#Also on a side note FUCK part 1 of Lost Days

[that1emowitch]

Talia (as Jason’s mother figure bc FUCK that part one part of lost days) finding out about joyfire. Thoughts?

Hmm this is interesting.

So firstly, I think Talia would definitely approve of Kori. I mean, come on — Super powerful alien Princess who could crush men with her thighs??? HELL YES.

But Roy... Talia would do her research and find Roy's history with drug abuse, but she'd probably chill about that once she sees how far he's come since then. He's an awesome parent to Lian, and I think Talia would respect him for that (she might even wish she'd raised Damian the way Roy raises Lian).

AND they're both Dick's exes (in my AU). Dick, who Talia absolutely hates. She'd be so proud of Jason for "stealing" Dick's long-time lover and best friend.

But would they both get a "Don't Fucking Hurt My Son" talk?

Yes.

And trust me, Talia is so scary you do not wanna mess with her (6 foot tall) baby boy.

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that had me going feral

hi guys, here's a part 2 to my favorite jjk fics on tumblr! note that many of these fics contain 18+ content. you are responsible for the content you consume! as always, if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, please take a moment to send some love to the authors! part 1 | other bts members

➺ cold nights & blurred lines - by @awrkive

summary: jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

➺ night crawlers - by @alphabetboyluvr

summary: jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

➺ this is how you fall in love - by @jeonqkooks

summary: after years of drinking and clubbing most days of the week and leaving every gig with a different girl on his arm, jungkook feels what it’s like to want someone with his entire being.

➺ the dilf installments - by @mercurygguk

summary: this series follows jungkook’s life as a divorced father. but wait, how exactly does one balance being a father, a boyfriend, a friend, and a respectable boss at the same time? read the installments below to find out!

➺ ultimatum - by @parkmuse

summary: your pervy, idiotic boyfriend just so happens to also be your friendly neighborhood Spider-man (in bed).

➺ a hero's journey - by @hansolmates

summary: jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story

➺ tempest - by @kooktrash

summary: you’ve always considered your life to be more mundane than you would like to admit. it was a constant cycle of the same things over and over again that when you meet jeon jungkook at a bar, of all places, you didn’t expect to see just how much he would change your life and those around you. he��s got an air of mystery around him with his charming good looks and a violent past that you slowly begun to unravel when it feels like everything is going perfect.

➺ by its cover - by @gimmesumsuga

summary: the one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.

➺ slow dancing - by @yoonia

summary: when your countdown appeared on your wrist right in the morning of your eighteenth birthday, you had thought that perhaps the universe was on your side, especially since the final seconds were already ticking so soon. You just never expected to have your first meeting with your soulmate to be the day when you had to let him go. But hope was not lost when you still found love without the bond, and Jungkook showed you that it was possible to find happiness beyond the system that was written for you. Except that the universe doesn’t seem to have enough of its game, when your past sacrifice comes back hitting you straight in the face, just when you had believed that you had written off the perfect ending to your bittersweet tale.

➺ e s p r e s s o - by @joonberriess

➺ hold me closer - by @ahundredtimesover

summary: when you're asked to look after your parents' house and meet them before they go on vacation, you, Jimin, and Jungkook take the trip to your hometown of Busan and relive memories of your youth. While your new relationship has you feeling like a lovesick teenager with all the affection that Jungkook shows you, you're still you - a professional trying to make it in the corporate world, and an eldest child trying not to disappoint her parents. And that turns out to be your undoing, as a little blunder causes a rift between you and Jungkook, resulting in a trip that you might as well have messed up… Not if your brother can help it, though.

[rans-prettydoll]

Mechanic!Sukuna . . . Part 2!

Note : mechanic!sukuna part 1 here! Make sure to read this part before so it all makes sense. ALSO MIGHT BE SOME TYPING MISTAKES.

Mechanic!Sukuna who while you are outside his house as he fixes your car, makes you watch him so you could at least understand a bit about what he was doing but fuck was it useless. The sweat on his forehead and the oil that stuck to his thick digits that you so badly wanted for him to fuck into your pretty pussy. You couldn’t help but clench your thighs as you watched him work.

Mechanic!Sukuna always noticed that whenever you came over to his house to have him fix your car, you would be wearing the skimpiest clothing. Your cute mini skirts and crop tops that he had mentioned before in his mind but every time he saw you his dick would throb.

Mechanic!Sukuna would send you away with a perfectly fixed car and before you got in it, you would kiss him in return with a side of money. Of course, you got a discount. Shit, he would make you pay in a different way. His favorite pretty customers always got pretty prices.

Mechanic!Sukuna who would groan and talk shit whenever you had called him only a few days later about how you had driven over a nail while on your way back from work. You were upset and he could practically hear the pout in your voice as you complained about your flat tire. He would then only a few minutes later, pull up in his car to come get you. You were so upset as you got out of the car, explaining to him what happened. Gosh, you were so adorable and you didn’t even know how much he wanted to fuck you over the hood of your car right now. He wanted to fuck some sense into you, to make you stop fucking up your car so much that he obviously would have to fix it, but man did he hate it so good. He loved the way you always called him first. Even for stuff that didn’t have to deal with your car. He loved the way you depended on him for things that you felt only he could help you with. He was so lost in thought that he only broke out when he felt you hug him as you whined in his chest. Your button-down shirt had a bit too many buttons opened but it was valid because of how hot it was out, it showed your pretty cleavage. Oh, how bad he wanted to suck and leave a hickey right on those tits that you loved to show off to him so much while he was trying to focus on your car. But back to the current moment. He would sigh and place one hand on your back, patting it before placing the other hand on your ass. Giving it a small pat too as he spoke in the rough tone of his, “Fuck woman..can’t take care of a car for shit. For right now just get in mine and I’ll drive ya pretty ass home. We’ll worry about yours in a few. Don’t worry, I’ll fuckin’ come back and get it of course. But ya know ya gonna have to pay me back...I don’t think I want money this time. This ass lookin’ too cute in these work pants…” He would say before leaving a small smack on your ass to which you would whine before swinging yourself off him. Walking back to your car to grab your bags and everything and putting it in his car then getting in the passenger seat.

Mechanic!Sukuna who ended up fucking you silly in the back of his car once he made it in your driveway. He had you bouncing on his dick so good that it made the whole car shake as you moaned. You were trying to keep it down, for fuck sake you didn’t want your nosey neighbors to hear you getting fucked so good to the point where you couldn’t think straight anymore!! All you could do was babble as you held onto his strong shoulders. He had your work shirt popped open and bra halfway off, just enough for him to pop a tit out as he sucked on it. Swirling his tongue and making sure to leave hickeys all over that pretty chest of yours just like he had been wanting to do ever since he’d met you. “Shit..woman. Told ya I was gon’ make ya pay me back, aye? But I guess it’s a payment the both of us can enjoy.” He would say as he took a long lick from your left tit up to your neck where he had marked a few minutes before. He took one of his hands and he brought it down to smack that plumped ass of yours that you had been showing off to him in those mini skirts you always wore. Always bending over so he could see your pretty panties and then acting like you didn’t know that you were making his cock ache. But now he had that same cock stuffed into your pussy, making you bounce and clench on it until he fucked some sense into that brain of yours. Until you learned how to take better care of your car. But you knew you wouldn’t, fuck if this was the outcome that you were going to get each time you fucked up your car from now on. You would make sure to pop a tire or something!! You didn’t even know. But fuck all you knew at the moment was that his dick was so good. Better than you had ever imagined while you had been playing with your pussy to his voice whenever you called him telling him about how you would be coming over the next day to get your car fixed. You let out a loud moan as you felt him thrust up into you, bullying your pussy so good as he lectured you. “Ya gonna listen now, huh? Ya gonna stop fuckin’ up ya car? Or do I have to have ya bouncing on my dick like this every time until ya get some sense into that pretty head of yours? Such a nasty, thing. I know ya only fuck your car so that ya can come over.” He would say as he let out a deep chuckle before pulling you off as he cummed all over your tummy. You would cum too, all over his back seats. So what if he knew your plans all along, he seemed to like the idea just as much as you. You loved your mechanic.

@shaeshaeboo asked to be tagged ! 💋

[carolina-thiell]

Crash Landing (Into You) · Jack Abbott x Plus Size!Reader-

Character: Jack Abbott

Pairing: Jack Abbott x Plus Size!Reader (Adriana)

Format: Fic (Part 1 of 3)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Genre: Smut, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Post-Night-Shift Softness

Warnings: Sexual content, strong language, aftercare, mild medical references (non-graphic)

Status: Part 1 of 3

Summary:

Jack Abbott shows up at Adriana’s door after a brutal night shift; sleep-deprived, coffee-stained, and clinging to the last thread of sanity. She offers eggs, thighs, and a soft place to land. What follows is chaos, comfort, and a very intimate reminder that even the most put-together surgeon sometimes needs to fall apart in the right arms.

Author’s Note:

This is my first fic for The Pitt, and I'm still finding the rhythm of Jack’s voice, so he may be a little out of character. Thank you for being patient with me while I explore him!

Read part 2 HERE.

Read part 3 HERE.

6:52 AM: Adriana’s Apartment.

The knock on her door was a disaster; three uneven pounds, followed by what could only be described as a forehead thump against the wood. Adriana opened it to find Jack Abbott, trauma surgeon, former combat medic and king of composure looking like a wet cat that had fought a blender and lost.

Hair mussed, scrubs wrinkled and one shoe untied. There was a coffee stain on his shirt like a chest wound and eyes wide with post-shift dissociation. He blinked at her.

—I witnessed twelve people’s intestines today and one guy said you look like Jesus before passing out. My intern cried because I told him adrenaline wasn’t a personality trait.

Adriana stepped aside silently and gestured him in with a mug of chamomile already in hand.

—Come in, O great war god. Tell me about your day and I’ll feed you scrambled eggs and thighs.

Jack stumbled in.

—Thighs?

She wiggled her eyebrows and pulled at the hem of her sleep shirt; oversized, hanging off one shoulder. Bare legs and curves on display like a damn Venus painting.

—Mine, obviously.

Jack let out something halfway between a groan and a prayer.

7:08 AM: Kitchen Chaos.

While she stirred eggs and hummed off-key, he just stood there watching.

—You’re not going to ask how many people almost died?

—Nope.

—You're not going to say thank you for saving lives?

—No; you’re sweaty and rude and need to sit your heroic ass down and eat.

Jack blinked and she turned, pointed the spatula at him.

—Also, stop looking at me like that unless you're planning to do something about it.

That got a smirk out of him, low and lethal.

—Something like what?

She gave a slow shrug and the sleep shirt shifted, slipping lower on her shoulder.

—Like throwing me on the couch and working off the last twelve hours of trauma with your mouth.

Jack dropped into the kitchen chair with a thump.

—Okay, yeah. That's it. I'm in love.

7:20 AM: The Couch Situation.

The eggs were left abandoned and the shirt gone. His, not hers. Jack had her underneath him, couch cushions shifted to hell, her plush thighs bracketing his hips. His hands slid over her sides like he was starving.

—You always smell like vanilla and fuck me; do you know that? —murmured Jack against her neck.

Adriana whimpered, gripping his hair.

—Jack...

—Shhh, don’t talk. I’ve held other people’s spleens for twelve hours. Let me have this.

His mouth trailed down her chest. He kissed the softest parts, bit the curve of her hip, buried his face between her thighs like it was oxygen. She gasped, ached and moaned his name like a spell. Jack groaned like a man letting go of the last thread of sanity.

—You’re so fucking beautiful. I should come home covered in blood more often if it gets me this.

—Jesus, Jack...

He looked up from between her legs, eyes dark.

—Say it again.

She blinked.

—What?

—My name like that. Like I’m your favorite thing you’ve ever tasted.

Adriana was gone and when he kissed his way back up and slid into her arms came around his shoulders and held. He moved like he had to prove something, like no one else would ever get to touch her and needed to claim every breath she had.

—You take me so well, baby. You make everything stop.

She cried out, pleasure crashing through her and Jack’s voice broke.

—You’re the softest thing in my whole damn life, Adriana. You make me feel safe.

8:00 AM: Aftercare King Mode Activated.

They were tangled up in a throw blanket on the floor, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing slow circles on her back. He kissed her forehead.

—Sorry for arriving like a corpse.

She snorted into his neck.

—You brought body fluids and a mild existential crisis. It’s kind of your brand.

He laughed a real one.

—Thanks for being here. For reminding me I’m not just the guy who fixes broken things.

She looked up.

—You’re the guy I love, with or without blood on your shoes.

Jack touched her cheek.

—I love you, too; especially when you threaten me with pancakes and sex.

She kissed his jaw.

—Crash here, sleep. Then you can show me round two when your brain is online.

Jack was already half asleep.

—You’re getting thighs for dinner, just so you know.

Adriana smiled.

—Count on it.

[avifaunaa]

these strange noises [ voices ] followed me here [ s.s.+n.s.] [ pt. 2 ]

Authors Note: 🤪

fun facts:

i have zero medical knowledge and the likelihood of this being extremely inaccurate is high!

i did a lot of research into medical practices and inner workings of being a medical professional to try and throw this together

i also watch grey's anatomy, that makes me an expert

any named people of importance in the hospital are made up for obvious reasons lmao

Shauna nat are married here. No i will not be taking questions.

Masterlist

PART ONE

Pairing: Dark!SoftNatalie x fem!reader x Dark!MeanShauna

Summary: It has been ten years since the rescue. Ten years since the trauma of a plane crash. Ten years. You’ve changed your name, moved as far away as you possibly could, and finished your degree and now find yourself in the last year fellowship of pediatric surgery. You’re fine. Until you’re not.

Content Warnings: Thick plot, sorry, Mentions of illness+injuries regarding children as R has become a pediatric surgeon + 1 detailed scene of surgery in which r is conversing with another doctor, r responds to an actual name because she changed it but not by S/N, Mean!Shauna, Soft!Natalie, angst, stalking, harassment, blackmail, EXTREMELY FUCKING DARK non-con, threats, degradation, praise, strap-on use [ r!r ], face slapping, spitting, cutting, hair-pulling, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, and some aftercare because jesus fucking christ.

Word Count: ~8.1k

Your forehead thumped against the steering wheel of your car as you closed your eyes. You were exhausted and you’d just had a day off — but it was time for your rounds and unfortunately, that meant the next few days of sleep would likely be done in the on-call room.

The cool San Diego breeze blew through your hair as you slammed the door shut and dropped the keys into your bag before dragging your way toward the looming building that was your second home — essentially.

Your phone chimed in your pocket and you pulled it out, hoping it wasn’t Clary asking you if you were there yet. She wanted to touch base on the research you were both working on as partners, but you didn’t want to admit to her that no, you hadn’t so much as touched it all weekend.

You almost failed out in your first year of fellowship — it was so much more difficult to have completed in one single year than all the years you had to complete for residency.

[ You also had five patients today, two of them with grave outlooks ]

If anything had taught you about looking death in the eye, it was crashing in the Canadian Wilderness and surviving for almost two years no matter the circumstances.

You could look these children in the eye and promise them you would absolutely do whatever it took to make them feel better. And pretend magic had everything to do with it.

It was their parents — their angry, grieving, begging parents — that you struggled with more. It was the same look when you watched the recordings your parents kept of the news and interviews about your plane going missing, the loss of hope after each one months after months.

With kids it was easy. They trusted you to do whatever you thought was best and felt like you were their imaginary savior of sorts — you would do whatever it took to take care of them.

But the adults had lost the magic, the endless hope, the seemingly open glee at hearing any slight good news.

It wasn’t Clary but rather, it was Jordan. She had become your closest friend — and your attending — during your fellowship. Forming close relationships with your mentors wasn’t inherently frowned upon as long as there could still be a clear line between professionalism and what usually existed on the other side of said line.

You were swift to get to the locker rooms to change into your scrubs and pristine white coat, saying hello to your other fellows and exchanging brief conversation.

None of them would ever wish to talk to you again if they knew who you were — what your real name was and what your experiences forced you to endure.

It matters little now. The only name you responded to and that was on any official documents to be found was the one you perfectly articulated for yourself when you burned away your past along with your dreams to work in Vancouver.

“Forceps,” Jordan demanded from your left, as the two of you stood over a patient lying on his side, a large incision opening from his ribs to his back. It was a mess and you hated that a fifteen year old had to experience it.

“You’re quiet today,” the older doctor commented once the tool was set in her hand and she went to work using it. Cancer, so built up that parts of his right lung had to go.

You kept still the drainage tube that allowed fluids to properly drain.

“I’m really tired,” you stated behind your mask, eyes moving toward the monitoring screen so you wouldn’t have to meet her eyes when she would glance at you. “It’s been a long month.”

And the anniversary for the crash is tomorrow.

But you couldn’t say that. Doing so would acknowledge a life that you had worked so endlessly to murder, bury, and run from so many years ago.

Your life was peacefully undisturbed and no signs of vengeance from your past was threatening to upturn what you’ve so carefully designed — you could only hope it stayed that way.

“Hmm,” Jordan murmured in the Jordan Way. You came to know it closely, intimately, when you started your fellowship under her scrutiny. She could smell lies like they were freshly baked bread and it made her extremely hard to go around.

Clary and you had lost rounds for a week when you had swapped patients simply because you didn’t like the other doctors you were paired with. Never again. You had both learned to play nice — “which you should have done as attendings,” she had snarled before stalking off.

But now she has fallen into her focused silence, working meticulously and removing the damaged section of lung on the patient. Nurses came and went with more sponging. You adjusted his position as needed if movement became an issue, and kept an eye on the muscle tearing done during the incision.

She snipped something and removed it carefully. It landed with a splat behind her on a medical container to be a properly disposed of.

“Clots?”

You did not move the tubing.

“No.”

“Good,” she said simply, and went back to work. You knew that while the focus was getting this surgery done, she was sniffing you out like a hound on a hare.

“He came out of the surgery well,” you told the thirty-eight year old woman four hours later, who trembled outside of her son’s recovery room where he lay sleeping now. “He’ll need to be monitored for any signs of clots or leaking from his lungs, but so far his outlook has become positive and he’s well on his way to being able to go back to soccer.”

Agnes trembled more and she collapsed into you, arms wrapping around you. You embraced her readily, having accepted this part of the job the most: the ability to take the overflow of emotions parents and family had nowhere else to put. In your residency, you had been desired by mentors for your bedside manner but it was always going to go to pediatrics.

“Thank you,” she murmured in your ear as her tear-soaked cheek pressed against yours in the hug. You rubbed her back, offering the comfort and shielding her from the part of you that ached and begged for sleep and food.

“It’s my pleasure. I will be back to check on him, but if you need anything feel free to ask the nurses okay?” You pulled back from the hug, squeezing her arms warmly and smiling as well.

Agnes nodded, thanking you tearfully once again as she stumbled to go see her son. You slid the door closed to allow her some quiet privacy to decompress — she was going to drop from that adrenaline soon.

You made your way to the nurses station where charts were already laid out for you. Your next patient was not going to wait for you to recover yourself, and you didn’t have a lunch for another four and a half hours.

It was the television, however, that stopped you in your tracks. The local news station was showing footage that was all too familiar and immediately induced a flight like sensation into your system.

You dig your fingers into the boxy clipboard as you stared at the overhead footage plastered to the screen of the remains of the crash from a year after. Your blood turned to ice in your veins and you froze like a deer in headlights.

The team had picked the plane apart to use what you could and many documentaries and news segments had commented on it when they went to seek out the wreckage and your camps after the rescue. You had family questioning you for months before you exited, stage left, and you had refused to discuss it.

“Tomorrow will mark ten years after the incredible rescue from Canadian forests of the university team, The Yellowjackets, one and a half years after they had been reported missing during their flight,” the reporter started, and the footage following flickered to the remains of the empty camp recorded post-rescue.

“Searches were initially held in the first five months where the flight path was said to have taken, but the crash was later found one hundred and fifty feet away from that official path. Investigators were unable to identify the exact cause of the crash.”

The reporter next to her leaned to glance at her. “Every time I hear the story, it never ceases to both amaze and sadden me,” he told his partner, shaking his head.

You wanted to claw his face off. It was all fake — he didn’t care, not really.

The woman nodded solemnly in agreement. Someone brushed your shoulder and something was said, but you did not pay attention as she continued, “Survivors have gone completely off-grid since their return home except, notably, for lawyer and currently running for State Senator Taissa Turner, who has not answered questions in regards to the crash.”

Photographs of all of you — the ones who made it — lined the screen. They weren’t recent and you were relieved that your deep burial had worked. All these photos were ones taken for the university website for the team a few months before the play season began.

Your eyes flickered to Shauna and Natalie’s photos, briefly, and you held your breath until they were gone. Even this long and you still acted off of your base instinct when any signs of them, be it a memory or a mention in media, cropped up.

“Doctor Landry.” You jerked back from the counter and your arm loosened on the clipboard holding your chart. The object fell with to the floor with a clatter and you startled further, rearing back and pressing your lower back into the counter.

“Woah, sorry.” It was a resident who often worked with Jordan and thus with you. His name often escaped you, but right now it wasn’t even a thought in your head. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Must have been really into the chart, huh?”

You swallowed hard, fingers pressing carefully into the smooth countertops to ground yourself and tuned your ears to the sound of the hospital noises. For many, the hospital is chaotic, overwhelming, a cause of stress.

For you it brought comfort. The endless impact of sensations were a constant reminder of who and where you were now and you were able to keep yourself from truly having to dig too internally.

You breathed out and watched the resident bend down a little too eagerly to grab the chart for you and hold it out with a nervous smile. “Doctor Jordan sent me to be your resident for the rest of your rounds,” he said, sounding pleased.

You blinked at him and hated and loved Jordan in equal measures at this moment. You knew she was working on your teaching skills for when you completed your fellowship and had a license in full. You would eventually have your own fellows to train and residents to attend, but . . .

“Okay,” you started, “Larry.”

He frowned. “It’s Brewer.”

You slipped your tennis shoes back on once you changed back into your normal clothes — glad to feel something heavier against your skin other than scrubs but less constraining than your coat.

Clary — bright, energetic, a mass of light — blocked your exit from the locker room, hand gripping her bag as she grinned at you, ignoring your tired face. “Drinks?”

You glanced at your phone screen and squinted at the large 10:00 that flashed back at you. You’d just gotten off of the second of your monthly 24 hour shifts; you’d be on mostly day shifts and Jordan’s on-call schedule for surgeries the rest of the month.

A drink with Clary and then sleeping in wouldn’t hurt. You won’t be back until Wednesday.

“Okay,” you agree like you had a choice with her blocking your path. Her grin became softer and she nudged you as you exit together and discuss your shifts on your way out.

You went to a bar close to the beach that had outdoor seating. The night life was active despite being a weekday and you knew it was partially to do with spring break soon coming up.

You both ordered your usuals and you ran the heel of your palm across your face as you took in the scenery, trying to get the entire day out of your head.

“How’d your lung surgery go?” she asked when drinks were delivered. Your fingers wrapped around the chilled glass of your beverage and you took a sip.

"Exceptionally well, of course, when it comes to working with Jordan," you told her, raising your glass in a half-salute. "She's a master of her craft."

Clary arched a perfectly sculpted brow [ you would know, she's dragged you to her appointments more than once ] and released the loudest scoffs her small form could manage. "Bullshit. Yeah, she's amazing. But c'mon . . . you're being looked at to become a permanent surgeon here! Jordan sings you praises!"

"I assisted her on the lung surgery, Clary," you laughed, "That was all I was asked to do this time."

"But I'm trying to point out facts here, Darling." Clary did not continue without first taking another sip of her drink, with you following suit. The salty beach breeze drifted into the outdoor patio as the bustle increased from beach-goers seeking late night drinks and food. "There's rumors."

"Not rumors," you moaned, craning your head back and tight-lipping a smile from your face in amusement.

"I'm serious!" You felt the table shake as she leaned over to slap you on the arm.

"Watch the drink, psycho!" You reared back, careful not to spill and keeping your body parts off of the table in case she used friendly fire again.

"There's rumors, Landry," Clary repeated, dimpled cheeks flushed from the alcohol and giggles you two had shared. "That Sanchez is going to go to the Board after you complete your fellowship and that's why Jordan's been throwing all of her energy into you more than her other fellows."

You did not let that spark of hope in your chest ignite into a large bonfire. You were good at what you did and you knew it, but focusing on simply surviving this final year would be what earned that offer of any position from the hospital. Not dreaming of it.

You twirled your drink and hid your features as you tipped it to take a longer sip than the last.

"The kids like you," Clary continued as she flagged down the server for your table, her drink empty, "the nurses and attendings like you, Jordan's residents like you, hell -- the ER likes it when you come and take a load from them. Are you really stunned to silence?"

"No, Claire," you sighed, wanting her to shut up about it. You knew you were liked, you knew you had eyes on you, and while you knew what you were getting into when you stayed in your field after the Wilderness, you always had to remind yourself you did not have to keep looking over your shoulder from these particular eyes.

"Claire," the fellow chortled, flinging herself back dramatically in her high-seated chair. "Not the full name."

"Can we discuss something else before I end up having to use your last name, too?"

The way she puffed her cheeks out at you indicated that she wasn't completely finished hounding you, but she also seemed to understand you had drawn a line in the sand and was not going to cross it.

She waved her manicured hand at you, sparkly black nails glinting under the bright lighting of the tiki's and overhang fan-lights. "Ugh, fine. Keep your secrets."

You smiled at her. "I will."

Your discussion veered off into safer waters and you had gotten relaxed under the atmosphere. Chattering patrons and boisterous laughter replaced the bustle of hospital noise that soothed you constantly.

You and Clary turned your heads when a server that was not the one who had been supplying you both with drinks all night appeared with a tray, only one glass of your choice of drink aligned in the middle.

"Hi," he greeted politely, but rushed, as he sat the glass down in front of you, covering the two empty ones behind it. "A nice woman at the bar bought you this drink."

You stared at it as he swiped the two empty glasses and went for Clary's as well, leaving her third half-empty one for her to finish as the woman stared at you in shock, brow raised mischievously.

"Thank you," she said for you, eyes still on your stupefied form as the server vanished into the crowd. She smirked brightly, chin laying on her curled fist as she wiggled her brows at you. "Well, well, do we have a mystery admirer we should keep an eye out for?"

You did not touch the drink and shifted your gaze over Clary's shoulder toward the bar. It was packed with people waiting for drinks. All seats were taken but people crowded the areas between and behind it, too.

Nobody in particular stood out nor did you feel as though you were being watched. You wondered if you had grown extremely comfortable in this life to the point of no longer studying your surroundings well enough.

"See anyone?" Clary mused behind her glass, turning her upper body to help you look. "Jesus Christ, even though we know our mystery friend is a woman there's still to many to try to pull as our suspect." She swiveled back to you, looking more deflated than you.

You shrugged as you swept the area one more time, hoping you'd maybe find anything that would stick out. You picked up the glass and dropped the matter -- if your gift giver was too shy to reveal herself, then you'd just let her appreciate you enjoying her gift from afar.

"It's fine," you assure Clary, offering a tilted grin to soften the blow, "I'm too busy impressing the Board for mystery ladies, anyway."

Clary downed the rest of her drink.

Your sitter messaged you to let you know that she had left the key in the usual spot after walking Nibbles for the last time for the night. You dumped a generous tip into her Rover account and requested another drop by for your few work days that would be the busiest and snagged the key from your elderly neighbor's plant as you returned to your apartment.

You were buzzy and feeling more relaxed after going out for drinks with Clary. You did not do it extremely often -- but it was good for you to not stay locked away in your place every second you weren't at the hospital. You got stir crazy easy and after the crash, you did not like existing in a state of "just here" that signaled your brain that you were on survival mode.

Never again.

Your teacup yorkie, Nibbles, spun in circles in his ritualistic way by the front door as you entered and removed your shoes. He did this until he was dizzy and wobbled after you toward the couch.

"Was Penelope here today, my little mister man?" you crooned at him as he climbed up the couch and spun more circles in your lap. "I see. Did you see many things on your walks?"

He gave you kisses and sniffs.

Nibbles was your one indulgence in the destruction of your old self and rebirth of the new. You found him in a box as you were throwing your broken down boxes into the recycling after moving into your place. He was a tiny, scraggly, infested thing that reminded you of yourself ten years ago.

You took him in immediately and he's been your constant in the ever-changing busy world you'd fashioned for yourself. Ten years old and he was still ready for whatever you threw at him.

After saying proper hellos and dropping a frozen Kong at his feet to keep him busy while you got ready for bed, you headed to the bathroom and rubbed at your temples.

Your phone, muffled, buzzed insistently in the bag you tossed on the bed as you were undoing your jeans.

You ignored it and figured it was Clary spamming you with TikToks after doom-scrolling in the cab.

But the buzzing did not end. Clary sent you ten videos in two messages, usually, not one by one.

Your curiosity got the better of you and had you rotating yourself to the bed and shifting through your bag until your phone was in hand.

Unknown (12:54): You cut your hair. Unknown (12:54): you're so pretty to this day, baby Unknown (12:54): We're glad to see you still like the same drinks Unknown (12:55): You aren't dating that girl you're with are you? Unknown (12:55): we're really proud of you're accomplishments Unknown (12:55): It took us ten years, sweetheart. Ready to see what we can do with ten minutes? Unknown (12:57): We cannot wait to catch up with you. Hope your dog doesn't bite

A cold wave of soberness splashed over you as you read out each text message word by word then went back and reread them again.

You dropped the phone like it had burned a hole into your hand, curling your fingers to your chest as you stare at the object in horror. Your eyes darted around, paranoia starting to renter your system like a welcome friend that was old but well-known.

You shot across the bedroom and ripped the curtains over the windows, covering the view and made quick work of the ones in the living room as well. Nibbles had finished his Kong and followed you around, ears perked and fuzzy face mussed from cheese.

You backed away from the windows and swallowed dryly, trembling and paced circles around your entire apartment for a better part of an entire hour without any sign of disturbance.

You barely touched your phone but there were no other text messages coming in. You blocked the number and screenshotted the messages just in case before turning your phone off for the night and heading off to the bathroom to shower.

You dress quickly and don’t spend as much time on your skincare routine as you usually do. Your head was spinning with unfiltered energy and fears about those messages.

Nibbles is waiting in his spot on your bed with an expectant look as you pulled the covers out and slipped under. He immediately dove under to curl into your side and nestle into your warmth like a heat-seeking mini missile.

You flipped on the television and thumbed at the buttons without actually changing the channel that was already on from when you last had watched. Your mind was racing like a three-time winning race-horse.

There was no possible way it could be anyone on the team. While the reporters had been pretty correct in everyone going off grid, you had done more than that. You had wiped your name off the map.

So much had happened after the rescue anyways -- Natalie and Shauna had never really had the chance to regain control over their hold once going home and struggling to go back to normal had become all of your shared fight.

You hoped it was just some kids playing a prank on random phone numbers that they entered into their phones.

But even the likelihood of that was lower than your belief that your past was not going to come back to haunt you quicker than you'd left it behind.

The next day you kept busy with mundane tasks that ensured your thoughts were distracted. You went out somewhat early to grocery shop -- when you opened your refrigerator you had winced at the lack of food. It was time to brave that task again.

You armed Nibbles with some treats and the television to make sure he had company and went on your way, list made.

As the day dragged forth you could not help but feel a pit start to grow in your stomach. It was a feeling you had known well but had not felt to this degree for a very long time.

You tried to ignore it as best you could, but it did not seem to go away the closer to home you got.

You stood dead in front of your door, unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The bags you had gathered together in hand were slipping from how clammy your hands grew under the stress of the feeling.

Quietly you set your goods down and fished for your keys. Entered them into the lock . . .

. . . only to find that the door was not locked in the first place.

You took a step back bile beginning to claw its' way up from your stomach and into your mouth, threatening to spew all over the ground. You have never felt like an animal walking into a trap to this degree; not since the Wilderness.

You had to leave, you needed to get out of here, get somewhere where other people were and wait it out. Call the police --

The door opened.

And Shauna Fucking Shipman stood in your doorway like she lived there, your little dog pleased and panting happily in her arms.

"Hello, sweetheart," she chirped, lips curling upward into that trademark smirk that read trouble and danger in your eyes. "Didn't you get our texts?"

Our?

"W-What?" San Diego could get warm sometimes -- but the hallway was boiling lava to your skin right now. Revets of sweat trickled down your forehead and you stood stark still in front of her. "Shauna?"

"Hi, Landry," she purred, reaching out one of her arms and gesturing for you to come into your own apartment. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

You went to move forward past her and give her the widest of berths you could afford. She did not follow you closely but went to grab the bags that you had, in your shock, left in the hallway before following you.

You saw a figure on your sofa sprawled out like a cat that had claimed the nicest piece of furniture in the house. High-ankle combat boots, tight fitting black jeans, messy bleach blonde hair and an angular sleek face.

"Natalie," you blurt. She turns her head to you. She looked just like she did ten years ago in the Wilderness, but the bags under her eyes from the stress of trying to keep a bunch of people alive . . . that was gone. There was fresh life there.

Her eyes softened around the edges and she turned her body so she could face you. She had a gold band around her ring finger -- the only thing that truly stood out as very un-Nat like to you.

You tried not to stare at the band too long before moving your gaze back to her face. Her red lips were smiling, so unlike the sharp sneers Shauna doned and always so warm.

"Hey, baby," she husked. "You cut your hair."

You had few options now that they were somehow in your home; your safe space now made a den of danger.

So you offered to make them dinner with the haul you retrieved from the store. You did not know Shauna and Natalie as they were back when you were college students, and you wanted to never be the girl who had to do what she did to stay alive.

A dinner may keep you in a safe zone and give you time to think. They accepted -- but Shauna wanted to help. She plopped your traitorous dog onto Nat's lap and followed you into your small, open kitchen to unpack your groceries.

She had not changed much, either. She was still incredibly fit as though she never left the soccer life. Her hair was in wavy rings held back by a ponytail and some of her distinct freckles had faded into a softer dusting, but the predatory glitter was still very Shauna.

She also had a band around her ring finger; gold with a glittery diamond showing off.

"Pretty," you commented casually, nodding to the ring as you pulled out your cutting board and lay aside some lettuce, cucumber, onion, and tomatoes for a salad.

Shauna had a chicken breast that you had planned on saving for girl's night with Clary in her hands. She glanced at the ring, and she seemed to soften with fondness briefly. "Thank you. Nat chose well, don't you think?"

"Nat?" you could not hide your surprise if you tried, eyebrows disappearing into your hairline as you rolled the tomato between your hand and the cutting board, almost squeezing it flat. "Wow -- shit. Unexpected, but -- uhh -- congratulations." Shauna's nose wrinkled in a show of amusement. "Thank you. We married a couple of years after . . ." she trailed off, but her tone did not sound as though she hated discussing the past in the way you did.

"Oh." You chewed your lip. "Well, good for you guys."

Silence overtook the both of you as you started your respective roles in creating dinner. You couldn't help but be compared to those lions that take on gazelle and simply co-exist with them for days at a time before eating them or letting them go, in rarer cases.

You thumbed the hilt of the knife comfortingly and glanced slowly at Shauna. "How did you find me?"

Shauna was applying some sort of homemade rub that had a strong smell of spice onto the chicken. She let you sit in anticipation while she did this and while she washed her hands.

Finally, "Misty."

Fucking Misty Quigley. If you ever got your hands on her, you'll make her into a human experiment the likes which even the most cruel of humanity would gawk at.

"I was sure I made it clear I did not want to be found," you said flatly.

Shauna pressed some buttons on your oven. "We gave you long enough," she said like that answered every single question ever.

"This is why I burned bridges," you snapped, slicing the tomato thinner than intended, unlike the previous slices. "I created a life for myself here, Shauna. That girl from before the rescue died in the Wilderness."

Shauna was quiet as she waited for the oven to heat up; it was the type of quiet that was tense and displeased with a buildup that had no release system.

"I want," you continued when she said nothing else, "a quiet life. No Wilderness, no reminders of the crash, no existing parts of who I had to become in order to still know I was alive. I hated that girl so I created a woman I could stand being."

A hand brushed the back of your neck before grasping it. It was a natural reflex -- ten years old and still you melted into it like nothing had changed. The dull edges of her ring pressed into your skin like a hot brand.

"Natalie and I picked up our entire lives and moved down here," she confesses, ice coating the words she spoke, "after we gave you your fucking space and let you do whatever you needed to do. Did you really think you were truly ever out of our sights? That we let you go?"

Pinpricks of heat prodded at your eyes as she locked you in place, a hazy assault of unwelcome memories starting to rip apart scars that you had spent years treating and disguising.

"Why?"

Shauna pressed a lingering kiss behind your ear. "Because you have always been ours. Do you want to keep your career -- make sure the hard work put into this life-saving job of yours doesn't go away?"

You swallowed under her fingers. She felt it and laughed breathily. "I bet so. Be good for us. Your career isn't in our sights -- we just want the rest of you."

She released you just like that, backing away as the oven screamed out to alert it was heated up.

"Finish the salad and set the table," Shauna orders like she did not just blackmail you, "Then go sit with Nat."

Nat did not make you talk much until you were both called to the table to eat. Three portions of the meal were set out and as clanking of silverware dominated the silence next to the heavy panting of Nibbles begging at your feet, you could feel Nat and Shauna watching your movements.

"We've read some of your research," Nat commented as she drank from the glass of wine. The bottle Shauna had found was half opened in your fridge, cheap but she poured three glasses anyway. "You have a lot of passion for pediatrics."

You picked at your chicken. It was extremely tender and images of Shauna swinging the butcher's knife and delivering the fate through your meals every day for a year came back like a slap to the face.

Shauna was staring, fork struck into her slice of chicken as she waited for a response from you. "Yeah," you murmured. "Working with the kids is why I stayed in pediatrics. But that's why a lot of people in that branch stay."

"Isn't it sad?" Shauna asked, surprising you, "For the ones that don't make it?"

"Absolutely," you affirm. "But it is the ones that we lose that make me want to make sure that we save the ones we can while working endlessly to search for ways to try prevent losses like those."

Something ruminating crossed over the brunette's features and Nat nudged your foot with her own under the table. "That's great, sweetheart. You're doing so much good."

You hoped so, but you did not express it out loud. You did not want to give into them like this -- stalking you, barging into your home, sitting at the fucking table to share a meal with you like you were just old friends.

"So you moved to San Diego?" you asked awkwardly, avoiding wording that indicates you would encourage any actions they took being for you.

"A month ago," Nat confirmed. "We got a house in La Jolla that's about a fifteen minute walk to the beach. I think you'd love it."

"Mm, well good for you guys." You lifted your wine glass awkwardly and then took a sip.

Dinner was continued with conversation mostly brought up by Nat and Shauna -- both of them knowing full well you were likely receding in on yourself like you used to.

"Well," you started when the kitchen was cleaned and wine was finished, "it was nice catching up . . . but . . ."

Shauna smiled a little in such an unsettling way that you had to resist the urge to take a step back. She had her fingers lazily hooked into the pockets of her pants, regarding you like a fine piece of artwork.

"Nat."

Hands slithered under your shirt from behind, long fingers tapping along your stomach while Shauna circled the both of you with little hurry.

“Stop,” you instantly said as your hands flew up to snatch her hands away from your skin. You’ve had a compromised enjoyment of touch after the crash — this was no exception. This was the reason for it.

“No,” Shauna said simply in a drawl, familiarity coating it like a thick and angry thing.

You kept a tight, iron grip on Nat’s smooth, but calloused hands until Shauna stalked toward and lashed out.

It was so quick and the sting on your skin was there before your brain caught up to what had just occurred. Shauna had hit you, open-palmed, across the cheek with a force that promised worse.

She wasn’t done. She snatched your throat in cold fingers, pressing down just so on the points of pressure that would cut off your air way as she forces your face to lean up to gaze at her, smiling at whatever she found on your face.

“Be a good slut,” she started, nails digging grooves into your skin as she applied more pressure, “and do as we say. Nod if you understand, you fucking useless whore.”

You broke into tears but the nod followed behind quickly, your neck hardly moving under her piercing hold. She kept you there for a bit longer anyways, seeming to enjoy the way she made you cry.

“Shauna,” Nat cooed behind you as she managed to untangle her hands from yours, having noted the weakened grip. Her palms returned to rubbing up and down your chest and stomach almost soothingly. “Couldn’t you be nicer? It’s been a while.”

“Exactly,” Shauna said coldly, even as her fingers released some of the tension. A throbbing began to flow underneath the heat of her fingers where she had made her claim.

She had ensured you would feel her fingers even when she released your neck, later.

“Remember your place, baby,” Shauna told you, jaw clenching. “You’re extremely smart so you and I both know it’s not been lost on you.”

Nat’s teeth began scraping softly down the backside of your collarbone, creating a shiver through your spine as her hands worked under your bra. “She can be so mean, can’t she?” Nat whispered conspiratorially, nipping at the edge of the bone before moving along your shoulder.

Shauna wasn’t looking at you now, but just a little to the side. Where Nat’s head rested as she sucked bruises into your skin. The sight of them like this — the disgusting, reviving part of you — jolted at it.

Your thighs twitched in effort to conceal your need to cross them. You were so fucking wet.

Shauna notices the movement despite looking zeroed in on her wife’s devoted attentions, her gaze flickering to how your legs trembled with effort. You were only being held up by Nat’s hold and Shauna’s barely-there position on your throat.

“You act as though you built a fortress around this . . .” She rolled her eyes, “new personified version of yourself. But I can see the weaknesses in the walls, baby. You’re still the same beast under the new name and new life. Just like us.”

It was a truth that you had denied so long — and Shauna speaking it aloud had you ripping your body away with such brute force that even Nat couldn’t stop it in time. You stumbled clumsily backward toward your bedroom, air conditioning hitting your raw cheeks and drying the tears.

“Get out,” you demand, voice shaking and near begging. “Please leave me alone. It’s too much.”

But they didn’t leave — they followed you deeper into your space, cornering you into the bedroom as Shauna bundled her fist into the front of your shirt and roughly pushed you toward the bed under the back of your knees gave way.

She climbed on top of you as Nat padded around, looking through your items and opening drawers. So many violations overwhelming you in one instance. You shoved at Shauna’s arms but her face twisted and she grasped them, pinning them above you as she used her knees to pry open your thighs as wide as your body would allow.

You cried out. “Stop! Stop it!”

“Shut up.” She spat, purposefully watching as droplets of saliva spread across your face. Her eyes glinted ferally, like this was some form of marking that seeped into your skin and your blood.

“Nat what the fuck are you looking for? Get the fuck over here,” Shauna snapped, frustrated at her wife’s shifting around through your belongings.

Natalie did not answer at first — which you thought was extremely bold of her when Shauna was in a mood like this — but then she popped out of your closet with your six inch dildo.

Your eyes widened and so did Shauna’s. Her grip then became shackles to your wrists. “Oh, my little slut,” she murmured, eyes drifting back to you as Nat came over.

The blonde looked too proud of herself for your liking. “Is it a strapless?” Shauna demanded, but not to you. You weren’t a who to them right now.

“Looks to be,” Nat said, inspecting it closely. She smiled sweetly at you. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure she’s gentle.”

Shauna scoffed as Nat went to work undressing her wife so that you would have no chance of escaping. If Shauna had to lift a limb from you, Nat somehow found a way to use one of hers to keep you in place. It was a slow process and you were crawling out of your skin. No amount of effort worked in your favor.

“Your turn, precious,” Nat murmured as she watched from above your head as Shauna inserts one of the ends of the dildo into her self. Your mind blanks out as you beg for them to let you go.

Somehow you’re naked. How did you get naked?

Your clothes were ripped away, it seemed.

Natalie ran fingers through your hair, talking to you in what she hoped to have been a soothing tone. It grated against your ear drums as Shauna’s hands ran along your body as she lifted herself over you. Her eyes darkened, locked with yours.

Then she thrusted hard into you — she did not go gently, nor did she check how wet you were. Thankfully your body had betrayed you as it always had with them — and though you were unprepared for the size of the dildo [ it had been a gift from Clary as a gag, unused and collecting dust ], it slid in.

It was painful and you sobbed out as Shauna’s shackled embrace loosened enough for your hands to fly up and dig into her bare back. She did not allow adjustment — this was not going to be a sweet fucking.

“You’re a fucking slut, you know?” the brunette whispered, her voice shakier than you’ve ever heard her. She was starting at a punishing pace — and you feared what that meant for when she was close to her orgasm. “You claim to not want us, you fucking hate us, but here you are wet as can be and taking me like a goddamn whore.”

You choked on words that never came to fruition, sobs replacing them instead as pain and something close to pleasure intertwined as she fucked you, hips angling in a way that told you she was seeking both her pleasure and something else in the process.

Nat was watching, but her clothes stayed on as she did. “You’re doing so well, baby,” she told you gently, keeping your head in her lap as you took what Shauna gave, “You’re so pretty like this. Oh, your eyes. They’re turning fuzzy.”

“That’s what happens,” Shauna breathed out, a hand spearing out to press flat into the mattress next to your head. She paused her brutality, deep inside you, and adjusted.

Her chest was heaving and she looked nothing short of animalistic as she looked you in the eye. You tried to focus on her face, but so many sensations were overworking you. She was taking you apart piece by piece and throwing your crafted shield away.

“I’m going to wreck you,” she promised, and followed it up with a brutal thrust that landed perfectly into your g-spot as though —

She did remember your body. Too well. You sobbed as your nails ran deeply down her skin. Her other hand freed you, feeling confident that you no longer had the power to make an attempt to escape.

She lifted her body enough, body to reveal the space between your stomachs. With the diamond glinting along her hand, she twisted the ring further up her finger.

“Shauna,” Nat warned, tinged with concern. Your eyes lazily drifted to her face, and you saw her shaking her head.

Shauna ignored her wife and pressed the sharp edges of the diamond into your skin and began to cut. It wasn’t a slow process and you yelled out, now trying to escape her hold.

“H-hurts,” you sobbed as the dildo pressed deeper into you and had you seeing stars. Her thrusting was in tune with the way she cut deep marks into your skin, creating some design.

Warm blood trickled down your stomach as she pulled the reddened ring away. It was a a beautiful diamond — even soaked in your blood and she lifted her finger to her mouth to clean it as she used her other hand to reach down to your clit.

Holding herself up by the cock inside of you and the rolling of your hips, she pressed so deep and hard on your clit that your body didn’t have a chance to process before locking up.

Nat held you through the most intense orgasm of your life, and her hand came down to gently rest across your mouth and muffle the throat tearing screams that it encouraged.

Shauna’s orgasm was not far behind, her chest falling on top of you and her thrusts increasing tenfold. She did not allow you to recover for a second — and before she managed to reach her own peak, she sent you hurtling into three more.

Your brain emptied as your body tried to accept the mirrored pain and pleasure that became your life. Nothing else made sense in your world at the moment, but Nat was pressing soft kisses against wet skin, Shauna was gasping and running her cheek across yours as she shook through waves of her own high, and your entire being was becoming reborn.

The three of you remained like this for a while, aftershocks waving through you as your walls clenched the dildo in deeper. Shauna forced out a breath each time it happened, but otherwise made no comment.

You felt disgusting in the aftermath. Emotions that you never really faced were beginning to surface in Shauna and Natalie’s ultimate destruction of your coverup, and you had no way to defend yourself from them.

“It’s okay,” Nat whispered for the nth time that night, trying to encourage a belief in the statement. She had shifted her position so she was lying on her side behind your head. You could hear her heartbeat — calm and rhythmic.

It was a strange comfort in the upheaval of your carefully planted existence.

Shauna lifted her chin from your shoulder and moved her hand. She didn’t pause, even when you flinched at her movement, but she was surprisingly very gentle as her fingers wiped at the fresh tears.

“You did so well,” her low voice rasped, and she sounded honest. Pleased. Proud. “You took it all so beautifully.”

You didn’t know what to say. She didn’t seem to mind. She moved her body down, shifting the dildo inside of you and sending a shiver through your body.

“Hurts,” you whispered when she sent you a questioning brow raise.

Shauna nodded, “Okay, sweetheart. Let me pull out and check the cut. Can you do that for me, pretty girl? Be a little brave?”

Did you have any other option?

Natalie ran her fingers across your sweat soaked arms. “I’ve got you,” she promises, “We both do.”

Taking that as your consent where it wasn’t, Shauna slowly began pulling out. You instinctively locked up, your knees curling in, but Shauna stopped them and kept slowly moving until it was completely out. It was soaked heavily with your juices.

She pulled the other end out of herself and tossed it to the floor.

“Nibbles will get it,” you whispered disapprovingly. “Not on the floor.”

Shauna rolled her eyes, hard, but detangled herself from your body and grabbed the dildo and took it off into the bathroom — where she stayed for a longer time than expected.

When she returned she had a damp, warm rag in hand and her hair was in a messy bun, flannel the only thing she wore. She kneeled down over you again and slowly began wiping you down, working her way up. She got to the cut in your skin and was slow in her care of it.

“Do you have any thing we can put on this?” she murmured to you.

“Cabinet,” you whispered.

As Shauna once more left to go in search for the cream, you lifted your head to peer down at the engraving she had carved into your skin with her ring:

S.S.+N.S.

[lostintransist]

The Boys' Home | Part 6

*If you asked to be on a tag list and you haven't been, please ask again. Somtimes I think Tumblr eats my comments.

Part 1 | AO3

You loved them. Swear to any God you love your boys but FUCK! Sometimes the urging from childhood, the lizard brain screaming for peace, made it really hard to not lose your mind at them. All four of your boys were whining, fighting, and being a general nuance to each other and you. The grocery store would never be the place for them to fight like this.

Once a week during the summer you had to make a grocery run. Four growing boys at home every day meant they roved through any accessible food like locusts. If your local store offered pickup you would pay a decent amount to use it. It would save you from days like this.

Seth, at eleven, should have known better than to let Darren, at six, cause him so much distress. But being a preteen is a bit like being in hell so who knew how much he could hold back the yelling? Darren also fought with Sam, also six, and Reggie, ten.

Frankly, they all needed a nap and would argue they didn’t. The full moon incoming tonight helped only to fuel the chaos in their small bodies.

They had argued over who got to sit where and then during the drive over Reggie looked too long at Darren who screamed about the offense. Sam had started screaming that Darren was being too loud and then Seth tried to make them stop, by yelling. The nitpicking and annoyance at the others existing continued into the store. Halfway down the freezer aisle and that much closer to freedom. Glancing down at your list you curse in your head— you forgot about the milk and butter you needed. Of course, those marketing masochists had to put them in the back corner of the building.

As always you made note of where your boys were in relation to each other, the cart, and any other customers. Not many people in the freezer section today; a teenager who slowly read labels through the glass, two old men, shock white hair figuring them to be grandfather age, and the one man in a hat who ran numbers on the calculator on his phone.

Pushing the cart, and all four boys who have lost the privileges of walking without holding on, just beyond the freezer you needed you turned your focus away for two hells-damned seconds. No sooner than the blast of chilled air cooled against your skin than the yelling started.

The crinkle of the vegetable bag below your fingers did not drown out the sound of a different plastic screaming and small, roundish objects hitting the ground. Side-stepping and slamming the door shut you held back the yell by the thinnest of margins.

“Boys!” The mom voice came out in full force. “Enough! Clean up every grape you spilled.”

Four panicked faces stared up at you.

“Now!”

They scrambled to pick up each of what now appeared to be one hundred-plus tiny fruits rolling away in every direction. Movement had you looking up from the offending mess you see every man but one disappearing around the corner. You would call them cowards but you were interrupted.

“Powerful mum voice you have there,” John remarked as he watched your boys pick up every grape flung wide in their tomfoolery.

Glancing at your new neighbor you gauge the sarcasm as low. The tilt of his brows reads more as impressed and slightly annoyed than anything else.

“It’s a talent. My mom voice is stronger than my teacher voice.”

When Sam lifted a handful of grapes, bad intentions in his eyes, you let out two quick hisses of air. All the boys paused and glanced at you. Everyone but Sam turned back to their task as they realized they were not the child in trouble. Eye contact with your boy and a quick head shake were enough of a redirect to avoid further problems.

“Never could quite figure out how my mum could call us all to order so easily. Watching you do it makes me wonder which is stronger, my captain voice or your mom voice.” John has now joined you as the boys scoop and deliver their mistreated goods back into the bag.

A light smile drifts over your lips, even as your chest remains tight.

“I bet the mom voice would work well on your Johnny, and probably Kyle. Jury’s out on Simon,” you wink when John catches your eye. “Bet if I caught you with it I would get a reaction though.”

John let out a belly laugh, big enough to drift. An older woman toddled past the other end of the aisle. Well guess the conversation would be town-wide by desert.

“You know what? I’ll take your bet. What are you offering?”

The boys were nearly done. Thinking fast you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“If I win you agree to man the grill for the neighborhood meetup you can make it to. Next one is in two weeks.”

They were always hosted at your house, which is fine but that meant you were in charge of the grill. Mostly you were in charge of the grill because the last time any of the men had touched it they left it so gross you banned them from touching it again. You hated cooking meat. It freaked you out that everything might not be fully cooked.

Folding his arms John nodded slowly, as if thinking it over.

“Seems like a good offer. If I win I ask for deserts for our next poker night.”

A fair offer. Equal in labor, skill, and expectation as to what you would demand as your winnings.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” offering John your hand, you shake on it.

“Got a good grip there teach,” he patted you on the shoulder.

Something about that interaction tickled your brain. But as the boys were finally finished cleaning up the mess they had made you needed to leave it.

“Good. Hands on the cart,” you fired off the command.

“But mom!” Seth cried, affronted in only a way an eleven-year-old can be.

“But Seth!” You whined back before dropping into a deadpan expression. “Kid we have two things left to grab. You can grab the cart or I can ask John here to take you home.”

Neither looked terribly impressed with the option. They made eye contact before Seth grabbed the wire of the cart with a sigh.

John lifts a brow at you.

“Welcome to small towns John. You can and will be used as punishment by other people’s parenting,” you reply with a shrug and a grin. “Alright boys, let’s go.”

He chuckles behind you as you push your full cart and the four dour-faced children who want nothing to do with the buzzing lights of the store. Once the milk and butter were secured the boys convinced you to buy some popcorn. Shareable snack acquired you were able to direct the chaos toward check out.

This step moved fast. Seth and Reggie both scampered to the end of the second conveyor belt and bagged all the groceries the cashier sent their way. Darren and Sam touch every fucking thing within their limited reach until you threaten them with getting put in the cart.

Mary Ann is your cashier today. She had been one of your students two years ago, passing math and even taking online math courses through the community college two towns over. Her dad, Richard, talked about her going off to a fancy college once her associates were done. You had offered to write her a letter of recommendation if ever she needed or wanted it. Mary Ann was a good kid. She might now be twenty but until you were dead, she would be one of your kids.

“Heard you snapping at the boys in the freezer aisle. Everything going okay?” Her hands don’t stop moving even as Mary Ann asks the question.

The eye roll is unstoppable.

“The hooligans need a nap,” Darren and Sam start to protest but you ignore them and finish your sentence. “There was an incident with the grapes. We got it all cleaned up though.”

“Oh good,” Mary Ann scanned the last item and tapped a few buttons on her side. “Your total is—”

She got cut off by Reggie wailing like a hot brand had been taken to his ass.

Slamming your card against the reader you cursed the heartbeats until it beeped. Reggie was now screaming for you and Seth was yelling. Once the awful beep that always made you think your card declined sounded you were snatching Sam and Darren by the hands and snapping at Seth and Reggie to ‘push the fucking cart and if you don’t quit screaming in here.’

The violence of their voices continues. Reaching the van you turn it on, plug in your phone, turn on the most bass-heavy song you can find in a short glance, and up the volume. Seth and Reggie climb in first, to the way back followed by Sam and Darren who click themselves into their booster seats. They all know that if you are turning on the bass it is to drown them all out and screaming will do nothing but cause you to roll the windows down and turn the volume up even higher.

Was it good parenting? No. But it kept you from wrecking the fucking van so it wasn’t the worst choice you could make. Loading the groceries in the back you give in to your anger a tiny bit and slam the door closed. Angrily stalking the cart back to the corral and sending it careening in also helps a bit.

Parenting is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, and most of that comes from confronting your own damn issues. Sometimes though? It is hard because it’s hard to be near a person learning to be a person.

Each child is given a bag or two to take inside and deposit on the counter before they are free to disappear into the woods or up to their rooms. The absence of them in your space and face lets you take the deepest breath and scream into your hands. The small bones shake from the force of your yelling.

“Okay. You can do this. Fuck, the full moon is tonight and then you should get your children who don’t hate that someone breathed near them back.” Taking another deep breath you start putting everything away, still talking to yourself. “We can have chicken nuggets, mac’n’cheese, and salad. Popcorn and a movie before bed and then a large glass of something for me.”

Face in the freezer as you rearranged everything to fit as Simon’s voice from outside scared you into a shriek.

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

Boys Masterlist | Masterlist

@leahnicole1219 @harperstyles @sigynxlokiwifelover @fluffysmiko @lily-bug3 @demothers-empty-blog @literallegendicon

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 17)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death,

Word Count: 3058

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16)

Notes: heyyyy what do you know, i found it in me to get this part out. im proud.

_________________________________________

Day 195 Part 3

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You never been one to throw caution to the wind, but with what sits before you, the urge is strong.

Animals were one of the first things to go when disease swept across the world, which is why it’s so difficult not to pick up the juicy chicken breast that’s steaming on the plate in front of you, and completely ravage it.

Your mouth waters at the sight. There are greens, too. A blend of spinach and vegetables cooked to perfection in animal fat. It’s the first real meal you’ve seen in…fuck you don’t even know how long it’s been since you’ve seen real meat like this, nor food that wasn’t expired and from a can.

The only thing keeping your restraint in place is your companions' determination. The sprinkle of common sense that hasn’t fizzled into a ravenous beast at the scent of your meal is easy to overlook, but Azriel’s menacing presence beside you isn’t. His back is ramrod straight in his own seat, and the food doesn’t seem to be affecting him in the slightest. He’s undeterred by their taunts. Instead, his woody eyes drink in your surroundings for the umpteenth time, as if there might be a hint as to what’s really going on here. 

On your other side, you’re flanked by Cassian, who does look like he’s struggling to keep himself from sinking his teeth into the juicy thigh on his plate, however little it might be. It’s more than he’s had to eat in days, months, and he wants it so fucking badly.

In fact, no one’s touching their food, which is a red flag of itself, but your head is swimming at the smells, your stomach a mess of knots that loosen at the idea of food, and tighten at the thought of where your best friend could be.

You’re also a little afraid, if you’re being honest, of getting sick should you eat something this…real after having gone so long without.

Nesta watches you from across the table with a piercing stare. There’s a malice you’ve become accustomed to being fed in the little time you’ve known her. You understand that she’s worried for her sister, out there with little protection, but you’re worried too. You feel as if Feyre is your sister as well. You’ve been winning your own little war against the undead for too long to remember.

At her side is who you can only decern to be her lover, Eris. You ponder their relationship, what you saw in the woods. Perhaps they’re nothing more than companions, but with the way the auburn-haired man keeps stealing glances at her, worry etched in his brow, you know there must be more.

The chair beside Eris is filled with a near clone of him. They have twin eyes and looks of caution on their fox-shaped faces. The unnamed man wears his hair long down his back, a single braid hangs down the side of his face. It’s not a nice one, practiced, but messy, like whoever put it there was distracted more often than not during styling. The only differentiator is the color of their skin, because even the shape of their eyes and their stature is eerily similar. It’s clear that they are nothing like their scumbag of a father, and the thought of Beron alone makes you shiver in your seat.

There’s an empty seat beside him, and you can’t help the stab of guilt you feel at the sight of it. You don’t know if they’ve lost someone important to their little unit they have going on here, or if there’s a reason for the unoccupied seat.

Cassian’s stomach growls loudly, breaking the terse silence. 

“Everything is safe to eat, I can assure you,” Eris mentions after clearing his throat. Nesta shoots him a look that could make even a zombie cower, but he must be used to it because he takes the betraying look with grace, gently settling a palm onto her lap.

Nesta doesn’t shove it away like you expect her to. Instead, her lips go razor thin. The pair stare at each other so intensely that you feel like you’re intruding on something monumental.

Eventually, Nesta breaks. With a sharp inhalation, she turns her gaze to you. She doesn’t look happy, but at least she doesn’t look like she wants to reach across the table and maul you for losing her sister.

“Eat,” she all but demands. She cringes, grits her teeth, and adds like the words are truly poison in her mouth, “Please.”

“You’ll excuse us if we don’t trust you,” Azriel replies curtly. Your eyes soften as they land on him, even if his gaze is trained on your hosts. Weeks ago, he’d been wary of you, and now he’s here protecting you from the outsiders that are holding you captive.

You’ve never been so thankful for him, and you remind yourself to thank him for it later.

“Don’t eat, then.” Nesta shrugs as if his words don’t bother her in the slightest. Your whereabouts of Feyre seem to have caught her off guard because right now she is the perfect poise of excellence. Her nature could give any queen a run for their crown.

She’s the first one to dig into her meal. She uses the cutlery as if they’re weapons, tearing into the meat with a force that has you praying to any higher being that Feyre and Rhys are on their way to you, because you do not want to be on the other end of Nesta’s knife.

Your eyes flicker back down to your plate, to the shiny silverware placed on either side of your plate. Hell, you’re not even sure you remember how to use them anymore, with how long you’ve had to make do on the road.

“Please, eat,” Eris counters with a stern look that doesn’t affect Nesta in the slightest. Eris motions to his brother and they both pick up their forks, as if trying to show you everything is okay.

“I don’t trust the animals, either,” Azriel responds.

“How about the vegetables, then?” Eris offers, and you think you catch a glint of pleading in his amber eyes. You think he’s trying to keep things civil and calm for Nesta’s sake. You’re sure she’s worried to pieces about her littlest sister out there when the sun is so close to hiding away for another night of hell. “The animals are perfectly healthy, though I assure you the food will not go to waste if you don’t eat it.”

“How are they safe?” Cassian questions, grimacing down at the meat. You know that he out of everyone in your little group needs it the most. You’ve seen his protruding ribs only yesterday, and with him being the biggest in your group, he needs the nutrients more than anyone.

A sudden urge of protectiveness washes over you. You want him safe and healthy, want both him and Azriel safe and happy, and you wish more than anything that you could give it to them.

Only time will tell.

Eris gives a very diplomatic response. “My family has owned this land for generations,” he starts, and you don’t like to think of how he is Beron’s son. It makes all of the desperation to eat, subside. “We have been raising and breeding our own meat and dairy for just as long. They have never showed signs of disease, but perhaps it’s because they live a life unknowing of what goes on in this world.” You’re not following, but Eris continues before your confusion causes you to blurt out questions.

“My brother—Lucien,” he nods toward his brother beside him. “Takes care of them. When our father first heard the mumblings of a pandemic so devastating, the world as we knew it would never be the same, he built a bunker of sorts, where we continue to monitor and raise our animals to this day.”

“That was about the only smart thing he ever did,” Lucien mumbles, looking green at the mention of his father.

You get the feeling.

Azriel says, “Yeah, we’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting the bastard.”

Lucien’s utensils fall to the table with a clang that startles you in your seat. He looks sick to his stomach, his ying-yang eyes drawn down to his plate in shame. His shoulders are stiff and he’s gone so still you think he might be comatose, turning into a zombie right in front of your very eyes.

“You’ve met him?” Lucien asks, and he sounds like a little boy, reliving a trauma so ghastly that it’s altered his brain chemistry.

“Met him, killed him,” Azriel shrugs as if it was no big feat. Your stomach roils at the memory and you must look paler than normal because Cassian’s placing a. warm hand over yours in comfort. Azriel’s brashness isn’t new to you, but the reminder is too fresh. You try to focus on your hand in Cassian’s, offering him a weak smile.

The tension in the air seems to disperse with Azriel’s words. You’re pretty sure you see Lucien’s shoulders physically drop in relief, like he feels the same way you do about his father. Eris sits in his seat, stunned, but he doesn’t look upset about the news, he looks more disappointed, like he missed out on being the one to kill the crazy cannibal.

“Well, I think this calls for the good wine,” Nesta says, and you swear you see the corners of her mouth threaten to tug into a satisfied smirk.

She glances at you from across the table, and you pick up your fork.

You hope that this is the first of many things that you will agree with her on.

There is little conversation while you eat. Azriel’s brows are drawn in tight, and his mouth is set in a hard line. He keeps glancing over at you with a scolding heat in his eyes, but there’s a sliver of worry that makes you ache, like he thinks you might keel over from the chicken.

If you do, you’re not even sure you’ll be mad. It’s good fucking chicken.

You try to savor it, to eat slowly so that your body doesn’t reject the first real meal you’ve had in forever, but you can hardly control yourself. You feel like a rabid animal, hungry enough to gnaw your own arm off. You wonder if this is what the zombies outside feel like, an insatiable hunger, or if they’re so mindless they don’t feel anything at all.

You reckon you have only minutes before the food makes its reappearance, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you slide your silverware onto your empty plate, trying to deter yourself from leaning forward and licking it clean.

Cassian has no such reservations.

“How long has it been since you’ve tried to contact my sister?” Nesta asks when the three of you have finished. Even Azriel couldn’t help but clear his plate, though he did take the longest of the three of you, more than mindful of your captors.

It makes your heart swell that he has kept an eye out for you and Cassian.

Azriel and Cassian share a look over your head, debating how much to indulge. But this is Feyre’s sister, and they want to find her and Rhys just as much, so they relent.

“We tried getting through to them this afternoon, before we ran into you,” Cassian explains. “They were too far out of range.”

“Call them again,” she demands, and Eris opens his mouth to protest but Nesta is clearly done with niceties. “No,” she snaps at the man beside her. “We have given them a place to stay and a warm meal. It’s time for them to do something in return.”

You don’t mention how you didn’t have a choice but to be here, and that they wouldn’t have had to give up their food if you were still wandering out in the woods, but your stomach is too full to argue that point.

Cassian tugs the walkie-talkie from his pocket and switches it on. The static is loud, and you all wait in anticipation until the signal calms a bit before he clicks the button on the side and makes the call. “Rhys? Feyre? Are you out there?”

It’s like waiting for a cure as the six of you listen to the channel. Nothing comes through, and Cassian calls again, to no avail.

“We’ll keep trying,” he says, a determined look in his eye. You’re pretty sure that’s the only thing keeping Nesta in her seat, because she looks like she will reach across the table and stab you with her knife.

Movement in the corner of your eye makes you flinch. Cassian’s arm reaches out to block you and Azriel’s already halfway out of his seat, ready to tear you away from the threat that stumbles into the doorway.

The threat comes in the form of what must be Feyre’s other sister, Elain. She looks ghastly, skin as white as sheet, and as well-fed as Eris’ claims them to be, she’s all skin and bones. Her brown eyes are dull and sunken, purple-rimmed as if she hasn’t had a peaceful night of sleep in years. Her blonde-brown hair sits limp on her head, knotted at the back, as if she’s been drained of all of the health in her life.

She looks like a zombie.

Nesta jumps from her chair at the same time Lucien does, the both of them rushing for Elain. Lucien gets to her first, catching her just as her knees give out and scooping her into his arms. Her head lolls against his chest as if the effort to keep it upright is a burden too much, but her dazed gaze sharpens when it lands on you.

You’re frozen in your seat. You have no words for what you’re seeing, the sickly girl who looks closer to death than a zombie. Your heart pounds a thousand miles a minute in your chest, and your fingers are white-knuckled with confusion and fear where they’re wrapped around Cassian’s forearm.

Elain’s brown eyes widen in a way that looks unnatural for her once beautiful face. Her cracked lips form husky words that are so ominous it has the hair on your body standing on end.

“Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black. One has an injured wing.”

Lucien hushes her softly, murmuring to her as he removes her from the room. “Shh, Elain. Let’s get you back to bed, petal. You shouldn’t be expending so much energy until you’re feeling better.”

Guilt stabs you a thousand times over as he takes her away. It doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots with what you’ve seen. How sickly she looks, the faraway look and ramblings that don’t make sense.

“When did it happen?” You blurt, eyes darting from a stoney-faced Nesta to a grimacing Eris to the door Lucien and Elain disappeared through. You don’t like the feeling that overcomes you, the one that wants you to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.

Something isn’t right here.

“It’s late,” Nesta states, looking between the three of you like she’s deciding how she’s going to kill each of you. You suppose she might, if she feels any sort of threat to her sister. For now, she needs you alive, if only to help find her other sister. She won’t dump any of you out yet, unless you can’t prove your worth.

Not unless Feyre is dead.

Azriel tucks you carefully behind him, more than aware of the threat before you. You can tell that he’s just as confused as you are. There’s a tightness to his shoulders that you don’t like, an edge to the strain of his body that screams danger.

His mouth opens to speak, but he’s cut off by the sudden voice that comes over the walkie-talkie.

“Cassian? Azriel? Do you copy?” Rhys’ panicked voice sounds through the machine. More than one emotion threatens to consume you, relief and worry. The full meal in your belly swarms like crashing waves, and you might just throw up after all.

Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta all lunge for the radio. Eris gets his hand around Nesta’s bicep and pulls her away, much to her reluctance. She claws against him but he’s only keeping her away from the three of you, still very much a threat.

Not that you’d be of any assistance should either party try to attack. You’ve collapsed in the closest chair.

“Rhys?” Cassian calls back, just as frantic. His terrified hazel eyes are locked with Azriel’s, and it’s all the black-haired boy can do to console Cassian with a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Can you hear me? Where the fuck are you?”

It wouldn’t mean much to Nesta, who’s given up her struggling to listen into what’s happening, but to Cassian, you know the touch means everything.

Anticipation skyrockets throughout the room, bringing the temperature up to boiling as you await his response. Each second feels like an eternity, and you’re sure the vein throbbing on Nesta’s forehead is about to explode when Rhysand finally responds.

It sounds like he’s running. You pray that’s not a groan of the undead you hear in the background. “Fuck,” he curses in such a hopeless way that makes your heart drop to the floor. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s not going to be good. “I need you to come find us. I don’t know where the fuck we are, but we need help.”

Azriel rips the walkie-talkie from Cassian’s hand, ready to take the lead. He pockets one of the knives at the table and you can’t even muster the energy to joke about how a butterknife won’t be the best weapon against a horde of zombies because you’re more than ready to follow him into the fray, sans weapons, if all to save your friends.

“Where are you, Rhys? I need landmarks.”

 “Az,” Rhys breathes, but he doesn’t sound relieved. In fact, he sounds spent, and there’s no sign of Feyre on the other line. “We need help. Badly. Feyre’s been bitten.”

And hey, your dinner does make its reappearance after all.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36  @bionic-donut @queserasera @applepie02  @azrielsbabyg  @arcadianmoonlight  @pradaxstyles  @illyrian-dreamerdreamer @reiincarnatiion  @fuckthatfeeling  @shadowsingersmate24 @poppyalice2001  @fallmyriad  @sstrohma  @tcris2020 @jeannineee  @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism @secretly-here @harrystylesfan2686 @i-am-infinite @lees-chaotic-brain @eternallyelvish @lilah-asteria @randombibitch @st4r-girl-official @nanisearchinginnerpeace (i hope you see this idk if this tag worked 😭)

IDK if any of these tags are going to work but someone plz lmk 💙

[nebulousgaythoughts]

BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS!!!!!!!!

(I don't remember where I found this photo, if it happens to be yours lmk!)

Alex Hirch really made Ford and Fiddleford as gay as possible without explicitly saying they're gay

Fiddleford:

1. Fiddleford got Ford not one, but TWO gifts. HANDMADE. A snow globe model of the cabin and a pair of six-fingered gloves that he went through FIVE prototypes for. This man is serious about gifts.

2. When he wants to be. Because who did he get the gifts for? The two gifts lovingly and painstakingly designed and handcrafted? Right, Ford. Obviously. Because he cares about Ford. So when he goes back home to visit his wife and kid, he'll get them something too, because they're his family.

3. Wait what

4. Alex what

5. What the fuck do you mean he forgot to get his wife a Christmas present

6. Are you telling me that Fiddleford sees Ford as more of a partner than his literal wife

7. OK, you could argue that he was just preoccupied with the lab/portal stuff, and he wanted to do something really extra nice for Ford, so he completely spaced getting his wife a Christmas gift. OK, sure. It's not inherently gay to be a forgetful husband.

8. But it is gay to write "try to forget" on a torn picture of the day he and Ford became roommates in college, implying that the memory of their relationship is traumatic on par with literally seeing a demon from another dimension. (EDIT: IT IS ALSO GAY TO WRITE "MISS YOU" IN A CODE ON THE WHITEBOARD IN THE PHOTO OF THE FIRST DAY THEY MET. I'm not sure who's supposed to be the one who wrote that, probably fiddleford since he tore the photo, but did he know any of the ciphers? I don't know. It's gay, I don't know.)

9. TRY TO FORGET WHAT, FIDDLEFORD

10. YOUR GAY FEELINGS FOR STANFORD PINES???

Ford:

1. Fellas, is it gay to seek companionship in isolation? When Fiddleford tells Ford he's flying back to visit his wife, this cuts him deeply.

2. Ford says "of course...who could fault him? I sometimes forget there is a world outside my lab."

3. So... the way Ford says this feels like he knows that Fiddleford's marriage isn't working out, for whatever reason. "Who could fault him?" My dude, that's his wife???

(Also side note, but I find it interesting that Ford says "F confessed that he's flying back home to visit Emma-May." Important words: confessed-why did he not want to tell/ leave Ford? Visit-why say Fiddleford is visiting his wife? Why not that he's flying back to be with his wife, or to reconnect?)

4. Again- Ford is reminded that there is "a world outside my lab" i.e. Fiddlefords wife. A world that he's not a part of and cannot fathom.

5. Fiddleford saving Ford from the Krampus and then immedietly hugging. Or, sorry- "EMBRACING." Fellas, is it gay to embrace your homie after a near death experience?

6. Ford immedietly asking if he can cheer Fiddleford up after him mentioning the fight with his wife (you know, the one about him not getting her a Christmas gift even though he clearly cares a lot about gifts). Not even asking like "dude...really?" Just immediete support. Maybe even understanding?

7. Ford calling Fiddleford down to the portal room to surprise him with the lights and decorations. "The smile on his face proved I'd made the right choice." OH, IS THAT RIGHT STANFORD

8. Ford knowing and playing Fiddlefords favorite song???

9. Them getting nog-drunk, building snowmen, and reminiscing about old times??? REMINISCING??? NOT THE REMINISCING!!!

10. "It can be hard sometimes to find a moment to celebrate when you're lost in the cold...but it's easier with new gloves." OH. OK.

That is all.

[lovscb97]

synopsis: nerd!chan headcannons. that’s it. that’s the tweet.

tags: nerd!chan x cheerleader!fem!reader, fluff, meet cute, nerd!chan being in love, mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, nerd!chan being an inexperienced cutie, etc

wc: 1.48k

add. notes: while you guys wait for nerd!chan pt. 2 as i need to complete writing it and cannot really Do that w/ my current busy schedule (im nearing the end of first sem so i have lots of assignments #sad), i thought i’d treat u guys to some headcannons about him in the nerd!chan universe :3 enjoy!

part 1 / part 2 / drabble #1

. . . 

#one. meeting you for the first time

chan has always been a shy kid. he doesn’t stray from his introverted bubble of close friends that he’s either grown up with or gotten to know through extra-curriculars, nor does he ever participate in social activities like parties the way most people in his university do. it’s his firm belief that he has no means to engage in stuff that will, in his words, lower his intelligence and distract him from his studies. he’s perfectly content remaining the way he is; a social outcast (according to changbin at least), because at the least in that sense he’s gaining something from not wallowing in alcohol every other night.

you, on the other hand, are actively always taking part in gatherings as such, having fun with your cheer girls and drinking to drown out the bitter reality of life (although you’d never admit that out loud). it’s your firm belief that college is for letting loose and having fun before entering the corporate world, and what better way to do that than to grind against strangers and throw away all your responsibilities for a night (or ten)? you don’t have too much regard for your studies, but you do have a strong policy on your social life.

it’s because of these reasons that in terms of both hierarchy and hobbies, you and chan couldn’t be any more different. you’re two sides of two separate coins, and if you were to swap lifestyles, you’re sure neither of your friends would recognise you both. what he likes, you loathe, and what you like, he loathes. so why did you do mesh so well? why did you two even begin this charade? 

and how in the everloving fuck did chan even get to know you in the first place? 

it all started before the first day of the first semester. orientation was about to finish right around the corner, and everyone was obviously buzzing with excitement on commencing their first term in university. one guy made the mistake of mentioning throwing a party at some nearby club, and it quickly spread to the entire group of first year students. naturally, it spread to you and your friend group, and it also just happened to spread to the small circle of chan’s best friends, who dragged his ass to the party the day of despite his incessant complaining that he wanted nothing to do with what was happening.

that was, until he saw you.

you’d had one too many shots to drink, stumbling into the balcony after having been separated from your friends and coincidentally landing up where chan just so happened to be admiring the scenery. he’d caught you in his arms as you lost your footing, heart racing and ears reddening at the sound of your drunk giggles. “i bet you’re a ladies man.” you’d teased him, raising a finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, which only made him stutter even more. 

your friends eventually did come to find you and take you back with them, barely even batting an eye at chan who tried to make sure you were being cared for properly as his pleas and tips on handling a hangover the next day fell upon deaf ears. and when jisung and changbin came up to find him, he was completely out of it, stuck in a daze as he repeated all the random information about yourself that you’d rambled to him in his head. he’d pressed a single hand to his chest whilst ignoring his friend’s questions about what the hell he was doing, instead focusing on the feeling the rapid rhythmic beating of his heart under his palm.

it was that night, that chan's love for the moon transcended to his love for you.

#two. kissing you for the first time

chan is just as much of a nerd as they come in every cliche. 

when he met you, when he got to know you, and when he first began whatever twisted relationship he currently has with you, he was completely inexperienced. he knew next to nothing about pleasing a girl that wasn’t acquired from his knowledge of scouring the internet, and he also knew next to nothing about the world of pleasure he was in for. when you’d first leaned in to initiate a kiss, he’d merely pushed you away gently, gasping over his words as he tried to explain to you how new this was all to him.

but you didn’t mind. you didn’t mind that he’d never even gotten close to holding a girl’s hand unless he counted his elementary school crush, and you didn’t mind that he barely knew what to do with you. you didn’t mind that you had to teach him the ropes of everything (mostly because it fed into your corruption kink), and you didn’t mind it even when you had to reassure him you weren’t going to judge him as you got him to relax before leaning in once more.

and when your lips had touched his for the first time, chan swore he felt sparks fly. you were soft, and sweet, and real. instead of being a mere figment of his imagination or the skin of the back of his hand, your presence was electrifying. the way your mouth had moved against his, the way you’d let out a soft sigh at the feeling of it pressing back into him, and the way you’d pulled away and flashed him the prettiest smile he’d ever damn seen in his life before, it was all so dizzying. 

“you’re a pretty good kisser.” you’d winked at him afterwards, and he felt himself flush under your gaze which only made you double over in laughter. you’d even leaned in once more to plant another soft kiss on his lips before motioning for him to continue with whatever demand and supply topic he was teaching you about. chan didn’t give a fuck about that anymore though, the only thought on his mind the entirety of the rest of your study session how to get better at kissing you, and when he could look forward to doing it the next time.

#three. what he likes about you

if anyone asked chan what he likes about you, he’d be at a complete loss for words. not because there’s nothing he can come up with beyond superficial reasons, but because there’s too much that he has to say and isn’t sure of where to actually start.

chan isn’t even sure when he fell for you in the first place. yes, when he first met you that fated night on the balcony at that premature freshmen party he caught feelings for you, but those feelings snowballed and grew into something much larger as the days went on. each night was filled with replaying your conversation (although he barely spoke out of his shock upon seeing you) and wondering what it would be like to be in your presence once more. it got to the point that his friends began asking him why he was spacing out so much during classes and staring at one specific section of the lecture hall, but he didn’t have the courage to admit it was because of you sitting there. 

to simply put it, chan likes everything and nothing about you. he likes the fact that you’re nobody like he’s ever met before, you have a fire to yourself that nobody comes close to claiming, but you laugh sweet enough to extinguish that flame at the same time. something about you draws him in, tantalising and captivating in nature but all too consuming to the point he can’t get you out of his brain no matter how hard he tries. the time you came up to him to ask if he’d help you with tutoring, his mind almost short circuited because holy shit, were you actually talking to him in real life instead of the made up interactions he plays out with you before going to sleep? and you knew his name and who he was on top of that? it was too good of a dream to be true.

that’s precisely why chan can’t let go of you now. even if it hurts him, even if it’s painstakingly hard to be hidden from the public eye whilst being together with you, he doesn’t want to let go of you. because letting go of you entails that he’s giving up on his aspirations of being with you, and chan is nothing next to a quitter. he’ll have you in any way he can, even if that means not abiding by his friends’ requests to just let you go and being kept in the dark by your lack of confrontation for your feelings.

at the end of the day, chan is head over heels for you, and that’s something that’ll never change. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[sweetdispatch]

We are toxic - J. Hughes

Purple Chemistry | Previous Chapter timeline: February 2024 - March 2024 summary: Two games between Rangers and Devils but with two different endings between you and Jack warning: NSFW, graphic sex (18+), oral (m receiving), dacryphilia, cum play, swear words note: sorry for the wait but some things were out of my control but this was sitting my drafts so i want to finally post it, again sorry for the wait! one last chapter left for the story

After Jack came back from Nashville, a small part of you hoped that he'd show up at your doors to celebrate Valentine’s Day with you but this never happened. You wished he would come for sex at least but he didn’t do it. You were a little bit sad but you repeated to yourself that you’re just friends and he doesn't owe you this. 

A week later, it was another New York Rangers - New Jersey Devils game. Without games between these two teams, you felt like your relationship with Jack is getting better but you were also aware that they have three more games to play. After their second game of the season, Rangers won 5:1. Jack was the only one to score the goal for Devils. 

As you thought, Jack showed up in your place to take his anger out of you. Fact, that you're a Rangers girl turned him because even if he lost on the ice, he could dominate you in bed. You were at his mercy and you enjoyed it as much as he did. When you opened the door, he hadn’t said a word. He immediately pulled you into a kiss. 

You melted when Jack was kissing you so passionately. While you two were making out in the corridor of your apartment, you took off his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. In a quick move, he got rid of your shirt and bra. His kisses were going lower on your neck and boobs. Your hands were pulling his hair at the pleasure. 

Jack turned you around and pushed your bare chest to the wall. He kneeled and took off your sweatpants and underwear. Later, he started unzipping his pants when you pushed your ass more towards him. He gave you a spank and grabbed his dick into his hand. He reached into his wallet for a condom and slowly entered you. 

You moaned at the feeling of his dick stretching your pussy and Jack covered your mouth with his hand.

“You don’t want your neighbors to hear how dirty girl you’re letting me fuck you next to the door” He whispered into your ear and that was the first thing he said to you today. You shook your head, unable to answer him. 

When Jack felt that you’re ready, he started thrusting into you roughly with his hand still on your mouth. The pleasure was taking over your body. You were a mess under him and let him take his anger on you. He took your hair to the side and started kissing and biting your shoulder. 

With his second hand, Jack started circulating your clit. You rolled your eyes at the feeling. You missed this side of him when he’s using you however he wants. You threw your head with pleasure and he started placing kisses on your exposed neck. You placed your hand on the wall to stabilise your shaking body. 

Jack was still pounding into you. You were moaning into his hand and he smiled to himself hearing you so helpless under his touch. It felt so good and your orgasm hit you hard. He was still thrusting into you to help you get rid of your orgasm and get his own release. With a final push, he growled and cum. 

You leaned on his chest and Jack quickly wrapped his arms around your waist. He let you stay like that for a couple more seconds. When you felt that you’re back in your strength, you pushed out of him. He took out his dick out of you and followed you into a shower. Both of you stood under the water helping each other to clean. 

After 20 minutes, you stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel for yourself and Jack. He politely thanked you and followed your moves. You went into the closet and pulled out clothes. You had plenty of his shirts and sweatpants so you gave him. To your surprise, he stayed with you and laid next to you in bed.

Jack started talking to you about the game and you were listening to his every word. Although, you didn’t care much how it looked from his perspective, you wanted to be there for him. He was describing everything with details and all you could do was to nod to his every word. When he was done with his monologue, you joked but it turned out into another argument.

“Good that Devils have you because otherwise Shesterkin would have a shutout” It was an innocent sentence but he got worked up when he heard it. 

“Are you serious? I’m telling you about the game and all you care about is the fact that Rangers didn’t have a shutout?” He couldn’t believe your words.

“That’s not what I said, I meant…” You couldn’t finish your thought because he interrupted you.

“I’m telling you what’s been laying on my heart after the game and you pulled out the Rangers bullshit. I get it that you’re happy but a little empathy would be nice” He said with sass in his voice.

“You’re putting words that I didn’t say in my mouth” You fought back.

“But you thought about it!” He said a little louder and you looked at him.

“If you’re gonna accuse me of something, you can just leave. I wanted to joke and lighten the mood but you had to ruin it” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh I ruined it?” You nodded. “Fuck you Y/N. I don’t need those kinds of jokes from you” He replied with venom in his voice. Before you could say something, Jack grabbed his suit and left your apartment. You sighed and decided to let him cool down. 

The next day, Jack woke up and he knew his outburst was unnecessary. He knew that you were just messing around with him about it but he couldn’t explain why this pissed him off so much. Maybe it’s because he really liked you and you were against him? He didn’t know how to apologise. He sent you quick I’m sorry message but you ignored it.

You were lost in what you two are. One day you’re all touchy and loving towards each other but the next day you’re giving each other silent treatment. Nothing was summing up and you sank in the thoughts. This time, you needed a couple days to think if you still want to get this friendship going.

Week later, you went to see Jack in his apartment. You were nervous to knock on the door not knowing what to expect from the conversation. What if he also realized that the two of you are acting toxic? Luke’ voice brought you back to reality. 

“Jack’s not home?” He asked you.

“I don’t know, I’m standing here trying to find the bravery to knock on the door” You replied.

“Everything's gonna be fine. Jack couldn’t shut up for the past week about how bad he messed up so I’m guessing you two will sort things out” Luke replied and opened the door. He let you enter first. 

You took a deep breath and walked into his apartment. It was bizarre for you to be here. Since Jack started living with Luke, you were meeting at your place. You saw that Jack’ not sitting in the living room so you went straight to his bedroom. You stood in front of the doors. Luke noticed it and went to open the door for you and pushed you into his older brother's room.

“Hi” You said shyly.

“Hi, I didn't expect you here” Jack replied. “What do you want?”

“I think we need to talk” You sat on his bed and he quickly sat next to you.

“You want to end this, don’t you?” 

“What? No. I wanted to say that…” You took a deep breath. “I like you, like a lot but I feel like we’re toxic towards each other and I want to fix it… If it’s even possible” 

“It is, I think. It’s just tough for me to be close with you knowing that you’re against me in hockey when this is huge part of my life”

“Jack” You grabbed his hand. “I am not against you. I might root for your rival team but I care about you. That’s why I never mention Rangers around you. I made a joke and that was a bad call and…” 

“No, don’t finish. Don’t apologise to me for trying to lighten my mood. I acted like a dick. Also, I don’t want you to keep your real self from me because I don’t like your team. If this is something you want to talk about, you should. I’ll always listen just like you’re listening to me” He caressed your hand. 

“Does it mean we’re fine?” You asked not sure what to expect.

“We are, all we need is to be true to ourselves and talk more instead of running away from confrontation what we’re always doing” He half hugged you on the bed.

Finally, the two of you sorted things out properly. You felt that now, you won’t be having any issues in communication. At least this is what you’re hoping for. You were tired of explaining to him things you say. Jack had the same. He didn’t want to run away from problems to later beg for forgiveness. 

Time flew fast and there was time for another game, the New York Rangers - New Jersey Devils. After two matches in Prudential Center, it was time to have the games in Madison Square Garden. It was the first match where you could see Jack playing because you didn’t bother to go to his games in New Jersey. You were excited to see your favorite team and your favorite person to play against each other.

You were celebrating when you saw the final score showed 3:1 for Rangers. To witness the Rangers win against Devils felt special and you were delighted to see it. A part of you felt bad for Jack’ another loss to them but it didn’t bother you that much. Second game in a row, he was involved in a goal that stopped your team from the shutout. 

After the game, Jack asked you if he can get back to your apartment with you. Happily, you agreed and waited for him in your car. It felt like forever sitting there and waiting but you knew this is something he needs right now. You saw his walking figure from afar and started the car. He sat in the passenger seat and hadn’t said a word. You started driving, letting the silence fill the car. 

When you two arrived in your parking lot, you turned off the car and faced him. Jack looked at you and without any words, you two understood each other. He was the first one to leave the car and you followed him into the building. You unlocked the door and went straight into the kitchen to grab some water. One bottle to hand to him.

“I don’t know what we’re doing wrong. The preseason games showed that we can beat Rangers but now we’re acting so hopeless” He sighed and took a sip.

“That’s why you should never take the preseason games seriously. Teams always experiment with tactics and players” You tried to cheer him up. 

“I know but it still hurts like hell. Three games and three fucking loss” You could tell that he’s mad how the tables turned. You wanted to make him feel better and you kneeled in front of him. He looked surprised. “What are you doing?” 

“I want to suck your dick to help you relax” You replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

You unzipped his pants and slid them with his underwear from him. Jack quickly took off his coat. Gently, you grabbed his dick and started moving your hand around his length. He growled under your touch. With each move, his cock was getting harder. You placed a kiss on his tip and started sucking it slightly. He pulled your hair from your face and made it into a ponytail. 

“Don’t tease, just put it into your mouth. I need your warm lips” You obeyed him and slowly started sinking with your mouth around his dick. 

Your moves were calm and Jack didn’t like it. With his hand still in your hair, he was pushing your head. You relaxed your throat and let him fuck your face. He was pushing his hips while you were sitting on your knees letting him do whatever he wanted. You knew this is what he needed right now. 

With each thrust, Jack was pushing his dick further into your mouth. His tip was hitting the back of your throat and nose was touching his pubes bone. You were gagging around him and tears were spilling from the corner of your eyes. He looked at you and enjoyed this view. Your face was covered in tears and spit with his dick deep down in your mouth. 

You could feel that Jack was close because his dick was trembling in your mouth. With a loud groan, he cum inside your mouth and you swallowed it. You opened your mouth to show him and he caressed your cheek. You stood up and he brought you into a passionate kiss. You threw your hands behind his neck and you two melted in this moment. 

“Thank you for this, you’re a goddess woman” He pulled from you and looked into your eyes.

“It was a pleasure to help you” You smiled at him.

After a couple seconds you pulled aways from each other and the atmosphere became weird. You two never were this close with each other. You enjoyed this but Jack looked like he’s bothered by the fact how close and vulnerable you were. He quickly put his pants and underwear back on and changed the topic.

“How about we’ll watch a movie?” He went into the living room and grabbed the remote control.

“Umm, sure” You answered and followed him. Two of you sat down on the couch and started watching Batman. You wanted to cuddle with him but Jack was keeping a small distance. You didn’t want to bother him and sat quietly. Your knees were touching but nothing more. You hadn’t said a word to themselves, fully focused on the movie.

Next Chapter

[persevereforahappyending]

A Beacon in the Dark |2|

Pairing: Joey x Reader

Summary: Joey likes helping people, it's what she's best at. Hunting down the monsters of myth and legend might be the best way to save people.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21

Ana made Caleb breakfast as usual, she helped him make sure all his stuff was in his backpack like usual, and she walked him to school like usual. She tried to keep everything as normal as possible, when she got back home the other night her note was still on the counter and Caleb hadn’t mentioned anything yet, so she assumed he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night. The only thing Ana did differently was she couldn’t help her eyes darting around constantly, looking for you or any more surprises, she also had her gun tucked in her pants, covered up by her shirt. She was supposed to be done with the type of life they would involve her carrying around a gun, especially when she was with her son, she couldn’t believe she was considering your job offer.

Ana couldn’t deny that she was curious. She was struggling to find a job, ideally, she wanted something in the medical field she knew that wasn’t going to happen though. The only way she’d be able to continue helping people that way would be to keep being an underground doctor, but that very thing was what led her to getting captured and almost killed by a vampire. She wouldn’t be able to continue to make enough to live off of if she only helped specific people or didn’t do big injuries where she could potentially kill the patient. She was clean and she had no intention of slipping, but she didn’t want to give herself the opportunity to fuck things up again.

“I have a job interview today,” Ana said as the school got within eyesight.

“Cool,” Caleb mumbled.

“I’m not sure how long it’ll take but I should be done in time to get you from school.”

Caleb just nodded. Ana held in a sigh; she didn’t need Caleb to be excited for her, but he was acting like he didn’t expect much from it. She couldn’t really blame him; he’d seen her spend every day applying and getting rejected by jobs. When Ana did get an interview, she always came home already knowing she wouldn’t be called back.

“See you later,” he mumbled before running off and catching up with his friends.

Ana opened her mouth ‘I love you’ on the tip of her tongue but she didn’t bother finishing this time, she knew Caleb wouldn’t hear it anyway. She stood at the entrance until the bell rang, signaling all the kids that it was time to get to class. She waited there until all the students had filed inside and she finally lost sight of the top of Caleb’s head. Just as she turned around to walk away you pulled up in a Jeep.

Ana rolled her eyes, when you said you’d pick her up after she dropped her son off, she didn’t realize how literal you meant it. You had clearly been watching her, you knew where her son went to school and what time it started, your timing for pulling up was perfect, too perfect. She glared at you when you rolled down the window, smirking at her, your eyes were once again hidden behind sunglasses, but she knew your eyes were on her.

Ana flung open the door and jumped in the passenger seat. “If you try anything, or if this is a trick in anyway,” Ana turned in her seat, glaring into your eyes despite the sunglasses. “I will shoot you.”

“And a good morning to you,” you said, not losing your smirk as you turned to face the road again. You checked your mirrors before pulling out and began driving to wherever you were taking Ana.

“I’m serious,” Ana continued to glare at the side of your head.

“I brought you a coffee,” you looked down at the coffee in the cup holder. “I got it black; you didn’t seem like the type to want a bunch of sugar and crap in it.”

“Do you think I’m joking?”

You let out a small chuckle, but quickly covered it by turning it into a smile. Ana wasn’t sure if you were just that arrogant or what, she was tempted to shoot you just to prove to you she would. “I assure you; I am well aware you’re not joking.”

“So, do you just have a death wish then?”

You let out a humorless chuckle. Ana made a note of that, she had been joking, half joking, but it almost seemed like you did have a death wish. “You’re not going to kill me,” you said confidently. “You’re incredibly capable of that.” Ana raised an eyebrow. “But you won’t kill me, not if you don’t actually have too.”

“Where are we going?” Ana asked, rolling her eyes.

“Out of the city,” you said simply. Ana’s eyes widened; she told Caleb she would be back in time to pick him up. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back before your kid gets out of school.”

Ana snapped her gaze to you, narrowing her eyes. “How’d you know I was worried about that?” There was something about you, something Ana couldn’t quite pin, she knew you weren’t a vampire, there was nothing to indicate you were something more than human, but Ana had a feeling. You knew so much about her, what happened during her last job, about vampires, about her son, and just now, you knew what she was worried about. It wouldn’t be a completely crazy leap to think you could read minds.

“I’m not a mind reader.” That certainly did nothing to disprove Ana’s theory. “You love your son,” you shrugged. “It’s clear you’re trying to makeup to him, you don’t want to let him down.”

Ana continued to stare at you, you nailed it, she didn’t like it when others could read her just as well as she could read them. You continued on driving though, never once glancing at her. She wondered what made you tick, if you were always this calm or if it was only for her. You read her so well the night before, despite having a gun pointed at you, you knew she wouldn’t shoot you. It was the same as today, you knew Ana had a gun on her, you had to have, yet you were relaxed and driving as if the two of you were on a road trip out of the city.

The trip continued until the two of you were well out of the city, driving down a two-lane road lined with trees on both sides. It was a gorgeous drive; however, it was also out in the middle of nowhere. Ana didn’t know who you were, where you were taking her, or who you were taking her to, the only thing she knew was that you wanted her for a job, but even with that you had been vague on. The woods were thick enough that if you took Ana out there, she could be lost forever, no one would know what happened to her.

You turned on your blinker, turning down another paved road. Ana furrowed her brow until, finally, you passed a mansion, it had a long driveway, completely fenced in, and the large house sat all the way back, well away from the road. After a few more minutes, you passed by another mansion, with a similar layout. The mansions in the middle of nowhere reminded Ana of the one Abigail lived in, the place her last job took place, where everything happened, but these mansions didn’t look run down and abandoned.

You kept driving down the road, passing mansion after mansion on each side every few minutes. Ana couldn’t imagine living in a place like this, giant houses, with who knew how many rooms, several minutes apart from the next house. There was complete and total privacy, one could hardly consider them as neighbors with how far apart they were.

You finally turned down the driveway of one of the mansions. After slowly coming to a stop in front of the large metal gate, the gate was all stone and metal, the tips of the fence pointed so that if anyone were to climb it, they’d most definitely injure themselves. You rolled down your window, staring at the little box without saying a word. A second later there was a loud grinding sound and the gate slowly slid open. You rolled your widow back up and continued driving forward, the gate closing almost instantly after you crossed the threshold.

Ana shoved her hands in her pocket, fiddling around with the candy she had shoved in there. She debated for half a second before grabbing a piece of candy, quickly unwrapping it, and shoved it in her mouth. She caught you glancing at her out of the side of your eye, but you didn’t say anything. Ana straightened her back and continued to stare out the windshield as you continued to drive up the long driveway. Her mouth fell open, nearly losing her candy in the process, as the mansion fully came into view. The house was newer than the one Abigail had, but much bigger. Ana couldn’t imagine living in a house so big, she could imagine having to decorate that many rooms.

You pulled the car around, coming to a gentle stop right in front of the front steps. Ana glanced at her watch; it had taken nearly an hour to get wherever you had taken her. “We’re here,” you said, smiling at Ana before jumping out of the car.

You ran around the car, pulling the door open the rest of the way after Ana opened it. You held out your hand to help her out. She rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car and walking right past your outstretched hand. Ana ignored the small sigh you let out, choosing to continue walking up the steps and waiting for you at the front door. You quickly closed the car door and ran after her, smiling at her as you stood in front of her again. She raised an unamused eyebrow at you.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re just delightful when being interviewed?” you asked, smirking.

“I’m here for your boss,” Ana said, giving you a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t have to be anything to you.”

You let out a small hum and then put your hand on the door handle, giving Ana a mischievous smile before allowing the door to swing open. You made a dramatic gesture with your arm, allowing Ana to enter first. Ana walked through the door, turning in a circle as she took in the high ceilings and the various art and weapons hanging on the walls. Ana jumped, whipping around when she heard the large wood door slam shut. She eyed you as you walked away from the door, she hadn’t forgotten that the last time she was in a mansion, she got locked in and nearly died.

“This way,” you said, nodding your head for Ana to follow.

Ana followed you through a room, then down a long hallway. The mansion was massive, it had items in every room and on every wall, it almost didn’t look lived in though. Everything was clean and perfect but as they passed a sitting room Ana couldn’t imagine someone had ever sat on the couch or any of the chairs in the room, though there were shelves lined with old books, their spines worn from age or years of being read.

You came to a stop outside another rather large wood door. You gave a small knock, but you didn’t wait for whoever was on the other side to acknowledge it before opening the door. You held the door open, allowing Ana to step in first once again. Her eyes widened as she took in the room, unlike the rest of the house, at least from what she had seen, this room had a blonde woman sitting at a desk with five computer monitors in front of her, the wall behind her was plastered with various images, sketches, and newspaper clippings of monsters or reports of strange happenings, from all over the world. Off to the right was a peg board on wheels, with the same thing, news paper clippings, online articles and social medias posts printed out and pegged on, though unlike the wall, the board seemed to be all about the same event, in the same place.

The blonde woman stood up, stepping out from around the desk. Ana looked her up and down, she was wearing some jeans and a simple jacket. If Ana had seen the woman walking down the street, she would never have imagined she lived in a mansion and had the type of money she must have.

“Ana Lucia Cruz,” the woman said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she held out her hand. “My name is Grace.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ana said, giving Ana’s hand a shake. So far, she liked Grace better than you, so she was considering the meeting a success for the moment. “And I would prefer Joey, if you don’t mind.” Grace tilted her head at the request. “For privacy reasons.”

“Of course, Joey,” Grace nodded, giving her a kind smile. “Please, join me,” she gestured to the other side of the room, leading Joey to a set of chairs next to a small table.

“Thank you,” Joey took one of the seats while Grace took the other. You moved to stand behind Grace on her left, as if you were her own person bodyguard. “I have to say,” Joey said, shaking her head as Grace offered her a cup of tea. “You have much better manners than your,” she flicked her gaze up at you, “associate.” Your only response was a smirk.

“What did you do?” Grace turned to you, exasperated.

Joey silently chuckled at the way your face fell. “You asked me to recruit her,” you said, pointing at Joey as you tried to defend yourself.

“Outside my son’s school,” Joey added. “Right after I dropped him off.”

Grace shook her head in disappointment. “How else was I supposed to do it!” you gestured widely with your hands. “This is the first person I’ve ever tried to bring in.”

“No, one else does this?” Joey asked. She figured there weren’t many people in this line of work, but she didn’t expect you and your boss to be the only ones. “Well, don’t I feel special,” she mumbled.

“You are special,” Grace said, leaning forward. “You survived something horrific, something unnatural.” Joey looked up, meeting Grace’s eyes, she saw determination, but she also saw compassion staring back at her. “Not many have the capabilities to survive something like that, it takes a particular kind of person to see a darkness like that and not runaway.” Grace leaned back in her chair. “That’s exactly the kind of person we’re looking for to join our cause.”

“Your cause?” Joey raised an eyebrow. “Y/N told me you experienced something similar to me.”

Grace tensed up, glancing at you out of the side of her eye, making you cast your eyes down to the floor like a scolded child. “I have, it’s why I do what I do. I don’t want anyone to suffer what I-what we have.”

“And you, what, just have so much money you don’t know what to do with,” Joey shrugged. “So, you might as well pay people to go fight the supernatural?”

“I mean it is the one thing that Le Domas fortune is good for,” you mumbled.

Joey’s eyes snapped to you the same time as Grace’s but for vastly different reasons. Your eyes widened as if you just realized you said that out loud. “Le Domas?” Joey whispered. “I recognize that name.” She rifled through her memory; she didn’t know the Le Domas family, but she knew she had heard of them. Her eyes widened when she realized why.

Joey shot out of her seat so fast, reaching behind her to grab the gun in her pants as soon as she was on her feet. “Don’t,” you said. Joey froze, slowly lifting her eyes to see you standing in front of Grace, in the line of fire.

Joey slowly took her hand off her gun and raised it, showing you her hands were empty. Joey wasn’t one to scare easily but the way your voice changed, the look in your eyes, Joey had missed judged you. You had been friendly with every interaction, to the point it was irritating. However, seeing you stand in front of her now, she saw it, the look in your eye, you would not hesitate to kill her if it meant protecting Grace.

“Guess you really are her guard dog,” Joey mumbled. She didn’t take her eyes off of you, she noticed the way yours darkened at her comment.

“It’s okay,” Grace said. She stood up, resting a hand on your shoulder to ease you back. It took a second, but you slowly relaxed and moved to stand behind Grace again.

“Whatever you think you know,” Grace said softly. “I promise you, it’s not even close to the truth.”

“Everyone knows the story of the Le Domas family,” Joey said, trying to relax again. She didn’t want you to see how on edge she was. She thought her guard was up before getting in the car with you, that was nowhere near to how on alert she was now. “A very rich, very prominent family, all dead, their bodies in pieces, and it all happened on their youngest son’s wedding night. They couldn’t prove she had done it, though everyone suspected, considering she came from nothing, and they were rich beyond imagination.”

Grace rested her chin on her hand as she nodded at Joey’s words. “They made a deal with a demon,” Grace finally whispered. “I thought I was marrying the love of my life and getting the family I always dreamed of,” she gave a sad smile, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Then they tried to kill me.” She looked back up at Joey again.

Joey slowly sat back down; she saw you take a step back, looking back down at the floor again. “It was a thing of theirs,” Grace continued. “If you married into the family you had to play a game, if you picked Hide and Seek then you hid, while they hunted you down,” she was staring off into the distance, seeming to be talking to herself more than anything. “If they didn’t kill you before sunrise then the whole family was going to die, that was the deal they made with Mr. Le Bail, he was the reason they had their fortune to begin with and in returned he required a sacrifice.”

“And you were…” Joey started but she wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence.

Grace nodded. “I married Alex, then that night he and his entire family tried to kill me,” she gave Joey a sad smile again. “Clearly, I survived,” she looked down at herself. “Mr. Le Bail allowed me to live and though their investigation was thorough, there was no evidence I had killed the entire family, so, since I was technically the last living relative after my marriage, I got everything,” she shrugged.

Joey nodded; she thought her night trying to survive a ballerina vampire had been bad. She couldn’t imagine thinking you were marrying the love of your life only for him to try sacrificing you to a demon his family made a deal with. “And now you use their fortune to help others.”

Grace nodded. “I try, figured the money should go to doing some good.” She cleared her throat, blinking away the tears that had seemed to begun to fill her eyes. “I also use it for payment, it’s how I pay Y/N for jobs, it’s how I could pay you. I assure you, the job may be dangerous, it may be shady at times, but the money is legit.”

Joey nodded, taking all the information in. That was one of the things she was worried about. It didn’t matter how much she could be making from a job, she still had to go through a process to make sure it wasn’t traceable and that it looked legit. Grace’s money was legit, she could pay Joey no problem and Joey could just have it go into the bank, no questions asked.

“And what about you?” Joey asked, looking at you. “What’s your story?” she tilted her head, waiting to see what kind of answer you gave this time.

Even from a distance Joey could see the way your body tensed up at her question, but you looked up, meeting her gaze. “Werewolves,” you said simply.

That piqued Joey’s interest, but it was clear you weren’t going to elaborate anymore. “Look,” she sighed, slumping back in her chair. “I admire what you want to do but I-”

“One job,” Grace said, leaning forward in her own chair. “We can call it a trial run,” she smiled. “On both sides, we can see how you do, and you can see exactly what we do, you can see if this,” she gestured around the room. “Is something you want to be a part of.”

Joey opened her mouth ready to reject the offer, even though she was tempted. “You’ll still get paid of course,” Grace said quickly. “Just one job, just see what we’re all about.”

Joey stared at Grace for a second, she could see the woman hardened by the trauma she experienced but she also saw compassion, someone who wanted to help others despite everything she had been through. Joey flicked her gaze to you, she didn’t know how you came to be with Grace but your loyalty to your boss was clear, she also saw underneath all the jokes and banter was someone incredibly guarded and trying to atone for something in their past, though Joey couldn’t image what for.

“Okay,” Joey said, looking back at Grace. “One job.” Grace smiled at that, which Joey couldn’t help but return. Joey had been curious ever since you approached her, she wasn’t sure she fully knew what she was getting into just yet though.

Taglist: @thinking1bee

[illprotectyou-hearteyes]

Going to be predictable... Benji Dunn for the character ask!

HELL YEAH BENJI!!!! You know he's one of the characters I was fishing for so thank you <3 Apologies for the length below the cut, I cannot be trusted with this kind of opportunity to pontificate about The Character.

How I feel about this character

Oh boy how much time do we have. How much time do I have. See, my kryptonite is a character who is a bit of a cypher, and Benji is so many layers of slight-of-hand. To the point that a significant portion of his character development isn't actually him changing so much as it's the layers being peeled away to reveal what was always there.

He's loud in his objections and expressions of fear and so can be perceived as lacking in adaptability, when actually he's on Ethan's buckwild wavelength like no one else from Day 1, and the first to run after him into danger. He'll complain of a stubbed toe, so will he really be up for the physical threats and injuries of field-work? Joke's on you for asking, he'll take a bullet so quietly a whole team of secret agents will miss it, and that's only the beginning. He's the bright-eyed and naive one, right? In some ways, at the start, but he's also the most acerbic and sharp-edged in others. Even Ethan underestimates Benji's loyalty in RN, as if Benji didn't put his whole life on the line for him without even knowing what the fuck was happening in MI3, before they ever worked together in the field.

He's a delight and a terror and he's always underselling himself and over-performing, he's the comic relief and the heart of the franchise, he's a rambling anxious nerdy tech who becomes a badass field agent and he and Ethan were two sides of the same coin from day one. And I LOVE him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I mean, Ethan. No one else really, although I could very easily be sold on Ethan/Benji/Luther.

Setting aside the urge to describe every Ethan and Benji scene and go "Do you see that ????" It's. The two-way loyalty and adoration and bone deep trust and being on the same wavelength to unprecedented degrees. Believing in each other when no one else does (except Luther, my beloved <3), believing in each other so hard they perform miracles not to let the other down. Somehow equal parts the attraction of opposites and self-recognition in the other. And getting to watch the relationship develop and unfold across the films!!! I still cannot believe the franchise straight up concludes with Ethan following Benji as the symbolic conclusion of his 8-film arc.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

I mean. Benji & Paris. I would explain but we all get it. And Benji & Luther. In my headcanon Benji may or may not have been keenly aware of Ethan pre-MI3, but absolutely he was a huge fanboy of Luther's. No way our boy didn't idolize The Phineas Freak. He has lost weeks worth of sleep trying to puzzle out how the fuck Luther pulled off the NATO Ghostcom hack. He's scoured the IMF databases for any fragments of hints about Luther's work, to a degree that makes for an awkward as fuck first meeting. And now that's his friend!!!!

My unpopular opinion about this character

Hmm. I can't think of any that I know to be unpopular within the fandom. I mean Simon talks about his frustration at Benji being seen as just a comic relief character, so if thinking Benji has more to him than funny lines is an unpopular opinion among general audiences, then uh *gestures at post* yeah you might say that's an opinion I have

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

DR provided such an incredible conclusion to Benji's arc it ground most of the answers I'd previously have put here into the dust. But I do desperately wish we had Benji learning of Luther's death. (Still holding out hope for that deleted scene ...). On that note I would have loved to get a bit more of his and Luther's relationship outside the banter. Him and Ilsa too, tbh.

Uhhh feels odd to end on the single downer note so in conclusion I Love him, 20/10 character.

[acrobetia]

SWTD Fish Bowl AU, Part 1: Siren's Stress(And So He Woke) +ft. art by me!

I have been wanting to write a new story/AU for a long time and even more so when I joined the Still Wakes The Deep fandom, and I finally got an idea at like 1AM a few days ago for a Caz "survives" AU, though in this he did technically die- The Shape just revived him.

I wanna know how you guys feel about this idea, I have the first chapter done! Dont expect all details to stay the same lol.

It's called the Fish Bowl AU because in this AU Caz became a fish-like infected due to The Shape but maintains all his sanity, and the whole Baira D Crew are ghosts, and are trapped in the Baira D ruins(like an invisible "fish bowl/tank", in order to leave the ruins, the only way is to follow Caz out, but once out they can't be more than 50 feet away from him or they will be dragged along like a ballon(might change the distance to be shorter). I didn't actually have a reason when I initially named it- I just thought it was a cute/silly name, but it actually works.

Im still learning about the characters and how to write their accents and all, but it'll improve as we continue! I mostly focused on Caz, Innes and Muir so I gotta study the other characters. The finished version will have much stronger accent, I'll probably write it in my own way then add in more Scottish slang as I review.

This is the only chapter that'll have a mid-chapter timeskip, technically its earlier than mid, i dont usually do them in chapters so the transitions may be a little odd there.

Main Characters(In order of importance): Caz, Mhairi, Brodie, Rob, Finlay... maybe Hans, Muir, Innes, Raffs, and Rennick.

MCs may change in the future as I lay out the story more, but Caz, Mhairi, and Brodie will remain essential. May keep Innes and Muir for more relationship variety and an excuse to write Muirinnes.

Spoilers for the DLC Siren's Rest and the main game! Also TW for profanity of course(thanks Caz), mild gore, and art of infected Caz(so, bodyhorror ig).

If y'all are interested in seeing the finished version lmk! Also, this is my first Tumblr post hehe.

Hopefully it works cause it keeps giving me an error while typing.

Note for Readers: The Shape is called The Beast by the crew since they dont know what it's called, they'll probably come up with the name The Shape for it later. The term The Shape will be used in descriptors still though.

This man's hair is a pain in the ass to draw, originally had a beard and mustache but it looked like too much, assume transformation made the hair fall off.

Words: 5165

His head felt so tingly.

He couldn't tell if it was comforting, scary, pleasant, or painful, it felt so weird, he was cold, but felt overheated at the same time, but what he was certain of, is that he was not on land.

Caz remembered everything, not that he's happy about it, but it's all that played in his mind, like he was in an eternal sleep, either floating mid-air just… watching the waves of the North Sea, or remembering his best and worst moments, from marrying Suze to blowing up the Baira, he felt… empty, in the achy sort of way.

He didn't know how much time passed, it felt like 1 minute just as much as it felt like 1 millennia.

While lost in thought, not like he has anything else to do, he felt a tug in his head, Caz whimpered and resisted, at first fighting the feeling of something dragging him down into the waves he's been watching for what could've been eternity, before giving in and letting it happen.

Caz gasped when he woke, sitting up, only to shout in pain at the pounding in his skull, “FUCK!” he yelped, gripping his head for a few moments until the pain began to subside, looking up with a wince, blinking a bit to clear his eyes, looking around, his eyes widened, “what the fuck…?” he said in a weak mutter as he noticed he was underwater inside a big metal storage crate that he could see through holes along the sides, his vision felt funny, it was dark, he could tell that, but he could see just fine, it was almost dead silent, besides the creaking of metal around him.

The baira, he was back at the oil rig, which was now sunken and a massive wreck… “how the hell-” he looked down, almost screaming at the sight of his own body, hand flinging up to cover his mouth, causing him to freeze up before he even touched his mouth to see the fin-like membrane growing from the bottom side of his forearm, he could control it too! Making it open and close easily.

Caz looks down again with a shaky breath, seeing the long appendage that came from where his legs once were, instead replaced by a mass of flesh like that which he saw on the infected back on the Baira, but for some reason… he wasn't going wild.

Caz observes his own hands, noticing the small tumours where his body had once been separated, it seems the explosion he caused destroyed him, but The Shape decided to sow him back together… with tumours… how lovely and thoughtful of it.

Caz flinched when he heard something collapse, whipping his head to see a large debris of rock falling and striking the crate he was in, causing a large enough hole for him to easily squeeze through, before the rock fell deeper into what appeared to be a trench.

Taking a deep breath, Caz worked up the courage to try and move, so with an ease that shocked even himself, he swam like an eel would, his torso laying flat forward with his finned arms helping to propel him faster, his tail slithering forward and out of the crate, the gills and fins pulling as he moved, he was slightly disoriented at first by the extra eyes about his body, so he managed to close them all so he only saw through his main eyes.

He swam into the nearest accessible part of the Baira, finding himself swimming through administration, it was familiar, but eerily different, he doesn't know how long he was gone… but for this much rust to develop, it had to be at least a few years, a few months if you're feeling generous.

He explored and found Rennicks office, or what remained of it, poking around looking through the pricks stuff since he wasnt there to stop him, Caz smirked in amusement as he dug through Rennicks drawers, eyes softening with curiosity when he found a few photos of what must've been Rennicks children, maybe nephews, he doesn't know, not that it matters-

“What the fuck are ya doing in my office, McLeary?” Rennick's voice suddenly showed up, his tone bored and annoyed, looking at Caz as if he expected the man not even to notice him.

“What the- how are you here, you daft prick?” Caz exclaimed, looking at Rennick with wide eyes, Rennick seemed to return the surprised look.

“...You can see me?” Rennick asked, raising a brow and crossing his arms.

Caz snorted, shrugging “eh, well halfway, you gotta turn up your opacity,” he chuckles, “I can see right through ya,”

“Not that you look any better, McLeary.”

“Oh fuck off, you cunt,” Caz rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, “did you no see what you looked like back on the rig? I look like a fuckin’ supermodel compared to what you were,”

“Haud yer wheesht, you clatty gobshite,” Rennick hissed, eyes narrowing at Caz.

Caz chuckled, swimming past Rennick, expecting to bump into him, but instead going right through him, “you some sort of ghost, Rennick? You cannae be the only one, aye?”

“Aye, the others are all like this too,” Rennick grumbled, begrudgingly following Caz through the crumbling Baira.

“Really? I dinnae believe it…” Caz huffed, the two swam in silence, or uh… more like Rennick just… floated along, like a balloon connected to Caz by an invisible thread.

While lost in thought, he found himself in the trench more than 200 metres under the North Sea, down in engineering, and eventually navigating to accommodations, appreciating his new body that could squeeze into itself like an octopus to get through too-small places, meanwhile Rennick just went through the walls.

“How long has this place been down here?” Caz inquired curiously, glancing at Rennick who gave a slight shrug.

“9 or 10 years, I dinnae, Trot’s was the one counting the days,”

“Huh… so I've been out for a while, aye?”

“Aye, a lot of us were confused why you dinnae showed up after death like the rest of us, we just figured you moved to the next life or whatever, that's what Roy said, and everyone went with it.”

“Sounds right of him to say,” Caz mused, shaking his head with a slight smile.

Once they reached the Crew lounge, he was surprised to find almost the entire crew, some were missing, but everyone Caz knew well was there; Finlay, Brodie, Raffs, Roy, Innes, Muir, Roper, Douglas, Scooby, Dobbie, Devros, O'Conner, Archie, Addair, even Gregor! Other's too, the list goes on, but he doesn't know all of them that well so he mainly noticed the ones he was closer with.

“Hay Caz! Long time no see!” Finlay shouted, smirking and floating over, “where've you been this whole time, Caz? you're the only one we haven't seen,”

“I was in a closed crate, one of the big metal ones, dinnae know how I got in there, but I was there,”

“Ah, well once we all appeared like this the only sign of you was your decapitated unrecognizable head lodged under debris and some other parts scattered about that'd vanish over time, only knew it was you ‘cause of the helmet, we thought the fishes were eating you up, looks like the beast did a miracle on ya,”

“Aye, cannae deny that, though I dinnae appreciate the tumours holding me together,” Caz said, huffing, “cannae even have a good smoke down here in the ocean,”

“Aye aye, was a pain for me, Caz, you know me, not like a pack or two can kill us now,”

“Aye… though why didnae you return to the surface?” Caz asked, raising a brow, “it ain't that lovely down here, is it?”

“We can't,” Brodie suddenly chimed in, floating over to greet Caz, observing his new look curiously, “been a while, hasn't it Caz?” Brodie smiled, Caz nodding, “Aye well, we cannae leave the Baira, we can go a little away but no further than a few metres, it's like we're bound to this place,”

“Jesus… that sounds horrible,” Caz muttered, “...maybe I can find a way to fix it?” Caz suggested.

“That's mighty generous, but we've tried everything,” Roy suddenly spoke, “hello Caz, if I could hug you I would but we cannae touch,” Roy mused, reaching over but his hand phased right through Caz's shoulder, immediately retracting his hand back to his side, “you had me thinking you'd moved on without us,”

Caz laughed slightly, rolling his eyes, “I'd never do that to you guys,” he chuckled.

“Come on then! Let's show him around the new layout, this place is falling apart, so we gotta find a way to let you get around since you cannae go through walls like us,” Finlay said, Brodie and Roy followed along, Caz following the three as they toured him around the wreckage.

A few days passed, Caz adapted to his new body, in fact, it felt natural to him, as if he'd always been that way, he was able to navigate land and water with the help of his tendrils, and Finlay brought Caz out to see the only other infected they're aware of, they've been calling it The Siren, it didn't seem to have any discernible person in it, it seemed to just be a self-formed mass of The Shape, oddly enough, Caz was able to approach it and it didn't attack, barely batting an eye unless Caz stared too much.

According to Trot’s, it's Christmas, the 11th year anniversary of their deaths. How fun.

But, besides the bad memories, the Baira D Crew managed to make it a good day, Caz had snuck off and found some ancient beers from the canteen, it was extremely hard to reach, especially once it collapsed around him, but he managed to get back alright, and the crew drank together, Caz seemed to have an unbelievably high tolerance to alcohol now, and the spirits of his friends couldn't really hold the cans, only a few of them seemed to have the so-called “energy” to do it, Muir having been the one who came up with the theory of how and what gives them the ability to interact with the world or not, Innes probably knew his theory like the back of his hand because of how long and much Muir had yapped about it, not that he minded.

Caz was able to leave if he wanted to, but he didn't, sure, he could go home to his weans, but who knows how they and Suze would react, especially with his current… appearance. Plus, Caz has family right here with the Baira D Crew, even if he sees Rennick and Addair all the time now, he can handle it with his friends there, plus, they had no work! So Rennick couldn't really command them to do anything because he no longer had the power to fire them.

As the next few months passed, the Baira D rig, which was already in shambles, was a nightmare to navigate now, Caz made the decision to drag out a bunch of stuff that he could and lifted up one of the smaller fallen buildings, the windows long gone or blocked and the door sealed shut by rust, yet Caz still managed to make it homey, not many people fit in it, but they took turns, Caz the only one who always uses it. Before Accommodations was beyond reach, he managed to pull out some of the soggy mattresses and bedding, not as nice as when they're… y'know, dry, but it was better than the sea floor.

Now, May 14th, 1986, it was hard for Caz to believe he'd been down here so long, his body still felt weird, but it didn't hurt much, the worse that this new form did was cause him to randomly have episodes where he zones out or fully passes out and has a flashback to old memories, usually his own, but often he'd find himself seeing the memories of those who'd previously been infected, such as Muir and Trots. it was… odd, to say the least. it sucked after too cause he always had a headache afterwards.

Caz sat on top of Rennick's old office, it was perched on top of one of the higher sections of the sea floor, when he looked close enough, he could almost see the bottom of the trench from here thanks to his ability to see so well in the dark waters, he could vaguely see the spectral figures of his friends hanging around various sections of the wreckage, most of them began to linger at admin because it was the least destroyed and most stable area, sure, there's a body there, but it's better than being in accommodations or engineering which is falling before their very eyes.

Caz perked up when an unfamiliar light caught his eyes, lifting his head to see a diving bell descending into the water opposite Caz's side of the trench, he couldn't help but get curious, he began to swim nearer, but hid himself behind some debris when he saw a figure emerge and begin swimming out, “fuckin’ hell, I haven’t seen a living soul in a while…” Caz mused to himself, watching curiosity as the man landed on his side of the trench, leaning over the edge of the trench trying to see anything down there before turning and sparingly exploring the area, he was talking, but it was way too muffled for Caz to hear, he watched the person approach admin, crouching to look through the opening in the debris, before lighting and placing a flare, making a trail of flares ending at the edge if the trench before returning to the diving bell, the debris opening collapsing when the diver was gone, after a few minutes of silence, another diver emerged.

Caz watched the new diver approach, she spoke much louder, just barely loud enough for Caz to hear from his perch above her about 15 feet away, peeking in through the door she forced open, now only a few feet away, watching her with only his head poking out to watch, overhearing the person speaking into her radio, “Mhairi… where have I heard that name before…?” Caz muttered to himself, before quickly ducking out of few when the diver looked over “fuck.” he hissed through his teeth.

He continued to follow her along, it was a bit difficult, needing to weave awkwardly to avoid being spotted, then, she found the air pocket in the building, she got up and Caz saw he about to lift her helmet, hoping to stop her, he chuckled a mug to catch her attention before hiding, successfully stopping her from lifting her mask, the woman instead continued, getting up to the second floor that wasn't barricaded, Caz cussed to himself and dragged himself up to follow, using his tendrils to lift himself to the best of his ability, straining his eyes to try to clear the blur from his overly dilated pupils, then he heard the sound of her exclaiming in shock, he rushed over to find her balancing on a beam about to jump, he felt something inside himself lurch when she leapt but was ever so slightly too slow and began to fall, “fuck!” Caz shouted, multiple tendrils shot out and caught her, the woman yelping in surprise.

The woman shouted something inaudible to Caz, who hauled her up and back to the water, “watch where you're fuckin’ going, why the fuck were you trying to cross that? You would've died if i didnae follow you here,”

“Who the hell are-” she shouted when he put her down in the water and she quickly reattached the umbilical cord to her suit, interrupting herself with a gasp when she finally laid eyes on him, flying up against the wall at the sight, “what the hell are you?”

“Now that just ain't very kind,” Caz scoffed, crossing his arms, “I'm Caz, and you are?”

“...Caz?” she repeated, silent for a second as the person in her helmet spoke to her, “w- what do you mean, Rob?” she muttered, eyes widening as she looked at Caz and the person, Rob apparently, spoke to her, “so… you're… Caz, as in… Cameron McLeary?”

“Aye, that's my name,” Caz said casually, leaning against the wall opposite her, understanding she was likely freaked out, especially since she knew his name, meaning she most likely knew he was supposed to be dead 11 years ago.

“How the fuck are you alive!? Nonetheless like… this!” she shouted, gesturing at all of him, Caz sighing.

“You no gonnae tell me your name?” Caz said instead of answering.

“...Mhairi Brodie…”

“...Brodie?” Caz's eyes widened, “you're his daughter, ain't ya?”

“Aye,”

“Fuckin’ hell, if I'd known that sooner I would've-”

“Is he here too?” Mhairi interrupted Caz, who raised a brow before humming in thought.

“...Sorta?”

“...he's not just a body?”

“Uh… yes,”

Mhairi's eyes widened, “can you bring me to see my dad?”

“Well, I can bring him to see you,” Caz chuckles, Mhairi giving a confused look.

“The hell does that mean?”

“I'm the only one alive, and I'm the only one who can see their ghosts, as far as I'm aware,” Caz explained, “he talks of you a lot y'know? Never wastes an opportunity to talk about how worried he is for his wean, how much he misses her,”

“Really…?” Mhairi whimpered, choked up with emotion.

“Aye, he and I are close, we were together when all this shite happened,” he said, gesturing at the baira as he led her out safely, she didn't question how he was speaking and breathing in the water.

“...What happened to him?”

“That's best for you to hear from the man himself, though I dinnae know if he can interact with you… one way to find out!”

Warning... its about to get much more Scottish, wrote and added the rest after it was mostly reviewed.

Caz turned and led her out, his tendrils retracted and he just swam a bit slower for her to keep up, leading her out and when they were about to descend the trench she stopped, “I cannae go down there,”

“Aye… I'll go get Brodie then, stay here,” Caz said, swimming down, he found Brodie talking to Raffs, the two stopping to look at Caz, “Brodie… yer nighean is here,”

Brodie looks at Caz with wide eyes, “what? Mhairi is here? She nae like diving, not even back in Skye,”

“Aye, well, I think she came for ye, she and I spoke, she's waiting for me tae bring ye up, she cannae enter the trench,”

“Lead the way, Caz, I hope she can see me,”

Caz brought Brodie up, he knew Brodie and the other guys have seen divers before now, before Caz showed up, a dozen or so divers have visited and been unable to see their ghosts, that's apparently when reality fully sunk in for them that they're dead, but of course Muir theorized that maybe ghost mediums are real and some can see them, which gave most of the Baira D Crew hope.

And the moment they got up and Caz saw Mhairi's hands go over her helmet where her mouth would be, with wide teary eyes looking at Brodie, Caz thought that maybe, Muir wasn't as wrong as he thought.

Caz swam aside and just watched as Brodie floated over to her, his smile grew and he reached over to try and cup her cheek, but his hand only went right through her, “Mhairi…? Ye… Can ye see me?” He asked, knowing the answer, but unable to believe it.

Mhairi nods with a whimper, reaching over to try and hug him, Brodie uses a ton of energy to get himself tangible enough to hug her, only strong enough to hold it for a few seconds, “aye, I- I can see ye da…” she said, shocked, she could hear Rob trying to talk to her, asking if she's alright, obviously concerned about his friend talking to… well… a dead person. “How… how did ye… end up like this…?”

“Aye, guess the faeries got me,” Brodie said with a soft chuckle, lifting his hand to cup her cheek, even if neither of them could feel it, the gesture felt just as meaningful.

“I'm serious, dad,”

Brodie sighed, looking at Caz for support, who just shrugged in response, “I drowned in the pontoons, to save my mates,” Brodie said, sighing softly, “but we stood nae chance…” Brodie gestures around them and smiles weakly, “I'm sorry that I was gone… I wish I dinnae miss so much of yer life,”

“Da… it's okay, I dinnae blame ye, I- I missed ye tae, why are ye still down here? Cannae ye return hame?”

“Nae, me and the crew have been trapped down here, only one who can leave is Caz,” Brodie said, Caz perked up at his name, the fins on his back shifting slightly.

“Aye, true, the crew has been all scunnered with being trapped down here,”

“Really? Why not?” Mhairi asked, looking back at Caz, seeming much more comfortable with his presence now.

“We dinnae ken,”

“Have ye not tried tae fix it?”

“Aye, I dinnae where tae start, I dinnae want tae leave the others,”

“I can try tae help, if ye want,”

“Mhairi, ye have tae go hame,” Brodie cut in, frowning slightly.

“I ken, dad, but ye dae tae… I ken they probably cannae see ye, but… but I need ye, dad,”

“Aye… well, we'd have tae take that up with the rest of the Baira, I'm sure they'd also want tae return hame,”

“...I have an idea,” Caz said, looking up with his brows furrowed, “we should get the crew first,” Brodie nods in agreement, “I'll go get them, ye two can wait here,” Caz then turned and swam off down the trench, he fetched the majority of the crew, not all of them followed, but those who followed; Finlay, Raffs, Roy, Muir, Innes, even Rennick, they all followed Caz closely, all looking surprised when they arrived and Mhairi looked directly at each of them.

“This is some of the Baira D Crew,” Brodie said, gesturing at the other spirits who all greeted Mhairi with a smile, except Rennick, “this is Raffs, he was my trainee and roommate on the Baira,” Brodie said, smiling as he nudged Raffs playfully, who just chuckled and looked away sheepishly, “Muir and Innes are Deckhands, and Rennick… the Installation Manager, and finally Finlay, she's a Welder,”

“That's… a lot of people,” Mhairi said, her voice a soft murmur, “so many lost…”

“Aye well it was for the best,” Finlay said, Mhairi looking at her in question, Finlay floating over to Caz, “has she been told the full story?” Finlay whispered to Caz.

“Nae…” Caz whispered back, “didnae think sharing was smart… nae yet…”

“Aye, wise choice, McLeary,” Finlay nods in approval.

“So… what's the idea ye had, Caz?” Mhairi asked, approaching Caz, Brodie remained close to her side like a guard dog.

“I was thinking… what if it isn't the Baira yer spirits are trapped in… and it's actually The Beast?” All the spirits turned to attention at Caz's words, all of them looking at him.

“...The beast? What's that?” Mhairi asked, no one answered, instead, Caz just continued.

“If ye lot are bound tae The Beast rather than the Baira… maybe ye can follow me since I am infected, therefore I am part of The Beast,”

“Aye, that's a good point actually, eh?” Roy said, nodding with a hand on his chin in thought.

“Aye, but ain't that risky, Caz? Ye would be bringing The Beast tae the mainland…” Finlay said, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“Well Mhairi being here will also bring The Beast to the mainland when she returns hame,”

“Is anyone gonnae tell me what The Beast is-?” Mhairi said, trying to figure out what they're going on about.

“Mhairi, what in God's name is that!?” A sudden shout interrupted their discussion, everyone looking at the man who'd appeared.

“Rob?” Mhairi said, smiling brightly at her friend, “this is Caz,” she gestured at the infected man, who waved with his eyes averted under the wide-eyed stare of the younger man, “see? I'm not that mad,”

“That- that thing is Cameron McLeary?” Rob said, his voice pitched up and shoulders tense.

“Aye, it's true,” Caz said, his gaze slowly moving to observe Rob, “I worked the leccy back on the rig,”

“He cannae see us, can he?” Roy asked, Caz shook his head in response, watching in amusement when Muir snuck up behind Rob and poked him playfully with a grin, Rob wouldn't be able to feel it besides a chill where touched, which can be excused as the cold of the waters, Innes was watching with a hand on his face and shaking his head, trying to hide his amused smile.

“I'd rather not be stared at like some scary apparition anyway,” Rennick said, everyone ignored his grumbling.

“So… ye're telling me ye survived whatever happened tae the rig?” Rob asked.

“Nae, not exactly,” Caz sighed, rubbing his forehead in thought, “I did die, but I was revived like this… I dinnae ken how it happened, but it did, I only woke up a few months ago,”

“I see… What about the other's?”

“They're all dead,”

“Aye, some of them are here right now, Rob, they're spirits, I can see them, can ye nae see them?” Mhairi asked, pointing at the ghosts, though she knew Rob was oblivious to them.

“Ghosts? Mhairi, are ye sure yer nae aff yer heid?” Rob asked, head tilting to the side.

“Rob… there's a meat eel monster right next tae me, are ghosts really the hardest thing tae believe right now?”

“...Fair point,” Rob said, he sighed, shaking his head, “we should go hame,”

“Aye, can we bring Caz?”

“...And where dae ye think we'd put him?”

“He can go in the bell with us, there's space,”

“We can try, but what if he cannae fit? He ain't exactly small, plus what are we gonnae do with him once we're on the mainland? He ain't exactly subtle,”

“I dinnae ken… we'll figure it out as we go,”

“Mhairi… I dinnae think this is a good idea,”

“Come on Rob, please… m- my dad is here, I ken you cannae see them, but he's here, and he cannae return home if Caz doesn't come, they're… bound, in some way, I dinnae the specifics, but Rob… I need this, I need them…”

Rob sighed, nodding reluctantly, internally cursing himself for being so susceptible to Mhairi's begging, “Och, fine, we can bring him,” Rob gave in.

“Is Hans listening?” Mhairi asked, grinning.

“Aye, I dinnae think he ken what tae say,” Rob said, turning and gesturing for Caz and Mhairi to follow as they head to the diving bell, “lets see if he can fit,”

Rob and Mhairi get into the bell first, before turning and hauling Caz in, the leccy was cautious about using his tendrils, since he could barely see out of water and didn't want to damage anything.

“Cheers,” Caz said as he settled inside, the bell was stuffy with the three of them, but Caz was able to compress and shrink his tail to take less room, Rob and Mhairi watching in shock at the movement, suddenly Caz was glad the spirits were intangible, since they didn't take up much space, Brodie stood with his body phasing through the shelf beside Mhairi, Raffs sitting beside Brodie with his legs crossed, Caz briefly saw Rennick on top of the bell, Muir and Innes were in here too, Muir having dragged Innes up hover against the ceiling of the bell, Finlay was also atop the bell separate from Rennick, Roy had stayed behind to update the rest of the Baira D Crew on where and why Caz and some of the other crew members were gone.

The bell rose slowly, Rob sat looking between Caz and Mhairi awkwardly, fiddling his thumbs, brows furrowing when Mhairi spoke to Brodie, who Rob could not see.

“So… ye have been down there for a few months, eh?” Rob said, trying to snuff out the awkward silence he was feeling.

“Aye…” the silence continued for a few seconds, before Rob spoke again.

“What exactly are ye…?”

Caz shrugged, sitting back against the wall, it was a bit uncomfortable against his back fins, plus he wasn't used to being out of water anymore in general, “Ah dinnae ken,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, “all I ken is it’s probably some sort of cancerous parasite,”

“That sounds boggin,” Rob said, face briefly scrunching up, “does it hurt?”

“Nae, not anymore, though it is tedious,” Caz said, chuckling, “I constantly felt like I was gonnae boke when I first woke like this, I felt pure fucking hacket, plus, it's real dizzying when I use all my new eyes,”

“Aye, sounds about right,” Rob chuckled, “though ye sort of just look like a more realistic image of a mermaid, or merman I suppose,”

“Aye I hadn't thought of it that way, guess ye're right, I could have turned out worse,” Caz said, smiling slightly, “so, who's Hans?”

“Oh him? He's a friend of me and Mhairi, but he's also our Dive Supervisor, ensures we stay in one piece,”

“Sounds like a good man,” Caz said, “though, he's been awfully quiet,”

“He cannae talk tae us now that our helmets are off and the communications are turned off, I'm gonnae turn it back on now that ye reminded me,” Rob get's up, goes to the communications and turns it on, “Hans, you there?”

“Jesus Christ, Rob, ye ken ye are nae supposed to turn off the coms that long ye bampot, are ye and Mhairi alright?”

“Aye, we're alright,” Mhairi said, looking over at Rob and the communications, “we found someone down there, we're bringing him back up with us,”

“Is that right? Who in their right mind would be down there?” Hans asked.

“One of the Baira D crew members,”

“Yer bum’s oot the windae,”

“Nae, it's true,” Rob defended, looking at Caz who was just watching, “Cameron McLeary is with us,”

“The leccy?” Hans asked.

“Aye, he ain't normal nae more, but the man is alive,”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Ah dinnae ken, he isn't entirely human anymore I suppose,”

“And how do I know ye ain't aff yer heid speaking haver tae me?”

“I'm right here,” Caz spoke up, smirking at the sputtering opposite the microphone.

“Cameron McLeary?”

“Aye,”

“How in God's green earth are you alive? Is that really ye?” Hans spoke with a baffled tone, “I cannae believe it,”

“Ye dinnae have tae, though it won't be very denyable when we meet,” Caz chuckled, “suppose we'll meet on land?”

“Aye, ye gonnae have to wait until after 2 weeks of decompression though,”

“See ye at the top,”

[talesfromawannabewriter]

Furry Companion

welp here it is, ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce of the storyline of arc 1 written by @talesfromawannabejournalistand and @kittenfangirl20

also special thanks to @rius-cave for giving me some inspiration for the plot, and thanks to @helluvahazbins for giving me inspiration for the Hellhound character and her appearance from their own art.

@kittenfangirl20 see at end of notes

Lucifer knew there would be a day like this would eventually come. Since the moment Adam woke up in Hell as a sinner and fallen angel Lucifer had vowed have him protected and happy at all times. It was the least he could do after all he did to him. In the beginning it was easy to keep him entertained as he mainly stayed in his room. He stayed in the hotel all the time so he wasn’t worried too worried about it.

But now, especially since they officially got together, Lucifer’s been busy more with his work as King, he can’t be by Adam’s side all the time and Adam was wanting to go out more. Plus Adam needed someone, a companion. Sure he had Angel Dust but that was about it. It didn’t help that the other residents, beside Angel and Charlie, were outright hostile towards him. Lucifer swore that if it wasn’t Hell itself Adam needed to watch out for Vaggie and Alastor and maybe even Nifty but for a whole other reason.

In any event Adam needed a companion, his own hellhound, which is why they were both at a an adoption clinic with the head director walking past kennel after kennel of teens with her going on about the different potentials of each hound. Adam was growing bored and to be honest a bit annoyed at being dragged here by Lucifer. He thought this whole adoption process with Hell hounds was weird, they were treated almost like pets. Yes, they had an animal appearance but they were sentient just like the rest of the demons in Hell. As he was thinking about it in the corner of his eye a movement caught his eye.

There in the back was a young hellhound, who appeared to be female, she appeared to be 12-14 years old. She had the appearance of husky and wolf dog mixed together with dark fur and and long black hair that covered a part of her face. However, when she looked up he saw both her eyes as they flashed red and she growled at him.

Director: sir please stay away from that kennel specifically we’ve had incidents in the past where some male adopters got too close and lost a hand to her. Let’s just say she’s just too unstable to be a good guard for you

Lucifer: come on my dear I’m sure there are plenty others for you to choose from

Adam: yeah you go ahead Luci I think I’m just uh gonna go to the bathroom

Lucifer raised an eyebrow but ultimately shrugged following the lady in charge as she showed Lucifer the other hounds. Adam waited till they were out of ear shot then turned his attention back to the girl who was just glaring at him waiting for him to do something

Adam: um hi

She didn’t respond

Adam: my names Adam, what’s yours?

???: Lydia

Adam gave her a smile

Adam: it’s a pretty name

Instead of a smile she instead bared her teeth and scooted even further deep into her kennel

Lydia: the fuck did you just say!?

Adam: I said it’s a pretty name

Lydia: Get the fuck away from me before I tore open your guts for all of Hell to see!

When Adam didn’t move away from the bars she let out an intimidating bark

Lydia: what the fuck do you want!?

Adam: Nothing I just wanted your name

Lydia: well you know my name now you can go back to your royal boy toy and pick out a good hellhound, just just please go away and leave me alone

Adam stared at Lydia, even though she was telling him to go, deep down inside he knew that’s not what she wanted. Looking at her was like looking at himself when he was in a similar position not just when he revived here in Hell but when he was left abandoned over and over again in his life. Scared, confused, and lashing out at everyone because it was the only way to express how she was feeling. At that moment he knew that he couldn’t let her stay here. Exhaling he stepped away from the bars and crouched a little to make himself appear less intimidating to her. Adam: Lydia, you can say no to this, but…I can take you away from here, would you like that?

Lydia stood up from her cot and took slow small steps over to him. Adam could see her full height being at 5’7. As she got closer he could see her guard was still up until she was standing right in front of him. Lydia stared down deep into Adam’s eyes and even though she didn’t know why, she didn’t feel in danger by this sinner. In fact she felt her walls tore down as she saw nothing but earnestness in them as he seemed like genuinely wanted to help her. Tears started to form in her eyes as she looked down and gave her answer

Lydia: …..yes

alright Kitten, hoped you liked it now it’s your turn

[chimera-dreams]

Lift a Pen and Rewrite the Ending

Fluff for our broken fluffed-out hearts Dedicated to @bunny584 because ow. I promised fluff, so I’m delivering fluff

Pairing: Satoru x piano teacher!fem!reader

CW: just some fluff, man. We all need some happy, sappy moments in our lives with our beloved dumbass boy. 

You taught piano. Plain, simple, easy. At least, you thought so, before meeting an enigmatic man as your newest student. He played a little too well for a beginner, and seemed a little too familiar.

AN: I chose to post this on my side acc since this one was technically made for the exact purpose of writing JJK fics (same with the Ao3 acc (milk_bunny/chimeric-dreams for that one)). So, cheers to the first fic on this blog!

This was honestly scribbled down in a single sitting between 1-5 am. Please don’t judge any mistakes too harshly, I wanted to post it ASAP and not subject it to my endless course of corrections and re-writing.

This is also very short (lmao 6.7k words) for how my work is normally. Again, I just wanted to get it out as fast as I could ;w;

smol update: this has been (minorly) edited! nothing big, I mostly just went in and fixed up a couple mistakes + summoned my dearly beloved thesaurus. Otherwise, it's basically 98% the same as before!

Music sheets laid scattered around you, annotated in messy scribbles in various colors, fonts, and sizes. A scratched out row of bars here, corrected or adjusted notes there, mindless rambles stuffed into the margins as you tried desperately to figure out which key to put your song into so that it matched the exact tone you were going for.

Not like you were some well renowned artist whose career rode on their sole ability to create magical orchestrations. No, you had barely any presence at all. The videos of your songs you posted on YouTube hardly scratched a couple hundred viewers at most, with the occasional comment from a bot or scammer getting your hopes up, only for them to go crashing back down. 

You weren’t some notable figure in the music industry, you were just a white-collar worker that taught piano from your tiny home part-time.

It suited you, you supposed, as bitter as you could feel at times. You were just a normie, a casual passerby who liked having your fingers spring and jump across the keys of your instrument. It was one you inherited from your grandmother. She was the one that taught you how to play when you were little, while your parents were busy working and couldn’t sit and entertain you all day like she could.

She taught you some essentials, too, like how to tune the spinet – ‘It’ll save you big bucks, bunny,’ she insisted – and how to detect even the slightest issue it might have. She was correct about it saving you big bucks.

As shabby as the thing looked, with peeling white paint and floral designs chipping off the sides, the cover scraped to hell and back, and the brassy pedals having long lost their glossy sheen, it was in perfect shape.

In your expert opinion, anyway. You were biased, so what? You had every right to be.

Granny had left the world a while ago, her ashes situated on the short mantel of your tiny fireplace. You lit the candles every day, rested two softly smoking incense sticks on the shallow bowl to catch their cinders, and gave her a swift good-morning before you raced out your door, inevitably arriving at work with only minutes to spare.

In the evenings, you’d teach, then ramble to her about your day, wish her a loving goodnight, and go pass the fuck out. Rinse and repeat, except weekends, where you were teaching all day.

It was tiring, working two jobs like this, especially when some of the kids you taught were insufferable, but music was your passion. At the end of the day, you viewed it as worth every minute spent doing something you loved.

You liked to think she would have been proud of you.

A light tapping sound, a knuckle rapping against the wood of your open front door, caught your attention. It was a warm day, one that was too good to spend with the doors and windows closed. Natural light flooded in, casting the figure standing at the entrance in a brilliant glow that hid their features from you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall to your left, then leapt up from the floor in front of your coffee table, hurriedly and messily stuffing your music sheets into a folder. “Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t see the time, I’m so sorry about that. Are you the two o’clock?”

Today was a surprisingly free day for you. You only had one appointment, with a new student, if you remembered correctly. You must have gotten so ingrained in your rapid-fire notations that you lost track of time.

While you weren’t expecting an adult, since the email sounded like it was from a teenager, it wasn’t uncommon. You had students of all varying ages, anyways. It was a nice change, too; you found that adults tended to listen better than children.

A smooth laugh greeted your ears, the sound impossibly pleasant to your ears. “It’s fine,” the man said as he stepped into your home, breaking from the prison of light holding him. His stark-white hair caught you off guard first, followed by his height, and then the round shades resting low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s me.”

Eyes as blue as the most vivid summer sky peered straight through yours and into your soul, his hues almost appearing to shine in the tranquil environment of your living room, without the help of the overhead lamp you had turned off. His lips curled into a sparkling grin, giving him this sort of youthful luminance that had your heart skipping beats.

You swallowed and looked away before his gleaming smile blinded you, striding over to your upright eighty-eight, using it as an excuse to busy yourself and avoid eye contact with him before he made you stop breathing just by fluttering his lashes.

“Come on in,” you responded stiffly, clearing your throat to ease off the tenseness in your muscles. Why were you getting so worked up over him? Sure, he was pretty, but you’d barely spoken two sentences to him. How had he managed to get you in such a tizzy so easily, where your tongue felt tied and your pulse raced in your wrists? “How much do you know about piano?”

“Uhh,” he set down his briefcase against the wall beside your door, slipped off his shoes, and met you next to the instrument. “I know a bit.”

“Alright,” you nodded and patted the bench, then paused to think if it would be too low for him. What intensely long legs. “Do you need me to get a different stool?”

He shook his head, sliding into the seat like it was second nature to him. “Nope, this is just fine.”

“Great,” you smiled at him and tucked your skirt under your hands as you sat down on the other end. “Let’s get started, then! Are you familiar with the different notes?”

His hands took place over the ivories and he slowly pressed each one down as he labeled them. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.”

“Excellent, that’s awesome! You’re already a few steps ahead of other beginners,” you nodded approvingly and retrieved the thin booklet you had laid on top of the upper panel. You opened it and sifted through a few of the jingle options, picking out something a bit more intermediate for him.

It was still simple, but definitely more advanced than nursery rhymes. You found teens and adults had a more enjoyable time learning when they didn’t feel like they were being patronized. Teens especially, fickle little creatures, those ones.

“Let’s start with this one, then,” you said as you set it against the music rack in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, I think you’ll pick it up quickly.”

The piece consisted of quarter-note half steps that ignored the sharp and flat keys for now. You had placed a piece of tape over the tempo indicator, finding that it put your students under too much pressure and made them stumble in their rush to follow the pacing they thought was right when they didn’t know what tempo was to begin with.

The man took a few seconds to study the sheet, then placed his fingers on the corresponding keys and began playing. 

He was a bit slow, holding some notes too long and others not long enough, but you were correct in thinking he’d get the hang of it fast. After a few runs, he was playing it decently well, and confidently, too.

“Perfect! I knew you’d get it like that,” you snapped your fingers, then picked up the booklet again, flipping the pages in search of something a little more challenging. You probably wouldn’t find it in a kiddie book like this one, so you placed it down and got up, grabbing a more advanced one from the side table nearby. “What got you wanting to learn how to play?”

“Ah,” he scratched the back of his head. “My dad always wanted me to learn as a kid. I finally caved in, if only to make him stop yapping in my ear during family dinners. I’m just twenty years late to the party.”

You burst into giggles as you returned to your place on the bench, placing the new song you had chosen out for him where the previous one had been. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. You’d be surprised how many later bloomers there are.”

He chuckled along with you. “Well, that’s a relief. Had me fearing I was the only fully grown student you’d see in your life.”

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I teach a grandfather that wants to play for his grandson at his graduation next year. It’s never too late to learn.”

When you looked up at him, you found him already peering at you with those intensely cerulean irises, his sunglasses folded neatly into the collar of his shirt. You twitched, startled by his stare. He had you locked in his gaze, captivated as he observed you and you observed him.

You noticed with wonder and fascination that his lashes were as milky white as the tresses on his head.

He really was beautiful. Those same lashes were long and soft, brushing his high cheeks whenever he blinked. His lips were plush and pink, seemingly always curled up into a permanent smile regardless of size. Life and boyish playfulness darted in those mesmerizing oases that refused to shake their hold on you, and you wouldn’t wish them to.

They were the breath of fresh air you never knew you were deprived of, the nectar of life that was water to your parched throat, the flickering mirage that came to life before your very being.

You felt drawn to him, inexplicably. There was something so… familiar about him, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Like you’d seen him before, across the metro platform, or walking into the store you were just leaving, or someone walking the opposite direction as you on the crosswalk.

Where have I seen you before?

You blinked yourself out of the illusion, your lips parting, closing, then parting again before you finally managed to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot your name, could…could you remind me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, forgiving your forgetfulness. “Just call me Satoru.”

Just Satoru? Is that really okay?

It doesn’t sound like a name I’ve heard before.

“Alright,” you agreed regardless. “Satoru it is. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you murmured your own name in return, dipping your head down in a mini bow. You returned your attention to the music sheet, lightly tapping the back of his hand with your pointer finger. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You noted how much bigger his hands were compared to yours. It was hard not to see it, your index finger would likely barely reach the topmost joint of his if you pressed your palms together.

Your hands tingled at the thought. You quickly shoved it aside, focusing on being a good instructor. 

Satoru continued to surprise and impress you as he mastered the tunes you chose for him after trying them out a few times. Each time he made a mistake, he listened attentively as you corrected it, laying your hands over his as you adjusted the positioning of his fingers.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” you snickered. “I’m a bit jealous. It’s hard for me to reach those far keys sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned cockily, flashing you a sultry glance between chords. “They can reach a lot of things very easily.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you stuttered, whipping your head away and acting as if he hadn’t completely flustered you.

Truthfully, the session was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but when you looked up at the clock, you were shocked to see you were nearing an hour longer than expected. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, maybe thirty minutes at maximum. Had it really been that long?

You pushed yourself up, stretching your legs as you felt pins and needles spark up in them. “Seems I got distracted twice today. I’ve kept you for an hour longer than I intended, I’m sorry,” you laughed meekly. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that, that’s on me.”

“It’s no worry,” Satoru reassured you as he got to his feet as well, delicately closing the fallboard with a careful hand. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind paying for it, I did take up your time.”

He made something warm form in your chest.

“It’s fine, I love teaching. It’s not my main job, anyway, don’t stress,” you brushed away his concern. “You’re a prodigy, y’know,” you told him as you walked him to the still open door. “It’s no wonder your dad wanted you to learn how to play. I’m sure he’s proud.”

He let out a chuckle that sounded maybe a little forced. “Yeah, hope so,” he responded as he eased his shoes back on and bent down to grab his briefcase. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Thank you,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, blushing. “Ah– when would you want to see me again? I-If you do, I mean.”

The odd firmness he had a moment ago melted away, once more replaced by that handsome smirk of his. “Same time next week? Ah, hang on, why don’t I get your number, just in case? I have a bit of an unpredictable schedule.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you assented, taking his phone after he unlocked it and passed it to you. “You don’t like using email?”

He shook his head, watching you punch in your number into a new contact, add your name, then hand it back. “Nah, texting is easier for me. I’ll message you later tonight, yeah?”

“Alright,” you acquiesced.

“Oh, right, how much do I owe you?”

You blinked a few times before recalling that it was technically a paid session, though it didn’t feel like that to you. You murmured out the cost, and he gave you an odd look for a brief second. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a few bills, and folded them in half neatly before passing them off to you.

“Thanks for the lesson,” he grinned and waved goodbye, promising to text you later as he headed down your walkway, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

You closed the door with a quiet poompf, staring blankly at your piano as you tried to remember how to function again. You glanced down at the bundle of money in your hand when you thought it felt a little too thick, brow furrowing as you unfolded it and counted and holy shit that’s way too fucking much–

You rushed out of your house, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and looked for him, though you knew it was futile. He was already gone.

You tried to think of how you were going to slip the excess money back into his pocket next time you saw him, but as soon as you were inside, you raced to the folder you left on your coffee table, practically ripping it apart as you pulled out all the papers, aggressively uncapped a pen, and got to writing at light speed.

That man, whoever he was, infected you with a painful shot of inspiration that you needed to get off your chest right then and there. Your hand flew across the pages, revising entire sections you had been stuck on for weeks in the blink of an eye. Messy verses were refined, the missing notes floated into place, and by the time the moon had risen high and the timid breeze had turned cold, you had finished your song.

You looked it over one last time, a disbelieving giggle escaping you. You finished it. You finished it. This damned piece had been giving you restless nights, a broken loop in your brain that kept skipping over the unwritten parts, but one session with Satoru had seemingly given you the one push you were missing all along.

Your phone buzzed.

You opened it and tapped on the messages icon to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown, 9:17 PM Hey! Sorry for texting so late. It’s Satoru. Does next week still work for you, same time?

What divine timing on his end. Right as he entered your thoughts, he slid into your DMs. 

Your fingers practically trembled with giddy excitement as you texted back instantly to confirm the time, uncaring of what kind of impression that was making on him. You were elated, feeling like you could exhale in peace at last. You gave a little victory cheer as you went about closing and locking all the windows and doors, pulling the curtains shut with so much energy, you questioned if you’d be able to sleep.

The answer was yes. After you had gotten all ready, having pampered yourself as a small reward for yourself, you fell onto your bed and passed out mere minutes later. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

“How’d you learn how to play?” He asked one day as he sipped at the tea you prepared for him. He was right about his schedule being hectic at times, but he somehow managed to fit himself into having lessons with you a few times a week, rather than just the standard one.

It surprised you, but pleasantly so. He was eager to learn and improve, and you were more than happy to teach him. He made for fantastic company, too, and you found you enjoyed spending time chatting lazily with him just as much as you did instructing him.

“My grandma taught me,” you told him with a smile. “She passed away a while ago, but I like to think I’m keeping her legacy alive like this, by teaching others, and keeping that old lil’ thing alive.”

Satoru nodded in understanding. “You’re amazing at playing,” he complimented sweetly. “She did a great job.”

“Thank you,” you answered bashfully, hiding your blush behind your own mug of tea.

“What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile felt like the sun kissing the apples of your cheeks on a perfect spring day. Him wanting to know more about you had your heartbeat picking up in speed, chirping a new, happy melody like a canary.

You deliberated before replying. “She was a very shrewd woman, stern in her teaching, but very gentle at the same time. She was the kind of granny that snuck me pieces of candy when my parents weren’t looking. She let me stay up late playing music whenever I was staying at her place. I probably bugged my parents to let me stay there every weekend, just so I could play it and learn from her.”

“So you got into music young?”

You bobbed your head. “I fell in love the first time I heard her playing when I was a toddler. I had woken up from a nap one day, somehow escaped my crib, and crawled to the living room to watch her play for…man, I don’t even know how long. I was just…hypnotized.”

“She sounds like she was a maestro,” he snickered airily, though you knew he meant it.

You grinned widely, resting your chin on the curved cup of your palm. “She really was. I can show you some videos of her playing sometime, if you’d like to see,” you offered.

“I’d love to.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Satoru had been your student for a while now. 

He zoomed through the intermediate pieces into the advanced-amateur category easily, though seemed to plateau around there. Despite this, he was a wonderful student, always trying to improve himself and his skill. You knew he had it in him, he was only missing a little something he needed to tip him to the next level.

At one point, you had joked that he must have been purposefully holding himself back just so he could keep studying under you.

He laughed, and said nothing more.

By now, he reached a point where he would come in with a pep in his step, claiming he had perfected a lullaby he wanted to play for you before you started the session. You’d find yourself (politely) seated on your couch nearby, and would watch with a fond expression you didn’t know was there as he treated your piano with a touch more tender than even your own.

And you’d listen. He’d choose some of the prettiest, albeit not complicated, arrangements to play for you, and you’d find yourself slipping into a state of blissful peace. All your thoughts would drift away, and you’d absorb yourself in the music he played. 

A few sessions had been spent just like that, with him as your personal musician, and you couldn’t figure out why you felt so…happy.

You liked the emotion a lot, though, and found yourself looking forward to his every visit, anticipating the full body chills you’d get whenever he lulled you into that state of delighted serenity. You didn’t remember when you stopped charging him, and when you let him come in without knocking anymore. 

You also didn’t remember when having tea after each session became tradition, but you were grateful for the joy he brought you with his presence alone.

In fact, you decided to get him a small gift as thanks. For what exactly? His company? Patience? Entertainment? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything big, either. It was a record you stumbled across while visiting a thrift shop recently.

You picked it up for two reasons. First, he divulged he had a hobby of collecting old vinyls. Second, he mentioned he had been searching for that specific record for a few years with no luck, saying it was the last one he needed to complete his collection from that particular brand. The moment you spotted it, you grabbed it and practically bolted to the cashier, uncaring of the price.

There was no way you were leaving it there for someone else to nab it before he could. It was the most reasonable option.

Which was why you were extra giddy to see him again.

You opened the door in the middle of him reaching for the handle, stunning him for a second. That bewilderment was quickly wiped away by an excited grin that surely matched your own.

“If I knew you’d be this enthusiastic to see me, I would have worn something better,” he quipped.

You snorted and waved your hand, stepping back so he could come in. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my favorite student? You look good no matter what you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Favorite, eh?” He teased as he closed the door behind him, leaning down to give you a quick hug. “Now I really feel like I should have worn something fancy.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” you giggled, leading him to the usual spot.

“I dunno,” he hummed, a sly expression crossing his face. “Pretty big deal to hear that from my favorite teacher,” You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest weakly, to which he laughed openly. “Ready to get started, teach?”

What a gorgeous sound his laughter was.

“Actually,” you said, “I got something for you. Wait here a moment, lemme go grab it.”

He raised a brow but didn’t raise any objections as he sat down and tugged his tie to loosen it a few inches, saying that he’d be right there.

You had to resist the urge to skip to your room to locate the record and retrieve it from the drawer you had safely stored it in. It was your sock drawer, actually. You wanted to keep it somewhere protected while it tarried for its new owner. You sang the melody of your newest single quietly as you picked it up, inspecting the album cover for any indication that it had been touched since you last put it in there.

Pristine. Obviously aged, but in flawless condition otherwise.

Sounds from your living room brought pause to your actions right as you closed the drawer after dumping all your socks back into it.

…Was that music?

Frowning, you picked up the record and crept towards the source of the noise. You recognized it instantly – it was the most notable piece written by the notorious Gojo Saichi. It was considered the most difficult composition created within the last century or so. You’d listened to it on repeat occasionally, attempted it dozens of times, though you always fell short before the second movement started, which came early on.

Was Satoru watching a video? No, the melody was too clear and full to sound like it was coming out of a phone speaker.

Then…

You froze in the entrance to the hallway, stuck in place as you watched Satoru play the oeuvre flawlessly. From where you were standing, at an angle, you could see his precise actions and motions. Every note came to him as naturally as air, each shift in tempo as easy as blinking, down to the fragile, silk-like contrast that made the instrument sound as if it was a weeping widow, sitting on a window sill as she descanted to the moon, alone. 

His digits knew exactly where to go, when, how deeply to press, how to shift between fierce and floaty as if he was born to do exactly this.

As your eyes flickered from his hands to his face, you saw that his eyes were closed. He was doing what some musicians could only ever dream of achieving in their careers; he was uniting with the music, playing as one, letting it fill his heart, then pour out with every throb like the very blood in his veins.

The most complicated, difficult, astronomical concerto known to man in the modern age, and he was playing it like it was nothing.

Satoru must have sensed your burning gaping as his hues flickered open and his hands stilled over the claviature. He looked over towards you, his mien morphing into something resembling embarrassment.

You staggered closer. “That…that’s…that piece was…written by Gojo Saichi…” You mumbled, barely able to get the words out. You set down the record onto the coffee table, already having forgotten about it.

You were flabbergasted, rattled as you came to a stop at the side of the piano. He…how could he have played that so well? Wasn’t he barely in the advanced category? That was…that was professional, grade A, genius level music he played.

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you would have believed his show of being sheepish if the gleam in his eyes didn’t give him away. “He’s my dad.”

You sluggishly dropped onto your spot on the bench, peering at the keys but seeing nothing as you unpacked the bombardment of information you witnessed.

“That’s…the– that’s the hardest piece…even I can’t…”

“I know,” he rubbed his nape. “He basically forced me to stay up day and night playing it until I got it right.”

“But…how?” You tilted your head, peering up at him from the corner of your eye.

Satoru shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bombshell on you. “I asked him to teach me when I was a teen,” You heard him say. “I’m sorry for deceiving you,” he apologized, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I…” You labored to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He asked. You nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh. 

Instead of answering immediately, he stood up and pulled you to your feet as well, pulling you into the kitchen, where he filled your kettle with water and put it to heat up.

You desperately wanted to know what exactly was going on, but couldn’t find it in yourself to rush him. He went about methodically picking out both your mugs from your cupboard, tossing a bag of tea into both, grabbing the bowl of sugar on the counter, and setting it all down on the table while he waited for the kettle to whistle. He seemed lost in thought, while you had many and none at all at the same time.

You could only observe him as he picked his words carefully.

He finally began when the shrill noise of boiling water filled the room. “I don’t know if you remember – probably not, since you didn’t recognize me – but we actually did meet a while ago. I was a lot different back then,” he said as he poured the water into both mugs, afterwards placing it back on the stove and holding his hand sideways at roughly chest level. “Maybe this high, scrawny, kind of a douchebag,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You were still in shock over the whole situation. All you could do was silently urge him to continue by leaning closer, accepting the cup when he passed it to you. Heat spread through your fingertips, easing away the frosty feeling you didn’t notice set in.

“You were playing the piano in the music room at the school we went to together. It was…honestly, beautiful. I grew up with a famous pianist for a dad, but even he can’t make music sound as alluring and gentle as you can,” he continued, awkwardly holding his own mug. “So, when I saw you again a few months ago, I couldn’t believe it was you. I always wanted to ask you to play something for me when we were younger, but could never get the nerve to.”

As he spoke, the memories were beginning to filter in through the thick haze in your brain. 

You were so focused on writing music and learning to be a great musician like your grandmother that you never really paid attention to your surroundings or the people around you if they weren’t your granny, parents, direct friends, or music teacher.

From what you did remember, Satoru was always a confident, cocky boy, shameless and loud. To hear he was…shy about asking you to play for him was hard to believe.

“So, I finally let my dad start teaching me,” he rambled on when you didn’t respond. “I’ve tried so many times to replicate the song you played, but I could never get it right. I know it’s probably a long shot, but you don’t happen to remember what song that was, do you?”

You thought back, scraping the dust off your highschool recollections. There was one piece you had hyperfocused on perfecting during the last year there, determined to play it exactly as your grandmother had.

You never did manage to master it.

You set down the tea you had only sipped at twice and walked past him into the living room, heading to your piano in a sort of trance. You slid onto the bench, and set your fingers on the keys. Muscle memory took over, the gentle tune coming to life in…how long had it been since you last played this?

You let the music flow through you, gave it access to your heart, allowed it to peer into the deepest parts of your soul, and simply followed the path it created.

“Was it this one?” You asked quietly.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared at you with nothing less than amazement. “That– that’s the one. Which– what’s it called?”

“It’s a piece my grandma wrote for my parent’s wedding,” you answered. “She didn’t tell me what it’s called. I’m not sure if it has a name to begin with. She played it for me once, and I,” you huffed out a short, choked chuckle, “I became obsessed. I spent every day as a senior trying to get it right, to play it like she did, but…”

Your fingers slowed into a stop as you looked at them blankly, recalling your attempts, and the disappointment that followed each failure. You memorized it after playing it just twice, but it didn’t help you reach your goal in the end.

You startled when his hand rested lightly atop of yours, his body partially leaned over your shoulder so he could look you directly in the eye. This close, you felt his light breaths as they brushed your cheek. You could see the exact shade and hue of the teal composing his striking irises, match the exact pace of his heartbeat to a sonata, hear him swallow nervously.

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sounding almost desperate. “Please.”

You obliged. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? When he requested it so feebly in a trembling voice that was close to cracking? How could you say no when you saw and felt firsthand how his body relaxed when you filled the room with the lilting melody once again?

The music hopped and glided, playful in some parts, somber and tranquil in others. He stayed right where he was, the heat of his stomach resting against your upper back, thawing the tension in your shoulders as his hands held them gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your tight trapezius.

In every way, the ballad reminded you of your grandma, of your parents, of your childhood spent trying to reach a point where you were truly happy with how you played each note.

But, if that was the case…

How come you saw Satoru’s eyes when you closed yours and listened to your own hands dance across the keys? 

Why did his smile, his laugh, his touch, his voice, his everything, come to mind when you picked apart every stanza and bar? If you put together all the notes a specific way and decoded them, you swore they’d spell his name.

Your hands drifted and halted as you reached the end of the lilt.

Or, rather, the end as you knew it.

There was a brief pause, then he mumbled, barely above a hum, “is that it?”

“Grandma never showed me how it ended,” you told him morosely. “She said she’d tell me ‘when the time is right’, but…she died before she could.”

He sat beside you and took your right hand into his. His fingers massaged meaningless shapes into the creases of your palm and the smooth plane of the dorsum. Neither of you dared break the silence, mulling in your own worlds.

Satoru was the one to cautiously cross the line of quiet, doing his best to not disturb it. He wrapped his left arm around your back, pulling you into his side while continuing to toy with your dainty digits.

“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Truth be told, you never imagined you’d find yourself in this kind of place before – especially not in this position. 

Your hand hovered over your brow, shading your eyes from the brilliant sun as it shined low in the sky, kissing the horizon. Though it was setting, the approaching night was warm as ever. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress and caught the strands of your hair that managed to slip loose from the style your mother put them in. 

Stars were already beginning to dot the expanse above, glittering and so, so crystalline when you were this far outside the city. You never thought you’d get to see them so clearly, enough to point out individual constellations, and even identify Jupiter and Venus. 

You never had a reason to leave the bounds of the city before, so all this was a distant dream you might have had once when you were a teenager. 

But here you were, outside a lovely villa, surrounded by friends, family, and loved ones, miles away from where light pollution would dare to touch. The buzzing, lively chatter of dozens of guests filled the air; the clinks of glasses, the clacks of forks and knives on plates, all of it was so animated. You felt like you were in a sort of daze, overwhelmed with happiness to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

A pair of soft lips pressed against your temple, drawing your attention to radiant, minty-ocean hues.

Satoru gazed at you with nothing short of pure, raw, true adoration. Like every fiber in his body, each and every singular cell, was dedicated to loving you.

“I have one more present left for you,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss right after before he stood up and raised his glass. He tapped the back of his knife gently on the side, creating a chiming noise that settled the ongoing conversations with ease.

Once all the attention was on him, he set both objects down and began speaking.

“I know we’ve already said it a lot, but I wanted to thank you all again for coming here to celebrate this day with us,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “This is truly the happiest day of my life – so far,” he added cheekily, earning him a laugh from the crowd. “So, before all the festivities end tonight, I wanted to do one last thing, if you’d all be so kind as to grant me this moment.”

Of course they would. Satoru was just that type of person. Charisma poured off him in waterfalls, charming anyone he spoke to without effort – you included.

He pushed back his chair, moving to leave. Confused, you grasped his arm and called his name.

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t identify, not with the light tingle of wine sitting in the back of your mind and the overstimulation of the grand day.

“Just listen, baby,” he whispered to you, then he was weaving through the guests, snaking his way to the grand piano situated off to the side of where everyone was situated. “This is a little song I heard many, many years ago, and fell in love with from the first few notes. I’d like to dedicate it to my mother-in-law, father-in-law, their late mother, and I would like to especially dedicate it to my lovely wife.”

Your mother gasped, grabbing your arm as soon as Satoru began playing the familiar melody of the diapason you had been taught ages in the past. It was the one your grandmother played for you, just once. It was the one she played for your mother and father for their wedding. It was the one you played for Satoru, once unknowingly, and every time after that intentionally.

The one he was playing for you now.

Your mother teared up faster than you did, reaching for a clean napkin to dab her eyes with while she waved her free hand at her face, trying to stave off the tears so that they didn’t smear her mascara, though she wasn’t succeeding. Your father was gently shushing her, rubbing her shoulder while he looked between you and Satoru with pride, and you…

You recalled the first time you heard him play the composition his father had written, when you still believed he was just an advanced player. Back then, you felt entranced.

Now, you felt completely spellbound.

You lifted yourself, carefully making your way between the enchanted spectators. Some clutched and squeezed your hand as you passed, and a few others breathed out little congratulations to you, not risking breaking the delicate atmosphere. 

By the time you made it to him, your vision was blurry, and he was playing the last line of bars.

The arrangement floated into the placid, halcyon evening, each individual note rising like a star to join the thousands that looked on with bated breath, protecting this little moment of clement apotheosis.

His hands swept across the final few steps, barely touching the keys at all. The concluding tone resounded, fragile and silk-like, followed by a second of calm silence before the crowd erupted with cheers, hoots, and deafening applause.

Satoru rose from the bench, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It echoed in you, the sweetest lullaby, the happiest composition that could never be written down identically. It was one only the two of you could hear and feel, one only the two of you could dance, live, cry, laugh, breathe, and love to.

Of all the endings you ever tried to give that precious lullaby your grandmother had written so long ago, the one Satoru created was perfect.

Because you created it together.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

banner by cafekitsune ♥

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Battle for Fourth

Please be civil in the notes. We will block people if we feel it is necessary. A character being canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included. This is not a competition of who is better representation.

Check out the final poll here.

Eda Clawthorne-The Owl House

Qualifications:

She has a magical chronic disorder which has flare-ups, is mitigated by taking medication (potions), and has similar side effects to many real disorders such as fatigue, greying hair, and physical impairment (drains magic, a natural ability of *most witches). Unlike in other stories however, her condition is NOT ever completely cured. It does evolve and become more manageable over the course of the story, but she still experiences symptoms from it. Eda also loses one of her arms later in the story. She does get a replacement hook, but it is never shown whether she has a functional prosthetic or not. Most likely, she only has one fully functioning arm after this. As for being queer, she is in a relationship with a nonbinary person and is all but confirmed bisexual (has a secret box with the bi flag on it seriously why else would she have this). Also the owl house has a Lot of queer characters in it and I mean. just look at her. I would be surprised if she wasn't queer somehow.

Bisexual, and has a curse that affects her day to day life

Bi & lost arm and has a chronic illness metaphorically

Propaganda:

Has canonically dated both men and a non-binary person. Her curse affects her ability to use magic (and at one point outright stops it), which is very important in witch life. Said curse also causes her body parts to fall off sometimes. Many have said her curse is like a metaphor for depression but really it's more like a magic version of a physical disability (although I wouldn't be surprised if she actually also had depression).

Uuuuh she’s great and stuff idk I can’t propaganda well sorry

Harrowhark Nonagesimus-The Locked Tomb

Qualifications:

She's a lesbian and the author Tamsyn Muir has confirmed she's written as schizophrenic, based on her own experience.

Okay SO Harrow is a necromancer nun who is also a huge lesbian. She spends the books of TLT series being super gay and repressed about her emotions for 1. Butch lesbian Jesus and 2. Human Barbie the death of God. She narrates the second book (Harrow the Ninth) and is author-confirmed schizophrenic. She experiences hallucinations thru the whole book and has since childhood. She’s also WIDELY headcannoned as autistic by the fandom (me too) because. Because she IS SO FUCKING AUTISTIC (source: I am autistic too)

Schizophrenic lesbian with a traumatic brain injury

Schizophrenic and sapphic

canonically a schizophrenic lesbian. neither word is used in series, she isn't in a position to get a diagnosis and queer identities are so normalised in the universe that labels just don't get mentioned, but she is written as both by an author who is also both.

Canon schizophrenia Canon lesbian with canon schizophrenia

She's a schizophrenic lesbian with a traumatic brain injury

Propaganda:

The Locked Tomb is pretty popular on tumblr but I might as well submit her anyway

She’s a lesbian necromancer nun. She’s a saint and also woke up the death of God, who is a human Barbie, who she is in love with, tho she’s also kind of married to lesbian Jesus. She’s schizophrenic. She’s scrungly. She puts bread in a drawer. She’s even autistic

Harrow first started hallucinating (visual and auditory) when she was ten years old! The traumatic brain injury and seizures are much more recent. Unironically gotta love a pov protagonist who makes you struggle along with her in sorting out hallucination and false memory to figure out what's going on. Also while Harrow's disability shapes the narrative, the book isn't at all about her being disabled. It's a fantasy/scifi gothic horror novel about being trapped at a work retreat with God.

so many women want her but she’s determined to be in love with the soul of the dead earth trapped in a 10ft barbie doll instead. she’s a lesbian disaster and is trying to deal with both schizophrenia and over 200 actual ghosts haunting her.

a schizophrenic lesbian, written by a schizophrenic lesbian! she's in love with multiple dead women, but she's also a necromancer so that's not as big of an obstacle as it sounds. weird little bone-obsessed necromancer lesbian. I care about her deeply

Author Tamsyn Muir has discussed how Harrow's schizophrenia is modeled after her own experiences. It matters a lot in her eponymous novel, where her inability to trust what she sees and hears is compounded by her self-inflicted lobotomy to save her girlfriend's soul from getting absorbed into her own.

Harrow is one of the protagonists of her series & both her lesbianism & her schizophrenia play major parts in the story. The author has spoken about how she wrote Harrow based on her own experiences, and the authenticity comes through strongly. Beyond that, she's a teenage gothic nun in love with a holy corpse & she's the greatest bone magician ever born. What more needs be said.

She's a lesbian, she's psychotic, she has seizures, she faints regularly and can't rely on her own memory worth shit. And the only reason she's not going to kill god is so she and her girl can escape the cycle of violence. Basically, Harrowhark Nonagesimus is the entire package.

Anything Else?:

Listen. Listen. I’m not doing Harrow justice here. I LOVE her (Submitter 2)

The author is also schizophrenic! Which is pretty cool. (Submitter 3)

The author of the series is openly schizophrenic, and has mentioned in interviews that she's drawing on that experience when writing Harrow :) (Submitter 8)