#very mild blood but its there nonetheless

[docktowndame]

some battle drawings because i think i have a problem. the problem is that if i stop paying attention to Fenris he fucking dies every 5 minutes and i have to revive his ass. i really should have put extra points into his health and stamina

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he���s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

prompt: buck has to take a rain check on an upcoming date with tommy because dr. salazar (heart doctor) wants buck to come in for his year review check after his lightning strike injuries, buck tells tommy and tommy offers to go with buck, tommy makes discoveries of wot buck went through during his coma and recovery, buck’s ecmo scars on his neck and the healed burns on his hands are talked about, buck has to wear the holter monitor again

That was such a great idea for a prompt. Thank you ❤️

As always you can send a bucktommy prompt to my ask. If you've sent one and it hasn't been answered yet, just sit tight - just means ive not yet got the full idea of what to write yet but it definitely will get answered.

********

Organising dates with Tommy was like a military operation. They had only been on 4 so far (if you count Bucks bad coffee apology meet, which buck absolutely does). Their often conflicting shifts made it difficult to carve out time, but they both very much wanted to put the effort in to see eachother.

Buck was excited for their 5th date tomorrow. It was a breakfast date. Well, technically dinner date for Tommy as he would be coming off shift but they were both excited nonetheless. That was until Buck got a reminder email of his one year heart check up post lightening strike. His heart sank when he realised and he called Tommy.

"Hey Evan." Buck could hear the smile on his face and though his heart was a little sunk, it swelled.

"Hey Tommy. Is this a good time? You're not on a call?"

"It's fine. Just giving the chopper a clean. Patient had a nasty hemorrhage this morning. Whats up?"

"I'm really sorry, but I'm going to have raincheck our breakfast date tomorrow."

"Oh." The disappointment was clear in his tone. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I uh, totally forgot I have an appointment with Dr Salazar my heart doctor."

"Are you okay? Have you been having palpations?"

Every time I look at you, or hear your voice, or think about you.

"No, no nothing like that - I feel fine. Its just a check up. It being a year since the uh.." Buck found the words difficult to say, though wasn't sure why. Most of the time he could talk about it, but sometimes the reality of what happened really hit him and he found it difficult.

"Lightning strike." Tommy finished for him. "Well it's a perfectly reasonable reason to raincheck so don't worry."

"Thanks Tommy." Buck said, relieved.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Tommy asked. Buck didn't expect that. They hadn't been dating long - Buck wasn't even sure if he could call himself Tommy's boyfriend yet. He wanted to of course but they hadn't had that conversation yet. But he wasn't sure if he was asking because he wanted to be there or it was out of some kind of obligation.

"Thanks but it's fine. They're probably just going to scan me and tell me I'm in top shape." He forced a laugh at the end. Truthfully he was worried. He wasn't lying about feeling fine - he really did - but he thought he was fine when he had mild pain in his leg which turned out to be blood clots that almost killed him.

"Are you sure? I don't mind."

"Yeah I'm sure." He wasn't sure but didn't want to feel like a some scared kid. Tommy was a strong, stoic man - He would probably be turned off watching Buck worry.

***

Buck groaned in his sleep at the noise. It happened again and he begrudgingly opened his eyes. The third time he realised it was someone knocking on his door. He looked at his phone and cursed to himself seeing that it was just past 5am. Who the hell knocks on the door at 5am?!

He slowly and heavily made his way down the stairs to the door.

"Tommy? What are you doing here? I thought your shift didn't finish for a other two hours?" He stepped aside to let him in. "Is everything okay?"

"I got off early, and no." He stated. Nerves hit Bucks stomach.

"W-why?"

"Because, you're worried about your heart appointment and you didn't tell me." Buck opened his mouth to respond but Tommy stopped him. "And before you argue, I could tell by the tone in your voice. So, I got off work early so that we can have still have our breakfast date, and then I can go with you to your appointment. Even if you just want me to wait in the car."

Buck wanted to tell him not to come. Not because he didn't want him there - he actually did. In the short time they'd known eachother Tommy made him feel safe; like things would be okay.

It was more that he wasn't used to people showing up for him. At least when it came to love interests. He'd always felt like he was a burden. In an odd way it made him feel uncomfortable. But Tommy hadn't made him feel like it was hard to be there for him. More than once he had proven himself by showing up. Buck knew he had let go.

"I'd really like that. Thank you."

"Of course." Tommy replied, showing those beautiful crinkles around his eyes that Buck would crawl into if he could.

***

A few hours later they were sat in Dr Salazars office. Buck has initially said he'd be fine alone and Tommy could wait in the car. But changed his mind last minute when a wave of nerves made its way through him. Tommy simply took his hand and walked into the hospital with him.

They'd taken his blood, scanned his heart and asked him a thousand questions. All that he was waiting for now was the results. His leg was bouncing as he sat waiting for her to come into her office. Tommy didn't say anything, just placed a hand on his knee. Bucks leg immediately stopped dancing at the touch. The feel of the warmth of tommys hand calmed him.

"Well, Evan.." She said walking in an sitting across her desk from them. "..everything seems to look fine. Bloods, scans have all come back normal."

Buck sighed and visibly relaxed.

"I just have a couple more questions to ask." She said.

"Okay."

"How are your hands? Are you experiencing any pain or tenderness?" She asked. Buck looked at his palms. You could barely notice the stars anymore. A fact which relieved Buck.

"Uh fine, really. The skin sometimes feels a bit tight but only if I'm feeling really hot" He admitted.

"Thats to be expected. When our bodies get warmer they expand and the skin tightens. It can take a while for the lower layers of dermis to fully heel so it might feel litter tighter for a while but it's nothing to worry about."

"Great." Buck said, relieved again.

"And what about the scar on your neck from the ecmo? How is that?" Buck instinctively reached up and palmed the area. It was barely noticeable now. Just a small round patch of skin a shade or two light then his skin tone.

"It's fine. No trouble there at all."

"Good. Well, there's one more thing I need from you today." She opened her drawer and removed a device placing it on the desk. "I need you to wear the holter moniter again for 24 hours."

"Do I have to?" He complained.

"Well you can say no, but it will be against medical advice and you will feel my personal derision. I know its a pain, but it's important to really make sure your heart is doing what it should be doing."

"He'll wear it." Tommy told her without even looking at him. It triggered a strange mix of feelings within Buck. Part of him was annoyed that Tommy was making the decision for him, but he also felt a warm feeling within him at seeing Tommy care that he do the right thing for his health.

"Yeah." He said.

"Good. Now you know the rules: no using the microwave or your cell phone for the entire time you're wearing it. Okay?"

"I remember."

"Good. Then i will see you tomorrow when you bring this back."

***

Buck was quiet on the car ride back to his apartment and for a while when they went inside.

"You okay?" Tommy asked

"I'm fine."

"Evan." Tommy chastised. Someone in the apartment above dropped something and a loud bang rang out. Buck instantly jumped at the sound. His eyes met with Tommy's. His face awash with fear which quickly turned to embarrassment. Tommy immediately walked over and put his arms around him.

"You're okay. I promise." His voice was soft and calming. Buck softened into the hug and held onto Tommy tightly.

"I'm not going to push you, but when you're ready you can tell me." Buck felt Tommy's fingers delicately trace lines in the hair at the base of his head. He tried to remember if any of his exes had ever done something so simple like that to comfort him and he couldn't.

Tommy was quite tactile, Buck had noticed. A hand on his back as we walks past, a thumb circling his hand while they watch a movie, or a hand on his leg as they talk after dinner. Buck had always like that in a parnter, being that he was a big physical touch person.

"Sometimes I forget that it happened and then something happens and I'm reminded again." He loosened himself from Tommy and stepped back to lift himself onto the counter. Tommy stepped forward standing just between his knees and no closer. He wanted to give buck not just the emotional space but the physical space to talk.

"It's funny - i don't remember the getting struck or the pain. At least not now. For a while everytime I looked at my hands I would remember." His hands were palm up as he looked at them; the skin just a little pinker where the scars were. Tommy gently took Bucks hands from underneath and brought each one to his face to placed a soft kiss on each palm.

It was an act so full of delicacy and love that Buck almost burst into tears. Tommy looked back up at him with a soft sympathetic face. A face that told him it was okay to talk.

"What I really remember when I woke up was how i felt. Like, everything was different even though nothing had changed. But I had. I couldn't tell you how and I still can't. I'm just.. different. I had the weirdest dreams when I was in the coma. They felt so visceral; so real. For weeks i had this sense of dread all the time, like the other shoe was going to drop and i was going to realise that i was still in the coma and nothing was real." Tommy gently stroked Bucks legs as he continued.

"You know for a while i had this checklist I would perform every morning. First I would check the time- the dreams all happened at night so if it was morning I'd know that I was awake. Then I'd text Bobby. I'm sure it was annoying for him but he always texted me back. I just had to be sure that everything was real. I'll have moments sometimes during the day where I'll have these phantom pains in my scar on my neck and for a split second I think 'what if I'm dreaming and the pain is from the ecmo machine still attached to me?'. That's really weird I know." He looked down feeling a hint of embarrassment. Tommy probably thought he was being ridiculous.

Instead Tommy reached up, placing his hand on one side of Bucks neck and softly pressing his lips against the scar on the other side. It wasn't heated or had any sexual connotations to it - it was sweet and loving. It was Tommy telling buck that these scars are part of who is and they're beautiful. Buck closed his eyes and just breathed. He let go and allowed Tommy to just simply care for him.

"Is it okay that I did that?" Tommy asked quietly.

"Always." Buck replied looking into to Tommy's soft, warm eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" Tommy asked.

"Honestly? That I'm glad we haven't got the sex stage yet. If my heartrate now is anything to go by Dr Salazar is already going to think im having a heart attack." Tommy threw his head back and laughed heartily. Buck had seen him laugh before, even giggle, but never had he elicited a real, loud, belly laugh.

Buck felt a sense of pride at Tommy's response. And there was something else there too. Something weaving its way around under the surface of his skin. Something warm that made his stomach swoop and heart buzz. It wasn't quite near enough to lean into yet, but it was close. And getting closer every day.

[cozymoko]

Alright no problem.

A category I would like is the upper rank demons. Thank you.

MODERN AU! YANDERE UPPER MOONS (some)

REQUEST: Upper Moons s/o grows distant from them. Then they start talking to someone new via their phone. It's implied or shown that they're gaining feelings for the person in the phone. Later, the yandere finds out.

Includes: Akaza, Douma, Gyutaro, Koukushibo

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, weird ass writing

AKAZA

Akaza has watched you enter your password thousands of times, so, of course, he knows it by heart. However, he never felt a need to go through your phone despite how viciously his curiosity gnawed at his restraint. He trusted you undoubtedly though it was foolish to do so.

The poor soul; betrayal is truly a curse. A brisk gleam had piqued his interest and he wish it hadn't. He wants so badly to not believe his eyes, praying for a means of deception or even a facade. All the lies about who you were texting, and who you were with had to be true! He could not fathom you doing such a thing, slicing him so deeply with what felt like the sharp-edged end of a blade.

His actions after were merely on impulse — on rage and desire even. Yet he did not feel an ounce of remorse. He was unable to sympathize with the person who tore you away, and instead dwelled in the satisfaction their death had brought him.

⠀⠀WORK HAD BEEN especially tiring that evening. Fatigue had wracked your body like a dangerous drug, rendering you with little desire to move. Alas, you had to make it home. Your phone had died, leaving you no source of contact with the one who had slowly captured your heart.

⠀⠀Once you got home you were greeted with a comfortable silence. It wasn't all that strange seeing how Akaza enjoyed working well into the night, and getting off earlier left you a few hours at your disposal. You were quick to dive into the white duvet of your mattress, relishing in its warmth. A nap had followed suit with your phone set securely at your bedside, powered off, as you gleefully waltzed into a land of undiscovered dreams.

⠀WHAM!

⠀⠀You jumped at the abrupt sound. It was loud and left you quite concerned for the condition of your door's hinges. Nonetheless, you hastily descended down the short flight of steps as your bewildered hues were quick to meet his own only a mere inch from the entrance.

⠀⠀“You're home?” A rhetorical question. “Where were you out so late?”

⠀⠀Your inquiry was more off instinct rather than anything else, but the quick flashing of the clock had proved you right. It read, “3:00 am”; four hours past his usual time of arrival. It hadn't bothered you too much, though it was very unlike him.

⠀⠀You sighed at his lack of response. Another thing that was out of character. You approached him in calm yet confident strides. However, the closer you drew, a familiar scent wafted at your nose; metallic like pure polished iron. It made you sick. Your brows furrowed in mild concern as his current state struck you with great worry.

⠀⠀There wasn't any blood that you could see. But the scent was pungent, so much so that it had begun to cloud your senses.

⠀⠀“Hey, Akaza, are you okay—”

⠀⠀“Are they...better than me?” He was quick to cut you off with a biting tone. It brought a shiver down your spine as it was the coldest you'd heard from him. “Answer me.”

⠀⠀Choking on your words you stutter out a response, “Wha...what do you m-mean?”

⠀⠀His sharp eyes narrowed into slits, nearly lacerating you into two. “I saw them.” He continued. “The messages.”

⠀⠀As though it were second nature, your hand ghosted over your pocket in slight desperation, feeling for your phone. But it wasn't there. You were sure you grabbed it and the thought of losing it had instantly soured your mood. Patting, digging, tugging on your pockets but to no avail. It was gone and you had no clue as to where it could be.

⠀⠀“W...here...”

⠀⠀Looking up at Akaza he wasn't the slightest bit impressed. He reached into his pocket, taking the device in his hand. The device you'd recognized as your own. “Looking for this thing?”

⠀⠀A sickening CRUNCH! resonated through your shared apartment; loud and wretched to your ears. Your phone had clattered to the floor and with it the contents it had once held. You struggled to swallow the bile crawling up your throat, plunging to your knees with a harsh thud.

⠀⠀“You won't be needing that anymore. I have a feeling that ‘friend’ of yours is no longer with us.”

DOUMA

Indeed, he is quite favored amongst nearly every person he's come across. Darling, look at him. Even so, his attention remained on you from the beginning to the very end. Thus he's rather confused; why are you going behind his back?

Surely you must know Douma is no fool, for he knew about your little conversation from the start. Yet it fascinated him. This searing pain in his chest, bubbling and boiling with an unrecognizable emotion — could it be agitation? He asked himself. Nonetheless, it was only welcomed for such a short time before he no longer desired its presence.

Jealousy is such a pain; but he's not heartless, darling! I jest — he absolutely is! It'd be best to listen to him while he's playing nice because knowing him, he'd much rather give you an ultimatum than simply mutilate your little mistress or maistre. However, you can never be too sure.

⠀⠀THAT EVENING Douma had dragged you to the basement of your shared home, much to your dismay, claiming there was a surprise awaiting you. You'd thought nothing of it as he was always quick to shower you with anything you could ever ask for. But if given the opportunity you'd run like your life depends on it. Not for any particularly reason.

⠀⠀Though this time it was different. He had a strange skip in his step that made your heart quiver. Not many things in this life made his heart squeal with joy, or even jump for the matter, so what could've possibly done it now? The sheer thought of finding out made you all the more uneasy.

⠀⠀Something wasn't right.

⠀⠀Squeaky hinges were quick to interrupt your peace as they cried out under the weight of Douma's hand. Upon opening, a foul scent hit you like a harsh slap in the face, nearly causing you to gag at its intensity. Instinctively, your hand shot from your side and to your nose, but it did very little to ease its pungency.

⠀⠀You glance to your side and shockingly enough, Douma wasn't fazed in the slightest. He looked bored rather, as he silently waited for you to collect yourself. Though not for long.

“Ah~, it's a shame. You don't like it do you?” Douma whined. “Getting my hands dirty is no fun, even when it's for you, yknow!”

⠀⠀The sight of the mutilated corpse made your heart stammer. It was subtly rotting, suggesting its time in this place. The features adorning it were all too familiar. The realization had dawned on you far too late. The one who made you happy. Who comforted you on endless occasions. Who loved you He killed him.

⠀⠀Douma twirled the man's phone between his fingers before huffing loudly, successfully acquiring your attention. “You've been texting me for the past week and my, my, I wasn't expecting that behavior from you in the slightest~!”

⠀⠀Why hadn't you noticed it before?

⠀⠀That week his (not Douma's) responses struck you as somewhat abnormal but you'd merely presumed it was a figment of your imagination. The increasingly flirty texts that you so foolishly played along with would soon become your downfall.

⠀⠀“Don't cry now, dear,” Nimble fingers dig themselves into the softness of your cheeks, making you pucker up like a fish. “I'm sure you never thought about how I felt seeing you go behind my back so often.”

⠀⠀“So don't be so selfish.”

KOUKUSHIBO

Kokushibo, more formally known as Michikatsu, has never been a confrontational man. Yes, he indeed found your strange actions to be interesting. His strong infatuation proved such.

Being the attentive man he is, Kokushibo was quick to notice your peculiar actions regarding that phone. The field of giggles that would often slip past them. The long nights you spent staring at its flashing screen instead of attending to him who was at your side. The times you sneak out with no regards

Kokushibo had followed you, for his curiosity had truly bested him. He's always been number one no matter where he went. Thus he can no longer feign maturity. He had grown desperate for your attention and time. The demon could no longer lay restless at night, dreaming of you being held in another man's arms.

⠀⠀THE TRUTH was on the tip of your tongue just waiting to be told. His stare shook you to the core, leaving you fearful and uneasy. You shifted on the balls of your feet in anticipation, hurriedly waiting for him to break the silence.

⠀⠀You had gotten all dolled up for your scheduled night of rendezvous, expecting to slip into the night like a ghost as you always did. But of course that wasn't an option, not today. For a man who you once called your lover was seated on the couch with a thick book tucked beneath his fingertips, as waited for you to make an appearance.

⠀⠀And you did not disappoint.

⠀⠀“What've you been up to?” He had asked, a simple question that required a simple answer. You were an adult so it couldn't have been a problem, right?

⠀⠀Right?

⠀ WRONG.

⠀⠀“I...I was just...” You cursed under your breath at your useless stammering, opting to grip the end of your shirt to provide some solace. “Going out...I was just going out...”

⠀⠀“Where?”

⠀⠀Your knees trembled, ready to give out under your weight any moment now. Something about his gaze made your stomach churn. It was so kind and yet very knowing, as though he was well aware of the late-night endeavors you partook in. And yet he could not look at you with anything more than love and true understanding. You felt guilty.

⠀⠀You had caved and crumbled to your knees, begging him for forgiveness. You'd never felt so weak. So stupid. Deceiving such a kind man who would never do anything to hurt you or those around you (that's not true). He even feigned obliviousness to your terrible actions when he had the choice not to.

⠀⠀Kokushibo swept you into his arms, carefully rubbing smooth circles into your back. Your nails dug into the soft fabric of his kimono, searching for comfort within his arms. A faint smirk grazed his lips. You truly were perfect, always making his job easy for him. He hardly had to lift a finger!

⠀⠀Nothing ever gets past him. No one will ever take you away.

⠀⠀“Forgive me for what I've done, but it'd be best that you do not contact that person any longer.” He presses his lips to the shell of your ear . “They're gone.”

[whumpshaped]

I know you just wrote one but I would love another sickfic out of you! Maybe illness affecting the taste of the blood or something?

how abt a mild infection beck is deathly scared of.. (ive had that on my list and i think itll fit the bill but we'll see)

masterlist

tw gross infection, sickfic all the way through, conditioned whumpee, aftermath of punishment, emotional whump

Beck woke up to an immense amount of pain radiating from his neck. He groaned and tried to move in a way that would lessen it, only to find that turning his head at all was a monumental task. It hurt. The whole area felt... swollen... too warm.

Was it... was it infected?

He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, horrified to see the damage Helle had left him with. His neck looked disgusting. His skin was flushed starting from his face all the way down to his collarbones, and the bites were... leaking. He stepped away from the mirror and covered his mouth, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

This was bad. This was bad. This was bad.

He texted Christie with shaking hands about an 'infected dog bite', then tried to ignore her dumb joke about him being a chewtoy for more than one species. Should he go to a doctor? He should at least look up how to treat it at home. Was this the way he'd die? Not even from a direct attack or Helle's sadistic whims, but an infected wound?

No, first and foremost, he needed to clean it all out. He used a generous amount of water and his special antibacterial soap, scrubbing down the entire area despite his body's protests. Then came the ointment and the bandages, and he very quickly realised that his neck and shoulders were a very awkward place to try to patch up. Nonetheless, he persisted.

Would Helle be mad at him for not taking better care of the bites? They could still drink from his wrist! Right..?

He looked into the mirror again, relieved to see most of the gross parts covered. He lifted a hand to feel his cheeks, not too happy to find they felt warmer than usual. He probably knew way too much about infections, but even if he hadn't, the average person could deduce that a creeping fever was a bad sign.

Every medical paper he could find agreed that vampire bites were distinctly different from that of an animal's. First of all, there was no chance of them being rabid. Second of all, it rarely ever resulted in death, at least in patients who attempted to treat it. Well, he was definitely trying.

Still, a doctor's visit was in order. Not right now... not when he was still so tired... but after a quick nap, maybe.

Unfortunately for him, his pillow was full of stains, blood and... whatever that was, he stuff that was coming out of the infected bites. He really, honestly tried not to be too grossed out. He tried not to cry at the thought of having slept in that. He failed.

He needed to change his bedsheets right now, even if moving around was a fucking agonising ordeal. He needed clean sheets. He wasn't going to lie back down in fuckig filth.

By the time he was done cleaning up, his neck felt entirely stiff. Even moving his arms was a challenge, given that all the motions started from the shoulder muscles, the ones that were now in an incredible amount of pain. But maybe sleep would make it better. Surely, if he let the ointment work its magic, he would wake up feeling better. So he crawled under the blankets, exhausted and shivering, and prayed he wouldn't wake up to being bitten.

The pain was so much worse the second time around. The articles all warned about the dangers of venom in an infected wound, but Helle didn't use venom, and apparently no one had studied raw vampire bites. This wasn't a case of 'the patient might be inclined to leave the infected area untreated due to an altered state of mind, in which they respond positively to the pain that comes with it'. This was a case of pure 'I can barely lift my body to get out of bed, I cannot walk or drive like this'.

He just had to ride it out. Vampires didn't kill via infections. They didn't. He wasn't going to die. He was just... going to be in some pain, is all. He just had to whimper and whine his way through it, through the fever and nausea, through the debilitating fatigue and thirst. It would go away. It was going to go away.

The next time he woke up, the pain was a little less intense. It was more of a dull ache rather than an all-consuming, burning fire under his skin, and he took the chance to go change the bandages. The wounds looked... better. They weren't... healed, or even healthy by any means, but... better.

Soap. Ointment. Bandages.

He downed a bottle of water on his way back to the bedroom, and put a full bottle on the nightstand. The plastic clinked against the pile of jewellery that he still had there, and he froze. He needed to put those away, immediately. Where was the box his mother had them in? Oh god, he had no idea.

He walked back out into the living room, looking on every surface and in every drawer until he finally found it, hidden away nicely so Helle wouldn't question it. He quickly rushed back to the bedroom and threw all the silver in there, hardly caring about the necklances and bracelets getting tangled for now. He would untangle them before giving the box back.

He collapsed onto the mattress again and took a deep, calming breath. He had to stay up tonight, to ensure Helle wouldn't try to bite into bandages this time. He was pretty sure they would be pissed about it. He had to stay up and explain the situation, apologise, then offer his wrist as an alternative. He had to be polite about it. Respectful. Good.

Maybe they would be forgiving, if he was good. Maybe they would absolve him of the sin of causing a mess and getting sick from it.

Or maybe they would reprimand him further. Kill him off because they had no use for a disgusting, dirty bloodbag like him.

It was a coin toss. Beck could only hope.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Hiiii :3 I already love your writing and characterization so much, its mwah, chefs kiss.

I was wondering if you'd be okay with either a scenario or head canons where Spy and reader are having a contest in which whoever touches the other first loses. Lots of teasing ensues. No pressure! Again, love ur writing! <3

hiiiii <3 Thank you. I try my best to go for a more canon approach when writing the TF2 characters. Glad to see another certified Spy lover in here.

Spy teases Y/N and purposes an offer to them (Mild NSFW)

Warning: uhhhh wholesome cuddles?!?? no way

———————— ———- ———

- Spy is fully aware that you’re incredibly touch starved. Being an older and experienced gentlemen in life and romance, he can’t say the same for himself. He has a long streak of fucking around. This guy is a manwhore. You’re most likely a more younger adult than him. Your relationship is akin to a lion and his ruthless little cub. Sigmund freud is rolling in his grave right now.

- Your undying lust for his touch is quickly noticed by him. It take it upon himself to fiddle around with this knowledge. You hug his arm while he’s standing on the roof of the base smoking. He gently slips his arm away from your tight grasp and runs his fingers through your hair. “I see you are obnoxiously fawning over my presence as always, favori.”

- He cant lie, he kind of enjoys the fact you’re so clingy with him. His pride gets in the way of properly expressing this. He gives you a devilish looking side smile. “I will offer you a proposition. If you can resist my ravishing presence for at least two days, I’ll give you something nice and good.”

- You have no idea what he means by that, but nonetheless a challenge is a challenge and you are quite curious yourself. It’s fine for the first few hours but stress entices you to his warm body again. You oh-so-desperately want to run your fingers across his suit and explore his chest. You frown and watch him carry on his duties from afar.

- During a set-up you approach him while he’s preoccupied with his disguise kit and try and strike up small talk. You need to be around him. Shit’s way too much right now. He eyes you suspiciously as you unconsciously inch closer. “Now, now. Any closer and you might not get your little treat, mon amour.”

- Makes fun of you for being so touch starved on a regular basis. Teases you by decloaking behind you and whispering a series of rather sickly sweet french in your ear whilst nobody’s present. You can feel his calm breath on your neck and said ear. His sleepy demeanor despite the blood and chaos around him oddly helps you relax.

- DAMMIT. you want to hug this guy so bad. You pout at him as you all head back to your quarters for the night and he smiles and taps two fingers on his invis watch. Reminding you that’s it’s only two days. Consider this mercy.

- You come to him after two days. Immediately flopping your entire weight on his body while he reads in his quarters. You knew the desired time was up and you were already burnt out. “Mm. Yes, you’re worse than I thought.” He thoughtfully tells you. Putting his book down on your body and inhaling smoke from his cigar. “Very well, you’ve earned this.”

- To release you from this terrible hell, he plants a kiss on your forehead and brings you up to his chest. Cradling you in his arms easily. He lets loose on you; kissing you and exploring your mouth with his tongue. Petting your head and rubbing you. You’re locked in a fetal position in the man’s big arms so you can’t really do much. Now you know what a chihuahua feels like when its forcibly kissed by its overbearing owner.

- He’s kind of violent by the way. Expect a lot of bites leaving bruises down your neck and blood drawn. He wastes no time manhandling you. Refusing the latter. There’s no way in fucking Mary mother of god’s name he’ll be anything other than in control. He needs to feel in control of this. He respects your boundaries and wishes politely though. Not a bitey person? That’s fine. He’ll be grumpy about it but comply nonetheless with a slightly less harmful kind of torture.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Helga, She Wolf of Stilberg (Rhomm, 1978)

This review contains mild spoilers.

I'm not much of a fan of Nazisploitation, but of the movies I've seen from or adjacent to the genre, my favourite is easily Greta, the Mad Butcher AKA Wanda, the Wicked Warden AKA Ilsa, Absolute Power AKA Jess Franco's Ilsa movie. And I think it's worth unpacking why that one works as well as it does and this and others come up short in comparison. For one thing, Franco's movie brings some actual political conviction to the proceedings. Perhaps he was making movies in (the other) Franco's Spain and butting up against censors, there's actual blood in the movie's veins when it comes to depicting the evils of a fascist government and sympathy for its victims. This movie, like Franco's, opts for an unspecified fascist government instead of explicitly depicting Nazi Germany, but is much less interested in sketching out the political environment of its story. There's some reference to rebels, who we finally see very late in the movie, but the movie halfheartedly takes the perspective of the oppressors.

Which gets at the biggest problem this one has, in that you never really identify with the protagonist. For what it's worth, Patrizia Gori tries to emote her heart out in the role, but she isn't introduced until a third into the movie and takes another third to emerge as an actual character. Franco's movie wisely aligns us with the perspective of Tania Busselier, giving us a sympathetic figure to latch onto in order to navigate the proceedings. You actually end up caring about what happens as a result. Franco's movie also has Lina Romay, who is like a cheat code in elevating the material. I will say that while Malisa Longo is no Dyanne Thorne, she is well cast as the villain. In large part this is thanks to her great big feline eyes, which she uses to dole out piercing stares, often with her nostrils flared. Her performance is not sophisticated by nonetheless effective. She also has an amazing wardrobe, getting to put on a nice floral dress, a silk robe, and an outfit consisting of a red silk shirt and leather pants that she usually wears while torturing prisoners or going riding. It is a versatile outfit, is what I'm saying.

At the same time, and this might sound contradictory, Franco's interest in Sadean themes means that the torture scenes in his movie are a lot more engaging. Basically he's getting off on them, and as such they carry a certain charge. This one cycles through a number of indignities, like rapes, whippings and medical examinations, but the execution can be charitably described as low energy. There's one scene where some of the prisoners have their heads held under a tap that has all the excitement of trying to give a cat a bath. This copies the other movie's tactic of denying the prisoners any underwear beneath their uniforms, which guarantees flashes of bush anytime there's a physical altercation. Listen, this movie doesn't have a lot going for it, I'm willing to throw it point for this one little thing. There's also a pretty funny scene where Longo is down in the dumps so she hurries to the dungeon to torture somebody so she can cheer herself up. I'll throw the movie a point for this scene too.

This movie has a bunch of talent from French porn, including director Patrice Rhomm, Dominique Aveline AKA the guy who looks like Mario, Alban Ceray AKA the guy who looks like the lead from Taste of Cherry, Richard Lemieuvre AKA the guy who looks like Ringo Starr, and a bunch of the ladies too. Aveline gets a sex scene with Longo, which is like if Mario banged Princess Peach, but in a fascist context. Aveline also later tortures Lemieuvre, which is like if Mario tortured one of the Beatles, but in a fascist context. This is also shot in a castle in the French countryside, so it looks nice enough despite the obvious low budget. On that point, at the end, the rebels adopt a strategy of arresting people like they have a huge army behind them, a strategy the movie imitates by throwing in a bunch of stock footage to make the battle scene look a lot bigger than it is. Anyway, this is pretty boring and has some really lame last minute attempts to create emotional resonance, but I suppose I liked Gori and Longo, and the movie did prove useful in showing why Franco's Ilsa movie is good. But if you're looking to get your genre jollies, maybe just watch that one instead.

[outofangband]

Angband piece I wrote in an hour at work

I’m posting the more violent version to ao3 later

That being said there’s a lot of unpleasant stuff in this version

Mild gore, some body horror, deaths of unnamed elves, uh, stuff that is not explicitly sexual but is reminiscent of sexual assault? It falls in with the body horror too and unreality too, it’s similar to what was in this Húrin fic though a little more detailed 

This is just something that was in my brain! Do not read if you don’t want to!

anyways

Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

The elf twitched upon the floor where it lay crumpled. Morgoth watched it dispassionately for several moments, waiting for the time to give the order for it to stand again, knowing it would be unable to. He reached out a long fingered hand to grip the chin of the elf kneeling beside Him, as a gesture of casual dominance and to ensure that Maitimo was indeed still watching as he had been so firmly instructed to.

Maitimo was staring ahead, wide eyes taking in the violence before him. His lip twitched and he made several almost convulsive gestures but remained otherwise still and silent.

Morgoth smiled upon His dark throne and traced his fingers up to more softly touch Maitimo’s hair. The elf knew better now than to try and pull away from Him.

A reward was warranted.

Melkor looks from His captive to the broken creature on the ground before them.

“Finish it, I think,” Melkor says softly to Gothmog, nodding at the wretched thing on the floor. He spoke in a language the thrall would not know but it seemed to understand nonetheless. Reaching out a bleeding, broken fingered hand to try and drag itself forward, pathetic and predictable.

“Do you not agree, Maitimo?” The elf beside Him had gone very tense, jaw clenched. The voice of the Moringotto was silky, deceptive in its friendliness even as each word reverberated subtly through the vast hall where He sat upon the throne.

The eyes of the elf were fixed upon the fallen victim as Gothmog raised his whip once more. The blow severed large patches of skin and dug deep into the neck of the unlucky elf who had been the fourth to meet such an end over the course of Maitimo’s stay in the Nethermost Hall. Gothmog was grinning, his scaly skin literally alight with sparks. He nods to His lord before turning and with a lazy wave of the hand, Melkor brings forth two timid looking slaves to gingerly collect the broken body of the elf and carry it too from the hall.

“That was better, Maitimo.” The whisper wormed its way into Maitimo’s ears, soft and almost tender and coated in triumph that made his fists clench at his sides

Four times Morgoth had made him watch, chained upon his knees beside the sleek black throne as his kin were brought forth into the hall in their shackles and tattered robes, if they wore any at all, to be broken and slaughtered by Gothmog. The first time Maitimo had shouted, thrashed, cursed the balrog and his master just as he had on the other occasions where he had been so close to brutality here. Morgoth had ordered him fixed with the horrid muzzle and Gothmog had continued, drawing out the torture until he had no need to deliver a final blow. The poor creature had died of its injuries.

The muzzle was removed while the body was taken from the hall and Maitimo spat out a mouthful of blood at the feet of the Moringotto.

Another was brought in.

The second time it was something else that was forced into his mouth as he had screamed his protests, a fleshy tendril like substance he had choked on much to the amusement of the Vala who had not moved from the throne Maitimo was shackled beside. He had spend several minutes doubled over and retching when it had been removed, leaving an oily, slimy feeling in his mouth and throat.

Again, the torture of the young Avarin elf who had been dragged in was drawn out to an agonizing extent. Blood was sticking to the dark grey stone of the floor when the body was dragged away.

The third time he was still recovering from this fresh violation and he was smart enough too to understand the game Morgoth was playing. His defiance was causing him to suffer but it was also being inflicted upon the others who were brought in to suffer for them. They were doomed before this day, Maitimo knew. He recognized the vivid black marks upon their faces, designating them as disposable slaves whose death was seen by others as a blessing once the horrific circumstance that would inevitably surround it were past. But this knowledge would not assuage his conscience.

The third time Maitimo was mostly quiet. His eyes dull and fixed at the ground until Morgoth had forced his face up to watch, taunting fingers touching his lips, daring him to bite again

“Hast thou learnt yet, little kinslayer?” Long fingers ran over the stretch of skin where that word had been carved into his back, right between his shoulder blades. Maitimo shuddered and did not reply. He felt more than he heard the laughter of the monster as yet again, the doors to the Nethermost Hall were pushed open. Two guards were flanking that fourth poor victim who would die more quickly but no less violently than the three before them.

Only Morgoth and Maitimo were left now in the hall. Maitimo felt limp in his chains. The places where they had cut into his skin were sore and inflamed and the gaze of the Moringotto made him feel still more diseased and unclean. The hand of the Vala was still upon him, still lightly touching him, as much as to show that He could as for any other reason. Maitimo longed to snarl or bite at the fingers that would chance so near to his freed mouth. But he did not want to watch the slaughter of another, did not want to have his eyes kept forcibly open. So he stayed still and let himself be touched, his head, back, anywhere.

“Here, Nelyafinwë.” The Moringotto gestures to the spot before Him. Maitimo could only just crawl the several paces to where he was ordered, looking at the armored legs of his enemy. One finger lifted up his chin, forcing him to look into that evil face.

“Open.” The order is spoken so softly, one could almost believe it was gentle, if they wished to. Maitimo opens his mouth and two long fingers are placed inside. Again he knows he is being tested. Not biting, not hurting his foe when he might have had the chance is nigh unbearable. Melkor casually touches the inside of his mouth, fingers extending far beyond what they should have been until Maitimo is gagging again.

“Do not be foolish,” croons the Vala, “Suck upon them as I know thou canst.”

Maitimo breathes through his nose, feeling the fingers that could not truly be fingers, not anymore, extend still further until they reach easily down his throat which convulses when he tries to suckle them.

[ao3-feed-sterek]

Valley of Plenty Valley of Monsters

by Nier

In a quaint tavern nestled close to Beacon Vale, Derek's eyes chance upon him—the bard, strumming his lute with an off-kilter cadence and emitting a less-than-inviting melody through his vocal cords. Nonetheless, an unexpected clamor for an encore fills the air, its source still eluding him. The sorry bunch comprising the audience seems immersed in inebriation or engrossed in fervent liaisons, scarcely concerning themselves with the melodies escaping the bard's lips. Yet, despite the indifference, there's one undeniable truth.

The man, at the very least, knows how to glean a few coins from the patrons.

~~~~~

Or an attempt at a The Witcher AU that no one asked for. Where Derek is a Witcher and Stiles is a Bard.

Words: 20999, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: M/M

Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Erica Reyes, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Kate Argent, Gerard Argent, Alan Deaton

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Additional Tags: Inspired by Wiedźmin | The Witcher, Witcher Derek Hale, Bard Stiles Stilinski, Elf Erica Reyes, Witcher Scott McCall, Blood and Violence, Snapshots, One Shot, Frottage, Kissing, Getting Together, Slow Romance, i think, prose heavy, I Don't Even Know, The Horse's Name is Camaro, Because Stiles, Adventure & Romance, Thugs Hold Stiles Hostage, bathing together, Pet Names, Dancing, Feasts, Alternate Universe - Wiedźmin | The Witcher Fusion, Monsters, Nudity, Mild Hurt/Comfort

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/48408868

[productsreviewings]

As time goes on, it's possible you'll discover some deep fantastic traces showing round your eyes, making you look extra drained than you might be. Small wrinkles might seem on the face, brows, and better eyelids, and the outer corners of your eyes might start to droop. Facial edema may trigger them to look even deeper. Shiatsu is a sort of therapeutic massage that helps restore the pores and skin round your eyes to its pure, wholesome state. In distinction to different types of therapeutic massage, the one motion utilized in shiatsu is the mild urgent of a collection of factors on the face.Japanese girls are the first practitioners of Shiatsu, and this observe will be the secret to their flawless pores and skin. We had been inquisitive about this type of therapeutic massage which has been gaining reputation all around the world. Nonetheless it's nonetheless solely acknowledged by the medical institution in Japan. The common Shiatsu therapeutic massage takes about 1 minute to finish. Do it very first thing within the morning, last item at evening, and at any time when your eyes really feel drained. Learn on to know extra about it.What Is Shiatsu?This kind of therapeutic massage will get its title from combining two Japanese phrases for “strain” and “finger.” Tokujiro Namikoshi got here up with it within the early twentieth century. The originator of the therapeutic massage allegedly utilized it to remedy arthritis with it. It was primarily based on an understanding of anatomy and the hidden practices of Tibetan medication.The Japanese public embraced this easy method, and the federal government medical institution accepted of its efficacy. Its use, notably within the magnificence business, continues to this present day in Japan. The creator of this system lived to be 95 years outdated, and he fooled everybody into pondering he was a lot youthful than he really was. He added that this concept is based on the identical primal urge to assuage aches and pains by rubbing and warming them.How does it perform, then? When squeezed, sure factors on the face & physique enhance the circulate of blood and lymph. The elevated effectivity is due partially to the truth that it boosts tissue metabolism. This triggers the physique’s inherent capability for renewal.For those who’re doing the therapeutic massage by yourself (specialists are the one ones who ought to be massaging the zones), give attention to the spots. Placed on a average quantity of strain, simply sufficient to make you uncomfortable.Concerning the attention space particularly, this therapeutic massage will strengthen your muscle mass, diminish your wrinkles, increase pores and skin elasticity (by means of elevated collagen & elastin synthesis), and normalize sebum manufacturing. Learn on to know find out how to do them individually.1. Elevating EyebrowsThe middle, exterior, and internal elements of the eyebrows make up the strain zone. Press along with your thumb, index, and center fingers. Direct urgent actions on the brows, with a small upward thrust, are all that’s wanted to “restore” the brows to their correct place.Time: 7 secondsRepeat: twice2. Eradicating “Crow’s Toes”The strain factors are on the sides of your eyes. Put the guidelines of your fingers on the factors, push for a second to “heat up” the realm, after which launch. With out releasing your grip, it's possible you'll gently draw the temple muscle mass inward. It’s essential to concentrate and ensure that the muscle mass are being pulled and never the pores and skin.Time: 3 secondsRepeat: 3 occasions3. Decreasing SwellingFocus your strain on the hole area between the internal angle of your eye and the bridge of your nostril. Holding the locations along with your index fingers, carry out a perpendicular motion, taking care to not pressure or pull on the pores and skin. One different choice is to assemble a “fork” with the center and index fingers, urgent the outer and internal eye corners on the similar time.

Time: 3 secondsRepeat: thrice4. Smoothing Wrinkles At The Bridge Of The NostrilApply stress within the area between the brows, generally referred to as the “third eye”. Put your thumb, index, and center finger collectively and squeeze. Use the pads of your fingers to press the three factors in between your brows.Time: 5-7 secondsRepeat: twice5. Rejuvenating Below Eye Pores and skinIt's worthwhile to apply strain particularly to the boney area simply behind one’s eyes. Use your thumb, index, and ring finger to press the realm gently.Time: 10 secondsRepeat: twiceYou might do these strikes individually, or you'll be able to mix them right into a full-face Shiatsu therapeutic massage. They will additionally increase the outcomes of assorted facial massages and health routines. The most effective half about these strategies is that it's straightforward and you are able to do them even if you end up watching a film, studying a guide and even touring. So what's your secret to maintaining your eyes younger wanting and fairly? Tell us within the feedback part.Was this text useful? AssociatedThe next two tabs change content material beneath.Indrani is a author and artist who likes so as to add a touch of humor to the whole lot she does. She has two years of expertise in writing articles throughout magnificence, well being, and life-style genres. After graduating in Political Science from Calcutta College, she took a detour into the world of creativity and found her knack for social writing, promoting, designing, and...extrawindow.dataLayer=window.dataLayer||[];window.requestAnimationFrame=window.requestAnimationFrame||window.mozRequestAnimationFrame||window.webkitRequestAnimationFrame||window.msRequestAnimationFrame||function(f)return setTimeout(f,1000/60) window.cancelAnimationFrame=window.cancelAnimationFrame||window.mozCancelAnimationFrame||function(requestID)clearTimeout(requestID) window.requestIdleCallback=window.requestIdleCallback||function(handler)let startTime=Date.now();return setTimeout(function()handler(didTimeout:false,timeRemaining:function()return Math.max(0,50.0-(Date.now()-startTime)););,1); window.cancelIdleCallback=window.cancelIdleCallback||function(id)clearTimeout(id); addEventListener('visibilitychange',t_onVisibilityChange,true);function t_onVisibilityChange()if(document.visibilityState==='hidden')runTasksImmediately(); isSafari_=!!(typeof safari==='object'&&safari.pushNotification);if(isSafari_)addEventListener('beforeunload',runTasksImmediately,true); function runTasksImmediately()runTasks(); var taskQueue=[];if(!is_mobile_sc())taskQueue.push(loadAdRecoverScript); taskQueue.push(loadPinterestScript);taskQueue.push(loadGAScript);taskQueue.push(processGlobalGAEvents);taskQueue.push(executeGAForTwentySeconds);taskQueue.push(loadFbEventsScript);taskQueue.push(executeFBEvents);taskQueue.push(disableIframeLoading);taskQueue.push(executeGAForSingleArticles);taskQueue.push(scrolldepthtracking);function load_infog_pdf_ga_script()var wlink=document.querySelectorAll(".info-dwnld");for(var i=0;i0)idleCallbackHandle=requestIdleCallback(runTasks,timeout:2000);elseremoveEventListener('visibilitychange',t_onVisibilityChange,true);if(isSafari_)removeEventListener('beforeunload',runTasksImmediately,true); function adblockrecovery(){var adblockrecovery=document.createElement('script'),head=document.head||document.getElementsByTagName('head')[0];adblockrecovery.src=" function signalGooglefcPresent()if(!window.frames['googlefcPresent'])if(document.body)const iframe=document.createElement('iframe');iframe.style="width: 0; height: 0; border: none; z-index: -1000; left: -1000px; top: -1000px;";iframe.style.display='none';iframe.name="googlefcPresent";document.body.appendChild(iframe);elsesetTimeout(signalGooglefcPresent,0); function adblockrecoverypopup()(function()self,da=function(),t=function(a)return a;var u;var w=function(a,b)this.g=b===v?a:"";w.prototype.toString=function()return this.g+"";var v=,x=function(a)if(void 0===u)var b=null;var c=r.

trustedTypes;if(c&&c.createPolicy)tryb=c.createPolicy("goog#html",createHTML:t,createScript:t,createScriptURL:t)catch(d)r.console&&r.console.error(d.message)u=belse u=ba=(b=u)?b.createScriptURL(a):a;return new w(a,v);var A=function()return Math.floor(2147483648*Math.random()).toString(36)+Math.abs(Math.floor(2147483648*Math.random())^Date.now()).toString(36);var B=,C=null;var D="function"===typeof Uint8Array;function E(a,b,c)return"object"===typeof a?D&&!Array.isArray(a)&&a instanceof Uint8Array?c(a):F(a,b,c):b(a)function F(a,b,c)if(Array.isArray(a))for(var d=Array(a.length),e=0;ef;f++)var h=d.concat(e[f].split(""));B[f]=h;for(var g=0;g

[howardpierpointblog]

Insights On Painless Secrets For Hydra Facial Device

There are tons of methods to accomplish this, but you must be somewhat experienced. Do you possess every one of the expertise you need to get the most from your beauty products? When you are not sure, read on for several helpful assistance. Wearing sunscreen will certainly shield you against the sun's sun rays. If you are assessing diverse companies and kinds of sunscreen lotion, you must seek out products that include wholesome skin care elements and antioxidants. These substances can help feed your skin and support preserve its youthful look. If your facial kind is sq, soften your look by making use of creamy increased coloured or coral shaded blush. Along with your fingertips, delicately smooth the skin cream blush over the apples of your own cheeks and outward toward the temples. Ingesting one particular teaspoon of curry-leaf chutney day-to-day will allow you to ward off gray locks. This includes nutrients and vitamins that your system needs to supply your hair's pigment, and yes it helps you locks remain healthy. You may also use rosemary important gas in your head of hair, which assists to keep your hydra facial device scalp's health insurance and your hair's colour. Utilize a remember to brush with gentle bristles on the skin to activate circulation of blood just before the bath. Relocate it in a round fashion, operating up through your feet, and then bath by using a mild soap. Have a moisturizing lotion on hand to keep your epidermis hunting refreshing. All year long, epidermis can dry and check horrible. You are going to stop this dry skin and cracking by hydrating effectively. Always maintain your eyes and lip liners recently sharpened. By maintaining them sharpened, they are nice and clean and ready to use. To create honing much easier, chill them for 10 mins or so in the freezer or fridge to harden them. Maintaining a healthy diet food items directly correlates with having healthy hair, skin and nails. Outer splendor radiates from inner overall health. Be sure your diet program contains a variety of vitamins and minerals. Eating foods that have necessary protein, steel and zinc will provide you with healthy skin and hair. Most women like the appearance of nutrient makeups nonetheless they think it is scratchy for their pores and skin. If so, a nutrient cosmetics without the ingredient bismuth oxychloride is at get. This irritates skin, so females consider they can't use this sort of makeup. Nevertheless, a great deal of brand names don't use that element. Very good makeup products brushes are needed when using cosmetics. Brushes might be high-priced, but they produce a realm of big difference in the quality of your cosmetics software. If you don't have lots of money to spend on brushes, lookup close to on online auction marketplace internet sites. You could find out some exceptional bargains on wonderful brushes, which can help you save some cash. Makeup products artists know that pink draws your eye area clear of trouble spots around the face. Pink lip stick will take peoples interest away from acne or puffy red view. As you have just read, there is not any right or wrong method to technique elegance. You have more info which will help help you stay stunning.

[ranalatus]

Sin And Snow

In which you are the Tsaritsa's favorite, and the entirety of Snezhnaya is a movie directed by you.

spoilers - Genshin Impact Webtoon (??)

genre: gore, yandere-ish

characters: fatui harbingers (childe, scaramouche, signora, dottore), tsaritsa, gender-neutral fatui!reader

warnings: mentions of inhumane experiments, gore, blood, manipulation, reader's kinda f-ed up, (if i missed anything please let me know!)

notes: this is an excuse to write Harbinger shenanigans (look they're just in a silly goofy mood okay)

You give a knowing smile to your right, acknowledging the concerningly pale face of your servant

“Melody, fix your face. It would be a shame if your young beauty got permanently ruined because of something so childish.”

The rookie servant, bless her soul, takes a few big gasps, hands covering her mouth from puking up all of the contents in her stomach

A disgustingly loud gulp and she barely manages to stutter. “I.. I shall do as you say, my.. liege.”

You gesture for her to leave, and watch with mild amusement as she stumbles over her own feet, evidently not used to the activities in the Zapolyarny Palace

On the silver platter in front of you lays ten fingers, and if you had two spare palms you'd be able to form two hands. Though it's foolishly obvious that they all came from different people. In the middle of the circle of fingers, lay a dead arctic fox. Blood covering most of it's white fur, blood dripping out of it's eye sockets. Perhaps he gouged them out for Dottore in exchange for goods? You wouldn't know

Nonetheless, an amused chuckle escapes you as you call over your trusted servants. One whom you trusted for her loyalty, and the other whom you trusted for their clear obsession with this game you were playing with the Harbingers

“Vera, fetch my actual dinner from the kitchen. Alouise, hunt something down in return for the pleasant gift Tartaglia offered to me.”

The two bow, murmuring the words “as you wish, my liege” with contrasting tones, before you're left alone with the harsh biting cold of the room

You hum in contemplation before a Cheshire grin makes its way on your face

“Shall I pay my lovely Tsaritsa a visit?”

. . .

The next day, you laugh innerly at the concealed rage of the Harbingers

You sat in the Tsaritsa's lap burried with fluffy fur coats, playing with the strands of her white hair as if they were nothing but yarn. Her cold hand, even with the thickest of gloves, gently caresses your back, sending shivers up your spine with each touch

Oh at times like this you felt like the whole of Snezhnaya is wrapped around your finger, what with most of it's people and the Tsaritsa herself adoring your presence

You smile knowing that even though Childe felt the the overwhelming urge to watch you bleed, to paint your room with the blood he'd come to crave, to want with an extremely unhealthy desire, he couldn't even prick your finger himself. You had his weakness in your hands, playing him like a fiddle. Your visit to his hometown was a success to your plans, you'd gotten his family's trust and admiration even easier than you expected. And it absolutely enraged him

You laugh knowing how annoyed Scaramouche is. That despite not even knowing his true nature, you still had the power to discourage people's fear of him, to turn him into nothing but a jester, a laughing stock by his very own goddamn subordinates

You hold the strings of the Tsaritsa's favor to Signora, constantly reminding her how easy it would be to throw her into the fire at a single cry of “witch!” the second she disobeys you. The second she forgets who gave her the confidence and reassurance needed to provide the gnoses to the Tsaritsa

You can easily wipe out Dottore's power and influence over Mondstadt with just a snap of your fingers. All his inhumane experiments and ungodly ideals being used against him, not in an act of heroic-ness, oh definitely not. You just absolutely adore how uncomfortable he is under your gaze, knowing the debt Mondstadt has for the Fatui, for Dottore, could easily be handed over to you and you alone. You delight in knowing that the only reason you haven't done it yet is because of the fact that he's obeying you oh so well these days

Really, playing with these Harbingers are way too easy. You bit your lip to stiffle a giggle, melting further into Her Highness' embrace, purposefully toying with the gem necklace you made her, the one sitting on her collarbone everyday

You remind every single one of these fools everyday about who's truly in power here

And you watch with bliss as their eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when in front of them they see various body parts of the people who they thought worked for the palace. Spies

The Tsaritsa praises you for your sharpness, gentle, cold hands cupping your face with nothing but love. Something everyone thought she'd run out of

Something reserved only for you

Yes, you gleefully enjoy the half enraged, half obsessed looks the people in the hall gave you as once again, you pull the strings of the play known as Snezhnaya in your very hands

— i miss Signora :(

[sabraeal]

The Man of Progress, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written for @infinitelystrangemachinex, who dithered for maybe thirty minutes max before deciding that this would be her birthday fic, and has since apologized for dragging to me into a new fandom and also informed me she is not sorry about having me write it in equal measure. I hope it lives up to the hype 🤣

A war, her mother used to tell her, strutting around throne rooms as their glories were sacked to add to her own, is won before the first soldier even takes the field.

As a child, those words had rung with the steel of conviction, an old adage backed by the evidence of her deeds. But it was only as she dogged those large heels, clinging to that giant’s shadow as another girl might a blanket, that she learned the truth of it: Mother might command armies, might have a flotilla of airships at her beck and call, but it all pales next to the knowledge that she had these things. That was the specter that loomed over ambassadors as diplomacy wore thin to tatters, making them desperate, foolish. Man might be an animal capable of reason, but they were an animal nonetheless, and when backed into a cage, with the choice to submit or to survive--

Well, it is no wonder that they chose to bite.

That was all part of her mother’s plan, after all. She didn’t just want surrender, oh no, she wanted conquest, a total subjugation to her will wrought with blood and fire. She could play at benevolence, if she must, but it was all just shadows on the wall, an illusion to be snuffed out once it provided its purpose.

Mel cannot pretend to the same amount of ruthlessness; perhaps if she could, she would be clinging to shadows still. And yet, as little as either of them may like it, she is her daughter, made in her image. These ploys may have been wrought for warfare, but the Council is a battlefield all its own. To twist them to their new purpose takes no more blood than a paper cut or two.

If her mother knew, she would hate it. But these years of exile had worn away the shine of her awe, the sacredness of her affection. Just like the people of Piltover, she has scavenged her old things and made them anew, dismantling the engines of war and keeping only the bits that serve, tuning them over and over until she has made them into something wholly her own. 

Waste not, want not and all that.

“A decision,” Mel says, tracing her fingers over this most recent report, “is made before even the first word is spoken.”

Little of her mother has bred true in her, but she does have this: her eye for what is of value, and what is not. That Ambessa might never have expected it to be used on her own teachings-- well, that is hardly something that concerns her.

There’s not an arch bone in Elora’s body, only a mild curiosity, one that makes itself plain when she asks, “Then you’ve made yours?”

She lets a corner of her mouth lift, shoulder rising in counterbalance. “Maybe. I find myself trying not to think about it. It certainly makes these disciplinary cases more interesting.”

Elora blinks, eyes owlishly wide. “Is nearly destroying a city block not interesting enough?”

“It was only a building,” she scoffs. “Typical for these Academy engineers. Apparently none of them know how to make use of the labs we’ve been paying for all these years.”

Protest blooms on Elora’s sharp little face, but no matter how her mouth works, she can’t seem to put the words into order. Instead she manages a very strained, “Typical?”

“Practically bog standard.” Mel busies herself with reading the brief, the perfect cover for her smirk. “Perhaps you are right, I have made my decision. A pity this Talis couldn’t make his deviance more interesting. Then I might consider leniency.”

There’s a familiar wrinkle to Elora’s brow, one that usually precedes a mildly phrased opinion-- such as it was, with the newer aides in her house-- and Mel positions herself to receive it, all wry curiosity--

“Councilor Medarda.”

Mel may not startle-- flinches have long since been worn away in her mother’s line-- but she does blink, adjusting her gaze two feet down. “Professor Heimerdinger.”

It is not often that the Revered Professor’s small form deigns to grace her door, but here he is, whiskers and all, marching across her office with a gait that makes her anticipate a squeak with every step. An expectation that goes on to be disappointed; as much a he may resemble a children’s toy, Heimerdinger is anything but.

There’s no point in standing; he’s the one coming into her office, after all. But she does add, with a thick layer of politeness, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It must be just a dram too much; Heimerdinger hops up on a chair, legs swinging as a child’s, and favors her with a stare just this side of admonishment. If there’s anything that offends the professor, it’s artifice. How he must suffer on a Council filled with the most insincere actors outside an amateur theater.

“Well, I was in the area today,” he says, as if they don’t know what business might have lured him out from his bolthole among the scholars at the Academy. “I thought since I was here, we might talk a little about the Council meeting slated for this afternoon.”

“You mean the disciplinary council for that engineer. Jayce--” she makes a show of perusing her notes, as if she hadn’t memorized the particulars the morning she received it-- “Talis. A minor house. They make...hammers, isn’t it? A fitting origin for an inventor, I suppose.”

Would look good on a box, she could also say, if she wanted to get Heimerdinger’s dander up. Which she doesn’t; there’s few councilors who could boast a poor relationship with the professor, and all of them made for short careers.

“Yes, and he’s got plenty of friends among the movers and shakers of Piltover,” Heimerdinger presses with his usual enthusiasm. “Young Master Talis is considered a great talent at the Academy. Why, even Councilor Kiramman considers herself his patron, putting him through schooling from quite a tender age.”

What Heimerdinger considers a tender age, most would think of as adult, but that is hardly what concerns her. The Academy had countless privileges over the rest of Piltover’s citizens, but it was doubly quick to retract them when its engineers made missteps, threatening the safety of the city and its people. Which Talis’s surely had, even if he had only taken out a building.

So for the professor to be here, in her office, away from his beloved engineers and impressing on her the high connections this boy had among Piltover’s elite--

Ah, this is one of his pet projects. The sort whose little peccadilloes should be overlooked for the good of the city, even if they had taken a chunk out of it. Such was the price of progress.

“Another promising engineer that thinks of lab safety as guidelines rather than rules?” Mel is not one for gambling-- she only works with a stacked deck, and there are few who appreciate such preparedness-- but she shifts in her seat, the way one might if they meant to hold their cards close. “Color me surprised, Professor.“

It’s an act, of course. What’s one wayward engineer to a favor from the Man of Progress himself? But still, Mel’s not fool enough to let him believe she’s so easily bought.

His whiskers wiggle, those small eyes piercing over the froth of his mustache. Heimerdinger might pretend to be more mascot than man, a harmless stray waddling amongst the legs of his colleagues, but Mel is well aware: beneath that fur is a set of teeth as sharp as hers.

And an even sharper mind. He lifts a hand-- ah, or is it paw that is more apt?-- and waves, beckoning. Her, she realizes, as if she were some maid to bring forth tea at the flick of a finger and not a council member of equal rank. A calculated insult for a man who makes a reputation out of being an affable old grandfather--

Or at least so it seems until the wallpaper lurches from the wall, ungainly and stiff, resolving itself into a gaunt face above the finest waistcoat an Academy salary can provide. It would have to be, to belong to the professor’s assistant.

“Viktor.” Heimerdinger twists to address him, furred face scrunched with warmth. “If you would hand the papers to Councilor Medarda?”

The professor has always been dogged by his assistants; tall fellows, previously, enough that Mel assumed they were meant to be an extra set of legs to offset their mentor’s waddles, or at least a pair of arms that could reach the top shelf. This newest one, however, labors across the carpet, hardly faster than Heimerdinger at a brisk hop. At his busiest, the little man might outstrip him.

But come he does, using his crutches with a dexterity that surprises her no matter how many times she’s witnessed it, dropping the file to her desk with the same dour face he’s always shown her. With anyone else she would smile, perhaps even dare a demure bat of her lashes as she murmured her thanks, but with this one she simply nods. Politeness only offends him.

Her efforts earn her a tight-lipped glower before he trudges back, eager to become wallpaper once more.

“Progress never comes with clean hands, Councilor,” Heimerdinger reminds her, just before he holds up his hand again, this time to stop his assistant’s weary trudge. “There is a seat right there, if you wish to take it, my boy.”

The man blinks, so slow she wonders if he’s understood. “I’m fine. Thank you, professor.”

“Please.” The smile she conjures is second nature, magnanimous in its compassion and yet still humble. The sort that implied he was rendering her the favor, rather than the other way around. “There’s plenty to go around. My legs ache just looking at you.”

It was the same tone-- the very same words she took with the older men on security, offering them hot mugs of coffee and a chance to show off pictures of their sticky grandchildren. But those harsh planes do not soften to something closer to human; oh no, instead they stiffen, stare turning to glare and scowl turning to glower.

“I prefer to stand,” he tells her, the sharp angles of his accent biting into his vowels.

The professor chortles, waving that small paw of his, as if that might dispel his assistant’s bad manners. “Oh, come now, my dear boy, it would be rude to refuse the councilor’s hospitality.”

The man collapses upon her chair with the sort of reluctance most men saved for walking over coals, or listening to their wives during dinner. With every inch his wish to become wallpaper is palpable, sending one last glance over her shoulder-- to where Elora makes an excellent impression of the draperies-- with undisguised envy.

“As I was saying,” Heimerdinger presses on now that everything has played out to his satisfaction. “It would be foolish to halt progress by punishing innovation just because it overextended its common sense.”

“Of course,” she agrees, mildly. “We can’t expect engineers to have that.”

The professor’s whiskers riffle, as if he’s about to open his mouth, perhaps even to agree, before he stops himself. “Well, hm. I don’t...” It’s not often that Mel can say she’s seen the Revered Professor consternated, but that’s certainly the way his whiskers are set now, fur even more on end than it usually is. “That’s not quite what a meant...”

There is a sound-- no, a noise, like something between a valve letting off steam and a horse’s nicker, and she can’t place what it could be--

“Don’t mind me,” the assistant says, ducking his head, as if they cannot see the way his mouth twitches. Or at least she can, until his fingers wrap tight over his mouth, stifling another of those strange noises.

Heimerdinger’s bushy brows furrow, his nose wriggling as if he’s about to speak, but Mel sweeps in before he can marshal together the words. “If this is truly as simple as you say it is, Professor, then you’ll have my vote.”

She lets her smiles add, and you’ll owe me for it.

Councilor Kiramman is the harshest cross-examiner when it comes to the Academy’s most incautious, sniffing out inconsistencies in their depositions the way a hound runs down a fox. But there is none of that hunting dog instinct in her today.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Heimerdinger might call her a patron, but right now she speaks more like a parent and this Talis her wayward son. Another assured vote for leniency, and it wouldn’t even need to be bought.

“The materials were far more dangerous than I was aware of.” If there’s one thing she can grant Talis, it’s that he has a pleasing voice, masculine without being overbearing, nerves giving him a bit of gravel without giving way to grating. His elocution does his elementary education credit.

Still, it’s all wasted on these statements. It’s clear he’s a man that speaks from passion, not from preparedness, and his words hobble out stilted, as if he’s a naughty schoolboy asked to recite from the class reader and not a grown man trying to plead for his life’s work. “And I...I now know my actions were against Academy regulations.”

It’s an effort not to snort. The Academy certainly did frown upon taking materials volatile enough to remove a building from the city plan, though it was hardly the first time an engineer thought themself above such strictures. Mel doubted it would be the last.

“What I did endangered people.” Talis has a face made for contrition, that strong jaw of his soften by sorrow and the tilt of his eyebrows accentuating his anguish. It might not help quite as much as Kiramman money, or Heimerdinger’s favor, but it would help save him still. “It was reckless, and for that, I’m sorry.”

He’s a man that could be molded if the right sort of hands got on him. A pawn, of course, but one that could go far. Farther than Heimerdinger had any plans for, she’s sure. Pride would look good on him, she can’t help but think, and power too.

“I ask the Council’s forgiveness.” In the darkness, Mel can hardly see the Revered Professor, but she can imagine how he nods along to his protege’s words, hearing his own suggestions behind them.

At least, until the boy hesitates a moment too long, his gaze skittering to a corner before he says, “And I hope that I can continue my studies.”

Now that would not have been a part of Heimerdinger’s carefully curated script. This Talis would have been slated to be brought back into the fold in short order, yes-- a year, maybe two, until everyone forgot about the engineer who razed his own apartment to the ground-- but it was gauche to mention it. Better to work outside the Academy’s confines, letting his mentor smuggle him his supplies until eventually there was enough room to hold the back door open. Then he’d slip right in, with Piltover none the wiser.

A plan it seems no one had explained to Talis, at least in a way he was willing to hear.

“As Jayce’s patron of man years,” Councilor Kiramman interjects smoothly, as if he had not misspoke at all, “I can speak for his character. I believe that one day, he will be a great contributor to our society.”

The reference is heartfelt; a terrible mistake with Hoskel having sold anything resembled sincerity back with his first shipment of contraband wines.

“He destroyed a building,” he laughs, rolling his too-large eyes. It was well known he didn’t just skim the top of his own coffers at the end of each shipment, but his wares as well. “Is this the sort of contribution we can expect?”

Heimerdinger only giggles, as if Hoskel were but a scamp of a grandson, and he was everyone’s fuzzier grandfather. “If you were a scientist, you’d known you can’t make a prototype without breaking a few wrenches!”

Hoskel might huff, but it’s all for show, just another bit of theater to lend  authenticity to the script they’ve all been given. No matter what protests the councilors may make, it’s clear from how quickly they retreat that hers was not the only doorway Heimerdinger darkened before the iris closed-- and none of them, not a single one, will go against the parts he’s written for them.

It’s no different than usual; each of them have their roles to play, their known foibles to be leveraged. There is no item that passes their purview whose fate has already not been calculated and decided long before it came to the table.

And yet today, the theater no longer entertains.

A problem easily remedied. “Do you have anything to show for your work besides an explosion?”

“Uh no.” Talis blinks, that thin veneer of contrition cracking beneath his impatience. Whatever he’d thought his plea might earn him, it certainly wasn’t questions. “It came to nothing.”

The council may sit in darkness, but Heimerdinger’s attention presses heavy on her neck, more wary than warning. That favor may have swayed her vote, but that hardly means she has to sit back and let his pet project simply walk out of here with a slap on the wrist. She has appearances to keep up, after all. “So you’re saying your study was meaningless?”

Cracks become fault lines, Talis’s regret flaking away to dust as he snaps, “It was revolutionary!”

Ah, now this is interesting. “Revolutionary how? All I see is a boy meddling with things he doesn’t understand.”

It is an unfortunate truth that her interest will always rouse Salo’s; he is of the misapprehension that they are rivals when it comes to witticism, the way that a child might think they are as amusing as an adult simply because everyone laughs when they speak. There is a tell-tale crack of a ginko nut, and then before she can possibly turn the conversation’s tide, he smugly sneaks in, “The Academy seems to have loosen its standards.”

A half dozen voices speak at once, overlapping and interjecting like a band before the symphony starts, all discordant notes that might make a song, were any of them willing to listen to anything but their own words. It loses her attention almost the instant it begins; this meeting is no longer about the man in front of them, but the fear they can whip up between themselves. Sinking profits, destroyed streets, cats and dogs lying together-- they’ll make up anything if only to be heard saying something.

“Perhaps we should just finish this,” she suggests, but her voice is drowned out by the many. The councilors do not want reason but predominance, their words ringing louder, more true than those around them. It’s no longer about the boy but being seen caring about the issue, true progress one again muddled by politics--

“I was trying to create magic!”

The storm in the room shatters to silence, leaving behind only the echoes of Talis’s confession. A pin could drop in this tower, and she’s certain that the Undercity could hear it.

“Magic?” Hoskel chokes, and oh, it looks like this meeting is going to be interesting after all.

Talis is a conundrum.

Mel churns the trial over and over in her head, puzzling through the permutation that might have led to an outcome more suitable, to an ending more profitable than this: Talis being remanded to his mother’s care as an incompetent, his work destined for an incinerator in the morning. All because he has dared to utter that forbidden word: magic.

Heimerdinger may have his dire warnings and Bolbok his ancestral concerns, but unlike the rest of the councilors, Mel was not born in this city, inheriting all its occult superstitions and arcane fears. Certainly Ambessa never turned her back on magic or the advantage it could offer her, though of course, only a fool would trust a mage beyond where coin ends. Piltover can afford to be precious about such things only because they’re too small a fish to bait a bigger one; a small little port city too rife with internal conflict for more seasoned conquerors to bother with. Oh, they may make leaps and bounds of innovation, but nothing to ever surpass what a mage could given the coin and inclination.

But Talis could change that. Putting magic into the hands of the many instead of the fated few would send tremors into nations beyond Piltover’s grasp, might even bring a few grand empires tumbling to their knees--

And Mel could be at the forefront of that new world, if only she could find a way to raise it from its ashes. Perhaps Talis might be able to recreate his work from memory-- so many of those scholars could, given paper and ink and time. But she doubted it; a son of some house of toolmakers worked by feel, by the kick of his gut. An ideas man, not one with a method.

That would have to change, if this business were to move forward. Talis made a good big picture man, a face to put with a brand-- and a jaw that would look good on a banner, when Piltover sang his praises. Which they would, if this particular branch of thought ever bore fruit. But all the ideas in the world wouldn’t help if he couldn’t see a project through. They would need someone who could handle the details, who wouldn’t mind missing the glad-handing to work a few extra hours. Maybe with enough incentive, one of Heimeringer’s hopefuls might be willing to be lured from their position--

Thomp.

Mel straightens in her chair, looking to where Elora might stand had she not already dismissed her, insisting at least one of them keep normal hours. It’s just her here now, a fact that should frighten a woman of her age and station. But instead warmth tingles along her back, wrapping in steely tendrils over her arms, and she stands, more curious that fearful.

No one should be here; Mel does not make a habit of staying later than the lights are on, but tonight she emerges from her office into a darkness so thick she can hardly see her hand in front of her. There’s torch in her drawer, one she turns back to retrieve after another telling clomp.

Darkness settles around her once again, but her finger only rests on the switch, even when there is a clink down the hall, so close it sends goosebumps up her arms. Wisdom tells her to set it alight, to illuminate that which is hidden, but cleverness--

Cleverness reminds her that all the noises have come from her left. Or, most importantly, from the direction of Heimerdinger’s office.

It does not take long for her eyes to adjust, not when she moves so swiftly down the hall, the light of her office far behind her. Just enough time for her to turn the corner and see a shadow in the darkness, crouched right outside the professor’s door.

Ah, no, not a shadow, but two. Interesting. It seems someone knows how to make fast friends.

Keys jingle, and she realizes: not just friends, but assets.

“So far so good,” the shade by the door murmurs, an accent biting into his vowels in a way that is both strange and familiar.

Cleverness tells her to wait, to let these thieves spill the entirety of their plan before she commits to a plan of action. However, Mel can’t help herself; a Medarda never gives up the chance for a dramatic introduction.

Her torch does not so much illuminate the darkness as burn it away, so strong it sets her two would-be burglars to squinting, holding their hands up to see past its light.

“Hm.” She cocks a hip, all weary curiosity, and it does not escape her attention how one set of eyes follows it. “Willing to risk exile for your endeavor. That’s quite the conviction.”

“Councilor.” Shock carves deep lines in Talis’s handsome face, its strong set made stark in shadow. “What a surprise to see you, huh?”

Weak. The boy may know how to move a room, but he can’t lie to save his life. Or at least his research. A pity, considering.

“Wait a minute,” his accomplice mutters over him, muddying Talis’s attempts at prevarication. “This isn’t my bedroom. How could I have...?”

The laugh that stretches the man’s gaunt face is as thin as his act; the whole thing such a botch she can only stare in amazement. Even if she cannot assign a name yet to that shadow, their waistcoats and ties mark them as Academy men, set by their intelligence over all of Piltover--

And yet neither of them can make a credible excuse for being in front of Heimerdinger’s door after midnight. Truly, it’s astounding.

“Please.” Talis’s hands fly up between them, as if she’s some sort of animal to be managed, some recalcitrant cow to be waved back into its pen. “We can prove it works.”

“You couldn’t do so earlier today, how is tonight any different?” She lets her tiredness creep into her words, skepticism honing them sharper than she usually dares. There is a fine line between a challenge and an insult, but if failing to open a door in a hallway is all Talis has, then it’s better she cut her losses now, before--

“We figured out how to stabilize it.”

The shadows warp the lines of Talis’s accomplice as he stands, his cane twisting them into some spindly, three-legged beast before it resolves into a single man so slender he must fear the gaps in the floorboards. She recognizes him now, that dour face made even more severe than it was in her office this morning. “You’re the Professor’s assistant.”

Viktor, her mind supplies, though she merely tucks that bit of trivia away for later. No need to remember the name of a wallpaper’s pattern unless she wanted it for her own walls.

“No,” Talis says, wrapping a good-natured arm around his shoulders, about as welcome as a cat falling into a bath. “He’s my new partner.”

Well now, that does put a new spin on this. Her gaze flutters from the assistant to Talis and back again, a whole new set of calculations churning in her mind’s engine. A man she knew needed to be managed, now claiming Heimerdinger’s minder as his partner. Like a duck arriving with its own dressing.

“Even if you manage to prove your theory, the Council would destroy it.” Her eyes slip to the assistant, watching how his jaw sets, eyes taking on a determined squint. He knows as well as she does: the Council is a hurdle, not a stopping place.

Talis takes in a breath, braced to answer, but the assistant sways forward first. “Heimerdinger will recognize the potential.”

“He already does.” That’s part of the problem, the real reason they are all standing here in this hall instead of speaking in the daylight over dinner. “It scares him. It scares them all.”

The other councilors might boast about how the Revered Professor was a old man, out of touch with anything but the Academy’s rapid invention; how if only they had the reins, they would create a new world, a new utopia--

And yet, at the end of the day, Heimerdinger was Piltover. They might just as well try to separate the Undercity from its bowels and set them even rather than remove Piltover from the his vision.

“What about you?” Talis pushes, less she suspects from observation than desperation.

When she answers, it’s not to him. Talis may have been shoved off this ledge, but the assistant is the one who has chosen to jump. This is a man who knows there is no place for him to land save what he builds with his own hands.

“I recognize--” Mel lifts her chin, meeting the challenge in that stare of his-- “that any worthwhile venture involves risk.”

She means for that to merely be her opening statement-- her thesis, as these engineers like to call it-- but a whistle shrills through the shadow, sending all her thoughts scattering.

“Councilor,” Talis rumbles, a softer, more earnest plea than the one he made this afternoon. “This technology, it’s real. And no matter what happens here, it’s going to change our world. We should be the ones to lead it. Piltover, the land of progress, equity, and innovation.”

It’s Harold, she thinks, listening to the cadence of the steps, to the jaunty tune that overlays them. He’s the one who usually patrols past here. It’s an easier job, safer than scouring the streets. A position befitting a new grandfather.

But Talis cannot know that, not when he takes a step closer, voice growing dire. “I know it sounds impossible, but when have we ever let that stop us. Please, just give us a chance.”

She’ll give it to him: Talis knows how to move a heart. But still, it’s not to the glowing pillar of progress she looks, but behind him. To the wallpaper she’s so familiar with ignoring.

He meets her eyes, determination shining just as bright as Talis’s desperation. Slowly, he nods. He believes it all. It can be done. And who would know a project’s chances better than Heimerdinger’s assistant?

“One night, gentlemen.” With another crowd, in better circumstances, she might extend herself to make this an innuendo, an illusion of a promise for a job well done. But if history serves, the assistant would be impervious-- her certainly hasn’t shown any interest in her overtures of friendship these last few years, let alone more-- and Talis gives off the impression that he can invent his own just fine without her. No need to put a tangible promise in his head. Yet. “Impress me, or I’d suggest you pack your bags.”

The torch snuffs, giving them only one last slinky step to mark her exit. Let them chew on that a little. She has work to do.

Talis better be able to make good on his promises in the hall; there must be something at the end of this to make all these pictures of grandbabies worth it.

On any other night, she would have hardly minded; pictures of children are enjoyable, adorable in the way all small animal are, and a few minutes spent cooing over them are nearly always earns the good regard of those showing them. The other councilors might balk at making small talk with the help, but Mel had not listened to endless lectures on the making and breaking of empires to not know that the power behind every title came from the people who believed in it, not the seat itself.

However her opinions about nappies and toys are not nearly as robust as the ones she has on tax policy or governmental funding, and she’s finding her reservoirs are about to run dry trying to buy those boys time.

“Tell me again,” she says, wincing at the strain in her voice. “Does your granddaughter really like the new flowers at the park? Councilor Bolbok keeps telling me the budget for landscaping is too high, but I think that’s simply because his olfactory sensors stopped working after that cheese tasting we had three years ago.”

“Well, I don’t know much about that, but the other day my Annabel said to me--”

It’s not like Harold to pause in a story, not when someone gets him started on his eldest grandchild, but he stops right on the stones beside her, staring up, back over her shoulder. “Now, what the heck is goin’ on up there?”

Mel turns, just in time to see the blue glow in the window right before it breaks, glass shards scattering out into the night.

Her breath catches, shock rooting her to the spot, but she doesn’t have time for her mind to catch up, not before the shards fly back in, the light burning bright from Heimerdinger’s chambers.

“Oh,” she gasps, hand clutching at her skirt. “Son of a bitch!”

Light spills from the open doors of the office, painting the carpet in the same hues as the waters of her youth, but Mel finds no solace in that, only speed. Her pace quickens, stretching that ten step lead she has on poor Harold to twenty. There are some of Piltover’s Finest there already, shoulders stiff beneath their woolen jackets, hands hovering at their waists.

It’s not until she’s much, much closer that she can appreciate that they are not standing sternly, waiting for a safe avenue of arrest, but instead--

Instead they are slack-jawed, bathed equally in light and awe. A much better state of affairs than she could have hoped for, considering the amount of property disctruction.

“Just because it can be done,” Heimerdinger says, his words more wonder than censure. “Doesn’t mean...will you please stop hovering?”

Ah, well, that also sounds...different, if not promising.

Still, she’s not prepared to hear his assistant call out, as if from much farther than the office’s interior, “I’m not sure how to do that, sir.”

She’s not prepared for him to sound so....amused either. It makes him entirely too human for wallpaper.

“This is not what Piltover’s future looks like, my dear boys,” Heimerdinger pleads, and oh, he could not have given her a better opening if she asked.

She lets her heels fall heavy as she turns the corner, announcing her presence with all the subtlety of a pistol shot. “That’s for the council to decide.”

It’s Heimerdinger’s expression she sees first, surprise and despair mingled as this discovery slips out from beneath his paws. She drinks that victory down to its dregs before she dare to raise her gaze, and there--

There both men are, floating above her as if sea and sky had switched inclinations, awash in the ethereal glow of their creation.

“Perhaps it’s time,” she says, the hair at the back of her neck rising, as if she might join them herself. “For the era of magic.”

“Uh, Hextech.” Talis does look handsome there, floating amongst his shattered-glass stars, an excellent face for the future. For progress. “For the era of Hextech.”

Easy to control too, if that hooded look he gives her is a hint to his inclinations. Her mother would council for simplicity; now that she has found the thread she can pull, there’s no reason to let go. As long as she can keep him tangled around her fingers, the future is as good as hers.

And yet there is a laugh-- a giggle, really, and her gaze sweeps out, fixing on what should be wallpaper, but is now-- now--

Viktor, that was his name. In this light he is no longer gaunt, but in the flush of youth, his barely-tamed hair flying out in a halo around him. His slender body spins above her, angling his head down, and for the first time, this Viktor look at her not with wariness, but elation.

Talis makes a good face-- will make a good face, once she pushes him out of his lab and onto the world’s stage. But she hasn’t gotten where she is only by cultivating the face of power. No, if she wants a foot in the door of Hextech, she’ll need to keep her fingers on the pulse of it.

She lets her mouth grow soft as their eyes meet, curving into the first semblance of a smile. There are no shadows that cling to him now, none to hide the moment his eyes widen, just the smallest bit, and then narrow again. He twists away, easy in the air as if it were second nature, as if he had been born to fly instead of walk, and she lets herself smile in truth.

Fine. Let him have his doubts. He would not be the first man she cajoled to her cause. Mel’s never been one to turn from a challenge.

Besides, how hard could it be to grip the leash Heimerdinger’s been holding for years?

Downright impossible, it turns out.

[windblooms]

liyue boys – how they kiss their s/o

liyue boys × gender-neutral!reader; 1.4k words. sfw headcanons of how baizhu, childe, chongyun, xiao, xingqiu, and zhongli kiss their s/o. 

- ̗̀ baizhu  ̖́-

while baizhu’s reputation as the swindler from bubu pharmacy precedes him, even in normal day-to-day matters, he makes an effort to convey his sincerity to you when the moment is opportune.  typically, this is at the conclusion of the day, when the pharmacy takes its time to rest and the buzz of the moon overtakes liyue.

his touch on your wrist is loose, as if he intends to just feel your presence instead of seize it, to observe but not meddle; just as he does with changsheng, he finds great comfort in keeping you tethered to him through this contact.  

when baizhu romances you, it’s in the privacy of your office, or the stocking room – anywhere besides the service area, so you’re the only one who witnesses his dropped mask. 

his lips glide to your temple, serpentine and brisk, peppering short kisses down to your jaw.  his ministrations are rather sensual for a man so weak in composition, especially considering that he’s rather ruthless with his business dealings and doesn’t even spare a fraction of a discount for the desperate – but this gentler display is nonetheless welcome.

“and how can i help you tonight?  no, this isn’t bartering.  i mean this genuinely, for the one who can tolerate my short-comings as forgivingly as you do.  a new box of qingxin arrived this afternoon, and perhaps you’d like a look at it . . . ”

- ̗̀ childe / tartaglia  ̖́-

childe is excellent at the chase, and each time, his catch is you.  perhaps it’s his constant need for stimulus (he’s never been one for idleness) and the subsequent calling in his blood for a thrill.  his penchant for battle has made him flexible to most tricky scenarios, and thus he’s adept to what makes things tick – 

– including people.  and, of course, you. 

his greetings are customarily followed by doting kisses.  they’re gentle on your skin, like the drifting of snowflakes from the sky, yet there’s a bite to them as well, as if he’s nipping at you even without his teeth.  they’re innocently teasing at best, but at worst, grabbing all of your senses with their bold allure. 

“haha, got your attention now, have i?  no need to make that face!  ah, i promise.  be a bit more patient for me, and i’ll give you what you want.”

he prefers to give the kisses that he knows will consume you whole, cushion you in warmth like beach sand in the summer, but just as swiftly drag you undertow – namely, at the corners of your mouth, the height of your cheekbones, the pulses on your neck, and the rise of your collarbones. 

whether he leaves you with flushed cheeks and a stuttering voice, or absolutely breathless, you stir him all the same.

- ̗̀ chongyun  ̖́-

he’s a very straightforward individual, naively so sometimes – inherently wholesome, and that translates over to his relationship with you.  admittedly, he doesn’t display bold affections towards you all that much because he’s, well, shy.  he’d never thought of romantics before he became involved with you, and even then, all he’s heard about couples and love birds are from xingqiu – not the most trustworthy source.

“ah – i do not . . . i don’t have the words to describe . . . i apologize, but i really don’t know how to explain this light feeling in my chest.  but you seem to be happy!  and that’s really what matters to me.”

chongyun pecks you gently, as if he’s dealing with the finest of jade fragments.  very innocently, as well: just as a bird finds satisfaction in a well-kept nest, so does the young exorcist in the pleased reactions he draws from you.  

the two of you have yet to share a kiss on the lips.  and, honestly, it isn’t something characteristic of chongyun to want to engage with.  he has an ample reserve of boyish youth in him, and even at the thought of partaking in such an intimate act (xingqiu teases him to no end for this, but nonetheless chongyun’s perspective is understood) makes him red in the face. 

instead, he settles for your fingers, the back of your hand, and your cheeks.  light in sentiment, like the mild ice-cream he indulges in.

- ̗̀ xiao  ̖́-

if you’re fire, then xiao is afraid that he’s the water that will extinguish your light.  he’s harmed so many others, even when he never intended to, and doesn’t even want to think about you ending up the same way.  so he abstains, for the longest time, until you reassure him that he’s okay, that he’s suffered enough, and that he needs to live, too. 

xiao kisses you like both of you will break.  his lips barely even touch you, as if his presence is only part of your imagination, a fleeting zephyr in the liyue evening; he even hesitates to use his hands at first because only archons know how he’s razed the land with them.  they hover over your hips, and in moments of indulgence, he imagines how it would feel to hold you, unchained from his past.

“you make it easier for me to tolerate the days.  don’t look so concerned – there’s no need for you to worry about me.  you’re the one in the more precarious situation.  but i guess that’s one more thing that’s admirable about you . . . too trusting for your own good.”

in his mind, he cradles your hands, so much softer than his own, with no reason to raise a weapon.  he wishes to keep you that way, safeguarded from the cruelness of the world, and his lips cherish your knuckles, the backs of your hands, and all the way to your wrists.

- ̗̀ xingqiu  ̖́-

“what a thrilling smile on your face!  definitely one for the books.  yes – i’ve decided that you’ll be the inspiration for this next scene i write.  ah, actually, i need to outline it first . . . you won’t mind, right?  perfect, this is just the circumstance i’ve been looking for.”

like fresh flowers in a spring meadow, he’s as exuberant as he is vibrant with life.  he’ll come to you in the mornings, bid you a good day and plant a light peck on the corner of your mouth, delighted at the sight of you.  or, just when he’s stopping by your place, he’ll also make sure to commemorate your meeting with another smooch.  

xingqiu is, admittedly, easy to please when in a relationship, merely because he’s with who he wants the most: you, and his writing, all that he needs.  while he may joke about intertwining you into his writing, he truly does intend to cherish you. 

he enjoys toying with the sleeves of your top when he’s near, just because he can.  bonus points if you let him tug you along, and he’ll even make a show out of giving a playful kiss on the tip of your nose.  they make you feel all fluttery in your stomach, because it’s only something that he would even think about doing – keeping you light on your toes, just like his flexible poise.

- ̗̀ zhongli  ̖́-

his affections are just as proper as his composure.  zhongli’s actions are soft, reverent, and appreciative of your presence.  never once do you doubt his devotion to you when his hand grazes your arm, a finger catching around your wrist, or when he steadies you with his palm on your shoulder.  it might be subconscious on his behalf, but his gentle measures soothe you immensely.

unsurprisingly, his kisses are chaste, with only fondness and warmth behind them.  he adores you like the sun does an open field, bracing your body to his with the slightest of suggestions from his hands on your waist.  zhongli is exceedingly pleased when you reciprocate his physicality, especially when you wrap your arms around his neck in return – the gleam in his eyes betray just as much.

his lips find themselves tenderly on your own, and your forehead and cheeks.  when in more intimate environments, namely either of your rooms, he’ll worship the pulse on your neck, however not in an erotic fashion.  he only ventures there to treasure the flow of life in your body, to revere the rhythm of you.

��times have come and gone.  consider me obstinate in my beliefs, but the one of the things that have remained apparent to me over millennia are contracts.  contracts of business, of relationships, of morals – everything.  promises, if you prefer to call them.  so i promise you this: there is not a day that will go by when i will not devote myself to you, wholly, and completely.”

[jossambird]

Your echo across Time

After multiple asks for this, I present you all with an alternative version of my previous Ingo fic, Losing you across time!

This version follows the idea the Y/N did everything Arceus asked of her, with no happy ending.

Ingo x F! Reader

Words: 2.3k

Warning: Mentions of blood, mentions of cuts, mild violence (Volo basically), angst, pain™️, Implied death.

Losing you across Time Part 1

Ingo often wondered what would happen after you had saved all of Hisui. Would you return to your time? Would he remain here, alone, a stranger in strange lands just like he had been before your arrival?

Would you aid him into going home as well? He already knew the answer to that question though, knowing in his heart that the promise you had made with him had been true.

“Don’t worry Ingo! Ill find a way for the both of us to go home!” You had spoken in the quiet night, smiling as you pet the Noble Braviary, Lady Sneasler seated beside you.

“If we do, will you take me out for coffee and cheesecake? I hear Unova has the best cheesecake in the world.”

He hadn’t understood your words but he had agreed nonetheless, determined to provide you with whatever you asked of him, just to be able to see your radiant smile.

“And if anything happens, don’t worry, okay? Ill find a way.”

The red crackling sky above him had never truly let him forget just how heavy the burden laid on your shoulders, how weighty of a duty you had. The dark circles under your eyes had seemed to darken with time, the cuts on your body never truly seeming to fully heal before new ones appeared in their stead. Too many times had you come to him at the Training Grounds, smiling so beautifully but seeming so very tired, so so very exhausted.

It also hadn’t helped that Lady Sneasler seemed just as worried as he felt, always attentive when you called upon her but always returning as if she had seen a ghost.

But today, as he watched the blue sky and soft white clouds hanging in the sky, news had travelled throughout Hisui that you had completed the entire Pokedex. You hadn’t told anyone else of the mysterious and magical device always at your hip but he knew, knew what its message had been, knew you were about to go face off a God, a literal Pokemon Deity, and beg for the both of you to be returned to your time.

Ingo deeply regretted not having spoken up about his feelings towards you sooner; so many times had he had the opportunity to whilst the both of you had walked together or trained your Pokemon. So many times had he wanted to seize the moment and kiss you, to whisper against your lips how utterly in love he was with you… But he never had, fear always coursing through him at the thought of losing your beautiful friendship. Would he be forced to watch you settle down with someone, so in love and happy without him?

It was quiet today, far too quiet. Ingo didn’t expect the heavy footfalls behind him, for Lady Sneasler to seek him out, panic in her wide eyes as she rushed forward, trying to get his attention with yips and growls.

“My Lady, what is it? Whats wrong?” He asked, watching as the Noble Pokemon pointed a large claw at Mount Coronet, trying to make the human man before her understand.

It wasn’t until Lady Irida came running after the Pokemon did he know something was wrong, a feeling of bitter bile crawling its way up his throat at the sight of her hands stained with dark liquid as she yanked him into a run up the mountain-

Where were you?

“Warden Ingo! Hurry, come!” Irida shouted whilst she continued running, cursing aloud as she almost slipped, pulling the Warden behind her.

“L-Lady Irida, what is going on?!”

“Adaman and I went to assist Y/N but Volo, that slimy Gingko merchant betrayed her! He summoned another almighty Pokemon, she’s battling him as we speak!”

.

..

.

Your mind drifted as you watched Volo try to attack your Pokemon, your Alpha Gengar guarding you behind its massive body. Your sluggish thoughts wandered to the strange Warden you had grown to deeply love, wondering faintly if you’d see him again. You regretted not having showed up at his tent the night before to confess your feelings to him like Melli had told you to do. You couldn’t help the smirk that crawled onto your lips, practically hearing Melli complain in your mind.

As Volo’s Garchomp attacked your protective Gengar, you scolded yourself; you should have ridden Braviary and gone to see him, you should have knocked on his door and kissed him, pulling him close and feeling his gray locks in between your fingers. You should have spilled your heart out to him and told him how his eyes reminded you of the gentle snow falling from the sky, how his blushed red face made your heart race, or how his hesitant but gentle, innocent touches made you want to hug him forever and never let go.

But you hadn’t. You hadn’t, and here you stood, feeling the life slowly escape you, blood trickling down your hip and hand, watching passively as Giratina emerged from behind the terribly beaten Volo.

It almost terrified you how identical the moment was to your recent dream. Was this finally the dream that would happen?

You didn’t know when your prophetic dreams had truly begun; sometimes, you would dream that you stood here and watched Volo as he violently won against you, a manic expression on his face whilst he stole the Plates in your pack and Giratina expanded and howled into the sky, black clouds circling around it as your vision went dark.

Other times, it was you who won against the both of them, your Pokemon furiously beating the violent mythical Pokemon God of Antimatter before capturing it in a Pokeball, swearing to seal the Pokeball away forever.

Your old vacation shirt and jean shorts clung to your skin, tainted red from the cuts you had sustained. A silent laugh escaping your dried lips at the irony…

In your dreams, no matter how strange and dark and twisted they became, they always had one thing in common.

You never did return to your own time.

But you were okay with that, because in all of them, he did.

.

..

.

Winds began to pick up harshly as both Ingo and Irida raced to the top of Mount Coronet, the destroyed rubble of the Temple of Sinnoh still laying haphazardly across the ground.

The image of an immobile Adaman came into view as they raced to the top, silence reigning around them. Dark liquid stained the Temple’s ground, droplets and stains scattered across the stone flooring.

The sight of Volo’s prone body against the stone ground also didn’t escape their sights.

“Adaman, where is Y/N?!” Irida shouted at the man, stopping in her tracks as he turned towards her. Something akin to fear laid in his eyes, face pale as he opened his mouth, nothing coming out for a brief moment as he tried to collect himself.

“She- it took her… The God- The real one! Arceus- it took her. Her Celestica Flute changed and she played it.. She just- vanished.” The Leader of the Diamond clan whispered but it rang loudly into the air around them, stunning Ingo in his place. Head held in his hands, Adaman grew silent.

Arceus? The Pokemon God Arceus had taken you? He could barely understand his own thoughts as he tried to process what was happening and what exactly had already happened. It didnt take long for him to receive somewhat of an answer, Adaman turning back to observe the prone body of Volo.

“He tried to- Volo, he attacked her, tried to steal those plates from her and her Pokemon protected her-“ The Diamond Clan Leader rambled before swallowing his words, trying to force the shock out of his body, trying desperately to get the scene he’d just witnessed across.

“He was the one responsible for the Frenzied Nobles and your arrival, Warden Ingo…”

.

..

.

The sound of your ragged breath was lost in the sound of attacks barreling past you, barely avoiding them, blood from your cuts dripping and staining whatever ground you stood on. Balm after balm, you hurled them at the God before you, furious at its incomprehensible attitude. Didn’t it understand that you’d had a life before this? Parents, a pet, family, people you knew since childhood, neighbours that you loved; all were gone now, far from being born in the time you now inhabited.

“You- You summoned me here to save Hisui! You summoned me, ripped me away from my life and I did it! I beat Volo and captured Giratina and I did everything you asked of me”! You wailed, tears streaming down your face, furious eyes focused on the Being before you. You felt cold inside, so very cold, knees shaking as the reality of the situation fully dawned on you.

You were never supposed to go back.

“Please! Look, I don’t care, Ill stay here, Ill stay forever but please, please sent him back!” Was bargaining even worth it? It seemed to pay off, the God turning its unblinking eyes away from you before bowing its head.

With all your might, you threw the last Balm into its face, light blinding you suddenly as you yelled out.

.

..

.

Too many times did he hear your laughter ring out every time a car honked near him, turning to try and catch a glimpse of your beautiful face. He could practically hear the sounds of your gentle crying in the busy Unova streets, the sound you had made one fateful night while nursing a burn wound you’d sustained while on your adventures.

Somedays, he swore he heard his name being called out, called out as if… far away, as if you were close, but far, far enough for him not to see you in the crowd around him.

As if… from long ago, echoing across time.

On days like today, rain falling from the dark, he remembered the things you’d once said in Hisui, things that at the time he had not understood, but now he did.

Now, he understood what you meant whilst looking up at the starry night sky alongside him, the worry and burdens upon your shoulders disappearing for a brief moment.

“A sky unpolluted by light.. Its amazing. No skyscrapers, no planes, no apartment complexes; nothing in the way. I miss the sound of rain and the busy streets, cars honking and vendors yelling.”

.

..

.

“Brother?” Emmet called out to him silently, searching briefly before making his way towards his frozen form.

Before both twins stood a glass case, a haunting image staring back at the eldest twin.

You smiled, eyes practically twinkling through the image, imitating his pose, your Pokemon and his surrounding you. His Tangrowth had wrapped its tentacles around you, holding you into the air as if to show you off.

“Savior of Hisui, Member of the Galaxy Team Y/N and her Pokemon team.” Emmet repeated the words written under the picture, eyeing the items placed under them.

No husband accompanied you in the picture, nor a child, simply you and both his and you Pokemon. With practically no other information anywhere, Ingo looked around before finally finding what he needed.

“Pardon the intrusion, Did- Did the Heroine of Hisui ever marry?”

The Museum worker stammered as he turned, recognized just who exactly it was that had spoken behind him. Surprise coloring his visage at the question from the famed Unovian Subway Boss Ingo.

“Ah, sir, what a delight to have you and your brother here today in our Museum! To answer your question, no, actually, Y/N the hero of Hisui never did marry nor have children.”

He approached Ingo, eyes turning to look around before whispering lowly.

“I hear that somewhere in a Museum in Galar, photographs of the Heroine of Hisui were published. If I recall correctly, they had been taken by a man named Pro-“

“Professor Laventon,” Ingo finished for the man before realizing his own error, nodding as the worker commented on it.

“Oh a fan of history I see! Yes, Professor Laventon was a Pokemon Researcher at the time. I think he acted as a father figure for the Heroine. I should not be deterring you from our showcase but I know a curious mind when I see one.” The worker whispered back with a wink before moving to answer other questions, leaving the frozen Ingo in place.

Of course, the Professor had been a Galarian, had he not? It was only natural that the man that acted like your father figure would have taken photographs of you, possibly giving another glimpse into the life you had chosen for yourself. No matter how optimistic he tried to feel, nothing could stop the one thought that resonated in his mind.

You were dead, buried somewhere hundred of years ago. And here he stood, deeply and irrevocably in love with you.

Emmet continued walking, looking at the assortment of clothing laid out until his eyes stopped, a word on a scroll painstakingly standing out like a sore thumb.

“Uh, brother? C-Come here.”

There, in the middle of a Museum, was a nearly pristine sheet of parchment, Modern English written on it.

“Warden of Lady Sneasler, are you well where you are now? I know you will find this in due time, so please accept my apology for my actions.

Tell me, are the stars there as pretty as they were here? The stars have seemed to have lost some of their shine since you’ve left but its a little price to pay to know you returned home safely.

Don’t worry, Ill take care of Lady Sneasler and her kit until my final destination.

But until then… Bravo!!

Coffee and cheesecake at 6pm sound good to you?

Forever yours. Love, your heroine Y/N.”

“If we do, will you take me out for coffee and cheesecake? I hear Unova has the best cheesecake in the world.”

He had agreed. Agreed, not even knowing that hundreds of years ago, you had asked him on a date.

[wrestlersownmyheart]

A Heartslayer's Christmas (Seth Rollins One-Shot)

Pairing: Seth Rollins X Reader Summary: After Y/N's brother—none other than Dean Ambrose—attacks his best friend and the man she secretly loves—Seth Rollins—she falls into a depression and distances herself from everyone. Even Seth.

Especially Seth.

That is until Christmas time arrives and she is badgered into attending a holiday party at which most of the WWE roster would be attending—including the Kingslayer himself.

Seth feels hurt that one of his closest friends seemingly abandoned him at a crucial time in his life. But he gets it. Dean is her brother. She has to remain loyal to her own blood.

However, due to an unlikely source, Seth comes to realize that it wasn't loyalty to her brother that kept her away from him and their friends. It was shame and humiliation.

Well, forget that.

The Kingslayer wants some answers. And Y/N isn't going anywhere till he gets them.

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Story Content & Trigger Warnings: Angst and Fluff

A Heartslayer's Christmas

October 22, 2018

I fought the urge to nibble on my fingernail as I watched a sweaty, red-faced Dolph Ziggler head toward me at the timekeeper's area. I instantly became a bit nervous that he was going to grab me or something so he could distract my brother, Dean, and our friend, Seth during their match for the WWE Tag Team Championships.

Being a ring announcer has its perks—it really does. For example, I get the best seat in the house.

But like any job, it can also suck sometimes.

Especially, when you are related to one of the wrestlers. You automatically become potential collateral damage.

My breath left me with a shaky sigh, but nonetheless, I tried to keep a calm demeanor. Seeing a big muscled wrestler stomping toward you with an angry look on his face isn't exactly a cozy picture, after all.

Luckily, I wasn't the target. Dolph stalked up to the timekeeper and I realized he had something else up his sleeve. My mild relief was short-lived when Dolph yanked a tag title from the man's hands. I figured he was going to head up the ramp and get counted out—resulting in Drew and he keeping the titles despite the loss. But no. He moved to the ring, plopping the belt onto the apron before he climbed back in himself.

I saw my brother dazedly rising to his feet. He'd been slammed into the barricade moments before by Drew. I knew he couldn't be feeling too great, but Seth was about to be in even worse shape.

“Dean! Dolph's got a belt—he's gonna use it on Seth!”

This seemed to revive Dean fully and he darted to the apron, grabbing hold of the title just as Dolph did the same. There was a brief instant of tug-o-war before Dean yanked the belt from his enemy's grip. Dolph's momentum sent him stumbling back right into a fierce kick from Seth which sent him straight to his knees, and right where Seth wanted him.

A curb stomp ensued.

And in the next few seconds, the match was over.

We had new WWE Tag Team Champions—my brother, and the man I was in love with. The crowd was deafening. They were as ecstatic as I was, it seemed. I didn't hear a single “boo”. Of course, that wasn't a big surprise. Nobody disliked the Shield. Roman as a singles competitor was a different story, of course. I was always confused by this. The crowd would sometimes cheer him as long as he was part of the Shield, but as soon as he moved on to do his own thing he became the most hated wrestler since John Cena.

Tears burned my eyes, and I smiled through them as Seth sat in an exhausted heap—taking in the fact they'd won, that all three Shield members held titles. I couldn't have been any prouder.

Seth stood slowly and latched onto Dean in a huge bro hug. My brother seemed a bit stiff, or uncomfortable, which I chalked up to him not being a very demonstrative person. But otherwise he looked content and fulfilled.

But slowly, I began to realize something was wrong.

I could feel my smile fade as I saw Dean release Seth from the hug and then tossed his newly won WWE Tag Team Championship belt to the ring's canvas.

That's odd, I thought. My body slowly grew tense with unease. I've never seen anyone celebrate a title win by dropping their belts to the canvas- My thoughts halted sharply as I watched Dean issue Seth a sudden, hard kick to the gut immediately followed by Dirty Deeds. The audience seemed to all scream “NO!” in unison.

My brain wouldn't compute. I couldn't quite understand what I was seeing. And before I could fully digest what just went down, it only got worse.

Much worse.

Dean stalked over to Seth and kicked him in the head, then began pummeling him, over and over. It seemed like forever before Dean seemed to grow bored and tossed him out of the ring.

On shaky legs, I stood and craned my neck to see Seth. He'd landed with a hard thud in the floor and then rolled back against the barricade. He looked out cold. His eyes were open, but he looked unconscious despite the fact.

My hands went to my face; covered my mouth in my shock. I'd never seen this side of my brother. At least, not toward his loved ones.

I must've blanked out or something because the next thing I knew, Seth was being flung into the barricade right in front of me and the timekeeper.

“DEAN, THAT'S ENOUGH!” My shriek surprised even me. Tears were streaming down my face and Dean stared at me for a moment with a confused look on his face, like he couldn't believe I was trying to defend Seth. “What is wrong with you,” I demanded, stepping outside of the timekeeper's box. “Leave him alone!”

To my shock, Dean hauled me over his shoulder and walked a little ways toward the ramp. I had a brief moment of terror; worrying that maybe Dean was going to flip out on me, and hurt me as well. I was faintly aware of Seth's weakened voice calling out for Dean to put me down as I struggled in his hold.

“Get backstage, Kiddo,” Dean growled at me under his breath and finally set me on my feet. “There is no more announcing to do, so your job here is done for the night. You don't need to see any more of this.”

“Dean... I'm not kidding. Do not hurt him any more.” I couldn't stop my voice from cracking as I begged him. “Please.”

Dean looked as though he'd soften and relent for just a moment. Then his blue eyes went cold in the next instant. “He's had this coming for a long time, Y/N. And you know it. Get outta here.”

“No, Dean! You can't do this! You have to forgive him! I did! Even Ro did!” A sob burst out of me and I shoved at his shoulders. “Why can't you??”

A hand snagged my wrist—tugging me backward, and startled, I whirled around to see Roman. “Meli, come on back,” he said softly. I glanced back at Dean and saw that he was already heading back to Seth.

“Please, tell me you aren't part of this, Roman,” I whispered. “Please.”

“I'm not,” he said, gently wiping at the tears on my face with his thumbs. “I'm going to take care of it, but I need to know that you are out of harm's way first.”

“Fine. O-okay,” I quickly agreed. Anything to get Seth some help in a hurry. “Just please, put a stop to this.” I turned and headed backstage, but stayed at the gorilla position keeping my eyes glued to one of the monitors.

The horror only escalated.

Roman hurried down to the flurry of movement that was my brother's flailing fists, and gently but firmly took hold of Dean's shoulder. In the next instant, Roman was sprawled on the floor looking quite dazed from a punch to the face.

By this time, the camera men had apparently received word to stop recording and RAW ended with Dean beating on our friends. Not caring that I was breaking kayfabe or entering myself into what the crowd most likely believed to be an “angle”, I rushed back out to talk some sense into Dean. As I neared the three men, I was horrified to see that Dean had grabbed up my chair to use on them.

“NO!”

My scream did no good at all as Dean had already blasted the steel chair across Seth's back and then spun around and did the same to Roman.

“DEAN, STOP IT,” I screamed, grabbing hold of the chair as he brought it back once more.

In a flash of temper, he swung the chair hard through the air to get me to release my grip on it.

And it worked.

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor. As I'd lost my grip on the chair, I was propelled through the air and landed hard on my butt. A sharp pain radiated up my back.

My tailbone.

“Ya son of a-” Seth bit out at the same time I heard Roman's soft, “What are you doing, Uce?”

“God, Y/N...” Dean said softly, dropping the chair, letting it clatter to the floor. “I'm sorry.” He reached down to help me up.

“Don't touch me!” I slapped his hand away, and gingerly stood to my feet, swiping at fresh tears as I rose. “Just stay away from me—from them!”

His temper returned with a vengeance and he instantly bent down picking the chair up again.

“Dean, no...” I stepped in front of my two beaten-down friends and stood my ground; terrified. Because I didn't know at this point what my brother would do. “If you are going to hurt them more, you'll have to hurt me to get to them.”

The chair was drawn back and I gasped. He's really going to do it. I was vaguely aware that the audience was now hushed. You could hear a pin drop.

The only thing left I could think to do was spin around, drop to my knees and drape myself over Seth and Roman the best I could, considering how huge they were compared to me. I braced myself for excruciating pain. I was prepared for it, and I was going to take it—for my friends.

I heard the clatter of the chair hitting the floor again. I dared to shift my head and look behind me. Dean was ripping off his black, sleeveless shirt he always wore when the Shield was together and was heading for the ramp. A sob burst out of me because I realized what that symbolic gesture meant.

Dean was through with the Shield.

And I was through with him.

Quickly, I turned back to Seth and Roman. They were still lying on the floor and looked really out of it.

“I'm so sorry, you guys,” I sobbed, reaching out to inspect a lump on Seth's forehead. “I can't b-believe he- I'm so sorry.”

Roman was able to raise up finally and spoke softly, “It wasn't your fault, baby girl.”

“I didn't know he was going to- I promise, I would have warned you.” I was brushing hair back from Seth's forehead when he jerked away from me. Stunned, I looked at him, wide-eyed. “Seth...?”

“Just get out of here, Y/N,” he nearly growled. “We're fine.”

Security and referees and trainers were all around us then asking us all how we felt.

How do you think we feel?

I felt like I'd be sick. Seth had never spoken to me in such a way before. Not ever. But I managed a shaky nod. “O-okay. I'm just so... I'm really s-sorry...” I stood to my feet then and turned to leave. They were in good hands, there was nothing I could do for them. So, I headed toward the ramp. A trainer followed me for a little ways to make sure I was okay.

“That was a nasty fall you took—are you sure you don't need-?”

“I'm fine,” I said, not even looking at him. “I just want to leave.”

Once I got backstage, Dean had the gall to be there waiting for me.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, Kiddo,” he said softly.

I glared at him for an instant before launching my fist straight into his face. He surprisingly took the hit without any retaliation despite the blood that came gushing from his nose. “I hope it freaking hurts,” I screamed at him. “I hope I broke it!”

“You probably did,” he admitted softly, trying to staunch the flow of blood. “You're gonna side with them, over your own brother?”

“What did Roman EVER do to you, except be there for you,” I demanded, finally finding the words that wouldn't come to me earlier. “And Seth...” I went on, ranting at this point. “Sure he screwed you over AGES ago, but he's more than earned your forgiveness. He offered you a chance to attack him with a chair—with no retaliation. He knew he deserved it! He took chair shots for you—literally shielding your body with his! He protected you even when he knew it was bringing damage to himself! What you've done is SO MUCH worse than anything he's ever done to you! I hate you!”

I knew I may regret those words later, but at that moment in time I felt they were justified.

I turned and walked further backstage only to be intercepted by Stephanie McMahon.

“Y/N, I want you to know that I'm really sorry about what happened out there,” she said. “But... You got involved in a situation that you had no business getting into. You assaulted your brother back here, for God's sake. I'm sorry but I have to suspend you. Sixty days. You can return for the Christmas Eve show. Use the time to clear your head, okay?”

Numb at this point, I just nodded. Then I went to my dressing room and began packing up my things.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

The two months passed by slowly. Which was okay. Because I felt completely lost. I'd lost my brother. I'd lost two of my best friends—one of which I was so far head over heels for it was pathetic. Especially since he now hated me.

I couldn't get the sight of Seth jerking away from my touch out of my head. He'd looked so appalled by me.

And Roman had said it wasn't my fault, but... He still had this look on his face—like he didn't trust me anymore.

It hurt.

Of course, many of the superstars had texted me and even tried calling me. But I couldn't answer them. Because I hated myself for what happened. Dean was my brother. I should have known what was coming. He'd been acting weird up to the point he cracked. Why didn't I see it? I could have done something.

Now, because of my negligence, nothing mattered anymore.

I couldn't even watch RAW, because every time I did, Dean was taking cheap shots on Seth and Roman and giving them a beat down. He'd taken everything from me. My friends, my job, my enjoyment of wrestling in general, even himself—my brother.

Christmas Eve was coming up in a couple of days and I'd be returning to work. Normally, I would've been excited. But instead, I had this thick ball of tension in my stomach and I didn't foresee it going anywhere for a long time.

My phone dinged with a text. Rolling my eyes, because I just knew it was Bayley—again—pestering me to attend a Christmas party after RAW on Christmas Eve.

Since everyone was having to work that night, they had all chipped in and rented a venue and were flying their families to Sacramento so they could have one big Christmas bash together. And several of the women's division had contacted me many times to invite me to said party. I just couldn't. I couldn't answer them. I knew I must look incredibly rude, but I couldn't help it. Dean truly had ruined everything. I often wondered if I'd ever be able to forgive him.

I looked down at my phone and saw it was indeed a text from Bayley.

You are totally coming to the party, Y/N. I'm not taking no for an answer. Me, Sasha and Finn will kidnap you if we have to. ;-)

Sighing in defeat, I tossed my phone beside me on the bed.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Two nights later, I was in Sacramento headed into the Golden 1 Center, hoping to avoid everyone as much as possible. I just wanted to get my job done for the night and prepare for the next show.

And with that thought, I grew angry.

I used to freaking LOVE my job. I never wanted a show to end, and now here I was wishing I didn't even have to be there.

I left my dressing room and walked down the hall toward makeup and hair when Dean caught up with me and attempted a talk.

“It's... It's good to have ya back, Kid-”

“Shut-up, Dean,” I said. I didn't have any malice in my tone. Nothing was in my tone, except maybe for exhaustion.

“You're still angry with me.”

It wasn't a question, but simply a statement. He sounded tired too, but I didn't care.

“Angry,” I scoffed at him and stopped walking so I could look up at him. “You don't get it, Dean. I am so much more than angry. You have no clue what you did to me that night. I was shattered. And now I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm lonely. And because of you, and the fact you're my brother, I'm sure that nobody can—or will—trust me now. And I don't even remotely blame them. I meant what I said that night, Dean. I hate you. You didn't just lose two best friends, and your sister. You made me lose two best friends and my brother.” The words tumbled out of me. I couldn't stop them if I tried.

“I don't even enjoy coming into work now. I have a rock in my stomach and I felt like throwing up at just the thought of walking into this arena because I can only imagine what everyone thinks of me. I miss them—I miss my friends. I can't even watch any of them wrestle on RAW anymore because I have to see you beating on Seth and Roman every chance you get. You've ruined my entire life for me. All because you are an overgrown, spoiled little brat.”

With that, I turned away from him and continued on my way to hair and makeup, giving him no chance to speak.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

A few hours later, I was watching Seth beat on Baron. Okay, so I was actually ogling Seth while he beat on Baron.

He was beautiful to watch, what can I say?

I missed him. So much.

I missed everyone.

Suddenly, Seth kicked Baron in the face, then quickly followed up with a curb stomp.

And I was catapulted back to that night. Seth was curb stomping Dolph. He and Dean were holding the Tag Titles and hugging. Dean kicking him then nailing him with Dirty Deeds. Roman going to help Seth and getting beaten down also.

“Hey! Y/N! Seth won. You gonna announce it before 2019 arrives?”

Graves barked at me through my ear piece.

“Geez, give her a break, Graves!” Renee spoke up. “She's been through a lot.”

Grateful for my sister-in-law speaking up for me, and missing her like crazy, I stood to my feet lifting the mic to my lips. “And your winner... Seth Rrrrrrrollins!”

As RAW went off the air, Seth hopped out of the ring and turned in my direction—staring at me. His dark eyes flashed, and a look of determination crossed his handsome face. Then he headed straight for me.

And I panicked.

I can't face him. Not yet. He'll want to talk about what happened. Maybe even go off on me about it.

Avoiding his eyes, I stepped around him to make a getaway. But his hand shot out; his fingers wrapping around my arm and gently tugging me back toward him.

“S-Seth...” I stammered pathetically. I could barely glance up at his face. “I-I have to go. Backstage.” I pointed to my ear piece. “They're asking for me.”

It was a lame lie. The show was over. There was no reason for me to be called backstage. And Seth knew it was a lie. I could see the way his face flashed with frustration, then hurt. He quickly covered it though and gave me a nod.

Not giving him the chance to change his mind and try to keep me there, I darted off and ran all the way past the gorilla position, and I didn't stop running—not even when I heard my name being called by various different voices—until I reached my dressing room and flung the door shut.

Panting for air, I slumped against the wall trying to get myself pulled together. I still had the party to go to. I shook my head in exasperation. Partying was the very last thing I wanted or felt like doing. But I knew that Bayley would not have it any other way.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room and froze. My skin had paled, I was visibly having difficulty breathing, my eyes were dull and I just looked overall drained.

I have to quit, I realized. I can't do this anymore. All the stress and worry—it's taking the life out of me. I can't enjoy work anymore.

There was a knock at my door then. Wishing I could just pretend I wasn't here, but realizing that too many people saw me actually enter the room, I had no choice. I reached out and opened the door cautiously, not really knowing who, or what, to expect.

“Kiddo, look... I need to talk, and you need to listen to me.”

Dean barged his way in without even taking the time to take in my condition. I rolled my eyes. Figures.

“Maybe I was-” And that's when he finally looked at me. Saw the true extent of what he'd done to me. He looked as though the air just whooshed out of him. “Jesus, Y/N... Are you okay? Are you sick? Should I get you a doc-”

I busted out laughing. “Do I freaking look okay, Dean? No, I don't need a doctor. I'm fine. That's what you want to hear, right? That I'm fine with you turning your back on Seth and Roman—beating them to a pulp? I'm fine with you not giving a rip how all of this would affect me? I'm fine with losing my friends—my brother? I'm fine having to give up my job and start from scratch somewhere else? I'm fine-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean cut me off and held up his hands in what I'm sure he meant to be a calming gesture. It simply made me want to slug him in the face again. “What are you talking about—giving up your job? Why? You love your job.”

“I used to,” I replied with a sigh. “But now... I feel like... People are being nice to me simply because they feel like they have to. I feel like they are secretly afraid of me—because I'm your-” Realizing I was actually confiding in him, I grew angry with myself. I shook my head to clear it. “Just forget it, Dean. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm sure I can get a job at TNA, or ROH. Maybe I could even go to Japan—work at NJPW.”

“Kiddo... I can't let you-”

“It isn't up to you, Dean. It isn't your decision. You may be older than me, but I am a grown woman now.” I sighed again, growing more tired by the minute. “Please, just leave.”

Bayley chose that moment to pop her head in the door. “Ready to party?” Her eyes shifted over to Dean then and her bubbly exterior faltered a bit.

“Yes,” I said immediately. “I'm assuming there'll be alcohol?” I may not be in the mindset to party, but at least I can drown my sorrows.

Both Bayley's and Dean's heads whipped back in my direction. I could only imagine their shock because I very, very rarely ever drank.

“Y-Yeah,” Bayley nodded. “Of course!”

“Great! Let me change into my dress and we can go,” I exclaimed with a cheerfulness I was far from feeling. I turned my attention to my brother then, “You can leave now, Dean.”

Stunned and speechless, Dean turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

I shifted my attention back to Bayley. “The dress I brought has a zipper in the back. Can you zip me up?”

She nodded again, “Sure thing!”

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Dean paced several steps one way, then whirled around and paced in the other direction. He'd been doing this for several minutes, apprehension on his face. He stopped suddenly, and looked up at the door he'd been pacing in front of.

SETH ROLLINS

A sigh huffed from his chest, and he rolled his head around on his shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension that was building up in his neck.

“Baby, just...do it,” he heard Renee say from behind him. “Knock. Talk to him.”

He turned and looked at her. “I'm not apologizing.”

“Fine,” she relented, stroking up his arm to his shoulder in a soothing gesture. “But make peace. You need it. So does Seth and Roman. So does Y/N.”

“That's why I'm here,” Dean replied, looking back at the door. “For Y/N.” He slumped against the wall and rubbed at his eyes. “I think I...” He shook his head. “I think I ruined her life. She's not the same. At all. She's talking about leaving the WWE—maybe working in Japan.”

“Dean, this has gone too far.” Renee's voice took on a scolding tone. “Way too far. You have to fix it because you are the one who put everyone in this position. I was against this from the start. I love Roman and Seth. They are my brothers the same as they are to Y/N. Although, I'm pretty sure she doesn't look at Seth in a brotherly way...” Her face stained a slight shade of pink at realizing she let too much information out.

“What's that supposed to mean,” Dean demanded, his blue eyes flashing.

“Oh, Dean, if you haven't realized by now how crazy she is about Seth, you're completely blind.”

His head fell back against the wall as his eyes clenched shut. “So that's why she's taken this so hard.” He bit out a curse.

“Partly, yes. But you alienated her, Dean. I can only imagine how she feels, but if I were in her shoes, I'd feel like a traitor to them just by being related to you.”

“Ouch.”

“I'm not trying to be mean or hurt you, babe,” Renee said, taking hold of his arm again. “I just want you to see this situation through her eyes. She probably thinks they hate her. She may even feel like we all hate her.”

“She does. She said something like that earlier. She thinks no one will trust her anymore because of me.”

Renee reached up and turned Dean's face to hers, making him look at her. “I love you, so much. And that will never change. But I am very disappointed in your actions. You were thinking of no one but yourself.”

Dean nodded. “I know.”

“So, get to fixing it.”

With no warning, Renee reached over and knocked on Seth's dressing room door and then hurried away, leaving her husband to repair the damage he'd caused.

Accepting his punishment, Dean turned back to the door just as it opened. Seth stood in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest and his eyes dark and emotionless. “What do you want?”

“I'm not here to apologize,” Dean started.

“Good. Because I wouldn't care if you were.”

“I'm here because of Y/N.”

“What do you mean,” Seth instantly uncrossed his arms and stood up straighter; tension appearing in his muscled frame. Roman appeared beside him, concern etching his features. “What's wrong with her?” Seth continued his barrage of questions. “Is she okay? She wasn't acting like herself after my match.”

“She's not okay,” Dean replied. “What I did... It hurt her more than I realized it would. I thought she'd get past it, but she's-”

“Ambrose, I swear if you are using her to mess with my head... You'll be opening a can of worms you'll wish you'd left alone. You've hurt her enough.”

“I know,” Dean shot back. “I can see that now.” He swallowed hard and wouldn't meet Seth's or Roman's eyes. “I just...”

“What do you need us to do,” Roman asked, sensing that Dean was wanting to ask for their help.

“I don't know if she'll ever forgive me,” Dean said softly. “She's been talking about leaving WWE and working somewhere else—Japan.” He saw Seth tense up even more and continued. “I'm going to see about getting moved to SmackDown. So...” He finally made eye contact with Seth, then Roman and then his gaze shifted back to Seth. “I need you guys to look out for her.”

“Of course,” Roman replied with no hesitation.

“I'd never turn my back on her,” Seth said heatedly, obviously angry that Dean would even think he would. “And there's no way she's leaving for Japan. She's not getting away from us that easily.”

Dean nodded, a certain amount of relief showing on his face. “She's going to the Christmas party tonight. I... I think she's planning on getting drunk.”

“What?” Roman couldn't have hid his surprise if his life depended on it.

Seth however was already grabbing up his bag and rental keys and shoving past Dean into the hallway. “Let's get going, Rome.”

}i{}i{}i{}i{

The roster had decided to rent the banquet hall at our hotel so we could all get back to our rooms without worrying about designated drivers and ubers.

I'd ridden over with Finn, Bayley, and Sasha and was eager to get inside, get some drinking done and then hurry back up to my room to sleep it off. I cared nothing about the party, I just wanted to get drunk and forget everything if only for a night.

We stepped into the huge party hall and I cringed at the fairly loud Christmas music. This was going to be anything but relaxing. Still, the decorations were pretty. White Christmas lights were strung up through the huge room. A huge tree in one corner was bombarded with red and green and gold and silver ornaments. A bar was set up with a bartender, and wasting no time, I headed straight to it while everyone else began socializing and hitting the dance floor.

“A shot of tequila, please,” I requested, as the bartender slid a cocktail napkin over to me. A few seconds later the drink was placed in front of me and I eagerly took it down in one gulp.

Oh, my God...

The liquid burned my throat and scorched my empty stomach. “Again, please,” I choked out.

“Wow, she actually had the nerve to show up here.”

The snarky comment rang in my ears as I turned around to see who'd said it.

Ruby, I thought, grimacing inwardly. And where there's Ruby...

“We oughtta toss her out of here,” Liv snickered.

There's Liv and Sarah.

They weren't even trying to hide the fact that they were talking about me and looking right at me while they did it.

I turned back around and took down my next shot of tequila then ordered a third and downed it just as quickly, wishing it would hurry up and kick into my system.

But when it finally did, I was regretting it. Badly. Everything became exacerbated. The music. The talking. The giggling.

Suddenly, it seemed as if everyone was talking about me. Whether that was true or not, I didn't know for sure—the alcohol was screwing with my head royally.

All around me, swirling through the air I kept hearing gossipy whispers.

"She's here..."

"...She showed up?..."

"Everyone watch your backs..."

I looked around frantically, trying to find the source of the whispers and gossip and mean-spirited words. But I couldn't figure out who was uttering them. Or if anyone was even saying them at all. Maybe the alcohol was affecting me—causing me to imagine things. But imagined or not, it was upsetting me to no end.

My breathing quickened at the feeling of being stared at and talked about. Especially in a negative light. And of course, having not eaten all day, the alcohol was sitting like lead in my stomach and making me feel a bit dizzy. I think I was only buzzing, but I quickly decided that getting drunk was not a good option if this was any indication of how I was going to feel.

I stumbled through the crowd of people—my friends and co-workers and their families—to the banquet hall's entryway. My legs trembled as I walked. I needed to get to my room. Completely in a fog, I don't remember how I got down the hallway, let alone making it to the bank of elevators. I had just pushed the call button to head up to my floor when I heard:

"Y/N!"

Oh, no, I thought, turning around slowly.

Seth. He was headed straight for me.

My heart skipped a beat and then escalated in its rhythm.

I can't breathe...

My hand came up to my chest, and panting for air, I stepped backward to lean against the wall.

Which was a mistake.

I promptly lost my balance and, with a lot of help from my heels and the dizziness clouding my head, went sailing for the floor. Thankfully, strong arms closed around me before I could connect with the cold tiling.

"Geez, Y/N," Seth growled softly in my ear. He didn't sound angry though—more worried than anything else. He held me for a moment and then gently set me on my feet, keeping his arms around me for support. The elevator doors opened and he helped me inside.

"You're shaking," he commented, holding me tighter and closer to his tall frame. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head as the elevator door slid shut. "C-can't breathe..." I latched onto the lapel of his black suit jacket, curling my fingers into it, desperately trying to stay upright. "I-I heard people... talking about me...Ruby and Liv. And some others I couldn't identify."

"Ruby and Liv, sure—I wouldn't doubt in the least. But who cares what they think? I doubt anyone else was saying anything though," he said. "I haven't heard one bad word said about you through this whole ordeal. You were drinking, right? The booze is probably messing with your head, baby. Let's get you taken care of."

"Help me to my room," I asked softly, still clutching at his jacket and fighting for air. "I'll be fine after some sleep."

"No." Came his reply. "You're gonna stay with me. I'm pretty sure you're having a panic attack—probably brought on by the alcohol. You aren't going to be alone." The elevator dinged and the door slid open. Without a word, Seth stooped and lifted me up and cradled me against his chest as he exited the lift. I was too tired and freaked out to protest. What is wrong with me, I wondered, laying my head against his sturdy shoulder.

“How much did you drink?"

"Just th-three," I stammered. I settled my face into his neck and inhaled slightly. The light clean smell of his cologne, for whatever reason, calmed me a little. My breathing became more regular.

"Three what?"

"Shots..."

I heard a low, frustrated sigh whoosh within his chest. "Three shots of what, sweetie?"

"T'quila."

I was feeling a little more fuzzy as each minute passed, but I could have sworn I heard him whisper another curse. Then his tone went to scolding me lightly. "So, you're telling me you took down three shots of tequila in the last fifteen or so minutes?"

I swallowed hard, fighting down some nausea. "No. Less than fifteen minutes. Drank them one after the other."

There was a long pause, and then: "I doubt it because of the way you look, but please tell me you at least had some food on your stomach."

I shook my head and instantly regretted it. "I didn't eat today."

“Geez, woman.” He was angry now. "You're not gonna make this a habit, are you, baby?"

"No," I whispered. "I just..."

"What?" He prompted, as we reached his room. "Can you hang on to my neck while I unlock the door?"

Stiffly, I shifted my arms to band around his neck. A second later his door opened and he replaced his arm around my back as he carried me inside.

"I needed to forget,” I replied in answer to his previous question. A pesky tear that had been burning my eye spilled over and ran down my cheek. “Everything. Just for one night. But I only feel worse.”

Seth strode across the room to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, settling me in his lap. The comforting feeling of his arms around me made my heart hurt. A sob exploded from me and I immediately despised myself for it. "Please, don't hate me, Seth. I didn't know what Dean was going to do, I promise."

Seth pulled back a little ways to look at my face. "Whoa, sweetheart. I don't hate you. At all." He brushed the tear off my cheek with the pad of his thumb and held me tighter.

"But... You..." I swallowed hard and dared to meet his gaze. I attempted to speak again but Seth gently placed his finger across my lips.

"Lets not do this tonight, baby. We do obviously have a lot to talk about, but you are in major need of some sleep." He brushed his hand over my hair. "Lets get ready for bed, and we can talk in the morning over some breakfast, okay?" He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, something he'd never done before. "In the meantime, just know this, Y/N... I could never hate you."

He stood then and sat me on the edge of the bed. "Let me find you a shirt to sleep in." He gestured to your dress then. "Would you like for me- Uh... Do you need me to unzip your dress—so you can change?"

If I didn't know any better, Seth looked as if he were blushing slightly. I nodded, my own face burning as well. Yes, I needed his help to get out of the dress, but... The notion of him undoing the zipper down my back was... like a dream.

"You look beautiful, by the way," Seth said softly as he turned me around by my shoulders. I felt a little bit of pressure next as he tugged the zipper down on the flirty, emerald green dress. Then I felt the warmth of his fingers brushing over the bared skin of my back—down, and then slowly back up to my shoulder blades. "So soft." His whispered words sent goosebumps prickling at my skin.

My breathing hitched, and while I was enjoying his touch, I didn't know how to handle it at that moment. I stepped out of his reach. "Th-thank you. For helping me."

"Of course, sweetheart." He reached into one of his bags and handed me one of his t-shirts. "This okay for you to sleep in?"

I nodded, afraid to speak.

"Remember. We're going to talk in the morning. I'll answer any of your questions, but you're gonna answer mine too. Like why you ignored all my calls and texts, and why you ran from me after my match tonight."

I nodded again, and started for the bathroom to change.

"There's soap at the sink if you want to wash your makeup off, and there's also an extra toothbrush. I'll text Roman and let him know you're okay while you get ready for bed."

"Thank you, Seth. Really." I managed a small smile and then I disappeared into the bathroom.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

I awoke abruptly. I didn't remember exactly what I was dreaming, except I recalled that it had to do with Dean, Seth and Roman. When I opened my eyes, tears were streaming down my face, and Seth was holding me tightly against his chest.

"Shh-shh..." He shushed me softly, running one of his hands up and down my back in a soothing gesture. "It's okay, baby. I've got ya. Nothing's gonna hurt you, I promise."

"I'm so sorry for what he did." I sobbed the words and draped one of my arms over his waist in the best hug I could accomplish given that we were laying on our sides. "I know you said you and Ro don't hate me, but I'm still so, so sorry. For everything. I stayed away from you and everyone else because I was so ashamed. It wasn't because I wanted to, believe me."

He shushed me again, kissed the top of my head, and mumbled something about being right back. He left the bed and a few seconds later I heard the lavatory faucet turn on in the bathroom. Then he was laying beside me again and ever so gently dabbing at my cheeks and eyes with a wet washcloth.

"Let's go ahead and have that talk, okay?”

At my nod, he continued. “First of all, you have nothing to apologize for. Dean did this all on his own. I know you had nothing to do with it." He puffed out a sigh. "I may be able to forgive Dean one day—for what he did to me and Roman. But I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for what he did to you."

"But... I'm confused."

"About?"

"You jerked away from me that night—yanked your arm away from me. You looked disgusted by me. And Ro... He looked like he'd never trust me again."

Seth sighed again, discarding the washcloth to the night table, and then pulled me against his chest again. "I was disgusted. But not by you. I was disgusted because Dean put you in such a horrible position. I jerked my arm away from you because I was angry that you were seeing me in such a weak condition. And I was angry that Dean tossed you around like a rag doll—even though I know he didn't mean to. I was also upset that you used your body to shield ours. But, trust me, honey, Roman and I have no problem trusting you.” Seth brushed a few strands of hair off my forehead, and stared into my eyes.

Dawn was nearing because there was just the tiniest hint of daylight in the room. Enough that I could see his chocolate-colored eyes holding mine captive in his gaze.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered, brushing the back of his hand down my cheek.

"I missed you too." My voice wavered slightly. I didn't think I could trust myself to say anything more.

But I did.

In fact, at the exact same moment, Seth and I spoke the exact same words:

"I love you."

I gasped.

Seth's face lit up and he rolled me beneath him, keeping some of his weight off me by bracing himself with his arms on either side of me. His voice went gravelly, and beyond sexy, when he spoke next.

"Gonna have to kiss you now, sweetheart."

Then his mouth was on mine.

And I was home.

A calm, euphoric haze filled my senses as Seth kissed me. His tongue slid past my lips and a growl rumbled in his throat as he tasted my mouth. I let my hands coast up his forearms, relishing in the cords of muscles bunched within them, and continued up to his broad shoulders where I let my fingers settle. I moaned softly as his tongue brushed over mine and I shifted one of my hands to the back of his head, curling my fingers into the soft waves of his hair.

He broke the kiss, and smiled down at me. "I love you," he whispered the words again.

I returned the smile, feeling whole for the first time in a very long time. "I love you, too."

"I plan on showing you how much I love you," Seth added teasingly, kissing the tip of my nose. "But, I want it to be when you are clear-headed and with no alcohol in your system."

I nodded. "I agree. I can hardly wait, but I agree."

Daylight began fully making itself known throughout the room, and Seth grinned. "Hey, it's morning. Merry Christmas, honey."

"Merry Christmas, Seth."

He kissed me once more, and my heart surged with happiness, and a new-found hope.

Hope that we could all move past the tragedy that Dean forced on us—forgive Dean. Hope that maybe, just maybe, one day we would all be family once again.

Until then, I was going to live my life—be happy with Seth, and stop punishing myself for the sins of

October 22, 2018

I fought the urge to nibble on my fingernail as I watched a sweaty, red-faced Dolph Ziggler head toward me at the timekeeper's area.  I instantly became a bit nervous that he was going to grab me or something so he could distract my brother, Dean, and our friend, Seth during their match for the WWE Tag Team Championships.

Being a ring announcer has its perks—it really does.  For example, I get the best seat in the house.  

But like any job, it can also suck sometimes.  

Especially, when you are related to one of the wrestlers.  You automatically become potential collateral damage.

My breath left me with a shaky sigh, but nonetheless, I tried to keep a calm demeanor.  Seeing a big muscled wrestler stomping toward you with an angry look on his face isn't exactly a cozy picture, after all.  

Luckily, I wasn't the target.  Dolph stalked up to the timekeeper and I realized he had something else up his sleeve.  My mild relief was short-lived when Dolph yanked a tag title from the man's hands.  I figured he was going to head up the ramp and get counted out—resulting in Drew and he keeping the titles despite the loss.  But no.  He moved to the ring, plopping the belt onto the apron before he climbed back in himself.

I saw my brother dazedly rising to his feet.  He'd been slammed into the barricade moments before by Drew.  I knew he couldn't be feeling too great, but Seth was about to be in even worse shape.

“Dean!  Dolph's got a belt—he's gonna use it on Seth!”  

This seemed to revive Dean fully and he darted to the apron, grabbing hold of the title just as Dolph did the same.  There was a brief instant of tug-o-war before Dean yanked the belt from his enemy's grip.  Dolph's momentum sent him stumbling back right into a fierce kick from Seth which sent him straight to his knees, and right where Seth wanted him.  

A curb stomp ensued.

And in the next few seconds, the match was over.  

We had new WWE Tag Team Champions—my brother, and the man I was in love with.  The crowd was deafening.  They were as ecstatic as I was, it seemed.  I didn't hear a single “boo”.  Of course, that wasn't a big surprise.  Nobody disliked the Shield.  Roman as a singles competitor was a different story, of course.  I was always confused by this.  The crowd would sometimes cheer him as long as he was part of the Shield, but as soon as he moved on to do his own thing he became the most hated wrestler since John Cena.

Tears burned my eyes, and I smiled through them as Seth sat in an exhausted heap—taking in the fact they'd won, that all three Shield members held titles.  I couldn't have been any prouder.

Seth stood slowly and latched onto Dean in a huge bro hug.  My brother seemed a bit stiff, or uncomfortable, which I chalked up to him not being a very demonstrative person.  But otherwise he looked content and fulfilled.

But slowly, I began to realize something was wrong.

I could feel my smile fade as I saw Dean release Seth from the hug and then tossed his newly won WWE Tag Team Championship belt to the ring's canvas.  

That's odd, I thought.  My body slowly grew tense with unease.  I've never seen anyone celebrate a title win by dropping their belts to the canvas-  My thoughts halted sharply as I watched Dean issue Seth a sudden, hard kick to the gut immediately followed by Dirty Deeds.  The audience seemed to all scream “NO!” in unison.

My brain wouldn't compute.  I couldn't quite understand what I was seeing.  And before I could fully digest what just went down, it only got worse.

Much worse.

Dean stalked over to Seth and kicked him in the head, then began pummeling him, over and over.  It seemed like forever before Dean seemed to grow bored and tossed him out of the ring.  

On shaky legs, I stood and craned my neck to see Seth.  He'd landed with a hard thud in the floor and then rolled back against the barricade.  He looked out cold.  His eyes were open, but he looked unconscious despite the fact.

My hands went to my face; covered my mouth in my shock.  I'd never seen this side of my brother.  At least, not toward his loved ones.  

I must've blanked out or something because the next thing I knew, Seth was being flung into the barricade right in front of me and the timekeeper.  

“DEAN, THAT'S ENOUGH!”  My shriek surprised even me.  Tears were streaming down my face and Dean stared at me for a moment with a confused look on his face, like he couldn't believe I was trying to defend Seth.  “What is wrong with you,” I demanded, stepping outside of the timekeeper's box.  “Leave him alone!”

To my shock, Dean hauled me over his shoulder and walked a little ways toward the ramp.  I had a brief moment of terror; worrying that maybe Dean was going to flip out on me, and hurt me as well.  I was faintly aware of Seth's weakened voice calling out for Dean to put me down as I struggled in his hold.

“Get backstage, Kiddo,” Dean growled at me under his breath and finally set me on my feet.  “There is no more announcing to do, so your job here is done for the night.  You don't need to see any more of this.”

“Dean... I'm not kidding.  Do not hurt him any more.”  I couldn't stop my voice from cracking as I begged him.  “Please.”

Dean looked as though he'd soften and relent for just a moment.  Then his blue eyes went cold in the next instant.  “He's had this coming for a long time, Y/N.  And you know it.  Get outta here.”

“No, Dean!  You can't do this!  You have to forgive him!  I did!  Even Ro did!”  A sob burst out of me and I shoved at his shoulders.  “Why can't you??”

A hand snagged my wrist—tugging me backward, and startled, I whirled around to see Roman.  “Meli, come on back,” he said softly.  I glanced back at Dean and saw that he was already heading back to Seth.

“Please, tell me you aren't part of this, Roman,” I whispered.  “Please.”

“I'm not,” he said, gently wiping at the tears on my face with his thumbs.  “I'm going to take care of it, but I need to know that you are out of harm's way first.”

“Fine.  O-okay,” I quickly agreed.  Anything to get Seth some help in a hurry.  “Just please, put a stop to this.”  I turned and headed backstage, but stayed at the gorilla position keeping my eyes glued to one of the monitors.

The horror only escalated. 

Roman hurried down to the flurry of movement that was my brother's flailing fists, and gently but firmly took hold of Dean's shoulder.  In the next instant, Roman was sprawled on the floor looking quite dazed from a punch to the face.

By this time, the camera men had apparently received word to stop recording and RAW ended with Dean beating on our friends.  Not caring that I was breaking kayfabe or entering myself into what the crowd most likely believed to be an “angle”, I rushed back out to talk some sense into Dean.  As I neared the three men, I was horrified to see that Dean had grabbed up my chair to use on them.

“NO!”

My scream did no good at all as Dean had already blasted the steel chair across Seth's back and then spun around and did the same to Roman.

“DEAN, STOP IT,” I screamed, grabbing hold of the chair as he brought it back once more.

In a flash of temper, he swung the chair hard through the air to get me to release my grip on it.

And it worked.

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor.  As I'd lost my grip on the chair, I was propelled through the air and landed hard on my butt.  A sharp pain radiated up my back.

My tailbone.  

“Ya piece of garbage-” Seth bit out at the same time I heard Roman's soft, “What are you doing, Uce?”

“God, Y/N...” Dean said softly, dropping the chair, letting it clatter to the floor.  “I'm sorry.”  He reached down to help me up.  

“Don't touch me!” I slapped his hand away, and gingerly stood to my feet, swiping at fresh tears as I rose.  “Just stay away from me—from them!”

His temper returned with a vengeance and he instantly bent down picking the chair up again.

“Dean, no...”  I stepped in front of my two beaten-down friends and stood my ground; terrified.  Because I didn't know at this point what my brother would do.  “If you are going to hurt them more, you'll have to hurt me to get to them.”

The chair was drawn back and I gasped.  He's really going to do it.  I was vaguely aware that the audience was now hushed.  You could hear a pin drop.

The only thing left I could think to do was spin around, drop to my knees and drape myself over Seth and Roman the best I could, considering how huge they were compared to me.  I braced myself for excruciating pain.  I was prepared for it, and I was going to take it—for my friends.  

I heard the clatter of the chair hitting the floor again.  I dared to shift my head and look behind me.  Dean was ripping off his black, sleeveless shirt he always wore when the Shield was together and was heading for the ramp.  A sob burst out of me because I realized what that symbolic gesture meant.

Dean was through with the Shield.

And I was through with him.

Quickly, I turned back to Seth and Roman.  They were still lying on the floor and looked really out of it.  

“I'm so sorry, you guys,” I sobbed, reaching out to inspect a lump on Seth's forehead.  “I can't b-believe he-  I'm so sorry.”  

Roman was able to raise up finally and spoke softly, “It wasn't your fault, baby girl.”  

“I didn't know he was going to-  I promise, I would have warned you.”  I was brushing hair back from Seth's forehead when he jerked away from me.  Stunned, I looked at him, wide-eyed.  “Seth...?”

“Just get out of here, Y/N,” he nearly growled.  “We're fine.”

Security and referees and trainers were all around us then asking us all how we felt.  

How do you think we feel?

I felt like I'd be sick.  Seth had never spoken to me in such a way before.  Not ever.  But I managed a shaky nod.  “O-okay.  I'm just so...  I'm really s-sorry...”  I stood to my feet then and turned to leave.  They were in good hands, there was nothing I could do for them.  So, I headed toward the ramp.  A trainer followed me for a little ways to make sure I was okay.

“That was a nasty fall you took—are you sure you don't need-?”

“I'm fine,” I said, not even looking at him.  “I just want to leave.”

Once I got backstage, Dean had the gall to be there waiting for me.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, Kiddo,” he said softly.  

I glared at him for an instant before launching my fist straight into his face.  He surprisingly took the hit without any retaliation despite the blood that came gushing from his nose.  “I hope it freaking hurts,” I screamed at him.  “I hope I broke it!”

“You probably did,” he admitted softly,  trying to staunch the flow of blood.  “You're gonna side with them, over your own brother?”

“What did Roman EVER do to you, except be there for you,” I demanded, finally finding the words that wouldn't come to me earlier.  “And Seth...” I went on, ranting at this point.  “Sure he screwed you over AGES ago, but he's more than earned your forgiveness.  He offered you a chance to attack him with a chair—with no retaliation.  He knew he deserved it!  He took chair shots for you—literally shielding your body with his!  He protected you even when he knew it was bringing damage to himself!  What you've done is SO MUCH worse than anything he's ever done to you!  I hate you!”  

I knew I may regret those words later, but at that moment in time I felt they were justified.

I turned and walked further backstage only to be intercepted by Stephanie McMahon.

“Y/N, I want you to know that I'm really sorry about what happened out there,” she said.  “But... You got involved in a situation that you had no business getting into.  You assaulted your brother back here, for God's sake.  I'm sorry but I have to suspend you.  Sixty days.  You can return for the Christmas Eve show.  Use the time to clear your head, okay?”

Numb at this point, I just nodded.  Then I went to my dressing room and began packing up my things.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

The two months passed by slowly.  Which was okay.  Because I felt completely lost.  I'd lost my brother.  I'd lost two of my best friends—one of which I was so far head over heels for it was pathetic.  Especially since he now hated me.

I couldn't get the sight of Seth jerking away from my touch out of my head.  He'd looked so appalled by me.

And Roman had said it wasn't my fault, but...  He still had this look on his face—like he didn't trust me anymore.

It hurt.

Of course, many of the superstars had texted me and even tried calling me.  But I couldn't answer them.  Because I hated myself for what happened.  Dean was my brother.  I should have known what was coming.  He'd been acting weird up to the point he cracked.  Why didn't I see it?  I could have done something.  

Now, because of my negligence, nothing mattered anymore.

I couldn't even watch RAW, because every time I did, Dean was taking cheap shots on Seth and Roman and giving them a beat down.  He'd taken everything from me.  My friends, my job, my enjoyment of wrestling in general, even himself—my brother.

Christmas Eve was coming up in a couple of days and I'd be returning to work.  Normally, I would've been excited.  But instead, I had this thick ball of tension in my stomach and I didn't foresee it going anywhere for a long time.  

My phone dinged with a text.  Rolling my eyes, because I just knew it was Bayley—again—pestering me to attend a Christmas party after RAW on Christmas Eve.

Since everyone was having to work that night, they had all chipped in and rented a venue and were flying their families to Sacramento so they could have one big Christmas bash together.  And several of the women's division had contacted me many times to invite me to said party.  I just couldn't.  I couldn't answer them.  I knew I must look incredibly rude, but I couldn't help it.  Dean truly had ruined everything.  I often wondered if I'd ever be able to forgive him.

I looked down at my phone and saw it was indeed a text from Bayley.

You are totally coming to the party, Y/N. I'm not taking no for an answer.  Me, Sasha and Finn will kidnap you if we have to. ;-)

Sighing in defeat, I tossed my phone beside me on the bed.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Two nights later, I was in Sacramento headed into the Golden 1 Center, hoping to avoid everyone as much as possible.  I just wanted to get my job done for the night and prepare for the next show.

And with that thought, I grew angry.  

I used to freaking LOVE my job.  I never wanted a show to end, and now here I was wishing I didn't even have to be there.  

I left my dressing room and walked down the hall toward makeup and hair when Dean caught up with me and attempted a talk.

“It's... It's good to have ya back, Kid-”

“Shut-up, Dean,” I said.  I didn't have any malice in my tone.  Nothing was in my tone, except maybe for exhaustion.

“You're still angry with me.”

It wasn't a question, but simply a statement.  He sounded tired too, but I didn't care.

“Angry,” I scoffed at him and stopped walking so I could look up at him.  “You don't get it, Dean.  I am so much more than angry.  You have no clue what you did to me that night.  I was shattered.  And now I'm tired.  I'm sad.  I'm scared.  I'm lonely.  And because of you, and the fact you're my brother, I'm sure that nobody can—or will—trust me now.  And I don't even remotely blame them.  I meant what I said that night, Dean.  I hate you.  You didn't just lose two best friends, and your sister.  You made me lose two best friends and my brother.”  The words tumbled out of me.  I couldn't stop them if I tried.

“I don't even enjoy coming into work now.  I have a rock in my stomach and I felt like throwing up at just the thought of walking into this arena because I can only imagine what everyone thinks of me.  I miss them—I miss my friends.  I can't even watch any of them wrestle on RAW anymore because I have to see you beating on Seth and Roman every chance you get.   You've ruined my entire life for me.  All because you are an overgrown, spoiled brat.”

With that, I turned away from him and continued on my way to hair and makeup, giving him no chance to speak.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

A few hours later, I was watching Seth beat on Baron.  Okay, so I was actually ogling Seth while he beat on Baron.  

He was beautiful to watch, what can I say?

I missed him.  So much.

I missed everyone.

Suddenly, Seth kicked Baron in the face, then quickly followed up with a  curb stomp.

And I was catapulted back to that night.  Seth was curb stomping Dolph.  He and Dean were holding the Tag Titles and hugging.  Dean kicking him then nailing him with Dirty Deeds.  Roman going to help Seth and getting beaten down also.

“Hey!  Y/N!  Seth won.  You gonna announce it before 2019 arrives?”

Graves barked at me through my ear piece.  

“Geez, give her a break, Graves!”  Renee spoke up.  “She's been through a lot.”

Grateful for my sister-in-law speaking up for me, and missing her like crazy, I stood to my feet lifting the mic to my lips.  “And your winner... Seth Rrrrrrrollins!”

As RAW went off the air, Seth hopped out of the ring and turned in my direction—staring at me.  His dark eyes flashed, and a look of determination crossed his handsome face.  Then he headed straight for me.  

And I panicked.

I can't face him.  Not yet.  He'll want to talk about what happened.  Maybe even go off on me about it.

Avoiding his eyes, I stepped around him to make a getaway.  But his hand shot out; his fingers wrapping around my arm and gently tugging me back toward him.

“S-Seth...” I stammered pathetically.  I could barely glance up at his face.  “I-I have to go.  Backstage.”  I pointed to my ear piece.  “They're asking for me.”

It was a lame lie.  The show was over.  There was no reason for me to be called backstage.  And Seth knew it was a lie.   I could see the way his face flashed with frustration, then hurt.  He quickly covered it though and gave me a nod.

Not giving him the chance to change his mind and try to keep me there, I darted off and ran all the way past the gorilla position, and I didn't stop running—not even when I heard my name being called by various different voices—until I reached my dressing room and flung the door shut.

Panting for air, I slumped against the wall trying to get myself pulled together.  I still had the party to go to.  I shook my head in exasperation.  Partying was the very last thing I wanted or felt like doing.  But I knew that Bayley would not have it any other way.  

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room and froze.  My skin had paled, I was visibly having difficulty breathing, my eyes were dull and I just looked overall drained. 

I have to quit, I realized.  I can't do this anymore.  All the stress and worry—it's taking the life out of me.  I can't enjoy work anymore.

There was a knock at my door then.  Wishing I could just pretend I wasn't here, but realizing that too many people saw me actually enter the room, I had no choice.  I reached out and opened the door cautiously, not really knowing who, or what, to expect.

“Kiddo, look... I need to talk, and you need to listen to me.”  

Dean barged his way in without even taking the time to take in my condition.  I rolled my eyes.  Figures.  

“Maybe I was-”  And that's when he finally looked at me.  Saw the true extent of what he'd done to me.  He looked as though the air just whooshed out of him.  “Geez, Y/N...  Are you okay?  Are you sick?  Should I get you a doc-”

I busted out laughing.  “Do I freaking look okay, Dean?  No, I don't need a doctor.  I'm fine.  That's what you want to hear, right?  That I'm fine with you turning your back on Seth and Roman—beating them to a pulp?  I'm fine with you not giving a rip how all of this would affect me?  I'm fine with losing my friends—my brother?  I'm fine having to give up my job and start from scratch somewhere else? I'm fine-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean cut me off and held up his hands in what I'm sure he meant to be a calming gesture.  It simply made me want to slug him in the face again.  “What are you talking about—giving up your job?  Why?  You love your job.”

“I used to,” I replied with a sigh.  “But now...  I feel like... People are being nice to me simply because they feel like they have to.  I feel like they are secretly afraid of me—because I'm your-”  Realizing I was actually confiding in him, I grew angry with myself.  I shook my head to clear it.  “Just forget it, Dean.  It doesn't matter anyway.  I'm sure I can get a job at TNA, or ROH.  Maybe I could even go to Japan—work at NJPW.”

“Kiddo...  I can't let you-”

“It isn't up to you, Dean.  It isn't your decision.  You may be older than me, but I am a grown woman now.”  I sighed again, growing more tired by the minute.  “Please, just leave.”

Bayley chose that moment to pop her head in the door.  “Ready to party?”  Her eyes shifted over to Dean then and her bubbly exterior faltered a bit.  

“Yes,” I said immediately.  “I'm assuming there'll be alcohol?”  I may not be in the mindset to party, but at least I can drown my sorrows.

Both Bayley's and Dean's heads whipped back in my direction.  I could only imagine their shock because I very, very rarely ever drank.

“Y-Yeah,” Bayley nodded.  “Of course!”

“Great! Let me change into my dress and we can go,” I exclaimed with a cheerfulness I was far from feeling.  I turned my attention to my brother then, “You can leave now, Dean.”

Stunned and speechless, Dean turned around and left, closing the door behind him.  

I shifted my attention back to Bayley.  “The dress I brought has a zipper in the back.  Can you zip me up?”

She nodded again, “Sure thing!”

}i{}i{}i{}i{

Dean paced several steps one way, then whirled around and paced in the other direction.  He'd been doing this for several minutes, apprehension on his face.  He stopped suddenly, and looked up at the door he'd been pacing in front of. 

SETH ROLLINS

A sigh huffed from his chest, and he rolled his head around on his shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension that was building up in his neck.

“Baby, just...do it,” he heard Renee say from behind him.  “Knock.  Talk to him.”

He turned and looked at her.  “I'm not apologizing.”

“Fine,” she relented, stroking up his arm to his shoulder in a soothing gesture.  “But make peace.  You need it.  So does Seth and Roman.  So does Y/N.”

“That's why I'm here,” Dean replied, looking back at the door.  “For Y/N.”  He slumped against the wall and rubbed at his eyes.  “I think I...”  He shook his head.  “I think I ruined her life.  She's not the same.  At all.  She's talking about leaving the WWE—maybe working in Japan.”

“Dean, this has gone too far.”  Renee's voice took on a scolding tone.  “Way too far.  You have to fix it because you are the one who put everyone in this position.  I was against this from the start.  I love Roman and Seth.  They are my brothers the same as they are to Y/N.  Although, I'm pretty sure she doesn't look at Seth in a brotherly way...”  Her face stained a slight shade of pink at realizing she let too much information out.

“What's that supposed to mean,” Dean demanded, his blue eyes flashing.

“Oh, Dean, if you haven't realized by now how crazy she is about Seth, you're completely blind.”

His head fell back against the wall as his eyes clenched shut.  “So that's why she's taken this so hard.” He bit out a curse.

“Partly, yes.  But you alienated her, Dean.  I can only imagine how she feels, but if I were in her shoes, I'd feel like a traitor to them just by being related to you.”

“Ouch.”

“I'm not trying to be mean or hurt you, babe,” Renee said, taking hold of his arm again.  “I just want you to see this situation through her eyes.  She probably thinks they hate her.  She may even feel like we all hate her.”

“She does.  She said something like that earlier.  She thinks no one will trust her anymore because of me.”

Renee reached up and turned Dean's face to hers, making him look at her.  “I love you, so much.  And that will never change.  But I am very disappointed in your actions.  You were thinking of no one but yourself.” 

Dean nodded.  “I know.”

“So, get to fixing it.”

With no warning, Renee reached over and knocked on Seth's dressing room door and then hurried away, leaving her husband to repair the damage he'd caused.

Accepting his punishment, Dean turned back to the door just as it opened.  Seth stood in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest and his eyes dark and emotionless.  “What do you want?”

“I'm not here to apologize,” Dean started.

“Good.  Because I wouldn't care if you were.”

“I'm here because of Y/N.”

“What do you mean,” Seth instantly uncrossed his arms and stood up straighter; tension appearing in his muscled frame.  Roman appeared beside him, concern etching his features.  “What's wrong with her?”  Seth continued his barrage of questions.  “Is she okay?  She wasn't acting like herself after my match.”

“She's not okay,” Dean replied.  “What I did...  It hurt her more than I realized it would.  I thought she'd get past it, but she's-”

“Ambrose, I swear if you are using her to mess with my head...  You'll be opening a can of worms you'll wish you'd left alone.  You've hurt her enough.”

“I know,” Dean shot back.  “I can see that now.”  He swallowed hard and wouldn't meet Seth's or Roman's eyes.  “I just...”

“What do you need us to do,” Roman asked, sensing that Dean was wanting to ask for their help.  

“I don't know if she'll ever forgive me,” Dean said softly.  “She's been talking about leaving WWE and working somewhere else—Japan.”  He saw Seth tense up even more and continued.  “I'm going to see about getting moved to SmackDown.  So...”  He finally made eye contact with Seth, then Roman and then his gaze shifted back to Seth.  “I need you guys to look out for her.”

“Of course,” Roman replied with no hesitation.  

“I'd never turn my back on her,” Seth said heatedly, obviously angry that Dean would even think he would.  “And there's no way she's leaving for Japan.  She's not getting away from us that easily.”

Dean nodded, a certain amount of relief showing on his face.  “She's going to the Christmas party tonight.  I...  I think she's planning on getting drunk.”

“What?”  Roman couldn't have hid his surprise if his life depended on it.

Seth however was already grabbing up his bag and rental keys and shoving past Dean into the hallway.  “Let's get going, Rome.”

}i{}i{}i{}i{

The roster had decided to rent the banquet hall at our hotel so we could all get back to our rooms without worrying about designated drivers and ubers.

I'd ridden over with Finn, Bayley, and Sasha and was eager to get inside, get some drinking done and then hurry back up to my room to sleep it off.  I cared nothing about the party, I just wanted to get drunk and forget everything if only for a night.

We stepped into the huge party hall and I cringed at the fairly loud Christmas music.  This was going to be anything but relaxing.  Still, the decorations were pretty.  White Christmas lights were strung up through the huge room.  A huge tree in one corner was bombarded with red and green and gold and silver ornaments.  A bar was set up with a bartender, and wasting no time, I headed straight to it while everyone else began socializing and hitting the dance floor.

“A shot of tequila, please,” I requested, as the bartender slid a cocktail napkin over to me.  A few seconds later the drink was placed in front of me and I eagerly took it down in one gulp.

Oh, my God...  

The liquid burned my throat and scorched my empty stomach.  “Again, please,” I choked out.  

“Wow, she actually had the nerve to show up here.”

The snarky comment rang in my ears as I turned around to see who'd said it.  

Ruby, I thought, grimacing inwardly.  And where there's Ruby...

“We oughtta toss her out of here,” Liv snickered.

There's Liv and Sarah.

They weren't even trying to hide the fact that they were talking about me and looking right at me while they did it.

I turned back around and took down my next shot of tequila then ordered a third and downed it just as quickly, wishing it would hurry up and kick into my system.  

But when it finally did, I was regretting it.  Badly.  Everything became exacerbated.  The music.  The talking.  The giggling.  

Suddenly, it seemed as if everyone was talking about me.  Whether that was true or not, I didn't know for sure—the alcohol was messing with my head royally.  

All around me, swirling through the air I kept hearing gossipy whispers.

"She's here..."

"...She showed up?..."

"Everyone watch your backs..."

I looked around frantically, trying to find the source of the whispers and gossip and mean-spirited words.  But I couldn't figure out who was uttering them.  Or if anyone was even saying them at all.  Maybe the alcohol was affecting me—causing me to imagine things.  But imagined or not, it was upsetting me to no end.  

My breathing quickened at the feeling of being stared at and talked about.  Especially in a negative light.  And of course, having not eaten all day, the alcohol was sitting like lead in my stomach and making me feel a bit dizzy.  I think I was only buzzing, but I quickly decided that getting drunk was not a good option if this was any indication of how I was going to feel.  

I stumbled through the crowd of people—my friends and co-workers and their families—to the banquet hall's entryway.  My legs trembled as I walked.  I needed to get to my room.  Completely in a fog, I don't remember how I got down the hallway, let alone making it to the bank of elevators.  I had just pushed the call button to head up to my floor when I heard:

"Y/N!"

Oh, no, I thought, turning around slowly.  

Seth.  He was headed straight for me.  

My heart skipped a beat and then escalated in its rhythm.  

I can't breathe...

My hand came up to my chest, and panting for air, I stepped backward to lean against the wall.

Which was a mistake.

I promptly lost my balance and, with a lot of help from my heels and the dizziness clouding my head, went sailing for the floor.  Thankfully, strong arms closed around me before I could connect with the cold tiling.

"Geez, Y/N," Seth growled softly in my ear.  He didn't sound angry though—more worried than anything else.  He held me for a moment and then gently set me on my feet, keeping his arms around me for support.  The elevator doors opened and he helped me inside.  

"You're shaking," he commented, holding me tighter and closer to his tall frame.  "Are you okay?"

I shook my head as the elevator door slid shut.  "C-can't breathe..."  I latched onto the lapel of his black suit jacket, curling my fingers into it, desperately trying to stay upright.  "I-I heard people... talking about me...Ruby and Liv.  And some others I couldn't identify."

"Ruby and Liv, sure—I wouldn't doubt in the least.  But who cares what they think?  I doubt anyone else was saying anything though," he said.  "I haven't heard one bad word said about you through this whole ordeal.  You were drinking, right?  The booze is probably messing with your head, baby.  Let's get you taken care of."

"Help me to my room," I asked softly, still clutching at his jacket and fighting for air.  "I'll be fine after some sleep."

"No."  Came his reply.  "You're gonna stay with me.  I'm pretty sure you're having a panic attack—probably brought on by the alcohol.  You aren't going to be alone."  The elevator dinged and the door slid open.  Without a word, Seth stooped and lifted me up and cradled me against his chest as he exited the lift.  I was too tired and freaked out to protest. What is wrong with me, I wondered, laying my head against his sturdy shoulder.

“How much did you drink?"

"Just th-three," I stammered.  I settled my face into his neck and inhaled slightly.  The light clean smell of his cologne, for whatever reason, calmed me a little.  My breathing became more regular.

"Three what?"

"Shots..."

I heard a low, frustrated sigh whoosh within his chest.  "Three shots of what, sweetie?"

"T'quila."

I was feeling a little more fuzzy as each minute passed, but I could have sworn I heard him whisper another curse.  Then his tone went to scolding me lightly.  "So, you're telling me you took down three shots of tequila in the last fifteen or so minutes?"

I swallowed hard, fighting down some nausea.  "No.  Less than fifteen minutes.  Drank them one after the other."

There was a long pause, and then:  "I doubt it because of the way you look, but please tell me you at least had some food on your stomach."

I shook my head and instantly regretted it.  "I didn't eat today."

“Geez, woman.”  He was angry now.  "You're not gonna make this a habit, are you, baby?"

"No," I whispered.  "I just..."

"What?"  He prompted, as we reached his room.  "Can you hang on to my neck while I unlock the door?"

Stiffly, I shifted my arms to band around his neck.  A second later his door opened and he replaced his arm around my back as he carried me inside.

"I needed to forget,” I replied in answer to his previous question.  A pesky tear that had been burning my eye spilled over and ran down my cheek.  “Everything.  Just for one night.  But I only feel worse.”  

Seth strode across the room to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, settling me in his lap.  The comforting feeling of his arms around me made my heart hurt.  A sob exploded from me and I immediately despised myself for it.  "Please, don't hate me, Seth.  I didn't know what Dean was going to do, I promise."

Seth pulled back a little ways to look at my face.  "Whoa, sweetheart.  I don't hate you.  At all."  He brushed the tear off my cheek with the pad of his thumb and held me tighter.  

"But...  You..."  I swallowed hard and dared to meet his gaze.  I attempted to speak again but Seth gently placed his finger across my lips.

"Lets not do this tonight, baby.  We do obviously have a lot to talk about, but you are in major need of some sleep."  He brushed his hand over my hair.  "Lets get ready for bed, and we can talk in the morning over some breakfast, okay?"  He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, something he'd never done before.  "In the meantime, just know this, Y/N... I could never hate you."

He stood then and sat me on the edge of the bed.  "Let me find you a shirt to sleep in."  He gestured to your dress then.  "Would you like for me-  Uh... Do you need me to unzip your dress—so you can change?"

If I didn't know any better, Seth looked as if he were blushing slightly.  I nodded, my own face burning as well.  

"You look beautiful, by the way," Seth said softly as he turned me around by my shoulders.  I felt a little bit of pressure next as he tugged the zipper down on the flirty, emerald green dress.  Then I felt the warmth of his fingers brushing over the bared skin of my back—down, and then slowly back up to my shoulder blades.  "So soft."  His whispered words sent goosebumps prickling at my skin.  

My breathing hitched, and while I was enjoying his touch, I didn't know how to handle it at that moment.  I stepped out of his reach.  "Th-thank you.  For helping me."

"Of course, sweetheart."  He reached into one of his bags and handed me one of his t-shirts.  "This okay for you to sleep in?"

I nodded, afraid to speak.

"Remember.  We're going to talk in the morning.  I'll answer any of your questions, but you're gonna answer mine too.  Like why you ignored all my calls and texts, and why you ran from me after my match tonight."

I nodded again, and started for the bathroom to change.

"There's soap at the sink if you want to wash your makeup off, and there's also an extra toothbrush.  I'll text Roman and let him know you're okay while you get ready for bed."

"Thank you, Seth.  Really."  I managed a small smile and then I disappeared into the bathroom.

}i{}i{}i{}i{

I awoke abruptly.  I didn't remember exactly what I was dreaming, except I recalled that it had to do with Dean, Seth and Roman.  When I opened my eyes, tears were streaming down my face, and Seth was holding me tightly against his chest.

"Shh-shh..."  He shushed me softly, running one of his hands up and down my back in a soothing gesture.  "It's okay, baby.  I've got ya.  Nothing's gonna hurt you, I promise."

"I'm so sorry for what he did."  I sobbed the words and draped one of my arms over his waist in the best hug I could accomplish given that we were laying on our sides.  "I know you said you and Ro don't hate me, but I'm still so, so sorry.  For everything.  I stayed away from you and everyone else because I was so ashamed.  It wasn't because I wanted to, believe me."

He shushed me again, kissed the top of my head, and mumbled something about being right back.  He left the bed and a few seconds later I heard the lavatory faucet turn on in the bathroom.  Then he was laying beside me again and ever so gently dabbing at my cheeks and eyes with a wet washcloth.

"Let's go ahead and have that talk, okay?” 

At my nod, he continued.  “First of all, you have nothing to apologize for.  Dean did this all on his own.  I know you had nothing to do with it."  He puffed out a sigh.  "I may be able to forgive Dean one day—for what he did to me and Roman.  But I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for what he did to you."

"But...  I'm confused."

"About?"

"You jerked away from me that night—yanked your arm away from me.  You looked disgusted by me.  And Ro... He looked like he'd never trust me again."

Seth sighed again, discarding the washcloth to the night table, and then pulled me against his chest again.  "I was disgusted.  But not by you.  I was disgusted because Dean put you in such a horrible position.  I jerked my arm away from you because I was angry that you were seeing me in such a weak condition.  And I was angry that Dean tossed you around like a rag doll—even though I know he didn't mean to.  I was also upset that you used your body to shield ours.  But, trust me, honey, Roman and I have no problem trusting you.”  Seth brushed a few strands of hair off my forehead, and stared into my eyes.

Dawn was nearing because there was just the tiniest hint of daylight in the room.  Enough that I could see his chocolate-colored eyes holding mine captive in his gaze.  

"I've missed you so much," he whispered, brushing the back of his hand down my cheek.

"I missed you too."  My voice wavered slightly.  I didn't think I could trust myself to say anything more.  

But I did.

In fact, at the exact same moment, Seth and I spoke the exact same words:

"I love you."

I gasped.

Seth's face lit up and he rolled me beneath him, keeping some of his weight off me by bracing himself with his arms on either side of me.  His voice went gravelly, and beyond sexy, when he spoke next.

"Gonna have to kiss you now, sweetheart."

Then his mouth was on mine.  

And I was home.

A calm, euphoric haze filled my senses as Seth kissed me.  His tongue slid past my lips and a growl rumbled in his throat as he tasted my mouth.  I let my hands coast up his forearms, relishing in the cords of muscles bunched within them, and continued up to his broad shoulders where I let my fingers settle.  I moaned softly as his tongue brushed over mine and I shifted one of my hands to the back of his head, curling my fingers into the soft waves of his hair.  

He broke the kiss, and smiled down at me.  "I love you," he whispered the words again.

I returned the smile, feeling whole for the first time in a very long time.  "I love you, too."

Daylight began fully making itself known throughout the room, and Seth grinned.  "Hey, it's morning.  Merry Christmas, honey."

"Merry Christmas, Seth."

He kissed me once more, and my heart surged with happiness, and a new-found hope. 

Hope that we could all move past the tragedy that Dean forced on us—forgive Dean.  Hope that maybe, just maybe, one day we would all be family once again.  

Until then, I was going to live my life—be happy with Seth, and stop punishing myself for the sins of my brother.

I gazed up at the smiling, gorgeous man above me.

But mostly be happy with Seth, I thought, a smile breaking out across my face.

The End

Translations (According to Google):“Meli” (Samoan) - “Honey”

my brother.

I gazed up at the smiling, gorgeous man above me.

But mostly be happy with Seth, I thought, a smile breaking out across my face.

The End

Translations (According to Google):

“Meli” (Samoan) - “Honey”