#the hope is wavering but somehow persists

[cure-rosie]

Satoru in the latest episode explicitly being frustrated with his place on the sidelines and wishing he could do more... we LOVE to see it, if only from a character standpoint and not a bunny duo truther standpoint. On that note...

Why does it feel like they're still setting them up as Cures? Especially with the whole "all I can do is watch" line, and Daifuku inspiring him to not give up like- we got the freaking power ups this episode it's a wee bit late boys.

Is this gonna be another Cure Pekorin situation? Gosh I hope so. Eleventh Hour Cures are so underrated, given that there's so few of them. I wanted them to be solidly mid-season, but if we're going an eleventh hour/interesting arc direction I would not be mad.

[deansbeer]

★ in his arms, the world fades // clark kent.

synopsis. feeling unwell and overwhelmed, you seek comfort in clark's arms. his warmth, soothing touch, and sweet words make the ache in your stomach—and your heart—feel bearable.

warning(s). fluff | comfort | f!reader | s1!clark | reader feels unwell stomach aches | nausea | difficulty eating | mild angst | distressing moments | academic stress | brief mentions of exams | studying | cuddling | kisses | superman references.

kari yaps. last night, i had horrible stomach pains and wrote this <333 + a lil disclaimer! i'm on ep 5 of smallville (the ads on hulu r mad annoying) so i only know a little about clark. but don't worry i will get to know all ab pookie soon !!! trust <33

it starts with the ache. sharp and twisting, like someone's wringing your stomach out like a wet rag. it's been days now—days of barely keeping food down, of your appetite wavering between nothing and everything, only for nausea to win every time. eating has become a battle, and losing feels inevitable. but you haven't told anyone, not really. maybe it's pride. maybe it's not wanting to worry anyone. maybe you're just hoping it'll go away on its own.

still, it lingers, and today's no different. you pull up to the kent farm, the gravel crunching under your tires, the sight of the red barn and yellow farmhouse somehow grounding you. you're supposed to be here to study. algebra—not exactly something you're excited about, but clark's always been good at making the hard stuff easier. it's one of the many things you love about him: his patience, his steadiness, the way he seems to know when you need a little extra reassurance. and maybe you need that today more than ever.

"hey, pretty girl," clark greets you at the door, his smile soft and familiar, like it's meant just for you. "you okay? you look…" he trails off, squinting at you in that way he does when he's trying to figure you out. "…tired."

you force a smile, shrugging it off. "just didn't sleep much last night."

it's not a lie, exactly. the ache had kept you up most of the night, twisting and turning beneath the covers, unable to find a position that didn't make it worse. but clark doesn't need to know that. not right now.

he nods, stepping aside to let you in. "i made us some lemonade," he says as you follow him up the stairs to his room. "my mom said it's good for focus or something. i don't know, but it tastes good."

you hum in response, though the thought of drinking anything right now makes your stomach churn. you'll figure out a way to avoid it later.

when you get to his room, it's the same as always—neat but lived-in, the bed made but the desk cluttered with papers and books, a small stack of cds next to his stereo. it smells faintly of pine and something distinctly clark, like sun-warmed hay and fresh laundry. it's comforting in a way you didn't realize you needed.

you settle on the floor with him, textbooks and notebooks spread out between you. he's already flipping through his algebra book, pen tapping idly against his knee as he scans the pages.

"okay," he says, glancing at you with a smile. "where should we start? graphing inequalities or quadratic equations?"

you groan, letting your head fall back against the bed. "do we have to start?"

he chuckles. "the exam's next week. i don't think mr. phillips is gonna let us wing it."

"worth a shot," you mutter, but you sit up anyway, flipping open your notebook to a blank page. you try to focus, really, but the ache is still there, dull and persistent, and it's hard to think about numbers and graphs when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.

half an hour in, you're staring at your notebook, pen tapping against the paper. clark's voice is distant as he explains something about parabolas, the words blurring together in your head. you're not even sure when you stopped listening. all you know is that your chest feels tight, your stomach twists again, and suddenly, you just can't anymore.

"hey," clark says, his voice soft with concern. "what's wrong?"

you don't answer, don't even look at him. instead, you set your notebook aside, shifting closer to him until you're wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of it. his skin is warm against your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering there. you don't say anything, and neither does he, not at first. he just sits there, still and quiet, letting you hold on like he's been expecting this all along.

then, slowly, he moves. his arms come around you, strong and steady, and he shifts your things aside before effortlessly pulling you up with him onto the bed. his back hits the mattress, and you're lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest. his hands find your back, warm and soothing as they rub up and down in slow, gentle strokes.

you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. his touch is enough to warm you, enough to quiet the ache in your stomach, at least for now. you don't know how he does it—how he makes everything feel a little less heavy just by being there.

your hands move to rest on his collarbone, fingers brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt. the side of your head presses against his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

he doesn't say anything at first, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to calm you down. but then he starts murmuring soft, sweet things in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

"you're okay," he says, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "whatever it is, you're okay. i've got you."

his hand moves to rest on the side of your head, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hair. he presses another kiss to your temple, then another, each one softer than the last.

"you don't have to say anything," he whispers. "just let me hold you."

and you do. you let yourself relax against him, let yourself melt into his warmth. his chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and strong, and you match your breathing to his without even realizing it. the ache in your stomach is still there, but it feels distant now, muted by the way his hands move against your back, by the way his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

"you know," he starts after a while, his voice still soft, "i'm not great at algebra either. but i'm pretty sure lying here with you is a way better use of my time."

you let out a quiet laugh, your breath fanning against his chest. "you're supposed to be the responsible one."

"yeah, well," he murmurs, his fingers threading through your hair, "even superheroes need a break sometimes."

you tilt your head to look up at him, catching the small smile playing on his lips. "superhero, huh?"

"what? you didn't know?" his grin widens, teasing. "i'm kind of a big deal."

you roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "you're ridiculous."

"maybe," he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "but i made you laugh, didn't i?"

you hum in response, letting your head fall back against his chest. the silence that follows is comfortable, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. his hand moves back to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns against your spine.

"i mean it, though," he says after a while, his voice quieter now. "whatever's going on, you don't have to go through it alone. you can tell me."

"i know," you whisper, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "i just… i don't know. i've been feeling off lately. stomach stuff. it's probably nothing."

he frowns, his hand pausing mid-stroke. "how long?"

"a few days," you admit. "it's not a big deal. it'll pass."

"you don't know that," he says gently. "have you eaten today?"

you hesitate, and that's enough of an answer for him. he sighs, his hand resuming its slow movements against your back.

"you're stubborn, you know that?" he murmurs, but there's no heat behind it. just concern, soft and steady, like everything else about him.

"takes one to know one," you shoot back, your voice muffled against his chest.

he chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath you. "fair enough. but promise me you'll let me know if it gets worse, okay?"

"okay," you say, and you mean it. because if anyone can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, it's clark.

you stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. the algebra books are forgotten, but neither of you seems to care. right now, this is enough. he's enough.

and for the first time in days, the ache in your stomach feels bearable.

⎯⎯ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @st4rfckerz @jasvtsc . . . ୨୧

[redvexillum]

Y/N: Alastor? Do you believe in redemption?

Alastor: [He grins maniacally] Hah! Redemption? Oh, my dear, I don't believe in fairy tales!

Y/N: Well, maybe if you try really hard, you could be redeemed!

Alastor: [He tries, very poorly, to stifle his laughter, but it bursts out] Redeemed? Me? Oh, that's precious! Truly a riot!

Y/N: I'm serious!

Alastor: [His grin stretches unnervingly wide before he finally breaks into a full-on, maniacal laugh] Oh my heavens, you're killing me! Redemption—for me! Ha!

Y/N: ...Ala—

Alastor interrupts you by throwing his head back, howling with laughter like a lunatic, voice echoing off the walls. After a solid minute of ear-splitting, manic laughter, he dramatically gasps for air, as if it were all part of some grand performance.

Y/N: ...Are you done?

Alastor: [Doubling over in exaggerated bows, clutching his sides like he's about to split in two, he manages to laugh even harder]

Y/N: Alastor!

Alastor: [Finally catching his breath] Oh my, I haven't laughed this hard since—oh, when was it? Ah, yes! Last Tuesday! Remember? When you oh-so-gracefully tumbled down the stairs? [He grins even wider, eyes glinting with malicious glee]

Y/N: [Crossing your arms, pouting] You're such a jerk.

Alastor: And you think I can be redeemed? [He cackles] Darling, that’s the funniest joke of the century!

Y/N: Actually... no, probably not. But I do believe you could be a better person.

Alastor: [Eyes lighting up with mock surprise] A better person? Me? Oh, you poor naïve soul, I’m the best at being the worst—and that’s just the way I like it!

Y/N: Well, you won't know unless you try! What if you like it? B-being a better person that is?

Alastor: Ohhh, you're so hopelessly idealistic, and it's an absolute delight! I can't wait to see all your efforts to make me into a better person inevitably crash and burn! [Coos as he pinches your cheek, voice dripping with fake sweetness]

Y/N: Ugh! You'll see! [In a defiant move, you stomp your foot, but the sound is barely audible, only making Alastor grin even wider] One day, I hope you become super happy and are surrounded by all your loved ones!

Husk: Was that... supposed to be a threat?

Angel Dust: Nah, just another Monday for them.

Though Alastor won’t admit it, there’s a twisted sense of amusement he finds in your unyielding optimism. It’s a peculiar kind of charm that is almost...endearing.

He relishes the thought of watching you stumble through your futile attempts to redeem him - or rather, make him into this supposed "better" person. The idea of seeing you falter, your hopeful efforts turning into spectacular failures, is something he eagerly waits for. He looks forward to the day when he can gleefully rub your face in your failures, basking in the irony of your relentless pursuit.

Yet, as the years pass, you never waver. You persist with an astonishing, almost maddening consistency. Your refusal to give up on him is confounding to say the least.

And now...you somehow became a permanent fixture in his life.

How irritating. How curious. How...interesting.

Follow Vexi's Alastor Being a Lil Shit for all the latest updates!

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 5: Bridging the distance

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!LoganWarning: none. Just fluff, but the slow burn is starting to burn a little faster.

Word count: 7.3k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting warm hues over the cottage as Evelyn wiped her hands on a dish towel for the fifth time. The small dining table was set with mismatched plates, a modest bouquet of wildflowers sitting in a glass jar at its center. She stared at it for a moment, chewing her lip. Did it look too formal? Too casual? Did he even care? Her stomach twisted with nerves as she double-checked the food. The roast looked decent, the vegetables hadn’t burned, and the dessert—something simple—sat cooling on the counter. It wasn’t about impressing him. Not really. She just wanted him to feel… welcomed.

As the rumble of Logan’s truck echoed up the driveway, she caught her reflection in the window—hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. She smoothed her hands over her shirt and exhaled deeply, steeling herself before opening the door.

Logan hesitated before stepping out of the truck. The soft glow of the cottage’s windows spilled into the dusk, the warm light a stark contrast to the cool night air. He’d spent all day convincing himself that this was just dinner—nothing more, nothing less. But standing at her door, he felt the weight of his own expectations settle heavily in his chest.

The door swung open, and there she stood, her eyes meeting his with a nervous smile that somehow made his pulse stutter. “Hey,” she said softly, stepping aside to let him in. “Evening,” he replied, the deep timbre of his voice filling the small entryway.

The scent of roasting herbs and something sweet wafted through the air, mingling with the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. He took it all in—the table set with care, the way she’d clearly put thought into every detail.

“Hope you’re hungry,” she said as they settled at the table, gesturing to the spread. “Smells good,” Logan said, his voice low but sincere.

The meal started with polite conversation—updates on the cottage renovations, small talk about the weather, and light teasing about Logan’s persistent tendency to do things without asking for thanks. “You know,” she said, pointing her fork at him, “you’ve practically rebuilt half the house by now. I should be naming rooms after you or something.” Logan smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Just doing what needs doing.”

As the conversation unfolded, the tension began to ease. Logan’s baritone laughter rumbled softly at her recounting of a mishap at the market, and she found herself leaning into his quiet presence, the ease of his company settling over her like a blanket.

After dinner, they lingered in the living room, sipping tea as the fire crackled in the hearth. Logan sat on the edge of the couch, his broad frame relaxed but still carrying that quiet intensity she’d come to associate with him.

She hesitated before speaking, her voice quiet but steady. “I’ve been thinking about… everything you’ve done for me. The repairs, the firewood. Dinner was the least I could do, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.” “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied, his tone even.

Her gaze flicked to his, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Maybe not. But I still want to say thank you—for all of it.”

Logan didn’t respond immediately, his brow furrowing slightly as he held her gaze. She could see the question there, the silent wondering if she meant more than the words she was saying.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up that day,” she added softly, her voice wavering just enough to betray her vulnerability.

The silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken tension. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her pulse thrumming in her ears.

And then, without fully thinking it through, she leaned forward.

Her hand brushed his, tentative but deliberate, and when he didn’t pull away, she closed the remaining distance, her lips pressing softly against his.

For a moment, Logan didn’t move, as though caught off guard. Then, his hand came up to rest gently against her jaw, his touch firm but careful, as though afraid of breaking her. The kiss deepened slightly, their breaths mingling in the warmth of the firelight.

But just as quickly as it had begun, she pulled back, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

“I—” she started, her voice trembling. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Logan’s eyes searched hers, his hand lingering just long enough to make her heart skip before he let it fall back to his lap. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “Not for that.”

“I’m sorry if I—” “You didn’t,” he interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. “I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I didn’t have to,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I wanted to. I just—” She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I’m scared.”

Logan nodded slowly, his expression softening. “That makes two of us.”

They sat in the quiet for a while, neither rushing to fill the space. When Logan finally stood to leave, Evelyn walked him to the door, her emotions a tangled mess of uncertainty and something dangerously close to hope.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said, his voice low but genuine.

“Thanks for coming,” she replied, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile.

As he stepped out into the night, she watched him go, her heart still racing from the kiss and the unspoken promise it seemed to carry.

______________________________________________________________

The soft light of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, pulling Evelyn from a restless sleep. She lay still for a moment, her mind already swirling with the memory of the night before. Her fingers brushed her lips instinctively, as if they could still feel the ghost of Logan’s touch.

Why had she kissed him?

Her chest tightened as the question lingered. She sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring at the faint embers glowing in the hearth. It wasn’t regret she felt—it was confusion. Fear. And maybe, if she was honest with herself, hope.

The fear gnawed at her, though. She’d been here before—feeling something, letting someone in—only to watch it fall apart. Logan was steady, patient, and kind in ways that unsettled her because they felt too genuine, too real. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself to let him in, let alone trust him not to leave.

She groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. “What are you doing, Evelyn?” she whispered to herself.

After a few minutes, she stood and moved through her morning routine. The fire needed stoking, the kitchen needed tidying, and the half-finished crochet vest she’d abandoned last night sat waiting for her by the window. The rhythmic click of her needles would usually calm her, but today, even that felt insufficient.

______________________________________________________________

Logan woke early, the cool air of his cabin doing little to shake the memory of her kiss. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a frustrated breath as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He hadn’t meant to rush things last night. Hell, he hadn’t even meant to kiss her. But the way she’d looked at him, her words so raw and honest, had tugged at something deep inside him. And now? Now, he wasn’t sure where they stood.

He shrugged on a flannel shirt and boots, determined to keep himself busy. The logging site would be a welcome distraction—or so he thought.

By the time he arrived, the other men were already milling about, their chatter filling the crisp morning air. Logan wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but his silence didn’t deter them.

“Morning, Howlett,” Pete called out, grinning as he hefted a bundle of tools. “You look like you didn’t sleep a damn wink.”

Logan grunted, grabbing an ax and slinging it over his shoulder.

Rick leaned against a nearby log stack, smirking. “What’s the matter? Got too much on your mind?”

Another chuckled. “Bet he’s thinking about her—you know, the pretty one with the cottage.”

Logan shot them a warning glare, his voice low and edged. “You’ve got time to gossip, you’ve got time to haul more logs.”

The men exchanged knowing looks but didn’t press further. Even they weren’t foolish enough to push Logan when his mood was this sour.

______________________________________________________________

Evelyn sat by the window, her crochet needles clicking softly as she worked on the vest. She’d chosen a deep green yarn, the color reminding her of the forest—the one place Logan seemed most at home.

It wasn’t just a gift. It was her way of saying thank you. For being there. For staying. For seeing her in ways she sometimes struggled to see herself.

When she finished, she held the vest up to the light, inspecting her work. It wasn’t perfect, but maybe that was fitting. Neither of them was perfect, but somehow, they worked.

She folded it neatly, tying it with a piece of twine, and attached a small note:

"For everything. Thank you. - Evelyn"

Her nerves buzzed as she drove to Logan’s cabin that evening. His truck wasn’t in the driveway, but the faint glow of a lamp inside told her he wasn’t far. She hesitated for a moment before setting the package on the porch and heading back to her truck.

As she drove away, she couldn’t help but hope he’d understand what the gift meant—what she couldn’t quite put into words.

______________________________________________________________

Logan returned home late, exhaustion tugging at his limbs as he stepped out of his truck. His eyes caught on the small package waiting on his porch.

He crouched down, picking it up carefully. The yarn was soft beneath his rough fingers, the note tied to it catching his eye. As he read the words, something stirred in his chest—an emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

Slipping the vest on, he immediately felt the warmth. Not just from the fabric, but from the thoughtfulness behind it. He ran a thumb over the note again before tucking it into his pocket.

She’d made this for him.

The thought stayed with him all night, a quiet reassurance in the face of the uncertainty lingering between them.

______________________________________________________________

Logan’s truck rumbled up the driveway, the familiar sound stirring a mix of anticipation and nerves in her chest. She opened the door just as he stepped out, and for a moment, her eyes caught on the green vest she’d crocheted for him. It fit snugly, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders, and the sight sent an unexpected warmth curling through her.

“You’re wearing it,” she said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Logan nodded, his expression calm but genuine. “It’s good work.”

A smile tugged at her lips, her earlier hesitation melting away. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Anything need fixing today?” he asked, his hands tucked into his pockets.

She hesitated, suddenly self-conscious about how much she relied on him. But then she caught the faint softness in his eyes, and the words came more easily. “The pantry door’s been sticking, and the windows in the bedroom let in a little too much cold. If you have time.”

Logan gave a short nod, stepping past her into the cottage. “Let’s take a look.”

The warmth from the fire wrapped around them as they moved into the kitchen. She gestured toward the pantry door. His movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

“It gets stuck right here,” she said, tapping the frame where the wood had warped slightly.

Logan knelt to inspect it, running his fingers over the uneven edge. “I’ll plane it down. Shouldn’t take long.”

As he set to work, Evelyn leaned against the counter, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. His hands moved with practiced ease, steady and deliberate, every motion efficient.

“You’re good at this,” she remarked after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence.

Logan glanced up briefly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Been fixing things my whole life.”

“Were you always a handyman?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Not always,” he replied, his tone cryptic. “Picked it up over time.”

She sensed there was more to his story, but she didn’t press. Instead, she grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “Coffee?”

“Sure,” he said, his focus returning to the door.

The rhythmic scrape of the plane against wood filled the room as she poured the coffee. She set a steaming mug on the counter beside him, the warmth of her gesture unspoken but clear.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, pausing to take a sip before returning to his work.

As he worked on the pantry, she lingered nearby, sipping her coffee and stealing glances at him. There was something grounding about his presence—the quiet steadiness that seemed to fill every corner of the room.

By mid-morning, they’d moved to the bedroom, where a chill seeped through the worn frames of the windows. Logan inspected the gaps with a critical eye, his brow furrowed in thought.

“You’ll need weatherstripping,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I can patch it for now, but it’ll only hold until the next storm.”

“I’ll add it to my shopping list,” she replied, pulling a blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Unless you want to come with me to the hardware store next time.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “That an invitation?”

“More like a bribe,” she shot back, her tone light. “You know your way around tools better than I do.”

He huffed softly, a sound that might’ve been a laugh, and began securing the temporary patch.

As he worked, she busied herself folding a stack of crocheted blankets near the bed, stealing occasional glances at him. The way he moved, quiet but deliberate, filled the room with a sense of steadiness she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

“Do you ever take a break?” she teased, crossing her arms as he straightened from the window.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Not when there’s work to do.”

“Well, there’s soup on the stove if you’re hungry,” she offered, gesturing toward the kitchen.

Logan hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

They sat together at the small kitchen table, the silence between them punctuated only by the clink of spoons against ceramic.

“This is good,” Logan said after a few bites, his tone matter-of-fact.

“You sound surprised,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not surprised,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “Just impressed.”

A quiet laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Logan’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile crossing his face.

As the afternoon stretched on, Logan replaced a loose floorboard in the hallway while she crocheted by the fire. The hours slipped by, marked by small exchanges and the comforting rhythm of shared tasks.

When he packed up his tools, she hesitated near the kitchen counter, her fingers twisting the edge of her shirt. “Would you want to stay for dinner?” she asked, her voice quiet but sincere.

Logan looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. “Sure.”

Dinner was a simpler affair than lunch, the food more about comfort than impressing anyone. They talked in quiet bursts between bites, their conversation weaving through lighthearted topics and the occasional teasing remark.

Afterward, as she cleared the plates, Logan stood. “I’ve got it,” he said, taking the dishes from her hands and moving to the sink.

She watched him for a moment, her heart twisting at the simple kindness of the gesture. The sight of him at her sink—so at ease in her space—stirred something deep and unfamiliar.

“Thanks,” she murmured, leaning against the counter.

He nodded, scrubbing a plate with deliberate care. The steady rhythm of the water and his movements filled the quiet.

Without fully thinking it through, she stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she reached for the towel. He froze, his gaze flicking to hers, and in that moment, the world seemed to still.

Logan’s hands stilled on the last dish, his focus divided between the sound of the running water and her quiet presence behind him. As he placed the plate on the drying rack, she stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until it felt almost electric.

"You're really determined to make yourself useful, aren't you?" she teased softly, her voice light but edged with something she couldn’t quite name.

Logan turned, the towel in his hand forgotten as his gaze dropped to hers. His presence loomed in the small kitchen, grounding and overwhelming all at once.

"Figured it’s the least I can do after dinner," he said, his voice low, steady. But his eyes lingered, betraying something deeper.

Evelyn tilted her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You’ve already done enough, Logan."

He huffed softly, his lips twitching in what might’ve been the ghost of a smirk. "Not sure about that."

The fire crackled faintly in the living room, the only sound breaking the quiet tension that hung between them. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a small step forward, her fingers brushing against the edge of the counter.

"Logan," she started, but her voice faltered when his eyes locked onto hers, sharp yet unreadable.

"What?" he asked, his tone soft yet weighted.

For a moment, she froze, her breath hitching as she searched his face for hesitation, for any sign that she shouldn’t cross the line she’d been tiptoeing around all day. But there was none.

So she closed the distance.

Her hands reached out, tentative at first, resting lightly against his chest as she leaned up on her toes. Logan didn’t move, his broad frame still as though he was waiting for her to decide. And then, before she could second-guess herself, her lips met his.

The kiss started soft, uncertain, but when Logan’s hands came up to her waist, pulling her closer, it shifted. His grip was firm, grounding her as his lips moved against hers with an intensity that made her knees weak.

Her hands slid up his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his fingers tightening on her hips. The kitchen seemed to shrink around them, the edges of the world blurring until all she could feel was him—his warmth, his strength, the quiet restraint in the way he held her.

Her back pressed against the counter as his lips trailed from hers, brushing along her jaw and down to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. She gasped softly, her fingers sliding into his hair as her body leaned instinctively into his.

"Logan," she murmured, her voice breathless and unsteady.

He paused, his forehead resting against hers as they both fought to catch their breath. His hands still rested at her waist, his grip steady but no longer insistent.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice rough but careful.

Her heart stuttered at the question, at the tenderness beneath his words. She nodded, her fingers loosening their hold on his shirt to cup his face instead.

"Yeah," she whispered, her lips brushing his as she spoke. "It’s more than okay."

Logan exhaled, the tension in his body easing slightly, though the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. He kissed her again, slower this time, but no less consuming. His hands roamed her back, her shoulders, anchoring her to him as though he needed the reassurance of her presence as much as she needed his.

When they finally broke apart, her chest heaved as she leaned against him, her forehead pressing lightly to his collarbone. His fingers traced gentle patterns along her spine, the movement soothing despite the storm still raging in her chest.

"That," she said, her voice trembling slightly as she glanced up at him, "was… unexpected."

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his lips quirking into a small smile.

They stood there for a long moment, the warmth of his body against hers chasing away the chill of the night.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing along her hip.

She nodded, her smile shy but genuine. "I think so."

Logan’s eyes softened, and he dipped his head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before stepping back just enough to give her space.

"Good," he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance that made her heart ache in the best way.

The air in the cottage felt different now—warmer, charged, like the fire in the hearth wasn’t the only thing giving off heat. Evelyn sat on the couch with a mug of tea, staring at the flames as they danced and flickered. Logan was still in the kitchen, finishing the last of the cleanup, but her mind lingered on the kiss they’d shared.

She traced the rim of her mug absently, her lips still tingling with the memory of his. It had been unexpected, yet it felt… right. Like crossing a threshold she hadn’t realized she’d been standing at for weeks. But it also terrified her. Letting someone in, even someone as steady as Logan, was a risk she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

The sound of footsteps broke her reverie. Logan appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His expression was calmer now, the intensity from earlier replaced with something quieter—more grounded.

“You’re staring at that fire like it’s got all the answers,” he said, his tone light but with that familiar edge of seriousness.

She glanced up, startled, then gave him a small smile. “Maybe I’m hoping it does.”

He pushed off the doorway and stepped closer, settling into the armchair across from her. His frame filled the space effortlessly, and even though he wasn’t touching her, his presence felt just as consuming as it had in the kitchen.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

She nodded, though her fingers tightened around the mug. “Yeah. Just… a lot to process.”

Logan didn’t rush her, didn’t push for more. He just sat there, his gaze steady and patient. She appreciated that about him—the way he let her find her footing instead of trying to drag her along.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” she admitted after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither was I,” he said, his tone carrying that same quiet honesty that seemed to anchor her.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like the room shrank around them, leaving just the two of them in the soft glow of the firelight.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, his voice so quiet it almost blended with the crackle of the flames.

She shook her head immediately. “No. I don’t. But I’m scared.”

Logan nodded slowly, as if he’d been expecting her answer. “Scared of what?”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. How could she explain the fear of opening herself up again, the fear of letting someone see all the broken pieces she was still trying to put back together?

“Of getting hurt,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Of losing… something I didn’t even know I wanted.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m not him,” he said simply.

Her breath hitched, the directness of his words cutting through her defenses like a blade.

“I know,” she said softly. “But that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”

Logan nodded, his gaze steady on hers. “I’m not going anywhere, Evelyn. Not unless you tell me to.”

The conviction in his voice sent a ripple through her chest, a mixture of relief and fear intertwining in a way that left her feeling raw.

She looked down at her mug, her fingers tracing its rim again. “You’re… too good at this,” she murmured, her lips curving into a faint, shaky smile.

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back in the chair. “Just trying to be honest.”

Honesty. It was such a simple concept, yet it felt like the most complicated thing in the world. But as she looked at him—really looked at him—she realized that maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be.

“I’m trying,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I don’t know how to do this, but I’m trying.”

Logan gave her a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that spoke volumes—soft, tentative, like the air before a storm. Evelyn ran her fingers along the edge of her mug, her thoughts spiraling as she weighed her next words.

Finally, she took a deep breath and looked at him. “Can we take this slow?” Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the vulnerability beneath the surface. “I need time, Logan. I want to give myself to you—completely—but I need you to be patient with me.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. He sat forward slightly, his forearms resting on his knees as he leaned closer. “I’m not in a rush,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We do this your way.I’ll be here.”

Her chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t trying to convince her, wasn’t pushing her to move faster than she could manage. He was offering her the one thing she hadn’t expected—understanding.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her lips curving into a faint smile.

Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “You’re worth it,” he said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her heart stuttered at his words, the quiet confidence behind them wrapping around her like a balm. It wasn’t just the words themselves; it was the way he said them, like they were a truth he’d known all along.

“I’m not used to this,” she admitted after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone… waiting for me.”

Logan leaned back slightly, his expression softening as his lips curved into the faintest smile. “Guess I’m not like most people.”

Her laugh was quiet but genuine, breaking the tension that had settled between them. “No, you’re not.”

The fire crackled softly, filling the space between their words. Evelyn set her mug down on the small table beside the couch, her hands finally still after what felt like hours of fidgeting.

“I’ll try not to drive you crazy,” she said, her tone teasing but laced with sincerity.

Logan huffed softly, the sound almost like a laugh. “I can handle it.”

She tilted her head, her smile widening as she studied him. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

He shrugged, his gaze warm but steady. “Just sure of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to face her fears alone.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as her eyes momentarily lowered to her hands. Her fingers curled slightly in a hesitant, almost protective gesture. “The last person who was supposed to wait for me… left.” She cleared her throat quietly, her voice growing quieter. “Just a letter. Said he couldn’t do it.”

There was a brief pause before she looked up, meeting his gaze with a rawness she hadn’t planned to reveal. “I don’t… I don’t like to make people wait for me. It doesn’t usually go well.”

Logan’s eyes softened, his expression still calm but now carrying a hint of understanding. He didn’t speak right away, simply allowing the weight of her words to linger between them, neither pushing her nor pulling away.

After a long moment, Evelyn smiled again, though it was faint. “I’m trying to get better at it,” she added, as if to reassure herself.

Logan gave a small nod, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to try so hard with me, Evelyn.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to face her fears alone.

They stayed there for a while longer, the fire burning low as the night deepened. When Logan finally stood to leave, Evelyn walked him to the door, the softness of their earlier conversation still lingering in the air.

He paused in the doorway, turning to face her. “Good night,” he said, his voice low and warm.

“Good night,” she replied, her smile small but genuine.

As he stepped out into the cool night, she watched him go, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Inside, as the embers in the hearth flickered faintly, she knew this was only the beginning of something new. Something she wasn’t ready to name but was finally willing to face.

______________________________________________________________

The night air had a crisp edge, the cool breeze rustling through the pines as Logan made his way to the truck. His hand lingered on the door handle for a moment before he glanced back at the cottage. The warm glow of the windows stood out against the dark, a quiet beacon that felt more inviting than any place he’d known in years.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he climbed into the truck. The engine rumbled to life, and as he drove away, the scent of the fire and the lingering warmth of Evelyn’s kiss stayed with him, stirring something deep and unfamiliar in his chest. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his mind replaying the evening—the way she’d smiled, the hesitance in her touch, and the softness in her eyes when she leaned in. It was dangerous, the way she was starting to make him feel like he belonged to something more than just the solitude he’d grown used to.

Inside, Evelyn leaned against the door for a moment after closing it, her fingers brushing against her lips as if to preserve the memory of the kiss. The weight that had pressed on her for months felt lighter, replaced by something warmer, steadier—a tentative hope she hadn’t dared let herself feel before.

The following morning arrived with the soft glow of winter sunlight filtering through the cottage windows. Evelyn stretched lazily, the events of the previous night replaying in her mind like a half-remembered dream. Her cheeks warmed as she recalled the kiss—the way it had ignited something within her that she wasn’t quite ready to name.

She let herself savor the memory for a moment before throwing off the covers and heading to the kitchen. The smell of coffee filled the small space as she poured herself a mug, her thoughts drifting to Logan. Was he thinking about her too?

“Get a grip,” she muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

She glanced at the crocheting she’d left on the arm of the couch—a nearly finished sweater, simple but sturdy, made with care. She ran her fingers over the soft yarn, debating whether she’d be bold enough to give it to him. Would he see it as too personal? The thought sent a flutter of nerves through her chest, but the memory of his steady presence reassured her. Logan wasn’t the kind of man who overthought gestures. If he accepted it, he’d do so simply and honestly.

Meanwhile, Logan was already knee-deep in work at the logging site. The familiar rhythm of chopping wood and loading the truck was grounding, his body moving on autopilot as his mind wandered. He replayed the night before, the warmth of her touch and the way she’d looked at him—a mixture of uncertainty and trust that made his chest tighten.

“Hey, Howlett!” Rick’s voice broke through his thoughts. The wiry man leaned on his ax with a knowing grin. “You’re quieter than usual today. Something on your mind?”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.“Nothing that concerns you.”

Rick raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just saying—it’s nice to see you lightening up a bit.”

Logan huffed a soft laugh despite himself, shaking his head as he turned back to the pile of logs. The teasing didn’t bother him as much as it might have once. If anything, it reminded him of how much his life had shifted since Evelyn had entered it.

Later that day, Evelyn decided to take a walk into town. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but the exercise felt good, clearing her mind and easing some of the nervous energy that had been building since the night before. She stopped by the market to pick up a few things and exchanged pleasantries with Nancy, who greeted her with a warm smile.

“You’re glowing today,” Nancy remarked as she rang up Evelyn’s purchases.

“Am I?” Evelyn asked, her cheeks flushing.

Nancy tilted her head, her knowing smile deepening. “Must be something in the air.”

Evelyn laughed softly, shaking her head. “Or maybe it’s just the cold.”

As she stepped out of the market, the brisk air nipped at her cheeks, carrying with it the quiet hum of the town going about its day. She adjusted the strap of her bag, her thoughts wandering back to the vest she’d left on the couch and the man it was meant for.

She hesitated at the corner, the familiar path to her cottage stretching ahead of her. But instead of turning toward home, her feet stilled, the decision forming before she fully realized it. Maybe it was Nancy’s words, or maybe it was the nagging feeling in her chest, but suddenly, she couldn’t wait any longer.

Deciding to take a chance, she turned on her heel and started walking toward the logging company. The closer she got, the more her nerves began to hum, but she pushed the feeling aside. She wasn’t going to let fear hold her back—not this time

When she arrived at the logging site, the steady rhythm of work filled the air—axes chopping, saws buzzing, and the occasional shout as logs were loaded onto trucks. A few of the men glanced her way, their expressions ranging from curious to friendly.

One of the older men, a broad-shouldered guy with a kind face, stepped forward, wiping his hands on his flannel shirt. “You must be looking for Logan,” he said, his voice gruff but welcoming, his eyes crinkling at the edges with a knowing smile.

Evelyn nodded, clutching the bag of groceries she’d brought with her. “Is he here?”

The man exchanged a glance with a younger logger nearby, who smirked knowingly before returning to his work. “He’s out back,” the older man said, gesturing toward a narrow path that disappeared into the woods. “Just follow that trail there. Can’t miss him.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling politely.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone softening as he looked at her more closely. “And, miss, if you don’t mind me saying… it’s good to see Logan getting a little company.”

Another man, leaning against the bed of a truck, chimed in with a teasing grin, “Yeah, he’s been in a better mood lately. Not sure what’s changed, though.”

The older man shot him a warning look, but there was no malice in his tone. “Alright, alright. Don’t scare her off. Go on, miss—he’s just down that way.”

Evelyn felt her cheeks warm as she ducked her head. “Thanks again,” she said before heading toward the trail, her nerves tingling with each step.

As she walked away, she heard one of the men mutter, “Lucky guy. About time someone cracked that shell of his.”

______________________________________________________________

As she made her way down the narrow path, the sounds of the logging site faded into the distance. The trees grew denser, their bare branches weaving into a canopy above. Finally, she spotted him—Logan, shirt sleeves rolled up despite the cold, his ax moving with steady precision as he split a log in two.

She hesitated for a moment, watching him work. There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved, his strength and focus blending into an almost meditative rhythm. Finally, she cleared her throat, stepping into view.

Logan glanced up, his expression softening when he saw her. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I figured it was time for me to return the favor,” she said, holding up the small paper bag. “Brought you something sweet.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, setting the ax down as he approached. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she replied, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I wanted to.”

He took the bag from her, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment. The touch lingered in the space between them before he cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

They found a spot near the edge of the clearing to sit. The quiet hum of the woods surrounded them, the distant sound of axes and machinery fading into the background. Logan opened the bag, pulling out a neatly wrapped pastry—something soft and golden, the faint scent of cinnamon wafting from it.

“Cinnamon rolls?” he asked, his brow lifting slightly.

“They’re Nancy’s,” Evelyn said, brushing her hands over her knees nervously. “I figured you could use something sweet after all this hard work.”

He huffed softly—a sound close to a laugh—and took a bite, his expression softening as he chewed. “Not bad.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Nancy you approve.” she teased, her grin widening.

Logan smirked faintly, finishing the roll in a few bites. As they sat there, the conversation flowed easily, punctuated by comfortable silences that felt more like pauses than gaps. She told him about Nancy’s insistence on her trying the cinnamon rolls, and he shared a few dry observations about the logging crew’s antics.

When the rolls were gone, Logan leaned back against a tree, his arms resting on his knees as he studied her with that quiet, unreadable gaze. “You didn’t just come all this way to bring me cinnamon rolls, did you?”

Evelyn hesitated, her heart pounding as his words hung in the air. “No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted to see you.”

Logan’s expression softened, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I know,” she said, her voice growing steadier.” She hesitated, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap before she looked back at him. “I want to try—to let you in. I’m just… not great at this.”

Logan studied her quietly, the faint breeze ruffling his hair as he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “You don’t have to be great at it,” he said, his voice low but steady. He paused, his gaze softening as it lingered on hers. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

His words settled over her like a balm, soothing the frayed edges of her nerves. A small, grateful smile tugged at her lips.

They lingered in the clearing for a little longer, their conversation flowing more easily now. It wasn’t anything grand—just small observations, quiet moments of shared understanding—but it felt important. Real. When Logan finally stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans, he nodded toward the path leading back to the logging site.

“Come on,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I’ll walk you back.”

Evelyn felt the warmth of Logan’s presence beside her, the steady sound of his boots crunching against the forest floor grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected.

When they reached the edge of the logging site, she turned to face him, her nerves humming faintly. “Thanks for walking me back,” she said, her voice softer now.

Logan nodded, his gaze steady on hers. “Anytime.”

There was a brief pause, the kind of moment that stretched and swelled with unspoken possibilities. Then, acting on an impulse she didn’t fully understand but didn’t want to ignore, Evelyn leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. It was soft, fleeting, but it carried the weight of her promise—a promise to try, to let him in, even if it scared her.

When she pulled back, her cheeks warmed, she glanced away, biting back a shy smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Logan’s lips curved into the faintest of smirks, his hand brushing against hers briefly before he stepped back. “Yeah. Later.”

As she walked away, her footsteps light on the gravel path, Logan watched her go, the smirk lingering on his face. He turned to find a few of the guys standing nearby, their expressions ranging from amused to smug.

“Not a word,” Logan muttered, his tone carrying a warning edge.

One of the older men chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Another chimed in, grinning. “I call best man.”

“Idiots,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real heat behind the word. As the crew laughed and returned to their work, Logan found himself glancing back at the path where she’d disappeared, the memory of her kiss still lingering like an ember refusing to fade.

______________________________________________________________

The walk back to her cottage felt lighter than it had in weeks, the crisp air no longer carrying the same weight it usually did.

By the time she reached her porch, the cottage’s familiar charm greeted her like a warm embrace. The fire she’d left burning in the hearth had settled into glowing embers, and as she stepped inside, the quiet solitude of her home felt different now.

She set the bag from the market on the counter, unpacking the remaining items while her mind continued to wander. There was still so much she didn’t know about Logan, so many layers to the man who had somehow become her anchor in this small, quiet town. But for the first time, the uncertainty didn’t feel overwhelming.

Instead, it felt… hopeful.

As she settled onto the couch, her crocheting in her lap, she glanced out the window. The stars above Clearwater twinkled brightly, the kind of vast, open sky she never got used to. Her fingers moved instinctively over the yarn, weaving a familiar pattern into something new, something for him.

She wasn’t sure where this path with Logan would lead—whether it would be smooth or full of unexpected turns—but she knew she wanted to see it through. She wanted to let him in, to take that chance.

And judging by the way her chest felt lighter tonight, she was finally ready to try.

______________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, back at the logging site, Logan finished loading the last stack of logs onto the truck, his body moving on autopilot. His mind, however, was miles away—back in the clearing, where her soft laugh still echoed faintly in his ears.

“Good day, huh?” one of the crew teased as they packed up for the evening.

Logan shot him a sidelong glance, but there was no heat behind it. “Just finish loading the truck,” he muttered, though the faint smirk on his face didn’t go unnoticed.

As he climbed into his truck and drove home, the rhythmic hum of the engine did little to drown out the thoughts swirling in his mind. Her warmth, her laughter, the way her lips had curved into that tentative smile—it was all imprinted on him now, like a map leading to something he didn’t fully understand but was willing to follow.

For the first time in years, the road ahead didn’t feel so empty.

______________________________________________________________

Back at the cottage, Evelyn set aside her crocheting and climbed into bed, pulling the quilt up to her chin. The weight of the day settled over her—not heavy or burdensome, but grounding, like she was finally finding her footing.

As sleep claimed her, the warmth of Logan’s presence remained, lingering in the corners of her thoughts and in the quiet certainty of her heart.

They were both moving slowly, cautiously, but for the first time in a long time, they were moving forward.

Together

Chapter 4

_______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

@coocoocachewgotscrewed @latinapiscess @littlebunnybigheartfics @themareverine @pandapetals @logansbaby @the-quick-red-fox @throwmethroughawindow @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @galacticglitterglue @whos-nin1

@thisismajortom21 @may-vol-6 @Oh-basic @sarahbarbosa22 @luvpalepinkjazz @irish-pooka @yologans @equilight @lxrxvsp @h4nluv @uncannywolverine @thesecretlifeofmo @mystifiesjdmtcw @socisse @thickynicky547 @peculiarpiscess @tezooks @greenturtlegirl @greenbearplaidbow @eummm @benispunk @th8mz @jounal3sports @alsoprettyinpink @softepiloguemylove @manicandobsessive @b-y-3-n @blahkateisdone @karencaribou @sidkneeeee @theworstwolvie @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @lunellas-library @pedroscurls @britttzy267 @aliensfeltmyjoy

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[madaqueue]

eternally, yours

chapter 1 | gratitude

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. mentions of child physical abuse, medical setting, blood. 18+, MDNI

word count: 1.9k

a/n: YAY new series RAAAAAH!!! will be updating this one a little less frequently (aka not everyday) but i hope y'all like it :)

series masterlist | next chapter

Intoxicating.

The first word that comes to Choso’s mind when he sees you is absolutely, utterly intoxicating. The bright lights overhead seem to dim, the sound of the machines whirring and beeping quiet as his focus turns to you and only you. Something within your aura, your soul, your very life force, seems to draw him to you inexplicably, feet moving on their own as he crosses the cold linoleum to stand before you.

“Are you the doctor?” your voice wavers in his silence, eyes moving up his tall figure, currently clad in a white coat, before landing on his eyes.

Blinking, he struggles to anchor himself back to reality. “Y-yes,” he stammers. “I’m Dr. Kamo, I’ll be taking care of your brother today.”

The uncomfortable faux leather of the hospital chair creaks as you adjust in your seat, muscles sore after waiting hours to finally be seen. Normally you’d pay more attention to the man before you - his striking black irises and the tattoo that covers the bridge of his nose, the dark circles ringing his eyes, or how his hair frays messily from the buns currently pulling it back - but right now, you’re just too damn tired.

“‘S’nice to meet you,” you murmur, gaze turning to the floor as you rest your head on your palm.

There’s a certain exhaustion to your voice, a deep fatigue Choso knows all too well, seeing how you shift, struggling to find a way to rest the weight of your bones.

“Tell me what happened,” he asks, shoving his nervousness down as he pulls over a rolling stool to sit between you and the hospital bed where your brother currently sleeps.

Raking your hands through your hair, a sigh leaves your lips. “He fell,” you state.

“He…fell?” Choso echoes, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Glancing at your brother, the sounds of screaming replays through your mind, the broken glass, his small body hitting the floor. The yells echo through your thoughts as your eyes cover him, his dark hair only barely covering the open wound on his forehead, his uninjured arm cradling his likely dislocated shoulder. You nod. “He fell.”

Blinking, Choso pauses. He ignores the fact that these injuries are almost impossible with a fall, the fact that somehow a six-year-old would have ‘fallen’ at 2:30 a.m., the fact that you can’t make eye contact with him as you speak. Instead, he just nods. “Okay,” he breathes. “Well, we need to get some scans to see if anything is broken, and that cut definitely needs some stitches.”

“Do what you need to do,” you wave your hand in accordance.

“It’s just…” he trails off, “you’re his sister, right?”

You nod.

“Well, for minors, we need-”

“I’m his guardian,” you state curtly, gaze traveling from the floor to meet his, an unintentional coldness behind your eyes. Noticing how the man across from you flinches slightly, you soften apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he smiles forgivingly, moving to stand. “I imagine it’s been a long night. I’ll go put some orders in and I’ll be back in a bit.”

With a gentle wave, he steps out of the room, leaving you in the ambiance of unfamiliar medical machinery with a wounded brother.

As promised, a few moments later a flurry of technicians and other staff comes in to take your brother for his scans, reluctantly waking him from the rest you know he so badly needs. Less than an hour later, you’re met another knock on the door before it tentatively swings open.

“Hey,” Choso’s familiar gravelly voice calls. Seeing your brother awake, albeit a bit groggy, on the bed, he cracks a wide grin. “You must be Megumi, right?”

Hearing his name, your brother nods politely, careful not to disturb the IVs and monitors poking from his skin. A precaution, the medical team called the wires and tubes they attached to him, but all you can think about is how small, how fragile, it makes him look.

“Well, Megumi, I’m Dr. Kamo, and let me be the first to say, you’re a pretty tough guy,” Choso smiles.

The sweetest giggle leaves your brother’s lips as Choso crosses the room to sit on the edge of his hospital bed.

“You got pretty banged up, buddy, but the good news is that nothing’s broken,” Choso continues explaining. “You are gonna need a sling for your shoulder, though, but you can pick any color you want for it, and I’m gonna stitch up that cut on your forehead.”

“Is it gonna hurt?” Megumi’s voice calls softly, lifting a hand to the wound on his skin.

“It might for most people, but I’ve got a feeling you’re pretty strong, so you’ll be okay, right tough guy?”

Megumi grins, another laugh leaving his throat as he flexes the muscles on his non-injured arm. “Yeah, I’m tough!”

“Then let’s get to it,” Choso chuckles.

You watch in silence as the man wraps Megumi’s shoulder, the dark blue cloth covering his arm and holding it in place. Reaching into a metal drawer near his bedside, he then carefully threads a needle through your brother’s skin, his rough hands moving so gracefully, so precisely. Megumi winces occasionally, evoking a pause from Choso until the boy flashes a thumbs up, allowing him to continue. When he’s completed the task, tying the stitches closed with a knot, he moves to let Megumi to find his reflection in the mirror across the room, admiring his work.

“Woah,” Megumi muses softly, his fingertips grazing the suture, “looks cool.”

“Looks very cool,” Choso confirms with a grin. Turning to you, he tilts his head towards the door, signaling you outside. “I’ll be back in a second, buddy, just gotta chat with your sister,” he explains, placing a gentle hand on Megumi’s shoulder before leading you outside.

The hallway is brighter than the room you just left, your eyes struggling to adjust to the fluorescent lights and the soft bustle of hospital staff moving around you. Even though tiredness weighs on your body, you force yourself to meet Choso’s gaze.

“He’s gonna need to wear the sling for at least a month, and he’ll need to be seen in about a week to get the stitches out,” he begins.

As you look into his eyes, you notice just how dark they are, black pools set within exhaustion. He’s hauntingly beautiful, a chill running up your spine as you take him in, surely just because the hospital is so cold, because you’ve been here for so long, because everything is becoming too much.

Tears begin to prick at your eyes, the lack of sleep starting to affect you more than you’d care to admit. Before you know it, your arms are thrown around Choso’s torso, firm through the layers of his scrubs.

“Thank you,” you mutter into him before pulling away, stunned at your own show of affection.

He seems equally surprised, his lips parted slightly as he forces an awkward chuckle. “It’s just my job,” he hums.

You aren’t sure if it’s your tiredness getting to you, but you swear his cheeks flush as you pull away from him. You nod, murmuring another thanks as you step back into your brother’s room, readying him to return home.

In your absence, Choso stands stunned in the hallway, the feeling of you lingering on him, unable to move from this spot.

All he can think about is you, the warmth of your body as your arms wrapped around him, his thoughts buzzing as images of you flash through his mind. He knows something is wrong inside of him; he’s never felt like this before, never felt this absolutely consumed by someone, especially someone he’s only just met. Yet something about you, something indescribable, made him want you - need you - in a carnal way, his body aching for more.

In Megumi’s room, you similarly can’t get the way Choso felt in your arms out of your mind. There was something in him, beyond his strength, his stature, that you couldn’t stop thinking about. He felt cold.

Peeking your head out of the room he’s nowhere to be seen, surely lost in the business of late-night hospital work. Grabbing Megumi’s things, you guide your brother through the building and out to your car, sinking into the plush of the seats.

Reaching to the passenger seat, you brush his bangs from his eyes as he rests his head against the window. “You were very brave,” you murmur softly, continuing to stroke his hair.

“I know,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, desperate for rest.

“I wish you didn’t have to be.”

“I know.”

You drive in silence, your brother asleep next to you as you make your way back to your family’s home. Pulling into the driveway, you carry Megumi from the car to his bed as quietly as possible, mentally begging that your father isn’t awoken at the stairs creaking beneath your feet. By now he could be up, the sun beginning to rise over the horizon, but hopefully the alcohol-fueled events of the previous night were enough to keep him unconscious throughout the afternoon, a schedule that had become a regular part of his routine.

As you tuck Megumi in, you place a kiss to his forehead next to his cut, the dark thread of his stitches a stark contrast to his pale skin, a harsh reminder of the reality you two endure. The image of Choso’s hands flashes through your mind, recalling the tenderness they held as he worked.

Finally in your own bed, your thoughts are clouded with the last twenty-four hours, mentally spiraling as anxiety racks your body, until Choso returns to you again. You picture him holding you, comforting you, reassuring you. Waves of tranquility wash over you, and for the first time in too long, you allow yourself to drift into sleep.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

He swore he wouldn’t do this. He promised he was better than this, that he had more restraint than this. Yet, here he is again, surrounded by the sterile atmosphere of the blood bank.

Dark red bags line the walls of the chilled room, tempting him, drawing him in. It was you, he thinks. He knows it was you, it had to be. He only came here once a month, taking the bare minimum necessary for survival, yet only three days after his last visit he felt that familiar hunger clawing at his insides, imploring him to consume.

His thoughts are blurred, overtaken with images of you, your voice, your smell, the way your arms wrapped around his body. Reaching out he grabs the nearest bag, sinking his teeth into the plastic as red drips down his chin. He laps at the liquid, the metallic taste only conjuring up more images of you in his mind, nearly intoxicated as he pictures the heat beneath your skin just begging him to taste you. He wishes it was you, knowing he would give anything to feel the warmth of the blood coursing through your body.

Draining the bag of its contents, he’s left physically satiated but mentally starved, desperate to feel you again, to hold you. Cleaning himself up, his hands shake as he undoes any remnant of the sin he committed in the quiet of the hospital corridors, a final trace of blood wiped from the corner of his lips. His mind swirls, only knowing one thing: he needs you.

series masterlist | next chapter

[girl-next-door-writes]

Then There Was You

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: A chance encounter in an airport at a magical time of year might make a believer out of even the most logical of men.

Word Count: 2076 words

Prompt: Airport. Mutual Pining. Eyes meeting across the room. “You feel like home.”

A/N: This is the first of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the wonderful @savvy-devine666 who put these prompts together for the enigmatic Mr Holmes. Hope you enjoy it, I may have got a little carried away.

************************************************************************

In the departure lounge, the holiday spirit is palpable, creating a lively and enchanting atmosphere. The glittering decorations and twinkling lights transform the space into a festive haven, immersing travelers in the magic of the season. As passengers navigate through the terminals, the air is infused with a sense of excitement and anticipation, each step bringing them closer to the warmth of family and the joy of holiday celebrations.

Sparkling lights, glittering ornaments and garlands filled with holly and tinsel seem to adorn every surface, forcing the joviality of the season upon all who enter this artificial winter wonderland.

The sounds of classic Christmas carols fill the air, creating a harmonious backdrop to the lively conversations and laughter. The departure lounge becomes a stage for a symphony of joy, where people from all walks of life unite in the shared celebration of the season. The place somehow feels more than just a transit point, it feels almost held outside of time itself, where anything could be possible.

Mycroft Holmes, ever the embodiment of control and authority, sat in the plush surroundings of the first-class lounge, a haven for the elite travelers. The atmosphere exudes sophistication, but the irritation on Mycroft's face betrayed the inconvenience he felt. The hum of quiet conversations and the clinking of glasses momentarily ceased as an announcement crackled over the speakers, signaling yet another delay.

His brow furrowed in annoyance. The delay was unacceptable, a disruption to the carefully orchestrated schedule he had in place. He retrieved his phone from the pocket of his impeccably tailored suit and began to type furiously. His fingers danced across the screen in a rapid and precise ballet, as if Mycroft believed his typing could somehow command the weather outside. His gaze never wavered from the device, as though the intensity of his focus could single-handedly rectify the situation.

The snowfall outside the window continued unabated, indifferent to Mycroft's attempts to influence it. Despite the annoyance etched on his face, Mycroft remained the epitome of composure. The delay might persist, but Mycroft Holmes, with his phone as a weapon and his ice-cold demeanour as a shield, was determined to restore order to the chaos, even if only within the confines of the first-class lounge.

Mycroft's discerning gaze swept across the crowded first-class lounge, his mind momentarily shifting from the pressing matters of flight delays to the intriguing spectacle of human interaction unfolding before him.

His attention settled on a peculiar scene: a man, who seemed to have overindulged a little at the lounge bar, engaged in rapid-fire conversation with a young woman who appeared young enough to be his daughter. She seemed uncomfortable with the invasive nature of his questioning, but the man appeared unperturbed by her avoiding answering.

Further down the bar, an elderly gentleman called the barman by his first name. Mycroft's keen observation suggested a regular patron, a man who had traversed the halls of this exclusive lounge on numerous occasions. The over-familiarity hinted at a sense of entitlement, a privilege earned through repeated visits, and he couldn’t help but smile at the deference the bar staff paid the man. Clearly a big tipper, Mycroft surmised.

As Mycroft continued to survey of the room, he noted that everyone appeared to be bathed in the fake joviality of the festive season, papering over the cracks in their lives, and Mycroft wondered why people felt the need to cling so desperately to the promise of hope and possibility during the festive season.

Mycroft, usually the embodiment of control and emotional detachment, found himself in the throes of an unexpected internal turmoil as he observed the attractive figure across the bar absentmindedly stirring their drink. The subtle shift in his composed demeanour betrayed a rare vulnerability, and an uncharacteristic ache in his chest stirred his emotions. In his mind, he grappled with the unfamiliarity of this emotional response.

Blinking rapidly, he attempted to shake off the unusual sensations and refocus his thoughts. This wasn't the Mycroft Holmes he knew; the man who thrived on logic and control. It had to be the effects of sitting in what amounted to an oversized festive snow globe for far too long.

Despite the internal turmoil, Mycroft couldn't resist the urge to deduce. It was a coping mechanism, a way to regain a semblance of control. Not married, not romantically attached: these deductions flowed effortlessly. The presence of a book in your bag and your apparent nonchalance about the flight delays intrigued him further. As he continued to observe from a distance, Mycroft found himself at a crossroads, torn between the familiar comfort of his calculated control and the allure of exploring beneath the surface, the possibility of creating a connection with someone who had unexpectedly captured his attention.

In that unguarded moment, just as Mycroft was contemplating the probability of instigating a conversation with you which would make him somehow favourable, your eyes met his. Time seemed to stand still as a profound shift occurred within him. The man who thrived on logic and science, the master of cause and effect, found himself inexplicably lost in the depths of an unfamiliar emotional landscape.

The carefully calculated moves in the chess game of life, the strategic thinking that defined Mycroft Holmes, dissipated like mist in the face of an unexpected connection. It was as if the world had momentarily slipped from the moorings of reason, and he was caught in the uncharted territory of raw, unfiltered emotion. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken possibilities, and Mycroft Holmes, the orchestrator of order, found himself suspended in the magic of a moment that defied the logic he held so dear.

As Mycroft was caught in the whirlwind of his own thoughts and emotions, unbeknownst to him, you had not been quite as passive as he believed. Upon entering the lounge, your attention had been immediately drawn to the striking man in the finely tailored suit. The ambient glow of twinkling fairy lights seemed to play upon his features, creating an aura of both mystery and sophistication. Your observant eyes didn't just see the meticulously groomed exterior; they delved deeper into the subtle expressions that danced across his face; stern, frustrated, yet undeniably captivating.

In the backdrop of the festive ambiance, you began to weave your own internal narrative, a fictional backstory for the handsome stranger engrossed in the world within his phone. The tapping fingers and furrowed brow sparked your imagination, and you found yourself concocting scenarios that might explain his intense focus. Perhaps he was a high-powered executive handling a critical business deal, his mind navigating the complexities of global affairs. Or maybe, he was a brilliant doctor, eager to get back to the hospital where he worked in order to save the lives of several orphans who had been in a horrific accident, him being the only one who could perform the surgery. The finely tailored suit hinted at a life of privilege and authority, but the flicker of frustration painted a more human portrait beneath the veneer of sophistication.

Your eyes met Mycroft's, and both of you instinctively looked away, a fleeting moment of embarrassment shared in the silence of the lounge. Yet, as if drawn by an unseen force, your eyes found each other again and a soft smile graced your lips.

Caught off guard by the unexpected warmth of the encounter, Mycroft returned your smile nervously. His usual calm exterior seemed to falter in the face of these unfamiliar feelings bubbling inside him, threatening to breach the carefully constructed walls of his emotional reserve. It was a sensation he wasn't accustomed to, and the vulnerability it brought unsettled him.

Your hand rose in a small wave, and Mycroft hesitated for a moment before reciprocating. This was ridiculous. He had faced the most powerful people in the world, had even given some of them a dressing down, he could walk to the end of the bar and strike up a conversation with an attractive stranger. Surely it wasn’t that difficult. Yet, here he was, feeling like a teenager with their first crush. 

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, he got to his feet and navigated his way towards you.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Mycroft's voice betrayed a hint of vulnerability, a departure from the usual confidence that defined him. You, however, seemed not to notice his nerves.

"That would be lovely."

As the two of you engaged in slightly awkward small talk, there was a palpable tension in the air. Mycroft couldn't shake the feeling that he was not excelling in this arena, that the art of forging emotional connections eluded him. The potential for something wonderful lingered in the air, but he couldn't shake the sense that it was slipping through his fingers.

"So… are you headed home for Christmas?" Mycroft asked; a question he knew the answer to but felt compelled to inquire nonetheless. The conversation seemed to teeter perilously on the edge of uncertainty.

"Yes. I suppose so." You said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… home is such a strange concept. Somewhere can feel like home despite it being the first time you are there. People can feel like home. Not just family, not just the familiar. Have you ever been somewhere and felt like you have been there before? Like you are remembering a place you have never visited. Or met someone who just feels like they are new but also so familiar? Sorry, that took rather a strange turn. When people talk about home, they mean the place they come from, not some abstract concept." You gave him a bashful smile, clearly embarrassed by your ramblings.

The conversation had indeed taken a turn into the realms of introspection and philosophy and Mycroft found that delightful. As you spoke about the abstract nature of home and the peculiar familiarity one can feel with places and people, Mycroft found himself drawn to the depth of your thoughts, drawn to you.

For a moment, the awkwardness seemed to dissipate, and Mycroft discovered that he did indeed understand point of view.

"You feel like home," he said softly, the words escaping him before he could stop them.

"What?"

"I said, Yule feels like home. The time of the year. There is something about it that just feels…" Mycroft trailed off, the weight of his words hanging in the air. In that vulnerable admission, he revealed a layer of himself that rarely saw the light of day.

"It does. There is something so cozy about the festivities. You can't help but feel something magical could happen."

Your response held a warmth that echoed Mycroft's sentiment and he couldn’t help but think what his brother would say if he heard this conversation. There would be severe mocking, but Mycroft found he didn’t much care.

The moment between the two of you was abruptly shattered by an announcement over the lounge’s speaker, signaling the boarding call for passengers.

"Well… that's me." You rose from your seat, casting a bittersweet smile in Mycroft's direction. "It was lovely to meet you, Mycroft."

“You too.”

As you walked away, Mycroft's gaze lingered, and he couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret. The encounter had been brief but had carried a weight of unexpected connection and shared sentiments. The lounge, once a stage for silent glances and meaningful conversation, now felt a bit emptier as you moved toward your departure gate.

The first-class lounge, adorned with holiday decorations and a twinkle of lights, returned to its bustling atmosphere as other passengers prepared for their journeys. Mycroft, still lost in thought, found himself contemplating the significance of the brief encounter and the unanswered questions that lingered in the air.

"What am I doing?" Mycroft muttered to himself, a sudden realisation propelling him to his feet. The urgency of his thoughts overrode any hesitation as he hurriedly headed after you. The encounter had left an impression, and he couldn't bear the idea of letting you simply walk out of his life.

The bustling atmosphere of the airport became a blur as Mycroft navigated through the crowd, his determined strides reflecting a sense of urgency that contrasted with his usual measured pace.

Mycroft reached your departure gate just in time to catch a glimpse of you preparing to board. With a breathless yet determined expression, he approached, the echoes of uncertainty and vulnerability replaced by a sense of purpose.

"Wait!”

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trimax Thoughts Vol. 3 Pt. 2

Oh boy. So this might be a little silly but I can't stop thinking about the face. I want to give my own interpretation of it because I did notice something earlier on that I think gives it a bit of context.

Yes, it's this face.

Ok. First off, this is undoubtedly a fond look. Unbearably fond, if you ask me. His eye is dark; there's no fear, shock, or feelings of being unsettled. There should be no contention at this point - he cares about Vash.

But the actual feelings expressed by this face are mixed. If you hold up your hand to cover the left side of his face, you'll find a closed eye and a smile. Cover the right side and you'll see an open, half-lidded eye and a small frown. The overall effect is conflicting.

All throughout this volume, Wolfwood has been struggling to come to terms with what Vash is, how he can have seemingly no survival instinct (which directly challenges his worldview), and, importantly, the concept of immortality.

We can split up this immortality concept into two types of immortality. The first is immortality of the self - that runs directly counter to the survival instinct that comprises much of the core of his worldview, and so entities that seem to display proof of immortality are unsettling to him (even more so in Vash's case, since somehow his pacifism survived all this time...).

Immortality of the self is disturbing yet possible to Wolfwood. It is something he can prove through mounting evidence and disprove with a gun. And to have Luida tell him that Vash's use of his immortality is not for healing or fixing himself but purely for others - that's important, because up until that point, Wolfwood had done mental gymnastics to convince himself that Vash could afford to jump into danger because of his immortality, something Vash even refuted earlier ("I don't do this for fun, you know.").

But Wolfwood is not fully convinced until he sees Vash's smile again.

Their entire dynamic started off with Wolfwood immediately noticing Vash's smile hides his pain - but what he's now realizing is that Vash's smile helps him move forwards in spite of the pain too. It's not a mask, it's his armour. It's his way of shielding himself in the same uncaring world they all inhabit. Vash's decision to choose kindness over and over then, isn't because his immortality means he can, but because it is necessary for his survival. It's not a whim, it's something he believes in. These are his ideals. They're genuine.

That's worth the right side's smile. He may still not understand what Vash is - but who he is, as a person, is rather straightforward.

And now, for the other type of immortality - immortality of ideals. Unfortunately, there is no wavering on this front, because there is no way to definitively prove that an ideal will survive, especially in a harsh world like this. Wolfwood's cynicism is on full display.

"Ya can keep on walkin' down this road 'til ya bite the dust. Nothin' will change."

To Wolfwood, ideals can never be immortal, not in a world like this. Vash's efforts seem fundamentally hopeless to a man with no hope.

And so, the left side of the expression; that bittersweet frown. Being unsure of Vash's intentions in the Ninelives scene, Wolfwood is able to appear rather darkly satisfied - he understands a truth of the world that Vash (apparently) does not. He's "won" the argument against Vash's apparently incomprehensible foolishness. Except then he comes to understand that Vash is genuine in his intentions and in his kindness, that he needs to believe in it himself, and suddenly there is no deriving any of this cynical satisfaction anymore.

Wolfwood is still convinced he's right, but now, that takes on a more tragic context.

Vash is good. His ideals are good. And, according to Wolfwood, nothing good lasts.

To me, this bittersweet expression reads as fondness from Wolfwood for Vash, for his kindness and persistence in the face of everything... but it's complicated by the certainty, in his eyes, that eventually, these ideals will die, either when he inevitably succumbs to the world's cruelty, or, what's seeming more likely at this point, when Vash dies himself.

Wolfwood has been sticking around closely with Vash. He might have to watch this happen. He doesn't want to watch this happen. But he thinks it's inevitable. Kind things don't grow.

...or I may just be dramatic and reading into it too much. But that's what I got from it.

[anna-the-undertaker]

Prides Gift

- Prompt: MC accidentally summons one of the brothers with the strength of their sin. - I read something similar to this a while back from another creator, but I can't remember who it was. All I can remember is that it was about a teen MC who accidentally summoned them. The idea was very entertaining, and I wanted to give my own twist to it. - I'm only going to do one brother for now, and if it does well, I will do the others. If not, I'll let it die lol So let me know how it is. Any critique is appreciated. - MC is in their mid to late teens - I'm sick atm and my meds have made me kind of out of it so I apologize if this didn't turn out all that great or make any sort of sense lmao I'll probably read back through this when I come down from my medicinal cocktail and just think "wtf" - Not proofread - Song recommendation: Product Of My Own Design by Artio

- Edit: I did come back and read through this, and I did say "wtf" but like in a good way.

This work contains topics that some may find unpleasant. If you are sensitive to any of these, please, KEEP SCROLLING

Warnings: Small amount of physical/mental Abuse

Lucifer

The avatar of pride hated being summoned. It was a complete inconvenience. He had far too much work to do and had no time nor desire to deal with some petty humans wants or needs. Rarely ever did a human have something of value to exchange for his influence and even more rare were they even worthy enough to be in his presence.

He had become quite skilled at resisting. Only ever giving in when he truly needed to. But this time it felt odd. Different somehow, in a way he couldn't fully comprehend.

He tried to ignore it, to keep going about his work, hoping it would pass, but it persisted.

With a growl of irritation, he slammed his pen down and shoved his chair back as he stood before teleporting to its originator.

He made sure to keep himself out of sight, hiding away in the shadows, just out of a human's perception.

What he found perplexed him. Before him were two humans staring each other down. The feeling was coming from the younger one. His eyes traveled to the other.

One of their parents he presumed. They shared features with one another. In the background he saw other children.

In their hands was a piece of sheet music.

"It's not good enough!" their parent yelled. "You are a disgrace! What good is it that you're a prodigy if all you can produce is this garbage?!"

A slap echoed through the room.

The parent continued with their cruel words. Going on and on about how worthless their child was.

The young human did not cry or yell, only turned their head back to them with a fury in their eyes. Their spine rigid, chin held high, and fists balled at their sides.

It was obviously not the first time they had endured this treatment.

He felt their pride waver and anger swell within them. The smell of frankincense and amaryllis came off of them in waves and invaded his senses. The flavor of their sin was unique to say the least and it was clear to see that summoning him had not been their intention. He had half a mind to leave but he remained out of morbid curiosity.

He tapped into their thoughts.

"You're wrong. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! How dare you?! How dare you?! How dare you?! I will be better than you! I am better than you! All you want is to take credit for my accomplishments! My hard work! How dare you act as if I am inferior?! Don't crack. Don't give in. Don't give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken. They must never see me weak."

It was a sentiment he was all too familiar with.

The older human sent them to their room and he followed. He let himself indulge in their sin. Let it feed him.

When their door shut and locked behind them, the humans hands flew to their hair and pulled, a growl rising in their throat. They paced around the room for a while before finally leaning onto their desk, taking deep breaths.

"Just breathe it out," they muttered to themself. "A break down won't help."

They continued this until their emotions settled within them, or rather were locked away again.

The avatar of pride stepped out of the shadows. His wings and horns on full display, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"You shouldn't hold back, human." He said.

The human jumped and whipped around to come face to chest with him before looking up to his piercing red eyes. The slight fear at the sight of him fed his ego.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" they asked.

His chest puffed up, "Lucifer Morningstar. You summoned me. Who are you?" He demanded.

He saw recognition flash through their eyes at his name only for confusion to overtake them once more before they settled with acceptance, "MC... May I address you as Mr. Morningstar? Or something along those lines? I feel like using your first name is too familiar and a bit disrespectful."

Lucifer was surprised by their manners but didn't let it show as he gave them a slight nod of approval. Another surprise was that the fear had disappeared from them and was replaced by curiosity as they appraised him.

"You are being very polite for a human in the presence of demon," he commented.

MC scoffed in exasperation, "It is in my best interest not to earn your ire. Besides, you haven't done anything to me personally to justify rudeness."

"You aren't going to call upon god to save your soul? I can feel his influence here. Pieces of it are scattered throughout your home." The low timber of his voice vibrated through the room with an air of ridicule.

"My parents beliefs are not mine. I do not care for their god. And what good would there be in calling upon him now? He has done nothing for me and I owe him nothing. I do not need nor want his intervention."

MC walked to their bed and sat down before gesturing to their desk chair, "Have a seat if you want to, Mr. Morningstar."

His respect for the human grew just a little bit so he accepted.

"You mentioned before that I summoned you," MC began again. "How? I don't remember doing anything of the sort."

He sighed, "Simply put, my sin in you was strong enough to pull me here."

"Oh, so what now?"

He thought on it for a moment. He felt an unusual connection with the human, though he would not know why for a while yet. He couldn't help but notice the open minded air about them and their maturity and intelligence. They had the potential to be successful. A willingness to learn and persevere, to push forward and work harder were qualities he admired.

They had one immediate obstacle and that was domineering and controlling parental figures.

An obstacle he knew intimately.

"Normally, this is when you humans start stating what you desire from me, but if you are amenable, I am willing to offer you a deal."

MC watched him cautiously, "What would this deal cost me? My soul?"

"I am not some lesser demon who requires souls to gain power," He replied with a snappish tone. "I do not require yours."

"I meant no offense, Mr. Morningstar. I simply have no knowledge of demons or how deals with demons work outside the churches influence. To be honest I didn't truly believe any of it existed. What exactly are you offering and how would it work? I do not want to blindly incur debts."

He was not going to make a pact with them. They were far too young to offer immediate results or benefit him in any way, but his instincts told him that assisting this human would be in his best interest.

"It is an exchange. By giving me that which you are most proud of, I will offer you a small piece of myself that is of equal value. The power from that will make you succeed in your endeavors, but it will still require work. You must earn it."

"Aside from aiding my success, how else would this affect me personally?"

He smirked. They were perceptive as well. Good. "It will increase your pride in yourself and your work. Effectively raising your confidence and make you work even harder."

It was similar to the effects of his pact, but not nearly as potent.

"And of course, you lose any chance of going to heaven. You would be making a deal with a demon, after all." He added.

"What do you gain from this?"

"Some of the pride that you accumulate through your accomplishments will be syphoned to me."

It was an extremely simple exchange. It didn't required MC to do anything but pursue their strengths and he wouldn't have to come to human realm as often as before to meet his sins needs. It was a win-win.

The human appeared lost in thought as if having an internal debate. Then something sparked in their eyes and they stood. He watched them walk to a bookshelf in the corner of the room and pull out a binder before coming to stand in front of him.

"This is a collection of the most complex musical compositions I have written. Each of them have earned me first place in competitions all over the country. I have them all committed to memory so I have no need of a physical copy. Is this sufficient?" They asked while keeping eye contact with him.

He could see and feel the unwavering certainty in their eyes.

Without a word, Lucifer reached down and plucked a single feather from one of his wings. It settled in the center of his palm and he cast a transfiguration spell on it making it change into a pendant in the shape of his sigil.

While simple in design it was still quite large. His pride demanding that it be seen.

They exchanged items carefully.

"You must not lose that, ever," Lucifer stared them down as he stood to leave. "If you do, I will know. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, I'm leaving. I have been here far too long and I have a lot of work to finish, and no doubt more on the way from the damage my brothers have caused in my absence."

MC looked down at the pendant in their hands and back up, "Farewell, Mr. Morningstar, and thank you."

He said nothing and disappeared back into the shadows.

But before he returned to the Devildom, he had one last thing to take care of to ensure this transaction bore fruit.

He made his way through the house until he found MCs parent.

Lucifer let his presence slip into their senses. Exuding an intoxicating aura of power and arrogance and terror that preyed on the darkest recesses of human vanity.

Then he manifested before them, his true form imposing, standing tall and lean. His entire being seemed to ripple with suppressed energy, ready to unleash his dominion on any who dared to challenge him. As he stalked his way to them, he radiated an ethereal essence, swirling hues of crimson, gold, and violet dancing and intertwining like a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of color.

But it was his eyes that captured the attention of the human before him. They burned with an intense, otherworldly fire, shining like twin suns and within their depths was a potent mix of confidence, ambition, and superiority that captivated any who dared to meet his gaze. Those who did found their own doubts and insecurities exposed, their sense of self shaken to its very core.

Even the air seemed to bend and quiver in his presence. The atmosphere crackled with palpable energy, an invisible forcefield pulsating around him and with his every step, a symphony of whispers and murmurs that danced on the very edges of the psyche followed. A chorus of both awe and trepidation that only continued to grow louder.

In seconds the human found themselves trapped as he closed in on them and the air turned suffocating. They were frozen in place, limbs trembling.

"MC and I have come to an agreement," His demonic voice slithered through the air, a chilling tone that resonated with primal malevolence. Its timbre was a haunting blend of gravelly growls and seductive hisses, capable of both commanding obedience and instilling paralyzing fear. As it echoed, the words seemed to claw their way into the human's mind, leaving a lingering sense of unease and bore the unmistakable mark of the infernal, a haunting reminder of the abyss from which it emerged.

"So if you so much as lay another finger on them or harm them in any way, I will not hesitate to come back here and tear you limb from limb, understood?"

The human nodded weakly, unable to speak.

Then he was gone.

A decade had passed since then and Lucifer had nearly forgotten about it, barely even remembering their name. Being swamped in a literal mountains of work on the daily will do that to people.

This day was an important one. He was in a rush to get things in order for the arrival of the new exchange student. Doing double checks on everything. He had already had to deal with his brothers antics: Mammon disappearing, Satan trying to sabotage him with yet another prank, having to drag levi from his room, Beel having cleared the fridge again, Asmo constant inappropriate questions about the exchange student, worrying of belphie in the attic, and the list goes on. He couldn't handle another setback, otherwise he was liable to explode.

There was one document he just couldn't find and it was driving him mad. He ripped open the draws in his desk and started pilfering through his files only for eyes to fall to a binder buried underneath.

Suddenly his DDD went off and his eyes shot to its screen to see that is was a message from Diavolo stating he had the document in question and to meet him in the student council room.

Before long he and his brothers were watching as the exchange student was summoned.

They were disoriented at first and glanced around in confusion until their eyes locked with his, and a soft smile graced their face.

His own fell to the pendant around their neck.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Morningstar."

Part 2

[onegayastronaut]

Matters of the Heart

Requested by anon: Hello there! Hope you’re fine! I would like to have a request for one of the best couples in the TV history: Carina x Maya! I’m a sucker for them. Only if you accept requests, otherwise ignore my comment. So, plot: Marina x sister!reader (doesn’t matter whose) or daughter!reader, aged around 18-19 with a yearly doctor appointment. R is shy with her health, so she tries to avoid it at any cost. Marina tries everything to make her go, but doesen’t work. So, Carina offers that she does the exam at home, R accepts it. During the check up Carina discover some unusual heart sound. Obviously, R not happy with that and try to refuse a trip to the cardiologist. But Maya steps in and convince R about how important it is.

Words: 1236

Maya Bishop was nothing if not persistent. As a firefighter, captain, and older sister, she knew how to get things done—even when you made it incredibly difficult. And when it came to something as important as your health, she wasn’t about to back down.

You had always been shy about your health. Doctors, exams, checkups—they all made you anxious. So much so that every year when it came time for your routine medical appointment, you suddenly became the busiest person alive, always finding ways to avoid it. Maya saw through your antics, and this year, she had backup.

Carina had seen plenty of stubborn patients before, but you were in a league of your own. No matter how much Maya and Carina tried to nudge, reason, or even bribe you, you refused to step foot in a clinic.

“Come on, (Y/N), it’s just a checkup,” Maya pleaded for what felt like the hundredth time that week. “You literally go into burning buildings with me, but a simple doctor’s appointment is where you draw the line?”

You crossed your arms, avoiding eye contact. “Fires don’t come at me with stethoscopes and awkward questions.”

Maya groaned in frustration. Carina, however, softened her approach. “What if we made it easier for you?” she suggested. “I could do the checkup at home. Just us. No hospital, no waiting rooms.”

You hesitated. The thought of a clinic still made your stomach turn, but Carina was offering a compromise. And honestly, you were running out of excuses.

“Fine,” you mumbled, avoiding the triumphant look Maya shot her wife. “But just a basic checkup. No weird tests.”

A few days later, you found yourself sitting on the couch while Carina prepped her equipment. Maya hovered nearby like a hawk, arms crossed, watching the process as if she didn’t fully trust you not to run.

Your palms felt clammy as Carina gently pressed the cool diaphragm of the stethoscope against your chest. “Okay,” she said softly. “Deep breaths for me, tesoro.”

You obeyed, inhaling and exhaling as Carina listened carefully. You tried to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing rather than the anxious thump of your heart. Everything was fine—until her forehead creased slightly in concentration.

Maya noticed immediately. “What is it?”

Carina removed the stethoscope but didn’t answer right away. She placed it back and listened again, her expression unreadable.

You started to fidget. “Carina?” you pressed, your voice quiet.

Carina finally pulled away and gave you a reassuring smile, but Maya could see the worry beneath it. “I’m hearing something a little unusual with your heart. It could be nothing, but I think you should see a cardiologist to be sure.”

Your stomach clenched. The word "cardiologist" felt heavy in the air. “No way. Nope. I feel fine.”

Maya tensed beside you. “(Y/N),” she started, but you were already shaking your head, standing up as if distance could somehow make this conversation disappear.

“I agreed to this checkup, and I did it. You’re saying it could be nothing, so let’s just assume it is and move on.” Your voice wavered despite your efforts to sound firm.

Carina placed a gentle hand on your arm, grounding you. “I know this is scary, but your heart is important. We don’t ignore things like this.”

“I—” your throat felt tight. “I don’t want to go.”

Maya sighed and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I get it, I do. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll be with you the whole time, and so will Carina.”

Carina nodded, her eyes warm. “It’s just one appointment. If everything is okay, then that’s great. But if something is wrong, we catch it early and make sure you’re safe.”

You swallowed, clearly battling your emotions. But when you looked at Maya—your big sister, who had always protected you—you saw not just concern, but love. And you saw the same in Carina’s expression.

Finally, you sighed. “Fine. But if I have to go, you’re both buying me dinner after.”

Maya grinned, pulling you into a side hug. “Deal.”

Carina smiled. “And dessert too.”

You huffed but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

In the weeks that followed your cardiologist appointment, life took on a new rhythm—one filled with more check-ins than you ever thought possible. Maya was suddenly hyper-aware of every yawn, every sigh, every moment you sat too still. Carina? She had taken to randomly pressing a hand to your wrist, checking your pulse when she thought you weren’t paying attention.

At first, it was suffocating. You hated being the center of their concern, but deep down, you knew it came from a place of love. And as much as you wanted to brush off the diagnosis, it lingered in the back of your mind. You weren’t used to thinking about your heart in such a literal sense, but now every flutter, every skipped beat, made you pause.

One evening, you found yourself curled up on the couch, your arms wrapped around your knees as Maya and Carina sat across from you. It had been a long day, and your body felt heavier than usual. You hadn’t said anything, but Maya noticed. Of course, she noticed.

“Alright, what’s up?” she asked, nudging your foot with hers.

You hesitated before mumbling, “Just… tired.”

Carina studied you carefully before reaching for her stethoscope, which had somehow become a permanent fixture in your shared space. “Can I listen?”

You wanted to say no, to tell her to let it go, but the concern in her eyes was enough to make you sigh and nod. She pressed the diaphragm to your chest, her brow furrowing ever so slightly as she listened.

Maya’s fingers tapped anxiously against her knee. “Everything good?”

Carina pulled away and smiled softly. “Still the same, but we should keep monitoring it.”

You groaned, flopping back against the cushions. “Monitoring. That’s all we ever do now.”

Maya smirked. “Get used to it. You’re not getting rid of us.”

You sighed, but there was warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with your heart. You weren’t alone in this—not with them by your side.

Over the next few weeks, you found yourself slowly accepting their care. Carina was patient, explaining things in ways that made sense, while Maya balanced it all with her fierce protectiveness. There were still moments of frustration, but there was also laughter, shared meals, and late-night conversations that reminded you just how much they loved you.

One night, as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you felt a shift—not just in your body but in your heart. You had spent so long running from this, from the idea of being vulnerable, but maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to run anymore.

Maya’s voice broke the silence. “You awake?”

You turned to find both her and Carina watching you, their concern ever-present. A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Carina reached for your hand, her touch gentle. “About what?”

You took a deep breath. “About how lucky I am to have you both.”

Maya grinned, squeezing your hand. “Damn right, you are.”

Carina chuckled. “We are lucky to have you too, tesoro.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

[noxxuniverse]

This is just insane.

I am anon who wrote this - https://www.tumblr.com/noxxuniverse/770856101471305728/i-am-sorry-for-what-i-will-write-here-it-will?source=share

TW : it will sound very emotional and..kind of pathethic if i am being honest.

Since you replied to me, i kept affirming, persisting no matter what, i literally affirm so so often whenever unwanted assumption comes up.

I even stopped being scared at this point...Until today..

I am in tears, it's so scary, guess what happened today? (i really wish i could write success story instead). I wake up today and see (i forgot how to say it in english) asylum workers, doctor and ones who were supposed to take me away. Maybe my affirmations about being lucky saved me, i don't know. They didn't take me away this time.

It's not first time they are here, this time they told me it's last warning. (damn after i get this off my chest i will continue affirming for luck)

That's just insane, i hope i will be able to not take pills (somehow spit them out or drop to the trash).

It's not really legal to send me away but yeah, in my country stuff like happens often whether it's legal or illegal. And yes, my mother is...Is just devil. She wants me away (but damn i already manifested moving out in my 4d+found new part time job, JUST GIVE DAMN TIME FOR 3D, gosh)

This is just so so so scary for me, i made promise to myself to move out this year no matter what, but damn, i.. I feel scared.

I need to make through this hell no matter what.

I will continue affirming right after i send this post to you, but i guess i just need support (and unfortunately I can't have it from other people because you see what they do). If it's not really hard for you, i will be insanely grateful for your support, any support words. But now..? I'll take your advice and will continue affirming in my head, persisting.

This is what i have to do, right? Just persist in my affirmations, nothing else needed, am i understanding it right?

I really hope next time i return with success story instead of..this. I'm sorry.

Thank you so much.

(p.s. i didn't write this success story because it's extremely small but last week i manifested my mother returning at 9 pm after work, it was surprising because she ALWAYS returns at 7 pm, but this is not a big success story like manifesting sp, money, house, etc so..but i don't want to sound too desperate so i'm sharing to let you know i keep persisting as you said)

Hey hun, keep persisting, keep affirming, and try your best not to waver all the time. Remember, the external world MUST conform instantly, so do not let it have "time."

You've got this I promise you <3

[battleangel]

Mulder's Quest: 30 Years Later

The Truth Is Out There — 30 Years Later

X Files started in 1993 (Season 1).

Mulder's sister, Samantha, was abducted in 1979 when she was 8 years old & Mulder was 12.

Mulder became an FBI agent because he was convinced aliens abducted his sister. 

He wanted to examine & investigate the X Files in the hopes that she was still alive to find her and bring her back.

By the time the show starts, in Season 1, Mulder is already an FBI agent and is introduced to Scully.

It is May 1993 as of Season 1, Episode 1 of the X Files so 14 years has already passed since Mulder's sister's disappearance in 1979.

So, given that Samantha was 8 and Mulder was 12 when the abduction happened in 1979, Mulder is now 26 at the beginning of Season 1 in 1993.

Throughout over 10 seasons of the show, a series reboot, movies & a videogame, despite Mulder later learning that his father is part of The Syndicate, a shadowy government organization involved in alien human experimentation & preparing for an alien race to secretly colonize Earth, and further learning that his own father actually gave Samantha up in exchange for his silence regarding said alien experimentation along with top secret government projects, Mulder never gives up hope that his sister could potentially still be alive.

As late as the X Files movie which was released in 2007 — nearly 30 years after Samantha's abduction in 1979 — Mulder tells Scully that he "still has some hope" that his sister is alive.

While an alternate theory of Samantha's fate is presented to the audience in "Closure" (Season 7 - 2000), which presents the possibility that beings called Walk Ins saved Samantha from further experimentation, ended her human life and turned her into stardust — the fact remains that the mystery behind Samantha's fate is actually left ambiguous — the audience is never told 1000% if the Walk Ins saved Samantha from further tests and experimentation by converting her into stardust or is it possible that Samantha was not turned into a star and that she is still out there somewhere alive?

X Files presents both of these possibilities to the viewer as viable and it is left to the viewer to decide.

But for almost 30 years — throughout the original X Files series in the 90s, the reboot, the videogame and movie — Mulder persists in his quest to definitively find out what happened to Samantha.

In fact, Mulder is never shown giving up on finding his sister — even decades after her abduction & disappearance.

Samantha's disappearance and Mulder finding her is the sole reason he became an FBI agent with the hopes of looking into the X Files to somehow find the aliens he believed abducted her.

It is revealed as the series continues that one of the members of the aforementioned The Syndicate actually clones Samantha and Mulder finds multiple clones of his sister, each and every single time believing that the clone is actually Samantha.

In Season 5, Mulder believes that a serial killer that he previously apprehended in Season 3 may have killed Samantha but once the remaining victims are identified it turns out that none of them are Samantha.

However, before this is confirmed, Mulder is shown during the episode having many nightmares that Samantha is one of the serial killer's victims, specifically that the serial killer murdered Samantha at the age of 12 after she was abducted and buried her in the woods.

Mulder ends up digging through the soil in the woods with his literal hands to see if of one of the bodies of the victims is Samantha but when the corpse is later identified it is confirmed that it was not his sister.

Despite all these endless twists, turns, developments, traumatizations, nightmares, haunting visions, waking dreams, hypnotic regressions, lies, deceptions & subterfuge, Mulder never gives up on his quest to find Samantha or even slightly wavers.

Mulder is told in Season 7 (Closure - 2000) about the Walk Ins and it is implied that the Walk Ins turned Samantha into stardust thus ending her human life but saving her from further experimentation and that she now lives forever as a shining star.

Seven years after this revelation in Closure (2000), in 2007 when the X Files movie came out, in the movie Mulder is showing telling Scully that he "still has some hope" that Samantha is alive.

Obviously, Mulder would never be able to "prove" that Samantha was actually turned into stardust and is one of the stars shining brightly in the night sky above regardless of the emotional closure depicted in the "Closure" episode, the fact is, there is no literal way for Mulder to know for sure whether or not Samantha has actually been turned into literal stardust by the Walk Ins.

Given this, as stated, Mulder was quoted in the X Files movie as late as 2007 — when the show debuted back in 1993 — that he still believed that Samantha was possibly out there and alive.

Mulder is never shown giving up hope that he can find out what truly happened to his sister because if she is still out there somewhere, Mulder absolutely wants to know where she is.

Does she remember Mulder & her parents?

Or does she only remember the Cigarette Smoking Man who raised her after she was abducted and his son, Jeffrey Spender.

Did she start a new life?

Did the trauma of the experiments give her total amnesia?

Mulder never gave up hope and the driving force that led him to become an FBI agent in the first place and all of his endless searches for the truth about what happened to Samantha never ceased.

Why was Samantha abducted in the first place?

Here is the background per Google: The Syndicate was formed at the end of World War II, after the Roswell incident in 1947, when German scientists were brought to the United States to work on developing an alien-human hybrid.

Alvin Kurtzwell and Bill Mulder, Fox Mulder's father, as young men in the military were recruited for a project that they were told was concerned with biological warfare.

Deep Throat claimed that an ultra-secret conference of power brokers signed a multinational treaty that if an alien spacecraft crashed on Earth and the extraterrestrials survived, the country that held them would be responsible for their immediate extermination.

The group that became The Syndicate existed as early as 1952 as a secret group within the State Department.

The Syndicate's activities included experimenting with xenotransplantation, relocating ex-Nazi scientists to the United States after World War II and covering up the "black oil" discovered in the Piper Maru.

The members of the Syndicate were Conrad Strughold, Well-Manicured Man, First Elder, Second Elder, Third Elder, Cigarette Smoking Man, Deep Throat, Victor Klemper, William Mulder (Fox's father), Alex Krycek, Marita Covarrubias, Erika Price & Mr. Y.

The members of this secretive group within the State Department and Central Intelligence Agency officially broke off ties with the United States government in 1973.

On October 13, the Syndicate formally forged their alliance with the alien colonists at El Rico Air Force Base.

The Cigarette Smoking Man personally presented a folded American flag to the aliens, symbolizing their surrender to a superior intergalactic force. 

The Syndicate also commenced work on the Project, which would see an immense effort in creating an alien/human hybrid to serve the aliens as a slave race after colonization.

To allow the Syndicate to develop the hybrid, they were provided an alien fetus from which to extract DNA and begin research.

However, the aliens demanded, in exchange, samples of human DNA.

Members of the Syndicate turned over their loved ones to the aliens as human collateral.

The Cigarette Smoking Man handed over his wife, Cassandra Spender, and William Mulder reluctantly surrendered his daughter, Samantha — Fox's sister — who was abducted from her bed in front of her brother who was helpless to stop it at a later date completely clueless that he and his sister's father had been forced by the Syndicate to betray them.

In fact, William Mulder at first tried to offer his son, Fox, but the aliens wanted a female human to do their hybridization and other experimentation on and insisted on his daughter, Samantha.

Prior to March 7, 1992 — keep in mind Season 1, Episode 1 takes place in May 1993 — FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder, William Mulder's son, had been trying to access classified government information but someone at a higher level of power had been blocking his attempts to get at it.

Fox Mulder's attempts to access the information had been blocked because the Syndicate were afraid he would leak the classified information.

On March 6, 1992, the Syndicate was responsible for assigning Special Agent Dana Scully to work with Agent Mulder.

Later in 1999, Scully asked Mulder what more he could possibly hope to do or to find — six years into the X Files — after having done and uncovered so much, such as exposing the secrets of a conspiracy of men who had been doing human experimentation but were now all dead.

Mulder's reply was that he still hoped to find his sister.

When the Cigarette Smoking Man later revealed to Agent Scully that he believed that Samantha Mulder was dead, Scully wondered why the Cigarette Smoking Man had not admitted to this knowledge earlier but his only reply was that there had been "so much" to protect before, all of which was now gone.

What Happened to Samantha Mulder?

Theory #1: Samantha Died in 1987 - Season 7

Let's look at the first theory which is that Samantha died in 1987.

There is testimony shown during Season 7 that the horrendous experimentation that Samantha endured simply killed her and she died in 1987 eight years after being abducted at the age of 8 in 1979.

Testimony - Season 7 “As the next witnesses, Skinner calls, whose ravaged appearance shocks Kallenbrunner and shames the panel. 

After sitting down, Mulder looks at him in astonishment, before nodding slightly in respect, a gesture returned by Spender. 

Spender states that as part of the syndicate's deal with the colonists, each member was forced to give up a loved one, and that after being taken initially, Mulder's sister lived with Cigarette Smoking Man and him before dying in 1987 after horrendous tests. 

He goes on to say that after he survived being shot, he was subjected to the same tests."

Theory #2: The Walk Ins Saved Samantha - Season 7

An alternate theory is that a Walk In saved Samantha by converting her to starlight energy and turning her into a star that shines in the night sky. This process while ending her human life and causing her death actually literally saved her from horrendous future experimentation and gives her eternal existence as starlight energy aka a star.

The last shot of Closure (Season 7, Episode 11) where Mulder finds out what happened to Samantha ends with a close up of a starry night sky and then a slow gradual zoom in to one specific star that is shining brightly as Mulder speaks a monologue stating that he "wants to believe" — the tagline for the X Files — that a different fate awaited the children who were murdered by the serial killer that Mulder previously apprehended in Season 3 of the X Files who were all killed between the ages of 11 to 14. 

As Mulder says he wants to believe that there was more for these children than the cruel fate that awaited them in the cold earth after they were brutally killed and later found by himself and his fellow FBI agents buried in the woods. 

Mulder he wants to believe in a bigger purpose, in a more metaphysical existence, in a God, in a universe that would somehow provide these children a fate beyond just what Mulder and his FBI cohorts literally unearthed that day as they are shown in the episode zipping the decayed corpses of the murdered children into body bags. 

At that moment in the episode, the murdered children seemingly come to life, exit the ground and their body bags, and excitedly play, talk and laugh and run around to form a circle.

The children however are shown to be glowing with a ghostly like appearance so it is clear they are no longer living yet they are shown very happily and excitedly running around laughing, playing and talking so this may be the "extra" type of metaphysical existence that Mulder alluded to that he "wants to believe in".

Mulder then sees his 12 year old sister, Samantha, as one of the children with the same glowing ghostly demeanor run towards him and hug him.

The children are shown playing in the woods that their murdered corpses were found in earlier by Mulder & his fellow FBI agents but it is now nighttime and the woods are dark and completely deserted.

As the children interact and play together, they then form a circle and the children are then shown one by one leaving earth and dissipating into the starry night sky.

The camera then zooms out and you can see the star-filled night sky above the woods then the camera continues to zoom out further and further into the night sky then zooms in on one single star shining very brightly as Mulder finishes his monologue about how he "wants to believe" and the episode ends with the camera zoomed in focusing in on the lone individual brightly shining star.

This is a possible reference to the walk in concept that was explained to Mulder earlier on in the same episode (Closure).

The walk in is a concept in New Age mysticism of spiritual entities that enter the bodies of humans that have endured extreme severe trauma or multiple traumatic incidents that no longer have a will to live — the spiritual entities walk in and take over the soul and inhabit the body of these humans that no longer want to live and this then frees that soul to leave this realm and enter the afterlife.

When the Walk Ins take over the soul of said humans automatically inherit all of their memories but with none of the host human's original emotions that were attached to those memories.

Additionally, since the Walk Ins are spiritual entities that are not human and they take over the soul of a human typically in their 20s or older who have endured massive and extreme personal trauma, the Walk Ins are inheriting the host's memories without the host's emotions that were attached to the memories, while also inhabiting the body of a human that is in their 20s or older without ever having gone through the human process of childhood, adolescence, listening to authority figures, indoctrination, school, education, religion and so on. 

So, the Walk Ins then get to live as that human whose body they have walked into with all of the human's memories intact, but none of the emotions attached to those memories as well as none of the indoctrination, conditioning, grooming, authoritarian systems, education centers, etc. that any individual in their 20s would have presumably gone through in childhood and adolescence by the time they became adults in their 20s.

The X Files videogame further discusses Walk Ins lending additional credence to the theory that the Walk Ins possibly saved Samantha by turning her into starlight thus ending her human existence and saving her from further experimentation..

As I've made clear, however, Mulder himself states seven years after the events described above in “Closure” (Season 7 - 2000) to Scully in the X Files Movie in 2007 that he “still has some hope” that his sister is alive.

There is no conclusive proof that the experiments done on Samantha after she was abducted killed her nor was her body ever discovered. The fact is, while the Walk Ins theory is possible and Samantha may have been saved by them and in losing her human life been saved from additional experimentation and turned into pure starlight energy aka a shining star — it is just as, if honestly not more probable, that that isn't what happened to her. Consider the fact that there is no proof that the Walk Ins converted Samantha into starlight energy. 

Mulder is simply told than an eyewitness saw "light beings" take his sister and then a separate individual explains the Walk Ins concept to Mulder and the explanation closely aligns with what the eyewitness claimed she saw but that is absolutely the extent of anything resembling proof that is ever presented to the audience that Walk Ins "saved" Samantha.

Obviously, as a human being, unless Mulder is also converted into starlight energy, there is just no literal way for Mulder, the "eyewitness" or anyone else to unequivocally prove that the "star in the sky" is actually Samantha Mulder.

But that's the point — it is possible that Samantha survived the experimentation and somehow escaped and restarted her life over somewhere else with or without her childhood memories prior to her abduction intact.

But in the absence of discovering her body or finding Samantha alive, Mulder has every reason as he is shown in the X Files movie in 2007 to persist in his belief that his sister can still be alive as it is more than possible.

As Mulder said nearly 30 years after becoming an FBI agent solely for the purpose of finding his sister in the X Files movie,  he “still has hope”.

Mulder "wants to believe" that his sister is still alive.

Mulders Quest:

[meowww-ffxiv]

About that new guy, Yukinko Sato.

.

(1) "Yukinko" was obviously a city name. It was what the non-Viera kids in the villages at the bottom of the Skatay Ranges called him when he was a child sneaking away from his own mother to play with them.

She always told him off -- they were straying close to these settlements to gather some herbs, not to be seen! -- but Yukinko never listened to her. After awhile, she rolled her eyes and let him be.

(2) Against his mentor and father's wishes, Yukinko left the Ranges when Doma was invaded by Garlemald, and journeyed to the country's hearts alongside some village youths in the hopes that he could fight.

He learned and quickly grew proficient in samurai arts, the teaching of which had been unrestricted by then as Doma scrambled to fill its ranks with more men while Garlemald bore down on them.

Unfortunately, it was not enough. Doma was conquered, and Yukinko along with his cohorts were captured and conscripted. What happened to those village youths who were his friends, he never knew... At least, not the ones who did not commit honorable suicide.

(3) The Crown Prince of Garlemald was seventeen by then, and had made an idle sport of killing every single tutor that he had. Varis was growing heartily sick of him, but he was almost eighteen and ready for the field, anyway. Amused by Yukinko's skills, he ordered him to be the boy's newest -- and supposedly final -- tutor.

Zenos thought of this stranger as a new round in a game of only the barest amusement. Most of his tutors taught him, but they also loathed him, and did not mind inflicting as many wounds on him as possible. He timed himself on how quickly he could pick up their skills, then kill them with it. The record was thirteen days, by this point.

But Yukinko, though he loathed his circumstances and loathed this scion of his enemies to some degree, was also utterly unable to inflict pain on someone he had authority over as a teacher. Mentorship in his culture was no less sacred or less heavy a burden than parenthood, and so...

So he taught Zenos coldly but sincerely, and was in turn skilled enough to survive Zenos's onslaught.

Thirteen days came and gone. It became a month. Then it became two months, and then four.

Zenos felt--

Not quite curiosity. But rather, pity. He pitied Yukinko. Like someone pitied a rabbit with a broken leg left to die on the side of the road. He could tell that teaching him pained this man, yet he would not be riled and he would not be pressed into explaining why he persisted. He did not rise to any of Zenos's remarks either.

Yukinko spoke only to correct him. Not harshly, not severely; fairly. But he never said a word of praise, and never wavered.

(4) Assassins making attempts on the Crown Prince's life was commonplace. Varis only staged guards because leaving his son undefended was bad press; everyone in the royal palace knew His Highness could kill a squadron of the Empire's finest soldiers if he so chose.

These assassins were a little different, however. They were not insurgents, but rather Varis's political rivals. And somehow, they made it all the way to Zenos's chambers.

Yukinko happened to be there, reviewing sword moves on paper with the young prince. Of course he defended him.

Killing six enemies was boring, so Zenos let him do it.

But it did stir some strange, heretofore unknown emotion in his breast, to see that man who so coldly despised him yet so steadfastly taught him, standing between himself and this perceived danger.

For a moment, Zenos saw a little of the world in a matter of perspectives and not banal truth. The danger might be minuscule, but still, someone -- this man in particular -- was still standing between him and its tiny, pitiful jaw.

Yukinko bled to defend him. When the assassins lay dead and he was flicking the blood off his blade, Zenos found himself saying, "Had you been stronger, you would not have been cut."

Yukinko only laughed. A hollow, bitter sound.

Robed in crimson, a mockery of Doman samurai robes adorning him, a magitek katana at his side, barefoot and spattered in blood, more of it artfully spattered in a halo of carnage around him, the splayed bodies of his enemies like grotesque rose petals...

Beautiful, Zenos thought.

The sincerity of that realization startled him. Beautiful.

But Yukinko was already walking away, to call for the guards.

Zenos stared at the dead bodies for a very long time. Contemplative. Regretful, even.

Then the servants cleaned them away. Zenos paid no mind to their trembling hands and pallid lips, though for once it was not because he did not care to. It was because he was distracted. Dreaming, still, of that splendid scene of red and white, and a different pair of pallid lips, curved so cruelly.

That was the first time Zenos had seen his teacher smile.

...Oh, but he must see it again.

(5) Yukinko would not let Zenos have it.

He was back to his frosty terseness right after, refusing to even grace Zenos with a frown, let alone that smile of hollow mirth. Let alone that laugh. And Zenos -- he hardly knew how to court it out of his teacher.

Realizing that there was a deficiency of knowledge about this man, Zenos took to observing him more closely. Yukinko's habits, his schedule, his philosophy, his art...Suddenly everything about him became possible areas of interest to Zenos. This was no longer a mere passing amusement. It had become a hunt, a true sport. And Zenos would understand the prey that he sought.

Yukinko, who had since grown to pity the young man in return, thinking of him as the product of his environment more than anything, was surprised at this sudden interest. But he did not recoil from it.

They traded words on more than swordsmanship, then. Yukinko was careful not to say too much, aware that Zenos would likely wield anything he learned from him against the Empire's foes, but still, he talked. He talked to Zenos about fate, and the cruelty of circumstances, and hakanai bi. Ephemeral beauty.

Beauty, he told that young man, was tied irrevocably to death and its inevitability. All which was beautiful shall one day fade, and that was what made it precious.

Zenos thought about the wreath of crimson and carnage, of bodies and blood spatters spread like petals around a red-robed, barefoot figure in white. About pallid lips curved in a cruel grin, a voice that laughed so sweetly, so hollowly.

He thought, Indeed, beauty is fleeting.

(6) There were more assassins.

By coincidence, or rather because Zenos had grown to shadow Yukinko too much, they were caught together by the enemies yet again. This time, before Yukinko could even reach for his sword, Zenos had dispatched of them all.

In one move, flowing as water, swift as a dream, a perfect replication of Yukinko's most profound maneuver as a swordsman.

And then, standing amidst all that slaughter, he turned to Yukinko and offered what he would never know was a genuine smile, probably the first in his entire life. And he asked, "How did I do, sensei?"

Yukinko's only answer was an expression of pure horror.

He drew his sword on that child. He did. He realized three things at once -- that Zenos was a monster, that Yukinko himself had raised and armed a monster that would serve the Empire's depraved dream of conquest, that he could not let that monster live.

But a look of confusion passed over Zenos's face, and Yukinko could not get his sword arm to move.

Palace guards burst into the scene then, and upon seeing the Crown Prince standing there amidst corpses with his tutor, sword drawn, facing him with such terror in his eyes... Well, they drew a reasonable if incomplete conclusion.

(7) Yukinko was sentenced to die immediately. Varis wasn't sure whether he was responsible for this attack, but he considered it an irritating breach of security that Zenos's security detail hadn't thought to suspect Yukinko for the previous attempt.

Zenos said, "You cannot kill him."

"Know your place," Varis answered, thinking to himself he better turbo-kill this rabbit harder before, heavens forbid, his heir continued developing sympathy towards savages.

In response, Zenos slipped in, murdered the guards, and set a bunch of prisoners in the same prison free. In their escape, they took Yukinko with them.

Because if Zenos could not kill his sensei, then no one shall get to do it. Zenos had killed every single other tutor of his, those sniveling old fools...but Sensei was different. Sensei deserved better.

No matter. They needed only time. Zenos shall find Yukinko again. And perhaps next time he shall smile again, for him.

He dreamed of their reunion. It would be magnificent. It would be beautiful, and fleeting. And it will be painted in red.

(8) Yukinko wanted to die for his shame, after.

But among the escapees who took him was a Viera, and she kicked his ass about being a coward. If he was really sorry, she said, he'd be working the rest of his life to assist everyone in repelling the Empire and not sit around wishing for the sweet fucking release of death.

She was right, of course.

For years and decades afterwards, Yukinko traveled across the many lands, moving on dangerous missions to thwart imperial gains anywhere he could. Five years ago, he arrived in Eorzea and stayed for the descent of Dalamud.

Five years ago...

Five years...

(9) What happened in those five years?

Yukinko wandered through a forest. Sunlight dappled the ground, bleeding softly through swaying leaves. He had an assignment. He was having a hard time recalling what it was, but he was sure that he did--

Oh, yes! He needed to get to Gridania, where a contact would meet him and... And tell him what needed to happen next. Yukinko knew they had failed. They had failed catastrophically, but there had to be a next step. Dalamud's fall no doubt weakened Eorzea; they must rally.

A carriage stopped by. The man on it asked him if he was alright, if he was lost.

Admitting that he sort of was, the man showed Yukinko some pity and let him hop on. They were going to Gridania anyway. They talked a little, and then.

And then Yukinko found out it had been five years.

The grizzled merchant gave him a weird look. "Maybe ye hit yer head."

Amnesia? Possible. The thought frightened Yukinko, but it was possible.

He thought to sleep it off.

But a crystal appeared in his dreams.

Hear...

Think...

Feel.

And the serpent had found its tail, that it could begin this devouring.

[minti-tales]

Vierapril, Day 25 - Wave

(For the love of the gods, Tumblr, let me schedule this post.)

CW: Intercourse.

Heimar, you beautiful boy, you're persistent. I hope you know that.

I know it's you, because sometimes, when I summon my carbuncle, there's a moment when the wind kicks up and blows my hair back. The scent of spring flowers dancing on the breeze tickles my nose; smoke from an evening campfire winds upward around the tip of my ears. Your breath, hot from a day's worth of work, brushes my lips, leaving them warm. So delightfully warm. Your long hair, brown like mine, always easy to run my fingers through.

My feet touch muddy ground, sopping wet from downpours, and in so doing, I'm brought to the last time I saw you.

I am just a few paces ahead of you, nearing the edge of the Golmore Jungle and everything I know. You, my friend since I can remember, are gaining on me, stride for stride, telling me not to leave. You never beg - you were never the kind to - but I know from the wavering in your voice that you're close. They promised to leave us be, you say with tears in your eyes. Only a few of us have to go. ...You want your freedom, don't you? We'll be in the same unit. We'll be together. We'll fight the Empire together.

I let you catch me. I can feel your lithe arms wrap around me like a snare, tight enough to make me catch my breath. To look around at the trees, one last time, and think about what I was doing. That's what your intention was, wasn't it. To get me to think.

And yet.

I have earned my freedom. It won't be with the Resistance, and it won't be with the Empire.

I turn around quickly, catching you off guard, and I kiss you like I've never done before. I know it's cliché, forgive me, but...

The leather you wear isn't made to save you from a girl going into exile. Menphina knows that your loincloth wasn't either. We are together, but we both know that you aren't going to win.

How bitter you taste, in the moments that come after. A warder going into his last battle, giving it his all, thrusting his spear deep into the beast's side.

I'm selfish.

You deserve better than me.

But we don't stop. Not until you are sleeping on the leaves near us, and my hands are gently resting on your chest. There's a wave of regret that comes over me, and I hate it. I hate every decision I've made with you since we were young, all the promises I made to you, about nearly everything. I can't go. I can't leave you.

I'll be gone before you wake up. I'll get what I deserve in the world outside the Jungle, don't you worry.

Somehow, the memories of you will persist, if only when I play the role of a Summoner. Better memories, where we're young and in something like love.

You are the first to join the Chorus.

---

Recommended reading from Professor Minti:

The Love Song of Night and Day

Loran's Smile

[tseneipgam]

"of course, without the legitimacy of a flashy title at a blue-chip company, I wouldn't have a platform to say anything at all. Any value my words have in this country is derived from my association with its institutions: universities, banks, government. I can only repeat their words and hope to convey a kind of truth. Perhaps that's a poor justification for my own complicity. My part in convincing children that they, too, must endure. Silence, surely, was the least harmful choice."

"There's no time in October for more than peanut butter, traffic lights, and liberated slaves. It's disorien- tating, prevents you from forming an identity. Living in a place you're forever told to leave, without know- ing, without knowledge. Without history. After the war, the crumbling empire sent again for her colonial subjects. Not soldiers, this time, but nurses to carry a wavering NHS on their backs. Enoch Powell himself sailed upon Barbados and implored us, come. And so we came and built and mended and nursed; cooked and cleaned. We paid taxes, paid extor- tionate rent to the few landlords who would take us. We were hated. The National Front chased, burnt, stabbed, eradicated. Churchill set up task forces to get us out. Keep England White. Enoch, the once-intrepid recruiter, now warned of bloodied rivers if we didn't leave. New laws were drawn up; our rights revoked. Yet, some survived. And managed somehow, on meagre wages, to put a little aside. Eventually enough to move wife, husband and child from a rented room in a house shared by five families, to a two-up two- down all of their own. That they owned. And an ethic, a mindset, a drive was established then, that persists now. A relentless, uncompromising pursuit. Transcends race, they say of exceptional, dead black people. As if that relentless overcoming, when taken to the limit, as time stretches on to infinity, itself over- comes even limits, even infinity, even this place."

"But what it takes to get there isn't what you need once you've arrived. A difficult realization, and a harder actualization."

"

Beside me, sleeping, he is formless as water. Unperturbed by the day's anxieties. He breathes stead- ilv. With him, I have become more tolerable to the Lous and Merricks of this world. His acceptance of me encourages theirs. His presence vouches for mine, assures them that I'm the right sort of diversity. In turn, I offer him a certain liberal credibility. Negate some of his old-money political baggage. Assure his position left of centre. I turn my phone to silent. Perhaps he doesn't recognize the pragmatism of our coupling as I do, or Rach would. As his father surely must. But it's there. In his imagined autobiography, this relationship will ultimately reduce to a sentence - maybe two. Thin evi- dence of his open-mindedness, his knack for cultural bridge-building. Everything is a trade."

"

He introduces me to his political friends from across the spectrum. Conservatives who o and ah and nod telling me I'm just what this country is about. And so articulatel Frowning liberals who put it simply: my immoral career is counterproductive to my own com- munity. Can I see that? My primary issue is poverty, not race. Their earnest faces tilt to assess my compre- hension, my understanding of my role in this society, They conjure metaphors of boats and tides and rising waves of fairness. Not reparations - no, even social- ism doesn't stretch that far. Though some do propose a rather capitalistic trickle-down from Britain to her lagging Commonwealth friends. Through economic generosity: trade and strong relations! Global leader- ship. The centrists nod. The son nods, too. Now that, they can all agree to. They take their modern burden seriously; over Beyond Meat burgers with thick-cut chips drizzled in truffle oil. Per bell hooks: We must engage decolonization as a critical practice if we are to have meaningful chances of survival . . . yes, yes! But I don't know how. How do we examine the legacy of colonization when the basic facts of its construction are disputed in the minds of its benefi- caries?"

"British officials during the government-sanctioned frenzy of mass document destruction. Operation Legacy, to spare the Queen embarrassment. The more insidious act, though less sensational, proved to have the greatest impact: a deliberate exclusion and obfus- cation within the country's national curriculum. Through this, more than records were destroyed. The erasure itself was erased. With breathtaking ease, the facts of Britain's non- war twentieth-century history have been unrooted, dug out from the country's collective memory. Sup- planted. Vague fairytales of benevolent imperial rule bloom instead."

[raiiryuu]

Laxus blinked, the offer -- and the shift in Ivan's expression -- catching him off-guard. His surprise was a far more open expression than most anything else, normally -- though it was schooled back quickly each time, the very nature of it meant he usually took a second to catch himself, and things were no different now. Though the openness remained, his expression did shift slightly, closer to neutral. He dared not look as hopeful as that had made him feel, nor acknowledge the feeling at all. Nothing was set in stone yet, but this...felt like a step in the right direction?

"Oh, I -- yeah. I'd like to."

He shouldn't feel so...hesitant in this, and he knew as much -- despite everything that had (and hadn't) happened, this was his own father. He had every right to be here. But their disconnect had persisted this long, and in some ways he'd permitted that.

A sense of guilt, then.

But, considering his experiences...guilt didn't always mean condemnation. His own father likely had more reason to forgive him than the guildmates he'd actively hurt, as well...right?

"I won't mention it to anyone, either. If you don't want me to." He kept the upbeat tone he'd been using, though there was something close to apprehension behind it, too.

His team knew he'd been here, of course, and he trusted them with that. They'd encouraged this, when he'd wavered on the idea. But they'd keep his secrets with them to their graves, if he asked them to. He hoped he never had to ask them to. As for anyone else, he wasn't exactly a social fixture at the guild -- most would have no concern over his absence for a day or two, assuming it to be a job, and there...weren't exactly many words shared between him and Fairy Tail's "guildmaster." It was a promise he could make, with reasonable certainty, but something within him still felt awkward at the prospect. He disliked keeping secrets from those he trusted, of course -- he wouldn't exactly be happy if they were kept from him -- but this was more deep-set. Some part of him was angry, he supposed, that this situation even existed -- that he had to keep his dealings with one part of his family secret from another. Or maybe just worried. Worried he'd say the wrong thing, somehow, or end up distancing himself further.

Did promising such things right off the bat make him seem as desperate as he felt, for this to work out? Was it even a bad thing, that he wanted to reconnect with his own blood?

How much would it take to convince himself otherwise?

the words were faintly dipped in poison, but it was not a poison directed at ivan. or, to his own ears, anyone in particular. well. perhaps someone, but ivan was trying not to project anything at all. that could potentially rock the boat and ivan wished to avoid that. for now, at least. instead, he nodded and pretended to fall for the faint amusement. "i imagine that would be expensive and labor heavy."

ivan's coffee was finished now. which...well, that had to be changed. he didn't want this to end, not yet. luckily, laxus opened a topic that ivan could talk about for a long, long time. a smile even lifted ivan's expression, "they are quite intelligent birds, ravens. they know we will take care of them and so, a trust has been formed. this particular group is one i gained the trust of....many years ago. they now call the raven tail guild - and the area around it - their home." it was a prideful fact.

before he could stop himself, ivan added, "you're welcome to visit them sometime, if you'd like."

[bakerstreethound]

Love that Binds, Love that Fractures & Forever Endures

Relationship: Dr. Stephen Strange x soulmate!reader

Warnings: slight angst, pining, sad stephen

Summary: After seeing that you don’t end up with him in another universe, Stephen begins to doubt if you were meant to be. Needless to say, you help remind him that you always were his despite what the other universe showed.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 810

A/N: I’m dedicating the fic to @ironstrange1991​​​ in honor of her one-year anniversary of her finding and falling in love with Stephen. I sincerely hope you enjoy!

He knew you. He looked into your eyes and in many universes without so much a touch, he knew he loved you. Loved you so deeply, irrevocably, beyond space and time. 

But what a universe was this when you were there on the sidewalk holding onto the arm of another man that wasn’t him? 

He gets whisked away to another time, another memory, it’s almost like looking through a crystal ball, too many fractures of a broken life twisted and convoluted, much like his soul or multitudes of them.  

When he first laid eyes on you, he didn’t know you were the one for him, that you were destined to be his. He only felt a pull a whisper of promises taunting him; never mind the promise of the poison of love that seeped through the cracks. 

Wasn’t getting your heart broken a privilege? If so, why did it hurt so much? 

The constellations never wavered constantly tormenting him with images of you, building upon them and breaking them into pieces, only for him to form them back together so he could gaze at them, his one constant in his universe. 

******

He swallows in self-agony, burying himself in his bed, stacking books up by the bedside doing anything to pull the image of your laughing, as you clung to the arm of the other man. He knows he shouldn’t question it, but the thought of one universe where you don’t find him torments him so. He huffs, pulling back the covers, managing to dress and stand by the fireplace, the cloak draped over him, hoping to provide a sense of comfort. 

He sighs and slumps down in the armchair by the fire, staring into the flames he produced. In this universe, his present, his past, and his future, it was all you. 

Everything he does is for you. 

But why does this phantom ache persist and eat away at him? He huffs in frustration swallowing down the scalding tea hoping it brings a sense of relief. It does for a moment, but then there’s a knock at the door and his heart thrums in anticipation laced with dread. 

When you walked in through the door in all your blazing glory, he shook his head, refusing to believe the sight before him. No, it can’t be right you weren’t with him, this wasn’t the correct universe. 

“Stephen?” Your voice beckons to him softly and he finds himself leaning into your touch, your hand cupping his cheek in reverence as you kneel by the chair. This couldn’t be happening, and yet, it felt so right. He feels complete, the other half of his soul aching, screaming out to yours in agony and hope. 

You swallow, resting your forehead against his taking your time, however, this trance was concerning you. “Stephen, what happened?” You will your voice not to crack as he snaps out of his stupor, his breathing short and ragged. 

There’s almost a wild incomprehensible look about his gaze, haunted and forlorn. 

He knows he shouldn’t burden you with this weight, but he sighs in recognition, watching you intently, the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders, this burden he has to bear. He doesn’t dare turn his gaze away from you, not believing you’re real, but an illusion his mind casted in desperation to have you close to him. 

Yet despite this he knows somehow you are here, the only one he loved, his enduring love that spanned across centuries; the love he would always fight for to keep. 

He decides to trust, oh how it took him eons to, but it was you…you were here with him and no one else. 

“I saw you with another man in another universe. I don’t understand it because in every universe and timeline we end up finding each other no matter the situation but you betrayed me!”  He almost howls in agony and your heart breaks to see him this way, how he pushes you away, burying his face in his hands. 

Heartbroken. 

Lost. 

Defeated.

Confused.

You soften at his admonishment, trying desperately to understand his torment. You pull yourself off the floor to sit in his lap, carefully guiding his face away from his hands and tilting his chin up with a finger. 

“Stephen,” you start softly pressing a kiss to his cheek, “everything is going to be okay. Don’t worry about all the universes for you burden yourself. In this universe, our love endures unbroken by time and I am yours as much as you are mine. Don’t forget that, okay? I’m yours for forever and a lifetime.” 

He holds you to that promise when you bring your lips to his, forever sealing your vow. 

“Forever and a lifetime,” he repeats, returning the kiss with reckless abandon, his arms wrapping around you for eternity and lifetimes to come. 

******

@bakerstreethound​ @lilythemadqueen​ @frostandflamesfanfic​ @feral-for-strange​ @starks-hero​ @lykaonimagines​ @classickook​ @azu21​ @strangelockd​ @sobeautifullyobsessed​ @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds​ @starstruck-loner​ @wint3r-h3art​