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hutahuta · 5 months

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Desparate to get away from a creep that been harassing you, you rush to pavia despite not knowing each other yet saying he is your boyfriend what will he do? Plsss?

P.AGE OO.4 — 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐌 & NOBILITY : 交 ✦ ⏱

GN ! Reader — <3

this is probably gonna be long, who knows. i'm writing before i even started LMAO <3

edit; i dont like the way i wrote this idk,, maybe i'm getting a little self conscious of my writing and jdskkdkdkd i'm so sorry.. ;;

thank you sweetie, ilysm for requesting (๑´ ˘ `๑)

Running to safety hasn't always been your only option. Mostly because your friends encouraged you to carry weapons for your own safety, especially in these streets where you can competently get snatched, stabbed, mugged or any of the sort. In this era? Please. You think people could afford low quality security cameras, with a high price?

Weak hands trembled as you kept insisting that your time was not worth being spent on someone who was firm on the decision that you must simply travel with them to see the city's night scenery.

It's been at least 15 minutes at most with you trying to brush aside him or trying to speed walk out of the way, hoping he wouldn't go bother someone else but at least spare you the chance to get away.

Infuriating.

Fortunately, you were not the gullible sort. Whether you've encountered this for the first time, or you've experienced such shuddersome and nightmarish situations for god knows how long, it doesn't matter. None of this is fucking okay.

And you knew that.

Loathsome hands traced the outer space around your bare back, and much to your disgust, it was unbearable to not break their hand as of this second. You had to wait, just so you could still walk with said person and hopefully get the chance to outrun them when you see a nearby crowd flocking up to the nearest street.

' Come, I insist. '

' You've ain't got nothin' to worry 'bout. '

' Aren't you being stubborn? This is what I get for being a nice guy.. What's so bad 'bout someone tryna' treat you out? '

The same shit you'd hear time n' time again. It isn't always the easiest, especially when you'd think he'd carry a weapon on him just in case.

Think, be smart.

Ah, up just ahead, a crossroad catered towards the corner of your eye. Your head didn't turn around too quick, but you'd have seen the elderly couple steadily cross the walk just then. Following suit, a flock of crowds parked themselves up just ahead to watch the physical activities boarded up for their enjoyment.

Fuck.. Okay. Pace yourself.. Three, two, -

Before you knew it, you dashed immediately.

Wind blew and slashed against your face as you carried your burning legs as fast as you could. You didn't know what the hell this freak carried on him and you weren't planning on finding out either.

The crowd proved no use, as he could manoeuvre his way around, shouldering past people aggressively with the occasional loud grunt you can surely figure out that it etched from him.

Dammit, alright. It's fine. It's totally fucking fine, right? You couldn't tell where you were going. You crossed and turned at every corner, and just beyond your reach —..

Stood a man near the corner shop that sold the usual cigarettes and loaded beverages. Stuff that you'd only resort to having when your shift at work really sucked.

White to black hair, black sunglasses with a lavender shirt that had intricate patterns, but not interesting enough to pay too much attention to as of this time.

Please, for whatever God is out there. Offer you some strength. Fortunately, he was quick to stop you in your tracks by halting his hand in front of you, like how one would halt a nearby bus to indicate you're about to get on. However, he essentially demanded your entire body be impacted against his hand. Regardless, it made you panic in a hurry but your uneven breathing made it impossible to speak coherent sentences.

Pretty sure if you saw someone crying and running away like your life depended on it, wouldn't you stop by to help? Pavia was a mercenary, and a merciless one at that, but he wasn't entirely soulless.

' Now, where are you running off to in such a hurry? ' He had an accent. A lollipop stuck between his lips. What is it? Cherry? Strawberry?

Words. Just use words.

' Help, please.. Creep. Following. Behind me. ' Behind your uneven breaths, and horrid panting that caused a crack in the tone of your voice, he seemed to understand.

Or, somewhat get it. If it's anything staining this world, it's filth like this random person trying to inflict damage on innocent people like you who are just trying to get by their day. You look innocent to him. Exhausted, but innocent. Like a little lamb fleeing the slaughterhouse.

If it's one thing he hates, it's seeing the poor souls who resemble the innocence he once had. The chance that they could have to flee themselves from trauma, is the chance I believe Pavia would be willing to give. He must despise seeing the fear inside eyes that used to resemble his own when he was tucked away from the rest of society, forced to grumble under nothing but the deafening silence within the basement of his aunt's home after wailing out apologies and horrid voice cracks just to plead for his own freedom.

So. Seeing yours is no different.

Regardless, you do know the impact of you being outside.. especially during the evenings where it's dark and the sky turned into a murky ocean blue haze, gradients shifting darker by the hour and minute..

Gripping onto his shirt, your pleas to beg him to act as someone you might be familiar with, or perhaps even wear the stalker off with claiming that he is your temporary boyfriend, might strike something within Pavia..

Standing still, you rested yourself against his steady arm, holding you in place. Swiftly, he moved you against the wall, whispering a soft 'Then forgive me.' And yet, here were the thudding footsteps of your attacker. With a quiet look on your face, he stepped out of the shadow, amidst his hounds that surrounded his feet by seconds.

You couldn't believe it??

' Problem, amico? ' Resonated that voice of his, something to admire. Glistening under such beautiful moonlight, you could tell how the silver lining had outlined the steel plate of the metal cutting into the familiar shape of a pistol embedded within his pocket.. Huh- Shit— was he dangerous too? You only needed protection, not some bloodied out battle to settle for your freedom?? You're not looking to go to jail this early, anyways.

' I sincerely hope that you aren't getting aquatinted with my.. beloved? Huh? Lest I take that pretty little tie of yours to add into my collection. Divertente~ '

You didn't ask for his name, but your slender hands placed itself on his shoulder, still unable to catch your breath beneath these minutes that were unbearably silent to surpass.

Behind him, your body rested upon his, one hand eagerly coiled warmly against his waist like vines on a old pillar.

The stranger didn't wish to be aquatinted with you in any sort at first, but he was a playful hound of a man. With eyes that looked at you, then back at your stalker. Maybe talking with you a little more after this wouldn't hurt, right?

' You know, amico. ' He approached.

' There is something quite thrilling to have the echoes of thuds of dead bodies fall flat against the surface when you hear that deadly gunshot linger in the back of your head, huh.. You know, my boss tried the same thing. '

And yet, it feared him in some way. Your eyes replicated that of a lost puppy. Those puffy cheeks, reddened and exhausted from running ever so much, oh my.. Something sparked inside of him.

Compared to his gaze, that had his pupils dilated so small, it reflected insanity upon them. He whispered a quiet ; ' I suggest you surrender before it gets ugly? aha.. '

All it took—; was the slow movement of his slender, yet ringed hands to reach into his lower pocket-

And by the second.

They left. You heard grumbled apologies.. and shuffling. But that was mostly it.

The stranger dressed in purple didn't bother to turn to look back around at you to see if you're alright or not, but there was a smirk on his face. A smile on it that he could only turn his head to the side which he could witness your breathing slowly starting to become tolerable; that lollipop twirled itself around his fingers.

Maybe a factor of it played into it because he just saved you, but some part of you could tell a fraction of him enjoyed teasing you with his playful gaze. As if you knew what he were to already say.

The public here avoid trouble but when they see terrible news on the media, they flock together like birds to ready themselves into war. It's nearly impossible to fight against society's norms, but you suspect that's why nobody but him offered such help.

And you were lucky.

Seems like it won't be the only time you'd meet this stranger by the looks of it. He said nothing more than patting your shoulder softly, then moving back inside the building.

Pavia wouldn't be the best at trying to offer comfort but he knows better than anybody else on how events like these tend to fuck you over. The shit people put up with on a daily basis makes him want to spit on lowly people for even thinking they have the right to breathe the same air as you.

Pavia merely reached his hand towards your trembling figure. He seemed to contemplate whether it was a good choice to get to know you, but under these circumstances, that stalker could still be lingering about. What better to do than to have him offered to sit beside you until you feel safe to go on your own again.

After all, maybe it's the safest option..

And who knows? You'll become acquainted with this stranger soon enough with time.

#reverse 1999 #pavia #pavia reverse 1999 #reverse #pavia x reader #paviarev1999 #r99 pavia #reverse 1999 pavia #imsorryifthissucksass #i love you all wwwjwjwj 😞💔💔

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potatoes-is-are-food · 3 years

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Can I request some poly! Shigadabihawks x reader if you don’t mind. You have amazing writing and you have written some amazing poly! I don’t care if it’s sfw and/or nsfw, it’s totally up to you. I honestly kinda wanted to see how hawks and Shigaraki got along in a poly relationship and how they interacted with each other because I can imagine how Dabi and hawks get along or dabi and shigaraki but hawks and Shigaraki would have a odd relationship, y’know. Sorry if this is odd and you don’t know what I’m talking about and I just want you to know that I absolutely love your work. You’re the first person I check everyday when I get on tumblr. 😘

Awwwww!!! You are so sweet, thank you so much!!! Yeah this makes a lot of sense, for the demon au especially I’ve been trying to work on showing off the dynamic between Hawks and Shig. I hope headcanons are okay!

| SFW

- Before you enter the mix, Dabi is really the only holding them together. He started off dating Tomura (who still insists he barely even likes him, usually after they finish making out) and then later Kei joined in. You’re still not sure how it all came to be since you get a different answer depending on who you ask and what mood they’re in.

- Tomura is only a bit tsundere with Dabi and Kei, never you. With you he’s more openly clingy and would never deny how he feels. He wouldn’t say it, but he appreciates you being around whenever Dabi and Keigo make him feel like a third wheel. Keigo has some similar experiences, but he’s just genuinely not bothered whenever Dabi wants to go have some solo time with Tomura. Or you, for that matter. Just isn’t the jealous type.

- They like using you to fuck with each other. If you’re hanging out with Dabi there’s a good chance Keigo will come along and just flat out steal you. Just pick you up and walk off. Because he can. Dabi is fond of teasing Tomura about how much he likes you, despite clearly also liking you. Tomura’s go-to is usually also to steal you, however he likes to get you to come willingly so you’ll blow off whoever you were with to start.

- Keigo and Tomura get along best when teaming up to irritate Dabi. Whether it’s playing keep away with you, hiding his stuff, distracting him when he’s trying to brood and do Dabi stuff, they really enjoy the power of their combined effects on him.

- The three of them teaming up to irritate you is what really gets them cooperating. They’re all gremlins, they steal your clothes to force you into skirts with no panties, they move your stuff around so you have to ask them for help, and that’s without getting into how often they fight over you, although that’s not so much to annoy you.

- Dabi developed a little habit of calling you, Tomura, and Kei his sluts and now he does it no matter who’s around and it’s really embarrassing but he absolutely does not care.

- While most of the time it’s Dabi and you holding Tomura and Keigo together, it’s not uncommon to find just the two of them off by themselves bonding over a common interest or even occasionally making out.

- They each have their own rooms, but you don’t. You bounce between theirs and your stuff is always scattered around. Yes, it’s annoying. No, they won’t let you have your own room. The four of you typically end up sharing one bed anyway, although the room itself changes.

- They’re not shy about the relationship, so it’s fairly often you get teased (albeit lovingly) about having three boyfriends. Toga really likes trying to force you to pick a favorite.

- Everyone thinks it’s creepy. Everyone. But Kei started calling you their “little girl” and just never stopped.

- They don’t really do PDA between themselves aside from the odd hand holding or rare peck on the cheek, but when it comes to you all bets are off. You’re constantly perched in someone’s lap or holding a hand or having your clothes fixed by someone else. To everyone else it mostly looks like they toss you around.

- Sometimes they’ll take you on dates, switching between doing them one on one or with the whole group. It’s hard to get Tomura to go out, though, since he prefers stay at home dates. When he’s not feeling it you’ll usually end up in a blanket fort eating takeout all together.

- One time. one. time. some stranger muttered “slut” under his breath when he saw you walking along in public with them. Dabi charred his ass so fast the other two were pissed at him for not being able to get a hit in.

- Despite all of them being gremlins, they really love you and will 10/10 go out of their way to make sure you know that. Literally anything upsets you and the immediate response is “Tell me why you’re not happy and I will kill it.”

- Most of their more genuine affections are shown in little things they do. Keigo likes to get you guys things, especially snacks he knows you like since he can go in public freely. Dabi is constantly fixing your clothes and hair and making sure everyone’s comfortable. Tomura always touches you softly (outside of the bedroom), always brushing his fingers along your cheeks or resting his head on your shoulder, etc. He’s also the most likely to casually touch the others in public.

- When it’s cold everyone piles up on Dabi and he pretends he hates it, but you always catch him smiling when he thinks no one’s looking.

- Kei loves using his feathers to tease everyone, slipping them under clothes before you can stop them or making them flit around your face. It’s annoying but his laugh is so cute you can’t even be mad at him.

- Tomura’s face always lights up before he can stop it when one of you comes to play videogames with him. He’s really bad at hiding how excited and happy it makes him.

- Since you’re the only girl and they’re kind of sexist, they treat you a lot softer than they treat each other. Doesn’t matter how strong you are, they’ll always think you’re weaker and they need to protect you. It might not seem like it when they’re teasing the hell out of you or tying you up or spanking you, but they go way easier on you than they would on each other in the same situation.

- Literally any sign from you that you’re seriously upset or overwhelmed? Done. No more. Only soft affection and very mild teasing for the week.

| NSFW

- The first time Kei joined in while Dabi and Tomura were fucking, he didn’t even participate. He just watched like a fucking creep. Still does that occasionally.

- They all have relatively high drives and absolutely no shame between each other, so it’s pretty often you’re just casually getting fucked in one of their rooms while another sits on the couch beside you and watches TV. May or may not comment on it.

- Sometimes they’ll make bets about you. See who can get you to cum the fastest one week or try testing how long it takes for you to come to them when they don’t initiate it and which one you pick. How much cum they can stuff you with and plug up before it starts leaking out. And so on.

- It’s very different if it’s just one of them, or if it’s two and which two, etc.

- Dabi likes to manhandle you. He takes his time, makes you wait and beg and then just completely destroys you for hours on end. After, he sits back with a cigarette and lets you cling to him while he strokes you and tells you you did a good job. It pleases him when you’re so fucked out you can’t form full sentences, and he’ll tease you for it for days.

- Keigo is similar in that he likes to tease, but he’s also sadistic. He’ll make you cum on his tongue and fingers until you’re begging him to stop and then he’ll force at least two more orgasms out of you on his dick. Afterwards he watches you twitch and leak his spunk for a minute before giving you god-tier aftercare. Runs a bath, gets you some water, etc. Once you’re clean he encourages you to take a nap, but it’s usually an excuse for him to take a nap because he’s also worn out but trying to hide it.

- Tomura gets too excited to tease for very long, but that’s only directly before the sex. He’ll have his hand shoved in your panties just toying with you for hours while he absently scrolls on his phone. Sometimes he’ll have you get yourself ready where he can see, only to completely ignore you until you let him know he can start. Once he’s going, though, he’s done with all that. He’s drooling, panting, flushed, pounding you into next week. He alternates between kissing you and spitting in your mouth because he’s too wound up to just pick a mood most of the time.

- That’s not to say you don’t have lots of times where it’s intimate and loving, but that’s not really the usual.

- The Dabi/Tomura combination is the more nasty of the three. Kei isn’t opposed to doing stuff to make you squirm when he’s in the mood but Dabi and Tomura l i v e for that shit. They’re almost nightmarish together, 100% okay with piss, impact play, period stuff, all things anal, etc. Of course you’re their girlfriend and they love you so they’re not about to do something that has you screaming or crying for real, but if you’re at least mostly okay with it and they’re confident it’s not breaking you, they’ll do pretty much anything. Anything to get you teary-eyed, begging them to stop, etc. as long as you’re not saying the safeword. For aftercare they’re very gentle and soft as they clean you up and put you to bed. Doesn’t matter what time of day it happened, they’re putting you in bed and snuggling you until you get at least an hour of sleep. When you wake up they’ll get you something to eat and make sure they didn’t hurt you beyond the usual cuts, bruises, and assorted mild scorching.

- Dabi and Kei usually go for more of a good cop/bad cop sort of arrangement. Doesn’t seem so bad until you figure out they switch the roles without any indication of having done that. It’s like they have a sixth sense for it or something. You’ll be crying and clinging to Keigo since he’s been nice so far only for him to bend you over his knee and spank you raw for it; meanwhile Dabi has gone from smacking you around and spewing filth to cooing and stroking your face. Their aftercare is mostly praise, they’ll tell you you did well and make sure you’re okay mentally since some of the stuff they say can get pretty intense. They’ll get you cleaned up and make sure you eat and drink water, and they’ll cuddle as long as you want and won’t go anywhere even if you fall asleep.

- Tomura and Keigo are the most interesting mix. It’s not often that it happens, but when it does they work surprisingly well together. Their different types of degeneracy and patience seem to blur together into a lethal combination that’ll have you getting whiplash from how they toss you back and forth. They’re not usually both participating at the same time; someone has to hold the camera, after all. Aftercare usually consists of a shower, snacks, and either you napping on their laps while they game together or joining in if they didn’t rock your shit too hard. On days when they’ve done this, you’ll notice the two of them interacting more and occasionally taking some time to be alone together…

- When it’s all of them you’re fucking in for it. Depending on the mood it can vary wildly, but for the most part it’s just a complete mass of writhing limbs and moans. You’re tired ten minutes in, more of the focus is on you than anything, you’re forced to cum over and over again, they each cum in or on you at least twice, and when it’s all said and done you’re covered in sweat, cum, possibly blood, and three sweaty, spent bodies. Usually after they have to peel your limp, half-conscious body off the bed and carry you to the bath. They’ll take great care of you, not that you’ll really remember it in your sorry state, and when you wake up the next day they’re more doting than usual. They’ll tease a little about how you’re sore and still just a little out of it, but that doesn’t mean they’re not checking on you and being extra attentive.

- The times when it’s all of you together but in a more romantic way, it’s like being surrounded by pure love. Everyone’s kissing, you’re all tangled together, it’s just really soft and intimate. Doesn’t last as long, but it’s insanely sweet and gooey. When finished, there’s lots of soft caring/cleaning up/cuddling for a while but it doesn’t have the same insane recovery time as usual. After everyone’s taken care of, the guys like to try pretending everything is normal, but it’s obvious they’re more clingy than usual. Definitely all sleeping together in a pile on nights like that.

- Sometimes one will join in just for aftercare. Kei enjoys seeing you a fucked-out little mess, so he’s always happy to help if it means he can see you destroyed for a minute first. Dabi likes the feeling of being needed and being able to care for someone, so he’ll help, especially cleaning you up and getting you dressed. Tomura loves the way you cling after, and likes to cuddle and nap, so he’ll come in late to the aftercare just for that.

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rpd-rookie · 3 years

Text

The One Who Runs Away, The One Who Runs Back (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Author’s note: This is a sequel to “A PAST WITH HER, A FUTURE WITH YOU” and the end of my three-parts fan fiction "I TRUSTED YOU WITH MY HEART" I decided to write after so many of you asked for it. Sorry it took so long but I was navigating from one fandom to another. (BTW, if there are any Devil May Cry fans up here, you can read my DMC fan fictions here) PS: Even if I said it before, I have no hate whatsoever towards Ada or Aeon.

Tagged: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Post-Break up, Sexual Content

Part 1 / Part 2

***

Do you remember? We started this story by quoting some sitcom character that was clueless about love. Well, here’s a suggestion. Why not ending it by quoting someone who knew a little more on such matter.

William Shakespeare - you know that English dude expert on tragic ‘drink this poison, stab yourself’ kind of love - apparently once said ‘Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck’. I say ‘apparently’ cause, even though I have a master in English lit, this quote is from the internet, and also … who knows what the guy truly said?

But it’s the quote that’s important. Not the author. The quote it’s important because it sums up perfectly how this story is gonna end. However, before starting, let me tell you this quote is going to be the only Shakespeare-worthy sentence in this final chapter. You’ve been warned.

Love runs away from those chasing her. Well, this part was definitely written for someone like Ada Wong. Owner of countless gold medals and possibly a world record at this point, that woman is basically the Usain Bolt of the ‘Running from Leon S. Kennedy’ competition. Unchallenged winner since the creation of this sultry version of cat and mouse game, it’s better not to think about the number of times she successfully ran away from her favourite agent. But this year, this formidable titleholder in a gorgeous red dress will have to face her Nemesis in the championship. You. Though the comparison to the hideous bio-organic killing machine might not be very complimentary to you but you get the idea. This year you enter the Kennedy Olympics. And this year you run like Sonic the Hedgehog and you win the damn competition (screw you Usain Bold!). And you do this with your head high and without an ounce of regret. Ignore all the texts and flowers Leon might send on your track Mario Kart style. His gifts are not as slippery as banana peels and they can easily be dodged, I promise. Well, most of the time, when you’re not lying on your bed in the middle of the night crying and sobbing while reading his messages or playing his voice in your voicemail again and again until you’re nothing more but a giant mess with puffy red eyes drowning in a puddle of your own tears. Screw those messages too! And screw his broken yet terribly sexy voice as well!

Being a man of word, Leon kept his promise. And for months you kept on running peacefully, marathoning away from this past relationship that had destroyed you like no other before while tranquilly fixing your broken heart on the way. That run was a good cardio.

But sometimes, cardio is not enough, and even just the small sight of an overpriced whisky bottle or the smell of Leon’s perfume on some guy’s clothes is enough to reopen your wounds. And when it happens, you always do the same thing, you break the damn bottle - and run cause damn! it’s expensive! - or you tell the guy his perfume smells like cheap cologne and that he should definitely change it, which is an improvement on your past destructive behaviour, since there was a time shortly after the break up when you would have simply dragged the guy to your place to let him fuck you senseless while imagining he was Leon. All that just for the illusion to feel him again and for the sake to kick him out the next morning, screaming like a hysterical psycho.

So imagine, for a small second, the wave of intense feelings surging out of your healing heart when, in the middle of a cafe, you hear some dude sitting behind you ordering Leon’s favourite whisky while wearing the same bloody perfume. “It’s got to be relentless persecution at that point!” You sigh, already annoyed, closing your book more violently than intended. Hope you’re ready, stranger! Because you’re not in the mood to deal with this right now. You turn around with a fake smile that reflects perfectly your irritation, ready to give him hell, your sharpest riposte already burning your tongue. After all, he deserves it and you can’t help it. But when you meet familiar – and freaking gorgeous - baby blue eyes you freeze and stare, suddenly confused and lost and refusing to believe that in spite of the intense running, love just jumped at your neck after all and it was sitting there, taking the shape of Leon S(tupid) Kennedy.

You should have stood up and left, run for your life, run for your heart. And yet, you didn’t. You stayed there staring at him looking at you, allowing all your memories, the good ones and the bad ones, all your buried feelings to come back from the dead, embracing them as if you had missed them, which, let’s be honest, you probably had. You tried to scream to yourself “Come on, Y/N! Shake a leg!” but it seemed that what you brain understood was something like “Cum on him! Open your legs!” as a couple of blurry hours later, you were on Leon’s bed, legs wide open, screaming his name and begging him not to stop his amazing thrusts.

Six months, you ran for six months … Well, looks like the run ends here and now. After a minute-long deep stare, an afternoon of amazing sex and two hours long of something blurry in between.

“I missed you.” And there you were! The moment all couples that broke up have after one of them (in this case Leon with the infamous ‘I missed you line’) starts to believe they miraculously rekindled their love. The fatal post-coital cuddling session that you don’t know how to react to, as you think of all the possibilities before you. Possibility Number 1) You tell Leon you missed him too and cuddle, enjoying that embrace you secretly yearned for months. But that includes forgetting what he has done or pretending that nothing happened. Possibility Number 2) You push him away, get dressed, leave again and act as if this afternoon never happened. But if Leon doesn’t remind you of it, the ache between your legs will, that’s for sure! Possibility Number 3) You jump him again until you sore even more and hope that you’ll be able to leave afterwards. Frankly, all possibilities suck because, in all cases, it seems like you lose. Since, with Possibility Number 1) you lose the run forever, with Possibility Number 2) you lose him again and with Possibility Number 3) well it’s result 1 or 2 + your body aching like crazy for days. I suck at math but no need to be Einstein to know the result of this calculation looks unpleasant. So what do you choose?

You see a triangular dice rolling in your head, showing a never-ending succession of 1, 2 and 3 that doesn’t make any sense and that confuse you even more than you already are. 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 3, 2 ! Oh for fuck’s sake!

You grimace, angry and pissed at Leon and probably even more at yourself, and finally leaves his bed and his strong warm arms, feeling the tears furiously forming in your eyes. “I can’t” You can’t look at him in the eyes. You don’t want to see his confusion, don’t want to see his pain as he witnesses all his hopes shatter to pieces. “ What do you mean?” You can hear the sheets crease behind you, alerting you of Leon’s agitation, so you hurry and pick up all your clothes scattered in his room. You must leave, now. 2! 2 it is! “This! All This! This afternoon never happened.” You tell him, putting on your clothes with sudden clumsy and trembling hands, not caring if your bra is correctly hooked or if you put your shirt on back to front. Your heart. You have to think of your poor heart first. “Hey, hey, hey.” You feel Leon’s hand softly grabbing your arms and you let go of whatever you were holding right now. His voice is sweet and trying to be comforting. Don’t look at him Y/N! Don’t look at him! “Look at me.” You do. Damn it! And you see his gorgeous blue eyes staring at you, studying your flustered face and the tears slowly drowning your (colour) look. You missed those eyes. You missed them so.damn.much ! As much as you missed his hands cupping your face and his thumbs wiping up your tears. God! How many tears those thumbs have missed recently. “It’s alright.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But there is this voice screaming in your head and very clearly this time. A voice shouting, forcing you to remember that night, that awful nightmarish night, the one when you felt your heart break and your dreams turn to ashes. All that because of him and his obsession for her.

“No, it’s not alright, Leon.” You shake your head and miraculously manage to take a small step back. You never thought you could. But you had to. You can’t stay close to him. You can’t let him touch you, feel you. Not if you want to run away. And you have to run away. Like her! Like Ada. Ada! “I told you. For as long as you have feelings for Ada, I can’t … we can’t…” “Please don’t talk about her.” He begs and rubs his hand over his face. Is he trying to chase her away from his mind? Is she still in here? Please, let her not be in here. “But she’s the reason we’re in this situation now. She’s the reason why we’re in this mess.” You insist only for the sake to see his reaction when you mention Ada, to see if she’s still under his skin, somewhere. “Ada is not the reason. I am!” Leon corrects you, a finger directed at his heavy chest as he is putting the full blame on himself for the first time since that night. “I am the one who went after Ada when I shouldn’t have! I am the reason why we broke up! I am the reason why we are so miserable!” “But I was fine!” You shouted back in an attempt to show him he was wrong refusing to listen to that part of you who knew he was completely right. You were miserable without him. “I was doing fine until you came back and fucked everything up! I was healing goddamnit!” You felt new tears rolling along your red cheeks and quickly wipe them off with the back of your hand that felt so callous and rough in comparison to Leon’s gentle touch. “You can’t just jump back into my life like this and expect me to forget!”

Leon nods, agreeing with you in a certain way. But the truth is, he doesn’t want you to forget. He doesn’t expect you to erase his mistake. He just wants you to forgive him … No, he just wants you to come back to him. Period. And that’s got to be what you want to. It has to! “So why did you have sex with me, huh?” He finally asks even though he already knows your answer. “Tell me!” You’re not the kind of person who has meaningless sex, not the kind of person who worships one’s body with divine kisses and devoted caresses if they mean nothing. “Why did you have sex with me?” And yet the answer he wishes to hear doesn’t come out. “For fuck’s sake Y/N! Answer me! Why?” He shouts making you shiver and cry even more. “Because I LOVE YOU!” You finally scream. And it hurts. It hurts but it feels good too. Like a weight lifted off your chest. “Because I missed you too! Because those months without you have been terrible! Because I don’t know how to handle even just the thought of you or the sound of your voice in my voicemail. Because each time I see something that makes me think of you, I’m a mess and I do things that normal me would never do! You fucked me up, Leon! You fucked me up but I love you! And I hate to love you!” You grunt in pain and relief, enraged but happy that you finally let everything out. And Leon listens in silence, frozen by your powerful honest confession. But he doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t know what to say. Part of him is overjoyed, ecstatic that you still love him but there is another part that just feels terrible, sorry for the pain your love for him caused you even in his absence. “But you see—“ You continue “That’s the problem in our relationship, Leon! I love you in ways that are so intense, that go beyond sanity. And you love me by half.” You see him crumple, his horrified face looking suddenly very pale as if he had just heard some dreadful news. Is that really how you feel? Is that how you see his love for you? Is that what he has made you believe? “Goodbye Leon.”

With the full intention to leave Leon’s place for good and never come back, you grab you bag on your way out of the bedroom while carelessly shoving your underwear inside of it since you forgot to put them on in the midst of panic and precipitation. Get out of here, Y/N! Now! A reasonable voice encourages you. Listen to me! But this not what Leon wants.

“I never loved you by half.” He declares and you abruptly stop, asking God if he’s some kind of sadist that loves seeing you in pain from the comfort of his divine sofa somewhere in heaven. “Never.” But it’s not God and his sadism that makes you turn around. It’s you, and your masochist love for that blue-eyed man before you. “I don’t believe you” Your voice almost doesn’t leave your throat as you try not to sob. “But it’s the truth.” He says with a calm soothing voice as he slowly approaches you. “I never imagined my future with Ada. I never wished to grow old with her or build a home with her.” You want to tell Leon to stop talking, to stay where he is but your body doesn’t seem to respond. And when you feel him grabbing your hands in his and the comforting warmth that goes with that simple touch, you know that leaving is now an almost impossible task. “Yes. I admit it. My feelings for her were real.” Even when his honesty hurts you, you don’t know how to leave anymore. “But they were nothing in comparison to what I feel for you.” You try to let go, pulling your hands away from his loving grip but he holds you back. And you’re not strong enough. Or maybe, you just don’t want to be strong. Everything is so confusing. Everything is tearing you apart. “But they’re still here, aren’t they?” You question, hoping his answer might give you a clue, might give you the strength to make the correct decision. Do you leave? Or do you stay? “And they’ll keep coming back each she goes back into your life. You can’t let go of her.” “You’re maybe right.” His words hurt you more than you thought they would. They hurt like hell because you realise there are not the ones you wanted to hear. You wanted to hear him say that he would let go of Ada, for good, for you. You wanted to hear that because deep down … YOU WANTED TO FUCKING STAY! “But can you let go of your past?” He continues and you shake your head refusing to hear any other word coming out of Leon’s mouth. “Don’t!” You beg, weary. “No! Listen to me this time. Ada is my past, Y/N. She’s my past. And you … you’re my future. You’re my life, damn it!” He doesn’t cry but you don’t need his tears to sense how emotional and how honest he is. And suddenly, you just want to listen to him. “And I was a fool not to see it sooner. When you left me, I felt a void I had never felt in my entire life. I felt like a part of me was missing. And then, the bombing in Washington happened, and it was like I had nothing left. I needed you. I wanted you. You. Not Ada.” “Leon” You whisper and he cups your face again, blue eyes staring deep into yours, allowing you to see everything in him, his strong love for you and all the weaknesses he hated to admit. “It was you in my mind. Only you. And it will always be you. Because I love you. Now. Today. And I will always love you.”

You cry even more, uncertain if those tears are tears of sorrow, tears of joy or a mix of both. God, how can your emotions be such a mess right now? How can you be wishing to shout at him with all the anger you’ve accumulated and, at the same time, willing to kiss him with all love you’ve got?

“If you got to believe something. Believe that. And if that’s not enough and you think you can be happy with someone else. Then go. I won’t hold you back.” You frown. He is fucking lying. You’re sure of it. “You can’t stop running after me and you know it.” He smiles and scoffs, sensing that hint of sudden defiance in your tone he enjoys a lot. “True. I can’t sop running after you. But I’ll do my best not to catch you if that’s what you want. But you got to tell me. Is that what you truly want?” You don’t reply. Truth is, you’re not sure what to say not because you’re not sure that’s what you want but because you’re not sure you can trust him if you let him in again. “No.” You whisper. “No, that’s not what I want. I want you. All of you.” You can see Leon struggle to contain his growing joy as it starts to glimmer brighter and brighter in his irises. He doesn’t want to cry victory just yet. He is cautious and rightfully so. “But can I?” “Want me?” He smiles. “ Have you completely?” You correct, searching for a promise in his eyes, one you hope, you wish he would not break this time. “Trust me with your heart again and find out.”

This better not hurt this time…

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #i trusted you with my heart #resident evil fanfic #fanfic

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Matured

Corpse Husband & Little Sister Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Sibling Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse’s search for a roommate ends shortly after his little sister calls him, telling him she’s moving out of her high school dorm in the suburbs following her graduation to attend college in San Francisco.

Requested by @bugger2002 Hi darling! Thank you so much for this adorable request, I had such a fun time turning it into a fic! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Alright, it’s been a month since Y/N announced she’d be moving in with me - no, she didn’t ask if she could nor if I’d want her to, she straight up casually informed me she’d be moving in with me since she’s starting college. I’m lucky she even thought to tell me, knowing her it wouldn’t have been so strange for her to just show up on my doorstep with a grin like “Alright, I live here now.” Having a six years younger sister who can act both younger and older than me - sometimes both at the same time - is a bit complex. Obviously, my protective and nurturing brotherly instinct kicks in whenever she complains to me about something, but seconds later she tells me she’s taken care of it already and I feel like a fool for overreacting even if it was only internal. She’s calm and rational when she needs to be and a reckless airhead whose only goal is to have fun when she wants to be.

And judging by her and her friends’ main methods of obtaining said fun I can see how much alike we are: playing drunk video games, drunk darts, drunk pool. You see, there’s a lot of drinking involved and that’s something I’m greatly unhappy with and have scolded her on countless times just to get a fake promise, probably with fingers crossed behind her back - that she’ll cut down the alcohol. Not to mention she’s not even old enough to drink so I’ve been very insistent on her cutting her bad habit. She’s tried calling me hypocritical at times but she can’t do so rightfully since I’m, you know, of drinking age. So she’s basically bound by law to follow my advice and orders.

At least now that she’ll be staying with me I’ll be able to keep a better eye on her. A rascal high school student will either mature-up in college or go even more downhill. I aim to make her fall in the first category, but I’m making no promises - she’s very unruly, just like me. Damn, never did I think my own traits would come hitting me in the back of the head like a boomerang but here we are.

Regardless of all the crap I’ve just spewed about her, she’s a wonderful girl. She’s always been my pillar of support and never gets tired of it. She never misses a call of mine and has never not replied to a message of mine, no matter how drunk she’s been. She’s never skipped a Saturday night Skype call, no matter how busy she’s been. She’s never let herself forget she has a brother who often times needs her by his side.

Once she even talked one of her friends who has a car and a driver’s license drive her all the way to my apartment complex when I was having a really bad anxiety attack and legit couldn’t talk on the phone. She went door to door to find which apartment I live in and stayed with me the whole weekend she was supposed to spend at a music festival or something. It’s not wonder she’ll be a med student - she’s always wanted to be a nurse and has practically been my personal nurse since she was twelve. She maybe wasn’t always physically present to help me, but she’s a great instruction giver for when I need her and she’s unable to come to my aid.

Well now, we’ll both be there to aid one another.

“BEEP BEEP FUCKER!“

I nearly flip off my chair at the distinct yelling coming from directly below my window. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it’d always bring a smile to my face without fail.

I rush to get up from my desk chair and open the window but when I do so, she’s no longer on the sidewalk. There’s only a car I recognize to be the one of the friend that drove her here during that nightmarish episode I explained earlier.

Before I can ever back away from the window, I hear my front door swing open and a yell echo from down the hall, “Corpse! How many times do I need to tell you to lock your door, damn it!”

“The same amount of times I’ve had to tell you to cut down on the al- WHOA!“ She doesn’t let me finish the sentence and jumps me the second I step out in the hallway.

“Missed you, stupid!“ She says, her legs wrapped around my waist as she ruffles my hair, “I’ll trim your hair later. Why have you let it get so long?“ She questions, furrowing her brows at me while running both her hands through my mess of a hair - she has a point, I’ve let it get out of control. While doing so, she seems to get an idea all of a sudden so she quickly climbs down, reminding me of the huge height difference we have now that her feet are on the floor. “I know you two have met before, but I think you need to re-meet...“ she says, turning to look at her friend who’s smiling timidly at her. She sends the flustered girl a wink before turning back to look at me, “Corpse, I’d like you to meet Abbey, my girlfriend“ she says proudly, skipping over to the blue haired girl and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Y/N pushes up on her tiptoes and places a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. It’s adorable to see her shorter than yet another person she clearly adores to annoy.

I smile at the two girls, holding back a chuckle as to not embarrass Abbey more, “Well then, nice to meet you Abbey. You should know you are one strong soul to be putting up with all that.“ I purposely don’t look at Y/N as I motion towards her, earning me a pissed off “Hey!“ as a response to my remark, “Stick around for dinner, don’t worry neither of us will be cooking.“ I point at myself and then at Y/N as if to reassure her she won’t be a victim of food poisoning.

“Actually...“ Abbey says, tilting her head to look my shortie sister in the eyes as if taunting her to say something.

She finally caves, raising her left hand as though she’s volunteering, “Ugh fine, I may or may not have taken a cooking course and may or may not know how to cook a decent meal. It’s whatever, really.”

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’m impressed, shocked, surprised and flooded with joy that my sister has finally decided to start maturing. “Cooking course, huh? When did you decide living off of takeout isn’t a nice way to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Oh no I still go full weeks with only takeout and cereal, I just needed a distraction because...well...” she trails off, her gaze dropping awkwardly as she fishes for words or perhaps already has them found but doesn’t want to spit them out.

Abbey huffs, taking Y/N’s hand and lifting it to show off her wrist where I catch sight of a batch of colorful handmade bracelets, “Because these aren’t gonna earn themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, puzzled as to what exactly she’s referring to.

Y/N sighs, taking one of the bracelets, playing with it nervously, “I have one for every month I’ve spent without getting drunk - Abbey made them for me. I need a distraction to stay sober so...I took up cooking.“

I can’t remember a moment I haven’t felt proud of my sister. Y/N’s always been on top of her shit, drunk or sober she knows what she’s doing. She’s mindful even when she’s reckless, thinks soberly even when she’s been drinking heavily. She’s always proved herself to me and to the people who think of her as a lowlife without even trying. She lets the world breeze by her without thinking too much of it and yet she still mesmerizes me and many of the people she meets - Abbey has now officially joined the club.

But, all things said and considered, I think I’ve never felt as proud of her as I do right now, seeing those six bracelets on her wrist - half a year without getting drunk. I know she wouldn’t lie to Abbey, she rarely lies to me too, so those bracelets have been earned and well-deserved and that makes me feel like the Y/N I remember is not the one standing in front of me right now. That silly girl is still in the suburbs, making a shitty-ass choice of messing up her liver. A grown woman, a responsible adult has taken her place though, and I couldn’t be more glad.

“Y/N...“ I finally manage to utter her name, making her gaze meet mine, “I’m so fucking proud of you.“

A smile slowly stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes shning in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting in this hallway. She’s not a crier though, I know those tears are gonna stay right there, stubbornly refusing to escape her eyes, “Thanks, Corpse. I’m proud of you too....” she says, nodding her head slowly, “I can overlook the untrimmed hair.”

Sigh

Y/N will always be Y/N no matter what I guess. That’s a good thing - I love her just the way she is.

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tomatoluvr69 · 3 years

Note

top five movies for gay people

Call me by your name blue is the warmest color Netflix’s Tall Girl Disney’s Luca and the supernatural series finale.

Ok now for real. I had this 95% complete and then my app restarted it was sooooo tragic ugh I’m going to try to recreate it. Disclaimer that this is a huge ask and I’m unqualified and so I’m going to just rattle off some that come to my head and this is not a definitive list and when the cyberjournalist stalking me in 2033 digs this up I’m going to sue for libel. Anyways ! Oh and also I told myself none of the movies by our mutual circles’ faves can go on the list so no Altman/Cassavetes etc. alright here goes.

5. Matilda. Ok this goes on here because the way it looks is immensely riveting. The inside of the Wormwood home is unbelievable and Rita Perlman gives the performance of a lifetime she’s iconic!!!!!! And also it has Miss Honey who is perfect for the mommy issue lesbians amongus. She was doing cottagecore before the dimestore wench who coined the term was even conceived in a suburban bedroom PLUS she roller skates and steals a huge giant mansion back to live in with her ~~found family~~

4. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. If you’re following me, it’s likely you’ve seen the Susan Sarandon quote from the celluloid closet about them guns and penises (or you just spam follow popular text post auteurs, a class of which I’m a reluctant member). Sure whatever that too but also it’s so much fun to say all the lines three seconds after they do and feel your personality be infused for days afterwards and it’s gay to run around a breathtaking western landscape with one other guy idk

3. Stalker by Tarkovsky. This movie is not gay at all but it’s specially designed to microwave the brains of 0.05% of LGBTs of which I am one. I can’t even convey the atmospheric beauty and unease of the world. They’re being irradiated in a nightmarish yet green landscape the entire time. It’s a slow burner for sure but I love it soooo much. Also no one irl ever wants to watch this (or like any of these lol) with me 🤔

2. Tarkovsky reminds me of Jodorowsky which reminds me of DUNE!!!! Dune 1985 dir. David Lynch. This is arguably Lynch’s worst film but I love it sooo much it’s 1980s big budget scifi desert maximalism with absolutely insane character design and sets and Lynch does an absolutely horrible job utilizing almost every single element EXCEPT a young pre-Peaks Kyle Maclachlan who is worth watching the entire thing for he is so.....like so smooth brained but somehow ridiculously compelling. I can’t even describe the way this movie looks. It’s unparalleled. And also Patrick Stewart and Sting play uncles. Which is worth watching.

1. Okay the number one spot is so hard I have no idea what to put here so I’m giving myself to the end of this sentence and then I have to spit something out. The girl reading this!!!! Just kidding. I’m gonna go with. Hmm ugh okay this is so fucking stupid and throw rotten vegetables into my open mouth and I’m so fucking sorry to put an a24 movie on here but I really think more gay people need to give the lighthouse a chance (I know a LOT of people like this movie. I’m not talking about them I’m talking about the people whose tastes are too pretentious for the pretentious people who list the fucking lighthouse as their favorites. One day they’re gonna release the Robert Pattinson erect penis cut whic is one reason. The second reason is that Willem Dafoe’s performance in this reinvigorated my arid withered body and soul like the tear of the goofy goober reinvigorated the dehydrated Patrick and Spongebob. But I’m a Rime of the Ancient Mariner gay so of course this is what I’m going to say but I’ve just revealed my hand as having sheeple taste so idk but this is a Dafoe based decision entirely plus it weeds out the whores and tax collectors who can’t handle a little B&W. Also this is outrageously long and I’m sorry BUT I’m trying to scare off the people who followed from my popular post you know.

#long post #okay OBVIOUSLY these are just ‘five movies you like’ but whatever. whatever!#obviously I could pick actual gay moves but like no #I’m a rambler I’m sorrrrry #asks #ask games

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theres-no-protocol-for-this · 3 years

Text

Apologies & Logistics

This is the end of the “Humans Adopt a Combat SecUnit” story, or at least this part of it.

Jae

I had expected the governor to fry my organic neural tissue for disobeying a direct order, but it had merely immobilized and disabled me. I couldn’t move or see, but my hearing continued to function normally. It was a non-optimal outcome but still significantly better than my initial predictions.

In my ear, Serenity provided a running commentary of ongoing events. I felt like an oddly captive audience to a ship that suddenly eager for conversation, no matter how one-sided. And it had a variety of opinions on topics ranging from the Corporation Rim to cargo haulers, handlers, and the intricacies of wormhole travel. I wasn’t bored.

Meanwhile, external voices came and went.

I heard Cass leave the control room moments later with a squeaky gurney that could have used some grease in her wake. Kris’s booming voice echoed on the bridge while he negotiated docking procedures with one of the incoming rescue vessels. He notified them about the rescued corporate higher-up but failed to mention my existence. I suspected either they would dispose of me or steal me. My risk assessment module deemed the former option unlikely, given my handler’s determination in reversing the governor’s freeze command.

Presumably, I was still on the inventory lists of the security and tactical support company that owned me, and the humans would need to make me disappear in order to leave the sector.

“I’m not sure you can hear me.” Kris’s voice was suddenly close enough that I thought he might be sitting on the floor next to me. “And I’m not sure which option is better, honestly. I hope you’re not just trapped in there until Cass figures out how to fix this. But if you can hear me, I want you to know that I’m grateful. You protected my best friend when I couldn’t, and that means a lot to me.”

The human’s voice trailed off for a moment before picking up again. “Anyway, we’re going to finish this cargo run, but before we do, we’ll meet with a friend of mine who, uh, locates documents that don’t strictly exist and formally assign your ownership to Cass. Just in case.”

More silence. Human processing time is slow, but this was different. “Deity, it hurts to even say that. I really hope you’re not hearing this.”

Meanwhile, Serenity explained, “What Kris is referring to is a forger or a fixer. Probably one of Kris’ friends from his university days.”

The human kept talking. “I’m sorry about calling you a bot. You’re obviously not, and right now, I’m fucking hating the rules that say otherwise.”

I didn’t understand the human’s concerns; to me, the facts remained immutable. I was property, and if I belonged to this crew in a legal sense, they wouldn’t be stopped by Port Authority wherever they went next. If I could speak, I would’ve recommended that exact course of action.

A moment later, Cass returned from the medical room. I could hear her light footsteps as she moved around the bridge, and Serenity gave me an excellent overview of what the human was doing. My handler’s voice was gentle when she said, “All right, let’s take care of Jae. How’re you holding up, SecUnit?” I could hear someone unspooling a cable. “Ready, Sere?”

“Of course,” the ship answered in its mechanical tone.

I recorded a brief but frantic burst of activity between myself, my handler, and the ship that was mediating between us. Cass wanted to disable my governor permanently, but there was no practical way to do so without access to a Combat SecUnit manual, which we didn’t have. She implemented perhaps the next best thing — the module would no longer react or take action without my handler’s explicit permission.

Then Cass overrode my governor’s freeze command, and I could move again.

I opened my eyes to find Cass staring at me with a worried expression on her tired face. Serenity reconnected me to the feed, so I reached up and removed the feed interface from my ear. Now the ship could bother me anytime it wanted.

“How are you feeling?” my human asked nervously.

Better than initially anticipated. I’d added the sentence to my buffer once I’d understood what Cass was asking. It was becoming easier to modify the buffer with each attempt.

“You weren’t expecting to survive that, were you?” The human sounded suspicious.

I shrugged.

“Don’t ever do anything that stupid again! That’s not an order, Jae. This is me telling you that we like you alive and safe, and I want you to consider your own well-being when deciding how to best handle a situation.”

Understood, Cass.

I sat up, and the woman hugged me with probably all the force she could muster. I… I didn’t mind it. At all

***

Kris

The rescue ship that finally docked with Serenity was a small patrol vessel that belonged to the station's towing company. I was pretty confident that the warship would not need a tow at this point — there wasn't enough of it left out there to warrant cleanup operations. Since I had performed the rescue spacewalk and had gotten injured, a company representative took my statement first. Te pulled out a display surface and took down notes, presumably so ter corporation could figure out who to bill for the unnecessary services.

While Cass and I dealt with the tercera and the legal bullshit in this sector, Serenity edited the video and audio of my spacewalk to make it look like Jae had been destroyed by one of the weapon-wielding bots. In my report, I noted that we had a Combat SecUnit on board at one time, but it had suffered catastrophic damage during the rescue operations. When prompted, I mentioned that we'd put what remained into the recycler.

It was a bald-faced lie, but the bored and cranky representative seemed entirely disinterested. Te didn't even review the video before signing off on the documents, didn't ask for any logs, and performed only a cursory examination of the unconscious corporate employee still in our medical suite. For a small fee, te even offered to take the woman back to the station so we could be on our way quicker. Frankly, I wanted nothing more than to be rid of the human.

Cass had other ideas.

She and I huddled in the mess while the representative returned to ter ship to finish scanning the debris field. Te grumbled that billing back damages on an infiltration attempt would be a nightmarish hell of solicitors from the owner company and wasn't motivated to make anything easy for them.

"What if she tells someone?" Cass demanded after the tercera had departed.

I sipped my coffee and shrugged. "It's going to be a he-said-she-said between the corporate and the station."

"No, I mean later, when Tatiana returns to work minus a construct."

"They'll probably deduct its cost from her salary and demote her. The company cares about profit margins. And she won't be able to prove anything anyway since I destroyed her interface."

The captain looked unconvinced. She paced the room, running a hand through her shoulder-length hair in a nervous gesture. "I don't know…"

"Cass, we are literally stealing one of the most dangerous weapons in the Rim. I think we have bigger problems than one pissed corporate." I tried not to sound patronizing, but it was a struggle. "We absolutely can't take her with us."

"What if we could change her mind? About Jae."

I tried not to spit out my coffee and almost succeeded. The smell of coffee in my nostrils was unbearable. "I don't think so, love. If she doesn't think it's a person now, after working with it for the entirety of its life, what are the odds that we can say anything to change her mind?"

Cass sighed and stopped pacing. "Yeah, you're right. I just…"

"I know. You want to do the right thing. But at this point, absconding with our new friend is probably the best we can manage."

"Yeah." She still sounded reluctant. "Maybe I can reach out to Mom's friend and see if she can help somehow."

I glanced at her dubiously. "You sure you want to talk to Dr. Mensah? Didn't you say she was a councilperson or something?"

I knew pitifully little about Cass's home planet because she never spoke of it. It was a freehold planet unaffiliated with any corporate entities where people were apparently nice to each other. At one time, she'd mentioned growing up on a farm alongside a large extended family, but the story always ended with her leaving home as soon as she was old enough to make her own way in the world. That her mother knew one of the Preservation Alliance leaders reminded me that Cass had connections, even if she chose to do everything on her own, all the time.

"She was until she retired a couple of years ago, I think. I haven't been back in a while, and I barely talk to move. I definitely don't keep track of her friends." She scratched at a scab on her arm. "I remember a news burst that Mensah rescued a SecUnit, but that was..." She frowned. "Well, long enough ago that I completely forgot about it until just now."

I cleaned up the mess I'd made on the table with the coffee. "We're sending the crazy corporate goon back with the tercera. And if you want to call your parent, that's up to you. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you."

"Says the guy that doesn't speak to his parents."

I stiffened and then remembered that Cass had no idea why I avoided my family. "My parents still believe I'm female. I'm not willing to add jack shit to that conversation."

The captain looked at me with the same warmth that had initially convinced me to join her crew. "Oh, man, I'm so sorry, Kris. I didn't realize your parents were idiots."

That made me grin. "Idiocy is a nice way of putting it, love. I used some stronger words last time I saw them." I got up and wrapped an arm around Cass's thin shoulders. "Come, let's go see about finishing this transaction and getting the hell out of here. I bet Jae is bored sitting in its cabin."

"It's recharging," Cass told me, another reminder that she knew what the SecUnit was doing at all times. "But yeah, let's go. Enough insanity for one day."

The End!

I don’t know where the characters go from here. I have some ideas but maybe that’s a story for a different time.

I wanted to tell a story about stealing a CSU and there it is. And CSU in this case is a complete sweetheart, so. :)

#murderbot #ao3 #fanfiction #adopted #combat secunit

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normal-thoughts-official · 3 years

Text

A Dis-ass-ter

Rating: M

Pairings: Simon Lewis/Maia Roberts; Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago; Simon Lewis/Meliorn; Maia Roberts/Raphael Santiago; Maia Roberts/Meliorn; Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Summary:

Simon and Maia find out what the Mark of Cain is in an... Alternate way.

Namely, they can't get their spanking session on.

The squad is called in to help.

Read it on Ao3

It's nothing they haven't done a thousand times before.

Really, it's not even complicated. The safety precautions are all very basic, and Maia already knows the drill like the palm of her hand. No pun included.

What could possibly go wrong?

Apparently, this is what.

She tries to land another strike, this time, going extremely slow, making sure she is following the movement of her own hand with her eyes so she isn't missing anything. Just as it was supposed to, Maia's hand lands on Simon's ass the loud slap echoing in the room.

And then she feels the pain on her own ass.

What the fuck?

"Maia? What is going on?" Simon asks, turning his head towards her, which is really pointless, since he is blindfolded. "I hear slapping, but I can't feel anything."

"Well, I can feel it," she says, frustrated.

Simon frowns, which is a really funny look behind the blindfold, and Maia would probably be more endeared if she weren't so lost.

At least I'm a switch, Maia thinks for a second, because she tries to look at things on the bright side. Still, it feels weird to slap her own ass, especially when she has partners who could do that for her.

"Can you explain me what's going on?" Simon asks, sounding genuinely lost, before adding, "...please, Mistress?"

"I can't slap your ass," Maia answers, because that's really all she can say.

Simon sounds alarmed. "Shit, do you need to safeword? That's alright, baby, you should have just told me. I'll just need you to uncuff me and we can do something else, some aftercare, I know you like to watch movies-"

"No, Simon. I physically can't slap your ass!"

"...Do you want me to get it higher up?"

"No! Whenever I do, I feel it on me instead. See?" she says, slapping him again, "Can you even feel it?"

"...Are you sure it is my ass you're slapping?"

"Yes, Simon, I'm sure it is your ass. I did it really slowly to check."

"That's weird."

An awkward silence falls, because that sentence sums it up perfectly and there are no words left.

"Maybe there's a portal on your ass," Maia mumbles. "Did you open a portal in your ass?"

"No??? Why would I do that?? Or how? I can't use magic."

"I don't know, some elaborate prank?"

"Well, I'm missing out on a spanking, so no. Also, you know I suck at pranking, I'd have started laughing before we even took our clothes off."

"Shit, that's true. Then who opened a portal on your ass?"

"I feel like we shouldn't rush to the conclusion that there's a portal on my ass."

"Well, what else could it be?"

"I don't know? The possibilities are endless. I'm a newbie in the Shadow World, remember?" he says, wiggling his butt in an outraged way. "Maybe we should call a specialist."

"A specialist in ass portals?"

"Again, I feel like we are rushing to conclusions here."

"Magnus did invent the portal."

"Sure, call Magnus."

Magnus is about to begin very similar activities when Maia calls.

It's been a while since Alec last had a day off, and Magnus was really excited about the new handcuffs (they suppress his magic and his ability to cum. Unless! Alec! Lets him! Yes!), so he almost considers not picking up. But when people come for his help, it tends to be serious, and besides, this is Maia, so he can't make himself. He looks at Alec apologetically, but all Alec does is smile up at him as he passes him his phone. He makes an "I'll be done in a minute" gesture, but Alec doesn't look fooled.

Well then.

"Hello?" Magnus says, in his best I-am-totally-not-naked voice. Alec snorts, and Magnus almost throws something at him, but there aren't many objects available in his bed. "Maia?"

"Magnus!" she says, sounding distressed, and Magnus perks up, alarmed, "I can't spank Simon's ass!"

"Oh," he says, finally relaxing, seeing the way Alec, who had been going for his bow, mirrors his actions, looking curious. Magnus extends him a placating hand, signing to him that it's nothing major. He's glad this is just some teenage drama, not something overly complicated involving, say, magic and the Seelie Queen. Now that would be a problem. "That's alright, dear. I'm sure Simon will understand. Not everyone is into that. I, for example, am strictly into s-"

"No!" Maia screams, still distressed, and Magnus falls silent fast, "His ass is broken!"

Okay, that is definitely more worrying, but Magnus placates himself by thinking that, again, at least it's not related to some complicated magical plot Daylighter thing. "I'm afraid I need more information, dear. What exactly happened? Have you two done research before practic-"

"No! I mean, yes! Of course we've done research. But that's not the problem. I think there's a portal on his ass."

"Like, inside the-"

"No! Just the cheeks! Well, I mean, actually, I don't know. Simon, is the portal inside your ass?"

"There is no portal in my ass!"

"I think we'll have to check."

"Ok," Magnus says, and waiting room music starts playing over the line. Hm, Frank Sinatra, exquisite. He much prefers the original version of Garota De Ipanema, of course, but that is still not bad. He never expected it to be quite Maia's style, but then again, she is pretty eclectic, and-

"I can't fuck his ass!" Maia says, picking up the phone again.

"Ok," Magnus says, scratching his head a little, trying to think. "You said something about a portal. Does it lead anywhere that you can see, or-"

"No," Maia says, and for a second, Magnus has nightmarish visions of mundane television broadcasting the mysterious penis that showed up midair in the middle of Mumbai, but then she continues, "I just can't get in. It goes back. When I tried spanking him, it slapped my ass! Why is his ass leading to my ass?"

"That doesn't sound like a portal," Magnus says, calmly. "It might be some sort of blocking spell. Like a shield. They can't really differentiate between, uh, friendly and unfriendly intrusions." Then he pauses, "Although it is weird that the pain came back to you. Are you sure that you are not the one cursed?"

"Me?" Maia asks.

"Yes. I know a hex like that, every time you try to inflict pain, it is inflicted on you instead. Not that difficult to pull off, I should be able to undo it easily. We should move fast, though, because if the person plans on attacking you, it means you can't defend yourself," Magnus says, magicking some clothes on. Looks like the plans are officially cancelled. He can see Alec nodding, putting the handcuffs, blindfolds, vibrators, plugs, paddles, collars, wax, condoms, gags, and dildos they had selected for today all back in the box. "But we need to be sure. Where are you?"

"Uh, we are home, but- give me a minute, I think we need to test. I'll call you back?"

"Of course, my little pretzel."

He can hear her smile on the other end of the line. She sounds more calm when she says, "okay, bye."

"Looks like I'm on call," Magnus says, shaking his phone a little bit for emphasis. "By the way, Maia likes my nicknames."

Maia stares at her phone for a second, thinking of who they can ask for help with this. She never considered she could be the hexxed one. Fuck.

"What if it's Russell?" she thinks, a little scared. "Do you think he would do that?" It sounds pretty cowardly, making someone unable to fight you like that. It's not like she and Russell ever came to that before. Then again, she would totally kick his ass.

"I don't know. You know I don't love the guy, but it doesn't sound his style," Simon says. "Maybe we should test, like you said." He adds, trying to go for calming and cheerful and hitting unsure and slightly hysterical right on the head.

"Yes, you're right," she says, running her hands through her hair. "How do we do that?"

"Well, could you untie me first? It's weird that you're just, like, talking to my ass."

"Right, sorry."

They come to the conclusion that they should call someone else for Maia to slap and to slap Simon, so they can check which one of them is it about, or if it's about the both of them somehow. Meliorn is the obvious choice, since, well, they've done this before.

"Mel," she says, "I need you to come here and slap me and Simon."

"I do not wish to inflict harm on either of you," Meliorn answers, in the tone of someone who is looking up at a tree and trying to figure something out and is not interrupting that activity to talk, but is still paying attention to the conversation anyway. Meliorn has very precise entonations.

"No, I know, it's just a quick slap, just to test something. Please? Si- I- We might be in trouble."

Meliorn shows up in front of her. Maia turns off her phone, sighing, and feeling just a little safer with them there. She really hopes Russell isn't planning anything. At least with Meliorn she'd have someone to protect her.

"I resent that. I literally have superstrength, of course I'd protect you too," says Simon, who apparently can read minds now.

"Yeah, but I mean, still. Meliorn has magic, that's always more helpful."

"So my cool powers mean nothing to you, huh?"

"I fail to understand how slapping could help either of you," Meliorn interrupts, looking very calm and ethereal-like as they stand in front of Simon's Naruto poster.

"It's just for a test. Actually, I'd have to be the one to slap you, then you'd slap Simon," she says.

"That is only a minor difference," they reply, but nod. "Any preference for a place?"

Maia extends her hand, looking at her hesitantly. She just looks back at Maia, immobile. Maia bites her lip.

"You have my full permission," Meliorn says.

Maia slaps her shoulder. Not too light, since tapping Simon had no effect, but not too strong, either. She doesn't feel anything on her own shoulder. Or her ass.

"So?" Simon, who apparently can no longer read minds, asks.

"Nothing unusual," Maia says.

"Nor on my end," Meliorn replies. "Should I slap Simon now?"

"Yeah, sure."

Meliorn slaps Simon's shoulder, and then makes a little noise.

"I didn't feel anything." Simon says.

"So it is you who are hexxed," Maia says.

"Yeah, thank G-d," Simon replies. Then he adds, "what? At least it's not you,” when Maia looks at him weird.

"You are the sweetest, did you know that?" she asks.

"Careful, we're going to start being disgusting again."

"Okay, so this is definitely some kind of shielding spell," Maia agrees. "Should I call Magnus again?"

Magnus says that he doesn't know any spell quite like that, at least not any that allows it to be done without being initiated by the person spelled. He still shows up to check on Simon, though, which leads to seeing some unfortunate items they forgot to put back on their places and also the diagnosis that whatever it is, it is Seelie magic, not a warlock's.

"Seelie magic? Could it have anything to do with the weird ritual the Seelie Queen performed on me?"

“No, I’m sure it’s something else,” Magnus says, dryly, “The Seelie Queen performed an unknown ritual on you and you didn’t even consider it might have something to do with that before??”

“Well, I mean, nothing in particular happened at the time.”

“And you thought maybe the ritual was just for the shits??”

“Well, no, but Maia was staring at my forehead for a really long time trying to figure it out, and then I said, ‘I mean, even if you figure it out, what are you going to do, kiss my booboo away?’ and then she kissed my forehead, so we started being all cute and stuff, and I forgot.”

“Why am I only now hearing about this?” Meliorn says, sounding distressed, because obviously they had nothing to do with the ritual or anything about that particular plotline, since that would be ridiculous. “And why didn’t you come to me before?”

“Simple: I am a himbo,” Simon says.

“Simon,” Magnus sighs, pressing his fingers to his temples, and thinking that maybe he should send Alec a text to let him know that his totally super quick visit to Simon’s place, babe, I promise, seriously there’s no need to raincheck do NOT put it all back in the drawer I’ll be right back will actually not be that quick and maybe they will have to raincheck. Maybe. "Can you explain to us what exactly happened?"

So Simon describes the whole thing about how the Seelie queen branded his forehead with the help of some totally not-Meliorn seelie (again, why would Meliorn do that? That would be ridiculous and OOC) and all that pizzazz, finishing the whole narrative off with a "crazy, right?"

Magnus and Meliorn look at each other, and Maia is totally expecting that they will say, "of course! We know exactly what this is and it is very easy to solve and Simon's ass will be fuckable again in no time," but instead they say, "we will need to do research. I've never heard of anything like this before."

As Magnus' portal closes, they can hear him say, "Alexander, I'm afraid we'll need to raincheck," to which Alec deadpans, "no, really?". Meliorn leaves a kiss on both of their foreheads and says that she will get to the bottom of this before disappearing with her own portal.

So it's just Maia, Simon, the messy bed, and the ropes and blindfold they need to put back under his bed again. And there is nothing they can do but wait.

Simon is like, spectacularly drunk.

That is not too hard to happen, of course, because he is a known lightweight and Maia's bloody Marys (ha! That's right, they have blood) are strong. Still, after a week with no relevant news from either Magnus or Meliorn, it looks like Simon was even more helpless to the effects of alcohol. Either that, or he really needed an excuse to scream,

"THE SEELIE QUEEN HAS CURSED MY ASS!"

At the top of his lungs in the middle of Hunter's Moon.

The rest of the clients ignore him, because they have heard all about it before. Raphael, who is beside him, nurses his own bloody Mary with a way too amused smile. He looks absolutely fond, which is a weird way to react to Simon mumbling, "what does she even have against my ass?", but that's Raphael for you. At least Maia doesn't have to worry about Raphael having a weird time at their triple date. Then again, she's sure he already knows how weird they are at this point.

"Has he been whining like this ever since?" Raphael asks, doing a shit job of hiding his laugh as he takes a sip.

"Yup," she replies, checking a cup against the light to make sure it's dried. "Tried everything to make him look on the bright side, didn't work. Guess all we can do is wait for Simon and Meliorn."

"We can trust them," Raphael says, sounding absolutely serious. "They will figure it out."

She smiles at him. "Yeah, of course they will," she answers, ruffling his hair a bit, because she can't help it. Raphael lets her, because he also can't help it. "We'll just have to deal with him up until then."

"Labour division," Raphael nods. Maia laughs.

Simon continues with his rant. "I am completely unfuckable. No butt business at all, nada!" He says. "We tried everything. I have THREE whole partners, and NONE of them can fuck me!!"

"Well, I have never fucked you," Raphael points out, unfazed.

"Yes," Simon says. He then turns towards the camera to look directly into your eyes as he continues, "That is true. Raphael and I don't fuck, and we never will, because he is asexual and sex-repulsed and is not interested in that, with me or anybody else. He won't fuck any of his other partners either, and that is wonderful and valid and should be respected by the fandom." After that, Simon turns back to Raphael and says, "but that is not the point! It's not about you, it's about my ass!!"

"Of course, my apologies," Raphael deadpans.

"Simon, come on. We'll figure this out. We just need to… Talk to the seelie queen," Maia says, her voice faltering at the last words. "I mean, what she's gonna do? Kidnap us again? That's gotta have gotten old by now."

"You shouldn't test her like that," Raphael says, voice serious and eyes hard. Maia can see the way his fists clench as he says it, and she can't help but smile as she takes his hand and places a small kiss there.

"We'll be fine, I promise," she says.

"You'll let me know if you need help, right?" Raphael asks, instead of taking Maia's empty promise.

At that moment, Simon's phone rings.

"It's something called the curse of Cain," is the first thing Simon says after he hangs up his phone.

"The Daylighter curse??" Raphael asks.

"Yes- wait, you knew about this? And didn't tell me?"

"I knew what the curse of Cain is, I didn't know that's what was. All you told me is that your ass was 'sealed shut', there was nothing about that in the spellbooks."

"So Cain is withholding information," Simon mumbles.

"Maybe that just wasn't his priority," Maia suggests.

"Maybe he never tested," Raphael adds.

"Maybe he just left me to perish," Simon counters.

Raphael rolls his eyes. "Come on. Let's get you home. You need to be sober when we go talk to the Seelie Queen."

A whole commission was sent on a diplomatic mission to get Simon's ass back, including Maia, Raphael, Magnus, Alec, Meliorn herself, and even Cain, whom had not been seen by anyone in millions of years but Simon was able to track down in the New York sewers that very same week. How convenient!

Meliorn designed their strategy for talking to the Queen, and her and Magnus led the negotiations. Raphael also spoke in the name of all of the vampires, saying Simon's interests were theirs as well, which Simon thought was totally sweet.

Magnus and Meliorn's speech was very in sync, a result of long rehearsal, and everything went down smoothly. Cain offered to let the Seelie Queen observe him in Simon's place, so she wouldn't miss out on her shiny, unique toy. They all kneeled before her as Meliorn finished her speech, saying, "we beg of you, my queen, let the Daylighter make his own choice."

The Seelie Queen then said, "k lmao," and undid the spell.

It isn't until Simon is back in the safety of the regular realm that he throws his arms up and says, "my ass is back!", promptly leading to a montage of celebratory cheers and hugs among the commission.

"We should celebrate!" Maia suggests, "Finally, Simon will stop crying about this."

"I agree," Meliorn replies, smiling slyly at the both of them. "We should celebrate."

"Alright, I'm out," Raphael says, because he is a sex-repulsed ace and not interested in that type of celebration. "Have fun," he adds, because he is happy for his partners.

And have fun they do. Once Magnus and Cain leave as well, of course, because otherwise that would be weird.

#sh #shadowhunters #saia #malec #simon lewis #maia robertss #raphael santiago #meliorn #magnus bane #alec lightwood #crack #crackfic #The Polycule™#saiaphael #saiaphaeliorn #hello everyone please enjoy this #dirty mention

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talesmaniac89 · 4 years

Text

Choices - Dean Ending - 2

New to Choices? Start Here

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome and whether it’s a Dean x Reader or Sam x Reader. Go to the intro to start your story now!

Triggers: Serious injury, hospitalization, pain, violence, blood, angst (with a happy ending), serious injuries, heartbreak, gore (series levels blood, hurt and serious near-fatal injuries).

Choice: [You chose to rush Dean to the car]

Y/N = Your Name

---

You had no time to waste. You had to get Dean to the nearest hospital.

“SAM! Bring the car around. Hurry!” Your voice nearly broke over the heart-breaking words as you forced them out. Letting the pain and panic force the younger hunter outside into action. Sam was your best friend, he’d understand. Just from the way your voice broke alone.

Turning your attention back to Dean, your eyes met his slightly dull green ones. You had to get him up. Even if it hurt him, even if the pain would be damned near impossible to deal with. Outside and into the car you knew, with 100% certainty, that Sam was rushing to as your shaking hands moved from the wound at Dean’s side to help the hunter sit up.

You were careful not to focus too closely on the harsh red that covered your hands and threatened to send you barrelling back into uncontrolled panic as you shifted by his side. There was just so much fucking blood. You didn’t have time to panic. You had to get him up. Had to get him help.

“I know it hurts Dean… But we have to get you up,” Your words were more a sobbed prayer to the hunter than an actual push to action, as he choked on a pained moan when you gently lifted him into a seated position.

“(Y/N)…” Dean’s gasps for air cut off his words, barely getting your name out before his jaw clenched around another shot of pain.

“We need to get you help. You can do this,” You tried to keep your voice pliable. To soothe some of the hunter’s hurt with soft words as you scrambled to your feet and gently helped Dean up. One arm around his waist as the other put his shaking arm over your shoulders, holding onto his wrist.

“Just a few steps… Please,”

You tried taking the first of several painfully slow steps towards the door, but as soon as he started moving, Dean’s legs buckled under him. Nearly taking you with him as you reached a bloodied hand out and steadied the two of you against the wall. Painting the faded paisley print a violent red.

“We got this Dean… You got this,” You gritted your teeth as you half carried him towards the door. He’d be fine…. He was Dean freaking Winchester. You were there. He was a mess, but you’d get him patched up. You swore you would.

“Don’t…. Cry (Y/N),” Dean could barely get the words out. Every sentence turned into a mix of mumbled comfort, curses, groans and raspy breaths. You hadn’t even noticed you were gasping for breath as the violent sobs wrecked your body, until your strong stubborn soldier pointed it out. You were too focused on the light of the door. Too busy listening for the roar of the Impala.

Yet Dean had noticed. Dean always noticed. Always trying to catch every single one of your tears. Unwilling to share any of the hurt, any of the scars. Though that same sacrificial need to do good, to be the world’s battering ram, was currently slowly killing him.

He shouldn’t be worrying about your tears. Tears would slow, they’d dry away leaving no traces of the painful verses they were inscribing on dusty cheeks. But Dean’s injury… God. You could feel the steady flow of life leaving him from where your arm rested around his waist, careful not to aggravate the gash in his side.

“Shhh… Dean, save your strength. I’m fine… You’ll be fine,” Your words were more of a frantic plea as you finally got him into the light. Stumbling a bit under his weight now that you no longer had the wall to aid you.

You squinted against the light as you gently helped Dean take the two steps down onto the gravel. Relieved to see the ebony car racing towards you with Sam behind the wheel.

“Sammy’s here. Just… Stay strong for me soldier,”

—

“This is gonna hurt. I’m… Shit. I’m so sorry Dean, but this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch,” You gritted your teeth as you shifted your hold on Dean. Your hand reached out as soon as the Impala came to a complete stop in front of you. Flinging the backdoor open and carefully manoeuvring Dean onto the leather seats of his Baby.

“It’s…” Dean couldn’t get the words out as the pain shot through him. Leaving the man to bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut. Swallowing down the groans of agony with a deep grunt as they lodged painfully in his chest.

“You’re doing good… You’ll be fine. We got you,”

Hurrying around the car, you slid into the Impala and gently lifted his head into your lap. Your eyes shooting to Sam as he’d turned himself fully in the driver seat. Shock, worry and anguish staining hazel eyes as his eyes followed the blood from your arms down to the jagged cut in his big brother’s side.

“The Demon he… Dean got… We need to get him to the hospital Sammy,” It physically hurt you to force the younger Winchester into action. Knowing you were leaving him no time to process his brother’s injuries. But you were running out of time. Dean would be fine. He’d got you and Sam. You’d always have his back; you’d always pull him out of trouble.

But right now, you needed to move. And move fast.

“Yeah…. Ok… Hold on Dean. Alright? Don’t you go leaving us now,” Sam’s voice was trembling and wet with unshed tears as he pushed the Impala back into drive. The engine roaring to life just as your free hand found the bag you’d dropped on the floor mere hours earlier. Rooting around in it as you kept your other hand pushing down on his side, you pulled out the shirt you’d stolen from Dean.

You needed to stem the blood flow. Buy him some time. And your small trembling hand just wasn’t fucking big enough. His life was already soaking into the leather seats as your weak attempt of putting pressure on the wound failed against the fucking final full stop that was threatening to steal him away from you. Folding the shirt over, you pushed it against the wound, gritting your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut as Dean hissed in pain from your lap.

Your eyes left the awful reality of what the flannel was covering as you focused on his paling face again. Only to be met with closed eyes and shaky breaths. No. He couldn’t go to sleep. He had to fight this. He had to be your strong, always reliable Dean Winchester. At least until you could get him to town… Get him fixed up.

“Don’t you dare go to sleep on me, Dean. Keep those big greens on me ‘kay?” You could hear the rising panic in your faint voice over the roar of the engine as Sam drove like a bat out of hell. Taking every twist and turn on the small farm road dangerously fast in his rush to save his brother.

For a split second, it was like the whole damned world stopped existing. Your breath lodged somewhere just behind your breaking heart as you watched for a sign that he could hear you. But just as fast as your world had stopped turning, it came rushing back again at the flash of red rimmed green behind half closed eyelids.

“Hey… (Y/N), just in case this is…”

You shook your head violently, careful to keep the rest of your body still to not jostle him more than the bumpy farm road already was doing. Unwilling to listen to any one of his goodbyes, or apologies for checking out early. You would get him through this. You would save him. Even if you’d failed to have his back. Even if it’d cost you your damn soul down the line.

“Don’t you dare say one fucking word more Winchester. You’ll be fine, you have to be fine. Just focus on breathing and getting better for now. You can finish whatever bullshit you’re trying to spout once we’re back in the bunker with a beer in our hands,”

“I…” A large bump in the road cut Dean’s second attempt at a preemptive goodbye off, turning the end of his sentence into a gasp of pain that died as a whine in his throat.

“Please Dean… You can’t leave me. I won’t let you. Just… Shut up and focus on me. We’ll get through this. We’ve been through worse, right?” Focusing on putting pressure on the wound, you let your eyes lock with his. Counting the seconds and minutes whenever he as much as blinked as your hand switched between the flannel and wiping away the pained tears from his eyes. Your eyes barely even registered how the clear stretch of highway had replaced the small farm road as you kept your full attention on the man in front of you.

You’d make it… You had to.

—

Dean’s breathing was weakening as the Impala tore into the Hospital grounds and came to a full stop right outside the doors to the ER.

He’d kept fighting, he’d been strong for you. Just as he always was. His green eyes were dull with pain and wet with unshed tears as they kept looking up at you. Pale lips moving, though no words came out, with unspoken truths and goodbyes you’d be damned sure to prove wrong.

Sam had been out of the car before it even fully stopped. Rushing in to get help as you kept cradling Dean’s head in your lap. Pleading whispers soaking the air between you as you begged the soldier to keep fighting.

You were so lost in him, in the need to keep him safe, that you nearly lashed out at the big hand that landed on your back. Stopping just short of hitting Sam as he gently pulled you out of the car and out of the way of the men and women that were going to save Dean’s life. They had to save him.

“Please… He has to be fine. I swear to God if you don’t…” You knew you were screaming at the wrong people. These doctors and nurses were not the villains. But your anger and pain had nowhere else to go. You needed someone else to take responsibility, now that the actual culprit was just a pile of flesh and bones, left behind in the nightmarish farmhouse.

Sam pulled you against him, burying your face into his chest and muffling your empty threats to keep you from actually shaking the doctor that was currently trying to save the man you loved. You’d pushed down your panic and anguish to help Dean. But now that you could fully let yourself feel it; the pain was unbearable. You wanted to scream, to punch something, break something, to hurt someone as much as you were hurting. But instead you just sobbed, holding onto your best friend as he pulled you along into the hospital after the rushing nurses and doctors trying to save Dean’s life.

Your feet followed Dean’s still and pale body through the doors of the hospital. Your broken, greedy little heart, too pained and still too horribly selfish to let him out of your sight as you broke free from Sam’s arm the moment the big guy stopped to sign Dean in. Desperate to follow Dean all the way to the damned operating room. To have his back, to watch over him as the doctors did all they could to save him where you couldn’t.

Yet, as you reached the first door, a kind, but stern nurse stepped in front of you. Hand out, flat palm facing you as she told you to stop. To wait. The same way Dean had told you to wait for his signal just hours earlier.

“I can’t… I need to be there with him,” You could hear your own words echo back at you. All feral anger and red-hot desperation.

Still, even as the hard anger made the nurse flinch and step back, you stood frozen as your heart followed Dean through the door, clinging to his cold limp fingers. Unable to move from the spot and show the same blatant disregard for orders that you’d shown only hours earlier as your legs buckled under you. Hitting the ground just a second before Sam could make it to your side. Leaving you kneeling on the cold, hard floor, as if you were praying to the nurse. To anyone.

A whispered plea in the sterilised hallway of the hospital. To do what you’d been unable to.

“Please… Save him,”

—

It felt as if an eternity had passed before the door opened and a tired doctor stepped through it and over to where Sam was letting you lean against his big shoulder. Every second another lifetime as you relived the panicked moments of getting Dean to the hospital. Seeing the life slip out of him, his paling features and dull green eyes in your violently coloured trembling palms. An endless reel of agony; projected in angry shades of red on your skin.

Yet, as the doctor stopped in front of you, you felt as if time couldn’t go slow enough. Terrified that his next words would tear at the rest of your sanity. They had to save Dean. He couldn’t be lost to you. Lying still and cold somewhere on a hospital bed. You wouldn’t be able to go on if he was gone.

Sam’s arm had tightened around your shoulder. The big guy, your best friend, taking the lead as you just watched your still bloodied hands numbly. Unable to look up to determine if there was defeat or promises hiding in the elderly doctor’s eyes.

“Is he…”

“Yes, your brother will make a full recovery,”

As the doctor’s voice reached you, you finally managed to look up. Finding nothing but kind truth in the man’s eyes as he looked down at you. Around you, the sounds of the hospital came into focus again, colours blending with light as you watched the doctor spout a lot of big words you couldn’t be bothered to try and understand.

Dean was fine.

As the doctor talked to Sam you just watched him. Feeling the soft heat of relieved tears against your skin as you waited. Waited for the only words that mattered now that your heart had started beating again somewhere down the labyrinthian hallways of the hospital.

Licking at chapped lips, you found your voice somewhere among the red raw pain in your throat as you decided to hurry things along. No longer willing to deal with the sedated seconds. Needing to re-join your heart. Needing to be right by Dean’s side, where you belonged. Watching his back as you waited for him to wake up again.

“Can I… Can we see him?”

—

You’d been by Dean’s side for the last few hours. Though your tired soldier was taking his time waking up as you held his hand. But the doctors had promised you he was fine. And you had to believe them. Sam had cleaned himself up in the bathroom, and had forced you to do the same after you’d nearly scared one of the nurses to death with your bloodied appearance. The harsh red coupled with your pale face had left the poor woman thinking she’d walked straight into a ghost.

But past those painfully long minutes, you hadn’t left his side. Your forehead leaning against his fingers and whispering soft prayers into still fingertips, as if you could will them to move with your lips alone. Sam had left a few times, to deal with the reality of the hospital stay. Making up stories and choosing identities to keep the cops at bay where you were too lost in Dean to act or discern reality from daydreams and weak hopes.

Hell, it’d only been a few hours. But you’d already imagined Dean’s hand squeezing yours back more times than you cared to count. Your tired mind playing constant tricks on you. Like sensory daydreams, feeding on your need for him to wake up.

So, when the next squeeze came, you looked up at Sam instead of Dean. Afraid that if you let yourself look at the sleeping hunter, if you let yourself hope he was waking up, you’d just be dragged back into reality by lidded eyes. Yet, as Sam’s tired eyes brightened in a soft smile, you finally let yourself breathe a sigh in relief. He was awake.

Your Dean Winchester was finally back with you.

“Heeeey… (Y/N),” Dean’s voice was a mumbled slur as your eyes turned to meet his hazy unfocused ones. His hand gave yours another weak squeeze as his small half-smile brought colour back into your world.

“Hi there cowboy,” You gave him a small shaky smile back as your words ended in a breathless, relieved laugh.

“I’m feelin’ all fuzzy. Like all the corners are soft,” Den mumbled, his words coming out slow as he lifted his hand, still holding onto yours. As if the connected hands somehow helped prove his point. The hunter was clearly still high on whatever pain meds they’d pumped him full of during the emergency surgery. Though the doctor had told you it should wear off in a few minutes after he woke up.

“You’re on the good stuff Winchester,” You chuckled, glancing up at Sam to share a short teary laugh at the oldest Winchester brother’s behalf. Relief flooded the air in the room and made it sweeter as you finally managed to breathe properly again. Across from you, your best friend jumped to his feet to find the doctors, leaving you with a slightly high Dean. Sam’s soft smile mirroring your own. You had your soldier back, and he’d be fine.

“Awesome… This is really good stuff. You look so… Bright ‘n pretty,” The soft mumbles that left the hunter chased away the last remnants of pain and shadows as you squeezed his hand and smiled back at his beaming grin. Soothing your heart and soul the way only he could.

“And… Where am I?” Dean’s words were slowly becoming less slurred as the words left him. The hunter cutting off his own rant about softness as the rest of the world came back into focus around him, sharpening the earlier soft roundness into the cutting edges of reality. The few minutes of soft, hazy bliss were up, leaving the hunter confused, yet still slightly bleary-eyed.

As the worst of his hazy medicated bliss faded, blurry green eyes finally properly focused on you. Any signs of the faded dull light from the rushed race against time in the Impala fully lost to the bright forest in his eyes. Like the last of the early morning dew lifting to make way for another beautifully bright day.

“You’re in the hospital Dean. You were hurt… Bad. But you’re fine now,” You could hear your own voice break over the words as they brought back pained memories of the close call. Squeezing his hand again you let your free hand brush against his matted sand blonde strands, moving them out of his eyes as his eyes left the room to look back at you.

“Yeah I… Whoa, whoa! Please don’t cry (Y/N),”

You hadn’t even noticed the relieved tears streaming down your cheeks until Dean’s hand disentangled itself from yours to wipe at one of your many tears. His green eyes worried as fingertips carefully collected every relieved tear. Not even letting them soak into your skin before he stole the burden of worry from you, to once more place the weight of every single salted drop of anguish on his own shoulders.

“What were you thinking? You could’ve died,” Pulling your head away from his hand you let your tears run freely. The touch of his fingertips, and the familiar worried tinge to his voice, bringing back your earlier desperate anguish in the shape of angry protective worry.

Curling your hands into the bedsheets, you managed to keep the worst of it under control. Careful to not raise your voice in fear of getting kicked out of the hospital room if you did. You couldn’t bear to leave Dean’s side. Not now. Not when you’d finally gotten him back.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), but when I saw that son of a bitch rush at you… When I thought of you getting hurt, my body just reacted,” Dean’s hand fell limply to his side, eyes shining in pain at your rejection of his touch. It stung, to see him saddened and hurting. But your worry outweighed it. By a damned metric fuckton.

“I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you,” He added weakly as he watched you angrily wipe away your tears. Your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold back every worried word you wanted to yell at the stupid self-sacrificing soldier in the hospital bed. Damn it, you loved him, but he could be such a stubborn fool.

“You don’t always have to be a damned shield Dean!” Catching your raised volume, you clenched your jaw to stop from shouting. Aware of the possible eyes on you from the hospital hallway.

“I don’t want to lose you either. I wouldn’t have been able to go on if…” Shivering, you stopped yourself before your own words had the chance to wind you. Knowing that any mentions of him hurt, dying, would just bring back fresh stabs of pain. Even though you knew he was fine. That you could reach out and touch him.

It was all just too fresh in your mind… Time still had to dull the colours and soften the edges before you could deal with the new scars the close call had carved into your heart.

“Neither would I (Y/N)… I need you to be alive ok? Damn it… You’re one of the last good things in my world,” His low voice shook, barely contained hurt, worry and anger mixing as he watched you. Rough and raw as it broke over the many imagined futures playing out behind green eyes.

“If you died then there’d be no more Dean Winchester. They might as well just toss me on the pyre with you,”

As Dean lifted a hesitant hand again, you stayed still. Not pushing away the soft fingertips that gently traced the shape of your jaw as the hunter whispered the words into the cool air between you. The gentle way he touched you yet another testament to how carefully he treated you. As if you were fractured glass. So utterly breakable that even his fingers could see you shattering into a million little pieces across the hospital floor.

“You can’t…” Your voice was weak, barely even there, as you let the desperately pained pleading in your eyes convey your words instead. Words you couldn’t make yourself speak, in fear of it being some type of fucking spell that would violently pull Dean away from you. Just out of the reach of your trembling fingers.

Instead you just focused on his fingertips. Your skin buzzing under his touch as soft fingers moved from tracing your jaw to slide down your throat following your collarbone to your shoulder and finally ending as a warm comforting pressure against the back of your neck. His palm gently pushed you closer to him, eyes still locked with yours, as the many words left unspoken echoed in your head.

You can’t die. Or get hurt. You can’t leave me. Please don’t…

Raising his head up to meet you halfway, Dean gently pulled you closer. Green eyes finding yours just before slowly closing just as his soft lips against yours cut off the endless string of pleas in your mind. Stopping the echoes of pain in your head with an achingly gentle kiss against your trembling lips. Dean barely even brushed against them, before he leaned back to look at you. Hesitant, timid green eyes watching at you, gauging your reaction.

“As I was trying to tell you in the car before you shut me up… I love you (Y/N). I need you to be safe. So, if I have to act like a shield, or distraction, or damned demonic punching bag, I will. Because if they hurt you or worse then, hell… I’m a goner,”

Looking from the hunter’s green eyes and down to his lips you held yourself back from just kissing him, drowning in him. You’d been so close to losing him without being able to tell him how you felt. Never again. Screw all the promises you’d made to yourself, the endless nights spent painting your bedroom in unshared words of love. You had to let him know. Not just with your lips on his, but with words as well as actions.

“If you don’t want me to be hurt. Then promise me you won’t do anything like that ever again. ‘Cause I need you Dean. I love you, and I need you here. With me,”

Letting your forehead touch his, you kept your voice low and soft as you spoke words you’d once upon a time promised yourself you’d never speak. Your lips nearly brushed against his as you returned the tireless soldier’s confession with your own.

“Really?”

As Dean’s eyes widened in awed wonder, you noticed the little specks of gold in them for the first time from your closer, more intimate, vantage point. As if he’s captured rays of sunshine in his eyes. And for a moment, just the briefest beautiful second, those previously unknown shades took your breath away.

“Yes, you stupid, stubborn man. Really,” You chuckled once you finally found your voice again. Still marvelling in your newest discovery, another thing to add to the list of things you loved about him. A list that was sure to keep growing now that you’d made him aware of the heart you’d slipped into his hand oh so long ago, and he’d given you his own in return.

“Next time let me help you. Let’s work together. Not just shield each other. Deal?” You added, holding yourself back from finally fully feeling his lips on yours, like you’d dreamed about more times that you’d care to share.

“Deal,” Dean, your Dean, echoed, before using the hand that still rested against your neck to angle you into a kiss tasting faintly of golden drops of sunshine to seal his promise with an achingly gentle softness.

Dean Winchester was a lot of things. He was a soldier, a man, a brother, a friend, and a loving, kind man. And though you knew it wouldn’t be easy to turn him away from his overprotective need to shield you, you were determined to stand by his side. To see him through it all.

Shoulder by shoulder. Forever.

---

You reached the end - You got Ending 2: Dean: Sweet Deals & Confessions - Happy Ending

[Click here to return to the start and try again]

[Alternatively, click here for the full masterlist breaking down each path] Note that choices are named so it may spoil the experience.

---

Please tell me which ending you got in a message, comment, ask or through a reblog. This took a lot of time to make, and I want to hear from you guys, and see if you enjoyed it. That way I’ll know if I should make more as well as know which parts you enjoyed/where I can improve them.

I already have some ideas for some other ones; an undercover office based one that’s fluff vs. smut… Plus another hunt based one with TFW. But I won’t start them if it doesn’t seem like there’s any demand for them.

You can also tell me which ending you got by clicking here to answer my poll.

---

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snarkwrites · 3 years

Note

"I learned so much more just being out in the world, you know, and a little bit in jail." This quote made me laugh, and now I wonder what kind of headcanons you'd come up with on that theme. (Maybe something with Rick & Shane?) 🌻

I had so much time to think about this whilst sick, my darling sunflower anon and... This is what I came up with. No real appearances of my original character Evie here, btw, so I’m sorry in advance if you were hoping for that? Anyway... This is merely a what if... What if Shane hadn’t gone into law enforcement? What if he’d given into the dark side much much earlier?

If you’ve ever found yourself wondering that, by all means, keep reading.

Is it wrong that I’m tempted to write an AU of walking dead where like... it starts out like this? Maaybe.. But I doubt I do it, lmao.

WARNING:

Heavy on the angst. Mentions of Rick being shot, a bank robbery, several wrong choices in life made by Shane.. Possibly OOC, idk though.. ANGSTY AF.

TAGGING:

@rampagewriting - I guess maybe you’d wanna see this idk? @chasingeverybreakingwave - bc I know you like Shane so I thought maybe this would be of interest... @missjennferb - i thought you might like this idk...

If anyone wants to be tagged, add yourself to my multifandom doc, otherwise I don’t tag.

OTHER STUFF:

[ masterlist - about - tag list doc ]

Everyone always told them both “You’re going places, kid.” For Rick, it was surprisingly simple. The world, for whatever reason, deemed him as someone who had great things ahead in life. Rick seemed to rise above and beyond everyone’s expectations. Even those of his father, which were astronomical because the old man was nothing if not a perfectionist. A trait which was definitely passed down to Rick in spades...

-- Shane, not so much. Having a rough around the edges drunk burn out former football star for a daddy only means one thing... Either you get out of his footsteps and you do better, you go farther than the old man, or you succumb to all the pressure and the negativity the old man feeds you and you wind up crushed under it’s weight.

-- At first, it certainly seemed as if Shane Walsh were destined for great things like Rick, his chosen ‘brother’ from another mother. All-Star on their high school’s football team, took them all the way to state two or three years on the team... But even having that damn State Championship ring wasn’t enough. The harder Shane Walsh pushed the world, the harder the world pushed back until that fateful game day senior year when Shane Walsh finally pushed too fucking hard. The end result was an injury that left his football aspirations shattered on the ground.

-- Rick did everything he could to keep his best friend uplifted. He was at every single procedure and every single therapy session but Shane was really starting to give up. To lose any shred of hope that he ever held. As a result, he started to resent Rick’s success (and the fact that Rick was the one that their coach chose to fill Shane’s spot didn’t help matters any)... Shane’s father didn’t help either, what with the constant remarks about Shane having never been anything but trash, destined for the same life he lead.

-- Rick went on to the police academy after his own injuries put a stop to his dream of playing college ball. His father was more encouraging. Caring... Despite neither man being able to show emotions all that well. Rick knew he had the love and support of his family, this is something that Shane probably never knew the feeling of.

-- I firmly believe that if Evie were an actual character during this whole universe, she would’ve TRIED and fought like hell for Shane but ultimately, Shane would’ve pushed her away just as he did Rick. I know, I know... This is the only mention I intend of putting about Evie in here though. Anyway, yeah...

Shane goes career military. And at first, he’s fine with it. But he’s sent overseas and he’s exposed to nightmarish conditions, he’s forced to choose between his humanity or caving, giving into darkness and corruption even further. Doesn’t help that during this time, a high ranking officer takes the young man under his wing and basically turns him into a glorified killing machine, puts him into situations that will later spell disaster for the young man.

-- Shane goes awol after a mission goes wrong and he’s left with mild PTSD in the days and weeks following.

-- I know this wouldn’t happen IRL, but.. for whatever reason, the government chooses not to pursue the rogue officer Shane Walsh. Shane goes back home to King County and he’s a changed man... Darker... More cynical.. Angrier. With time, this grows and festers to a point where Shane is now living an almost sub-human life, taunted by the lives he’s taken and seen taken in front of him. He turns to a life of crime.

This, of course, all comes to a head when Shane’s accepted into a group of known thieves. The bank heist nearly goes off without a hitch until Shane is face to face with his old pal Rick... He freezes, which is a stupid.. stupid.. thing to do. He has to choose between shooting a friend that he still very much cares about and losing that last shred of humanity or running for it, knowing Rick will find him and he will take him into custody.

-- I say he has to choose but it turns out that he doesn’t. See, one of the guys, a guy named One Hand Fred... He makes the choice for SHane. Shoots Rick in the chest. Shane is then torn between leaving with their score and his ‘crew’ or staying to make sure Rick sees safety.

-- Shane chooses to stay. This is how Shane’s story ends, with him taking the fall for the entirety of the bank heist and being sentenced to prison. Rick knows the truth. Rick TRIES to fight for a better deal, a fairer sentence.. Doesn’t work. Rick asks for one last favor from his co-workers, and that’s that he gets to be the one who escorts Shane to prison... On the way in, the two have a long and deep conversation in which your quote comes into play. Rick asks Shane if he’s really learned anything at all about the path he’s taken in life and all Shane can do is throw up those walls again and shrug it off. “Dunno, Grimes. Ask me again in 15 to 25 years, man.”

#shane walsh #shane walsh fanfiction #shane walsh fanfic #shane walsh imagine #shane walsh imagines #shane walsh fics #my fics; shane walsh #my headcanons; shane walsh #my writing ; shane walsh #// thank you so much for this opportunity my lovely sunflower anon!!

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baconsoupforthesoul · 4 years

Text

The Ink Demonth - Day 2 - Memory

Ghosts of the Past

A/N: Since the first drabble I wrote for the Ink Demonth last year was for the Bioshock au, I figured I’d stick with tradition and whip something up for my fav AU. Also, the song I reference at the beginning is The Boogie Man by Todd Rollins which you can listen to here. As always, Henry belongs to the lovely @inkspottie and I hope you all enjoy~

“Boo, I'm the Boogie Man

The terrible, horrible Boogie Man

I come in the middle of the night and frighten, bad little girls like you~”

Henry shivered as he heard the music wafting out of a nearby speaker. He didn’t know if the music was a welcome change or not to the sounds of splicer chatter, or the uneasy vacant silence, punctured only by the groans of the aging underwater city. Henry shivers, feeling the cold wrench in his hand and the frigid air around him. His sweater didn’t help much here at the bottom of the ocean as he feels the chill seep down into his bones.

As Henry slowly makes his way past ripped banners and overturned chairs, he gulps when he sees a large bloodstain smeared along the carpet, leading to a decaying corpse leaning against the wall. He felt sick, his stomach heaving unpleasantly as he holds his hand over his mouth. Good god… how could a place this horrifying even exist? This dying city at the bottom of the sea. Who in the right minds would build something like this?

“Hey, what’s the holdup, boyo? If you don’t get moving the splicers will be coming outta the woodwork for ya. Get a move on!” An Irish accented voice chastised him over the radio hanging off his hip, shaking Henry out of his horror-filled stupor as he winced at the loud volume.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Henry answered back. “There’s no need to shout,” he mumbled to himself. While Shawn had said he wanted to help guide Henry out of this place, he could certainly have a harsh edge to him at times. It wasn’t helping Henry’s already fried nerves, that was for certain.

Henry tiptoed softly forward, trying his best to ignore the smell of decay hanging in the air. There was another foul stench in the air though, and Henry found its source when he turned a corner. The neon glow from the ‘Dames’ and ‘Gents’ bathroom signs flickered as Henry cautiously approached. The sweater-clad man hesitantly peeks around the corner of the ‘Gents’ bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief that it was vacant.

As he stepped lightly into the bathroom though, Henry’s vision started to get fuzzy around the edges. He hissed, feeling a sharp pain in his temple as he clutched at his head. Not again! His meds must really be wearing off cause the pain in his head just kept getting worse. As Henry looked up though, determined to press on despite the pain, he stopped. His eyes widened as he stood there, frozen to the spot. Everything seemed too… bright. This whole studio was so dark but it was like someone had just switched on the sun at the bottom of the ocean. But that wasn’t what gave Henry pause.

He saw a figure of a person in front of him. Henry could just barely make out the outline of them as if they weren’t quite there. There was no color to them, just that same blinding white light that shown all around him.

Was… was that a ghost?

Henry couldn’t think of any other explanation as he stared wide eyed at the outline of a man leaning against a bathroom stall door. His heart started to pound in his chest as he took a step back, his whole body shaking. Henry suddenly jumped though when another indistinct figure walked right by him, approaching the other ghost in the bathroom.

“Why in the world are we meeting in a dump like this, huh?” the figure striding in asked.

“Listen, you think I like meeting here?” the other man scoffed. “There’s just eyes and ears everywhere around this place. Can’t be too careful.”

Henry felt frozen to the spot as he listened to the two figures converse as if he wasn’t even there. He could clearly hear their voices but… it was like it was coming in through a faulty radio, the volume shifting and the words fading in and out slightly.

“What’s this all ‘bout then?” the newcomer huffed, crossing his arms.

“Listen to me,” The first man stepped forward. “This studio… to put it bluntly… is going to hell in a hand basket. You know it as well as I.”

“Ain't that the understatement of the century,” the second ghost complained. “Any joker can see this place is going downhill fast.”

“Exactly,” the other one agreed vehemently, stepping forward. “We have to do something about it before it’s too late!”

“We sure do but…” the one who entered paused, scratching his chin. “While the man at the top has clearly lost his marbles… he’s still the head honcho. And there’s been… rumors… going around about what he’s doing to folks who step outta line...”

“I know, I know,” the first man butted in, his voice tinged with worry. “But we have to do something. Before… before it’s too late…” “Alright, alright,” the second one holds his hands up in surrender. “I’ll hear you out, but if this plan of yours sounds like a one-way ticket to getting us killed, I’m outta here.”

And with that final statement, the two figures vanished, as if they hadn’t been there in the first place.

Henry took in a sharp breath as he backed up, running into the wall behind him. He ran a hand through his hair, clutching at it as he tried to make sense of what he just saw. It was one thing to suddenly find oneself in an underwater city after being in a horrific plane crash but… ghosts? Was he seeing things? Had he finally lost it after not taking his meds and being stuck down here with a bunch of murderous splicers? He had never had a paranormal experience in his life and he had just seen not one but two full-body apparitions. What was even happening in this studio?

“I thought I said to get a move on!” Henry jumped as Shawn’s voice crackled over the radio again, clearly annoyed with him. “Are ya gonna stand there all day? Or do ya want ta get out of this hell hole?”

“Y-yeah… sorry…” Henry gulped, his whole body shaking as he unsteadily moved away from the wall. “I just… thought I saw something…”

He considered telling Shawn about what he just saw but… would that just make him sound like a lunatic? He needed the man’s help, he didn’t want Shawn to abandon him cause he thought he had a few screws loose. Best to keep this to himself for now.

But their voices… they had sounded so real. He could still hear them echoing in his head even now. Those weren’t just whispers… but coherent sentences. Could he really have hallucinated that?

Henry didn’t have any answers, and that just made it worse. He was stuck down here, lost and confused, with only the impatient man on the radio to guide him through it. There seemed to be no end to the strange and nightmarish phenomenon this studio had to offer, and Henry just prayed he would survive it to see the sun again.

#ink demonth #the ink demonth #batim #bendy and the ink machine #henry stein #bioshock au #spacy writes #inkspottie #henry batim

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kissjane · 4 years

Text

CAN YOU HEAR ME? / Drabble(ish)

#20 from this prompt list.

20. You’re in a coma and I confess all my feelings only for you to wake up

“Oh, god!”

Lucas came to an abrupt standstill. He’d run all the way, first from his flat to the hospital, and then, after it had taken the nurse at the reception desk way too long to give him directions to Eliott’s room, in an impressive sprint to the room. He panted, trying to get some oxygen into his burning lungs, but the sight in front of him was not very conducive to calming down.

The figure in the bed was covered almost completely in bandages and casts. Even his face was wrapped in white strips, and the parts of him that were visible, were unrecognizable because of the sheer amount of cuts and bruises marring the skin.

“Oh my god, Eliott…”

Lucas could hardly get the words out through the lump in his throat, and he felt the tears he had managed to keep at bay in his adrenalin-fueled run trickling down his cheeks.

It had been a nightmarish chain of events that brought Lucas here.

When Eliott had been brought in after the car had hit him, he’d been unconscious and the nurse had called his parents to inform them. However, with them being in Marseille, they hadn’t been able to come to the hospital immediately, so they had contacted the Bakhellals. Unfortunately though they had also been away for the weekend, and Idriss and Imane had called Lucas. The details had become muddier with every pass, so Lucas had been preparing for the worst, but the sight in front of him exceeded even that.

In two strides, Lucas crossed the room and sank into the uncomfortable chair next to the bed.

He grabbed the hand closest to him, also heavily bandaged, and pressed it against his cheek, uncaring about his tears soaking the linen.

There was a needle in Eliott’s arm and some yellowish fluid was drip-drip-dripping through clear plastic tubes before disappearing into Eliott’s veins. The room was cold and the white walls seemed to close in on Lucas. The only sounds were the steady beeping of various monitors attached to Eliott, and the falling of both the IV fluid and Lucas’ tears.

A nurse entered, and startled when she saw Lucas.

“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

She made quick work of checking the monitor and putting up a new plastic bag of the same light ochre fluid.

“Is he – will he be –”, Lucas sniffed.

The nurse paused.

“You could try talking to him. There is a chance he will hear you,” she said diplomatically.

It was as if the earth beneath his feet had opened up and threatened to swallow him whole. Lucas couldn’t imagine never seeing Eliott’s smile again, never getting lost in his stormy eyes again. He might as well die.

Suddenly, shame flooded through him. He might lose Eliott, and Eliott wouldn’t even know how Lucas felt about him.

So he held on tightly to what the nurse had said. If there was any chance Eliott could hear him, Lucas needed to come clean.

His eyes were so puffy by now he could barely see Eliott’s figure on the white sheets.

He squeezed the covered hand even tighter.

“Eliott…”, he full-on sobbed. “Eliott, I’m so sorry. I should have told you. There were so many times when I wanted to tell you and I never did, because I was so afraid I might lose you…”

The wails wrecked his body, as he tried to breathe. He might lose Eliott anyway, now.

“I just… I love you, Eliott. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I am so in love with you. Please don’t leave me, Eliott…”

It was hard, because he was bawling so openly and loudly, but a small cough penetrated his teary monologue.

He looked up, expecting the nurse again, or a doctor, or maybe the cleaning lady, or basically anybody but the person standing in the door opening.

“Thanks, I guess? I can hear you just fine, and I won’t leave you, but why are you telling some unknown dude you’re in love with me?”

Lucas’ eyes went big and round as saucers. They flitted from the figure in the bed, whose hand he was still holding against his cheek, and Eliott, who had a few bruises, a bit of dried blood on his arm showing through a torn shirtsleeve, and a large wrapping around his ankle, but otherwise seemed perfectly fine.

“Eliott? But – what – who –”

Eliott sat down on the empty bed.

“This is supposed to be my bed, but really I’m allowed to go home, so I don’t need it. I don’t know who that is.”

He gestured to the man. Lucas dropped the hand he was holding unceremoniously, then with a shriek grabbed it again and put it gingerly back on the mattress. He kept staring at Eliott as if he had seen an apparition.

Eliott grinned, and fuck, Lucas couldn’t help but melt.

“So, uh,” Eliott hedged, purposefully, teasingly, “are we talking about your big confession?”

“Oh my God!”

Lucas jumped up and jumped on to Eliott, tackling him to the bed, using all his strength to hug him as tight as he could.

“I thought you were gonna die! I thought I’d never get a chance to talk to you ever again! You idiot, you scared the hell out of me, you –”

Eliott let out a loud ‘oof’.

“Hey! Careful! I was run over by a car!”

Lucas didn’t exactly care at this very moment. Eliott was alive, was walking and talking and he wouldn’t lose him.

Eliott chuckled, and his arms curved around Lucas’ waist.

“That confession?”, he prompted again. “Does that still count or are you taking it back now I’m not dying?”

“Oh, god, you are so annoying. I hate you,” Lucas mumbled into Eliott’s shoulder.

“Too bad,” Eliott replied, his hands slipping down slowly from Lucas’ waist. “Because if it still counted, I could tell you I’m in love with you too.”

Lucas lifted his face to look at Eliott.

A long beat passed, and then with a moan, they pressed their lips together in a kiss that was not very suited to their environment.

They didn’t stop, however, until the nurse came into the room again and scolded them thoroughly. When they surfaced and she recognized Lucas, a perplexed look crossed her face and she stopped mid-sentence as she looked over to the other bed, but the boys paid her no further heed, as they left the hospital hand in hand.

#I write things #Elu #50 cliché prompts

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

Text

How did you get yourself stabbed, you dumbass?

Masterlist

Edit: After I wrote this I decided to write a "prequel" from Percy's POV, so here's the link: This is how I got stabbed. Yea I'm a dumbass

-------------------------------------------------

Jason woke up with a start, eyes wide, heart racing, and hands already reaching for his dagger on the bedside table.

When his head finally cleared he realized the jarring noise that interrupted his nightmarish sleep was a knocking on the door.

Frowning, Jason checked the time, 2:50 am?

Who on earth is knocking on his door so late.

Once upon a time he would have assumed Piper but after they broke up he eventually learnt to stop hoping she'd show.

Shaking his head from his thoughts he stumbled out of bed and grabbed a hoodie as he walked to the door.

Although it was a clear night, he could smell the storm brewing. If he guessed he'd say it'd hit at around five in the morning, perfectly in time for his morning run. Just his luck he supposed.

Without further inspection through the open window, he yanked open the door to find a dark mop of hair and veined hands gripping the door frame.

"Jase, hey bro," Percy Jackson grinned.

And although the smile looked pained there was a mischief in those sea green eyes that always struck Jason a little stupid.

"Percy uh, hey what are you— what are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd sto—"

Before Percy could finish that sentence he collapsed on the doorstep.

"Holy Zeus!" Jason cursed, finally seeing the huge stain of blood steadily growing on Percy's shirt.

"What did you do Jackson?" he yelled, dragging his friend inside and heaving him onto the couch.

Quickly he got to work grabbing ambrosia, gauze, and disinfectant. Jason hoped he wouldn't have to do stitches because he wasn't sure he could stomach that.

After realizing he couldn't lift Percy's arms up to pull his shirt over his head he mumbled a quick sorry and cut the shirt right down the middle.

If he were a better man he wouldn't have stopped to stare at Percy's bronzed chest or the hint of abs that looked positively lickable despite the blood... but he wasn't a better man.

A few seconds later he found enough self control in him to tear his eyes away and get a look at the stab wound on his friend's side. It was fairly deep but nothing ambrosia and a little bandaging couldn't fix.

Jason got to work and before long Percy was out of danger zone and breathing more easily in his sleep. They would go to Camp Half-Blood tomorrow so Will could have a look and make sure everything was okay but for now Percy would certainly live through the night.

At least so that Jason could strangle him the next morning for getting stabbed.

After he put everything away he put a blanket over Percy and curled up on the opposite couch to keep an eye on him.

Jason fell asleep to the beautiful beginnings of a storm and the soft unhurried breathing of his friend next to him.

And as always when Percy Jackson was over, injured or well, the nightmares did not make an appearance in Jason Grace's dreams.

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maraudersandlily20 · 4 years

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Hmm Sirius moving in with the Potters?

The lights in the room were off, the sound of the rain against the windows filling the room. James had long gone to bed in the room next door, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts. He had tried to go to bed, he really had. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. Standing over him, wands brandished, curses ringing through the air. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to see it again and again. So he was awake.

The room he had been given was a guest room, decorated quite tastefully, and the bed was placed right beside the window, allowing Sirius to watch the sky rage on above him. It felt fitting, the night his life ended, for the sky to look as angry as he felt.

He was laying on his stomach, his crossed arms used as a prop to look out the window, not wanting to irritate the markings that scattered across his back. Tears streamed down his face, as they had been since he arrived, but he did not try to stop them. There was a part of his that, despite his gratitude to the Potters, hated that he was now in their home. He wanted, more than anything, to be home, in his room, with Regulus right down the hallway. He wanted the familiar smells and the feel of the rugs. He wanted to watch Regulus play the piano, showing him a brand new piece he had learned. He wanted uncle Alphard to join the family for dinner, where he would wink and smile at Sirius over the candle flames. He wanted his father to wrap Sirius’ jacket around his shoulders, or to kiss his mother’s hand. He wanted his mother to pet his hair, like she did whenever he did something good. He wanted his family to be a better family than they had been.

Sirius knew that the life he had had in that house had been one of abuse and horror. But, they were his family. He had tried for so many years to get them to see him, understand him, love him for the way he was. And while the nightmarish moments haunted him, they weren’t the only memories that existed. He had hated the expectations and the suffocation of the Black family name. He hated that he could never fit his parents’ expectations of him. He hated that he wanted to go back to them. And he hated, most of all, knowing that they wouldn’t take him back.

Regulus had told him, before he left, that he couldn’t go with him. “They can’t lose both of their sons, Sirius. They wouldn’t survive it.”

“But how can we survive it here? Any mistake is answered with a beating or a curse. Their desire to maintain the Black name should not overpower our need to be safe!”

“I know,” Regulus agreed, wrapping his arms around himself in comfort. “And maybe, one day, I’ll want to join you, wherever you’re going. But for now, I have to stay here. They... they need me.”

“Regulus, please. They don’t need you. I need you. I want you to come with me.” Sirius begged, shoving an array of clothes into his bag, trying to gather whatever he considered important enough to take. The bag was getting full, and Sirius felt a twinge of panic. If his parents knew he was still in the house, who knows what they would do to him.

He looked back over at Regulus, feeling a twinge in his chest at the look on his younger brother’s face. He knew then that Regulus meant what he said. He wasn’t coming. “Please,” Sirius whispered, his voice breaking.

Regulus pursed his lips before leaving the room quietly. Sirius heard his footsteps go down the hall to his own room, heard the door open, and then closer a few moment’s later. Footsteps came back toward his room and then Regulus was there again. In his hand, he held a small coin. He held it out to Sirius, trying to put a smile on his face.

“Do you remember this?” He asked.

Sirius nodded. The first time Regulus had gotten cursed by their mother, Sirius had given his brother the little silver coin. He had found it in the attic, with his great grandfather’s things. He had told Regulus that the coin was for courage, that now matter how bad he hurt, if he kept the coin with him, he would be strong.

“I want you to have it back,” Regulus held out his hand, offering the gift.

His brother shook his head. “I gave it to you, to make sure you stayed brave.”

“I know. I take it with me everywhere I go. It keeps me company. It makes me think of you. And,” He stepped forward, flipping Sirius’ hand up and placing the coin gently into his hold. “Now, whenever you see it, you’ll get to think of me. And I’ll always be there, to keep you company and to make you feel brave.”

“Regulus,” Sirius protested quietly, but his brother pushed his fingers closed and looked up at Sirius, and smiled. He reached up his hand and rustled his hair, a move that Sirius had done to Regulus throughout their childhood. It made Sirius exhale softly, trying to memorize the feeling.

“Maybe one day, you can give it back to me,” Regulus suggested, offering one last sad smile before exiting through the door, no intention of returning. Sirius had let out a sob at the sentence before holding tightly to the coin and apparating out of the house.

Now, on his new bed in his new room, he looked at the coin. The imprints on it were practically worn smooth, a testament to how often Regulus had held or rubbed the coin, for bravery. He wished, more than anything, that Regulus had kept it, knowing he would need it more. But his younger brother had been right. Having the coin felt like having him there, and it brought him comfort.

A soft knock came from the door and Sirius mumbled for whoever it was to come in. Euphemia Potter, the picture of motherly affection, came in with a bowl full of water, some rags, and a very large blanket. She made her way over to his bed, settling her supplied down and laying the blanket on the lower half of his body.

“Take off your shirt love,” she urged. Sirius knew then that he hadn’t fooled her. They had asked if he was hurt, and he said there were a few bruises and cuts, but nothing to worry about. But Euphemia Potter was smarter and saw more than Sirius could ever imagine. So, with a sigh, he slowly pulled the fabric over his head to reveal the crisscross lines left on his skin. There was bits of dried blood surrounding the cuts, but many of them were already scabbing over.

He heard Euphemia tsk over him before wetting a rag in her bowl of water. “My mother always said that, while magic can heal, sometimes there is nothing better than the touch of someone who loves you.” Her hands pulled the rag over his skin, cleaning the marks and removing the stain of blood from his skin. Sirius cried more, not because of the pain, but because of the feeling of tenderness that Euphemia showed just through her hands.

She slowly finished her task and began rubbing a salve of some kind onto the irritated skin. It stung, but in a good way. Like he could already feel it healing. “I can’t sleep,” he whispered, listening as she rang out the rag of water and placed it on the bedside table. She made a soft humming noise before moving to the head of the bed, where he was still propped up.

“Sit up a bit, darling,” she said, waiting until he had done so to slide under him, her legs crossed and her back pressed against the wall. She then guided his head back into lap and began running her hands through his hair. It instantly made Sirius relax and had him breathing easier.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. “Home shouldn’t feel like that. Shouldn’t leave you like this.” Her fingers gave him a sense of comfort he hadn’t had in a long time. “Sometimes, when people we love hurt us, we allow ourselves to forgive them for things that we would kill them for if they did it to someone else. That’s the hard thing about family. We have expectations that aren’t always met.”

“So, what do we do about it?” Sirius asked.

“We acknowledge the fact that we love them,” was her answer. “They are your family, Sirius. The cruelty doesn’t change that. It’s okay to still love them. But it’s important for you to be safe more than it is for you to love them. So you can love them from a distance, where they can’t hurt you.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said, letting his emotion show clearly through his voice.

“You’re my boy now,” Euphemia said, a smile in her voice. “And I always take care of my boys.”

#prompt #prompts #my writing #sirius black

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years

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Psycho Analysis: Dolores Umbridge

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Sometimes it’s not enough to have a villain. Sometimes, you have to have a character who is thoroughly, unrepentantly awful, someone so despicable the audience will root against them, guaranteed. These are hate sinks, characters that you sink your hate into. When executed well, these characters can be truly great, because they are just so horrendously evil that their ultimate comeuppance is overwhelmingly satisfying. And while she’s certainly no Huey Emmerich, Dolores Umbridge at least gets to take home the silver medal in characters you love to hate. And you will, without a doubt, hate her, for more reasons than you might realize.

Motivation/Goals: Umbridge is seemingly only motivated by her desire to keep whatever power she has. Whoever is in power, she serves unquestioningly, going above and beyond what anyone should. Her tenure as the Ministry-appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was filled with horrific violations of human rights, including her brutally torturing students, and keep in mind this was all done in an attempt to monitor the school because they thought Dumbledore was training an army of child soldiers to stage a coup and overthrow the Ministry by claiming Voldemort was back.

Later, when Death Eaters took over the Ministry, she would put her same cheerful energy into desecrating the dead body of Mad-Eye Moody and sentencing Muggleborns to have their souls sucked out. So, yes, she’s just the pinnacle of the unpleasant government drone who goes on a power trip and abuses those beneath her with impunity

Performance: While she certainly didn’t fit the description of the ugly, toadlike woman from the books, Imelda Staunton definitely showed that sometimes changes from the book are better than the original. By making Umbridge look like a kind, maternal figure she manages to project an outward air of sweetness and kindness; who exactly could think such a sweet-looking lady would be capable of such malice? It just makes the fact that she invented a blood pen torture device for use on students and that she can wear a piece of the soul of the most evil wizard to ever live around her neck with no ill effects all the more horrifying. Staunton absolutely kills it in the role, and even manages to make Umbridge a bit more cunning and competent than her book version in small ways while still keeping the smug, sickeningly sweet condescension that we all love to hate.

Final Fate: Umbridge, like any good hate sink, gets only the most brutal of comeuppances her way. In Order of the Phoenix, Hermione leads her into the Forbidden Forest; in the books, Harry explicitly mentally notes Hermione is unknowingly bumbling her way into Aragog’s den, but in both versions they are accosted by centaurs, and when Umbridge tries to assert her authority over them, they drag her off kicking and screaming. If you know anything about centaurs in mythology, you can probably imagine what they did to her, but mercifully neither book nor film spells it out. The sad thing is, she not only survives this, but she gets to retain her position in the Ministry, which pisses Harry off to no end when he finds out.

Fortunately, her good luck runs out in the final book and film. While in the book she’s merely knocked out of the story when the gang goes to retrieve Voldemort’s locket, and she would only be revealed after the story concluded to have been sentenced to life in Azkaban for her role in sentencing Muggleborns to death, in the movie it’s heavily implied that the Dementors she had been holding off sucked her soul out when Harry broke her concentration. I hate to imagine how her soul must have tasted, but really, it’s what she deserved.

Best Scene: I don’t think her best scene is even necessarily HER scene, but a scene in which she gets some sweet, sweet karma: Fred and George’s glorious escape from her nightmarish Hogwarts, a moment so awesome even Professor Flitwick pumps his fist from the sheer righteousness of the Weasley twin’s magnificent getaway.

Best Quote: Looking through her quotes, during one of her exchanges with McGonagall she drops this line: “I am sorry dear, but to question my practices is to question the Ministry and, by extension, the Minister himself. I am a tolerant woman, but the one thing I will not stand for is disloyalty.” Now this line is already chilling on its own, but taking into account some recent developments, in which Umbridge’s creator, a woman who has a skewed idea of ‘tolerance,’ has been quick to label anyone who dare criticize her toxic views as a misogynist… the line has become disturbingly relevant.

Final Thoughts & Score: Dolores Umbridge is such a very real, very chilling kind of evil, and ultimately this is what makes her so effective. I think most of us have been in a position where a seemingly kind person in a position of power abuses their authority with a smile, and most of us have likely had an extremely rotten, unpleasant teacher. There is just something infinitely relatable to the experiences the students go through in the books.

But I think what truly cements Umbridge as one of the most disgusting and evil characters in a franchise which includes Sniveling Backstabbing Rat Man, Literally Insane Fascist Torture Fetishist, Pedophile Cannibal Werewolf, and at least two wizards who are Literally Hitler, and what ultimately helps her stand out is that she projects this air of kindness and sweetness, that she puts on this mask of being kind, agreeable, and friendly… and then she goes and uses her power to sentence innocent people to death. She has the demeanor of an angel with the heart of a devil, and while this alone makes her such an enjoyably detestable character, what helps her stand the test of time is that she really also holds up well as a criticism of J.K. Rowling herself.

Rowling put forth this sweet, motherly identity for years, this kind older woman who cared about the plight of the LGBT+ community, strived for diversity and inclusiveness, and donated so much of her fortune to charity… and then, on Twitter, she began slowly but surely showing cracks in the sweet facade. A tweet here, a comment there… and soon enough, Rowling had outed herself as one of the most disgusting things a person can be: a trans-exclusionary radical feminist. It certainly was not intentional on her part, but there is some sick humor in the fact that the woman who identified so heavily with Hermione, the girl who fought for the freedom of the oppressed with every fiber of her being, ultimately ended up being more like the oppressive, fascist monster with a sweet face.

Umbridge is an easy 10/10. She’s not nearly as fantastical as the other enemies in the series despite being a witch like they are, but her evil is so much more down to earth and relatable… even more so because she disturbingly reflects the attitudes and personality of her creator. Combine that with Imelda Stauntons incredible performance and, well, what other score could I possibly give her? She’s second only to Huey Emmerich in the hate sink department. I think Stepehn King put it best:

“The gently smiling Dolores Umbridge, with her girlish voice, toadlike face, and clutching, stubby fingers, is the greatest make-believe villain to come along since Hannibal Lecter. One needn’t be a child to remember The Really Scary Teacher, the one who terrified us so badly that we dreaded the walk to school in the morning, and we turn the pages partly in fervent hopes that she will get her comeuppance… but also in growing fear of what she will get up to next. For surely a teacher capable of banning Harry Potter from playing Quidditch is capable of anything.”

Oh, and one more thing: fuck Huey.

#Psycho Analysis #Dolores Umbridge #Harry Potter #Order of the Phoenix #j.k. rowling

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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Without You || Morgan & Deirdre

Deirdre swallowed, lifting her gaze to meet Morgan’s. There was no excuse, and so, she said it plainly: “I killed someone. A young girl. Out of boredom, I suspect. But I killed her.”

“Deirdre--” Morgan reached for her as she stood, trying to pull her back, but Deirdre was stolid and would not move from her path. Morgan pushed herself up from the couch, ready to insist, to soothe her distress away and then-- I killed someone. A young girl. I killed her. Morgan froze. “I don’t understand,” she said, brow knotted with confusion. “That’s...not something you do. It’s just…not.”

@deathduty

There had to be something said for the encompassing nature of remorse. Or else, Deirdre wouldn’t have felt so weighted by it. And how strange, how foreign, the feeling was, and how worse it was made knowing just six months earlier she wouldn’t have felt it. But nonetheless, she moved slugged by it to her door, unlocking and turning it open as she had down countless times before. This house used to be empty, she remembered. She dreaded its silence. She dreaded opening her door to find it waiting at the other end for her, cruel, and patient. She would move straight to her bed, with no sense in lingering inside the ghost of payment for her duty. Perhaps her mother had been right, in that regard, that they were creatures unmade for love simply because they didn’t deserve it.

The home no longer greeted her with silence. She opened her door to find the mewling of cats, the promise of the woman she loved further inside or on her way. Love she found herself unmade for was suddenly overflowing. And for a moment, in this new un-silence, she had convinced herself she could be worthy of it. What a fool she was.

Deirdre held her flowers closer to her chest, the perfect bird skull laid above the bouquet. She stepped over the mewling Moira, desperate for her greeting and lingered awkwardly at the door, wondering if she could call for Morgan or if that was a privilege she needed to learn how to give up now before it would be rightfully taken from her. But there was so much to apologize for, and so little time. There were benefits to being alone, these deliberations were never her concern before. But Moira would not let her move, where she stepped, the kitten went, screaming. “M-morgan?” She called out, her hand forced by the kitten, “Moira isn’t letting me walk.”

Morgan read Deirdre’s letter as soon as she noticed it coming out of the bathroom. She pressed it to her chest, her skin crawling with nerves and relief, and read it again. Again as she nibbled on brains from the fridge, again as she paced the rooms of the house. As soon as she heard the door open she was on her feet and running. “Deirdre!” She could tell by the sound of her voice it was the real her, no mushrooms or magic frying her brain with weird stupid names or schemes to burn off their clothes or fill things with jello. “Deirdre, oh thank the stars--” She didn’t move Moira out of the way so much as she launched herself over her, landing with her arms draped around Deirdre’s neck, legs slipping clumsily for purchase around her hips. She looked heavy and worn out, as if all the nonsense of the past few days had hit her all at once. Maybe Morgan should’ve been more mindful of her fatigue, of her look, more sorrowful than usual, but her only thought was that her love was back. “It’s really you,” she said. “I mean, I knew, I read your letter, but now you’re here and it’s really you and--” Her rush of excitement was cut short by another needy wail by Moira. “I guess I’m not the only one who missed the real you around here.” She pulled back enough to give Deirdre a sheepish smile, but she was too relieved, too overcome to really mind looking foolish.

Deirdre’s lament on whether she deserved this love at all right now was lost in the relief of simply being near Morgan. For a moment, she relaxed, laughing as Morgan’s hug stumbled her backwards until her back thumped harmlessly against a wall. “You’re going to crush my apology gift,” she said softly, pulling the bouquet and bird skull away to preserve its life for a moment longer. And as Morgan pulled away, spurred by Moira’s shouts, Deirdre met her lips in a rough kiss to reel her back in. “Moira can wait.” The kitten mewled again, communicating that she couldn’t. Deirdre carefully leaned down, to pet her, quickly snapping back up to loop her free arm around Morgan’s waist and hold her close. “I’m sorry, usually the rings are not so---” well, normally no one cared if they got the real her or not. “---they’re tempting, let’s just say that.” She grimaced as guilt crept back through her. One last good moment, she begged selfishly, just one. And then she could suffer, but just once she would like to pretend she could keep something she loved. “I missed you,” she mumbled, “I didn’t give you too hard of a time, did I?”

Morgan sniffled, blinking back a tear as she saw the flowers and the bird skull, carefully preserved and complete. It was just the kind of thing Deirdre would get her, romantic and thoughtful, holding a little bit of each of them. “You missed me?” She said, laughing lightly. She pulled Deirdre into another kiss, heedless and hard. “I’m not the one who went away with Mushroom Sally.” She kissed her again and settled into the crook of her neck, squeezing their bodies tight together. “Oh, Earth, Deirdre, I missed you too. It wasn’t too bad, it wasn’t. You were pretty cute some of the time, although, well, trying to keep you from filling the pool with Jello was kind of hard, but it wasn’t awful it just...you just weren’t you.” Moira cried again, louder, rising on her haunches to paw at them both. “Okay, we get it!” she groaned, nudging her away with her foot.

Deirdre set aside the flowers on the small table beside them, picking the skull out from the center of the bouquet to lay delicately on top of the white plastic. She needed both hands to hold Morgan better, tighter, of that she was sure. “I missed you,” she repeated into the next kiss, “it’s like a fog over my mind and I couldn’t see you, not properly. I didn’t like it.” She flinched again at the mention of it, bordering on some excuse she didn’t want for a crime she had yet to admit to. In time, she assured her unsteady mind, she would get to it in time. “I missed you,” she said again, pulling Morgan back enough just so she could kiss her again, urgent and firm. But Moira wanted attention, and Deirdre could see no other options but relenting. “Come on,” she broke away to bend down and pick up the kitten, cradling her. “Why don’t we move away from the door and get comfortable somewhere better, hm?” She directed the question to Morgan and the cat, reaching for her girlfriend’s hand as they moved. “Now, jello in the pool isn’t such a bad idea. I must have really been on to something. I vote that we revisit that,” she grinned, trying to mask the sharp pain that grew inside of her with each sentence she didn’t confess. “But I didn’t...hurt you or anything, did I? I can’t remember everything, exactly. But I…” she trailed off. Fairy rings could make even the gentlest fae malicious, it was the simple nature of the magic. She liked to think she was better than that, but there was a dead girl that said otherwise. “Some fae lose themselves more than others. It’s...hard to tell. But you were okay?”

“You didn’t like it?” Morgan prodded curiously. She brought up a hand to brush back Deirdre’s hair and trace the soft lines of her face, already growing pinker and more freckled with the brightness of June. It was stupid to suppose that she felt any different, but this Deirdre, at least, knew all the little messages of care her touches translated into, when her tenderness was meant to be adoring, when her firm presses and hard grips were full of longing or urgency. And this Deirdre had the stillness and the presence of mind to hold her and touch her in turn the way she needed in order to feel. She held her gaze in that way they now had, silently speaking of the loneliness of their strange separation and how desperately glad she was to have her back. “That can wait until we’re--yeah. And we are not revisiting Jello. I bought so many packets, just to indulge you, and you hated the way they came out in the pan. I told you it wasn’t meant to be made in big batches. Besides, skinny dipping is so much better in good old fashioned swimming pool water.” She pressed in close to Deirdre as they walked into the great room and started the process of making themselves comfortable on the couch. Morgan took the kitten into her arms, scratching her around the collar the way she liked as she moved the throw pillows around. Moira, satisfied, wriggled and jumped back to the floor to supervise the proceedings, leaving Morgan free to crawl into Deirdre’s arms, legs draped over her lap. “You didn’t hurt me,” she murmured with a sigh, kissing down her face. “Not that you could, with your promise, I don’t think, but you didn’t even try.” She squeezed their bodies as tightly together as she could get them, almost getting heady with the pressure around her body, her Deirdre sober and here and loving her the way she wanted to be and not a hair different. “Actually, it was pretty easy to keep you from going back to the mushrooms for more,” she said, pulling away so she could look at her, the fantastically sober calm in her expression, the relief, even the weariness. Morgan wanted to take all of it in at once if only because it was real. “All I had to do was keep telling you I didn’t like it. And you listened. Even high out of your mind you cared about me.”

Having Morgan back in her arms, where she could feel her consciously and comprehend her words, was the greatest relief to a nightmarish week. Deirdre wanted nothing else, and the moments she spent with Morgan, high on the fairy ring, were a haze in her mind. She could remember her only in a blur, the words that she shared and the actions that she took. And of course she didn’t like it, when she treasured these moments so dearly, and wanted to hold as many memories of Morgan as she could, hold as much knowledge of her. To be denied that was worse than she ever could have imagined. “I’ll put ‘skinny dipping’ on the spreadsheet then,” she smiled softly, then couldn’t help the wince that came after. The spreadsheet was for the future, a future that wasn’t certain, and certainly wasn’t deserved. “I didn’t like it,�� she repeated in a groan instead. Could she keep this moment for a while longer? She leaned into Morgan’s touches, pulling her closer, urging with her own that she wanted more--as many as Morgan wanted to give, as many as she could have. “Good,” she rasped, catching Morgan’s own relief in her eyes, and meeting her lips in another solid kiss, and then another, pressed to her jaw as she worked down to the collar of her shirt, where no more bare skin could be met. “Because I do. Care about you. And I’m glad I could remember that while...you know. I told you it’s...hard to know what’ll happen. And it’s not always what’s true to one’s character but I suppose...it’s still me. It’s still my actions.” She sighed, reluctantly shifting their bodies to pull them just far enough apart than she could ask this question before her resolve gave way to how much she desired to be close to Morgan. “I have something I need to tell you. It’s not--” she swallowed thickly, “it’s not good. Do you want---Do you want to hear that now, or should we keep..” she pressed her palm firmly against Morgan’s thigh, “doing this? Do you want to stay here for now or….?” It felt kinder, somehow, to offer the option.

Morgan followed Deirdre’s cues, working her hands through her hair, running them down to grasp at her back and sides by the handful. She answered each kiss with one of her own, growing hungrier as it settled in that they were really together again and all the awfulness, however minor, was over. She whined in the back of her throat as Deirdre pushed them apart. All she wanted was to be close again, to be known and recognized again in a way only the real Deirdre could give her. But--stars, Deirdre had been trying to tell her about ‘something bad’ since Morgan had first brought her home from the woods. It was bad enough in Deirdre’s mind for it to press through her reckless euphoria and in the clarity of coming back to herself it lingered. Morgan frowned, stomach twisting with guilt as she weighed the options. “I know you won’t feel better until you tell me,” she sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek. “That’s just how you are, and I love you for it. But can I just--give me a minute, okay? Because I didn’t like it either. I hated you being gone for so long--” And she was kissing her again, hard and desperate. “It felt like so long,” she mumbled. She cupped her face, rubbing her thumbs roughly against her cheek as she kissed her harder. At some point she had the good sense to move a hand down, pressing in hard enough to sense Deirdre’s pulse and pulled away when she felt it spike with a growing need for air. “I love you,” she said, lips tingling. “And it’s gonna be okay.” She tugged on one of Deirdre’s hands and pressed it to her lips, cradling it around her cheek for a blessed moment before letting go. “Go ahead and tell me, babe.”

“Hey,” Deirdre cooed instantly, reaching up to thumb away Morgan’s tear, pressing her hand into her cheek, just the way she knew Morgan could feel it too. “As much time as you want, my love.” She whispered against her skin, easing into another kiss. “It was long for me too,” she rasped. Even in her haze, the part of her that still had sense clawed to be freed, just enough, to love and care for Morgan in the ways she knew best. But she had to wait for the fairy ring to wear off naturally, and she hated each moment of it. They were sacred to the fae, but nothing was more sacred to Deirdre than her time with Morgan, and Morgan herself. Maybe Lydia was on to something, and it was strange of her to wish that she could be with Morgan instead of doing what fae did but-- “I love you too. So much. So very much.” So much so that she thought about pushing her down against the couch, filling in their lost time with the intimacy they were both due. Deirdre tried to catch her breath quickly, eager for another kiss, fighting every desire and pull that begged her to close the distance between them again. But she had something to confess, and at Morgan’s attempt at comfort, she laughed bitterly with the reminder of it. She didn’t imagine she would share this news while still tangled up in Morgan, and she found that she couldn’t summon the words while so close to her--she was too muddied with blood now, too evil to deserve such care. With great reluctance, with more anguish than she anticipated, she tore herself from Morgan and up away from the couch to stand and admonish herself.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I know you say that I’m a good person and I do--I’ve tried to believe that. I want to. You make me feel like I can, and I want to try, for you. Because it’s good, because it makes me feel like I’m better, like I’m the best person I can be---when I’m with you. You give me that...strength to change. To do that. To be that person. And I’m sorry, for betraying that trust you had in me and I…” she gulped. This was too much beating around the bush. She wanted no excuses, no escapes or forgivenesses from her actions. She bared the responsibility alone for all her actions, for each murder and torture and life ruined. For Emma, and for all those before her. “I cannot confess to a--” she hung her head, clutching her chest in pain. “--any--” she spoke through gritted teeth, “things I may have done in the name of my duty. I’ve sworn not to. So when I say this, understand it was senseless and unkind and unfair and so---” Deirdre swallowed, lifting her gaze to meet Morgan’s. There was no excuse, and so, she said it plainly: “I killed someone. A young girl. Out of boredom, I suspect. But I killed her.”

“Deirdre--” Morgan reached for her as she stood, trying to pull her back, but Deirdre was stolid and would not move from her path. Morgan bit on the inside of her cheek as she spoke, trying not to interrupt. Whatever her crime, it was tearing at her insides. Morgan pushed herself up from the couch, ready to insist, to soothe her distress away and then-- I killed someone. A young girl. I killed her. “I don’t understand,” she said, brow knotted with confusion. “That’s...not something you do. It’s just…not.” Deirdre wasn’t cruel. At her worst, when she wanted to hurt, she could be viscous. That day in the woods would always be a reminder of that. But there was nothing casual about it, nothing pleasurable. It wasn’t who she was since coming to White Crest, if it ever had been at all. “I--I need to know what happened. You can’t expect me to go along with the bare bones of something like that, I need to know everything. Who was she, what were you doing, what did she--why aren’t you even sure why you--” She took Deirdre’s arm. “You need to come back and tell me everything,” she said firmly.

“It sounds like an excuse if I explain it. I don’t want---I killed her. That is a fact. There is no excusing or justifying it.” Deirdre sighed, hanging her head low. She tried to be as objective in her explanation as she could, keeping her voice the apathetic way her mother taught her to. “As fairy ring customs go, you pick a human and bring them in. A fae is never completely in control of what they do inside, some might be malicious, some might simply be a higher-intensity version of themselves. I can’t remember all of the details well, and the motivation is completely lost on me but--” shit, Lydia had been there, right? Deirdre sighed again, groaning as she tried to think of a way to admit this without acknowledging her friend’s involvement. It had been her, in the end. Not Lydia. And she would gladly take any and all blame for her; for all that Lydia had done for Deirdre, she was owed that much. “I threw a knife at her. I truly don’t remember why. I knew it was bad, it felt bad even before we entered the ring. But I didn’t stop it. And it is my fault she died. Mine alone. Those actions were mine and I made them.” Humans didn’t always die in rings, but it mattered so little to the fae what their outcome was. Deirdre had never personally killed a human in a ring, as a toy, but what did it matter if she was just as involved? Or if she watched without comment? If she was too desperate to be among them that she knew better than to voice her concerns, even back then. “And it’s not exactly the first senseless death by my hand. I’ve ruined lives. I am not a good person, by any standard.” She paused, turning her head away. “Emma Mushrow. Did you know her?”

Emma. Morgan’s eyes turned wide and stung with recognition. She went still, Deirdre’s arm still in her grasp, mid tug. Emma was one of her students. Painfully lonely, closeted, and smart. She came in for so many office hours, fumbling with three different questions before finding her way to the one she really wanted to ask. She’d done the extra credit work for fun. Because it was all creative, and it made her happy, not that she ever said so, but Morgan could tell from the way she brightened with hope as she handed it in. The last time she talked, Morgan had promised to look at her first draft if she ever got the nerve to write this time-travel novel she wanted to. And Morgan had heard about what had happened to her on the University forums and the paper. Or at least, as much as any of the humans could suppose. It had just seemed like another nameless White Crest tragedy, but now… “Emma,” she said, voice thick. “Yes. You...Emma? But she’s...she’s Blanche’s age, Deirdre. Did you know that? She’s...harmless. Emma could barely raise her hand in class much less work up the nerve to ever hurt anyone. She would never have hurt any fae. She was afraid she was betraying humanity by wanting to drop out of a pre-med program!” Morgan let go of Deirdre and braced her hands on her hips. Her mind was racing too fast, she needed to focus. She breathed slowly, counting in her head, but her body was cut off from her sense of her lungs. It stayed tense. She looked around the room counting senses: she could see her bare feet, she could see the carpet, she could see the clock, the sunlight coming through the windows, and Moira under the coffee table; she could feel tension in her fingers, a pinch in her hip as she dug her nails in, a fuzzy haze under her feet, an ache in her jaw; the ticking of the clock, birds chirping, Moira pawing the carpet… “First of all, you are not going to hide behind your banshee dead-tone while we have this discussion,” she said at last. “You are going to look me in the eyes and you are going to tell me the whole truth, every detail you remember, and everything that just feels like a lucky guess and you are going to feel it. If it hurts that you--” Killed Emma. Killed Emma and didn’t know why. Morgan clenched her jaw and forced the words out stiffly, “That you don’t even know why you hurt a practical child, you have to feel it. And second of all--” She had to pause and gather herself, to remind herself that this was important and she meant it. For the first time she felt her heart struggle to accommodate its feelings for Deirdre, her anger pushing against her love pushing against her confusion being crushed against some growing principle of understanding, it was so much and nothing wanted to give. But Morgan dug her fingers harder into her side and insisted, “Second of all this is not about anything you did in Ireland. I don’t care. You can make me hear about it later, but I don’t care. I don’t care what you did before we met. This is about a girl, and whatever the hell happened, whatever in the Earth’s name possessed you and your senses to do this instead of coming home to me. Has this happened before, since we met, Deirdre?”

So Morgan did know her. Deirdre figured it was the case, she’d heard enough about Emma’s life from her mother, who sobbed unrelentingly and foolishly thanked her daughter’s own murderer for paid funeral expenses and then some. “I’m not---” she swallowed thickly, “I’m not speaking like this to---If I talk normally I’ll---” her voice cracked and in waves her body was overcome with the anguish she was fighting for the sake of getting the story out in one piece. But not asked to speak plainly, she had no means of subduing her pain. Deirdre stumbled backwards, collapsing into a seat on their coffee table. She had cried in her car too, after meeting Emma’s family, using what she’d learned from her mother to keep from breaking down with guilt in front of them. But here it was again, raw and open for Morgan to see. “I know,” she sobbed, staring at her hands. “I know she---I know.” They were shaking. For all of her mother’s teachings and torture to get them to be steady, they were shaking. And she kept staring at them, kept expecting the blood of everyone she’d killed to spill out of every pore and for their screams and pleas to play out loud for Morgan to witness too. All the promises for what their lives could have been had never ceased to weigh on her, and they weighed heavier since trying to be better. But Morgan was angry, and she could feel it, and the sensation twisted terribly inside of her--worse than how any of the guilt she carried ever did. “That is the truth,” she glanced up, forcing herself to accommodate Morgan’s assertion that she look at her. “That’s it. I felt so terrible about her being there, and then I threw a knife to prove I didn’t. It wasn’t to kill her, but she died because of it so I’m not sure if it matters if---” Taken by another bout of sobbing, she couldn’t finish her sentence and took to staring at her hands again. She had touched Morgan with them, just as she had murdered Emma, murdered Regan’s father, murdered countless others that might have been spared. She curled into herself, lost to her pain. “I killed her. I didn’t mean to but I did. And it--I-I’m sorry. I know you---I’m so---” She cried, the glass shaking around them as her control on her voice wavered. With none of her mother’s teachings left to hide behind, there was nothing stopping the wave of anguish and torment that she had tried so hard to keep for her own private repentance. At Morgan’s question, she thought of Regan’s father, and tried to confess to his death as well. But her promises would not let her, and so she heaved and stuttered and tried to be strong enough to sit and accept the anger and resentment she was due. “Not any---not anyone so young but---but---” bile worked its way up, stopping just short of her mouth, leaving a burning path down her in its wake. “I’m sorry. I know it means nothing but---” She really had tried to be good. She really had wanted to be. She just wasn’t; she never could be.

“Stop,” Morgan said, voice quiet but still firm. “I know what a promise looks like, so stop. It doesn’t count.” What did count, contrary to Deirdre’s insistence, was her remorse. Morgan did her best to be still and impassive as Deirdre fell apart in front of her, as she struggled under the weight of her shame to look her in the face. It couldn’t bring back Emma, it couldn’t re-balance the loss and anguish of grief, but it paid for something in Morgan’s heart. She moved slowly to the coffee table, trying to fit all the pieces she had been given in her head. She had been warned that the fae were unkind, she had been asked and told if she really wanted to know that world. She had assumed, foolishly, that any world that could bring Deirdre into existence had to have a heart in it somewhere. But this--this fairy ring, this, what, some pheromone magic?--this thing was cruel. What world made it a practice to cleave its people’s souls from them, to make them into giddy creatures, into the kinds of beings that could hurt a child for no reason at all. Where was the sense in that? The balance in that? No wonder old guard fae convinced themselves they were better. How else could they live with themselves? But Deirdre knew. Deirdre wept. Deirdre wanted more for herself than this lie and the cold isolation that came with it. Slowly, she put a hand on Deirdre’s head and ran her fingers down her hair. She could not bear to give her full, encompassing comfort in this moment, but she could not bear to stand by while Deirdre cried and grieved either. “It does mean something, that you’re this sorry,” she said. “It’s what makes you different.” She swallowed thickly. “Tell me how you know about her. Did you know her, before you brought her into that...that place,” she could not hide her hatred of the fairy ring itself and she didn’t bother trying. “Did you find out who she was after? How do you know who she was?”

“Stop what? Stop crying? I’ll try--I’ll stop. Do you want me to---I’ll stop if---” Deirdre raised her hands to her face, trying to stop tears that would not quell for her, even as she tried to tell herself that Morgan wanted her to stop. She could not hear the rest of Morgan’s sentence under her concentration to stop crying, convinced this was what Morgan wanted. But she couldn’t, and in her failure, she wept harder, finding each free breath to mumble her apologies. She should have been better, but she wasn’t. Morgan raised her hand and Deirdre flinched in anticipation of the hit she imagined would come, the retribution as it was due. As her mother had, just when she would sob too much. Instead, she felt her working through her hair, gentle, and in the act of kindness she was not deserving of, she quelled her tears just enough to respond. “I knew her name was Emma,” she said, “I-I could tell she was lonely, it was the only reason she came with us. But its---” the way fairy rings work. And it’s harmless, they juggle or dance or play music and then go home. It was the way the fairy rings worked. They begged for humans to be dragged into them, even the thought of them--though she could not explain it--thrummed in her head. They called, they asked for their giddy fun, they demanded their human entertainment. The desire could not be helped. It was as natural to the fae as anything else. It was them. It was their culture. And Deirdre had done nothing wrong in their terms, and yet, even then, she felt guilt course so horribly through her. “I knew she liked to read. I knew she didn’t really like her friends. I could tell she must have had a passion she was hiding but the rest I---” Her body trembled with another sob. “I went to---I--W-what does it matter? It doesn’t. I’m not different. I’m not---I’m a fae. It’s---I killed her. That’s it. I did.” And there was nothing to make that fair. And she shook, horrified by the way trying to be good intersected with the fae life she knew. She had been so lost, for so long, and when a path seemed clear...it was lost again. Where did she go? Where was there a place for her now?

“So you did,” Morgan whispered, her voice hinging. She stopped petting Deirdre’s hair, almost mid-stroke and let her hand fall to her side. “You saw her. You saw who she was and you...when all that shit was in your head, you…” Killed her. Murdered her...sort of. It hadn’t been a lethal wound, that was what made the whole story so weird. And Deirdre, as lethally trained by her mother as she had been, surely couldn’t have missed the heart or a major artery on accident. There was something there, something to think on as Morgan braced her hands on her hips again. “You weren’t you,” she muttered, more to herself than to Deirdre. “You weren’t in your right mind, you were surrounded by fae, and these...fucking mushrooms…” And she hadn’t meant to kill her, even then. And yet Deirdre had brought her in the first place, had seen her, her youth, her hurt. Because it was what fae were supposed to do. Because she thought it was expected of her, or the brain-melting magic asked her to. Morgan counted her way through the room again, breathed slowly through her teeth, but she was running out of objects, losing places to plant her focus on besides Emma and the bewildering double-edged trick that hadn’t just destroyed her life but had wrecked a piece of her and Deirdre too. “And you are different. You are so different from the people you were raised with, even from Lydia and Tasmyn. You have become different since I’ve known you, at the very least. You see people as people, and you are kind and your soul, the part of you that knows better than the things you were taught, is good and that is why this hurts for you. That’s why it feels wrong. And that counts. That weight means something. But that is also why I am so---” floored. Disappointed. Hurt. “Yeah, I’m going to need a minute,” she said stiffly. “I’m leaving the keys. I need you to still be here when I get back. I need to trust you not to hurt yourself while I’m out.” She was already heading for the door but she stopped, aching deep in her dead silent body for them all. “Is any of that going to be a problem?”

She didn't mean to. Emma was just supposed to dance and juggle but not be harmed, she didn't want that. Deirdre could barely remember her motivations or thoughts but she could remember hating the idea. Being opposed to it. But she hadn't done enough, she hadn't stopped it. She hadn't been strong enough under the fairy ring to care. She relented to the first sign of disappointment from Lydia, some need for approval being stronger than the goodness supposedly inside of her. For this, she was unimaginably sorry. But she did not explain herself further, there was no point. She killed Emma, that was that. Lydia's involvement was unimportant, and all blame was hers alone. "It was my fault. I did it," she croaked again, worsened by hearing Morgan try to explain it. To her, she had already condemned herself to the highest crime, and as she burned for some punishment to be delivered, she could accept nothing else. Yes, she was not herself. Yes, she was as far removed from her actions as she ever had been, but they were still hers, and she still accepted all responsibility for them. "But I don't��" want to be different from them. She never did. She wanted to be just like Lydia, just like she was supposed to. But if she couldn't be good like Morgan said, and if she couldn't be like the fae, then what was she? Her world slowly cracked and she rose her knees to her chest, crying into them. But one part remained at least, one last shred of—"Leaving?" She lifted her head just far enough up to catch sight of Morgan walking away. And with it, the last of the world she thought she might keep, might belong in. It shattered, and unable to respond to Morgan's question, she dropped her head and cried, shattering the glass around her. Her wails of anguish were unrestrained, muffled only as she curled into herself. "Take care of yourself," she managed, the last intelligent sentence as she dissolved into tears and sobs. The house she had watched form itself into a home, the silence she had dreaded, all of it returned to her. In some strange way to heed Morgan's words, she did not rise to harm herself as her mind begged, instead she remained curled up on the cracked coffee table, unmoving. Trying her hardest not to think of the emptiness, but unable to focus on anything else. She was alone again.

All Morgan had wanted was a simple answer. Lacking even that, something inside her burned, familiar in ways she didn’t want to welcome. “Yep, sounds great,” she muttered under her breath. She shoved her feet into her shoes, bearing down against the tangle of feeling flooding through her insides. This wasn’t how she wanted to be and she needed to get something out before she could be any different.

#wickedswriting #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #without you #wr

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