#will you be overtaken by this new/old/dead person?

[gravitywonagain]

modern au where wei wuxian dies and one or several of his major organs are donated to mo xuanyu. mo xuanyu then starts to remember things he never experienced, people he never met, a child he never watched over, a man he never loved

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: torture, beating, SA (attempted), gore, captivity, depression, hopelessness, serious angst

word count: 8.7k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @salvatoresister1 @imperfect0angel @stvrdustalexx

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media.

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

Chapter 18

Azriel POV

The news came in the dead of night, a whisper carried by one of Rhysand's remaining spies.

It was faint—a lead so weak and unlikely that Azriel's heart clenched as he listened.

"Hybern's remnants," the spy reported, their voice breathless and shaking. "A cluster of them in the far corner of Spring Court. They've gone unchecked... it's been left to ruin."

The words barely registered after that. Spring Court. A lawless pocket where Tamlin had let the land grow wild, forgotten, as he wallowed in his grief over Feyre.

Azriel's hands shook as he stood in Rhysand's office, the bond in his chest flickering, faint but alive.

"Azriel," Rhysand said quietly, his voice tight but steady. "Cassian will go with you. If she's there-"

"If she's there, I'll bring her home," Azriel cut in, his voice hoarse, unyielding.

Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel's shoulder as they left, his expression uncharacteristically grim. "We'll get her back, brother. One way or another."

******

Azriel POV

The landscape of Spring Court was overgrown and desolate as they flew low over the rolling hills and tangled forests. The wild magic that had been allowed to seep through Tamlin's neglected borders was suffocating, choking the land in weeds and thorns.

Azriel's shadows shot ahead, slithering into the ruins of what looked like an abandoned estate -the-once-beautiful manor half-collapsed, overtaken by vines and decay. From above, it looked like nothing. Just another ruin. But then his shadows whispered.

Voices. Movement below.

Azriel's wings flared as he descended, his breath coming quicker as the shadows painted a picture in his mind—a stone cellar buried beneath the remnants of the house, faint light flickering from cracks in the ground. His shadows hissed urgently.

It was her.

His mate.

His love.

His heart stopped. The bond trembled faintly in his chest, as if answering the call.

She's here.

"Cassian," Azriel said, his voice sharp as he landed silently near the entrance. "There's a cellar beneath this ruin. She's there. I can feel her."

Cassian nodded, drawing his blade as they approached. "Lead the way."

******

Ariel POV

Azriel didn't waste a second. His shadows darted forward, locating a hidden door half-buried under dirt and weeds. With one sharp tug, Azriel ripped the rotted wood free, revealing a narrow set of stone steps descending into darkness. The air that wafted up was heavy with dampness and rot-and something else.

Fear.

Azriel's chest burned as he moved first, his steps silent as a shadow. Cassian followed close behind, a looming figure of fury.

The dungeon was a labyrinth of shadows and despair, the air thick with the stench of damp stone and old blood. Azriel moved through the darkness like a predator, his steps silent, his shadows curling and writhing around him, eager for the kill. He had fought in countless battles, infiltrated fortresses, and eliminated targets with precision that earned him his deadly reputation, but this—this was different.

This was personal.

Each heartbeat thundered in his ears, a pounding rhythm of rage and desperation as he followed the faint tether of the bond between him and Y/n. It was faint but steady, guiding him deeper into the bowels of the dungeon. The bond, that invisible thread that tied them together, throbbed with her pain and fear, each pulse like a dagger in his chest.

When he heard the first muffled scream echo through the stone walls, his rage sharpened into something cold and lethal. His shadows surged ahead, spilling into the corridors like smoke, scouting and searching for her. The first guard didn’t even see him coming.

Azriel’s blade was swift and silent, cutting through the male’s throat before he could so much as draw breath to shout. The blood sprayed against the damp stone, and Azriel stepped over the body without a second glance. Another guard rounded the corner, his eyes widening in alarm at the sight of the Shadowsinger and the General emerging from the gloom.

Cassian didn’t give him a chance to react. His blade struck home, embedding itself in the male’s chest. The guard crumpled with a choked gasp, his lifeless body hitting the ground with a dull thud. Cassian retrieved the blade as Azriel pressed on, his shadows flickering around him like an extension of his fury, every step bringing him closer to her.

The next room was guarded by three soldiers. They were laughing, their voices echoing in the oppressive silence of the dungeon. Azriel and Cassian didn’t bother with stealth this time. They wanted them to see them. They wanted them to feel the terror of what was coming for them.

The first male barely had time to register the shadow-cloaked figure before Azriel’s blade severed his windpipe.

The second lunged at Cassian, but he sidestepped with ease, his wings flaring slightly as he drove his dagger into the soldier’s side.

The third tried to flee, but Azriel’s shadows coiled around his legs, dragging him to the ground.

He let the shadows crush the male’s windpipe, his rage flaring at the thought of how these men had likely harmed her.

He didn’t stop to clean his blades.

He didn’t stop to think. The bond pulled him forward, and he followed it, his focus narrowing to a single point.

His mate.

The hallway was narrow and dim, lit by weak torches flickering against the stone. Voices echoed from the far end-low, guttural voices that made Azriel's blood turn to ice.

"You'll behave this time, won't you?" one of the voices sneered, followed by the unmistakable sound of shuffling movement.

Azriel stopped breathing.

"No." A whimper. A voice he'd know anywhere.

Y/n.

Something broke inside him.

He moved faster, his shadows lashing out, extinguishing the torches as he became one with the darkness.

Cassian's heavy boots followed, but Azriel barely heard them. The bond in his chest burned brighter now, pulsing in time with his fury.

At the end of the hall, he reached the heavy iron door at the end of the corridor, the scent of her blood hitting him like a physical blow. His shadows pushed against the crack in the door, revealing flickers of the scene within.

And there she was.

But what he saw made his blood turn to ice.

Inside the dim, torch-lit cell, she was slumped against the far wall, her battered wings spread limply behind her. Her black hair a tangled curtain around her face. Her wrists were bound, her once-tanned skin now pale. Her tunic was torn, her body streaked with blood and bruises, her face gaunt and hollow.

And standing over her, a Hybern soldier sneered, his hands fumbling at the waistband of his armor, trying to drop his pants as he pinned her with his weight. She struggled weakly, her eyes wide with terror as she turned her head away from him.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," the soldier spat, tugging harder. "But I'll break you yet."

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible, broken. "No..."

Azriel saw red.

The door crashed open as he stormed inside, his shadows exploding into the room like a violent storm. The soldier turned, startled, his sneer falling away Azriel's cold, deadly fury filled the space.

Azriel was on him, slamming him into the far wall with such force that the stone cracked. His blade was in his hand, pressing against the male's throat, his hazel eyes burning with a wrath that could've torn apart the world.

"Did you touch her?" Azriel snarled, his voice barely human. 

"Did you touch her?"

The soldier choked, his face turning purple as Azriel's grip tightened. "Please-no-"

Azriel didn't hesitate, his blade flashing as it buried itself in the male's neck.

Blood sprayed, hot and crimson, splattering Azriel's hands and face as he yanked the blade free. The soldier gurgled, his hands clawing at his throat as he staggered backward. Azriel didn't stop. He drove the dagger into the male's chest, twisting it with a snarl before ripping it free. The soldier crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Azriel stood over the body for a heartbeat, his chest heaving, his shadows still lashing out in fury.

Cassian burst in behind him, taking out another soldier who had been guarding the entrance, but Azriel didn't care.

Didn't see.

His gaze snapped to her.

She hadn't moved from where she was slumped against the wall, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her torn tunic barely covered her arms, exposing the jagged scars they have carved into her. Her once-vibrant blue eyes were dull, unfocused, as if the fight had been drained from her.

Her eyes glazed as she stared up at him.

"Angel," he whispered, his voice breaking.

She blinked slowly, as if unsure whether he was real. "Azriel?" she rasped, her voice hoarse and weak.

He crossed the room in three strides, falling to his knees before her. His hands shook as he reached for her face. "It's me," he breathed. "It's me, Angel."

The nickname slipped out, unbidden but true, as he knelt beside her, his hands trembling as he cupped her face. Her skin was cold, too cold, and her body was far too light as he lifted her into his arms.

Her blue eyes searched his face, and something broke in them-something shattered and raw.

"You came," she whispered, tears spilling down her bruised cheeks.

Azriel's throat tightened painfully, his chest aching as he pressed his forehead against hers. "I told you I would come for you," he choked out, his voice rough. "I'm so sorry, Angel. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."

Her head lolled against his chest, her breathing shallow but steady as he carried her out of the cell.

Cassian appeared at his side, his face grim as he looked her over. "We need to get her out of here, Az."

Azriel nodded, his wings flaring as he adjusted her carefully in his arms. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice breaking as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re safe now. I’m taking you home.”

As he carried her from the darkness of that hell, his shadows whispering around them like a shield, Azriel swore that no one would ever lay a hand on her again.

He didn’t stop to think about the bodies he left in his wake, didn’t stop to consider the path of carnage he had carved through the dungeon.

All that mattered was her.

As they emerged into the night air, her wings stirred faintly, and she let out a soft, broken sob. “You came for me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t.”

Azriel’s throat tightened, his wings flaring as he launched them into the sky. “I will always come for you,” he said fiercely, his voice shaking with emotion. “No matter what. You’re mine, Angel. My mate. And I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

Her fingers curled weakly against his chest, and she closed her eyes, the tension in her body easing slightly as she succumbed to exhaustion. Azriel held her tighter, his shadows swirling protectively around them as they flew. He didn’t let himself feel relief—not yet. Not until she was safe, until she was healed.

And as the wind whipped past them, he made a silent vow: he would hunt down every last one of Hybern’s men who had dared to touch her, and he would make them pay for every drop of blood they had spilled.

She was his mate.

She was his everything. 

And he would destroy anyone who dared to take her from him again.

******

Azriel POV

The skies above Velaris were a deep, twilight blue, the stars beginning to peek through the fading sunlight as Azriel descended toward the River House. His wings burned from the long flight, his body aching from the battle in Hybern’s dungeon, but none of that mattered. Not with his mate in his arms, her frail, trembling form cradled against his chest.

Her breathing was shallow, her head resting limply on his shoulder as the city lights of Velaris came into view. Azriel’s shadows swirled around them, curling protectively, as though they, too, understood how fragile she was, how precious she was.

The River House doors burst open before he even touched the ground. Rhysand stood on the threshold, his expression uncharacteristically unguarded, panic and desperation etched into his sharp features. Feyre was beside him, her hand clutching her mate’s arm, her own face pale and drawn with worry.

Azriel and Cassian landed heavily, their boots crunching on the gravel path as their wings folded behind him. Y/n stirred faintly in Azriel’s arms, her blue eyes fluttering open for the briefest moment before closing again, her exhaustion overwhelming her.

“Y/n,” Rhysand breathed, his voice breaking as he stepped forward. His violet eyes scanned her battered form, the cuts, bruises, and torn clothing stark against her pale, blood-streaked skin.

The High Lord of Night, always composed, looked ready to shatter.

“She’s alive,” Azriel said hoarsely, his hazel eyes locking onto Rhysand’s. “But she’s barely holding on. She needs healers—immediately.”

Rhysand nodded sharply, turning to Feyre. “Send for Madja. Now,” he ordered, his voice steady but strained. Feyre didn’t hesitate, winnowing away in a flash of night.

Rhysand stepped closer, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out, brushing Y/n’s dark hair from her face. “My fierce little sister,” he murmured, his voice filled with an aching tenderness.

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of her brother’s voice, unfocused at first but slowly sharpening as recognition set in. “Rhys…” she whispered, her voice so soft and weak it was barely audible.

Rhysand knelt beside her, his hand cupping her cheek gently. “I’m here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re safe now. Azriel brought you home.”

Tears filled her blue eyes, a single drop slipping down her bruised cheek as her lips trembled. “I thought…” Her voice broke, and she turned her head slightly, pressing her face against Azriel’s chest as a quiet sob escaped her.

Azriel’s grip on her tightened, his shadows swirling protectively as he murmured, “You’re safe, Angel. You’re home.”

Rhysand’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flicking to Azriel. “Take her inside,” he said quietly, though his tone left no room for argument. “We’ll get her the help she needs.”

Azriel nodded, carrying Y/n through the open doors. The warmth of the River House enveloped them, the soft light and familiar scents offering a stark contrast to the cold, damp darkness of the dungeon they had escaped.

Feyre reappeared moments later, her face pale but determined. “Madja is on her way,” she said quickly, her eyes darting to Y/n’s frail form. “She’ll be here soon.”

Azriel followed Rhysand’s lead into a sitting room where a couch had been prepared with blankets and pillows. He lowered her onto the cushions with infinite care, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the blankets around her. Her eyes fluttered open again, her gaze locking onto his.

“Stay,” she cried, her voice panicked, barely audible as her hand reached out weakly to grab his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Azriel said firmly, sitting beside her and taking her hand in his. His shadows curled protectively around her, refusing to leave her side.

Rhysand knelt beside the couch again, his violet eyes scanning his little sister’s face as though committing every detail to memory. “You’re safe now,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tears brimming in his eyes. “I promise, no one will ever hurt you again.”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, her tears spilled freely, and Rhysand leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re home, Y/n,” he murmured. “You’re with family.”

Moments later, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Madja entered, her calm, no-nonsense demeanor filling the room with quiet authority. She carried a bag of supplies, her sharp eyes assessing Y/n immediately.

“Let me see her,” Madja said, her tone brisk but kind as she moved to the couch.

Azriel hesitated, his hand tightening around Y/n’s, but Rhysand placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“She’s in the best hands, brother” Rhysand said quietly. “Let her work.”

Azriel reluctantly released Y/n’s hand, standing and stepped back to give Madja space. His shadows, however, remained close, their dark tendrils curling protectively around her like a barrier.

******

Azriel POV

Madja worked quickly, her hands glowing faintly with magic as she began healing Y/n’s wounds. She cleaned and dressed the cuts and bruises, her expression tightening as she examined the one scar that would not heal.

When she was finished and Y/n was asleep, she covered her with a blanket and called Rhysand and Azriel over.

“She will heal,” Madja said softly, her voice filled with sorrow as she glanced up at Azriel, “but she has a wound that will never fade. They used faebane to ensure it would scar permanently.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his wings twitching slightly as fury flickered in his hazel eyes. “Will she recover?” he asked, his voice low and raw.

“She’s strong,” Madja replied, her tone reassuring. “Her body will heal in time. But the scars on her heart and mind… those will take longer.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze dropping to her pale face as she slept. “I’ll be here,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “For as long as it takes, I’ll be here.”

As Madja continued to gather her supplies, Y/n stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open to find Azriel standing nearby.

“Azriel,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He was at her side in an instant, taking her hand in his again. “I’m here, Angel,” he said softly, his hazel eyes shining with quiet determination. “I’m not leaving.”

Rhysand stood behind him, his violet eyes filled with gratitude and sorrow as he watched the scene before him. “We’ll take care of her,” he said quietly to Feyre, his voice thick with emotion. “No matter what it takes, we’ll help her heal.”

And as she finally slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep, surrounded by warmth, safety, and the people who loved her, Azriel silently vowed to himself that he would never let anyone hurt her again.

She was home now.

******

Y/n POV

The days in Velaris passed slowly for me as I began the long and painful process of healing. The warmth of the city and the constant presence of those who cared for me were a stark contrast to the cold, unrelenting darkness of the dungeon I had left behind. But the scars of my captivity—both physical and emotional—were not so easily erased.

In the weeks of healing that followed, my physical injuries knit themselves back together under the skill of the Night Court’s best healers.

They applied ointments to burns, repaired small fractures to delicate bone. My wings, bruised and torn, regained some strength and I learned to walk again without doubling over from spasms. The external wounds improved with astonishing speed, their progress a balm to those who watched over me.

But there was no quick remedy for the way I flinched at a sudden laugh, how I jumped when someone touched me unexpectedly, or how the mere clink of metal against metal could send me spiraling into panic.

My torturers had taught me a cruel lesson about vulnerability and trust. Now, even among allies who would rather die than harm me, I never fully relaxed. I kept an eye on every exit, and I seldom allowed anyone to stand behind me, except Azriel. The sound of nighttime revelry drifting up from the city only reminded me that once, laughter had accompanied my screams.

I spent my mornings in the gardens of the River House, surrounded by the soothing hum of nature. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the soft rustle of leaves, the Sidra sparkling in the distance. Feyre often joined me, offering quiet companionship, sketching while I sat in the sun. Some days, they talked, Feyre sharing stories of her own healing journey, gently encouraging me to take each step at her own pace. Other days, silence reigned, and Feyre simply sat beside me, a quiet pillar of support.

Nothing was simple. Even sunlight, once a symbol of hope, felt too bright at times, forcing me to recall the interrogation room where a single lamp had thrown cruel shadows across my captors’ faces. When kindness was offered, part of me questioned it, waiting for the sting of betrayal.

Good food tasted off at first, because my body expected spoiled scraps.

Warm baths and fragrant soaps made me weep silently, recalling how I’d once been denied even the most basic comforts. Mor was patient with me and silently helped me wash my hair as she tried to avoid looking at the scar on my stomach.

Rhysand, ever-watchful, made it a point to check on me every day. He didn’t press me to speak but always asked how I was feeling, his violet eyes filled with unwavering patience and love. “You don’t have to be okay all at once,” he had told me one afternoon, his voice steady. “Healing isn’t linear, little sister. Take all the time you need.”

But it was Azriel who was my constant presence. He was always nearby, his shadows a quiet comfort even when he wasn’t in the room. He would sit with me on the nights I couldn’t sleep, his voice low and soothing as he told her stories of Velaris or described the stars above.

I found myself leaning on him more than I had expected, his presence becoming a source of comfort I hadn’t realized I needed. Azriel never pushed me to talk about what had happened in the dungeon, but he always listened when I chose to share. Slowly, piece by piece, I began to tell him the horrors I had endured, my voice trembling but steady as I laid her pain bare.

He never flinched, never looked at me with pity. Instead, his hazel eyes burned with quiet rage and unshakable devotion. “You survived,” he told me one evening as we sat together by the fire. “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

The physical healing was easier to measure. Madja visited me regularly, using her magic to mend the worst of the injuries. The cuts and bruises faded with time, my strength slowly returning under Madja’s careful guidance. my wings, battered and bruised, began to heal as well, though I winced each time I stretched them. Azriel often helped me with the exercises Madja prescribed, his touch gentle as he supported my movements.

“Just a little more,” he would encourage softly, his hand steady against my back. “You’re doing great.”

But it was the scar on my stomach that weighed on me the most. It was a permanent reminder of what I had endured, a scar that would never fully fade. Some days, I couldn’t bear to look at it, the shame and anger bubbling up until it felt like I might drown in it.

Humiliated. 

Mutilated. 

And something I wasn’t sure I could ever share with Azriel.

The bond between Azriel and I thrummed faintly, a quiet presence I didn’t yet fully understand but had come to rely on. He never mentioned it, never pressured me to acknowledge it, but it was there, steady and unyielding, a silent reminder that I wasn’t alone.

And when the nightmares came, as they often did, he was there in an instant.

******

Y/n POV

My room was dark and cold when the nightmare began. It crept in like smoke, curling into the edges of my subconscious, twisting my dreams into something monstrous and cruel.

The dungeon came first—the damp, suffocating walls, the stench of mold and blood. Chains rattled in the shadows, and I was there again, bound and broken, my wings torn and useless. I could feel the cold stone beneath my knees, the sharp sting of my captors’ laughter as they loomed over me, faceless but terrifying all the same.

“Not so strong now,” one hissed, their voice a distorted echo. “No one is coming for you. He left you. He chose her.”

My head snapped up, my vision blurring through tears, and there he was—Azriel. Standing in the distance, cloaked in shadows, his hazel eyes fixed on me with an expression that carved me open.

“Azriel,” I choked out, struggling against the chains, against the weight pressing me down. “Please… please.”

But he turned away. He turned and walked into the dark, his back fading until there was nothing left of him.

“No,” I sobbed, my voice hoarse and broken. “Don’t leave me!”

The walls of the dungeon began to close in, the shadows thickening, the chains biting into my skin. My wings trembled under the pressure of unseen hands, pulling at them, tearing them apart. Pain radiated through my chest as the whispers grew louder.

“Left you.”

“Forgot you.”

“Not enough.”

“Azriel!” I screamed, the word ripped from me as darkness consumed me whole.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel shot upright in bed, his breath caught in his throat as the sound reached him—distant and broken, but unmistakable.

Her voice.

“Angel,” he breathed, already shoving back the covers.

The shadows swirling around him were frantic, echoing the same panic that thrummed through his chest. He was halfway down the hall before he realized he’d moved, his bare feet pounding against the cold floor. He didn’t care who he woke—didn’t care that the rest of the House was sleeping.

He heard her again as he neared her door—a broken sob, a whispered plea. “Azriel… don’t leave me.”

He didn’t knock. He didn’t hesitate. Azriel pushed the door open and slipped inside, the sight before him freezing him in place for a heartbeat.

She was tangled in the sheets, her face pale, her body trembling violently as she murmured incomprehensibly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her wings, battered and healing, fluttered weakly against the mattress as though trying to escape the invisible torment.

The bond flared faintly in his chest, an instinct as old as time pulling him forward. “Angel,” he said softly, striding to the bed.

She gasped, her body jolting awake, but her blue eyes were unfocused, wild, searching for something that wasn’t there. “Azriel?” she whispered, her voice small, broken.

“I’m here,” he said, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. 

He reached for her without thinking, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears streaking her cheeks. “It’s me. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.”

Her hands shot up suddenly, clutching at his wrists like a lifeline. She blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “You’re here,” she said, as if still trying to convince herself.

“I’m here,” he repeated, softer this time. His wings folded close to his back as he leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “You’re safe. I promise.”

His shadows curled around her like a protective shroud, their tendrils brushing her skin as if trying to soothe her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly, his voice low and steady, though it wavered slightly with worry.

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied, “It’s always the same. The dungeon. The pain. Their voices…telling me you chose her. You left me. I wasn’t enough…” Her words faltered, and she shuddered, closing her eyes, her wings curling closer to her back. “Then you appear and I’m calling out for you, but you turn and walk away. I can’t escape it. Even here.”

The ache in her voice made something inside Azriel snap. He shifted closer, his arms wrapped tightly around her trembling form. The aftermath of her nightmare still clung to the air like a heavy fog. Her sobs had quieted, but the hitch in her breathing told him the fear hadn’t entirely left. He cradled her as though she were the most fragile thing in the world, his hand stroking gently along the curve of her back, careful of her wings.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m here, Angel. I’ve got you.”

She shifted slightly in his embrace, pressing her face further into his chest. “I thought—” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head. “I thought you were gone.”

His heart clenched at the brokenness in her tone. “I’ll never leave you,” he said fiercely, pulling her closer. “Not again. Not ever.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet punctuated only by the sound of her uneven breaths. Azriel felt the weight of her against him, the bond between them faint but ever-present, and he knew he couldn’t keep this inside any longer.

“Angel” he began softly, his voice almost hesitant, “I need to tell you something.”

She didn’t pull away, but she tensed slightly in his arms, her head lifting just enough for her tired, blue eyes to meet his. “What is it?” she whispered, her voice wary.

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. “I didn’t choose Elain,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I know it might have seemed like I did. I know I hurt you—” His voice broke, and he shook his head, his hazel eyes shining with something raw. “But I didn’t choose her.”

Her brows knit together, confusion and lingering hurt flickering across her face. “Then why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you—?”

“Because I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. “Because I thought I didn’t deserve you. Because I thought if I pushed you away, you would find someone who deserved you. Someone better than me.” He cupped her face then, his thumb brushing away the tear that slid down her cheek. “But I was wrong. So wrong.”

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his, as though trying to piece together what he was saying. “Azriel…”

“I choose you,” he said, his voice steady now, his gaze unwavering. “I’ve always chosen you, Angel. Even when I tried to fight it, even when I tried to push you away, it was always you.”

Her breath hitched, and another tear slipped down her cheek. “Why now?” she whispered. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because I can’t bear to see you like this,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I can’t bear the thought of losing you again, of you thinking I don’t care, that you don’t matter to me.” He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he whispered, “You are my everything, Y/n. You’re my mate. My choice. Always.”

Her hands lifted hesitantly, gripping his arms as he still cupped her face, as though anchoring herself to him. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said gently. 

Slowly, he moved his thumb to wipe away the tears that continued to fall, his touch featherlight yet firm, grounding. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his hazel eyes searching hers. “They can’t hurt you anymore, Angel. I won’t let them.”

She exhaled shakily, the warmth of his palms against her skin was a balm to the storm raging within her. “I know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But the nightmares… they don’t stop. And when they come, I can’t—” Her voice broke, a sob escaping her lips.

Azriel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. Her trembling body fit perfectly against his, and his wings shifted slightly to cocoon her, creating a sanctuary of warmth and protection. One hand rested on her back, his fingers splayed gently between her wings, while the other moved to cradle the back of her head, his touch tender yet firm.

“You don’t have to face them alone,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. His lips lingered there, the gesture filled with the love he no longer wanted to hide. “I’m here.”

Her sobs quieted as she melted into his embrace. “Will you stay with me? ” she asked softly, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Of course,” he replied instantly, his arms tightening around her. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“No,” she said quickly, pulling back just enough to look at him, her blue eyes glistening with tears. “Not just tonight. Every night. Please, Azriel. The nightmares… they’re worse when you’re not here.”

His heart clenched, the weight of her words crashing over him.

She needed him.

She wanted him—not as a fleeting comfort, but as a constant presence.

He shifted back and brought his hands to her face, cradling it gently.

“Angel,” he said softly, his voice trembling as he leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

Her breath hitched, and she nodded. “You’re the only one who makes them go away,” she whispered. “When you’re here, I feel… safe.”

His throat tightened as he stared at her, his hazel eyes searching hers for any trace of doubt. But all he saw was trust, raw and fragile but unwavering. He exhaled shakily, his hands sliding to her shoulders before pulling her into him again, this time with a desperation he couldn’t hide.

“Will you hold me?” she asked, her voice so small, so fragile it nearly undid him. “Please.”

Azriel didn’t answer—he just moved. He slid onto the bed beside her, drawing her trembling form gently against his chest. She  curled into him instantly, her face buried against his neck, her arm wrapping his waist. His arms wrapped around her, one hand softly brushing along her back, careful of her wings.

“I won’t leave,” he whispered into her hair, his voice low and steady. “I’m  right here.”

Her body began to relax, the trembling easing as he held her. 

Azriel pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his heart thundering in his chest as he felt the way she settled into him—like she fit perfectly there.

The bond pulsed faintly, the tether between them strengthening, solidifying in a way that made his throat tighten.

Her breathing evened out after a while, soft and steady against his chest. Azriel didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare break this fragile peace as he held her closer, his thumb brushing over the edge of her wings, gentle and reverent.

And as the stars outside the window flickered faintly in the night sky, Azriel closed his eyes, pressing another kiss to her hair as he whispered, “I’ve got you, Angel” ”

And as she drifted to sleep in his arms, safe and warm, Azriel pressed another kiss to her hair. .

******

Azriel POV

As her breathing began to slow, the tremors that had wracked her body gradually subsiding, Azriel tightened his hold on her. Her head rested against his chest, her soft hair brushing his jaw, her wings draped against the bed like a fragile shield she no longer needed to lift. His own wings curled protectively around them both, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

Her small arm was still wrapped around his waist, even in her sleep, as though afraid he might slip away if she let go. The sight of her like this—so vulnerable, yet finally at peace—sent a deep ache through his chest.

He brushed his lips against her hair, lingering there for a moment as her scent filled his senses, grounding him. He couldn’t stop his hand from moving, from gently tracing the curve of her shoulder, then the ridge of her wing where it met her back. His touch was light, reverent, as though she might shatter beneath it.

He couldn’t stop the images that flashed through his mind—her broken, terrified, calling out for him. And for a moment, the guilt was so sharp, he couldn’t breathe.

He had nearly lost her. The reality of it was crushing, a weight he felt in every beat of his heart. If he had been just a moment too late, if he hadn’t found her that night, she wouldn’t be here now, nestled in his arms, safe and alive. The thought of a world without her was a void he couldn’t comprehend. 

She was everything to him. 

His light in the darkness. 

His reason to keep fighting.

His wings curled tighter around them, his shadows flickering with renewed determination. He glanced at the scar on her arm, barely visible in the dim light, and his jaw tightened. The people who had hurt her, would never escape him. He would hunt them to the ends of the earth if he had to.

“No one will ever hurt you again,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with quiet fury. “I’ll kill anyone who tries. Anyone who even thinks of laying a hand on you.”

The possessiveness in his tone was undeniable, but it wasn’t just about vengeance. It was about her. About the bond that thrummed softly between them, unbreakable. She was his—his mate, his heart, his soul. And nothing, no one, would ever take her from him again.

His hand slid to her face, his thumb brushing gently over her cheekbone as though to reassure himself that she was real, that she was here. “You’re mine, Angel,” he said softly, his voice trembling with the depth of his emotion. “You’ve always been mine. And I’ll protect you with everything I have. Always.”

He hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back until tonight. For months, he had forced himself to keep his distance, push her away because he didn’t think he deserved her. But now, as she slept in his arms, the faint pull of the mating bond thrumming between them, he let himself feel everything.

The anger—at Hybern’s men, at himself, at the world for letting her endure so much. The guilt—sharp and unrelenting, a constant reminder that he hadn’t been there to protect her when she needed him most. But above all else, there was love.

A love so fierce, so consuming, it made his chest tighten and his throat burn. He had never felt anything like it before, this deep, unyielding need to protect her, to care for her, to be the anchor she could cling to no matter what storm she faced. She wasn’t just his mate—she was his everything. The thought of losing her, of her slipping away from him, was unbearable.

He glanced down at her, his hazel eyes softening as he took in the way her lashes rested against her cheeks, the faint parting of her lips as she exhaled slowly. Even now, after everything she had been through, there was a quiet strength in her, a resilience that humbled him.

She had asked him to stay, and he would. He  would spend every night holding her, every day reminding her of her worth, every moment proving to her that she was not alone.

As she shifted slightly in her sleep, her arm loosening its grip around his waist, but still resting against his chest, he let out a shaky breath. His shadows softened, their once restless movements now gentle and protective as they curled around her.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with the weight of it. “More than anything, more than myself. You’re my everything, Angel. Forever.”

Forever. The word settled in his chest like a promise, as unyielding as the bond that tied them together. He kissed her again, his lips lingering against her forehead as he closed his eyes, letting the steady sound of her breathing soothe the storm inside him.

She sighed softly in her sleep, her body relaxing further against him, as though even unconscious she could feel the safety of his presence. The bond between them hummed faintly, a quiet promise that tethered them together, unbreakable.

Azriel rested his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes as he let the sound of her breathing calm his racing thoughts. He didn’t know what the future held for them, but he did know one thing with absolute certainty: he would never stop loving her, never stop fighting for her. 

And as she slept peacefully in his arms, he made a silent vow to himself—and to her.

Whatever it took, he would help her heal. He would be her light in the darkness, her anchor in the storm.

He would be whatever she needed. 

Because she wasn’t just his mate.

She was his home. 

******

Y/n POV

This was the cost of what being rescued too late had done. It had given me life back, yes, but handed it over in pieces I had to painstakingly reassemble. I was learning, slowly, that though the harm could not be undone, it need not define me entirely.

 In the safe quiet of Velaris’s gardens, I confronted old fears. Step by halting step, I ventured into busy markets, forcing myself to endure the proximity of strangers. I relearned how to laugh, tentatively, at small, gentle jokes. I experimented with trust, allowing a friend’s arm to linger a second longer, trying not to recoil. I discovered that some nights were quieter than others, and with Azriel staying with me every night, I could sleep.

In essence, I carried two timelines now: the one before Hybern’s men took me, and the one after. 

The difference between them weighed on my soul. Before, I had imagined cruelty but not known its depths. After, I understood the darkness that could exist behind a friendly face, the way suffering could become a sport. That knowledge weighed heavily on my  heart.

But within me scars lay a seed of resilience, too. Surviving that place, enduring their games and punishments, had proven that I possessed a well of strength deeper than I’d guessed. In time, I might draw from it, forging a new sense of self that incorporated these scars rather than being defined by them. I might learn to move without flinching,to love without fear. It would take immeasurable patience—from myself and from those around me—but the possibility remained.

For now, I did what I could: breathed the fresh Velaris air, soaked my aching muscles in warm baths, listened to music that reminded me not all voices cackled with cruelty.

Each day was a battle won quietly, without witnesses or fanfare. Each night survived in Azriel’s arms without screaming was a small victory. If I could endure torture, I could endure healing. If they had failed to break me completely in that cell, then I could rebuild myself outside it.

And that was what being rescued too late had done to me: it had etched trauma into my bones, taught me fear and suspicion, but it had not stolen my will to live, to heal, to grow beyond the pain. It had only made my scars into battle lines, reminders that I was still here, still fighting for myself. And in that truth, I would find the courage to keep going.

I just needed to find that girl from Summer Court again.

The one still there, just hiding until it felt safe to come out.

******

Y/n POV

I stood on the balcony of the House of Wind, my gaze fixed on the endless horizon where the mountains met the sky. The wind tugged at my long black hair, catching on the tips of my feathers as my wings flexed faintly behind me. I didn’t move, didn’t blink, as if staring long enough would reveal the answers I so desperately sought.

I wasn’t the same person who had danced with joy in the Summer Court, my magic weaving playful shapes out of water, laughter spilling from my lips as though it were endless. That girl felt like a ghost now, a shadow lingering in the farthest corners of my mind.

But I wasn’t entirely the broken woman who had been dragged from Hybern’s dungeons either, though the scars they left behind—both visible and unseen—still weighed heavily on me.

I was caught somewhere between the two, and it was tearing me apart.

Azriel was patient. Always patient. He never pressed me to speak about what I was feeling, never brought up the bond that hummed faintly between us, like a lifeline I wasn’t sure I deserved. He had been my constant, my anchor, through it all. He held me when I slept to keep the nightmares away, brushed my tears away with such gentleness it made me ache, and whispered quiet reassurances that I wasn’t sure I could believe.

But I hadn’t told him I loved him, except for whispering the words as he flew away from the battlefield. 

The words he never heard.

Because how could I? How could I love him fully, completely, when I barely recognized the person I was anymore? When I didn’t know how to reconcile the carefree girl I had been with the haunted woman I had become?

“Angel.”

His voice was soft, a gentle murmur that broke through my spiraling thoughts. I turned to see him standing a few paces away, his hazel eyes searching mine, his expression unreadable but warm.

“I thought I’d find you out here,” he said, stepping closer, his wings folding neatly behind him. He didn’t touch me—he never did unless I reached for him first—but his presence alone was grounding.

“I needed air,” I murmured, turning my gaze back to the horizon.

Azriel nodded, standing silently beside me. He didn’t speak, didn’t pry, but I could feel his concern, the unspoken question lingering between them.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said after a long moment, my  voice quiet but steady. “About who I was before. And who I am now.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, letting me continue.

“I don’t know how to reconcile the two,” I admitted, my hands gripping the balcony railing. “I feel like… like I’m not either of them. Like I’m someone else entirely, but I don’t know who that is.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, but still, he didn’t interrupt.

“I think…” I swallowed hard, my wings twitching as if in agitation. “I think I need to go back. To the Summer Court. To try to piece it all together. I need to figure out who I am—who I’m supposed to be now.”

Azriel’s expression tightened, just for a moment, before he schooled it into his usual calm. “If that’s what you need, I won’t stop you.”

My chest ached at the quiet resolve in his voice, the way he offered me the freedom to go even if it pained him. I turned to face him fully, my eyes locking on his.

“I don’t know how to be what you need,” I confessed, my voice breaking. “I don’t even know how to be what I need.”

Azriel stepped closer, his hand lifting as if to reach for me before he stopped himself. “You don’t have to be anything but yourself, Angel,” he said softly. “Whatever that looks like, whoever you decide to be—I’ll still be here.”

My breath caught at the raw sincerity in his tone, at the way his eyes shone with quiet, unshakable love.

“You’ve been through hell,” he continued, his voice steady. “You’ve had everything taken from you, torn apart, and yet you’re still standing. That’s enough, Angel. You’re enough.”

Tears pricked my eyes, and she blinked them away, her throat tightening as she nodded. “I have to do this,” I whispered. “For myself.”

“I know,” Azriel said, his gaze unwavering. “And I’ll be here when you’re ready. Always.”

The bond between them pulsed faintly, a quiet reassurance that I wasn’t entirely alone. But even as I felt it, as I saw the love in his eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words I knew he needed to hear.

Not yet.

Instead, I reached out, my hand brushing against his. He caught it gently, his fingers warm against mine as he held my hand for a brief moment before letting go.

And as I turned back to the horizon,my heart heavy but resolute, I made a silent vow to myself. To find the balance between who I was and who I could become.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the horizon for a moment before he spoke, his voice low and raw. “Angel,” he began, the weight of his words heavy in the stillness between them. “I know this is something you need to do for yourself. I won’t stop you. But… I need you to know something first.”

She turned her head slightly, her ocean-blue eyes meeting his hazel ones, and the pain etched into his face made her heart twist.

“I know I played a part in this,” he said, his voice trembling just enough to betray the guilt simmering beneath. “By pushing you away. By making you think I didn’t care. By making you believe, even for a second, that you didn’t matter to me.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure how to process the sheer remorse pouring out of him.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, his wings twitching behind him. “I thought I was protecting you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Protecting you from me—from what I thought I couldn’t give you. But all I did was hurt you. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

The bond between them pulsed faintly, as if echoing the depth of his emotions. Y/n’s chest ached, the raw honesty in his confession cutting through the walls she’d built around her heart.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he continued, stepping closer but still keeping a careful distance. “You didn’t deserve any of it. And I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t enough—because you are, Angel. You’ve always been enough.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked down at the balcony railing, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I can believe that yet,” she whispered.

“I understand,” Azriel said softly, his voice steady despite the torment she could see in his eyes. “But I’ll keep telling you, as many times as it takes, until you do.”

Her tears spilled over, silent and unstoppable, and she bit her lip to keep her emotions in check. “You make it sound so simple,” she murmured. “But it’s not. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Azriel. I can’t give you something I don’t even have.”

“I know,” he said, his tone full of quiet patience. “And I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait for you. You need to figure out who you are, and I won’t stand in the way of that.”

She turned to him fully then, her voice trembling as she asked, “And if I don’t come back the same person? If I’m someone you don’t want anymore?”

Azriel’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, gently brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. “That won’t happen,” he said firmly. “I’ve seen you at your strongest, and I’ve seen you at your lowest. It doesn’t matter who you become, Angel. I will always want you.”

The sincerity in his voice, the unwavering love in his gaze, broke something in her. She pressed her lips together, her emotions choking her words.

Azriel reached for her hand, holding it gently between his. “I just want you to know,” he said quietly, “that wherever you go, whatever you decide, you’ll always have me. I’ll be here when you’re ready. And even if you never forgive me for pushing you away… I’ll never forgive myself.”

Her tears spilled over again, and this time, she didn’t try to stop them. She squeezed his hand, her voice barely a whisper as she said, “Thank you.”

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, as if resisting the urge to wrap around her, to shield her from the storm raging inside her. “Always,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.

[cheer-nympho]

bit of steddie ghostface au anyone?

Nancy thought she was holding her trembling back well, but it was hard to have any confidence in the face of those dead, blank, masked eyes. Two pairs of empty holes staring up at her, waiting. She felt more trapped than they were.

Which was certainly not true, as she was stood quite freely next to a news camera supported on Jonathans shoulder, hooked up to the stolen reporter van situated to their left. Meanwhile the masked figures were tied thoroughly to the two metal chairs at both the arms and legs.

But…there was something in the slight tilt of the left persons head, like a confused dog waiting to see what would happen next. It was getting to her. Making something deep and old inside her uncomfortable and restless.

But she couldn’t look away, not now. With one last look towards Jon and a confirmation nod, she approached the figures.

“We are live across Hawkins news stations ,there is no getting out of this. Everyone will know who you are.” If the duo had any thoughts on her comments, they didn’t show it. Masks unmoving. “I need you to look into that camera knowing the families of your victims are watching.”

And that got a reaction, a small jump of the shoulders. A weird motion to place without being able to see a face, but Nancy could tell. It was a little laugh.

Any fear she had was stripped away to red hot anger, she ignored Jonathans call of ��wait, Nancy-‘ as she reached for the mask, ripping it off with a harsh movement that made the persons head snap back slightly. And then it was done. She was holding it. She would know. They watched as the bent over stranger, who’s face was still obscured by a mess of hair, began to shake.

And the horrible, cold dread of truth seemed to weigh down on Nancy as she realised…she knew that hair. She knew that expressive body language. Knew why she could tell he was laughing, because she had seen it a thousand times. The head lifted to reveal Eddie Munson.

Local freak, dungeon master and…Nancys friend. An older sibling figure. An idol to her brother. He sat, body obscured behind a robe and looking far too pleased with himself. She was going to be sick. The mask dropped from her hand as she took a shaky step back.

“Aw Nance, I told you I had plans tonight didn’t I?” His voice was clear and calm, teasing and playful. Like he was teasing her the same as all those times before. She had to…she had to get out of there. She couldn’t even speak.

She jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder, vision spinning as she turned towards the new danger. But it was just Jonathan. He had small tears in the corner oh his eyes, but his face was twisted in determined anger. The trembling through his body seeming to end just before his arm supporting the camera, keeping it steadily fixed on Eddie who was back to tilting his head at the lens. The hand grounded her, reminded her that this wasn’t about them. That she’d have plenty of time later to scream and cry and ask ‘why?’ to an empty room.

But for now, she had to show Hawkins who they had to blame. She still had to unmask the killers-…Eddie’s accomplice. Before she could though, a movement from the right caught her attention. A full body shake seemed to have overtaken the remaining masked individual.

Eddie turned to look at his apparent partner with a look of…distain? Annoyance? Nancy didn’t know, but it confused her enough to approach the second person. When she did, she noticed the shaking was accompanied by a laboured breathing and was that…sniffling?

What the fuck was going on? The body began to sway aggressively, a panicked movement as if trying to get out of the bonds holding them there. The mask darted from side to side, as if looking around in confusion. The sight was equal parts terrifying and baffling.

Nancy hastily got a grip on the persons head from behind to steady it which earned her a panicked shout, before she grabbed the underside of the mask and pulled. And the feeling of her heart shattering seemed to line up with the echoing sound of the plastic hitting the floor.

It didn’t matter that she was standing behind him. She knew exactly who that was. “J-Jon? Man what is happening here, please you have to help! I dont, I dont know where I am-“ The terrified, shaky voice of her ex boyfriend filled the room.

His pleading fell on deaf ears, as Nancy supposed the ringing in Jonathans head must be as loud as hers. But somehow through the mess of emotions, her brain latched onto the only easy to comprehend information. The only thing she could try and deal with. What was he saying?

He…didn’t know where he was? He wanted help?

Immediately she swung to the front of him, kneeling down in front of the chair and taking his face in her hands. She turned it from side to side, as if looking for a clear answer. “Steve, Steve you need to calm down.”

“I don’t know what’s going on or where I am and I can’t breath Nancy I can’t breathe what’s happening you have to help me I can’t breath oh my God what’s happening I can’t-“ a pained gasp around tears. “I don’t understand I don’t understand I don’t-“

“Steve!” She shakes his head slightly. “Steve, listen to my voice. I’m here, Jon is here. You’re okay. We will figure this out, okay. But first I need you to calm down.” He shakes her head at her but noticeably stops swaying. His breathing evening out slightly as his eyes

Take her in. She sees him purposefully take a few deep breaths before looking up at Jon to confirm he was still there. Still stood above him. That seems to remind him of his situation. “I don’t…” He exhales a pained breath. “I don’t like this. Nancy, why am I tied up?”

“Steve…”

“I…Trust you. But I can’t handle restraints Nancy, you know that from…from last time. I don’t know what’s happening, please…untie them.” She stares up at him for a few seconds, searching his wet eyes as her hands naturally reach to undo the rope around his ankles.

But something stops her. A deep, gutfeeling prevents her from moving any further. Like something in his eyes was telling her…she shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry, not now. We will figure this out, but I cannot do that.” A look of betrayal washes over his sunken face, and she almost regrets her choice. Until she hears a little laugh from beside her. Breathy and mocking.

“Man, that was so pathetic.”

But before she can turn to look, a twitch at Steve’s mouth catches her attention. Like another mask was ripped away from him, his demeanour falls apart.

Like the shaking crying man was never there. In its place was the Steve she knew, in the worst way possible. He looked fine. Just fine. Happy, even. Like he was joking around with the kids. A genuine smile on his face as he looked over to Eddie, not caring for Nancy at his feet.

“Awe come on, I almost had it there.”

“You didn’t have shit sweetheart, your big eyes are too expressive. You’re not supposed to look happy to have apparently been at my mercy for weeks.”

“Well, we both know I’m more than happy for-“

“What the fuck is going on?”

Both of their heads swivel towards her. And she isn’t sure if its the perfect sync or the cold, dead eyes that make her freeze up and wish she hadn’t spoken. She needs to…needs to back up. She can’t be on camera for this anymore.

They both snicker at her clear retreat before looking towards each other as if to, what? Get their stories straight. In any other situation she would scoff. It’s not like they had any way to talk their way out of this one. When Eddies eyes finally return to het his look is positively taunting.

“Is it not obvious, Nancy Drew?” He tacks it on in the same tone he would tease Mike in, it makes her feel sick to her stomach. “I mean, I don’t think there is a more conclusive way to catch two masked killers. You have your big Scooby Doo moment already.”

That gets a laugh out of Steve, a real laugh like a girl twirling her finger around a phone cord while talking to her crush. She isn’t sure why it makes her want to punch him in the face. The anger helps. It lets her pretend. Put on an act for the broadcast.

“So you admit it?”

“Admit what exactly, Nance? Need some specifics here. You know I’m an idiot.” The thing wearing Steves face jeers at her .

“You killed them. You killed Fred, and Patrick. Jason and Andy. You killed…you killed Chrissy.”

Eddie makes a humming noise and opens his hand into a fist where it peeks out from behind the chair.

“Let’s see let’s see. So we have Fred first of course. Easy one really, took you all a while to notice that.”

“Yeah poor kid, you guys were really cruel to him.”

“Right? And Next we have Andy. Steve took that one for the team-“ they both giggled at the pun. “Cause I can’t take on a basketball member.”

“I don’t know, you fared pretty well against Jason.”

“4 years of repressed anger baby, absolute magic.”

“Shame about Chrissy though.”

“Yeah, nice girl. Just bad luck really, the one time she wanted some drugs was when I was halfway through her boyfriends skull…”

“It couldn’t be helped.” Steve gives him a comforting look.

“No, no you’re right. Had to be done.”

Nancy waits for them to continue but they just…don’t. They leave it there.

An eerie silence takes over the room, but the two seem quite content to stare into each other’s soulless eyes.

And it seems to piss Jonathan off just as much as her because he finally speaks up.

“And Patrick?” His voice is scratchy with held back tears and vitriol.

“What about Patrick?” Eddie cocks his head again.

“Which one of you…killed Patrick?”

Both of the men look at each other, then slowly back to Nancy and Jon. Before landing on the camera lens.

“Well, we can’t take credit for everything can we?”

And with that, the lights in the warehouse shut off.

Nancy jumps, trying to hold in the little scream as Jon drops the camera to the floor and yanks her towards him, their heavy breaths the only sound. Waiting.

“Nancy…” Jonathan whispers.

She can’t speak. Can’t open her eyes or her mouth. Can’t keep up, can’t breathe. So she nods against his chest.

“…Robin said she had plans tonight.”

[moodymisty]

Yandere primarchs would be pretty bad for perpetual reader. I'm piggybacking off a previous anon about reader not knowing she was a perpetual and everyone thinking she died. But what if she knew but they didn't. ( in a slight chance)

So picture you're married to a primarch and you know you're outclassed in every way, shape, or form. I feel like she could pretended she's dead and escape after the whole funeral and hoopla dies down.

But certain legions would make it difficult like the Blood Angels and Salmanders

Depending on if you 'died' before or after Sanguinius reader's body would probably be kept in a class coffin where new and old blood angels and probably Sanguinius would make frequent visitations. It'll probably be disturbing hearing Sanguinius and trying not to give it away.

Salmanders would obviously mourn their legion mother. Vulkan would probably build a personal tomb for reader. Not only does their hearts go out for humanity but this was the one mortal who touched all their lives. I feel it was bolster their efforts in doing their job and caring for the common man. Because that's what their mother would want them to do

And if someone is curious about how reader could stop or hide her heartbeat I got an idea. Let me know if u wanna hear it. I would say this. Reader could get away with a little more due to the primarchs being overtaken by grief.

But with Konrad no just no. That's a very slim if not less than 0.00005% chance of success and that's if everything goes right. That's another thing everything can go right in the escape attempt but at any point in time the plan can go south at any moment.

yandere primarchs are an absolute nightmare, cause no matter if you're a perpetual or not you probably aint dying XD

oh and the glass coffin thing is totally canon in my brain, i need to get back to the whole 'blood angels obessess over their mother angel and make her a living caprisun' thing

[beeebird]

Uncleared bug

（Wreck-It Ralph AU）(What follows is a super long introduction…) (To put it simply, this is a story about a ghost.)

_________________________________________

(Background Premise)

In the years following the events of Sugar Rush (the plot of the movie), word that Turbo had survived the previous accident and had been lurking in Sugar Rush quickly spread to Game Central Station. The characters are shocked that Turbo survived, and glad that he is now dead. ... But is he?

Game companies never miss a good opportunity to continue making money. Of course, they had no idea that their character would murder another character. ... In short, a new TurboTime series of games has been launched. Cutting-edge 3D technology, a sequel to an old game - a well-run arcade has no reason not to buy this new arcade. So a brand new TurboTime game was plugged in.

New Turbo, and the twins, Drift, and Set arrive at Game Central Station. (There are other roles, if needed).

On the surface, at least, their appearance is very different from the appearance in the old series of TurboTime. And in character... well, Turbo is still the same cocky, attention-obsessed, over-conquering, annoying guy. The characters in the arcade game hid from the new series their previous accidents due to the old Turbo. And at the same time try to be friendly to them in the new series. But the previous accident had left a bad impression of Turbo in their minds. Naturally, the new Turbo was not welcomed by Game Central Station. (The twins, on the other hand, are constantly being looked at in the "poor guy" way, which is strange to them.)

Unaware of the tragic events that had taken place in the arcade, New Turbo assumed that the characters were simply rejecting him because he was the new guy. So he was determined to prove himself. Well, if you want to prove yourself worthy of affection. The easiest way is to challenge someone to prove themselves better - and that person is Vanellope. (" I must be a better driver than a little girl!" He said so at the time). It's a pretty embarrassing situation.

But all in all, Vanellope is friendly because "well, it wasn't the new guy who made the mistake, so maybe he's a good guy?" The idea agreed to the friendly match.

The day of the race went well. Turbo doesn't mind being stared at by candy residents. All he cares about now is the next game.

Start the engine and hit the gas as hard as you can. Turn the wheel, don't be pulled by centrifugal force... Pay attention. It's just a simple friendly match with a little girl from the candy world. Turbo thought. Until their go-kart made it all the way to Rainbow Cave (if that's what you can call it). As he rushed out of the tunnel, Turbo suddenly felt a strong sense of dizziness, and it seemed that he saw some red and white figure. Although he quickly shook off this sudden discomfort, he was thus overtaken by Vanellope.

Even if the game ends in a draw. Turbo still felt bad, physically and psychologically. His head has been aching ever since he felt a sudden dizziness at the mouth of the tunnel, like something was... Pull his code. "Maybe it's just the bright colors of the candy world that make me dizzy," he thought. So Turbo found an excuse to go back to his game and rest.

Back in his lounge, Turbo felt restless. Yes - that was a "draw," but it still pissed him off. He should be better than all the racers, not some "draw". Even more unbearable than the frustration of failure (which he thought he was) was the growing headache, the tearing of the code in his body that challenged his endurance all the time. "damnit, I really need to calm down and rest right now..." 'he thought.

In the bathroom, the cold water on the face temporarily relieved the headache. But a ringing in his ears put Turbo back into a trance. He's in a weird state today. What's going on? He held the edge of the sink trembling, trying to suppress the queasy feeling in his throat. Then he looked up ——

... Suddenly, the red-and-white figure he had seen vaguely as he walked through the tunnel appeared in the bathroom mirror. "Do you want to win?" The figure whispered. In a trance,

Turbo thought he must be crazy.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Elijah Kamski x fem!reader - I want your soul

warning : minors don't interact/read, smut, p in v , mirror sex, some oral (f receiving), bondage, fluff/comfort, obsession

Summary : Elijah Kamski the genius behind the androids and their accessories. He was the genius of the most important man. Who was looking for someone to work with him on something. But did a genius like him really need help or was it something else he wanted, sought and needed to create something that would give him something in the end.

Info : Okay I've finally finished writing it I'm not completely satisfied for one thing because I've had this floating around for months and haven't finished it, I'm going to write an extra one with a few more themes that I hadn't done here. I hope the smut is good and the story is not too ripped out as always it should be as realistic as possible. Have fun reading :)

Ps : @thatsthewrongwallcraig I finally did it I hope you are still in your Elijah obsession have fun reading :)

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

Detroid had changed since she was born in 2013, it seemed the whole world had changed. Everything had become more modern, more technological and more efficient.

The whole world wasn't just getting closer to the old movies about the future, it had already overtaken them.

It opened up new paths, more possibilities and development was at a level that made them all but immortal. Until the androids came.

Developed by one man, a genius with an IQ of 171, Elijah Kamski. The young genius who developed the androids became a kind of god to some and the devil to others.

The devil for the people whose jobs he had taken away with the androids. He had everything, at least if you could believe the press and the news.

With the invention of thirium and biocomponent technology, he was also the founder of Cyber Life and the richest man on the planet.

He was the incarnate one. The incarnate one who one day launched a public appeal. Not something for a new project since his retirement in 2028 or an assistant or perhaps a successor.

It was rumors that went around the world but especially in Detroid made waves. Until the announcement came from Elijah himself and it was weirder than they had imagined.

Elijah wasn't looking for a successor, he was looking for a maid to inspire his new projects. It was a headline that the magazines ran with and something that caused a boom, suddenly the whole world seemed to be standing in front of the entrance to Cyber-Life's main building.

No one knew what was waiting for them inside, but they all hoped to work for Kamski. It seemed that only one thing mattered to them all. To see Elija Kamski and his money. Because they all knew he would pay well, or so they said.

The kilometer-long queue that stretched out in front had all kinds of people. Everyone who wanted the job would fight for a place. All except for one person, a young woman who was standing in the queue like everyone else.

She wouldn't necessarily walk over dead bodies and would rather take good advice from him that she needed for her studies or a tip for finances because she didn't have any.

To be honest, she was only here to take advantage of this small, minimal opportunity to get the money to pay for her studies and to pay back her parents who had taken on extra debt. A fact that weighed heavily on her heart.

Which is why she could use the money and paying a publisher to turn her script into a book wasn't cheap either and realizing a dream like that would be nice too. But as much as she wanted to, she had to survive the queue first.

I certainly wouldn't be the first to die because of all this standing, she thought, remembering all the people she had seen with tents and chairs. How they came out of the building with their heads hanging or cursing. They had missed their chance.

But she also felt how her feet had been hurting for hours, she had run out of the university as early as she could and yet she was one of the last. But after hours in which the sun would set again in a few hours anyway, it was finally her turn.

Saw how the entrance gradually came closer and closer. She finally had the chance to get to it. Will he notice? the question popped into her head and she became all the more aware of the notebook in her bag.

She didn't know how she should feel about it. Meeting the man who had fascinated her for as long as she could remember.

Meeting the man who was the lover in her book, everything was exactly the same except for the name. Initially in her late teens it was just a model she had used but now. It was more.

More than she perhaps wanted to admit to herself. ,,Miss, it's your turn," a voice snapped her out of her thoughts and her hand slipped into her pocket. Past her notebook and to her wallet and pulled it out.

She thanked the security guard after he had looked at her ID. Before she went into the building with a pounding heart.

She knew it from videos and pictures she had seen in her primary school days. Vague memories went through her mind as she saw an android approaching her.

It seemed as if they wanted to hold back the free spirit and not let people walk around here freely. Like a fake bird in a real cage. ,,Good afternoon, Miss, would you please follow me," he said and she saw the Led flicker briefly from blue to a brief yellow.

He must be announcing me she thought to herself and followed the android with a smile knowing that many others were hostile towards the machines.

Some even went so far as to beat up and kill the androids that didn't fight back. There were unpleasant headlines about severed body parts belonging to several missing androids. Headlines that sent shivers down her spine.

After all, who said that all the androids wouldn't be dead soon? ,,What is it that Mr. Kamski wants from me?" she asked as they walked through the foyer and stood in an elevator. The android stood in front of her and turned his head slightly towards her.

She saw exactly how his eyes avoided hers for a second before he said, ,,A test to see if you are suitable for the job you are looking for," and turned forward again. The quiet hum of the elevator was between them again and her purse had disappeared back into her pocket.

Her heart seemed to compete with her nervousness as the elevator arrived at the top floor of the building. The floor she had never been on before, at least not then.

It seemed almost unbelievable to be back here now. ,,Please, you have to go through this door, good luck," the android said, pointing to what appeared to be a door in the large white hallway with a few modern paintings, plants and bright lights.

,,Thank you," she mumbled and gave the android a small smile before stepping out of the elevator and walking towards the door.

She heard exactly how the android got back in and she was alone in the hallway. She knew she had to go forward. She finally had to go to the door and felt how each step seemed to get heavier and heavier.

But after a few seconds the moment was over and she put her hand on the handle. Opened the door and stepped into the room where she found the man who would give her a job.

The light in the room was dimmer, not so bright that it stung her eyes, it was most like a foggy afternoon with dark clouds hanging in the sky and the threat of thunderstorms. Her eyes fell on the occupied armchair that stood behind a glass table.

The light illuminated the figure slightly and she saw him. ,,Good afternoon, Mr. Kamski," she said, surprised that her voice had held and that she hadn't thrown up from nervousness.

She saw how he leaned forward slightly, the dark strands of his hair framing his face. His bright blue eyes watching her closely as if she were the machine to him and the androids were the humans.

As he briefly pointed to the chair she should sit down on, she obeyed his silent command, her slightly trembling fingers pulling the chair back and sitting down. The slight clatter of her bag seemed to be too loud in the room before she turned her gaze forward.

His eyes met hers and she almost forgot to breathe for a moment. He was everything. He seemed like it came from her imagination, the pictures, videos and articles. ,,Do you think an android can get nervous?" his voice suddenly rang out, so engaging that it seemed to drown out her heartbeat.

The question echoed in her head over and over again. ,,N-no I mean yes" she began to stammer and felt the warmth jump to her ears and cheeks.

Oh god pull yourself together! she screamed at herself in her head, swallowing the lump in her throat and digging her fingers into her jeans. ,,Yes... I do think that androids can get nervous. There are... deviants who show emotions, they are human too," she replied and looked up from her lap to the older one again.

Saw how he had tilted his head slightly. His gaze looked as if he was considering whether he should throw her out or do it himself.

,,So you're implying that androids are human? Are you questioning my work?" he asked, smirking as he could practically see the gears turning in her head. She was apparently trying to guess which answer was the right one.

After a few more seconds of silence, he saw in her gaze that she had found her answer. ,,No, I don't question it, I would say that it shows that the relationship between humans and androids is maybe doing something... maybe human," she dared to put up her tese and saw first to her fear how the small smile on his lips disappeared.

His bright eyes looked at her almost incredulously as if she had deeply offended him. I'll never get a job, she thought to herself and was about to reach for her bag when she heard the sound of paper.

,,Come to this address next week and have your tessellation completed Miss," he said and felt him put a card in her hand. She had it. She had the job.

She had finally got it. ,,Thank you! I mean thank you very much Mr. Kamski, I'll come," she said and grabbed her bags before walking out of the room. The big smile on her lips spoke for itself as the android seemed to rejoice with her on her way out.

But in that time, she hadn't even thought about what it meant to be with him. To move in with him, to be with him for more than just minutes or hours. Forever.

Because a mind infused with devotion and emotion overlooks the obvious. Overlooks the gaze of obsession.

The gaze of possession. The gaze of the rich and their greed for everything. Oh, he would do so much more with her than just have her around.

But she did what he said and came to the address on Monday of the next week. His house was out of town, secluded by roads, woods and rocks.

But when she parked her small car in front of the house, armed only with a bag, she realized once again what this meant. I feel like a little kid at Christmas, she thought as she walked up the stairs to his door. It was the season of winter, snow was slowly falling from the sky and looking behind her she saw the landscape slowly turning white.

Her coat kept her warm and the hat on her head kept her ears from freezing. Ringing the bell, she tried to concentrate on the time in front of her, not the cold.

A smile on her lips turned into a surprised look when a blonde woman opened the door for her. ,,Hello, you're Miss Sun right?" she asked the blonde woman who seemed as perfect as only an angel could be.

An android. ,,Yes, I am Mr. Kamski had given me his address for the job," she replied and saw that the blonde woman stepped aside to let her in. ,,Mr. Kamski is expecting you, please take a seat in the living room," she said, a small smile playing around her lips before she gestured towards the room.

The house was too big for one man to live in. But as she walked through the hallways and doors, the dark walls, saw the colorful paintings and the markings, she realized how different they were.

She was nothing compared to him and yet he had chosen her. He had seen something in her, something that set her apart from the others.

But what? What was it? Putting the bag down next to the table, she found herself in the living room. Didn't know whether she should sit down or not. Instead, she stood next to the table and looked around the room.

Only heard muffled footsteps coming towards her, the door opened and he came out. He came out of another part of the house. A black bathrobe on his body, she saw that his hair was still slightly wet, she could see a little of his upper body.

But his gaze, his bright eyes seemed to focus only on her, despite his appearance, he had lost none of his look. ,,Good afternoon, Mr. Kamski, your housekeeper said I should come here...I can wait too," she said and was about to reach for her bag when she heard his grin.

A smirk that led to an amused smile. ,,No, I wanted you to be here and that's why you're here. I suppose you found your way here all right?" he asked, but his interest was clear. She sensed that it wasn't about her life. It should be about her.

It was supposed to be about her work and what was going on inside her. ,,Yes, I did, I also revised my thesis again... Mr. Kamski could you tell me what the job is about now?" she asked as she watched him make himself a green protein shake, mixing the powder with the vegetables, the blender surprisingly quiet.

But he remained silent as he calmly made his drink before walking past her, gesturing for her to follow him. Grabbing her handbag, she followed him, not knowing whether she should walk beside him or behind him.

But she opted for the latter, not wanting to push her luck too far. She didn't want to compete with him. But why? Do I even have a chance? she asked herself and almost walked into him when he stopped.

,,Your room is all yours, I know it might be unpleasant but I would ask you to stay here. As far as my work is concerned, quick communication is essential," he said, leaning against the doorframe as he watched her. She watched as she looked around the room a little.

The room was three times the size of her own small room. Cave it could probably even fit her entire apartment in here. Staying here? For how long? the question popped up in her head and she looked at him slightly questioningly.

She saw that he knew what she was getting at and took a sip of his drink. ,,I don't think for a few more weeks...it depends on how good you are...oh and please just call me Elijah," he dismissed her with those words, closing the door behind him and taking her nervousness with him.

Her glance at her bag let her know that she had to go back to her apartment to pick up her things, but that she had still taken her book with her.

The words she had written about him, being in his house, working for him. ,,I really did it," she muttered and proudly began to unpack her things, set up her room and took her things with her. She tried to find Elijah only to run into Chloe who let her know that Elijah was at work.

Letting her know when he needed her to get her things. Which is why she found herself back in her apartment less than an hour later. Had walked back to the exit, past the pictures and cameras, past the Chloes and past his gaze without realizing it.

She didn't see what he was doing, she just knew she had to do something to formulate her thesis. And when she came back, she saw him again eating a salad at the table in the living room, but this time he wasn't wearing a coat.

He was wearing normal jeans, a dark shirt and glasses. ,,I see you're back, I'd like to read your thesis the day after tomorrow. To understand what's going on inside you," he said and gave her a slight smile. She felt her heart beat faster again, she agreed and went back to her room with her things. The smile on her lips was unmistakable.

Just as unmistakable as his approval. She did as he said as she joined him in his office, his workroom full of various technical things. ,,Elijah, I have my thesis," she said as she stepped inside after knocking and the door opened, she saw him working on an android model.

It was a construct of wires, metal and the pump that symbolized the heart, yet human features were recognizable.

He looked up from his work and something like surprise flashed in his gaze as if he was realizing something before he gave her a satisfied look and motioned her to his desk.

She handed him her tese and he grinned as he felt the paper in his hands. ,,Old-fashioned and yet not corruptibly good," he said as he took the paper properly before he began to read it. she remained standing next to him, watching his eyes run over the sentences.

He became more and more lost in her work, absorbing her words and becoming more and more absorbed in them. ,,Perfection, your idea of something non-living... very good, I'm proud. I would like you to design a model of it for me more deep thought" he baht she had turned towards her his hand had placed itself on her shoulder.

She felt his warmth, although she had always thought of him as cold, he was warm. He was welcoming and he made her heart beat faster, leaving her proud as he held her tese before giving her a smile and watching her walk out of the room.

Not knowing what his thoughts turned to as he went back to his latest project. Her thesis would help him. Everything would be perfect.

But she did what he said, worked on her work, didn't question him, wouldn't and shouldn't. Ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with him. Caught herself listening in the house to see if he was awake to go to the kitchen and make breakfast.

Usually did it with Chloe, who didn't need any sleep. The two of them talked and laughed and she forgot that the blonde was an android.

Forgetting what was happening around her, what was happening out in the world, what had ever happened. Because what she had was here. A job, a friend and a man who admired her and gave her support.

Or did she? Could she describe her life like this? How long had she been with him - days, weeks or even months? How often had she sat with him, revised her work and written down her inner life? What had happened?

,,My dear I will invite you to dinner and would like you to carry this here" she mumbled the words on the small card that lay on the gift wrapping paper that held something with fabric inside.

Unwrapping the gift, she saw the dark fabric of the dress and held it in front of her body. She could feel how expensive it must be, it was perfectly tailored to her body.

It was perfect in every way. As she stood in front of the mirror, she looked at herself in it and for a moment felt like she was on the same level as him. Was with him to the point that she meant something to him.

And she caught herself thinking that the only thing missing was the gold ring on her hand. But had she turned like this or had he made her like this? Did he want to make her like this? Or was everything bigger than he thought in the end? Was she programmed from the beginning to react like this, was it her feelings?

Was it his creation? She didn't let her thoughts get in the way and continued by putting red lipstick on her lips. She took one last look in the mirror before leaving her room. Hearing the clack of her shoes in the hallway, she walked into the dining room, finding no Chloe or any of her friends on her way.

She found only the silence of the house and heard the classical music coming from one of the rooms like a rhythm, the sounds played over and over again as she arrived in the candlelit room. ,,You look beautiful, I'm glad you put it on," he said, giving her the appearance of a choice she didn't have.

After all, what kind of woman would she be if she didn't comply with his request. ,,Thank you for the dress and the invitation," she replied, her gaze dropping for a moment before she saw him step into her field of vision, taking her hand and feeling his warmth as he led her to the table.

,,It's a multi-course meal to thank you for your work," he began, placing the first course of food, a simple soup, before reaching for the bottle of wine and pouring them both a glass.

She saw him sit down opposite her and they both ate in silence. But it wasn't unpleasant, on the contrary, the food, the sound of the cutlery and the music in the background created an atmosphere of comfort.

She couldn't see what was hiding behind his gaze as he concentrated on her. ,,Sorry I haven't had so much time for you in the last few days and weeks," he said, almost too suddenly, as he put down the spoon, his look apologetic but his voice seeming out of place. He was inappropriate.

A man who had spent time under machines could show emotion. ,,It's perfectly all right... I'm very glad we have this," she replied and finished her soup, not wanting to break the atmosphere.

She did as she was told before they got to the end of the meal and she didn't know what to do. She didn't have to because Elijah got up from his seat and walked over to her, offering her his hand before she walked next to him for the first time. His hand was on hers as they both walked towards his office.

His gaze was on her, watching her, looking for anything wrong. ,,I've taken the liberty of creating a new prototype...your notes and work helped" he began and walked over to the machine knowing she was listening to him, knowing she would do anything for him from this point on. He handed her the table with the data and watched as she looked over it, fascination in her eyes for his work.

He knew that she would always admire him, it didn't take much but he had read it. He had read her book and knew that she was truly the right person for his purpose.

That his inner self was right, his genius was right, his obsession was right. She let the shapes and processes on the table before she suddenly felt his hand on her shoulder.

He touched her in all the time she had been with him, he had never fully touched her now only when she had done something well. ,,What did I do well?" she asked, turning to him, the device with the thin screen still in her hand.

She kept still wanting more from him, the bond between them still far too strong. He saw her as his and she saw herself as his wife. It was and would be between them. It was her devotion in her brain for him, and it was his desire for her as his wife. For someone perfect.

,,Everything my love...you have no idea...what you've done to me," he murmured and she felt his other hand on her shoulder as he continued to touch her, praising her for something she couldn't do.

,,Can I do something for my existence?" she asked her inner question out to him, hearing his smirk, smelling the metal, the aftershave, snow and wine. Smelled him. Felt him so close to her and yet she didn't move. Stood still like someone waiting for an order.

Something he liked to have her the way he wanted her. Like an android. ,,You can help what you do... tell me, do you want to be free for a moment?" he asked, his hand moving over her shoulder and down to her hand. He gripped the tray and gave her the freedom to decide for a moment.

She could walk away or she could stay and give it to him. And she did. She gave it to him. ,,Free? But we're free, aren't we?" she asked, not knowing what he meant as he took the tray from her. Leaving the first kiss on her neck before he slowly moved her past the.

The office, like everything else, was just a pretext which she seemed to realize but it made no sense, it didn't matter, there was just the two of them and that should be enough. She hadn't been what she used to be for a long time.

But it didn't matter, it was about him and her, not about what had happened. She felt him leave more kisses on her skin as the doors opened in front of them and she felt the warmth on her cheeks, a natural reaction when she saw his bedroom. Dark walls reddish abstract paintings on the walls.

One might have thought that the pictures hid the portrait of a woman, but what did she know. At most, he saw her in the colors. Because he wanted to. Because understanding told him so. She felt him next to her, his hands gripped hers, her shy gaze found his.

Her uncertain, his almost demanding, the glasses helped him to see her better, even if he didn't need them. He would have her anyway. He slowly placed his hand on her side and pulled her close.

On the contrary, the closer he touched her, the more intimate she became. The more she wanted him. ,,That's it," he said with a murmur, apparently listening to her thoughts before she felt his lips on hers, kissing his warmth over her as she clung to him, almost searching.

He wanted the kiss more knew he was getting it. But she gladly gave herself to him. She felt safe. He had given her a job, given her a dress, given her everything.

Now it was only fair that she gave him something back, wasn't it? It was always like that. She only felt a dull sensation as he moved to her back and unzipped the expensive fabric flowing from her body. She stepped out of her shoes as if automatically, not wanting it to be over like this.

She wanted to please him without realizing that she was doing just that. ,,I've liked you ever since I saw you... like a perfection for me," he said, taking away her fear as he went to the bed, leaving her standing there, almost confused and full of shame.

The warmth on her cheeks increased as she felt flattered and crawled towards him on the bed, knowing that he was watching her, not hiding the fact that he found her attractive.

That he saw exactly how her nipples had hardened slightly from the cold. That his hands lay on the fabric and her shaky exhale. He had her body to himself, had her to himself. ,,Elijah you-me...you are everything," she murmured, knowing it was her mind veiled in lust.

The spirit that longed for Elijah wanted more. Wanted more of his touch. ,,I know that... I know everything, my love," he whispered to her, pulling her into another kiss before he let his hand wander over her breast again. He felt her shudder. ,,Poor girl...all these months without touch or pleasure...without me," he said, watching her.

Watched her through his Chloe's or had to know. Had given him lust without her knowing who his cameras were. She had shown him everything he needed to know. Always in the quiet of the night, he had touched himself to see what she had done.

He pulled her onto his lap, feeling her quick pulse as he kissed her neck, beginning to leave colorful marks on it, her warmth mingling with his as she held onto the cover in the dark bed.#

His hand that was not on her breast moved to her thigh. She felt her hips thrust out towards him, full of devotion, needing him. ,,I'm going to make you feel good look" he whispered to her biting lightly into her lobe hearing her shaky exhale feeling her lust could feel the tingling in her body as his rough fingers slipped under her bra.

Moaning his name, she pressed herself against him, feeling his own arousal against her back, yet he focused on her. Wanted to see her fall apart when he actually touched her.

She opened her half-closed eyes and looked at herself and Elijah out loud in surprise. Her own reflection in the mirror built into the closet. ,,Beautiful forever," he whispered to her and she moaned as she let his fingers wander over her center.

It was different where her fingers weren't even close enough, his seemed so much better. He felt her wetness through the fabric of her underwear, took his hand from her breast and let it wander over her body. Leaving red scratches, small bites, marks and kisses.

Driving her on as he repeatedly focused his attention on the little bundle of nerves. As her voice filled the room, the classical music drowning in it, he was also completely hard but with each of her shaky movements his hardness got some relief.

He rubbed himself lightly against her his breathing was slightly shaky and yet it made no difference. Because he dealt with her. Giving her more of what she wanted while his blue eyes were on her. Her gaze on the mirror. The trembling spread to her legs as she begged him for more.

But he knew he had watched her closely and knew when she was slowly coming to the end. ,,Look at you, darling... everything just for me," he continued to murmur, finally wanting to show her. His finger moved out of her only to add another one, keeping her better than her own, her hips in rhythm with him. His praise took her mind away.

His pace increased, her trembling increased and when he heard her murmur he knew she was nearing climax. ,,El-Elijah please," she said, resting her head on his shoulder, finally wanting to let go, her fingers digging into the dark bed. He gave her body more kisses before he gave her the okay.

He took his hand from her breast and gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. She fell apart around him with a throaty moan.

He pulled out of her, her heavy-breathing form relaxing to just a sporadic twitch of her legs as she came down from her high. Closing her eyes, he withdrew from her. Licked his hand clean and slowly pushed her away. Watched as she still wasn't completely back, but she didn't have to be. ,,Thank you for your time, my dear," he said, hearing only a murmur, but his gaze went to the mirror.

A flicker caused the android behind it to take away the image of the mirror, the projection disappeared and her image emerged in the form of the android.

,,I have recorded all the data, sir," said the android's voice, turning her gaze away from her human image. ,,Very well, interpret the data I want perfection darling," he said and his hand passed over hers but warmth met cold. The coldness of a machine before it went out. He was left alone with his muse, his darling.

Saw that she was asleep saw that she was unaware. Didn't know what his search for her had driven her to. ,,Sleep well my love," he said and withdrew from her, opening and closing the door. Left her alone.

Until he wanted her again, knowing that she would give him everything. That he had rebuilt her so that when her human shell died, he had her eternally living one. She was his, right down to her soul, she belonged to him and always had.

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

[dadbodbuck]

i wanted to post something and its tuesday

snippet from my ecologist!buck au:

Eddie’s fresh off a 24 when he sees him for the first time. He’s clocked out, picked Christopher up, and stopped by the bank to drop off a check. He’s dead on his feet, and Chris is always hangry and overtired after school, so Eddie is also, to put it politely, at his fucking limit.

He turns into his driveway and sees it. “It” being two positively massive piles of wood chips spilling out from his neighbor’s yard onto his own. It’s completely overtaken a good chunk of Eddie’s yard, including part of Christopher’s ramp, which pushes up against the border between the properties.

And, okay, it’s not like Christopher can’t just move around the wood chips, but it’s a principle of the thing. If his neighbor thinks it’s okay to block part of the ramp, they might think it’s okay to block the whole ramp, that Christopher might not need the ramp, or they might think it’s okay to block Christopher’s concrete path to his ramp. It’s a slippery slope, and most people don’t understand accommodations. He can’t just explain to everyone that his barely-in-code steps are too steep for an eight-year-old with balance issues, but some stairs and some obstacles are okay. That’s at least a five minute conversation if he’s lucky. 

When he was first learning to make accommodations for Christopher, there were a few over thirty minute, endless back and forth conversations that Eddie had with a particularly nosy “HOA board member” who was convinced Eddie was building a meth lab instead of an accessible shower.

So, Eddie unlocks the door and tells Christopher to go on inside and get himself changed and started on his homework, and he goes over to his neighbor’s house to assert himself. Assertively. He can do that. He was in the army.

Assertive and polite, Eddie reminds himself, steeling himself to knock on the door. Right when he goes to knock, though, the door opens and Eddie’s hand winds up swinging forward—

Right into someone’s face.

“Ow! Fuck!” The person says, dropping some cardboard and cradling their face in their hands, “What was that for?”

And Eddie should reply, but the only thing he can really take note of is that the person in front of him is fucking hot. He’s a few inches taller than Eddie, with broad shoulders and biceps that look like they’re about to pop out of his stained t-shirt. He’s in plain shorts that stop above the knee—where his absolutely gigantic thighs peek out—and tennis shoes that look like they’re falling apart.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, through the driest mouth he’s probably ever had, “I was trying to knock.”

Eddie prays that the man’s face is ugly, or that he’s going to be a dick, but when he moves his hand, Eddie can see baby blue (albeit watery) eyes, soft, curly blond hair, plush lips, and a birthmark just above his eye. This guy is a fucking smoke show from head to toe, and instead of looking pissed off, he relaxes and huffs out a laugh. “Were you trying to break my door down or something?”

“You got woodchips on my son’s ramp,” Eddie says, instead of answering.

“I did?” The man blinks, “Sorry! Oh God, sorry, I didn’t notice, I’ve been so busy with the shipment. I promise I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, sighing and feeling all the fight leave him. Of course his new neighbor wasn’t trying to be an ableist asshole, it was just an accident, and Eddie assumed the worst. 

“Sorry, uh, can I squeeze past you?” The man asks, and that’s when Eddie realizes he’s gone somewhere and come back with a broom. Eddie follows him back over to the ramp, where he starts sweeping off the wood.

“This is a little uneven,” The man mentions, “Does your son use a wheelchair? I could redo this for you.”

Eddie bristles at that—the familiar urge rises in the back of his throat. He’s just about to bite back something harsher than his neighbor probably deserves, something about how he doesn’t need help, when Christopher pops his head out the front door.

“Daddy?” Chris asks, “Who’s that?”

“Hey, buddy,” Buck says, before Eddie can introduce him, “I’m Evan Buckley, your new neighbor. Everyone calls me Buck.”

Buck sticks his hand out for Christopher to shake, and if Eddie weren’t so busy trying to give this guy the chance he deserved, he’d be pissed at Buck for ignoring him. Or maybe embarrassed that he forgot to ask Buck for his name. Or that he forgot to introduce himself when he knocked on his door.

Chris introduces himself as, “Christopher Diaz, but everyone calls me Chris,” and gleefully shakes Buck’s hand, jerking it up and down so hard Eddie’s worried he might dislodge it from the socket. And then he’d have to give his sort-of asshole neighbor medical treatment. Whatever.

“What do you even need all these wood chips for, anyway?” Eddie asks, trying not to sound bitter or sarcastic. He’s only mostly sure it works.

“Oh, I’m redoing the lawn,” Buck says, “I’m working to create a few different microfarms in LA. This one’s kind of my first big project. I’m going to be doing an herb garden out here in front, and then in the back I plan on doing some compost and raising some chickens. Maybe some ducks, rabbits—”

“Oh,” Eddie says, because it’s—okay. He understands that his food has to come from somewhere, but he’s hesitant about all this. It sounds like a lot. “So, what, your yard is just gonna be covered in wood chips?”

“Only for the first season,” Buck explains, “To kill the grass.”

“Why would you kill the grass?” Eddie blinks, taken aback.

Buck smiles in a way that, quite frankly, makes Eddie feel condescended to. (If he weren’t so irritated, he might notice the way Buck’s eyes light up and his hands do half the talking for him, adorably excited.) “Lawn grass isn’t actually native to the United States. It was a status symbol in Europe, because only royalty could afford to have their lawns tended to. And here in California, it’s actually detrimental to the local environment to have one. Non-native grass takes a lot of water to maintain, and we just don’t have those resources here. I’m culling the grass in the front yard and the backyard, and doing some water retention gardening to save on the rain that happens our way.”

Eddie’s head hurts. Unfortunately, when he opens his eyes, he sees Christopher’s own, wide and bright with stars.

Oh no.

“That’s so cool!” Chris gasps, “How do you reten—retent?—the water?”

“Chris, why don’t we go inside and stop bothering Buck?” Eddie urges, because if Chris ends up actually liking this man Eddie will move again. He’ll go to Alaska. He’ll take Chris to fucking Mexico if it means never seeing Evan Buckley, his neighbor who he punched and immediately developed a low-simmering irritation for, ever again.

[librivore42]

Warm in the earth

A secret withers gift for @flipcitrus! As before, the Ao3 link is below but if you don't waaaant to leave tumblr, it's under the read more.

Warm in the earth (1370 words) by Librivore42

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Gale/Halsin (Baldur's Gate)

Characters: Gale (Baldur's Gate), Halsin (Baldur's Gate), assorted adopted children

Additional Tags: Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, check yourself for cavities after

Summary:

After everything, Gale and Halsin deserved to grow older together. They deserved that loud and loving house of adopted children, and a garden under a spring sky. Sometimes the gods do give people what they deserve.

One needed to remember the darkness to truly appreciate the sun, after all.

~~~~~~

Every day waking up in his arms was a day closer to wiping out that year of loneliness, to the point that Gale could barely remember such a thing existed. But he kept it in his memory, a small, cold thing, to remind him of how grateful he was for the warmth that surrounded it.

He spent a moment appreciating that sun, the way it played on Halsin’s face, catching the edges of his hair and lighting it with gentle fire, the browns blazing into a brilliant sort of gold right where the lightest, singular strands drifted from the whole. Overtaken by light, the core of new stars.

The head shifted to find him, a sunflower turning, and Halsin’s lips curled into a smile even before he was fully awake, as if finding him with his head on his chest was a pleasant, unexpected surprise every day.

How he did it, Gale would never know. Despite all his years and years of life, how could he still treat every day as if it was new and special, even if everything in it was the same?

“Still asleep?” Gale teased gently. “You can have more time if you really need the rest.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m decrepit, Gale.”

“I am simply giving you the respect you’re owed due to your advanced years.”

Halsin’s quiet laughter rumbled through his body and into Gale’s, warm and pleasant, and Gale wondered if this is what the earth felt, much more slowly, when roots gently shifted it aside.

There was nothing but them in the world, and the warm spring, the heady scent of flowers drifting through the window, and peace.

For an entire minute.

Gale hid his face in Halsin’s chest and laughed as the entire world outside their door exploded into noise. Sleepy complaints, arguments over towels, accusations of personal effects touched or shifted in the dead of night.

“Ah, the house stirs once more.”

“They’re so much more energetic after the long winter,” Halsin chuckled. “I’d hoped finally being able to run around outside all day would have made them more tired.”

“It certainly doesn’t make the old bear tired.” A pat on the chest and Gale sat up to grab his clothes. Once the noise started there was no time to waste, or riot and recrimination, tragedy and tears might follow. “If anything the spring makes you more prone to fits of sudden enthusiasm.”

A blessing really. Gale’s old man knees could barely keep up with ‘outside time’. He’d say he was becoming the decrepit one but his knees had been giving him trouble since before the tadpole. An old, creaky soul in a younger man’s body.

They dressed with the speed and efficiency long drilled into them from the many, many children they had in their care, shared a quick kiss, twined their fingers, and strode out the door.

Gale was in charge of breakfast. Halsin was in charge of soothing, sometimes pulling one child or another into the kitchen for a private talk while the others ran around setting the table with as few mishaps as possible.

“Now, why did you take her toy without asking?” Halsin sat on the floor to be somewhat more level with the sobbing half-elf boy, his voice low and kind.

“She would have said no. She always says no.”

“Aren’t friends allowed to say no to each other?”

The child sniffled as he tried to grapple with this wisdom, wiping tears and snot all over his face as Halsin leaned over to the sink to grab a cloth and wet it. “But friends share. She’s not my friend anymore.”

“Do you share everything with your friends?”

The “Yes!” burst out of the little lad as a wail, and Gale winced as he tried to focus on the stove. Halsin just nodded understandingly.

“But if you had to say no to your friend, for any reason, would you like it if she got angry at you?”

“… no.”

“Why not?”

This logic was difficult business, and his eyebrows pinched together, not wanting to think when he was still angry and upset. Halsin sighed and tousled his hair gently, knowing he had to give it time to settle.

“Go join the others, breakfast is almost ready.”

“There’s pancakes,” Gale put in. “And fresh berries.”

That cheered him up. The boy beamed a gap-toothed smile as Halsin wiped his face and hands clean and shooed him away.

Another quick kiss, stolen in moments of peace, and breakfast was brought out to cries of surprise and delight. Pancakes, cream, honey, berries. A feast fit for any king.

Nearly everyone fell to immediately, though Gale always kept an eye out for one of the older ones. They were nearly thirteen and a more recent adoption, barely with them half a year, most of which was spent quietly alone in corners with a book or following one of the adults around to offer assistance. And he’d noticed that they still seemed unsure about whether they were allowed to eat as freely as everyone else, hanging back while the others demolished every meal.

There wasn’t going to be very much left in a minute.

He filled a plate very high, slathered it in honey and their favourite sort of berry, added a dollop of cream, and then gave a loud dramatic sigh. “Heavens, I’ve taken far too much. Curse my hubris and greed.”

He saw the young tiefling hide a smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Assistant!”

They straightened up, yellow eyes wide. “Yes sir!”

“Do you think you can take this off my hands?”

They froze, eyes flickering from his serious face to the plate a few times, catching the smile in his eyes.

“Y- yes sir. I think I can do it.”

“Excellent,” he said solemnly. “You always do a fine job. I leave this in your care.”

“What’s hubris?” said a sticky-fingered young half-orc with a mighty thirst for knowledge and a propensity to never wash her hands after eating with them. She was already up to Gale’s waist even at her young age, and if she grew at the same rate she threatened to tower over even Halsin.

“Hubris, my eager young protege-” the quiet tiefling hastily stifled a laugh in a large mouthful of pancake- “is arrogance, over-confidence and presumption.”

She nodded. “Like when I thought I could catch the big fish in the lake by myself. And got pulled in.”

“Exactly so,” he said gravely, pretending not to see Halsin smiling fondly at him. He wasn’t very good with children for the most part. But awkward and precocious children? That was where he, as a former awkward and precocious child, shone. “Now if you could both supervise cleanup, I have a rather enlightening demonstration for all of you today.”

He continued not to see Halsin’s fond smile turning into raised eyebrows of concern as the children, as one, perked up, locking their eyes on him. He waggled his fingers.

“Fire magic. I know some of you are coming into your magic so I will show you the safest way to conjure a fireball in an enclosed space.”

The safest way to conjure a fireball in an enclosed space was not to do it but that had never stopped him as a child and he knew it would never stop a curious young sorcerer.

“Gale-”

“Er… yes. Perhaps we should convene to the garden and demonstrate in the open air before we graduate to enclosed spaces.”

Think of the flowers said Halsin’s eyebrows, but the children had cleared the table like magic and were crowding around Gale eagerly.

“And I hardly need remind some of you that it would be preferable to conduct any such experiments with supervision while you’re still young. Once you have my age and experience there’s no danger of the spell going wrong,” Gale lied blatantly.

Halsin stifled a sigh, already forseeing the need to replant one of the flower beds. But the children were happy, and so was Gale. And so, truth be told, was he. The things one did for the ones they loved.

[wandering-winchesters]

Grief

Summary: The reader loses her grandfather and eventually seeks comfort from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,576

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Death, Casket, Grief & Sadness

A/N: This was written mainly for me. The man in this story was based on my grandfather and the memories recounted are my own. I understand if this is not the type of story for you, but it helped me in my grief. Love always x

In the span of two minutes, in the early hours of my otherwise normal Wednesday morning, my world changed forever. Blinking away the fog of sleep, I reached for my phone that was ringing loudly on the nightstand. My cousin’s name was flashing on the screen, a number of missed calls showing in the background a signal of a bigger issue. I hurriedly accept her call, clearing my throat to enable my voice to speak louder than a whisper. 

“Hello?” The words that would follow would break my soul in ways that I didn’t know possible. 

“He’s gone, Y/N. He passed this morning.” Anything said after that I didn’t hear, I couldn’t process that my grandfather was gone. The call was ended and I sat frozen still tangled in my sheets. The warmth of the blankets no longer enough to replace the chill that had overtaken my skin. Before I knew what I was doing, I climbed out of bed and grabbed my duffle. Beginning the process of packing the bare necessities to get by, the need to get to him was suffocating and pressing in on me like a vice. 

Not twenty minutes later, I closed the door to the bunker quietly behind me. I double checked that it was locked, before climbing into the drivers seat of my truck and throwing my bag into the passenger seat. I shot Sam and Dean a quick text, letting them know I was leaving for a few days and not to worry, even though I knew the text would not be enough to convince them of such. The reality of the situation still had not settled, I knew he was gone, but it just didn’t seem possible. I have hours of road ahead of me and focusing on his death was just not an option. The drive crawled by, every mile felt like ten. Every minute an eternity. I was greeted by family, friends and an overwhelming sense of grief. Yet no tears fell, anger was prevalent and boisterous, denial following in its sharp footsteps. Every intended encouragement of “He’s in a better place,” or “He’s no longer in pain.” Only aggravated my anger. Those words meant to comfort and ease my pain, only ignited it further. Everything I saw in his home, reminded me of the good old days. The times spent in the woods bird watching, or in his workshop creating something new and beautiful. The nights where he would sit and hold my hand, singing songs from when he was younger. I found his journal, read the words he had written and saved them for another time the pain too much to bear. 

I had many missed calls from the boys, their texts growing more and more concerned as my silence grew greater. Their demands for an explanation only made my desire to ignore them more prevalent. Even though, I knew deep down they were just concerned for my safety. The days passed quickly, the funeral looming closer and closer. The grip that grief had on me was looming, it was as a reaper themselves had their icy hands wrapped around my lungs and throat. 

Funeral homes were something that I frequented, many of the cases with the Winchester men ended up in a morgue or a funeral home. I had seen countless dead bodies, in many different forms. However, the morning of the funeral walking into the funeral home, seeing the man who raised me was so very different from every time before. There were many people who loved him that came to show their support, a blur of faces and a mass of stories, he had been so very loved. Yet every minute I stood there was soul shatteringly painful. It was exhausting, my body ached almost as much as my heart. I resorted to every self soothing technique I knew, bracing myself for the next person in line that was waiting to share their grief with me. Yet I survived, I made it through to the end. Everyone else had gone home, yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave his side. I could feel his presence surrounding me, embracing me. I bite my lip, holding back the sobs that have been at bay for days now. The ache in my chest so great it brings me to my knees. 

I am caught off guard by familiar strong hands gripping my waist, fully supporting my weight. Dean’s cologne wafts over my senses and the smallest amount of relief floods over me. 

“You don’t have to keep hiding your pain, sweetheart. There’s no shame in crying.” He whispers, tugging me back against his body and wrapping his arms around me. I am so overwhelmed and confused as to how he came to be here, that his words go almost unheard. 

“How did you know I was here?” I ask, clearing my throat to relive the ache ever so slightly. 

“I pinged your phone, found your location and checked the local paper. I figured there must be something going on, especially if you told us you were leaving but then wouldn’t tell us where or why. I found his obituary and drove straight here. I’ve been outside for the last few hours, I wanted to give you space. I noticed everyone else leaving, but didn’t see you. So I came to find you.” His voice is soft, comforting and it awakened the sadness within me that I had refused to allow space for until this moment. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and silently began to fall. 

“Dean, I-I didn’t want you to see me like this, the weak, crying side of me.” I said, my voice cracking slightly as I spoke. My cheeks heating up as they turn bright red. 

“Y/N, I know it hurts. It’s okay to cry, I’ll be here to wipe your tears, sweetheart.” He says, his thumbs rubbing circles into my skin as he continues to hold me tight against him. I take a couple of steps towards the closed casket, Dean close behind me, his hand securely placed on the small of my back. I rest both of my hands on the lid to the casket and let every emotion free. Before I can stop it, a sob leaves my lips, tears are falling hard and hot. I have never cried like this, I have never felt pain like this. The guttural reaction it pulls from me, is something that I have never experienced before. My vision is blurred by the tears collecting in my eyelashes. The mascara and eyeliner I had applied earlier in the day, surely streaking black remnants down my face. 

“I couldn’t grieve him, De, I had to be strong for everyone else. They were all relying on me to plan this and put everything together. I didn’t have the time to grieve and now I have to say goodbye. I’m not ready to say goodbye.” I get the words out between sobs, turning to bury my head in Dean’s chest, swallowed up in his embrace. He immediately wraps his arms around me once again, his head coming to rest against the top of my own. His lips brushing against my hair as he murmurs words of comfort, pressing a kiss every so often. 

“I’m here, I’m always here.” He whispers once I pull away, he brushes my hair out of my face and caresses my face with his thumb. It’s not until that moment, that I see Sam, he’s sitting silently in the corner of the room. Waiting to offer comfort, but not wanting to encroach on Dean and I. The second our eyes meet, I burst into tears once again. The ache in my chest heavy, surely if I were to die of a broken heart this is what it would feel like. Sam quietly crosses the room and pulls me into his arms, his embrace just as warm and welcoming as Deans. 

“I am so sorry for your loss, Y/N.” He says, his grip tightening momentarily before he lets me go. Dean offers me his hand and I gratefully accept it, allowing him to guide me outside. I steal one last glance at the closed casket and follow him closely. 

“Can I drive you home, sweetheart?” Dean asks, hesitating outside of my truck, his eyes soft and concerned. I nod, not trusting my voice to give a verbal response. He helps me climb into the passenger seat of my truck, and gently shuts my door. I let my head fall back against the seat and my eyes flutter shut. I hear the drivers side door open and feel the truck shift as Dean climbs in and adjusts the seat to his liking. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just didn’t know how.” I open my eyes and glance over at him as he starts the truck, he gives me a small smile and extends his arm resting his hand on my leg. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I understand completely.” We ride in silence for awhile, my mind a constant rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions. My tears have stopped and everything other than my thoughts are quiet. There is rain hitting the roof of the truck, the tires are crunching against the gravel, but the only other sound is Deans fingers lightly tapping against the steering wheel of the car, keeping rhythm to whatever song is playing in his head. 

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, breaking the silence. I hesitate, trying to gather my thoughts into an actual sentence, instead of the dark depression that is swirling around in my head. 

“Just remembering, the good times.” I say, a small smile breaking the surface of my lips. 

“Care to share?” He asks, his eyes flitting back and forth from the road to my face. I chuckle softly, the memory in my mind floating through my head as an image. 

“Okay, so you remember how my grandparents were together? My grandfather was always super flirtatious towards my grandmother? Well, this one time she was in a bad mood and he was trying to get her to laugh. So he took two balls of yarn, from her knitting project, stuffed them under his button down t-shirt and proceeded to parade around as if he had really big boobs. My cousin and I found it hilarious, my grandmother on the other hand was pissed. Well, for a few minutes, until she finally relaxed and laughed about it. I have the picture printed and hanging in the bunker?” Dean laughs, the clear and deep sound pierces the air around us and I relish the way it hangs in my ears. 

“Do you have anymore you want to talk about?” He asks again, a slight twinkle in his eyes. I think for a minute, weeding through the memories in my head, some more clear than others. 

“One time, after he got sick, he had this woodworking project that he wanted to do. He had all of these buildings on the farm filled to the brim with different types of wood, all different colors and ages. We spent no less than four hours, walking around so he could find just the perfect pieces for his project.” 

It went on like this for awhile, I talked and Dean listened. He let me go on about how my grandfather would always shift the car into neutral when stopping at a stop light, how he would eat cranberry mousse on top of his pumpkin pie at thanksgiving. How he would sing my name as a greeting anytime I called him, or sing the numerous different old jingles from old toothpaste brands or other household products. How much I loved to hear him talk about anything and everything, from the weather to the stock market. The time when I was little, that he took me to a Poinsettia greenhouse that was a four hour drive and he just loved every minute of it. He was just so special and everyone loved him. 

I grow quiet again, the rawness of my grief pulsing within me. Through all of this, exhaustion is creeping up within me. I scoot over the bench seat, getting as close to Dean as the truck will allow and rest my head against his shoulder. My intention was not to sleep, but just to close my burning eyes and seek the slightest comfort. 

However, I fell asleep. Only realizing this when Dean opened the door to the truck and eased me into his arms.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I open my eyes slightly and he shushes me. 

“It’s okay. you needed it, and you looked too peaceful for me to wake you up. Close your eyes, I’ll bring you to bed.” He says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and tucking my head beneath his chin. I do as he says, closing my eyes and allowing the sound of his breathing and the smell of his cologne to overwhelm my senses. I can hear him cross the threshold of the bunker, whispering something to Sam who had driven the Impala back. He makes his way to my bedroom, gently kicking the door open with his foot and closing the distance to my bed quickly. He gingerly sets me down on the sheets, pulling the blankets up over my skin. I open my eyes once again, taking in the sight of the tall older Winchester in front of me, grateful for his friendship and the love he has shown me in this dark time. “Get some sleep, sweetheart, I won’t be far.” He presses another kiss to my skin and turns to leave my room. Fear grabs hold of me and before I can thing, I speak. 

“Dean, will you stay, please?” I whisper, a sob clawing its way out of my lungs. He sighs, not a sigh of frustration, but of empathy. He nods silently, climbing in beside me and gently tugging me against his chest. He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss against my forehead. 

“It’s not gonna hurt like this forever. It will always be there, but your life will grow and it will hurt less. I promise, Y/N.” He says, stroking my skin gently. The comfort leeching from him, something I needed from the day I got that phone call. I let my eyes fall closed, trying to block out every thought and just exist in this very moment, surrounded by a man who would do anything for me, who would love me unconditionally and always let me be true to my emotions. 

Dean was right, life went on. Even though some days, I wanted it to slow down more than anything, I wanted the world to stop so I could just exist in my grief. I wanted to go back several years before, take more pictures, listen to more of his stories, take more videos of him singing. I longed to hear his voice just one more time, ask him one more question. Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t do, I focused on what I could do. I noticed the birds more, some of his favorite creatures. I watched more sunrises and sunsets, embracing the beauty around me as he would have done. I will always remember the days we had together, I will always long for more. For now though, I will grieve. And that’s okay. 

Tag List: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

@hunterscabin This contains some memories of my grandfather, I hope you will read them. <3

[serialadoptersbracket]

Round 2, Match 30: Kazuma Kiryu vs. Yuugo and Lucas

Submitted kids:

Kazuma Kiryu: Haruka, Ayako, Eri, Riona, Izumi, Taichi, Koji, Mitsuo, and Shiro

Yuugo and Lucas: My guy. [They have] like 60. I'm not gonna list them all.

Propaganda under the cut! (Spoilers ahead!)

Kazuma Kiryu:

1. “There's a pretty big section of one of the game that's entirely about taking care of all those kids and it's all really sweet !”

2. “How the fuck did he get 9. There’s like 6-8 games where he’s the main character and he adopts haruka rlly early, but then in one game in the middle of the series, in the beginning like opening scenes he’s like avtually fuck it I’m adopting an ENTIRE orphanage/eight WHOLE children. (not a bit like. He actually did that) he’s the silliest billy badass old man. Grampy Kiryu also, bc haruka has a kid now.”

Yuugo and Lucas:

Yuugo: “I LOVE THIS RAT MAN SO MUCH ok so he starts off not wanting anything to do with these 15 children (ik i said 60 but they come later) who showed up at his doorstep because yk his entire family was killed and he's afraid of loving someone in the same way again. So he tries to push them away but oh boy these kids are clingy and also they found the emergency detonator and threatened him with blowing up his house.

Here's the thing though one character arc, the reuniting with his friend who he thought was long dead, and the rescue of an entire hunting ground full of kids later raising these kids literally becomes his new purpose in life. Along with Lucas (his aforementioned friend who I'm convinced is married to him) he helps teach them everything he knows about surviving in such a hostile world, things he himself had to learn the hard way which cost a lot of his loved ones his life. Before these kids showed up he was hopeless and without purpose. He didn't know why he was still alive and even contemplated ending it all. But all this changed when he adopted these kids.

Lucas: Anyway imagine watching your entire family die in front of you because you got trapped in a human hunting ground run by man eating demons, so you start a rebellion by recruiting kids in the hunting ground and teach them how to use guns among other things. That's what Lucas did!! :D

Anyway it's pretty much confirmed that he's the kids' confirmed dad, there's like 2 scenes where they outright call him their father. But I disgress.

Much of what I said in the Yuugo propaganda applies to him as well, he teaches the kids all he knows about survival which he had to learn the hard way and would protect them with his life. The difference is he's been doing the parent thing for a lot longer, he literally RAISED the Goldy Pond kids.

Both: First off: gay marriage. Second: The way they know exactly what it's like to lose loved ones due to inexperience and how they went "yeah no way in Hell this is gonna happen to these kids we're gonna prepare them for The Horrors" was a 2 person thing you think it's easy to take care of 60 children and homeschool them? Third: This is spoilers btw. They go and do a Die Hard (infiltrate a building that's been completely overtaken by the enemy and take it back from the inside) just so their children wouldn't have to live with the trauma of killing an actual human being.

I wish they were my dads.”

[gengarghast]

Lilith Dusk: The Wraith of the Leviathan

A short explanation of my Destiny 2 OC.

Warning: This post is going to be VERY LONG!! Do not open below the cut if you don't want it to go supernova.

TLDR: She was trapped on EVIL MUSHROOM SHIP and got dragon ghosts all up in her brain.

Background (For people new to Destiny)

A while ago in Destiny, there was this guy called Calus. Alien space emperor type. He hosted tournaments and games on this giant ship called the Leviathan, and he showered the winners in praise and treasure. And then, he vanished. Roughly around two years ago, during the Season of the Haunted, the Leviathan reappeared, covered in this gross shit called Egregore fungus that feeds on the psychic trauma created by death.

On the Leviathan

Anyways, Lilith was one of the Guardians¹ who were participating in Calus' games, but unlike the others she didn't leave the ship before it vanished. So she was forced to hide and skulk around and steal and survive all the while the ship was overtaken by the Egregore and the Darkness. Her armor is of her own creation, forged from stolen scraps of Ahamkara² bone as well as gold and silver and whatever else she could scavenge- Including the armor of other fallen Guardians who suffered the same fate as her.

Over time, the many, many fragments of Ahamkara bones that made up her armor began developing the ability to psychically communicate with her, and they forged an uneasy alliance- Her wishing³ for basic things in order for her to survive, and the bones keeping her alive so that she could keep wishing.

During that time, she also obtained her two favorite weapons, both also having Ahamkara bone modded into them- Dead Man's Tale, an old-fashioned lever rifle, and Bad Juju, a pulse rifle adorned with the skull of a small Ahamkara.

Eventually with the Leviathan's reappearance, she was able to escape the ship. During that time, she had grown fond of the collective Ahamkara voices that had been bound to her, and they had grown fond of her in turn. And so, she continued to wear that scavenged armor, with some minor professional tuning and tweaks to make it not just bones stuck to armor.

She also ate, like, a lot of Egregore. Like a LOT. Which is how all those Ahamkara bones formed such a strong bond with her mind, because Egregore spores open your mind up to outside influence, or in this case, psychic dragon ghosts.

Lilith "Lily" Dusk

In terms of her personality, her time aboard the Leviathan made her paranoid and jumpy, but very loyal to those she sees as trustworthy. Aside from that, she is also very prone to angry outbursts or getting overwhelmed when faced with confrontation and judgement. After being isolated on the Leviathan for years with only her Ghost⁴ and the Ahamkara voices to keep her 'company', she is terrible when it comes to social encounters and usually bungles it, being rude, blunt, and abrasive without even realizing it. Despite this, she tries her best to be nice.

Also, she doesn't like to take off the armor. She probably sleeps in it tbh-

Glossary

Guardians are the player characters in Destiny, super-powered people who can come back from the dead with the power of Light.

Ahamkara are a species of 'dragons' in the Destiny universe- They wield paracausal abilities that allow them to grant monkey's-paw wishes and remain semi-sentient after death, whispering psychic messages to the one who wields their bones.

Wishing feeds Ahamkara, as they consume the cosmic chaos/energy that results from wishing.

A Ghost are a Guardians' companion, they supply their Guardian with the power of the Light and are able to resurrect them when they die.

[ohwynne]

TIMING: Around Christmastime PARTIES: Zane @rn-zane & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: A store SUMMARY: Zane and Wynne have to deal with an entitled customer while in line together! A conversation follows. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

After all this talk about Christmas decorations and consumerism and what not, Zane couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty as he hugged the shopping basket to his chest. It was just a few strings of lights, nothing boisterous, but the darkness of the house from the outside felt more and more looming with every passing day. The least he could do was put up some lights, pretend it was inviting when he got home from work. Actually making it look lived in would perhaps prevent an accidental squatter from settling in, too. Especially now with Chris dropping in when needed. 

The store was fairly busy, an after-work rush forming a decent queue to the cash register. Zane zoned out, eyes rolling slightly when he finally noticed that there was indeed Christmas music playing. Apparently it really was never too early. Blocking out the rather bad pop-rendition of Santa Baby, his eyes roamed aimlessly until they caught on a gut wrenchingly familiar sight. Wynne’s back was facing him but it was them, no doubt about it. A few people separated them in the line but the second they’d finished paying, Wynne would turn and spot him. 

They’d made it very clear that Zane’s… well, existence, brought them discomfort. He couldn’t blame them in the slightest. Shifting on his feet, worry rising at the thought of ruining Wynne’s whole day, about them probably trying to be polite while absolutely hating the sight of him, Zane made the sudden decision to simply leave. Gently nudging the person in front of him with an apologetic smile, he gestured past her. “Sorry, I just need to-”

“Boy, if you think I’m letting you cut this line, you are dead wrong.” Her voice rang out loudly, eyes sharp and freezing Zane to the spot, excuses about just needing to get past to leave falling on deaf ears as she continued on a tirade of ‘kids these days and their manners.’

—

With their new job paying a little better, Wynne was starting to grow more comfortable with spending some money on themself. One of their newest objectives when it came to spending money was adding more items to their wardrobe, which had been limited and very much filled with old Protherian clothing ever since they’d ran away. And though those fabrics were sturdy and comfortable, they looked out of place or rather — not like themself. Someone who had grown untethered from the commune that had clad them, fed them and told them how to both live and die.

They had tried on different clothes, looking at their figure in the mirror as if it was an improved version of themself, while also feeling like they were a stranger. It wasn’t really like they were venturing out wildly — they still clung to muted, earthy tones. But there was a pair of jeans in their arms that felt very much like a statement piece to them.

It was a glorious, kind moment where their freedom was celebrated in a tiny yet meaningful way. They almost forgot about the pessimism that had overtaken their mind, but it soon enough returned when another customer raised her voice. Wynne looked over their shoulder to look at the commotion, eyes already wide but growing wider at the sight of Zane. The sound of the woman’s voice seemed muffled even if it grew louder with every self righteous work she spoke and Wynne swallowed.

They seemed to land after a moment, grasping the situation better as in the background of their mind they remembered the vampire woman who had forced Zane’s head down into their neck. How she was dead like Padrig and the demon. They didn’t feel afraid, they found, just a general type of bad. Like their guts were churning in their stomach in response. “It’s okay, he’s with me, he’s not cutting in line,” she said to the woman, fingers digging in the fabric. “But we’ll um, leave. Okay?” Wynne moved from their spot in the line, leaving one less person for the angry woman to wait on and heading towards the back of it. The last thing they wanted was to be a witness or participant in some kind of scene. At the back of the line they loitered, looking at Zane and wanting to say something — just not being sure what. 

—--

This was hell. Hell was real and Zane was stuck smack dab in the middle of it, being shouted at by an older lady with Wynne’s attention turning towards him, eyes widening in horror. He could have moved first, turned his head away, anything. Instead, Wynne’s gaze and the angry confrontation kept him glued to the spot, mouth dry and stomach twisted with anxiety. In some karmic twist, Wynne was the one who stepped up to the rescue, diffusing the situation. 

The woman still looked offended but clearly found it harder to be angry with Wynne than the tall and, in her opinion, rude young man. Zane, to his credit, did manage to mutter an apology despite being practically smacked speechless at this point. His feet shuffled until he too had left the queue, hands clutching desperately at the basket in his hands. As if the solution to this situation rested somewhere underneath the lights and garland stuffed in there. 

Wynne was watching him, making a prompt exit stage left seem a bit hasty, so Zane slowly shifted his way over. A good six feet of distance separated them, both seeming just as lost for words. “Those look nice,” was the first thing to leave his mouth that wouldn’t have been a new rendition of profuse apologies, head nodding towards the jeans in their arms. 

—

So much had happened since that time in the barn. That wasn’t to say the memories had grown any less sharp and jagged — Wynne still awoke panting to the memory of that dank and dark place, feeling that cold sharp pain in their neck again. They still looked at Arden and wondered if she thought about it too, if she replayed those bits even if she didn’t want to. But so much had happened since all the same. 

Some of the most relevant occurrences perhaps having happened within them. Though part of them was more lost than ever now that the demon was dead and that chapter was closed, they also felt more in charge than they ever had before. Zane was no longer as scary a thing as he had once been, in those initial days, weeks and even months since the kidnapping. And though they felt uncomfortable, there was no resentment or fear to be found. Just that same sadness that everything came back to these days. 

They looked down at their jeans, then back up at Zane. “Oh. Thank you.” Wynne grimaced a little. They almost opened their mouth to explain that they were very excited to buy new clothes, but Zane barely really knew them. “That woman was not very nice. Your … lights are nice though.” They dug their teeth in their lip. “Um. How have you … been?” They did kind of wonder. After all, they understood now that Zane had lost quite a bit at that barn, too.

—

It wasn’t a smile but it was… something. Their eyes no longer held the same glaring amount of conflict as they’d done in the hospital, the last time Zane had seen them. Wynne looked better, too. Stronger, almost. But still in some ways shrunken by the weight of the vampire’s presence. He glanced back towards the woman who had loudly made her opinions known, giving a small shrug. “People get tense around the holidays,” he excused, even though he had no idea if that was just the lady’s general attitude. Benefit of the doubt. 

His lips quirked slightly, relieved in some ways that Wynne seemingly wanted to keep this conversation going. It almost slipped out, that he was going to decorate the house but bringing their attention to the place Wynne had been held and hurt seemed… bad. “Trying my hand at some decorating,” Zane said lamely instead, shifting his weight, wishing things were different. 

“Oh, uhm…” His eyebrows had shot up in surprise, the question probably the last thing he’d expected Wynne to ask. “You know… dealing. Done a bit of training with Emilio which was… surprisingly nice. Lots of work, keeping busy.” Zane focused on relaxing his hands, currently twisting the handle of his basket within an inch of its life, the plastic threatening to snap. “You and uh, Ariadne, huh? That’s great.”

—

That seemed to be true enough, that these so-called holidays made people more tense. Wynne tried not to think about last year around this time, when they’d been on the run and so many places had been packed and decorated. “I guess so.” People at home would get stressed around big rituals and the like as well, lash out more easily and make larger demands. They wanted to stop comparing things to the past and live in the present.

But it was unshakeable. Zane stood across from them in the store, but they were also across from them in the barn. They blinked. “I like the decorations,” they stated bluntly and simply, “The town looks nice. Twinkling like that.” They tried not to think about where Zane might put up the decorations, preferred to think it was just at the hospital. 

When the vampire mentioned Emilio they were a little surprised. It wasn’t like they felt betrayed by this fact — just surprised. They trusted the slayer’s judgment, just as they trusted in Ariadne’s. That was two points in Zane’s favor. “That’s very nice of him. He taught me some moves too. It’s good I think, for us.” They probably could use some fighting skills. “Still at the hospital?” Wynne beamed a little, nodding. “Yes. I’m — maybe it’s …” They cut themself off. “It’s really nice. About five months now.”

—---

Zane couldn’t pretend not to notice the signs of discomfort, the way Wynne’s eyes would unfocus for a second or shift uncomfortably away from him, the tension in their shoulders. Not that he was doing any better but comparing their situations felt unfair - Wynne didn’t have anything to make up to him. “I agree. It’s always been my favorite thing about the season, everyone trying to keep away the darkness.” He huffed out a quiet chuckle at himself. “Which sounds way too dramatic when talking about fairy lights.”

Talking about the people they both knew instantly felt safer. Zane didn’t want Wynne feeling obliged to ask how he was doing, to pretend to care about his emotional state just for the sake of politeness. Both of them cared about Emilio, for some reason, and Ariadne for obvious reasons so the common ground felt steadying. The line moved forward and the two shuffled along with it. “Yeah, it was strangely nice. He’s a good teacher.” It was comforting that Wynne was learning how to defend themselves, too. While Zane definitely needed to, it was clear which of the two was more vulnerable. “Still there, yup. No shortage of people that need the ER, sadly.”

Watching Wynne’s face be taken over by an emotion that wasn’t stress nor discomfort made Zane unable to contain his own smile. “I’m really happy for you two. It’s good that you have each other.”

—

The world had been painted in black and white at home. No shades of gray — just absolutes. Things were either good or bad. There was either sowing or reaping, day or night, life or death. All these opposites were required for a balanced world, and in that kind of world view there was no space for someone like Zane. Someone who had hurt them badly and was still good. But Wynne had gained insight over the past months and knew now that these things could coexist. “No, it makes sense. At home we’d burn a lot of candles when it got dark. And there were the stars, of course. You can’t see them as well here.” They flushed a little, at this lifting of the veil. 

It was still hard to trust their own judgment at time, as it felt like their mind was leaking with the thoughts of people back home. But Emilio and Ariadne trusted Zane, and he was being nice to them now. They inhaled and exhaled deeply and found that their unease wasn’t as large as it had been at the beginning of this conversation. “He really is.” They smiled sadly. “I would hope one day less people need it.”

They nodded. “I think so too.” Wynne was quiet for a moment, fumbling with the tag on the jeans. They didn’t want to befriend Zane, but they also didn’t want to think of him as the monster from their memory any more. He’d killed the woman who’d forced his teeth down. Wynne had condemned their mentor to death. There was a red thread there, something tying them together. They didn’t want to explain it to him yet (if ever), but it made them feel something close to forgiveness. “It’s okay. If you want to be friends with Ariadne. I’ve thought about that. It’s okay. You seem like …” They shrugged. “You could be a good friend to her.” They were both undead, after all. And in that area, Wynne could never offer Ariadne their full understanding.

—

It took him a moment to realize the flush spreading over Wynne’s face and another moment to realize why, his usual intuitiveness in reading people murky by the stress of this encounter. They had revealed something they hadn’t meant to, reminding Zane of their strange bonding experience way back in that hospital room. Another piece in the puzzle of Wynne's life, but clearly one they hadn’t meant to let slip so Zane brushed it off for them. “Nothing really beats a sky full of stars. I am a sucker for a scented candle, though.” 

Again, silence settled between the two of them but it didn’t feel quite as heavy as before, a small step in the right direction perhaps? Zane was used to the silence of people thinking, pondering on a response or what to say next. Now that Wynne no longer looked like they wanted to bolt from the store, he could let the silence sit. Eyes widened slightly when they finally spoke again, a proverbial olive branch being handed over that Zane still didn’t feel quite deserving of. “That’s-” He cut himself off, an array of things to say at the ready that all eventually boiled down to sounding like he didn’t trust Wynne’s judgment on this. 

“Alright. Well, I’ll be here if she has any time. I’ve heard being in a nice relationship can be really time consuming.” A joke, sort of, delivered with a soft smile. Almost hopeful. Zane didn’t expect Wynne to ever fully get over what had happened - it had left more scars than just the one they were clearly quite expert at covering up. But maybe things could, at some point, be fine. 

— 

Zane didn’t ask about where they’d come from, where they had burned the candles and seen the stars. There were a lot of places with candles and stars, of course, but it still felt like something personal. Maybe one day they’d tell him about how they’d recognized something of themself in him, but this place was not the right one. “I personally prefer a nice scented oil. But I don’t say no to a candle either.” This small bit of common ground was nice enough for now.

Had this really been the person who’d ripped open their throat? Who’d made them bleed despite his refusal to? It was hard to think of this Zane as the same person as he stood here, with strings of lights and talking of things so mundane. Wynne knew people contained multitudes. People could be vicious and violent and yet be kind, like Emilio. People could care about you and still intend to hurt you, like their parents. People could be the sweetest, softest person you knew and still have to make others afraid, like Ariadne. It didn’t make sense, but it did. It just was this way.

They let out a nervous laugh, bursting past their lips awkwardly. “We have our own lives! But yes … I do take up some of her time. But it’s okay. Really.” Wynne was sure of it. They felt a twinge of selfishness for their previous request, but then their neck was still marred. Some things took time. “I hope your house looks nice after decorating. I’m … I’m going to check out now. See you around, Zane.” There was no need to duck into an opposite direction if they were to see him again, after all. He hadn’t meant any harm in the barn and he certainly meant no, now. They lifted a hand in a half wave and walked back to the check-out, feeling their throat throb but feeling something besides their elation, too. Hope.

[bisexualdinahlance]

can you explain the Casey McQuiston thing a little further? I'm pretty brand new to the rwrb fandom and not familiar

There's been rumors for years in the RWRB fandom and outside of it that Casey McQuinston used to be on tumblr and was a fic writer for the Social Network/Social Network RPF fandom. Further, there was a lot of rumors that RWRB was SN RPF with the serial numbers filed off. The original tumblr account people say was Casey I'm pretty sure is either gone or dead now, and the fanfic author that people say they are took down their fics years ago. It's very possible that that person was Casey, but like without them fessing up there's no way to know for sure.

Someone on Youtube did a whole video essay deep dive into investigating the accounts, and even read the fic people claim RWRB is based on. The conclusion the video essayist came to was that she thought the author was Casey but that the fic was nothing like RWRB. (Which of course it wasn't lmao, the intro to the book literally talks about how they wrote it during and after the 2016 election - several years after the fics were deleted.) There's a good chance she's right, but while some of the reasoning is good, one of the reasons was literally that both authors "inserted their media opinions superfluously" into the story that broke their immersion because both authors made fun of "blonde women [the video essayist] liked" lol. So I take the conclusion with a grain of salt even if the investigation work was good.

Anyone who has read the book I'm sure can tell that Casey probably wrote fanfiction, but it's pretty clear to me that it's not lol. It just has tropes and dynamics that are popular in fandom spaces, as well as some specific turns of phrases. Which isn't a bad thing lol, RWRB is my guilty pleasure fave, I adore it even if it feels a bit lib in the current political climate.

I doubt that Casey ever saw the rumors - for a while it was mostly just snarky tumblr or reddit comments that brought it up to prove moral superiority over not liking the book. But it's still frustrating to me that like an author is essentially being haunted reputationally by fanfic they might or might not have written as a teenager/college student. Even the fanlore page for the book is completely overtaken by people speculating that it's a fanfiction. I would be PISSED if I got published, and everyone claimed my books were Harry Potter fanfiction because I used to be in the HP fandom in high school and college. And then spread around old fanfiction that I deleted off the internet because I got made fun of for how bad the smut was.

(Part of the "proof" that some people used as to the original fic being RWRB was it was deleted off of LJ but the fanlore page on the actual fic speculates it's because the author was getting bitchy messages about the quality of the smut in the fic.)

Anyway, sorry this wasn't super... coherent I have a lot of opinions on the subject. the TL;DR is that Casey might have been a BNF in the Social Network fandom, and because of that people speculated that they turned one of their SNRPF's into RWRB. It's pretty clear that they didn't do that, but these rumors have haunted the fandom for years because people keep spreading them like they're fact.

And I think authors should be allowed to keep their fandom separate from their professional work exactly because of shit like this lol.

[ohnono1]

A Teaser for my Future Story.

Happy @barrissday everyone! I wanted to join in on the fun. So in Honor of my favorite Mirialan, I wanted to give you guys a peek at my future story. A story with 2 franchise into one. Here you go!

______________________________________________________________

What felt like hours riding across the Plains of Rohan, Barriss could only wonder what she could face in this new world. It was a day ago when Alex and Ahsoka freed her from her cell. None would dare free a traitor. None would free a murder. But that didn’t stop Alex from seeing the light still burning inside her. With the Galaxy now hunting for the trio, it seemed hopeless to outrun and hide. But the memories of home still lingered in Alex’s mind. 

Here they are, a planet in the Outer Rim. A place far from the Republic and the Separatist’s influence. A place where they can lay low and help the Mirialan. Barriss has been given a second chance. Not only is she receiving help from her friends, but also Alex’s four old friends. A Wizard, a Dwarf, an Elf, and a Man. 

Coming over the small hill, the 6 riders halted. There they saw a town. Primarily built of wood. A dike and mighty wall and thorny fence encircled it. A green Terrance laid within the town. The Great Halls of Men. The Capital of Rohan, Edoras.

The sight of the wooden town dumbfounded the two girls. They expected the city to have some sort of technology. But from where they stood, it was obvious there was an absence of tech. It was also breath of fresh air from massive towers that dwarfed an ordinary person on Coruscant. 

“Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld.” The White Wizard announced to others. “There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman’s hold over King Theoden is now very strong.”

From the words of Alex and the other four Fellowship members about the Fallen Wizard, Ahsoka and Barriss increasingly became nervous. Though they never met Saruman, they can only infer that he was dangerous. More dangerous an Sith Lord. 

“Can we do anything to help him?” Barriss asks Gandalf. Concerned about the situation. 

“Yes.” Gandalf replied. “But don’t think that you’ll be welcome here. The people of this city have never seen anything like you and Ahsoka before. With Saruman’s hold over the Halls, his spies could reveal that the Jedis have returned to Middle Earth. It could spell danger for you. Best you three cover yourself.” 

Barriss’ worries only increased more. But understands that revealing themselves could get both her, Ahsoka, and Alex into trouble. 

“Be Careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here.” *The group continued onward towards Edoras. The Jedis immediately use the hoods to cover themselves the best they could. Hoping to their appearance won’t spell trouble. 

______________________________________________________________

Inside the Hall, the White Lady of Rohan, Eowyn kneels at the bedside of her recently dead cousin, Theodred. She was the only one who’s grieving over the lost of the King’s son. Her Uncle whose mind is overtaken and doesn’t react when his niece gives him the news of the death of his son, her brother Eomer banished from Rohan, she was alone. 

As Eowyn continues crying by the bedside, the Counselor to Theoden and the mole for Saruman Grima Wormtongue enters the room. Standing by the doorway, watching Eowyn. 

“Oh, he must’ve died sometime during the night.” The pale mole softly spoke as he walks towards grieving woman. “What a tragedy for the king to lose his only and heir.” He moves and sits on the bed. “I understand. His passing is hard to accept. Especially now that your brother has deserted you.” Grima finishes as he places his hand on Eowyn’s shoulder.

“Leave me alone snake!” Eowyn jumps up as she stands away from the Sycophant. Unfazed by his “words” of comfort.

“But you are alone. Who knows what you’ve spoken to the darkness.” The Flatterer gets up from the bed and begins to walk around the Shieldmaiden. “In the bitter watches of the night… when all your life seems to shrink. The walls of your bower closing in about you. A hutch to trammel some wild thing in.” 

“So fair. So cold.” Grima places his hand to Eowyn’s cheek as she closes her eyes. Running his hand down her throat. “Like a morning of pale spring…. Still clinging to winter’s chill.”

Tears slowly formed in Eowyn’s eyes. Breathing steadily and softly as Grima continues to feel her neck. But opens her eyes. The woman stared at him for a moment. His words of comfort did not work on Eowyn. Regaining herself.

“Your words are poison.” 

She runs out of the room to the entrance of the Golden Hall. Leaving Grima disappointed. Passing through the doors of the Hall, she stands staring out at the wooden city. She felt hopeless. Her brother is gone, her uncle under the influence of Saruman, and her cousin dead. As she stares out, she sees three horses from the distance. Riding towards Edoras. The flagpole next to her, flutters loosen and is carried away by the wind. Signaling the state of decay the kingdom of Rohan is in. 

Gandalf and the others arrive to the gates of Edoras. As they move in, from behind Aragorn and Alex reaches the outside gates. Both see the Rohan standard flutters falling down to the ground next to them. Before entering the city, Alex quickly summons the flutters with the Force to his hand. Quickly putting the flag away. 

The group entered Edoras. Ahsoka and Barriss looked at the surroundings. Trying to make sense of the place. Confusion quickly overtook them. It was obvious that there was an absence of any form of technology. There were no droids, crates, nothing. What Alex had told them. Any type of technology doesn’t exist in Middle Earth. As the company continued their way towards the hall, they received sidelongs looks from villagers. Aragorn, Alex, and Ahsoka would see a maiden dressed in white, standing in front of the Golden Hall.

The anxiety increased further for Ahsoka and Barriss. They sensed the despair among the people. Barriss continued to hide herself in her hood. The memories of the Clone Wars flooded back into her mind. Barriss recalled the times where she saw towns or city in the similar state as Rohan.  

“You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard.” Gimli comments as he looks at the situation Rohan is in and the side-longing looks from the villagers. 

As her looked back up at the Golden Hall, Aragorn sees that the maiden is gone. 

______________________________________________________________

This is my First Story Project. So I’m new to this. Also sorry if the dialogue or description is wack, I’m new to this again. So please, lend me some advice so that this story can turn out perfect. Not only that but Tumblr as well. So to sum all of this up, I’m new to all of this. So please help me these sort of things. Thank you.

Coming soon: Star Wars: War of the Ring.

Happy Barriss Day!

P.S. Expect the first chapter somewhere this month. Due to my laziness and work for skhool, it will be a while. Sorry.

[bigbadripley]

Chapter 18 - Trippin

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!F!OC, F!OC x Modern!Miguel O'Hara

Summary: Everything changed after Marc and Simone moved to New York. Being in a relationship with the Fist of Khonshu proved to be difficult enough without the added obstacles of normal relationships being forced into the mix. With seemingly irreconcilable differences overhead, fate’s plans continue to drive the pair back into each other’s lives, testing their patience, self-control, and new relationships. Is it truly written in the stars, or is it old habits taking over?

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT |   Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Angst, reference smut, reference to non-dubious consent, mention of death, reference to violence, mentioned use of tobacco, lots of arguing, miscommunications, jealous!Miguel, small injury on a set of stairs, toy firearm use, Steven is yet again the sweetest individual in this series.

Words: 8K

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter List and AO3 saw it first!

" I appreciate you for your patience Even though I know it's runnin' thin I ain't tryna put you on the waitlist Maybe we were better off as  friends " -"Trippin" by EARTHGANG

It felt like  the  harder  Simone tried to sleep, the more impossible it became.  Fortunately, at an indiscernible time in the early morning hours , she drifted off into a light slumber .   The unfortunate part came when she was awoken  seemingly right away  by the buzz of her phone under the pillow  next to  her.

A quick examination of her surroundings remedied  the slight confusion she felt  in her sleepy daze: it wasn't some dream she could blink away.  She was indeed right where she thought she was, eyes undeceiving. Once she was re-familiarized, she pulled the cell phone into view of her tired eyes. It was Miguel returning her call.

Miguel apologized for not answering when Simone called the night before, claiming he had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day and woke up to a dead phone. An easy conversation about how strange and awkward everything was soon turned into a beat of dead air so silent you would think they lost connection.

"So, six more days?"  Miguel spoke up, breaking the hush.

"More than that, probably. We have to figure out what to do about this place."

"I'll be betting on at least a week and a half, then?"  

"Likely so. I'm sorry, I didn't think about that."

"No worries. Maybe I'll be down after to help with the house stuff."

Simone smiled at the suggestion,  elated  that he would  both make time for her and tolerate Marc in a time of need. Perhaps things will work out after all.

"We could probably plan that. Sounds nice."

As if Simone's morning couldn't get any stranger, she was overtaken by the smell of melted butter as she descended the stairs. With each step she took, she felt  more and more  anxious to take the next. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face  a full  day with Marc but breathed a sigh of relief when she made it to the floor and heard humming that could only mean Steven was present. 

"Morning, darling."  He greeted her with a smile  upon spotting her  and waved the plastic spatula.  "Pancakes?" 

"Sounds great, thank you, Stevie," Simone replied as her bare feet patted the hardwood floors.  She couldn't help but reminisce about old  times;  watching him make a  simple,   yet   thoughtful ,   breakfast and coming up behind to wrap her arms around his middle, sprinkling dozens of kisses along his back.  

Those memories weren't lost for Steven, either  and  he half-expected to feel those arms caress him.  Once  he saw her take a seat at the table after she passed behind him, though, he knew it was a long cause. 

"Hope you don't mind my being here." He said, not sure what to expect as a response but was pleased to see Simone gesture that it was fine. This made Steven happy, even if it was wordless confirmation. "Marc needs some... rest, you could say. Not big on sleeping during the late hours, yeah?"

Simone watched as Steven flipped a pancake and listened to the satisfying sizzle of the batter hitting the hot cast iron. It hadn't crossed her mind before then how hungry she was, and she nearly missed what he was saying while focused on the rumbling of her stomach. 

"I know it. I didn't get much shut-eye either." She aimlessly replied, now running her eyes over the blue cotton tee and black and white plaid pajama bottoms he wore. She used to steal and wear that same combination all the time. 

"Weird being back?" Steven asked as he looked over at her.  His eyes  locking  with her own broke the trance  and  she diverted to the skillet  right away .  

"Weird being alone with you guys. No offense."

"No, no, I get it." He reassured. Simone looked back up and studied him  taking  a clean plate from the drying rack next to the sink. Mrs. Jacobs took care of them before she left the night before, insisting that we don't need to worry about it. "Bananas and peanut butter?"

He still knows what I like.  Simone thought to herself. She pursed her mouth to keep from grinning and gave him a nod but noticed he had already begun expertly spreading the chunky condiment onto one of the cakes with the back of a spoon. Her eagerness grew as he carefully placed slices of banana and stacked the three wonky-shaped circles on  top of  each other. 

Simone started practicing  how to say   thank you  in her head as the red saucer was placed in front of her, but somehow  all  she could manage was to mouth the phrase wordlessly before picking up the fork and digging in. "So, what are we to do with all of this?" 

The question mirrored Simone's thoughts from earlier, but she  wasn't going to  bring it up until a few days had passed. She knew better than to disrupt the mourning period with such things. 

"You guys take what you want  and  we can probably donate the rest. Maybe invite the friends over to take their keepsakes first?" She suggested with a shrug before shoving a forkful of decorated flapjacks into her mouth. It took a lot of willpower not to  make an audible  groan at how delicious it was.

"That could work." He said before sitting caddy-corner to Simone with his own syrup-smothered hotcakes.  They both ate  in silence  for a while, too busy with their mouths full but  also  not too sure what to say.  She figured there was no harm in discussing what she was considering during the dark hours.

"While we're taking care of this place, I  was thinking I could try and  find my mom."

"Yeah?" Steven questions, so  in shock  by the revelation that he nearly choked on his mouthful of breakfast. He held up a finger, signaling he would finish chewing before he continued and followed it up with a sip of creamy coffee. "You're not feeling guilty, are you?" 

Something like that.   She  thought to herself before standing and  making  her  way  to the coffee pot for her  own  cuppa.  

"I just don't want her to die and me not try to have a conversation with her, ya know?" She admitted. At first, she was looking at the man at the table but diverted her eyes the second the words left her teeth. It sounded insensitive and all too similar to the reason Marc felt so upset over his dad's death. It wasn't a call out, by any means  and  she hoped it wouldn't be taken that way. 

Though Steven knew Simone wouldn't intentionally poke that  bear,  and felt that Estefania deserved no loyalty from her daughter, he wanted to  be supportive of  her ventures.

"That makes sense. I could come with you, you know?" 

As always, Steven was proving to be more precious than she deserved. Once Simone was seated with the warm mug  cupped  between her hands, she made her stance clear.

"No, I need to face her by myself."

"You didn't let us face this alone , why  should you have to do that?" 

Because my mother may have hated me, but if she saw Marc with me now, she'd have a fucking conniption. 

"It makes the  most  sense." Simone tiptoed around the truth. She took a small sip of the black coffee before placing the mug onto one of the wooden coasters still sprawled along the dining table after the get-together from the day before. She loved and appreciated the half-eaten pancakes before  her,  but was suddenly not hungry. 

"But you're not alone, love." He said  in a reassuring tone  before tenderly taking her trembling right hand into his. It was a sweet, telling gesture. It told of a man who wanted to earn her trust again. Simone  just  couldn't count on that  and   she  pulled the hand away with a soft sigh through her nostrils. 

"Stevie, this isn't going to be one of those things where being stuck in a house together for over a week  is going to  make me and Marc miraculously rekindle. I can't forgive getting me tied with that damn bird."

Her words made Steven visibly frown, but that wasn't what he was doing all this for. 

"I understand that  but  it doesn't change that we— I —want to be there for you." He made quick work to correct himself. One, because he didn't want to speak for the others. Two, because he cared no more about their thoughts of this than he cared about their feelings towards the moon mark. He hated that he never said anything about it and felt it was time for some making up  to do . 

Simone's eyes fell into her  lap  where her hands retreated to find more picked cuticles and blood under her right thumbnail. She shook them out to halt the tick, missing Miguel's soft reminders to stop.

"I know. I'll think about it."

The rest of the day is spent doing more  sitting,  quietly ,  until about 3 pm when Moni needed a nap on the couch to make up for her lack of sleep.   It was around this time when Marc took back  over and decided to start the search for her mom.  

All he knew was that she was sent to an old folks' home due to the severity of her mental health and lack of treatment for it, as well as the absence of sound-minded people to look after her. Estie had driven them all away.

He sat at the dining table with his phone in his hand, sifting through a Google search of the facilities in the area and calling each number as quietly as he could muster.  Through several ten-minute holds and a series of 'No, we have nobody here by that name' in different voices, he realized he would need to expand the search.

A loud, long honk of a car horn  was what  pulled Simone from her slumber. She wanted to be angry at this stir but couldn't help but giggle at the  phrases that followed .

"Learn to drive, jagoff!" 

"Yeah? Where'd you get your license? Sears and Roebuck?"

The argument caused her to scramble onto her knees and peer through the shabby curtains to find a car that had most certainly run a stop  sign,  and another  car  halted. While no accident had occurred, the classic Chicagoan road rage had taken off.  She  found she  recognized one of the individuals as someone she  when  to school with.

"Huh. Ricky Tenanbaum's still around." She spoke aloud to herself before a  hm?   from  behind her made her realize she wasn't as alone as she thought. A quick look back revealed Marc at the table, intently scrolling. After Simone asked what he was up to, he told her that he had called every retirement home in Chicago  as well as  a couple in Rockford but still had no luck. 

"Don't worry about that right now, Spector." She insisted as she treked to the table, now sitting in the seat Steven  sat  before.

"I'm just trying to help. What else am I supposed to do?" Marc asked, gesturing to the still home surrounding them. She understood not wanting to become encumbered by traumatic thoughts of his boyhood.  If her education taught her anything,  it's that you should  by  all  means  take your time with acceptance, but it only gets more difficult the longer you wait.

"Have you been to your room yet?" She asked, knowing the answer already.

"No."  

"I'm gonna go check it out." 

"I'll stay here." 

"You'll have to go up there at some point when we start gutting this place," Simone stated the obvious, hoping to get through to Marc how much it's going to suck, even if he holds off. "You afraid it isn't what it used to be?"

"I'm afraid of it being exactly how I left it." 

Though Simone was trying so hard to not put pressure on him, she realized it might not be a heavy  push,  but tender  comfort,  that he needed.  Just as  Stevie did earlier, she took Marc's hand to let him know he wouldn't be unaided.

"Let's go." She spoke softly, nodding her head towards the staircase. He understood what he needed to do and silently agreed.

They  walked slowly , side-by-side  up  the stairs, neither  one  dropping the other's hand. Though Simone would never admit it out loud, it felt right. Just like old times, but not the old she chose to forget. Much older, like the children they used to be. 

Once they  made it to  the bedroom door, Marc's hand was sweating around hers, and his knees had grown weak. Fear of the unknown had taken hold  and  he was too afraid to open the door himself. A brief squeeze of his hand told Simone everything he needed to say, and she took charge, using her opposite hand to turn the knob for him.

The door creaked loudly on the hinges and resonated through the quiet landing to reveal the very same room they both remembered, unchanged from childhood.  The sight of  books, knick-knacks, old toys, and furniture collecting dust was almost a relief to Marc, who started stepping into the room before Moni to look around.

As her eyes darted around the room, she passed up dingy Transformers and the shelves they sat on to lay hands on a relic she spotted in the nearly empty closet. Brown leather  now  a tad wrinkled with age,  it  was none other than her old bomber jacket. 

"Fuck me, that's impressive." She laughed as she pulled it from the wire hanger it resided. It stirred up an  air of  undisturbed closet smell as the familiar heaviness rested in her fingers. "Nearly two decades  and  this old thing  still  looks stylish."

At this, Marc's attention was pulled away from the old posters he admired. 

"Holy shit! I always meant to give that back." He said, joining Moni by the closet. The coat conjured an image in his mind of the woman who held it now, wearing it as a kid. It was always far too big but kept her warm for years, up until the day he borrowed it. It was once her father's, and it was one of the few items of clothing that wasn't feminine she could get away with wearing because of that fact. As if Moni read his mind, she took a deep breath. 

"Sometimes I forget he's dead." She spoke absently as the memory of her first birthday without her father arose. The feeling of abandonment followed. He may as well have been dead long before he passed. "I guess never calling your only child while doing time in federal prison will do that." 

Marc watched as the face of wonder and curiosity wore off and was replaced with an expression he knew all too well: disappointment. Her arm extended to put the coat back where she got it.

"Oh no, you're taking that with you." Marc protested. 

"Like  hell,  I am! It fits you better than it did me." She replied, now thrusting it in his direction. "You take it." 

It was then that Marc spotted the plastic handle of an old Nerf gun poking out of the basket next to him.  Without wasting a second,  he went for it quickly and pointed it at the woman before him.  Did he know for sure it had anything in it? No, but Moni didn't know that either.

"Say you'll take it  or   you're getting  a foam dart to the forehead." He threatened playfully. Last time he held one of these, the main rule was to not aim for the face  or  you could take an eye out. He was far better with far more dangerous weapons these days. Moni's jaw dropped,

"That's not fuckin' fair! I'm unarmed!"

"Take the jacket, Moni." He attempted to speak sternly and cocked the plastic firearm for effect. Simone knew he would do it, but she refused to give in if it was the last thing she ever did. Especially now that it has become a game to him.

"Not. A. Chance." She spoke slowly, annunciating each syllable. 

Marc realized it was about as good a time as any to find out if the thing was loaded, took aim, and squeezed the bright orange trigger, causing the sound of the spring-loaded suction bullet to announce as it shot. Moni held the jacket up over her face for protection and heard the foam bullet bounce off of the leather with a thud before it fell to the floor.

"You missed!" She shouted before throwing the coat in Spector's direction and bolting through the bedroom doorway. Without dropping the toy, he let the outwear fall to his feet and took off after her. 

Laughter and false screams erupted from Moni's throat, clearly having fun as she went down the stairs as quickly as she could muster. Somewhere in the  middle;  however, she lost her footing and tumbled down the remaining steps. Marc watched as delight turned to pain when her head smacked one of the wooden stairs.

Without a second thought, he tossed the toy back into the room and rushed to her side. 

"You alright?" He questioned, clearly panicked. Simone felt like her brain had been shaken up as pain bloomed above her left temple, knees, and elbows. She attempted to pick herself up from the floor but was nearly pulled up against her will before she could make the effort. 

"Fine, just gonna bruise." She explained as her hand found the knot forming on her hairline. She stumbled again, clearly rocked, as Marc helped her to the sofa. 

"I'll get some ice." He told her once she was seated.  All he could come up with was  a bag of steamable frozen peas, but it was better than nothing.

Simone didn't want Marc to make a fuss over her. After all, nothing was broken, and aside from a possible skidded knee, no skin was open. Still, she couldn't help but watch  admiringly  while he doted on her and muttered expletives into the freezer, failing to find an actual ice pack.

Must've hit it really hard.  She  thought to herself, finding the thoughts to be out of place.

Upon returning with the peas, Marc knelt down in front of her and brushed his thumb gently around the bump, as well as studied her eyes for signs of a concussion. "No nausea, dizziness, confusion?"

"No, not really," Simone answered as she took the bag from his hand and placed it on the affected area. Absently, Marc put his hand on it as well. For a moment that felt like an eternity, she didn't protest.

This is how it's supposed to go, right? We take care of each other.  She thought, silently grazing her eyes over each line that made up the  face  she knew so well. Loved, even. He was still handsome as ever—it didn't take sexual interest to recognize that—but being so close to him again made her brain feel like it was short-circuiting. 

It was  just  like that night in the office, his mouth mere inches away from hers. That was before she knew the truth, and as the thought took over her mind, disgust pooled in her stomach  and  anger flared in her eyes. "I got it." She insisted sternly, shooing his hand away. 

Visible confusion filled Marc's face, wondering how she could go from hot to cold in  a matter of  seconds. The more he stayed in place, pondering it, the more pissed off she began to appear. "Don't look at me like that." She nearly snapped. Marc stood,

"Well, don't act like I'm just supposed to pretend  like  I don't feel the way I feel."

"I should say the same to you!" She spoke with an unbelieving tone. "You keep looking at me like I'm supposed to  just  accept what happened. Forgive and forget."

"Fuck, Moni, I didn't know!" Marc stated, throwing his hands in the air.  He knew he had said it a dozen times  already , and when she rolled her eyes at it as always, he knew it would fall on deaf ears again.   "He said you would be protected  and  that  felt like a good enough reason."  

His explanation still wasn't satisfactory as Simone stood from the couch, squeezing the bag of peas so hard it popped open, and green pebbles scattered and clacked on the hardwood floor. 

"You should've known there was a catch!" She barked.

"I'm sorry." He said. Marc  was  sorry that he didn't look into it further, blindly trusting the untrustable, but he wasn't  sorry  for thinking it was the right thing to do at the time. Seeing right through this and knowing he was telling her what she wanted to hear, Simone scoffed. 

"Apology not accepted. I don't have an ounce of forgiveness in me for you. I'm only here for your dad, and the second our business is done here, I'm done with you again. Understood?" 

They stood staring at each other for a  minute  solid, unmoving  except  for blinking eyes. There was a time not long ago when a moment like this would be broken by knocking the throw pillows off of the couch and engaging in mindblowing sex.  The look in Moni's eyes this  time ;  however,  gave away that her mind was far away from that conclusion.  A very different face than the one she wore moments ago.

"I understand," Marc replied calmly with a hint of chagrin.  It seemed Moni was  pleased with this response and pivoted around to head upstairs but was stopped dead in her tracks once again when the man failed to hold his tongue. "I  understand  that you seemed pretty ready to forgive and forget in my office the night we  talked about  this. You showed me right there that you miss it as much as I do, but you're not ready to  talk about  that."

The thought of turning around and knocking him upside his head flashed in her mind. His words were like a lit match to the kerosene in her veins. It wasn't the fact that it happened, it was the fact that she went into that office pissed at him  and  the second she crossed that threshold, it was gone . Like  a spell. 

The so-called  moment  happened  as a result of  the mark, and she was sure of it. The bodily autonomy she worked so hard to grasp? Gone the second she was in his domain. That wasn't all on her, and she refused to accept it as so.

"Alright, mate. That's enough." She heard Steven speak from behind her in Marc's stead, having forced his way out to stop any further discourse. Without looking back, Simone disappeared back up the stairs.

While Simone sat sulking in the bedroom, she listened to the distant discussion downstairs. Did she want to fight with Marc right now? Not at all, but she would be damned if  she  were to apologize for standing her ground. Still, she knew it would all go  a lot  smoother if they tolerated one another.

She was lost in her  own  thoughts enough to miss the footsteps growing closer to the bedroom door she sat next to but was pulled away by the soft thump of Marc's forehead resting against the wood.

"I wish there was a way for us to just be okay. Be friends again." He spoke through the barrier. Simone's sinking feeling deepened at the bummer she heard in his voice. 

"Marc, I don't think we could ever  just  be friends." She responded, not bothering to hide her frustration at a fact that he  also  believed in. "Fuck, I don't know that we were, to begin with." 

It  sounded awful  in her own ears. After an entire childhood of telling everyone around her that they were  only  friends, nothing more, would she really accept it now? Simone expected Marc to get defensive, but the slight snicker from outside confirmed that he had his suspicions as well.

"Just a couple of kids who didn't see what everyone else seemed to see. That makes sense." He spoke tiredly, possibly just trying to avoid another fight. She didn't have it in her to change her mind or disagree. It was exhausting. 

A long pause weighted heavily on Simone in the bedroom by herself. She  thought about  inviting him in so they wouldn't have to speak through the walls, but felt it was pointless. The door didn't lock, and it was his house. As it would turn, Marc would beat her to it. "Can I come in?" 

At first, she nodded to herself before remembering he couldn't see her.

Yes.   She  then thought to herself before remembering  he  couldn't read  her  mind. 

"Yeah." She finally spoke aloud. Marc entered the room slowly, unsure what  he could  find upon opening the door. He found her sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest and her back against the wall. He nearly held out his hand to help her  up ,  but thought better of it and joined her, leaving a wide birth between them. 

Is this how it'll be the whole time?  He wondered silently.  Why does it have to be so hard to  just  get along? 

From what he could make out in his peripheral vision, Moni hadn't been crying  or anything , which made him feel a little better. He ran what he wanted to say to her a thousand times over in his head, but it was caught in his throat like a lump of peanut butter. Her silence spoke volumes for her, though, and  told  him she wouldn't be speaking until he did.

"You know, I...  I don't know how to fix  any of this  or make any of  it  right.  Seems like when I try, I screw it up even more."  He spoke softly, losing  the words he originally intended , and improvised something close.  

Of all the things Simone wanted to say in response—kind, harsh, half-truthful—she tried to land somewhere in the middle and stand on business without picking another argument.

"You can't expect me to just suddenly overlook the bullshit and fall in love with you again." The words came out  a lot  sharper than she planned, and to Marc, they hit him in the chest like daggers. She hated she could feel the pain of her own words but couldn't tell for sure if it was hurt she felt for  herself,  or the connection between them causing her to feel what  he  felt. 

"Ouch." Marc voiced the ache.  "Hearing you say you don't love me anymore solidifies it , I guess ."

"I mean, it's not that I don't-" Moni spoke up quickly  then  stopped, unsure of what overcame her and why she felt compelled to correct herself. " Obviously  there's love for you, or I wouldn't be here." 

"And you have that love for Miguel now?" He asked, feelings unclear over whether he wanted to hear the truth  or not . He kept his eyes away from her face to avoid catching her if she lied. 

Was she happy? Absolutely. She considered the word  love  with Miguel in mind and had chewed on it several times already. Maybe the problem was it felt so different this time that it was unrecognizable. Still, as far as she was concerned, it was none of Marc's business.

"Everything with him is still new, Spector. Love is a stretch." 

What drove Marc crazy was that it wasn't a simple  no . He chose not to dwell on it, afraid of hearing what he didn't want to, and  chose  to veer off course.

"He just seems so boring  but  I guess it's normal that you want." 

"Right.  Normal ." She said sarcastically. To her surprise, he didn't seem to pick up on the tone, too lost in his  own  thoughts. Her eyes stayed glued to her  socks;  dark blue with a pattern that she supposed was supposed to look like sushi rolls but instead seemed like colorful blobs.

"If I left all this behind, would that make  something  right between us?" Marc asked with a hint of hopefulness. Though Simone still wanted to avoid a fight, she found the question laughable and couldn't keep a snicker from escaping her nose.  In her mind,  he already knew the answer and was wasting his time asking.

"You couldn't leave being the fist of Khonshu behind. It's ingrained in you now."

"I might if you gave me a reason to." He replied. Amusement was quick to bubble into irritation  and  she felt her neck tense up. 

"I thought I did a long time ago." Simone spat but followed the outburst with a deep breath. In retrospect, Marc knew it was a dumbass thing to say. She was right.

This time, a prolonged quiet blanketed the room  and  the thought of the photo downstairs clouded her mind before she cleared her throat. "Your dad wouldn't want us to fight. Like on that fishing trip, you accidentally knocked me off the boat, and I  swore  you did it on purpose." 

"You didn't talk to me the entire ride back, and then once we were out of the car, you tackled me to the ground."  Marc chuckled at the memory of himself bending over to reach into the water and almost losing his balance, trying to grab something to stabilize himself and Moni being the closest ,  but  also  unsuspecting ,  victim.  

Before either of them could think, he heard a splash from the other side  and  his friend was nowhere to be found until her head popped up above the water. Dark, tousled strings of wet hair stuck to her face  and  her hat floated next to her as she coughed up water she accidentally breathed in.

"I was so pissed to be riding back in soggy clothes.  The whole time  I  was  thinking   'I'm gonna beat the brakes off this guy when we  stop '  and I meant it, too!"  

"Dad had us stick our noses in opposite corners until we apologized and hugged it out." 

"Just be glad it wasn't my mom who witnessed it. Would've been belts to asses." 

They laughed for a good while  and  once it died off, they  found themselves finally looking  at each other. Though they were much older now, the children they were resided in their eyes and recognized one another instantly. Sadly, their newer, more mature facial features were quick to overpower them.

He's just too pretty.  Simone thought to  herself,   involuntarily,  before she remembered why she was sitting on the floor in the first place.  Get ahold of yourself, Fredrick.

I'd kiss her right now if I didn't know better.  Marc's mind mirrored, knowing if she could hear his thoughts, she would kick his ass. Luckily, she couldn't, and if his mental images were all he had  left;  so be it.

Both of  their inner monologues were interrupted by a loud rumble that could only be a hunger signal from Moni's stomach. Neither of them had eaten since breakfast, and it was nearly dinner time  at this point .

"You know what we need? Tacos from that place on Howard." Marc suggested as he stood up, holding his hand out to help her  up . She took it and brushed her palms over her butt and legs while he pulled out his phone to call for food.

The tacos were delivered  and  they started chowing down immediately, both seated at the table and not speaking.  As much as Simone wanted to attempt conversation, she was disheartened  by the fact that they only ever  seemed to get along when they  weren't  talking to each other.  Her internal strife was eventually overpowered by her need to break the awkward silence.

"I could move back here just for these." She said mostly to herself. This statement perplexed Marc, having heard her say every negative thing one could say about Chicago. 

"You  actually  mean that?" He asked curiously before putting the final bite of his fifth taco into his mouth. Simone  was only trying  to make conversation and didn't expect the grilling, so she shrugged.

"I mean, I don't know." She started, realizing she might not have been truthful. Though the carne asada with cilantro and onions would forever be in her heart, she could get good tacos almost anywhere. "I hate this place and everything we went through here." 

When she felt relieved of the question, she leaned back in the wooden dining chair, running a trimmed nail between her teeth to pick out a stubborn bit of steak that had jimmied its way in there.

"You know, I thought about it," Marc spoke, hoping Moni had not given up on the subject  entirely .

"About what?" 

"Asking if you wanted to move here instead of New York." 

At the mention of this, Simone suddenly  had a  hankering  for a cigarette. There certainly would have been enough crime for him here, but she knew  he  knew better than to bring it up.

"You know what I would've said." 

"You would have asked if I was out of my fuckin' mind." Marc chuckled, which made Simone laugh along with him. It was a gratifying sound, them finally agreeing on something. Once it ended, she changed the topic.

"I'm stuffed." 

"I bet. You just smashed eight street tacos." Marc began, having only had five himself with a few left over. "Where'd you put it all?"

"Do you want me to say that it goes to my rotund ass? Because that's probably true." Moni joked.

And a nice ass it is.  Marc thought to himself before realizing it wouldn't be wise to say anything aloud that would be in agreement. They were getting closer to being okay  and  the last thing he wanted to do was say something stupid and ruin it when it  just  barely began.

Though Simone felt the same, she couldn't tell if she wanted him to make a comment about her butt joke or not. She brushed it off as a feeling of wanting attention she didn't need and let it go as  easily  as she let go of the hardy gut laughs they had shared together.  She  missed this. She missed him. It terrified her.

"We could  try  the friends thing." She blurted out just as the idea entered her mind. It seemed to catch Marc off guard, and he tilted his head in confusion. It was a very different tune than she was singing earlier. "It sounds a lot better than me hating you."

Hearing Moni say it out loud made him realize what he had said before was a blatant lie, even if he didn't catch on  at the time . The word  'friends'  in reference to their relationship stung deeply. He, again, didn't want to ruin  a perfectly good  moment of getting along. 

"Wow. Didn't think you'd come around so fast." 

"It has to work correctly, though. No being buddy-buddy with ulterior motives." 

In other words, no hanky panky.   She  thought.

"Moni, I just want you in my life again. I don't give a shit how." 

Another lie, and this time, Marc could tell she noticed with the doubtful look in her eye. He expected to be called out on it but  ended up proceeding  to speak before she could. "Did I tell you how much I appreciate you  for  doing this?"

"Don't worry about it. You'd have done the same for me." Simone trailed off at the thought, knowing she may need him sooner than either  of them  thought. " Will  do the same for me. There's a possibility she's already dead."  

"How'll that make you feel?" Marc asked.  Moni rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her palms, familiar with  the technique he was using .

"Are you shrinking me?" 

Marc met this with a snicker and a shrug, 

"Just wanting you to talk to me." 

Simone didn't think very fondly of her mamá by any means. The woman was as much to blame for the torment she endured as a youth as her uncle was. Estie opened the door for her  own  daughter to be ripped apart by her peers, the church, everyone. Her mother—the one person left on the planet Moni was supposed to count on—refused to protect her.

Knowing what she knew now after years of education, she knew her mother had severe religious psychosis, and she knew not to blame someone for their psychological issues. Simone felt her mom was the one exception to that. She used to hope against hope that her mother would miraculously die, crossing her fingers that it would solve her problems.

Now, after  coming back  and being forced to think everything over, she was ashamed of those thoughts. 

"I would feel like shit for waiting this long." She finally answered after what felt like forever of debate with herself.

"Like I do?" 

"So you're here out of guilt?"

"I guess so. What does it say in your books about that?"

"That you really  are  human, after all." 

"Oh, joy. I was beginning to have my doubts." Marc quipped back at the snide remark, which garnered a laugh, but he wanted to get away from the subject of himself and back to Moni's feelings. "So, if we find out that your mom's dead, then what?"  

"Figure out what they did with her remains , see  if a last goodbye is possible." 

"You gonna cry?" 

"Fuck you!" Moni shouted with a giggle and false offense, meeting his shoulder with a playful backhand. 

Their moment of peace among each other would end just as soon as it began when Simone's phone  began  ringing from her pocket. The song  'The Joker'  by Steve Miller Band grew louder once she pulled the device out and saw it was a video call from Miggy, whose name in her phone was affectionately changed to  'Space Cowboy.'  "Shit, I gotta take  this " She announced as she began to stand up to take the call outside.

"It's okay, you can answer it," Marc said, idly placing his hand on her back to stop her. "Pretend I'm not even here." 

For a moment, Simone hesitated and felt a rush of panic overcome her before a sense of calm. She had nothing to hide from either of them. Any other time, she would have bitten Marc's head off for the intimate gesture he  committed,  but noted the understanding in his eyes as he removed the hand and thought better of it.

She placed herself back in the dining chair and brushed her thumb over the green button to answer the call, feeling immense delight when the face of her affection appeared on her screen, thankfully wearing his glasses in case Marc happened to see.

"Hey, what's up?" She greeted with a million-dollar smile.

"Not much, I actually started looking into where your mom might be, and I believe I got a hit."  Miguel began, sounding confident. Marc couldn't help but cross his arms sternly at his words, feeling a hint of jealousy that the other man made more progress.  "There's an Estefania Fredrick at Greenhurst Retirement in Aurora. Ring any bells?" 

"That's probably her. Send me the details; we'll look into it." Simone responded, still smiling. Miguel's, on the other hand, seemed to falter.

"'We' as in?" 

"Marc and I. We've been looking, you know."

"Right."  Miggy's tone grew cynical.  "You and Marc." 

How he spoke puzzled Simone and caused her to feel slightly concerned. She attempted to save the mood.

"I  really  appreciate you using your resources to check on this, Miggy. I do." 

"I guess I just assumed we'd go at this together." 

"You're still welcome to help , the  more the-" 

"No,  no  it's cool."  He interrupted, vocal inflection revealing that it was clearly  not  cool.  "I have a lot of work I have to do, anyway. Let me know what comes of it." 

This wasn't a direction Simone was expecting this call to take by any means, and she couldn't stop the tightness in her chest that came with her rising anxiety. She felt embarrassed taking this call in front of Marc now as if she had been putting on a ruse and was being exposed in real time. She refused to look in his direction for fear of him seeing right through her.

Marc knew the envious man's attitude well. It spoke of insecurity and doubt, and he would  be lying  if he said there was no reason for him to feel that way. Even then, he didn't appreciate how he was speaking to her as if she had already done something wrong.

If he isn't scared yet, he's about to be. 

"Hun, really, I want you to help." Marc heard Simone say, the pet name pulling him out of his thoughts before he realized it wasn't directed at him.

"I did, but you obviously don't need me for the rest  of it ." 

When Miguel said that, Moni began to stand up and head toward the stairs, being sure to avoid Marc's gaze  who  would  surely  find how nervous and frustrated she was. She felt she  would be able to  turn the tide if she continued without an audience. 

"Maybe not, but I'd like you to be a part of this. It seems like you wanna be, also. It's fine." 

"Don't do that." 

"I'm not  doing  anything," Simone said defensively, tilting her phone  a bit  towards the ceiling as she walked to capture as little of her frown as she could. 

"He was back there when you answered, wasn't he?"  Miguel asked, clocking the fact that she was moving. She didn't see the significance and rolled her eyes,

"What of it?" 

In her distraction, she  didn't notice  Marc following her at a distance, feeling the need to stay nearby and growing irritated with the  man,  himself.  Given how highly Moni spoke of Miguel,  this felt like a  major   fall from grace.

"Just seems sketchy that you'd take my call away from him now." 

"Why are you being like this?" Simone questioned, hands becoming visibly shaky now with agitation. The possessiveness was annoying her.

"Simone, you really can't blame me for being concerned.  You act like this is  a  normal  thing  for people to do  and  I can't help but feel like there's something shifty happening."  

"So  now  you wanna tell me you have a problem with this?" Simone nearly shouted. "If you're so worried, come make a shiva call. See for yourself." "Nope, he's absolutely  not  welcome here. Not a chance, Moni." Marc finally spoke up. This caught Simone off guard  and  she whipped around to find him taking a couple steps closer. She wasn't sure who to disagree with now as his name barely left her mouth before being cut off by an equally pissed Miggy.

"Moni ?" The old nickname that only Marc used spewed from Miguel's lips like sludge and sounded just as disgusting.  "That's fucking hilarious."  "That's enough of that," Marc said cooly before swiping the phone from her hand and pressing the end call button before his face fully registered on the camera. Simone didn't realize what he had done until she successfully took the phone back and saw the face of a woman with rage seeping from her pores staring back at her on the black screen. 

"Why would you do that?" She asked unbelievingly, the only sign of Miguel being the candid photo of him on her lockscreen. She was  sure  that would be the final straw for them.

"You might be okay with him talking to you like that— which,  you  shouldn't  be—but as your friend, I'm not." Marc stood firm.

"As my  friend ?" Moni spat in a way that told Marc she didn't think friendship had anything to do with it. She stomped up the stairs and back to the bedroom once more, closing the door with a ferocity  that was  near slam territory. 

From inside the bedroom,  Simone sat in front of the door, barricading it with her back for lack of a lock.  She tried to call Miggy back, whispering to herself as she heard it ring and ring before going to voicemail.  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

With the phone pressed to her ear, she leaned her head back and hit it hard enough to rattle it on its hinges. She tried to call  once more , but it only half-rang this time before going straight to voicemail. "Fuck!" She roared into the open air.

Though Marc couldn't take it back now ,  and admittedly wouldn't if he could, he didn't care  for  how stressed out she was  acting  over it.  He wondered if he was too hasty. 

Of course not. The guy's an asshole.

"Moni?"  He spoke her name in the form of a question  upon hearing her exclaim the expletive as he stood outside the bedroom door.  The shadow  that was  shown through the crack told him she was directly in front of it to avoid him. 

"Just leave me the hell alone." She replied with a heavy exhale. She was pissed, and it wasn't his right to tell her she shouldn't be. It got under his skin how desperate she sounded to get back in touch with Miguel  and  it reminded him of how she sounded when she yelled his name in the face of Jake after he retreated with no sign of coming back.

The sound of shuffling feet grew further away after Simone expected more  pushback,  but didn't receive any. 

"You're being childish."  She typed  out  a message to Miggy, feeling her stomach lurch as her thumb hovered over the little 'send' button. The fear of only making it worse overtook her and nearly caused her to erase the text, but the sound of his  condescension,  when he repeated her  nickname,  echoed in her brain. 

Simone sent the message without another thought to spare and stared at the bubble until the 'delivered' receipt changed to 'read' with the time following it. The sight made her crave the taste of burning tobacco and that sweet sting in the back of her throat, but going back downstairs surely meant crossing paths with Spector, and she had had her fill of him for the night. 

I shouldn't have come here.   She  thought before tossing  her  phone. The device skated across the floor and disappeared under the  bed  where she heard it hit something solid. Out of curiosity, she got on her hands and knees and retrieved her phone to use as a flashlight, investigating to find a wooden box. 

Is it rude to snoop through dead people's belongings?  She thought to herself.  Nah.

Simone had to reach  pretty  far under to get a good grip on the container to pull it out. The caked dust made her nose itch  and  she questioned the last time a broom touched this portion of the floor, but she was successful in its retrieval.

In her hands was a dark-stained, heavy chest with golden hinges and clasps with the word 'Memories' etched into the face. Simone ran her fingers over the letters as she  questioned opening  it, feeling the rough woodburn. It was beautifully made, likely the work of Mr.  Spector,  himself. The click of the clasps coming undone made it all the more satisfying.

Inside was an unorganized metric ton of old photographs, and as she picked them up and examined them, she realized why they were hidden away. Most of them were of Mrs. Spector, some of her alone, some with her husband, some with Marc, some with Randall, but she was happy in all of them.

Simone realizes she hadn't seen Marc's mom smile  at all  during the last few years she was in Chicago when she saw her at all, which was rare. She had forgotten what it looked like. Mr. Spector put all these away, likely after Randall passed. She closed the box back up but didn't put it back where it came from before climbing  up  into the bed for another night of sparse sleep.

[companionwolf]

BTHB prompt fill #3 - doesn't realize they've been injured

Fandom: technically the Delta Green TTRPG; its from the setting of the my DG-esque solo game Operation Summer Afternoon, during the incident with the returned missing persons' support group. Written from the POV of Kaden, an old!K-Cell agent NPC assisting the new!K-Cell PCs.

Summary: Kaden struggles with what isn't Reese anymore.

Kaden's overtaken before he can mount a counter-defense, feels himself hit the ground hard, followed by his head striking the concrete.

His vision cuts out--

Reese, or what was Reese, is on top of him a second later when he can see again, has hands around the old K-Cell agent's throat, squeezes with inhuman strength. Kaden feels blood somewhere, realizes quite suddenly that it's his, trickling down the back of his head and pooling on the concrete.

He scrambles uselessly, trying to reach for his pistol, thrashing more than anything. A gunshot erupts over the two, and hazily, the agent is aware that the officers who've arrived on scene are engaging. He's not sure that's a good thing.

Another bullet fires, clips Reese in the shoulder. The not-kid hisses at the officer but keeps their hands around Kaden's neck, continuing to squeeze. He can't breathe, he can't, he can't--

Kaden's dizzy, the world's spotted with black. He jerks his head forward, slams the top of it up under Reese's chin, and manages to knock them back just enough to be able to reach up and pry off one of their hands. The world spins; Kaden strains, manages to get up onto an elbow and, with the other hand, rams a fist into Reese's nose. It cracks audibly; he goes for a second hit.

There's no blood, just as there wasn't when Kaden shot him before. Reese should be dead, and yet here they are, an animated corpse.

Something behind Reese moves, snaps through the air; it's Kelsey slamming her pistol into the back of Reese's skull so hard and fast Kaden can hear it split. The kid slumps, still, bloodless.

Kelsey's standing over Kaden now; he lies there, staring up at her as she's haloed by the sun, and for a moment, he thinks it's love in his chest.

Probably just oxygen deprivation, he realizes after a moment, and takes her hand as she helps haul him to his feet.

He can't speak just yet, only draw in gasps of air, gingerly touch his neck with his free hand-- he winces at his own fingers pressing the brusies, then presses a hand to the back of his head. It comes away red and wet.

"Everyone freeze," yells one of the officers. "Don't move."

Kaden would laugh, if it wouldn't hurt to. Kelsey nudges him forward, but he's disoriented, standing there wheezing and trying to keep his wits about him.

In the pause one of the officers fires at them, misses as Kaden finally moves and hurriedly tails Kelsey, stumbling a little. He isn't sure how they manage to get to a tunnel entrance, avoid the police that are swarming the area.

When he reach the living quarters, Kelsey sits him down and gets to work.

Kaden does what she asks, some stupid vision tests, vaugely understands when she says he's concussed. He mumbles something at her about the others. She brings him to the back corner of the living quarters, where it's darker, quieter.

He stares down at the ice pack she's handing him. "The others," he repeats. "We need to -"

"I am on concussion watch, and you are resting," she says, guiding him to hold the ice against his head. "If they make it out, they make it out, and they'll come home."

Kaden blinks hard. "You said that about our cell," he says. Kelsey looks away, doesn't answer him.

He says something else but isn't sure what; whatever it was, it makes Kelsey get up, move toward the open-air entryway to the area.

Kaden wants to sleep. He tells her so. She shakes her head at him. "You'll just die."

He isn't sure that's how this works, but he's not super sure of anything right now, so he's willing to trust her on that, at least. "Are Luke and Ella--?"

Kelsey shrugs. "Not our problem anymore."

Kaden sinks a little further into his chair.

"It shouldn't have happened this way," he says.

The other old K-Cell agent is moving around now, cleaning up a little. She looks over at him. "But it did," she says. "Can't go back and change it." She pauses, eye face softening. "Kaden?"

"Kelsey."

"It's not our fault," she says. "This, or..." She trails off, but he knows what she means. What else could she mean?

Kaden closes his eyes. He can't believe her. No, he needs to get these agents through this alive. If they're dead, he's failed twice. That can't happen, but if it does, it's a reflection of him.

(He was K-Cell's leader then, and he led them to death, too. It can't happen again - it just can't.)

Kaden, who is not a praying man, prays-- let them all come home, let them all be okay.

(Somewhere nearby on Koda's cot, a fake green dyed rabbit's foot grants his wish, unnaturally twisting reality and fate's arm, forcing them to yield.)