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girlbossnezuko · 5 months

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Stobin Mandalorian AU part 2

[part 1] [part 3]

The car ride back to the elevator is not pleasant, Steve needs to stop getting into situations where his brain’s melting too much to stop the kids from driving. Aba doesn’t seem to like it much either, but as long as Robin’s holding her she won’t cry. They narrowly avoid hitting a bunch of barrels right at the end — thank god for Erica. Car crashes can not be good for babies.

Steve and Robin sit huddled in the corner of the elevator the whole ride up, because it isn’t exactly stable either and if either of them drops the baby Steve is going to die. Dustin and Erica won’t stop bickering, but it’s fine because they’re alive and Robin’s alive and the baby’s alive and Steve’s alive to enjoy them all being alive, and they’re finally leaving that stupid Russian bunker.

“What is wrong with you two?” Erica demands.

“They seem drunk.” Dustin frowns, crouching down over Steve. He grabs Steve’s face by the bruises and pushes his eyelids up, which hurts a lot, thank you very much. “His pupils are super dilated, I think they might’ve been drugged. Were you drugged, Steve?”

“No, but they gave us goop,” Steve says helpfully.

He’s seen drugs — Munson keeps a bunch in his lunchbox to sell at parties — and they definitely aren’t blue or goopy. They’re usually like, green and dry. Or white and dry. Or—

“They gave you goop?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he doesn’t nod because the last time he did that it was really not fun. “And now I’m blue. And my bones are soup. Soupy. Not like yours, you have strong bones.”

“They’re definitely drugged,” Erica says, looking down at them with a little too much contempt for a ten-year-old.

“Steve, this is important,” Dustin says, and there’s a tightness around his eyes that Steve would definitely be able to interpret if his brain wasn’t soup. “I need to know where you parked your car.”

“Um,” Steve says. His head is really starting to hurt again. It stopped when they got the goop but the elevator’s bringing it back. “Uh oh.”

“What do you mean ‘uh oh’?”

“Keys are gone.”

He’d turn out his pockets to show Dustin but that would disturb Robin which would disturb the baby, and he really doesn’t want to disturb Aba. She’s too small and tiny and perfect.

“What do you mean the keys are gone?” Dustin grits out.

“The Russians took them, like, forever ago.”

“You stopped to get a whole baby but you didn’t think to get your keys!?”

That’s not even remotely the same thing.

Robin shushes him very loudly, “No shouting, you’ll wake the baby.”

“She’s already awake,” Dustin says, rolling his eyes.

Aba blinks her big brown eyes up at Dustin.

“I can’t believe you two managed to find some random white baby down there,” Erica says, crossing her arms. “I deserve extra ice cream for having to put up with this.”

“The baby is where you draw the line?” Dustin asks, exasperated.

“I can deal with bodily harm and the threat of imminent death,” Erica says. Which, wow. Okay. “What I can’t deal with is changing diapers. I have standards.”

The two of them start bickering again, and Steve takes the opportunity to stare at Aba’s perfect little face. She scrunches her nose at him but smiles when he brushes a finger over one of her soft little cheeks, the way Robin did earlier.

He doesn’t think he’s ever loved anyone this quickly before. His heart feels like it’s about to burst, growing and growing until it fills all the hollows in his chest. It chokes at his throat and makes his bruised ribs throb, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

The moment passes and Dustin’s dragging them all up and out of the elevator again, but his heart doesn’t get any smaller.

Aba makes the tiniest, cutest little gasp when they get out into the fresh air, and he knows exactly how she feels because the air outside tastes wonderful. He’s never appreciated air the way it deserves to be appreciated.

The few stars already out are bright, and Aba stares up at them like she’s never seen anything like them before, and it hits Steve that she might not have. She’s only what, a few months old? How many opportunities would she have gotten to go outside? Was she even born outside the bunker or did they make her as a science baby under Starcourt?

It hurts to have to bring her back inside again. When this is all over, he and Robin are going to take her outside and they’ll spend, like, a whole day out there just enjoying the air, and the sun, and the stars.

Dustin tries to make them sit in the theatre but he barely even cracks the doors open before Steve backs up, shaking his head. Ow.

“Not in there, it’s too loud.” Movie theatres are horrible places for babies. And headaches.

Dustin makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

“Fine,” he says. “Just— sit out here, don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute. Erica, keep watch.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Erica says, but sneaks down to the hall to keep watch anyway.

Steve stares down at the baby again.

“Do you think Aba knows what flowers are?” he asks. Robin scrunches her nose at him.

“What?”

“She’s probably been down there for like, her whole life right? Would the Russians show her flowers?”

“That’s not—” Robin shakes her head, then winces. “What did you call the baby?”

“Aba?” He tilts his head. Robin squints at him. “It’s her name, see?”

He shows her the blanket, and Robin stares at the stitching for a long moment before her eyes go wide and then they go really sad.

“Steve,” she says softly, holding the baby closer, “that’s not her name, it’s a number. It’s pronounced dva, I think. It means ‘two’.”

“Oh.”

Dva. Two. Not Aba, not a name. Just a number, like Eleven.

But they don’t call her Eleven, do they? They call her El. A nickname.

“Abby,” Steve says decisively. Robin makes a questioning noise.

“She needs a nickname, like El, so she can be Abby.”

“Abby,” Robin says softly, looking down at the baby. Abby smiles.

[part 3]

#stobin WOULD accidentally name their baby an anagram for baby #<— bold words from the person who also did this #only realized abby could be an anagram like three days after writing it lmao #also thank you so much to everyone who left such nice comments on the first part??#I wasn’t expecting the response it got but I guess we just all love stobin with babies #don’t worry steve WILL Hold That Baby I promise #stobin mandalorian au #the greatest qpr hawkins has ever seen #envy writes #stranger things #stranger things fic #stobin fanfic #stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley

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thecryptidenthusiast · 1 year

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Title: beg for divinity in my breath

Rating: E. Nsft. Mature etc.

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Nate Sewell/Female Detective

Summary: She always thought Nate always looked good in green. Aka, Nate gets tied up and begs a little bit in this one, everybody.

I don’t ever write smut, so take that as a warning lol

“Are they okay? Not too tight?”

“They’re fine. Just as they were the last time you asked.” Nate’s teasing words go mostly unheard, with Abby’s attention instead on the knots binding his wrists. Gentle tugs and adjustments, making sure no one spot is too tight. “And the time before that.”

She doesn’t miss that one. The surprised yelp from him as she lightly pinches the soft skin of his inner arm feels like enough of a response.

The strays are silk - soft, as green as the forest floor. Expensive, if she had to guess, considering they came from Nate. Sacrificed from a robe or something similar, she wasn’t sure. They were the same ones she’d felt the gentle sting of on her own wrists at one point. This wasn’t new for them, just a change in the dynamic.

When she’d proposed the idea, it had been an offhand remark. She’d been lost, watching him fold the straps to put away. Long, graceful fingers and a deft touch making precise folds, her attention was entirely taken up by him, even as she idly rubbed the slight chafing on her skin (barely there redness that she’d hardly noticed, but Nate still fretted over it all the same once he noticed).

Her mouth ran without her mind: made a comment about being interested in seeing him tied up at one point. Nothing she expected much from.

She hadn’t expected the sudden, sharp breath he’d taken. Or the obvious interest in his eyes as soon as the words were out there. Or his very eager acceptance.

But he liked the idea as much as she did. Who was she to turn down the opportunity?

The irony of it all didn’t slip by her though. He’s bound and she’s hovering, checking in at every step to make sure he’s comfortable. The same thing she’d teased him about before. Reversed roles, and yet nothing was truly different.

Still, she settles back on her knees, hands on her hips in faux annoyance as she scowls at the vampire currently lounged out on the bed before her. “Quit teasing, or I’ll leave you like this.”

And he just grins, infuriating amusement glimmering in his eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” He makes a show of settling further into the pillows he’s propped against, making himself comfortable. For just a split second, she considers making good on her threat. Just out of stubborn defiance alone, to make a point. His arms are tied to the bedframe and yet he still can’t seem to keep from running his mouth.

Instead, she just smiles down at him. As sweet as she can manage, the kind that promises nothing good, and tries not to laugh at the smallest hint of alarm she can see creeping onto his face. Propping her hands on his knees, she leans in and kisses him. Gentle, soft and unhurried. It takes considerable effort to keep herself from getting lost in it, in the special kind of intoxication that only ever comes from him.

She needs to keep her head. She’s got plans for him, after all.

“No, we wouldn’t.” The words are mumbled against him, trapped in the small space between them. She catches his lower lip between her teeth and tugs, just enough to hear the quiet groan from him. She pulls away then, leans further out of his reach when he tries to chase her for another. “So, last time: they’re okay?”

She asks like it’s nothing. As if she’s completely unbothered. He has to take a breath to steady himself (and she lets it stroke her ego, to know that somebody like her can fluster someone like him). He gives both straps a tug, wiggling his fingers for added effect before smiling at her once more. “Still fine, I promise. They’re comfortable.”

(And part of her knows she’s doing too much. Going over the top. This is all about the novelty, really. Something new between them. But in reality, he’s barely tied. She’d left them loose enough that one twist could free him. A single word, and they’d stop. Besides that, he could rip through them with ease, shatter the bedposts without so much of a second thought. He isn’t bound, just as this isn’t really about control. Not at the center of it all.

It’s the inherent trust in an act like this: giving yourself entirely to the other. It’s a precious thing - something she tucks away, cradles inside her chest)

He’s still smiling, looking up at her as if she’s hung the stars in the sky, and it strikes her just how pretty he is. Wrists tied in silk, stripped down to his sleep pants. His hair is down, tousled from her fingers, lips well-kissed -from moments ago as well as before, when he’d been determined to be nothing more than a complete distraction from anything else.

A single shirt shouldn’t have taken so long to come off. And two simple knots should have been done within a handful of moments. But Nate, with his wandering fingers and insatiable lips, made it a task.

He’s so pretty. And all hers, for now at least.

“Enjoying yourself?” His voice brings her out of her thoughts. Just as she’d been taking the time to look at him, he’d been watching her, one brow cocked in amusement. More teasing. How he can walk that thin line between confident and cocky with such ease, she’ll never know, but it’s something he’s perfected.

It should be annoying. If it was anybody else, it probably would be.

She blinks, shaking her head to rid herself of the distracting thoughts. “Sorry, just enjoying the view.” She throws him a grin, “You do look good like this. But now that you’re here, I’m wondering what to do with you…”

Something crosses his face then. Eyes darkening, grin slipping into something sharper. Heat and desire evident in his gaze. “Whatever you wish, I suppose.”

And there’s promise in those words. His voice has the barest hint of a rough edge to it, just enough to send excitement skittering down her spine.

Their game is a balancing act now - give too much and the scales will tip, everything ending far too soon. She should feel unsettled, unnerved by the fact he can work her up without even touching her. A simple look, a few words, and he leaves her feeling taken apart and exposed. Laid bare, even through layers of clothes.

(It’s still new, and strange, and- not something she wants to dwell on-)

Her hands brush up, settling on his stomach, the muscles there tensing as her fingers trace patterns on his skin. Her eyes never leave his, watching him settle further back, a silent sort of conceding to give her free reign to him. “Tempting thought, but I don't think that’s how this should work.” She taps out a rhythm along his ribs, feels the rise and fall as he takes a breath. Her hands wander and his eyes flutter closed as she follows a well-mapped path. Up his stomach, along his chest. “I want to hear you. I want you to tell me what you want.”

Nate’s eyes open at that - brown, dancing on the edge of black, locking with hazel. There’s a realization there, cutting through the rising fog of want as he picks up on the challenge in her words.

(This game isn’t new, and he’s finally realizing she plans to push him just he’d done to her)

Another breath from him. Sharp inhale, shaky exhale. Carefully putting together his composure. “Do you wish for me to beg?” He asks innocently, lips curling. Unwilling to give into her gentle demands just yet. It’s moments like this where the sheer level of his stubbornness shines through, and she wonders if it’s a trait he’s learned over his centuries of existence, or a facet of himself he’s always carried.

There’s a temptation in that idea, because she knows he would. As much as he likes to carry the facade of resistance as long as he can, all it would take is a simple request. One word, and he’d be happy to indulge her - plead for her touch, just as she had for him. Repeat her name like a scripture, if she were to press just right.

Maybe they’ll get there before the night is done.

Leaning forward, she tucks her face into his neck, pressing a slow kiss just under his ear. Feels him shiver and huff, tilting to give her more access, but she doesn’t budge like he’d been hoping. “Maybe not beg.” She moves, nips at his earlobe just to feel him shudder. “Maybe ask nicely, though. Just tell me what you want.”

“Abby.” His voice is a low rumble. She’s not being fair, not really. But the almost growl of her name is enough to raise goosebumps on her arms. It’s enough to spur her on, stoking the slow-burning heat just under her skin.

Brushing her nose along his jaw, she presses kisses against his neck. One lingering under his chin before she leans away, moving away just as he turns to try and catch her in a proper one. The smile she gives him is sharp, unyielding.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to touch me.” His voice is sweet, smile soft. The only giveaway that he’s affected at all is the dark of his eyes, the way he watches her lips as she speaks.

Her hand slips down, down - from his chest, down his stomach to wind her fingers through the dark trail of hair just below his belly button. He’s shivering, muscles tense under her touch. “I have been touching you.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, more of a wheeze than anything. “That’s not-” His voice catches as her thumb slips beneath the elastic, “That’s not quite what I meant.”

She relents, just a little. Reaches down and cups him through the fabric, a small self-satisfied smile curling her lips when she finds him already hard for her. His eyes squeeze shut, hissing something under his breath as she traces along the length of him. “Here, then?”

He lets out the softest of sighs. “Better, yes.” His hips jerk slightly, chasing for friction. “Just, not-”

“Not what?”

A dull thunk as his head falls back against the headboard, she sees his brows furrow. The unsteady rise and fall of his chest. “Touch me, please. Let me feel you.”

It’s not exactly what she’d been looking for, but it’s enough of a step in the right direction. If she weren’t just as eager to get her hands on him, she’d string him along a little more. Instead, she slips her hand into his pants, fingers wrapping firmly around the base of him. Taking a moment to revel in the heat of him in her palm, she gives the softest squeeze before slowly pumping her hand.

It’s an awkward angle, kneeling beside him like this. But the moan that comes deep from his chest and the way he tosses head back is reward enough to deal with any twinges of discomfort.

“Abby,” He sounds thankful. Pleading. With a mouth too pretty to ignore, she leans in and kisses him properly. It’s as lazy as her strokes - slow, drawn out. Slicks her tongue against his as she squeezes again, feels him jerk slightly.

He shifts, tensing in one arm as if he’d tried to touch her, just to remember the straps keeping him in place. She moves a little, content to watch his face. Pleasure at war with frustration. Frustration that he can’t move, can’t touch her.

Left to her will.

“Is this what you wanted?” She’s not sure where this stroke of confidence came from. Maybe it was the way she could see him slipping, the rush of excitement that she’s got him.

Maybe, maybe she realizes why he likes teasing her.

“A little more,” His hips jerk up again, as if chasing what she won’t give him. Her fingers twist a little, but her pace stays the same.

“More what?”

Now the sound he makes is pure frustration, head tilted back, and she takes that chance to run her tongue along the line of his neck. “Faster. I need you to go faster.”

Strained words, stuck somewhere between a plea and an order. But she decides to give just a little more.

It doesn’t take much effort to rid him of the rest of his clothes. She’d planned on just pulling them down enough to free him, give herself more room to work, but Nate gladly kicked them off the rest of the way. She tosses them to the side, lost to the floor somewhere, before glancing up at him. At the way he’s watching her every move.

He’s pretty like this, too. One hand wrapping around him, a thumb brushing against the weeping head. Watches the way he arches into her touch at that, listening to the choked moan that tears from his chest.

She wants to take him apart. Watch him crumble, just for her.

Unable to resist herself, she leans in, tongue swiping at the tip to get a taste of him. His lips part as if to say something, but she takes him in her mouth and the words taper into a moan.

Her head bobs, taking him as deep as she can. Fingers working the rest that she can’t. One hand braces on his hip, a silent order to stay, and she can feel the tension running through him as he fights the urge to jerk forward as much as he can from his position.

She pushes him higher and higher, listens to the babbling from him. Wonderful words, please and so good, don’t stop. Listens to him get closer, lets herself move a little faster, even when her throat aches.

There’s a single jerk of his hips, one he can’t control. His head thrown back, hands balled into fists, so close he’s almost there-

So, she stops. Pulls her mouth off, kisses his thighs and lower stomach even as he lets out a strangled noise.

“Why-?”

“Not done with you.” Her own voice sounds strange to her. Rougher. It’s a threat at a promise as she works her way back up his body, nipping small marks as she goes. There’s something bordering on wild in her now, watching the mess she’s made of him. Her hand goes back to the slow pumps, not fast enough to hold him at that peak but just enough to keep him desperate.

She straddles his legs and settles to watch. Tracks the movement of her hand as it works. The way he’s leaking needily along her fingers, the slight jerk of his hips as he fucks her fist, chasing the pleasure she’s dangling before him. The white hot rush of desire that rushes through her at that moment is enough to make her dizzy, to have her mindlessly rocking against the thigh trapped between her legs.

It’s wild, and messy, and she’s never felt anything like this.

He’s watching her. Watching as she grinds against his thigh, going in time with her hand. A coil of want settles low in her belly, and suddenly this game feels like too much. She feels too big for her body, ready to burst, and she wants- everything. All of him. Willing to steal it all, but knowing he’d give it to her willingly. She kisses along his shoulder, his chest. Biting to leave marks she’ll never get to see. Tongue peeking out to taste sweat-stained skin.

“Kiss me, please.” It’s too desperate to be an order, and she can’t resist him. Not now, when she feels like there’s a live wire running through her nerves. Lips press against his, and this kiss isn’t gentle, or soft. It’s a clash of tongues and teeth that leaves a whine building in the back of her throat. That has her hips pressing down harder.

He raises his leg, giving her more pressure and there are stars dancing at the edges of her vision.

“Talk to me, Nate.” She’s proud that can find any words, let alone string together a sentence. She pulls back just enough to really look at him, mere inches between them. He looks hazy, unfocused. There’s sweat on his brow and his lips are swollen from hers. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” The word sounds strangled, but he’s too gone to care. He kisses the side of her face, her shoulder, any part that he can reach. “I need you, Abby, please.”

And oh, how pretty he sounds when he’s begging.

She moves quickly, pulls the two knots loose with simple tugs (he’d barely been bound but he waited for permission-) and then her world tilts, too fast for her to keep track of. She’s on her back and Nate’s kissing her. His hands are everywhere at once, on the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, pushing her shirt up until he can palm her breast. It’s a frantic scramble to try and work her clothes off, neither willing to break away from the other. Something rips, but the tearing fabric can barely be heard over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

“Fuck, Nate,” Finally, finally that careful, stubborn composure of his has snapped. The grip he has on her hips is bordering on aching, but it’s the delicious sort of pain. The one that tells her there will be bruises in the morning. Not that she can bring herself to care, not with him slotting his hips between her thighs as his head drops to her chest. He presses hot, open mouthed kisses there, the scrape of teeth enough to make her moan.

She feels the slightest scrape of fang against her collarbone is enough to make her head spin.

And yet, he’s hesitating. Just one, painful second, but it feels like an eternity in this moment. “Are you- Is this okay?” He asks against her skin, voice shaking, a rumble in his chest that she feels as much as she hears. Checking that she’s okay with this, with him, even when they’re both trembling.

She loves him, so much it makes her ache. Bright and wonderful and overwhelming.

And he’s going to drive her mad.

Her answer is to lock her legs around his hips, dig her heels into his back and drag him closer. Rocking against him until they’re both gasping. Please, please move.

He’s not gentle now, as he presses inside her. Too lost in the feeling of everything, his hips snap forward and she’s full, the pace he sets is rushed. Sharp, shallow thrusts that have her losing any thought that isn’t him, him, him. He hits a spot inside her that has her eyes rolling, nails dragging down his back, making welts there that heal as quick as they came.

So good, you’re so good I love you. Words against skin, spoken between desperate gasps. His fingers find hers, interlacing as he presses her hand down against the bed above their heads. He’s close, if the irregular jerk of his hips is any sign, and she’s almost there. A little more, just-

His free hand slips between them, thumb rolling over her clit with practiced ease, and she’s suddenly falling off that ledge. His name is no more than a strangled cry, arching into him, and she’s barely aware of him following just behind. He comes apart with a groan, buries his face into the crook of her neck. It takes- time, a good amount of time before Abby can even think clearly.

He all but collapses afterwards, for once letting his entire weight settle on her. It's warm, and a little sweaty, but she’s too dazed to move, and the pressure is nice. He’s rocking once, twice, chasing the aftershocks. A moment passes, then another, the only sound in the room is their own breaths as they come down from their high. Finally, when she gets feeling back in her extremities, she detangles her hand from his, earning a displeased grunt that tapers into a pleased sigh as she brushes her fingers through his hair. Being mindful of the knots, she presses featherlight kisses to the side of his head. “Are you okay?”

His laugh is an airy, tired one, his voice muffled against her neck where he’s refusing to leave. “I don’t think I can move.”

“Come on love, we can’t stay like this.” Her comment is met with yet another groan, this one more drawn out than the previous had been. She nudges him, and it takes a few strong pokes in the side to get him to move, but rather than get up she watches as he gracelessly flops to his side. She gets barely a moment before he’s reaching out and dragging her into him, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Nate,” She tries again, barely able to hold back her laughter as he curls around her. “Nate, we need to get up.”

“Later, ya rouhi. For now let’s just…rest.” She does laugh at that, at the sleepy drawl to his words. She shifts around, catching both of his hands between hers, fingers gently rubbing at his wrists. It isn’t until she’s brushing kisses against the bones, just under his skin, that she notices the small smile curling at his lips.

No marks, not that she’d really been expecting to see any. He heals too fast for that. But it makes her feel better to check, anyways. “We really do need to get cleaned up.” The sweat on her skin is cooling and it isn’t pleasant, but the idea of pulling away from him is even less so. “If you don’t get up, then I’m not going to want to.”

“Good, stay here then. With me.” He sounds far too pleased with himself, arms wrapping around her to hold her against him. She could shake him off, if she really wanted to, but he’s comfortable and she’s quickly losing this fight.

“Nate.”

“Abby.” There’s a soft kiss against her head, his nose nuzzling against her temple. “We’ll get up later. For now, just rest? Please?”

She pauses, moves just enough to narrow her eyes at him. “I feel like you’re going to abuse that power.” Whether it’s her comment, or the disgruntled tone, she isn’t sure, but Nate laughs at that. Bright and happy as he kisses the top of her head, nuzzling against her temple.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He sounds entirely too innocent to be believable.

“Right. Sure you don’t.” His fingers are intertwining with hers, and exhaustion is making her muscles lax. They need to move, and they will but- maybe, not yet. She lets herself settle into him. “Ten minutes, Nate.”

He’s dragging a blanket over the both of them, lips pressing one more slow kiss against her forehead. “Ten minutes.”

They still need to get up. But for now, for now she lets herself get lost in him.

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell #I’m throwing this here and RUNNING alskdld #I don’t ever write smut so this feels like a MESS but. I think more male LI’s should beg a little #as a treat #Nate thinks he’s a tease #but once Abby finally gets comfortable with him/herself he is DOOMED #my writing #written and roughly reread again. any typos get to live

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elekinetic · 1 year

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we all talk abt how mike would make angsty teen poetry which. fair. but am i tripping or is that way more in character for max

#max mayfield #if one (1) person asks then i will write said poetry #abby not you you don’t count you’re too supportive already #st (e.v.)

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angelkissiies · 1 year

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i have no clue how hockey actually works ,, i just google stuff as i write ,, my limited knowledge comes from me gaslighting myself into believing my guesses as fact … everyday i live in fear that someone is gonna send me a mean ask abt how wrong I am .. but I also DONT CARE bc hockey!abby lives in my temporal love rent free

#this is my coming out #hockey!abby #abby anderson #tlou #tlou2 #hockey!au #modern!au #i don’t remember writing this

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whydoifeelthisquiet · 7 months

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Those posts that are like “unpopular opinion but Taylor Swift’s lyrics are mediocre and if you think they’re great that’s sad” are actually so unnecessary. I cannot imagine seeing someone talking about lyrics they think are brilliant and taking the time to comment something like “actually you’re basic and your taste is sad” in response. It’s honestly a pathetic move. It doesn’t matter which artist is being dissed, it’s about putting others down for loving something popular to fuel your own superiority complex. It’s just embarrassing and childlike behavior.

#abby doesnt shut up #it’s just unkind to diss any artist. writing and singing is such a vulnerable act in itself and it discourages rising artists when this -#- behavior is acceptable #like just don’t comment and start boosting your favorite artists #there are a lot of artists I’m not fans of but I keep my mouth shut bc nobody needs my opinion

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aberooski · 1 year

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Picture it.

And @chazz-is-a-zelda-fan I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, pal 🙂

________

Chazz going to stay with Atticus and Alexis over break rather than going home to his brothers.

He gets to experience what an actual loving family and healthy household environment is like for the first time.

He gets to have the first genuinely, non professional home cooked family meal he's ever had in his life.

He's a little uncomfortable and awkward around their house at first but having his friends around is helpful, and their parents are so nice and caring and present he feels legitimately welcome in their home. First time he's ever really felt that way anywhere.

Atticus and Alexis take him around town and just do normal people activities like going to the movies, drag him along to go grocery shopping, walking around the mall, fast food, just going out for a walk, take him to a concert, mini golf an annual tradition in my family myself 😌, Atticus takes him on a date, they drag him to dinner with the extended family and their grandma 100% incorrectly assumes Chazz and Alexis are dating and they're all embarrassed but it's fine 🤭. Y'know, various normal things that Chazz has never done or been exposed to before.

By the end of the break Chazz is beloved by the entire Rhodes family and their mom insists that he's welcome to come and stay with them again any time, an offer which he accepts gratefully. He'd much rather be here with his closest friends and people that actually seem to genuinley care about him than at home with his brothers.

#my brain is going into fanfiction idea overdrive y'all #I'm fr getting emotional thinking about this #I really need to just do more fluffy shit I don’t have to exclusively write drama and have villains and badness happing all the time 😭#when will i learn #yugioh #yugioh gx #chazz princeton #atticus rhodes #alexis rhodes #stormshipping #a little more light stormshipping probably but it's me so it's there #abby's just rambling don't mind her #abby's fanfic writer power hour

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messrmoonyy · 9 months

Note

would you ever write Ellie x reader things?

Nope. I don’t vibe with Ellie like that. I like✨milfs ✨

#ask #tho my live action Abby era might be something 💀#lmao but no. I don’t read her. I won’t write her. I don’t see her like that

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devil-doll13 · 1 year

Text

Wax & Wane

(Part 4)

Tw: References to past injuries/scars, kinda angsty, Abigail is thinking about murder but Ellie calms her down basically lol, also Abby is very awkward, Blood, Swearing, I think that’s it?

Ellie belongs to @rottent33th! Also thanks to her for ideas <3

Percy who is mentioned here belongs to @the-pinstriped-hood, and I also mention Ava who belongs to @slaasherslut!

To be honest I was bumbling about for most of this but I think the newfound friendship between Ellie and Abigail is really sweet. Anyway, enjoy, sorry it took so long!

Summary: Abigail is left to clean herself up after the two Sinclair brothers had attacked her, and receives an unexpected visitor who changes her mind on returning the favour.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Hot, steaming water cascaded over her injured body and stung her freshly-stitched wounds, scorching her skin as she painfully winced in response. Ugly purple welts and thinner, more methodical slits that were permanently carved into her flesh seemed to have become angrily inflamed under the boiling spray. Her cracked ribs - the less visible of her impairments - were achingly sore and left her wheezing for every gasp of air. All in all, she was left hurt and dazed after her scuffle with the two Sinclair brothers. Wringing a hand through her stringy locks, Abigail watched glumly as rusty reddish-brown residue dribbled down her cut calves and feet where it disappeared into the steel drain.

The woman that had argued for her release - Whose name she’d garnered was Percy, short for Persephone Jones, the best-selling fucking author - had very subtly and politely hinted that she needed to clean herself, and she found herself in full agreement. Had it not been for the fact that she’d just walked right into a ghost town, fixing her hygiene would’ve been a high priority; except for the fact that evading mortal peril was.

Abigail wrenched the knob back and the steady stream of hot water ceased. She huffed and pulled the faded floral-patterned shower curtain open to step dripping onto a scratchy, worn out towel, then wound another tightly in her wet hair. The first thought of rendering herself naked and vulnerable in such hostile territory had not been an appealing one, but she admitted with some relief that her newfound cleanliness was worth it. No longer did the odorous sweat, filth and grime irritate her; replaced instead by the pleasant scent of rose-scented shampoo she’d sneakily nicked off the bathroom shelf.

After she’d groggily redressed in the furtive, shuttered shade of the house’s old bedroom - for she still did not dare to fall asleep in these conditions - Abigail padded quietly down the scratchily carpeted stairs and into the ancient yellowed kitchen. She pulled open a nearby cupboard, liberating a choice mug and teaspoon from the lower drawer. Then, she switched on the old kettle and sat down on a rickety wooden chair, rather smug. See, the other thing she’d pinched on the sly was a coffee container, which she thought might serve to keep her upright and conscious for the time being. It was here she allowed her nerves to relent slightly, lazily slumping back in her chosen seat and ignoring the pinch in her side as she did so. She pondered for a moment, closely observing the peeling wallpaper and behind it; the gradual buildup of mould festering there. Still, she had roomed in significantly filthier and sleazier boarding houses and motels. How sad was it that this place was actually rather inviting in comparison?

This once empty, abandoned home - which despite sitting dusty and neglected, mysteriously still had working electricity and plumbing - Percy had offered to Abigail as a sort of consolation gift. She narrowed her eyes sharply in thought. It seemed to her a strange act of charity, considering how dangerously close she was to holding the bespectacled writer hostage and using her as a bullet sponge; against her own devil of a lover no less.

…Which was exactly why she suspected she had ulterior motives. She knew this was a kind of soft imprisonment; Abigail was under house arrest until further notice deemed her fit to leave again. Or perhaps she would never leave at all; perhaps they all wanted her dull and drowsy so the moment she let her guard down, Bo would finish the job. A cold, spiteful resentment churning in her gut urged her to take advantage of this lull in their little murder operation to set up a counterattack of her own. It would be remiss to not acknowledge she was as prolific a killer as the Sinclairs were, after all, and they had severely injured a witch’s pride.

Abigail scowled. She would absolutely love to cruelly slaughter them all once she recovered in false docility; that seemed only fair and proper after that leering mechanic Bo had forced her into such an awkward arrangement… But despite her raw indignation at the fact, she had no way to get ahold of her invaluable grimoire, seeing as he so jealously guarded her car. Evidently he hoped to keep her within arms’ reach should his beloved decide she was no longer off limits for him to kill.

("Go’on, git’, before I try an' make Percy change her mind..." A sharp warning flashed in his icy blue eyes, though he carelessly snorted)

But more than that, it truly horrified her that she still couldn’t help but feel comforted by Percy’s gentle care and maternal aura. She radiated a sort of familial affection that Abigail had long wished for but never been truly allowed. That, and the fact that, despite Abigail’s behaviour, she had still been offered nothing but kindness from Percy. This elicited within her something akin to guilt; a foreign sensation that felt hard and rotten in her heart. Guilt, perhaps, that she had acted hastily against an unknown, that just moments ago she’d had thoughts of murdering her. It would normally be so easy to wash her blood off her hands and move on, but this time things were… different. It would actually be more terrifying if Percy was being genuine, that would mean she could cut right through her protective shell. She wasn’t ready to become that helpless and vulnerable again, but it was such a tempting warmth that Percy offered…

Abigail shook her head to dispel the notion. She’d sworn off emotional weakness of any sort since her resurrection; yet she still had those stupid yearnings inside of her that she desperately needed to be rid of. That would be the only way she would find peace and acceptance in who she was; what she was.

She’s using manipulation tactics and you’ve fallen right into her trap… You know better than that by now, Abigail, surely?

Better to be distant and detached than have those unrealistic hopes crushed again.

The rattling kettle puffed to a halt, and Abigail stood up wearily to pour heated water into her mug and stir. For a moment she focused solely on the satisfying clink of the teaspoon against ceramic as the aromatic brew began to turn a dark, swarthy brown. It would’ve been perfect if she had a tin of cinnamon on hand, but beggars couldn’t exactly be choosers, now could they?

Abruptly, she picked up the sound of the door being opened in the entrance hallway and bristled like a disturbed feline.

Is it Bo, come to rub salt in the wound? Vincent, so he can stand there silently, waiting for rebellion? Percy, so I’ll have to confront myself far too soon?

Instead the visitor was decidedly more unknown; a young woman who had appeared by the kitchen threshold with a swish of lavender tulle.

“Oh,” she wrinkled her nose delicately. “It’s kind of dusty in here…”

She had a soft, almost cherubic face, heart-shaped lips and uniquely multi-coloured eyes in which Abigail could detect no underlying malice or deceit; though she had instinctively been searching for it. She was certain they had never met before, but at once the woman seemed strangely familiar.

The light of realisation dawned on her then. She looks exactly like the beautiful woman I saw in Vincent’s portrait earlier…

“Hi!” The girl chirped amiably. “You’re the new arrival here, right? I’m Ellie!”

New arrival…?

Ellie beamed at her with a smile bright enough to rival the sun. Abigail almost squinted at this radiance, finding her almost as difficult to look at.

“…Oh.” She faltered for a moment, placing her teaspoon down gently. Abigail wasn’t quite sure how to react to this. Hadn’t she just moments earlier been fighting for her life? Well, perhaps it was just that she’d never had such a jovial welcome before.

Ellie was kind enough to ignore her slow response, and not discouraged in the slightest, extended a slightly paint-stained hand for her to shake.

“I’m…” Abigail eyed the violet-tangerine splotched palm, half expecting it to produce a knife to stab her with. She tried to settle on a reply.

“…The new arrival. Yes.”

“Well, welcome to Ambrose! It’s been so long since we had a proper visitor and all.” Ellie’s hand felt slightly damp, but it was warm and soft and did not cause her pain.

I had a rather funny welcome, Ellie…

Ellie might’ve been only a smidge taller than Abigail, so it was easy for them to see each other eye-to-eye. For a moment she felt an uncomfortable silence begin to kick in as she allowed her hand to be held limply. Her focus fell onto the colourful splashes on Ellie’s wrist, unwillingly.

“Would you like some…?” Abigail gestured vaguely with her teaspoon back at her coffee. No real point hiding it now. She wanted to stop this touching.

Ellie’s expression brightened further, if that was in any way possible.

“Yes please, if that’s alright!”

Well technically I stole it from you, so…

She quickly turned away and took out another mug from the kitchen drawers - as clean as one she could find - and got to work pouring Ellie a cup of coffee as well. But the woman stopped her gently, insisting that she could do it herself, so Abigail backed off.

“I’m sorry about, um…” Ellie scrunched up her face in an apologetic grimace. “How nasty it kind of is in here, but we’ll find you somewhere nicer soon!”

Abigail concealed a small sigh. It wasn’t exactly in her plans to stay in a place where she was wanted dead; she’d been through that enough already.

Does she not know what the situation is…?

“…Most of these houses are abandoned, then?” She decided to investigate a little, evading these clear attempts to soften up her guard.

The girl’s face lit up in memory. “Yes, they are… Have been for decades, really. It’s mostly just a ghost town here now. Except for us, anyway.”

Us, as in you, Percy and the two brothers…

Abigail was mildly surprised at how honest she was being. Certainly she knew this already, but it was in great contrast to Bo, who had lied to her. Perhaps it would be a good idea to interrogate this one.

“Where do you live, then?” She pressed.

“Just in a house by the outskirts of town. It’s best for my gardens, you see. And it’s wonderfully close to the forest too.” She gave her an enthusiastic little smile. “I’ll show it to you! It’s not far from here anyway, it’s basically me and Vinny’s little retreat.”

Vinny… Abigail just about mentally blanked as she recalled the man who’d just come inches away from cutting her throat an hour earlier.

So, those two both keep their lovers here…

She took a tentative sip as she contemplated this. That nasty, twisted part of her urged to take note of this for later, since it would be oh-so-easy to map out the town for her counterattack and use this girl as a bargaining chip, just as she tried to do with Percy. Ellie seemed overly optimistic and trusting, but Abigail was already expecting that point when she would recoil away from her; it was only a matter of time. This hospitality would not last, so she had to take advantage of it.

“Ok. I’ll take you up on that offer,” she said dully.

It was fine. She could simply spare Percy.

“That’s great. Like I said, not too many visitors lately, and I’m the kind of person who thrives on being able to share things, you know?”

Abigail stared rather intently at the brown-haired girl, still trying to dissect her for clues. Strangely enough, Ellie didn’t even seem unnerved by this, as she expected her to be. She smiled back, as if this was a completely normal occurrence for her. Even after she had figured out that she was the girl in the painting, Abigail still felt like there was something persistently familiar about Ellie. It was probably just that she’d known people like this before, but never really had their approval.

A silky black cat trotted in soon after the girl did and immediately made a beeline toward Abigail, winding in between her legs with a friendly purr.

“This is Salem,” the brunette said, beaming down at the kitten. “Well, he seems to like you!”

“Most cats do…” She murmured.

Abigail couldn’t help but feel charmed by this little fellow and reached down to scratch him between the ears. He chirped a sort of happy mewl in response.

I guess I can spare you as well…

“Actually.” She heard Ellie’s voice lower to a furtive, but slightly excited whisper as she stirred her coffee.

“I know there’s something different about you…”

Abigail felt her breath hitch at this. She was more or less waiting for the other pin to drop, but would it happen so fast?

“Different?” She watched the other girl warily.

“Oh!” Ellie exclaimed. It was as if she’d taken herself by surprise. She flushed slightly. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, I just…”

Ellie scooched closer. “I know you did something really, um… Magical. At least, I think Bo was saying something like that.”

Abigail leaned back against the counter, letting Salem rub his dark furry head against her boots. She knew she had reacted a little too fast, but… She eyed Ellie dubiously.

So you know I reanimated your boyfriend’s statue?

“And you believe in magic?” She probed. It came out as more condescending than she intended.

“Yes!” Ellie said eagerly. “I actually know a bit…”

It was then. She’d lifted her hand to rearrange her hair, and Abigail caught it. That spoon was moving on its own. The coffee was stirring itself.

That’s… Actual…

“…Do you normally do spells without realising it?” She couldn’t stop herself.

Abigail now realised that feeling of strange familiarity was because she’d detected the spark in another; but this one had a far gentler power than her own.

Ellie’s brows furrowed before a moment before an expression of surprise replaced it. She looked back down at her steaming mug. “Um… Yes, that does happen sometimes.” She admitted. “I guess you caught me.”

She took the teaspoon out and blew on her coffee. Abigail had little time to think on it before Ellie bursted out into an enthusiastic rant.

“Ok, ok, so I was honestly really excited, because this is the first time we’ve had another witch here in Ambrose, so I got up in the middle of painting…” She displayed her hands. “…Just to see you! You did cast a spell back there, didn’t you?”

“…In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Not a particularly nice one, though…

“See, I knew it. You definitely have a sort of… Aura, so I can tell. I’ve always been good with that.” Ellie pulled out a chair and sat down rather neatly, tucking her dress underneath herself. It was a rather grand gown she was wearing, Abigail realised. Again, she was struck by the feeling that this bright young woman felt out of place in this dingy town.

“I should’ve recognised it in you before, honestly.” Abigail bit her lip as she pulled up her own chair, and Salem hopped into her lap. “But you don’t have a nasty bone in your body, do you? I’ll admit, I haven’t as much experience with light magick spells.” She remarked, peering at Ellie’s rosy face.

Ellie blushed, as if she’d just complimented her.

“I mean, I don’t like the idea of hurting anyone with it… I mostly use it to help my garden along, grow some of the more difficult plants and use it to bake, that sort of thing.” She played with her fingers absentmindedly.

“…That’s amazing. I could never do that.” Abigail admitted, running a hand over Salem’s smooth fur. She genuinely meant it, too, despite herself.

Ellie’s face turned an even darker shade of pink.

“But I’m pretty sure those lightning bolts from earlier were yours, right? I’ve never seen someone conjure an entire storm before. Are you a powerful witch?”

Now it was Abigail’s turn to feel bashful.

“I… I can only do black magick, I’m not at all skilled in other kinds. Not like you.” She looked back to Ellie’s mug. That sort of quiet, peaceful spell was difficult for her, someone only used to harming others. But Ellie could do it effortlessly; without even thinking.

At the same time, she was astounded. This was almost an out of body experience; since when did anyone admire her disease and destruction? How was it that this girl seemed completely unperturbed by the monster sitting across from her?

Ellie reached over to clasp their hands together, and Abigail’s eyes shot open in surprise. To her own astonishment, she didn’t pull away. Salem jumped down from Abigail’s lap with a ‘mrrrp’ sound, padding out into the hallway where he disappeared.

“This is so nice. I’d love to show you everything I’ve collected over the years! I have this pretty crystal ball I’ve been trying to scry with, but I’ve taken well enough to divining tarot readings for everyone. Oh, you have to meet Ava too! Do you like art? I think I get a bit of a magic touch when painting sometimes.” It seemed Ellie was fit to burst, unable to contain her excitement, and she bounced up and down in her chair. For Abigail, it was infectious.

And who is Ava…?

“Yes, actually. What were you… Painting?” A thread of curiosity tugged at her brain and refused to stop. She thought back to her own artwork still imprisoned in her car. She imagined that Ellie’s were far less reflective of that inner wrongness; more uplifting.

“My new crocuses! See, that’s why I used a lot of purple. They really just liven up the flowerbeds, you know?” Ellie’s hands still clung to Abigail’s, still not recoiling in horror and the cold and pallor. “And purple’s kind of one of my favourite colours, so…”

“It’s one of mine, too…” She said softly.

Abigail could feel herself slipping again; in the same way she’d gotten carried away with Percy, even with Bo around. Her will to fight was slowly drained by a combination of fatigue and desperation to feel a smidge of affection. She realised the vibrant paint had rubbed off on herself, splotched on her own drab wrists. Then she realised she didn’t even mind.

I’ll have to spare Ellie, too. Or… Will I attack at all?

“Wait, I just realised. I’ve been so rude, I haven’t asked for your name!” Ellie leaned forward to fix her with an earnest gaze, and Abigail stiffened.

She was starting to doubt herself, which wasn’t good. How could she ever do that, when she alone made decisions regarding her fate? When she swore she would never relinquish that control again? She felt herself spiral as Ellie gave her a sisterly squeeze on her trembling hands. For a moment, Abigail studied Ellie’s features. No repulsion, no fear. A sort of acceptance and kinship she had never felt before.

“But don’t worry, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me yet… Just do it in your own time.” Ellie’s voice was soothing and patient, as if she’d read her thoughts. It made her heart ache. How many times had she wished for this? Was it too good to be true?

Then, she made her decision.

(“Names have… Power. It’s not wise to give them away so freely.” Her own words echoed in her mind)

“Abigail.” She finally spoke, smiling shyly, and squeezed her warm hands back.

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @flower-crowned-lady, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary)

#the way Abigail is such a stray cat #and Ellie is just going ‘pspsps’#I don’t think Abby is someone who is fun to make friends with but Ellie is still trying go for it girl #with Abigail she’s honestly kind of evil but I can’t help but babygirlify her in situations like these #like goes from the cackling witch to a more softer human person #Abigail Williams #Abigail #Eleonora Mason #Ellie #House of Wax #fanfic #my writing #slasher oc #horror oc

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clusterbuck · 2 years

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if you could pick one (1) trope to see buddie do in canon, what would it be?

bc i NEED to see the classic friends to lovers trope of going on a first date and trying way too hard and going somewhere super fancy and worrying about how awkward it is, until they both realise they should just stop trying and be themselves bc they’re already in love anyway

#aaaaaaaaaaaaand now i want to write the fic rip i don’t have time for this #shush emma #also yes it was kind of like that with abby but i want one that ends in sweats on the couch with takeout not a trach out

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rosasappho · 1 year

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i know a s2 of this show is going to happen for the second game but i don’t want itsorry

#ari.txt #i don’t like the second game sorry i just don’t #i understand what they were trying to do i get it #i just think the way they did it was just poor writing it was kinda shit .#and i like abby!! i just think the way the handled her was rlly bad and didn’t fit

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officialasgore · 1 year

Note

how do echo flowers *work*, anyway?

Oh, it is rather interesting! Some plants, such as tomatoes and tobacco, have been found to release ultrasonic “screams” in response to stresses such as being cut or deprived of water. Echo flowers, being somewhat magical in nature, have evolved to do much the same thing, but with frequencies that are within more common ranges of hearing. Initially, they simply echoed environmental sounds as a defense mechanism, but selective breeding has resulted in the flowers that we know today being capable of repeating phrases, and even short conversations!

#(while i was writing this up abby sent an mp3 of them screaming and i was like yeah. me too)#(i don’t know anything about plants. but i think asgore would. SO)#as asgore #utdrp #asglore

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moonlightperseus · 2 years

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there was the end i couldn't find

504 words | bt breakup | 5x17 canon divergence | aka something i saw of after i saw the promos for this ep and didn’t finish in time to post before the ep

He’s in the middle of an argument with Taylor when Eddie calls—Eddie, who’s supposed to be getting on a plane Texas in an hour—he doesn’t even think of not answering it.

Taylor glares at him when he puts the phone up to his ear, so he turns around so he doesn’t have to see it.

“Eddie, hey, what’s going on?”

“I’m so sorry to ask this, but Carla can’t come to watch Chris—she twisted her ankle this morning and—”

“Shit, Eds—are you not even at the airport yet?”

“I’m driving there now, but I had to bring Chris with me, can you—”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Buck’s already searching for his keys and wallet, “I can stay with Chris while you’re gone—I’ll see if Pepa or Abuela can watch him when I have to work but I’ll also see if Bobby’s cool if I have to bring him with me to the station and if not—well it’s not like I don’t have plenty of time off built up.”

“Are you sure? I know things with you and Taylor—”

“This is more important.” Buck says firmly, and he means it—somewhere behind him Taylor scoffs loudly, which he only vaguely registers. “I’ll meet you at the airport, okay?”

Eddie lets out a soft sigh of relief, “okay, thank you Buck—I—I owe you one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—if anything I should be thanking you for getting to spend time with my favorite guy—just drive safe and I’ll see you soon.”

Buck hangs up before Eddie can even attempt to protest. He’s already halfway to the door when he remembers Taylor and their fight.

“Taylor, I’m—”

“Don’t.” Her arms are crossed over her chest and her expression is ice cold. “You just made your choice very clear. It’s over, Buck.”

She’s not just talking about their argument.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, and he thinks he means it, but he doesn’t have time to stick around and think about this really means, “look, I’m gonna stay at Eddie’s—”

“Don’t worry,” Taylor says, her tone anything but reassuring, “I’ll start looking for a new place but I’m sure Eddie won’t kick you out in the meantime.”

“I have to go pick up Chris,” Buck says—he thinks he should be feeling more right now, but all he can think about is if he’ll run into traffic on the way to LAX and if there’s any routes that will get him there faster—and he realizes that’s why this was never really gonna work, “we can discuss—the apartment—later.”

Taylor doesn’t say anything in response, her expression having morphed into something closed off and unreadable to him. He’s painfully aware that this is the end of the line for them.

Buck turns back around to the door and pulls it open, ��I am sorry, Taylor.”

He thinks he hears her say “I’m sorry too” as he’s pulling the door shut behind him but he doesn’t stop to ponder on it.

Eddie needs him—Chris needs him—and they will always come first for him.

#911 spoilers #abby writes #evan buckley #buddie #but only hinted at #my fic #fanfic #usersharky #userbuckleyhans #tuserebecca #usernicolo #ajlook #usertriz #i don’t super love this but i’m posting it anyways #i have crumbs of thoughts for like a follow up/pt 2 of this but who knows if i’ll get around to writing it #anyways it’s a quarter to 2am and i need to get ready for bed oops #911

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thecryptidenthusiast · 1 year

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Title: willingness to bend

Rating: PG? Nothing much but some arguing further in. Abby is stubborn and not thinking straight, and Nate isn’t helping his case.

Pairing: Detective Abigail ‘Abby’ Brùn/Nate Sewell

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: how the post-forest argument would have actually gone between Abby ‘fiercely independent and stubborn’ Brùn and Nate ‘worries SO MUCH but terrible about talking through things’ Sewell. Also known as ‘these two care a lot about each other they’re just bad at saying so’

I was disappointed there was no sort of conversation or confrontation with these post-trapper, especially picking the dialogue option that gets you the famous “i won’t allow you to endanger yourself” line. so I’m rectifying it by making things worse <3 no spoilers really this all takes place in the timeframe of the demo, but I’ll tag it just to be safe.

Abby wasn’t expecting Nate to be waiting for her.

She’d lingered behind at the Facility after the debriefing. Longer than she probably should have, given the circumstances of…everything going on. But she’d needed some kind of respite, a little time to process without Unit Bravo looming over her shoulder.

Getting food with Vieno had been the perfect excuse for some time away.

Unit Victor had been an unexpected surprise, but ultimately a pleasant one. The group had no problems dragging chairs over and making themselves comfortable. Willing to talk about everything and nothing, they had little regard for personal boundaries.

Apparently news about her traveled far, and she wasn’t sure how she felt being at the center of it.

It seemed positive, at least.

The conversations were light. Nothing more than gossip to fuel the rumor mills. Was Adam as hard headed as everyone claimed, something Abby only gave a noncommittal shrug to because the last thing she needed was her answer somehow cycling its way back to him. They’d reached a tentative peace, she didn’t feel the need to argue with him at every comment, and he seemed to tolerate her being around. No need to upheave that progress.

They’d asked about Nate afterwards. About her relationship with him, and she couldn’t bring herself to answer around the sudden lump in her throat. Vieno steered them off by calling them a bunch of ‘nosy gossips’, and it was all Abby could do to give them a grateful nod at the intervention. Conversation still flowed afterwards as they all talked amongst themselves, and she happily let herself drift to the background.

But the lump never eased.

It’s- ridiculous. Selfish, even. Everything that’s happened in the past 24 hours, and it’s her own personal problems sitting on her mind like lead weights, something she couldn’t shake off. Added salt to the wounds of everything else.

Maybe it stung because Nate had been her point of peace. Someone that could help keep her afloat even when it felt like she was spiraling. She didn’t have that now and she felt- she felt alone.

Too lost in her own mind to be considered anything remotely close to ‘good company’, she gave a distracted good-bye before excusing herself and somehow managing to find her way to her car.

The drive back, trapped in the silence, hurt more than it helped.

She couldn’t stop herself from replaying everything over in her mind, trying to pick out where she’d gone wrong to make him so frustrated. Outside of the level of danger that was becoming a regular occurrence in her life, she’d come out of the attack fine. Stressed, a little shaken, but unhurt. She hadn’t even fought, technically. The thorny mess of underbrush had done the work for her; she’d just taken advantage of her…familiarity with the area.

Not that it mattered. Nate still hadn’t been happy she wasn’t willing to let him hide her away while everyone else fought in her place.

So, he yelled. Sort of. As much as Nate ever raises his voice.

And in turn, she yelled back at him. And if she hadn’t been so caught off guard, she would’ve been embarrassed that it all happened in front of the rest of the team.

No, that didn’t settle in until afterwards. After the chaos settled and the adrenaline faded, forced to sit through a debriefing with as much distance as she could manage between her and Nate. It mixed with the slow burning anger she’d tried to swallow down until it formed something toxic that left a bitterness in her throat.

It wasn’t Nate’s frustration that stung. Or the yelling - though that hadn’t helped. That, alone, she could have taken; sat with and picked apart into pieces of something that made sense, given enough time.

I won’t allow you.

No, the anger came even before they’d been reduced to shouting at each other. It was the declaration of what she was allowed to do, as if that’s a decision he had the right to take away from her. One sentence, buried in her mind like a splinter. The more she dug at it, the more raw she’s left afterwards.

It’s not rational, not really. One panicked phrase, said in the heat of a dangerous situation, shouldn't have struck her as hard as it did. But whether or not it was sane or fair didn’t matter - it left her feeling angry and constricted.

She doesn’t register the drive until she’s sitting outside the chain link fence of the Warehouse. It takes effort to uncurl her fingers, idly rubbing out the cramps brought on by the white-knuckled grip she’d had on the steering wheel. Staring up at the decrepit facade, with her headlights painting shadows in the gloom of the night, a part of her considers turning around. Peeling out before she has to face anyone, although…she has nowhere to go besides here. A stray thought passes through her mind about crashing at Tina’s, but she squashes it before it has a chance to take root. It’s well past 2 in the morning, and while Tina would open her door to her, Abby wouldn’t put her out like that. And she isn’t sure she wants to deal with the line of questioning that would bring on, either. And, Adam had been clear about her order to come directly back to the Warehouse afterwards.

Another order. Another decision made for her. Only this one smarts less, because she’s used to Adam telling her what to do.

So, against every nerve in her body, she forces herself to shut the car off and climb out. Mentally talking herself into taking each step forward, more mechanical feeling than anything natural. She’s not in the right headspace to handle anything more than collapsing into bed.

It’s late, anyways. Maybe she’ll be lucky and everyone will be busy doing whatever it is that keeps vampires busy throughout the night. They’ll hear her arrival, she’ll be able to get to her room and push off dealing with anything for at least a few more hours.

She wasn’t planning on Nate being up and about. Even if she shouldn’t have expected anything less from him.

“You’re back.” He startles her out of her thoughts. Perched on the couch in the living room, a book in hand, it’s clear he’d been waiting for her return. He’s smiling, doing his best to look relaxed, but she knows him too well for him to hide the tension in his body. The concern in his eyes as he looks her over.

Both get worse when she chooses to stay rooted to her spot by the door instead of moving to join him.

“I was at the Facility.” She says, words stilted and awkward as she debates her chances of making it if she were to just rush through the room and leave. She’d thought- a part of her hoped her aggravation would ease, if she gave herself time, but seeing him has it trying to claw its way to the surface again, settling like a burning coal in her chest.

Maybe he’ll let it go. Maybe he’ll just say goodnight and let her go-

“I was worried.”

He means it, that’s the worst part of it all. A passing remark made with nothing but genuine care in mind, because he always worries when she’s away. When he can’t be around. He just wants her safe. And there’s a small, logical part of her that knows that. The part that’s fighting and failing to pull her temper back knows it’s meant in kindness.

But the threats she’d been desperately grasping onto snap, all the same.

“I was with Vieno. And another Unit.” Her tone is flat, bordering on harsh. “Do I need your permission so you can allow me to go anywhere without you?”

She’s lashing out now. Feeling twisted up too tight, throwing barbs in the hopes of something sticking. There’s no pleasure when her words hit their mark though, no enjoyment in the way she sees him flinch. Just a building pressure under her skin, a rolling nausea in her stomach.

She hates this. Hates everything she’s feeling, but is too far in to pull back now.

He sighs as he pushes up from the couch, and she shuffles the rest of the way into the living room to take a place in front of the fireplace. Just- to give herself somewhere to stand besides the front door, so it didn’t seem like she was seconds away from bolting. She keeps her eyes on the ground though, just to find something to look at that isn’t him. Still, she feels him take a place beside her, even with the deliberate space he’s kept between them.

“I suppose we need to talk.”

“Yeah, we really do.” As if drawn by a magnet, her eyes flit in his direction, unsure of what she’ll find. Frustration on his face? Exasperation in his eyes at her attitude? She’s not being kind, it would be deserved.

She isn’t prepared for the deep crease between his pinched brows. She isn’t prepared to find him looking so incredibly sad.

“I know I didn’t handle the…situation with the Trappers properly.” He starts after a brief pause, clearly trying to gather up his thoughts. She lets herself relax, just a little. At least this seems like a step in the right direction. “Seeing them close in on you, while I was too far to help, filled me with terror. Every worst case scenario went through my mind, and I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

He sounds properly contrite, at least. His shoulders are drawn, hands pushed deep into his pockets. It's only her own stubbornness that keeps her from reaching out to him though. “It worked out, though.”

“That it did.” He smiles, but it’s a wobbly thing. Brittle. “All it takes is once, though. As I said, they will stoop to whatever means necessary to take you and I- I cannot bear the thought of that happening.”

“And I can’t handle sitting back, doing nothing while everyone else fights my fights.” She turns to face him now, and he mirrors her movement. “And I can’t handle you telling me what I’m allowed to do.”

“It’s our job to protect you, and we don’t mind-“

“But I do!” She snaps, cutting him off. She knows they’re making no progress. Two steps forward, three backwards. Unlike before though, she can see him trying to figure out a way to diffuse the rising tensions before they can come to head.

“We’re getting off point, and I’ve upset you again. I apologize, for then and now.” His apology soothes her annoyance, if only a little.

“Thank you.” He takes a few tentative steps forward at that, trying to close the distance. “But again, Nate, it’s not just the fight. It’s you trying to tell me what you’ll allow me to do.”

He pauses then, and she realizes he’d been hoping she’d just pass that point over in favor of being angry about everything else. “I shouldn’t have phrased it that way,” He says finally, carefully, and she narrows her eyes. “I misspoke, I’m not trying to make every decision in your life.”

Just certain ones, the thought is a cranky, nasty little one. “You’re going to have to let me help. If I’m going to be part of the team, let me act like it.”

His brows furrow at that. Reaching out, hesitating just long enough to give her a chance to push him away, he cups her face in his palm. Cradling her like she’s something precious, she can’t help but lean into him as his thumb traces her cheekbone. “Being a part of a team also means accepting your limitations and allowing us to help you, though.”

Any warmth from his touch vanishes then, chilling in her veins as she shakes him off. “What does that mean?”

“I told you to hide because, at that moment, that was the best thing you could have done to help us.” His tone is gentle, but Abby knows him well enough now to know he’s picking his words with care, working up to his point in a very Nate-like way. Kind, always so kind, but unwilling to budge. “Your safety is my priority, always. At times, that means you have to be willing to let us protect you.”

He’s not listening. He’s not hearing a word she’s saying, and she can feel her anger rising again.

“I handled myself though.” She’s trying to be reasonable. To quell the part of her that wants to snap, and snarl, and fight. “I didn’t even fight, I was able to handle it my way.”

“And what if you couldn’t? What then?” Nate crosses his arms, as if he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands now that she’s out of his reach once again, and Abby has never thought he looked more stubborn. “I just wish for you to be safe, is that a bad thing?”

“It is when you expect me to sit back and let my family fend for themselves!” She won’t let herself focus on the fact that was the first word that came to mind, slipping out before she could stop it. Not here, not now. Not with so much tension, or with the storm of emotions making her chest ache. Or with Nate’s face lighting up, even in the midst of her yelling at him. She’ll dissect it later, with nothing but four walls watching her and the safety of an empty room around her.

“I’m simply asking for you to trust us,” He says slowly, as if to placate her, though all it does is further stoke her temper. “I- We can handle threats against ourselves, but you-“

“You almost didn’t before!” She shouts, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Memories of Nate, battered and bruised, laying in his own blood, flash in her mind, too quick for her to block them out. As if sensing her distress, he reaches out on instinct, but she jerks back before he can make contact.

She can almost pretend like the flash of hurt on his face doesn’t make her ache.

“I was taking care of myself long before you guys showed up.” As soon as the words are out there, she wants to snatch them back. Bury them, stuffed away in the dark where they belong. Panic and embarrassment has her pacing now, too much of something buzzing just under her skin. She was prepared for fighting, yelling she- she’s not ready to see pity from him.

Because maybe, that’s the true, awful core to all of this. Why Nate’s protectiveness feels like an ill-fitting coat, clinging too tightly. So long with no one, pushed to grow up too fast. She doesn’t know how to let somebody else care for her.

Would she even want to? To let herself be that vulnerable with someone else?

And Nate knows. Of course he does. Even with ehr pacing, and her stubborn refusal to meet his eyes, she can feel him watching. Picking up on every little thing she wants to hide from him but can’t, because he’s always seen too much of her. He’s close to hovering, she’s sure, wanting to provide comfort but unsure how. The thought makes her cross her arms, as if she can make herself a smaller target.

That’s what makes him finally move, though. A gentle hand on her arm to stop her in her tracks, providing a warmth she can feel even through her layers of clothes.

“You shouldn’t have had to.” He sounds so soft, so sure of himself. Steady, where she’s drifting. “And if I could, I would mend that for you. But you don’t have to now.”

Let me care, the words are there. Unspoken, left to hang between them, but there nonetheless. I would if you’d let me. I want to.

And it would be so easy to let him. To drop her guard and let him in. To let him take the few final pieces of her heart she has hidden away, because he’s already taken the rest. Given to him willingly the first time they’d kissed

She could.

She wants-

I won’t allow you.

But she won’t. Can’t.

“Well, I did.” She cuts through the silence that had grown between them with sharp precision. Squaring her shoulders, she turns to face him, trying not to miss his touch as his hand slips away, and forces herself to meet his gaze head-on. Whatever he sees when he looks at her has his shoulders slumping, ever so slightly. “Which means I don’t need you panicking over every little thing that could potentially go wrong, or you deciding what I’m allowed to do.”

There’s a rare flash of frustration in his eyes, there too fast for him to be able to tuck it out of her sight. “It’s not about permission, Abigail.”

“That’s exactly what all of this has been about!” She snaps, barely resisting the urge to yank on her hair in frustration and instead settles for pulling at her sleeves to give her something to dig her nails into. Her tone is rising again and she can’t stop. This is falling apart in front of her, too fast for her to do anything but embrace the inevitable crash waiting for her at the end. “You’re trying to tell me what you’ll allow me to do, stressing over things that might happen. None of this is going to work if you don’t trust me to know my own limits.”

“You ask me to trust you, yet you have an alarming pattern of paying little regard to your own wellbeing. So forgive me if I’m inclined to doubt your choices.” His tone is harsher than she’s ever heard it, words sharp enough to make her wince. He notices, immediately softening as he scrambles to backtrack. “I care about you Abby. So much.”

That’s all this is about. Everything it boils down to. But it’s not enough to fix anything. And that realization has her deflating, a sadness creeping in to replace the anger.

“But I’m human.” It’s a quiet sort of admission. One that hurts, because it doesn’t matter what she does in the end. How much she prepares herself, or tries to help. She’s still the weak link, and Nate will always treat her as such.

Half a dozen emotions flicker across his face in that instance, almost too fast for her to recognize. Fear. Frustration. Affection. Something- something heavier, deeper than the others, and she feels her heart thumping painfully against her ribs.

“That-“ He cuts himself off, tearing his gaze away to look at the wall. There’s something more there, that much she’s certain of. Something he’s barely bitten back, and part of her wants to grab him. Shake him and demand an answer, an explanation, anything to tell her she’s wrong. “You are.”

Nothing more. No deeper answer. Just a heavy hearted agreement, that hurts more than her own words had.

A bitter part of her wonders why she expected anything any different.

The fight leaves her as quickly as it had come. The exhaustion of everything suddenly presses down on her with such a fierceness that she’s left aching. So she crosses her arms again, like she can hold herself together a little while longer as she shuffles backwards. Desperate to space between them.

“I can’t do this right now.” She’s speaking more to herself than to him at this point, turning towards the door. “I can’t- I need to go.”

“Abby?” There’s a thread of alarm in his voice now, and she hears his muffled footsteps on the carpet as he keeps pace behind her. “Wait, we can talk-“

“All we’ve been doing is talking, Nate. And I’m done.” There’s a hollowness in her, like something carved out a piece of her, and she rubs her chest as if she can massage the ache away. A chill has seeped through her clothes, settling all the way down to the tips of her fingers, and she chooses to blame it on the lack of sleep.

“Please.” It’s one word, practically begged, but it’s enough to make her stall. Enough to have her spare one more glance at him. Frozen halfway from touching her, panic and desperation have brought a sheen to his usually warm eyes. Torn between having her stay, and afraid of pushing her further away has him teetering on an edge. “Please, stay?”

It hurts. So much, more than it should, and it isn’t fair. Leaving him like this, when a part of her wants to turn around and let him soothe away everything. Let herself be lost in him awhile and pretend like everything is fine between them. To take the easy path.

But she knows how that will end. Another fight, sooner rather than later. She knows she can’t keep burying things away, as much as he wants to when things get tough.

So she shakes her head, pulling the door open and forcing herself to look away before he can notice the tears she can feel burning her eyes. “I just need some time, okay? Give me some space.”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer. She can’t, not if she’s going to keep her resolve. So she leaves, letting the door slam closed behind her. And maybe, everything will feel a little less painful when the sun rises.

#Nate sewell #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #n Sewell #twc spoilers #my writing #this is so rough but I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing alskdldk #and the lack of ANY follow up to the argument bugged me #so I had to put my spin on it #Abby isn’t being Nice because she doesn’t know how to let ppl care and it scares her <3 thanks Rebecca lmao #she took nate going ‘i won’t allow it’ as him trying to control her. didn’t cross her mind that he’s genuinely terrified for her and in love #anyways they’re entire relationship timeline is getting shifted in my brain and slowed down from what it was in the book #and Nate doesn’t think he can protect her but is afraid to say that. since we see him saying he doesn’t think he’s enough for the MC #so his own panic at losing abby and her stubbornness lead to messes #if you see mistakes no you don’t lmao I’ve rewritten this three times now?#if mistakes survived they belong in here now

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