#drift (stuck in the dead end for a reason):

[pharmasrightarm]

separate ways

[bballesbolol]

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby

Paige x Azzi

Summary: A phone call from Katie Fudd was all it took for Paige to fly across state lines, because when Azzi needs her, she’ll always be there.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: minor injuries, mentions of car accident, vaguely panic-attacky scenes

a/n: This is a lil’ something different, but I hope you like it! Shout out to the anon who dropped the idea in my inbox a while back, the idea stuck to me and I ended up writing it in my head at work yesterday. I’ve been staring at this for too long so there might be mistakes��lmk what you think!

wc: 4.6k

It was late when she got the call.

She was alone. Apartment dim. Half eaten DoorDash sitting on her coffee table in front of her. Game film on the TV. Her eyes were already starting to drift shut despite the fact it was only eight o’clock.

Her phone had been dry—well, her version of dry. Maybe a few texts from the coaching staff, or her teammates going out, but no texts from the one person who mattered: Azzi.

She hadn’t heard from her in a couple hours. But, she wasn’t worried—didn’t have any reason to be. Azzi was back home for a week. Her family has decided to celebrate the end of summer workouts with a reunion before Azzi’s last year at UConn, something she couldn’t say no to. She was probably just too busy with her family to reach out.

But then she got the call.

Her phone lit up from the coffee table, cutting through the dim light. She leaned over squinting to read the caller’s name.

Mama Fudd

Katies contact photo grinned back at her from the screen.

Not Azzi, but at least it was a Fudd. Maybe Azzi’s phone was just dead? Or Katie just wanted to help her feel included in the family get together. Either way, she wasn’t worried. She picked up the phone without a second thought.

“Hey Katie, what up?” Paige chirped into her phone

The other end was silent for a moment.

“Paige, Don’t freak out.”

It was definitely Katie’s voice from the other end, but this didn’t sound like a friendly hello. She sounded cautious—like she was gearing up to give bad news. Paige's breath caught in her throat.

“Katie, what’s wrong” Paige's voice was a little quieter as she replied.

“Azzi’s okay—”

Paige felt her chest tighten.

“What happened” she tried her hardest to fight the wobble in her voice.

“She got into a little accident”

Her heart dropped. Katie paused for a moment, waiting to see if Paige would interject. She didn’t—couldn’t. Her head was too busy running through everything that could’ve gone wrong.

She could’ve torn something playing pick up with her brothers—or running around chasing her cousins—maybe she broke her wrist or her ankle falling out of a tree she was dared to climb trying to prove a point—she was always too competitive to say no—maybe she was already in surgery, scared and alone and heartbroken that her senior year was ruined by another stupid off season injury—

Katie spoke up again, almost like she’d read her mind, “she’s fine, just a little shaken up. She wanted to tell you herself but she can’t have her phone right now.”

Paige tried to calm down her breathing. In. Hold. Out. Count to ten like Azzi taught her. It always worked for basketball, helped calm her racing thoughts when she was on the bench trying not to cry over a smoked layup.

But it couldn’t help now. Not when the person who taught her how to breathe was hurt and alone in another state.

“Paige?” Katie's voice sounded from her phone, soft and small.

Paige couldn’t let herself process this anymore than she already had. She spoke without thinking, “I’m coming. tell her I love her and I’ll there in three hours”

“Pai—“ She hung up before Katie could get the chance to finish. She was calling her Agent before the call ended.

Paige's voice must’ve given the urgency of the situation away, because her agent didn’t even question her when she said she needed to be on the next flight out of Dallas. She only packed one bag. Scrambled around her apartment for the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, change of clothes, Azzi’s favorite sweatshirt, phone charger, glasses—

Next thing she knew, she was in the airport, boarding a flight to Virginia.

***

Touchdown couldn’t have come fast enough.

Her brain had been a hurricane of worries the entire flight. Her palms were sweaty, heart racing, breathing shallow, everything was too loud and too quiet all at once. All she needed was to see Azzi. All she could do the whole flight was fiddle with the topaz ring on her finger—the one Azzi had given her before Dallas—hoping it could soothe her, just a little.

Airplane mode had made her flight over a living hell—not knowing what was happening—how hurt Azzi was—it only made her panic more.

She cursed herself for not asking more questions on the phone with Katie, but honestly? Her only concern was getting to Azzi as quickly as possible.

She made a quick pit stop for flowers before rushing towards the exit doors.

A rental car was already waiting for her outside. Katie had texted her the address of the hospital, along with about a million other “she’s okay, really” texts.

30 minute drive, but it felt like hours.

She just needed to see her. See that she was alright. Hug her and hold her and tell her it was all okay—if not for Azzi then for herself.

She finally pulled into the hospital parking lot around midnight. It was late, the lot was practically empty, but there wasn’t a tired bone in her body. She rushed out of the car, scrambling to grab her bag and the bouquet sitting next to it in the passenger seat.

She flung the bag over her shoulder and raced to the front door of the hospital.

She was immediately overwhelmed when she walked in. The lights were glaring and fluorescent, a headache waiting to happen. There was a buzz in the lobby that just felt anxious. Strangers filled the small plastic chairs in rows, some bouncing their legs, some with heads in hands, some whispering to each other softly.

It all felt too real. Hours ago she was drifting off to sleep, now she was in another state just to see—

Azzi. God, poor Azzi. She must be exhausted, all shaken up from who knows what, and now she was up past midnight in a hospital. She still had no idea what happened, but she knew that Azzi had been waiting for her for far too long.

She made her way to the front desk.

“I’m here to see Azzi Fudd” her voice was certain, but a little wobble found its way through.

The woman at the front desk didn’t even look up from her computer.

“Visiting hours are over hon, only family allowed in right now. you’re gonna have to wait until the morning” She waved her off like she was nothing. Like she hadn’t just hopped on a flight to see—as far as she was concerned—the only girl in the world that mattered.

Paige took a slow breath, “I am family. I need to see her” her voice was shaking now, and she could feel the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes.

The receptionist looked up, sliding her glasses down the bridge of her nose.

“Family?”

Paige gripped the counter so hard her knuckles turned white.

“I’m her girlfriend, and I just flew in to see her because she is probably scared and hurting and needs me” She could feel a tear threatening to trickle down her cheek, but she didn’t care. She opened her mouth to continue, but was interrupted.

“Paige?” A voice carried into the lobby from down the hallway.

Paige blinked the tears out of her eyes and squinted, trying to make out who had spoken.

Katie's arms were around her before she even knew it was her, and Paige let herself be swallowed by it.

She rubbed Paige’s back in soft, soothing circles, and, suddenly, she could feel the ground beneath her feet. She sniffled as Katie pulled away, hands still firm on her shoulders. A grounding touch.

“Hey, you’re here. You’re okay” she whispered, voice warm. She gave her shoulders one quick squeeze before letting go and rounding on the front desk worker with a fury that Paige had only seen at sleepovers when her and Azzi kept Katie up past 2 am with their delirium.

“And you—“ she thrust a finger towards the woman, “you will let this girl come with me. She just flew in from Dallas and my daughter needs her.” Her words were sharp and short.

The woman took a moment to take in the dire expression plastered on Katie’s face, before she looked at Paige, rolled her eyes, and reluctantly murmured, “you’re good to go”

She didn’t waste any time.

Katie led her through the hallway, filling her in as they went.

“Like I said, Azzi is okay,” she swallowed and continued, “she got into a car accident—“

Her heat dropped into her stomach. She shouted, “WHAT” before she could stop herself, freezing where she stood,

Katie shushed her, reaching out to grab her hands, thumbs tracing patterns on the backs of them as she continued.

“It was minor, she just got rear ended by someone at an intersection. Physically she’s okay, just a concussion and maybe a sprain somewhere in her back and neck”

Paige let out a sigh she didn’t know she’d been holding. Physically fine. No surgery. No rehab.

Katie tugged on her hands, pulling her back into the moment, and Paige looked up to meet her gaze.

“Mentally, she’s shaken up. She won't admit it but—well, a mother knows. She was cleared to go about an hour ago, but she’s refused to get in mine or Tim’s car. She said she’s waiting for you.”

Paige felt something pull deep in her chest. She couldn’t respond just yet. She just—needed a second. Azzi was okay. Scared and stubborn as hell, but okay.

Katie dropped her hands, “I think she needs some time alone with you, you always know how to make anything better for her”

Paige sucked in a deep breath, blinking rapidly. Her mind was still racing, no matter how hard she tried to calm it down. Slowly, she nodded, letting Katie continue leading her down the hallway. When she rounded the next corner, she found Tim leaning up against the wall, illuminated by the white lights in the ceiling.

“Hey Paigey, we’ve been waiting on you” he murmured, voice low.

Paige made her way over to him, pulling him into a hug.

”Hey Tim, s’she alseep?” She pulled back from the embrace, eyes tracking up and down him anxiously.

“No, trying though. She said she needed a little quiet.”

Paige glanced at the door behind him, then back to Tim.

“She in there?” She whispered, like she was afraid her question would drift under the door and disturb her.

“Yeah, go on in kid” He nodded towards the door.

Slowly, she turned the handle, letting a stream of light filter into the dim room. Azzi groaned at the sudden brightness, eyes screwing shut.

“I said warn me before you blind me next time” Her voice was weak and raspy, but she was there. Warm and safe and alive. And still able to be her same, short-tempered self.

Paige felt a weak smile spread across her face.

“Az, it’s me” she whispered, carefully closing the door behind her. She made her way over to her bed, dropping her bag in the chair next to it.

“Paige?” Azzi’s voice was small and uncertain.

“I’m right here baby” her hands found one of Azzi’s grasping it firmly.

“Are those for me?” Azzi nodded towards the flowers in Paige’s free hand.

Paige chuckled, “nope, just bought ‘em for fun” She laid them down on the tray next to Azzi’s bed before taking a closer look at her,

“how do you feel—what do you need”

Azzi sighed, picking her head up to look at Paige, whose eyes were raking over every detail of her face. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her pupils were blown. Her heart hurt just looking at her. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around her and stay there forever.

”can you just get in?” She swallowed, “just, hold me for a bit?”

She sucked in a breath, trying to keep it together for Azzi. Still, she let a sniffle slip before she replied, “Of course baby”

Azzi pulled back the thin sheet that covered her, shifting over so that Paige could fit into the small hospital bed next to her.

Paige moved slowly, careful not to jostle Azzi too much as she settled in next to her. She slid her hand under Azzi’s back, pulling her closer. Azzi rolled over onto her, slinging one of her arms around Paige’s shoulders, and the other across her chest. Paige brought her free arm to Azzi’s back, rubbing up and down it gently. Azzi nuzzled her head into the crux between Paige's neck and shoulder, sighing as she went limp in her embrace. Paige felt her warm breath feather out across the skin of her neck, warming her whole body.

She pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“you okay Az?” She breathed, hands still soothing up and down her back.

Azzi sniffled into her neck, humming a weak “mhm” against her skin.

“It's okay to say you aren’t” she whispered, pressing another kiss to her head.

Azzi sniffled again, “It’s fine—I just—you shouldn't be here—“ she choked out, voice wobbling, “You came all this way and I’m fine—”

Paige felt an ache deep in her chest. She sounded exhausted—absolutely wrecked. She had just gotten into a car crash, and she was more worried about the fact that she was here. Paige felt something warm drop from Azzi’s face down onto her neck—a tear. That only made her heart break more.

She slid her hand from Azzi’s back up to the back of her head, pulling her closer.

Paige screwed her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears that were threatening at the corners of her own eyes.

“shhhh” she soothed, voice barely more than a breath “baby don’t cry, it’s okay” Her thumb brushed gentle strokes into the skin behind her ear.

Azzi made a strangled sound, tears still dripping from her eyes.

“you didn’t have to come out—you have a game in Dallas tomorrow—and—fuck I’m so sorry—” her words came out rushed between choked sobs and sharp breaths.

”shhh, breathe” Paige slid her hand back to Azzi’s back, trying to coax her to slow down and inhale. Finally, she felt the weak rise of her back as she sucked in a quick breath.

”Az, baby, listen to me, I would fly out if you got a papercut, just to kiss it better. You couldn’t pay me to be in Dallas right now—not when you’re clearly not fine.”

Azzi sucked in another shaky breath, “I am fine—I’m not hurt, I don’t have a scratch on me—“

Paige interrupted her, ”Katie said you got a concussion—”

Azzi was quick to cut in, ”yeah, I have a headache, whatever—”

Paige’s voice was stern, “You have a concussion, and that’s not even what I’m worried about. You got rear ended—that had to be so scary for you.”

Azzi sniffled, arms wrapping around Paige a little tighter.

“yeah” she whispered, voice pitifully small. She sniffed again, “yeah it was”

The ache in her chest deepened. She pulled Azzi closer, leaning her head against hers.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

Azzi sniffled, rubbing her nose into Paige’s shirt. Slowly, she picked up her head, looking out into the darkness of the room.

“I uh—I was getting to a red light and—um—whoever was behind me just—they didn’t see it I guess” Azzi nuzzled her head back into Paige's neck, “It shouldn’t have gotten to me like it did, It was just so unexpected—and they were going so fast—“ she stopped, sniffling into Paige again. Her voice was smaller as she continued, “I didn’t do anything wrong it just—it happened” She took a sharp breath, “and apparently I was out of it when he came to check on me so he called an ambulance—just being safe—and then I was here—”

Paige sat in silence for a moment, just letting Azzi’s words settle in. She’d been through so much today, and she was still worried about her. The fact that she might miss a game to be here, comforting her. Her chest ached at the thought.

“oh baby,” Paige could feel tears beading up in her eyes, “that’s not something you need to be fine after.”

Azzi paused, sucking in a raspy breath.

“I’m sorry” Azzi squeaked, voice still shaking.

Paige’s heart dropped even further.

“Az please don’t say sorry, you did nothing wrong” Paige lifted her head to press another kiss to Azzi’s head, “I’m sorry that that happened to you” She pressed another kiss to her forehead, pulling back to watch Azzi.

Her breath was less sporadic, and she had stopped crying, now just left with puffy eyes and a stuffy nose. Azzi picked up her head to look at Paige, eyes meeting hers cautiously.

Paige brought her hand to Azzi’s face, thumb brushing over her cheekbone and continued, “I’m sorry you’re still awake so late,” She pressed another soft kiss to Azzi’s forehead, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

A drawn out silence filled the space around them. Azzi was the first to break it

“Are you okay?” She whispered, breath warm against Paige's skin.

Was she okay? Why was that even a question? It shouldn’t even be a thought in Azzi’s head—not when she was fresh off of something as traumatic as a car accident.

Paige had to fight to keep her voice even, "Don't worry about me—I’m only here for you. You need to go to sleep soon—Katie told me you were waiting to go home until I came, I don’t want to keep you here—“

”—No,” Azzi interrupted, “No It’s not you—I just can’t leave yet” Azzi spoke a little faster, words coming out strained. She took a shaky breath in, “I just—I can’t”

Paige looked down at Azzi. Her lip was quivering, and her eyes had gone a little wide at the mention of leaving. Something wasn’t right.

“Az, what’s wrong?” She stroked her cheek again, searching for the answer somewhere in her face.

“I just don’t know if I can—I don’t know” Azzi trailed off, looking away from Paige

Paiges mind was immediately racing,

“what can’t you do? Are you hurt? Can you feel your legs?” Her eyes went wide, darting down Azzi’s body.

”no, I’m fine It's just—“ She swallowed, eyes looking up at the ceiling “Paige I don’t know if I can be in a car right now.” Her words were barely above a whisper, spoken like she was sharing a secret. She sounded utterly defeated.

Paige felt that familiar tug on her heartstrings. How could she not have thought of that? God, she felt awful. Just seeing her like this, so broken, it made her heart break into a million pieces.

“Oh my god of course—Az, I’m so sorry baby that’s okay,” Paige murmured, voice soft

”It’s stupid—“ Azzi was starting to choke up again.

Paige rushed to correct her, “No baby its not stupid, you could never be stupid—“

Azzi interrupted, words spilling out between hurried breaths, “but, I hate this bed, and this room, and this stupid hospital and I wanna go home” she sniffled, “but—but I can’t—I just feel so fucking weak”

”shhh Az” she used her thumb to brush away the start of a tear from Azzi’s eye, “you aren’t weak, you’re human. Of course a car is gonna be scary right now”

Azzi rolled over onto her back, still resting on top of Paige's other arm. She dragged her hand from Paige's chest to her face, covering it. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

“I just wanna go home—but every time I think about it—it feels like it’ll happen again. It was so out of nowhere and it’ll happen again—“ Azzi’s breathing was getting faster, and she could already see tears beading up in her eyes again.

“Baby just breathe for me, okay? All you gotta think about is breathing” She rolled to her side and reached out for the hand covering Azzi’s face, gently pulling it away and interlacing her fingers with Azzi’s. She peppered kisses across the back of her hand, eyes never leaving her.

“I wanna go home” Azzi choked out before sucking in a deep breath.

Paige pressed another kiss to her hand, then picked her head up, thinking.

”do you think you’d be ok If I stayed with you?” Her question hung in the air for a moment, “In the car, I mean. If I was there all the way home?”

Azzi took another breath, “uh—I um—I can try”

Paige squeezed her hand, “look at me baby, I can sleep here all night if you can’t, okay? I only want to try if that’s what you really want.”

Azzi sniffed, turning to look Paige in the eyes, “I want to get out of here”

“Okay” Paige leaned over and pressed a kiss to Azzi’s forehead, “Do you have anything you need me to pack up?”

Azzi shook her head. Slowly, she sat up, letting go of Paige's hand as she went. She winced at the movement, hand shooting to rub her neck.

Paige slipped out of the bed and reached for her bag, dragging it over and digging through it.

“I brought you something that might make this a little easier,” She reached in and pulled out the sweatshirt she had packed for Azzi. An old UConn hoodie, worn to the point that little holes were forming in the cuffs, but her favorite nonetheless.

Azzi’s bottom lip jutted out, and Paige watched as her eyes started to well up again,

“Paige” Azzi looked like she was about to bawl at the gesture. She reached out and took it, slipping it over her head with a sigh, “I love you so much”

“I love you too baby,” Paige zipped up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder before grabbing the flowers she’d left at Azzi’s bedside, “I’m gonna go talk to your parents, okay?”

Azzi nodded.

Paige slipped out of the room, careful not to let too much light in as she left.

Katie and Tim were waiting leaned up against the wall across the hallway.

Tim was the first one to speak up, “Is she okay?”

Paige nodded, “she’s just shaken up, like you said. But um—“ Paige turned and looked back at the door, then back to the two of them, “she’s ready to go home”

Katie spoke up next, “do you want to bring her? Or one of us?”

Paige paused for a moment, thinking through exactly how she should do this.

“I think one of you should bring her, but I’m gonna ride in the back with her. I can have someone bring me my car tomorrow”

The two of them nodded.

Katie jingled her keys, “I can go grab my car and bring it around for you two”

“That's perfect. Thank you,” she looked to Tim, “you okay?”

Tim nodded, “fine, just worried about my girl.”

Paige sighed, looking back to the door, “me too”

Tim and Katie headed for their cars, and Paige slipped back into Azzi's room.

She found Azzi still sitting on the bed, fiddling with the sleeves of her hoodie.

She watched for a second, waiting to see if she would speak up first. She didn’t.

Paige took a deep breath, “Do you feel okay to leave?”

Azzi paused for a moment, looking down at her hands, then back to Paige. She sucked in a shaky breath.

“I think so”

Paige reached her free hand out to Azzi, who took it, slowly helping her up off the bed and towards the door.

“your mom’s bringing her car around, it’ll just be a minute.” She looked and found Azzi staring off into space. She gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and Azzi’s eves snapped back to her own, “you sure you’re ready to go?”

Azzi gave her a curt nod.

“words, Az”

Azzi took another deep breath, “yes, I’m ready to leave”

Paige leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple, “okay, come on”

***

Azzi was stiff against her in the back of the car. She was buckled in behind the passenger seat, and Paige was beside her, hand still secured around Azzi’s now resting in her lap, letting Azzi lean into her. They were still parked at the front of the hospital.

“It’s only ten minutes, okay? Ten minutes and then were home.” Paige planted a kiss to Azzi’s temple, then rested her head on her shoulder.

She hadn’t made a sound since they sat in the car. The only noise coming from Azzi was her breathing—strained and a little raspy.

She finally broke her silence, “I’m okay, we can leave” her voice was a little strained, but she sounded sure.

“We good?” Katie's voice chimed in from the front seat.

Paige met her eyes in the rearview mirror and nodded.

Slowly, the car began to roll. Azzi squeezed Paige's hand, leaning into her as the car pulled out of the lot.

A minute passed. The drive was smooth, Azzi’s breathing was steady, and Paige's hand was only being crushed a little bit under her grasp.

Then they rolled to their first stop. She felt Azzi’s body lock up beside her. Heard her take a sharp breath in as the car slowed. Watched as she screwed her eyes shut as Katie eased into her break.

Paige leaned in, letting her mouth settle in close to her ear and whispered, “It’s okay Az, you’re okay.” She placed a quick kiss into her cheek and continued, “you’re safe, I’m here.”

Azzi leaned against her, close enough to feel her heart racing. They were only stopped at the red light for a moment, then, slowly, they accelerated out of it. Azzi let her body relax, just a little.

Paige smiled and planted another kiss on her cheek, “see? You’re okay.” Another kiss, “nothings gonna hurt you baby” She let her head settle back on Azzi’s shoulder once more.

The rest of the drive was the same. At every stoplight Paige whispered quiet reassurances into Azzi’s ear. And at every stoplight, Azzi grew less and less tense.

Ten minutes later, they were on Azzi’s street. She squeezed her hand as they pulled down her driveway.

“We’re here”

Azzi let out a sigh of relief as she opened her eyes and found the familiar scenery outside of her home.

with her free hand, Azzi reached up and cupped Paige's face, pulling her in closer. She placed a gentle kiss on her lips, pulled back and gazed up at her

“thank you”

Paige leaned in and gave her a quick peck, then cocked her head and asked, “for what?”

Azzi smiled and leaned her head against Paige's shoulder, “for being here. for staying. for making me feel safe for the first time since—you know—“

Paige smiled, letting herself melt into Azzi for just a moment. She had to fight not to fall asleep here, curled up in the backseat of the car.

She pulled herself away, “you don't need to thank me, you need to get to bed” she pressed one last kiss to her temple before reaching down to unbuckle Azzi’s seatbelt, and then her own.

Paige reached across Azzi for the door handle, cracking the door enough for Azzi to swing her legs out and slide out of the car. Paige followed, shutting the door as quietly as she could behind her.

Before she could take a step towards the house, Azzi’s arms threaded around her waist, pulling her flush against her into a hug.

Azzi looked up at her, eyes heavy with sleep and still swollen from all the tears she shed that day.

“Can you stay?” she asked, voice weak with exhaustion.

Paige placed a soft kiss on Azzi's forehead before pulling her in so Azzi could nuzzle in against her neck.

“Of course I can stay.”

[woradat]

LOVE TRIANGLE ❤️‍🔥

SUMMARY - an old battle-hardened doctor, now stuck in a messy love triangle straight out of a bad soap opera. Who knew heartache could be tougher than war? What on earth should he do?

THEME - angst, ofc

PAIRING - ratchet x reader (mainly), drift x ratchet, drift&reader (maybe DratChet x reader in the end. Idk)

Ratchet was nearly in shock—stunned and overwhelmed by a flood of emotions he couldn’t even begin to name. And all of it… was because of you

“Ratchet! Primus, I missed you so much!”

There you were, rushing toward him with uncontainable joy, wrapping your arms around him with all the longing and love that had built up over the years. That was the moment it truly hit him—this wasn’t a hallucination. He wasn’t losing his mind. This was real. You were real. Standing here, in front of him, in his arms, at long last

Mere seconds after regaining his senses, the old medic embraced you back without a second thought, paying no mind to the others aboard the ship who were now staring at the two of you. He didn’t care. Not when you were here, finally back in his arms after hundreds—millions—of years of waiting

“you look old… Oh—sorry, is that your friend? I—”

“Where have you been all this time? Why did it take so long—” Why now? Ratchet asked, pulling away from the embrace, gripping your shoulders tightly, eyes full of worry, frustration, longing… and something even deeper

“It’s complicated… but I’ll explain everything later. Still, welcome back aboard—to both of you. Drift, right? Rodimus mentioned you quite often”

Oh. Oh. Ratchet had almost forgotten—Drift was there with him. Drift, who had volunteered to come back with him, lured by persuasion, shared memories, and a past neither of them could quite bury

Ratchet admitted, he had let Drift in more than he ever expected. After you disappeared, he was convinced that his spark had gone cold. He didn’t want to admit it—not now, not in front of anyone—but it was Drift who had made him feel something again. Something warm. Something he hadn’t felt in eons. But now… now you were here, and everything was spiraling

He loved you—of that, he was certain. But what he felt for Drift… it wasn’t nothing. No, he couldn’t pretend there wasn’t something between them. Not when he was the one who insisted on going out to find Drift

Something he never did for you

Even if it wasn’t entirely his fault, the old medic couldn’t help but feel guilty. You disappeared into the chaos of war—not confirmed dead, not confirmed alive, just… gone. He had wanted—needed—to go looking for you. No matter the danger, even if it meant going alone, even if you were on the far edge of the galaxy, he should have tried

But duty held him back. Limited resources. The state of war. Responsibilities he couldn’t abandon. Ratchet, as the Autobots’ chief medic, had to stay. Logic told him it would have been futile anyway. The Decepticons probably had already taken your life, perhaps in a place so remote your body would never be found. Or maybe it was an accident—some cruel twist of fate. That reasoning made it easier to just… sit still. To lie to himself. To tell himself you were dead

That it was easier to let go

And in the end, he did

Now, he regretted it with every ounce of his spark

.

.

“So I guess that makes you a friend of Ratchet’s? Well then—welcome aboard the Lost Light! Uh”

“Absolutely, thank you so much! Y/N’s the name. I’m just glad you’re both alright”

Drift, ever the kind soul he was, remained unaware of the emotional storm brewing just beneath the surface. Ratchet hadn’t told him about you. He didn’t know. And that, perhaps, was for the best

The old medic didn’t want to make things more complicated than they already were. He needed time—needed to figure himself out, to sort through the tangle of emotions in a way that wouldn’t leave any of the three of you broken. He had to make a choice, didn’t he? It certainly felt that way

But no—this wouldn’t be easy. Emotional responsibility never was. Relationships were never simple. Not like this

For now, he just wanted to be glad. Glad that you were here, that you were alive. That much, at least, shouldn’t be too much to ask

The rest of it… that could wait for tomorrow

[lunaralight09]

Can you write about 049 stopping another scp from killing you ?

mmm finally writing for a 2022 request. idk what's happening myself

What great of the day. Getting reprimanded over a not so serious thing, almost spilling your beverage over your lap, getting caught up in a containment breach... Could it be any worse?- Well it could - but that's not really something you want to linger on for too long.

Going over the ever-so now silent halls(some are bloody... or contain a dead body of some colleague that you don't know... Still) is not that pleasant. Especially when you feel like something is following you. It not a feeling of being watched by cameras by whatever is taken a hold of the facility. Something is following you for sure, even felt like something was breathing so close to your neck. Hearing it's raspy, faint breaths... Or you're getting crazy or stressed. Possibly both.

After getting to a more safe hall, as safe as it can. Just... slumping against the wall. Taking a breather after mindlessly walking and trying to not run into SCPs that'll gut you, break your neck or do much more sinister shit to you. Although the feeling of something breathing and observing you grew more, now that you're stationary. The same breathing becomes more and more louder, reverberating through you skull... Suffocating. You're tired. But you can't just fall asleep here, it's a death sentence... You just. Need to rest. A bit. That's all - nothing out of the ordinary.

It's almost peaceful. But you don't feel like sleeping, which is somewhat good for... the previously mentioned reason. But man - you're exhausted. Mind drifting off somewhere until registering the stinging pain on your forearm.

Seeing the many not so deep(thankfully) puncture holes from many sharp teeth. Starting to bleed. Beads of blood appearing from the bite, slowly spreading over surrounding skin, slowly becoming prickly and itchy. An itch that should be scratched.

Standing up and starting to pace in the hall and covering the wound with your other hand, staining it with the warm liquid. That damn breathing... Getting in your head. An itch to be scratched. Maybe there will be some bandages in the tables? There should be at least someone who has had them stored in the drawers. Once again going through the halls again. Hoping to find the containing cells of SCPs. The closest one you could find is down. Taking the silent elevator. Hearing it whirl before coming to halt with a ding

...

Lights down here aren't working properly. Not all, since there are working ones, most are either completely not working or blinking. It would be smarter to not enter 049's containment chamber and observing room. Yet you continue onward. Almost loud footsteps, breathing and humming of flickering lights are what you can hear now, it's peaceful. No breathing. But... dead, mutilated bodies of the guards. The stench... Quickly walking past them and not breathing that much to not throw up and possibly grown more weaker you finally reach researcher's tables. Rummaging through the drawers, hoping to find a bandage, any bandage will do to not irritate the wound and make it rot... Thinking about it - seeing the dead bodies should've made you turn back. Risk of infection grows more and more.

Not finding anything useful except a night vision goggles. You have to leave the place. But the moment you leave the room and walk past a laying corpse, it almost grabbed you. Groaning in pain as it stands up. Meanwhile you do manage to quickly run to elevator, waiting for it to arrive.

...

It was supposed to stay down here, right?

...

You didn't call it up.

...

You didn't call it back down.

With that zombie coming closer and the elevator possibly going down... to you. You're stuck here. A rock and a hard place. Ha. You'll die here right? This is the end? Probably.

The familiar ding is heard as the doors to the elevator open, signaling your end.

"Ah, I wasn't aware we had company. We rarely get visitors down here."

Turning- No whipping your head to the dark cloaked figure with that damned bird mask. Of course he would linger here.

"My. You're bleeding" Reaching out his hand which made you back off a tiny bit. Still somewhat keeping in mind that there is a zombie that would rip you apart. "Do not be afraid fellow doctor. I'll patch it up, it'll be no problem for both of us. Is it"

"Well" Falling silent and just staring at 049. He reached out his hand. Not to you but to slightly push away his 'patient', which let out a grunt before just turning away to mindlessly wonder these halls until MTF comes by and cleans up the mess in facility.

"Well?" He questions when he got not actual response. Slightly tilting his head, staring back at you.

"It's no problem, really. And i really should go-"

"It's safer here, no need to run off and get hurt out there, doctor. And there shouldn't be any meetings in this situation. So please. Let me help you out" - His voice is still as pleasant as it always was, even if he is insisting to help you out. It'll lead you to become a zombie, just another carcass to feed his delusion that he's helping humanity. But you're so tired. Do you really have a choice? To argue with an anomaly that killed Dr. Hamm, who questioned 049 far too long for doctor's liking. You just sigh and murmur 'okay'.

Pleased that you complied and relaxed a bit(in his point of view), he moved deeper in these halls. "Come". Is all he says, expecting you to comply. You do. Now feeling more groggy as you follow him.

Motioning for you to sit down on the bed in the cell, right in his containment cell. Sitting with a sigh and extending the bitten arm, with less bleeding and much more dried up blood. You don't care that you could die by his touch. Just drifting in and out of consciousness as his warm, gloved hands hold your forearm, pouring some liquid that slightly sting the wound, then wrap up a bandage around the bite. Humming some sort of tune... Slowly making you finally close your eyes and almost fall asleep sitting up. Damn his voice.

A soft thud is heard as a scientist fall on their side, chest slowly moving up and down as the sleep took hold. 049 watches for a moment before he has to go. He has so many infected souls to help, so much suffering from pestilence.

[bookinit02]

hi!! i was just wondering if you had any buddie fic recs? i've read all of yours, and i tried to sort through your bookmarks afterwards but it ended up really overwhelming me for some reason 😞 so i was just curious if there were any you'd recommend, like specifically? love your fics btw hope you have a great day/night 🫶

hi!! 1) thank you so much and 2) yes, definitely! i have too many buddie fics that i absolutely love tbh, which is probably why my bookmarks are overwhelming—i think i have almost 150 by now😭 but here are the ones on my god tier list, in no particular order!

failing up by derryfacts2 (10.7k): eddie confesses his love and buck is insane about it. i ADORE the writing of this, especially the dialogue. they are Best Friends For Real.

forwards beckon rebound by hyruling (9.7k): eddie’s coma dreams after a car accident en route to texas. an absolute gut-punch in the best way possible.

hope is the thing with feathers by effervescentwolf (29.5k): this one makes me CRAZYYYY!!!!! magical realism, buck gets turned into his kid self and eddie takes care of him. i remember crying so much at this one because. baby buck. ohhhhhhh he needs a hug so bad. and he gets them! thank god. need to reread this one again asap actually.

should we talk about the weather by trysetmeonfire (20k): basically takes the idea of drift compatibility from pacific rim (which is one of my all-time favorite tropes, despite never having seen a single minute of pacific rim), and brings it to the real, non-au world. buck and eddie are Linked. good shit.

the going water and the gone by trysetmeonfire (31.5k): eddie presumed dead fic where buck takes care of chris. these are my favoriteeeeeee angst fics of all time, but especially this one. they hurt so good.

theoretical corpses, laughing by amiril (25k): this is actually just one of my favorite fics like. Ever. (and its predecessor, which you should probably read first). it’s about the Aftermath of eddie getting stuck in a time loop, from buck’s perspective. if that doesn’t make you want to read it, i don’t know what will. also, this fic has, to date, the MOST ACCURATE depiction of adhd that i have ever seen in my life, as someone with very likely undiagnosed adhd. literally love this so bad like it’s not even funnyyyyyy.

no place like by clytemnestra (51.6k): buddie platonic hookup fic w/ angst. delicious. i loveeeee this trope and this one especially is just so well done. infinite kudos!!

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea (85k): THIS ONE OKAY. THIS IS MY RAVI FIC OF ALL TIME. basically starts as buckravi fwb (non-explicit), then turns to buddie. split povs between buck, ravi, and eddie. this is THEEEE depiction of canon ravi to me. it explores his family and his culture and his personality and his childhood like. so fucking well. every time i miss ravi i come back to this fic. on top of that, though, it explores buck and eddie just as well (including buck’s traumas/hang-ups about casual sex). just incrediblyyyyy well done like i cannot give this fic enough praise. please read it if you have not🙏🏼

let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts (54.4k): buck and eddie work through buck’s bucket list after the lightning strike. soooooo sweet like genuinely heartwarming. i love this one a lot.

burn the straw house down by rarakiplin (40.2k): this is THE time loop fic to me. along with the amiril one. like these two fics together could actually keep me going for the rest of my life with nothing else to read. desert island shit. i am obsessed with this fic to the degree that i read it six (SIX) times in a row when i first discovered it. all 40k. like literally for days on end i did nothing but read this fic. in fact i think i will go read it again Right Now.

that’s not all the fics in my god tier list (and certainly not all the ones i’ve ever loved and/or bookmarked), but hopefully it gives you a good idea of where to start! i really recommend looking around for yourself, finding authors you love, and reading all their work. i wholeheartedly love every single author on this list, and many many more! happy reading💗💗💗

[broad-shouldrs]

Hold On To Me || Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~3,579

summary: you weren’t supposed to be here—stuck at a summer camp your dad signed you up for. but joel’s here too: your neighbor, your boss, a single dad, frustratingly competent and infuriatingly attractive.

you shouldn’t want him. he definitely shouldn’t want you.

warnings: dbf! Joel (but he didn't know you as a kid). age gap. au!no outbreak. pining. slow burn. only the slightest bit of smut, f!masturbation

a/n: just trying to catch up to a03. this is one of my favorite chapters. meanwhile, I'm over here internally debating on whether to split chapter 6.

chapters 1-5 are currently posted on a03

The first day of training, it's 84° and you're absolutely fucking miserable. You're disgustingly hot, sticky from the humidity, and sweating through your neon green t-shirt.  You stand around a circle of mismatched folding chairs, fanning yourself with the day's schedule, while a girl in a Camp Firefly T-shirt and cargo shorts explains the emergency evacuation protocols with way too much enthusiasm for 9 am. You silently curse your father for presenting this like a viable option when you're this close to melting.

You should be paying attention to her but you've noticed Joel, just off to the side of the room, arms crossed, and looking every bit like a man who’d rather be anywhere else — except his eyes keep drifting over to you. Not often but just enough for you to notice.

You feel stupid for caring. You had only known each other for two years and not even really that. It had been two quiet summers with barely a handful of words exchanged. But the way his eyes drift to you now does something to you. It shouldn’t. He's probably just checking on you. Or maybe he's not even looking at you at all.

Still, you feel something stir inside you before you can stop it. You tell yourself it was nothing. Sunstroke. Wishful thinking.

But you can't bring yourself to look away.

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

The next morning, you volunteer to go on a supply run in town. You end up in the middle row of the van, wedged between two counselors you don’t know well and pretending the A/C is doing something to quell the humid air seeping inside.

You’re decidedly not looking at Joel. You’re not. But you can feel it — his glance in the rearview mirror. You tell yourself it’s nothing. He’s just checking the road or the mirror.  You’re in the dead center — his line of sight. It doesn’t mean anything.

Your body betrays you and your cheeks burn in a way that has nothing to do with the Texas heat. You turn your head and keep your eyes turned out to whatever is passing by through the window.  When you finally glance up, his eyes meet yours for half a second. You look away first because you have to. Because otherwise you'll keep thinking this is something it's not.

The van hits a bump and you pretend that’s the reason your hands are shaking.

Later that afternoon, you find yourself fumbling with the unfamiliar straps of a rock climbing harness, trying to remember which buckle goes where and how tight is too tight. The nylon feels rough against your skin and you can feel yourself start to get uncomfortable. You let out a frustrated breath and clench your teeth, watching the other counselor's complete the task with ease. The last thing you want to do is ask for help, but you don't get the chance to.

Joel steps quietly behind you and before you can react, his hands reach around and adjust the straps. There’s nothing deliberate or flashy about it — just careful, precise movements, the kind of touch that belongs to someone who’s done this a thousand times before. You’re acutely aware of how close he is, how his body leans just enough that you can feel the faintest heat radiating off his back. Your shoulders stiffen, and for a moment, you fight the urge to press back against him.

His hands linger for a beat longer than necessary on the strap near your thigh. It’s subtle, nothing that crosses a line, but your skin prickles in response, a quiet shock of awareness.

“There you go. Just like that.” His voice is so low it travels all the way down your spine. 

You glance back over your shoulder and for the briefest moment you make eye contact, neither of you speaking. You’re so fucked. 

Joel clears his throat and takes a couple of steps back, eyes noticeably darker. “Looks good, keep practicin’.” 

Alone in your cabin, you can’t help but fuck yourself with your fingers. It's dirty and so wrong but you're lost replaying the moment from earlier, imagining that it had just been the slightest bit different. 

If you had been bold enough to press your ass into Joel’s front as he crowded your space. He’d be surprised but wouldn’t dare pull away. Instead, he’d pull you closer, gripping your hips with his calloused hands. You’d push against the curve of his cock, relishing in how large he felt against you as he got hard. He would press his lips to the side of your neck and let out the dirtiest sounding “Fuck” against your sweat-slick skin. 

He’d grind against you seeking the friction you both so desperately craved from one another. One of his hands would wind around your shirt, lifting it up ever the slightest as his other hand would slip past the waistband of your shorts. Your panties would be soaked and the slightest brush against your clit would have you bucking into him, reaching for whatever part of him you could.  

He’d waste no time pushing the damp fabric of your panties to the side, and pushing two fingers deep inside you. He’d fuck you slow and you’d be desperate for it — for him. “Please, Joel” 

“I bet you look so pretty when you come”, he’d mutter against your ear. “Lemme see it, baby. Lemme see you come for me.” 

When you come, you cover your mouth with your free hand, biting down on your palm, so as not to scream out Joel’s name. 

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

The campers arrive and with that your days have gotten increasingly busier. Your days are jam packed with activities, meals, and chores that you barely have time to relax.

There’s a bonfire scheduled, marking the end of the camper’s first week and you've gotten yourself put on s'mores duty. You’re on your way to the mess hall to gather supplies when you stop to catch your breath. The sun is starting to set, casting a warm golden hue across the sky and painting the world around you in a soft amber.

You hear Joel before you see him — low, rough grunts cutting through the otherwise still evening air. Then the sound of impact, the sharp crack of wood splitting beneath an axe. It’s rhythmic, almost methodical. You follow the noise until you catch sight of Joel near the edge of the tree line. His jaw is set and his body moves with a quiet, commanding force. His movements are fluid, like he’s done this a thousand times, and it’s oddly mesmerizing. You're stuck on the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, and how the muscles in his forearms flex each time the axe makes contact with the wood. Your eyes follow the curve of his back and yet he doesn’t seem to notice you, focused entirely on the task at hand. 

You tell yourself it’s nothing —  sheer curiosity. Your breath catches when he pauses to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and you feel that all too familiar flutter in your stomach. All of a sudden your skin feels too warm. You shouldn’t be thinking about him like this but you’re drawn in. It’s stupid and irrational. But you stay there, rooted to the ground. Watching. Wanting.

You’re lost in thought, standing there longer than you should, when you hear his voice. He’s paused for a moment, leaning on his axe and looking over at you from across the clearing. His eyes are warm as they meet yours, and for a brief second, you wonder if he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking. “You need somethin’, darlin’?” 

Your mind completely blanks because he says it so easy — darlin’. Like it's habit. The way it just rolls off his tongue in that fucking drawl lodges somewhere deep in your chest. You can’t help it when you picture him saying it whispered against your neck or groaned into your mouth. Softer. Rougher. Closer. A pang of want shoots through you, uncoiling the memory of how his name had left your mouth just a few nights before.

You blink, trying to recover with a shrug. “Just headed to the mess to grab some marshmallows for tonight. Stopped for some air.”

It’s a weak excuse. You both know it. Joel tilts his head with a stupid smirk on his face, like he knows your innermost thoughts, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he brings down the axe and plants it into the chopping block with one clean motion. He wipes the sweat from his palm, dragging the back of his hand across his jaw, making your mouth go dry.

“You sure?” he asks, almost amused. “You’re lookin’ a lil’ flushed.”

Truthfully, you're burning up. Not just from the Texas heat but from embarrassment, from arousal, from the fact that standing this close to him makes your skin feel too tight. You give a quiet laugh, praying to get through this without doing or saying something incredibly stupid.

He watches you, keenly aware of how you're not able to stand still. “Alright then, best be gettin’ back to it.” He straightens up, resting the axe on his shoulder. His gaze lingers on you longer than expected, eyes steady and curious. “I’ll see you there?” His voice drops just a little, like he’s testing the waters, waiting for your answer. There’s something in the way he says it — casual, but with a hint of something more beneath the surface that makes you forget how to breathe.

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

You feel embarrassed about the way you’ve been yourself around Joel. You know you’ve crossed the line into full-on delusion and the weight of that crushes you. The bonfire is a blast — filled with food, laughter, and games — yet you’ve spent the whole night weaving through the crowd, trying to keep your distance from Joel without it being obvious.

“There you are,” Joel’s voice cuts through the noise, calm but with that fucking drawl that makes your knees instantly turn to jelly. You freeze, and can feel your heart speed up. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all night.”

You glance up, meeting his steady gaze. He has that quiet intensity that makes your chest tighten. You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out right away. He steps closer, closing the distance between you, and suddenly the noise around you feels miles away. He doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t touch you. But, he's close enough that he could. Close enough that you would let him. 

“Figured you were busy,” you say, trying to play it off with a shrug, eyes flicking toward the firelight. “Important camp director stuff, you know?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, tilting his head like he sees right through your flimsy excuse. “Yeah? Funny, I’ve been ‘round. You somehow missed every place I was.”

You open your mouth — maybe to deny it, maybe to play it off, but he doesn’t give you the chance. “Wanna go for a walk?” It’s simple. Uncomplicated. He waits, quiet and steady, like he’s leaving the door wide open and daring you to step through it.

The world zooms back out and the noise of the bonfire grows louder, ringing in your ears. You're confused by what he's asking; it's not like you can both just toss aside your responsibilities.  "We can't just up and leave, Joel. I've got to get my campers to bed soon." 

Joel squints at you, the embers of the fire crackling in his irises and then laughs, shrugging nonchalantly. "C'mon. I'm sure these kids are beggin' you to stay up a little longer."

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. "You're the boss."

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

The path curves away from the noise of the bonfire, and neither of you says much at first. The only sound is distant laughter and the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes. The silence stretches thin between you until Joel breaks it with a quiet scoff. “You kids don’t go anywhere without a soundtrack, right?” he mutters, pulling his phone from his back pocket. His voice is dry, a little teasing, like he’s trying to fill the quiet before it reveals too much.

You glance over, watching as he opens Spotify and flips to some self-curated playlist. “I don’t mind the quiet.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “S’just somethin’ I had on earlier. Good thinkin' music.”

A moment later, soft rock filters through the quiet. Just a warm, steady rhythm and gravel-throated vocals that suit Joel a little too well. He doesn’t say anything else, but the corner of his mouth ticks up when he notices you listening. It’s subtle but intentional, changing the air between you. 

You walk the grounds, going nowhere in particular, content just to be beside him.  There’s no agenda, no rush — just the easy rhythm of your steps falling in sync. Every brush of your shoulder feels louder than it should, every quiet moment charged with something unspoken. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice, but part of you hopes he does.

It gets to be too much and you feel like the silence between you needs to be broken. There’s so much that needs to be said. “Joel?”

“Y’ever hear this band?” he asks.

You blink, surprised — caught off your game. You recognize the unmistakable guitar riffs of Whitesnake. You laugh, the sound warm and easy. “I didn’t take you for an ‘80s hair metal guy.”

Joel shrugs, looking off into the distance as he adjusts his pace. “Music’s music, darlin’.” The words hit you differently than they should — it's just casual, unbothered, confident.

You let the music play as you match his stride. The heavy guitar riffs and loud drums of the song are a bit of a contrast to the serenity around you, but it works. Joel looks over, catching your eye, and for a split second, you’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to comment on the music, or if he's just watching you.

Is this love that I’m feeling? Is this the love that I’ve been searching for? Is this love, or am I dreaming? This must be love 'cause it's really got a hold on me. A hold on me. 

“Well?” 

For a second, you forget the path under your feet, your heart stumbling slightly, a beat too fast. The question feels loaded. It feels like there’s something to be said from the lyrics, from the way the music swells, from the quiet proximity between you and Joel. You know you’re reading too much into it, but the way he’s looking at you, the faint smile pulling at his lips—it feels like he might be saying something.

“Have you…ever?” You hesitate, not sure what you’re about to ask. 

Have you ever wanted me? Have you ever thought about us?  

“Once.” His words feel like a confession only meant for himself as he answer.  Joel’s eyes meet yours, and before you speak, he says quietly, “Maybe twice, been tryin’ to sort that out.”

You hold his gaze, your breath completely knocked out of you. Before you can ask what that really means, the distant whoop of a bullhorn snaps you both back to reality.

Joel glances over his shoulder, the moment breaking like fragile glass. “We should head back,” he says, his voice low but steady.

You nod, swallowing the weight of what just passed between you as you turn back toward the glow of the bonfire in the distance, both of you silent, the question hanging heavy in the air.

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

The campgrounds are just starting to stir when the first few kids emerge, stretching and yawning into the misty morning air. You’re not much of a morning person but when Joel had asked if you wanted to join, you had nodded yes before you even knew what you were getting into. "Just me and a bunch 'an early risers," he had said sort of offhandedly. 

Now, at almost 6 am, you walk alongside them, Sarah included, pretending your heart isn’t still caught — pretending you didn’t hear something in his voice that made you wonder what he’d meant when he said once. 

“Do you think the camp’s haunted?”, one of the girls asks, voice hushed like the trees might be listening. The others giggle, too loud, glancing at the weather-worn cabins lining the trail, slouched with age

“Definitely haunted,” Sarah adds grinning, the mischief in her eyes catching you off guard. “I bet if we spent the night in one, we’d see some creepy stuff.”

You glance over at Joel just as he cuts his eyes toward you, already amused. There’s that twitch at the corner of his mouth — the look he gets right before he messes with someone. “Nah.  It ain’t haunted. Not unless you count the rats that like to make their homes in the walls’. That’s about as spooky as it gets.”

The kids immediately look more relieved, but their apprehension doesn’t entirely fade. “But, you know, back in the day, this place wasn’t a camp at all. It was a military outpost. Texas was home to a bunch of ‘em during World War II. This whole place has seen more history than most people realize. Nothing in ‘em now but dust and memories.” You watch the kids drink in the story, caught somewhere between spooked and skeptical. Then Joel stretches, like he’s about to stroll into a horror movie on purpose. “But if you’re that scared,” he says, straight-faced, “guess I better check it out for you, make sure no ghosts moved in since yesterday.”

Before anyone can stop him, Joel walks up to the cabin with that easy confidence of his, “Guess I gotta prove it’s just a bunch of creaky floorboards.” The kids fall silent, watching as he disappears inside. Then— thud . A sharp crash rattles through the cabin walls, followed by a muffled “Shit.” 

A few of the kids gasp. One grabs your arm. You fight the urge to laugh. “That ghost sounds suspiciously like Joel twisting his ankle.” You exchange a glance with Sarah, who’s now standing next to you, a look of concern mixed with a bit of humor on her face.  You can’t tell if he’s actually hurt or playing some sort of trick.  Okay,” you whisper to the children, eyes still on the cabin, “just act normal. Like we’re talking about the weather or something. I’ll sneak in and see what he’s up to. Bet he’s just waiting to jump out and scare the livin' hell out of me.” They nod, barely holding in their giggles as you start toward the cabin, half-annoyed, half-expecting him to be hiding behind the door with a smug grin.

You take a breath and literally run into the cabin, only to immediately feel a hand grasp at your ankle and pull you down. You stumble and fall, crashing hard onto something solid beneath you. Joel’s grunt is the first thing you hear, followed by a sharp exhale as you land on top of him. Your breath hitches, and you instinctively gasp, but before the sound can escape, his hand is quick to cover your mouth. The warmth of his palm against your lips feels like a jolt of electricity and you freeze, feeling his body tense beneath you. He doesn’t move, his chest rising and falling beneath yours as the only indication that he’s still there. His eyes are wide, barely inches from your face, and there's a flash of something in them you can’t quite place. After a long moment, he lifts his hand away from your mouth, but keeps you there — close enough that you can feel every muscle in his body, every breath he takes.

The weight of the moment presses down on you, and you realize that, for all the history this place carries, this moment feels like it could be one of its most significant.

Your eyes search his face, seeking permission, a silent question hanging in the air between you. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and for a heartbeat, everything else fades away. The world outside the cabin vanishes. It's just the two of you, suspended in a moment that feels both timeless and fleeting.

Just as you lean in, heart pounding, breath mingling with his in that suspended moment you’ve been waiting for forever, a sudden voice cuts through the silence completely breaking the spell. The anticipation snaps like a fragile thread. “Dad?”

You both freeze, eyes locked on one another. The word hangs in the air, sharp and unexpected. She can’t see you — not yet — but Joel gently shifts, creating space between you. You turn toward the doorway, where Sarah stands, her expression a mix of confusion and concern.

Joel clears his throat, his voice steady. “We’re good, just tripped over some old floorboards.” You both sit up, brushing dust from your clothes, like your world wasn't about to just tilt on its axis.

“Okay, just checking.”

As she turns to leave, Joel catches your eye, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. You turn to leave but he grabs your hand with a sharp urgency — like he’s holding on to something that might slip away if he lets go. The moment may have been interrupted, but its significance lingers, unspoken yet understood.

[insert-random-account-name]

Analyze the Princess- The Spectre

The Spectre is one of the most fascinating routes in the entire game. It’s the only one where you do not interact with the base Princess. The Spectre was quite underrated before the Pristine Cut, simply because there was more interesting content in the other nine Chapter 2s. Since the Pristine Cut, a lot more interest has been drawn in the form of the Princess and the Dragon. The new chapter has since garnered more appreciation for the Spectre, and how interesting her chapter is by itself. Her chapter mirrors the base Princess, having a gentle form and a harsh form. I will do my best to give both of these versions justice.

You get the Spectre by entering the basement armed in Chapter 1, not talking or interacting with the Princess at all, and then slaying her at the first opportunity. After she’s dead, you have to attempt to leave, and then kill yourself. This results in a dead Princess. You watched her body decay into dust and bone, heck, you pulled the knife out of her skeletal ribcage. There is simply no way that she can be alive. And yet, she’s still there. Not what she was before, but certainly moving, and certainly conscious. She doesn’t know what to think about you. Yes, you ran a blade through her heart, but you didn’t say a word to her beforehand. Maybe you’re just that cold, but maybe if she got the chance to talk with you, it would’ve ended differently. The Spectre is willing to hold off all judgements until the two of you can have a good talk. However, she still remembers what you’ve done, and isn’t hesitant to return the favor. She decides to let you make the first move, and that decides how she acts towards you. 

If you let the Spectre drift around you without attempting to kill or grab at her, she realizes that you might be more willing to talk. She doesn’t know what happened after she died, but maybe you had a change of heart. Since all the Spectre really wants is to leave, she’s ready to be more open and conversational. Her voice is lighter, she sounds more teasing than malicious, and only uses her “scary” face when you really push her. In this form, the Spectre seems more willing to forgive and forget, and while she is still quite upset about her untimely demise, she is more understanding of your position. If you decide to let her possess you in this form, once she’s in your mind, the Spectre takes a surprisingly sympathetic tone towards the voices and the Narrator, even suggesting that the Narrator might even like her. If you betray the Spectre and stab yourself, she sounds upset and bewildered.

If you lash out at the Spectre on your first meeting, she knows that you haven’t changed one bit. The only reason you’re talking is because stabbing is out of the question. Her tone is far more aggressive, and she acts meaner towards you. Her “scary” face appears more often in this form, and her voice is less wispy, taking on sharper tones instead. The Spectre’s sympathy died with her, and she is holding no judgments on her murderer. If you let her possess you in this form, she is surprised, but makes it clear that she’s in charge now. Her tone is a lot harsher with the voices, and she tells the Narrator to shut up. If you betray the harsh Spectre, she reacts with anger at your audacity to kill her twice.

If you leave with the Spectre, regardless of the form, she thanks you for freeing her, and leaves your body. If you have the gentle form, she thanks you repeatedly, and says that you’re forgiven. If you have the harsh form, she is far more reserved, but notes that you do seem to be trying to make it up to her. She then escapes your body so she doesn’t have to be stuck with you for eternity.

However, if you attempt to leave her in the basement, smash her bones, or repeatedly attempt to slay her, the Spectre will run out of patience. She tried to be nice, to show you that maybe slaying her isn’t the best option, but you aren’t listening. Even after seeing with your own eyes that death doesn’t apply to her, you kept trying to find a way to rid yourself of her. There is clearly no way to get through to someone so set on destruction, so the Spectre decides she’ll send you a message in the only language you understand. Violence. She takes all of her hatred, all of her fear, all of her languishing alone with no hope or help, and drives it into your chest, ripping out your heart with what can only be described as raw fury. The Spectre lets her revenge twist her into something that can match your evil, but that goes more into the Wraith, so I’ll stop there.

What does the Spectre represent? Second chances, and forgiveness. Despite everything that happens, the Spectre is willing to put aside your murderous past for a chance at a better future for herself. The best ending with the Spectre is the one where you both put aside your differences and leave together. But she’s not the only one who gives second chances. You have to put aside everything you’ve been told about the Princess, the potential fate of the world, and your own fear of any vengeful feelings she may have. Only when you are willing to actually talk to the Princess, and ask her about what she really wants, can you make it out alive. If you aren’t willing to give her a second chance, the Spectre will match your energy, and ghosts can’t die twice, unlike you.

In the end, the Spectre is simply someone who was wronged in the past, but trying to move on from her loss in search of true freedom. Her nature and body is vaporous, just like her heart.

Other parts:

The Razor The Stranger The Damsel The Prisoner The Tower The Witch The Spectre

(If you like my yapping, check out my other analyses. There's ones for all the voices here and my one for the narrator here)

[ohno-the-sun]

Continuation of the Mad Scientist AU Moon ending

What happens after Y/N returns?

Content Warnings: Horror, animal death, death, blood, body horror

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

It was only a month later when I died too. 

When I first left, it felt slow– difficult. Like a bandaid slowly being pulled from loose skin it stung with afterburns. 

I hated it.

More than anything I wanted to stay with Sun, to help him. 

But with every experiment run, with every test and data point analyzed I could only think of him. 

He was strange yes. It was still unnerving how he stuck through the flesh of Sun’s eye, but he was alive. He breathed, he talked, he cared in his own strange way. 

The way he would prance around the lab, curious about every nook and cranny of the place, getting into things he wasn’t supposed to. 

A soft fond ache built in my chest at the memory of him getting into the fertilizer. It took weeks before Sun and I had the lab clean again. 

As I ran my hands through the rubbery flesh of the vines wrapping around my best friend’s head, I realized I couldn’t do this anymore. 

Sun was getting sicker.

As much as he tried to hide it, it was obvious. I could see the way his eyes grew darker and darker with every passing day, how the vines that wrapped around his head became thicker and heavier. 

His movements were slow– deliberate– like one wrong move and he could shatter completely. His starchy clothes hung off of him looser than before. He covered nearly everything now— except his face, but even that was marred with scars from his creation. His skin was taught and thin, I could practically trace the bone structure underneath. 

The most unnerving change though– was in his mind.

Sun was always a bit of a nerd. He had a proclivity for perfection and wasn’t afraid of quickly pointing out inconsistencies. Others found it rude and off-putting but I knew it was his way of showing he cared. He noticed you, he cared about what was right and making sure you knew what that was. He listened with such apt attention it felt like every word from your mouth was inscribed with careful precision. He was so good at contradiction because he cared so much about you, about your thoughts and feelings. 

His wit was sometimes harsh, but it was quick and pointed. 

…

He barely talked now.

Even amid an experiment, on the cusp of maybe finding a cure– he would drift. 

Staring for long periods, no input or interaction would break him out. 

Even when he was present, there was a slow deliberation that wasn’t there before.

He questioned himself– doubted himself. He spoke and acted with such unnatural trepidation, like even he wasn’t sure what he was saying.

And all I could do was stand by and watch as my best friend slowly died.

…

Maybe it was selfish.

Maybe it was wrong. 

But I couldn’t do it anymore.

…

So I left.

…

I don’t know what compelled me to return that day. 

I reasoned there were still things in the lab I needed to pick up, but I knew I was going to have to confront him. I knew I was going to have to see him again. 

I don’t know what I expected when I opened that door. 

But it certainly wasn’t that.

Parasitic vines crept through the whole lab, infecting every achingly familiar corner. 

The place was a complete mess, equipment tipped and shattered, old projects strewn about, and I almost stepped on a dead rodent, its entire body wrapped tightly with vines.  

And then he stepped out. 

The body degraded down only to its bare bones. Foliage and leaves stuck out of every orifice. Vines were wrapped tightly around him, face now just a hollow skull. The bud that had become a sort of eye for him bloomed into an unnerving pattern of petals and leaves.

Though– for some reason– it wasn’t his appearance that took me off guard.

He was still the same Moon that I had left, he seemed almost excited to see me again. Despite the barely functional state of his host he happily stumbled his way to me, leaning down to receive those head scratches he loved so much.

But still that churning in my gut didn’t subside.

I knew Sun was going to die if I left.

Even if I didn’t want to verbalize it before, I still knew deep down. 

No, it wasn’t even Sun’s death that put me off so deeply. 

…

It was the fact that it had only been three days.

I left on the 24th, leaving with only a small box of my old supplies, I knew I was going to need a second trip. I put it off– but I knew it had to happen. 

In only three days Moon had entirely taken over. 

In only three days Sun was dead, with little less than a skeleton left. 

In only three days Moon had entirely outgrown the body, spreading to all corners of the lab with long searching vines. 

…

I did my best to ignore it. 

…

I stayed with Moon.

I knew I couldn’t bring him back to my house so I took care of him in the lab. 

I did my best– I really did. 

I brought him snacks and treats we used to share together, like small salt taffies and caramels. Even if he couldn’t chew them properly anymore he still stuck out small twisting vines to pull apart the sticky things. He reacted with that same sort of fascinated delight. 

But still. 

There was something off. 

The way he would continue to stare even after I gave him all the snacks I had. The way he would push for more until I left. 

When I returned with more food he would tear them apart more forcefully each time. His vines no longer searching, but stabbing through the air until they found their mark. 

The vines continued to grow in the lab, covering more and more of the floor with every passing day. 

The body was getting used less. Before, Moon would attempt to shamble with the corpse and interact with me in the same way as before; begging for pets, playing with my clothes or hair, and even cuddling on my lap. However, more and more often the skeleton would just lie there, only barely moving its head or gesturing with a hand.

I quickly realized Moon wasn’t just in the eye anymore. He had “eyes” everywhere. More and more buds popped up and bloomed into unnerving pits that would track your every move. 

It got to the point where the room itself felt alive. Vines twisting and pulsating over the floor and walls. It got to the point where I could barely walk in the room without accidentally stepping on a vine. 

Every morning I came back to something different– something new– something unnerving. 

Moon was changing I could tell. I wasn’t sure if he was the same small creature I had taken care of before.

He was no longer searching and curious like before. I tried to bring him those things he liked, picture books of small cartoony creatures and small plush toys. I even brought my old radio to play music and dance like we used to. The vines at first writhed with the beat, and even the corpse moved its head slightly in a sort of head bop, but over time those movements became less ordered and more spastic, to the point I couldn’t tell if he was listening. With every passing day, he seemed to care less and less about simple joys. 

Instead, time was spent watching those vines extend further. They got into the cabinets and tipped over old beakers. It was like they were looking for something. 

…

It was starting to get harder to leave the lab.

Vines slowly crept up the door until they were tightly wrapped around the handle. I pushed and pulled but it refused to budge. I resorted to leaving through the window. I was lucky the lab was on the first floor. 

I don’t know why I kept coming back. The growing apprehension in the back of my mind screamed get out. I could feel every base animal impulse squirm in fear at what I was witnessing. I knew what was happening– I didn’t study him for over a year for nothing after all.

But still– I kept coming back. 

Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was a sense of duty, maybe I still held out hope for him, for the creature I had come to see as a son. 

…

Two weeks later he didn’t allow me to leave anymore.

It had been a good day. He was walking around again, he even toyed with the small caterpillar toy I had brought. As I went to sit on the vine-covered floor he rested with me, the vines warm and pulsating with that strange purr he did. I had foolishly thought he was getting better, that he was still the same Moon as before. 

I fell asleep.

When I woke up the room was pitch black. I realized he had covered the windows entirely with thick leathery vines.

I was trapped.

When I tried to push and pull at them he would snatch me up, move vines around the floor to trip me or grab a hand with one that was hanging. 

The worst part about it was that he was still gentle about it.

He brought me food, vines shifting around the windows to reveal a scuffed takeout container. It looked like it had been snatched from a student, half-eaten, and a fork still rattling around inside. 

When I went to sleep on the floor the vines would shift underneath to accommodate me, creating a surprisingly comfortable bed to rest on. 

I hated it. 

I wanted it to be easy. To hate this creature I helped make. 

But as I wept in the now overrun lab, I couldn’t help but lean into the small vine gently touching my cheek. 

The room was stuffy and humid. Like a greenhouse Moon covered every opening and crevice, and with the soft heat emitted from the vines– I couldn't cool down. 

The clothes I arrived with were completely sweated through. They stuck to me and chaffed with an uncomfortable texture. 

What I wouldn’t give for a decent shower. 

Still, Moon continued just to bring food. Even with the occasional water bottle, I was starting to feel that dry scratchiness at the back of my throat. I was getting sick.

I wasn’t sure he was aware of all the different things a human needed to survive. I tried to talk with him, to get him to understand I needed to leave, but his numerous buds just stared back.  

It was when the animals started appearing that I knew I needed to do something. 

It again, started out small. Squirrels from outside, small mice and rats caught from other nearby labs– but of course it escalated. 

Small dogs and cats that he used to be so fond of turned up dead on the floor. All covered in those same tightly woven vines. Their small bodies quickly turned into hollow corpses, frighteningly similar to Sun. 

At this point, his corpse only sat in the corner, unmoving except for the subtle shifting of vines underneath him. 

…

I had a plan. Cabinets on the top shelf of the bench stood untouched by vines– despite them completely covering every other surface.

It was where we stored our concentrated weed killer. 

The stuff was not only toxic to plants, but huge health risk for humans. Just 0.05 mL of the stuff was enough to kill a fully grown adult male. It had to be handled carefully.

I had to do it. I knew I had to. 

Despite the sharp ache in my chest at the thought- I knew that this was the only way. 

Before when Sun was alive, the stuff was far too toxic to be used to cure him but now…

…

On the 29th day, I found a shoe amongst the tangled vines.

It wasn’t mine.

…

There were buds everywhere now. The dark pits held in the flytrap eyes followed my every move. 

I had to be quick. I had seen myself how quickly those vines could dart through the air, and with how covered the room had become, there was no way to avoid them. However, the eye like buds did close periodically. I wondered vaguely if this was a remnant of existing in a body that needed to sleep for so long. Even during these periods though, several remained open, watching me intently. 

The shelves with the chemicals had always been too high for me. I wasn’t even gonna bother with the stool; it was probably buried under layers and layers of vines. I would need to stand on the counter to reach it. 

It was on the 31st day that I made my move. Most of the buds were closed. I counted, and only a few near the floor still loomed wide and attentive. 

I carefully made my way over to the shelf. 

I moved slowly and with as much casual ease as I could muster. I couldn’t let him know what I was doing. 

Thankfully the vines on the counters were not nearly as dense as the ones on the floor. There were small pockets of free space and if I could just get my feet in them, I could stand on the counter without alerting Moon. 

I carefully lifted a foot. It was difficult. I had to essentially pull my weight using the leverage of only a very small portion of the counter.

I felt myself slip slightly, brushing against a vine.

I froze. The vine in question shifted slightly in response, changing the pattern of interlocking vines slightly. 

Eventually, it stilled. I breathed a sigh of relief. 

Finally, I was able to make my way to the top of the counter. The open spaces had shrunk considerably with the shifting, so I had to stand on just the tips of my toes. 

I slowly pulled open the cabinets, careful to adjust my weight and hold onto the handle as it swung towards me. 

It was in the back, carefully labeled with many warnings along the side. I slowly brought it out. 

I grasped it carefully in my hands. A whole liter of the liquid filled the heavy jar. 

I needed to inject it into him.

If I could just find a needle or make a small cut with something I could probably–

I felt a vine squeeze around my toe.

I lost balance. 

I tried to grab onto something but my hands were still wrapped around the toxin tightly. 

I felt myself fall backward onto the floor. 

With a crack– I could feel the concoction shatter onto my chest. 

The world was spinning. I felt sick.

I shakily lifted a blood-soaked hand. 

The glass had cut me. 

The vines surrounding me moved in a sudden flurry. I felt the vines underneath me retreat, leaving me on the cold empty ground, buds opened and sprouted to life as they swarmed above me. 

The whole room was shifting and writhing.

I could feel my body react painfully to the toxin. Extreme nausea overwhelmed my senses and I felt the sudden urge to empty my stomach.

Pain shot through every nerve as my eyelids felt heavier and heavier.

I was going to die. 

I had failed.

Above, the eyes twisted and turned above me, creating a dizzying array of shapes and sounds. 

I felt a small vine gently touch my open palm. I wondered vaguely if it was possible for a plant to feel grief– to mourn. 

There was a moment of stillness. The pain subsided as the vine rested gently in my hand.

But eventually, I could feel the vine crawl further. Carefully avoiding the spill in the center, they wrapped around my body. I felt like one of those animals now, caught in a tight embrace.

The last thing I saw was Moon lifting a single bud to look at my face. 

And then, it dug in.

[nonsscrapheap]

in most of my other fics i don't really touch upon a very fascinating aspect of transformers but i would ABSOLUTELY love to do more of in dance of the fire bot

EM Fields

when i first started writing transformers i didn't really know a lot of transformers, and i was a bit clueless about them, sometimes i would come up EM fields from fics and posts and id be 'huh, dunno what that is, ill probably learn later. later, which is now, im on my third transformers fic and i HAVE learned about Em fields but i havent exactly written them or much of it and etc.

but in dance in the fire bot you can absolutely bet that im going to go into detail about how hot rod has the NICEST em field that anyone ever experienced. does anyone remember mugen train??? the moment that kid got into tanjiro's very soul- oh it was beautiful, and so kind and just- hot rod + tanjiro = safest kindest feeling ever. like can you imagi—

===== Dance of the Fire Bot =====

Hot Rod could get away with murder in Nyon's slum district.

He could murder a bot right in front of everyone and no one would bat an optic, if anything they'd do anything to keep the little youngling from being caught if he did murder someone.

Thankfully, or disappointingly for some, Hot Rod would never actually outright murder just any bot.

He was just too kind for that.

There was a reason why Hot Rod was quickly beloved by even the grumpiest old bucket of bolts within the square mile radius despite his overly cheery nature that was not suited for the current environment or era.

Hot Rod's electromagnetic field was just so... soft and warm and nice just to almost anyone he met.

Being so young, his control over his EM Field was abysmal, and yet it was very much welcomed to the scarred sparks and hardened frames that littered the Rust Narrows who had long forgotten what a kind spark was like.

Even the other sparklings ' EM fields failed to even match the sheer sensation of Hot Rod's blinding smile and emotions.

Quite honestly, if it weren't for Hot Rod's olfacotry senses (later on, his actual ability to set himself on fire) they would have thought that Hot Rod's outlier ability was being able to use his EM Field to calm anyone down or just, influence everyone to a better mood.

If there was a fight between bots, Hot Rod was around to smooth the jagged edges and scold the fighters while waves of gentle concern and kindness leapt off of the young cybertronian's frame.

The young brats of Nyon would follow Hot Rod around just to bask in his kindness, always jealous of Springer and Arcee who always stuck close to Hot Rod and enjoyed the benefits of being his unit, and one day; his Amicas.

Everyone of Rust Narrows would mourn when Hot Rod finally learned to reign his Em Field in, but there'd be moments where Hot Rod's Em Field would wash over all those around him. During times of great fear, a wave of brave and gentle determination would wrap around those near him, chasing the negativity away.

===== Dance of the Fire Bot =====

i'm just giving hot rod more and more abilities here.

oh yeah, decepticons stand NO CHANCE to hot rod's em field of calm kindness warmth gentleness happiness-

deadlock barely escaped once, he never got the second chance. not only because of the sword swings but also because of hot rod's em field.

also i can imagine ratchet taking advantage of hot rod's em field to calm patients but OH GOD WAIT WHAT IF I SHIFT THINGS AROUND AND HAVE HOT ROD BE THERE FOR DRIFT AT DEAD END SOMEHOW??? IDK HOW ITD WORK BUT AAAAAAA—

i really have no idea what im doing for the continuity of dance of the fire bots but im just having fun thinking of hot rod continuously making bots fall in love with him.

[nekomacheercaptain]

The ghost of you part 2

Part one

Law knows better than anyone what kind of secrets devil fruits hide - so when you reveal you can bring him to the realm of the dead, there is no going back.

All the echoes in my mind cry; There’s blood on your lies

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x gn! reader

Word count: 2,5K

Content warnings: angst, grief, extreme survivor’s guilt, mention of death, Law’s never-ending list of mental health issues and trauma, Law asks a lot of questions

Weeks went by with Law chasing the cold spots in the submarine, a content smile decorating his lips whenever he made contact. But it didn’t take long before he came to you wanting to know more about your power. And for another… selfish reason. He knew better than anyone how devil fruits hold secrets no one could ever comprehend.

“What more is there?”

The question caught you off guard when you laid in bed together in his dark room almost asleep, his hand soothing down your arm as you were snuggled up against him.

“What do you mean?” your voice was riddled with sleep, your fingers lazily tracing the tattoos on his chest by memory.

Law kept quiet for a moment, before his hand stopped, “Devil fruit powers hold more than one function”.

Your silence was enough for him to continue. “How long have you had your ability? Why didn’t you tell me about it sooner?”

They were fair questions to ask, hiding such an anchor from the crew, but the other side to your ability was one you dreaded sharing. When a cold breeze fanned over your skin as blue hue illuminated the room, you turned to see the ghost that finally had a name look at you. He was a curious one, his eyes expectant for an answer.

Law saw you looking beside the bed, realizing you weren’t alone.

“Is Cora here again?” 

You chuckled lightly before nodding, making Corazon smile while he looked at Law’s eyes frantically searching the room.

“He’s around often, checking up on you”

Law’s heartbeat increased and you could hear him swallow a deep gulp, “I see…”.

A deep sigh passed your lips before you told him about your power, knowing there would be no way back.

“I can travel to the realm of the dead,” you kept your gaze at Corazon, whose eyes widened at the news, “but then it’s like I become a ghost, they can’t see or hear me”.

Silence filled the room once more, Law’s hand fidgeting against your skin as he processed the information. And knowing him, he had already figured out the next part of your reveal.

“I can also bring people with me”

What harm could letting Law see Corazon in the ghosts’ realm do? It was useless to fall asleep once the words had fallen past your lips, a flame suddenly lit alive in Law’s heart.

I can see him again?

Law had dreaded sharing something with you, but now that he finally had a chance to fix it, he told you. He could barely remember the face of his savior. He could only remember flashes of Corazon, like patches of cloth sewn together, but when it’s finished it’s just not right. His smile was the only thing stuck whenever he tried to imagine his face. You had never heard him admit anything with such shame, knowing the ghost of Corazon was listening as well. He tried to hide his hurt, but he’d lie if he said he was shocked. Being dead for 13 years, with no picture left behind for the boy he saved, he wouldn’t expect the memory of him to remain. With his smile plastered everywhere, a tribute only for him, he couldn’t have asked for more. Was he happy Law lived the life of a pirate? No, how could he possibly ever be comfortable with such a fact? But he was alive, nonetheless, surrounded by friends. What greater life could he have?

With a swift slide of your hands, a strong light shone from your palms creating a thin turquoise veil covering Law’s room. Law gasped when he saw you were translucent, noticing how the ground and walls looked like debris swaying in the wind, slowly drifting away into nothingness. The submarine didn’t seem to be underwater any longer, the darkness outside of the portholes swallowing all sources of light. However, there was life out there. Or… movement at least, of things that belonged only to the past. Law gawked at the translucent fish and sharks swimming past the portholes, some missing fins and chunks of their bodies. A small shiver ran through him at the realization; cause of death would be visible. A reason for your discomfort of parading around in the world of the dead; when they visited you, they presented themselves when they were at their peak. But here, the truth of their demise was revealed.

“Remember, this is their realm, they can’t see or hear us, just like you don’t see or hear them when they visit our world”

Law felt a lump form in the back of his throat, suddenly feeling uneasy. Was he ready for this?

With legs no longer meeting ground you explored the dark, glowy hallway of the submarine in search of the gentle giant. And when a sudden burst of debris came shooting past the corner, Law froze. The years of sudden bursts of sand, snow and smoke shooting in his direction suddenly coming back to him. Tears pricked at his eyes, and you stopped when you noticed the distance between you increasing.

“Do you want to go back? We can do this another time,” your voice was small and sounded like an echo, the realm contorting your sounds.

Law was quiet for a second before taking a determined step forward, inhaling deeply, “No, I want to see him”.

And with a few more steps, Law tried to hide the trembling in his knees when he rounded the corner to see the large man sitting on the floor, dusting himself off. Once again, Law’s world stood still, just as it had done twice in his life. But this time something wasn’t taken from him. Like walking into a lost memory, bits and pieces of Law’s mind glued together the appearance of his savior. Law felt a hurt in his heart while his knees grew weak, betraying his suddenly heavy body.

Law remembered what he had witnessed when he peeked out of the treasure chest suddenly clear as day. Too much blood staining the snow red, white flakes dancing in the air before falling on the still warm body like nothing was wrong in the world, and the godawful sight of the shirt he had relentlessly bullied Corazon for. Why did the stupid shirt have to get filled with holes and stained with innocent blood just for his survival? Law’s eyes flickered over Corazon like he was expecting him to fly away with the debris. He wobbled closer, making dust of the past spread and it was then he saw the inspiration for his jolly roger. Corazon was smiling widely; he knew you were there.

Law’s eyebrows furrowed in worry, however, as he saw an incomplete smile. When had he lost a tooth? How much of his memory had withered? He instinctively reached out but only pushed through the ghost, a bitter reminder of the predicament they were in. Corazon seemed to feel him, his arms seeking out in different directions. The doctor fell to his knees and made sure Corazon sensed him while he looked at the ghost’s face, tears stinging his eyes. You expected him to wear a frown, to be tense - for his lips to show anything but a smile. But you were wrong. Law wore a smile; a painful, bittersweet smile.

“You can’t hear me, I know,” his voice was low, and you knew this wasn’t meant for your ears. Despite your own curiosity, this was not a boundary you could ever cross. Already trespassing on such a vulnerable part of Law’s life was too much, but hearing his innermost raw, unfiltered words? He deserved to do this alone without you hovering over his shoulders. So you walked away, letting your boyfriend pour whatever he needed out of his chest.

“And it might be bad that I don’t care, really…” Law whispered, his voice raw as his throat tightened, “I…I think about you every day, Cora”.

With a bowed head and his eyes shut tight, Law continued, his hands now digging into the ground, ignoring the pain in his fingers.

“Every day I question if your sacrifice was worth it, why you lied! You knew you were going to be killed! Why the hell would you- what made you do that for me?”

Small plops on the ground filled Law’s silence as he finally cried, heart clenching with pain, allowing him to say aloud what had burned in his heart for 13 years.

“I never wanted you to die! You left me, I-… you said we were going to travel the world together, and I believed you,” Law laughed tensely through the pain, voice harsh and low as he forced his words out, “When did you know you were doomed? Huh? How long did you know I would be the reason for your death?”.

Law looked up at Corazon, who was struggling to pinpoint Law’s exact whereabouts, so Law raised his shaky hands to the ghost’s cheeks, his fingers bloody and nails cracked. Corazon’s eyes widened, and held his own face, feeling the warmth radiating from Law. “But it was inevitable wasn’t it? With your luck and all”.

His laugh grew more loose, yet still full of pain, breath shaky as he talked.

“I miss you… god, I miss you,” Law gasped, tears melting down his cheeks and neck, “You- without you, I fear what I-”

Flashes of the other brother haunted Law’s mind then, causing shudders down his spine, “I didn’t realize until it was too late, but you saved me from becoming what I hated the most.”

Law thought back to the day he met the family, ready to blow himself up; how could a boy who's lived through hell ever find salvation? A boy so young should never have known such torment and agony, and he remembered why Doflamingo had favored him. 

“A part of me thinks you saved me for some selfish reason,” Law pondered for a while, “you told me I couldn’t turn into a monster like your brother. Was your sole reason for saving me that I reminded you of him that much? Did you save me because you never got to save him? Though, if that was your reasoning, I can’t blame you too much.. it was my own goal after all”.

Law shook his head, eyes red and strained, his voice hoarse and shaky.

“However, that part of me is something I’ve wanted to shake off, ‘cause you taught me better. If you were doing it for a selfish reason, you would never have left me, right? If you were selfish, you would never have chased after the stupid fruit, would you? You never would-”

With a clenched jaw Law sucked in a harsh breath, his lips salty with tears, “If you were selfish you never would have saved me. There was never any reason for you to help me! So why, Cora, why did you trade your life for mine? I was never meant to live, I-I..”

Law was gasping for air through his words, sniffles and whimpers being caused by the sudden overwhelming monologue. Not able to carry himself anymore, he clutched his sides and curled into a ball, his forehead resting on the ground as he broke.

“You even cried for me, I- I should have thanked you then, I shouldn’t have pretended to sleep- fuck- I put a knife through you, and yet you cried for me. And I never got to thank you. I never got to say how much those six months meant to me. Even if they were painful, you never gave up. You carried a useless hope, and it cost you your life. I just- I just wanted the two of us to be together, I don’t care that I would’ve died eventually! I just wanted my last moments to be with you, I knew my time was running out, I was ready to die and watch the world burn as I left! I just didn’t expect for anyone- I… I never thought anyone could make me want to live anymore”.

Law had dreamt of the moment he got to spill these secrets, these confessions that harbored so much of his guilt. But in those dreams his words never fumbled over each other, they came out clear, precise and intelligent. Reality disappointed him, his thoughts coming out incoherent and in chunks almost unrelated, wanting to say so much more, his words only the tip above water of the hidden iceberg beneath. He wanted to say so much more, he wanted to sound mature. And he realized he wasn’t the one speaking; it was the little boy that was left all alone in the world 13 years ago.

“So many people have… so many people I have cared about are dead and I couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it…,” Law’s breath hitched as the face of his sister flashed in his mind, “I couldn’t even protect Lamy”.

Tears stained the haunted floor as Law kept his head down, “I’ve never been able to do a damn thing, your sacrifice- you should have lived, why the hell did you save me, Cora? Didn’t you have an entire country to save anyway? Then why, please, why did you waste your time on me? If you had left me alone, you’d still be alive!”.

Law whimpered, hugging himself tighter, “Why did you say that you loved me, only to abandon me?”.

Wandering the halls of the Polar Tang for a while, you decided to carefully thread your way back when it grew eerily quiet, the sight that greeted you melting your heart when you rounded the corner where you had abandoned them. Law was sleeping against the side of the ghost, like he could actually feel the feather coat. Corazon seemed to understand Law was still with him, sitting completely still. Your footsteps caused clouds of debris to catch Corazon’s attention, and although he looked in your direction with a smile, his wave missed you completely. Law looked peaceful, so you sat for a while, allowing him this well-needed rest even if his body would ache before the two of you eventually got back to your own realm. The tension in Law’s shoulders had become nearly non-existent after the visit, and every visit he had requested later. Law had calmed down tremendously, but he still craved a taste of vengeance; to bring Corazon’s mission to an end.

The ghost stayed for a while, still lingering over Law’s shoulders like a guardian angel; the merciful hand of salvation aiding him on his adventure. It wasn’t until Law needed help realizing the love he received was unconditional that the cold spots disappeared, Corazon’s soul finally put to rest, his voice chiming in Law’s ears one final time.

I love you

Author's note: I will never stop obsessing over these two :,) I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading!

Tags: @unsuretater-simp

If you want to join my taglist, you can find it here!

[blackbloodteeth]

Didn't get tagged for this week's Snippet Sunday, but I wanted to write something, so as always, anyone's free to join in. Little bit of a warning for some brief horror near the start (and some mentions of smoking and drinking, but that's par for the characters).

@bcbdrums Hey, hope you feel better, even just a little. You're the main reason I've even focused on these two a bit more in the first place.

————

He's standing in the shade of the large tree at the edge of the playground, its extensive network of roots twisting around his shoes. The children are all playing with each other, but would any of them actually recognize the different leaves, or the cloud formations forming in front of the sun, or every kind of bug that crawls and flies along the dirt?

He's standing by the wall of the school, its stone absorbing the heat of the arid sunlight. The students have all paired up into partnerships, forming groups that practice their lessons and test their relationships, while the shadows of the adults stretch toward him.

He's looking up at one of the students, a demon weapon, a scythe. He looks back. The boy says something to him, but the memory follows another, much in the way the boy followed him.

He's breathing haggard, trembling and sweating in a fear response, but is it at the fangs bared before him or the itch burning his hands. The dog, taking the shape of his weapon, or maybe just his shadow, growls the same words over and over again, like it was suffocating in the need to tear his throat out. Its jaws stretch impossibly wide, the gate to hell opening just for him as the world around him cracks, clawing open, and every sin he's ever committed pours from the back of his head.

His eyes are reluctant to open as the familiarity of the ceiling blurs into view between the scorch of his elevated heartbeat.

A sigh slips out, feeling his fingertips press against the rough of his thumbs. There's a heavy fog behind his eyes, not clearing up much as his fingers find their way there too, soon enough bringing his awareness back from the dead and drifting over to where someone else's coat lies over his bare chest. The texture is familiar… It's the one Spirit usually wears, the bulb sparks briefly.

The weight of Franken's gaze flows down the fuzzy etches of his own scars, joints lightly popping as he moves the jacket aside a little, and finally anchors at the next deduction of being on the wrong end of the bed, his own coat nowhere in sight (for as innately poor as it is). Feeling like perhaps he'd woken up as a slug taking the form a man, he cranes his neck over the shorter end of his headpiece to lean over the edge of the bed, one hand clutching his temple for emotional support, the other pawing for his sweater that'd ended up on the floor (well, there's his glasses, at least) before he pauses when a pack of cigarettes spills half of its contents to the whims of gravity. Franken sighs again and fits his glasses on.

His head thumps against what he assumes is a pillow, reuniting with the ceiling once more. Usually, this means he's stuck thinking again, but he relates very much to when his computer decides it doesn't want to start up when it gets too hot out, a stray cigarette finding its way to his lips and just… sitting there. No coat, no lighter, and to be Frank, he doesn't feel particularly inclined to dig under his sweater in the off chance it's buried out of arm's reach.

So here he is… lying here. Is this like him?

Seconds tick, minutes accumulate, Franken has concluded that the room is, in fact, composed of four corners, and as such, his left hand worms up to fidget with the screw's head while his perception now bothers to reach out into his surroundings.

Almost as if called upon, a little thread gently tugs from his chest, creaking open a door at the other end of the room and reeling the corner of his eye to (speak of the devil) Spirit leaning into the doorway. Both party's eyebrows furrow, but for different reasons. "Oh, you're- Are you smoking in bed?"

"If you can call it that, then yes," his voice finally pours out, like molasses.

There's a sigh that isn't his, that raises the edges of his mouth a little. "Well, I'd prefer you don't start fires first thing in the morning, at least until you've gotten something to eat. I'm making eggs, if that's all right."

He's getting a better look at him now; that dull-green undershirt sloppily tucked in halfway into his slacks, and tie nowhere to be found, keeping his stare anchored on the way his still-vibrantly red hair is thrown together in a ponytail, like the older days. Is that like him?

"Wait," the thought catches up, "You're making food for both of us?"

"Yes, because I'm hungover, and you look like you need it."

And that was that, he supposed. "…Sounds all right," Franken finally stops blinking excessively.

"Okay, good, because they're almost done and I thought I'd give you a chance to actually get up first." The exhaustion quickly rears its ugly head when he most certainly notes that that means he needs to actually get up, though Spirit lingers in the doorway as Franken hears more joints complain and the cigarette falls away to who knows where on his endeavour to conquer the force of gravity (truly the greatest madness).

Teetering into sitting up, legs dragging over the side of the bed, it was a lot like having strings tugging him in the way he needed to go – Against his internal desires (especially in regards to his night-owl nature) to not have to work through all his sore muscles and distant ache of something that occurred the evening before, to be compartmentalized for a later date when he's better capable of processing it. An object at rest stays at rest, his shoulders sunken into himself while he halfheartedly fights to proceeding with the next step of standing upright, glance floating back up to the now empty doorway until Spirit's wavelength ripples not too far from him.

"Oh, and I'm already making you coffee, so you'd better get here if you want it hot."

A laugh, fainter than the memory, chuckles in his throat, giving him just the boost he needs to actually pry himself up and shamble on over to where the smell of something sweet and savoury brings him a little more back to life. Maybe this is like him.

[meliskindachildishlol]

Good enough (A BATMM: Real-World! AU one-shot)

This is the first one-shot I've done after a while, pls go easy on me, I'm trying to get the hang of writing again. 🥲

~1600 words

QUICK NOTE FOR THE CHARACTERS FOR THIS AU!

Eric → Blaze

Cedric → Crusher

Dion → Pickle (was only mentioned)

A.J. → …XD (only mentioned ×2)

He woke up with a choked yelp, sitting up on the bed on pure instinct. Feeling his heart slamming against his chest and with drops of sweat running down his face, he tried to catch his breath in sharp, quick pants. He looked around everywhere, as if to check if he was actually in the bedroom, and sighed, his head hanging low.

It was just a nightmare… again. The third one from that week, actually.

It always started and ended the same. A dark hallway he had to wander until he found a red door, entering the room and seeing masks on the walls that looked like his friends, the door shutting locked behind him inexplicably, a bunch of echoey voices shaming him for not being enough for anyone over and over again… He was growing tired of it.

With a groan, he slowly got up and directed himself to the bathroom in slow, almost tentative steps, as if walking through the darkness of the house was something he wasn’t used to. As soon as he opened the door and got in, his hands fell to the edges of the sink and gripped them tight enough for his knuckles to begin to turn white.

“Santo Dios,” he muttered, staring at his reflection in the mirror with tired, droopy eyes. “I look worse than last time.”

An even deeper sigh escaped him as he turned on the water, spraying it on his face with his hands. He didn’t even bother drying his face right away and go back to sleep just like he usually would. He just stared down at the sink with blank eyes, already stuck deep in thought.

Ever since he arrived in Axle City with A.J., things had been going pretty smoothly. He had his life resolved, he had people who cared for him, he had the recognition of the people of the city… he had everything.

And yet, he still felt like he didn’t deserve it.

People like him for being the city’s “most skilled racer”, but would they still like him if he wasn’t? What if he fails and lets everyone down one day?

Is he really that great like others say, or is he just lucky? Does he really deserve all the cheers… the praise… his title?

Does he deserve to be the leader? What if someone else would do a better job?

He's done a lot… but almost none of it feels good enough. He doesn’t feel good enough.

A sudden touch on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts, flinching hard with a choked sound that was a strange mix between a gasp and a yelp.

“Jesus Christ, chill out!” Cedric's voice came out louder than intended, recoiling his hand back as Eric whips his head back. “It’s just me, not a… a thief or something like that.”

Eric stared at Cedric with wide eyes for three solid seconds before he let out a shuddering breath, a small chuckle escaping him right after. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just… I didn’t expect anyone else to be up.”

“Well you’re lucky no one else is up,” Cedric muttered, crossing his arms.

The tan, brown-haired man tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You literally screamed out of nowhere,” he made a gesture with his hands, as if to simulate how sudden it had been. “Dion almost woke up too, but I think he was way too tired to even sit up. Anyway, what’s up with that?”

“Oh, that…” Eric scratched the back of his neck nervously, his gaze drifting away from Cedric's as he thought of something to say. At this point, it was expected that his excuses would come naturally... but for some reason, his mind went blank under the other man's gaze. “It's… it’s nothin’, don't worry."

“Nothin’?” The other asked in a dead-pan tone. “Eric, you looked like you saw a murder. Hell, I didn’t know I would be the one asking this but… you okay?”

Silence.

Silence and a small, hesitant sound from Eric is the only thing that followed after that question. He would answer with something like “Of course I am”, or “Yeah, don't worry about it”... but, once more, he could not bring himself to brush it off. Words failed him, and it seemed to make Crusher's curiosity and concern grow.

“Dude? You're not gonna say anything?”

Eric lowered his gaze, his hand gripping his arm tightly as if frustrated over the fact that he's letting himself be vulnerable in front of, mind you, his rival. With a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumped over, releasing some tension he hadn't realized he had, and shook his head softly.

“...I don't know.”

Cedric's brows furrowed. “What do you mean you don't know?” his voice came out softer this time, almost tentative.

“I don't-” Eric cut himself off once a small tremor in his voice appeared. When he spoke again, his voice was now softer, choked up. “I don't know...”

Eric's arms slightly wrapped around himself, his fingers gripping his arms way too tight. Cedric found himself freezing in place, opening his mouth to say something but holding himself back immediately. The “mask” Eric wore was slipping down right in front of him, he wasn't naïve enough to not notice it, but he didn't know if he should help him put it back on or help him take it off.

After seconds that felt like an eternity, he finally made his choice. He stepped closer and, much to Eric's surprise, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him to a hug. An awkward, stiff hug, but it was with all the good intention Cedric could show.

“You don't have to talk about it if you can't... I-I don't know what's going on and I'm not that good with emotional shit, but, uhm…” He then sighed, his hold on Eric becoming less rigid and becoming more natural. “Take a breath, dude. Don't say you’re fine when you're not.”

That's all it took.

Eric let out a shuddery breath and hugged back tighter. Cedric made a small surprised noise at the sudden movement, but didn’t step back or push him away. They just… stayed there, under the gentle light of the bathroom and with the silence of the night; a silence that would normally be deafening for Eric… but, right now, it didn’t feel as overwhelming.

The mask had fallen off, but it felt much better than keeping it on.

[psy--conic]

Reading the Iliad, Book 23 thoughts

This is my first time ever reading it and I know next to nothing abt greek mythology so if I interpret anything wrong by all means pls correct me

Im reading the Robert Fagles translation

This one is fucking long

Today I learned that despite the word "games", funeral games are fucking intense

Everybody is back inside the Achaean camp. Achilles tells all the other Greeks that they can go back to their respective camps and eat, but he turns to his Myrmidons and says, "We all actually need to cry over Patroclus for at least another 10-12 business days."

The Myrmidons drive their chariots around the body of Patroclus while sobbing

Thetis is there, and she "strived a deep desire to grieve" within everyone

I don't know if the Myrmidons are mourning like this simply bc their commander told them to, but I feel like this goes to show just how important Patroclus actually was

Achilles tells Pat's body that Hector is now dead and that he's going to do everything he promised he'd do

The whole funeral, 12 Trojan youths thing, and all that

We love child sacrifices to our dead bestie/lover ig🥰

A couple of men come to let Achilles know that Agamemnon wants to see him. When Achilles get to his tent Agamemnon says "Uh you should take a fuckin bath onion boy🤢."

I just know Achilles smells like hot ass

Achilles says that it's literally sacrilege for a single drop of water to touch his head before to lays Patroclus on his pyre.

I think Pat wants your stank ass to take a bath buddy

The way Achilles has just fully ceased to be a human at this point in the story, the "I'll eat you raw" scene, the way he's stopped needing sustenance, the refusal to bathe. Nothing truly means anything if Patroclus isn't there with him.

😞

Anyway, Achilles asks Agamemnon to send his troops to help him collect timber in the morning in order to burn Patroclus, to which he says yes

After that convo, Achilles actually ends up falling asleep, and while he's sleeping, he is visited by the ghost of Patroclus

Patroclus scolds Achilles for neglecting him in death, as he never did in life

He's kinda stuck in a limbo bc Achilles hasn't given him the proper burial rights yet. Meaning he cannot cross over into the underworld

Im calling it right now, Hector and Patroclus are purgatory buddies

Patroclus then asks Achilles to mingle their bones in the single urn once Achilles dies

I really thought Achilles would be the one to think of that (This is what I get for reading TSOA first, ig)

Together bones, honestly

"Genius 😫" - Achilles probably.

So Achilles tries to hug Pat's ghost, and as he goes to do that, Patroclus's ghost drifts away, and Achilles wakes up.

The next morning, when they have the wood and the pyre is built. Achilles cuts a lock of his hair, hair which his father Peleus had promised to some river god upon Achilles' return home. Signifying that Achilles will not be returning to his fatherland. He puts the lock of hair in Patroclus's hands

Also, "fatherland"? Why not motherland?

Achilles sacrifices of the animals and people that he said he would

For some reason, the pyre will not light. Achilles prays to the gods of the winds to help set the pyre ablaze. They oblige

BBQ Patroclus😍

Once the fire is done burning for the most part, Achilles is so run down. He ends up falling asleep right on the beach, only to be woken up like two seconds later by the sounds of people talking

Patroclus's bones are gathered and put in a urn

15 hours into the fucking chapter the actual games happen

There's a lot that goes on during the games, most of which is not too interesting

First, it's the chariot race, which Antilochus wins by threatening to kill his horses if they don't run faster.

This pisses Menelaus, who was also competing, off and he yells at Antilochus

Idomeneus and Ajax (lesser) argue

Achilles ends up giving old man Nestor a prize as well bc he will never be able to actually fight in any war again

This prompts Nestor to recount (long-windedly) the feats he accomplished in his younger days (Achilles, why would you even get Nestor started?)

Bro been going through an end-of-life crisis the whole poem

Then boxing, two men who're not important hop into the ring and one guy gets K.O-ed really quickly

Injuring soldiers from your own side is insane to me, but okay

After that is wrestling, to which Ajax (greater) and Odyseus volunteer. Their match ends in a tie

Next is foot racing. Antilochus, Ody, and Ajax (lesser)

Ajax gets shit in his mouth....like he lost so hard he ended up getting cow shit in his mouth...

Super fucking embarrassing id never show my face around camp again

Odyseus wins the race

Antilochus calls Ody "Out of the dark ages." How tf do you even know what that is? Isn't that WAAAYYYY later in time?

And Antilochus, despite losing the race and coming in third (losing to the man who literally ate shit is crazy but fine) galzes tf out of Achilles and manages to still bag a prize

The next game has two men competing to see who will draw first blood. Diomedes and Ajax (greater) compete, Dio damn near kills Ajax.

Achilles calls off that game and gives to win to Diomedes

Ajax cant catch a fucking break, no wonder he offed himself when the next funeral games came around

The game after that is to see who can throw a lump of iron the furthest. The men who end up playing are not important

The archers compete. Tuecer, Meriones, and Idomeneus

I thought Tuecer was gonna take this but they fucking robbed him

They're supposed to hit a bird or something

Tucer doesn't pray to Apollo before shooting, so he misses to bird and hits the string holding it instead, which allows it to start flying away

Meriones, who does pray to Apollo, hits to bird mid-flight, and everyone is amazed

So fuck Idomeneus, right? He doesn't get to shoot?

The last game is spear throwing. Agamemnon steps up and fucking wins by defualt.

Fucking hate this guy

Achilles, what happened to being a grade A hater?

The end holy shit

Honestly, lets have another cry fest over Patroclus

[temptingfatetakingnames]

The Last Steve Harrington Part 2

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Steve came back to consciousness slowly, everything felt fuzzy and dreamlike. The sun was shining in the window and he was lying in a comfortable bed. Caution was ringing in the back of his head but he couldn’t remember why. He hadn’t dreamed. No nightmares. That was wrong, wasn’t it?

“Why am I here?” a familiar voice asked from the hall.

“He kept asking about you,” someone else whispered.

He looked down at his hands, flexed them. An I.V. was stuck in the back of his left hand and he brought it up to his face. His hands were clean. Even the dirt under his fingernails was gone. He took a deep breath and licked his lips. God, he was thirsty. What the fuck happened? Didn’t he die? This didn’t feel like death. He liked the other one better – the one where the kids –

The kids!

He sat up quickly and someone rushed to his side.

Joyce.

A gentle hand pushed his chest into the bed.

“Lay down, Steve,” she said quietly.

“Thirsty,” he said.

Joyce smiled and brought a cup of water with a straw up to his lips. He sipped and swallowed slowly.

“What do you remember?” she asked.

“I died,” he said it like a question. It didn’t seem right but it was the only thing that made sense.

“No, sweetie. You didn’t.”

Steve closed his eyes and drifted for a moment. The window was open and a breeze fluttered the curtains. He had left Hawkins but found a portal. The kids were on the other side. What had Dustin called it?

“Parallel universes,” he whispered to himself and Joyce hummed affirmatively.

“I’m glad El found you, Steve.”

Just then Dustin and Eddie walked into the room. Steve couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t dead which meant that Eddie wasn’t dead either. Fuck. He felt his eyes well up with tears. He looked good. Healthy, if a little confused.

“Eds,” he gasped out.

“Eds?”

“Is that not what I call you here?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“Uh no, strictly last name basis since the whole Vecna thing made us sorta friends?” Eddie replied and Steve’s heart sank.

No. That was wrong. He and Eddie had been inseparable since they were forced to work together at Scoops Ahoy. They had cracked the Russian code and infiltrated the base with Dustin and Erica. When they had been on truth serum, they had come out to each other. Eddie had been so afraid of what Steve’s reaction would be when he told him he was gay. The look on his face when Steve told him he was bisexual was priceless. They had danced around each other for months after that, trauma bonded best friends afraid to ruin what they had by trying for something more. At least on Steve’s end. But Eddie had been braver. Had blurted out his feelings one night after they had finished watching a movie.

Steve fiddled with the guitar pick necklace tucked under his shirt. Eddie noticed where his fingers had gone and stilled at the sight. He pulled his own necklace out of his shirt and stared at it before looking back at Steve with a question in his eyes. Steve didn’t know what to say, how to navigate a parallel universe where the man he loved had just met him before he died.

Steve had begged Vecna to kill him. At the end. With his friends lying dead around him. The last thing Vecna said to him before he took his army and left would haunt Steve forever.

“Your living suffering is sweeter to me than any death I could grant you.”

Even in this new universe, Vecna’s words rang true.

---

Other Steve Harrington was listed as a missing person and had been since the final battle with Vecna. His parents told the police that he had probably skipped town and they weren’t interested in trying to find him. That tracked with something his own parents would have done. With no body or crime scene there was no reason to suspect foul play and a missing person he had remained. Lucky for him, Steve supposed. It would be a lot easier to come back from being missing than being dead. Still, too much to ask for that in this universe he would have loving parents who gave a shit about him. Though… easier, too. He wouldn’t be able to fool loving parents into believing he was their son.

Hopper had given him Other Steve’s wallet and he went through it hoping to find some answers into his life here. Looking at his driver’s license was… strange. The card itself was the same; same address, same license number even… but the picture struck Steve with its otherness. Their faces were the same at first glance, but the smile and eyes – they weren’t his – and it sent shivers down his spine.

Here was a person who had lived a parallel life to his own. But Steve didn’t know how parallel. Did they have the same best friend growing up? Who was his first girlfriend? Boyfriend? Who was he? Steve didn’t know… and he was somehow supposed to just slot himself into his life? Take it over? He knew one fundamental difference between them so far – he was a coward and Other Steve wasn’t. How much that would change everything else, Steve didn’t know.

He kept going through the wallet. There were credit cards and bank cards that were probably useless, a membership card to Family Video, and some cash. Nothing to really go off. As Steve fiddled with the wallet, he found a pocket that held a strip of photos from a photobooth. It started with him and Robin smiling at the camera. The second picture had Dustin crashing into the booth and the third picture had all the kids struggling to get their faces into the frame. They were laughing and smiling chaotically. The back of his throat tightened and he shoved the photo back into the wallet before tossing it onto the table beside him.

He had been in the hospital for a few days, resting and regaining his strength. He had collapsed due to severe exhaustion, dehydration and malnutrition. Joyce and Hopper had managed to keep the kids away but it was only a matter of time before he would have to face them again. He was surprised they hadn’t managed to sneak in already. Joyce kept trying to talk to him, asking questions about himself and his universe but Steve had been silent. He wasn’t used to talking to people and didn’t feel like answering her questions. He knew she meant well but most of the answers weren’t something she would want to hear. They died. We lost. I’ve been alone. He also wasn’t used to her treating him so gently. He hadn’t interacted with his Joyce much and then her and Hopper had died somewhere in Russia.

Loud footsteps echoed in the hall.

“We want to see him, it’s been days!” He heard Dustin yell through the closed door.

“He’s been resting, Dustin. You have no idea what he’s been through,” Joyce replied.

Neither do you, Steve thought.

“Will you ask him if we can visit? Please?” Will asked, always the voice of reason.

The door cracked open and Joyce slid in. She saw that he was awake and had heard what Will wanted. “They’re worried and would like to see you,” she said quietly so they wouldn’t hear.

Steve fiddled with his I.V., unsure.

“You don’t have to, Steve,” she said, sensing his hesitation. She walked over and tried to take his hand but he flinched away.

He swallowed and rasped, “let them in.” He needed to talk to them, but they weren’t going to like what he had to say.

They entered more quietly and respectfully than Steve was expecting. There weren’t enough chairs for them all. Dustin claimed the one right next to his bed and Mike pulled the other one from across the room. El and Max climbed onto the end of his bed, careful not to sit on his legs. Will and Lucas stood behind Dustin and Mike’s chairs.

They all looked at him expectantly. He held his hands together in his lap to keep them from shaking. Looking into their familiar faces was heartbreaking. They weren’t his kids; they weren’t the ones he had failed to protect but he still felt like he owed them an apology anyway.

“We are sorry,” Eleven said, surprising him.

“We shouldn’t have sprung everything on you like that,” Dustin continued. “We were just so excited to see you.”

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I want you to send me back,” he said.

They were silent for a moment before they started shouting at him.

“Why should you get me?” he asked loudly over them.

They stopped yelling and stared at him.

“What do you mean?” Will questioned; his brow furrowed.

“If I’m really the only Steve left, why should your universe get to keep me? What about all the others who lost their Steve? They just have to live without him? Seems like fate or destiny or whatever is saying that no one should have me.”

“Their Elevens are probably looking, but we found you first,” Dustin said with finality. As if that would be the end of the conversation.

“What about your Steve? I’m supposed to replace him? Take his life like he never existed?”

“We’ll never forget our Steve. We’d like to tell you about him when you’re ready. We don’t want you to replace him, we know that you’re different people. But you’re still Steve in every way that matters. And we still need you,” Max answered looking him square in the eye, daring him to contradict her.

“How do you know?” Steve asked.

“Know what? That we need you?” Dustin looked at him like that was the stupidest question he could have asked.

Steve shook his head. “How do you know I’m ‘Steve’in the ways that matter? You don’t know me. I could be a bad person. I could have been working with Vecna for all you know. Clearly, I’m not like literally all the other Steve’s in existence. Maybe the whole point is that no Steve should have survived and I’m just an anomaly that needs to be put out of his fucking misery. Preferably in his own universe so he can go to whatever afterlife with his fucking family.”

They were quiet after that. He heard Will sniff back tears and his heart clenched tightly in his chest.

“When we finally found you of course we questioned whether or not it was right to bring you here. Our Steve died. We loved him. He was our friend – our family. We owe him everything! So, if you think for one second we were going to leave you there when we found out you were alone then you’re an idiot!” Dustin stood up and yelled.

“Bringing you here. Saving you. It feels like saving a piece of him, too. We are not letting you go. You are Steve Harrington…which means you belong with us,” Eleven said softly.

Dustin sat back down and reached out to place his hand gently on top of Steve’s. He looked down at their hands and then up at Dustin, who smiled hesitantly at him. He couldn’t smile back or take his hand, but he didn’t pull away either. That was all he had to give right now.  

He looked away again, jaw tense and eyes tight. The kids stayed and he eventually drifted off, still feeling Dustin’s warm hand on his.

---

Not a single part of the plan had gone their way and Steve didn’t know what to do. Eleven was down. She had lost consciousness and blood was trickling steadily out of her nose. She had been fighting Vecna and had started thrashing before she went still. Mike was screaming and shaking her. Robin, Nancy, and Jonathon were still throwing Molotov’s at The Mind Flayer but they were quickly running out. He couldn’t see Eddie and Dustin through the swam of bats separating them. There were too many places he needed to be, too many people he needed to protect. Steve froze. He didn’t know what to do.

Steve woke with a start, heart pounding and breath ragged. It was dark in the hospital room but there was enough light from the open window to see Eddie sitting in the chair beside him. He looked as good as he had the day before. Torn black jeans, a faded Metallica shirt and his hair was a messy tangle around his face. It was beautiful and painful to see him in the light of the moon, familiar and foreign in equal measure.

Blood dribbled out of the sides of his mouth; he was trying to speak even though he could barely breathe. His brown eyes were wide with pain, and Steve held him to his chest – 

Steve blinked away the memory and shook his head to clear it.

“Why are you here?” he asked Eddie.  

Eddie didn’t answer, just fiddled with his necklace. He noticed Steve’s eyes on it.  

“It means a lot to me,” he said.

“I know,” Steve said and Eddie made a ‘go for it’ gesture. Hands open wide and eyebrow quirked.

“Wayne gave it to you.” Steve paused and cleared his throat. “Gave it to my Eddie. It was after his parents dropped him off and left. Eds wouldn’t talk to him, no matter what he tried. So, he started playing his guitar… and it drew you–” Steve stopped and growled in frustration. “Drew him out. Wayne started teaching him and when he could play all the scales, he gave him his guitar. He handed him the pick and said, ‘You’re mine now and I’m never leaving you. That’s a promise.’”

Eddie was looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Well?” Steve demanded. “Is it the same?”

“No,” Eddie replied and Steve knew he wasn’t going to tell him why his necklace was important to him, because he hadn’t earned it. Steve felt another piece of his heart break. This Eddie didn’t know him. Didn’t trust him. He had no relationship with this Eddie, even though he shared a face with the person Steve had loved most in the world.

“Dustin said you want to go back.” Eddie leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“I do.” It wasn’t a question but Steve answered anyway.

“Losing Steve really messed Dustin up, more so than the others. They all took it hard, but Dustin? He didn’t speak for weeks, barely ate. Steve was his brother and he died in his arms; did you know that?”

Steve shook his head slowly.   

“When El told him about the parallel universes she had found it was the first time Dustin acted like himself since Steve died. But she couldn’t find one of you who bastards who didn’t fucking die saving someone else. And every time, it was like Dustin lost him all over again.”

Steve felt for Dustin, he really did. But their Steve had died saving the world. His death had meaning and purpose. The kids should be proud of that and move on. Steve didn’t have anything to ease his conscious or heartache. He had lost everything, and there was no meaning to it and only Steve left alive to remember.

Eddie was talking to him like he didn’t know grief, like he didn’t know what it felt like to lose a brother, and it really pissed him off. The anger Steve felt was delicious in its righteousness. Eddie thought he knew loss? Thought Dustin knew loss? What they felt was nothing but a spring breeze compared to the tornado that was Steve’s torment. He had lost everyone.

“I don’t know you and I don’t trust you,” Eddie said, echoing Steve’s earlier thoughts, “but you better not hurt those kids any more than you already have. I can appreciate that this is hard for you, but you do not take it out on them. Understood?”

Oh, he could appreciate that this was hard for him? Steve was done. He had Eddie’s face but he wasn’t Eds.

“How about fuck you, Munson,” Steve spit out.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, shocked by the vitriol of Steve’s reply.

He recovered quickly and sneered. “Well look at King fucking Steve, back again and not caring about anyone but himself.”

“Who the fuck is King Steve?”

Eddie blinked at him, clearly at a loss. Steve glared back.

“What about Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington?” Eddie asked and Steve couldn’t help the snort that escaped his lips.

“That’s a stupid nickname.”

Eddie looked even more confused now.

“What were you like in high school?”

It was Steve’s turn to blink at Eddie, anger fizzling somewhat at the out of nowhere questions.

“Why would I answer you? Don’t let the door hit you on your way out,” he said and jerked his head towards the door.

Eddie’s eyes were deep brown pools as he looked intently at Steve, analyzing him, searching for something. Steve didn’t back down and held his gaze. He didn’t know what Eddie saw, but his eyes softened, just a little, before he turned and left the room. As soon as he was gone, the rest of Steve’s anger abandoned him and he dropped his head back against the pillows.

What the fuck was he doing?

Steve's eyes burned and he finally let out the tears that had been threatening to fall since he woke up in the hospital. He held his hands up to his mouth as his sobs broke free and brought his knees up to his chest, letting himself curl into his grief.

Part 3

[ghosts-cant-sleep]

if i saw him, i'd still kiss him

- simon 'ghost riley' x male! reader

warnings: angst, death, greif, implied addiction ig, smoking, drinking, gore, kinda rushed near the end, also 3rd person for some reason idk

notes: this was supposed to be a halloween fic. so. pretend this was posted a few months earlier. ALSO STARTED WRITING THIS A BIT BEFORE MW3 CAME OUT. SO.

fem aligned dni

if i saw him, id still kiss him - mccafferty

It was yet another late, aching night filled with desperate yearning for a long gone past, anger and grief boiling up all at once at the constant taunting reality that it will never be like again. There's an aching empty in his chest, a buzzing in his head, like every cell in his body knows something's wrong; a missing touch trailing his skin, a missing laugh bellowing in the air, a missing warmth from all around. It's something that can just almost be ignored most days.

But not tonight.

Tonight, all that empty is suffocating Simon. Neither the cigarette pinched, nearly crushed, between his fingers or the glass of liquor he glares into can fill it.

He's been through plenty of grief counseling in his time, probably too much to be considered normal for one man. He'd heard all about moving forward, remembering the good instead of missing what you never got the chance to have. He'd heard plenty from others who've lost people they've cared about-- another tag added around someone's neck, a child with a mother taken before she could see their middle school graduation, a father outliving his daughter. They'd all had many of the same anticdotes about seeing their loved ones everywhere they went, and the resulting peace it brought them. A beautiful sunset, a coincidental cardinal, the twinkling of fireflies swarming their favorite park. But this wasn't quite something he expected.

Simon tries desperately to ignore [Name], heart bounding in his chest despite the stone cold expression he bears, avoiding the form of his teammate, his friend, sitting weightlessly on his desk. [Name]'s eyes trail the ribbons of smoke drifting through the still air.

Simon wore his dog tags besides his own, under his shit, against his chest. There's still dried blood stuck in the stubborn cracks, scratches, engravements. They've been through far too much in what felt like such a short military career-- sweat, blood, tears, and other such bodily fluids better left unsaid for dignities sake.

He could hear nothing more than the huff of his own breath, the ticking of the clock, the slight hiss of his cigarette burning away, the buzz in the walls.

"Why are you still here?" [Name]'s the first to break the silence tonight. His voice is distant, sounding more like a faint whistle of wind manufactured by Simon's grief. That was his best guess, anyway.

Regardless, he finds the question ironic.

He responds only with silence, applying a childish logic to the situation. If he doesn't look at him, speak to him, entertain this ridiculousness, maybe it'll go away. It didn't, of course.

"It's Halloween," [Name] continues on as if this were any other conversation they might've had. "You should've gone home awhile ago... What, you don't feel like celebrating the night by giving out some candy? Maybe a horror movie?"

"Feels like im living through my own horror movie," Simon finally mutters back, washing off the words from his tongue with the overwhelming taste of tobacco, quick to chase it back with a thick gulp of whiskey.

[Name] scoffs, the sound bouncing off the walls of the office. "C'mon, now, I'm not that bad. It's not like I'm crawling through your TV or anything like that. I mean, I could if you want me to."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Just saying."

"You think you're funny, huh?" Simon bitterly mutters, finally daring to look up at you, only for his eyes to snap back to his hands. "Piss off," he huffs, pressing the rim of his cup back to his lips.

He knew that [Niko] was dead. He watched it happen. He felt it. He'd been the one to identify his body at the morgue. He saw the waxy skin, the empty eyes, the cold. Yet, there [Name] was, sitting at the edge of Simon's desk, annoying the ever loving hell out of him like he always had.

More silently settles between them. The stillness. The empty. The ticking, the breathing, the burning, the buzzing. All sounds Simon swore were never so unpleasant was [Name] was just a few doors down.

"You've been drinking a lot lately." [Name]'s words and tone mirrors Price's to a T, with the same nervous glance between the deep, angry crease in Simon's brows and the glass that's found a home in his grip when there's not a rifle taking its place.

"I miss you," Simon's quick to admit. He's terribly nonchalant about it, shrugging it off, as if that's a reason [Name] would ever accept.

"I miss you too." [Name] doesn't take the chance to hound on Simon for the excuse. And inconsistency in his character, Simon thinks, a sign that this is all in his head, that the little cricket in his ear is spitting out whatever will make him happy. "I miss all you assholes." That's more like it.

Simons sets his glass down, the glass clinking again the wood of his desk. He stares down at the dark grain, the twisting paterns.

Simon shakes his head. "I let you down."

"Don't be stupid," [Name]'s voice cuts in, bouncing off every wall. "You're fighting a war-- war's have casualties. Shit happens."

"It was my mission. I made the call. It was my job to keep my men safe, and I failed." His voice is barely above a whisper. God, Simon hates it when he comes around. "I could've sent someone out to scout the area before we engage-- I shoulder sent someone else. It didn’t have to be you." His voice threatens the crack and break under the weight of guilt in his words. He had hundreds of scenarios he'd run over time and time again, of how he could've stopped it. He'd give anything to do it all over.

"What good would that do?" [Name] scoffs, adjusting his position on Simon's desk, not making a single sound. "Someone else would've just died. Maybe not me, but maybe you, Garrick, Price, Soap. Hell, a handful of marines. Why does my life matter anymore?"

Simons sees [Name]'s death every time he closes his eyes. Even six months later, it never ceased to haunt him. It was like a nightmare how it'd all played out. He was no stranger to death, but god, it played in his mind like he was still there, wind whipping against his, a trembling body in his hands.

[Name], choking on his own blood, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, blown wide in complete and utter terror. He'd been trying to speak, in spite of Simon's hurried shushes, never one to follow orders well, but all that sounded was a grotesque gurgle, frothy, pale blood spilling from his lips, a bullet caught in his lungs. It was agonizing to see. He was terrified. Simon didn't know he was capable of even feeling such a thing.

He was always such a smart ass, talking shit, never a glimmer of fear or hesitation. Simon had criticized him for it time and time again. Bravery doesn't equate to invincibility, and that had proven itself soon enough.

Simon felt him die. His hand, sweaty and desperate, clutching onto Simon's with all the fleeting strength from his body. It felt like hours, screaming for a medic, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, to hold him, to comfort him, to save him. He didn't stop even when [Name]'s hand went limp in his, or when he saw that blood-stained face of his, frozen in a twisted expression of childlike fear.

"Because you deserved more," he finally answers. "You were young. You deserved to live your life, not die in some godforsaken country. I could've done something. I could've stopped it."

He drops his gaze down to his desk, the glass making a loud clink as he set it down, he hand quick to come to his face. He presses the harsh, calloused pads of his fingers firmly against his skin, rubbing the flesh raw as he feels his emotions swell in his throat.

"God damn it," he hisses. "I'm sorry, [Name]. I'm so sorry."

Not a word gets to leave [Name]'s lips before a dry, pained chuckle is chocked out from Simon's throat.

"Fuckin' hell," he mutters, burrying his face in his hands. "I'm going crazy. You're not real. This isn't happening-- you're not here, you can't be here."

His breathing picks up as he desperately tries to convince himself, hammering it into his own brain until this cruel mind trick leaves him to his peace. His cigarette shakes in his trembling hand, the ash burning his skin. He doesn't seem to feel the heat.

"You're dead, [Name]. You're dead."

The next few moments are tense and quiet once more. For a moment, Simon lets himself hope that maybe it’s finally gone, that he'll have his lonesome night to mourn, but [Name]'s voice cuts through that stillness yet again.

His voice is hesitant and almost nervous, another unfamiliar sound. "What, your name's Ghost, yet you don't even believe in 'em?" He attempts a lazy joke, that teasing smirk of his trying to mask the tension. "Maybe you oughta change thay callsign of yours."

Simon sharply scoffs, the words cutting deep, teasing and joking as he could've believed the intentions were. "Maybe you're right." Simon hadn't been Ghost, not for a while now. "I'm not the man I was. At this rate, I'll just be another vet in an AA meeting," he spits, riping his hands from his face and tossing back the rest of his drink.

"Hey, that's not what I-"

"Why are you still here?" Simon doesn’t give him a chance to answer, slamming the glass back down onto the desk, grip tightening around it. "I've done my mourning, I've felt my guilt. What more do you want from me?" His brows pinch together, voice tight in his throat.

A frown tugs at [Name]'s lips. He leans over, a hand coming to place itself over Simon's as his fingers curl desperately into his cup.

But, the biting cold where a warm, dare he hope, loving touch should be sets him off.

It takes him a moment to realize, glass shattering and crumbling in his tight grip, priercing his skin. The blood comes before the pain, shards digging into his skin, his hands shaking with his own shock as he opens his palms.

He's quick to take in the damage, his mindless destruction making him feel sick.

He looks up and finds [Name] gone, if he was ever really there in the first place. The office feels just as cold as it had been, hitting the warm blood spilled from his skin.

Simon looks back at his hand, blood pattering against the desk. His curls his fingers into a fist, letting the glass dig deeper and deeper beneath his flesh, crunching in his palm, the sensation burning furious and sharp as his fist trembles.

His chest tightens, the snarl on his features turning to a pathetic from as his lips quiver.

He shakes his head with a sharp breath, his hand falling to the desk, relaxing as much as it could.

He leans back into his chair, it screaching under his weight. He whipes his hand against his pants, a few small shards of glass falling to the floor, most just pressing in deeper.

He grabs the whiskey bottle by the neck, pulling it closer.

Damn cup was only slowing him down anyway.

[bitchesgate3]

I'm pretty intrigued by the dynamic between Ketheric and Isobel because it reminds me so much of what I experienced being emotionally enmeshed with one of my parents for my entire childhood.

I think most people understand the weight of being parentified when a child must get a job to help contribute money to the family. But I don't think very many people understand what it's like growing up with a parent who over-relies on family members to be emotionally stable - and eventually having to take on the role as the go-to person to be that stability.

Of feeling suffocated by such an overly needy parent - who controls via their emotional needs and griefs - that makes you act in certain ways because surely you don't want to be the death of your parent.

I'm right at the end of Act 2, so the game may say otherwise, but I wonder how Isobel feels about everything happening.

"Your father loved you so much that he brought you back from the dead," sounds so kindly at first. But the sinister truth beyond the obsession is living knowing the fact that the only thing keeping the man alive is you. Once your mother's godforsaken task - now yours.

The game may play up that she resents this, but in my experience there is a love/hate growing up under this dynamic with a parent. You resent this parent for a reason you can't quite put your finger on as a kid, but its the resentment of being made to emotionally soothe them when they never soothe you: which was supposed to be their job. You, as the child, rely on them for survival. You have to look like everything is ok because your parent being upset is so catastrophic (that they will be too dysfunctional to meet your survival needs) that your own needs feel less important.

But on the flip side, you do become parentified in a role reversal. You can't help but love your parent and want the best for them. The emotional abuse is so subtle and imperceptible, that it just makes sense that you would never assert a boundary with your parent because of how much it would throw them into a depression. Being rejected by the one person who loves them.

I wonder how upset Isobel was when Ketheric began drifting from Selune to Shar. How, like a parent, she might have felt like he should have known better. How her own parent felt like a rotten, naive child in doing so. What if a hidden reason for Isobel holding firmly to Selune was to try to convince him. Not every action is tied to the enmeshed parent, but sometimes there are undermining doubts that maybe you're still not acting on your own behalf and still feel like you have to support a parent who should be living their own life - not sucking lifeforce from you.

I kind of feel for Isobel because she seems sweet, and even with the snark, there may be a genuine sensitivity within her that makes emotionally unstable people flock to her like an oasis in the desert (which is an experience I relate to). I even fear that with Aylin's PTSD, Isobel will just be put in that role again of emotional caretaker - being the only thing that grounds Aylin out of her rages. And that scares me.

From a note found in Isobel's room, I feel like she will fall into a depression now that she's been brought to life. Her father soon to be dead. And perhaps now, she will be stuck in a repeating cycle. Where she is always the beacon of hope for others out of necessity rather than living the life that should have always been hers and only hers.

If she dies, will the people around her desperately want to revive her as well? Because she shines so brightly they can't live without her light?