#six know how dangerous she is. six knows how much danger they're all in now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gayspacepiratesss · 3 months ago

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Hiiii friends I made a thing!!! 💕 An illustrated mini-fic, to be precise.

The art part isn't quite finished but I think the last three illustrations might take me longer and I wanted to share what I have so far. There are six color plates now and eventually I hope I'll have nine. I'll do a separate art post when they're all finished for folks who aren't as interested in the story!

I wrote this because I was thinking about trauma, and Neve's love for Docktown, and how two people who take too much responsibility for things might try and fail to help each other. About how breaking out of regret prisons isn't something most of us get to do just once, but over and over again: new chapters in the same old story. Plot twists that get a little better each time, if we're lucky.

I think Neve and Rook are lucky, but you be the judge of that. 💕

***

Red-eye

In which Neve gives new meaning to the phrase "Cry it out" and Rook fights gravity with exactly the amount of success you might expect.

Content note: Some mild hurt/comfort, references to blood, angst, and many feelingsy illustrations.

-~-

The veins are starting to fade, but her eyes are still red. Staring herself down in the mirror, Neve Gallus can't honestly tell if it's the Blight or sheer exhaustion that makes it impossible to recognize her own face.

The days since Elgar'nan's fall have been hard for a happy ending: the work of digging friends from the rubble, patching injuries and broken bridges, burying or burning the dead.

Neve's gaze flickers past her reflection towards the slight, sleeping figure on the sofa behind her.

Rook has been there for all of it. Minrathous, Treviso, Arlathan. First to volunteer, last to leave at night. She's never been afraid of heavy lifting.

You showed up. You always do.

...but where am I?

In Dock Town, the ocean always made her feel like she could breathe. Here, the blue light of the aquarium is drowning her again. Cold shadows run restless across her face, almost dancing with the black traces etched into her skin.

She slips out the door alone. Again.

-~-

"Again?"

Rook sags against the wooden railing opposite Hal's fish stall, her shoulders tight even as her face falls.

The older man squints sympathetically. His hands scale the day's catch with expert automatic movements, but his eyes stay with her. "Earlier this morning," he confirms. "Same time, same story."

Every day for the past month. Early, late, in between. As soon as there was a moment they might talk, Neve disappeared. If Eann "Rook" Aldwir had ever been the praying kind, now—not the fall of Minrathous or the rise of the Evanuris—would have been the moment she was on her knees.

I would burn worlds for you, but I couldn't pull you back when it mattered.

What have I saved if I didn't save Neve Gallus?

She runs a hand through her hair, putting on a rosy face to match, and forces a grin she doesn't quite feel. "Ah, well. It's been hard for everyone, but..."

"... mmhm." Hal nods. "Time is what the city needs, maybe. Time, and they'll remember..." his voice fades. Suddenly he is very busy with the mackerel.

... that she loves them. That she always loved them. That she never—she didn't—

"It was Elgar'nan and Ghilan'ain—" Rook can't quite hide her frustration.

"I know." Hal chops a fishhead slightly too aggressively. "They'll know."

But does she know?

From the street, a shout as ropes go up to raise new scaffolding—there's work to do on some of the dockside apartments, newly in danger of tumbling into the sea.

Eann buys a fresh skewer and sinks her teeth in. "If oo fee er--" she ventures, mouth full, eyes already on the next task.

"I'll send her your way," Hal finishes.

But he won't. They both know.

-~-

They both know. Everyone knows. Neve Gallus, protector of Docktown—until she destroyed it.

She takes a long drag from her pipe, staring across the city from her perch above the Lamplighter—one of the only buildings to go unscathed by the massive tentacles of Blight that she, personally, had directed. The elegant cruelty of Elgar'nan's choice wasn't lost on her—if anybody knew how to target Minrathous' weak points. If anybody knew the city's secrets. Set her against the place she loved best and watch it fall.

In the moment, it had been a pleasure.

How do you come back from that?

When Treviso had been ravaged by the Blight, her heart broke for Lucanis—but her relief for her own people had blunted the pain. She remembers the moment Rook showed up on the field, one step behind Neve and Tarquin, one step ahead of the dragon. She remembers her own disbelief: "You came."

Eann had never looked smaller than she did against that burning-black sky, her skin—so pale it was almost blue in a certain light—flushed and uneven, jaw set against her fear. And Neve had never loved her more—a thought she had shoved down immediately, fiercely, completely, as she skewered a nearby Venatori with ice.

They won that day. Parts of it, anyway.

And when Minrathous did fall, it was Neve's fault. Not Rook's.

-~-

"Not Rook's!" Elek Tavor has brought his Threads. He shoos Eann away from the complex dance of ladders and platforms they're erecting to shore up the dockfront. "That's your job, nughead! I need her here!"

Gang members and locals set shoulders together against the weight of newly-cut stone and crumbling Blight, clearing the one from the ruined apartments and storefronts to make room for the other. They look like a training montage or an inspirational poster—if training smelled like clotted blood, and inspiration felt like vertigo.

He winks at her from over a pulley, tossing her a safety harness and a length of rope. "You're too good for us gutter rats."

She straps in, eyeing the higher floors. The corruption still needs clearing before they can fully assess the damage. It's not especially stable, but she'd rather risk her skin than someone else's. "Better a rat with wings, huh?"

"Better you than me."

She doesn't argue. Instead, she climbs -- reaching hand over hand for a better view. The city shrinks and shifts as she pulls herself above it. The Cobbled Swan blends into the paper seller stalls and merchant alleys, already in business again with whatever scraps they each could scavenge. The sea's slate mood gives way to a smudge of sky and stone, reflecting up the cliffs across the channel.

I know you're there.

Tucked somewhere among those caves and crawlspaces is a detective with a shattered heart, blowing smoke rings and tearing herself to shreds. Rook has watched her disappear, slowly but surely, with every day of "recovery." To rebuild something is to see what was broken, to go over the damage in fine detail. To catalogue every blow. But for Neve, it is cataloging her own sins, her own failures, in a neat series of boxes to be checked and confirmed with evidence. For Rook, it has been watching that soft face flinch and flatten with each victory, each moment of hope, as though it were a nail in her heart's coffin.

But Neve still comes to the city for solace. She can't help herself. And so Eann haunts Minrathous, signing up for tasks that don't really need her, checking in on the people she knows Neve loves. Looking for answers in The Case of the Blighted Dream. The Broken Detective. Docktown's Ghost.

She has tried to be patient. So. Patient. But sometimes the most ungenerous part of her thinks, I broke out of my prison. To find you. To have this.

Now I'm losing you to yours.

Distracted by the weight of her thoughts, Rook barely notices when the stone she reaches for crumbles in her hand—until it pulls the harness anchor with it, the whole wall of the second story giving way. There is a sharp jerk, and she is falling—

Falling?

Falling.

But even as her heart freezes in her throat, it is still pulling her across the water. Even as she braces for the impact, her eyes are still half-scanning the cliffside for a tell-tale flash of teal, a smudge of smoke.

-~-

Smoke.

Neve squints suddenly, her pipe drooping between slack fingers. Smoke? By the docks?

No. Dust.

Something is falling.

But the channel is not wide, and she realizes with growing horror that she can hear the sound not just of stone, blight, beams crumbling, but also voices. Shrieking, wavering. "Look out!" "Back up!" "Clear it OUT—"

And then: "Rook!"

Someone is falling.

Rook.

A blinding, burning fear bites into her chest. The pipe clatters to the ground. If she was drowning before, she is choking now, clawing her way to the surface of a dream she has been walking in for weeks. Trading pains of the past for a present that sears her lungs and surges down her spine.

Mages cannot fly, but all that is left of Neve in that alcove as she bolts through passageways and across rooftops is a pipe's worth of tobacco and the shadow of a thought, echoing like a stone dropped in a dry well.

Wait for me. Wait.

-~-

“Wait.” Eann coughs wetly, throat clogging with dust and something unpleasantly, unexpectedly—oh. Blood. Well. She drags herself up on one elbow, waving Elek and the others back slightly, hissing as the movement sends a shock of pain through her body. “Wait, dammit! I’m not—”

“You’re not what?”

Time turns to sludge as familiar brown eyes meet hers, topped by brows knitted together in fury and fear. “Not hurt? Not climbing walls alone?”

Neve kneels beside the shaking elf, hands already moving, telling Eann’s blood to stay inside her body, her bones to know themselves under the weight of stone for seconds rather than minutes. It’s no small feat, and she is immediately sweating. They both are. “Not the Maker's own damned idiot?”

In spite of herself, Rook laughs. Weakly, painfully. “No,” she wheezes. “I am that.”

Neve’s eyes flash and then flood, tears of rage meeting her perspiration as she gingerly eases one hand under Eann’s head, using the other to clear what stone she can. “What were you thinking?”

It hurts to think. It hurts to breathe. But to Rook’s surprise, it hurts more to look up into eyes that are actually seeing her for the first time since the fight for Minrathous. A face that is furious but not masked. She coughs again, her own eyes burning, unsure if her chest is seizing from the weight of stone or just the love of Neve Gallus. “I—”

You look for lost things. Well, I look for you.

“They need you,” she finds herself choking furiously. “I was thinking they need you, and you’re not here, and I—am—so until you come back from your fucking pity party—ow—”

Neve is already on her knees. She can’t fall further. But the red spilling across the stones is more than time can stop, and she knows she needs to do something—quickly.

Eyes on me, Rook. Stay with me.

“Me?” Her rage is half for show, until it isn’t. And her heart is beating half a step too fast, and half too slow. “You think they need me? Look at me! Look at this.”

If it wasn’t for Neve, the stone would be as sturdy as it ever was in Minrathous. Hal’s fish would come out of the water in nets, not dredged from the surface with glassy eyes. She ripped through the Cobbled Swan, she crushed the lean-tos and shacks of the alleyways to little more than crumbs. She is the reason her tiny, tidy apartment stands in ruins and the cats go hungry. Docktown would be better off if it had never known Neve Gallus to begin with.

Rook screams. It is partly words. “I need you!”

And Neve is ripping her best coat into ribbons because she can’t slow time and send people for bandages, for medics—and there is.

No.

Time.

But she feels her face go numb, and her hands are shaking, and her burning red eyes fly up to meet that fierce, clear gaze. She wants to answer, but she has no answer.

Stay with me.

“What was the point—of all that—if—” Rook’s face is flushed, but Neve thinks flushed is better than pale, better than empty, better than gone. She uses the tiniest push of frost magic to calm the angry red of bones and flesh forced out of place. To stop the swelling before it starts. Almost mechanically, she wraps strips of her dragon coat around Rook’s arm and chest, shattering rocks with one hand as her other shields that stupidly precious rose-crowned skull from further damage.

“—if it didn't bring you back?” Eann rasps.

Neve is shaking so hard now that she can’t bind the fabric properly. She’s not sure it matters. “Bring me back for what?! So that I could—I would—” What can she do, anyway? She’s no healer. If Emmrich were here—or Harding—but they aren’t. And I am going to lose you, and I am going to deserve it. “So I could watch you die?”

Sharp, ragged sobs. “So you could be here—with us—” It’s not easy to cry and suffocate all at once, but Eann is making it work. “Not alone—with everything—”

The black traces of Blight on Neve’s skin mingle with sweat and stone, forming a filigree mask across her face. She feels her grip on the air, on the time around her start to slide.

Not yet. “Rook—”

Eann reaches up with her one free hand. Presses Neve’s forehead to her own, Blight and all. Her body is looser now, heavier—she, too, is struggling to keep control. Sound leaks through the barrier around them. Is someone… shouting?

Her eyes are closed. Her energy directed only towards the point where her skin touches Neve’s.

And Neve Gallus, despite her best efforts, is out of time. She winds her fingers through that rosy hair, and lets a deep, heavy sound tear through her throat. Not knowing, not caring what it is.

“Stay. With me,” she whispers. Please.

I’m here.

Around them, into sound and color and light, the city explodes.

-~-

The city explodes. Scraps of sound and light fracture through Rook’s mind, almost artful—a pastiche of pain and motion with occasional splatters of blessed black unconsciousness. Emmrich is there, then Maevaris. The Lighthouse might feature at some point. Definitely there is blood. So much blood. Then black again. And then—

Ow.

Teal-tipped fingers are laced around her hand. The bedspread beneath them is clean. The hands are not.

“There you are.” Neve has not slept in a long time. Her voice catches. “Oh. I—”

I almost missed you. Missed this.

Where was I?

Rook reaches to cup her fingers around the detective’s cheek. Instinctively, Neve presses closer, lifting her shoulder to cradle the gesture.

“You showed up.” Eann finds that smiling hurts more than she expected. She doesn’t care. “You always do.”

Neve lets out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I could have made better time.”

The light plays across her face, still silt-stained and shadowed. Eann rubs some of the dirt away with her thumb, wincing at the not-yet-mended motion of various body parts, ignoring them in favor of something far more pressing. Then she stops. “Your eyes. Neve…”

A flash of something like fear. “Oh, they must be awful—”

“No.” Eann pulls the detective closer. She kisses the eyelids, the cheekbones, the saltworn freckles. The dusted brows. Beneath the dirt, there is only the warm brown of these features she knows so well. Beneath the exhaustion, there are only shades of caramel and acorn and leather in those bright, faltering eyes.

Holding the other woman's rueful, aching, anxious face between her palms, she inspects it with great seriousness. Her own blue gaze holds steady beneath a vaguely crinkled brow.

“Neve, the Blight—it’s… gone.”

And this time Neve doesn’t need a mirror to look for her own face. To recognize herself. Something more like a laugh than like a sob curls through her throat and hangs in the air between them, weightless. “Is that so? Maybe you knocked it out of me.”

“Knocked it out of you!” Rook’s wheeze is its own commentary. “Remind me not to pick a fight with a pile of rocks anytime soon.”

“Maybe just pick fights with me, for a while.”

“Mm.” Rook still hasn’t let Neve go. Their noses bump together. “I don’t only want to fight with you…”

“Later.” Neve pushes back, smirking gently. A promise, not a refusal. “You did very nearly lose that last one. But I’ll be here.”

“What happened—” Eann is serious now, her hair falling earnestly into her eyes. “Neve. It happened to everyone. And I know—it was awful. But we can’t—I can’t—”

Not without you.

Neve pushes the hair out of Rook’s face. “I’ll be here.”

This time, when she shuts the door, it isn’t on her way out.

#datv #dragon age the veilguard #neve gallus #my art #dragon age #datv rook #dragon age fanart #neve x rook #neverook #datv fanfic #bonus points if you caught the Lana Beniko quote #wip

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banquetwriter · 8 months ago

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୨୧ Gardening buddy ୨୧

pairing: Joel Miller ♡︎ Fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ porn with plot, sorta sub!joel, shy Joel, Tommy being an ass, softdom-ish!joel, pussy pronouns, Reader has hair long enough to “gather” (tho it doesn't matter much) with female anotomy, pnv and f receivng oral

summary: ʚ you have some plans to expand the garden and poor Joel just can't resist you ɞ

Words: 5.2k

A/N: lets pretend it didn't take me 22 days to write this lol

P:1 P:2 P:3

Joel swirled his whiskey slightly. He didn't even really want the damned thing. However, he would never decline a free drink. His jaw clenched slightly, eyeing the crowd. It was one of the many community events Jackson liked to host. Joel hadn't gone to many of them if he was honest but Tommy being the ever-intrusive brother he was, he pretty much had no choice but to show up tonight.

Plus you were gonna be there tonight, which was always a bonus.

It was no secret to Joel (or anyone else for that matter) how beautiful you are. You were younger, younger than him at least. He wasn't one hundred percent but early thirties he was guessing.

You were funny, talented, and had a level head. Dangerous combo for a man like Joel. He'd seen you around of course. You didn’t go on patrols but you did run the gardening area when it came time and helped teach when it was cold.

Joel had noticed you but never had a real reason to say much to you so he didn't. That wasn't until Tommy had introduced you both. Fucking Tommy. You wanted to expand the garden, so you went to Tommy.

————

Joel had just gotten off an extra patrol shift. He didn't have much to do nowadays so it was either sit around and play his six-string or go out and try and help out.

He had made a promise to Maria to stop by tonight for some planning. He wasn't too sure why, seeing how Joel didn't contribute much. As he knocked on the door and Maria’s half smile greeted him his curiosity grew.

Everyone knew Joel was a little shy even if he would never say that. He heard your voice, he'd seen you teaching the littles outside enough times to recognize your voice by now. Why the hell were you here?

“They're in the kitchen. Go ahead and head on back. I'll be right there.” Maria said with a soft smile and a strong hold on Joel's shoulder. She released her grip on the man, smirking to herself and she walked away. As her boot heel clicks got further away it dawned on Joel he had to now navigate a social situation with his brother and a person he didn't know too well.

Great. This oughta go well.

His face was neutral as he walked in. “Oh, there he is! My big brother, ladies and gentlemen.” Tommy walked around his kitchen island to hug his brother. Joel didn't have a moment to prepare as his younger brother's arm came crashing down around his shoulder. His eyes flicker to you who is, In defense, looking away but quietly giggling at his brother's actions.

“Jesus Tommy, what is all of this about?” he says, fighting the way a red tint covers his face, neck, and ears. Embarrassment floods his system. Tommy loosens his grips eagerly looking at you. “Go ahead tell him.” you raise your eyebrows in surprise at the sudden spotlight.

“Oh! Well um, well I sorta run all the gardening and whatnot here as well as teach the younglings how to garden and- sorry I'm rambling,” you say waving your hand a bit with a wide smile. You take a deep breath and lean into the kitchen island pointing to a paper, probably a map.

“The garden needs an expansion. There are a lot of people here, and everyone has a mouth to feed. I'm not thinking huge but bigger,” you said gesturing with your hands. Joel nods, walking over to the workspace. “Alright,” he states. Seems like a reasonable plan. “What’ you need me for?” his hands find the counter.

Your eyes flick down but just as soon as they look down they look right back up. “Well I came to Tommy- well actually to Maria THEN to Tommy but he said you're the man for the job,” you said placing your hand on your hip. Course Tommy would sign him up to do the grunt work for a pretty girl like you.

The old man's eyes shifted to his brother who was now feeling less confident in his skills. “It ain't a big job Joel. We’d get the supplies in a few weeks max.” Tommy said encouragingly. He thought for a few moments.

He should say no. He's old and he ain't got time for no gardens.

————

His stomach swirled with anxiety for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. He told himself he was simply observing the dancing crowd. But he knew who he was looking for. You. He was looking for your awfully friendly smile. Your worn but cute jeans.

He had spent so much time searching, eyeing the crowd he didn't see the very object of his affection damn near skipping up to him. “Hey gardening buddy!” you shouted holding out your arms.

Joel's eyes widen at your contact. Your wave of joy crashed into him. “Woah don't kill the old man now!” Tommy shouts from the bar before getting a not-so-playful nudge from his wife. You pull away looking back to rolling your eyes at the younger Miller.

“What an ass,” you mutter, eyes fluttering back to Joel. Joel smiles looking down too nervous to look at you. “But how are you? Enjoyin’ the dancing?” your hand found its way to his shoulder. Your fingers smoothed over the fabric of his jacket, dipping under and pulling his flannel out.

His eyes watch your fingers drop the fabric as you chuckle to yourself. “What?” he finally manages. You were so touchy… it was weird. He didn't mind really. It wasn't anything that would cross a line. Just friendly things.

Or he thinks.

He hopes it's more, secretly. There are several reasons why it could never work out between you two… You are younger, sweeter, softer.

He can't think about it too long. He's alone most days now. And thinking about how fucking soft you are will ruin him. When those thoughts bubble up into his mind they don't just stay there. They find their way into his bloodstream… his bones.

He can picture your smile, the way your lips feel against his. The curve of your back, ass, thighs… anything his large rough hands could get on. He'd want all part of you. You smell like honey, or maybe you actually smell like honey.

He blinks back to you smiling looking at him expectantly. “Yeah uh…” he scratches the back of his head, taking a deep breath in. You do smell like honey. “Ain't much of a dancer, to be honest darlin’,” he sighs. You nod your head with a smile, it is your turn to look down now. “Yeah sorry, I ain't buyin’ what you selling honey.”

His eyebrows raise as his lips follow in a smirk. “Yeah?” he asks, placing his bands on his hips. Your arms cross with defiance, “Yeah.” your confidence oozed off of you like a waterfall.

Maybe it was the drink you had or maybe it was you trying to ignore the beating in your heart whenever you saw Joel but you needed a dance.

————

You stood in the front room of Tommy’s looking at all their pictures as Maria shifted around her drawers for something she owed you. Joel, having just agreed to help you expand the garden, had gotten a hard smack on the back from Tommy, a warm smile from Maria and you guessed it a hug from you.

Joel rounded the corner to see Maria approaching you with something small in her hand. “Hey thanks,” you said taking it from her and pushing it in your pocket. “Anything to take the load off.” she winked at you.

His sister-in-law looked at him and with a quick nod and a “Joel.” it was just you two in the living room. “Thank you again Joel for helping me with this and I promise I will help as much as I physically can,” you said walking up to him. “Quit thanking me, it's not a big deal.” not needing to put his heart in any more strain.

You let out the (cutest) giggle and stepped back slightly. “Heh- sorry. My name is y/n by the way. I feel like I didn't introduce myself earlier.”

It felt silly to Joel you felt the need to introduce yourself to him. Like you two haven't met before. Of course, it dawned on him. You just don't think about him as much as he thinks about you. Why would you? He's just Tommy's older brother.

“I know what yer’ name is darlin’.” A slight awkwardness hangs in the air, just like the Christmas lights in December. There to look at and admire. “Right, sorry. I know who you are too. Joel Miller. Tommy’s handsome older brother. You've got quite the reputation.” you said with a wide smile trying to use it to cover up how your face was starting to burn.

If your face was burning Joel’s must be on fire as he opened his mouth to speak but not a word came out. Not only did you know who he was but you called him handsome. That's when the schoolboy crush began in its full form.

No longer could he pretend he just thought you were pretty; those pesky little feelings found a way to weasel into his heart. “Handsome, huh?” he asked, not able to make eye contact.

You bit your lip at his nervousness, toe-ing forward slightly. “Well sure,” you explain. “Hard to miss those big ol’ muscles of yours riding into town,” you said. Your words may be teasing but your tone wasn't. You were more quiet now.

That's right. The old shift he and Tommy would do usually had him coming into Jackson as soon as you were bringing the littles on a walk around. That means not only did you know him, you saw him. Nearly every damn day. Did you miss him on days he wasn't there? Ever think about sayin’ hi?

“Yeah uh, I remember now. You used to have the kids out about the same time every day when me and’ Tommy’d bring in the horses.” he said gesturing to nothing.

“Yup, that's right. Hey, why don't you do that shift anymore,” you asked, shifting your weight on your feet. It was weird that this didn't feel weirder. Felt like y'all had been friends a while and not for 30 minutes over talking about some garden bed plans.

It still was awkward. It seemed like a tidal wave could hit and you still wouldn't shake the nerves.

It had been a while since he did that patrol. “Oh well, they can't have an old man on the new guy shift eh?” he said, trying to ease ever-flowing anxieties. It was also a reminder for himself. He is older than you. Therefore out of reach for you and him. Couldn't help it, however. Thinking of the older man. You say older like he isn't a mere 20-something years older.

“Old man? I've seen the way you wrangle those horses. Old man, where huh?” you teased, arm reaching out for your coat on the rack. He chuckled following your lead pulling his old and tattered Carhart piece on. “Yeah well, I ain't young like I used to be. Think Tommy started to notice finally.”

He thought back to when he first got to Jackson. Begging Tommy to take Ellie from him and save her. He felt like he was going to get her killed, no he knew he was going to. He was right. He ended up hurting her worse than any scar could.

Now he had no one. Except Tommy. Stupid Tommy.

————

“Well unfortunately for you I was just about to head out.” Joel declared. He wasn't planning on it but now was as good of a time as any. Wasn't it? “Oh leave? Oh no no sorry honey I'm not letting you leave without at least one dance. Are we clear?” you tease poking his chest slightly.

You laced your fingers with his guiding him to the ‘dance floor’ of the tipsy bison. He felt the warm feeling of your skin bleed into his. He felt the eyes of other patrons on you both. An old man and a young girl.

The slow country song filled the air. Once you settled on a spot a little far away from the watchful crowd. You twirled around settling your arms around Joel's neck. You start a small sway back and forth to the music. His eyes didn't meet yours, instead swam through the sea of faces

What were they thinking? Were they judging him? “Hey cowboy,” his eyes flutter down. “Eyes on me.” he looks away but not for long, his eyes fall back

To yours like a comforting hug. “Why are you doin’ this?” His voice is low but not mad. “Cause you're cute,” you whisper back faces inching forward.

There's a beat of science before Joel feels like a familiar feeling bubble in his lower belly. His arms slink down to your waist, his rough hands gripping slightly. His face dipped down to your neck next to your ear, his beard tickling your skin. “You wanna uh- get outta here?” he asks slowly, trying not to make his idea very public.

“Thought you'd never ask.”

You both chose an Irish goodbye as the safest option. Quietly slipping into the quiet cold night. Your dancing outfit was less than ideal for the colder weather. The freezing air nearly pierces your skin, and if god had heard you just then a blanket of warmth comes down and encapsulates you.

You turn your head to Joel who has now wrapped his very thick and warm jacket around you. “Thank you,” you said leaning closer to him as you both walked toward your road. No further words were said but your heart seemed to be beating faster than it had all day.

You rushed to your house's front porch eager to escape the cold. You opened your front door shuffling in and letting Joel in after you. He took in your space. It was cute. A few books were on your coffee table. He would need to ask about those later.

He watched you idly as you kicked your shoes off, tossing them into a shoe bin. You ran to all of the lamps in your living room, turning them all on. It gave the room a homey feel. The realization of what he was about to do started to sink in.

He wanted to fuck you.

Fuck felt like such a disrespectful term. You were a lady and he was a man. Making love? That felt too cheesy. But maybe Joel was just a cheesy guy... God, 5 years ago he would haven't even considered you romantically, let alone get nervous at the thought of having sex with you.

But here he was watching, getting increasingly nervous as you started a fire in your fireplace. He started to rub his shoulder slightly, watching as you were satisfied with the height of the fire.

You shrugged his Carhart jacket off placing it on the couch. Joel’s eyes followed you as you approached him. His heart jumped as he felt the air get warmer and it wasn't the fault of the fire. He saw you glance at his lips as you got closer and closer.

“Are you nervous?” you asked in a teasing voice noticing his quietness. He stood there without making a noise. His silence answered any questions you had. “It's ok,” you took one final step towards him. “We can go at your pace.”

Your fingers found the sides of his face. Your hands were so soft unlike his, “S’ been a minute since v’done this. S’all.” he breathed out looking down. “That's ok, we can go as slow,” your hands found him pulling them around your waist. “Or as fast as you want this to go. No pressure baby.”

He kept his hands on your waist. Big rough mounds of flesh gripping your waist. His breaths are shaky, he can feel you. He needed to feel more. Joel takes the leap of faith. He pushes his lips against yours. The rest of your body follows as you get pulled flush against him.

You're so warm. He can feel your warmth against his crotch. The flesh of your stomach warms and rubs against him from under the fabric of your clothes. Your lips are soft and you taste like the wood flavor of a good whiskey.

His mouth engulfs yours. His body needs you, craves you. Your fingers find his hair, begging to pull him close. “Joel…” you manage as you press your nose against his. “Come on baby,” he whispers back, nudging your nose slightly.

He pressed his body against yours encouraging you to start walking backward toward your couch. Your knees hit the plush on the furniture. You let yourself fall back as your chest rises and falls rapidly. He stands over you watching. His pupils are blown.

His skin feels so hot like he needs to jump out of it. On the other hand, he feels like his skin would ignite with yours to create the most beautiful fire. He can't believe he is gonna do this. You feel the same. You watch as he slowly sinks to his knees, choosing to ignore the small pop noise you hear as he settles closer to you.

His old, dark but kind eyes bored into your soul as you leaned closer to him on the couch. Your legs spread open to create room for him. Your mouth collided once more, this time with less urgency. Softly and slowly his tongue explored your mouth.

Making sure every single inch of him tasted every inch of you. Your hands found quick work of his flannel nearly ripping it off of his body. He watched in awe as your soft eyes filled with lust. You needed him. Was he going to be able to give you everything you needed?

You seemed sure he would. After making quick work of his flannel your hands started to pull his shirt up enough to expose his round soft belly. Something he is not particularly proud of. But he would be lying if he said the look in your eye didn't give him a slight ego boost

To you, he wasn't a flabby old man. He was a damn near work of art. He couldn't bell but hesitate taking his shirt off the rest of the way as he watches your eyes track his torso. The only thing snapping him out of his state was realizing you were now looking right at him.

“Huh?” he asked, staring up at you. You gave him a knowing smirk, “Do you wanna take your shirt off? Or keep it on?” you asked, biting your lip. In a preferable world, Joel could keep all of his clothes on for this. He can't… not easily that is.

So he took a deep sigh. “Whatever you want honey,” his drawl bleeds into his words and your bearing heart. “Are ya sure? Cuz’ if I have my way you ain't wearing anything.” you said, dragging your finger down his chest. He shivered slightly.

You wanted him. “S’fine by me. Want you the same way.” a flash of heat finds its way to your core. He wanted you. “Oh yeah?” you asked, shuffling back to him and pressing your lips against him, fingers dancing to rip his shirt off.

He lets you, it's hard to calm his breath enough to kiss you and not freak out. But soon enough his shirt is gone, and you guide your fingers to his having him dip under your shirt. He for a second isn't sure what to do, his brain only being able to think about how soft you are. Jesus, he is losing it. Eventually, he allows his hand to glide up your back.

Fumbling for a second with the bra strap before undoing it. It was at this moment that Joel slowly remembered who he was. He was dominant, soft, and experienced. Your eyes go slightly wide at his ability to snap your bra off.

“My my he has many tricks up his sleeve,” you say with a smile as he pulls your bra completely off your body. “This ain't my first rodeo darlin’” he comments, unable to hold back a small smile. “For your sake, I’d hope not.” you joked. He rolled his eyes. The atmosphere shifted again. You gripped the bottom of your top pulling it off yourself.

His eyes and some drops. Your perfect tits sat looking right at him. “Christ,” he murmured, moving closer to you. His mouth instinctually moved to your collarbones, his hands slipped up your stomach.

You breathed out at the feeling. He was wonderful. A breathy “Joel,” flew past your lips as his mouth went further, taking your nipple into his mouth. Slowly licking and sucking on your mound. Your fingers found his hair. The tips and nails tubing against the roots of the salt and pepper locks.

He pulled away, a single string of spit still connecting the two of you. His mouth found your other tit, replicating the same love did to the other side. The slow-burning ache started to fill your system. You pressed down onto the couch trying to find any sort of relief from the pressure.

Joel saw your struggle. His rough fingers slid down to your ass, even in jeans his touch felt so good. “Oh, we’ll get there.” he whispered, pulling away from you. “Please, Joel. I need you,” you whined.

He pulled further away and he crept to your buckle, his eyes searched yours for permission. “Go ahead,” you whispered with a nod, he turned his attention back to your pants. He fumbled a second with the button, then in the blink of an eye had the button undone and the zipper down and was pulling your pants off.

They were down at your ankles and then they got tossed aside. Joel eyed your thigh and stomach like an animal waiting to pounce. The feeling of his rough calloused hands rubbing against your soft flesh sent waves of pleasure down your heart.

A prominent wet patch formed on your panties. Joel's touch was both gentle and comforting. Your finger dove under his chin holding him to look at you. “I need you, please…” you repeated. God, you sounded so whiny.

“M’gonna m’gonna, ya gonna need to be patient f’me,” he whispered before he started kissing the flesh of your thigh. The words alone send you gushing into your panties. His scratchy beard added another sensation all welcomed.

You clench around nothing desperate for pressure. After he was satisfied with making out with your thighs making sure you were nice and wet for him, he pulled away. You watched as he moved to the top of your cunt hovering just above you. His hot breath sent shivers up your spine.

You breathed out and his mouth collided with your clothed heat. He covered you with kisses, slowly but deep, and the passion grew in your lower belly. His fingers slowly hooked into your panties. He slowly dragged them down.

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head, your entrance was glistening with slickness. All for him. Had he really done that to you? “My god baby, you trying to kill me,” he whispered. His thumb slowly spreads you open, and his finger gently brushes you.

Your legs jolted and he knew he found your clit. He watches your face as he slowly begins to rub circles. Your eyes gleam over with love. He maintains eye contact. You slowly began leaking your pussy fluttering around nothing.

Joel licked a big stripe up gathering all your juices on his tongue. You let out a soft groan. He slowly began to stick his tongue in hitting your G-spot. “Wait-” you breathed out, smoothing your hand over his hair.

He pulled away, lips glistening and pupils blown. His heart sank to his ass, what had he done? Why did he think he could do this? He wasn't any good, not anymore at least. Maybe he never was.

“Can I take off your pants? But leave your boxers still on,” you asked with a sheepish smile. He blinks for a second before standing up. The world seems to rush up with him, he can feel you tugging at his belt but he gets so dizzy all he can do is slowly rub his thumb across your cheek as he looks down at you.

He could get used to this view. He begged you'd look real pretty down there, taking him in your mouth. The thought alone makes his cock jump, or maybe it was the cold air as you pulled his pants down. His hard cock begging to be released.

You don't answer his prayers as you scoot back on the couch with a content smile. Joel discards everything still left on him minus his boxers. His knees make a familiar pop as he settles back in between your legs. His kisses return and so does his tongue as he begins to re-light the fire growing in your belly.

His hand flexes up to yours grabbing yours and putting you right on your clit. His strong arms wrap around your thighs, pinning your legs open. The cold sting of his watch sends a shiver up your spine. You rub your clit trying to keep up with his pace.

It was hard to keep in rhythm, your legs shook around his head and in his arms. You felt the coil threatening to snap and you couldn't take it anymore, you removed your hand and gripped your couch cushion. “Joel- I'm so close.”

He hummed into your sex, your back tried to arch off the couch as he kept you pinned. Your legs shook as the coil snapped. Your orgasm deafening any other stimuli. “Ohhh fuck Joel.” you whimpered into the air.

After a second his ministrations stopped, and your legs were sore but a good kind of sore. The kind where you can feel pleasure for hours. You work to catch your breath as the older man on his knees for you slowly stands up. “Jesus.” is all you can say with a smile.

“Still got it in me huh?” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Oh no Joel you had it in me,” you whispered standing up to meet him. “Oh yeah?” he asked, letting you invade his space. “Yeah,” you whispered, pulling him into a kiss, your taste still on his tongue. You let out a small noise. “Taste yourself, baby? Sweetest pussy I've ever had.” and you moaned again.

You needed his dick right now.

Your fingers fumbled for the fabric of his boxers. They were hot and so was the rest of him. Chest tinged with a slight red color. You pulled down as you kissed him, and his hard member sprung up. Joel hissed inwards at the sudden cold air.

And Jesus was perfect. He was long, or at least longer than anyone you had ever seen in real life. And big. God, you were gonna feel this man in your toes. You looked up at him with a loopy smile. “Not too bad for an old man,” you mumble, your tease must have been good because at that moment his rigid cock jumped slightly up.

That was your cue to begin. Joel shot you a warning glance with his eyes, but a smirk tugged at his lips. You slowly begin to tease him, fluttering your hands around his hips and thighs. Before you can sink to the ground his strong hand gathers to the back of your head. He guides your head back up, and you're confused.

Worry starts to flood your system. You cock your head to the side trying to figure out why he wouldn't want you to suck his dick. He was already hard, he ate you out just moments ago… none of it was adding up in your brain.

“That's not how this is gonna work,” he says as his large hands find the sides of your arms. He gently moves you to the couch. You plop down, still confused. “Work? Work how?” you ask. “You don't needa suck m’off just cause I did what I did.”

You shake your head with a smirk, “I don't need to do anything. I want to, Joel.” you mustered up your best puppy eyes. “No baby what ya’ need,” he starts walking towards you. Your knees hit the couch again as you flop down. His hand meets your knee, spreading your legs for him. “What you need is me in that pretty little cunt. She's begging for me,” he whispers in the last part.

Your mouth is slightly agape. Have you really just heard that? No way… right? Joel came down to meet you, his hands roaming your body tentatively. He lined himself up to your entrance.

“Sure you wanna do this with an old man? We can stop.” he reminds you. “No we can't,” you said

With a smile. “Yes, we can. This can end now. You don't have to do this.” and while his words were so sweet, you needed him to fuck you. “Joel, pleased I've waited so long for this,” you whispered. He nodded, positioning his hard length in you.

It felt like he was piercing you. As he pushed into you you mewled out. He instantly stopped,” You alright?” he asked his warm rough hands creating the greatest sensation in the world. “Mhm, just stings a little that's all,” you whispered nodding at him. Joel doesn't move his eyes searching for permission to keep going.

“Go ahead, m’ ok.” you encouraged. He nodded pushing in about halfway, it was his turn to make a noise. You were so tight and warm and ready for him that he nearly keeled over at the feeling. God, he wasn't gonna last long. Once he pushed all the way in he dove down to kiss you.

His hips began snapping against yours as your mouths melted together. You pulled away the feeling of his dick prodding your tummy become overpowering, to say the least. Your fingers scratched down his back leaving long traces in your wake.

He breathed heavily, his forehead planted on yours. “Mm fuck me,” he muttered gathering your hair and yanking your head down to look at where the two of you met. To see you swallowing his cock whole. “Look at you, baby. Your-” he took a deep breath in. “Fuck, you're doing so good baby,” you whined out in response.

Joel could feel his orgasm approaching. He gritted his teeth together, “Fuck! Come one baby m’ so close. Needa to come first. Make me all wet.” he cursed. You grabbed his hand and brought it to your throat. You were so close, he had fucked your brain quiet.

Any sort of thought beyond his dick, hands, or voice was a lost cause. The coil in your stomach snapped, your walls clenching around him violently. It was enough to draw out his orgasm. “Fuck.” you both whimpered as you clung to him.

#joel miller x y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel and ellie #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou part 2 #tlou #ellie tlou #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #gladiator 2

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months ago

Text

Primal (Part 7)

Summary: Y/N and Tim are completely unaware of the danger they're in and Beau has no idea how to stop it...

Primal Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!reader

Word Count: 5,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, violence, drugging, serial killers, death, kidnapping, smut (finally I know right?)

A/N: It's here! The big one! Please tell me what you think and enjoy!...

Beau POV

Lucy froze at the elevator, forcing me to come to a stop as I kept slapping the button down.

“Call her,” she said, getting out her own phone. I dialed fast on mine. Y/N’s phone rang and rang and rang against my ear as we waited for the elevator doors to slowly open, Springs and a few other marshals now joining us. They piled inside with us, my fingers crashing against the screen to redial.

“She’s not answering,” I growled, running a hand through my hair. Oh fuck. Fuck, this hadn’t happened again. I hadn’t-

“Oh my god Jenny!” Lucy said with a shriek, all four of us looking at her, pulling me from my thoughts. She frowned, gripping her phone hard, a dangerous look in her eye. “Beau got in an accident leaving the Marshals office and I don’t know what to do! Where are you? Can you come to the hospital? Or better yet, give Y/N a ride here?”

I raised my eyebrows, Lucy’s eyes narrowing as Jenny said something on the other end.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t panic her. She’s been through so much already. I just…” Lucy teared up despite the killer look, on her face. “Oh my god, I’m so scared Jenny.”

“Hoyt can’t kill them if she’s on the phone with your officer,” said Springs quietly into my ear. “Keep her talking Lucy.”

“Hoyt could have already killed them,” I muttered. Lucy’s face changed fast though, a strange smirk there before she was pulling the phone away. She tapped it on speaker, a loud huff followed by a whine.

“I told you,” Y/N panted from the other line, out of breath, another loud thud following along with a pained cry from Jenny. “I was going to kick your fucking ass until it was six feet under.”

The thud cracked through the air, Jenny shouting.

“She’s attacking me with a metal bat!” Jenny coughed, followed by another whip in the air and a scream. She whined, starting to cry, the bat scraping across the ground.

“You stabbed my brother. She killed him. She doesn’t get to walk away from that,” said Y/N, her voice eerily calm. Everyone in the elevator shared a glance, Springs looking at me with a simple nod. If Y/N killed Jenny, they’d cover it up for her, for Tim. But Y/N didn’t deserve to live with that nightmare for the rest of her life.

“Y/N! It’s me,” I said, nothing heard but Jenny’s cries on the other end. “Y/N, is Tim dead?”

“Bitch stabbed him in the gut,” she growled, the bat dragging along the ground, Jenny whimpering every time it sounded like it got closer to her. “He bled out in the basement. I can’t find a pulse. There’s so much damn blood, Beau.”

Springs was talking to another Marshal about getting an ambulance there but Y/N scoffed.

“He’s already gone!” she laughed, a dark rough edge to her words that sent shivers down my spine. “...But I can make her regret being born.”

“No,” I snapped, everyone in the elevator tensing. “I don’t care if he doesn’t have a freaking pulse. Get him in a car and speed to a hospital.”

“Beau, he’s-”

“Omega!” A strange tingle traveled down my spine, Y/N breathing softly, hearing, feeling, the raw authority in my voice. “Do it. Now.”

“Yes, Alpha,” she mumbled, the bat clanking against the ground.

“We’ll have Marshals at the house in less than five,” mumbled Springs beside me.

“Make it faster than that.”

Fifteen minutes later, I rushed through a pair of double doors with Springs and Lucy. A nurse pointed us towards the back of the ER. It was easy to spot Y/N. She was covered head to toe in blood, her clothes soaked, staring blankly through a glass wall into a small room.

“Y/N, how’s…” Lucy stopped talking as we saw the rapidly beeping monitors, someone hanging more bags of blood up on a hook. Lucy’s hands went to her face, my hand running through my hair. Y/N stood motionless, fury growing behind her wet eyes as Tim lay limp on a stretcher, blood squirting out of his abdomen the moment more blood went in him.

“They can’t stop the bleeding. They’ll pronounce him dead soon,” Y/N said quietly, hands fisting by her sides. Lucy stepped around her and I tried to grab Lucy. Y/N’s scent was all wrong. Violent. Rageful. She looked ready to clobber the next thing that touched her, no matter who it was.

“Biology,” Lucy said, looking at us both with wide eyes. “Biology!”

“Wilde, what the-” I started but she rushed inside the room, pushing a nurse out the way. I was halfway inside the room when she bent down, lips pressed against Tim’s neck. In a split second, his eyes flew open, heart rate soaring as Lucy bit into his bonding gland. “Lucy!”

“Security! Get her out of here!” shouted a doctor, Lucy punching someone as Tim’s vitals stabilized between his gasps for air, the bleeding in his gut coming to a stop.

“She claimed him,” said Y/N, stepping forward into the room. I spun around as Lucy held up her bloody hands, walking out of the room before a pair of guards were on her and leading her down a hall. “Biology! Lucy! Holy shit!”

She looked back over her shoulder, giving Y/N a smirk. Meanwhile, I felt like the punchline of a bad joke. “Tell your brother I’ll talk to him later,” she said before she was led out of earshot.

“His stats are good,” said a nurse, the doctors in the room all grimacing.

“Can someone please explain what the fuck just happened? He was dead!” I demanded. An older man in bloody green scrubs put his hands on his hips as Tim blinked rapidly, putting a hand to his chest.

“Bonding has a physical effect at the moment it occurs,” said the doctor, my face scrunched up. “Layman's terms, no pain, no injuries. Claiming someone who has mortal wounds will mostly heal those wounds instantly. It is highly, highly, highly discouraged as a medical practice and is highly illegal for non-consenting adults. This man’s rights were violated-”

“What do you mean doc?” breathed out Tim, his voice scratchy as he smiled. “That was my girl, Luce. My sister forgot to tell you about her I bet. We’re in love and all that shit.”

“She hit a doctor. Me,” he retorted, Tim shrugging. “Whatever. Finish examining him and then put him a room. I’m sure he’ll be ready to discharge in a few hours.”

“Love your bedside manner by the way, doc,” said Tim. Y/N brushed inside as the doctor left, quickly going to Tim’s head and leaning down close. “Why you crying, kiddo?”

“Cause I left you to die down there,” she whispered, shaking as I walked over, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. “I-I thought y-you…you’re only alive cause of Beau, cause he made me bring you here even though…”

She looked down at herself and the dark crimson staining every inch of her skin. Tim shushed her, Y/N squeezing her eyes. He smiled and raised his arm, reaching out to graze her cheek where tears fell. “You did exactly what I told you. If something ever happened to me, you get yourself safe. I’m so proud of you for listening to me for once.”

“She may or may not have also beat the ever living shit out of Jenny Hoyt with a baseball bat,” I said. Tim grinned hard, Y/N squeezing his wrist.

“Don’t be happy about that, Timothy,” she whispered. “I lost it. I was going to kill her.”

“Huh. I feel kind of silly now for not always believing you. You really do love me.” Y/N’s chin quivered, nodding as Tim held her cheek. “Then stop crying loser cause I ain’t dead yet. I’m fucking amazing. Now, Beau’s going to take you back to our place so you can take a shower and calm down. Tell Lucy to find me some clean clothes and a brownie while you’re at it when she gets out of hospital jail.”

“Why d-don’t you h-hate me?” she cried, my arms holding her tighter, Tim frowning. “I left you.”

He shook his head, forcing himself to sit upright. He breathed deeply, cupping her cheek. “A lot of people have left me in my life. But you? You’re not one of them and this will be the last we ever discuss this. Even Sarah Connor couldn’t save everyone on her own.”

“Does this mean I get to be the Terminator?” I asked, Tim rolling his eyes.

“Eh, still not a fan of the boyfriend,” he grinned.

“Said the president of my fan club” I said, Y/N’s body starting to un-tense, the heavy sobs turning to sniffles. I kissed the top of her head, Tim pinching her nose, making her hiccup.

“Loser,” she mumbled, Tim smiling. “You really feel okay?”

“Feels like a bad cramp but I’ll live. The bonding feels…” He struggled for the words, Y/N nodding. “Why’d Lucy do that for me? I only met her once.”

“Yeah, Y/N, why would someone claim someone they just met?” I teased, getting a gentle elbow to the ribs for it. “Maybe she felt sorry for your pathetic ass.”

“She’s a kind person,” Y/N said, running her hand through his hair. “Take it slow. Take her on a date when you’re up for it. You don’t have to commit to anything more than that right now.”

“Well tell her thank you for me. I’m sure I’ll see her soon.” I slowly turned Y/N, letting her give him a half hug before he was shooing her outside. We got no more than five steps down the hall before she dropped her head, shoulders shaking again.

“I know, I know,” I murmured, pulling her against my chest, her face burying into my jacket. “Before you start spiraling, I’m going to ask you something and I need an honest answer. Did you blame Tim for not protecting you when Hunter came at you? When he went primal and attacked you?”

“No, never,” she said, inhaling deeply. “But I’m scared of how far I went with Jenny, how far I would have went. Beau, I was going to kill her. My parents are evil. What if I am too?”

“Y/N, Jenny came to that house to kill you and Tim. A primal Alpha attacked the two of you. Let me repeat that. A primal Alpha attacked you. Even if you had killed her, no jury in the world would call what you did anything other than self-defense.” Her shoulders remained tense up though, her face hidden away. Okay, different tactic. “Do you know why Lucy called Jenny?”

“What does-”

“No, you don’t,” I said, pushing her body back, grasping her by the arms. “Hoyt is one of Teddy’s primal Alphas. I don’t know details, it’s in a book back at the Marshals office but she was just like Hunter. It is incredibly likely that she has hurt, has killed, before. You have no idea the kind of danger you were in. Hell, she could have called Teddy. The only reason you might be alive, you and Tim both, is because you weren’t going down without a fight. Breaking someone’s leg with a baseball bat does not make you evil. You know damn well Tim or I would have done much worse.”

She closed her eyes, offering a small nod of her head. “It’s…it’s just been a really long day.”

“Then let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

Y/N POV

“Knock knock.” You stood in your bathroom at the townhouse, bloody clothes in a pool by your feet. Beau popped his head inside, catching your gaze in the mirror. “Is it okay if I come in?”

You nodded, glancing down to your blood soaked bra and underwear. It’d long since dried but you couldn’t shake the feeling of hot, dark liquid seeping down your back and chest as you dragged Tim through your parents house into your car.

“Tim’s quite lucky to have you,” Beau said quietly, moving around behind you to turn the shower on, testing the water for a moment. He shook his hand off, standing beside you with a sad smile. “You could think of today as the day he almost died. Or you can think of it as the day your stubborn as hell brother learned that there’s people in his world that’ll protect him too. For a man like him, I think that’s quite a comfort to him.”

“When does the wisdom thing kick in?” you said quietly, letting a tired smile onto your face.

“I’d say it’s age but therapy helps,” he said, taking you in. “I didn’t mean to come in and sneak a peak or anything. I just wanted to check on you since I hadn’t heard the shower yet.”

“Would you help me wash up?” He smiled, kissing your forehead.

“I’ll be right there.” You stepped under the hot shower spray, watching from the other side of the glass as Beau undressed. He left the room, returning with a bag to toss both of your bloody clothes into. He disappeared with it, returning empty handed. You stepped further into the shower when he slid in behind you, your eyes drifting over your shoulder.

His body was lean but somehow large and muscular at the same time. It felt like he dwarfed over you and you couldn’t help but turn to face him. He pulled you to his chest, his warm embrace steadying you. You looked up, Beau’s face full of kindness and then a light flush when your thigh grazed his cock. You both looked down, your eyes flickering wider for a split second.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas, eh?” He chuckled, resting his hands on the side of your face, tilting your head back slightly.

“I’m sure it’ll fit,” he teased, flipping a cap on your shampoo. “Turn around for me, omega.”

Your heart fluttered, feet spinning so your back was to him. “Beau.”

“We’re not having sex right now,” he murmured, rubbing the cool liquid into your scalp. “Close your eyes.”

“You’re very naked and you kind of make my brain go haywire when you call me omega. It’s…” You inhaled sharply when he stepped closer, feeling him poke you in the back.

“I thought we agreed to wait until we could go on a few dates,” he said, dragging the product through your strands.

“Yeah but that was before you called me omega earlier and ordered me around and Tim almost died and it’s been a long day.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to bark at you before. You were panicking and I didn’t know how to calm you down.”

“All I could think of was how it’d feel to have my Alpha finally have me completely which was the brain reset I needed.” You closed your eyes as he washed your hair thoroughly, a stray tear slipping down your cheek. “Why couldn’t I think clearly about getting Tim to help?”

“Because you’d just woken up from being knocked out cold to find him stabbed and you are a human being,” he said quietly. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“I know,” you sighed. Beau spinning you around to face him. He grabbed a bottle, letting the water get your hair while he washed your face and neck, scrubbing every inch. He worked quietly, turning you this way and that every so often as he made his way down your body.

Slowly you relaxed and enjoyed the caress of his longer fingers over your curves. He wasn’t shy but it wasn’t exactly sensual either. No, this was more about helping you wash away the day and the last remnants of it.

Finally, finally, the hot water was gone and the two of you were bundled up in towels, standing in your bedroom smelling squeaky clean. Beau pressed up behind you, leaning in and kissing over your bonding gland. Sparks shot up through you, his scent flooding your senses, easing away any lingering thoughts about Teddy or serial killers or baseball bats or Tim’s blood everywhere.

No, you wanted him. Needed him. You needed your Alpha tonight once and for all.

“Do you want to mate, Beau?” you whispered, his lips hesitating only a split moment. A sting of rejection was ready to overcome you but his hands on your waist gave a firm squeeze before slipping the towel away from your body.

“Tell me what you need, Omega,” he murmured, your eyes fluttering closed, his hands stopping on your ribs, suddenly yanking you back against his chest. “What’s your instinct telling you?”

“I want to watch you,” you breathed, Beau nuzzling further into your neck. “Alpha, I need…”

“I’ll make it better,” he said softly. A moment later you were on the bed, sitting in Beau’s lap facing him, his mouth capturing yours in a teasingly slow kiss. You wanted more, wanted his knot, wanted him to bite you in your bonding gland all over again. He started to shush you when you whined, Beau slipping a finger down your chest and lower still. “Patience.”

“I’ve been patient for weeks. I want you.” He chuckled, resuming his slow kiss, teasing his finger up and down your skin but never dipping between your folds like you wanted. “Beau…”

“Trust me. I got you.”

So you did. You let him slowly torture you, warm your body from the inside out. It must have been an hour later before he finally was slipping inside you. You slid down on his length, arms wrapped around his shoulders. All the while he kept kissing you, nuzzling you, cuddling you. His thrusts were lazy and easy, nowhere near enough to get either of you off. But that was the point. Suddenly mating shifted and you weren’t there for the orgasm or the knotting. All you wanted was him. His heat. His musky scent. The way his body all around yours made you relax.

There was no end in sight. You weren’t sure you’d ever just…played in bed like this before. He was so present, so into you, your mind was spinning. You were just so…happy. Without a word to each other, your hips started to move a little faster, a little more in time, rocking back and forth on a slow build up. God you were so fucking hot, in desperate need of more of him. The friction grew more, Beau’s grip tightening. So much faster, hotter. It felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Beau turned your cheek to face him, both of you beyond words, panting hard as you rode him, your bodies flush and pressed tight to one another. You were close, both oh so close. His knot slipped inside you once more and didn’t come out, your jaw dropping. Beau leaned in, snapping his hips hard and you saw stars.

You screamed into his shoulder as he bit your bonding gland again, hips moving of this own accord. He growled, forcing you both through it as he came, your own teeth gently biting down on his skin. Not enough to break but he’d be bearing a mark for a few days.

Finally, you were both shaking, Beau’s lips pulled away from soothing your sore bond. You watched one another with hazy eyes, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He carefully laid you both down on your sides, your bodies intertwined, Beau letting you use his arm as a pillow.

“I do good?” he whispered so quietly you barely heard. You grinned, kissing his cheek. “Rest now, Omega. You earned it.”

Beau POV

“Arlen,” said Tim as I slipped out of Y/N’s bedroom. I gave him a nod from where he sat at a kitchen counter, eating a taco out of an unlabeled container. “Want some? Lucy got me way too much.”

“I haven’t eaten all day,” I said, sliding onto the lone stool beside him, digging into a bean burrito. “Where is Wilde anyways?”

“She was headed back to her parents place. By the time we got it all sorted about the claiming me thing dealt with, I was ready for discharge. She drove me to a pharmacy, got me some antibiotics, picked up an assload of Mexican food and then dropped me off here.” He took a big bite, chewing for a few moments before swallowing. “Well, she walked me up to the door, told me to shower, eat, and go to bed.”

“She coming back in the morning?”

“Well her flight back to Helena is tomorrow early so I told her I was fine and we’d figure out the whole claiming thing in Montana.” He made a face and I grinned.

“How’d that work out telling the new mate all that?”

He shrugged, a smile in it. “She cancelled her flight, told me I was a moron and said she would be by in the morning with food and to help pack and that we would be travelling back to Helena together where upon which I will rest or she’ll allow Y/N to beat my ass with a baseball bat.”

“Wow.”

He took another bite, cocking his head. “Yeah. I may be wrong but I’m pretty sure Lucy’s my true mate.”

I choked on the burrito in my mouth, Tim patting my back hard until I could swallow it down. I shook my head, Tim reaching for a quesadilla slice. “I’m sorry, did you just say Lucy Wilde is your true mate? No offense but you don’t give off hopeless romantic vibes.”

“First off, I am an amazing boyfriend, Arlen. Just ask Y/N and she’ll tell you how romantic I am with my women. Second, I mean, yeah, they say you don’t know until you do the deed but yeah, pretty sure it’s her. She’s just like…you know?” I stared at him, Tim rolling his eyes. “What? You get so tired of looking at ugly in the mirror all the time Beau you can’t help but look at this? I mean Y/N finds your face not revolting but I’ve always questioned that girl’s vision-”

“You don’t believe in true mates,” I interrupted, pointing a burrito at him. “You told Y/N they were stupid and-”

“And you know what?” he said, turning his body to face mine. “Lucy didn’t hesitate. In that warehouse in Montana? She didn’t hesitate. When you guys realized Jenny was on team evil? She didn’t hesitate. When I was about to die in that hospital room? She didn’t hesitate. Why the hell would a nice, normal, beautiful woman like that want a middle aged, in desperate need of therapy, guy like me? Because she’s my true mate. There’s no other explanation. I mean, you and Y/N didn’t hesitate to do shit for each other either.””

“Okay,” I said, taking a large bite. “Maybe that’s why Lucy did all of it. Or maybe she’s just a good person and sees behind this layer of asshole tough guy to the real you.”

“That’s a dumb theory.”

“You’re dumb,” I shot back, Tim’s nose twitching up, his eyes narrowing.

“You and Y/N mated mated, didn’t you.” I shrugged, wolfing down a steak taco in two bites. “I’ve always hated all her boyfriends. She has a bad habit of dating morons.”

“You calling me a moron?” I asked, finishing off my burrito. He grazed his knuckles over his healing bonding gland, biting his bottom lip.

“...Do you know after doing it? Are you her true mate?” he asked quietly. I sighed, wiping off my hands.

“I am her Alpha and she is my omega. She’s my girlfriend and she can break up with me tomorrow if that suits her. True mates? All I know is I was mated once before and I loved that woman. Part of me will always love her. But Y/N fills in a gap I didn’t know I had. I don’t know what being with your true mate feels like, but I do know what it’s like to be with Y/N. Today was an awful day and I was terrified when I realized Hoyt was with the two of you. But Y/N made my soul lighter today and I don’t think anyone else could have done that.” He watched me carefully, waiting for my smirk. “...And you don’t know for sure until you have a rut same time she has a heat but I’ll just say I have high hopes for us.”

“I felt lighter too after Lucy bit me,” he mumbled.

“I could tell. You didn’t look constipated for once.” He punched me in the arm, dodging when I went to smack the back of his head.

“Behave boys,” a tired voice came from behind us. Y/N wrapped her arms around my chest, hugging my back tight, her head resting gently on my shoulder. “You got Maria’s and didn’t tell me?”

“Cause you always hog the birria,” Tim said as Y/N used one hand to slide over to my plate and pick up a taco. “Oh, let your man eat in peace.”

“Alright,” she sighed, setting the taco down. She kissed my cheek and turned, a quick grin on her face before she snatched the taco straight off Tim’s plate and dashed to the other side of the kitchen, shoving the whole thing in her face in one bite.

“You proud of yourself?” Tim deadpanned, Y/N nodding as she struggled to chew. She put a hand over her mouth, Tim rolling his eyes as I gave him the one from my plate. “I don’t want your pity taco, Arlen.”

“Don’t you?” I asked as he was already taking a bite. “That’s what I thought.”

“You better have good Mexican in Bumfuck, Montana,” he said with his mouth full.

“It’s the capital of the state, moron,” shot back Y/N, Tim flipping her the bird.

“Glad to see you two back to your usual selves,” I said, patting my lap. Y/N padded over, slipping up onto my thigh. A sleepy smile formed on her lips, my arm around her waist keeping her secure. She smelled tense though, her arms loosely wrapping around my shoulders. “You okay, ‘mega?”

She shrugged. “I’m kind of scared Teddy will come after us. Lucy killed Hunter. Jenny’s going to jail because I caught her. We fucked up his protegés and we know he knows how to make more. Beau, I can’t let Emily get hurt because of me.”

“Sweetheart,” I said softly, her head laying on my shoulder again, eyes closing tight. “None of this is your fault.”

“But he’ll come after her. He will and I won’t let Emily pay the price for me,” she said, my own eyes closing, tucking her under my chin. She wasn’t wrong. A man who killed and tortured omegas for fun wasn’t about to let us go live in peace.

“I’ll watch Emily,” said Tim. I lifted my head the same time Y/N did, both of us turning to look at Tim. He wiped off his hands, tossing his napkin down. “I’m not working right now and I need to do something besides sit on my ass in Montana. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Tim, who knows if we ever find Teddy,” I said, shaking my head. “You just spent the past year protecting Y/N. I’m not making you do that to my daughter too.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” he said, pausing a beat, glancing at Y/N. “You two can pretend you’re just dating all you want but I see you. At the hospital. When Beau got shot in that warehouse. He’s your soulmate and your his. I’d bet my left nut you’re true mates. Someday you’ll make it official but until then, I am going to protect my un-official niece.”

“Tim, you’re not a human meat shield. Your life matters,” Y/N snapped, her whole body rigid against mine. I could feel the wave of anger pouring off of her, a harsh argument ready to unfurl past those soft lips. Tim only smiled at her though, putting a hand on her cheek and kissing her forehead. “Don’t do that. I’m trying to have a serious conversation about how you always think you’re expendable.”

“Of course my life matters. But I will go Ellen Ripley on anyone who messes with my family and that’s not just you anymore. Okay?” Y/N tucked her chin down, nodding against my shoulder. She was still, Tim smiling before he looked up at me.

“She fall asleep?” I whispered, Tim nodding. “How’d she do that so fast?”

“Oh buddy,” he chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “You guys just mated for the first time, right? Surprised she woke up at all. Probably smelled you and conked back out.”

“She’s not wrong about Teddy.” He hummed, getting up with a wince, tossing the trash into a bag. “You don’t have to be Emily’s bodyguard. I have officers I can assign. I’m sure you want to get settled into your guys new place, figure things out with Lucy, look at jobs.”

“Beau.” He popped a pill from a prescription bottle into his mouth and swallowed, leaning against the counter top when he finished. “Before this sleep medication kicks in and knocks me out for the next eight hours, let me make this clear. I’m doing this because I want to. Okay?”

“Okay,” I relented. I secured Y/N, soft snores escaping her as I rose. I took a step away from the kitchen, Tim tidying up before going to a closed door nearby. “Barclay.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you sooner. The only reason we’re all alive is because of how smart and strong Y/N is and I know that you are a big part of that. I appreciate that Emily will have an uncle nearby that will show her those things too.” Tim looked away, taking deep breaths. “Y/N’s right you know. Your life matters and I hope you do all of that with Lucy and us.”

“Y/N said I have to go to Thanksgiving at your parents,” he said quietly, not quite looking at me.

“Yup. Offer’s extended to Lucy as well now naturally. Talk it over with her in the morning with her parents.”

“I uh, think we’ll be taking it slow so probably won’t have her there.” I hummed, adjusting Y/N in my arms.

“Well…get in bed before you pass out too. Night.”

“Night,” he said quietly. I carried Y/N back to her bedroom, tucking her under the covers.

“I’ll be right back, omega,” I murmured, kissing her once. She nuzzled into it before curling into a ball, mouth slack jawed. “God, you’re adorable.”

I made sure to turn down the heat in the room and headed out to the kitchen, gathering up the trash and bringing it outside to toss in their bin. Back inside, I locked the door, frowning at it. A door Teddy very likely had a key to. I sighed, looking around and spotting a light gray hoodie on the hook by the door. I pulled it on, surprised by the softness of the fleece inside, a definite upgrade from Tim’s basic white cotton tee and blue flannel pajama pants I had on.

I sent a quick text off to Springs, getting a response that they’d have a two man unit outside within thirty to keep watch for the night. Really I just wanted to crawl into bed with Y/N and burrow my face in my omega’s scent but I’d wait. Tim and Y/N hadn’t packed up anything as of yet it seemed. Blankets were tossed over the back of the couch. Books were on the coffee table. A calendar was still hung to January in the kitchen, scribbles on there about Tim having a intramural hockey game and Y/N going to a play on a Saturday night.

My ears preened when I heard a sharp hiss coming from nearby. Quietly, I cracked the door to Tim’s mostly dark room, a dim light on coming from his dresser in the corner. His back was to me but he wasn’t asleep just yet, his breathing too ragged for that. It felt too cool in his room and I grabbed the large fuzzy gray blanket from the couch, ducking into his room.

“I’m fine, Arlen,” he grumbled. I tossed the blanket over top of him, tucking it in. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I got shot three weeks ago, remember? I know sleeping hurts sometimes,” I said, taking a pillow from the other side of the bed and propping it behind his back. He breathed out slowly, his scent less strained. “Better?”

“Yes, now leave.” I held up my hands, turning his heat on. “Wait.”

I stood by the door, waiting for him to continue. “Teddy might show up tonight.”

“Already on it.”

“Oh. Good. Well aren’t you supposed to be cuddling my sister or some shit then?”

“Such a romantic,” I chuckled. “Goodnight, old man.”

“Night, shit head.” I shut the door softly and then grabbed a notepad, making quick lists for packing tomorrow while I waited for Springs team to show up. It took longer than I wanted to but eventually they were posted outside and I felt comfortable heading to bed. Y/N was warm under the sheets, her body tucking against mine perfectly as I caught a glimpse of the clock showing it was just after midnight.

Things weren’t suddenly perfect. Teddy was still out there. My officers back home were going to feel bad about not knowing about Hoyt. Pop especially would take it hard. There was a risk Teddy would try to attack Tim and turn him again. A chance he’d go after Lucy and Y/N and Emily. Oh god, Emily was going to hate me all over again for having Tim stick with her all the time.

And here I thought last year with that glamping mess and Emily’s kidnapping would be the worst thing we went through.

Y/N shifted in her sleep, a soothing calming spark rushing down my spine. I breathed deeply, closing my eyes. Maybe things were screwed up. Maybe they always would be.

But at least I wasn’t doing it alone anymore.

___________

A/N: Read Part 8 here!

#beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x y/n #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen fanfiction #big sky #jensen ackles

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lionwitch · 8 months ago

Text

Hear me out.

Dick gets a lot of fanmail, some creepy, some ok. So getting letters sent to the manor addressed to him isn't unusual. He doesn't throw them away just like that, not until he has time to sort through them.

One night, he's at the manor, and just to procrastinate something else, he decides to sort through old letters he never opened.

He finds some from one of his exgirlfriends, his first one in fact!

He figures it can't hurt, no matter what sort of insults those include, he's too over her to find them anything but amusing.

But when he opens them, it's not "How dare you leave me, Dick Grayson!" like he was expecting. It's more along the lines of "Hey, I'm pregnant and it's yours"

Ultrasound included.

And see, the problem is, this isn't his most recent ex, this isn't a recent letter. This letter is six years old. And so is his daughter, apparently.

Dick handles it as well as he can. But the return address on the letters is outdated and he has no way of contacting them, and he already missed six years of her life, and he doesn't even know her name, only her initial, C. He's lost and scared.

And then he sees her.

A shadow, sitting on his bed, darker than the human mind can comprehend, darker than anything he's ever seen, and he's been to space. It's unnatural. But it's her. He knows it. Except she disappears when he addresses her. And that same night, he dreams of her. No, not dreams. It's not his subconscious. She's real, and she's there, and she tells him pretty much that she's lost hope on him.

"Sweet dreams, Deadbeat."

And that's it. He wakes up with a start, rushes over to the rooftop in blüdhaven where the dream vision took place, hoping to see her. He doesn't.

Now, here's the facts:

He has a daughter

She's six years old

She's angry with him

She's a meta

Whatever powers she has, they're scary enough that if the government knows...

Her name starts with C.

Her last name may or may not be Jones, depending on whether she took her mother's last name or she has some stepdad to give her a different last name.

That's all he knows. He doesn't have much to work with. Ah, and by the way, he's 23, her mother is 27, they dated 7 years ago— you do the math.

A few days later, he sees a kid on patrol, and he knows it's her. Except he's not Dick Grayson right now, he's Nightwing, and Nightwing isn't her father, Dick Grayson is. But hey, maybe he can find out her name or her address.

He doesn't. She's not willing to give him a name. Stranger Danger, she calls. And apparently she doesn't go by her given name, and whatever name she now goes by doesn't even start with a C. And apparently they go by any pronouns and some gender-neutral name that they won't tell him, so for now he has to conform with calling them Nugget.

And that night, talking with Jason, he realizes there are some red flags that he's not willing to ignore

So now the facts are these:

He has a daughter kid

She's they're six years old

She's They're angry with him

She's They're a meta

Whatever powers she has they have, they're scary enough that if the government knows...

Her name starts with C. They have some gender-neutral name they go by that started as a nickname

Her Their last name may or may not be Jones, depending on whether she took her mother's last name or she has some stepdad to give her a different last name.

They don't give a shit about gender or pronouns

There's a big chance that they're being abused in some way, shape or form.

They feel safer in the rooftops past midnight than tucked into their warm bed and that certainly says something

He needs to get them away from their mother, because that woman is not a good person, regardless of whether or not she abuses their kid (he was 14 when they met and she started getting ideas of dating her into his head, she was 18. No good person does that)

The fic exists btw, and that is just the beginning. Features the next:

Best friends Dick and Jason

Good Batfam all around

Emotionally mature Batfam (they went to therapy)

Damian emotional growth

Tim and Damian friendship

Damian and Nugget's friendship/sibling-hood

Good dad Dick Grayson

Agender kid

Meta kid

Hurt/comfort

Chronic pain Dick and kid

Mobility aid user kid and possibly Dick and their journey embracing it

Grandpa Bruce

Damian learning to be a kid (with emotions!)

A Trans character. (Nugget said Dysphoria? Double it and give it to the next person. The next person may or may not be Damian, undecided)

WARNINGS:

Excessive Drinking

Implied/referenced child abuse

Discussion of Gro0ming

Implied/referenced Self-harm/su1cide (one singular scene, as an assumption, not anything happening)

Implied/referenced terminal illness (Please do not read if this is triggering, I beg. NOTHING ends up happening, but it'll be discussed. THERE IS NO ILLNESS, but there is something similar)

Temporal main character death (maybe, probably, at least referenced)

Minor violence

HAPPY ENDING!!! I am unable to write a sad ending so rest assured, this is a COMFORT story, not angst.

Name: Shadows of New Beginnings By yours truly: WhiteRider on Ao3 Link

Here's the summary:

Inside the envelope is indeed an ultrasound photo. The date matches, it seems legit and the timeline matches, the development is right for a four month fetus too. His hands shake as he stares at it. No... ——— He checks the dates written in the back of the pictures. April 3rd. His beautiful daughter was born on April third. She's six years old. ——— "I'll find you, my beautiful daughter. I'll be the father you deserve, I promise." He whispers, tears soaking his pillow. "I promise." ——— "Sweet dreams, Deadbeat." ——— "I love you!" he screams, as loud as he can, praying she'll hear, she'll know. Then his breath feels like it's choking him, and all he can do is whisper "Please... come back."

—————

When Dick decides to sort through old mail, he finds unopened letters from an ex. From these letters, he finds out that he has a six year old daughter. Now he has to find her, make up for the years he missed, and make sure she's safe and home. Easier said than done, when his little girl is as fierce as him, and furious about his absence.

thank you, please comment, love y'all

#dick grayson #jason todd #parent dick grayson #batfamily #bruce wayne #damian wayne #tim drake #batfam fanfic #batfam

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goldfades · 8 months ago

Text

𝟎𝟎𝟐 UNDER THE MISTLETOE ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚. RAFE CAMERON

12 days of christmas celebration!!

as holidays approach, it’s important to remember those who are facing hardships, such as the people of palestine. in times of crisis, solidarity matters more than ever. you can support palestinian communities by donating to reputable organizations providing aid, such as food, medical supplies, and shelter. help palestine with a click | heal palestine | unrwa | resources for palestine

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | At a posh Tannyhill Christmas party, you get caught under the mistletoe with none other than Rafe Cameron. Friends egg you on, but what starts as a joking kiss turns into something much deeper.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | kinda a fluffy slow burn? rafe being a little ass (but still sweet obvs), one kiss, nothing else!

There’s something different about the Outer Banks when Christmas rolls around. The air isn’t colder—it never really is—but it feels sharper, fresher, like the breeze carries more secrets than usual. The usual salty tang is sweeter now, tinged with the scent of evergreen wreaths hung on shop doors and strings of twinkling lights snaking through palm trees. Tannyhill, though, is where the real magic happens.

Or at least, where it pretends to.

It’s the kind of place that looks like a Christmas card came to life: wreaths on every window, a tree the size of a lighthouse in the foyer, and catering staff that fuss over candy cane platters like they're hosting royalty. For the Camerons, appearances are everything, especially at this time of year.

“You’re really going to wear that?” Sarah’s voice cuts through your thoughts as you stand in front of her mirror, smoothing the hem of your dress. She’s perched on the edge of her bed, her hair pinned up in half-done curls, a bottle of champagne tucked between her legs. It’s not even six, but she insisted tonight required proper pre-gaming.

You roll your eyes and turn to face her. “Yes, I’m wearing this. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just… safe,” she says, raising a brow. “It’s Christmas at Tannyhill. You’re supposed to be…” She waves her hand in the air, searching for the right word. “…a little dangerous.”

“Dangerous like you?” you quip, nodding toward her shimmering red dress that somehow manages to be both floor-length and scandalous.

“Exactly,” she replies without missing a beat, taking a triumphant sip of champagne. “Anyway, I’m just saying. Someone’s bound to notice you tonight. Could be worth the risk.”

“Risk of what?” you laugh, but it’s a little hollow, your gaze drifting back to the mirror.

You’ve been to these events before. You know how they go. It’s all champagne flutes, polite smiles, and whispered gossip. Nothing remotely risky. But still… there’s something about the way Sarah looks at you that makes you wonder if she knows something you don’t.

The mirror’s reflection isn’t much help. The dress is nice enough—a deep green velvet that hugs your frame, with thin straps and a hem that stops just above your knees—but “dangerous” isn’t exactly the vibe it’s giving. It’s more “holiday cocktail party chic,” which, to be fair, is exactly what you were aiming for. But Sarah’s words buzz around your head like a pesky gnat. Someone’s bound to notice you tonight.

“Maybe I like being safe,” you counter, but the words sound less convincing the moment they leave your mouth.

Sarah snorts, setting the champagne bottle aside and rising from the bed. “Oh, please. You don’t come to a Cameron Christmas party to blend in.” She strides over, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and spins you to face her. Her eyes narrow in assessment, scanning you from head to toe. “Okay. Hair? Gorgeous. Dress? Very… respectable. But—” She steps behind you, pulling a strand of your hair over your shoulder, “—you need something to make people stop and stare.”

You watch as she opens a jewelry box on her vanity, her fingers rifling through an assortment of glittering pieces. “Ah-ha,” she says triumphantly, holding up a delicate gold necklace with a teardrop pendant. “This. It’s simple, but it catches the light just enough. Trust me.”

Before you can protest, she’s clasping it around your neck. You glance back in the mirror. She’s right; the necklace adds something—a quiet elegance that makes the whole look seem intentional, like you tried just hard enough to care without overdoing it.

“Better,” Sarah says, admiring her handiwork with a satisfied smile. Then her eyes narrow mischievously. “Now, shoes. Please tell me you didn’t bring flats.”

You groan, nodding toward the corner where a pair of nude heels sit. Sarah clicks her tongue in approval. “Good girl. If you’d shown up in ballet flats, I would’ve sent you home.”

“Why do I let you do this to me?” you mutter, sitting on the edge of her bed to strap the heels on.

“Because deep down, you know I’m right,” Sarah says, smirking. “And because you secretly love the drama.”

She’s half right. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but there is a part of you that loves the energy of these parties—the music swelling as the night goes on, the clinking glasses, the undercurrent of excitement that hums through the air like static electricity. It’s impossible to ignore. The Camerons don’t do anything halfway, especially when it comes to Christmas.

“I just hope I survive the night without falling on these death traps,” you say, standing up and wobbling slightly as you adjust to the height of the heels.

Sarah grabs her champagne bottle, lifting it in a mock toast. “To surviving the night—and maybe even having some fun while you’re at it.”

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. “Cheers.”

By the time you both make your way downstairs, the house is already buzzing with life. The foyer is packed with people, a mix of family friends, business partners, and the kind of people who always seem to be at events like this but never seem to actually belong anywhere. The smell of pine, cinnamon, and something faintly citrusy hangs in the air, mixing with the soft strains of a string quartet playing in the next room.

Tannyhill looks like something out of a magazine spread, with garlands draped over the banisters, twinkling fairy lights tucked into every corner, and an absurdly large Christmas tree that dominates the main hall. Ornaments catch the light like little stars, and at the very top, a glittering silver angel tilts slightly to one side, as though even she’s exhausted by the sheer extra-ness of it all.

“Remind me again why I let you drag me to this?” you whisper to Sarah as you both pause at the top of the stairs, surveying the scene below.

“Because you love me,” she says sweetly, linking her arm through yours and pulling you forward. “And because this is way more fun than sitting at home watching Hallmark movies alone.”

You’re about to argue when you catch sight of Rafe Cameron near the bar, and your heart stutters. He’s standing with a group of his friends, all laughter and easy charm, a glass of something amber-colored in his hand. His hair is perfectly tousled, his suit crisp and tailored to perfection, but it’s his smile that catches you off guard. It’s sharp and confident, but there’s something about it that feels… dangerous. Like Sarah said.

And, just for a moment, you wonder if tonight might be more than just another Cameron Christmas party.

The party is a well-oiled machine by the time you and Sarah descend the staircase. Conversations buzz, laughter punctuates the hum of polite chatter, and the clink of glasses mingles with the soft holiday music floating from the grand piano in the corner. It’s glamorous, sure, but you can’t help feeling like an outsider looking in.

Sarah tugs at your arm as you reach the bottom step. “Alright, split up. You mingle, I mingle, and we reconvene for champagne refills. Sound good?”

“Wait, what? I thought we were sticking together,” you hiss, but she’s already slipping away into the crowd, greeting some distant cousin with a dazzling smile.

You sigh, smoothing your dress nervously as you scan the room. No familiar faces—well, not anyone you’d feel comfortable just walking up to. Except... your gaze flickers back to the bar, where Rafe stands. He’s laughing at something Topper just said, the sound loud and unapologetic. Kelce is leaning on the counter, gesturing wildly as he tells some animated story.

You’ve been in the same circles as Rafe Cameron for years, thanks to Sarah, but he’s always felt like… a lot. He’s intense in a way that makes him hard to pin down. Most of the time, he’s all bravado and sharp edges, but every now and then, you catch glimpses of something softer beneath it all. Not that you’ve spent much time trying to figure him out.

Still, as if drawn by some magnetic pull, your feet begin to carry you closer to the bar. Not to him, specifically. You’re just heading in that general direction, you tell yourself. It’s not your fault he happens to be there.

As you approach, you catch snippets of their conversation.

“—and then the idiot didn’t even see the wave coming,” Kelce is saying, his words punctuated by Topper’s loud cackle.

“Classic,” Rafe says, smirking as he takes a sip from his glass. His eyes are sharp and focused, scanning the room even as he listens to his friends. It’s like he’s always on high alert, even at his own party.

You hesitate, hovering a few steps away, trying to decide if you should keep walking or stop for a drink. The bartender glances your way, and before you can chicken out, you step up to the counter.

“White wine, please,” you say, your voice steady despite the knot of nerves tightening in your stomach.

As the bartender pours your drink, you feel eyes on you. Sure enough, when you glance over, Rafe is looking right at you. Not in the casual, friendly way people look at someone they sort of know. No, this is something else. His gaze is sharp, piercing, like he’s sizing you up, trying to figure you out.

“Didn’t know you were coming tonight,” he says, his voice low and smooth. It’s not a question, but it feels like one.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Sarah dragged me along.”

His smirk deepens. “Sounds about right. You let her boss you around like that?”

“She’s very persuasive,” you reply, taking a sip of your wine to steady yourself.

Rafe chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, she is.” He leans back against the bar, his eyes never leaving yours. “So, what’s your plan for the night? Stand around sipping wine, or are you gonna do something interesting?”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Define interesting.”

Topper, ever the instigator, interjects before Rafe can answer. “Oh, she’s a wild card. Watch out, Rafe. She might even… I don’t know… dance under the mistletoe.”

Kelce laughs, nudging Rafe with his elbow. “Yeah, or start a snowball fight with the fake snow machine. Real party animal.”

Your cheeks heat at their teasing, but Rafe doesn’t laugh. Instead, he tilts his head, his smirk softening into something that feels almost curious. “Maybe we’ll find out,” he says, his tone light but with an edge you can’t quite place.

Before you can respond, Sarah reappears at your side, her timing impeccable. “There you are,” she says, looping her arm through yours. Her gaze flickers to Rafe, and a knowing smile tugs at her lips. “Causing trouble already?”

“Me?” Rafe says, feigning innocence. “Never.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, pulling you away before you can say anything else. “Come on,” she whispers. “We’ve got to get you in a prime spot before the games start.”

“What games?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder to find Rafe watching you as you walk away.

“You’ll see,” Sarah says with a grin, her tone conspiratorial. And just like that, you know the night is only getting started.

Sarah doesn’t give you much time to process the interaction—or the way Rafe’s gaze seemed to follow you, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let you leave. She’s already pulling you through the crowd with purpose, weaving between glittering guests and servers balancing trays of hors d'oeuvres. The hum of conversation grows louder as you approach the central hall, where the Christmas tree stands tall, glowing with soft golden light.

“Okay,” Sarah says, stopping abruptly. “Here’s the deal. Wheezie has this whole mistletoe situation set up.”

You blink at her, confused. “What?”

She grins mischievously, clearly enjoying your bewilderment. “She’s been on a mistletoe kick all week. She got the staff to hang them in, like, every doorway. It’s ridiculous. But tonight, we’re turning it into a game.”

“A game?” you repeat, feeling a sense of foreboding creep in.

Sarah nods, her grin widening. “Every time two people end up under the mistletoe, they have to kiss. No exceptions. Wheezie’s patrolling to enforce it.”

Your eyes widen. “Sarah. You’re kidding.”

“Oh, I’m not,” she says, practically bouncing with excitement. “And don’t even think about trying to dodge it. Wheezie’s got this sixth sense for people sneaking around.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?”

“Badly?” Sarah repeats, feigning offense. “This is the best part of the party! Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? A little harmless fun never killed anyone.”

Before you can argue further, a familiar voice calls out.

“Sarah!” Wheezie appears out of nowhere, clutching a clipboard of all things. Her excitement is infectious, her cheeks flushed pink as she skids to a stop in front of you. “Did you tell her about the mistletoe?”

“Oh, I told her,” Sarah says, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “She’s thrilled.”

You glare at Sarah, but Wheezie either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Good,” she says, beaming. “Because I already saw, like, three people cheat, and I had to threaten them with no dessert.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sarah says, high-fiving her little sister.

Wheezie turns to you, her expression suddenly serious. “You’re not going to cheat, right? Because I’m keeping track.”

You force a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Wheezie hurries off to continue her self-appointed duties, leaving you and Sarah standing near the edge of the room.

“I’m going to regret this,” you mutter, taking a long sip of your wine.

Sarah just laughs. “Not if you end up under the mistletoe with the right person.”

You’re about to retort when the sound of laughter nearby catches your attention. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce are heading your way, all of them holding fresh drinks and clearly in high spirits. Your stomach does a little flip as Rafe’s eyes find yours again, that same sharp intensity from earlier still lingering.

“Speak of the devil,” Sarah murmurs, her tone teasing.

“What?” you ask, your voice a little too high, but she just smirks.

“Nothing,” she says innocently. “But maybe Wheezie’s mistletoe isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

The night progresses in a blur of laughter and champagne. Guests drift from one room to the next, admiring the decorations, exchanging pleasantries, and inevitably finding themselves caught under Wheezie’s strategically placed mistletoe. You spot her several times, clipboard in hand, ushering reluctant participants toward their obligatory kiss with all the authority of a seasoned party planner.

It’s silly and lighthearted, but every time you see a pair of people beneath the mistletoe, your stomach tightens. You can’t help but glance over your shoulder, half-wondering when—or if—you might end up in the same predicament.

And then, of course, it happens.

You’re standing near the fireplace, chatting with a distant family friend of Sarah’s, when someone brushes past you, drawing your attention. You turn—and immediately regret it. Rafe is there, his broad frame just a little too close, his expression unreadable as he looks down at you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and casual, but there’s something about the way he says it that makes your pulse quicken.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice a little breathless.

Before either of you can say more, Wheezie materializes out of nowhere, her eyes lighting up like it’s Christmas morning. “Oh my gosh, you guys!” she exclaims, pointing above your heads.

You don’t even have to look. The knowing smirk that spreads across Rafe’s face tells you everything you need to know.

Mistletoe. Of course.

Your heart plummets straight to your stomach as Wheezie bounces on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Well?” she says, grinning like she just uncovered the juiciest secret. “You have to kiss! Rules are rules!”

Rafe leans against the edge of the fireplace, casually glancing up at the offending sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ornate mantle. His lips twitch into a smirk as he looks back at you, clearly enjoying how flustered you are.

“You heard the boss,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “Rules are rules.”

Your mouth goes dry. Of course, this is happening. Of course, Wheezie—sweet, well-meaning, meddlesome Wheezie—would find a way to make this the most embarrassing moment of your life. You try to laugh it off, but it comes out shaky, barely convincing.

“This doesn’t count,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction. “We were just—”

“It absolutely counts,” Wheezie cuts in, clutching her clipboard like it’s a gavel. “You’re right there. No cheating.”

Rafe tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s sizing you up. You hate how effortlessly cool he looks, like this is all just a game to him. And maybe it is.

But for you, it’s anything but.

Because standing this close to him—so close you can catch the faint scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy—you’re dragged back to a version of yourself you thought you’d buried years ago. A younger you, sitting cross-legged on your bed, scribbling in your journal about Rafe Cameron like some lovesick fool.

You had a crush on him once, back when you were too naive to realize what it meant to like someone like Rafe. It started the summer he came to one of Sarah’s golf lessons, tagging along out of boredom. You’d been there, too, struggling with your swing and trying desperately not to let anyone notice. But they did. A couple of boys from your class—Topper included—had decided to make you their entertainment for the afternoon, mimicking your stance and snickering loudly enough to draw everyone’s attention.

You’d been mortified, red-faced and blinking back tears, until Rafe—taller, older, and impossibly confident—had stepped in.

“Got something better to do?” he’d said, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Or is bullying girls your new hobby?”

The boys had stumbled over their words, mumbling excuses before scurrying off, and Rafe had shrugged it off like it was nothing. But for you, it wasn’t nothing. For you, it was everything.

You never told anyone—not even Sarah—how much that moment stuck with you, how it planted a seed of something small but stubborn in your chest. A crush, yes, but more than that: an infatuation with the idea of him, the version of Rafe who might actually care.

But crushes fade, and years pass, and you convinced yourself that Rafe was just a fleeting thing, a schoolgirl daydream you outgrew. Or so you thought.

Until now.

Now, he’s standing in front of you, taller and sharper than you remember, and the way his gaze lingers on you makes it impossible to breathe.

“You okay over there?” Rafe asks, his voice cutting into your spiraling thoughts. He’s smirking, of course, because why wouldn’t he be?

“I—uh, yeah,” you stammer, cursing yourself for how obvious it is that you’re not, in fact, okay.

“Sure?” he presses, taking a deliberate step closer. “You look a little nervous.”

“Stop,” you say, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Stop what?” he asks innocently, though his grin says otherwise. “I’m just standing here. You’re the one making it weird.”

You glare at him, but it’s weak at best. “I’m not—this isn’t weird.”

“Oh, it’s definitely weird,” he says, and there’s a teasing edge to his voice now, one that sends your heart racing. “But don’t worry. I’ll make it quick.”

Behind him, Topper and Kelce are already snickering, clearly enjoying the show.

“Just kiss her already!” Topper calls out, his voice loud and obnoxious enough to make a few heads turn.

“Yeah, Rafe, show her what she’s been missing!” Kelce adds, and you want to sink into the floor.

Rafe shakes his head, laughing softly under his breath. “You guys are the worst,” he mutters, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes you think he doesn’t mind the attention.

Then, before you can think or move or even breathe, he closes the distance between you.

The kiss starts slow—surprisingly so. His hand brushes your arm lightly before settling on your waist, steady and sure, and his lips are soft, warmer than you expect. The world around you seems to blur, fading into the background as he deepens the kiss, just enough to make your knees weak. It’s not a joke, not teasing—it’s deliberate, measured, and devastating in its intensity.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes search yours, his smirk softer now, almost curious.

“There,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

In the background, Topper and Kelce erupt into a chorus of cheers and whistles, and Wheezie claps her hands in triumph, shouting something about how this is how the game is supposed to be played.

But you’re barely aware of any of it. All you can feel is the ghost of his lips on yours and the weight of his gaze, still locked on you like he’s trying to figure you out.

And for the first time all night, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he feels the same pull you’ve been trying so hard to ignore.

Your face burns as the cheers and whistles rise around you, but Rafe doesn’t move away. He stays close, his hand still lightly resting on your waist, and for a brief, dizzying moment, it feels like the two of you are suspended in a bubble. His expression is unreadable, a mix of amusement and something softer, something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Man, look at her face!” Kelce crows, doubling over with laughter. “She’s blushing so hard right now.”

“Classic,” Topper chimes in, grinning like an idiot. “Rafe, you’re out here making girls fall in love under mistletoe. What a gentleman.”

You flinch, wanting to glare at them but too mortified to do much more than focus on breathing. Rafe, however, seems entirely unbothered by their antics. If anything, their comments only deepen his smirk.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving them off without looking away from you. “Go bother someone else, will you?”

Kelce and Topper groan dramatically but wander off soon enough, still laughing and elbowing each other. Wheezie lingers for a moment longer, beaming at you both like she just orchestrated the match of the century before skipping away to enforce her rules on the next unsuspecting pair.

Finally, it’s just you and Rafe, standing far too close for comfort in the shadow of the grand fireplace.

“You good?” he asks, his voice quieter now, a little more serious.

You blink up at him, your thoughts still scrambled from the kiss. “What? Oh—yeah. I’m fine. Totally fine.”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “You sure? You looked like you were about to pass out there for a second.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, your voice an octave too high. You take a step back, desperate to put some distance between you, but the movement feels clumsy, like you’ve forgotten how to use your own legs.

Rafe chuckles softly, and you hate how effortlessly cool he is, like kissing you in the middle of a crowded room was just another thing he did to pass the time. “Relax,” he says, his tone lighter now. “It’s just mistletoe. Not a big deal.”

Not a big deal. Right.

“Right,” you echo, forcing a laugh that you hope sounds convincing. “Totally not a big deal.”

But it was a big deal—at least to you. Because no matter how much you try to tell yourself otherwise, you can still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, the warmth of his hand on your waist. You can still hear the way your heart pounded, loud enough to drown out the world.

And worse, you’re starting to realize that all those old feelings you thought you’d buried years ago? They’re not as buried as you’d like to think.

Rafe seems to sense your discomfort because his smirk softens into something almost... kind. “Hey,” he says, leaning in just enough to make your breath catch. “You don’t have to overthink it, you know. It’s just a kiss.”

You nod, though the lump in your throat makes it hard to speak. “I know.”

“Good,” he says, straightening up again. But then his gaze dips to your lips—just for a second, barely noticeable—and your stomach flips all over again.

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cuts through the air, startling you both. She’s weaving her way toward you, her champagne glass in hand and her eyes sharp. “Stop tormenting my friend.”

“I’m not tormenting her,” Rafe says innocently, but the glint in his eyes tells a different story.

Sarah rolls her eyes and loops her arm through yours, tugging you away from him. “Come on. You’ve spent enough time under his spell for one night.”

You let her pull you along, but as you glance over your shoulder, you catch Rafe watching you again, his smirk still in place. There’s something in his expression, something almost... contemplative.

For the next few days, you try to shake him. You really do.

You fill your hours with anything and everything that might distract you. You hit the beach early one morning, hoping the salty air and crashing waves might clear your head. It doesn’t. You sit on your towel, staring out at the horizon, only to find your thoughts drifting back to the kiss—the way his hand lingered at your waist, the infuriating confidence in his smirk, the warmth of his lips.

Next, you try golfing with your dad, thinking that muscle memory and the sharp focus the sport demands will drown out the noise in your head. It doesn’t. Instead, your dad spends half the morning teasing you about your distracted swings, and you nearly send your nine-iron into the pond after imagining Rafe standing behind you again, casually correcting your form like he’d done at Sarah’s lesson all those years ago.

Even shopping—your fail-safe remedy for every stressful situation—proves useless. You wander aimlessly through the boutiques in town, running your fingers over racks of clothing you barely glance at. It’s like he’s everywhere, lingering in the background of your mind, taunting you with his too-perfect grin and that stupid, stupid kiss.

By the fourth day, you’re ready to admit defeat. Whatever spell Rafe Cameron cast on you under that mistletoe, it’s clearly working.

Then Sarah calls.

“Dinner at ours tonight,” she announces, her voice cheerful. “Seven o’clock. No excuses.”

You hesitate. The thought of being at Tannyhill again, surrounded by all the memories of that night, makes your stomach twist into knots. “I don’t know, Sarah. I’ve got a lot going on—”

“You’re coming,” she interrupts firmly. “Rose’s in a rare good mood, and Wheezie’s been talking about it nonstop. Plus, my dad will be grilling, which means no catering disasters. Just come. It’ll be fun.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she barrels on before you can get a word in.

“And before you ask—no, Rafe won’t be there. He’s got some golf thing with his buddies, so you’re safe. Okay? Seven. Be there.”

“Fine,” you sigh, knowing better than to argue with her. “I’ll come.”

Tannyhill is as breathtaking as ever when you pull up to the sprawling estate later that evening. The driveway is lined with twinkling lights, and the sound of soft laughter and clinking glasses drifts out from the open veranda doors.

As soon as you step inside, Sarah greets you with a hug and a glass of wine, chatting easily as she leads you out to the patio. Wheezie waves excitedly from her seat at the table, and Mr. Cameron gives you a warm smile from his spot by the grill. It’s all perfectly normal, perfectly comfortable, and for the first time in days, you feel yourself relax.

And then he appears.

You catch sight of him out of the corner of your eye, and for a second, you think you’re imagining it. But no—there he is, walking toward the patio with all the easy confidence in the world, wearing a plain gray t-shirt and faded jeans that somehow look like they were tailored just for him.

“Rafe,” Sarah says, her tone sharp with surprise. “What are you doing here? I thought you were golfing with Topper and Kelce.”

“They canceled,” he says casually, his eyes flicking briefly to you before settling on his sister. “Figured I’d stop by. Didn’t realize we were having company.”

You’re frozen, clutching your glass of wine like a lifeline as his gaze drifts back to you, slow and deliberate.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and smooth, a little too knowing.

“Hi,” you manage, your voice embarrassingly small.

Rafe leans against the edge of the patio railing, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes linger on you just a second too long. His smirk is back, subtle but

persistent, like he knows exactly how much space he’s taking up in your head and plans to keep doing it.

“You’re just in time,” Sarah says, her tone tight. She shoots you a glance—half apologetic, half questioning—but you can’t muster a response. “We’re about to eat.”

“Perfect,” Rafe replies, his voice laced with a casual charm that feels anything but casual. “I’m starving.”

You focus on your wine, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Sarah said he wouldn’t be here. But now, he’s standing just a few feet away, and it’s like the air itself shifts around him, crackling with something unspoken.

Dinner is a blur. You sit between Sarah and Wheezie, trying to focus on the conversation and ignore the fact that Rafe is directly across from you, his presence magnetic even when he’s silent. He doesn’t talk much, content to let the others fill the space, but every once in a while, you catch him glancing at you, his smirk barely concealed.

At one point, you drop your fork, and when you lean down to grab it, you swear you hear him chuckle softly, low enough that only you notice.

“You okay?” Sarah whispers beside you, her brow furrowing.

“Fine,” you say quickly, sitting upright again. “Totally fine.”

But you’re not. Not even close.

The kiss, the mistletoe, the way he looked at you that night—it all comes rushing back, as vivid as if it just happened. And the worst part? He knows. Every time his eyes meet yours, you can see it: the awareness, the confidence, the silent challenge in his gaze.

By the time dinner wraps up, you’re practically vibrating with tension. You help clear the plates, grateful for an excuse to leave the table, but as you step into the kitchen, you hear his voice behind you.

“Need a hand?”

You don’t turn around. “I’m fine.”

“Come on,” he says, his tone amused. “Let me help.”

Before you can argue, he’s next to you, reaching for the stack of dishes in your hands. His arm brushes yours, and you swear your heart skips a beat.

“You don’t have to—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, his voice low and teasing. “I’m just being polite.”

You glare at him, but it lacks bite. “You? Polite? That’s a stretch.”

His smirk deepens. “Ouch. I thought we were past all that.”

“Past what?”

“You pretending not to like me,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto yours.

Your breath catches, and you hate how easily he gets under your skin. “I don’t—”

“Sure you don’t,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me all week, right?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lie, though it sounds weak even to your own ears.

He chuckles softly, setting the dishes on the counter before turning to face you fully. “You’re terrible at this, you know.”

“At what?”

“Hiding it,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a second, before meeting your eyes again. “You might’ve fooled Sarah and everyone else, but not me.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. The air between you feels charged, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

And then, just as quickly as it started, he steps back, his smirk firmly in place.

“Guess I’ll see you around,” he says, his voice light and infuriatingly casual as he strolls toward the door, leaving you standing there, your pulse racing and your head spinning.

You scoff under your breath, abandoning the plates on the counter and following him out of the kitchen, your irritation bubbling over. “What is your problem, Rafe?” you hiss, grabbing his arm before he can make it back to the patio.

He stops, turning slowly, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. “Problem?” he repeats, like the word itself is foreign to him. “I don’t have a problem.”

“You know what I mean,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you glance toward the dining room to make sure no one’s listening. “All this—this... thing you’re doing. What’s your deal?”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What thing am I doing, exactly?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” you snap, your frustration boiling over. “You’ve been messing with me all night. Ever since the mistletoe. Ever since... I don’t know. Just—stop.”

He tilts his head, his smirk reappearing. “Messing with you? I think you’re imagining things.”

“Imagining things?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly before you catch yourself. “You’ve been looking at me like... like—”

“Like what?” he presses, stepping closer, his tone maddeningly calm.

“Like you’re trying to get in my head!” you whisper-shout, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And guess what? It’s working. So congratulations, Rafe. You win. Happy?”

His smirk falters for a fraction of a second, replaced by something darker, more serious. He straightens, his easy posture stiffening as he steps closer, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“You think this is a game to me?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes!” you say, though your voice wavers slightly. “That’s all you do, isn’t it? Play games? Mess with people’s heads? Well, I’m not Sarah or Wheezie, and I’m not going to just—”

“God, would you shut up for a second?” he growls, and before you can even process what’s happening, his hands are on your face, pulling you toward him as his lips crash against yours.

It’s nothing like the kiss under the mistletoe. There’s no teasing smirk, no slow build—it’s raw, urgent, and impossibly overwhelming. His hands cup your face firmly, holding you in place as he kisses you like he’s trying to prove a point, like he’s trying to pour every unsaid word into the contact.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to react. But then your body betrays you, melting into his touch as your hands grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. Your mind is screaming at you to stop, to push him away, to demand answers—but your body has other plans, and you give in, kissing him back with just as much intensity.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours.

“Still think this is a game?” he murmurs, his voice rough and barely above a whisper.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Your brain is short-circuiting, stuck somewhere between disbelief and the lingering haze of his kiss.

“I’ve been trying to get in your head,” he admits after a moment, his tone softer now but no less intense. “Because you’ve been in mine. Ever since that night. Hell, maybe even before that.”

Your heart stutters, and you pull back just enough to look at him, searching his face for any sign that he’s joking. But his expression is serious, his eyes locked onto yours with a weight that makes your knees weak.

“I—” you start, but the words die in your throat, your mind too jumbled to form a coherent thought.

Rafe exhales sharply, his hand slipping from your face to rest on your waist. “Say something,” he mutters, almost pleading.

You bite your lip, your mind still spinning. Finally, you manage, “You’re an ass, you know that?”

His lips twitch into a smirk, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, something almost vulnerable. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

And before you can second-guess yourself, you grab the front of his shirt and kiss him again, pouring every ounce of confusion, frustration, and unspoken feeling into it. This time, there’s no hesitation, no lingering doubt—just the two of you, tangled in something you’re no longer sure you can fight.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you both back to reality. You pull away quickly, your face burning as Sarah stands in the doorway, her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised.

“Really?” she says, her tone equal parts annoyed and amused. “My kitchen? Now?”

You glance at Rafe, who’s grinning unapologetically, and groan, covering your face with your hands.

This is going to be impossible to live down.

She turns on her heel and stalks out of the kitchen, leaving you and Rafe alone once more as if she knows she couldn't stop it, even if she really wanted to. And, she didn't—it was bound to happen. She calls it, "best friend intuition", or something like that.

"So," he says, his voice dropping slightly as he takes another step closer. "Are you done pretending you don’t feel this, or should I kiss you again and really settle it?"

You glare at him, your pulse quickening. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet," he murmurs, leaning in just enough to make your breath hitch, "you’re still standing here."

Your brain is screaming at you to walk away, to put some distance between you and the boy who’s been driving you crazy for years. But your feet don’t move, and when he leans in closer, you know you’re not going anywhere.

"Rafe—"

He cuts you off with another kiss, softer this time but no less consuming. And despite everything—you kiss him back, giving in to the pull you’ve been fighting for far too long.

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mulligans-tavern · 1 year ago

Text

https://www.tumblr.com/doomed-to-wanda/747617028751474688?source=share

Inspiration above

TW death, grief

---

Five Funerals

They lose Fig first.

Comes with the territory when you're an archdevil - somebody's always looking to take your spot. "Don't worry about it," she says, opening a Planeshift to the recording studio. "It's just the usual rebellious fiends. Icythorz and Bolhondrus and the rest. I'll be back before you know it." She looks resplendent in black leather, the Unfaithable Bass slung across her back, riding the fiery Daymare surrounded in jagged red shards.

Adaine knows before everyone else, but can't believe the vision to be true until she learns that Ayda is gone, too. She scratched every memory of Fig out of her notes before starting over - it was too much pain to bear. The five of them know how it feels.

---5---

It's a few years before they take another hit. Another mission to the Mountains of Chaos, another world-ending calamity to be stopped because Who Else Is Going To Save The World? A small misstep, a miscalculation (six where there should be five, they're only five now) and suddenly the routine becomes deadly.

Riz takes the fall. "It's easier this way," he says, in his last moments. "I'll still see you." And he does. Agent Gukgak Jr., now, with some extra responsibility. But he still comes by. Sometimes. Every so often. Often enough.

---4---

Kristen is next. Only one thing could bring down the most gifted cleric of the age - sacrificing herself for her friends. Third time's the charm when it comes to death, it turns out.

Gorgug is the most hopeful that she'll come back, that she'll find a way again, like in the Nightmare Forest. But Adaine knows this is the end. Even Arthur Aguefort agrees. He quotes Alanis Morissette at her funeral. The followers of Cassandra pull out all the stops.

Adaine, Fabian, and Gorgug have their own ceremony at Ashgrove, next to the Gukgak family plot. It's quiet. Bucky cries into Ragh's shoulder. Aelwyn, Jawbone, and Gertie collect flowers. Tracker stays for a few minutes to say goodbye.

---3---

They quit adventuring after Kristen's funeral. And they don't lose anyone else for a long time. Riz still visits, every few years. They talk about the good old days, how silly it was that Baron was so terrifying when at the end of the day it was an honest conversation that finally did him in. There's rumours that Kristen has ascended to goddesshood herself - Adaine doesn't buy it. She's not the type to be revered.

They come out of retirement for the only reason they would - to bring back one of their own. They finally found Fig's soul, trapped in a ruby in the darkest levels of the Abyss. They can't ask anyone to come with them - it's too dangerous, it's too personal. It's missions like this that kill people.

And when it's all over, when Adaine carries Fabian's burnt, unconscious body back to Morded Manor, they have another funeral to plan.

Gorbag and Roz have already passed, and Wilma and Digby are too old to make preparations, so it falls to Jawbone to organize it. He knows they don't want a lot of fanfare. It's at Ashgrove again, just Adaine and Fabian and the Thistlesprings, and Aelwyn and Ragh. Sandra-Lynn is back in Solace - she sends Adaine a heartfelt text saying she appreciates the invitation, but she can't bring herself to come.

Riz doesn't show for the ceremony - he's desperately scouring the heavenly realms, trying to make sure Gorgug ended up somewhere he wasn't afraid of. Orcish heaven doesn't have him, he reports, and neither does Cassandra.

If he's trapped in the Abyss with Fig, at least they have each other.

---2---

Adaine sees Fabian's death the night of Gorgug's funeral. She needs to prepare, she tells herself. She knows it's going to be hard. She needs all the time she can get, and she needs to know which goodbye will be their last.

They grow old together. Not romantically, although some speculate. Fabian becomes a multiclass advisor at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy. Adaine works in Bastion City as an archivist, with occasional trips to Fallinel for Oracle services. They go for vacations sometimes, but never for too long. The memories find them no matter where they go. Sometimes Adaine wishes she could be Ayda, scrape off the old wounds and start fresh. Arthur talks about her sometimes. She's never had the same spark as that one lifetime, he says.

Adaine watches the wrinkles grow beside Fabian's eye, watches his hair turn grey, watches the Future of Dance become its Mentor. He trades his Battlesheet for a cane-sword, then a regular cane. He takes to wearing the Gregorian necktie to classes, no matter how much it clashes with his outfit. They both wonder how many of their own teachers lost party members.

Adaine holds Fabian's wrinkled hand on his deathbed, in his old room at Seacaster Manor. He grins, flashes the same perfect teeth as on the first day of Freshman Year. "Bet you didn't see this one coming, did you?"

"I did," she whispers, tears streaming down her young elven face. "I knew it would end like this. But I always hoped it would last forever."

They're the last words he hears.

It's not the first funeral Adaine organizes. All the Bad Kids held one for Buddy Dawn, back in high school. She and Fabian worked together on the services for Jawbone, Ragh, and Chungledown Bim - who finally caught up to Fabian in both of their old ages. It is the first funeral she has to organize alone.

Some of Fabian's students attend. Arthur Aguefort gives a short speech, and a few students hear the story of Kalvaxus' return for the first time. Adaine sits with Aelwyn in the front row, a few seats down from Hallariel. Gilear records the service to show Telemaine later. Riz is somewhere deep undercover - he maybe hasn't even heard yet.

She always knew she'd be the last. She didn't expect it to hurt so much.

---1---

Adaine stumbles through a few years before she finds herself again. They pass so fast without a mortal lifespan to hold up against them. She drifts between Fallinel and Bastion City for the most part, with occasional return trips to Elmville. Aelwyn always has a place for her to stay. Seacaster Manor was turned into a dormitory for Aguefort students who needed a place to study, or sleep, or stay away from home for a while. Tracker converted Morded Manor into a temple/bed-and-breakfast for worshipers of Galicaea. Strongtower Luxury Apartments was demolished soon after Fabian started teaching at Aguefort. It seems like everything is different now.

Adaine visits Leviathan once, on a whim. The Compass Points hasn't changed a bit. On a chance meeting in the stacks, Ayda looks at her with a spark of familiarity.

"Adaine Abernant?"

"Yes... you remember me?"

Ayda shakes her head. "There are mentions of you in my journals. I leave journals for when I regenerate-"

"I know. I remember."

Ayda looks intrigued. "I wrote that you were a great wizard, and a good friend. I hear from other sources that you are the Elven Oracle. Perhaps you can shed some light on why the pages around yours are torn to shreds or redacted to the point of unreadability?"

Adaine places a gentle hand on Ayda's shoulder. "I don't know if you'd want that. You lost someone you cared about, so much that you thought it was better to forget her than to bear the pain of losing her."

Ayda considers this. "Is it better to forget?" she asks. "Would you give up the memories of those you lost, in order to keep a logical mind?"

"No. Not for anything."

"Then we should talk."

Adaine smiles. "I'd like that."

---2---

*end

Thanks for reading all the way through! I wrote most of this at 2am and the conclusion the next morning. Please take a reblog to share with your friends or drop a like to let me know you enjoyed - or hated - the story!

Ask me anything about it, please, I love discussing these kinds of theories!!!

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lullabyes22-blog · 7 months ago

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Snippet - A Survivor's Story - Forward But Never Forget/XOXO

Sevika spittin' facts...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"I hear you thinking," Sevika warns, without opening her eyes.

"Thinking?"

"About how to get Jinx away from him."

Despite reflex, Vi doesn't ball her hands into fists. She's getting better at concealment. Not a pro like Sevika. Not a savant like Silco. But she's learning. These past five months, she's learnt enough to last a lifetime. Yet she has so much left to know.

"He's not a monster," Vi says. "I thought he was. Now I understand he's just a fucked-up asshole. But that doesn't mean he's not dangerous."

"He's got his reasons."

"I'm tired of you defending him, Sevika."

"I'm defending—"

"—Zaun?" Vi's jaw grates. "Yeah. That's your big religion. The cause you've given everything to. And he's the messiah. You worship him. The rest of us have to believe too, or be cast out." Her eyes seize Sevika's, daring her to contradict. "It's easy to believe in him, too. I'd like to say otherwise. But I've seen him work in real-time. He's got a mojo. A pull, and he pulls who he wants. But that's not faith, Sevika. That's smokescreen to hide the rot inside. And someone like that, they learn all sorts of strategies to hide it. All that smooth talk, all that drive and charisma—they aren't Silco. They're the bracing that hides the sickness."

"Look—"

"I have looked," Vi snaps, then takes a stabilizing breath. "I get it, okay? If he hadn't fought for Zaun, we'd still be under Piltover. If he hadn't done awful things, the Fissurefolk would be suffering worse. I understand that. He—Jinx—changed the city in ways no one else could've done. You can't scare monsters unless you're the scarier monster." She shakes her head. "Maybe he's the leader the Undercity—Zaun—needs right now. But what about ten years down the line? Twenty? What kind of shape will our home be if it's just a game of whack-a-villain every minute of every day? How do we take care of each other, if we're at each other's throats? How will Jinx take care of herself as she gets older? She doesn't need more monsters in her life, Sevika. She's got enough. She needs to feel safe. To know that her own city won't chew her up and spit her out if she slips up. To know her own home is behind her and not just a snakepit."

Sevika's features hold a deliberate smoothness. She says nothing.

"What people do isn't always who they are," Vi goes on. "Vander always told me that. I think it's true. For you. For a lot of folks who fought for Silco's cause. It's not true for Silco. Living means changing. Someone who can't change isn't really alive. Silco isn't." She swallows. "Not since Vander drowned him."

Sevika takes a swallow of her beer. When she's finished, there's a half-smile on her face. Too old a smile, too knowing.

"You're right," she says. "He isn't alive."

Vi stares.

House odds were that Sevika would argue. That she'd shrug off Vi's outburst. Not that she'd pay it off with plainspoken fact.

"He's not alive," she repeats, "because he's forgotten how to be."

"Forgotten?"

"He's not you, Vi." Sevika's tone holds a weird stoicism. "If he was, he'd have had a different story. Not everyone's so lucky."

"Lucky?" Resentment creeps under Vi's skin. "I grew up in the Lanes. Same as you and Silco. I lost my family. My sister was stolen. I spent six years in Stillwater."

"A hard-knock life."

"What's that mean?"

Sevika shrugs. No sarcasm. Just blunt fact. "People in the Lanes—hell, people all over—go through all kinds of shit. They survive wars and famines. They get sold to slavers. They wake up one morning and a crazy Mage burns their village down. Or Noxus rolls in and salts all their fields. It's disaster after disaster. A life of hardship. Some learn early on how to cope. How to deal with pain. Others... it's like they just stop. Stop in time. Stop living completely." Her eyes go heavy-lidded. "Nobody has a perfect childhood. But some kids learn how to be happy, or at least float on when things aren't happy. A lot of it's down to nature. The rest? That's how you grow up. Who teaches you to be strong, and smart, and resilient. For you, it was Vander and your folks. Whoever gave you hope and kept you sane. For me..."

Belatedly, Vi understands.

"It was your sister."

Sevika doesn't flinch. Withdrawing a cigarillo from her pocket, she lights up perfunctorily. Brightleaf drifts in Vi's airspace.

"Don't recall mentioning Nandi to you," Sevika says.

"Silco did." Vi's eyelids droop. She feels tired all of a sudden. Torpid with the humidity; the slanting sunrays. With the surreal passage of time and the inexorable weight of history. "So did Vander, when I was a kid. She was the Priestess at Janna's Temple. Mom liked her." She looks away. "Mom was a believer in the old gods. Said they were a part of us, same as blood. She'd always visit the Temple for the Priestess' prayers. She'd stay for her stories. I remember those stories. I didn't understand 'em much, but I liked listening to her voice. I just never connected..."

That you two were family.

That you lost someone, same as me.

Vi's eyes are dry. But she feels the emotion lodged inside: half-processed.

"I didn't connect the dots," she repeats. "I'm sorry."

A plume of smoke rises pensively from Sevika's lips.

"She was a good woman," she says at length "Better one than me. I've made a career out of breaking bones. Nandi made a calling out of binding them back together. But it was just a different kind of faith, y'know? She had faith in the divine. I had faith in me and mine. So I took care of her. She took care of me. We were family."

"Like me and Powder."

Sevika says nothing. She tips her chin back, staring at the sun-spangled sky.

"After she passed," Vi says, more tentatively, "you took up with Silco?"

The orientation of Sevika's body shifts. "Don't recall mentioning that either."

"I—I saw you two."

"Saw us?"

"Last night." Vi’s tongue burns as the confession slips past. " At the penthouse."

The cigarillo smolders in Sevika's prosthetic fingers: spark and flint. Smoke drifts over her face. Her hair's tied in a high tail today. There's nothing to conceal her expression. Not that there's an expression to conceal. Her eyes, meeting Vi's, reflect nothing in the metalhazy glints.

She is a monolith, and monoliths don't flinch.

Neither does Vi. This isn't a place for shame. They've known each other too long and too bitterly for that.

"I know," Vi mutters. "I know it wasn't my business."

"Then why make it your business?"

"Because—" It's an effort to match Sevika's stare "Because you and him... it's like you're stuck. Stuck on him. Stuck to him. He's bad news, Sevika. Not just for you, but everyone." She takes a shuddery breath, trying to keep the kneejerk anger out. "Whatever you're getting out of it, you can get better elsewhere."

"You offering, Vi?"

The near-flinch becomes a flush. "That's not what I—"

Except Sevika's not challenging her. Her demeanor's the same as when she and Vi used to spar: calm, level, blunt.

The bond between them doesn't go deep. Can't—given their convoluted history. Yet territorial as Sevika is, she takes care of her turf. Looks out for her own. Since Vi's return to the Lanes, she's treated her... not as an ally, but as a fellow Trencher.

They've both known hardship and come out stronger. They both understand that when disaster hits, it can make enemies out of friends—and friends out of enemies.

Vi and Sevika are neither. They inhabit a shadowy zone in between. But that zone has its own language, and it's a clean one. No deadweight. No dredged-up debts.

Just the give-and-take of hard-hitting truth.

"It's funny," Sevika says. "The way folks throw that word around. Better. They're always thinking of what-ifs. What could be, instead of what is. Me, I like the facts. What's real, not what may come to pass."

"What's real is he's using you," Vi snaps. "Same as he uses everybody. He doesn't love you, Sevika."

"Love." Sevika's lip curls up at one corner. "What’s love got to do with it, little girl?"

"I—what?"

"You say Zaun's my big religion? Well, let me tell you. Love's yours. And it's got you—you, Jinx, Silco—so twisted up in knots, you're a fucking mess."

"I'm not a—"

"A fucking mess," Sevika repeats, and the tone brooks no argument. "All of you. That's the problem. You've got no perspective. No sense of self. No clue what's what. Everything's love, and you tote that word around like junkies with a fix. As if it's the answer to everything. The cure-all. Well, let me break it to you: it's not. Not even close."

"But—" Vi is stunned. "Then what's it for? What's the point?"

"There is no point," Sevika snaps. "Love's not a solution. It's not even a problem. It's just an emotion. And it's not the only one. There's rage. There's grief. There's hate. And they're just as real. Just another part of living." Her jaw hardens. "I loved my sister, Vi. Loved her enough that I'd strangle anybody who'd put a hand on her. Not because she was the best woman in the world—and she was—but because she was the best part of me. She was my family, same way Jinx is yours. When I lost her, I went to war. Didn't care if it was Enforcers, or Topside, or the whole goddamn world. I was ready to tear the planet down. Because I'd already been torn apart. I didn't have anything left."

"Sevika," Vi says, but doesn't finish.

She's been where Sevika has. She understands.

"I was broken," Sevika goes on. "I thought, without love, I'd stay broken. I was wrong. There's a whole lot more to life than that. And Silco..."

Her cadence doesn't waver. But there's a different undercurrent. Something raw, and blisteringly real.

"We had a thing, once," she says. "A shortlived thing. But that's the least of our history, Vi. It's not why I follow him. And it's not why I was with him last night."

"Why, then?" Vi's throat is tight. "Why stay with him?"

"Because… when I was broken, he knew what to do with the brokenness. He didn't ask me to be someone else. Didn't try to put me back together. He took me as I was. Because he understood that grief doesn't just end. It can't. There's no escaping it. But you can't let it end you, either. People have it worse; they have less. Me? I had more. When I had Nandi, I had everything. When I lost her, I lost it all. And what's left was an empty space, and filling it with something. Something that'd last the distance." She lets off a breath. A single strand of smoke uncurls. "Silco gave me that. He put his life in my hands. He laid his cause at my feet. He had faith in me. And that faith meant something."

"A way to go on," Vi says.

"That's the best anyone can ask for." Sevika smiles, and her hard face fills with soft lines. "Love's a fine thing, Vi. But it can't protect your family. It can't keep them safe. You gotta fight for that. And when you've fought as long as I have—taken more lives than you've seen years—it's not about the love. It's about what's left. About doing your part to keep it standing."

"Even if it means dying?"

Sevika doesn't miss a beat. "It's never about dying, Vi. It's about the life you choose before that."

"Silco can't give you a life."

"I know." Sevika's smile dwindles. The softness and hardness don't. "But he's given me everything else. The rest? I'll make do. My sister taught me how."

Vi says nothing. She's run out of arguments. Run, too, out of anger.

They sit in silence, watching the afternoon unfold.

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sevensoulmates · 1 year ago

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Buddie 7x07 "Ghost of a Second Chance" Meta

So sorry for the delay! This one took me a minute due to life/work stuff happening, but here it is! A doozy! This episode had a lot of parallels with the other characters storylines happening so bear with me here! This is mostly going to be about Eddie.

This episode deals a lot with past trauma, specifically bringing up stuff that some of the characters haven't dealt with in a while or seemingly had already dealt with in the past. Maddie with Doug's abduction, Bobby and the apartment fire, Eddie and Shannon. All of these are re-introduced in this episode, but it's important to note that they are NOT resolved, mostly Bobby and Eddie, and will likely continue into the rest of the season. Maddie reacts the most noticeably to her trauma being triggered, and of the three, she's the only one who has actually managed to work through that trauma from the past, so while it does affect her, it does not cause her to self-destruct like Eddie and most likely Bobby will.

As many of us predicted, we theorized that it was going to get much worse for Eddie before it would get better. And this episode has put Eddie on that path that will likely take him towards rock bottom if Ryan and Tim's interviews and teasers for his 7b arc are to be believed.

The first big parallel to Eddie's storyline is the woman and her baby being abducted by a man with mental health problems who allowed a past trauma with his ex-wife/child to reach a dangerous point. While Eddie's actions in this episode are not placing a woman's life in danger, it does parallel how in pursuit of soothing his own pain, Eddie and this man, are prioritizing their own feelings, over the feelings of a woman stranger (Kim) and an innocent kid.

I was already anticipating many many Shannon call-backs in this episode, but the writers dive in immediately by having Chimney intubate Catherine. This is the same heavy choice Chimeny had to make when Shannon was hit by a car, and Chimney was interim Captain. He had to make a choice to either intubate Shannon, effectively taking away her last chance to say dying words or to not intubate and allow Eddie and Shannon to exchange final words. With Shannon, Chimney does not intubate, but with Catherine, he does. This could possibly indicate the need for Eddie to make different decisions this time around if he wants to survive this new catastrophic plotline.

This was an interesting way for the writers to give us a kind of "speedrun" of introducing us to Marisol a bit more. I know that the ENTIRE fandom has been bugging over the fact that we "hardly know anything about Marisol other than DIY and Nunnery", and now they're giving us more information, but notably it's all very surface-level information. It makes the scene feel like Eddie's trying to get to know her for the first time instead of this being a woman he's been seeing for about six months at this point.

While 7x05 did indicate to us that Eddie is trying to get to know her all over again, it really does drive home how little effort Eddie has put into trying to build a relationship with her, which is then further proved by the rest of the episode. All of this demonstrated very clearly just how little investment Eddie has had in ANY of his relationships after Shannon's death. It's probably supposed to make us think "Oh, that's because he only ever truly loved Shannon!" but in reality, the Eddie-Shannon onscreen relationship was very tumultuous, and they spent most of their relationship (even during their time pre-military) away from each other. All in all, the topic of how well Eddie knows the women he's with, and how much effort/investment he puts into his relationships (including Shannon) are being pulled into question here. And I think it's being done to show the audience that Eddie has only ever dated and married women as a duty and not something he actually does because he wants to be with the women as people. Once again, this includes Shannon.

Before Marisol can even finish her two truths and a lie, Eddie interrupts, starting to dictate the conversation again, and Chris is the one who has to step in, reminding Eddie that this moment is about Marisol. Eddie has been the one to lead his relationships with both Ana and Marisol, almost to the point of steamrolling over them. A similar thing happened in his relationship with Shannon, where Shannon notes that Eddie is always making decisions for them without consulting her, including going to the military, or moving Chris to a new school, etc. and how that was always a giant issue in their relationship. While this moment is not Eddie purposely steamrolling over Marisol, it does show that again, Eddie has a myopic view of relationships with women, where he's constantly trying to steer them towards something that he wants without really letting the woman have any agency. Shannon had to physically leave him in order to get any agency of her own.

Additionally, the choice to have the get to know you game be "two truths and a lie", inherently implies dishonesty, or at least makes us think of lying. And considering that becomes a theme for Eddie this episode and likely in upcoming episodes, it's also indicative of the general theme of not knowing someone and not being honest with them. It could've been "twenty questions" or something not involving purposely lying, but instead it's two truths and lie, and Eddie is now about to be involved in a whole bunch of lies.

I've seen others point out that this line is clearly meant to compare Marisol and Shannon. Shannon, Chris and Eddie had a tradition involving smores, one that Chris and Eddie were trying to keep alive only last season when they visited Shannon's grave. This line is meant to show us that Marisol is not Shannon, and as Eddie actually gets to know her, this is more and more evident. It's no fault of Marisol's, but it's likely what is sticking in Eddie's head, right before he ends up meeting Kim. Eddie, once again dictating what he wants Marisol to be rather than accepting the truth of who Marisol is, exclaims that obviously Marisol has had smores because Shannon loved smores. But Marisol is not Shannon, and Eddie is always comparing his partners to Shannon in unhealthy ways.

While this line is clearly a joke, nothing is done without purpose in TVland, and this is another one of those times where even though Eddie's joking, it's actually telling of how he actually feels. He's already had one foot out the door with Marisol for the last 3-4 episodes, and now it's the smores that makes him say "we can still leave her" because who Marisol is, does not align with who Shannon was. But the thing is, I have a hard time believing that Shannon was even who Eddie truly wanted, at least not without expectation or pressure. Shannon is an Ideal, and no one, not even Shannon herself, can live up to it. No woman is supposed to or can reach this Ideal, because (in my opinion) a woman is not really what Eddie wants deep down in his most hidden of unconscious desires.

"You two aren't going anywhere". Oh, the dramatic irony is killing me here. Because not even a couple of minutes later, Marisol has lost Eddie for good when he sees Kim. The death bells have already been ringing from the very beginning, but this is the final death knell that has been rung. Even if Eddie stays with Marisol through most of this arc, their relationship will end, as will his relationship with Kim.

Eddie and Kim lock eyes and he's reminded of Shannon instantly. Because of that, this relationship is dead before it even begins. A moment later, Christopher calls out "Dad!" just like he did when Shannon and Eddie were on the beach, interrupting Eddie's thoughts.

Marisol notices Eddie acting weird, asks if he's alright, he says he's fine, and she calls him out, asking "is that the truth or a lie?" He promises he's fine, but we as an audience know that's a big ole lie. This has been the case for years, and it's interesting that it's coming at this point in the season. The early half of the season we saw Eddie the "happiest" he's ever been. And I can't help but wonder how much of that was true happiness, and how much of that was just putting off thinking about it. It's easier to lie and say he's fine, that his relationships are fine, that his relationship with Shannon was fine. It's harder to admit the truth, that he's not okay, that his relationships with Marisol and Ana were unhealthy and his relationship with Shannon was the unhealthiest of all. It's easier to place the blame on his unhappiness on missing Shannon, instead of admitting that it's his own choices that are making him unhappy.

Another theme of this episode is internalized biases and misunderstanding the current situation due to being blinded by the past. Maddie misses crucial details of her call with Catherine because she was looking at it with too much bias about her own situation with Doug. Eddie also misremembers his past with Shannon, but instead of recognizing his mistake like Maddie, and trying to look at it objectively, Eddie lets that bias from the past effect his current decisions, which is already resulting in a mistake by cheating with Kim and will likely result in more mistakes the rest of this season.

Maddie heard what she expected to hear. Eddie is seeing in Kim what he expects to see from Shannon. Both lead to really bad outcomes.

Eddie goes back to find Kim/Shannon, and they meet. She looks similar but not really the same (btw, kudos to the makeup team, wow). She has similar facial expressions (nose scrunches, giggles, etc.) and she asks him if he's looking for something specific. And the answer is yes, he's looking for Shannon in Kim, just as he was looking for Shannon in Marisol and Ana.

This is very obviously a sexual innuendo, which is interesting because their first real interaction is showing more of a "sexual" chemistry, than anything really romantic, or soul-connecting. It's a clear harkening back to how Eddie would use sex as a way to stop fights between himself and Shannon. It's also one of Eddie's biggest distancing tools. He used sex to distance himself from Shannon and from Marisol, as an excuse to not address problems, or just simply to not get to know them. And given that Eddie was having sexual dysfunction issues in his last major episode, this is meant to provide a juxtaposition to that. Sort of a "Hey look Eddie couldn't get it up for Marisol the Nun but he can get it up for the Shannon look-alike". On the surface, this might be to show us that Eddie really only has sexual chemistry with Shannon, but if you look below the surface even a little bit, you'll realize that his sexual relationship with Shannon was also deeply dysfunctional, but in its own way.

The answer is no. Eddie does not trust Kim because she's a stranger, but this line is meant to remind us that Eddie very much DID NOT trust Shannon for most of her arc in season 2 and even up until her death. It's a callback to the line in season 2 Merry Ex-Mas where Eddie says he "forgives Shannon but doesn't trust her" and Shannon says something along the lines of "Eddie trusting her enough to have sex with her, but not enough to let her see her own son". Kim is hitting all the lines that are meant to remind Eddie of rose colored "Good times" but are meant to remind us, the audience, of all the issues he had with Shannon.

This moment of Eddie and Shannon on the beach is meant to represent Eddie's "happiest" moment on-screen with Shannon when she was alive. Eddie remembers it that way, as kissing Shannon and finally having his family back together. But in actuality, it was the start of the end for them. Shannon thought she was pregnant, paralleling the time when they accidentally got pregnant as teens and both of them had to put their lives on hold and commit to a marriage that might not have been the ultimate right choice for them. If any of you remember, this is also the moment where Eddie and "signs" and the "universe" are connected for the first time. Eddie asks for a sign, and Shannon says she's pregnant. In my personal opinion, this was supposed to be a sign for Eddie to not get back together with her, given how traumatic it was the first time around, but he ignores it and tries to push down his feelings. "Life is like a vat of chocolate, it pulls you down but it's comfortable". And when Shannon very clearly stated she wanted a divorce, Eddie did not really seem to accept it...and the universe took Shannon away permanently. (Again, I want to reiterate this is all about fiction I'm talking about here not irl, okay? This does not apply to real life) The universe tried to warn Eddie, to bring him a sign, and when he ignored it, as he always does, the universe decided it needed to take Shannon away permanently.

And now here we are again, 6 years later, with Eddie ignoring ALL the signs over and over and over, and setting about down this path with Marisol that literally everyone knows will not make Eddie happy, and what does the universe do? It throws him the biggest wrench it could by bringing someone who looks/acts like Shannon back into his life. Kim was brought in by the universe (the writers) to show Eddie that his relationship with Shannon was not as wonderful and amazing as he remembers it....and he ignores all of the signs yet a-fucking-gain. I get the feeling that this arc with Kim is going to end VERY. VERY. badly for Eddie. I think we should all be preparing ourselves for that.

Eddie is making active duplicitous choices here. He's lying about being in a relationship with someone else, lying about being a single dad. And it's not the first time he's said something like this (see the "taken for now" line in 7x04), further demonstrating how he's always had one foot out the door with Marisol.

I also want to point out that Eddie lying and deceiving Kim and cheating on Marisol is not meant to be the show saying "this is good! this is who Eddie's supposed to end up with!" The writers know how most people feel about cheating. Most people are 100% aware that cheating is morally wrong, and by Eddie making these decisions, they're not supposed to show that Eddie is inherently a cheater or a bad guy. He's acting OOC on purpose. The writers want us to see Eddie lying and cheating and want us to clock that Something is Very Very Very Wrong and that has to do with Eddie's romantic relationships, Shannon, his perception of Shannon, his perception of his past marriage, and his expectations of himself.

We, as an audience, are not supposed to be enjoying this. We're meant to be uncomfortable.

911 is doing something really interesting lately with their pointed use of Full First Names vs. Nicknames. When I heard this my first thought was actually of Ana and how cringe it was to hear her calling Eddie Edmundo all the time. Shannon actually never once called Eddie by his full name. If anything, Eddie calling himself Edmundo here, introducing himself by it, is once again supposed to trigger the audience's "Something Is Wrong Here" mode. I was also going to mention how this is also something a lot of people have felt with Tommy's constant use of "Evan" instead of Buck. Some people like it, some people don't, but everyone can acknowledge that it's odd and unusual.

Even as he's flirting with Kim, talking more about "stimulation", Eddie is holding an "S" for Shannon. I think when Kim told Eddie her name, a sharp K, very far away from the soft S of Shannon, it was a slight shock to him. If her name was something similar like Sherri or Sheila or something, Eddie could've lived in the fantasy more. Her name being Kim momentarily broke the illusion, hence him looking down at the S for Shannon.

Eddie is remembering the first time he slept with Shannon after she came back into his life while he's sitting at the table with Marisol, completely ignoring her. But not only that, as many people have pointed out, he's misremembering. The walls in the background are recent, with the new teal color and his new bed. Shannon's hair is a cross between dark and light, almost like a mix of Kim and Shannon, and--and this one rocked my world--they had sex right side up.

Many have pointed out how it's odd that Eddie and Marisol's sex scene harkened so similarly back to his one sex scene with Shannon, where they both ended up at the tail end of the bed, upside down. People have often discussed Eddie and his upside-down sex as a metaphor for unhealthy sexual connection, for misconnection, and right side up sex to be healthy sex. To find that he is thinking of him and Shannon in his memory of being right side up has been pointed out by others to be yet another example of Eddie's rose-colored memories of his past with Shannon. In his memory, he views his relationship and sexual relationship with Shannon as this Amazing and One of a Kind thing, hence the right-side-up sex, but in reality, it was upside down, it wasn't healthy.

He's looking at his relationship with Shannon through a veil of the present, chock full of regrets, would've/could've/should've's, and two almost-failed relationships. Not to mention that he literally was just having extreme sexual dysfunction with Marisol not even two episodes ago it's very likely that his remembering this passionate, voracious, unquenchable thirst for Shannon is also brought on by the fact that he's having sexual issues with Marisol. It might also be him wanting to remember that he does and did have desire for sex with women...as long as they're Shannon or reminding him of Shannon. This is not at all supposed to be something that is represented as healthy for Eddie, and I don't believe the show is trying to put across that message.

Eddie remembers his sex with Shannon, and when he decided to "bring Shannon home for Christmas". Even in this scene, the focus is not on the two of them as a couple. He doesn't talk about how much he missed her, or how it feels good to be close to her again. He talks about how he wants to reunite her and Christopher. "Santa" in this present day and age is bringing "Shannon" home for Christmas, by bringing Kim into Eddie's life.

Bringing it back to Maddie's storyline, with the Big Bad Kidnapper of this episode. He was encouraged by his sister to move across the country for a fresh start after his wife and baby left him due to his own abusive actions (assumed, but the sister did say they were "afraid of him"). We don't know too much of the details of this man's story, but it does show a clear parallel to Eddie too, with his wife leaving him to move across the country too (though she left their son with Eddie because obviously, Eddie's not abusive like this man). But the man's sister was hoping that this move would mean he would "stop looking for them". Eddie ends up doing the same thing with Shannon metaphorically. He never stops looking for her in all of his romantic relationships, hurting other women like Ana and Marisol, in the process.

The man is so clearly a parallel to Eddie but in the worst most devolved way. Eddie has been seeking out a Mom for Chris for years, even when Shannon was alive. It was never about Shannon, wanting her, loving her, needing her because he's so deeply in love with her. No, it was, and still is, always about the mother she could be for Chris. It's the same thing he did with Ana, and with Marisol. I'm not sure if this thing he's doing with Kim will eventually lead there too, or if it won't make it that far before it gets blown up in his face. But Kim cannot be a new mother for Chris, even if she wants to be. Christopher would clock that she looks like Shannon, and might feel betrayed, like Eddie is actively trying to replace Shannon, which I doubt Christopher would take well. So what is Eddie's endgame here? In my honest opinion, I don't think he has one. I think he's acting on pure emotional hurt, and desperately seeking out a balm, and not considering the consequences of his actions.

Just like that man was hit dead on with the literal consequences with the police, I think Eddie's gonna be hit HARD as a result of these mistakes. I feel like it might be something really bad, possibly involving Christopher. If "isolation" is going to become the thing he might have to contend with Christopher being really really angry with him in whatever way that takes form, and the rest of the firefam not being happy with him either. I think Eddie's going to be going through another arc similar to where he was emotionally in season 3a with the streetfighting arc.

Just how like the man who abducted her was a parallel to Eddie, Catherine herself is also a parallel to Eddie. She's clearly in pain, but she refuses drugs that will make her feel better. She feels she has to stay awake and endure the pain as a comeuppance, similar to how Eddie felt he had to endure his pain like a man because he deserved it. She feels her husband will hate her, just like how Eddie feared Shannon would hate him for what he did. He fears Shannon would never forgive him, but just like Catherine, even worse is the fact that Eddie has yet to ever forgive himself. No matter how many times people tell her it's not her fault, no matter how many times people tell Eddie he's a good father or a good person, they will never believe it. That guilt still rocks them, and for Eddie, it's been the monkey on his back every day LOONNGGG before Shannon even passed. Likely he's been dealing with it from the second he found out he got her pregnant. Even though Catherine's daughter was returned to her, she will still likely feel guilty, just as Eddie's guilt has lingered and festered and turned to rot the longer it's gone unchecked.

It'll only be once Eddie can let go of that guilt, let go of Shannon, and forgive himself, will he ever be able to actually start healing, and making the right choices for himself.

Many people have pointed out how this parallels the scene in 3x03 with Christopher and Eddie coming to Buck's house after the tsunami. That was a moment where Buck was feeling "lost at sea" and Eddie and Chris came in to be his "life raft that gets you home." And now Eddie's the one lost at sea. He thinks he has to find Shannon when really all he really needs is here with Buck and Chris. Eddie and Chris are "late", but eventually, they will find their way home to Buck.

Have y'all ever heard the phrase "where there's smoke, there's fire"? It means that if there's a rumor or something being said about a topic, there must be some back story/truth in it. It's what I point out every time the show "jokes" about Eddie's sexuality or lack thereof to women, Eddie ready to leave Marisol, etc. They're in the script because there's a kernel of truth to them, even if it's still nebulous (or smoky) at the moment.

Additionally, Buck is making a new lasagna recipe (a metaphor for his new found bisexuality and MM relationship with Tommy) and something about it is not working. In the same way that I've been theorizing that there is misalingment in his relationship with Tommy, we're now seeing that lasagna (like in 6x01 where the couch theory was introduced) is yet another metaphor for Buck's relationships. He had 3 at that point in time (as well as 3 failed attempts at lasagna) and now he's here in a new relationship, and something about it isn't working, he just doesn't know what. I'll reiterate, it's not the bisexuality, but rather the person he's in a relationship with. This being told once again to Eddie, in Buck's kitchen, with Chris present, is driving home the point once again.

Eddie, on the other hand, is aligned with Buck. He knew ahead of time to order a pizza for them. This isn't usual, given that Buck's a good cook, and has cooked for Chris and Eddie many times. Eddie being attuned to Buck right now is meant to show that he can sense these things about Buck, even when it's not conscious.

"To be seen… to be found… isn't that what we're all searching for?"

Buck assumes Eddie's meeting with Marisol, and Eddie does not correct him. I've seen other people mention how this feels like Eddie is cheating on Buck, and not really on Marisol, and in my opinion, that all comes down to who is Eddie more emotionally intimate with. He already feels super disconnected to Marisol, even more so in this episode, but we've spent the first half of this season establishing how Buck and Eddie are closer than ever. So Eddie lying to Buck feels like the real cheating here, because Eddie has only ever given himself fully to Buck, in all his messed up glory. He's never given that to Marisol, or Ana. And he most definitely never gave that to Shannon.

Side note, I loved the cologne line because it implies that Buck knows how Eddie smells, and that smelling him now is something Buck is enjoying. Him saying they won't wait up for Eddie further cements the domesticity of the scene. Buck has a full relationship with Chris outside of Eddie, but they also have a strongly established bond all three of them. In an episode where Eddie assumes Marisol must love smores despite her never having tried one, Eddie inherently knows that Buck's struggling with lasagna and needs to order a pizza.

Eddie and Buck's flirting--because that's what it is-- feels natural. More so than the flirting with Marisol in the beginning of the episode, and more so than with Kim-Not-Shannon that was moored down by the reality that Eddie is severely projecting all of his major issues onto her. Buck and Eddie have an easy rapport filled with mutual support, inside jokes, gentle ribbing, synchronicity and above all, friendship and trust. THAT is why the betrayal of Eddie with Kim only a few moments later feels so stark and like a huge blow to the audience.

Eddie sees Kim, and all he sees is Shannon's face, but I have to give MASSIVE kudos to the hair, costume, and makeup department here because they couldn't make Kim look ANY more starkly different from Shannon. In the scenes at the store, Kim is dressed more professionally, in lighter more inviting colors. And then here, when Kim can take off the customer service mask, and be fully herself, we see that she dresses in darker clothing, pants, and jackets with her hair up in almost an alternative-punk style. It's a MASSIVE contrast to Shannon who was almost always dressed in lighter, warmer colors, in shades of orange, yellow, and warm pinks, with minimal makeup and long flowy dresses or soft sweaters. Shannon's hair was almost always down and flowing around her face with her bangs. Kim's hair is completely up, totally out of her face in a severe bun look, without any bangs. She could not look father from Shannon if she tried. And yet, Eddie is not seeing Kim, he's not seeing the individual woman who's probably really lovely, the woman he's inherently hurting by using her to be reminded of his dead wife. No, all he sees is Shannon, and he's 100% willing to tank his whole life just to get a bit of that feeling back.

Eddie is on his way towards rock bottom, and this episode is only getting started. The glass is going to shatter extremely hard, and I worry for what the consequences will be for Eddie for all this, because there's no way he's escaping this without deep cuts. He will likely lose Marisol and Kim in one fell swoop. As for Buck, Chris and the rest of the 118, that's yet to be seen. But we know Eddie's parents show back up later on, so they could be coming in with the steel chair, likely to hit Eddie harder when he's already down. After all, the originator of "Don't drag him down with you, Eddie" is none other than Helena Diaz. This season is giving very strong season 3/4 vibes, and if that's the case, it's possible Helena and Ramon are going to pose a problem by the end of the season like they might've done in season 4 if things had gone as originally planned.

I'm worried, scared and excited to see how this ends up for Eddie. But I'm also hopeful. I see a light at the end of this tunnel. After all, it's always darkest just before dawn.

Thanks for reading my meta!

#911 abc #911 meta #buddie #buddie meta #eddie diaz #eddie diaz meta #season 7 #buck x eddie #meta

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raayllum · 5 days ago

Text

Aaravos had prepared her for this, a bit.

He'd said that if they destroyed his body, he would return, but not quite the same. Claudia had prepared herself for something far more gruelling, piecing her father together again with everything she could give. Aaravos emerging squalling after birth and blood and tears will have always been easier than collecting the scattered pieces of her father's corpse beneath the Storm Spire.

(Viren hadn't come back the same, either. She hadn't been able to keep him with her no matter how much she'd bled or begged or given. Claudia refuses to let the same thing happen to Aaravos.)

He grows quickly, too, from newborn to toddler to maybe four or five years old in a matter of weeks. She holds his little four-fingered hand and tries not to think about how Sir Sparklepuff had moved in a similar fashion, always wanting to be close, till she'd taken his hand and pinned him down with her knife at his throat.

She teaches him about magic by firelight. His eyes light up when she talks about the primals. His mouth twists when she talks about dark magic, and why he can't do it yet.

"But I want to help you," he says, still sounding strangely young.

Claudia, you must go. But I can help you! I can—

She shakes her head and tucks his hair back behind his ears. "Not yet. The first time you do dark magic can be dangerous. Plunge you into a dream state."

Nevermind the first time she'd done dark magic, she'd been around his age. It hadn't felt so young at the time, from her six year old body — she'd felt very grown up, determined to prove she could be like her dad, whatever her dreams had been a hazy blur (or so she tells herself) — but it feels different, now she's seeing it on someone else's youth.

"But you said my soul is the same," Aaravos says. "And that dark magic permanently damages the soul, so—"

"Changes the soul," Claudia corrects. The darkness provides enlightenment—power, agency.

She purses her lips. It's times like these she wishes Aaravos had come back with all his Startouch knowledge in tact, rather than leaving both of them to stumble around together in the dark. At least they're stumbling through together.

"We don't know for sure that you'll have a dream coma if you do dark magic again," she acknowledges. "But we don't know that you won't, so just let me handle the dark magic spells for now, 'kay?"

"Okay." He shuffles closer after a beat, then leans against her side.

She wraps an arm around him as the fire burns. She tosses another log on so it burns hotter and brighter, heat radiating as she draws up her prosthetic so a stray spark doesn't catch it. The smoke blocks out the sky.

Aaravos buries his face in her collarbone. "Can you put the fire out?" he asks. "I want to see the stars."

"Oh. Um." Claudia reaches for a dousing lily, water springing from her palm after she crushes it. "Sure."

Aaravos stares at the stars with a smile on his face as he falls asleep.

Tomorrow, she'll teach him why he shouldn't.

#tdp #the dragon prince #my fic #fic #ficlet #kidravos #arc 3 #my only light in this world #tdp aaravos #tdp claudia

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stormystarlightamethyst · 1 month ago

Text

Aftershock: Chapter 1

The bar is loud.

But their corner is soft.

L.A. sprawls behind them like a glitter-drenched fever dream—too many lights, too much promise, and not enough air. Rooftop view. Cheap string lights swinging in the breeze. The kind of night that smells like tequila and second chances.

It's too warm for fall, too cool for summer.

Transitional.

Just like them.

Their table is tucked into a half-shadow behind a fake palm tree and a champagne bucket that's been repurposed into a trash can. Classy. Tragic. Perfect.

They look like a rejected cop show cast—too pretty, too unsure, one bad decision away from becoming a TikTok cautionary tale.

Skylar Altair is liquid danger in denim and gloss.

Her legs are crossed, a martini glass balanced like a crown jewel in one hand. Her red-soled boots rest against the edge of the table—because boundaries are a suggestion. Low-rise flared jeans cling like a secret, and her black top is cut just enough to be illegal in some states. Auburn waves tumble down her back, soft and sharp all at once.

But it's her eyes—gray and stormy—that give her away. Always the eyes. The storm behind the sunbeam.

And almost no one ever notices.

Except the people at this table.

Lucy Chen is tucked beside her like the chaos twin. One hand curled around a mojito, the other already dancing to the beat of a song she swears she doesn't know. Her laugh's brighter than the skyline, real in a way that makes people forget how dangerous she'll be with a badge.

Jackson West spins a coaster between his fingers like he's waiting for it to answer something. His smile's there, but it's not all the way up to his eyes. He's golden boy stock—commander's son, academy legacy, squeaky-clean—and tonight, even he looks like the weight's getting heavy.

And then there's John Nolan.

Mid-thirties. Soft smile. Divorced energy and dad jokes by default. A reboot in human form. He looks like he wandered out of a hardware store commercial—but he's here. Sitting at the table. Starting over, same as them.

They're all humming with nerves. Pretending they're not terrified.

But they're here. Together.

The night before everything changes.

Lucy leans in, glass raised, lip-gloss glinting.

"First day tomorrow. Can you believe it?"

Skylar snorts, bone-dry as she sips her drink. "That I spent six months outscoring every nepotism baby and secret misogynist at the academy just to be called 'rookie' for the next year? Yeah, I can."

Lucy laughs. "You're so dramatic."

"And you're not dramatic enough." Skylar smirks. "That's why we work."

"She's not wrong," Jackson mutters, finally setting his coaster down. "Lucy was giving 'spring formal' all through tactical. Meanwhile, Skylar made a grown man cry during firearms."

Skylar shrugs. "He called me sweetheart while I was loading my Glock. I warned him. He sobbed. Not my fault."

John nearly chokes on his beer. "Note to self: don't call you sweetheart."

Skylar raises her glass. "Smart man."

Plastic clinks glass, mojitos meet martinis, and beers hover mid-toast.

They drink.

To survival. To new starts. To pretending this isn't terrifying.

A quiet lands. Not awkward. Just weighted.

"Do you think we're ready?" Jackson asks. His voice is low. Honest.

"I think we don't have a choice," Lucy replies.

John leans back. "I could still go open that hardware store in Palm Springs. Real peaceful life. No paperwork. No bullets."

"You'd miss us," Lucy teases.

"I'd miss my knees not hurting, that's what I'd miss."

Laughter ripples through the table.

Skylar swirls the last sip of her drink, watching the liquid catch the light. Then, almost too quietly:

"It's not about being ready."

They all turn toward her.

"It's about what you do when everything goes to hell." Her gaze lingers on the skyline. "And it will go to hell."

Jackson nudges her knee under the table. "Wow. So uplifting."

"What can I say?" Skylar deadpans. "I'm a ray of fucking sunshine."

More laughter. Looser now. They're exhaling. Letting themselves breathe.

Skylar's eyes flick back to the skyline—L.A. stretched out like it's waiting to be conquered or to devour them whole.

She finishes her drink. Sets the glass down.

"But seriously," she says after a beat, "we're not alone. We've got each other. That counts."

"Even me?" John asks, half-joking.

"Especially you, Home Depot," Lucy quips.

Skylar glances at John, and for a moment—just a flicker—there's something unspoken.

The look you give someone who knows what it means to start from rubble.

"Starting over's a bitch," she murmurs. "But it doesn't mean you're broken."

John nods, quiet. He gets it.

The song changes.

Jackson and Lucy's faces light up like bad ideas waiting to happen.

"No." Skylar's already shaking her head. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on," Jackson pleads. "You love it when we sing."

"No, I really don't." Skylar stands, grabbing empty glasses. "I'm gonna get us another round."

Lucy smirks. "Do you think that bartender will give us another free bottle if you flirt with him again?"

"Please don't flirt with him again," John sighs, peak dad-mode.

Skylar pats his shoulder on her way past. "Good luck surviving without me."

"Coward!" he calls after her.

She laughs. A soft, honey-laced thing. The kind that tastes like tomorrow.

Skylar weaves through the crowd like smoke—elegant, untouchable. The bar is three-deep in sloppy Friday night chaos, but she slips in at the end, elbows on the counter, tapping her nails against the wood in a rhythm only she knows.

The bartender clocks her immediately. Of course he does. He's already halfway into a smirk when she flashes him a slow smile.

"Same again?" he asks, already reaching for the bottle.

"Make it a double," she purrs, voice low and lazy. "I'm with emotional support rookies tonight."

He laughs. "Rough day?"

"Rough year," she replies, eyes flicking toward the skyline like it owes her something.

The drinks are being poured when someone slides onto the barstool next to her.

Not sidles. Not drifts. Slides.

Like a damn panther in boots.

"You always order like that?"

The voice is smooth, gravel-warm. L.A. grit with a military undertone. Confident, but not performative.

Skylar doesn't look. Not yet. She knows the game. The tension before the reveal.

So she takes her time—finishes her scan of the crowd, licks the last trace of lip gloss off her straw.

Then she turns.

And oh.

Oh.

He's tall. Built like a Marine who never lost the habit. Close-cropped brown hair. Defined jaw, all sharp edges and tension. His black t-shirt clings in a way that says he doesn't give a damn but still does pull-ups for fun. Broad shoulders. Watchful eyes.

Steel-blue. Too intense for this place.

He looks like he belongs on a SWAT team. Or in a gritty action movie. Or, more likely, on her do-not-flirt-with list because men like that only bring chaos.

Still, she tilts her head. Slight smile. Curious.

Because if chaos is flirting with her, she may as well flirt back.

"You always look that serious," she says, "or is it just the lighting?"

"That depends," he says, voice low and gravel-wrapped. "You always this bold, or is it just the martinis?"

She lets out a soft laugh, lips curling. "Touché."

"Name's Tim," he offers, casual but deliberate. Like he's offering her a puzzle piece she didn't ask for.

"Skylar." She turns toward him now, elbow on the bar, chin resting on her hand. The lazy kind of flirtation that screams, I'm not trying—but I could ruin you.

She offers her hand. He takes it. Firm grip. Warm.

No ring. No tremor. No hesitation.

"So," she adds, "what's your angle, Tim? You making a move, or are you just bored?"

His smile is sly. Small. Dangerous in the way a low flame licks at curtains.

"I was going to ask the same thing."

"Maybe I'm just celebrating," she shrugs.

"Or distracting yourself."

That one lands closer than she expects.

But she doesn't flinch. She just narrows her eyes.

"You're good."

"I'm better than good," he says, coolly. "But I don't say that out loud until at least the second drink."

Skylar laughs, soft and genuine. For once, her armor doesn't clang so loud.

The drinks arrive. She thanks the bartender, setting bills down and sliding one mojito off to the side.

She glances back at her table. Lucy's mid-dance. Jackson's clearly recording her. John's talking to someone's grandma, probably.

A beat.

The bar's music changes. Something bluesy. Slower. Like the universe is setting a scene.

Skylar glances down at the tray, then back at him. "Well. Guess I should—"

"You should stay." The words come out before he can second-guess them. Not a command. Just... a suggestion. A hope.

She raises an eyebrow. "You flirting with me, Tim?"

He looks at her like it's obvious. "Do you mind?"

Skylar pretends to think. "I'd be offended if you weren't."

They both laugh. It's easy. Natural. Effortless in a way nothing has felt in a long time.

She shifts her weight, boots tapping the rung of the stool. "So. Hypothetically... if I ditched my friends and we finished this round somewhere less neon—what are the odds you'd turn out to be a serial killer?"

Tim chuckles. "Low. Statistically speaking."

"Hmm." She leans in just slightly. "Good answer."

And then—because the universe loves a dramatic twist—his phone buzzes.

A long, urgent vibration. He glances down, eyes narrowing.

Skylar watches it all click behind his eyes—gear shift, mental pivot, gears grinding.

"Work?" she asks.

He exhales, apologetic but already rising. "Yeah. Emergency call."

Skylar holds the tray steady, lips twitching. "Of course you're one of those guys."

"One of what guys?"

"The kind that looks like he just walked off a GQ shoot and still has to vanish into the night to go save the city."

He shrugs, grabbing his jacket from the back of the stool. "Occupational hazard."

Just before he turns, he pauses—steps back in close, expression softened. "Let me get your number?"

Skylar doesn't hesitate. She pulls a pen from the tray—God bless bartenders—and scrawls it across his palm, slow and deliberate.

"There," she says, recapping the pen. "Now you have to call. Otherwise you're just a cliché."

Tim's smile returns, quieter now. "And you'd never fall for a cliché."

"I'm not that easy, Tim."

He steps back, grin turning into a smirk. "That's what makes this interesting."

And with that, he's gone—disappearing into the crowd like smoke and sirens.

Skylar stares after him for a beat, then picks up the tray and heads back to the table.

Lucy immediately squints. "Who was that?"

Skylar slides into her seat.

"Oh, just some guy with a hero complex and nice biceps."

"Did you flirt with him?"

"Define flirt."

Jackson whistles. "You got his number?"

"Better," Skylar says, sipping her fresh martini with a grin. "He got mine."

Later at night, once Skylar was in bed, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Unknow number

Hey, it's Tim

Hi, Occupational hazard

Thought you wouldn't text

Told you I'm not a cliché

I suppose you earned the benefit of the doubt

Are you free tomorrow night?

Maybe,you asking me out?

Maybe, will you say yes?

See you at 9, same bar

Don't be late, Hero

I won't

The station breathes in blue and steel.

Buzzing phones. Barked orders. A printer was wheezing in the corner like it's begging for retirement.

It's barely 6 AM, and already the place hums—equal parts caffeine and nerves.

Not chaotic. Just... coiled.

A serpent of duty stretching its spine.

It smells like burnt coffee, badge polish, and ambition on its third wind.

Skylar Altair walks in like she's not new.

Because she isn't. Not really.

She's early—half an hour, not that she's counting.

And she's not in uniform. Yet.

Ivory silk clings like defiance. Backless, high-collared. Pants tailored to war-standards. Boots clicking like a metronome for a heart that refuses to race. Aviators nested in auburn waves.

She doesn't pause. Doesn't look around. She's got GPS in her blood for this place.

Zoe's office is tucked in the back like the crown jewel it is—sleek glass, impeccable view, and a nameplate that still makes Skylar's throat tighten.

Captain Zoe Anderson.

Skylar doesn't knock.

Just opens the door and slides inside like she belongs there—which, technically, she kind of does.

Zoe's office is immaculate, of course. Sleek wood. Clean lines. Awards lined up like polite threats. A minimalistic candle flickers on the windowsill—bergamot and leather.

Zoe looks up from her screen, her demeanor softening.

"You're early," she says, voice warm but edged like fine crystal.

Skylar shrugs. "You're the one who taught me never to be late."

Zoe rises from her chair, adjusting the cuffs of her suit jacket—navy with gold detailing, precise and powerful. The woman radiates command. But beneath the power pose and sharp tailoring, there's something soft in her eyes.

Like she's seeing not a rookie, not a prodigy.

But her niece.

"You didn't have to come up here," she says, voice gentler now. "I know today's big."

"I wanted to," Skylar replies. Then adds, without looking up, "And I wanted to make sure you weren't planning to, you know... interfere."

Zoe laughs—low and warm, the kind that doesn't come out often. "Interfere?"

"You know. 'Just checking in,' 'be kind to my niece,' 'don't traumatize the trauma survivor'... that kind of thing." Skylar tilts her head. "You already gave me a leg up just by being you. I need them to take me seriously on my own."

Zoe sighs and walks around the desk, perching on the edge in front of her.

"Sky," she says softly, "you think I don't want to clear your path? Tear down every hurdle? Fight every idiot who doesn't see what I see?"

Skylar's jaw tenses.

"I do," Zoe continues. "God, I do. But I also know... You don't need me to."

Skylar looks up at her now.

Zoe reaches out, brushes a thumb over her niece's cheek. Not enough to mess the makeup—just enough to say I see you.

"You're not just my niece," Zoe says. "You're the sharpest mind I've ever met, and I've been in briefing rooms with people who can end wars. You're a better shot than half my SWAT team. And you survived more in twenty-five years than most officers see in a lifetime."

Skylar swallows hard. She doesn't speak.

Zoe continues, voice like silk over armor. "I saw you grind through every test, every eval, every night you could've quit. Hell, I've seen you do things most officers twice your age couldn't handle. You don't need my protection, Sky. You never did."

Skylar looks down, her eyes stinging.

"But that doesn't mean I won't worry," Zoe adds, softer now. "I'm still your family. And I almost lost you once."

A pause. Not awkward—just weighted.

Zoe leans in just a bit. "You're already stronger than them, baby. You just have to show them."

A tear almost falls, but she blinks it away. "You're gonna make me cry and ruin my mascara. I hate you."

Zoe smiles. "Liar. You love me."

"Unfortunately," Skylar mutters.

Zoe grabs a tissue box off her desk and offers it with a knowing smirk. "For the hypothetical mascara."

That earns a real smile. A rare one.

"I'm serious," Skylar says after a beat. "Don't coddle me. Don't pull strings. Let me do this the way it has to be done."

"I will," Zoe says. "But promise me something."

Skylar arches a brow. "What?"

"If you're ever drowning, don't wait to ask for help."

Skylar looks away, jaw tight. "I don't—"

"I mean it, Skylar. You're allowed to be tough and still lean on the people who love you."

Zoe leans forward, tone gentle but unshakable. "I know you're trying to prove something to the world. But don't forget—you already proved everything to the people who matter."

That lands. Harder than Skylar wants to admit.

For a moment, her mouth opens like she might say something real. Something tender.

Instead, she sighs, stands up, and brushes imaginary lint off her top. She rounds the desk and, in a move that surprises them both, drops a kiss onto Zoe's temple before heading toward the door.

"I'll see you out there, Captain."

Zoe turns just as Skylar steps into the hall. "Sky?"

Skylar glances back.

"You've got this," Zoe says. "No matter what today throws at you."

Skylar nods, the words sticking in her throat.

Then she walks away—head high, spine straight, heart a little steadier.

And for the first time that morning, she actually feels ready.

The room thrums with that gritty LAPD buzz—gravel voices, clinking coffee cups, worn leather creaking as officers shuffle in and out. The air smells like black coffee, anxiety sweat, and decades of hardened expectations.

Skylar steps in—uniform crisp, boots shined like a mirror, hair in a braided bun and expression carved from calm steel. But there's a twitch of nerves in her fingers, a whisper of adrenaline singing beneath her skin. This is it. Day One. Rookie Year.

It feels just like her first day of college, or the start of her residency—but heavier. Sharper. More right.

"She's too deep in her own head to notice the officer watching her. But he sees her. Oh, he definitely sees her. His expression doesn't change, still blank and composed; hiding any sort of tell of his inner turmoil, but his gaze doesn't move from her as she walks to the front row table where the other rookies are.

He watches as she takes a seat between two of them. It's clear she can feel his gaze cause she watches over her shoulder.

'Oh Shit' they both think.

Their eyes meet. Blue against gray.

The surprise face doesn't last long and it quickly turns neutral, but her gaze it's calculating, fighting against his cold one. Gone was the banter and the playfulness of last night.

"All right! Let's settle in!" Sergeant Grey's voice cuts through the chatter like a blade. Sharp, commanding, no room for chaos.

The rookies snap to attention, instinct pulling their spines straight. Skylar's stomach flips once, tight and fast, before she smothers it.

"So, we've got some new blood this morning. " He looks at the three younger rookies and then he looks at John. "And some pushing the expiration date. Get up."

They all obey.

Grey's gaze sweeps over them like a tactical drone. "Welcome to the big leagues. I don't care where you went to school, what your GPA was, or who told you you're special. Out there, nobody gives a damn. The only thing that matters is how fast you learn, how well you adapt, and whether you come back alive."

Skylar doesn't blink.

Neither does Jackson.

Lucy looks like she might.

Grey continues. "Each of you will be assigned a training officer. They are your lifeline, your reality check, and occasionally, your worst nightmare. You'll be riding with them for the next few months. Consider it an extended hazing period."

A ripple of tension tightens the room.

"After six months together in the Academy, you've earned the right to be here. But you'll have to prove yourself to stay. The way we do things matters. Protocol and tradition are the metal from which every cop in this city is forged. Understand?" He looks at them expectedly.

"Yes sir," The four said in unison.

"Sit down." He orders. " It's time to play the Training Officer Match Game."

Grey looks at the back of the room and sees Captain Anderson watching from the outside. His gaze moves to the rookies now. "Our contestants are: the hotshot, Lucy Chen, who made her first arrest before clocking in. Legacy, Jackson West, who broke all his dad's records at the Academy. "

He looked at the auburn-haired woman now, amusement and fondness in his gaze, "LAPD royalty and Legacy, Skylar Altair, daughter of Special Units Commander Alexa Altair and niece of Captain Anderson, broke both her mother and aunt's records and graduated top of the class at the Academy."

Tim closed his eyes for a few seconds at that. 'Of course,' he thinks.

"And John Nolan, who was born before disco died." Grey finished.

The room chuckles politely at Nolan's expense. Even he manages a sheepish grin, adjusting the shoulders of his too-new uniform like it still doesn't quite fit.

But Skylar doesn't laugh.

She's too busy pretending she doesn't feel the burn of his gaze still tethered to her skin. The officer at the back of the room. The one from last night.

The one she was supposed to meet tonight at 9.

She should've asked for a last name.

"And the winners are: Officer Lewis, you get the hotshot." Lucy looks behind and sees her TO, Dylan Lewis. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and way too smug for 7:03 AM. His LAPD blues are regulation-perfect but somehow still fashion-forward and he's wearing aviators indoors. He peels the glasses off dramatically and scans the room like he's judging it on Yelp.

"Chen," he says, drawling it like he's tasting it. "Try not to fall in love."

Lucy blinks. "Excuse me?"

He winks. "With the job. It's brutal."

The room lets out a scattered laugh. Even Grey sighs audibly, the kind of sigh that says "God help whoever rides with him."

"Officer Lopez, you get the legacy." Angela Lopez nods.

"Officer Bradford, the princess is yours." Tim Bradford's gaze softens slightly for half a second before hardening again and nodding.

The action goes unnoticed by everyone inside the room, but not to the Captain looking outside the room, who quirks an eyebrow at the action.

Skylar's spine goes rigid.

She hears it—"Officer Bradford, the princess is yours"—and something inside her chest does a full Olympic-level floor routine.

"Princess. Cute. Like she's some dress-up doll in a patrol car."

She doesn't turn to look at him. Not fully. But she doesn't need to—his presence is volcanic. Cold on the surface, magma underneath. And now he's not just the guy at the bar who flirted with her like he had nothing to lose. Now he's her TO.

"This leaves Officer Bishop to ride with the 40-year-old rookie." Grey's words pull Skylar from her thoughts and she forces herself to relax. "Now, hear me. Today is your first day, don't let it be your last. Forget the Academy and listen to your TOs. They'll teach you the way it should be done. That's it. All right, be safe out there."

Everyone starts moving.

Tim walks past her without a word.

Skylar follows.

Behind her, Dylan calls out, "Chin up, sweetheart! You've got the hot one!"

Skylar doesn't turn. But her hand twitches like she might throw something.

Author's note:

So...yeah. Here's chapter, honestly I have no idea where this will go but yeah. Please don't hesitate to comment on your thoughts! Feedback is always appreciated.

XOXO

Kristy

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fanfiction #tim bradford x oc #the rookie fanfic #the rookie

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rebouks · 9 months ago

Text

Invictus: Author's Note

Now that we've all survived the horrors, I figured I'd do a bit of a commentary on Robin's nightmare below the cut...

I guess the central themes we were going for within Robin's dream were threefold; the fact that he feels lonely/alone with the burden of his gift, that he's worried about Alex, and that his friends (and some other's) are annoying/confusing him, so let's break that down to begin with.

Robin was always destined to be the last one alive, mostly to compound his feelings of desolation, but also because planning/executing various endings would've taken way longer than 2-3 months to plan on my own 😅 He doesn't dare tell anyone about his abilities due to the fear of being judged or ostracised and I don't blame him. Most people wouldn't believe him, and those that might would probably avoid him or at least act differently around him even if they supported him; he's also paranoid that if a medical professional found out, they'd want to study him or god knows what else, hence the scepticism from the group when he told them (in the nightmare) and his twisted view of Doctor Abbott (who's actually a perfectly lovely psychologist in the waking world).

Alex hasn't written for over six months at this point and Robin doesn't know why; it's not as if they've slowly been losing touch over time with less and less communication either, her letters stopped without warning! Half of him expects there to be a reasonable explanation, but he can't help worrying. Clearly his subconscious mind ran away with all that concern...

Robin's classmates personalities were spot on (thanks to Robin's gift) but slightly exaggerated since each one of them is a proverbial thorn in Robin's side at the moment.

Levi: Extra impulsive, standoffish and contradictory within Robin's dream, I think it's fairly obvious Robin's still pissed at his friend. I toyed with the idea of Robin being the only one to make decisions that we could vote on, but thought the loss of control he'd feel from not being able to stop bad outcomes from happening off the back of other people's choices was far more apt. Levi continues to tread a questionable path irl and Robin can't stop him.. if only he'd just apologise!

Penny: Robin strongly dislikes Penny, hence her being super annoying.. not that she's much better in the waking world! If the psychic doesn't rate someone, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet they're not such a great person.. I'm sure he wishes his friend wasn't so into her 💀

Aster: I think the fact that Aster's stood up for Robin twice now had a big impact on how he acted; he tried to keep the peace where he could and was the only one who supported Robin after he'd told the group about his gift. Robin doesn't know him very well outside of his dream though, so some of this could just be a projection based on what little evidence he has 🤷‍♀️

Jacob: Robin's a bit annoyed/put off by Jacob right now.. he barely spends any time with him and Jude anymore and as they've gotten older, their personalities appear to be veering in different directions. He's volatile, haughty and obsessed with girls, hence his distrust toward Robin after the revelation of his gift and his less-than-stellar treatment of Tess.

Tess: Tess goes where Jacob goes, simple! Though Robin feels bad for her because he knows that she's way more into Jacob than he is and he's not faithful; that's why he so obviously dismisses his own girlfriend within the dream. In the waking world he's much more convincing, but Robin knows better.

What the hell was "x" about?

The dolls - they were usually found pointing toward danger and/or bad decisions, but did we listen? NOPE! Instead we chose to vilify them 😩

The Lab - this was actually a warped version of the seed vault/hydroponic garden Robin, Wren & Oscar explored in Granite Falls. That's why the retina detection system recognised him, 'cause he has technically been there before. I'm not a professional, so don't quote me on this, but apparently our minds can't conjure up people/places/things from nothing, so what we usually see in our dreams is stuff we've seen before or an amalgamation of various things mashed together, even if we don't actively remember them.

The Asylum - Sunnyside Asylum is a real place Robin read about on a late night internet delve down a rabbit hole (don't judge him, we've all done it) he just forgot he'd read about it or seen it before 🤷‍♀️

The butterflies - they're Alex's favourite animals (along with the humble moth!) so Robin thought they were leading him to her, but they were not ;-;

"So, I suppose you know-..." - what was Aster going to say!? Aster was about to assume that Robin knows he has a crush on him, and he'd be correct! Robin never really picked up on it before, but after recent events it's pretty obvious.. to Robin at least! Does he like Aster back? Well, maybe he doesn't know yet, or maybe it's a secret, but (spoiler alert) Robin's pansexual, so there's a chance he could.

Doctor Abbott - briefly mentioned before, but let's dig deeper!

Dr. Abbott is the psychologist Oscar/Courtney sent Robin to a while back for his selective mutism after it started hindering him/his schoolwork etc since starting high school. He's terrifying simply because Robin's terrified of him-.. though I suppose not him personally. Robin's torn between a rock and a hard place when it comes to professional help; on the one hand he'd love to offload all his troubles and get some real guidance, but the other side of him worries what that'd mean. He can't tell anyone the full story, so how could anyone truly help him? Is his mutism even connected to his gift, or does he just use it as a convenient excuse? What if they didn't believe him and labelled him insane? What if he IS insane and imagining everyone else's thoughts? What if they do believe him and want to experiment on him?! 😱 If he's gonna tell anyone about his abilities, it sure as shit isn't gonna be some stranger he doesn't trust, even if it appears they mean well! He'd love to know where his gift came from though. Why him? Where'd it come from? Does anyone else have it?? He doubts anyone would be able to answer these questions but it still kinda ties into the whole theme of being experimented on etc. I think at this point he's wondering who he is (as every teen does around his age) or who he'd be without his abilities too, like another part of him is worried he'd be a mere husk of himself if science somehow explained away his world. It's just a part of who he is now and I think he's starting to accept himself as is, so the thought of someone picking it all apart after his acceptance is perhaps more scary than letting anyone in to help make sense of it. Maybe it's just one of those things, or maybe he's bonkers and has no idea? He doesn't know.. he's very confused, hence the complicated feelings around poor, well-meaning Dr. Abbott.

Mr Handy - he gets an honourable mention because it's funny to me.. like he's usually on the players side, right?! Yeah, but Robin isn't fond of technology in general so in dreamland good ol' Mr Handy is a dickhead instead lmao 😂

Some fun what if's & titbits...

I'm not gonna break down all the what if scenarios because there were a LOT but I still wanna take some time to point out some fun stuff n' share a few fun things we missed out on 🤸‍♀️

If Levi tried to scare Robin, it wouldn't have worked in the slightest which I just find amusing 🤭

If Robin n' co. chose to hide instead of run earlier on in the dream, he would've gotten stuck in a closet with Aster eheuheuheu (this is the fun thing I said y'all missed out on!!)

There were numerous ways for Levi to piss Penny off during the duration of the dream (somehow he only managed one so well done ig) that would've potentially changed their demise and one was Tess falling off the ladder and Levi helping her.. look at those mad lil fists on Penny LMAO 😂 You can also see another lovely doll pointing in the direction of the monster that was chasing them but everyone would've been like ewwww! even tho she was just trying to help.. shame on us tbh ;-;

Just Aster being cute tryna keep the peace.. IF HE'D SURVIVED! T-T

Mr Handy being absolutely demented.. love that for him.

Robin being yeeted back to the asylum.. skjsk idk I just like these screenshots lmao

Aster being a menace to both Levi and Penny ehehe

I had such fun creating this little project (I say little but it literally took months fkfjgkj) and October was kinda shitty for me so thank you to everyone for reading along, voting and generally having fun with me, it gave me something to look forward to! 🧡

I love horror and taking a break from a more realistic style of storytelling is always good fun, dreams especially 'cause they can be as wacky as you like!

I suppose my main inspo for the what if's/voting was Until Dawn but I think we can all thank games like Silent Hill, Outlast, Resident Evil, Amnesia etc etc for the general vibes I was going for 🤔

EITHER WAY! Very fun.. 10/10 would recommend trying to stretch yourselves into doing something something similar, I had a blast!

I think I covered a fair amount of questions n' stuff but feel free to ask anything else! ILY 🧡🧡

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 edit #fib #fib extras #fib invictus #weeeeeeeeeeee #have an essay on this fine monday evening #🤓

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