#the pick scrapes Awaken something in me

[iwanttoscr3am]

- behind the mask - p.p.

summary: what happens when Y/N Stark attends the same school as Peter, unaware that he is Spider-Man?

➜ pairing: Peter Parker (MCU) x fem! stark! reader

➜ warnings: fluff, KISSING, and mentions of smut BUT no actual smut.

a/n: this is my first fic so, this might not be the best, and the character named ‘Tessa’, she is the blonde girl who first gave her opinion on fmk, I gave her a name because she is considered a background character. (this will be taking place in the homecoming era and, Tony has barely taken peter in)….. ENJOY!

Spiderman, a person you had been very openly fond of, some of your friends had been playing a game you were familiar with in P.E., that game being the infamous yet childish game ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’. I mean who doesn’t know that game? But you, on the other hand, had been so distracted by thinking about Spiderman. Sure, your dad had worked with the Avengers, which is a big deal, but all you had on your mind was Spiderman. You tried to imagine how he would look under that mask just for a moment. Until.

“Y/n, you still there?” Tessa says shaking your shoulder a little, awakening you out your thoughts “huh?” “we’re playing fuck marry kill, remember?” Tessa slightly furrows her eyebrows at you “of course, I was just a bit distracted, but that’s besides the point go on.” You encouraged Tessa “okay, now see for me it would be fuck Thor, marry iron man-” “GROSS” you cut Tessa off then start fake gagging “MARRY IRON MAN, and kill hulk” Tessa cut back into where she left off probably just to annoy you. “Well what about the Spiderman?” You question.

Little did you know just by saying that, you caught someone eye, but it wasn’t Spiderman, it was instead Peter Parker so it didn’t matter right?“I mean doesn’t it give you guys a thrill to crush on someone not knowing how they look” you explained “you don’t even know what he looks like, what if he’s like seriously burnt” one of Liz’s friends teased “bitch, don't tell me you have a mask kink” Liz asked “I don’t have any kinks, or at least i don't think so, but thats besides the point, come on guys hear me out on this” you claimed “yeah i don’t know if I can hear you out on this one y/n, like you literally get to stay in the avengers compound filled with the most hottest men in our time yet you pick the Spiderman” Tessa tries stating the facts, which don’t appeal to you.

“Okay, but you guys have to take a good look at him, like his abs, phenomenal, his everything simply amazing, and don’t even get me started on what he’s probably hiding down there”you try to persuade your friends.

But are quickly cut off by Tessa “yeah okay, lets change the topic” Tessa insists “uhm, sure totally” you add on. “Lets talk about Spiderman?” You mumbled lowly or so you thought because all of your friends head slowly turn to you “i’m joking” you say putting your hands up in surrender.

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P.E. ended and the hallways were buzzing with that familiar chaos only high school could deliver—the constant slam of lockers, random shouts echoing down the corridors, and the unmistakable squeak of sneakers scraping against the linoleum floor. Somewhere in the distance, a group of juniors was probably arguing over something dumb, like who stole whose pencil or who got the better grade on the last test. It was all part of the soundtrack that made Midtown High feel like both home and a mild form of torture.

You hugged your binder tighter against her chest as you walked side-by-side with MJ. While you scanned the crowd, trying to dodge the usual traffic of rushing students, MJ’s attention was split between keeping pace and absently flipping through the pages of her sketchbook. Her expressions were calm, almost bored, but there was that subtle spark in her eyes that told anyone paying close enough attention she was mentally filing away everything she saw.

“I swear,” you muttered, “if Mr. Harrington makes us sit through another safety video, I’m out. Dropping chemistry and probably school while I’m at it. I’m not even playing.”

MJ didn’t look up from her sketchbook. Her voice was flat but dripping with sarcasm. “You say that like you’ve ever actually followed a safety rule in your life.”

You shot her a pointed look, eyebrows raised. “Okay, rude. That was one time. And it was literally just baking soda—”

MJ cut her off mid-sentence, flipping the page like your explanation wasn’t worth listening to. “You made a whole mini volcano in the lab sink. With fire. Do you remember that?”

Your grin spread wide, proud of the chaos you caused. “Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it? I mean, come on—that was science.”

MJ raised an unimpressed brow. “You also almost set Flash’s hoodie on fire, and I’m not sure whether to be amused or terrified. But hey, whatever floats your boat.”

You laughed. You both approached the Chemistry classroom door, and MJ suddenly slowed, her gaze locking onto the small window set into the door. She let out a heavy sigh like she was about to march into enemy territory.

“Ugh,” MJ muttered, sounding like she was gearing up for battle. “You ever notice Peter’s always gone when something in here goes sideways? Like the second the class turns into a disaster zone, he disappears.”

You shrugged, peering through the glass herself. “He’s probably just lucky. Or maybe he’s really good at ducking explosions.” Your state confused from the sudden topic change.

MJ snorted softly. “Or maybe there’s more to that luck than we realize. What if he’s hiding something?”

You chuckled, bumping MJ’s shoulder playfully. “Okay, conspiracy queen. What’s next? You gonna tell me he’s Spider-Man?”

MJ didn’t smile. Instead, she gave her friend a look so serious it was almost chilling. “…Wouldn’t be the worst theory I’ve heard this week.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “MJ, no. Please. You can’t just say that like it’s normal.”

MJ turned to her, deadpan. “I can and I will.”

You raised her hands in mock surrender. “‘I can and I will’—you, sound like the villain in a YA novel.”

MJ shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Maybe I am.”

﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊

The second the last bell rings, you’re done. Your backpack feels like it gained ten pounds throughout the day, your feet are screaming, and the noise in the hallway is giving you a migraine in slow motion. If one more person yells across the lockers like they’re in a sports arena, you might actually snap.

You make your way through the crowd of students spilling out the front doors of Midtown High, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands as the breeze hits you just right — cool and sharp. The sun’s already dipping behind the taller buildings, throwing long shadows across the sidewalk. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you don’t even need to check the name.

“Outside.”

Of course he is.

When you hit the curb, you spot the black Audi parked across the drop-off lane like it owns the road — smooth, polished, and completely out of place between the yellow school buses and dented family minivans. You can already hear whispers: “Wait, is that Stark’s car?” Someone’s filming it on their phone like this is TMZ.

You pull the door open, climb in, and let the door shut behind you. The smell of leather and overpriced cologne wraps around you instantly — the exact scent that always lingers in your dad’s office, like money and metal and something faintly burning.

Tony Stark is in the driver’s seat, of course. Wearing sunglasses even though the sun’s nearly gone. Classic.

“Well,” he says, glancing over at you with that signature Stark smirk, “you survived another day in teenage purgatory. I’m impressed.”

“Barely,” you mutter, dropping your bag between the seats and pulling on your seatbelt. “Pretty sure the cafeteria pizza tried to kill me.”

He snorts. “Sounds like high school’s still thriving.”

The car glides away from the curb, quiet and smooth like it doesn’t even know what a speed bump is. You lean your head back for just a second, soaking in the silence — until he speaks again, casually, which is never a good sign.

“So listen,” he says, one hand on the wheel, “I’m making a quick stop after I drop you off.”

You crack one eye open. “Where?”

“Queens.”

Your head lifts off the headrest a little. “What’s in Queens?”

He glances at you, all nonchalant like this isn’t about to be weird. “Just a kid I’ve been tracking. Think it’s time to pull him into the big leagues.”

You blink. “Tracking?”

Tony’s mouth twitches like he’s barely holding back a grin. “He’s good. Real good. Quick, clever, solid instincts. I’ve been watching him for a while. He’s young, but the potential’s insane. I’m sure you seen him before, the spider kid swinging around in red spandex’s ”

“Wait,” you say slowly, you instantly knew who your dad was talking about. “You’re going to pick him up?”

He shrugs. “I figure it’s time. Get him to the compound. Suit him up. Introduce him to some real structure.”

You stare. “You’re bringing some random kid to the Avengers compound like it’s bring your child to work day?”

“Please. I’ve run background, surveillance, analytics — I’ve got more data on this kid than I do on most world leaders. I practically know what he’s dreaming about at night.”

Your eyebrows scrunch. “So you’re just gonna pull him out of his home, throw him in a suit, and call it a day?”

“This is easing him in,” he says. “You should’ve seen the onboarding process for Captain America. Glacier, punching, frozen for seventy years. Very dramatic.”

You groan and pull your sleeves over your hands tighter. “You are the most dramatic person I know.”

“Says the girl who once made national news because of a lab experiment.”

“That was not my fault.”

“Never is,” he mutters with a small smile. He flips on the blinker as he turns onto a quieter street. “Anyway. I’ll be home in like twenty. Try not to blow anything up while I go play superhero Uber.”

You glance out the window, his words still bouncing around in your head. Some kid from Queens. Smart. Quick. Around your age.

The thought should be simple, but something about it sticks — like there’s a piece of the puzzle floating just out of reach, maybe it was the person behind the mask you were longing to know.

But you just shake it off.

“Don’t scare him,” you say, grabbing your backpack while stepping out the car.

“No promises,” he says, grinning as he changes lanes.

﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊

After Tony dropped you off, the compound was dead quiet.

You spent the first hour doing absolutely nothing productive. Walked through the hangar. Raided the kitchen. Tried (and failed) to convince Friday to give you the passcode to the prototype lab. It wasn’t that you were bored — okay, you were bored — but the quiet made it worse. The halls echoed. The tech buzzed too loudly. Even the sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows felt… still.

So, naturally, you ended up on the lounge couch, stretched out with your phone halfway on your face, scrolling through nonsense and pretending you didn’t keep glancing at the front entrance like something interesting might happen.

You’re halfway through your millionth scroll through your phone when the glass doors hiss open.

You don’t sit up right away — just glance toward the noise, expecting an agent, maybe even Tony himself.

But it’s both. Kinda.

Tony’s voice echoes into the room like always. Loud. Unbothered. “Y/N!”

You groan without looking. “You ever heard of texting?”

“Not as dramatic,” he says easily, footsteps getting closer. “Besides, I brought company.”

That makes you sit up.

Trailing behind him is a boy you’ve never seen before. Brown hair, a hoodie that looks like it’s been through a few years too many, backpack hanging off one shoulder. He walks like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to breathe too loud in here.

You blink. He’s definitely your age. Maybe a little younger. Definitely nervous.

He stops cold when he sees you. Like full freeze, mouth halfway open, eyes locked like he wasn’t expecting you to be standing in the middle of this high-tech fortress.

Tony keeps moving, unbothered. “Parker, this is Y/N. Y/N, Parker.”

You tilt your head. “…Parker?” You hung out with Peter time to time because MJ would sit and talk with him and his other friend Ned.

The boy swallows like his throat’s dry. “Uh—yeah. Peter.”

You nod, eyes narrowing slightly. “Right.”

Tony claps his hands. “Cool. Ice broken. I’ll be back after a call or two — maybe make sure he doesn’t blow something up while I’m gone?”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Now it’s just the two of you.

You raise your eyebrows as Peter awkwardly shifts his weight, still standing near the entryway like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to sit.

“This isn’t a job interview y’know?” you ask. “Take a seat next to me.”

He lets out a breathy laugh and steps forward, finally dropping his backpack onto the couch as he sits down. You sit too, but you’re watching him — not in a rude way, just… curious. Trying to figure him out.

He glances around the room, jaw slightly slack. “This place is insane.”

“Alright,” you say, voice calm but pointed, “cut the crap.”

Peter flinches like you just threw something at him. “What?”

“You were doing sit-ups with Ned,” you start, tone sharp but casual, “on the gym floor, maybe five feet away from the bleachers. You remember that?”

He pauses. Blinks. “Uhh… kinda?”

You lean in slightly. “Mmhmm. And while you were definitely not paying attention to anything except your perfect form or whatever, I happened to say something. Something about Spider-Man.”

His face goes pale immediately. “Oh—uh”

“Yup,” you say.

You don’t break eye contact. Not once.

“You were right there,” you continue, cool and steady. “Right next to the bleachers. Tessa, Liz and I were sitting up top, Flash was being his usual loud self, and Tessa started the game Fuck, Marry, Kill or whatever. And then I said something.”

Peter’s already fidgeting, shifting in his seat like the cushion turned to lava.

“I mean—I was doing sit-ups,” he says, way too fast. “You know—counting. Breathing. Focusing on fitness—”

You raise a brow. “You heard me.”

He opens his mouth, closes it, then just sinks a little deeper into the seat. “…Maybe.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you did hear me say that I wanted to see what he was hiding down there”

Peter immediately starts glitching.

“I—I mean—only kinda! It was loud! People were talking! I wasn’t even trying to listen—Ned made me laugh so I lost count, and then Flash was yelling and then you said that and I was like—wow—uh—I didn’t know if I was supposed to—”

You hold up a hand. “So. Yes?”

Peter covers his face with both hands, muffling a groan. “Oh my God.”

You smirk. “So you’ve been walking around all this time knowing what I said was about you. And just… kept it to yourself?”

He drops his hands slowly. His face is red. His voice is tiny. “I didn’t know what to do with that information y’know?”

“Peter, I wasn’t joking when I was curious on what was down there” you say leaning closer and closer into Peter. “Uhm— no, because I thought you were joking because your a Stark thats like your thing, jokes right?”

“Peter” you say leaning even more closer “what do you think about me?”

“Uhm your pretty, funny and… I really want to kiss you right now” Peter huffs out. Your eyes widen “I mean-” but before Peter can finish your already latched onto his mouth.

Soft, sweet and perfect, the only ways you can describe the kiss. It’s magical. “We can go to my room you know, incase my dad just walks in and goes full dad mode on me” you mumble between the kiss

And all Peter can do is nod, not wanting to break the magical moment.

﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊﹊

Your room’s quiet, dim, and warm. The kind of quiet that makes every breath feel louder than it should. Peter’s hoodie is bunched up slightly under your hands, his lips moving with yours like he’s afraid to stop — like if he pulls away, he’ll lose whatever spell you’ve both fallen into.

You’re straddling his lap on your bed, knees on either side of his thighs, the blanket bunched beneath you. His hands hover at your waist — unsure if they’re allowed to stay, but too captivated to let go.

He kisses you like he means it. Like he’s wanted to. Like it’s been sitting on the edge of his mouth for days.

Then, mid-kiss, he pulls back — just barely. His lips are swollen, his breath uneven, his hands still warm on your sides.

“Wait,” he says, voice low and nervous. “Do you want me to… put the mask on?”

You blink, caught off guard.

He swallows, looking everywhere but your eyes. “I just—I heard what Liz said earlier about a mask kink, and I didn’t know if—if maybe that’s what you actually wanted…”

He trails off.

Your hands stay where they are — fingers curled lightly in the fabric of his hoodie, chest still rising from the kiss. You don’t move for a second. You just look at him.

And then you lean in, brushing your nose against his as your lips ghost over his.

“No,” you whisper.

“It’s what’s behind the mask I want.”

Peter freezes — like his entire brain just hit a system error.

Then, like a wire reconnecting, he exhales shakily. You feel the way his grip tightens slightly at your waist, his lips parting again like he wants to say something but you’re already kissing him again, slow and sure and real.

Not for the suit. Not for the idea.

For him.

a/n: HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!! Remember this is my first ever fan fiction so ITS NOT THE BEST😭. But remember If you ever want to request an idea for a fan fiction for me to write, don’t be afraid to ask! I LITERALLY WILL WRITE FOR ANYTHING… anything. OKAY BYE MY ANGELS HAVE A BLESSED DAY💕!!!

[apteryxparvus]

where the dragon sleeps pt. 3

Pairing — Neuvillette / Female Reader

Word count — 3,673

Content warning — none

Summary — In a crumbling Fontaine, a former Treasure Hoarder stumbles upon a hidden lake and awakens a sleeping dragon.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII

Part III

Leaning against a boulder, you lift your waterskin to your lips and take a slow sip, the lukewarm liquid barely soothing the dryness in your throat. It hasn’t been half a day since you began the trek, yet your legs already feel like lead, aching from the constant uphill battle against Elynas’s harsh terrain.

Above you, the mountain peaks stretch endlessly. This side of the mountain feels treacherous—loose gravel and jagged stone littering the path; your boots scrape against unstable ground, pebbles scattering noisily down the sheer drop below. You don’t dare look down—one wrong step, and you’ll be tumbling into the abyss.

You glance behind you, half-expecting the Hydro Sovereign to look just as tired as you feel, but not—his movement as graceful as ever, his posture straight and his steps sure. There’s not a single bead of sweat gracing his eyebrows, and his expression is composed as ever, as if the unforgiving cliff is nothing more than a leisurely stroll.

Of course . You scowl, taking another swig of water, and glaring at the way he navigates the path—it’s almost as though he’s floating instead of walking.

“Maybe it’s a bit late for proper introductions,” you start, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth. “But if we’re ever getting that fake ID, I need a name to attach to it, you know.”

“A name?” There’s a flicker of curiosity in his unnervingly sharp eyes.

“Yeah… you know, the thing people call you so they don’t just yell ‘Hey you!’ across the street. Or do you dragons not bother with such mundanities?”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the jagged peaks of Elynas meet the sky. “I have been called many things. But… if I am to walk amongst mortals, I suppose I shall need something simpler.”

You click your tongue, crossing your arms as you wait for him to elaborate. “Okay, well, do pick something. Anything, really. I’m not picky, but surely ‘Hydro Dragon Sovereign of Fontaine’ isn’t going to fit on an ID card.”

“Neuvillette.” There’s a faint smile—so faint you almost miss it—that thugs at the corner of his lips.

“Neuvillette?” you repeat, tasting the name on your tongue. It sounds elegant. Too elegant for someone you’ve been mentally calling a nutjob all day; but it’s not the worst name you’ve ever heard, and it does have a sort of old-world charm that suits him. “Alright, then Neuvillette it is. You got a fancy last name to go with that, or are we just sticking with one name?”

“Neuvillette will suffice.”

“Figures,” you mutter under your breath, kicking a loose rock off the path and watching it tumble noisily down the incline. At least one thing is checked off your growing mental checklist before you reach the black market camp. A name—finally something to attach to him.

The two of you fall into silence. It unnerves you. You’re used to noise—boisterous laughter, shouted orders, and clanging weapons. There was always something filling the silence—be it the snide remarks of your ex-comrades or the thumping of hurried footsteps.

Silence, on the other hand, feels too vast, too exposed.

“So,” you start, cutting through the silence. “Are you always this trusting, or am I just special?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders and gesturing vaguely to the both of you. “You met me barely yesterday, and here you are, letting me lead you somewhere. A place crawling with illegal activities, mind you. Didn’t anyone teach you about stranger danger? Or, I don’t know, common sense?”

He slows down his steps, and casts a sharp glance your way. “Would you not say the same about yourself?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected edge in his voice.

“At this moment,” he continues, words precise and measured, “despite not being in my full power, I could easily subdue you, if necessary. Should I feel you pose a threat, I would deal with the situation accordingly.”

You know he’s not lying—you saw firsthand what he is capable of—but that doesn’t stop the bloom of irritation spreading through your chest.

“Sure,” you shoot back, scowling. “Your little water-bending trick worked yesterday because we were, you know, surrounded by water . But now?” You gesture around you at the dry, rugged cliffs and patches of withered grass. “The closest body of water is, most likely, the sea. And yeah, we can see it from here, but it’s not exactly close, is it?”

Neuvillette pauses, gaze flicking briefly towards the distant glimmer of the sea on the horizon, before returning to you. His expression remains calm, as though your words have done nothing to sway him.

“Do not underestimate water,” he says quietly, the faintest edge of something—perhaps pride—in his voice. “Even in places where it seems absent, it is ever-present.”

You squint at him, unsure whether to be annoyed, impressed, or a little unnerved. “Right,” you mutter. “So basically, you’re saying I should be scared of you no matter what. Got it. Great.”

“I am not your enemy,” he replies evenly, resuming his pace up the trail and easily passing you.

You huff, following behind him. “Could’ve fooled me with that little ‘I can subdue you’ speech.”

“If I wished to harm you,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a faintly raised brow, “do you think we would still be having this conversation?”

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’ve got a point. Still doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He says nothing in return, his attention focused on the path ahead. You narrow your eyes at his back, muttering under your breath.

“Cocky dragon.”

The path has leveled out at last, stretching ahead into a dusty expanse. As your boots crunch against the dirt path, your gaze snags on something ahead—ancient, weathered ruins rest at the side of the road.

“Um,” you murmur, voice quiet as you stare ahead, instincts prickling with unease. You hesitate, narrowing your eyes. “Did something move over there?”

You swore you saw it—a faint blur of motion between the crumbling remains of what might have once been a building. Something large . Your grip tightens instinctively on your dagger, the metal glinting faintly as you twirl it once, testing its weight.

Neuvillette spots besides you. “Where?” His gaze sharpens as scans the ruins with a careful intensity.

You open your mouth to answer, but the words freeze in your throat. It happens again—a flicker of movement among the broken pillars. This time, it’s impossible to dismiss it as a trick of the light.

A massive machine lurches into view—alien and grotesque. It glides around, its limbs spiked and glinting like sharpened blades. Its bulbous body hums faintly, radiating a faint glow, as if powered by some unnatural, ancient force.

Your breath catches, and you take a step back instinctively, raising your blade. The machine moves slowly, weaving through the ruins like a predator searching for its prey. It looks almost playful in its hunt, and that’s what makes the whole situation much worse.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. “It’s a Ruin Hunter.”

Neuvillette’s lips press into a thin line, and his expression hardens with tension. “A war machine from Khaenri’ah.” His gaze doesn’t waver from the creature as its sharp appendages scrape against the stones. “These machines should be long gone, obliterated, along with the remnants of that corrupted nation.”

“Not really feeling a history lesson now,” you hiss. “I’ve seen one of those things just once in my life, and it took a dozen of us to bring it down.”

You duck behind a boulder as the creature turns its glowing eye in your direction, the light radiating from its core pulsing faintly. You motion for Neuvillette to join you; he hesitates for a moment, gaze lingering on the machine as though he’s weighing his options, before stepping smoothly behind the boulder.

Your mind races as you press your back against the cold stone, forcing yourself to think past the panic clawing at your chest and engulfing your whole being. How are you supposed to deal with this thing? Your dagger feels like a children's toy against a behemoth like that. And while Neuvillette’s power seems vast, you have no idea if he can actually bring down something of this magnitude without draining himself completely.

“Please tell me you’ve got something up your sleeve. Because all I’ve got is this—” you wave your dagger in the air for emphasis. “And I have a bad feeling about our odds.”

“War machines such as these are formidable,” he says. “But they are not invincible.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the dozen people it nearly wiped out last time I ran into one,” you mutter bitterly.

“Do you trust me?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden question. “What?”

“Do you trust me?” He repeats, voice softer.

You hesitate, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. Do you really trust this man—this supposed ancient dragon —who emerged from a lake with no proof other than his presence and power? You don’t know. You’re not sure. But when you glance at the hulking Ruin Hunter prowling through the ruins, its glowing eye sweeping the area like a predator hunting for movement, you realize you might not have a choice.

“I guess I don’t have much of an option,” you mutter, exhaling sharply. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

“Do you trust your aim?” he asks, his gaze shifting to the knife in your hand.

You pause, considering his question. You’re no expert with a bow—your attempts at archery have been, at best, inconsistent, usually reserved for desperate situations when your daggers went missing or broke. But throwing? That, you can do—years of betting on darts at dimly lit taverns have at least honed that skill.

“I can throw,” you reply, gulping down the lump in your throat.

“At my signal, throw your dagger into its eye,” Neuvillette instructs, his tone calm. “I will handle the rest.”

You hum, half-convinced. Part of you wants to demand a more detailed explanation, but the urgency of the situation doesn’t allow for debates.

“Trust me, little human,” Neuvillette murmurs, his voice softening, as if he’s trying to ease your nerves. It doesn’t. Instead, it sparks a small flicker of irritation in your chest— little human, really? You decide it’s an argument to save for after, assuming you both survive this.

You shift slightly, peeking out from behind the boulder. The Ruin Hunter’s movements are slow but deliberate, its glowing eye scanning the ruins with eerie precision. 

Then, as if sensing your presence, it stops. Its eye turns toward you, the light intensifying into a harsh, pulsating red. You feel your heart drop into your stomach as a sharp clicking sound fills the air, like the mechanical whir of a lens focusing.

“Now!” Neuvillette’s voice slices through the tension, and your body reacts before your mind catches up. You throw your dagger with everything you have, your arm snapping forward in a practiced motion.

You close your eyes the moment the blade leaves your fingers, unwilling to watch if it misses. For a split second, the world is silent. Then a deafening clang rings out, the sound of metal against metal reverberating through the clearing. Your eyes snap open just in time to see the Ruin Hunter jerk violently, its movements disjointed as sparks erupt from its glowing eye. Your dagger is lodged there, the blade buried deep in the machinery.

A surge of triumph flares in your chest, but it’s short-lived. The Ruin Hunter lets out an ear-splitting mechanical screech, its appendages flailing as it begins to charge blindly.

“Move!” Neuvillette commands. You scramble back, your boots slipping slightly on the uneven ground as you dart to safety behind another boulder.

From your hiding spot, you glance over your shoulder, your pulse hammering in your ears. Neuvillette steps forward, unflinching, his figure backlit by the ominous red glow of the Ruin Hunter’s broken eye.

He lifts a hand, his movements deliberate, controlled. The ground trembles beneath your feet, subtle at first but growing steadily stronger until it feels as though the earth itself is groaning in protest. You press a hand to the boulder for balance, watching in stunned silence as the dirt around the battlefield darkens.

Patches of muddy water begin to seep from the cracked ground, pooling around Neuvillette’s feet. At first, it’s little more than a trickle, but it quickly grows into rivulets, spreading outward in twisting patterns. The liquid glistens in the red light, reflecting the Ruin Hunter’s flickering eye as it staggers forward.

The water moves unnaturally, as though alive. It coils and twists, responding to Neuvillette’s silent command. In one swift motion, he raises his hand higher, and the water erupts. It surges upward in violent, writhing tendrils, lashing out like whips.

You can only watch as the Ruin Hunter is engulfed. The water snakes through its joints, flooding its mechanisms and short-circuiting its movements. Sparks fly as it jerks and stumbles, its limbs flailing in a desperate attempt to regain control.

With another subtle gesture, the liquid condenses, swirling into a concentrated mass before slamming into the monster’s chest. The impact is deafening, a metallic shriek that makes you flinch, and the machine collapses under its own weight, its core dimming as the last of its power is extinguished.

You glance at the puddles still lingering on the field, their surfaces bubbling as though alive, before they begin to recede, sinking back into the ground as if they were never there.

You exhale shakily, leaning against the boulder as you try to steady yourself. “Okay,” you mutter, voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I’m going to be honest— that was impressive.”

Neuvillette turns towards you, his piercing gaze flickers over your form, scanning for any visible injuries. You realize, with a start, that he’s reverted back to his dragon-like appearance—his long tail sways softly behind him, straining against the fabric of his trousers; his ears are elongated now, elfish and sharp. And two soft blue strands of hair frame his silver locks.

“Do you trust me now?”

You hesitate. 

Trust isn’t quite the right word for what you feel; it’s something closer to awe, a begrudging acknowledgement of the sheer, undeniable power this man commands. If nothing else, you trust that he’s more than capable of protecting both himself and you, even in the face of impossible odds. Slowly, reluctantly, you nod.

You take a tentative step away from the boulder, the soles of your boots sinking into the muddy ground.

The Ruin Hunter’s metallic body lies motionless a few steps away, glistening with droplets of water. You approach it cautiously, your senses still on high alert even though the automaton has been fully subdued.

Crouching down beside the wreckage, you trace your fingertips along the cold, damp surface of the machine. You can’t resist your compulsion to search for anything salvageable—your hands move without thinking, brushing aside rusted fragments of metal as you pry loose a bent panel. Beneath it, a tangle of scorched wiring catches your eye. You tug violently, wincing as it snaps free.

A small, round core glints under the sunlight. You cradle it in your palm, thinking that it might fetch a decent price at the market.

It’s an old habit, ingrained from your time with the Treasure Hoarders. You try not to think too hard about it, but the memories cling stubbornly.

“How were you able to summon that water?” you ask, curiosity gnawing at you. 

“There is an underground river beneath us,” he replies, his tone matter-of-fact, as though that simple explanation is enough to justify the sheer power you’d witnessed moments ago.

“Of course there is,” you mutter under your breath, twisting your lips into a wry smile. “As you said, water is everywhere.”

As unsettling as it is—how easily he can wield such immense power, and how calm he can remain while you’re left catching your breath—you’re thankful to be standing on his side, under his protection, rather than facing him as an enemy.

The thought lingers in your mind as you begin to move, intending to continue the trek up the path. But Neuvillette halts you, his arm rising with a silent command. You stop immediately, your senses sharpening as you follow his gaze. He’s motioning toward the second floor of the crumbling building ahead, its stone walls weathered and overrun with moss and vines.

That’s when you see them—two other automatons, their hulking forms slumped and unmoving, but unmistakably menacing even in their dormant state. You can see the faint red glow of their core indicators, dim but still alive. A low-power mode, maybe, but you don’t need to see them fully active to know they’re dangerous.

A curse slips past your lips. You glance down at your dagger—half the blade was chipped off when you’d wrenched it from the Ruin Hunter’s shattered eye. You swallow hard. It’s a pitiful excuse for a weapon now, and the thought of having to face another fight, let alone two automatons, makes your chest tighten.

"Walk slowly and carefully," Neuvillette says, his voice quiet. "As long as you don’t step into their viewscope, they will remain dormant. They will not harm us."

"Ah, right," you mumble, a nervous laugh threatening to bubble out. "Easy enough."

You force yourself to focus, your legs stiffening as you prepare to tread as lightly as possible. You’re not eager to test your luck with a pair of ancient war machines, not with your only weapon reduced to a glorified letter opener.

You decide to let Neuvillette take the lead, preferring the safe route. 

You walk past the dormant ancient machines with painstaking care, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Only when Neuvillette murmurs, “We’re safe,” do you allow yourself to exhale. A bead of sweat rolls down your temple, and you swipe it away quickly before reaching for your waterskin.

For a few fleeting moments, you convince yourself the worst is over. But as you continue down the path—its edges narrowing, surrounded by towering white cliffs—you begin to realize the machines might have been the least of your worries.

The world ahead grows darker. The terrain shifts. Grass no longer looks merely withered but tainted, as if scorched by something unnatural. Naked trees sway in the soft breeze, their twisted, leafless branches groaning faintly. Purple moss creeps over stones and cracks, and puddles of murky liquid dot the path, bubbling sluggishly. The water glimmers with a sickly, violet hue.

The flora here is unlike anything you’ve seen before—alien in every sense of the word. Flowers with long, bioluminescent stems curl into spirals, glowing faintly and casting the path in an eerie purple glow. They’re almost beautiful, but there’s something about them that feels wrong, like they don’t belong in this world.

And then there’s the smell. Faint but unmistakable, the sharp tang of decay and rot clings to the wind. It churns your stomach, though you try to ignore it.

“Neuvillette—what is this place?” you start to ask, your voice low but uneasy. Before you can finish, movement catches your eye, and you freeze.

From behind a large, gnarled bush emerges a creature so alien it defies anything you’ve read about in adventurer handbooks—or anywhere else, for that matter. It’s massive, its form dominated by a glowing purple core that pulses faintly like a living heart. The core almost resembles a flower in bloom. Surrounding the core are hovering plate-like structures, swirling in a circular formation as though orbiting a central point. Some of these shield-like appendages extend outward, curling like grotesque tendrils.

The creature floats closer, its core pulsing with soft, steady light, and you find yourself instinctively shifting behind Neuvillette’s broad back. The thought crosses your mind that he’ll take swift action—summon water to extinguish this lifeform with the same ease as before—but instead, he remains still, unmoving, as the monster drifts closer.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you peek around him, only to freeze at the sight of the creature raising one of its appendage-like tentacles. It hovers near Neuvillette, the glow of its core intensifying slightly. The plates orbiting it shift, drawing closer to the center and then drifting outward again, almost like... a greeting ?

Before you can fully process the sight, two smaller, identical creatures emerge from the shadows. They mirror the first, their tentacles moving in the same slow, deliberate pattern.

“Um, long-lost friends of yours?” you mutter, voice laced with cautious humor as you study the alien creatures. You grimace slightly, and can’t help adding, “Not gonna lie, they have some sort of ugly charm to them. And they seem to like you.”

The creatures notice you now. Their appendages twitch, swirling through the air.

Despite your better judgment, curiosity tugs at you, and you take a step forward, your hand hesitantly reaching out toward one of the floating plates.

“Careful,” Neuvillette warns, though he doesn’t stop you.

You hesitate for only a moment before inching closer. Your fingertips hover mere centimeters from one of the plates, its surface faintly shimmering with a strange energy. For a second, you think it’s going to let you touch it.

And then everything changes.

The larger creature bristles, its plates snapping back toward its core as its tentacles sway wildly. The air around you grows oppressive, thick with static electricity that makes your hair stand on end. The smaller creatures follow suit, their cores pulsing faster, and then—without warning—the larger one begins to glow a menacing green.

You can hear Neuvillette yell out something amidst the chaos, but it’s already too late.

The creature’s core flashes brilliantly before exploding in a violent burst of green light and particles. A deafening boom follows, and a cloud of pollen and other strange debris surges outward like a wave. You’re thrown backward by the force of the blast, the wind knocked from your lungs as you hit the ground hard.

Author's note: ok, it’s not a sunday, but i finished the chapter earlier and decided to post it bc today’s been an emotional rollercoaster 🤧

while exploring the elynas region, i got jump scared by the ruin hunter there, so that little asshole became the inspiration for this chapter

oh, and just a heads up—the lake in the first chapter isn’t the weeping willow of the lake in erinnyes forest, it’s just a similar one. (it’s not like i wanted it to be the lake, but then realized there’s no way they could travel to the other side of fontaine in half a day, mmkay)

[sweetsugarcakes]

Hi! How are you? I saw your requests are open and I couldn't let this chance pass.

So, I want to request an Azula x gn reader, where reader is originally on the Gaang's side, but in a fight against Azula and other fire nation people Azula gets wounded and gets unconscious. Reader sees her, but instead of taking her prisoner, they feel a strange kind of sympathy (✨️love on first sight✨️) for Azula and flee and hide with her. When Azula wakes up, things get a bit dramatic maybe but a happy ending would be nice.

I hope you like the request! Have a great day :)

hii im doing well ty for asking :)

this is so cute of course I’ll do it🩵

Azula x gn! reader

The Gaang was in your village as they were trying to hide from the Fire nation and their princess Azula. Obviously you didn’t like the Fire nation you couldn’t stand them one bit. So you helped the Avatar and the rest with their journey that they were going to set off. But before they could leave you saw the battleship coming to the village. Everyone had retreated and so did you. You watched the fight unfold seeing Aang and Azula going at it and occasionally Katara jumping in to save Aang. Toph and Sokka took care of the soldiers.

Eventually Aang did his air bending sending Azula a few yards as she hits a building making the rumble going down on her a bit. You saw she had a scrapes on her face and hands, she was clearly unconscious. The Gaang came up to you and gave you gratitude on taking great care of them. They got on the sky bison and flew away from view. Luckily your village seemed to not notice that the fire nations princess was still here and she was unconscious. Originally, you would take someone from the fire nation prisoner, but something in you screamed to help her. You went to the broken building seeing her laid out and senseless. You knew this was wrong and you’re practically helping the fire nation doing this. Without anyone looking, you picked up Azula and put her arm over your shoulder.

Moments later, you had taken her to your home where your father was on the shift of protecting the village from any Fire nation. Azula was sleeping on your bed meanwhile, you got your health supplies when she wakes up so you could heal her. While you were taking out the ointment you heard the bed creek and the blankets rustling. You saw Azula awaken rubbing her head and her hair fallen down. She immediately glared at you as she got off the bed and rushed to you putting her two fingers with her super long nails against the skin up to your neck. “Who are you?” She kept looking at you. “[Name]” You said as you looked down at Azula. “Hmm where’s the Avatar? I know you helped them. Where did he go?” She demanded as she then winced at her back. “I’ll tell you but please take it easy. You’re still hurt and injured.” You said calmly and smiled trying to ease her anger. She still had her suspicions about you but she saw your health supplies and sat down. “I’m a princess. I don’t need help from you!” She said in a stubborn tone. You chuckle “I know but I want to help you.” You got out some bandages and ointment for her.

You went up to her. “Hold still it’s going to sting.” You warned as you put the alcohol on a cloth and rubbed it on her skin to disinfect anything form hee opened wounds. You heard her gasp and glared down at you. “Not so harsh!” She yelled as you rolled your eyes. You kept treating her wounds. Under all the toughness of Azula she couldn’t help but find your kindness a bit weird. Usually from being in another nation, they would’ve locked her up or killed her when she was passed out. But she could help to find your compassion…nice.

As you were done with her face you moved to her fingers. They were a bit bloody as you cleaned them and wrapped them in some bandages. “Is that better?” You looked up as she gave a nod. You got up and went to your desk. “Why did a peasant like you help me?” Azula chuckled mockingly. “I don’t know something told me to help you.” You didn’t look at her but her face was a bit surprised, for some reason she felt her heart skip a beat. She also was intrigued that you didn’t get mad or offended at her calling you a peasant. “I’m grateful for your compassion but I’m going to go back to my ship.” Azula got up still a bit in pain as she went to your mirror trying to do her hair. You saw her struggle and fighting with her hair. “I’m guessing you never did your own hair?” You asked as she just grunted. You walked over to her. “Stop let me.” You stopped her by holding her wrists and pulling them away from her hair. She wanted to fight back and shout at you for touching her but then saw you do her hair. You put it in a high bun like how she had it before and put her hairpin in. “There…” you pulled away seeing her being pleased. “Thank you peasant.”

You rolled your eyes as she was about to leave but stopped herself. “Why don’t you join me on my journey? You could be quite useful” She grinned at you. You knew if you didn’t go with her it wouldn’t be good but you also wanted to. Somehow you found her captivating even if she was a fire nation royal. “Sure.” You say as you see her grin from ear to ear. “You’re a very interesting peasant. You won’t leave my side unless I say so. You’re like my assistant.”

You two snuck away from the village trying to get back to Azulas ship. You left a note for your father lying in the writing. You couldn’t tell him the truth. You arrived at her big ship as she walked and you followed. The soldiers got in line and bows at Azulas presence “Princess we were worried where were you?” The captain asked as she grins. “[Name] had helped me! Now they are my assistant and if anyone gives them trouble or talks poorly about them you’re going to be burned alive! Got it?!” She demanded in a strong voice as the soldiers bow. “Yes Princess!” Azula turned to you. “Like I said you don’t leave my side, you’re with me now.” You nod as you couldn’t help but feel warm at the possessiveness. “O-ok princess” you smiled gently as she grinned. “Good! Come with me and tell me where the Avatar went while you check on my wounds.” She demanded as she walked to her throne. You smile and nod while you followed her.“Maybe she isn’t so bad”

this was so fun to write. I really hope you enjoyed it and wrote it the way you wanted. 🫶

have a great day also!! :)

[belle--ofthebrawl]

I wish you would write a fic about just how much of a crush Aurora has on Mountain (bc I cannot stop thinking about the harvest blessing fic)

I don't know if this is what you wanted but it's what I wrote and we all have to deal with that now. (Bonus just for you: weird ghoul lore)

Aurora was born of gluttony. All tongue and teeth and wailing starvation, no matter how much she stuffed into her small body it was never enough. She remembers the clawing ache of hunger in her stomach more than anything else of her time in the pit. Her fellow hunters learned to leave when she was in the area very quickly; lest they be considered prey as well.

Aeon was the exception to this. He tried to steal her food, a downed behemoth who's killer she had killed and eaten in turn, stomach still hollow with the desire to feed. She’d been near mindless when she fought him and feeling the poke of his cock on her belly awakened her to an entirely new form of hunger.

This one at least, was easier to satiate.

“You're quintessence, like me.” He'd panted in the afterglow. “You're not going to survive on what everyone else does.”

She kissed him, and tasted his emotions on a tongue she felt no desire to chew on. When he slid his fingers inside her, curves them just right, she finally felt full when she whispered her name and he whispered it back in reverent awe.

Two mouths were surprisingly easier to feed than just her own, she was pleased to discover. And though a duo-pack was hardly a respectable number, she grew fiercely protective of Aeon, forever grateful for the way he took care of her appetite no matter how it reared its ugly head.

And walking through the portal with him, hand in hand to their new lives, was the closest thing to a blessing she would ever receive. This body could eat and be filled for much longer than her old one.

This was how she fell in love with Mountain. After an eternity of fending for herself, for Aeon when his head ached too much to hunt, there came this giant of a ghoul that radiated nothing but acceptance. His first action was to give her a soft blanket and lead her to a table where she sat down and was served food she couldn't have even dreamed of before. Bread that was soft with a crackling crust, a hearty golden soup he showed her to dip it in. Meat falling off the bone, she never thought cooked meat would taste better than raw. And he let her snap the bone to scrape out the marrow, even offering her a strange and soft paste to mix it in. He called it butter. He filled what was empty, asked her how she felt and when she fell asleep at the table after gorging herself, he had picked her up and carried her to a wide, square nest space and tucked her in. She fed on the kindness of the action unconsciously and woke with the knowledge he would provide for their odd little pack.

Love as a romantic act was unfamiliar to her. She loved Aeon, but it was a different feeling from what she felt towards Mountain. Aeon was practical and familiar; she knew him like the back of her hand. She wanted to prove herself to the large earth ghoul, prove that should he ever be incapacitated, she could care for him as well as he cared for everyone else.

Hunting on earth was different. She wasn't used to small prey. But she was a quick learner and soon presented the earth ghoul with a clutch of dead creatures with long ears and soft fur, plump and well fed on the lush vegetation of the surface, to see what he could do with them.

And he taught her how to cook. He let her have the second fattest “rabbit” for herself, to snack on as he readied his knives and pans and bottles. She learns about brining, and seasoning and cooking meat slowly so it was juicy and flavorful. Hell was so hot that corpses burned up quickly, devoid of the magic intrinsic to surviving the flames, so all meals had to be as quick as possible. This “slow-cooking” is maddening, but he opens a cupboard, unwraps something and gives her a large rectangle of foodstuff the color of rich, fertile earth. It smells bitter with an underlying sweetness and she nibbles the corner of it, savoring the way it melts and spreads over her taste buds. When she eats it, there are little crunchy bones mixed in and he laughs when she tells him this.

“Almonds.” He corrects. “Dark chocolate with almond toffee.”

Her purr when he ruffles her hair startles them both. 

“Like hearing that.” He says. “Better sound than your stomach rumbling, huh?”

She decides she's going to give him a thousand chocolate bars in return if he keeps looking at her like that, with an emotion so fulfilling it keeps her satisfied for three days straight. Even when the rabbit stew is done, she doesn't take a huge portion for herself like she usually does. She lets others eat as much as she wants, pride welling up when Mountain tells them she caught the rabbits and they congratulate her with with wide smiles and warm eyes. 

She kisses him after the clean up. With a full belly and full heart, she's still got a third appetite to calm. He understands without words. Takes her to his bedroom where he put her through an agonizingly slow warm up. Prepares her until she's tender and dripping, tests her with his fingers and fits himself in; they feast on each other until the sun sets through one window and rises again in the other.

She still bites him though. Sometimes she still doesn't understand which hunger drives her, but he's willing to help her navigate it. Sometimes this emotion is so much she feels it fill her stomach up completely, crawl up her throat and she waits to choke on it but she never does. And with his help too, she learns to say the words that help it stop hurting her in such a strange and wondrous way.

I love you.

[dontspillthefrijoles43]

The wrathful awakening of a teenage Bruja

Coming to RAGE Breisa -XVIII

Word count: 4K

Warnings: ⚠️Angst, Religious guilt, parental issues, trauma, anger issues, demigod bullshit just girl things, color texted (potential eye strain),

None of the images above are mine found on Pinterest— edit and changed to give privacy to OP‼️

Likes 💟, Reblogs🔁,and Comments 💬 are much appreciated. Let me know if you want to be tagged on the next/previous chapters!!

Summary:Why god(s), Why god(s), why do we suffer? Can you answer me? No I think I might be dead…Nice going mom

Coming soon>>

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-.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁-

For as long as Breisa could remember.

She was in chaos.

She was never chaos herself.

Whenever Dad would walk her down the street to school, he was always looking over his shoulder. Like something was watching them.

He was more self aware of things. She felt his anxiety grow everyday. But she didn’t know it at the time.

Now floating through…what the astral realm? Weird death hallucinations? Enteral punishment? Whatever—

Breisa could see herself and dad clearly. She was only six years old. Bawling her eyes out. God why this memory?

“Mija you have to calm down.” He wiped her tears.

She sobbed, snuffling snot and blood all over his bandanna. “I can’t! It hurts!”

“Mi Alma,” He soothed. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He held her close, wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb.

Later he picked up, and sat her gently on a dining room chair. Cleaning off her scrapes on her knees and elbows. Patching them up with butterfly pattern band aids.

She whimpered pathetically, “Why don’t they like me?”

Breisa remembered how his shoulders squared. Closed his eyes, trying not let his anger or fear over her show. Always trying to hold back. He rubbed sympathetic circles on her back .

“Mi Vida.” Mateo kept his voice steady. He looked conflicted.

Breisa wouldn’t have blamed him now. How could he explain to a little girl— people would hate her no matter what.

Didn’t matter how much she tried to fit in. Didn’t matter that she had a heart. Didn’t matter that she had more empathy than any normal kid had.

She was odd. She was poor. She was too smart for her own good.

“You just don’t…think about it.” Mateo stumbled. “The more you think about bad stuff. The worse you feel out here.” He made arm movements around her. “Then it gets too heavy in here.” Tapped at her heart.

Then he kissed her forehead, “You are more than their feelings. You shouldn’t let their hate make your heart heavy.”

Breisa snuffled, and wiped her eyes. “Okay.” She was defeated. So don’t think about it.

Don’t think, can’t feel.

Don’t think

Can’t feel

Don’t think

Can’t feel

That same night, there was a huge gash in the cheap popcorn wall of her bedroom.

It looked like it was cracked open by an earthquake.

Breisa couldn’t explain it, but she remembered the look of horror on her dad’s face.

-.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔-

At only about ten years old. Breisa was weary over her Tías.

She shouldn’t have been weary about them. They were family. Why where they always so picky. Chismosas.

“You should smile more. You’d look like such a nice girl.”

“You need to know how to cook. Take care of Papi and yourself.”

“Ya no más pan dulces, eres tan gordita”.

“Does your Papí take you to church? A good girl like you should always be in good graces with god.”

Breisa just had to ask the dreaded question, “Who’s that?”

They gasped in betrayal.

“Todas vamos a la iglesia.” Her aunt with the chunky ears proclaimed. Grabbing her by the arm.

On the way to church— they gossiped in hush whispers, doing the cross, begging forgiveness for Breisa. Telling her things about the grace of god,

“He always watches everything you do.”

“Everything you do bad, he’s there.”

“You have to be careful and hope he forgives you.”

“You are a good, smart, pure girl. Breisa, don't be a fallen angel.”

In church she couldn’t help but feel the chills in her spine. That statue with blood running down its head, as he peered into her soul. Breisa didn’t stop saying the “Our father”prayer for months after that. She had nightmares of being in Hell, over every little mistake she made.

The terrors seemed continue, even when she begged her dad join mass.

At least until Tía Celia came around.

Now Tía was different, she wasn’t married. She didn’t seem to have kids. She always smelled as rain, sometimes coconut, or even spring flowers. She believe in god, but didn’t make you feel guilt if you didn’t. She wanted to listen to what you thought. Not judge.

But Breisa didn’t want to get too close. Good people like her, they leave. She had her heart broken before. Not having anyone that could remotely understand her. In that feminine sense.

Papí tried. There was effort

But how could she tell him that she started getting weird feelings?

That the ugly boys in school, some of them weren’t that ugly. Kind of. Some of them made her laugh.

Or that she wanted to have friends. She wanted to feel she mattered. Wanting to be invited to sleepovers and play with dolls.

Not the weirdo she was— with her ugly messy hair that couldn’t be flat, her hand-down clothes, and dirty sneakers.

She couldn’t pay attention in class at all.

She was busy day-dreaming about all the friends she could have. She wanted it all: pretty jean skirts, flat hair for the pretty clips, the rubber band bracelets, and the twinkle toes boots.

School didn’t make it easy either. Sometimes the words in the chapter books were hard to read. They didn’t flow good in Spanish writing. Or it was mixed up in English.

History didn’t really talk about anything else other than the boring old guys in wigs. Math was the worst. It should be illegal. Who’s idea was to put letters in math?

She liked when they had arts and crafts though. Her favorite was to draw the stars and the moon. She had a dream about them, being able to float above and see it all. Plus this cool dog, that had three heads— made out of stars.

The girls in class seemed to like her drawings. Until they saw the dog.

“What’s that ugly thing?”

“Is it a dog?”

“Oh yeah, he’s a Doberman.” Breisa explained excitedly. “He’s made out of stars. But he doesn’t stay like that. He’s big and cuddly. Plus he breathes fire, because stars are made out of fire.”

Then one of the girls, Angie, cackled “You’re so weird! Dogs don’t have three heads! Quit making things up?”

“But the one in my dream had it! I saw it!” Breisa huffed.

“Only crazy people see things.” Another commented.

“Yeah crazy people that make deals with the devil.”

“You mean a bruja?”

Like wildfire that comment spread. It was catholic school after all.

Breisa the bruja? Yeah cause she’s crazy. She’s so weird. No wonder she doesn’t have a mom. She probably cursed her. Made her disappear.

She was hurt of course. Then the anger came. Before she was seething and her teeth grinding together. It didn’t help Isabel, the girl who started it had been laughing in her face.

Next thing she knew, Isabel was bleeding from her nose and Breisa was getting her curls yanked from her scalp.

Then she got sent home. Again.

Tía was there when Dad picked her up. She was standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Looking a bit surprised to see her. Then her face shift to some sort of understanding.

Breisa hid behind her Dad’s leg. Until Tia kneeled down to her eye level, and said “Hey Bonita, you okay?”

The re were no more nightmares, nor cracks from the random earthquakes. It was like Tía Celia and Dad were her good luck charms.

-.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁-

“Why do you do this?” Tía Celia scolded. “Your Papi works very hard for you, and you get into fights. Again?”

Breisa, barely 12 by now, absentmindedly looked out the window; imagining there was a little guy bobbing and weaving through the neighborhood.

“Ay ya!” Tía snapped to get her attention. “¿¡Niña, qué vas a hater? How are you going to survive without us? What are you going to do with school?”

“Flunk out.” She shrugged.

Tía pursed her lips in thought. There were things she’d noticed about Breisa. Her attitude was a big one. But that was just an aggressive way to mask everything underneath.

Take how she looked- wearing week old jeans, her hair was half updo and frizzy, sweatshirt and eye bags. She was stressed again.

Tía breathed and tried a different approach, “What is going on with you?”

Breisa sighed quietly underneath her breath. “Dad. He’s having money problems. And he doesn’t want to admit it. I don’t want to be in school. If I can’t afford the uniforms, or the lunch, or whatever.”

She didn’t have to turn to see that Celica was frowning, she has always stressing over them. Dad was her older brother. “If you say anything, he’ll be mad and he’ll be stubborn. ‘Cause he wants to prove something, working from sunup to sun down. Why does it matter?”

”Your father is taking after our mom,” Tía explained. “It was her job to protect and provide, so we can have a better life. That’s what we do for our own.”

Breisa grumbled, hearing this lecture over and over again. "¿Y si no quiero eso?"

Tia screeched to a stop in the middle of the highway. Then when other cars blared their horn at her, she jerked the car to the side. She faced her niece, “¿Que dice?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Breisa repeated herself. “I don’t want that. Not if it means dad has to sacrifice himself, for my own comfort . It doesn’t feel right.”

“Breisas Paulina Alessandro,” She winced at her full name. Waiting for the lecture that would ensue. But it never came. “What makes you think that your father is forced to do that?”

“I don’t know!” She remembered the frustration, guilt, and overwhelming anxiety. “Maybe because he didn’t want me! Maybe I am too much of a burden! No matter how much effort he puts into me, I’m a huge screw up! No matter how hard I try I cause all the problems! Maybe mom wouldn’t have left if she knew I wasn’t such a curse! And then dad wouldn’t have to be stuck with me!”

From her outburst the ground began to rumble, Breisa closed her eyes and prayed it wasn’t an earthquake. She hated them. They always seemed to follow. Maybe god was just laughing at her. Or she needed to suffer to make up for how awful she was.

That’s why dad took her place in a prison cell. That’s why the fights got worse, the outbursts were frequent, that’s why Tía sent her a way. And any little moment of happiness was gone.

All those memories came rushing at once.

Fuck, if this Breisa is her suffering. Who's to say she’s changed at all?

She’s always suffering or maybe other people suffer. This is her purgatory, even if it’s not the one she expected. She deserves this.

“Why the hell did you make me?!” Breisa screamed into void. “Do you just enjoy this?! Watching me live this over and over again?! Seeing how much of a screw up I am?! Is that all I’m good for?!”

Only silence in this emptiness.

“Some fuckin mom you are! Leaving me and dad to fend for ourselves! While you get to live a life being an all powerful drama queen!”

Breisa didn’t realize the tears, until they trailed angrily down her face.

“Why can’t I stop fuckin up? Was I just made to be a puppet? Was I never meant to be happy?”

She hyperventilated.

“Am I a mistake?”

No answer, just as she suspected. Why would she have her hopes up for some Vieja, probably worse than she was.

“You think way too little of yourself.” An old voice croaked. “And you think too little of me.”

Breisa felt the void shrink as she met eyes with an elderly lady.

She must’ve been in her late sixties. Her hair was long with gray waves. Her dress was stitched and hand embroidered. She wore a small bandana with moon crescent pattern; it was tied by the back of hair. There were braids on each side of her cheeks decorated with either yarn, beads, and feathers.

“To be young, is to be small and foolish.” She hummed. “You represent that.”

Breisa looked surprised and annoyed, “Are you here to lead me to purgatory? Or you're just giving me a bunch of bull about my youth.”

She felt a swat at her head. Ouch! She winced and rubbed her forehead.

“I figured this form you would be at ease.” The woman huffed. “Maybe, I’d suit you better like this.”

She changed, her grays turning dark and healthy. Her wrinkles seeped into smooth skin. Her posture straightened.

Breisa was met with a doppelgänger-adjacent…she had olive skin, thick waves of black hair. She had a slight smile, twinkled with mischief. But a glow in her eyes— she was more than she seemed. She had the same mole on her lip, nose shape, and everything else Breisa. A hollow shell of her.

“¡Ay ya!” Breisa exclaimed. Touching her own face, making sure hers was still there.

“We’re going to be the best of companions!” She grabbed her hands. “Be free, away from pesky men— let our hair grow wild, thrive in nature, learn the dark magic grimoire, hex those elitists, steal from the rich, and curse their bloodlines.” Her eyes went wild with hazy green. “Of course we might let the good looking men live.”

Breisa, horrified, threw her hands back and pushed her away defensively. “¡¿Qué eres?!”

“Not this form either, huh.” The creature huffed. “Okay fine. Do not be frightened.”

“Any more than I am?”

There was a glow to her skin, Breisa closed her eyes. Knowing it might blind her. Behind her eyelids the light turned warm.

When it was safe, she peaked her eyes open. And was face to face with a woman. Not an elderly old lady like before. Not a teenager that looked eerily similar to Breisa.

Just a woman. Skin that shined like she spent a good day's work in the sun. A mass of black hair, with a little greys. Narrow nose that even out. Almond shaped eyes with slight crows feet. Sharply eyebrows, though they were thick instead of thin.

Her stare was stern, authoritative. But worried hidden behind her mask.

Recognition clicked in her brain. The statue back at Camp.

She realized she was holding her breath, “Mom?”

Hecate seemed to smile. But it was quick. Gone before Breisa could catch it. “So you aren’t ignorant.”

She sputtered,“What the fuck?!”

Hecate raised an eyebrow, “You speak to me this way.”

With what courage she had, Breisa raved, “Yeah I speak to you this way. Sixteen years. All I get is an insult. Sixteen fuckin years later, oh hey the world might end— Guess who has to save it? Some clueless kid, who doesn’t know what the fuck she is.”

“Breisa.” Hecate tried to cut in.

“Sixteen years, you couldn’t tell me anything?” She huffed. “What about dad?! What about Lou?! And everyone else you left behind!”

“Breisa.” She said gently.

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Breisa sneered at her. “You don’t deserve to scold me. Not after you abandon us. Not after you cursed me with these demons. Not after you left me to deal with all of this.”

Hecate inhaled deeply.“You chose your own path.”

“The fuck I did.” Breisa sneered. “You brought me into this world. You decide to create life. It’s your fault I am a fuck up! Great job! Mother of the year!”

Her mother clicked her tongue in distaste. “You hate me I suppose.”

Breisa scoffed like it was obvious. “You suppose? Should I repeat myself?”

She breathed deeply, “I don’t blame you. I’m not gonna sit here and make any excuses. As the others would try to lie to their children. I created you out of selfish desire. And gave you these burdens. Expected you to become someone. That was wrong of me.”

“You think—“ Breisa threw her hands up in the air.

Hecate exhaled. “But I also created you, the way most of us create our children. For something greater than ourselves. Prosperity.”

Breisa looked at her like she was crazy. Crazier than she sounded.

Hecate opened her palms, beginning her explanation, “There are gods that can see the future. There are titans who have lived in the past. And those who worry about our present.” Mist began to create a stream of illusions. “But me…I see all.”

The mist became fog, then formed little galaxies with portals showing visions.

Breisa could see herself in all of them. All of herself.

One looked like she had been through hell…bloody and stitched up rags for clothes. Another looked like a superhero, wearing a purple cloak that draped over her body. The next one, she wore a wickered gown- embroidered with cool colors, a vail crowning her head as she prayed at an altar. There were so many different personas, different things happening, and she was in all of them.

Some she was happy, others looked scared, many she was fighting her way out.

“What is this?” Breisa was trying to see everything, everywhere, and all at once.

Hecate voice boomed, “This is all time. Past, present, future. All of it. Every world, every decision you ever made.”

Breisa pointed at one portal, “I think I’d remember if I join rebellion against…is that the fuckin Spanish malita?!”

Hecate closed that portal. “It’s you in another timeline.”

“How is that even possible-”

Continued over Breisa, “From the earliest times. The ancient ones have known that our world isn’t the only one. Some were lucky to witness one timeline over the other. The gods have chosen a better fate for this world. Demigods have crossed from one world to another.” All the portals glimmered with her words, “There are many cross roads we have to face. So many worlds like our own. Maybe we are the original. Maybe we are not. Maybe we succeeded, maybe we don’t. But our paths always lead to our destiny. It has been set since our very first breath. For beings like us, we can choose so many ways…yet fate can only be fickle.”

Breisa couldn’t wrap her head around it. It all seemed too much at once.

“Child, I can only tell you what I know.” Hecate waved her hands towards the portals. “You believe it if you want.” Then she closed them shut. “But you need to choose your path. How your fate will turn out. I can’t make any changes for you. I can’t give you the easy way out. Only you can control what path you may cross. How you become the heroine in your story.”

Breisa eyed all of the portals. “I’m not like them…am I?”

“Perhaps,” Hecate considered. “Some worlds, your circumstances were different. For better off or for worse.” She lifted a portal towards her, “But this is your timeline. This is the stream you’ve paved the way to. You have to follow it.”

In the open portal, her world, she could see…

Piper yelled at the boys below, trying to snap them out of the hex, as they charged towards each other. Standing protectively in front of Breisa, clay encased body.

In the next moment, Jason forced his eyes away from the dragon. Slashing blindly with his sword a couple of good strikes. Before getting knocked over.

And another flash…Leo holding his hammer up, so he wouldn’t get mauled by a dragon. His eyes squeezed shut but he grit his teeth. Steam coming out of his breath. Dying would be an inconvenience, but it wouldn’t stop his fury from burning.

Breisa swallowed, feeling her tears wet her cheek. Her friends. Embarrassed, she wiped them away furiously, “I can’t even keep my emotions together. What makes you think I can make my own faith? Give prosperity? And on top of all that, save my world?”

Hecate closed her palms, the galaxies still shimmer with stars. She sighed, almost sympathetic, “I know the power my children carry with them. I know what it feels like to be pulled in different directions all at once.” As she reached her daughter’s shoulders, hovering, before resting gently on them. Testing the waters, making sure she was comfortable. “I learned you cannot force yourself to be together. Even the moon has her pieces in the dark. But She can always be in her full glory…as long as her light is there.”

Hecate motioned her friends.

In the portal, Leo managed to jab the dragon across the face. Wacking the other like a baseball, helped Jason up. “We have to get to Breisa and Piper!”

“There’s too many!” Jason grabbed Leo, slashed one across the stomach.

Breisa watched as they dove behind the fountain, as another dragon-snake wip past them. Cracking the fountain in half.

“Watch it you imbeciles!” Meada cried out. “Kill them!”

“Duck!” Leo pushed Jason out of the way as another pillar of stone came crashing down. “Come on, they need us!”

They dodge and duck their way from more dragon snakes, before they were cornered by three others. Their eyes glow yellow. Jason growled at them, shutting his eyes. Slapping a hand over Leo’s eyes.

Breisa teared her eyes away from the vision,“How do I get out of here?! They need me!” She was nearly hyperventilating.

Hecate hummed, unbothered. “It makes you scared doesn’t it?”

“Of course those are my friends!” She tugged at her hair.

“So how are you going to help them?” Hecate waved over each vision. “How are you going to prove yourself worthy of these powers? Or this curse, demons, as you call it?”

“I—“ Breisa froze. What could she do? She was stuck here for a reason. She wasn’t as strong as Jason, quick witted as Piper, or can ignite life as Leo could. “I don’t know…”

Hecate clicked her tongue. “Are my gifts useless to you? My ideas?” She waved illusions of the ring and spell book that Breisa had acquired.

“Every time I use my powers, they suck!” Breisa protested. “I couldn’t stop us from falling, I barely made it out of the gaint’s den, and I didn’t even see that vieja coming!

“Yet you survived,” Hecate conceded, “Not many versions of you had made it this far. In this world.”

Breisa wanted to ask what that meant. When she saw Piper being strangled by Madea “Enough with the mysterious brain teasers!” She snapped, “How can I help?! How can I save them?! Don’t give me no bullshit.”

Hecate stared her daughter down, the same scowling look. Maybe this was the end for this bruja, her mother would smite her. Maybe hex her, blast her into another world piece by piece, or hell leave her alone in this void of galaxies. And she’ll never get to save her friends. Never get to have a girl best friend like Piper. Never get to know who Jason really is. Or never get to see that stupid shining smile Leo wears, even the sun would be jealous.

Then this perra bruja laughed out a scoff, “Niña, you amuse me.”

“Huh?” Breisa was really getting tired of this crap.

“You believe that keeping yourself in despair will help you?” Hecate tsked. “If you let go of your anxiety, if you stop holding yourself back, and blaming everything on yourself. You will manage. Everything will come to you.”

That made barely any sense. But what could she expect from a cryptic ass goddess?

“I liked it better when you neglected me.” Breisa grumbled. She looked towards the portal. Glowing and thrumming with unworldly energy. “I have a really stupid idea. So thanks for mostly nothing, I guess.”

“Trust me, this won’t be the last you see of me. Or hear my wisdom.” Hecate promised. “Oh one more thing,” Breisa hoped it was something more useful. Maybe even motherly. “Take advantage of Medas raw resources— especially those potions, they take a lot of work. She won’t need them anytime soon.”

She deflated. What did she expect? So with a sigh, “Thanks…umh Hecate.” Didn’t really feel like calling her mom. Even if her aunts would be rolling in their graves for her disrespect.

Hecate shrugged, “You will make me proud. Eventually…Right now, prove to me you can handle these gifts. The moon can shine through a storm, you know?”

Breisa did a halfhearted wave Oh bye, hope I don’t have to see you.

As the goddess faded away, Breisa turned to face the portal. She heard her voice echo, “Be well, Breisa. Everything will come in time. I’ll be here when you need me.”

She was sure she heard a whisper ‘Te quiero, Mi niñita.’

But shook it off. Even though part of her wonder, if this was what being loved by her felt. It didn’t feel like it, but it lingered on her. Think about the mother issues later. Get out of here.

Breisa controlled her breath

In…

A mistake

Out…

A pawn

In…

Too much

Out…

Reckless

In…

Dumb little girl

Out…

Weridofreakcrazyangeryvejapawnpuppet—A bitch!!!

In…

A bruja!

OUT! LET ME OUT! I WANT OUT!

For once in her life, Breisa let the chaos takeover. The stars faded as her eyes burned.

The earth rumbled with her anger.

-.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁-

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⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | awakening force⌟

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The thrill of your newfound power lingered as you walked home. A shiver danced down your spine—a delicious mix of fear and exhilaration.

You were no longer just ____. You were something more, something... powerful.

Reaching your house, the murmur of conversation drifted from the kitchen.

Inside, you found your mom chatting with a couple perched at the table—Hiro and Shisuki, your parents' old high school friends.

You vaguely remembered them stopping by a few weeks ago to celebrate your dad's promotion.

Hiro, tall and tan with a shock of lime-green hair and light brown eyes, flashed a friendly grin. Shisuki, his wife, offered a wan smile. She was pale and slender, her lavender hair mirroring the color of her eyes.

You noticed something subtly off about them. You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

Your mom, ever watchful, intercepted you before you could linger. "____! There you are, sweetie. Let me see those hands." Her voice held a familiar edge of worry as she inspected the scrapes from your encounter with Bakugo.

Before you could protest, she whisked you upstairs, muttering about "rough-housing" and "being careful."

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to a quick bath. Wrapping a towel around your head, you picked up a rag and began drying your hair as your mom hurried downstairs, called upon by your dad to help entertain the guests while dinner simmered.

Alone in your room, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor, you replayed the scene in your mind.

The memory of your helpless rage, the shove that sent Bakugo sprawling— it all felt distant now, overshadowed by the chilling realization of what happened next.

The way Bakugo crumpled, his whimpers replaced by a strange, terrified silence—it was like you'd flicked a switch, taking control of him not with your body, but with your will.

Suddenly, the image in your mind flickered. Bakugo's tear-streaked face contorted, morphing into an older visage. Golden-brown eyes, framed by a mess of unruly blond hair, stared up at you with an unsettling intensity. A wide, toothy grin stretched across his face, revealing a chipped canine tooth.

The boy—no, the young man—held a chainsaw in one hand, the whirring blade a constant hum against the silence. Yet, despite the weapon and the wildness in his eyes, the most unsettling aspect was the way he looked at you.

It wasn't just fear or submission; it was a kind of god-worship, a bizarre adoration that promised nothing but utter obedience.

The distorted voice echoed in your mind, the words spoken with a reverence that bordered on obsession. "You... have control..."

You blinked, the mental image dissolving like smoke. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the echo of the phantom voice lingering in your ears.

The room seemed to vibrate with your nervous energy. You grabbed a stray pillow, squeezing it until your knuckles turned white.

This power... it was intoxicating, a forbidden fruit that promised both dominion and danger.

The memory of Bakugo's terrified face warred with the strange, exhilarated feeling of controlling the distorted figure in your mind. It felt wrong, alien, yet strangely exhilarating.

You practiced the word in your mind, a mantra of your newfound power: "Control." The word resonated within you—a dark promise of possibilities.

Curiosity gnawed at you. Could you do it again?

Glancing out the window, you saw a familiar sight—a plump robin perched on the sill, its head tilted inquisitively.

This little visitor often graced your window ledge, a welcome distraction from the monotony of your days.

Today, however, it served a different purpose. It was a test subject, a pawn in the game you were starting to play with your own abilities.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed the window open a fraction. The robin cocked its head again, then with a bold chirp, hopped inside.

It fluttered around the room for a moment, its bright red breast a splash of color against the now-beige walls (you utterly despised the pretty-pink-princess aesthetic and threw an absolute fit until it was gone).

A cruel amusement bubbled within you.

This was your domain now, and this little creature was subject to your will.

You focused your mind, picturing the bird in your control. "Fly." You willed the bird to take flight.

It obeyed instantly, launching itself from the floor in a flurry of feathers. You guided it through the air with your thoughts, a puppeteer manipulating its movements.

The bird performed aerial flips, swooped low to the ground, then ascended again in dizzying spirals.

A giddy smile stretched across your face as you willed the robin to perform another daring maneuver. It swooped low to the ground, skimming the throw rug with its wings before launching into a spectacular corkscrew climb.

You felt a surge of exhilaration, a sense of power you'd never known before.

This—this was your Quirk!

Suddenly, the urge to share your newfound ability with your parents overwhelmed you.

You bolted for the stairs, the excited chirp of the robin echoing in your wake. Reaching the top of the stairs, you paused.

Your parents were in the living room, your mom topping off two glasses of whiskey for their guests.

"So, how's ____ doing these days? Anything new?" you heard Hiro ask, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

"Oh, you know," Wino replied, his tone dismissive.  "Same old, same old. Still no sign of a Quirk manifesting."

A bitter taste filled your mouth.

Here you were, bursting with the revelation of your newfound power, only to be dismissed by your own father.

Hiro chuckled; the sound sharp and unpleasant. "Poor kid. Stuck being Quirkless in a world like this.  Rough luck."

Your father laughed along, a hollow sound that grated on your nerves.

Mei, ever perceptive, picked up on the shift in the conversation. "Dinner will be ready soon," she announced, her voice laced with annoyance. "Winnie, please try not to discuss such sensitive topics about our daughter while I'm here." With a huff, she turned and stalked back towards the kitchen.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

You stood frozen on the stairs, the joy of your discovery replaced by a cold anger. They didn't believe in you.

They pitied you.

You stared at them, a cold emptiness settling in your chest. Their flippant dismissal of your prior Quirklessness, the way they treated it like a minor inconvenience, stung more than you cared to admit.

Without a word, you turned and retreated back up the stairs, the robin fluttering after you with a soft chirp.

Reaching your room, you sank onto the bed, the bird landing gently on your shoulder. Staring down at the bird, a flicker of defiance sparked in your eyes.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You reached out a hand, gently rubbing its soft feathers. Focusing on the bird, you willed it to fly away.  "Fly," you whispered the order once more.

The robin launched itself into the air, soaring effortlessly around your room. A surge of satisfaction coursed through you. You could do it again.

You were powerful.

For the next hour, you spent time honing your newfound ability. It was like playing a video game, but with a living creature as your avatar.

You sent the bird on dizzying spirals, weaving through furniture and dodging obstacles with practiced ease. But as minutes turned into an hour, the thrill began to wane.

The bird, once curious, now fluttered erratically, its tiny body exhausted by your relentless commands.

You released your control, and with a tired chirp, the robin landed on your outstretched finger. You stroked its soft feathers, a sense of boredom replacing your amusement.

A different idea took root. You remembered the innate feeling that nearly swallowed you as you willed Bakugo under your control.

With a deep breath, you focused on the bird, visualizing a pressure building within its tiny body. Staring intently at the robin, you willed that invisible force to constrict its organs.

The bird froze, its bright eyes filled with sudden fear. You broke eye contact and released the pressure. It chirped weakly, its body trembling.

You hadn't seen any outside physical harm, but the raw terror in the bird's eyes was enough.

The robin let out a relieved chirp and took shook its feathers, before looking up at you, waiting for its next command.

As the bird sat before you, a surge of exhilaration washed over you.

You hadn't just controlled something; you'd inflicted pain, a mere taste of the power you now wielded.

A chilling realization settled in your stomach—this wasn't just dominance; it was manipulation on a terrifying level.

Suddenly, a familiar voice jolted you from your introspection. "____! Dinner's ready, honey!" It was your mother's voice, laced with a warmth that seemed to pierce the fog of darkness clouding your mind.

With a sigh that carried the weight of the world, you sat the bird down and pushed yourself off the bed, heading downstairs. Every step felt heavy, a chore rather than a movement.

As you reached the bottom stair, something strange caught your attention.

It was a smell. Not unpleasant, but amplified.

Your mom's familiar scent of lavender soap and cinnamon rolls mingled with the sharp tang of cleaning supplies. But these were just base notes. A new layer of perception had been added.

You could smell everything with a startling clarity.

Your father's cologne, a cloying mix of citrus and musk, suddenly seemed overpowering.

Shisuki's perfume was a sickly sweet floral that made your stomach churn. Hiro's scent was worse—a combination of stale beer and something vaguely acrid, like sweat that hadn't quite dried.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you came to a screeching halt. The world smelled different, and not necessarily in a good way.

Then came sight.

You recognized the scene unfolding before you—your mother setting dishes, your father laughing with a man by the TV. But a chilling disconnect settled in your gut.

You knew who these people were supposed to be—your parents and their friends, Hiro and Shisuki. Yet, their appearances seemed...wrong.

Your mother turned, her smile widening at the sight of you. "There you are, sweetie! Come sit down, dinner's ready." She gestured towards the table, her familiar voice a grounding presence amidst the sensory overload.

You shuffled forward, eyes glued to the couple beside your parents.

Hiro, you vaguely remembered, was tall and tan with brown eyes and lime green hair. Shisuki, his wife, was pale and slender and had hair the color of lavender with matching eyes.

But staring at them now, their features seemed blurry, their colors muted. Like someone had smeared their image with dirty fingers.

You tried to focus, to etch their appearances into your memory. But the harder you concentrated, the more their forms dissolved, details slipping through your grasp like sand through your fingers.

Panic clawed at your throat.  What was happening?  Why couldn't you remember their faces?

A sudden realization dawned on you. The heightened sense of smell came at a cost. You could distinguish people by their scent, yes, but now, your ability to differentiate faces seemed to have dulled.

It was a strange trade-off, one that mirrored how a dog identifies others through scent.

You had gained a quirk, yes, but it came with a price—quickly, you darted your eyes down to your plate, unable to bear looking at the distorted couple any longer. But even that small movement seemed to draw attention.

"Honey, is everything alright?" Mei's voice filled the room, laced with concern.

You wanted to scream, to blurt out your questions: Were those really Hiro and Shisuki? Was your mind playing tricks on you? But the words wouldn't come. The fear was paralyzing.

Stealing another glance at the couple before forcing your eyes back to your plate, you mumbled, "I don't feel very hungry anymore."

Your mother's eyes widened significantly, a hint of worry flickering across her face.  "Oh, sweetie," she began, her voice taking on that fretful tone you knew all too well.  "Is there something wrong? Maybe you don't like what I made? I could fix you something else—"

Before she could launch into a full-blown worry spiral, your father cut in.  "____," he started, his voice heavy with irritation, "stop acting childish and just eat your dinner."

The room fell silent.

You felt a prickle of defiance rise within you, but it was quickly squashed by the overwhelming confusion and fear.

You stared up blankly at your father, then reached across the table for your water glass, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a clink.

"You know what—" your father started, his voice rising in anger.

But before he could explode, Shisuki interjected, her voice firm but strangely calm.  "Wino," she said, clearing her throat slightly, "why don't you take a breather? Maybe go outside for a smoke or something?"

A beat of silence followed, then Hiro spoke up, his voice warm and friendly.  "Yeah, man. Take twenty. We'll keep an eye on things."

With a heavy sigh, and a final glare in your direction, your father pushed himself away from the table.  "Fine," he grumbled. "But someone's gotta go get some dessert. There's nothing decent in this house."

Without waiting for a response, he stormed out, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, the air crackled with a tension you hadn't noticed before.

Shisuki, with a cruel edge creeping into her previously saccharine voice, leaned towards your mother and remarked, "Honestly, I don't know how you two deal with it, Mei. All that screaming and tantrums—it's no wonder people are rethinking having kids these days. It honestly makes us so grateful we don't have to deal with any of that with Yumi."

Hiro, previously sporting a smug smirk, let out a bark of laughter that grated on your nerves.  "Yeah, Shisuki's right. Yumi's such a sweet, well-adjusted child. Always top of her class, never a complaint," he chimed in, his voice laced with a smugness that turned your stomach.  "____? She's a walking advertisement for abstinence if I ever saw one."

The words struck you like a physical blow. Your breath hitched, and a hot ember of anger ignited in your chest, growing with each passing insult.

You clenched your fists so tightly your nails dug into your palms, but it wasn't enough to contain the surge of power that threatened to erupt from within.

Your mother, bless her heart, attempted a feeble defense. "She's just going through a tough phase, that's all," she stammered, her voice wavering. "She'll grow out of it."

Shisuki scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive. "Oh, honey, this is more than just a phase," she condescended, her eyes flickering towards you with a cold, calculating gleam. "What you need to do is take her to a professional. There are specialists who can deal with these...issues."  Her voice dripped with a false sympathy that made your skin crawl.  "After all, I am a child psychologist. I've seen my fair share of troubled youngsters."

Wino's absence hung heavy in the air, his departure emboldening the couple like vultures sensing weakness. They felt free to dissect you like a lab rat, their words slicing deeper with each cruel pronouncement.

Mei, clearly struggling, could only stammer a weak response, overwhelmed by their condescending assault.

Then, a horrifying realization dawned on you. They weren't just talking about you—they pitied your parents for having you, while in the same breath, celebrating their own perfect child.

A dangerous glint flickered in your eyes, mirroring the growing inferno within your chest. The memory of Bakugo's compliance surfaced, a chillingly sweet reminder of your newfound power; the image of the robin, tweeting in alarm, hapless and in your mercy.

For a terrifying split second, the world seemed to blink. Shisuki was crumpled sideways, her head lolling at an unnatural angle as crimson bloom spread across her once-pristine white blouse, a silent scream trapped behind her lips.

Hiro slumped forward, his chair clattered onto the floor, eyes wide with terror as a similar stain blossomed on his lime-green shirt. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a sickening counterpoint to their choked gasps and desperate clawing at empty air.

Their bodies convulsed into a grotesque form of flesh and bones, their lives draining away before your very eyes.

The image was so vivid, so real, that you almost choked on a gasp. Your breath hitched, the taste of iron flooding your mouth. But before you could succumb to the darkness, a flicker of self-preservation sparked within you.

No, they won't get the better of you.

With a deep breath, you wrestled the power back in, forcing it down into the churning depths of your being.

Slamming your fork down on the table, the harsh clang echoed through the room, effectively halting the conversation.  All eyes turned to you, surprise etched on their faces.

"I'm not hungry anymore," you declared, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor running through you.  "Good night."  Without waiting for a response, you pushed yourself away from the table and headed towards the stairs.

"Honey, wait!" your mother called after you, her voice laced with concern.  "Are you sure you're alright?  Maybe I can make you a sandwich..."

You paused on the bottom step, the sound of her fretting already starting to grate on your nerves.  "No, really, I'm fine," you said, forcing a smile.  "Thanks anyway."

As you ascended the stairs, you could hear your mother's voice trailing behind you, a mixture of concern and indecision.

Reaching your door, you spared a final glance back at the scene unfolding downstairs. Shisuki and Hiro were engrossed in conversation again, their faces devoid of any worry about your abrupt departure.

The moment you were out of sight, however, the conversation shifted. Their voices, though lowered, were still audible.

"Honestly," Hiro scoffed, "what a useless child. Quirkless and a constant burden."

Your mother gasped, a sound of wounded pride. "Hiro!" she protested.  "That's not fair.  And besides, Wino and I are Quirkless too, remember?"

Shisuki, her voice dripping with condescension once again, waved her off dismissively.  "Darling, at least you two contribute to society. Your husband's a decent accountant, and you tutor those college kids on the side. But what good is that girl?  She's a walking black hole of wasted potential. Honestly, she'd probably be better off in some kind of...  well, you know."

Their words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken implication a sledgehammer blow to your already fragile ego.

Your hand instinctively closed around the doorknob, knuckles turning white. A cold fury burned in your gut, fueled by their callous disregard for your feelings.

As the last of their conversation faded away, you finally closed the door, the sound a small act of defiance.

Slumping against the cool wood, you slid down to the floor, knees pulled tight to your chest. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palm until a crescent moon of pain bloomed.

The heat in your chest bubbled over, a volcanic rage threatening to erupt. Your body trembled, wracked with a potent mix of anger and fear.

Flashes of the power you wielded, the intoxicating satisfaction of controlling Bakugo and toying with the bird, looped through your mind like a cruel highlight reel.

"I...need it," you muttered, the words barely a whisper. The urge to unleash that power, to silence the voices that taunted and belittled you, was overwhelming.

But then, a soft chirp pierced the storm raging within you. You glanced up to see the robin perched on your desk, its head cocked inquisitively.

The sight of the small creature, so full of life and innocence, was a much-needed anchor.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, legs wobbly like a newborn foal.

Stumbling towards the bird, you reached out a hand. It chirped again, a single, questioning note, before hopping onto your outstretched palm.

Walking over to the window, bathed in the soft glow of the twilight sky, you gently stroked the bird's head. Below, you could see your parents saying their goodbyes to Shisuki and Hiro.

Their laughter, strained and forced, grated on your nerves.

Eyes going blank, you entered a state of intense focus. The world narrowed, the air crackling with invisible energy. Walking back to your bed, the small bird remained motionless on your finger.

You settled against the pillows, propping yourself up for a better view. "Fly." With a chirp, the bird nestled in your hand took flight around your room once again. Its tiny wings beat a silent rhythm as it zipped and zagged.

With a sigh, you dropped your hands, severing the mental connection.

Well, kind of.

The moment the bird was outside of your window, a harsh caw ripped through the air.

"Caw!" You recognized it instantly—the hunting call of the large falcon that had been terrorizing the smaller birds lately.

Right on cue, a blur of feathered fury streaked into view, diving for its prey

Just as the falcon was about to snatch the smaller bird in its talons, you clenched your fists, focusing your power inwards. It was a forceful contraction, like crumpling a piece of paper with your mind.

Staring intently at your clenched fist, you imagined the falcon instead. You envisioned every detail, its sharp beak, powerful wings, and piercing eyes.

Then, with a flick of your wrist, you imagined it crushed, its body crumpled like the paper you'd envisioned earlier.

A beat later, a sickening thud echoed from outside, followed by a strangled cry.

You scrambled to your window, flinging it open despite the cool night air.

Below, on the sidewalk in front of your house, a gruesome scene unfolded.

Shisuki and Hiro, caught completely off guard, stood frozen in shock. Blood splattered across their clothes, a horrifying reminder of the falcon that lay lifeless at their feet, its body mangled beyond recognition.

You stared, the image searing itself into your memory. A wave of apathy, as familiar as an old friend, washed over you.

The dream, the impossible dream, of a life with Pochita—a family built on fear and adoration, flickered through your mind.

Even if you'd been devoured by Chainsaw Man himself, even if you'd been granted a twisted rebirth in that blood-soaked world, the machinations would have continued.

Schemes and plots would have brewed in the dark corners of your mind, always focused on the same objective: eliminating the blonde parasite, Denji, and securing your place at Pochita's side.

But here, in this mundane reality, such grand ambitions felt pointless.

With a sigh that carried the weight of extinguished dreams, you slumped back against the pillows. The power you possessed was a burden, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked within you.

Maybe, you thought with a flicker of morbid curiosity, there was a way to use it for good.

But for now, the allure of apathy was far too strong to resist.

You closed your eyes, the image of the lifeless falcon and the horrified faces of Shisuki and Hiro swirling behind your eyelids.

The future is now stretched before you, an uncertain path riddled with both possibilities and perils.

Would you become a conqueror, wielding your power for dominion? Or could you learn to control not just others, but yourself?

Who knows? But there one thing you do know...

The game had just begun, and the choice was yours.

A/N: Ahh, denji my bby 😭❤️

[theswarmkeeper]

a normal, boring life

alexandra ‘sandy’ lykaios ✶ 25 years later...

Sandy Lykaios had always wanted her life to be regular. Stereotypical, mundane. She had been a cheerleader, had average grades, an average boyfriend, and was planning to go to an average college. Of course, nothing ever goes the way you plan, and she was only gifted her peace once the worst was 25 years behind her.

After everything that she had to go through, she was determined not to let anything get in the way of her beautifully average life. Almost anything, that is.

It was dinnertime, and her home was full of sounds and smells, oil sizzling in a pan, the scraping of a spatula on metal, scrambled words from the television screen, a faint humming melody. Somewhere in another room, the gurgling of a baby mixed with the softer voice of a girl, a conversation in half.

Sandy- though she went by ‘Sandra’ more often these days- was finishing the last scraps of a dinner for four, sun-dried tomatoes and basil simmering with cream in a pan, pasta sitting warm in a pot on the counter. The humming was her, a song stuck in her head, something from her youth she couldn't quiet remember the name of.

Flipping a page in the cookbook, beaten, battered, and annotated in handwriting belonging to generations of her family, she turned down the stove, clicking the flame off. The spatula pressed to her lips softly, tasting before she serves, hands fumbling through a barely-sorted spice rack to add one final pinch of salt before it cooled too much to fix.

Footsteps down the hallway turned her head, a teenage girl carrying an infant in her arms. Her daughters. Evie, the elder, dark curls and darker eyes, an olive sun-tan that was starting to put her own to shame, and Sophie, the younger, mostly-bald and barely-teething. Her eldest daughter waved the youngest's arm to her, a cheeky smile making its way across her face.

“Look who's come to say hello!”

Sandra gasped, putting the pan to the side, careful not to leave it to burn, and hoisted Lisa from her daughter's arms, balancing it on her hip. The baby shrieked at the movement, an excited babble that drew a laugh from her Mother's throat.

“Well, hello you two, coming to see me just in time for dinner. How blessed am I?”

Evie grinned, snaking around behind her to steal a tomato from the saucepan, earning a gentle smack on the hand.

“Evie! Let me plate it first, don't put your hands in my sauce.”

Before her daughter could say anything to defend herself, the phone began to ring from the living room. Sandra saw her move to get it, but waved her off, passing Sophie back to her.

“No, you stole my food, you get to plate up dinner while I answer the phone. Tell your Father dinner is ready, and I'll only be a moment.”

Pressing a kiss to both of her daughter's temples, she strides into the next room, picking up the phone just on the very last ring without sparing a glance at the number on the landline. Maybe if she had, she wouldn't have picked up.

“Hello? Lykaios home, Sandra speaking.”

“Sandy.”

Her body freezes up just at hearing the voice, remembering it just as well as her own. Or had it been her own, once? She knows their agreement, she knows her own rules. She should hang up the phone.

“Harper. You know the rules, I told you never to contact me.”

“We have new orders.”

In the back of her mind there are flashes. Images of things that have happened before, some of them to her, some of them to her but through the body of another. Her mind blurs at the edges, just a little, and she knows that there is something awakening that should not have been touched.

She could feel the echo of something familiar, lips ghosting just past her ear, a hand gripping her chin, whispered orders from a girl who she revered like a God. Antlers and blood and furs, the teeth of a wolf dig into flesh, and three girls become one.

“She needs Lottie Matthews dead.”

[rose-of-oz]

oh wait ykw ivy + the musical tag as a whole i see now 🫡🫡🩷🩷 - @kendelias

Thanks so much for this!! Also gonna tag @manyfandomocs since he also asked for this, as well as @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @aceyanaheim, and @ginevrastilinski-ocs!! <3 <3

HAMILTON

wax seals. writing in ink. that moment when your stomach drops and you realize something horrible is about to happen. a single candle in the dark. heated arguments. ballroom dancing. stacks of paper overflowing a desk. fresh beginnings. the ticking of a clock. loud arguments. hand kisses. the barely-there trace of a word that’s been erased. passive aggressive texts. icy faces and wet cheeks. blood on the ground.  forgiveness. quiet gasps into silence. 

FALSETTOS

the tetris music. a pen scraping against paper. dayenu. the muffled sound of crying in your mother’s room. tense silence at the dinner table. a chess board left in the middle of a game. carefully placed decorative pillows. stimming. red hoodies. kisses in the back of a dark bar. baseball. a hand on your thigh. sweaters. prayer shawls. too much champagne. the beeping of hospital instruments. hickeys all over your body. boxes full of old polaroids. fresh flowers on a gravestone.

IN THE HEIGHTS

piragua. flags blowing in the wind. muffled latin music. champagne bottles popping loudly. fireworks. slushies being slurped through a straw. pigeons picking bread-crumps. candles in a blackout. the hottest day of the summer when the air seems to turn liquid. fire-escapes. taxis. dress-shirts and black ties. record scratches. graffiti. streetlights. winning lottery tickets. gossip at the salon. stacks of school books. the sound of a train going by. secrets kept away from the neighbors. coming home at the end of the day.

SPRING AWAKENING

wildflowers. white sundresses. first kisses. clammy hands holding each other. flower crowns. haylofts. tingly feelings all over. goethe. endless darkness. cold hands. silent screams. chalk against a chalkboard. all-nighters. wine yards. too-tight braids. bruises. innocence lost. graveyards. loveletters. adults that don’t get it. piano lessons. study dates. phantom touches. whispers that stop when you get close. rolled down knee socks. your dad’s gun. 

LEGALLY BLONDE

tiny dogs. red bull. pink. hello kitty. getting cat called. corduroy. leather messenger bags. the sound of high heels against tiles. scented paper. unworn fancy dresses. smeared lipstick. walking up on stage during your graduation. the flow-feeling you get into when studying something you actually care about. the scent of department stores. the tense atmosphere in court rooms. finding unexpected sisterhood. 

WAITRESS

the scent of freshly baked pies. flour on your hands. old diners from the 60s that still look the same. southern hospitality. those dreadful minutes after you take a test and have to wait for a result. feeling lonely at night while someone else is asleep right next to you. contorted guitar chords. old recipe books passed down through generations. knowing something is wrong but doing it anyway. nights spent curled up on the couch with true crime shows.

send me an oc!!

[little-reader]

“The Son of A Monster.” Ch.5

Masterlist

Warnings; Death, blood, Slow-burn, Sexual tension, Gay awakening (For both), Cursing, Negan is the Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie apocalypse

<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3<@<3

You sharpen your knife, toning out the annoying scrape against the metal. You hummed the song “Do You Remember The Rain.” and peered over the porch to Rick and Michonne talking. They were leaving for something. You weren’t quite sure, but you guessed supply. Your dad will be here in a few days. 

Iris was walking down too, drinks in hand and smiling when she looked up. You smiled back and waved, getting up and placing your knife on the railing. “Let me help you.” You said, grabbing the cups from her hand and setting them on the porch steps. You captured her hands and helped her up the stairs, letting her sit in your previous spot.

She held her stomach as she leaned back, groaning slightly. You handed her the drink and sat on the railing. “Why’d you bring the lemonade?” You asked, taking a sip and humming. She shrugged and rubbed her stomach. 

“I wanted to.” She paused and sat up. “Start thinking of names.” You coughed and looked at her. She only smiled and raised her eyebrows, handing over a piece of paper. “I get to pick one of their names and you the other.” She said You looked down at the car. It had a line in the middle and on one side, it had two different genders and names. 

Baby A

Girl; Nova

Boy; Oliver Rome

You smiled and took out a pen, placing the sheet on the railing before writing down names.

Baby B

Girl; Isha

Boy; Ian?

You gave the card back, and she smiled. “In your shadow.” You said, kissing her cheek. She tucked it into her black sweater and got up. 

“I’ll see you later.” She walked off, waving to Carl with a smile when she passed him. Lucky, instead of hating her because she was married to you, (Mostly) everyone Loved her. They thought she was kind, sweet, helpful, and pregnant with twins.

You sighed and plopped back into the seat, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. You looked at your knife and placed it down. You cracked your neck and leaned back, relaxing as you closed your eyes. There was a slight breeze where the opened trees lay and where you sat. You Breathed in the smoke and breathed back out, allowing your nose to smell the tobacco coming out. 

The breeze stopped briefly, making you open your eyes and peer at the younger brunette by the stairs. “Carl.” You asked, tilting your head at him.” He hummed and looked over with boredom writing on his face. “You gotta’ look after your sister today?” You questioned, only to get a slight head shake from him as he walked inside. 

You sighed, threw your cigarette on the ground, and smashed it, getting up from your seat. “I didn’t just ask for no reason, Carl.” You stated, walking in after him. He turned with one eyebrow raised and took off his hat. 

“I don’t feel like doing anything today, Y/n.” He said, brushing through his hair before placing his hat back on his head. You huffed and groaned dramatically, throwing yourself backward and whining like a child. 

“Come on! We're supposed to be friends. Do you know what friends do? Trick question.” You asked, walking over to him. He rolled his eyes.

“I only said Yes because you wouldn’t leave me alone,” Carl said, heading upstairs. 

“Is that your final answer? If it is, I need you to repeat it, I didn’t catch any of that.” You said, following him once again. He sighed and slammed his room door. You huffed once again and left downstairs.

You went outside, rounded the house, and climbed the side of it, reaching the window where Carl's room was. You banged on in. Carl looked down at you through the window with disapproval. “Let me IN,” You yelled, hanging onto the side of the roof like a cat in a tree. Carl laughed and opened the window.

“You're a dumbass, you know that right?” Carl stated, closing his window when you were finally in. You flipped him off and fixed your shirt. Before he could say anything else, you interrupted him.

“I’m going somewhere, that means your following.” You said, Throwing Carl's shoes at him and unlocking the door. 

"Do I have a choice-"-Nope."

You yanked him by his hand and pulled him down the stairs. You picked up your bat and bag as we went to the “escape wall” and climbed over. You felt the slight breeze from the top as you quickly went over the wall and slowly climbed down. Carl then jumped down beside you and huffed, fixing his hat.

“It's rude to huff at people.” You say, smiling at him slightly as you begin to walk into the woods. Carl only huffed louder and more dramatically. You smile and huff louder than him while you turn. “Hush pretty boy.” You said, flicking his hat and walking deeper into the woods. 

It was relatively quiet, with few groans here and there. They would stop when you threw a knife at them. You watched the ground as you walked, but still acknowledged the world around you. You glanced at bushes here and there, looked into the mud, and listened to each and every sound.

“Boring.” You whined, huffing at the silence. “You bore me.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ toy,” Carl said, raising his eyebrow. You raised your arms in defense and laughed. Carl raised an eyebrow at your response. “You act like I'm Woody from Toystory.” He said sarcastically.

You laughed again. “Well, if you are woody,” You stopped and put a finger on your chin, tapping it twice. “That makes me” You pointed to yourself. “Buzz lightyear.” you did jazz hands as he looked at you stupidly. 

“Did your mom drink in the womb?” You gasped and hit him on the arm when he walked by. “I’m just asking, you act like you have a disorder or something.” 

(I am switching from the Second POV to First person From here on out :) )

I glare at him and Hit him again. “That's offensive you know,” I said as we continued walking. 

We stopped in the middle of the woods when we came across a lake. It had a lake cabin and a road leading down to a hill with fields. “This what rich people used to buy?” I started as I looked out at the lake with my hand covering the sun. Carl only shrugged.

I looked around, nothing out of the ordinary, so I walked around the lake. “How crazy would I be to jump into this right now?” I asked, dropping my backpack and taking off my shoes. Carl just stared at me in disbelief. 

“Walkers can be in there.” He said, pointing into the dark, green water. I shrugged and stripped down until I was in my boxers. “You are crazy, Your gonna fuckin’ die in there,” Carl shouted as I dived in. Carl watched bubbles go up and then stop. “Y/n, it's not funny.” He shouted from the edge of the lake. He put his backpack down and crotched by the edge of the water.

A firm hand pulled him down by his ankle as he yelped and was pulled in. A hand held the back of his neck and arms had him pulled into the other person. A finger went over his lips, which of course made Carl freak out, There wasn’t much he could do from in the water, but a scratch. 

He was pulled back up and onto the wet mud as I held my face. My het hair covered my eyes as I had my mouth gaped open and blood dripped down my cheek. “You asshole.,” I said, staring at him.

“Im an asshole? You pulled me under!” He half yelled, shoving my face angrily with his hand. “Thought you were dead, and then you pulled me under, what the hell is wrong with you?” He said angrily, shoving me off and trying to get up. The mud under us made him slip and slide as he went backward and his ass landed on my stomach. I felt the wind be knocked out of me as I coughed and shoved him off. 

“Oh my GOD..  you fat ass.” I wheezed as I got off of the ground. I coughed and grabbed onto the grass, making my way up. Carl glared at me as I laughed at him. “Get up dumbass,” I said, seeing that the whole side of his face was covered in mud.

“You shoved me into the fucking.” Carl grabbed a pile of mud. “MUD.” He yelled as he threw it at me. I flinched and covered my face as it landed on my stomach with a splat and rolled down. For some reason, that made Carl laugh out loud. 

“Oh, that’s funny to you?” I asked, shuffling my foot under the mud, that move made Carl stop laughing and plead with me. “I thought it was funny, but when I do it, it’s not?” I asked, then kicked the pile of mud onto him. 

His mouth opened in shock when it covered the other side of his face. Carl wiped it off and tried standing this time, he balanced himself out as I held out my arm for him to reach out and grab. He refused and started to walk. “You’re gonna fall, Woody.” I teased. Of course, he ignored me. And of course, I was right as I watched his feet slip.

I started to laugh loudly, and It was cut off by a scream as he grabbed my hand at the last second, pulling me down with him. “You fucker.” I said, pulling my face out of the mud and spitting out. I wiped it out of my eyes and looked down at him with a glare.

His hair is now covered in mud, as well as his back and clothes. Both of us sit up and cough, wiping the mud off of each other.

We lay in the field, covered in mud, and looked at the sky. Carl had his flannel beside him and wore his white t-shirt as he leaned against his bookbag. He had re-did his eyepatch after drying off and sent me back into the water to grab his hat.

Carl sighed and looked over towards me. “How did you stay underwater that whole time?” He asked, his brows together. I yawned and sighed.

“My dad made me do a bunch of sports. Baseball was one of the main ones, he coached that.” I said, looking at him. He looked a little confused by what I said. “My dad worked as a gym teacher and a coach before the world died… but he got fired a few months before everything happened,” I stated, playing with my hands. “My mom would take me to the beach on hot days, but mostly a pool. We would have competitions of who could stay under the longest, whoever one got to pick out supper or lunch.” I said, looking up at the sky and smiling.

I felt Carl’s fingertips touch mine and looked at him. He was looking at the sky with a bit of a saddened look. He started to speak. “My mom… She and My dad would get in fights, though she would be the only one fighting. Even after the walking dead, they fought. But she protected me from every bad thing out there, or tried to at least.” I watched his eyes close and I moved my fingertips closer until they touched each other. I watched our hands. 

Our feet squashed onto the concrete as we walked back home. We walked closer than earlier, our arms skidding together as we spoke. “You think elephants are still alive?” I asked, looking around. Carl looked up at me like I was stupid. “Well, you never know…. They could be the last ones standing.” I joked.

Carl hit my arm and laughed a little. “That wasn’t funny.” He said and stopped laughing almost instantly. I laughed loudly and hit him harder.

“You're an ass,” I said, bumping our shoulders together a letting out a little laugh. He nodded while smiling. I watched the trees sway in motion with the wind as it blew through them. 

We got home shortly and climbed back into the walls without anyone noticing, thankfully. I ran upstairs with Carl chasing me into the bathroom. “Fuck you, I’m getting one first,” I yelled as he pulled my foot from the stairs. He managed to get passed me and tripped my legs up. “You ass!’ I said, landing on the top floor. I heard the door open and the shower turned on in a matter of seconds and huffed, getting off of the floor.

I entered the bathroom, almost tripping over Carl's clothes, and looked at the mirror, peering at the cut on my face that was now covered in dirt. I turned the sink on and splashed water onto my face and wiped the blood off. I looked at the closed curtain and hit it. “You're a dick,” I said, sitting on the toilet seat. Carl only laughed as I took off my shoes and socks. “Turn around,” I said, hitting the curtain. “I’m getting in,” I stated, opening the shower curtain.

Carl huffed and turned around before I got in. I grabbed the shower head and pointed it at my head, rubbing the dirt off and watching it sink to the bottom of the tub. I looked down at Carl's slighted hunched-over body as he washed off the dirt on his arms. I grabbed the soap and rubbed it through my hair, rinsing it quickly. My eyes roamed his back, there were a few freckles and one scar. Without thinking, I rubbed my finger over it, making Carl's head sharply look over. 

I mumbled a quick “Sorry,” before taking my hand off. His eyes looked at my torso and widened a little. Scars scattered around, large cuts, two bullet shots, and scratches that have yet to heal. I laugh and rub the mud off of my stomach. “I’ve had quite a few interactions with some bad people,” I muttered. “I don't show these much. My dad hates them, felt like it was his fault,” I said, closing the shampoo and placing it back on the rack.

“Was it?” Carl asked. I paused, looking down at him. 

“You still haven't gotten the mud out of your hair,” I said, wiping the soap I had in my hand in his hair. He pushed my hand away and huffed as he started to scrub his head. I got out of the shower as the water dripped down my now wet boxers and hair. I grabbed a towel and dried my hair quietly as I heard the shower turn off. I put my towel over the rod holding the curtain. “I’m gonna go throw our clothes in the washer,” I said, grabbing the clothes off the floor. I heard him hum as he grabbed the towel off of the rod. I walked downstairs slowly and to my bag, grabbed my dirty clothes out of it, along with my jacket, and walked into the laundry room, throwing the clothes into the washer. 

I threw in some detergent and turned it on. I hummed as I walked out and walked down the hall. I hear my radio go off in my bookbag as I walk into the living room. I sighed and Ignored it as I went upstairs. Carl was reading some comics in his bed with fresh clothes. “You got extras I could borrow?” I asked, pointing to his closet. He nodded as he flipped his page. I opened it up and all there were was boring plain clothes. I grabbed the black rusty jeans and black long-sleeve shirt before putting them on and plopping on his bed beside him.

Chapter 6☝️🤓

[tcwmatchmakingau]

The Sixth Language (Part 4)

Pairing: Waxer x Fem!Reader (single parent)

Rating: M (18+ minors do not interact) 

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; gentle femdom; body worship; oral sex; PIV; oh, my god, it’s happening!

Read the full series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“I need to tell you something,” you whisper, and just then, his teeth scrape across the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

“Now?” he asks in a voice thick with lust, not stopping his progress across your shoulder.

You writhe against him with a moan of pleasure, but somehow, your rational brain prevails. “Yes.”

“What is it?” he asks, gently tugging your neckline further down so he can explore the soft flesh beneath your blouse.

As much as it pains you, you drop your legs from around his waist and raise a hand to his chest to give him a soft push. He stops instantly and takes a small step back. You immediately miss his warmth. 

“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” you confess. “And I don’t want to take this any further until you know the full truth.”

Waxer’s eyes widen, and his mouth sets in a firm line. He looks so serious, and you wish for the thousandth kriffing time that you’d just been honest from the beginning. What if he runs? What if he thinks I’ve been manipulating him all along? 

Your position on the countertop makes you feel vulnerable and ridiculous. You slide forward, and Waxer takes another step backward to give you space as you drop down to the floor. You can’t decide what to do with your hands; suddenly, it feels like you have too many of them, and you fidget for a moment until at last you wrap your arms around your torso.

You take a deep breath, and you tell the truth. “I have a daughter. Kaia. She’s two.”

“I know,” he says.

You blink. “You—you do?”

“Yeah, RTL told me.”

“I didn’t tell them about her, though,” you say, confused.

He shrugs. “They do a background check on all their applicants. It must have come up then. Didn’t you sign the waiver?”

You had; you just hadn’t realized how thorough they would be. It doesn’t matter now, though.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you ask.

“I figured you’d talk about her when you were ready,” he replies.

“So,” you begin, dumbfounded, “you’re okay with it?”

He laughs, and the nervous tension in your shoulders eases when you see his eyes soften. “Of course, I am. I wouldn’t have agreed to the match if I weren’t.”

“Okay, but you should know that she’s in the Terrible Twos right now, and she has, just, so many toys, and she always leaves them lying around, I spend two thirds of my life picking up tooka dolls, you have no idea, and she spreads crumbs everywhere whenever she eats, and she recently started doing this thing where she bites—”

A slow smile spreads across Waxer’s face as you ramble, crinkling the corners of his lovely eyes, and, Wait, has he always had that perfectly kissable dimple? And just as you’re complaining about the frankly ridiculous number of dolls in Kaia’s toy stash, he reaches for your hands, interlacing his fingers with yours, and draws you close to him, and then he lowers his mouth to yours, and your monologue fades into a sigh of pleasure as his tongue slides across yours. 

He kisses you thoroughly, but all too soon, his lips pull away from yours. Instead of letting you go, though, he kisses you again, first on one cheek, and then the other, and then he drops an adorable little kiss on the tip of your nose, and then the center of your forehead, and once on each eyebrow, until your entire face glows with happiness and you giggle helplessly against his chest. 

Giggling? Who am I? you can’t help but wonder.

“Was there something else you needed to tell me?” he asks between kisses.

You shake your head. Blissfully unaware of the existential crisis he has awakened in you, Waxer continues to sprinkle kisses across your face, and while you’re distracted, he slides his hands around your torso and up your back. By the time he returns to your lips, you’re pressed tightly up against him, and now he turns purposeful, devouring your mouth with a kiss that leaves you breathless and trembling.

You slip your hands under the hem of his shirt and glide your palms over his skin, caressing his firm muscles and exploring his body with your touch. As you skim over his ribs, he flinches, and you pause.

“Ticklish?” you whisper against his mouth. He nods, and you move away from the danger zone. “Don’t tell Kaia. She’s in the phase where she thinks tickles are hilarious, and she will torture you. We’re working on it.”

His eyes go soft, and he smiles. “Does this mean you trust me enough to introduce us someday?”

“Someday,” you nod, and his face lights up, but he doesn’t press the issue. “But right now, I have plans that are definitely not kid-friendly.”

“Oh?” he grins. “And what would those be?”

“Come with me, and I’ll show you,” you reply, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom.

You slide your hands under his shirt, carefully avoiding his ribs this time, and you tug the shirt off over his head. You suck in an audible breath when his body is finally revealed to you. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you breathe, raking your gaze across his torso. 

You already knew he was incredibly fit, but now that all that smooth, brown skin and dense muscle is on display, you’re in awe. He watches you with darkened eyes beneath hooded lids, and you reach out to grasp his belt, pulling him closer to you. He yields without resistance, and as you press your open mouth to his chest and begin to explore his body, he shivers against you.

Your flattened hands roam over his bare skin, fingers dipping below the waistband of his pants, gliding over the planes of his back and shoulders while your lips and tongue chart a path of heated kisses across his torso and up his neck. He clutches his arms around you as his breathing grows deep and ragged. You lick the salt from his skin, and when you click your teeth together softly next to his ear, he lets out a quiet, agonized whimper.

“I am going to take such good care of you,” you whisper.

He turns to look at you, his warm eyes intent with arousal as they flit between your eyes and mouth. You wrap your hand around the back of his neck and gently pull him down to kiss you. He kisses you with his entire soul, holding nothing back. No caution, no reserve, and you realize how dangerously easy it would be to fall in love with a man who kisses like that.

You press him backwards onto the bed, and you crawl up between his legs, skating your hands along his thighs. He’s hard beneath his trousers, and you tease him through the fabric before you continue your progress up his body to straddle his hips. 

“I want to see you,” he says in a low voice. “Please.”

You smile and draw his hands up to your blouse. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He begins to unbutton your blouse, brushing his knuckles softly against your throat, down your chest, between your breasts, over the soft skin of your belly, until the fabric falls apart, and he slips it down over your shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, trailing his fingers reverently over the slopes of your breasts, following the curve of your bra. You unhook it one-handed behind your back, and as it falls away, his hands ghost down to caress the undersides of your breasts, and then continue down your ribcage. His touch is feather-light, just grazing your skin, never digging into your soft flesh.

You lean forward to kiss him again, and this time, you make your way slowly down his jaw, down his neck, kissing and licking and gently sucking your way down his abdomen, until you reach his waistband. You unbuckle his belt while your mouth has him distracted, and by the time you reach your destination, it is only the work of a few seconds to unzip his trousers and slide them down his thighs.

His cock is absolutely rigid, straining toward you, but you’re feeling a little vindictive after the way he worked you up in the kitchen, so you take your time instead of giving him the relief he so obviously craves. You press a soft kiss to the inside of his calf, and then another, a little higher. You slide your tongue in a long, unhurried lick up the inside of his lovely, thick thigh, and then you blow softly on it and watch the way his leg hair prickles under the sensation. He makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whine, and his hips shift. His cock looks delicious, but you are determined to spend as long as you need to take him apart one piece at a time. Some things are worth waiting for.

You shift your attention to his other leg, and this time, you alternate a few tiny, soft nips on his skin in between kisses and licks. By the time you reach the top of his thigh, his chest is heaving with exertion, and his hands are clenched into tight fists on the bed on either side of his head. Interesting. You’re tempted to climb on top of him and pin those fists to the mattress while you ride him into the sunset, but you have a plan, and you intend to stick to it. Besides, you have to save something for the next round.

The instant your tongue cups around one of his balls, Waxer convulses with a tormented cry, his legs spasming and his abs clenching to jerk his head and shoulders off the bed. You laugh quietly and press your hand to the center of his chest, pushing him back down onto the mattress.

“Be a darling and stay where you’re told,” you murmur.

“Fuck, please, please—” he gasps.

“Hush, love. Lie back and let me make you feel good. Trust me,” you whisper, your breath hot against his skin, so close to where he wants you, but still not touching him.

When you gently suck his ball into your mouth, his entire body tenses, but he forces himself to lie obediently still beneath you, and when you shift to his other ball, he begins to chant something under his breath. You listen carefully and realize he’s reciting military regulations. I guess I’m not working hard enough if he can still remember his own name, let alone a reg manual, you think as a devious smile lights your eyes.

Waxer sees it and mumbles, “Oh, kriff.”

You release him from your mouth and turn your attention to his cock. A thick, glassy sphere of precum beads at the tip, and you gently dip your finger in it, drawing tiny, concentric circles around his head. When you pull away, the fluid stretches between you until the thin, translucent string snaps, and you bring your fingertip to your mouth and take a tiny, delicate taste of it. Your own quiet, pleased hum is drowned out by Waxer’s response.

Finally, finally, you lean forward and begin to move your tongue over his cock with the smallest, softest touches. You circle the head, swirling over his frenulum and flicking lightly over the slit, and then you kiss your way down his shaft and back up again. You work patiently, slowly increasing the speed and pressure, and by the time you take him fully inside your mouth, Waxer’s entire body is wracked with shudders. An endless stream of incoherent moans and pleading flows from him as you pleasure him with your lips and mouth and tongue.

“I’m close—I’m so kriffing close,” he gasps in warning. “You should—”

You cup his testicles gently with your hand, and when his legs flex in response, you slip your fingers down to massage the hard length of his shaft behind his balls. His reaction is intense and immediate. He lets out a harsh sob, and his hips arch off the mattress, inadvertently thrusting his cock deep into your mouth. He comes hard, his release flooding over your tongue, and you swallow quickly to keep from gagging from the sheer quantity. You keep sucking and licking his cock as his body begins to relax and his breath comes in deep, rough gasps.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he pants. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“It’s all right,” you say, releasing him momentarily as you flick tiny, gentle licks over his cock, which remains surprisingly firm. “I did it on purpose.”

He lies still, breathing hard as he reaches down to stroke your face with such tenderness that it makes your chest ache. After a moment, he pulls you up into a kiss. “Your turn.”

“Do you need a minute?” you ask.

He flips you over onto your back and begins to lavish kisses over your body, tugging your skirt and underwear off as he does. 

“What do you think?” he asks, rolling his pelvis against your thigh.

“I think those rumors I heard about clone stamina are true,” you giggle—again with the giggling!

“Shall we put it to the test?” he asks.

“I think so,” you reply gravely. “It’s important to research things for ourselves and not just accept everything we hear at face value.”

“So true,” he agrees, kissing his way down your body until he finds your clit and slides his tongue over it. “Kriff, are you this wet just from sucking me off?”

He gazes up at you with something like adoration in his eyes.

“That, and the way you worked me up earlier—Oh, kriff—” you gasp, your hips levitating off the bed as he delves into your pussy.

He quickly learns exactly how you like to be touched, testing and experimenting and paying close attention to your reactions until he has you trembling and moaning beneath him. When he’s satisfied that you are ready for him, he slides into you gradually, giving you plenty of time to adjust to his size, stroking your clit rhythmically all the while. Once he’s inside, though, the power of his body is undeniable. 

He slips his hands beneath your back and wraps them over your shoulders so he can hold you in place as he thrusts into you again and again. You wrap your legs around him and marvel at his strength as his hips and ass flex to drive his cock so deep inside you that you can barely breathe. And then you don’t think anything at all, lost in sensation and drowning in him.

—

A/N: Clone trooper jizz tastes like cinnamon roll topping. It’s canon.

[kendelias]

My beloved Tess for the musical tag? <3

HAMILTON

wax seals. writing in ink. that moment when your stomach drops and you realize something horrible is about to happen. a single candle in the dark. heated arguments. ballroom dancing. stacks of paper overflowing a desk. fresh beginnings. the ticking of a clock. loud arguments. hand kisses. the barely-there trace of a word that’s been erased. passive aggressive texts. icy faces and wet cheeks. blood on the ground.  forgiveness. quiet gasps into silence. 

FALSETTOS

the tetris music. a pen scraping against paper. dayenu. the muffled sound of crying in your mother’s room. tense silence at the dinner table. a chess board left in the middle of a game. carefully placed decorative pillows. stimming. red hoodies. kisses in the back of a dark bar. baseball. a hand on your thigh. sweaters. prayer shawls. too much champagne. the beeping of hospital instruments. hickeys all over your body. boxes full of old polaroids. fresh flowers on a gravestone.

IN THE HEIGHTS

piragua. flags blowing in the wind. muffled latin music. champagne bottles popping loudly. fireworks. slushies being slurped through a straw. pigeons picking bread crumbs. candles in a blackout. the hottest day of the summer when the air seems to turn liquid. fire escapes. taxis. dress-shirts and black ties. record scratches. graffiti. streetlights. winning lottery tickets. gossip at the salon. stacks of school books. the sound of a train going by. secrets kept away from the neighbors. coming home at the end of the day.

SPRING AWAKENING

wildflowers. white sundresses. first kisses. clammy hands holding each other. flower crowns. haylofts. tingly feelings all over. goethe. endless darkness. cold hands. silent screams. chalk against a chalkboard. all-nighters. wine yards. too-tight braids. bruises. innocence lost. graveyards. love letters. adults that don’t get it. piano lessons. study dates. phantom touches. whispers that stop when you get close. rolled down knee socks. your dad’s gun. 

LEGALLY BLONDE

tiny dogs. red bull. pink. hello kitty. getting cat called. corduroy. leather messenger bags. the sound of high heels against tiles. scented paper. unworn fancy dresses. smeared lipstick. walking up on stage during your graduation. the flow-feeling you get into when studying something you actually care about. the scent of department stores. the tense atmosphere in court rooms. finding unexpected sisterhood. 

WAITRESS

the scent of freshly baked pies. flour on your hands. old diners from the 60s that still look the same. southern hospitality. those dreadful minutes after you take a test and have to wait for a result. feeling lonely at night while someone else is asleep right next to you. contorted guitar chords. old recipe books passed down through generations. knowing something is wrong but doing it anyway. nights spent curled up on the couch with true crime shows.

send me an oc for their musical aesthetic!

[the-last-flame-au]

[ The Ember That May Reignite The Fire ]

"Cassandra Jones!! You cannot be serious right now!!" April shouted. It was rare for her to truly get mad and chew someone out and even rarer for April to cuss out Casey but this was something that couldn't be left unaddressed.

"Look- I couldn't just leave a baby out there to die. You're the one who's been telling me for years to do the right thing and now that I do it, it's still wrong?! Where is the logic in that O'Neil?" Casey defended herself while holding the dirty orphan she picked up on patrol a little closer to her chest.

Somehow this little creature had awakened a new side in Casey. A caring one. Not in the way she cares for the Hamato clan or the resistance. She started to care like a mother and all the small child had to do was cry.

The situation Casey had found the orphan was dire, her squadron had just pushed back a small group of Kraang hounds and were securing the area for supply runs when the child cried out beneath some rubble.

It was a human child that Casey picked up and something about that small, dirty face made her soft inside. The moment she had picked up the human infant he stopped crying, opting out for more content coos.

"Casey you are out of your mind! We are barely scraping by already! We cannot handle a small baby here! Our resources are limited!" April chastised Casey some more. "Just- just let me try okay? Maybe this kid grows up to be strong and bright. Maybe he's gonna be the

solution to the mess outside. Let me try and raise this kid. April please."

Whenever Casey got to emotional talk April couldn't keep up her tough demeanor. It didn't help that the small child in Casey's arms was malnourished and still adorable. April understood that these two would be an incredible little family and a major pain in her ass. "Fine. He's your responsibility though. You make sure he is fed, clothed, bathed, gets his shots, trains when he's old enough and most important of all: make sure that child is loved. If you wanna be a mom, do it right" commanded April.

Casey saluted, a sign of respect yet there was softness in both women. For each other and the small child that was now snuggled up against Casey's chest and sleeping soundly.

"He shall be named CJ!" Casey proclaimed loudly. It had only been a few hours since she brought the infant into the base and introduced him to her found family, the Hamato clan.

Mikey especially loved the little boy from the second he saw him. The child gave him hope. Hope that within all this death and destruction new life could grow. It gave him hope that his brothers didn't die for nothing. That there might be peaceful days again.

Mikey missed his brothers so dearly, he lost them when they were all just children. When they were thrust into a situation so much bigger than themselves, even bigger than the Shredder.

Michelangelo hoped that this child, CJ, would be the key to making everything up to his beloved brothers.

"May I ask what CJ stands for Casey?" Splinter spoke up. He was also excited at the existence of this little boy, he missed his own so much. Feeling like a failure of a father unable to protect them from the world, from danger.

"Well it stands for Casey Junior, of course!" Casey, now senior, proclaimed proudly. "Casey… Junior..? You named the child after yourself?" Draxum questioned. "Of course! There is no greater fighter than I so this shall set my son's destiny in stone!" shouted Casey.

Casey junior seemed unshaken by his mother's loud antics. While Casey laughed at her own genius she caught unimpressed looks from April, Draxum and Splinter.

The only one not paying attention was Mikey. He was busy holding CJ in his arms, enthralled by the little life he held. CJ seemed equally curious about Mikey, reaching for his beak and trying to grab at him.

The baby babbled away, incoherently but still very headstrong in what he wanted. Mikey entertained the young boy while the other four still argued about Casey's name choice.

"I will protect you CJ, I promise no bad thing will ever happen to you." Mikey spoke, though it was little more than a hushed whisper, just loud enough that CJ might hear but no one else. Mikey failed at protecting his brothers but he would not fail in protecting this child.

That, he swore to himself.

Story written by @spacemimz Art by @noxvee6

[gal-palanaeum]

Thinking, Overthinking, and a Pile of Letters by bridgeboy

Rated General, 6000 words, Khriss/Design and Cord/Rysn A philosophical treatise on the nature of love, masquerading as a fanfiction about two dorky scholars meeting for the first time. Design has questions, Khriss has answers... maybe. Beware spoilers across the cosmere!

Despite having her own office, Khriss preferred doing her research in the university's enormous library. Proximity to massive amount of information played into it, of course, but the bigger reason was that it was easier to get away from people and actually focus on her research. Her office was known to everyone at the university—why, it was known to practically everyone in Silverlight itself—and as a result, she had frequent visitors. The library, meanwhile, may as well have been a maze. It was easy to find a quiet corner far from distractions, and Khriss made a point to never hole up in the same study nook twice in a row; that helped make it much harder for people to find her on purpose. Of course, she'd still see other people as they wandered by, but they were just other users of the library; they never actually disrupted her.

Usually, at least.

Khriss looked up in surprise when she heard the scrape of someone pulling out the chair across from her. She'd been poring over maps of Western Roshar, and she'd been so absorbed in her thoughts she hadn't heard the newcomer approach.

They appeared to be a human woman, although Khriss knew that didn't necessarily mean much. Her long white hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and a tight, dark green dress showed off her frankly stunning curves. She seemed to be looking over the piles of assorted notes that were spread across the table.

"What are you working on?" the stranger asked.

Khriss ignored the question. "Who are you?" She was happy to talk about her work, but she wouldn't tell just anybody about it.

"My name is Design," the stranger said cheerily. She picked up one of the maps and started scanning it over.

Khriss wrinkled her brow, searching her memory for how she knew that name… Hoid's spren. Of course. She relaxed; Hoid was a pain in the ass, but he could be trusted—well, he could be trusted with knowledge of Khriss's current project, at least.

"I'm Khriss," she said. "I'm currently trying to get to the bottom of how a simple merchant on Roshar got a hold of one of the Dawnshards."

"Oh, Hoid told me about you. The famous scholar!" Design grinned. "Have you tried lifting up all your notes and checking underneath? Or… wait… that was a figure of speech, wasn't it?"

Khriss raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly. She'd never actually met a Cryptic in person, but she'd read about their tendency to take things far too literally. "So Hoid is in town, then? What's he working on?"

"I'm honestly not sure!" Design let the map drop back to the table, eyeing a stack of letters. "Something about Aons, probably. Or Awakening. Something with an A. He said he didn't need my help but now I'm bored. Can I look through those?" She pointed at the letters.

"Uh, sure." With her concentration broken and distraction-free environment disrupted, there wasn't really any point in trying to get much work done at this point. Khriss decided she'd indulge a few questions from Design, then send the spren on her way.

Meanwhile, Design helped her self to the letters and began reading through them. Khriss couldn't help but notice how quickly she moved from one letter to the next—much faster than the average human could read. Fascinating. Would Design be interested in letting herself be timed?

Barely a moment passed before Design looked up. "The note on top is right, I don't see anything in here about Dawnshards." She wrinkled her nose and frowned. "Why are the letters written in two different languages? Also, does my facial expression look sufficiently confused? I still have a hard time getting confusion right. It doesn't come up much."

"You look kind of confused but mostly annoyed."

"Damnation, I'll have to practice that some more. Anyways, the languages? It would be more logical for them both to pick one to have their conversation in."

Khriss nodded. "It's because they were in love," she explained. "From what I can tell, they were practicing each other's native tongues."

Design quirked an eyebrow. "What does learning a new language have to do with love? They seem to like each other from all the 'I miss you' stuff but what does language factor in?"

Khriss sat back in her chair. How was she supposed to explain this? "Doing nice things for someone is a way to show you love them, through your actions instead of your words. Learning someone's native language so that they can understand you better is a really big action, and a really kind thing to do for another person."

Design hummed thoughtfully. "Would solving a complex math problem for someone show that you loved them?"

"Um. I guess so? If the person on the receiving end was really struggling and needed help."

"Does that mean all teachers are in love with their students?"

"No, definitely not."

"Why?"

"You don't have to be in love with someone to care about them."

"What's the difference between loving and caring?"

Khriss opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. There was a difference, of course, but Design's questions had her all turned around. "I… I need to think about that. It's hard to explain."

"Okay!" Design said, surprisingly chipper given that her question hadn't actually been answered. She put down the stack of letters and stood. "Thanks for the chat!"

And then she walked away, leaving Khriss sitting alone in stunned silence.

Keep reading

[in-love-and-jeph]

sorry babe, doll skin's love is dead and we killed her stays ON during sex

[rose-of-oz]

Musical Aesthetics + Violet Gaius?

Thanks so much for this!! Also gonna tag @littlebvtterfly, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, and @ginevrastilinski-ocs!! <3 <3

HAMILTON

wax seals. writing in ink. that moment when your stomach drops and you realize something horrible is about to happen. a single candle in the dark. heated arguments. ballroom dancing. stacks of paper overflowing a desk. fresh beginnings. the ticking of a clock. loud arguments. hand kisses. the barely-there trace of a word that’s been erased. passive aggressive texts. icy faces and wet cheeks. blood on the ground.  forgiveness. quiet gasps into silence. 

FALSETTOS

the tetris music. a pen scraping against paper. dayenu. the muffled sound of crying in your mother’s room. tense silence at the dinner table. a chess board left in the middle of a game. carefully placed decorative pillows. stimming. red hoodies. kisses in the back of a dark bar. baseball. a hand on your thigh. sweaters. prayer shawls. too much champagne. the beeping of hospital instruments. hickeys all over your body. boxes full of old polaroids. fresh flowers on a gravestone.

IN THE HEIGHTS

piragua. flags blowing in the wind. muffled latin music. champagne bottles popping loudly. fireworks. slushies being slurped through a straw. pigeons picking bread-crumbs. candles in a blackout. the hottest day of the summer when the air seems to turn liquid. fire-escapes. taxis. dress-shirts and black ties. record scratches. graffiti. streetlights. winning lottery tickets. gossip at the salon. stacks of school books. the sound of a train going by. secrets kept away from the neighbors. coming home at the end of the day.

SPRING AWAKENING

wildflowers. white sundresses. first kisses. clammy hands holding each other. flower crowns. haylofts. tingly feelings all over. goethe. endless darkness. cold hands. silent screams. chalk against a chalkboard. all-nighters. wine yards. too-tight braids. bruises. innocence lost. graveyards. loveletters. adults that don’t get it. piano lessons. study dates. phantom touches. whispers that stop when you get close. rolled down knee socks. your dad’s gun. 

LEGALLY BLONDE

tiny dogs. red bull. pink. hello kitty. getting cat called. corduroy. leather messenger bags. the sound of high heels against tiles. scented paper. unworn fancy dresses. smeared lipstick. walking up on stage during your graduation. the flow-feeling you get into when studying something you actually care about. the scent of department stores. the tense atmosphere in court rooms. finding unexpected sisterhood. 

WAITRESS

the scent of freshly baked pies. flour on your hands. old diners from the 60s that still look the same. southern hospitality. those dreadful minutes after you take a test and have to wait for a result. feeling lonely at night while someone else is asleep right next to you. contorted guitar chords. old recipe books passed down through generations. knowing something is wrong but doing it anyway. nights spent curled up on the couch with true crime shows.

send me an oc!!

[2dmenenthusiast]

Last Night on Earth Pt.6

(Ethan Winters x Gn!Reader)

warnings/other info: suicidal ideation, referenced death of minor characters, serious injuries

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9

“Baker.”

The steady beeping of the EKG droned on in your head, the whiteness of the sheets a strong contrast to the red wounds decorating your hands.

“Baker.”

Explosions, screaming, blood. So much fucking blood. The faces of your dead comrades— your friends— were permanently etched into your brain, their lips moving with words that haunted your very soul.

“Why couldn’t you save us?”

“You left me to die.”

“You killed us.”

“It should’ve been you.”

It should’ve been you. It should’ve been you. It should’ve—

“Baker!”

You gasped, head snapping up to see your Captain standing in front of you with his hands held behind his back. Letting out a shuddered breath, you placed a hand on your chest and curled your fingers into your hospital gown.

“Sir, I—”

“Are you alright?”

It felt like such a loaded question. One you didn’t have the answer to. Physically, yes. Other than a broken leg and a few cuts and scrapes, you were fine. You were alive, which was practically a miracle. Mentally, however, you felt like your brain was on fire. Your thoughts raced at a million miles a minute, the only consistent thought going through your head being how much you wanted to die.

“I… I don’t know.”

He nodded, and sat on the edge of your bed. You held your breath. His presence didn’t scare you or intimidate you, but you felt anxious. Like he was waiting to spill news that would ruin your life. Your two best friends died. The only real friends you’ve ever had. WHat could possibly be worse than that?

“I want you to meet with the counselor we have on base. Get a status on how you're feeling.”

Your eyes widened. “Sir, I— I’m fine.”

“You couldn’t give me that answer when I first asked you.”

Your lips pressed together in a tight line, casting your eyes to your casted leg. You didn’t want counseling. Didn’t want to sit in an uncomfortable chair and pour your feelings out to a person who was being paid to care. You just wanted to heal up as fast as possible and go back into active duty. Throw yourself into your work until you couldn’t think about anything else.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t feel like I need—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you absentmindedly picked at the scabs forming over your knuckles, trying to distract yourself with something.

“After your meeting, you’re being sent home on medical leave. Your duty status will be pending until we go over your evaluation.”

You nodded, and without another word, your superior left. There was nothing you could do besides sink into the bed, tears trickling down your face and wetting your pillow.

It should’ve been you.

***

Skinny fingers dug into slushy mud as Mia came too, looking at her dirtied reflection in the water. She couldn’t remember what happened. She was talking to Ethan on the boat and then all of the sudden… blackness. No doubt the work of Eveline.

Scrambling up on her feet, she cautiously walked through the debris, and gazed up at the impossibly large, destroyed ship sitting in front of her. The sight gave her pause, and she tried to wrack her brain for where she recognized it from, but she couldn’t place it. But the looming structure made her feel uneasy, that she knew for certain.

Moving forward, her breath hitched in her throat when her eyes landed on Ethan, face down in the mud. She immediately rushed for him, hands grabbing his shoulders and trying to shake him awake.

“Ethan? Ethan!”

He didn’t even have a chance to awaken when waves of black mold came out of the ground and surrounded him, whisking him away. She screamed for him, watching with horror as her husband was taken, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Evie’s powers were far greater than anyone could comprehend, but with her current state, Mia thought it was almost remarkable how she was still so strong.

Taking one last full glance at the boat, she let out a deep sigh and squared her shoulders. Evie brought them here for a reason. And she was going to find out.

***

Yeah. Definitely burning these pants when you’re done with them.

You were grateful they were tucked into your boots and that the laces were tied tight, otherwise you’d have mud pooling in the bottom of them. Thank god for growing up on a swamp. Otherwise, you’d be tripping over yourself and getting your feet stuck. For how many times you’ve told people you hate to “eat dirt,” you think this would be a giant middle finger from the universe if the earth and gravity decided to suddenly betray you.

Not like most of your life wasn’t a giant “Fuck You”.

No, your greatest worry was the gators lurking around in the murky water. And the great idea to throw Lucas in with them may or may not have occurred to you during your trek to the boat. 

Who knows, with this freaky infection coursing through him, he might turn into some giant, weird human-gator hybrid.

Humagator.

Alliman?

Not important.

“Christ, where’s my fuckin’ waders when I need ‘em.”

Ethan owes you a new pair of boots, too.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’ve been this far down in the swamp. Actually, you don’t think you have. You hoped the ship wasn’t too far out from where you currently were. While the deep mud and murky water were a pain to deal with, you definitely preferred this over walking hours through cities that had nothing but sand for miles.

You gasped when the water rippled in front of you and something swam under the surface. You pointed your gun, ready for it to attack, but the mysterious creature swam right past you in the direction you came from. You stared off into the darkness for a moment and shrugged. One last thing you had to waste bullets on.

Christ, what was Eveline doing to them? Has she already decided to Kill Ethan and keep Mia all for herself? Either that, or she decided to take over and make him a part of her sick family. You hoped it wasn’t the former. God, anything but that. You wanted more than anything for them to be okay.  Like Ethan somehow used his knack for surviving and escaped Evie. Or he finally killed her. That would certainly be preferable.

It was so quiet out here, the only sound being the frogs hiding in the tall weeds and cattails, and the cicadas flying through the tree leaves. It was almost unsettling. Before Evie came to you, your family home was always bustling with noise. Whether it be Zoe and Lucas shouting at each other, or your father playing old music on his record player. There were many nights when you all would stay up late and play Black Jack, your brother always a sore loser, and your father taking a peek at momma’s cards whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. She always caught him.

The memories were painful to think about. So many happy moments you still could’ve had if Mia and Eveline never showed up in your lives. What added onto the hurt was the fact that you probably wouldn’t be able to keep mementos from the house. None of your family photo albums, or the blankets your mother quilted for you. No, the government would show up, and they’d have to torch it. All of it. There couldn’t be any risk of the infection spreading somehow. God, you dreaded the deep decontamination cleaning you were gonna have to get later.

They’d probably get in crevices you didn’t know you had.

Continuing on with a disturbed shiver, it wasn’t long until you finally came across the crashed ship. There was a giant hole in the side of it, rusted metal spread out all over the swamp. You wondered how something could do so much damage, and if it was Evie’s doing, you only just realized in that moment how powerful she was.

For the sake of survival, you decided against going inside of it, choosing rather to wade around it for any sign of life. Preferably not one of Eveline’s friends. The closer you got to the ship, your ears picked up on the groaning inside. If Ethan was in there…

Something else sounded in the distance, and you turned your head to see a small, wooden cabin at the edge of the water. Was that…static?”

You moved as fast as you could in the murky water, hands grappling for the raised platform and pulling yourself up onto the dock. The static got louder, and you practically busted the door down, the flimsy wood barely hanging on its hinges. When you saw the radio on the table, you almost broke down crying and scrambled for the receiver.

“Hello?! Can anyone read me?”

Silence. You clenched your teeth.

“Is there anyone there? Come in.”

Again, there was no answer. The radio dropped out of your hand as you fell to your knees, leaning your arms on the table and resting your head against them whilst sobs wracked your body.

You were going to die. No one was coming to help, and Ethan and Mia were going to meet a fate probably worse than death. Zoe would be left alone.

And there was nothing you could do to save them.

The exhaustion settled deep in your bones, and you cried until your chest hurt. Any lingering hope you had within you vanished.

What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

Then, the radio crackled to life.

“Alpha 1— this is Bravo 1— do you read?”

You let out a soft gasp and lifted your head, listening closely.

“This is Alpha 1. Report. Did you find anything?”

“A thorough search of the Baker property revealed zero survivors. Repeat, zero survivors. We did find evidence of a skirmish.”

“Eveline?”

Holy shit, they were looking for her!

“Negative. However, we did find several encrypted messages from the Baker’s son, Lucas, to an unknown third party. You can probably guess who that was.”

“Great. We’ve had reports he’s in the abandoned mines south of the property. I’m gonna have a look.”

“Roger that. We’ll meet you at those coordinates.”

“If you encounter Eveline, orders are shoot to kill. Repeat, shoot to kill.”

The transmission ended, and you sat back on your feet. Lucas… what was he doing? Who was he sending messages to? How the fuck was he involved in all of this?! After three years, you realized you still had more questions than answers, only scraping the tip of the iceberg when it came to everything you knew. You knew Lucas was always a wild card, but how much did you not know about him? About what he was doing?

But, people were here. People that were on your side for once and wanted Eveline dead just as much as you did. And they were military by the sound of it. That meant fire power. Enough to wipe out that bitch and your brother. You hoped you ran into them soon.

***

“Ethan.”

…

“Ethan…”

The darkness that filled his vision slowly dissipated, revealing the blurry image of Jack Baker in front of him. He gasped, raising his hands, and Jack quickly hushed his worries.

“I know, I know. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Ethan looked around curiously. He was back in the main house, sitting on the living room couch. Everything around him was distorted, like he was in some weird dream. This must be a dream if Jack Baker is sitting in front of him, acting like he was at peace of mind. Zoe sat next to her father, staring with a blank look on her face. And when he looked over at the other couch, he saw…

You.

A tingling shot through his legs as he immediately got the urge to get up and go over to you, quietly uttering your name. You just gave him a small smile.

“It’s okay, Ethan.”

He wanted to doubt that. Come to the conclusion that his mind was just playing one big trick on him, and Jack would slit his throat in the next two seconds. But when he looked over at your father, he didn’t get that unsettling feeling that’s been plaguing him all night. He felt strangely… calm.

“I never would’ve hurt you if I could have helped it. son.”

Ethan blinked. “What do you mean?”

Jack sighed, and shook his head. “I’m no killer, Ethan. Neither is Marguerite, nor Zoe.” He looked at you with a sad smile. “They’ve been helping you an awful lot, haven’t they?”

Ethan felt something warm envelop his hand, and he looked down to see your hand wrapped around his. He didn’t hesitate to curl his fingers, giving your hand a squeeze. It felt like you were really here.

“But that girl, Eveline. She did this to us,” Jack continued.

Ethan drew his attention back to your father. “What the hell is she? What did she do to you?”

It seemed like it was almost painful for Jack to talk about it, the way he sighed. “She infected us with her gift. That’s what she calls it.I found her near a busted-out tanker in the bayou. Everything changed after that.”

“So she infects you, and then she takes control?” Ethan could barely wrap his mind around what Jack was saying.

“No, not exactly. She just— she forces her way into your mind and your soul and… you can’t fight back. You’re connected to her, and you can’t resist the urge to…”

Ethan watched you get up from your spot, letting go of his hand so you could sit next to Jack. You put a comforting hand on his back, and he sighed.

“You become a different person after that.”

The pieces were slowly starting to come together for Ethan. “So… Mia sent me that message because of Eveline?”

“Listen, the girl just wants a family of her own. But you gotta find her, and stop her.” Your head leaned over to rest on your father’s shoulder, a sad looking washing over your face. Jack put his hand on your knee. “Ethan, free my family. Please.”

Ethan’s gaze landed on you as you stood and crouched in front of him, lips pressed together in a weak smile. You reached up and brushed a few blonde stray hairs away from his forehead, before your hand came down and cupped his jaw.

“You’re strong, Ethan. Stronger than any of us. You’ll make it through this. You’ll save us.”

Rising to your feet, you leaned down and gently pressed your lips to his forehead— Ethan’s eyes gently fluttering shut at the feeling— before walking out of sight. That’s when his vision slowly started to fade, the image of Jack becoming blurry in front of him.

When his eyes adjusted again, it wasn’t you or your father that he saw, but it was… black? He tried moving, but he found his arms and legs trapped, and when he tried flexing his fingers, he felt something wet squish against them.

Mold.

He was in mold.

There were muffled voices, but he didn’t have the opportunity to try and decipher them when light suddenly poured into his vision, and he took a deep breath. Mia frantically tore the mold away from his body before grabbing him and pulling him out, the mold sticking to his arms like it had become a part of him. He was dazed and confused, gripping his wife’s arms as he tried to get his bearings again.

“Wait— Mia, how?”

She shook her head. “There isn’t any time. You have to get out and find her.” 

He could barely register what she was saying, because the next thing he knew, she was shoving something in his hand and pushing him out of the room, shutting the steel door between them.

“Wait– wait! What are you doing?!”

“Saving your life… I won’t be able to resist for much longer.”

Resist?! He thought he cured her!

Through the small window, he could see Eveline appear behind Mia, and he felt rage course through him. This— Everything— It was all her fault!

“Now, go kill that little bitch.”

Mold covered the glass as he shouted for his wife, slamming his hands against the door in some attempt to push it open. Fuck, what was she going to do to her? A million different possibilities and fears circled through Ethan’s mind as he tried finding his way off the ship, the mold on the wall morphing into different messages right in front of his eyes.

It’s all your fault.

His jaw clenched, trying to ignore the pang of regret he felt for not trying harder to get back to Mia. But what could he do? Eveline infected her again. She’d kill him, and then there’d be no saving any of you. His mind drifted back to you, and worry clouded his mind. Shit, what was even happening to you right now? Did you and Zoe end up like Mia? Maybe you were both waiting outside the ship, ready to strike as soon as he showed his face. If you were doing Evie’s bidding, he could only imagine the hundreds of possibilities he might die tonight.

Ethan’s steps sped up into a jog when he could finally see the outside world waiting for him, taking a deep breath to make sure he was still here. The freezing water against his legs when he stepped off the metal ledge and into the swamp was confirmation enough, and he waded through the water as quickly as he could. His heart leapt up into his throat when he saw a wooden shelter a few yards away, pushing himself with a grunt despite every muscle and bone in his body aching. He had to push through it. He had to save Mia. He had to save you.

When he lifted himself onto the dock, he took out his gun with shaking hands, teeth chattering, and pressed his hand against the flimsy door. God forbid another one of Evie’s friend’s was in here. With a deep breath, he raised his gun—

***

The door to your left burst open, and you scrambled to your feet and whipped your gun out, holding it in shaky hands. Your chest heaved with deep breaths, eyes wide as you stared down the barrel of the gun pointed back at you. It took a second for your vision to unblur, making out a familiar head of blonde hair and features that were covered in dirt and debris.

“Holy shit,” your voice came out in a whisper.

Ethan huffed out a breath in relief, muttering your name quietly to himself before dropping his gun to the floor and closing the distance between you. Your own weapon clattered to the ground as you crashed into him, sweeping you up into a bone crushing hug, and your arms quickly enveloped him whilst you buried your face in his shoulder. You never wanted to let him go. Because if you did, he might leave again, and the chance to find him may be even slimmer than it was this time.

When his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, you could feel your eyes burn with fresh tears, fingers tightly gripping the back of his shirt.

“Fuck. You have no idea how glad I am to see you right now,” Ethan chuckled, his hold on you tightening.

You laughed and sniffled, and he slowly let you pull away. His gaze traveled up and down your form, like he hadn’t seen you in years and was committing your image to memory. His eyes lingered on your face, and you subconsciously reached up to wipe your cheek. You watched his brows furrow.

“Where’s Zoe?”

Any traces of happiness you had on your face quickly drained, and Ethan frowned. “Evie, she… I can’t even explain it. She did something. Zo’s unconscious, and– shit, I don’t know how to help her.”

You felt yourself about to cry again and wanted to scream. This whole night has been a series of ups and downs, an overwhelming feeling that you’ve felt more on this single night than any other for the past three years. You wanted to hold it together. But fuck, it was getting more difficult each passing second.

Ethan held out his hand, a small glass jar in his palm. “Mia gave me this. I think we can use it to stop Eveline.”

Your arms crossed over your chest. “Is she—”

“She’s alive. Just… We have to hurry.”

You nodded and followed Ethan out of the small shack, nothing surrounding you but mud and trees.

“There’s military here. Heard it on the radio inside. They’re looking for Evie.”

Ethan stopped in his tracks. “Holy shit. You mean there’s people here to help us?”

You smiled and nodded, and could practically feel the relief coming from him. “They said Lucas was hiding in the mines just off the property. My father told me about the mines before, but he said they were all caved in.”

“Maybe he lied. Didn’t want you and your siblings playing around in them?”

You hummed. “Maybe. Still, we should check it out. If Lucas is hiding there, maybe we could get some answers.”

If it was one thing you needed, it was answers. You were so fucking tired of being in the dark, left guessing without any sufficient information to go off of. You felt like you and your family were damn lab rats. Left scrambling while everyone else had the solutions and answers to whatever disease you were given. It made you so fucking angry, and it felt like the only thing you felt these last few years was constant anger. Coursing through you and dictating every thought and decision you made. At least it kept you alive. Kept you surviving.

Walking through the tall grass, you and Ethan eventually came across a large industrial elevator in the middle of a clearing. Your forehead wrinkled.

“The hell is this doing here?”

“It’s clearly not abandoned. It’s got running power.”

“Think this is the way Lucas has been getting into the mines?”

Ethan shrugged. “We’re about to find out.”

You swallowed and hesitantly pressed the button to open the doors, stepping in after him. When the doors shut and you began descending, you felt like you just signed your death warrant.

Next stop: Hell!

Letting out a huff, you glanced at Ethan only to find him already looking at you.

“What? Something on my face?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just… It’s good to see you. I didn’t think…” He pressed his lips together, eyes shifting away from you.

You reached out, grabbing his arm. “Hey. It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me. I thought you knew that by now.”

A small grin slowly stretched across his face, causing a smile of your own to form as well. Shit. You didn’t realize until now just how much you missed it. His smile. If you were honest, you didn’t know if you’d ever see him again either.

“I wouldn’t have, by the way.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Wouldn’t have what?”

“Forgotten about you.” 

You could feel your breath hitch in your throat, Ethan staring right into you.

“I would’ve never forgotten you.”

Clearing your throat, you tried to play off how flustered you felt with a small chuckle, gesturing to yourself. “I mean, I make it pretty hard to don’t I?” you winked.

Ethan just shook his head, and the elevator stopped. The doors opened, revealing the bright white expanse of the salt mine around you. It was practically blinding. And weirdly ominous. You had no doubt in your mind that Lucas was probably expecting you to come down here, which meant he likely had more traps set out for you. You told Ethan to be careful, and took the lead.

Salt and rocks crunched under your feet, your breaths practically echoing off the cave walls. You almost preferred being trapped in the house than down here. Maybe because it wasn’t so empty, or underground for that matter. The thought of a cave in was enough to almost make you freeze, but you continued on. The sooner you get out, the better.

The telltale noise of Eveline’s monsters stopped you in your tracks, hearing moaning and shuffling just a few yards away. You silently pointed in the direction they were coming from, quiet on your feet as you and Ethan stalked forward. As soon as the creatures rounded the corner, you put three bullets in one’s head and watched it burst open, its body flailing to the ground. Ethan took care of the other one just as quick, and you released the breath you had been holding.

“I can’t wait to be rid of those fuckin’ things.”

Ethan stayed silent, which was odd. Normally he had some awful one-liner for you to roll your eyes at. This time, nothing.

“You gonna tell me what’s buggin’ you?

“It’s… hard to explain.”

You scoffed. “So is everything that’s been happening. I’m sure I can handle it.”

With a sigh, Ethan carelessly ran a hand through his hair and let his gun drop to his side. “I… I saw you, and your dad, when I was in the mold.”

You blinked a few times. “Wait, you were in the mold?”

“It has consciousness. We know it’s alive, right? So it makes sense. But Jack, he was speaking to me. Told me that— that Eveline was the one that caused all this and that he never meant to hurt anyone. And you…”

Your eyes were wide, brimming with tears as you thought about your father. Alive… sane.

“H-He… He looked okay? Like himself?”

He shifted on his feet, slightly nodding, and your hand came up to cover your mouth. So anything the mold infected, its memory lived inside of it, even if it was alive. Just another thing to add on to how impossible this all seemed. But if you killed Evie… maybe they’d finally be at peace?

“Hey, are you alright?”

You sniffled and nodded, resting your hand on your hip. “Yeah. Yeah, just— I’m glad. That he was himself. That… he has us.”

Ethan’s lips pressed together in a straight line, reaching up to squeeze your shoulder before you both pressed on. Unsurprisingly, you both ran into more mold creatures along the way, and you quickly began to realize you had zero idea where you were supposed to be going. You guessed forward was the best option, but you swore if you ended up trapped in this damn mine, Ethan was getting eaten first.

Fortunately, after seeing enough salt to last you ten lifetimes, you and Ethan came across a previously abandoned room, filled with empty tubs and empty science equipment, and a lone computer sitting on a table. You immediately searched through it, hoping it would give some clues to where Lucas was hiding, but what you read put nothing but horror in you, disgust slithering down your spine and sending a chill through your body.

“Thanks to you guys it’s been about a week since my head’s been clear and back to normal. And she STILL thinks she’s got me!”

The rest of the words blurred into nothing but a jumbled mess, something heavy landing in your gut and your chest constricting. Your nails dug into the edge of the table, and you didn’t hear Ethan say your name over your racing thoughts and labored breathing.

“Hey. Hey, you're okay—"

“He hasn’t been under her control… this whole fucking time?!”

It was like your word flipped on its axis. And everything you thought you knew turned out to be a bold face lie. Ethan’s attempts to calm you down couldn’t even begin to contain all the rage bubbling up in you in that moment. It was like a kettle boiling over, pressure rising and rising until you had to fucking scream. 

“He fucking tortured us!” You grabbed a metal pipe out of the tub. “Tried to kill me and my sister!” Swung at the glass beakers on the table, shards of glass flying. “Played his sick FUCKING GAMES!” The computer was picked up and thrown across the room, and the scream you let out could shatter windows.

Glass crunched under your knees when you fell on them, tears freely rolling down your cheeks and sliding down your neck.

“He was supposed to be my big brother…”

Ethan didn’t say anything, just crouched beside you and carefully placed his hand on your leg. Your breath hitched with a sob, breaths shaky and your fingers digging into the material of your jeans. How could you be so blind?

“I’m so fucking stupid, Ethan.”

He immediately shook his head. “Hey. No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.” You reached up, wiped at your eyes. “Thinkin’ this whole time my brother was only crazy ‘cus some little girl made him that way. That he’d never hurt us if it wasn’t for her. He always wanted to do this. He just needed her gift to finally get started. Christ, I’m such a fucking fool.”

“You’re not. You wouldn’t have survived this long if you were. Y-You’re smart, and strong—”

“Not nearly as strong as you.”

His eyes slightly widened. “Well, you know how to flatter a guy.”

You chuckled even though you didn’t feel like finding any humor in this situation, but leave it to Ethan to make you crack.

“I’m serious. You… shit. You come in here, practically guns blazing trying to find your wife after not knowing where she was for three damn years, and you just happen to stumble into the craziest home this side of Louisiana. And you lived. I don’t know if I’ve ever loved someone so much to go through all this shit for them. Especially after they stabbed me and cut my hand off with a chainsaw.”

He scoffed, pinching your knee and causing you to slap at him.

“Jerk.”

Glancing at the laptop on the ground, you watched its cracked screen glitch with the distorted image of Lucas's email. Then you thought back to what you heard on the radio. So he was working with someone. Some sick fucks more demented than him, and gave him the tools to carry out whatever he pleased. How could someone do this?

"What if he kills us, Ethan?"

Rough fingers brushed against your jaw, forcing your head to the right so Ethan could firmly press his lips against yours. You sharply inhale through your nose, body freezing and hands stilling because what the hell were you supposed to do with them? Slowly, your body relaxed and your hand came up to circle Ethan’s wrist as you carefully kissed him back. Your lips tingled, fog clouding your brain and your limbs practically fucking vibrating. This was not your first kiss. Not by a long shot. But god, if kissing Ethan didn’t didn’t make you feel like it was.

You finally pulled away with a quiet gasp, his hand not leaving your face as his thumb gently ran back and forth over your jaw.

“To get to you, he’ll have to get through me first.”

You huffed out a breath, too stunned to form a proper sentence, so you just nodded.

Standing up, Ethan held out his hand and helped you to your feet, giving you a quick once over to make sure you were okay. Of course, you were covered in injuries from head to toe, no doubt he was the same, but he found himself checking anyway for anything he might’ve missed.

“Ethan.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m okay.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and guided you forward through the next door. If you weren’t shocked already, the next room you stepped into certainly put you in that state. Photos of, what you assumed were infected individuals, hung on the walls, and files among files were scattered throughout the room. Every one you looked at, you saw similar words. “Virus” and “E-Series,” all of them talking about infections and experiments. One of the files mentioned weaponizing the E-Series, and the thought horrified you. Experiencing the horrors of this virus firsthand, you could only imagine what it would be like if it was spread around the world. 

When you got your hands on the file mentioning Eveline, you practically analyzed every word and went through the information with a fine-toothed comb. It all sickened you, how these people could do this to a little girl. 

“These sick fucks…”

You glanced over as Ethan walked over to the large case in the middle of the room, large plastic tubes running from it to keep whatever inside properly contained. When it opened, you saw a mummified child corpse similar to the one you saw on your mother’s shrine, and a violent shiver went through you.

“Holy shit.” Ethan spun to face you. “This is it! This is how we kill Eveline.”

Taking the vial out of his pocket, he placed it in the small compartment of the case, and you both watched as the corpse slowly calcified before another compartment opened, revealing a syringe with a strange green liquid inside of it. The “E-Necrotoxin,” you read.

It almost seemed too good to be true. That you could actually kill the nightmare that had been plaguing you these last few years. You imagine every different way this would go down, but to have it just within your grasp so suddenly…

Ethan grabbed your hand, tugging you forward and out of your thoughts. “We gotta get out of here.”

The hairs of the back of your neck raised, your body shivering as you felt eeriness wash over you. Something wasn’t right. No, this whole thing wasn’t, but something inside of you was screaming that something was coming.

As you made your way further into the cave, desperately hoping that the way out was close ahead, your boots sludged through muddy water, Ethan leading the way forward. Something sharp and loud pierced your eardrums, and a pained gasp ripped through your throat as you bent over and clutched the sides of your head.  There were hands on your shoulders and your name passed frantically over Ethan’s lips, but his words were muffled.

The ringing only got worse, blood trickling out of your ears and down the sides of your face, and you screamed when the image of Evie appeared before you.

“Eveline! NO!”

“Hey! She’s not here! You can fight it!”

Evie only smiled, and she was suddenly right in front of you, bringing you to your knees in the murky water.

“You’re gonna die. Just. Like. Mommy.”

She giggled maniacally, laughing at your pain and despair, and you were very aware of the hands shaking you all of the sudden. The scream that ripped through you bounced off the cave walls and had Ethan flinching, and Eveline’s image disappeared.

DIE!

The ground beneath your feet started rumbling, large rocks rolling to the ground as the mine began to cave in. Fingers gripped your wrist so hard you bruised, and Ethan pulled you forward so you wouldn’t get crushed by falling rocks. Monsters began pouring out from every dark corner, raising their long claws and slashing at you both. Ethan tried to shield you, but he couldn’t stop one of them from ripping through the back of your shirt and slicing open your skin.

You fell into Ethan’s side with a scream, but he didn’t stop moving. He tucked your body tight into him and dragged you forward. Because if you stopped, you were as good as dead. But with Ethan lugging your weight around, you were certain that would be the outcome anyway. You remembered your rules, how you told him that if there was no chance of both of you surviving, that he should save himself. Now seemed exactly like one of those times. But your body was too weak to protest against his efforts to save you. You simply reached up and gripped his shirt in your fist.

“Ethan… Don’t—”

“I’m gonna get us out of here, okay? Just hold on.”

Your vision began to fade in and out, barely able to see five feet in front of you. You must’ve blacked out at some point, because one moment you were dragging your hand against the rough cave wall, and now you were collapsed on your side, the cement floor cooling your burning skin. Hands carefully turned you onto your stomach, and you protested with a groan. You felt too much and nothing at the same time, your mind fading while your back burned with the fire of the sun.

“You’re gonna be okay. Hey! Come on, you gotta keep your eyes open!”

But god, your eyelids felt so fucking heavy. Every time you blinked your eyes, it got harder to open them again, and Ethan’s concerned expression in front of you began to blur into a flesh colored mess, his voice being drowned out by the ringing in your ears.

“Hey! Nonononono— no, you can’t. Hey, it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. Please—”

You felt wetness against your face, and Ethan’s voice faded into nothing as your eyes finally fluttered shut.

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