that the words would fall straight from his tongue without failure, without a hesitant breath, or pause for composure. His heartbeat grew a little steadier, and his nerves were soothed.

And looking at Y/N's dad then, a soft, disheartened smile graced his face. "I apologize. I know it isn't right; I do. Sometimes you fall in love, though."

A flinch, the man’s eyebrows pulling together, frowning and staring him down. A shadow covering the kind look that was once in his eye. Those pupils widened, taking him in. "What did you just say?"

The heart cannot be controlled, cannot be measured or weighed, and can't even be seen by human eyes unless you cut the chest open and expose it to the cruel outside world. Father Sylus didn't find it so cruel anymore, though.

That was a thought for later. Another time. One day. He had faith in that. For now, though, it was like the ground had begun to crumble, and the cracks were traveling so swiftly, further and further apart, spreading and reaching toward those who stood above.

"You heard me." And his heart shouldn't pound like this, his palms shouldn't sweat, and his stomach shouldn't feel like there was an eel thrashing around. "I don't know what the future holds, or how this will unfold, or how God will punish me for this transgression."

Some color had drained from Y/N's dad, and Talia went beside him, gently touching his shoulder and giving him a stern look—one Father Sylus hadn't yet seen from her. He noted that he probably should have thought about that or how different things were about to be.

"Father," Talia let go of the man, taking a step towards him, leaning in with a shake of her head, hissing. "This is blasphemy."

Father Sylus merely shrugged, figuring she probably never had an excuse to use the word until now, which was why she used it.

"I'm not throwing myself a pity party or turning this entire thing around to act like I'm some selfless martyr, Talia."

Y/N's dad shuffled from foot to foot, "This can't be happening."

The crack in his voice pulled on Father Sylus' heartstrings, making him feel the desperation in his skin, how uncomfortable and conflicted he felt, how ugly and dark the entire situation was, and how deep into the spiral they had all found themselves. But then his mind went to Y/N, thinking about what she was doing and if she was okay, and as much as it killed him, there was hope.

"It shouldn't, but it is." Father Sylus took a steadying breath.

There was a slight shift in the room, and maybe they hadn't expected his response or didn't expect it to be so direct, or maybe they hadn't been told the priest had such a strong opinion on this stuff. Father Sylus wasn't sure, but he knew it was out in the open now, and it couldn't be undone. Maybe it couldn't be fixed either , but he certainly wasn't letting this slip through his fingers.

Y/N's dad was now leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed over his chest, avoiding the gazes of both the priest and Talia. The man could only shake his head and squeeze his eyes shut.

"I'm having a hard time thinking this is real, " he croaked, making Father Sylus only more sympathetic. He understood how frustrating and unsettling the situation was, especially for someone like Y/N's dad, someone who had suffered a loss.

"I am the one who is responsible, and -"

"Nothing is ever cut and dry with her, though. I should have known." Y/N's dad interrupted, making his way towards the office door. "I'm buying her a ticket back home."

Father Sylus swallowed past the lump in his throat, "She's not going to like that."

"Does it look like I care?"

Father Sylus walked forward quickly, going over to stop him from leaving the room, although the effort was pathetic. The others' feet stopped right at the threshold. "You shouldn't. You might never see her again." He wasn’t sure why he said those words exactly, for he himself knew they weren’t true.

Y/N's father stiffened, "Is that a threat, Father?"

Father Sylus held up his hands, realizing how his words had sounded. "No, no, of course not. I just meant... Y/N is an adult, like you said. She makes her own choices.”

"Never again?" Talia echoed a bit too late. Didn't it just seem cruel to leave a puzzle in the middle of the game unfinished? The outcome was inevitable, but the journey, how the road was set, and where it would lead next were so mysterious and overwhelming at the same time.

"I'm trying to make this easy." Y/N's dad narrowed his eyes, shoulders tensing.

"Go ahead, send her back home, push her away, be left wondering why all the time." Father Sylus challenged. It was for more selfish reasons than he wanted to admit to at the moment .

"Don't play that card, not now."

That was the best advice, and Father Sylus took a step back, trying to find peace, "Look, it won't change anything. This town is small and people will talk regardless."

If there wasn't anything more to discuss, if the secrets would be allowed to settle and people would stop breathing them into the air, the wounds might be given enough time to heal. Yes, occasionally getting better with a friendly nudge was much more manageable. But they were all human, after all, weren't they?

"I'm calling the bishop," Talia repeated her earlier statement, but Father Sylus didn't show that it affected him.

"Do what you want."

Talia gaped, at a loss for words, stunned even. This seemed unfair; he had taken more than a second to think about this, something he had acknowledged long before that evening with Y/N came. Sure, some aspects were shocking and made his pulse speed up, and yeah, now that the secret was out, it should have been a relief to confess to Y/N's father about his feelings.

But his own feelings weren't what was important here, and that hurt, maybe more than some would believe it could. He could accept it, though, for her. So that a bit of happiness could seep into her skin and settle in her heart.

Even if that meant giving up one of the things he treasured most. It was disappointing to say the least. Not nearly enough of a punishment. What would happen to him? To Y/N? Now, that would have to be a part of the unknown, his penance that no one else could take. Only he and the Lord could decide upon that. And maybe He already had; maybe this was the judgment, the sins out in the open.

God would decide.

Y/N's father stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud. Father Sylus flinched at the sound, closing his eyes briefly as he tried to gather his composure. Talia remained, her eyes wide and disbelieving as she stared at him.

You were used to panic. When living alone in your apartment, stress had a tendency to bottle up and fester into something you couldn't quite comprehend.

Sometimes, it would end with a bottle shattered and your body tired and sore, but this felt different. Your father confronting you had felt different. Especially when the emotions in his eyes were not directed at you; instead, they were pained. And when he pressed his lips together and cast his gaze elsewhere, the dull, throbbing pain settled in your chest, refusing to subside.

God, you really were a horrible daughter. Wretched. Narcissistic. The worst. A sinner, a demon, a fool, and an idiot who never thought. At this point, maybe they were a fair assessment, and the words you assumed your father had thought would surely follow you for the rest of your miserable life.

Standing in your room now, you couldn't stop thinking about Father Sylus. You remembered the feeling of his arms, that warm touch, and the depth of his crimson eyes.

And in the silence of your room that night, your suitcase packed and ready to go with the earliest flight your father could book back out west - you did something you hadn't done seriously in a very long time.

When you were younger, you often kneeled in front of the windowsill after your mother passed. Closing your eyes or keeping them open didn't make a difference. Lacing your fingers together and resting your chin on the backs of your hands - you used to pray. For good health, for the pain to fade, just for those stormy emotions in your head to settle.

Who knows, maybe your mom was listening. Kneeling next to you in spirit and pleading for you not to forget her, pleading for you to accept and love yourself. At the time, those moments were meant for her memory. But after getting older and finding a new curiosity about the world, they were soon forgotten, too.

And maybe you were trying to help yourself then. With nothing else to really lose, you resigned yourself to praying for a different outcome, pleading for a change that was in the hands of another.

It was so hard, kneeling there, like the strength to keep your composure was slipping from you. Each breath constricted, and with each time your eyes watered and the tears slipped past, you told yourself to keep strong. Asking someone else for an answer wasn't the best idea; maybe you were hoping for the impossible.

"Hey," you began quietly, biting back the tremble. "I'm- really not one for this. Stuff. And I hope that you're hearing me because..."

You fought to take deep, steady breaths and force the words beyond your clenched teeth. The thoughts were just as difficult to manage, and you had to shut your eyes tightly to calm the trembling within.

"If you could help, I'd appreciate that. Sorry, I don't deserve it, but that's selfish. Um, my-" and you gripped your hands tighter together.

"Can I ask for something, please?" Struggling past the lump in your throat, you swallowed hard. "I know, it's selfish. Prayers aren't really something that should be turned into a list of wishes..."

You knew. God had more important things to be doing than waiting for a scum like you to apologize and plead for help. He would guide the ones who listened, studied His word, did good deeds, and praised Him. You were none of those things; you had fallen off that path long ago.

"So, I'm not really sure if I should, but please, just help me," You cracked. Holding your hand over your mouth and trying to gasp in oxygen, you could hardly control the shuddering; it only made your heart pump faster, and the pain grew tenfold.

"He- Father Sylus - just keep him safe. That's all. I lov - he deserves it. You can't forsake him. If it wasn't for him - I just want him to be okay. I don't deserve anything; I just - I'll ask for this, even if I don't deserve to have that happen."

Father Sylus would listen, and the thought of that broke you. You just, needed someone to listen. Father Sylus deserved the best. God would surely grant him that. And you...

"God, I have never needed help as badly as I do now."

And still, a dark part of you couldn't allow yourself to think that He'd listen. He would pick others because it was the right thing to do—or the punishment. How awful would it be to answer for your deeds, the wrongs, or the filthy stuff that happened over the past few weeks? Maybe this was karma kicking in.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you opened your eyes, looking out the window at the night sky above. It was illuminated with stars that glittered so greatly that anyone could see the wonders. Did anyone stop to appreciate it, or did everyone just gloss over it without a care or a glance? Was that what it was like to look at your mistakes and not learn, apologize, or regret them?

It was not the future that hurt the worst, no. Nor was the loss, change, or distance. It wasn't even the uncertainty that clawed up your spine and clung to your clothes like dirty water. That seemed the least of your worries because the lack of time and the chance of missed opportunity made the pain bloom somewhere deeper.

The church was quiet as you walked in, the early morning light peeking through the windows. The familiar sensation of wooden floors beneath your shoes, a comfort, a normality, and a sense of guilt. Because you shouldn't have been there, but a coward you were, and the thought of avoiding one last goodbye wouldn't leave you alone.

Because deep down, a sick part of you wished the plane would crash. You weren't even on it yet, either. But the thought of not having to deal with the other options, choices, and consequences, and the pain of letting him go, had made your decision so much easier.

Oh, and like a magnet being attracted to its pole, you saw Father Sylus, looking out his office window.

He looked peaceful, holding the rosary and slowly running the beads between his fingers. He was humming something. All that could be heard was the slight hum, off-tune, but you recognized it.

Do not be afraid; I am with you.

When the humming stopped, you were surprised to realize you had walked to him without making a sound.

"You shouldn't be here." Father Sylus informed you, not bothering to look over his shoulder. Did he already know it was you? The words were not said to send you away. Instead, they held no weight behind them, and if that weren't enough of a giveaway, the soft smile as he turned was enough to confirm it for you.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving." It sounded so different out loud, and his shoulders didn't slouch; in fact, they stiffened. At the sight, your mouth watered, and your tongue started to feel heavy.

"I'm sorry, Sylus." You murmured, reaching forward to brush your hand on his arm; how he jolted made you retract your fingers.

His deep, red gaze finally fell upon you, and the color drained from his face. A shaky exhale fell past his lips as his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"What are you apologizing for? You've done nothing wrong, Y/N."

That couldn't be farther from the truth. But for the first time, you wanted to avoid correcting him. "So you're okay, right?"

There was a pinch to the tenderness; if you looked any closer, you could see him struggle with the answer.

"That's always a little tricky to figure out, isn't it ?"

And his smile was so endearing, and you couldn't stop thinking about the act that had taken place in this very office not long ago. Soaking in his presence and finding comfort in his touch, cherishing his scent. That urge to cry was back, and you stumbled forward, crashing into his side and burying your face into his chest.

"It hurts." You whined, a trembling hand gripping the material of his sweater. You'd always hated yourself for needing others, being weak, and not being able to fix things on your own.

"I know," Father Sylus smoothed your hair back." I didn't want this for you; you were just supposed to be happy."

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wide and a gasp catching in your throat. He grimaced, taking a hand and tapping a finger to his temple. "Everything moves and nothing is concrete, yes?"

"Please say you aren't feeling guilty." As soon as the words left your mouth you chastised yourself.

Father Sylus and his guilt, trying to swallow down the emotions when he should have just let himself have what he wanted.

"I know what it's like to have everything taken from you," you said, "to fall in love for the wrong reasons—with the wrong person."

The reminder shocked him, and his fingers ghosted against the skin beneath your collarbone, sending warm tingles up your neck, almost enough for you to lean against his hand.

"Stop."

And he sounded hurt, that frown appearing again, and when his eyebrows furrowed, well, something about it never failed to have your heart hammering in your chest.

"It shouldn't have happened - everything." Your nails dug into your palms painfully. "If it hadn't been for me - then maybe you could-"

"Stop." His deep voice was a growl, and his hand traveled up to grip your chin, tilting your head so that you were forced to look into his eyes—so sharp, so beautiful. "Don't talk like that. I won't accept that."

Despite the intense gaze, his fingers caressed your cheek so lightly, making your lips quirk up at the affection, relaxing instantly. Then his thumb rubbed gentle circles, and the soft gaze the two of you shared had your face heating up under his attention.

"It was me. I knew what I was doing," he smiled a little sheepishly. "I'll take the blame, the repercussions."

His tender gesture had you biting your bottom lip and closing your eyes to blink away the tears. Why did he have to care? Why did he have to try so hard? What had you done to deserve such admiration and devotion?

"What'll happen to you?" You wondered aloud, because as long as you didn't watch him break, as long as you didn't see the destruction firsthand, it might not hurt as much.

"I'll leave, most likely."

"Where are you going?"

Father Sylus just smiled, leaning in and pressing his lips softly to yours. He kissed you sweetly for a moment, and you pressed into the familiar gesture with everything you had.

His fingers curled into your waist, clutching onto the material of your shirt in a way that had your pulse quickening, and a shaky breath falling from your mouth. When he pulled back, it was too soon. And when he gave you a smile that had your knees buckling, he said something that would stay ingrained in your memory.

"God is everywhere, and therefore so am I."

And while those words did a pretty good job, the promise in his tone, along with that intense stare, had your hands fisting in his sweater, your body becoming jittery, the nerves sending pinpricks under your skin. The intensity is almost too much for you to process.

"I don't know anything about love," you whispered, "or why God makes us do stupid shit.”

"Because He wants to see us fall so that we may rise back up again."

"Then I'm happy, to have fallen for you."

He raised an eyebrow at your statement, and even though you were trembling, both from nervousness and fear, you felt a surprising warmth erupt in the pit of your stomach. A content and comfortable glow settled all around you as the words began to spill from your mouth.

"I myself go because of you, and your...your kind heart, and - oh, and your hair and - and - I love you."

With a huff, Father Sylus pressed another kiss lips , silencing you. Your breathing became somewhat labored. And instead of letting your emotions overwhelm you any more than you could handle, you laughed nervously as you pulled back to get a look at his face.

"California is great this time of year." You added.

"Yeah?" he asked, sounding content but not surprised. In fact, it seemed more as if he'd known what you were about to ask before the words had even left your mouth. You weren't sure if that was comforting or worrying.

But, Goddamnit, it was the best and most incredible possibility you'd ever been given the chance to express. And if this was real, and if it was heaven or hell, or wherever was next, it would matter so much more, so you knew you needed to be selfish just once more.

"I don't have anybody," You told him. “In California.”

And then Father Sylus shook his head and pressed his lips together, and panic erupted in your chest before anything had been spoken. It was this pit in the pit of your gut, churning, the fear mounting, telling you not to get your hopes up because if you were to get it up again, that would mean ripping yourself apart and rearranging everything inside.

"You have plenty of people in your life, Y/N." Father Sylus informed you. "And me, well, I don't have a home, really. Besides, not everyone likes the beach."

You could have cried. After so much stress, worry, and sorrow, you wanted to sink back into his arms and let him hold you forever. "Maybe I'm sick, Father. Maybe I'm broken beyond repair, and no one can fix that but you ."

With a sad smile, Father Sylus' thumb brushed over the tears on your cheek, and you loved how warm he was.

"No, you're not. You are coming home; that's the biggest victory you could have achieved. And just..." He cleared his throat, the emotion seeping in.

What did I do?" You asked.

"You sought to heal your crushed spirit." To calm the quivering, Father Sylus gripped your chin again to make you meet his eyes. "You did that. Not me. Not God. You did that."

"I need you." you urged, pulling on his collar.

"I know," he murmured. His dark and hooded eyes flickered down to you briefly. Those soft lips and mouth open, and that deep voice caught your name on his tongue.

"Say it." you pleaded. "You've given me the confidence, so please-" Your fingers tightened around his , begging him to stop stabbing your heart a little further until it finally broke. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he assured. His hand cupped the side of your face, long fingers sliding over the skin, tugging the ear and moving strands of hair. And then he glanced up, the light overhead piercing his orbs, and you thought you saw some tears cling to the ends of his eyelashes.

In those little touches, it was in that moment, and the kindness showed through how his thumb caressed the soft spot behind your ear. And the heat that radiated off of him, giving you every impression of being comforted. Or perhaps it was how your heart pounded erratically, sending sparks behind your eyelids. But either way, it was at that moment you realized something.

This was a test. That’s all it had been.

"I love you," Father Sylus muttered once more. Lips parted open just a bit too long until all that could be heard was the wind howling against the window as winter gradually left its mark.

It took a second, before you were forced to take a deep, slow breath, the shaking of your nerves refusing to leave. "I have to go." When Father Sylus looked at you with those beautiful crimson orbs, you smiled sadly. "I’ll miss my flight."

And he nodded, and you pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, the sudden reality washing over, taking the ease and settling the ache back into the chest where it had started.

"I heard California is nice this time of year." Father Sylus said.

"Yes," you agreed, chuckling slightly. "The waves are nice. Perfect for when you're excommunicated for sleeping with a parishioner."

"Sounds pretty spectacular."

And it did, and the thought of having him beside you through the change flushed out the pressure of anxiety and sadness . "And the view over San Francisco Bay is spectacular."

You weren't sure what made you say it, or why a sudden burst of confidence swelled. All you knew was, suddenly, with Father Sylus, there were no secrets.

Father Sylus tilted his head, regarding you curiously. He brushed a strand of hair from your face before meeting your eyes, crimson locking with your gaze. "What kind of view are we talking about?"

"Nothing like you've seen before, Sylus." He had to understand , it was an easy realization, really, "Out west, the sunrise is just..."

No lies. No secrets. For all you knew, it could be one of the last times you saw him. Did that still have the same effect, knowing neither of you was being forced away?

"Do I have a chance?" He asked, and you didn't have to think hard about the question to understand its intent.

He trusted you, but would it be enough? Would he be enough?

Would it be enough to see you smile each morning when you caught his attention, his lips quirking up into that beautiful half grin? Holding onto you when you slept, fingers woven in your hair, or feeling your body shifting against his side. Seeing you get ready for work in the bathroom, hearing the song you hummed to yourself. The kind words he would give after seeing you dance without music. Watching you grow happy each time he kissed your skin and marked you and sent shivers up and down your spine. And would those rare moments of passion that allowed you to feel his emotions, bursting from his fingertips and flowing through his mouth and radiating off of his heart, be enough for him to overcome the differences?

Was he willing to ignore the ways in which the two of you were so intrinsically flawed and simply fall in love with the parts that still bore so much trust and content, maybe even peace?

Would seeing your smile every day be enough?

You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder, the silence filling the room with a melancholy aura until you finally spoke.

"You always have a chance."

When you pulled away, there was nothing but an unsettling quietness—just the humming of the clock, the steady breaths, and the wind outside.

It wasn't exactly like you were perfect, or doing anything right. If anything, you were the one who had it the easiest because once you had opened the door, he just had to walk through it. And while it hurt to look upon the uncertainty, the truth was that you were hopeful. A piece of you had slipped through the cracks, and come back, crawling forth to reach the surface.

It wasn't blind or naïve, the hope that held you or had held you this entire time. But it was there, and so were you.

An imperfect man who had made mistakes and wasn't much different than yourself. Once upon a time, you had known, to accept the flaws, the hurt, and the people inside of them. That's all that God wanted from people at the end of the day, right?

A person. A soul. An existence.

That's all anyone could ever be.

Somehow, by the grace of God, you would allow yourself to bask in this feeling of worth, redemption, and mercy, regardless of the fact that a darker part of you would say you didn't deserve to be saved.

But love, even if it doesn't last, will have no other purpose other than what it is. And that's enough.

With one last glimpse, your hands fell into your pockets, and you took a deep, shuddering breath. Your resolve was not broken; it was accepted and resolved, and you glanced up with a confident step to the door, a prayer in your head.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

The End

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91 A/N:

If listening to author song picks gives you brain zaps, I suggest listening to these if you're a loser like me who stays to watch the credits of a movie: You knew this one was coming, right? Headphones encouraged. SYMBOLISM, my friends. The song mentioned in the chapter, but not specifically mentioned except for one line from it.

I am so incredibly grateful to have had the friends that helped me write a good majority of this. Words cannot express how *sigh* blessed I feel to have had help so my dumb brain could write properly, or word things differently, or remember how Catholicism worked. This probably wasn't the AU anyone wanted, or expected. But here we are, and this has BLOWN UP in ways I didn't expect. It even inspired ART from somebody. I can't believe it. It honestly warms my heart so much at how much attention this has gotten. I myself struggle with a lot of confidence/religious guilt/relationship issues that our MC in this story faces, so I am so happy it's touched others. I wanted this to be a lot longer, but I have ideas for more horrible fics and more horrible AU's, so I need the headspace for that. I am also working on original stuff. And all good things must come to an end. I apologize if this is a cliffhanger for a lot of people, but considering this was written from a 'reader' perspective, I didn't want to twist it too much in a certain direction. So, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to those who have read, will continue to read, and interact with me about this fic. LDS has become such an important game to me and the depth of Sylus as a character makes me want to pull my hair out and also punch him in the face (affectionately). If you enjoy my work, please let me know. Your support means the world. <3

My kofi page if you want to further support me. Never required but always appreciated!

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 40-43)

* I didn't know the lab could look so creepy...

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[drbtinglecannon]

The thing driving me so insane about Loid and Yor communicating so openly is that this is how a couple in an actual relationship would address the problems they're having

She's asking him to rely on her, saying that he doesn't need to put up appearances all the time, that she knows he's capable but she's here to help and wants to, that he doesn't need to be perfect.

They're in a fake marriage. Loid has repeatedly told her she doesn't have to do anything but be around for specific events, but Yor still genuinely took up the role of Anya's mom and has been actively working to be a good mother to her fake husband's daughter this entire time, and now she's gently pushing back on Loid about not helping him either.

They aren't in love yet, or at least aren't aware of any developing feelings, but Yor is still reaching out to Loid in a way that someone in a real committed relationship would to their partner. She doesn't need to!! She's completely in her right to not help him, to not care!! He has given her the explicit permission of it multiple times!! But she cares about him, Anya, and Bond, this little family they've created. She wants him to lean on her like she does on him

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Chapter 27 Raph POV

AKSJDHAKJSDHA REAL!!!!!

[lesbicosmos-writes]

day 5 of @deadboyween !!

day 5 prompt: family

summary: no one is coping after niko's death, especially edwin. the group are trying to get back to work as a distraction, but it's not really working. then, it gets even worse for edwin when he begins hearing niko's voice inside his head, his own subconscious filling the gap he knows is there, and it hurts.

notes: okay i've been thinking about and working on this fic for SO LONG!! i think it's gonna be 8 chapters but we'll see, i have the first 5 or so written rn, two are posted now!!

also on ao3!!

heard the voices and caught my breath, so close and yet so far from death

Chapter 1

Grief was a strange old thing.

Edwin had only known Niko for a few weeks and now, a month after her death, he still felt the pain of losing her weighing him down as though they had been friends for years. In reality, he’d been grieving her longer than they had known each other, and that was a difficult thing to come to terms with. Theoretically, ghosts could have eternity, so time and emotions didn’t quite correlate in the same way they would have if he were alive. If he were alive, of course he would still be grieving, just as Crystal was, but a few weeks were barely anything compared to how long he had existed. Niko had merely been a blip in time for him, and yet here he was, sitting at his desk preparing for a new client as a way of distracting himself from how much it hurt, from how often he saw a girl lying on the ground, eyes glazed over, blood gushing from her chest, whenever he closed his eyes.

He supposed, when you spent 16 years living in a society full of such strict expectations, where affection was so abnormal that even your own parents never hugged you; and when you spent 73 years in the worst place in existence, entirely alone aside from the creature that continuously hunted you down and tore you apart; and when you spent 34 years with the best person you’d ever met, who you would never give up for anything since you loved him far too much for that and believed there would never be anyone else who would care even half as much about you as he did…meeting someone else who also cared, who also listened, who also helped you and understood you in a way no one else ever had…of course it would hurt for a long time to lose them – no matter how fleeting your time together was.

He'd grown closer to Crystal during the time since Port Townsend. She was as close to Niko as he was, and she’d had a similarly profound effect on her and how she viewed herself and the world. He supposed it must be harder for her, in a way. Being a ghost, Edwin had become rather detached from the idea of death as an ending. Crystal may have been a psychic with full knowledge and access to the spectral realm, but he supposed it must hurt in a different way, being alive and watching someone else die to save you, and someone as kind and loving as Niko Sasaki at that.

At first, he and Crystal had yelled at each other a lot. Both of them had been on edge, their usually stiff-built emotional walls having deteriorated through the overwhelming sadness. They’d been at each other’s throats more than ever, Charles caught in the crossfire, until he eventually convinced the two of them to sit down and talk.

They had talked, and it helped. They weren’t as snappy with one another, since they knew and understood that they were going through the same thing. They bonded over their grief, Edwin even offering Crystal a hug she so clearly needed, which Edwin hadn’t realised he needed too. They had realised they’d become so emotionally vulnerable because both of them felt some sort of blame for what happened. Crystal blamed herself because the slashing spell had been directed at her before Niko jumped in front of it – she felt she should have been the one who died. Edwin felt responsible since it was him they were both trying to rescue. They talked about it, both reassuring each other it was not their fault, but that feeling, that pang of guilt at the mere thought of their friend, never really disappeared. It felt a little lighter though, a little easier.

Charles had also been suffering – of course he had. He’d begun to view Niko as the younger sister he never had and losing her had felt quite like dying all over again. But Charles being Charles put the others’ needs above his own, trying to help them through their grief while pushing his own deep down into himself until it exploded out one night and he burst into tears one night, gripping onto Edwin like he would slip away if he let go.

All three of them were broken. But they had each other. They had people who understood, and they had the Agency – because as much as Edwin hated to admit it, sometimes a distraction helped. Getting his head stuck into casework and research gave him something to focus on, which was why they continued to take on new cases despite everything.

“I’m Edwin Payne,” he introduced himself to their latest client – a middle-aged woman in a 19th century maid’s uniform. “This is Charles Rowland, and Crystal Palace. Welcome to the Dead Boy Detective Agency. How can we help you?”

“My name’s Susan Grantham. In life, I were the maid at one of the bigger houses over in Uxbridge. I did my work willingly, for the Andersons that lived there. The wife Em was a good friend o’ mine, we grew up together and had always been close. She made me the godmother of her children, so when I died in that house three months after she and her husband were killed when their train derailed, I knew I had to stick around and help however I could. But when they grew up, and all of ‘em but the oldest married off and got land of their own, I never went anywhere. Always thought someone would come for me once my job was done but they still ain’t come. So it’s just been me in that house. It’s a hotel now. Em’s great-great grandson was the last to live there, he died in the war in ’43. House was empty for years ‘til someone bought it in the ‘90s and turned it into a hotel. It’s constantly full of people now, but I’m convinced I ain’t the only thing haunting it anymore. There’s been loads of weird accidents in there, and that’s why I’ve come to you.”

“Weird accidents?” Charles repeated. “Sounds like a poltergeist, we’ve dealt with them before.”

“What kind of weird accidents is the establishment succumbing to, Ms Grantham?”

“Oh, all sorts. Knives moving on their own in the kitchens, doors knocking with no one there, and too many guests have come screaming to the front desk about floating furniture.”

“Definitely sounds like a poltergeist, right Edwin?”

“Oh my god, Edwin, this is just like that Scooby Doo episode we watched!” said Niko.

Edwin smiled for a split second, then paused. His face fell. Wait…what?

Edwin didn’t reply to Charles’s question, instead looking around desperate and confused, as if there was any possible way she could be there in the room. She wasn’t, of course. How could she be?

“Edwin, you okay?” Charles asked quietly, clearly worried.

“I thought I…never mind,” Edwin shook his head slightly, turning back to the client. “We’d be more than happy to take your case, it sounds simple enough. Now, onto payment.”

Five minutes later, the payment deal was agreed upon and Susan left them the address to Anderson House before leaving the office.

“Well, this should be a straight-forward one,” Edwin said, looking up with a small smile.

The other two weren’t smiling back. They both looked like they were trying to figure something out, as though they could read Edwin’s thoughts if they stared hard enough.

“What’s the matter with you two?” he asked, already making notes in his little book.

“What’s the matter with us? What’s the matter with you?” Crystal asked.

“Yeah, mate, what was that about?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Edwin claimed.

“You went all quiet and weird for a sec looking around like there was something there.”

“I can assure you, I am quite alright, Charles. The window merely created an interesting light pattern on the rug,” he lied.

Charles didn’t seem convinced, but he and Crystal stopped prying.

Edwin cursed himself. He’d thought about Niko non-stop since everything happened, but that was the first time he had imagined her there with them. Her voice sounded so real, like she was really there. Edwin hoped this wouldn’t become a repeating thing, he didn’t know if he’d be able to bear it if Niko’s voice was supplied by his mind but she wasn’t, couldn’t be, physically there. He already missed her enough.

He cleared his throat, shaking the thought from his mind, and got back to the case notes. This one was going to be easy.

Chapter 2

The Case of the Haunted Hotel was easy. It was the running commentary in Edwin’s mind that was not. Hearing Niko’s voice had apparently not been a one-time thing. Throughout the entire case, part of Edwin’s mental commentary had been through her. She’d provided more comparisons between the case and one of the Scooby Doo episodes they’d watched together, given several niche comments that would have sounded incredibly strange in any other voice, and had helped with the case itself, reminding Edwin that Charles had put the one item they really needed in the bag of tricks a few hours beforehand. And it didn’t even stop after that case; it continued for a few weeks, and as Edwin grew somewhat more accustomed to the apparent second consciousness in his mind, he started to enjoy it – it was a comfort that he could still feel her helping them, like it was all four of them on a case together instead of three of them and a painful space.

He only enjoyed it as it was happening, though. When the cases were closed and they returned to the office, he sat down and thought back on the idea, and then it was much more of another hurt than a comfort. When he had most of his focus directed onto a case, it was nice to have her back in a strange subconscious way, but when he was alone with his thoughts once more, the little voice in his head gave him little more than overwhelming grief. Because no matter how hard he tried to pretend that voice was real, he knew it could never be. Niko was dead, and despite the fact Edwin himself was too, he knew this one was forever. They’d left her lying on the floor of Esther Finch’s living room for Death to collect, not even waiting to see her rise as a ghost before they fled, as they had so many times since 1989. By now she’d be settled into her afterlife, no doubt in the paradise she deserved, perhaps reunited with her father, while Edwin was still on Earth. Even if he’d wanted to go with Death in the hopes of joining her, he knew he wouldn’t. He may have filled in the forms that meant Hell was no longer looking for him, but that was still his afterlife – that damn demon had made sure of that. His choices were eternal damnation in Hell or potential eternal grief on Earth, and the answer to that didn’t even beg questioning. He’d just have to learn to exist in her absence, even if he did have her sweet happy voice echoing in his mind now.

Several cases later – some of these ones much more complex than the poltergeist of Anderson House – the group needed a break. Even before they had any living members of the agency, Edwin and Charles used to have a rest day every once in a while, just to do something other than work for once, whether it be binge-playing Cluedo, Edwin teaching Charles fencing, or the two doing separate things, Edwin visiting the many museums around London and Charles exercising his ghostly privileges by going to all the concerts he wants. These rest days had become more common with Crystal around, since she actually got tired, and they’d found a whole host of things they enjoy doing as a group.

Tonight, they’d been to the theatre. There’d been a musical on in the West End that Crystal had desperately wanted to see, and while Charles and Edwin had never really had an interest in musicals, they’d agreed to go along with her. Edwin found he rather enjoyed it actually, and had been mentally replying to everything Mind-Niko was saying as they watched.

It was growing dark when they left the theatre, so Charles and Edwin walked Crystal back to her new flat on their way home. Charles and Crystal were walking slightly ahead of Edwin, whose gaze flicked between the two of them. He didn’t know if anything else had happened between them since their goodbye kiss in Port Townsend – Charles certainly hadn’t mentioned anything, but Edwin worried he wouldn’t tell him if anything had, likely out of fear of hurting his feelings since his own confession. Charles had a knack for leaving out information that might cause Edwin distress. Part of Edwin wanted to see their lack of anything official as a sign of hope that maybe, just maybe Charles could start to feel the same way he did. The larger part of Edwin, however, only wanted Charles to be happy, and if that came from him being with Crystal, then Edwin would be wholeheartedly supportive – he’d even tried to convince him to talk to her about it before she intended to leave Port Townsend. And it was clear there was still something there between them, whether they were acting on it or not. They walked down the street together, not quite touching or holding hands, but as close as seemed physically possible without either of those things happening. Charles was wearing his usual long black jacket and slacks, whereas Crystal had dressed up a bit, wearing a loose-fitting lavender trouser suit with one of her many floral designed mesh tops underneath, the pinkish-purple matching her eyeliner.

“She looks so pretty,” the Niko in Edwin’s mind supplied, and he supposed she was right.

He may not have been interested in girls that way, but he could still admit that Crystal was beautiful. He could hardly blame Charles for developing feelings almost immediately, she was exactly the kind of girl who usually caught his best friend’s eye. Only Crystal wasn’t one of those girls Charles would see in the street gossiping with their friends, having never seen a ghost in her life and likely never believing in them if you asked. Crystal was psychic, and brilliant and messy and beautiful. Edwin may have spent a lot of time in petty arguments with her, but beneath that he truly cared for her, and she’d become a close friend. He admired her strength after everything she’d been through. Once David was dealt with and Edwin could stop stressing so much about having a hellish being so close to the agency, so close to him, he really started to see how much he had affected her. Having your memories stolen from you only to get them back and discover you did horrible things in the past…that must have been horrible. Yet here she was, a fully-fledged part of the Dead Boy Detective Agency despite being neither dead nor a boy, and she was one of the best people Edwin knew. His thoughts about Crystal were soon interrupted by a different thought, this one taking on a different, more feminine voice than his own inner monologue.

“You know, I never told you, but I have such a crush on her.”

That stopped Edwin in his tracks. What? What was wrong with him? Had his mind really invented a story about Niko liking Crystal in some sick attempt to quell the jealousy he couldn’t help but feel towards her and Charles? Was he really that petty? He thought he’d been handling Charles’s rejection well, he’d never felt more than a slight twinge in his chest whenever he saw the two of them together. He was perfectly fine with the fact Charles didn’t feel the same way – he had never quite expected him to in the first place – wasn’t he? Evidently, his subconscious disagreed. He felt horrible, as though he’d done something so wrong, not only disrespecting Charles and Crystal but Niko too.

“Mate, what’s wrong?” Charles asked, having noticed Edwin had stopped and gone back for him.

“Nothing,” Edwin replied sharply.

“Are you sure-”

“I said I’m fine, Charles.”

He hadn’t intended to sound quite so cold and snappy, and immediately regretted it. Before Charles could say anything else, he marched ahead, passing Crystal without even looking at her. He knew Charles was just worried. He had been giving him a look for a few weeks whenever he thought his back was turned, and Edwin felt terrible for making him so concerned. But he couldn’t tell him. What was he supposed to say? Oh, my apologies Charles, it’s just that my mind has somehow been conjuring up the voice of our dead friend for nearly a month, and I’m not handling it too well. Charles told him he could tell him anything, but he had already burdened him with the knowledge of his feelings, he didn’t want to give him something else to deal with. Edwin had survived Hell for seventy years, surely he could handle his own mind by now.

“Edwin, calm down,” he heard the imaginary voice of Niko say, and she was doing nothing to help the situation.

“Stop,” Edwin replied aloud.

He tried to keep the tears at bay as he walked on, unable to quite make out exactly what Charles and Crystal were muttering about behind him.

[lexosaurus]

So I'm updating Everything Was White next week and I just wanted to say that I actually wrote the bulk of the upcoming chapter 2 years ago, and have been just slowly tweaking it ever since (and then wrote the other scenes last month).

I'm super excited though to and the reason for this is that Danny is going in public.

“Hey! Tim, what the hell?” One of the men jumped out of the way. The voices in the room hushed. Immediately, Danny was aware that every eye was on him. Yeah… “Whoa, is that—” Someone muted the music. “That’s the Phantom kid!”

[banana-cheese-cake]

Freak Show - Chapter 1

Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 23, 2077

A crisp autumn breeze blew through the quaint Massachusetts neighborhood, rustling fallen leaves and swaying plastic Halloween decor as it went. Children’s laughter filled the air as last minute decorations were lovingly placed, small faces beaming with excitement as the sweets centered holiday inched ever closer. Shining silver in the early morning sun, the pip-boy cuff adorning your left arm was a stark contrast to the funeral wear that made up your day's attire. A soft nudge against your right shoulder brought you back to the present, back to this new reality, back to a world without her in it. Turning to look at the familiar face beside you, the face you'd seen everyday since birth, you came to a realization. Everyone else's worlds would keep spinning, would continue onward as if the chasm that now consumed you didn't affect them, because it didn’t, this grief was to devour you and leave the rest of the planet be. 

“Hey, talk to me, Sis, what's goin’ on in that head of yours?” 

Her voice altered your realization ever so slightly, it wouldn't affect just you, because it's never been just you. A twin is another part of you, and yours would shoulder this grief as well, her world stopped with yours. Looking into her dark, nearly black eyes, a weight was lifted off of you. You would never be alone, not in grief or joy or terror. She would always be there for you, as she's always been. A sad smile tugged at your lips as you finally spoke, “I miss her, Lottie.”

Lottie. She always insisted everyone call her that, “Charlotte is too formal, Lottie is perfect,” she’d say, and you didn't agree, but always told her you did just to see the triumphant smile that lit up her face. Charlotte was a beautiful name, and it suited her perfectly, but then again- everything suited her. She radiated confidence and oozed self-assurance, everything suited her and her name was no exception. Though today, grief clouded her usually confident demeanor; her voice was soft as she said, “I do too, but the funeral is over. Now… Now we just have to try to pick up the pieces of our life, find a way to keep going without her.”

Find a way to keep going. That felt about as easy as trying to bottle up the ocean, but with Lottie by your side you might actually be able to do it; to reach some semblance of normal again. As you walked side-by-side you tried to take in the view, the street you grew up on had hardly changed in the years since you and your sister had moved to California to pursue higher positions in Vault-Tec. The little houses stayed mostly the same, new coats of paint adorning some and freshly planted trees decorated the yards of others, but they were filled with people neither of you recognized. You wondered if your mother had gotten to know any of them in the years you'd been away, but then again, if she'd become close with any of them then surely they'd have shown up to her funeral.

Your mother's funeral had been eerily quiet, only you and Lottie in attendance, staring numbly at a small urn that seemed like it couldn't possibly contain all that was left of her. A woman as head-strong and confident as her, a woman who commanded attention and respect, a woman who was now mere ashes in a jar. She was the reason you were so successful, the reason you had the confidence to speak your mind and reach for goals you never thought obtainable. In her early life, she had been a single mother raising twin girls while working as a receptionist for Vault-Tec. After your father had left her, she decided to prove to herself, to her girls, and to the world that she could do it all alone and didn't need a man to get her there. 

Clawing and fighting her way up in her career, she eventually made her way to the top ranks of Vault-Tec, getting high-paying jobs for you and your twin, and securing the three of you a spot in Vault 4 located in California; a vault fully operated by scientists like you and Lottie. Lottie preferred physics, and you biology, but your mother had insisted you both focused your studies on radiology, no matter how much you protested against it in favor of focusing on your passions. But Mother was never one to lose an argument, always saying, “I'm paying for your schooling, I choose what you major in, end of discussion.” So here you were years later with a masters degree in radiology, a dead mom, and not a shred of passion for your job. Lottie, on the other hand, found herself falling in love with the life your mother had chosen for her and flourishing in her career. You envied how she could adapt to any environment she was thrown into, not unlike a weed sprouting through cracks in concrete, finding a way to not only survive but thrive.

After the funeral, during the walk back to your childhood home where your mother had spent her final days, you were stopped by two strange men in suits. Their serious faces made you stop in your tracks, both intrigued by these men and deeply suspicious of them, something about them put you on edge. After quickly flashing their Vault-Tec badges, they merely handed you and Lottie each a holotape with your names on them, an invitation to Vault 111 for later this afternoon, and then walked away, ignoring the questions you both threw at their backs. The small tape held in your hands had your name on it, written in your mother's handwriting, and a message taped to the back that read: “My final message to you. -Mom.” 

Neither of you listened to your messages, instead choosing to sit in your mother's dining room until it was time to head to Vault 111, wondering why you were invited to visit it today of all days. As the time passed in comfortable silence, you took in the state of the house you grew up in. The coroner had determined that your mother had been struggling with this cancer for months before losing her battle earlier this week, though you hadn't believed it until entering the house. Mold covered dishes were stacked all over the kitchen, even more shoved into the small sink. Over a dozen bags of rotting trash were leaned against the back door, it seemed she had been too weak to drag them any further than that. This house that once had been so beautiful, beaming with life, had silently fallen into disarray the further along your mother's illness progressed. You tried not to think of her final days in this house, how she must have suffered, how awful it must have been for her to die alone surrounded by the rotting remains of her once lovely home. As tears filled your eyes, you felt Lottie grab your hand before she spoke, “Let's head out a bit early, I think Vault 111 could be a good change of scenery for us, what do you say?” 

You squeezed her hand and looked up at her through watery eyes, “Yeah,” you mumbled, “I think you might be right.” Walking out the door and down the overgrown driveway, you looked back at your old home fondly, trying desperately to fill your mind with memories of joy-filled evenings laughing with Lottie or winters spent cuddled with your mother by the fireplace. Every time you tried though, your mind was filled with the image of her at the morgue, of her pale lifeless corpse on a metal table. No matter how many attempts you made, these images kept flashing through your mind. So instead, you looked away from that house, staring desperately ahead trying to find something, anything to focus on that didn't remind you of what you'd lost. Looking down the street, attention drawn to the clear blue sky above, you did end up finding something else to focus on: a mushroom shaped cloud far, far in the distance, followed by the sound of sirens blaring and glass shattering all around you. 

. 

.

.

Sharp, blinding pain burst across the side of your face as glass tore your skin, the shockwave knocking you and Lottie to the ground. Knees and palms burning as the rough asphalt tore through the dark fabric of your pants and shredded the soft skin underneath. Ignoring the hot liquid pouring down your face and blurring the vision in your right eye, you frantically reached for the crumpled form of your sister. She was dazed, but had no visible injuries besides a few scrapes on her hands and knees that matched your own. 

“Hey, hey,” you snapped your fingers in front of Lottie's eyes, drawing her unfocused eyes to yours, “we need to run, Lottie, can you do that?”

No words escaped her, just a swift nod of her head as she grabbed your hand and stood on shaking legs. There was no time to let her adjust, screaming families were flooding the previously quiet street, all running towards the same place: Vault 111. You tightened your grip on Lottie's hand, letting the flash of pain across your palm ground you, then began to run. Dozens of panicking people were blocking the street, you would have to take a different route if you wanted to make it in time. There was no guarantee you would be let into the vault, no guarantee you'd even make it to the gate before the next bomb dropped, but you had to try.

“Our shortcut, through the woods. C'mon.” Your sister's voice sounded far away as she tugged at your hand and pulled you to the trees behind the now windowless house you'd just exited, towards the shortcut you two always took to the park after school.

Vault-Tec had bought the park a few years back, stating it was the perfect place for their newest vault, given how close it was to the neighborhoods full of potential customers. At the time, you had grieved the loss of your favorite childhood playplace and cursed your employer for destroying a beautiful thing in the name of profit. Now, however, as you sprinted down the familiar hidden path to the park, you thanked whatever god would listen that Vault-Tec was so greedy. Their greed meant your salvation, your only chance of surviving the end of the world. 

Bursting through the overgrown bushes that marked the end of the trail, the towering chain link fence and armed guards at the entrance to the vault let you know you'd made it. There were a dozen people at the gate, some screaming at guards, others on the ground, tears streaming down their faces as they begged them to let their children in. You couldn't think of them now, you had to think about Charlotte, about yourself, you needed to try to get into this vault. Pushing through the crowd, you made your way to the guards blocking the gate. 

“Excuse me, please, you have to let us in, we work for Vault-Tec we-,” your voice was cut off by the guard. 

“Doesn’t matter who you are if you aren't on the list.” He didn't even look at you as he spoke.

“Well then check the fucking list.” Your voice was harsh as you gave him your names, harsher than you had ever heard yourself speak. 

“And we have this,” Lottie's voice was firm even as her hand shook, a hand holding up the invitation you had received earlier that day. 

“Shit.” The guard cursed as he ripped the invitation out of her hand, showing it to the other man who stood watch beside him. 

The other guard didn't speak as he waved for the gate to be opened and raised his gun, pointing it at the crowd around you, a silent warning to anyone who might try to rush in. He nodded at you and Lottie, signaling you to go inside, a new guard waiting to escort you to the vault entrance. You wasted no time, dragging your sister with you as you ran through the gate and towards the concrete vault door. As the gate rolled shut behind you, you heard a man let out a roar as he rushed forward, followed by three gunshots and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Lottie gasped beside you and covered her mouth with her free hand. Keeping your eyes forward, even as your whole body shook, you kept pressing on until you were standing on a platform with six other people, some being neighbors you had seen decorating with their children earlier this morning. 

“These are the last of ‘em, send it down.” A gruff voice yelled from behind you, just as you saw another mushroom cloud forming in the distance, much closer than the last. 

The platform you stood on shook as you were sent down into the vault, still clutching your twin's hand in yours, looking at her terrified face now streaming with tears of relief. “We made it,” she whispered as she squeezed your hand, “we actually made it.”

You tried to smile at her, but the act made you wince with pain, the gash across your face making its presence known again now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It didn't matter though, as you reached the bottom of Vault 111 and were met with the smiling faces of the Vault-tec employees, you finally felt safe. Two-hundred feet beneath the surface and surrounded by individuals like yourself who had been trained for this very event, you were in the safest place on the planet. 

“Welcome to Vault 111,” a cheerful young woman in a lab coat said as she helped you off the platform, “please head this way to change into your vault suit.”

You, Lottie, and three other women were ushered toward some changing rooms. While there, you were relieved to finally be out of your funeral clothes, which were now ripped and covered in dirt and your own blood, and into the blue and yellow vault suit provided to all vault residents. The familiar company colors brought a sense of normality, the colors you'd seen nearly everyday you went to work for the last few years. As you exited the changing room, the same woman led you and the others to rows and rows of strange pods. Each pod resembled a glass coffin, standing upright and attached to complex machines you didn't recognize, but Lottie did. 

“What's going on here?” Lottie's voice was commanding, full of suspicion, as she demanded an answer from the scientists surrounding us. 

“These are just your sleeping chambers, there's nothing to worry-,” the woman was cut off by your twin. 

“These are cryosleep pods, so what the fuck is actually going on here?” You froze at these words, cryosleep? That wasn't right, these vaults were made for people to live in until the radiation levels above were safe enough for everyone to return to the surface. Cryosleep pods hadn't even been tested yet, this didn't make any sense, this had to be some sort of misunderstanding. 

“I see,” the scientist mumbled before turning to two guards you hadn’t noticed before, “get her into her pod, please. We don't have time for distractions.”

The guards grabbed Lottie by her arms and lifted her towards the pod, all while she kicked and screamed at them to let her go. As you rushed forward, begging them to just let her go, they closed her into a pod and activated it. You watched her scream and bang on the glass until she finally froze, her terrified expression frozen to her face. Then, the guards turned to you, grabbing you the same way, dragging you to the pod across from Lottie's. You and Lottie were twins, but you were far from identical, she believed people deserved kindness, no matter how they treated you or others. She had fought those guards, but she only fought to be free, to get away, not to hurt them, so they expected the same from you. You, however, always fought to hurt, to get revenge on those who had wronged you. So when they grabbed your arms and started to drag you to the pods, you leaned back and bit at anything you could reach.

You latched your teeth on one guard's Adam's apple and bit down as hard as you could, twisted your head to the side and pulled back, your mouth filling with the copper taste of blood. He let go of you, reaching for his bleeding throat as you punched the other guard and ran. You made it to the platform you'd arrived on before the guard you'd hit grabbed at you again; you kicked and screamed, scratched and bit, but it was no use. He had a job to do and though he'd much rather kill you and move onto the next vault dweller, he had strict orders and an injured, if not dead, coworker to attend to. Your head smacked against the cushioned headrest of the cryopod as he threw you in and sealed the glass door, your fists banged so hard on the glass you felt like your bones would crack. Frozen air filled the chamber around you, causing you to panic even more, your screams reaching a new octave as your banging slowed down, your limbs becoming frozen and sluggish. The last thing you saw as you were forced into cryosleep was your sister's terrified frozen face across from you. 

.

.

.

Blurry, dark shapes moved in front of you, your limbs feeling sluggish and your mind a thousand miles away. Memories came rushing back to you as your vision focused, your mother’s funeral, bombs dropping, Lottie being forced into a cryopod, the taste of blood. Panic flooded your veins, eyes frantically searching for a way out, but they quickly came to a halt as you realized what the blurred shapes were. People. There were two people in the vault, two people who weren't put into a prolonged sleep, two people who were opening your sister's cryopod. 

“Hey! Hey, what the fuck are you doing? Let me out of here!” You screamed as loud as you could, but they paid you no mind.

Lottie woke up, and you were flooded with relief; she was alive, she was free. As she groggily took in her surroundings, one of the individuals in front of her reached forward and injected something into her neck, causing her to lose consciousness. Staring in horror, you watched as the one who injected her simply picked her up and started carrying her towards the vault's exit, leaving you and everyone else behind. 

“Where are you taking her? Let her go! Listen to me, assholes!” Your voice became shrill and frantic, but the remaining stranger turned to you.

As you took in his face, you cataloged every single detail you could see. He was a bald man with a scar going down from his forehead, through his eye, and down the left side of his face. The clothes he wore were strange and dirty, like nothing you had ever seen. “At least we have the backup if that twin doesn't work out,” he said over his shoulder to the person carrying your sister.

As he reached for the controls to your pod, you slammed your fist against the glass, bringing his gaze to yours. “I don't know who you are, but I promise you, I will be the one to kill you. I'm going to get my sister back, there is nothing in this world that will keep me from her.” Your voice was even, laced with venom as you hurled your threats at this man.

He laughed then, laughed, before he said “I'd love to see you try,” and reactivated your cryosleep pod. 

Watching him and his partner walk away with your unconscious sister, you imagined how you'd kill him, how his blood would look gushing out of his throat, how you'd relish in watching the light leave his eyes. As cryosleep forcefully dragged you back into a dreamless sleep, you took solace in knowing his death would be by your hand. 

[zaynes-left-chesticle]

Anyone else thinking back to the finale of the last story and wondering.... did any of the boys have THIS ↓

on their bingo card?

[chaosduckies]

So remember that minecraft g/t fic I was writing? Well it’s done. Um. I don’t really know what to do with it honestly.

If you want to read it just know that it’s a cursed giant trope. So um, do what you will with that :D

[chocolatecake47]

wow the second chapter of my little grief fic is finally here 😭

beta-read by the lovely @a-very-sparkly-nerd 😘, I couldn't do this without her!

"I've been holding on to hope that you'll come back when you can find some peace" ~

Callum’s grief was like the moon, altering forth in phases.

The grief was the poetry that rang in his ears, and the air that filled his lungs. Every encumbered breath that reminded him of the life he still had even though so many, more deserving souls, no longer did.

The grief was the premature drop of his stomach when he first witnessed the agonized expression on his father’s face. His very last shuddering, gasping breath, one his mom had told him to look away for, to leave the room, but the way he curled into his mom’s soft, warm chest and apologized because he never could again was impossible to tear his watering eyes away from. Those first wails of gut-wrenching agony that were shaped like a knife, a double-ended sword, sharp and pointed enough to wedge itself between the gaping wounds and tear viciously.

“Callum, I want to talk to you about life.” Flickering forward in the hushed way his mother would rub his back and remind him to “breathe, just breathe Callum,” and the way he would hold her legs and how she would spin him around when the corners of this new castle were too vast and intimidating. The craters running its length down the silvery fragment representing the delicate climb of his little fingers when he would braid her hair while she told him stories of the strongest man she ever knew. The strongest man Callum would never truly have the pleasure of knowing, and later asked him to promise her through breathless gasps and beaming smiles that he would protect, protect, protect, “Take care of your brother.” The fragility of life, running his fingers through nature’s stillness and soaking its grace into his skin, inhaling the beauty until it was tattooed in his lungs, pulsing like the heart that was too big for his body, in his ribcage.

The grief was the few fragile memories he had from the days with her that felt like a whole lifetime instead of mere weeks, that wicked trick of time that didn’t heal him, reinforcing the serenity she had brought him under her lighthearted teasing and the heartbreak she had caused under her moonlit illusions. His longing built from the shattered remnants of her presence, her luminous essence. As long as she was away, as long as he wasn’t near enough to sprinkle stardust in her milky hair and cast gleams on her blood-drenched scars, kiss her illumination until she understood, “I know that, and you should too”, he was only half. Reaching aimlessly, crying out for the moiety that was no longer there, that had wrenched itself away under the guise of heroism and death “I love you Rayla. I really really do”. Rejected him in the end and left him with fear and grief, like they all had, even though he would ruin his very core and spirit for her a million little times.

The grief was his panicked cry of mourning, the stricken shriek of “Dad!”, almost complete, almost heard, almost there, just like the relationship with the man his heart promised as his dad. Never quite as futile as he once tricked himself to believe but also never quite fully reassured of the last little fragment that was missing, even though the virtual emotion behind it was the same. He could still remember the shape of his smile, that he had winced under the pressure of once upon a time, the sound of his laugh as it rumbled in his chest, the closeness of it fresh in his mind from those few nights he had been carried to bed, flustered and blushing, but loved. Undeniably cherished

The grief was the facade he put on, “you doing okay?”, the aimless show of ravaged resilience, even though the moon never set, the tainted reminiscence of all he had lost never sincerely vanished. It lurked instead, hid shamelessly in the guilt of the burden that now hung on young shoulders, but was keen enough to camouflage against the pale sky and conceal behind the clouds. But the moon revolves around the world, so he would try to swallow it down and revolve around his world, “you mean everything to me”. Give more parts of himself to those starry blue eyes, breezy laughter, and beautiful shining smile, until there was nothing left in his barren soul to give, the same way the moon bestowed everything to the sky until it was hollow and dark. Millions of instances all throughout his childhood where he had rushed to care for him, to carry him up, and would do again in a single heartbeat, shimmering the last of his courage during the coldest and loneliness of nights until it was purposed for him, the way the moon projected onto the world, but it still wasn’t enough, he still wasn’t good enough for the only child he would spill his own blood for without hesitation.

Sometimes he was sure that half his mother’s lost soul had been given to Ezran and half had been given a new home in Rayla. And so he couldn’t give up, no matter how heavy it got, not when even a fraction of her could still be there, in the people he loved. So he yearned and ached and fought, fought against the overpowering grief, so that one day, maybe, just maybe, he would be as beautifully radiant as the moon.

[thatsitso]

I just caught up with the manga and found out it's about to end 😭??? I'll miss them 💔

[liiacfleur]

ahhh i'm so happy to finally get to write max's pov

[miabebe]

I'M COMBUSTING???? Can I be added to the tag list? I'm crying over here... Do you have a schedule or everything is done at your pace?

I love you... is that too straightforward? Uhm...... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAA anyway brain dump aside, PROUD OF U HOSHI FOR REALIZING U DESERVE MORE HAHAHA CHEOL IMMA SMACK SOME SENSE INTO YOU!

Okay now for real, your writing is SOOOOOO good that I couldn't put my phone down and my brain stopped working after ending the last chapter because I didn't have anything to read after it.

Idk what else to write so that's it for now.... again ILY !!!!!!

Yess for sure, I will add you to the taglist! (I'm assuming you're referring to camp seventeen? Or do you want to be tagged in anything else too? lmk!) I don't have a schedule unfortunately since I am studying and working :( But I usually put up a fic every 2 to 3 weeks? My pieces are always 10 to 15k so they take timeee

ahahhaha if my work leads to a profession of love, nothing makes me more happyyy ❤️ thank you for reading and sending this ask, I'm so excited for you to read future parts!

[nyxypoo]

what

[sugarpasteltmnt]

I love your fic so much

⚠️Chapter 21 Spoilers!⚠️

ehehehehehe thank you so much!!! 🩵💕‼️‼️‼️ poor boys is in for. A Time.

[binarybitex]

ah.... I thought I had chapter 10 all figured out. seems I need to do a bit more reworking. I came up with some really excellent ideas tonight and it feels as though it will be a lot smoother, wayyy less clunky and awkward and transactional.

but that also means some major reworking to what I've written the past two weeks.......... aaaughh this craft can be so painfully slow sometimes. why can't my first draft just be perfect !!!

anyways lmao.... I genuinely can't think of anything more to say that won't reveal whats gonna happen !!! with that being said, boss babysitter will be out soon I promise. I think I'm gonna give it one more read over, prick and prune a few more things, and then get it released this month.

eeee just can't wait to see how it's all gonna play ouuuut 💕