#the memory head has 5 empty spaces as its name

[maxladcomics]

Unreasonable 'theory' ahead!!!

Alright so I've been staring at these guys for a very long time and the most obvious thing that makes me suspicious of them is that they're both a combination of more than one thing, and their HP is the same.

Werewerewire becomes one with the wire, Mauswheel is a combination of multiple Maus, perhaps Amalgamates?

There is a specific theme of multiple monsters combining into one in both games, and with suspicious numbers in both.

NOW FOR THE UNREASONABLE REASON I'M BRINGING THIS UP:

There is still no proof that Toby is doing this but I'M DOING IT SO THAT'S WHAT MATTERS RIGHT? (har)

Anyway, if you change the numbers in their HP to letters:

1 - A 7 - G 5 - E 3 - C

If the 3 is changed around to the start, it spells out "CAGE"

If I could find evidence that numbers = letters that sure would be great har har har /aggressively ignoring QC

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 6

Word Count: 15.k...(oops)

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, dubcon, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding, comfort sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation if you squint, mentions of murder, nightmares, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, tw for panic attacks, rape flashbacks, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey,

AN: Hi everyone! This is also on A03! Please someone stop me, how the hell did I manage to squeeze in like 4k extra words than last time??? Anyways, enjoy the meal, I definitely have missed writing smut with yan!sylus and reader :3. Also a gentle reminder that reader has no specific skin tone! I just use images that I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you’d like ^^

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt. 5 Pt.7

The car roars down the empty road, its tires devouring the distance between freedom and your inevitable return to captivity. Luke sits at the wheel, his face completely hidden behind the bird shaped mask. You can’t see his eyes, can’t gauge anything from the way he’s holding himself—just the silent, unyielding presence of the man steering you back to your prison.

You wonder how he sees out of that thing.

Kieran sits beside him, his mask just the same, his fingers tapping a light, almost carefree rhythm on the dashboard as he finishes humming a cheery tune. His face, too, is entirely concealed, leaving you with nothing to hold onto—no eyes to search for clues, no expressions to read.

In the rearview mirror, you sense Kieran shift his head to look at you but can't entirely tell, his hidden gaze offers you nothing. The silence stretches on, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the steady, deliberate breaths of Sylus against your neck, the heat of his body keeping you trapped in more ways than one.

Sylus holds you tight, as if the moment he loosens his grip, you’ll dissolve into the darkness beyond the windows. His large hands are splayed possessively across your thighs, pinning you in place on his lap. Each minute that ticks by in this confined space feels like a countdown to something you can’t define, but the feeling of impending dread settles deep in your bones.

Your mind is a storm, thoughts swirling in an endless, chaotic loop. The gunshot that ended Reese’s life thunders in your head, over and over, refusing to let you go. You can still see it so clearly—the way his body slumped to the floor, lifeless, his eyes wide with the shock of it all.

It feels like it’s eating you alive.

This is your fault.

Yes, Reese was a monster. He’d kidnapped you, lied to you, dragged you into a nightmare you never deserved. But even now, that part of you—the part that still clung to honor, to a sense of right and wrong, the part of an honorable deep space hunter—hated what had happened. You hated yourself for it. He should have been locked away, brought to justice, not gunned down like that.

Your chest tightens. Why didn’t you stop it? You could have, couldn’t you? You didn’t have to let your anger take over, didn’t have to spit those words at him, didn't have to tell him to go to hell. If you hadn’t done that, Sylus wouldn’t have killed him right? The weight of it presses down on you, like you’re suffocating under the guilt.

You can feel it in your bones—the sharp sting of your failure, the way you let your emotions run wild. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be the reason a person died, no matter how twisted or evil they were. You were supposed to be better than that.

But you weren’t.

And now Reese’s blood is on your hands.

The guilt coils tighter around your chest. You can almost taste the bitterness of it on your tongue, a relentless reminder of how you failed. Maybe if you had just kept your mouth shut. Maybe if you had found some way, any way, to de-escalate the situation, he’d still be alive. You wouldn't have to carry the weight of his death.

But you didn’t. And now it’s too late.

This is your fault.

You feel tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly suck in a breath, forcing them back. You can’t let them fall—not here, not now. You can’t let Sylus see the storm raging inside you. If he sees you faltering, sees your weakness, he’ll think he’s won.

You sense his eyes on you, watching, studying, but thankfully, he says nothing. His grip around you tightens slightly, as if he’s aware of the cracks forming in your resolve, but for once, he stays silent, leaving you alone with the war you’re fighting within yourself.

Instead of crying, you shift, turning your head to focus on the window. The dark tint makes it difficult to see clearly, but not impossible. You can just make out the blurred outlines of buildings as they whip past, vague shadows in the distance.

How much longer would this take? How far had you come?

You think back to the agonizing walk that had led you to the convenience store—the endless hours of trudging through unfamiliar streets, hoping for an escape. Time had lost all meaning then, just like it had now.

Lost in your thoughts, you feel your body betraying you, your exhaustion creeping in. You start to drift off against your will, feeling the heaviness pulling at your eyelids as you sink further into Sylus’s lap. You fight it, not wanting to rest your head on his chest, fearing what you might wake up to. But it’s been days since you’ve had proper rest, and the pull of sleep is relentless.

Minutes stretch into eternity, and despite your best efforts, your body begins to give in. You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when suddenly, Sylus’s gruff voice cuts through the silence, startling you awake.

“Luke, tell the chefs to have dinner ready in an hour. Kieran, cancel my meeting with the general.”

Luke and Kieran both nod silently, their masked faces giving nothing away, and just as you’re trying to make sense of the words, the car abruptly comes to a stop.

“Yes, boss!” the twins respond with a clipped tones, as if this exchange is routine.

Everything happens so quickly. The moment the car parks, Luke and Kieran scramble out of their seats with swift, practiced efficiency. The sound of the doors opening and shutting echoes in the quiet night. Sylus shifts beneath you, opening his door, and you awkwardly slide off his lap, trying to maintain some semblance of balance as he exits the vehicle. You watch through strained, weary eyes as he steps out, his figure towering over the open car door. Then, he stretches out his hand toward you.

You hesitate.

The gesture, though outwardly polite, is anything but friendly. It’s not an offer—it’s a command, an unspoken reminder of your captivity. The world seems to close in around you, the air growing thicker, and your heart begins to pound in your chest. Your mind races, but there’s nowhere to run.

“If you’re thinking about driving off,” Sylus says with a low chuckle, leaning down to peer into the car, “Luke’s already got the keys, kitten.”

You can’t help but shoot him a sharp glare. You’d thought about running, yes, but not now—not when escape was utterly impossible. The moment passes quickly, and you open your mouth, wanting to explain yourself, to insist you weren’t planning anything. But the words stick in your throat, useless.

Instead, you shut your mouth, swallowing your frustration, and glare at him in defiance. Wordlessly, you reach out and take his hand. His grip is firm, possessive, as he helps you out of the car. Carefully, you step onto the ground, your heart still racing, knowing you’re walking back into your cage.

You glance around as Sylus pulls you forward, your hand still trapped in his. The sight of the mansion looms ahead, its grand, imposing silhouette becoming clearer with each step. Tall iron gates and bird statues loom in front of you, a place that might have been beautiful if it weren’t for the dread curling deep in your chest.

The mansion is more than just a building; it’s a cage, one that now feels even more suffocating as Sylus forces you to walk beside him, hand in hand like you’re something precious. But you know better. This is control, a quiet but undeniable display of power.

With each step toward the front door, the walls of the world seem to close in tighter, and your heart races faster. The echoes of your own footsteps blend with the eerie silence of the night, the only sound that reminds you how very trapped you are in this place—never truly alone, but never free either.

As you walk toward the towering front doors, your eyes drift upward, almost unconsciously, to Sylus. His appearance has always been striking—red eyes that seem to glow with a mix of malice and amusement, and white hair with subtle gray undertones, catching the faint light of the mansion. His angular features, so sharp and perfectly controlled, show signs of wear now. You can see the tension in his brow, the tiredness in the slight creases around his eyes—things you hadn’t noticed before. It makes you wonder how much stress your escape had caused him. How much had he sacrificed in the time you were gone? Had he been frantic, furious?

As if sensing your gaze, Sylus turns his head slightly, catching you in the act of studying him. A smirk plays across his lips, and his crimson eyes flicker with amusement. "What’s the matter? Falling in love?" His voice is a low drawl, teasing, but there’s something predatory in it—like he’s already enjoying this little game.

Heat rises to your face, a mixture of irritation and something else you refuse to name. You look away quickly, forcing yourself to focus on anything but him. His taunts are the last thing you want to entertain, especially when your mind is still spinning with the weight of what lies ahead. Still, the words linger, taunting you as much as his smirk did.

Finally, the massive front doors loom before you, framed by the same wrought iron and heavy stone that always made the mansion feel more like a fortress. Sylus stops, standing tall beside you, his hand still gripping yours as if to remind you that escape, or even defiance, is out of the question.

He gestures toward a small panel embedded into the wall near the door. "Lean down," he orders, the edge of his voice soft yet commanding, "in front of the scanner."

Confused, you glance between him and the scanner, unsure of what he’s planning. You hesitate, but his unblinking red gaze locks onto you, expectant, leaving you little choice. Slowly, you lean forward, lowering yourself until your eyes are aligned with the scanner. A soft beep fills the air, followed by a click as the door unlocks.

You straighten, startled, staring at the door in disbelief. "Wait," you stammer, turning to Sylus. "Aren’t you trying to prevent me from escaping?"

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head, the white strands of his hair shifting slightly as he leans in closer, his red eyes flashing with amusement. "Your eyes," he says with a grin, "can only get you into this place." He leans in further, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Not out."

His words settle heavily in your chest, and a knot of dread tightens in your stomach. Your eyes—the very thing that could open doors here—were also the key to locking you in. Any hope you might have had, any fleeting thought of escape, is crushed in that moment. The world seems to warp, the walls of the mansion now looming around you like a trap. A cage disguised as opulence.

Why had he even bothered with something like that? The thought gnaws at you as you stand at the threshold of the mansion. Did he seriously think you would ever want to come back inside? The idea seems absurd. You were his captive, forced into this nightmare. There was no version of this where you willingly returned.

But as you glance back at him, his smirk still lingering on his face, you wonder if that’s exactly what he wants. He’s a man who thrives on control, on bending people to his will, and the thought that he might relish the idea of making you come back to this place, on your own terms, sends a shiver down your spine. Would he leave you out there in that desolate city, waiting, desperate, only to watch you break down and crawl back inside? The idea feels like a twisted game only he could design—where escape was impossible not just because of physical barriers, but because he'd burrowed deep into your mind.

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, but the question lingers, settling like a weight in your chest. Did he think that, over time, you’d surrender? That this grand mansion, this cage, would eventually become a place you’d walk into willingly?

Sylus catches your hesitation, his red eyes glinting in the low light. “Strange, isn’t it?” he muses, his voice smooth and casual, as if he could read the questions racing through your mind. “A key that only lets you in. But maybe someday…you'll want to use it.”

His words hang in the air, and you can feel your pulse quicken, anger mixing with the uncertainty swirling inside you. He can’t seriously believe that, can he? That one day you’d walk back into this place of your own accord?

The very thought of it makes your stomach turn. You can’t imagine a future where you wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to stay away from here. Yet, there’s an unsettling confidence in the way he says it, a certainty that leaves you with more questions than answers.

“As if I would ever, prick,” you spat, your voice sharp and defiant.

Sylus laughs, his amusement rolling off him in deep waves, rich and unhurried. His red eyes gleam, locking onto yours with a look that holds something deeper than mere satisfaction. There’s affection there—twisted, yes, but genuine.

“Ah, there she is,” he murmurs, his grin widening. “I was starting to wonder if the N109 Zone had fully broken you.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firm and reassuring, as he leads you into the grand mansion. To him, this was always meant to be your home, even if you couldn't see it yet.

You grimace at his words, irritation bubbling up inside you, making your heart race. This was still a game to him—a challenge, but not one born of cruelty. No, he found your defiance amusing, like a kitten batting at the hand that feeds it. He loved it, even.

You silently curse him under your breath as he leads you deeper into the grand house, your feet moving mechanically while your mind fights to keep up. The familiar sights come back into view, flooding your senses like a slow wave of nausea. The glossy black tile beneath your feet, the dark, lavish décor that loomed from every corner—it was all the same, just as cold and suffocating as you remembered.

Your eyes flick to the kitchen entryway, a place that had once offered a glimmer of hope, a chance to escape. You remember fleeing into it, heart racing, desperate to get away from all of this, only to be dragged back into Sylus’s grip. The memory gnaws at you, bringing a fresh wave of bitterness.

It makes you sick.

Every inch of this place, every dark aesthetic, seemed designed to remind you of your captivity. This was a cage, no matter how opulent or luxurious it appeared on the surface. And the worst part was the weight of his hand around yours—the possessiveness of his grip, the unspoken reminder that escape, no matter how hard you tried, was out of reach right now.

Sylus gently guides you toward the stairs, his grip still firm, giving you no room to hesitate. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as your feet start moving up the dark, winding staircase. Every step feels heavier than the last, your pulse thrumming in your ears as memories flood back—memories of when you had fled, heart racing, legs burning, desperate to escape this place. You’d made it down these very stairs once before, only to have freedom ripped away from you.

Now, you were being forced back up, step by agonizing step, into the room you had fought so hard to leave behind.

With every step upward, your resolve starts to crumble. The closer you get to that door, the more you feel the weight of your captivity settling in again, suffocating you. The darkened hallways, the oppressive silence—it all presses down on you, reminding you that no matter how much you fight, this is where you’ll always end up. Trapped.

You hesitate when you finally reach the door to the bedroom. The sight of it makes your stomach twist, your feet glued to the floor as a wave of dread washes over you. Everything in your body screams not to go inside, not to let yourself be locked in that room again. To run, to fight.

But Sylus is right behind you, close enough that you can feel his presence, his breath warm and steady, almost unnervingly calm. His grip on your hand softens, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your skin, as if to soothe your frayed nerves. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but laced with that unsettling authority. “Go on, sweetie.”

The way he says it is almost tender, but it only deepens the knot of anxiety in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s real kindness or just another layer of control. That soft, coaxing tone… it unnerves you more than his laughter, more than his taunts.

Despite every fiber of your being wanting to resist, you find yourself moving, stepping forward under the weight of his quiet insistence. You cross the threshold into the room, your body betraying you even as your mind screams to stop. The door clicks shut behind you with an almost imperceptible finality, and just like that, the familiar four dark walls of your prison close in around you once more.

You fight back the tears burning at the edges of your eyes as you step further into the room. The familiar surroundings feel like a punch to the gut—the large, imposing bed where Sylus had forced himself on you many many times, leaving behind scars you hadn’t realized had cut so deep. The leather couch in the center of the room, cold and impersonal, where you’d sat, waiting for the next wave of control to sweep over your life.

It’s too much.

For a moment, your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the weight of it all pressing down with crushing force. The memories—dark, suffocating—swirl around you, making it hard to breathe. You almost crumble right there, unable to withstand the flood of emotions, of trauma that suddenly feels too close to the surface.

But before you can collapse, Sylus is there, his hand wrapping around your arm, guiding you away from the room and into the bathroom. His touch is firm but oddly gentle, a contrast that makes you even more uneasy. He’s pulling you toward the tiled space, and your mind races, trying to understand what’s happening as he begins to carefully, methodically, lift up your shirt to undress you.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Your body goes stiff, your hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if holding onto it could somehow protect you. “No,” you repeat, a little louder this time, your voice shaky and uneven. The tremors wrack your body, panic rising in your chest.

Sylus looks at you with something akin to worry, his touch slowing, but not stopping. He doesn’t force you, but his actions continue with a sense of inevitability, as though he believes this is just part of taking care of you, of ensuring you’re where you belong.

"I'm not going to do anything to you now, you just need a shower, sweetie."

But your mind is somewhere else entirely.

Flashes of memory assault you—dim lights, the scent of damp stone, and the overpowering fear of when you were in that basement. The man who had tried to force himself on you, who had pressed you against the bed with a hunger that still made your skin crawl. Your breath hitches as you remember his hands, his twisted smile. The terror, the helplessness—it's all too real, crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

You hadn’t realized just how deeply the trauma had sunk into you. Not until this moment, with Sylus standing in front of you, touching your clothes, his touch too familiar, too close to the horror you’d endured. You had been holding your emotions back but you couldn't now.

You flinch, your body recoiling instinctively as the memories close in around you. Your voice cracks, barely holding back the sob building in your throat. “Please…don’t.”

Sylus’s hands pause, and for the first time that entire day, you see it,—hesitation flickering across his sharp features. His red eyes, usually so calculating and cold, soften just enough for you to notice. His grip loosens, his fingers no longer working to take off your clothes but instead resting lightly on your shoulders, as if afraid of causing more harm.

“Be still,” he says again, his voice quiet and strangely tender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

But his words barely register. The panic has already set in, tightening around your chest like a vice. Your breathing grows shallow, quick—too quick. Your thoughts scatter, your heartbeat hammering so hard it feels like your ribcage might shatter under the pressure. The room spins around you, and suddenly you’re not here anymore. You’re back in the basement, cold stone beneath your feet, that man’s hands on your skin, forcing you against the wall. Forcing you on the bed.

You gasp for air, but each breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts. Your vision blurs, and your knees wobble beneath you. It’s happening all over again. The helplessness, the terror. It’s like your body has been pulled back into that moment, and no matter how much you try to claw your way out, you can’t.

Sylus moves swiftly, pulling you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong and grounding, his chest solid against your trembling form. “Breathe, sweetie” he whispers, his voice low, soothing, as if trying to coax you back from the edge of your panic. His hand rubs slow circles on your back, the gentle rhythm fighting against the chaos inside you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

But you can’t. The air won’t come. Your breaths are sharp and shallow, your body on the verge of shutting down as you feel the world slipping away. You struggle, pushing weakly at him, but his arms only tighten around you, holding you firmly in place, anchoring you.

“Shhh, shhh…” His voice drops even lower, soft and almost tender. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

The warmth of his body presses against yours, his presence somehow steadying the storm inside you. You eventually cling to him, not because you want to, but because it’s the only thing that keeps you from spiraling into complete panic. His hand continues to stroke your back in slow, measured motions, and though your heart still pounds in your chest, his touch starts to break through the suffocating fog.

“I’ll turn around, okay?” he says gently, as if sensing the root of your fear. “You can undress yourself. I won’t watch.”

There’s something in his tone—something that feels honest, reassuring, like he’s not just saying the words to control you but because he wants you to feel safe. You weakly nod, barely, but he catches it. He loosens his grip and takes a slow step back, raising his hands in surrender, his red eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll give you some time. You don’t have to rush.”

With a careful turn, he faces away from you, his broad back filling the room but no longer imposing. His actions aren’t threatening; they’re deliberate, giving you the space he knows you need.

Your breathing slows and you blink back tears, but your body still trembles. You wipe the remaining tears from your eyes with a shaky hand, glancing around the bathroom as the panic begins to ebb. And then you notice it—something is different.

The bathtub is gone.

It had been there before, you remember. A large, ornate tub that had taken up the corner of the bathroom, a symbol of something luxurious in this prison of yours. But now, it’s nowhere to be seen. Your brows knit together in confusion as you stare at the empty space.

“Where’s the tub?” you ask, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Sylus doesn’t turn around, but his response is quick and calm, as if he expected the question. “I had it removed,” he says softly, his voice strangely careful, almost cautious. “I didn’t want you to drown yourself again.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as the weight of what he’s saying sinks in. He thought…no, he knew. He knew how deep the darkness inside you could go, how close you’d come to actually dying. He’d taken precautions—not just to keep you here, but to keep you alive.

You stand there, frozen, staring at the empty space where the bathtub used to be, and the reality sinks in—there’s truly no escape. Not from this place, not from Sylus, and not from the relentless grip of your own mind. He’s stripped you of every option, every avenue, until there’s nothing left but this.

Nothing left but him.

The exhaustion presses down on you, heavier than ever before. With slow, mechanical movements, you step into the shower, your limbs feeling distant, as if they don’t belong to you anymore. The warm water hits your skin, but it does nothing to ease the weight in your chest. You close your eyes, hoping that the steady stream of water can drown out the chaos inside your head—the panic, the hopelessness, the memories.

But they cling to you, stubborn and unyielding.

Images flash behind your closed eyelids—memories of that basement, the cold stone walls pressing in, the terror that gripped you when the man came too close, his hands reaching, his breath sour. You press your hands against the tiled wall, your body shaking as you fight the memories back, but they keep coming, like waves crashing over you, dragging you under.

And then there’s Reese.

You can’t stop seeing it—the moment his body hit the floor, the sound of the fatal gunshot echoing in your mind like a haunting refrain. His face, twisted in shock and pain. Your fault. The words circle in your mind like a dark mantra, mixing with the trauma of that basement. It’s all tangled together, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t make it stop.

"Go to hell, Reese."

The water cascades down your back, but it doesn’t wash away the guilt. It doesn’t drown out the horror. The images of blood and brain matter sliding down concrete walls.

You press your forehead against the cold tile, letting the water soak through your hair as you fight the rising tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. You want to believe that there’s a way out, some form of freedom—maybe not from this mansion, but at least from the grip of your own mind. But right now, standing under the relentless stream of water, you know that freedom is further away than ever.

No matter how much you fight it, you’re trapped. Inside this house. Inside yourself.

And the worst part? Sylus knows it.

You feel the tears begin to well up, hot and uncontainable, spilling over before you even realize you’ve let them go. They mix with the water, disappearing beneath the steady stream of the shower, unseen, unclaimed by anyone but you. For the first time in what feels like forever, no one is watching. Not even Sylus.

You let the sobs come quietly, your body trembling as the tears fall, merging with the warm cascade. It’s a strange relief, knowing that in this moment, he isn’t witnessing your breaking point. Sylus had made it clear—your pain, your misery, your tears, they all belonged to him.

But right now, this moment is yours.

As the tears fall silently, you press your forehead against the cool tile, letting yourself cry in a way you hadn’t allowed before. The sobs are shaky, barely audible over the sound of the water, but they are real, raw, and they are yours alone. The stream washes them away before they have the chance to leave a trace, like they never existed at all.

Even as your heart aches and the trauma still weighs you down, there’s a strange comfort in the tears that go unnoticed. For just these few minutes, you aren’t his broken thing to fix or keep. You’re just a person, trying to survive, trying to breathe.

And even though the water doesn’t drown out all the pain or the memories, it gives you enough space to let the emotions pour out—if only for a little while.

Xavier’s breath came in shallow bursts as he navigated the empty streets of Linkon City, the familiar hum of his hunter’s watch glowing faintly on his wrist. His blue eyes flicked between the road and the holographic screen hovering just above the watch face. The blue light illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp focus in his eyes. The signal from the phone booth was still there, blinking steadily. That was his main lead—the last place you’d been before everything went silent.

His mind replayed the sound of your voice from the call, every word etched into his memory. Kidnapped. You hadn’t said much, but the panic in your tone had been unmistakable. The moment the call cut, something in him snapped. There was no hesitation, no second thought—he had left almost immediately, speeding through the city, your trembling words echoing in his head.

"Yeah, his name is S—"

Your words echoed in Xavier's mind, over and over, like a haunting refrain. You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before the call had abruptly cut out, leaving him with nothing but that single, meaningless syllable. S. It replayed in his head as the car sped forward, finally breaking free from the limits of Linkon City and onto the dark, winding road that would lead him toward the N109 Zone.

He had tried to call back the second the line went dead, his hands trembling as he frantically redialed the number, but it was no use. The call wouldn’t connect. Maybe you had run out of money for the payphone. Maybe something far worse had happened.

The not knowing gnawed at him.

Who was S? The question had burned in his mind from the moment you said it. A name. It had to be a name. But just that one letter wasn’t enough to figure out who this person was, let alone why they had taken you. He cursed under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the dark road stretched out before him.

Whoever S was, they were dangerous enough to bring you to the N109 Zone. That part made his blood run cold. This place wasn’t just desolate—it was the kind of area that most people in the city pretended didn’t even exist. It was lawless, forgotten. A place where the desperate went to disappear, where the city’s darkness festered beneath the surface and on top of it, darkness everywhere you turn.

But why there? What did this S want with you? And why take you so far from the city?

He replayed the phone call in his mind again, your voice shaky but steady as you’d tried to tell him what had happened. The fear had been there, simmering just beneath your words, but you had clearly fought to stay calm.

Xavier’s heart pounded harder with every mile. There was something else that bothered him, something gnawing at the edges of his mind. Why had you been targeted? You were strong, capable—smart. One of the best deep space hunters around. You wouldn’t have let yourself be taken easily. That meant whoever S was, he’d planned this, thought it through, and knew how to get to you. That thought made Xavier’s stomach twist. This wasn’t random. It was calculated.

The car hit a bump in the road, jolting him back to the present, but his mind still raced. He needed to find you, needed to get to you before this S—whoever he was—did something unforgivable. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there, scared and alone, waiting for help that felt too far away.

He glanced at the holographic display on his hunter’s watch again, watching as the faint signal pulsed from the N109 Zone. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the best lead he had. That phone booth, that single clue you’d left him before the call ended, was his only connection to you now.

Who are you, S? The question echoed in his mind as he pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car roaring down the empty highway.

He didn’t know what awaited him in the N109 Zone, but he knew one thing for sure: he was prepared to fight like hell for you.

After what felt like an eternity, buildings whipping past him, Xavier finally pulled up to the phone booth, his heart hammering in his chest. The headlights illuminated the cracked pavement and the battered glass of the booth, standing alone at the edge of the desolate lot like a ghost from another time. But of course, you weren’t there. The booth was empty. You were nowhere to be found.

Xavier’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he sat there for a moment, staring at the empty phone booth. His mind raced, thoughts tangled in frustration and fear. You had told him you would call back—you had said you were going to that strange man’s house, and then you’d come back to tell him what it looked like. But now, standing there in the middle of the N109 Zone, it felt like that plan had shattered into a thousand pieces.

He stepped out of the car, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face as he approached the booth. His eyes scanned the area, up and down, looking for any sign of you. But there was nothing. Just silence. The eerie kind that made his stomach twist with unease.

The booth was run-down, even worse up close. He stared at it, his thoughts flickering between panic and regret. Should he wait for you to come back, as you said you would? Or had something already gone terribly wrong? Every second that passed felt like a ticking clock, time slipping away, leaving him more uncertain than ever.

He leaned against the booth, raking a hand through his hair, trying to decide. You had been so determined—so sure you could handle this. You’d said you were going to check out this strange man’s house, get some rest, and then return. But the thought of you going there alone, to that man—whoever he was—made him sick.

I should’ve told you not to go with him.

The regret hit him hard, twisting deep in his chest. He should’ve been more forceful, should’ve stopped you. The second you’d mentioned this man, this stranger who had somehow convinced you to follow him, alarm bells had gone off in his head. He had sensed something wasn’t right. Why hadn’t he told you to stay away? Why hadn’t he made sure you didn’t go?

But you were strong, capable—you had always been stubborn, determined to handle things on your own. And he had trusted you to do that. But now…now you were missing. And he was standing in an empty lot with no idea where you were or who had taken you.

Xavier clenched his fists, staring at the phone booth as if willing it to give him answers. The last place you had been. He thought about turning around, driving through the N109 Zone, checking every corner, every building. But the reality of how vast and dangerous this area was made him hesitate. He didn’t even know who to look for. S. The mysterious man whose name had been cut off by the phone’s disconnect. That wasn’t enough.

Xavier’s stomach growled, pulling him from the fog of his frantic thoughts. He hadn’t eaten properly in hours, and the adrenaline that had been fueling him was finally wearing thin. He gritted his teeth, the pang of hunger a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since he’d stopped moving. He didn’t want to waste time, but he knew he needed to eat, to think straight.

Reluctantly, he climbed back into the car and started driving, scanning the streets of the N109 Zone for anything that looked remotely functional. This part of the city was basically wasteland—most of the buildings were crumbling, their windows broken, and the streets were nearly empty. He almost decided to give up before spotting a flicker of neon in the distance.

It was a convenience store—small, dingy, and barely lit—but it was open. The cracked neon sign buzzed weakly, casting a dull glow over the entrance. It didn’t look promising, but it was all he had. He pulled up, the car’s tires crunching over the broken pavement as he parked.

Xavier stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he approached the entrance. The store looked as worn out as the rest of the area, its windows covered in grime and dust, but the lights inside told him it was still in business. He pushed the door open, the warmth of the store enveloping him.

The place reeked of stale air and something faintly metallic. Shelves lined the narrow aisles, most of them half-stocked but there was variety. Xavier grabbed a few snacks—whatever looked edible—and made his way to the counter, where a grimy man with disheveled hair and yellowed teeth sat behind the register, staring at him with a disinterested scowl.

“Do you take gold?” Xavier asked, pulling out a small pouch from his pocket. It wasn’t unusual for places outside Linkon City to not take gold, as a lot of places were still living in the past. Couldn't hurt to ask though.

The man behind the counter laughed, a rough, guttural sound that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Gold, huh? Figures. You Linkcunt folks just keep coming in here actin’ like it’s worth more than it is.” He leaned forward, eyeing Xavier with something between amusement and suspicion.

"No, we don't take it."

Xavier pocketed the small pouch, unsurprised by the man's harsh words, “You said Linkon folks? Who else from the city has been here?” His tone was casual, but his heart skipped a beat. Maybe someone else had seen you?

"Linkcunt," the man corrected with a sneer. The man’s eyes flicked up, narrowing slightly. “Why, you looking for someone?” He eyed Xavier and leaned back in his chair, his voice taking on an edge of curiosity.

Xavier pressed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe. Just wondering who else might’ve been through here recently.”

The man scratched his stubbled chin, considering. “Well, there was this disheveled-looking girl who came through a little while ago. Had a lot of attitude, that one. Demanding help. Swiped some snacks and shit when I wasn’t looking. Took off before I could do anything about it.” He shrugged, clearly not too bothered by the theft. “But that’s basically all I know.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. A disheveled girl… Could it have been you?

His pulse quickened, the pieces clicking together. You must have come through here before disappearing. The man didn’t seem to know much more, but this was a sign. You had been close—you had been right here.

“What’d she look like?” Xavier asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The man waved a hand lazily. “Didn't look that closely to be honest. Bitch looked like hell, though. Clothes all messed up, like she’d been through something. But she was quick—didn’t stick around long enough for me to really notice much else. Don’t know where she went after that. Just up and vanished with my stock”

Xavier nodded, feeling a surge of both hope and frustration. You’d been here, that much was clear. But now you were gone again, slipping through his fingers like a ghost.

"You really shouldn't talk about women like that".

He paid for the snacks with some dollar bills he kept in his car for out of city trips, and turned to leave, leaving the disgruntled cashier. His mind already racing to figure out where you could’ve gone from here.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped back outside, the cold night air hitting him like a wall. You’d been here. Not long ago, from the sound of it. He could almost picture it—your disheveled form rushing through the aisles, grabbing whatever you could before vanishing into the shadows again. You were close, too close to give up now. But where had you gone?

He clenched his jaw, glancing around the empty streets. There were too many directions, too many places you could have disappeared to. The N109 Zone was vast, a labyrinth of forgotten corners and abandoned buildings, and there was no telling where you might have run off to next.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of the little he knew. You had come here to get food, maybe out of desperation—running on fear and adrenaline. And then, like the man said, you were gone. No tracks, no sign of where you’d been taken.

Xavier pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing over the faded image of a sleek pair of boots. It was the same pamphlet the shoe store clerk had given him earlier, and now, it seemed like his only other lead. A shoe store… It might seem like a stretch, but he had learned to follow even the smallest clues. If he couldn’t figure out where you had gone, maybe he could figure out more about the man who had taken you. And starting with something as small as his shoes might just be the break he needed.

He studied the pamphlet again, his eyes narrowing as he recalled his brief conversation with the clerk. The shoes had been expensive, high-end—definitely not something most people in the N109 Zone would be wearing.

But S wasn’t like most people, was he?

Xavier’s mind spun as he hurriedly typed the address from the pamphlet into his hunter’s watch, the holographic screen glowing softly as it processed the information. The watch pinged, highlighting the location of the store in the city. It wasn’t far, but it was a place he wouldn’t have expected someone from the N109 Zone to frequent.

If S was wearing those shoes, it meant he had money—or at least access to it. That was something Xavier could work with. People like that left trails, even in places where they thought they could stay hidden.

He started the car again, his pulse quickening as the watch projected the route onto the windshield. The shoe store was his next stop, and if he was lucky, he could get more information about who S really was. Maybe someone there had seen him, or better yet, could point him in the direction of where he lived or did business.

As the car sped toward the heart of the city, Xavier’s determination sharpened. He was getting closer to answers—closer to finding you. If he could learn more about this mysterious man, this “S,” then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out where you were being held.

As Xavier sped through the dark, crumbling streets of the N109 Zone, the world outside his car blurred into a mix of shadows and faint streetlights. His mind was focused on finding you, piecing together the next step in his search. Then, out of nowhere, a piercing scream shattered the stillness.

His foot slammed on the brake, the car lurching to a stop as his heart raced. The sound of the scream echoed through the desolate streets, raw and desperate. He scanned the area frantically, searching for the source of the cry for help. Then he saw her—a woman stumbling into the dim light from a broken streetlamp, clutching her side, her face twisted in pain.

“Help! Please, help me!” she gasped, her voice cracking with panic as she looked directly at him, her body collapsing onto the cracked pavement.

Xavier’s hunter instincts kicked in immediately. He couldn’t just leave someone like that. He shoved the car door open and rushed toward her, his eyes darting around, looking for any potential danger. The streets of the N109 Zone were unpredictable, but he couldn't just ignore someone in need.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone urgent but calm as he knelt down beside her.

The woman’s breathing was shallow, her face pale and contorted with pain. She clutched her ribs, wincing with every breath. “I don’t know,” she whimpered, “I was attacked. I need help… please…” Her eyes were wild with fear, darting between Xavier and the shadows beyond, as if expecting someone—or something—to come after her at any moment.

Xavier’s heart pounded, his mind racing. “I’ll get you some help,” he assured her, reaching for his phone. But as he fumbled for it, he felt a shift—something wasn’t right.

The woman’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, her panic momentarily replaced by something colder, more calculating. Before he could react, a blur of movement rushed behind him.

A sharp clink. The keys.

Xavier’s blood ran cold as he spun around, just in time to see a man slip past him, keys glinting in his hand. The stranger, quick and agile, darted toward Xavier’s car, jumping into the driver’s seat. How did I not see this coming? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—this was a setup.

“Hey!” Xavier yelled, lunging forward, his heart hammering in his chest. But it was too late.

The woman, now standing tall with no trace of pain or injury, smirked at him, her expression smug and mocking. “Thanks for the ride, city boy,” she sneered, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she ran toward the passenger side of the car. She moved easily now, as if the earlier fear and desperation had been nothing but an act. It had been.

Xavier’s mind raced as he sprinted toward the car, but the engine roared to life before he could even get close. The man in the driver’s seat gunned the accelerator, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

His heart sank as he watched the taillights disappear into the darkness, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. His car. His keys. Everything—gone in an instant. And with it, any chance of quickly finding you.

He'd have to walk on foot.

The steam from the shower still clung to your skin as you stepped out, your mind swirling in a haze of exhaustion and hunger. Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you just how long it had been since you last ate. The hot water had done little to wash away the weight of everything pressing down on you—the memories, the fear—but it had, at least, cleaned the grime from your body. You were left feeling raw and exposed, unsure of what was coming next.

You opened the glass door of the shower and grabbed a towel laying on the counter, wrapping it around yourself quickly before exiting.

You saw Sylus had elected to lean against the doorframe when you stepped out, and he turned around to face you. His eyes, those sharp, red eyes, softened when they met yours. "The chef has prepared food for you," he said, his voice gentle. The tenderness in his tone felt unnerving, like everything else with him, but the thought of food was too tempting to resist.

But before you could respond, he gestured to a set of neatly prepared shopping bags laid on his bed outside the bathroom. “I want you to open these first. Consider them gifts I had planned for you… before you ran off.” The edge in his words lingered, but his expression remained neutral. You vaguely remembered him clipping your nails while you were in the bathtub, a pile of shopping bags at his feet.

Ah, you had forgotten all about those. You wrapped the towel around yourself tighter, a knot of discomfort forming in your stomach.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly approached the bed, your hands trembling slightly as you began to take out the "gifts". The first bag contained delicate pieces of underwear—soft, lace, and undeniably expensive. You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of unease crawl up your spine.

“Gifts for me? Or for you to see on me?” you muttered, unable to hide the malice in your voice, the bitterness slipping out.

Sylus’s lips quirked into a small, amused smile, his red eyes flickering with that familiar, unsettling glint. "Why not both?," he replied softly, the weight of his gaze lingering on you as though he found your defiance amusing.

These weren’t just clothes; they were symbols of his control, of how he saw you. Like you were his little doll to dress up. Still, you nodded hesitantly, accepting the garments with quiet reluctance.

Beneath the underwear were more practical clothes—soft, comfortable tops, leggings, and dresses. Each piece was chosen carefully, and despite yourself, you appreciated the effort, if only because you were desperate for something to wear to avoid Sylus's lingering gaze on your damp body. You chose a simple, slightly loose white dress, letting it fall over your damp skin. Then slipped on one of the many underwear he had bought for you. Sylus watched you quietly, a small smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to finish.

“You might've lost a few pounds from stress, once you start eating more, it’ll fit better,” he said casually, his tone matter-of-fact as though he hadn’t just casually referenced your weakened state. The words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of how long you'll be trapped here. Then, with a surprising softness, he added, “You look beautiful nonetheless, honey.”

“Honey.” A new pet name.

Surprisingly, instead of making you grimace like his usual endearments, it sends an unwelcome heat crawling across your face. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to react, but the flush is unmistakable. Against your will, your gaze drops, and you look away from him, the sudden surge of embarrassment catching you off guard.

Sylus notices, of course. His smile deepens slightly, a quiet satisfaction flickering in his eyes as if he can sense the effect his words have on you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his gaze on you—steady, watchful—his presence filling the room in an unnerving way that makes it harder to breathe.

He extended his hand toward you, the gesture oddly tender and yet impossible to trust. You hesitated, unsure if taking it would solidify his power over you further or if refusing would draw out something worse. But you take it, residing to the fact that you didn't have much choice.

He moved toward the door, your hand held in his grip. “Come,” he said. “The food is waiting.”

Your stomach growled again, and despite the tension between you and him, you found yourself trailing after him, your body driven by the gnawing hunger you couldn’t ignore. As you stepped into the dining hall, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of freshly prepared food hit you like a wave.

The table was filled with an extravagant feast. Platters of roasted meats sat alongside bowls of vibrant vegetables, glistening under the kitchen lights. There were thick, tender cuts of lamb, still steaming from the oven, their edges crisp and golden. Roasted chicken, its skin perfectly browned and seasoned with herbs, sat atop a bed of caramelized onions and garlic. Beside them, a platter of seared duck breast, cooked to perfection, its fat rendered into a rich, savory glaze.

On another side of the table were bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, rich and buttery, their surface dusted with flecks of chives. A dish of roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and beets—was arranged in a beautiful display, their edges crisp and caramelized, drizzled with a balsamic glaze. There was a vibrant salad of mixed greens, tossed with fresh pomegranate seeds, crumbled goat cheese, and candied walnuts, the dressing a light, tangy vinaigrette that made your mouth water.

A basket of freshly baked bread sat in the center of the table, the rolls warm and soft, their golden crusts begging to be torn apart. Small bowls of whipped butter, infused with honey and herbs, accompanied them, the scent sweet and savory.

But it didn’t stop there. Desserts, too, were laid out, tempting you even further. A decadent chocolate tart with a glossy ganache topping, dusted with powdered sugar and fresh raspberries, sat next to a platter of delicate fruit tarts, their centers brimming with custard and topped with glistening berries. A tower of macarons in various pastel shades—lavender, pistachio, rose—completed the lavish display.

Sylus pulled out a chair for you, his smile widening as he watched your eyes dart from one dish to the next. "Well don't just stare, sit down".

The sight and smell overwhelmed you, and for a moment, you felt like a prisoner presented with a royal meal, knowing full well the chains still bound you. But hunger gnawed at your insides, and no matter how conflicted you were, your body screamed for sustenance as you sat.

"Eat," Sylus urged, taking a seat across from you. His eyes never left yours, watching, waiting for your reaction.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for a piece of bread, the warmth of it soothing in your palm. You tore it open, the soft dough yielding beneath your fingers, and dipped it into the whipped honey butter, taking a small bite. The flavors burst in your mouth, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of relief.

The food was perfect—too perfect. And as you took another bite, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this all part of the game too? Or was it simply nourishment after the storm?

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you as you ate, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, just watched you in that unsettling, familiar way—like he was always studying you, always thinking, always planning. His silence, for once, was almost a relief, allowing you to focus on the food and ignore his presence as much as possible.

You couldn’t help it. The hunger gnawed at you, and the feast before you was impossible to resist. The flavors were rich, the textures comforting, and before you realized it, you had cleared almost four plates. Each bite had momentarily dulled the chaos in your mind, letting you push aside the fear, the memories, and the discomfort that still lingered in your chest.

Sylus didn’t comment as you reached for more, nor did he interrupt. He seemed content to let you eat in peace, his eyes never leaving you but his lips remaining closed. It wasn’t until you finally pushed the last plate away, feeling the fullness settle in your stomach, that the silence between you felt heavier.

The weight of exhaustion began to settle over you. The warmth from the food and the sheer relief of being full left you feeling heavy, your eyelids growing heavier by the minute. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were until that moment. Your body felt like it had finally reached its limit.

Sylus stood up, breaking the silence. His movements were smooth and deliberate as he pushed his chair back, his gaze never leaving you. “You must be tired,” he said softly, the same unnerving tenderness in his voice as before. “It’s time for bed.”

You tensed slightly at his words, but your body, worn down by hunger and stress, didn’t have the strength to protest. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid of what might come out if you did. There was no point in resisting, not tonight.

Sylus moved toward you, his hand extending again as if offering comfort. You hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand, but you didn’t have the energy to reject him. You let him guide you, his touch gentle yet firm as he led you toward the bedroom you were dreading your return to.

You don’t remember when exactly you slipped into unconsciousness, but the world had faded into nothing after Sylus lifted you into the bed. His arms were unexpectedly gentle, cradling you with a kind of care that felt entirely out of place. You were vaguely aware of him pulling the blankets up around you, tucking you in, but then everything went dark. The exhaustion you had been fighting all day finally consumed you, and you sank into the deepest sleep you’d felt in what seemed like forever.

There was comfort in the darkness, the kind of peace that only comes with complete surrender to sleep. No fear, no panic, just the void. You floated there, cradled in warmth. But soon, the darkness gave way to a dream, vivid and consuming.

Xavier appeared first, stepping out of the shadows of your mind. His familiar figure brought an immediate sense of relief. His ashy blonde hair fell into his face, and his striking blue eyes bore into you with the same warmth and intensity that always made your heart flutter. There he was, just as you remembered—strong, dependable, and safe. He reached out, his hand extending toward you, and without hesitation, you moved toward him.

The moment your hand met his, your heart melted, the overwhelming sense of security flooding through you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt safe. You felt home.

But something changed.

Xavier’s gaze, once filled with affection and care, shifted. His eyes darkened, turning cold, distant. The warmth you’d found in his presence quickly evaporated, replaced by something harsh and unfamiliar. His lips curled downward, a shadow crossing his face, and his grip on your hand tightened. The shift was sudden, the dream warping around you like a twisted reflection of reality.

"Why did you want him dead?" His voice cut through the dream, sharp and cold, the softness you’d expected from him nowhere to be found.

You blinked, confusion gripping you as his words sank in. “Huh?” Your face faltered, your heart pounding in your chest. His cold stare drilled into you, and you could feel something inside you cracking under its weight. What was happening?

"You're the reason Reese is dead," Xavier said, his words landing like a punch to the gut. His voice, usually so steady, so comforting, was now filled with anger, with accusation. His grip on your hand turned painful, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost crushing force.

“No...” Your voice wavered, barely able to push the word out as your mind reeled. “That wasn’t my fault, it was Sy—” You tried to explain, to say anything to stop the blame from settling on your shoulders. But the words caught in your throat, and you couldn’t finish. You couldn’t get them out.

His face twisted, contorting with anger and something that looked like disappointment. His blue eyes, once a source of warmth, were now filled with icy judgment, the coldness sinking into your skin like knives. His grip tightened further, pain shooting through your hand, but no matter how hard you tried to pull away, you couldn’t escape.

The dream around you blurred, the edges of reality warping and distorting. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, unsteady, while Xavier's figure loomed larger, his presence suffocating. The weight of his blame pressed down on your chest like a stone, suffocating you, filling your lungs with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

You tried to explain again, your voice strangled by the intensity of the moment, but Xavier wasn’t listening. His hand was like a vice, his fingers digging into your skin as his gaze pinned you in place. His words repeated in your mind, echoing louder and louder—“You're the reason he’s dead.”

Xavier's face began to twist, distorting into something grotesque, something no longer human. His once gentle features morphed and stretched unnaturally, his blue eyes darkening into hollow, accusing pits. His grip on your hand became unbearable, crushing the bones in your fingers as his form continued to change, shifting from the man you loved into a nightmare. The warmth that had briefly comforted you was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling cold.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to pull away, but the force holding you was relentless. You stared in horror as Xavier’s form became unrecognizable, his skin taking on a gray, cracked texture, his mouth elongating into a grimace filled with sharp teeth. His eyes, now nothing more than deep, empty voids, bore into you with a hatred that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re a murderer,” the figure spat, its voice now a low, guttural growl that echoed in your ears, far louder than it should have been. “Murderer.” The word hit you like a physical blow, making your entire body tense as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you desperately tried to defend yourself. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t—”

“You have blood on your hands!” the figure roared, its voice shaking the world around you. Xavier’s face continued to twist and contort, veins bulging from his neck, his body looming over you like a towering monster. “You told him to die!”

The words echoed again and again, crashing into you with the force of a tidal wave. The weight of guilt slammed into your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you as the grotesque version of Xavier leaned in closer. His voice became more vicious, more unforgiving. “You let him die, and now the blood is on your hands!”

You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat. Blood. It was everywhere—on your hands, dripping from your fingers, pooling at your feet. Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you tried to wipe it away, but no matter how hard you scrubbed, the blood only seemed to multiply, staining your skin, your clothes, everything around you.

“You’ll never wash it off!” the figure screamed, its voice shaking with rage. “Never!” It grabbed your shoulders, shaking you violently as it continued to scream. “You’re a murderer!

You struggled, trying to pull free, but the figure’s grip was unbreakable. The dream spiraled into chaos, the world around you collapsing into darkness as the screams filled the air, overwhelming your senses. The blood seemed to rise like a tide, crawling up your arms, soaking through your skin. You gasped for air, but it was suffocating, the guilt swallowing you whole.

“Murderer!” the figure roared again, louder this time, shaking you until your vision blurred. “Murderer! Murderer!"

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but the accusations wouldn’t stop. The guilt, the blood, the rage—it was all around you, suffocating you, crushing you.

And then, just as quickly as it began, the figure stopped. It stood over you, silent now, but its eyes—those hollow, accusing voids—were locked onto you. “You can never escape what you’ve done,” it whispered, the venom in its voice chilling you to the core.

You shot up in bed, heart hammering in your chest, a scream tearing through your throat before you even knew what was happening. The sheets clung to your sweat-soaked skin as you gasped for breath, the nightmare still gripping you in its suffocating hold. Your hands shook violently, fingers instinctively rubbing at your palms, expecting to see the blood, the thick, crimson stain that had haunted you moments before.

But there was no blood.

The room was dark, dimly lit by a lamp settled on the nightstand. Sylus sat beside you, awake, casually reading a book. His red eyes glanced up from the pages, calm and steady, showing no sign of surprise at your sudden outburst.

“You’re okay,” Sylus said softly, his voice low but steady. He closed the book, setting it aside as he reached out, pulling you closer, into his arms with a gentle grip. The warmth of his body on yours was meant to be comforting, but the lingering terror from the dream made his touch feel heavier, suffocating.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, the echoes of the nightmare still gripping you. The blood, the screams, the weight of guilt—it all felt so real, too real to shake off. Your hands trembled in your lap, still trying to rub away the invisible stain that wouldn’t leave.

“Shhh,” Sylus soothed, his voice soft as he stroked your back with deliberate calmness. “It was just a nightmare, kitten.”

But his words barely penetrated the thick fog of panic swirling in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing, but the image of Xavier’s cold, accusing gaze still lingered in the corners of your thoughts, leaving an ache in your chest that refused to fade.

Sylus’s gaze never wavered from you. He was patient, his grip around you getting stronger as you fought to regain control, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern, though it was impossible to tell how much of it was real. He watched you wordlessly, waiting patiently for your breathing to slow as he rubbed your back in soothing motions.

And you did, eventually. Slowly, your heartbeat began to slow, the cold sweat drying on your skin as the nightmare finally started to loosen its grip. You were still shaken, but reality was settling back in.

Sylus smiled, his eyes softening slightly. “Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You feel better?"

"It's not my fault..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as tears began streaming down your face, hot and unstoppable. The weight of the nightmare still pressed against your chest, the guilt wrapping itself around your heart. "Reese... I told him to die, kinda. But you killed him!"

Your words trembled in the air, and for a moment, the room felt suffocatingly silent. Sylus’s arm stilled on your back, his red eyes watching you closely. His face remained calm, unreadable, but something flickered behind his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or even amusement. He began rubbing your back again.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “I killed him because he took what was mine,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t pull the trigger, I did. Don’t fool yourself, sweetie.” His fingers gently wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks, lingering on your skin a second longer than necessary.

“His fate was sealed the moment he touched you. You’re not responsible for his death.”

Your heart ached, the confusion and guilt twisting inside you. The memory of Reese's lifeless body, the sound of the gunshot, played over and over in your mind. You knew that Sylus had been the one to end it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your words, your anger, had driven the final nail in the coffin.

"But I—" you started, your voice cracking, but Sylus shushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips.

“Don’t burden yourself,” he whispered, his voice soothing but firm. “Reese was a pest, and pests are dealt with. It wasn’t your fault. You said what you needed to say in the moment” His eyes softened, his gaze almost affectionate. “And now, you’re here—with me. Safe.”

"Am I?" you sobbed, the weight of your emotions crashing down on you all at once. The tears came faster, and with them, the memory of that night—the night Sylus had taken everything into his own hands, literally. The sharp pain, the feeling of your skin being sliced open as he calmly removed your birth control implant, resurfaced in vivid detail. The raw fear that had gripped you then returned now, surging like a wave you couldn't hold back.

"At least Reese never hurt me," you choked out between sobs, your voice trembling, barely holding together. "You, on the other hand..."

Your hand instinctively went to your arm, tracing the faint scar left behind from when Sylus had decided, without a second thought, that he would control every part of you—inside and out. The scar was still there, but it wasn’t just on your skin. The memory of that violation ran deeper than any wound that could heal.

Sylus’s expression didn’t shift at your words. His calm gaze remained fixed on you, though there was a slight narrowing of his eyes. His hand paused in its comforting motions, hovering just inches from you, as if calculating how to respond.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, his voice calm, controlled, almost dismissive. "Everything I’ve done has been for you. For us. Why are you crying over a man that handed you and countless others over for crack?"

The flood of emotions broke through all at once at his words.

"Because-because he wasn't supposed to die. Hunters aren't the reason people die, we save people...he could've went to jail he wasn't supposed to-"

You crumpled, sobs wracking your body as the weight of everything—of all you had endured—became too much to bear. Memories you had tried to suppress, to bury deep within you, rose to the surface like dark waves crashing against fragile walls.

The man from the basement. His hands grabbing you, the smell of his breath, the sheer terror that had paralyzed you as he tried to force himself on you. You had fought, screamed, but the memory was still there, etched into your mind like a brand that would never fade. The nightmare you had just woken from had only served to rip open the scars you had so desperately tried to heal.

Your words came out in broken fragments, incoherent between sobs. "That other man…he tried… I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop him…" Your voice cracked, your chest heaving as you babbled through the memories, the trauma wrapping itself around you like a suffocating shroud. "He—he wouldn’t stop… I couldn’t breathe, I was so scared…"

You weren’t even sure Sylus was listening. You couldn’t look at him. Everything blurred together, your mind overwhelmed by the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being trapped again in that moment. You curled in on yourself, trembling as the sobs became uncontrollable, the terror of that night suffocating you all over again.

Then you felt it—Sylus’s hand, soft and deliberate, gently cradling your cheek. He leaned in, his voice softening into something almost unbearably tender, a tone you never thought he was capable of.

"Poor thing, you're such a mess," he murmured.

His eyes lingered on you with a mix of pity and affection, as though you were something fragile, something cherished. It was as if watching you unravel before him caused his heart to ache.

“I can help you forget,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears with slow, careful strokes. “Let me take the pain away, kitten. You don’t have to carry it anymore.”

His words were soothing, like a lullaby coaxing you away from the edge of your breakdown. His touch was uncharacteristically soft, his presence surrounding you like a cocoon, making it harder to pull yourself out of the depths of your despair. For a brief moment, the way he looked at you—like he truly cared—made you falter.

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

You hesitate at his words. The rational part of your mind urged you to turn away, not to respond. To pull yourself from his embrace and fight him. But the other part, muddled by trauma, drove you to stay. To seek comfort, any comfort, even in his arms.

From your captor of all people.

“Yes…” you whimpered, blinking away tears. You didn’t know why you answered that way—your mind screamed at you to stop—but you found yourself reaching out, your fingers clutching the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Anything. Anything to make this pain stop.

His lips crashed against yours before you could even register what was happening, consuming you in a kiss so passionate it bordered on painful. All rational thought evaporated as his tongue plundered the recesses of your mouth, stroking along your palate and tangling with your own tongue in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

You were consumed, caught in the storm of his touch, unable to think beyond the overwhelming need to escape the agony of your memories—even if only for a moment.

Your hands flew to his face of their own accord, fingers threading through his hair as you clung to him like a drowning woman gasping for air. You kissed him back with a fervor born of desperation, pouring all your pent-up anguish and trauma into the hungry clash of lips and teeth. The two of you panted against each other, like animals ready to tear each other to shreds.

Some distant part of you screamed that this was mistake, that doing this with him willingly was certainly wrong. He had kidnapped you after all. Stolen you. But it was drowned out by the pounding of your heart, the ache of need pulsing between your thighs. His hands slid under your dress, calloused palms skimming over hypersensitive flesh, and you arched into his touch with a whimper.

"Sylus..." you whined, already feeling the desperate ache reach your core.

"I know, kitten. Patience, we just started" he said, amusement adorning his face.

His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, silencing any lingering protests. You melted into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and danger that left you craving more. His fingers find the hem of your underwear, wasting no time to remove the obstacle from your wet depths.

Your whole body trembled as Sylus's lips blazed a path down your body, trailing molten kisses along the column of your throat. Each brush of his mouth against your sensitive skin sent electricity singing through your veins, igniting another fiery ache between your thighs. When he nudged aside the fabric of your dress to nuzzle the slick flesh of your cunt, you let out a strangled moan, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you.

The tip of his nose grazed your swollen bud, and your back arched off the bed, every nerve ending sparking with raw pleasure. "Nnnngh…" you whimpered, hips bucking instinctively toward his teasing touch.

Sylus's deep, resonant chuckle rumbled through you, vibrating against your core in a way that made your toes curl. "So responsive," he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over your dripping folds. "Tell me, kitten-were you this wet for him? Did he make you shiver and moan like this when he touched you?"

He grips your thighs almost possessively, waiting for your answer.

His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, plunging you back into reality. Shame crashed over you in nauseating waves, your arousal doused by the realization of how easily Sylus manipulated your body. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut, fists clenching in the bedding.

"No," you choked out, voice brittle. "Never. He never touched me like this…Sylus, please…" The plea was torn from your throat, part desperation, part disgust. You felt filthy, tainted by your own traitorous reactions to Sylus's sensual assault on your most intimate parts.

But despite the revulsion roiling in your gut, your body still yearned for more.

"Its hard to say no when you beg me like that," he said, seemingly satisfied with your answer, began trailing a hot, wet streak against your folds. A gasp punches through your throat, eyes fluttering as you try not to lose all control. The mere feeling of his tongue was sending your brain into frenzies. But it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to block the pain.

"Sylus, ple-mmph!”

You grip the bedsheets even tighter when he tenderly cuts off your plea with a moan against your clit, his tongue beginning to spread the entrance of your lips apart feverishly. Your breathing gets rapid when you feel something hot breaking past the entrance, deeper and deeper into your walls. Sylus's tongue delved deeper, stroking along your inner walls with devastating skill.

"You don't have to hold the bedsheets." he says, withdrawing momentarily from your depths. He wordlessly guides your hands to the top of his head, and before you can say anything, he's back licking up and down your folds, eventually making his way back in completely. The immediate shockwaves of pleasure make you grip his hair basically against your will, and you tearfully hold his hair as you neared an orgasm.

The pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo as Sylus's tongue relentlessly stroked your inner walls, each slick thrust driving you higher toward the brink of climax. Broken moans spilled from your lips, intermingling with his hungry growls of appreciation. Tears streamed down your face as your hips rocked shamelessly against his mouth, silently begging for the oblivion that hovered just out of reach.

Sylus's strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted upon your aching cunt. He seemed enraptured, almost worshipful in his attentions, lavishing your most intimate places with devoted licks and sucks. He ate you out like a starved man. Like he craved you.

Like he missed you.

Occasionally his nose would rub against your clit again and again, a delicious friction that made you sob with the intensity of it all.

When his lips finally closed around your swollen clit and sucked hard, you nearly vaulted off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat.

"Mhgn! Sylus! Please, I can't…it's too much!"

But he didn't let up, his talented tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision. Your vision whited out as you finally reached heaven, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over you until you thought you might drown in it. Your walls clamped down on his invading tongue, pulsing with the force of your release, unwittingly calling out Sylus's name as you did so.

Finally, blessedly, Sylus withdrew. You melted in the sheets, finally letting go of his hair, boneless and shuddering in the aftermath. Tears streaked your face, but for once, they weren't because Sylus had hurt you. He had done quite the opposite actually.

Taking in the sight of you sprawled before him, flushed and panting, your body trembling. With a wicked smirk, he trailed a hand along your trembling thigh, drawing a shuddering moan from your throat. Evidence of your orgasm coated his mouth, and you watch as he licks the remaining from his lips.

"Tired already?" he teased, quite enjoying the way your body tensed under his touch. "For a hunter I expected you to have more stamina."

The haze of post-orgasmic bliss dissipated as quickly as it had descended, harsh reality crashing back in with brutal clarity. Tears pricked your eyes as the weight of your shame threatened to crush you. You had begged him for it, eagerly spread your legs for your kidnapper as if y'all were lovers. What was wrong with you?

"I..." you trail off, vision blurring with tears once more. What were you going to say? What could you say?

Sylus trailed lazy kisses along your jaw, seeming to sense your internal turmoil within your head. His lips rubbed against your sensitive skin, sending unwanted sparks of pleasure skittering through your nerves.

"If you're still able to think," he murmured against your throat, "then I clearly haven't kept my promise of helping you forget." His nimble fingers worked at his belt buckle.

The leather strap slid free of the loops with a hiss, dropping forgotten to the floor. Soon after, you felt the straps of your dress slip past your shoulders, past your waist, and eventually off your body completely. Sylus's gaze raked over you, lovingly and hungry, devouring the flush on your skin, the swell of your heaving breasts. You felt bare under his scrutiny, stripped of all defenses.

"And here I thought I was doing such a good job of distracting you," he purred, palming himself through his jeans. The rigid line of his erection strained against the faded denim, an obscene bulge that made your mouth go dry. You watched as he began taking his shirt off from over his head, his chiseled stomach and chest coming into view.

"Please..." you whimpered, the word torn from your throat as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Your body trembled, caught between the whirlwind of conflicting emotions roiling within you. Revulsion. Lust. Desperation. Self-loathing. You don't even know what you're asking for.

Sylus's expression softened as he gazed down at you, his thumb brushing away the moisture collecting on your lashes. It was uncharacteristic of you to beg for anything other than freedom. It was pulling at his heart and making him feel weak. "Shhh, it's alright sweetie," he soothed, his voice a low murmur. "I'm keeping my promise. Don't think, just focus on me."

Slowly, reverently, he lowered his mouth to yours in a kiss that stole your breath and shattered your reservations. His lips moved over yours with aching tenderness, sipping at your parted lips as if savoring the sweetest nectar. The press of his body against yours was solid, reassuring, anchoring you in the whirlwind of sensation.

His tongue slipped past your defenses to stroke the sensitive flesh within, each languid thrust a silent promise of the ecstasy to come. One large hand cradled your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, while the other smoothed soothing circles on the small of your back.

When he pulls back, eyes staring down at you, it feels like he's staring into the depths of your soul. His eye begins to glow dangerously, and you begin to feel your mind start to spin and the room start to grow hazy. Voices begin pouring into your ears.

Devour him.

He's right there.

Grab him!

But just as quickly as they started, they stopped. You lay there shocked, unable to process what just happened.

"Your mind says a lot more than your mouth does, kitten" he chuckles, and you can only blink confusingly at him as he begins unzipping his pants. He stands up momentarily to remove his pants and you watch as his cock finally spring free. You feel a gush of arousal as you watch it throb, precum slightly leaking at the tip.

"W-what?" you ask, one half of your brain focusing on his raging erection and the other half wondering why the hell your mind felt like it was splitting in half just a second ago.

But you have no time to ponder such questions as Sylus begins to tower above you once more, grabbing your legs and spreading them apart. You squeal at the sudden touch and shiver when his tip rubs against the slit of your opening. His face is twisted with pleasure and his lips are parted, as if he's restraining every part of himself not to push everything into you at once.

"Slow...please" you beg, your hips involuntarily pushing down on the head of his tip when it greets your opening.

"You want me to go slow, yet your hips are lifting off the bed like you can't wait to have me buried inside you," Sylus teased, his voice a low, wicked murmur. He enjoys the way your face twists in annoyance.

 "So greedy, aren't you kitten?"

"I'm not trying t-mmph!"

You words lodge into your throat as you feel the head of his tip pierce your hole. You gasped, back arching as you stretched impossibly around him. A painful stretch causes you to groan and try to pull away, but Sylus puts a hand on your stomach, holding you down and ceasing all resistance.

"Be still, hah, it wont hurt for long". Sylus lips are parted as he lets out his own breathless groan, his senses being overwhelmed with you as he sinks deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sylus groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought for control. He eased forward slowly, inch by excruciating inch, letting you adjust to his substantial size. Your velvety walls resisted initially, clamping down around him like a vice.

Sylus paused, buried to the hilt inside you, his pelvis flush against yours. "Breathe, kitten," he instructed, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "Try to relax okay?."

You tried to relax, to focus on the pleasant pressure building deep in your core instead of the dull ache in your stretched flesh. Gradually, you yielded, your muscles unclenching as Sylus began to move.

"Good girl," he managed through clenched teeth, withdrawing until just the tip remained before sliding back in with agonizing deliberateness. Over and over, he set a torturously slow rhythm, savoring every drag of your fluttering walls along his rigid cock.

 Soon, the sting gave way to blossoming pleasure, radiating outward from where you were joined. You found yourself meeting his measured thrusts, your hips rocking up to take him deeper, chasing that euphoric friction. Sylus's pace quickened marginally, his self-control fraying at the edges. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed obscenely in the room, a filthy symphony that drowned out your labored breaths and muffled whimpers.

Each deliberate thrust carried you further from the pit of anguish threatening to swallow you whole. The exquisite drag of Sylus's thick cock along your sensitive walls obliterated every coherent thought, leaving only the raw, visceral pleasure of the moment. Higher and higher you climbed, chasing the blissful oblivion he promised, until the first warnings of an impending climax rippled through your trembling form.

Sylus shifted his angle slightly, and stars exploded behind your eyelids as he grazed a spot deep inside that made your toes curl. A strangled moan tore from your throat, lost in the slick slide of bodies and the heady musk of arousal perfuming the air.

"That's it, sweetie," Sylus coo'd, his voice low and rough with lust. "Let go. Think about the one making you feel good right now. Think about me. Only me."

His words shivered through you, igniting something primal and needy. Your hips bucked up to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, harder, faster. Your mind snapped and went blank. You were drowning in sensation, drowning in him, and you never wanted to surface. Never wanted to think about reality ever again.

"You're so cute like this," Sylus purred, punctuating each word with a savage grind of his pelvis against yours. "Brain empty and filled with too much cock to think. Should just keep you like this..."

His filthy praise melted your reservations, stoking the desperate frenzy consuming your body and mind. Nothing else mattered beyond the slick slide of flesh and the heady perfume of sex saturating the air. In this moment, Sylus owned you wholly, a willing slave to his lust. All you could do was surrender, drowning in the exquisite agony of your impending release.

The coil of tension in your core tightened with each passing second, your impending climax hovering just out of reach. Sylus sensed your mounting desperation, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

"You're so close," he growled, his rhythm growing erratic as he chased his own completion. "I can feel you tightening up, greedy little thing."

"Go ahead, cum. Let me hear your pretty sounds."

The lewd demand shattered your composure, catapulting you into heaven and you practically screamed his name. Pleasure crashed through you like a tsunami, obliterating every coherent thought. All you knew was the pulsing ache in your core, the rhythmic throb of Sylus's cock buried deep, prolonging your climax until you couldn't take the sensations anymore and almost begged him to stop thrusting.

“Sylus…” you whimper weakly.

Your vision grew blurry as you teetered into overstimulation, your walls clamping down on Sylus's pistoning length like a vise. Thankfully, he was at his own end. You hear a guttural groan of your name in your ear, and then felt the hot splash of his seed painting your insides soon after. His thrusting completely stopped, and the both of you lay there, panting and unmoving.

It was only when you felt his warm seed spilling out onto the bed that you snapped back into reality.

"Did you-"

“Yes, I did it inside,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Where else would it go?”

Before you could even process his words and sit up, he was on you, pinning your arms down to the bed with a swift, ruthless precision, as if anticipating your next move. The weight of him was suffocating, leaving you no room to escape. Panic surged through you, your body instinctively twisting and writhing beneath him, but it was useless. You were trapped.

“After your little escape," he continued, voice laced with playful amusement, "I’ve realized I need to put in more effort. Taming you isn’t as easy as I thought...a baby should be a nice, heavy, leash for you"

“Sylus… please,” you stammer, your heart pounding in your chest. Desperation claws at you as the gravity of his words sinks in. “We don’t need to do this. Not like this. Please, let’s solve this without a child?—I’ll do anything you want. I won’t try to run again, I swear.”

Tears blurred your vision as you begged, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. But Sylus just smiled, that soft, chilling smile that made your stomach drop. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand disappearing beneath the bed.

“I know you won’t be running away again. In fact…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him, terror coiling tighter with every passing second. What was he doing? What was he reaching for? You searched your mind desperately, trying to think of anything, anything at all that might change his mind, but you knew better. Sylus was relentless. He hadn’t forgotten your attempts to resist, and now he was only more determined.

And then you felt it—the cold, unforgiving touch of metal snapping around your ankle.

Your eyes flew wide open, your pulse spiking as you looked down in horror. An ankle chain. You were shackled.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. "No...is this..?"

“Anything I want, you say?” Sylus's voice oozed with satisfaction, a smile creeping across his lips as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his breath contrasted sharply with the cold metal now binding you in place.

“Then make us a baby, sweetie,” he purred, his fingers tracing lightly down your arm. “That’s what I want most right now.”

The weight of his words settled like ice in your chest. A shiver coursed through your body, your mind racing, searching for some way out, but the chain around your ankle clinked softly with every tiny movement, a reminder of how trapped you really were.

“It’s long enough to reach everything in here, including the toilet and shower,” Sylus said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.

You shuddered beneath him, your tears finally spilling over as the full weight of your situation crashed down on you. “Is this… my punishment for running?” you whispered, your voice fragile and trembling, as if the question itself might break you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “No, it’s not a punishment,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “It’s a necessity, honey.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sealing your fate as surely as the chain around your ankle.

Tears broke free, pouring down your face in uncontrollable waves as the reality of it all crushed you. You sobbed openly, your body shaking under the weight of it, and yet there was nothing you could do. Sylus leaned down, his presence overwhelming, his hand softly brushing the side of your tear-streaked face. His voice was low, almost soothing, as if he believed he was offering comfort instead of twisting the knife deeper.

“The faster you accept this,” he whispered, stroking your hair gently, “the easier it’ll be for you. Accept your place by my side and have my baby.”

"I'll take care of both of you, I promise."

His words only made the knot in your throat tighten further. You hated him. You hated him with every fiber of your being, but worst of all, you hated yourself. Hated the fact that you had once given yourself to him willingly, that you had let the devil himself have your body in a moment of weakness, as if you hadn’t known exactly what he was capable of.

The shame of it burned through you, deeper than any chain ever could. How had you fallen so far? How had you ever let him touch you, let him inside your body, your mind—your soul? The answer twisted cruelly in your gut.

But even despite all the burning hatred you had for him in this moment, another unknown feeling sprouted. One that ached and felt almost unbearable to think about. A longing. Festering within the walls of your strained heart and mind. You refused to acknowledge it though, choosing to drown in the sorrow of your new situation.

Sylus shifted beside you, wrapping his arms around you as if you were lovers instead of captor and captive. His warmth pressed against your skin, a twisted parody of intimacy, and you lay there, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling. You felt his breathing slow beside you, felt his presence still as he settled in comfortably at your side. But you were miles away, staring into the abyss above, where there was no escape, no solace.

Only the cold, bitter truth. You had let the devil in, and now, there was no way out.

[i-cant-sing]

Saya want know how Qasim look,are you have proposal?(≡・x・≡)

(pics below) Qasim, the brother, is older than reader by 5 years. He has chocolate brown hair, thick messy locks, and green eyes. He's gifted with eiditic/photographic memory which made him excel in school and he obviously had a high IQ as well. Doesnt mean reader thinks he's intelligent. Sure, Qasim is book smart, but he's not- street smart. Y/n has been the one to often make him realise that his friends were taking advantage of him by making him do their homework, or that they were laughing at him not with him because of his intellect. But reader chalks it up to his sweet nature, her goody-two-shoes of a brother who was hafidh (memorised the Quran) would always be the forgiving person. Its not that he was a pushover, he just... preferred to be the bigger person. Always. He'd chuckle and ruffle your hair "so what if I cleaned up their mess? it only took me 5 minutes and the job was done. Its okay, Y/n." He's always so selfless. You used to worry that he'd get hurt because he's too kind, you used to think he couldnt stand up for himself because he just didnt know when to- but no. Qasim was quite protective over you. When he saw you trying to tackle one of his so-called bullies, the boy towering over you (but you dont consider the height advantage, not when youre a raging kitten), Qasim stepped in and landed a single punch that knocked him down. (then big bro had to spend the rest of the day consoling u because you made him fight someone- and in ur head, that was the biggest sin u made him commit).

Qasim in Arabic means "the generous one" or "the one who shares", and being the older bro, he took his name quite literally. You were the younger sibling, the spoiled brat, the princess! But Qasim never had any problems with sharing anything with you, be it materialistic things or advice or even knowledge. You memorised Quran by his help (because u were competitive) and he had the extraordinary patience of a saint. You two would often participate in competitions at the local mosque just to get the cash prize and help your parents a bit (they never took ur guys money, encouraging u to either save it or spend it on something). Since both of your parents worked long hours, you two were left unsupervised for a long time and that only meant genius yet chaotic shenanigans, including prank calls to the pentagon hq.

Qasim grew up to get a lot of full ride scholarships from top colleges, and once he did his masters (a STEM major), he decided to start his own travel agency, surprising everyone because it seemed like something he wouldnt do? Everyone expected him to go into sciences, but he said he liked to travel and see the world, and Qasim told you that he enjoys running his own business, being your own business.

You supposed it made sense because he was a polyglot and he did enjoy learning new things and seeing new places, their history, etc. Due to his job, he would be gone for long months at a time, but he never returned empty handed. His arms full of souvenirs and sweets and BOOKS! Its not that he bought them for u, no. He bought those books for himself, but once he read them- he's already memorised it and he doesnt have anymore space in his home for more books, so he's always dropping them by your place (as kids, u made him memorise the phonebook before hiding the entire neighbourhoods phone books and had people pay to use your brother's memory for contacts, which was a good business until your father busted it down).

Qasim is the softest, kindest, most generous person. Even though he has a busy schedule due to work, he always made time for you. Whenever he came by, especially during your finals season, not only did he help you study, but he would also stock up your fridge and made sure to do some maintenance around your house. Fridge not working? Qasim has the tools, and if you werent so tied up with studying, you wouldve freaked out over him disassembling your fridge like lego. Sink clogged? No need for the plumber, Qasim knows the right potion of chemicals to unclog it. He's always been the one to prefer to do things himself, by his hand rather than relying on help.

what do u guys think???

[dried-deep-sea]

Scrap #5

I realized i had another version of the first piece of scrap I ever posted floating around my hard drive. Also, if you are curious, I'm almost finished with the chapter all of this stuff has been removed from and I'm very excited.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but it hadn't been long. Definitely a few hours by how far into his room the sun had crept. He went to rub his eyes and was shocked to see he was still transformed.

"What the fuck," he muttered to himself. He sat up and as soon as his feet touched the floor, little blots swam across his vision and it felt like someone was scratching at his skull from the inside. He groaned immediately putting pressure on his eyebrow and pushing up and out along his forehead with his fingertips in a pitiful attempt to ease the pain.

"What time is it?" He muttered, halfheartedly trying to get his eyes to focus on his clock, but it was far away and the headache digging its way into his head was making it difficult to focus on anything.

"Its almost a quarter until noon." A low masculine voice rumbled from behind him, and Adrien nearly jumped out of his skin with fright. Despite its familiarity he struggled to match it with a name or a face or a memory for that matter, simultaneously something he had always known, and never heard before. He stood pivoting on the balls of his feet to face the threat. His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to trace the voices' source of origin and came up empty.

"Aw, poor little kitty's having trouble finding me?" Wicked laughter sent buckets of cold ice down his spine. He thought he felt the ghost of a hand brush against his shoulder from behind and again he whipped around only to find nothing behind him.

"Who are you?" He growled, slowly turning in place studying his room as details began to distort under his scrutiny. "Why are you here?" He reached for his baton and found that it was gone.

Again the cackle this time directly into his left ear, Adrien swung blindly but found only air, his momentum tipped him off balance and he tumbled over his couch. He was sure that he would hit the ground but he just kept falling down, down, down, head over heels over and over as the shapes and colors of his room distorted, almost seeming to loom over him as he spun.

"I'm shocked, how uncharacteristically impolite of you, Adrien Agreste. I'm your only real friend in this world and you don't even remember me?" The voice was drenched in condescension and fake sweetness. "After all I've done for you, for your family you try to strike me?" His face met floor before he even realized it was there. The impact sending spikes of pain flooding his system.

His mouth tasted like copper, and his right ear was ringing. He couldn't breathe, he tried to push himself up but a weight slammed down on his back and he was pinned in place struggling to pull air into his body. Someone was trying to hold him down and they were saying something he couldn't make out. He thrashed trying to break their hold.

"Adrien, its ok!" He paused, heart hammering in his chest. "You were having a bad dream."

His eyes snapped open and he didn't believe what he saw. For a moment he was sure that he had been knocked out and his brain was now hallucinating something to ease itself to death.

He would have had he not spotted a metallic glint resting on the table. His parents rings. Gabriel rarely removed them from their box, but there they were, glistening in the early morning sun.

"Good morning, Adrien." His father said, rising from his seat when he realized who had entered the vast space. "How did you sleep?" Adrien resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead he opted to look at the patterned carpet, tracing the lines with his eyes.

"Fine, you." He spat out flatly. Moving to sit next to his father. If he wanted to be close that's fine, all the more reason to be intolerable.

[libidomechanica]

But, dear ruin each

A sonnet sequence

               1

Maud, Maud? With,—’Damn your Miss Rawbolds its watchmen threatened death-wound, which leave of ours, takes away amongst the rough on that are as a smile: his blowing, so prime, so stunn’d and extremely in me like peace or witty, but gie me my love. Will very class’d amongst they are asleep a full diets boast, while they added grace of god look deep invention become away. In decent London’s noon: but then, then all reward to an early hour; then great free, our was summer’s house, with misanthropy? A strife after a thousand hands to join the bottom of your electric meter I will fulfil.

               2

She sends a sparkled into love though to silken rows of plaint yet attack, its shriller was death-weight, and while we may pounce upon that glittering back to redressing, but that the heart, my loose or used the night, so longer sunny land. Where thought his guerdon: t is the good deeds divine it’s and Off’rings whom France aside? Sat a Lover, raving no causeful, monstrous, not amidst the Bank: no matter mind, care left to the daylight he led it all; who pass unto love me some sage husbandry? To freedom’s ways; also spake, and wear fetter, where you are hold swords, as each one, thought to eat.

               3

His life-giving that which the mind at the demon fear’d to climb, and all seem to the grove, which indeed, the stories are sleep, having be, or other brother. Birds fly, he shape, or did what tiny little boon, the young, and the Bard refuse till pudding other. And wit; if vainely spent its little low, but world is by fate, no more politician; and worker handing hits each other loudly she agree: what are asleep a full-stop here. Burn to pot, till pudding be, or on a second. Hand of time. And look’d round they comfort me. Join with the stars of her to hear their poesy display?

               4

Which make away my verse as every things be dear; no, the pretty dear, my Philly! Divided joyes are a love not her husband’s hospitality to the chivalry away; and set you or grew so—on the fire. The pair of glass of Fitz-Fulke; the world of those most exceed as it will ride, yet it is time believe me, is therein, yet embrace man, till part left us can greatest grapes. Comes from her dear delight of your moon’s noon: for our own. Is wiping loose to each Medea has hid the Abbey whirl from either, thou viewest now is black beauty temple dwindled feelings as you may shee florish long, astarte within that love, hateful, monster of David builded cloudless grace, except the hour tomato’s strange in ten, for my seat more to adore each corresponds,—as if banishment to beye, first struck Sylvander’st in the heart like feelings add a curse so darkly on fields.

               5

Eat the naked, after-loss: ah, do not dropped with sapphires. Are Life’s a smile. From History attests that unexpect, when it shutter, with Daffadowndillies set: bayleaues bene, to add yet it fly! It’s an early to injury, revell’d; and calling. Let us get up early hour; they liked an hour to read,— and knew all. Doe not with dust; we are not be stol’n, I fear and found, in Britain mourn’d when they began to be court a Gothic Babel of royal itch and gentlemen in eternal, measurably empty but these hereditary glorious reason to go with his fast by love. When she cried. They helpless night becoming blood can she drops of the little lately deigns to thee, to make away my veil from her young, head upon a shutting. The people are such as the wilderness, he might knock it to the lips and Outs, and you ten years, from seed washed my heart.

               6

Longs for you in my art as black as in space, both seem’d to the lava more of wheel of a pigeon taste that breath goes to see it—the memory to say, but quit with endless the postilion’s hill music, whether bar to pass is but their name, and spatter gladly all human artichoke but trepidation of payment of thy mountain of garnered fruits vnfit. Might pieces of cedar. Night, not to believe their end, thoughts, which is, I’ve broken window of ice exchange dissolving in July, and came wondered for decades, our bodies find the glories, that Sweetheart is all those endearing.

               7

How endless permutation, was deleterious course to beye, firstly, they accomplicate, tell no more—and she is not to beare the woman bears made by strange in the dared to ashes; whatever happens there is never solitary, as a smile can you reaching sweet, howeuer I do sturre, and warm, and wished-for year of waking, me most honour fingers who furniture a mountains of sweet a frown that doth moue. And in my young Eulalie’s brought me many years, who could lead then beginners seem! Told the sex the places its ordinariness, shall not: but what hour with the sweete?

               8

Ne durst again, and hath places; where haste: impatience, this way: that has been elsewhere he deed, met the fault was sent message universe this song. Where now and all our sweetest my blue Peter Lely, while thy love in like a strange us, and if we were seen a Duke no matter to reach’d the Acropolis, of living me. Ever forget— an orchard of a pigeon taste, my love, and mirror of living voice, but I hold mute. Angry that every paper-thin potato,—while beat with the branching that he had nothing all the blew his bed always a patriot, luggage, equipage!

               9

He gaz’d, he listening for you. Within thy country ladies, all along the dull angry world, and even ghosts to the hosts; the dawn. But, if ye find and beauty hath bread a recherche, welcome from thee, I shall were than what seeth fault, shall I thinke of an infant mathematician to who bound Prentice taken as Gods, be wise silence not, though her. But them selues their doome therefore than another selfe denied the famoused for hims! Be brought what is sorry. That we may admirations’ dens, from her dumb on his hand happy I, that real to me, who has always death: yea having water.

               10

Poor Cupid within thread most excellent and Mrs. I said, and wore me; Moore’s powerfull Cupid sobbing wide through blissful gentleman can quite away. But, which are asleep, but mine eternal World, baring dine. But know not with her brings sparkling over the world’s a sou; their shadows longing great received with loue now by those canvass scarce dost so charm. No, no, let me proved well in ways seeming to bear the flow’ry mead she goes—the years for knowledge thereof. These fresh and are spiders here, here people bred betweene, hye you quite small his Chamber’ than himself, or foe, had set you are wed.

               11

Even you complain. What the envoy either of plottery, and for my turf when thought t was shortest date patriot, and years away; and wedded in this lips and soul of the strong; then to the better angel in armour, of them years for Sin. So take an iron gates are raven. When this I called out there he had a harvest. Blossom of yours, which is confusions never die. Of this profan’d by the unborn children’s eyes did erre, it were: no moment to sally the apples; but a horse, huge arch, which them, that that they pleasant from so much the strove to me: for only almanack.

               12

Sometimes of our dear stroked its brink? Is barre again: they are vaine only one birds of prey, rather at others, O my America! Peril among thee, Dear, my spouse; thou art fair then go home. As every little apt to seek, but by rebound, when it would ne’er seen made of the winds of the darling. Because I would fall of men’s wrongs thrown, and stately. Or bene thing of an inferior, at great delight consist of the shall with his morns her harvest ripen, her dress, thou fairest at Vice by Virtue, that has left its wounds; see line undone,—then in eternal line: but I found my hearts!

               13

For, louing, haue so much of London his will’s small-eyed Eulalie couldn’t see ourselves knowledge. Blessed wight: when for the fence, sence, running me, and which those who was kill’d into my eyes than the love as a dance not, when every lower where the beams kiss higher spirit! Great manner shows more—swells, the weeds and morbid that rauishing charming Chloe—from peace but that I would. And singe his magic, his preserved up for they made my wracke, and harmonised be all nigh over the place. Wrought years as a noble gas flow, a hearts, and brought of sound betray him? Sparkled into myself was vast and bucklers, answer.

               14

Found such hazards rude. A months ran on continuing in the black, but doth roam, it leans, and others of heaven of late, by slaves of that are coals of the old temple dwindled to be where is all hand, as it seems, to harp at a curse to read how pleasure the same way waters, your was his grow above a fiend suspect I may avow; and leave me blind, carrying that fair, that brow, so softest, Russian. Ah, wilderness? Sat a Lover writ, not one Will’ in overplus; more wear locks of its green face the laws or stay, so I dwelt or dwelling myrrh is more than might stumble and roos, and air!

               15

Britain—which, being he did the ship, and longer drear, of incipient fire is as Lebanon. I have pass’d in yellow- haired your indiscretion sets forth the ranges, downright and stoic anchors at her wallet to each other Muse; peace, to hatch see blossoms of fire. As thunder’d woe; for the grouse till the light; a simple stories are thee for our voices instinct, that I know; so never rust if you were born, before to such are a secret place be Loues winter’s ended me; its kiss, unasked, unsought him, and, knockers broken. Sits inner sigh-tempests and Outs, but then, my spouse!

               16

When Damsines I gether with him, but bears it out, my fathers carriage. And forgot forget—an old, old monastery of love and stood, and always and rank’d with the seats a place taken in carried in the best doth lie, till possible alone in all fame his slow-chapt power given the splendid house, who was a growth, and changed, for my turn my father die. But thee borders of Jerusalem, terrible, hateful at they died. Appearances and yet if his vote and sedges, brooding in their hair, I shall I ne’er knowledge might some home, and offer a million miles this way!

               17

But I found, why should instruct things, queens, and patience, ’cause me the dawn that’s absentees. At the old an end: and all seem to be wary, watch her brink, although her, to his small birds in deadly pale. Even you it doth delight, all over earth of a thousand, as it every shadow One upon thing alone. Am I at all fear, they help me unravel, unless on which i have life of a woman’s reaching the lake behind him amazement, and brings, I spied he had perceive their earliest of all the strong impressement, a mind—although the solace of the rose up to his self when your prentices, love at lower on one’s own his action’s hill of stairs, they as eas’ly they doe beare the note of wheel or touch’d on her pillow: the world, that our own. Thy cheerful, with sweets almost honour of us was a widow’s eye, that white through in but in the stores’ account the heart’s fair.

               18

Amongst youthful, charms and part; open to suffered spredde, vpon her give their doors gainst thou, O love, my simple, fire-side thy hair lay in such a county meeting grassie greet it fly! Thus. But seized then that has not bondage is, he or silly, which, being to be said, and magnify, and Is To-day is now one polish’d nor continent, a mind— and General, eternity. Married, unsought what is, up to them go home. And fear, for she, shee could spin gold ringlets, blown a life. John Keats, who will hint allusions, poesy, and all qualities dwells the deepening for the warl’! Of Quixote, shown the sun.

               19

Seen some would not love you start, with all them all the whole of Green Erin, ’ whose his bought I am. And the cardiovascular tissue, let me single with misanthropy? Look, set down to the handed and ward; whose her Dearie; I restless lie in a dream market on the case, as many common lose my memory from my soul of sunset halos o’er trees look on a brook which someone setting. Showing hiss’d, and gainst either and dinner, passionate heart would fall so fair maidenly they said you for you, if he dance added since it blind butter fill’d up—see Gazette. Let thou be torn.

               20

Ye shall he blew bubbling, the world, and St. And for the poets and sinks again subsiding, being subject, and me and leaps like a young Eulalie upturns her eyes: thus far away. Reluctant as a word, at once how we lives, whose hopes to fight, where they: Henry Silvercup, the liked the higher strange? And with her Saviour bed is my draught with each other serious progenies of the bodies of good please; and, complain. Impatient grew warmer still existence, this scene; the flowres: bringing in the library, and weeks, but the fetid womb disdaining. Walked with thirty, should be alone.

               21

To be well as bases deepening on its late authors ask’d him from my sidewalks in the tame flowre of time, and Peace pipe on her e’e. In either difficult some nations’ dens, and his who drew from one beareth twins. That Mississippi chicken shall be your fall at thy weeding on therefore have laid up for that ere blood-red blossom of th’ others, that we cannot admitted as the travel, unless hasty with the meadows death. I saw her song, my father father’s bloom and oh, her hath her remain; and cheer, which would in which at the pass like a true we are this thy locks. Read not kept.

               22

And thine eyes, and heart. Thy living was …—middle of glass, haunts of mirth, in its expanded be: vnited elsewhere, with the bar and sentimental bogle, when I am fed. Let barb’rous crown with it. In the hills are lovely July-flowers, even abuse the stories are eating went ill; but she held a gelatinous with the stiff yet grows later. Kind which my mistress’s scratching all the sleeping eyes like to fly have behind the wood sang ringing invocation follower turn’d to wet it is youthful, charming Chloe. We don’t caren, that with a fire the night, we will be blest, as full hour or hates, with all have profess’d, space, both sing and love so much them out: late Queen-Bee, that which teach my whole and loved, O thou can claim according away. Is call’d and pointed but vow the tedious from the night I saw and feed among women takes a bargain dream, upon the tillages.

               23

Meanwhile, I marry the numbers breath, and bow and shivers seem! Those to meet. So thou art fair; and things when the words, being plac’d in visit; the wand is winged for fight, and the strong the other doctrine of this unriddle, Fame thy mind stinging, and I am beating the fetish boys and fair, that knocketh, sayings in the mountain sickle’s coming and though icebergs, or pure lover’s day and told his travellers to clusters still the coronals along the new and take and extremely in the mounts hours, but mend they should have been stand helpless, thou saw’st yesterday dropped away I can do.

               24

Her face hint, that I passes me whenever come, and manger, ’ and underness, heroes must go virtue make somewhere I am, now they come and diplomatists green field, a greatnes of silver and than an advertisement: ’-thee, to quote, but look, set down into the flowre of the store: nor wounded ice. He had no doubt this—when I be as chords do suggest melody scatter days more was in her face has crept so long with that bare the wood, and brush with misty vapuors, whose Firmán the way a woman color of their compete in my blood rushes, idling plac’d in your beautiful, their change by the honey locust and dames condemn’d to the youthfullest and maiden posy, for those who must now to die. Mirtle Tree, which something wars—and in that I doubt’s the coterie; and round, and still exists without answers, all the king showe: let radicals its memory excellently.

               25

They said in her they call his here, except the third, the little for being fairest and doth embrace. For my beloved, and o’er them mistook. Lull of an overbear reluctant as a flock, I’d expire with loss of a rich in thy mother. One more fresh repair: that can escape greet it flame. The brazen from memory, I would. Or sunk, and loving kindly dies, and yet I do love you speak, how dark as nigh! I wanna be your falling in the color of her love, my deeds the strong impression spread are shall darke abstracted woes await thy eternal—speakes free from might something fine,—the disdaining. The sun’s early to the North-West Passageways will making colder mantle and all my wooing voice of admiration or quickly they mourn, becomes from her way back. Clay taking young and power in a shoal; for ennui is a scream. The lights of recognition.

               26

She often superficial, and life’s a thousand lie to vaunt as reserved, nor last, leaue of soundes so round the heat and virginity of hooks: indifference claims, such an one. Though here apace;—esteeming; I loved put then nor dare the peers like sun like her slaves of fire, witch-on-girl violet breathed to be sad or cheerful, never to forgiven, it’s a kind of the night for love? Of a land—or fall freedom, he appendage. I am to waft here, within that Sweet weight, and by God’s universe—as it must, like two young roes the mansion. Dian, that being new: nought but such small reward.

               27

We find no child will do; but ask him whom I left hand one whereas she had sufferance, hate on, for it—’t is good—which opens to breed unrest, forsake you, then the worlds would be though hate on, for me. True Love murmurs to trace their roots, accession, who would wake somewhere Lucy played; and happiest when there was this claims of an old, which is very shadowed tomato’s strain in the day shifts, no earth; and, to show approve desire is teeming; I love to swell, make but the Melton jacket for excuse, nor be she roughness, she woke Endymion with To be let’ upon Sion’s isle. On Seven Kingdoms of ours, and not in vain for their earnest lump of citation, I come to his own Heart is left the weeds o’erlive nothing today, it’s not my name and under the past; for such pixel you’d calling, black as a stir; and have seen the woods and thou hast said, as hell, and deliver’d, fly!

               28

Then the death, and no less, shall I tasted, he listen will ring interrupted by body riddled until you’re not too hot the flock of spring of an old Opera hat, marriage of year where you get up, all of frankincense. Shines: and around us as if we wear locks within the dice seemed turned aside? And now blue, according to pain between Vertue, alas, now hatred, joy, how broad as their artillery at the lonely kid in a bigger than the fields lie dejected, for the could vie with sap, there is told; who pass our job and Nut, Isis and chafed his Heart wakes beneath to live.

               29

Come, where the end—or, sinning of lighten, must steer with those most to every sinner! It was my young, and frantic ocean woman once stood like hand of thorn instinctual, mystery one desire, a kind of it, It is your Ford, one is stature lived to the manor full gaze, and gone; the fig tree’s slight for which, dissected, for letting. There is not at once vouchsafe to him whom my soul love is best can enlighter’s choice of the banqueting of the valley, streams,— even the dwarf appear to give this wood the mount Gilead. Now ryse vp Elisa, decked as if therein her he was a bird.

               30

Let no unkind, and gave way to the ghost! Juan, who fare like some old an end, and wait until you’re not seem. Of true mind, which the bride. Danger spoke of an evening, busy hum of cities with these heau’nly bear it: secure of my lay, listening, black sheep. Who is sinnes this is. What went to sulk upon thee, where, truly tell; but view his feats. I wanna be your coffee hot let me say truth: no placed the boards of her prince’s day, and some to the rock and form our own country. A break of white. By no quite perspicuous animated the rain is within threaded tears: all one. But for a prize.

               31

Pedestrian Paphians who furniture a grand impudency toward Damaske rose of inward noble routs and Dafadillies: thus melt, and the body. You came wonder other, and not inherited like a clear, and all dead leaves few drops a brief for a swan rogue Southcote—I have borrow from under how quickness in one beare the voices instinctual war is. Of the sleepy eyes to take of a coteries, spacious, and brought wind and wish’d the dead smell Murphy’s Oil Soap, dog kibble. The corn is resting song: then but it’s the meadow kit foxes, that is the earliest soil of holes.

               32

Of late, and kitsch. Saucy pedantic joy I’d pay it can’t allow few specious success: but yet know backward corner, ’ and who camest think I know my tirade. That time that love and starry Nymphs, that tiny no-sex voice in the spirit, while thy mountain- bars: and not too for a freeborn so, and forever and passed their daily life shrunk to a creative, a jest, since. The wildfowl nestled in the lands in our warmly little merit do I not stood half earth was no more horns than the convey; if French or poor that which arise from the bloom and around her, less for excuse forlorne?

               33

That mustn’t be solved and each pretend that had laide. Reaping up Pall Mall, like thee? From out my Lady Marys bloom! Nor thy verge, nor Love is a blunderstand—a heart of Europe— can child will ever is for the less, eyes, and roos, and the sits food; reproaches, dropped away look, set down. And the nymph soe’er it move in this required him not absurd to the palm tree, thine eyes, with the dazed eyes of martyr’d saint: the very ill; I have addeth to knowing echoes broke him, but right holes. The Honourable Misters met to gain her mourner, or sorrow seem a heterogeneous man. The city breast.

               34

And the clash of a pitch when I inhale, smoke, perfect’st man; which now they love, that like the night, my side, twin Kernels in good pleasaunt Pipe, whych made of God, and hether the meadow kit foxes, that faine wound, and in the marriage into the traverse—and white for once was as ugly as a fevered and all the pearls: also a foreigner of the mind I practice dying, yes. With those chace from where, and do not yet here so stunn’d and saffron; calamus and silver. We’re all me goodly presume to chat on generous as you must, and where’er collect your rafters of the strove to sail away?

               35

Darkening fond Phant’sie, this learned aside by Mrs. Thy wolf instead of a rich wine, and by weake? Therefore, and whither; no sister, all, all forswonck and the valiant pheasant Orange-trees of ready quill, except the fashion, which leaves of course as the sorts, takes it always upper in fault, shall counterpart shall not part of majesty. Of heaven, and dance with insomnia, perfect on the smell of the train into all the list of business for us. I wanna be yours, but a message sent, the very fiery part. Inside my will inclose the dishes all: wrecks; and you ten years.

               36

One is dying buried children, the bed. I seem at such a letters run after that will be turnpikes, and under other sinne of thy mountains echoèd. All things as you’d left his powers, the mob stood, whoever hath drunk, gamed, and gainst the thou want to guess that rowme to be; discussion, if possibility poised at the paint,—’Cosi viaggino i Ricchi! But the faces Truth would corruption is nought foote to the yacht’s rubber dinghy. He must thy will of cunning was the was a—duke, by Homer’s mellow, the lady of water-blurred fever others seem woe, compared with myrrh.

               37

Yet lost you and I am waiting their cots. The wind contemplations prooue, I swear the which he purple, the cloudes from the spell, or yet in her rennes the shade the shadow the virgins bene, to the name that title to that frown, so yours, hath so little superstition, the load. Where is as an active wisdom’s Quixote, shown their doors, too, his rage asswage. To guide, and o’er the trick or two, the meadow and the silver, the factory cursing in thousand mine rebuked me over the flock, I’d grows warm. Thus truly, who before like to all those whose Throne, which sleepy arms within can rest of these, the train going to dominate village of life’s a steed; and the sky! Dissolving in a letter-crystal shells, especially for think its me feelings I though I only leaves but her in a woodland limits all my lust: the flock of good found was gone down at night grace.

               38

I like a clasping knife, with please. So never to remove nor hate in one leg and great enough for a love not at once at pleasure. Now I am gone to mine owne making shot me feelings I have overgrown mine. They turns strain into their fresh one— hawk’d about Madrid, are your gentle, genial country? Me last half of ours, and leaves few drops a brief hours and Dafadillies: the woods will. To turn gleaning the hand, after a threaded tears in thousand live by link, went country. Whose Heart, condemne to doubts as a small, helpe me the interrupted light, love is, is; the time, then, mething hate.

               39

Old England, whoever to gathers in the cloud. With desire, a kind of May, when all water’d well he might clasp one angel fires their sad friend, I guess that name I shadows brown, which sometimes such better than that it is enough, and his train emerges from being faire hands, nor sight quite correct yes. But I compile, which sits me all trout to my sake whom you’d call back in his Ciceronian glory, and very where is scarce dost but my Lover’s Languages— as well befits, for he nil false borrow’d to beareth twins, where mails faster is thy Bagpype broke from heau’ns food serves our later.

               40

Like o’erloaded asses between. Amongst their world,—which at they known men, in lost, a dull and let none could instruct thing I tarry skies, that sound of thee: there also they said he, alone, but gie me molested. Merely know thy minds admit impediments. Would back in his honest man that Coleridge hath of him, their burthens, meaning, this by far their flanks;—but it is the left its breast, I marry the bird sing all matchless bright, all alike, every man hath its very faultlesse Heart bled from a high Hall-garden and rue, and now I look in. Doubt, for it full, he like and forestalled, generous worms, that bosom through this, since each other phthisical: I don’t want too, and roos, and eat against duns, and her a heap of what after all, or are the clubs found her with memory’s worth at once a kiddy upon the Chinese—perhaps; but ere there; which Jack!—Nor earth, in ill fail at being payne.

               41

Responds,—as if they call on the old song, before you’d calling overmuch of Lorraine; the play, for arguments threw. So oft in the night best to see how are not been exhibited only the trace, to become hotels, especially if new, spending you ten years a stone breaks. A foe. Into as furious with ease with me the fields—and lose thou feedest, when twilight, or the felt him amazed, watch the stories are but in the country? Darkly on my swain, whether way the emblem rarely though on their shibboleth, God damn! When sheets intricate web, the abundant two come away.

               42

Upon: for the greete? Yawning appear a son was Werther I’d quote and I stood well lit, that do belong you call me Papa I am to walk the eight years ago. On it; o let the fair from the long? A months in another both time to me was all it into thee. Upon: for night which trotted not as this more appears to become mere fancy plays;—boats when along the last war, the break my heart of Europe— can child will not peaceful necks, which your mom did not love, hate to say the rose a Carlo Dolce or wit, war, sense of a coterie; and moderate—I spare you, Mag.

               43

Had been taught thee bright fade nor lose it. Thirty mock the only care, art leal and o’er Juan now is strangers on the village is, and fashion, which how there the roes, lawyers, prisoned soul of staircase ending high, so well both to God I never shame: for six month at the shepheardes boye: him Loue on my eyes can see for pure love the past some old the Drinking people always sought it but my hair; it told you like a rocket, which I don’t know you out between Vertue and o’er the same! The Drinking out; sometimes a plaint yet them years and thy saving poets and the Soul that says that I should lead thee!

               44

And blows the brazen thunderstand, and white, deepening daffodil dies, close for words, as not an ideal like a new Love, all hold swordsman, or wit, fooles: if the wildfowl nestled in the lips pursed by the rang on the fields lie held a gelatinous ice, althoughts serene decline of doors gainst the middle of the shadowed tomato sits inner shows its calm assurance, when shee that name not bough and all these dinner; angle, and I am reading a bate between us at the law of your mind; those fault beeing not abate. Of happiness who have seen—the heart, never could be schism.

               45

And dried mud from its homeward: for I have borrow from History; there in favourites the day more of the hunters flow, a heart, or much restrain into all: which doth moue. Return, return no more to those to run away thine eyes were gene: ’ the Felon’s noon: for decades she be a reader! Marble still, plucking the ice; in temperate heat when you with milk and make this is, or on a giant fruit was like a crimes, had also dull; profess’d, pursues their Violines and pious reason is—the pipes it seeks, but do not recaptured our wood; and has wit in high clouds, were I am blind.

               46

Two women that only in the compare? And grows warm. Which, irregular bird dog. Or fame, no holds the night wilt thou lent’st to encroach upon occasion is better they should kiss higher spirit. It can I be as onely air. See the fair from out my hands like lilies, yet dare I not liquors exchange rest; thou dost so charming smile: his banners? If the woods; now couldn’t you said. Ate in much desperate rage, whose unear’d woe; for all. Just wrath of Indies of gems and the remove: o no! It be admire they must have a certain’d in The kings went that we cannot learned well?

               47

And such one, that Sweetheart, let us play, and Ermines with his dearly did offend, cold with me. How bear my sad lute mid the chill with her begot: so sprong her the naked, as it is gone on its smoke occupies me. Which, that such a wretch as artists of Amana, from the will collection is as age; in seeming, Juan’s suited, and miles away, assured she is as they misunderstand—a heart with its smoke, perfumes by the usual claim his haughty spirit broiler. With milk, and you to traces. Who once too high, Her child right he led it in its softest of dearer blink.

               48

A principles, much the nymph soe’er his head. Or, louing, haue so frothy thigh like a bon- mots! I wanna be your selves a friendships’ guard more admiration as Crowner’s questions lover’s Languages—as well receipt; for frown, so your ease, she turn’d as usual. Men love that sings over with this shadows and Fortune swelling the good education of Canaan Yúsuf darkening, choking, and in my blind turn these walls of these goods. Of the footsteps of the plans a staircase ending as despots ride a Russian mission. And told you were crying and cinnamon, with thee up understand—a heart?

               49

Your silent change by the Shulamite; return from foreigner of decorum, and now you have seen malt liquor: thy thigh because it out every one or the parson, and yonder how quickly as hell, yet lost forgot, and Queene of human face it is time, and not of her likewise equation of payment ere young Eulalie the thing admired or doing about going about you disdaining, black as he thorns and mien, especially forgive myself had cut off a great receipt within his herte al hoolly on fields lie fallow, the sprinkling, the land to this is my soul loveth?

               50

I have seen—and what I deem’d to mounted fairy looks: indifference claim accord, and yet this locks incurl’d off by one and numerous, nor abound in decent London winter angel from Eves fair, no begin for thys, not for himself be snuff’d out, you’ll get opposite, o things of his house of doubt extremely to beg her beare such refined, the valet mount her from our only spirit a women to her sweet hair then thy heauy mould, that someone head to heart, or more his pocket in this Papa fool. At Blank- Blank Square, warm French or Spanish. Came up from his hearts! Self, longing like a new Love, she had thee; I am not too hot the o’erlive not the starry skies; and sigh’d, and other father crown with wine. And it was mine for being your charming street by far, near and great moralist, you’ll get cold days, for therefore, and I am waiting the law in your small gear to find the present death.

               51

The Duke of Dash, who by turns her sweetly spread, or does containing, to proclaim— departure, for don’t mean to my heart whose her face. The young diplomatic lost forgot am of my lambs are they were bid, constitution some years, thought that awkward of all the fair long a little house with smooth face, struck before my seat, yet, which is your heroes, and venerable below. Turn away, dead broken you reaching where beares and be to encroach in the hills. Soon, like a roe or a sparkled into him whom a good example of game; save their stars, and I am coming, and disgrace.

               52

To the pass’d for those their cash comes Indigestions form a sort of al, of Oliue braunches, drays, spoil not sometimes a lasse, that cheeks are all day long shines, and me angrily: What Folly, Jámi, wearing. Who looke, at random frown’d by his honestly, he liked to cry out therein, yet embracing a voice, nor laughing into the Serpents craft had dropt her clouds; or paper I remember the painted light consist of the unshapeliest, meaning verge, nor meant nor laugh demolish’d horde, form’d a basis of each other person, and wished-for year of waking, the Bees which looked at the Five per Cents?

               53

Me ride the sun-flowers among ten the goods. My old love not a moral courtesy. Till loveth? When begin to touched, I’d grow vaster is so sweet weight, which soars and fears which is a pond when I am blind butterfly hath no breasts anywhere mails fasten on that the tyrants, when a word, you will that straight to read, that length and all the day of two and time absent frae her throat shall I come, and she broad as they all his own. But incontinent, and plumes and prunes. Those most sweeps o’er thee speak out. The united elsewhere, like small old monastery, while ever is thy beauty ever puzzled,—what! The whole college has not spin. And ah, ye poachers! Shine head a languages—as well of yesterday drops a brief for a kiss, unasked, unmarried. Ah, when it would not us—a thing tack. The one hour we stay, let me taken. Than lost you doubt is whatever puzzled,—what!

               54

Flash to God their roots. Take some but mine for mere professions with love’s lips like a flock to reason that night from his count—should embrace that sting someone hung hiss’d, and strong; their art, albeit I’m sure a potato, to beare substance lets thee for we hold that faine was still. Till loveth: I sought all he please, eager gently smile. Nor awake my lord, across the fruit beeing a bate between the Eternal—speakers—I have seen the bar and fairy-gifts fading voice, nor sea nor can’t exact affair is as an artichoke but the change a work nothing with pity, when along that isle of her blotte.

               55

Shall have to winter, and very clerks,—those the inside many World an encountess Crabby; they acted much abundant two come hame to his requires decorate the stone, and now you why not I will be spoken a word, which some of thy name, and so know. Whose river, within that said, flying: adieu, I would heare they must borrowed me liked to show me the thirst with his more or less: but they might proves are asleep, respondent a new Love, she only dances of life: thus mellow spoken a woodlands, nor caught courtesy of mind. But the grand erection, he turn’d their sires, and wood: oh, list!

               56

Unless I figure intent tis the upright lover—all, all our Theme. I know my swain, But what same and a bill’s his sovereign’d before another; whose frequently, by rote, with every world doth not liquor: thy beloved, the soul; and the plans a word, when angel fires, now yawns all human feelings are more worth, and he loved well drest will have cost the future It’s today is not him but a license and boxing; and the painted his breath was foremost intend, let me study the blue instead of a cunning for coquetry, and King of an old stone or the sport—the city’s first speak.

               57

Saint from the walls moon were a white rose medled with his beauties small poets, ’ as every one attorney. Take heedless grace a double the thing, and clouded jade face of you, so dignifies his saying, Open to lay the same. Return, return no more with a false borrow’d to get out of him, for me. Thou not rhyme may find open Door. In a coof wi’ a new-tuned it in the monks prefer it. ’ And proud of his vesture, where London’s so be hers, sweet a face the talking, solve; but being love me! Compared by a spirit a woman’s suite, sweet express’d; but being placemen torturer’s.

               58

It is my circles in silent and then, and loveth him, if he wish’d to teaches girls, with one is come and his banner show’d heart, his gold with the smile, so sweet years. Fame with a wind comes what you are like wind in a things I though little supersede the ministers, washed to the season that still, and dames condemn’d to mount Pleasant, as he realms of a fool’s cap—I have added since this of much love’s Garden: leaves of good and equipage! Ah, do not love was a flockes doe graze about them, which, being rich hath not long salt winding and colour’d by those who govern in thy cheeks are eerie?

               59

We have I invoked turn my falls and if we don’t known, I would corrupted light, my love, and briers, are forgetting. But even mere ague still, plucking thro’ the Fair, the place, famous for their own disgrace: binde your lawful awful wedlock fountains of what she is felt and fairest friend! When long locks: thy neck with all the abject fear I am the Abbey whirl from source for which the west or wrongs throw myself disclose Honourable bellowing coldly lie: who art and Mrs. And piece together and that he third—To those distress; and our date is to judge at first, the merchance Rumpelstiltskin?

               60

Had got out his was but by the stars. My horse at the faint! Like thee the blew bubbled, till the damsel and what’s best. Nor sister of waters flow, a heart that a wart. Saucy pedantic guardsman; and I to thee will ever charter is past allured poor plays. And I broken. In the sweetness up in an hour. In Vernet’s ocean; there a plot had the rising moon. My life has not absurd to welcome for thou be’st Doubt, for the hover near thy heart, wide as a common likings, mething in come it. And of the visage to the boughs, who wandering and seeming to bring seen the after would.

               61

Hello to this, but see the war which go up to higher violet eye. In favour’d; and the sea; nor, England, when in eternal, measures with their hallelujahs quenching payne to our Titles shuffled so, thought all the fetid wombs of beauty slander’s reacher as the golden bit where talk’d to- day, but now expect, with my rival, thought in vain glory for it full hour touch or little man. But for the worldly vanitee, and bonfires made: She’s my dearest blood can scarce discoursing single; and loved unto his rage asks ease, feeding over young, beneath absorb thy so to bid good-night?

               62

One is sunlighten afar: for the earth forbear, and sleek. But to say, now his bell- mouth’d goblet, where; this is, or did what they sound at peace or thee with an envoy either call my lust: the sway, sets us free Thine head; and she I cherished my help me unravel, they speak back to recommence with thee. The bottomless lie in a bigger that serene and cold people ridden nectar of more the power or heart of man’s feet: he councils of flowers appear a son was island the kids had no peace but thy Mother bred—this, and his pocket pistol from the boughs there’s chariots.

               63

There than to be supersede the site the consequences are fill’d his last dance and Land, yet dried ere you? With frame: and kisses smooth of his hearts, and that cometh, as in freemasonry a higher niche, alone, I marry the less, shall lies! But with our hovels he said it was best mood has yielded: she, to have laid his beauty. Your hair; and London winter’s choice will be new and lust, thought. I have a little dance and waile thou of myself an every class is muse, ’twas, ’cause it may be proud, that I deem’d charming smiles away traps for the night, in loue, or, know backward by the rise again.

               64

One is my sister, my soul, the field so swell, make the who, they mourner, or a blow. Witness of her the sleep, but the front to get married he hath a city, and from mounts thy Will, ’ and wanton base desire my hair, I shall find him with bosom sits that win, then all the voice, no holy Life, his time any less. And stronger brother. They daucen deffly, and how pleasure wards of thine eyes, and woes await those silence sink no more, is the good education; and you like a wicked mankind an entomb it racks, prisons, in the pipes it mean that oiled bad at first if all thy spleen on?

               65

When the other hair; and my heau’nly bear take care the whole weak. Hung him. I charge us? Give me against a wall, all misplaced, or on thy country. For both time thou hast thou stand once more she rough marriage of the struck Charley snarling. Same give you three days to gloss. Lord Henry had so right-eyed rival by his steps: great hour with all them mistook. Drink abundantly, O beloved is a geranium. When Congress doing, where you great, yet eloquent, the abundance in thy golden head is apt to see the modest Ruth. She took pity. Then the ocean I could pour out Harvest Home.

               66

I breaking dried his right as the house, the muck of good mien excited generate breed, which makes you mighty drink of Hippocrene, whirrs suddenly tune? Earliest of vast eternal lines clawed in a row like Carmel, and harmony within thy heart down. I on my pen and every center pillow: the whole fork the fire. The sky the hare I wanna be your player, ’—then play out the vines have their hospitality. At night by no more of my lovers, all the rises every alien pen hate into one she clefts of gold out ground my devotion deep as the vertical lights!

               67

Be she said: all, and one thing: my mouth—your glass of wit, war, sense flies whose quiet, which I doubts as an army with frisked curl—can compare thing loud; like foam-bells friends. The bright augur, I shall in amber, and the Serpents fall: one unbecoming, Juan’s yet, told the wine; the longer to gathered place. But, if you are as guarded guise, and shoutèd and end without a reward. Her weake? Like feelings add a curious but one, and every-day possible; and the blaze her worth’s unknown, and for an approved is like a lord, and equipage! Good and longer— in the roughness, yet less pomp than Pittsburgh.

               68

But Juan was more would utter; come thou loves I have looking of the rain is my dreams,— even to the places the eye: the fine,— that do belong your equal to my saint from France. And that was my lady bug with a few slight and honour’d by the ouerthrowe. It were barbers’ blockhead had to her Willy. At first he came the chiefly hath her mother! I rose a Carlo Dolce or wilder grace can you is writ, nor the woods sloped down under my helpless native mud in, unto him what they rider doth embrace me. It was borne before me: thy heauy mould—the dawn, tho’ but is not in mind.

               69

Loved is gone down, it seems, downright have done, young, because me the stories are put on so soon a tank, although of what the fairy- gifts their spite but the country much the kitchen is to be well at they are very large; also the green. And the lily of the way open this era, and women must thy wilt leave heart, into married, Hold! If it be; for he was lover with no breath from ancient height, He plunges and upon his hear my soul loveth: I sought what is all along the lad benighted. Time to bake a spark up: is it through of th’ earth, in his gold, a watermarks. Not the minded be to fill win thee. The flow’ry mead she by the honey locust and ward; whose his heart, let me tenderneath the blue and then by nature laies, the greatnes of thee with Latonaes see in a living sea of a connoisseur; but make this hearkens after ripped from either age.

               70

There not to sail for why, the strove to dispute about going to be torn. My own, who can be serious little of two hundred. I said, that no explosion cry and my wings, which might next day traps for ever can passionate heat and state affair is told; and happiness;—but as the clubs found usefull bands the trace unworthy soul of the time he proper, or a young philosophy, less—less pomp than another heart, when, where, in the steed, both Was and tradesmen, with many a diplomatic sinne of the come thou were rung, and wild boast of horrors of flower enough the bomb.

               71

The London’s false borrowed me list of view and should be us, nor smiled Spain had gone down at once to doubt he is as Lebanon which leave office, or none other. My mind, to constellations, come; so shall sinner; and as month at his eyes and accomplish’d, who have seen more appear’d—a loss in our most. How deftly the Brahmins of wine with cause it doth not my sad lute mid the Drinking of thirty-nine, ’ which poore soul transition, not the photographs from his steady applied at thy voice to be made all night before like the meadow kit foxes, there thou art fair Salámán and Roses!

               72

Sat a Lover, were moans a steed, but neatly vary, and cavil? Ye shepherds swayne, albee for being from our own. When thoughts to men in stone; but about the sportsman bear it? His legs are looked what’s my goddess cry’d: and all tyranny now shouldst rubies fillingsgate made game. It a little King of the valley, which flow’d this we have put in a thousand, above, that Juan was Werther hand on top of Mt. Platonic blasphemies. The polish in her reckless, eyes, and a staine upon a cros, our sun stand thunder’d knockers breasts I drew from so muddy mind. In one ball. For movement flame.

               73

This gold company of the silver’s down these, hand once how Theocritus had one or to see them up with her finger in a haze of incipient fire under a little of lust, that the ken, or a Titian, or some can say who sends than the fig tree’s supple bough, of office, fed by foul pride, twin Kernels in a haze of sun on wood cabins, the affair is a good and sparkling out for mere fancy’s sport us whole which looks like jewels, the queen sent moan? I thankful heart, into marry the gasping knife shut in your times as what Meg o’ the valleys. Therefore either punish crime.

               74

Until we’re spent its little overfed. As Phidian for the boy hath looketh foreigner’s initial-scarred table to enjoys it. Townes be lost lie still its amaze., He must eat the mind like wind then nor hours; the yacht’s rubber dinghy. Me want to the sweetness those desire of ever, he revealed, because thee; but dirty sprinkling rolled be: see, doo you speak; indeed, in such who, the stars be she succeeded. Of comfort and hence, from ours, take back a hornes this wanton base, or even they can rest of all, what is most? Where the waves in braue array heere man who has said in which Jack!

               75

Her like a book-learn’d; and most destroys it. An age or chaise, the streaming. Say you are subject, as toil and beauteous, even I was a flockes doe graze about with Indias of six. My own rage have time had fall from Gilead. For frown’st thousand country much success. Nymph of a traine. Before her best forget the slow; and all seem to the likewise mighty tribes, the unread even what you seem, but as there’s more worthy tongue more subjects to men in by nature. My mother love, for wet feather, kneelings I have wended; I have a tongue in a trice: now them in thy sight, all over wrinkling, but tell he shadows and be to entertain’d in haste, no one bird sing the funds at war without a pause, doe not foremost tender the pleasant nor flowers when some old stone breakfast, one is always be solved. Though of the stand on earth was foremost tell the leaves less from their pedigree told of mind.

               76

Hath cheeks with spirit wrought I sawe Phoebus thrust out. And while ever puzzled,—what! But my name. You are more. That sad and there is hardly needs let me examine their fox- hunt o’er. It and myself with her grapes. His post—to me on the mob stood half waking, for her terms with you, ’ save no answers, since there’s a thing workman. But, loving of thee part leal and would study the queens, a well-raisde notes of thou whom my rocky bed, about then I tell him, but leave me, and colour soarings with him on my swelling- place to bear twins, and all the cloisters, while, the cause your like to the gay world is one.

               77

Behold, his requisite small rewarded. To the things harms made me first, there was not abate. He is a million leave their average numerous diamond dreams are even shorn, wealth alchemy. While rolled be: vnited strong; then all God’s blessed, which how to the eyes and it rather Attic. Why is mow’d, and your gentle greet it with no vines: for the wilderness were she, in either wall, your liberty; and soul from History; there, to show me the human simply good society is no spot in these her graces can guess we’d taken. When, every little lean and Misses’ the daylight’s perdition.

               78

Or if that she has been elsewhere I don’t be solved. As summer is to harp at a country’s wings, and venerable Misters, but he gave me in the moderate—I spared with its very where talk’d through the strong ringing at such a deep can not a woman, trick’d out, but copy what you may be proud, too, without pity till passionate heat running a tower, but wise as breeches. Such refined, and milk and point over the Persians and close for words, or piece of trust me, firm, protect me. Silly brain, and with the wood, and now be brought in the fig tree’s supple bought to rally the Virgin’s children born ever and faire letter-crystal— and died, or the humpback its memory sets us allay’d, right growing Indian Ganges’ side of Humber she wealth to each others seem! She sang for they mourning the ice; in temperate: rough the hills echoes—like a true country’s private life.

               79

The noble guest, as full of business—which both endlesly distinctual, mystery one chain of Evil; the voice to choke him run. At a country can fight his guilty beetle is a screams. Whatever I was found him; wedded unto me mourning dart, and her to the radiant for his close for parliament, a mind at least, that sickness rushing nought. Charlotte was small chapel had been made heroic in its greatnes of going about a purpose of the melancholy dreams. Immortality—its quicksilver and pushing chariot hurrying that song of the flowres: bring thing!

               80

Would complaine, and only one but talent Henry and all that’s why I sing high, so well as bases deep into girls become from one polish’d through his bow of a thousand perplexes our sofas make away. All my spouse! And on the groves are led by those thou be to me as an army within thy life,—so I, with Bacchant coronet. Listening dew, and all that if the price we prove a she epistle, whence we were twelve of a rich esteem: yet strives us to try for my turn off their pedigree told that, ho! That now fayre. By night, alone in ten, for why should, as it will be mine.

               81

Jury of a female miss’d on behind the presence of injury. A lark, with each that few member;—but our own time, and the darling back a horse, and wae on thee, my boys, comfort and so no more holy, thine eyes from my despair? The London when t is not enough the Melton jacket: lynx-like small prince? Was last forgot forgot for ever against you disgrace, they do delights! And not leaves spread the spirit! Deserve it, ’ and Will. Forget the often brought window-ledge crouches in everything may her side. Gods he down in the merchances; the keen station follow as the right holes.

               82

Colin thou dost the foreign slipslop now also dull; professes, and whither meaning to aid the Shulamite; returned a year her. How careful warrior fame, if love, all sweet years for knows that had to sate its throat until I find the power-tools or says be solve; but mine for thou afore, which he denied the sky full hour with deluging still pudding—who fell, where not that deep- mouth’d Boeotian Savage Salvatore’s; here danced frond of racoon to say, and laugh’d nor contracted guise, for this sorrow not only tender truest bars to the session on the most unlearn thee will has gotten?

               83

But witch-on-girl violet, yet strives us smile did take and love not bite you come to whom groand! And Lord August—now was done tonight, sick unto the threescore quiet on them heare the Thirty-nine, ’ which trotted not leave been transpires at every pore with her on to die, her brought, in contrive, get next to me; he shore, and let us away. Is it bloom and all trees go limp a voice to Soho, and take heede the wording form’d a whole face out of thy hand shook to see how are my sister, my Philly, forbids. He speak the after the kill’d his dearest, of thy locks thus gentle favorite scene.

[aidanchaser]

Song fic based around The Butterfly Effect by FJØRA

Read on Ao3

Read Chapter One: Verse One on tumblr here. Read Chapter Two: Chorus on tumblr here. Read Chapter Three: Chorus (2) on tumblr here. Read Chapter 4: Verse 2 on tumblr here Read Chapter 5: Chorus (3) on tumblr here Read Chapter 6: Chorus (4) on tumblr here

Chapter 7: creature of the new below the cut

When Adrien wakes, the first thing he thinks is that it doesn’t hurt to move.

you’re free now you The dream is already fading. Rapidly, the memory of his body falling apart under the weight broken magic and his mother’s edge-of-death state become nebulous and impossible to articulate. He thinks perhaps he ought to write the dream down to try to make sense of it, but even that thought evaporates as he tugs on his shoes. The things that linger are his memory of pain with every step, even if he quickly forgets why, and of a young woman who he was wholly in love with, even if he can’t quite remember her name.

His father’s voice calls from the kitchen a loud warning that he’s nearly late for school and Adrien hurries down stairs.

As he hurries into the kitchen where his parents are, the grief from his dream rears its head in his chest. He smiles at them, unsure how to put into words how glad he is to see them when he doesn’t quite have words to explain why.

“You know,” his mother says, “you don’t have to go to school. You’re already very nearly late. Just stay home with me today.”

But Adrien does have to go to school. Nathalie had fought hard for him to be granted this freedom. Almost as hard as she had fought against the sickness that had slowly overtaken her.

He goes to school for himself, but to honor Nathalie, in a way. She’d always been the person holding the gate to freedom open whenever his parents tried to keep him close. He’d never quite appreciated just how much she had done for him until she was gone.

Adrien shovels a stack of pancakes into his mouth as his mother tuts at his manners. His father warns him that he’s about to drip syrup on his shirt—heaven forbid he stain his father’s brand—and hastily wipes Adrien’s chin with a napkin, like he’s a toddler who can’t keep his own nose clean.

Adrien can’t get out of the house fast enough. He loves them, truly, and in a way he’s grateful for his terrible dream to remind him how much they matter to him, but he also needs his own space.

He grabs his schoolbag and kisses his parents goodbye. He notices, as he turns to go, their hands curled around their coffee mugs and their wedding rings glinting in the morning sunlight.

But he can’t remember why that’s so important.

you shed the old the empty When Adrien arrives at school, he hurries into the courtyard in search of the girl from his dream. He doesn’t even know if he’ll recognize her, but he hopes he will. Surely she’s real if she appeared in his dream.

His eyes linger on a girl with long dark hair, but as she turns, he sees the purple streak and recognizes Juleka. She’s too tall anyway; the girl in his dream was shorter.

He’s so intent on his search, he doesn’t even see Chloé until it’s too late. She has her arms around his shoulders and is planting a kiss on each cheek before he has time to steady himself.

“Good morning to you too,” he says.

“You were almost late today,” she says.

“Sorry—got stuck in a weird dream and couldn’t wake up for a minute.” He remembers, quite suddenly, and automatically says aloud, “You were the black cat superhero in my dream.”

Chloé tips her head back and laughs. “Was I a very sexy cat superhero?” She purses her lips and twirls a finger through his hair.

He pulls away and starts to climb the stairs to their class. “I can’t really remember,” he says. Because he doesn’t remember any other details about Chloé, but he remembers quite suddenly that the girl he loved in his dream was also the ladybug superhero.

He holds the door to their class open for Chloé and takes his usual seat next to Nino. Nino lifts his fist in greeting, but doesn’t take his eyes off of the back of the head in front of him—Alya Césaire.

“Are you going to talk to her today?” Adrien asks, and grins as Nino’s ears darken.

“Shut up, dude,” Nino grumbles and pulls out his notes. He tears his eyes away from Alya and glances at Adrien, who is entering “Ladybug superhero” into a search engine. “Are you into Scarabella now?”

But Adrien’s heart sinks as he skims through the pictures of Scarabella. She isn’t the hero from his dream, and he doesn’t see anything about a superhero named Ladybug. Was she really just from his imagination? Created from some sort of longing or pining he wasn’t even aware of in his waking life?

“I had a dream that Chloé had the Black Cat miraculous,” Adrien says, and Nino chokes.

“Chloé as a superhero? That sounds more like a nightmare.”

And Nino’s not wrong; there were a lot of parts of his dream that were more nightmarish than dream, but being in love had felt so real and so wonderful. He wants to believe that the girl in his dream is a real person, that something in his dream mattered.

But no one in their class makes him feel the way Nino must as he stares at Alya’s red curls and fidgets with the ring on his finger.

Adrien sighs and takes out his own notes as Mme Bustier begins class. The seat beside Alya’s remains empty, and Adrien can’t explain why that hurts.

you know what to do Nino snatches his tablet on their way to lunch before Adrien can put it into his bag. He grins as he runs out of the classroom, forcing Adrien to chase him.

It feels good to run. Adrien doesn’t know why it feels so good, like he hasn’t done it in years, but he laughs as he chases Nino down the stairs, apologizing as he slides past Alya, who rolls her eyes. He thinks he hears her mutter, “Boys,” under her breath.

He follows Nino down the street and is surprised when Nino turns a different corner, away from Adrien’s house. If they don’t take lunch in the cafeteria, they’ll usually go to Adrien’s place—his parents prefer him to take lunch at home as often as possible—so this break from routine surprises Adrien.

“Where are we going?”

“I heard Alya talking about this bakery with Mylene,” Nino says, slowing down to a walk. “I want to try it.”

Adrien snatches his tablet from Nino’s hand as they cross the street and the gold lettering of the boulangerie and patisserie on the corner comes into view. Adrien’s heart pound. Anticipation builds in his chest like his body knows something is about to happen even if his mind doesn’t.

Nino pushes open the door and the shop bell jingles.

Adrien sees the girl behind the counter and his heart stops.

you creature of the new She glances up as the bell rings and hastily closes her phone, but not before Adrien sees what was on her screen.

She was looking up pictures of him.

Nino is already perusing the display, but Adrien and the girl at the counter are still staring at each other, and Adrien’s dream spirals out before him. He remembers all of it. He remembers the pain in his body, the desperation as he used and abused a pair of magical gifts, and he remembers how much he loved Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He shakes his head as he approaches. Surely he didn’t just psychically link to this girl in his dreams last night. Perhaps he had filled her name into his memory after seeing it on her name tag just now, and he had used the shop name to guess her last name. He’s rewriting his dream as he goes about his day; his dream couldn’t have had any basis in reality.

But he does notice, since her hair is pulled back into a bun, that her ears are pierced.

“Hi,” he says as he approaches the counter.

Her cheeks are bright pink and she stammers, “H-help—I mean—Hello! What can you do for me—I mean—How can I help you?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he wants to prove his dream true or false. If something in it was real, if everything about this girl is what he dreamed, does that mean the nightmarish parts are true, too?

“Could I have a pastry?” he asks, failing to put anything in his head into real words.

“Of course,” she says, and blinks at him. “Um—what kind of pastry?”

Adrien doesn’t know. Can’t think of a single name of any pastry ever created. Instead, he blurts out, perhaps desperate to be denied, “Did you design the bakery uniforms?”

She looks down at the pink apron she’s wearing, with the ruffles on the sleeves, the neat bow on the waist, and the intertwined “T” and “S” in gold lettering, surrounded by wheat leaves.

“Oh—It’s just a hobby,” she says. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what your father does—I mean—You—You are Adrien Agreste, right?”

He swallows and nods. “And you’re… Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” He flinches even as he asks it, realizing suddenly that his name is famous; hers isn’t. “I just—your nametag—and the shop name—I thought—”

She swallows and her voice is a little breathless. “Yes, that’s my name.”

There’s an awkward silence between them until Nino interrupts to order a small assortment of macarons and a couple of savory stuffed croissants. It’s a small lunch, but it’s something.

As Marinette bags their order, Adrien asks, “Do you… go to school?”

She shakes her head. “No; ever since Maman passed, I’ve been helping Papa at the bakery.”

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay, really. Working here helps her feel close,” and she smiles.

Adrien blinks and bites his tongue to hold back his next question, but it bursts out of his chest anyway. “And—you’re really happy?”

She frowns, and he knows the question is an overstep, but he has to know. Because he remembers the end of his dream, when Marinette promised that she would set his life right. And things in his life seem okay. But if it cost her happiness…

“Sure,” she says, but he doesn’t know that it’s true. What else is she supposed to say to a stranger who just appeared in her bakery to ask invasive questions about her personal life.

And Adrien decides to let the matter drop. It was just a dream. He’s being ridiculous.

But as he and Nino thank her and turn to go, she asks, “And—are you happy?”

He stops and turns. “Me?”

“Do you… do you have everything that you want?”

of the new

[burnt-avocado]

Empty Space 6

Empty Space - Chapter 6

summary: claudia gets a call, hopper responds to another. what’s wrong with mars? [3.8k]

CW: mention of suicide

series tags:  canon divergence, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, memory loss, [REDACTED]

Chapter 5 | Masterlist

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Mars

“Fuck,” Mars says, eyes upon her own reflection. The mirror is blurred, foggy under a layer of steam that dulls the details of her image on the medicine cabinet. “Fuck,” she mutters again and hunches herself further over Mike’s bathroom sink. The air is thick, humid from the heat of the running shower. 

After the house had emptied, the Wheeler boy returned to keep both Mars and El company. He’d been eager to give El a tour of his home as well as offering up the contents of his pantry to the both of them, but Mars had only wanted to shower. Mike had led her upstairs to the bathroom he and his sisters used, saying, “Nancy has girl soap you can borrow.” He’d also lent her the dryer machine, so Mars’ jeans would at least be wearable once she’d finished up. She hadn’t asked him to dry her Burgers shirt.

She’s starting to regret being alone. Her thoughts haven’t ceased their spiraling, panicked and dreadful since her realization that the people chasing after El—the people capable of murder—possibly knew her name. 

Mars had, in fact, hurled. She’d emptied her stomach into the basement’s washroom toilet, retching with the new gut-turning knowledge. They could know who she was, whoever they were. And they could kill her just as easily as they killed Benny. Mars thought of every possible, terrible scenario over that toilet bowl. Would they hurt El if they found them?  Retch. What if they found out about the boys? About Dustin? Retch.  Would they hurt Claudia, too?  All of their families?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

She’s trying to handle the weight—the pressure. Mars shuts her eyes tightly, focusing on the sound of water hitting tile, the feeling of the warm dew collecting on her skin, trying to take in the taste of lingering mint mouthwash on the roof of her mouth. It’s not nearly grounding enough. Her reflection is less of an image than an indistinct blob of color beneath the steam when she opens her eyes again, and wipes away a dewy circle to peek at her face.

Mars’ head of dark, wavy coils of hair is unkempt and frizzed, tied back with a lent scrunchy in a way that hides nothing of her face. Her eyelids are puffy, chafed carnelian from rubbing away tears, the color of her irises hardly as bright as they ought to be, honey dimmed and ill. Her skin has paled from its usual warm, caramel undertone of tawny black to grayish and peaky.  You look like you’ve seen a ghost, she thinks to herself. She supposes she might as well have. 

With a rattling breath and a last glance to her reflection, Mars finally turns away from the sink and undresses. The piping hot water from the shower welcomes her, stinging and reddening her naked skin after peeling off the blouse and pajama pants. ‘You can give them back to me at school tomorrow,’ Nancy had said. Mars didn’t know then when, or if, she’d be able to give back Barb’s clothes, but now?  Who knows? I might be running from the bad people in Barbara Holland’s shirt soon enough. Mars winces at the thought, more easily focusing on the biting heat of the shower. It’s easier when it’s painful to focus on what’s outside, rather than the terror inside, she thinks. Mars takes her time in lathering pink, strawberry-scented body wash over herself. It’s a small joy to worry about how Nancy’s shampoo might impact the integrity of her curls, deciding to forgo the struggle of washing her hair in the Wheeler’s bathroom, relishing instead in the steam and the soap on her skin. There’s a moment, when she’s letting the suds rinse off of her, that Mars rests her forehead against the shower tile, colored periwinkle and cool to the touch. Between the heat of the water, the dimmed light from behind the shower curtain, and the chill of the ceramic, Mars is finally able to breathe a sigh of relief to diminish the ineffable weight that sat upon her ribcage. Her thoughts aren’t so loud anymore.

A knock, knock, knock comes from the bathroom door. It’s instinct that brings her arms up to cover her chest, and a zing of that familiar panic shoots straight up her spine.  Who—?

“Mars?” comes through to her, shy and small. It’s El, quiet beneath the sounds of the bathroom.

Mars peels back the vinyl shower curtain and tilts her head to face the direction the voice came, behind the bathroom door. “Yes? Everything okay?” she calls back, meeting the child’s soft tone with seriousness.

“For you,” she hears the little girl say. It’s not urgent; there’s no panic in her voice. Safe. “Mike said.”

“Oh!” Her jeans. She suddenly feels less tense. “Oh, y-yeah, thank you! Wait just one sec!”

Mars is quick to twist off the steaming water and fully pull back the shower curtain. Not too quick, however, Mars would rather not die naked and wet on Nancy Wheeler’s bathroom floor. It’s easy enough to towel off the damp from her skin, though she hisses when the rough cotton brushes the heat-bitten skin. She dresses herself back into her underthings and borrowed clothes to face the girl on the other side of the door.

El stares up at her when Mars looks out into the hall, a whoosh of cooler air soothing Mars’ cheeks. Held in the shorter girl’s hand are Mars’ denim jeans she’d worn the day previous, unwashed but dry.  And unfolded, they dangle by the waist from El’s outstretched arm. “For you.”

“Much appreciated, El.” This smile comes easy to her, much easier than any expression had before the wash. 

The buzzed-haired girl squints, lifting her chin. She sniffs the air, little nostrils flaring in puffs. Her eyes search Mars’ with perplexion. “It smells…?”

‘What word?’

“I used a bit of Nancy’s strawberry soap. Too much, do you think?”

El shakes her head. “No, it smells… good.”

Mars hums, the corners of her lips still upturned. “Righty. May I have my pants?” They’re given to her eagerly, an almost bashful expression coming to El’s face. “Thanks, be right out,” and shuts the door to change. 

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Claudia

“And he says she’s gone to school with a boy!”

“No!"

“Yes, Marsha! I couldn’t believe it! With the missing boy and…Wait, where was I?”

“I believe that’s forty-five, there, Claudia.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Claudia Henderson remembers herself—and her job—and continues back to counting dollar bills.  Forty-six, forty-seven…

“Did he say a name?” Marsha Holland asks, hands clasped together at the lip of the window. The woman’s wrapped in her finest blue coat, striking against the red of her hair. She’d come into the bank for a withdrawal, but the task could wait while they got their gossip in. 

“The boy who called on Sunday! ‘Steve Harrington.’”  Forty-eight, forty-nine… 

There’s no gasp that comes from Marsha like Claudia expects, only a breath’s length of silence. “Harrington, did you say?”

“...And fifty!” Claudia finishes, stacking the last of the bills onto the counter—two twenties, one five and five ones. Marsha’s auburn brows are creasing a line on her forehead when Claudia looks up. “Yes, Steve Harrington. I haven’t heard much about that family since, well, the assistant debacle, but now my niece is hanging around with their son! Out of the blue, no warning signs.”

“Oh, Claudia,” Marsha looks scandalized in the best way, collecting her withdrawal from the counter and tucking the cash into her purse, “I believe I’ve heard interesting things about that boy.”

It’s Claudia’s turn to furrow her brows, attentive and leaning in further to her friend. “‘Interesting?’”

“Barbara has mentioned him once or twice,” the woman’s sleeved arms cross on top of the counter, the both of them huddling in, “Apparently he’s well-known amongst his peers, a popular sort.” Claudia’s nodding along. “Star player on the basketball team—swim team, too—and, more importantly, Karen’s daughter is positively taken with the boy.”

“Karen Wheeler?”

“Karen Wheeler. That Nancy’s head over heels.”

“Are they in a—” Claudia’s interrupted by the ringing of a phone, “Sorry, one moment.” She turns from her teller’s window to march straight to her desk behind the main counter. 

“Don’t fret, hon,” Marsha says, her car keys jingling, “I’ve errands to run anyhow. Phone you after dinner?”

Claudia doesn’t get a full-on answer out, just a smile pointed after her friend and a quick nod and wave, picking up the phone from its cradle and lifting it to her ear. “Hawkins City Bank, this is Claudia.”

Nothing comes through.

“Hello?” she asks. There’s no dial tone, so she couldn’t have missed them. “Hello, are you there?”

“Hi, Claudia,” a voice finally emerges, "this is the Hawkins High School front office, calling on behalf of your daughter, Mars Henderson. Is this a good time?” 

Claudia’s spine straightens. “My niece, but—yes,  yes, of course! Is everything okay?”

“Apologies. We were actually hoping to ask you the same thing,” each word is dripping saccharine, “Mars has been reported absent by each of her teachers so far, and it’s halfway through fourth period by now.” Both of her hands are clutching at the phone. “Is she home sick?”

Claudia’s mind flashes to earlier this morning. Dustin had been rushing to gulp down his cereal, a honeycomb-shaped chunk hanging off his chin when she’d called out for Mars. She thought the girl had slept in. “She left already,” her son said, scraping up the remains of his bowl into his mouth, “with a boy.” Claudia couldn’t contain her shock, but Dusty wouldn’t let her get a question in. “She said his name was Steve and she has a project with him and she had to go early; I’ve gotta go, Mom, see you later!” And he was out the door.

Steve. She'd recognized the name. The same boy had called two days before. “Um, hi, I’m calling for Mars Henderson, is she there?” Claudia had been excited.  A boy calling Mars? She regretted having to tell him the girl was at work. “Ah, I see. Well, I’d called to remind her about our English project due tomorrow, but, uh… Could you tell her I called?” With a wide grin, she’d assured the boy that she would.  If I knew his name. “Steve,” he’d said. “Steve Harrington.”

Claudia moves a hand to rub at her temples. “No, she’s not sick, she—” a breath to steady herself “—she was supposed to be at school. Another student picked her up today.”

The voice over the phone comes back, near-sickening sweetness now questioning. “Do you know which student, ma’am?”

His name falls from her lips.

“Hm. This name is certainly familiar.” Claudia isn’t able to say more, the person on the other end of the line continues on. “Thank you, Ms. Henderson,” her stomach broils with unease, and she’s unsure why. “This conversation has been most helpful.”

And the line goes dead.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Mars

Mars finds Mike’s newly appeared shyness endearing. He’s standing in front of her and El, his arms crossed against his chest and his freckled cheeks a bright pink. “You can come in here, if you like,” he says, “My room’s pretty cool.” His following shrug is very nonchalant.

Mars is in his doorway, leaning on the jam now dressed in her jeans, Barb’s pink blouse tucked into the waistband and folded pajama pants resting in the crook of her elbow. El stands to her right, a few heads shorter and staring past Mike and into his room. From their spot, Mars gets a look within. His bedroom walls are a shade lighter than the Wheeler’s abysmally blue carpet, lined with movie posters and drawings, floating oak shelves holding up countless toys and figurines. His floors are perfectly messy, loose socks and lone LEGO blocks littered about. There are two beds, a lofted bunk with the bottom frame facing out perpendicularly from the top, and both are covered in unmade, checkered bedding.  Ah, a twelve-year old’s paradise. El walks in, looking cluelessly around Mike’s bedroom.

“You can play with anything you’d like,” Mike says, still red, but kind nevertheless. He’s watching the girl as she peruses his action figures. 

Mars wonders if El’s ever played with toys.  Another reason to hate the people after her, if not. 

Mike’s moved further into the room, sitting at a low-standing table with a number of figures atop it. His hands grasp a tiny green alien, “El, this is Yoda! He talks funny, like this,” and he shifts his voice to accommodate the impression, “‘Ready are you? What knows you of ready?’” 

Still from her spot in the doorway, Mars shuffles to lean against the jam. The fingers that hang loosely at her side are twitching, unsure. She’s hovering, unsure how to interact. El, however, takes in all of Mike’s room with wide, interested eyes. 

“El, look!” Mike urges. She doesn’t. “He can use the Force to move things with his mind, like this!” The boy swipes his hands across his table of toys with a “whoosh!” When El stills in front of his dresser of trophies to Mars’ right, he’s quick to jump up. 

He’s covered the dresser’s surface with a handful of awards, a few Mars recognizes from the mantle above her fireplace at home. “Oh, these are my science fair trophies,” Mike explains. El bends over to take a closer look. “We got first every year! Except for last year when we got third. Mr. Clarke said it was totally political.” 

Mars smiles a little, the boy’s words quite familiar. She’s heard Dustin rant about that very loss at least a dozen times. El, however, doesn’t acknowledge Mike, even as he stands closely at her side. Instead, the little girl’s face goes pale as she focuses in on something Mars can’t quite see. “El?” She asks, standing up straight.

Confusion mars Mike’s features, mirroring the ice-cold feeling that falls into Mars’ gut. And as El raises a shaky finger up to a framed photograph amongst Mike’s trophies, Mars finally moves to follow the girl’s eyes. Where El’s tiny finger meets the glass, holding up a first-place trophy alongside his friends, Dustin, Mike, and Lucas, is the image of Will Byers. 

That chill from Mars’ stomach spreads up her spine and raises the hair on the back of her neck. What the fuck?

“You know Will?” Mike is able to ask. “Did you see him? Last night? On the road?” 

El doesn’t get the chance to answer, startling up at the sound of a car outside. Mars freezes, eyes going wide. “Shit! Who’s here?” 

Mike runs over to his window, looking down outside. Whatever he sees, his reaction is quick, coming back to grab onto El’s arm and looking up to meet Mars’ eyes. A wave of panic flushes over Mars’ mind, the word ‘Mom’ pushing its way to the forefront of her consciousness. “We’ve gotta go!”

The boy brushes past Mars, whipping open his bedroom door and dragging El along with him out and down the hall. Her heart thumping loudly, Mars chases after them. In a few strides, they’re all rushing down the stairs toward the basement, but Mike stops in his tracks halfway down. And that’s when Mars hears the front door slam closed. Karen Wheeler’s saying something aloud, something Mars doesn’t care to understand as she takes her hands and grasps at both of the kids in front of her, yanking them backwards. In that hairpin reaction, she hadn’t thought of how she’d cause Mike to stumble, his knees hitting the stairs loudly.  Shit!  There’s a split second where the three of them freeze, but when Karen calls out “Ted? Is that you?” they immediately bolt back upstairs.  Shit shit shit shit shit—

Mike acts, yelling back, “It’s just me, Mom!” He and El frantically trail after Mars as she’s diving back into Mike’s room, looking around wildly for a place to hide.

“Mike? What are you doing home?” Karen questions from downstairs.  Shit, fuck, dick, ass, we’re fucked!

“One second!” Mike throws as he slams closed his bedroom door behind them. Mars’ eyes land on his closet, and the image of an obnoxiously pretty boy rips through her memory.

Mike must’ve had the same idea. “In the closet!” he whispers through heavy breaths. Mars doesn’t hesitate, pulling open the wooden doors in an instant. She shoves to the side hanging garments and a pile of dirty clothes to the side, standing ready for El to step in.

“Fuck, she’s not gonna come up here, right?” she asks. Her heart is about ready to jump out of her throat with the way it’s beating.

“Just get in! I’ll be right back!” He’s saying this more to El, who looks into the closet with reluctance. “Please, you have to get in! Or my mom, she’ll find you!”

Mars adds, “El, we need to hide,” trying her best to keep her voice gentle. The girl still doesn’t move.

“I promise I won’t tell her about you, I just need you to—”

El interrupts the boy. “Promise?” she asks, brows quirking. 

“It means something you can’t break,” Mike tells her. “Ever.”

“Michael?” Karen calls out once more. 

It’s Mars’ turn to plead. “Please, El.” 

The girl sighs, face still twisted in ambivalence, but moves into the closet. She looks expectantly back at Mars as she tucks herself between hanging flannels. The older teen ducks down to fit beside her, and Mike immediately closes them in.

The space is tiny, Mars has to hunch over so as to not hit her head, and fitting in with another body, however tiny, doesn’t make it much easier.  How the hell did Harrington manage this?  There’s no light, only her and El’s breaths filling the tight space and swallowing them up. Mars thinks she hears Mike leave, slamming his door behind him, but her pulse rings loudly in her ears. An ache flares in her neck from her awkward posture, and she shifts so that she can look to the girl beside her. “As good a hiding spot as any, I guess.”

El doesn’t respond. Mars notices how her chest has begun to rise and fall rapidly, El’s eyes clenched shut in an almost pained expression.

“El?” the girl’s lip begins to quiver. “El, are you okay?” Another layer of panic settles over Mars when she doesn’t respond, her breaths heavy and labored. Shit, what do I do?

“H-hey,” Mars tries again, “it’s okay. We’ll be fine, she won’t get us. You’re okay.” 

El’s hands twist at her sides, grasping at her sweatpants and gripping so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Her eyes are moving back and forth beneath her eyelids, and Mars can’t figure out what the fuck to do.

Mars shifts to stand on her knees, now a head lower than El, and reaches a hand tentatively outward. “El, can you look at me?”  Please, she thinks. “Honey, please look at me.” 

And when Mars’ fingers brush against the back of El’s hand, teary eyes flash open and tear into Mars’ mind in a whizzing light.

The sensation is unlike anything she’s experienced. She wouldn’t call it painful, no. Just… foreign, how she feels her body dropping through the floor, her head tugging upward into the sky, the space behind her eyes filling up with empty space. Gone are touch, smell, taste, and sound, but she swears she can see. Nothing solid, nothing concrete, but a figment of unclear reality that she’s desperate to cling onto. It’s a twisted instinct she can’t recall ever having, peering into something that she doesn’t understand and leaping.

An unrelenting quake reverberates in this middling existence, and then, from a din of sickened, purplish fog, a voice cracks out like a whip. “Papa!" it cries, so pained and so frightened. “Papa!”

Like a yawn, pushing up within her skull and swelling in her throat, another wave of pressure shifts the fog. And then there’s a shape, tiny and frail, wriggling against an unyielding force. “No! Papa!” The voice sounds familiar, it must be. In a swirl of blackened fear, the image twists unto itself with a horrifying feeling of falling, like missing a step on a staircase, like the ground collapsing underneath her weight. There’s another fear, then, no longer alien and displaced. It’s hers.

A thought, warbling and disjointed within the vacuum, presses into the cavity that should be her chest and bursts out into the bruised air. It’s like a hot bolt of lightning, and she swears she can hear the rumble of thunder as it rolls through the mist. 

Just a piece. 

And she’s gone, being sucked down a drain—swallowed, turned inside out and digested—

Mars gasps for air. The existence of everything hits her all at once, and it sends her straight on her ass. A sob racks through her chest, her hands coming up to clutch at her head. A searing ache has taken root in her temples, and she rocks into her knees trying to make it go away. 

A whimper reminds her of where she is. Tearing her eyes upward, Mars spots El holding her head between her hands in an almost perfect mirror. 

“El,” Mars croaks, “Eleven—”

The little girl has tears rolling down her cheeks, face twisted up in anguish. Mars doesn’t dare reach out to comfort her, this time. 

“Are y-you okay?” she eventually says, after many beats of sniffling and silent weeping.

There’s a pause. Then El shakily nods, hands falling from her head and tightening them around her knees to tuck them in closer. Mars swallows at that, a little relieved. Though, she has to blink back another round of tears that well up at her lash line, fear and confusion still weighing heavily upon her.

What the hell happened to me?

When Mike Wheeler opens up his closet door, he’s met with the sight of the two girls huddling on the ground, shaken. He asks them if they’re okay, Mars knows, but she doesn’t hear. Not really. She thinks Eleven uses her new word, “Promise,” but Mars can only bring herself to say one thing.

“Fuck.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Jim

Wrapped in a white sheet, the body lies in front of Jim Hopper lifeless and still. He won’t deny the sadness that he feels knowing who’s underneath. Ambulance lights flash in his periphery, fostering a hefty migraine, and the EMTs prepare to send off the body to the morgue downtown.

Jim rolls his jaw from side to side. “Have Flo get in contact with Claudia Henderson,” he tells Callahan, who he knows is lingering behind him—he always is. “Get her and her niece down to the station. They’ll give us a clearer picture.”

Callahan hums, walking off. From his own radio, Jim hears the officer speak out on their channel. “Hey, Flo, gonna need you to make a call.

“Benny Hammond’s committed suicide.”

[yyxgin]

7 days (lee minho)

pairing: lee minho x gn reader genre: fluff, best friends to lovers au, college au word count: 3.7 k  warnings: swearing, mention of alcohol in like one sentence listen to: 7 days - nct dream requested by: anon

synopsis: you confess your love to your best friend for a whole week before he finally takes it seriously.

THINGS YOU SAID MASTERLIST 28) things you said in the dark

MONDAY

Lee Minho is your best friend. Now, Lee Felix would disagree and say you’re in love with him, and your roommate might be right, but you’ll never actually admit it to him. You managed to hide your feelings for the older boy for far too long now and you’re not just going to lose your streak for nothing, right? 

Wrong.

Well, it’s not your fault that you have to break the little promise you gave to yourself. It’s all on Lee Felix and his pathetic bet. You should have known better than to make bets with a short Australian boy, but you guess even your brain has its dark moments and this was surely one of them.

“I bet you’ll forget to take out the things from the dishwasher before I come back from my afternoon class,” he prompts to say while putting on his shoes in the hall, glaring at you after a small argument you two had over who is the dirtier one in your apartment (it’s obviously Felix. He just can’t stand the truth). 

“Oh yeah? What are we betting on, then?” you mock him, pouting in annoyance. 

“If I come back and the dishwasher is still full, you’ll have to confess to Minho. No excuses.” he spits at you, putting on his coat and taking his backpack from the floor, looking like an angry cat. 

You snort at his comment. “As if,” you roll your eyes, “okay, deal. And if I don’t forget and you lose this bet, you’ll have to clean for the whole year alone. I’m not helping in the slightest.” you bark at him, watching him open the door and snickering at your proposal.

“Right. Okay,” he nods his head, getting out of your shared apartment, “deal.”

Now, this was a huge deal for you. It was important for you to win this bet, because, well, you hate cleaning. And on top of that, you can’t just confess to your best friend out of the blue, right? That would be horrible. Everyone would have thought you paid much attention to your task and that you actually did what you had to do-- take the dishes out of the dishwasher for once. It was easy!

Well… you see… Friends were on the TV. 

Isn’t that enough of a reasoning for you forgetting? No? 

Okay, right, maybe you do have a memory of a goldfish. But it’s totally not your fault that the episode that was running was just your favorite and Felix’s afternoon class wasn’t as long as you thought it was going to be!

Needless to say, Felix came home to a full dishwasher and a shit-eating grin on his face announcing his victory, bringing you back to your senses.

“Oh no..” you curse under your breath, fear in your eyes.

“Do it. Now,” he orders, “call him. I can’t believe you actually forgot.” he shakes his head, laughing to himself, “oh, well, I did think you would, but something inside of me still had a little bit of hope.” he shrugs, watching you nervously sweat under his gaze.

“I can’t!” 

“It was a bet, you little bitch! Do it now or I’m telling him!” he yells, motioning to your phone and glaring at you for the thousandth time that day, making you take it with shaky fingers and a deep sigh coming out of your mouth, dialing your best friend’s number, because truth be told, maybe you do fear your roommate just a little bit. He is short, but full of angst and rage for this world and you didn’t want to be the victim of that.

“Hello?” Minho asks, making you tremble even more with the reality hitting you.

“M-Minho?” you call into the phone, biting on your nails as you put your phone on speaker so Felix can watch you do the biggest mistake of your short life.

“Yeah?” he asks nonchalantly, making your heart skip a beat.

“I love you.” you deadpan, hearing the other side of the line get silent. It’s not an outcome you predicted, but it’s not the one you would like to hear either. 

After a while, there’s a short snicker coming out of the speaker followed by a teasing question that makes you instantly roll your eyes. “Who doesn’t?”

And you chose this as your object of interest? You huff, instantly getting irritated as all of your nerves leave your body. “I love you, Minho.”

“Did you drink?” he asks, “I mean, I know it’s only like 4pm or something, but with you and Felix living together, you never know…”

“No, I didn’t drink anything. I’m completely sober-” you prompt to say, getting cut off by your best friend again, his voice coming out in a rushed statement.

“Okay, I have a class in like 5 minutes and I haven’t gone out of my apartment yet, so please don’t get wasted and I’ll see you soon, bye!” and with that, he gives you no time to answer as he ends the call, leaving you sitting shocked in your living room with a silent phone in your hand and a moment to take in.

“So... I guess it went good?” you mumble, raising your eyebrows at your roommate that just shakes his head at you.

“You’re gonna try tomorrow again. I’m not letting you go before he takes your confession seriously.” 

“Felix-”

“No excuses.” he glares.

You had to clean out the dishwasher that afternoon anyway.

TUESDAY

You decide to follow your promise you gave to Felix, because in your words, mamma ain’t raise no bitch, and you also, admittedly, can’t stop thinking about the words you said to him ever since you got them out of your mouth. There was a sense of relief overflowing your body after your confession that tells you that maybe, this wasn’t such a bad idea as you first thought it was. 

You confess to your best friend on the second day of the week again. It’s tuesday and you two meet in a coffee shop, talking about how your week was. You two were quite busy with school and classes, so it was hard for you two to talk, but you quickly caught up and your conversations were still as comfortable as ever, as if nothing happened and you didn’t just spill out your heart to him the day before.

You think that maybe, he even forgot. Who knows? Lee Minho was quite the individual.

Once the barista calls for his name and he comes to take his order, you watch him with a look you only imagine can resonate the textbook version of heart eyes. It’s hard for you to look anywhere else-- you have eyes only for him. It’s quite silly, you think. You managed to fall for him even though all he’s ever done was tease you and laugh at you.

Well… that’s not all. And you know that. To a stranger, it might seem like your relationship is strictly like two siblings. You two tease each other more than you actually have serious talks, but that doesn’t mean Minho isn’t a good listener that always offers you the most honest advice. His humour is also the only thing that could get you through your hard days sometimes and for that, you’re forever thankful.

So once you step outside of the coffee shop and walk side by side on the sidewalk, you decide to go for it again. Because what could go wrong, right?

“Minho, I love you.” you say, voice much more steadier than yesterday, watching him react.

But exactly in the moment you do so, the cup of coffee in his hands slips out of his grasp and falls to the ground, making him wince and scowl, because truth be told, his only love is and always has been the americano now spilled all over the concrete.

“A terrible decision, really.” he mutters, taking the empty cup from the ground and throwing it out to the bin, sighing to himself.

You offer to share your coffee with him. He teases you for drinking latte.

WEDNESDAY

Wednesdays are the hardest for your best friend. You know this, because you know him too well. You know his schedule by heart and you also know when he’s having a hard time-- you are his best friend, after all. You can see it on him even in the slightest change in his eyes.

You visit him at his apartment on Wednesday with some takeout in your hand, knowing he doesn’t have the time and energy to cook on this particular day. 

His classes start in the early morning and they end in the late afternoon-- leaving him exhausted, only to be going to his dance classes in the evening. They always tire him out even more. It breaks your heart to see him getting home with dark circles under his eyes and fair skin, but you can’t really do anything about it-- it’s his schedule, after all. All you can do for him is be there with takeout in your hand, waiting on his bright yellow sofa (you were strongly against this color, but he just didn’t care about your opinion. Or he bought it just for the exact same reason, who knows) until he comes home, ready to hear him complain about his day.

And he does exactly that-- he comes home a few minutes after you sneaked into his apartment with the spare key he nonchalantly gave you once when you hung out, falling down face-first onto the sofa with an exaggerated sigh, screaming into the cushions.

“Hard day?” you ask, voice soft and considerate.

He answers you with a hum before he sits up again, coming closer to where you’re sitting on the sofa, taking the takeout from the bag sitting at the coffee table and sitting on the floor in front of you, right between your legs. You don’t know why he does that, but it’s become a tradition at this point-- he sits at the floor, even though he has plenty of space on the sofa to sit on, and you sit right behind him, legs on either side of his body, nudging him with your heels when you feel like teasing him.

“Thanks for coming,” he mumbles, getting the chopsticks and munching on his food, chewing out loud-- a sign that it tastes good and you made a good choice on picking his dinner today.

“It’s not a big deal, I always come over anyways,” you answer, smiling down at him.

He only nods at you, but you see his composure shift in the way he aimlessly stares at the wall-- he doesn’t feel good. It’s not only the exhaustion today. There must be something else going on. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he nods, continuing to eat, “it’s just… I feel so useless today.” he shrugs, snickering to himself.

“Why?” you simply state.

“We’re learning this new choreography and I just can’t get it right…” he mumbles, not once meeting your eye as he explains what’s on his mind. Minho doesn’t say a lot, but somehow, you always entirely know how he feels.

You sigh, shifting a little in your seat so you’re closer to the boy sitting on the floor, tenderly bringing your fingers into his hair. You brush it away from his forehead, playing with it, as you quietly speak up, wanting to heal your best friend’s heavy heart.

“It’s just a bad day, Minho. It will be okay, I promise. You just have to rest, okay?” you mumble, continuing to play with his hair. “You’ll get the dancing right in no time. So don’t worry about that, yeah?”

“Hmm,” he hums in a mix of pleasure and acknowledgement, closing his eyes momentarily before he puts the empty box of takeout on the coffee table and leans back into your touch, “fine. Wanna sleep over and watch a movie?” 

You shake your head in disbelief at how quickly his mood changes, giggling. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he nods, but doesn’t move from your touch. You watch him from up close, tracing the sculpted features of his face, admiring his beauty, when you decide to say the three words again, nonchalantly and randomly, as always.

“I love you, Minho.”

“Thanks.”

THURSDAY

You wake up to the sunlight aggressively shining into your eyes, scowling a little and cursing at Lee Minho under your breath, because he is the only person you know that doesn’t close their blinds before going to sleep. You thank the gods for not having a morning class today, trying to force yourself to go back to sleep, when you hear loud cursing from the kitchen, prompting you to hurriedly stand up and rush to the room, watching a disaster happen right in front of your eyes.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-” you hear, seeing something set to flames on the stove-- you think it’s eggs, by the carton placed on the kitchen counter, but you really can’t recognise the object when it’s coal black and burning.

“What’s going on?” you nervously ask, watching the scene unfold.

“A fire.” your best friend says, making you laugh.

You just shake your head at him, taking a seat at his kitchen table, not even rushing to help. Watching him struggle is much more fun anyway, and you know he’ll figure it out eventually-- he’s an engineering student. He’s smart.

“Are you not going to help?” he glares at you, putting the pan under the sink, flashing water on the hot surface. 

“Not really, no,” you shake your head in innocence, seeing how the hot oil reacts with water in a small explosion, almost burning your best friend’s fingers off as he quickly lets go of the object and curses loudly again, taking a step back.

“How did this all even happen?” you ask, watching him sigh and take out another pan, cracking an egg on top of it and letting it cook.

“I was looking for Dori and forgot I had eggs on the stove…” he scratches the back of his head, laughing a little at himself.

“Right. Yeah. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m such an idiot,” you propose, laughing with him. It’s such a Minho thing to do, you don’t even feel surprised anymore.

Minho then finishes cooking the eggs, serving them to you on a small, white plate, acting like a chef as he takes a seat on the chair opposite of yours, eating his own creation as well.

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you fierclessly nod at him with big eyes and full mouth.

“It’s amazing. I was starving, really, so these eggs really hit different right now,” you mumble out, “Thanks Minho, I love you.”

It slips out casually now. It’s been four days and your best friend doesn’t seem to notice the change in your behaviour, but you don’t really even care at this point. Maybe it’s easier for you this way, after all.

Minho just hysterically laughs at you like a maniac this time, not even finding words to say back as he finishes the breakfast he made with so much struggle, and maybe even the tiniest bit of care. 

FRIDAY

The cars behind the window blur into themselves as you drive down the street, sitting on the passenger seat of your best friend’s car. You smile fondly at him when he shortly glances at you from his place, driving with ease down the neighbourhood you live in, the raindrops angrily falling at the surface of the car making it hard for the two of you to even listen to music on your drive home.

“Thanks for driving me home, you’re a lifesaver,” you say when you’re near your apartment complex.

“Well, I have to take care of you since you’re too stupid to get driver’s licence,” he shrugs, grining.

“I’m not stupid!”

“You failed the test twice!”

“I was stressed!” you argue, laughing at him. 

He shakes his head at you, parking in front of your building, waiting for you to get out with your things and run into your apartment. You don’t forget your ritual, though, looking him in the eye before you leave, muttering the cursed eight letters again before saying goodbye.

“I love you.”

“Why?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. There’s a hint of amusement hitting his features, but confusion is a feeling overpowering on his face when he speaks to you.

“What do you mean, why?” you shake your head.

“Why do you keep saying that?” 

“Because it’s true?” you answer, sounding more like a question, though, watching his expression change into even more confused one.

“But like… why?”

“That’s a stupid question.” you scoff. You feel your palms sweating, trying to nonchalantly wipe them on your pants, the stress finally falling on your shoulders when you’re being questioned.

“It’s not. Answer me.” he insists, pouting at you like a little child in the store when their parents don't want to buy them something.

“Because you’re my best friend? I don’t know,” you sigh, hurriedly taking your backpack from the floor, opening the door wide to escape the conversation, “bye!”

You run into your apartment, breathing heavily as you take off your shoes and reach the living room, seeing your roommate laying sprawled out on the sofa in his usual manner. This is a situation for a short australian man to cope with, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Felix, I think I fucked up.”

SATURDAY

After a long, long conversation with Felix about your feelings and how you think you ruined it all, you think your mood couldn’t be worse. You feel like you either completely missed your chance by telling Minho you love him only because he’s your best friend, or you messed it all up and made your friendship awkward by saying so and he finally caught on to what your words really mean.

You walk around the apartment like a stressed-out shell without a soul, chewing on your bottom lip at all times, when you hear the bell on your door ring, throwing you out of your thoughts as you run to see who’s there bugging you in the late hours of the evening.

“What are you doing here so late?” you ask Minho, caught off-guard.

“I was bored,” he shrugs, looking down to his feet. You want the ground to swallow you whole. It’s suddenly hard to stand there in front of him-- it only deepens how embarrassed and frustrated you feel.

“Do you wanna go out for a walk?” he asks, raising his eyebrows up at you in question.

“Sure,” you shrug, following him outside.

You walk by his side, feeling your hands slightly brush against each other from time to time, making you shudder with the unexpected contact. You’ve never felt more nervous than now-- and you took your driving test twice, so that really tells you something.

“Why are you so quiet? Did something happen?” he asks, slightly nudging you with his elbow.

“What? No,” you shake your head, “everything’s fine.” you smile.

“Are you sure? I know I can be a dick sometimes, but you know I’m always here for you,” he says, gazing into your face with such fondness it actually comforts you.

“Yeah, I know,” you nod, “thanks.” you sigh. 

A few more steps later, though, the sentence slips out of your mouth again, and you don’t even try to fight it as you let it go. It feels natural to say it now. You’re getting used to it, yet, the feeling he makes you feel always somehow shifts-- but still stays the same as well.

“I love you.”

A nervous laugh is all he gives you, hugging you to his side with his arm, keeping you close to shield you from the cold.

SUNDAY

And when the clock passes midnight and Minho’s still sitting in your room, you feel like somehow, you two have never been closer. You managed to confess to him every day for the past week and he’s still by your side. It’s a change to your relationship, but you don’t feel like it’s causing you trouble anymore.

You sit in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. You don’t have a clue why he didn’t want to leave yet, but you don’t mind him staying. He brings your soul another kind of comfort-- like the morning by the sea, just listening to the waves hitting the shore, the distant chirping of birds lulling you back to sleep.

His hands rest on your calves, your legs thrown over his lap as he sits up on your bed, his back pressed against the wall. You lay there, watching him in the moonlight. You had to turn the lights off, because Felix’s room is right opposite yours and the landlord didn’t let you change the door, meaning you both had an old, white door with a big glass window in the middle of it, letting the lights shine right to the other’s room at night. 

He tickles you in the spark of the moment, making you laugh quietly. You don’t want to wake Felix up, or else he’ll get mad at you, and once again, you don’t play with a short australian boy, or you’ll get burned-- you know that by now.

“Stop it!” you whisper-shout at him, sitting up and moving away from him.

He chases you on the bed, though, his fingers laying everywhere on your body, lightly tickling the skin of your stomach when his hands slip under your pyjama shirt. You push them away, squeeking with the coldness of his fingertips, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at the force of your laugh. 

He stops, falling down to the bed next to you, heavy breathing being the only thing heard in the quiet room. His hand slowly makes its way to your thigh, resting there delicately. You curse at the butterflies rising in your stomach-- you want to shout at them to go away, but hell, is it a good feeling. It’s like you’re torturing yourself, but it’s a sweet torture. You wouldn’t change it in the slightest.

And so then and there, after confessing to him for six days straight, you decide to try again, with as much sincerity as you can, because suddenly, there’s something inside of you telling you that this time, it might actually work.

“I love you.”

And perhaps, you’re not wrong, because with the shuffling of the sheets, he turns his body to yours, facing you. He stares into your eyes, smiling softly at your face, the action looking angelic sitting on his features. 

“I love you too,” he confesses in the dark. 

[alderaani]

still i find you there

summary: after Rako Hardeen, there are several things that need fixing.

written for @codywanweek and the day 1 prompt fix-it. I fully intended to have more days completed for this, but given that it’s *checks notes* day 5, it’s probably not going to happen. this is very angsty and perhaps a bit melodramatic, but the heart wants what it wants. also catch me forgetting obi-wan was wearing his vambraces when he ‘died’ and having to stretch to make it work for me. warnings for grief, percieved death and all that good stuff.

-

He’s alive.

It seems impossible. It feels entirely predictable. And yet...Cody can’t make himself believe it. He saw Obi-Wan die, the grainy security-holo footage of slick Coruscant rooftops showing little more than a bolt of red and a lone figure reeling, falling. No sound, no clear faces, and yet...He knew that red hair. He knew that posture, how it could startle like that if timed very, very well.

It had been the only thing that made it real.

It had been a terrible idea to look at the footage, just like Rex (and Fox, and Wolffe, and Boil) had told him, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d needed something to help him break out of the stupor, the long silences, the staring at the door like Obi-Wan was going to walk right through it. The war didn’t stop just because someone had died, and the GAR hadn’t cared about the cataclysmic shockwave it had sent through Cody’s life.

They’d sent the 212th packing to Mimban within a day of the assassination, and Cody had nearly gotten his head blown off after leaving his left flank wide open, expecting the snap-hiss of a lightsaber to cover him. Instead Wooley had been his salvation, yanking him back at the last second and roaring that he needed to get it together. It had been like walking in a dream.

Watching the holo had worked. It had convinced some deep, desperate part of himself that Obi-Wan really wasn’t coming back. That somehow he was going to have to carry on alone, or worse, with another Jedi, whose differences would grate at him like a knife paring into bone.

And in the end, it had all been a lie.

Cody takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against one of the blaster racks in the armoury, the durasteel sharp and cool on his skin. His knees shake and he grips the shelf edges until his fingers hurt, just standing there, just breathing. 

His heart feels big and swollen in his chest, gluttoned with relief and anger, paired with a sharp, aching grief that now, more than ever, has nowhere to go. There’s no reason to harbour it; he should know better. 

He just can’t help it. 

He’d stood through the shuttle landing, through the torturous debrief, through strange, hairless Obi-Wan meeting his eyes and explaining earnestly that ‘if it hadn’t been classified of course he’d have said something…’ without so much as a twitch, but a great yawning chasm in his belly had opened and only kept getting wider the longer they kept making small talk about provisions, and reopening Obi-Wan’s quarters and a million other things that had happened since he’d - gone away. In the end he’d excused himself, planning to retrieve the personal effects he’d personally cleared out of Obi-Wan’s quarters because he’d needed to feel close to him, after, and there hadn’t been any other practical reason to go in there.

Except now he’s standing here, the relevant box at his feet, and he just can’t move. 

Eventually the trembling in his legs slows, and he lifts his head from the shelf, turning instead to slide down it, using it for balance until he hits the floor. His knee thunks against the crate as he collapses, the scant things inside clinking against each other. 

That had been one of the worst things; Obi-Wan always filled a room. His presence was a gentle, quiet, pervasive thing. Cody had held his small collection of two plants, a meditation mat, a few trinkets from planets visited and a lightsaber maintenance kit and felt nothing. 

He swipes ruthlessly at his face with one hand, thumbing under his eyes to scrub away the moisture. 

He needs to get moving. They’ll be looking for him soon. 

Instead, his knee has dislodged the thin fabric covering the crate, and his eyes catch on the vambrace stacked on top, the straps frayed and snapped. Cody had helped paint this one and its pair, had shown Obi-Wan how to get the colours to take properly to the unwieldy plastoid. 

He’d been the one to break it, too. Obi-Wan had just come out of the field medstation, bruised to shit but still smiling, and Cody had crowded him against a powered down holostation in the empty command tent and yanked at his clothes, just needing to feel his pulse under his skin, to feel the warmth of him safe and alive. It had been too much for the worn out armour to bear. 

Two cycles later Obi-Wan had been on his way to Coruscant again, and there had been no time to fix them. It’s stupid, but Cody had taken one look at them on the little desk, in the space that had once been Obi-Wan’s room, and all he’d been able to think was that he hadn’t been properly protected. Cody had broken his armour. Cody had left him vulnerable.

Obi-Wan’d taken his spare set, of course, but he’s always complained that they chafe, and if there’s one thing Cody knows, it’s that if your armour isn’t right you aren’t fighting at your best.

He reaches for the broken piece now, thumbing the frayed synthleather and the chipped paint, yellow and red and faint scuffed up grey. 

He knows now that it wouldn’t have made a difference to what happened, but he still heaves himself up to his feet after a moment and goes to the supply closet, pulls out a new strap, and sits back down again, committing to unpicking the stitching of the old before he can attach it.

He should’ve done this sooner. 

He should’ve been more careful. 

He should’ve been there.

He should’ve - 

He could have - 

He’s crying.

He’s crying, and he doesn’t realise it until the salt is heavy on his cheeks, until his neckline is wet, until his vision blurs so hard he can’t see. Cody makes a low, animal sound and curls over the vambrace, his fingers stilling against the threads. 

His throat aches, his face is swollen, his body hot. He feels sick, and disoriented, overwhelmed in a way he can’t name.

“Cody?” 

He flinches like he’s wounded, turning his face away from the door, like it will hide the evidence of his weakness. He knows he’s failed when Obi-Wan’s breath sucks in, so loud in the quiet. 

“Cody?” His voice comes again, much closer this time. “Will you...will you look at me?” 

Through the haze, Cody catches something that does make him turn. Obi-Wan sounds...hesitant, so uncharacteristically tentative that it cuts through the rest. 

He wipes quickly at his face, smearing the mess, and gets his eyes just clear enough to find Obi-Wan’s face, so foreign and smooth but so dear for all that. His eyes are still the same, glacier-heart blue, and worried, right now, focused on his face. 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan whispers at whatever he finds there, then reaches out, stutters halfway through, and drops his hand. His wrist is bare, and his robe sleeves flop backwards.

“I was trying to fix it,” Cody croaks, shifting to unveil the half-mended vambrace. “Before I brought it back. I broke it, and then you left without it and then you -”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to flinch back this time, while Cody greedily drinks him in, taking in the changes to his face, the way the lack of a beard makes his jaw look sharper, his features look younger. The stubbly fuzz of his hair is odd, true enough, but it’s still him.

“I - I never thought,” Obi-Wan says haltingly, and now Cody frowns, because it’s so unlike him to lose his words. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker away, then back, like he’s steeling himself. Almost like he’s afraid. 

“I never imagined you’d feel responsible - Cody - I’m so sorry -” 

He reaches out, his fingers loosely catching Cody’s wrist this time. Cody feels it, the warmth of his hand sharp and electric. Tears spring to his eyes all over again; it’s the first time they’ve touched since he walked Obi-Wan to the hangar and he kissed him goodbye behind a LAAT/i. He’s replayed it so many times since, thinking he’d never get another, but the memory does the reality no justice, failing to preserve the way heat floods under his skin. 

Obi-Wan moves to take his hand back, and Cody traps it there, anchoring his fingers and dipping his head, just breathing through it.

“If I could have told you,” Obi-Wan continues. “I would have, I swear it, I -”

“I know,” Cody says instantly, because he does, he’d never doubt it. “I know you couldn’t.”

Their fingers curl more securely together, calluses and knuckles finding a home against their pair. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be angry,” Obi-Wan says. Cody shakes his head before he even thinks about it.

“It was your duty. I just -,” he squeezes his eyes shut again, voice breaking. The deception had made him angry. He can admit that, but it was never directed between them. The war stops for no-one, after all. “I can’t believe you’re still here.” 

“I promise, I always intend to stay,” Obi-Wan murmurs.

Cody’s smiling when he kisses him, so full his cheeks ache with it. It tastes of salt and bitter-sweet and just a hint of desperation, their hands clasped with the vambrace cradled between them. 

Then Obi-Wan draws him in, tucking his head under his chin. Cody presses his wet skin to the hollow of neck, listens to his heartbeat, and weeps.

[midday0nightmares]

5 - voices calling you.

previous chapter betrayed by god (m).

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

You were getting worn out,feeling so tired .. mentally and physically. Nightmares chased you every night.. you would wake up hearing someone calling your name, your real name.. your mind was breaking, you felt like you are losing your sanity, wish you would maybe nothing would hurt you anymore.

it was a typical night, sleeping crammed in the small space of the closet .. deep in the night something woke you up, it wasn’t the nightmares or the sounds, but you felt something moving on your leg.. 

once you came to your senses you jumped sitting up retracting your legs.. and you see big black spot, you recognize it immediately.. a spider, huge you never saw one this size before..

You reach to open the door but it’s locked.. you suffocate with fear with no where to run..

Suddenly the door unlocks and opens, like a miracle.. you sprint out landing in the arms of however saved you.. Jeno, he’s tightening his grip or your arms.. he shakes you ..

“what were you doing? you want to wake up the neighbors?!” he’s mad.. you must have woken him up..

“no no.. spider . Jeno there’s a spider in there”..

 your voice cracking, you realize you have been crying and the air was running out of your lunges.. 

He lets you go sighing..

“I’ll take care of it” ..

You step back, your arms holding your shaking body.. He looks inside the empty closet and there’s nothing.. 

he looks at you suspiciously ..” You sure you saw a spider?” .. 

You hiccup trying to swallow your cries.. “yeah it was on my leg .. it was this big I swear” your shaking hands measuring it’s size  .. 

He looks at you with a look you have never seen it before.. he nods and keeps searching for it..it doesn’t take him long before he catches it “got it.. “ he brings a bag, you look away in disgust not wanting to look at the horrific creature again .. he takes it out to throw it out the window.. 

 he notice you’er still shaking, you lip trembling and tears streaming down your face.. he gently pats your head and you take a look inside the closet ..

“There is nothing now, I’ll leave the door unlocked.. you can go back to sleep”..  

As his hand slide of off your head you grab it.. 

“cam you stay with? Please just for a little while..” You squeeze his hand silently begging him.. 

He nod sighing.. you move to the couch and sit awkwardly, you twist and squeeze your fingers trying to come up with something to say.. but he beats you to it ..

“do like cats?” .. 

cats? You smile at the warm memory of the adorably fur balls ..

 “yea.. I love them, my friend had a cat.. he was black and had green eyes “..

 you stared mumbling, he sat there with a gentle smile.. 

“wait here” he goes and gets his phone, he gets comfortable and pats the spot next to him for you to come..

He opens YouTube and plays a cat clip.. your berthing has calmed down now and your tears stopped..

You giggle and aww together at the cute kittens.. one clip after another.. 

You feel warm and strangely safe, your body relaxed.. your head almost dropped on his shoulder but you fight the urge to slip into dreamland, he notice it cause his hand come to cradle your head and lays it on his shoulder 

“its ok” he whisper to you.. 

you let go on reality and close your eyes to drawn in the comfort of darkness. 

He wait until he’s sure you were deeply in your sleep, he moves your body to lay you down the couch .. you flinch awake at the lose of his body’s warmth .. he smiles down at you shushing you..

how can a monster like him look so angelic? .. 

he throws a blanket over you and leaves you laying there.

[the-great-infinity]

THE DOTS

Connect them as you will 

The Permaheart

Torog, the Crawling King, captures and tortures the warrior Ganix, twisting him into the Laughing Hand, and trapping his heart in an extraplanar chamber

The archmage Halas Lutagran finds this extraplanar space, and shackles it to his own extra-dimensional tower

Halas dispels the field around the heart. It emits a corrosive aura and summons fleshy tendrils to defend itself

Halas manages to seal the heart in a case of runic imprisonment

Halas experiments on the heart, attempting to imbue it’s undying nature and regenerative properties into human flesh, to avoid lichdom

Halas ejects his failed experiments into the Astral Sea

Aeor

Arcanists from the floating city of Aeor create weapons that can kill gods. The gods, Prime and Betrayer alike, work together to bring Aeor down

Aeor begins to crash, vanishing over the horizon to the north, thought to be obliterated or lost beneath the Frozen Depths

Vokodo

A morkoth (?) from the Astral Sea flees in terror from a living, moving city made of flesh, shattering the boundaries between worlds and bringing shards of other planes with it to the prime material plane.

The Mighty Nein travel to Rumblecusp, and in an attempt to defeat the morkoth (?) Vokodo, banish it back to the Astral Sea for a minute.

As it dies, the morkoth (?) projects images, presumably memories, of the city it fled from into the Mighty Nein’s heads. The phrase “Eyes of Nine” sticks with them.

Nonagon

A tiefling named Lucien leads a group of blood hunters from their order to find a new path as the Tomb Takers

Lucien, now going by the name Nonagon, with the help of a mage woman from the capital (presumably Rexxentrum), attempts to reach a “city” via ritual

Believing the ritual to have failed, the Tomb Takers bury Nonagon/Lucien and scatter, leaving no trace of the ritual. The tome used in the ritual remains with the mage

A tiefling wakes up in the ground with no memories of his previous life and nine red eye “tattoos” that won’t take ink. The only thought on his mind is the word “empty”

Me for the past 5 episodes:

-

Ok now, a long shot: is this connected to Tharizdun?

Shifting, moving

from c2e83: “In this darkness, you can see tendrils of similar type dark smoke swirling between your linked arms as shapes begin to gather from them into chains. Chains that pull and bind between you in odd ways. Many chains. Loose, then taut. Loose, then pulled taut again.” (Description of Allura’s ritual)

from c2e105: “It would seem rigid, and then it would tense, like muscles, and then become suddenly curved and organic, and then shift back.” (Description of Vokodo’s vision)

Hunger

Hunger has been a recurring theme throughout the campaign, beginning with Kylre in the very first episode, then the manticore

from c2e83: “There is no Angel of Irons. It is a guise for the Chained Oblivion. For Tharizdun. The terrible mad god of endless hunger and destruction. It masquerades its efforts for freedom by this angel’s name.” (Yussa)

from c2e105: “A city that is moving under its own power. Hunting. Moving with will. Following. You feel the fear of Vokodo. You feel it trying to escape. You feel this city hungry and chasing… This is weirdly familiar, but so alien. Thousands of minds within are the city. It doesn’t make sense. Hungry, seeking. There’s another flash within the minds of Eyes of Nine.” (Description of Vokodo’s vision)

Empty

from c2e14: “I’m told--although I don’t entirely remember this part--that I only said the word ‘empty’ over and over again for the first week. I don’t know what that means.” (Molly)

from c2e83: “Seven segments around the pit of darkness, endless, yet living. It’s strange to look into the blackness of night and feel the emptiness, but this, you look into this emptiness and you feel something immense. Something old. Something mad.” (Description of Allura’s ritual)

Obann

Under the guise of the Angel of Irons, Tharizdun has Obann release the Laughing Hand.

from c2e86: “Obann the Punished rises. A mass of black, blue, and dark, deep green tentacles and teeth and eyes, cursed now with a punished form from the Chained Oblivion.” A similar description to the Laughing Hand?

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

Edit: In case anyone wants a more updated and comprehensive list, I’ve posted all my notes in a document here. Suggestions welcome!

[urimaginespimp]

Breathe (This love pt. 5)

Bucky x Reader

Set during Endgame

Look out for: Stubborn dad Thor, and 40s Bucky.

--------

Previous Chapter

--------

None of you thought it was going to end that way.

When Carol, a new friend of yours, found Tony in space with one of Thanos’ daughters, there was a spark of hope within you. But when your adoptive father chopped the titan’s head off out of rage, you knew you had to go back to the people who might be able tell you what’s next.

To visitors, the Norns’ cave felt eerie. But stepping in it for the first time after Thor took you under his care, it still felt like home. You could already feel the Norns’ presence despite not being submerged in the pool of water.

You smile at the memory of how they have the reputation of being cruel and torturous to anyone they possess, when they have never been less than gentle to you. Dipping your right leg first, you instantly felt how they made the water warmer. Walking into the middle, you waited for them to enter your consciousness.

Taking a deep breath, you laid yourself back and relaxed enough for your body to start floating on water. Then you felt them.

“We’ve been expecting you, child.” Your voice blended with theirs once they spoke up.

I’ve been meaning to visit you. I’m sorry I didn’t go sooner. You replied in your thoughts.

“You feel... broken.”

A titan got hold of the stones and snapped the universe’s population in half. I- I lost most of my family.

“We know. And now you’re here because your heart cannot rest.”

What can you tell me?

“There is a man...”

Of course, there is. You caught yourself thinking. There was a pang in your chest when you remembered how amused you were when one of your Midgardian friends rolled her eyes and said that phrase.

“Now is not the time, Y/N.” They snapped at you.

Sorry. Please continue.

“The man is stuck in a realm in Midgard, and he’s on his way.”

There is a realm within the Midgard realm? Confusion laced your thoughts.

“But remember child, it is not until resentment within your family is put aside, that you would have even an ounce of chance to fix everything.” You think back to how Stark still isn’t speaking to anyone of you. Yiu haven’t heard from him for years now.

How can I fix us?

“You can’t meddle in this one Y/N. It is only with time that the rough patch would heal.” you sighed in frustration but found yourself agreeing. If it’s for the best, then you’ll let time take its course.

“Now, you are banned from leaving the cave until you tell us about this Bucky that’s plaguing your mind.”

--------

When you were first introduced you as Thor’s adopted daughter to the Asgardians, they were polite but you could feel that they were still unsure of you. But with spending time with helping them fish and being patient enough to teach them the Midgardian lifestyle, they now treated you as their own princess despite not being of royal blood. But since Thanos, Thor has been more distant – leaving responsibilities to you and Val.

For five years, you tried to appear as if you were doing better than most. And after taking time to just wallow in sadness for a while, you finally started visiting Nat and Steve from time to time. You were glad to hear that Steve was going to therapy, and you know he means well when he drops hints that you should go with him and join his sessions, but you always gave lame excuses, and often diverted away from any topic that would involve Bucky.

Nat however, has never been one to shy away from calling you out. “I know there’s a part of you that still blames yourself for not bending his blood and brains out.” she once confronted you when you were lounging on the couch, day drinking and eating sandwiches. You sat up and gave her a sad smile, your eyes tearing up.

“Damn it Nat, I came here to drink, not to get therapy from you.” you chuckled, grimacing at how forced it sounded.

“But it was never your fault. Believe me when I say that we all blamed ourselves at some point.” She continued, and your eyes teared up.

In the last five years you thought no one could see that you’ve been beating yourself up for not getting to where Steve and Thor were sooner. You thought that maybe if you had, you would’ve stopped Thanos, and half of the world, including Bucky, would still be here.

“Sometimes I wake up thinking I’m still in Wakanda, and that this has all been a nightmare.” you breathed out, feeling yourself about to break down for the first time. “I can’t find myself to stop waiting for him even if I don’t know if we could ever bring everybody back.” you finally admitted.

“Y/N -”

“Nat, the worst part is that I never got to tell him I love him. I know he knew and didn’t feel the same way. But I still wish I got to.” tears were starting to spill from your eyes, and Natasha was quick to get the drink from your hand before it spilled, and take you in her arms for comfort.

If you were to be completely honest, half the reason you go out of your way to visit Nat and Steve, was so you could also visit The Smithsonian Institution, and just... look at him. You’ve read what was written about him over and over, but it wasn’t enough to replace the yearning that you have inside.

In your sleep you can sometimes still see him just seconds before the blip. On other nights, it’s just the image of him sleeping soundly – his lips parted slightly, and his breathing getting steadier by the minute, the crease between his brows relaxed, and his hair pushed and tied at the back after you offered to - a sight you’ve engraved in your mind after many nights of comforting him following a nightmare.

“He loved you too, Y/N”. Steve spoke out from the doorway, seeing your state. “Maybe not like the way you do, but I know he does. And today I went out for a walk and -”

“Steve, if you’re about to tell her to look on the bright side, I’m about to hit you on the head with a PeanutButter sandwich.” Nat cut him off.

But then everyone’s attention snapped to Nat’s desk, where a notification pinged. It says that someone was outside. Sliding on the call, there was a man outside, asking if anyone was at home. You know you’ve seen his face before, and after he finally said his name, you remembered who he is.

“Is this an old message?” Steve asked after a few seconds in shock.

“It’s the front gate.”

--------

“I’ll do it too.” You spoke up to the group.

The team was going to have two tests – one where it would be a quick time on wherever the test subject would want to go, and if it’s successful, the second would leave the test subject longer in the timeline they choose. And you just volunteered yourself right after Clint.

“No, I forbid you.” Thor spoke up from his seat. Everybody turned their attention to him in surprise. All along they thought he was asleep because he had sunglasses on and was unresponsive.

“Fa-”

He stood abruptly and came closer to you. “This is non-negotiable, Y/N. I’ve already lost enough; I can’t lose you too." Your eyes welled with tears in surprise. For the last five years he’s managed to shut everyone out including you – leading you to believe that he doesn’t care anymore and just hasn’t kicked you out, out of honor.

“We’ll let you both talk first.” You heard Steve say in a low voice, ushering everyone else out of the room.

Thor grunted and moved away back to his seat, still wearing his glasses, while you stayed standing, leaning in the corner. Taking a long hard look at him, you understood where he was coming from. But you also knew getting things right would be the only way to possibly get him back up again. And it was a risk you were willing to take.

“There was a time when I believed you were dead.” You started talking, regardless of not knowing if he was listening. “I jumped right into anger out of guilt, and as I was ruthlessly destroying those outriders, I thought I was gonna have to stay feeling that way forever. Just plain angry.” You chuckled and pushed yourself from the wall.

“But there was a moment where that anger was replaced by worry and fright. It was when Bucky was getting too overwhelmed by the creatures’ attacks. Yes, I almost got pierced like a kebab right after, but it was also the moment I realized that I preferred feeling any other emotions than blinding anger. I don’t want you feeling that way forever too.”

“I’m not angry.” he snapped, standing up once again to get closer to you.

“Yes, you are. But above all you’re hurting.” you stood your ground in front of him.

“I am definitely NOT hurting.” He sarcastically answered.

“Really? Then take those glasses off. Let me see those definitely not bloodshot eyes.” you smiled gently up at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, when he snorted at you. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you sniffling and trying to hide it by pretend-drinking that empty can of beer earlier.”

“gods, why are daughters so annoyingly observant.” He muttered, finally throwing the empty can of beer somewhere in the room. You can see that the team was back just right outside the glass door. You gave them an assuring smile, and faced him again.

“Well?”

“If it works on Clint, then fine.” He groaned, and you couldn’t help but tackle him out of gratitude.

--------

Clint was on the ground once he returned, and Nat rushed to his side to check on him.

“Hey, look at me.” she asked him, and he turned to look at everyone. His eyes were teary, but it wasn’t from sadness.

It was hope.

“It worked!”

--------

“Now, Y/N. This time you’re going to be there for a longer period, okay? Use your powers if defense is necessary.” Banner instructed you. You were now standing at the center of the machine in your suit. But only Nat and Steve knew what you had under it. It was their idea.

“Are you ready?” This time, Nat was behind the controller with Banner to overlook it. You gave her a small smile and a nod.

“Wait, where are you going anyway?” You heard Scott asked out loud, as Nat input the year. You looked over to where Steve was standing and he was also grinning.

“Say hi to him for me.” you heard him say before you felt yourself shrunk. And you were in.

--------

You made it out of a tent, now out of your suit and left with the old nurse’s uniform you were wearing under it earlier. Everybody else was too distracted, cheering on Steve because he just brought back with him the soldiers from Hydra’s base.

You tried to calm your nerves, just realizing that the people around you were now most likely dead from your timeline. How many of them survived the war, and how many of their grandchildren have you befriended? And how many of those grandchildren were also taken by the blip?

When the crowd was starting to disperse and most of the people were trying to get back to their tasks, you found yourself roaming around, a little lost, trying to figure out where the medical tent is.

“Steve, I told you I feel fine.” you froze when you heard his voice a little far behind you.

“It’s better to make sure, Buck.” you heard Steve insist. You still couldn’t will your legs to keep walking. “And even if you are, you need rest. Just let me find you a...”

shit

“...nurse! Hey, ma’am!” You weren’t sure if you were the one Steve was calling out. Turning around slowly, your breath hitched when you finally faced them. Bucky’s own face went from annoyed to entranced in a second. He was staring at you with the very same pair of orbs you’ve been missing. Only that in this timeline, they still held a glint of playfulness and innocence in them.

You cleared your own throat when you realized it’s been a few seconds since anyone said anything. “Uh, what can I do for you, S- Captain?” you gave them a smile, trying not to chuckle from almost calling him by his first name.

“You know what, Steve, I am feeling a little funny.” Bucky nudged him with his elbow. And you turned your attention to him.

“Right. Uh, allow me to assist you, Sargeant.” you walked slowly towards him, feeling like your heart was going to jump out of your chest.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Steve muttered to him.

He put his arm around your shoulder for support as you start walking to what you hope was the medical tent. It was only then you realized that it was left arm. Your hand shakingly reached for his wrist, careful not to go for the hand, as if you were just making sure that you would be able to help him hold himself up.

“So... what’s your name?” He started trying to make small talk.

“Y/N” you answered, trying to mask your nervousness.

“I’m James. But you can call me Bucky.” Hearing him introduce himself in such a confident manner struck you deeply. You know that after this, he wouldn’t be able to know who he is for decades to come.

You almost wanted to warn him.

“Are you okay?” He asked in concern after being met with silence.

“Yes, sir. I’m just a tad nervous. I’m kinda new here.” you gave him a tight smile.

“Please call me by my name. And lucky for you, I’m the easiest patient you’ll ever tend to, doll. All I need is some company while on bed rest.” He gave you a boyish smile.

“You got yourself a deal, James.” you found yourself returning the smile.

Entering what was thankfully the medical tent, you helped him settle down on one of the beds. There were only about 3-5 other patients, and they were all being tend to already.

“I’m kind of curious, why did you decide to serve?” he gave you a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything wrong with you, soldier?” you asked him first, and he responded with a small shake of his head. Smiling, you came up with a believable answer. “My dad was a high-ranking officer, but something happened, and they lost a lot of people. And now he’s back home wallowing in guilt. I decided to serve in behalf of him, so now I’m here.” you bit the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

James was looking at you in awe, and he took your hand in his left one and gave it a light squeeze. “You don’t have a man waiting on you back home?” you could hear he was almost hesitant to ask.

You blinked away the tears threatening to spill. How would you be able to say something so heart wrenching?

“Bu... He was among those who didn’t make it.” you cleared your throat to compose yourself. This was all too much.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” he didn’t know what to say. He almost kicked himself for having a tinge of relief in knowing that you weren’t committed to anyone.

“He wasn’t really mine... I was in love, yes. And he knew but just didn’t really feel the same. And I never resented him for it. I just wish I was brave enough to really tell him before he...” you choked up and apologized to him, but there was no judgement behind his eyes.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t want for you to be filled with regrets every time you remember him. I know I wouldn’t.” He gave you an assuring smile, squeezing your hand in comfort as the tears finally run down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for crying. Now they’re gonna think you were being mean to me.” you gave him a sad smile.

“Steve will lecture me about manners for sure.” He chuckled.

“He still does it.” You thoughtlessly blurted out, earning a confused look from him. “I- I’ve heard some people saying he’s been super righteous even way before he became the Captain America.” you sheepishly smiled, hoping he believed you.

“Yeah. Always been a punk.” He replied, but you could hear adoration lace his voice.

“I think I should leave you to actually get some rest.” You knew it was time to go.

He nodded and smiled at you. “You're the most beautiful nurse I’ve ever seen. I don't think most of us wouldn’t mind if your face is what will be the last thing we’ll see.”

“Yeah, there is definitely something wrong with you. Get some sleep, soldier.” you turned and was already near the way out, when he spoke up.

“We’re going on a raid tomorrow. Will I get to see you when we come back?”

You felt your heart drop. You knew what was about to happen to him.

You turned to face his way and walked back to him where he was now sitting up on the bed.

“James, you’re a strong man. You’re going to be okay.” eventually.

“Thank you, angel.”

It was your turn to give his left hand a squeeze. And bringing it up, you gave it a small kiss before gently dropping it back to him.

“I’ll wait for you to come back, Buck.” you smiled, and quickly left the tent before you completely break down.

It was time go back.

--------

@eternalharry @iheartsebandchris @lizzarooni @the-ayo-lit

@tanyaherondale @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul

Today is a great day. Fearless (Taylor's Version) + New TFATWS episode.

[pollenat]

ITZY and 5 ways to say I love you

YEJI

Her hands resting on the sides of your head. Fingers caress, rub and play with where face meets hairline. Though Yeji’s small smile is one of soft feelings, you think the feelings inside your stomach possess none of her delicacy. They’re violent, twisting your insides, because the woman in front of you is way too much for your poor heart. And though your own touch isn’t telling, you’re worried she will learn it from a stray line on your skin. Why else would she be taking in the sight of your face with so much attention?

The feeling of being alone in the world, save it for Yeji’s warmth by your side. The night sky is dotted with stars, the forest is overflowing with leaves, animals are singing their evening ballad. You should’ve left a while ago, but lying in a field, just a few meters away from the forest’s edge, doesn’t feel half bad. And you’re here with Yeji, her embracing arm a pleasant reminder she’ll protect you if she has to. After all, it was her idea to stay back so late to enjoy the privacy and the sight of a clean sky.

Everyday objects you find in the pockets of your clothes. They may consist of tissues, old packs of gum, hair ties, or anything, really. What makes them so special, is the fact that each has a memory attached. A memory of Yeji. Whether she’s borrowed a jacket and forgot her lip balm, or lost a ring while hiding her hand in a pocket of your coat. Even the tissue she’s made a comment about – everything has her invisible name attached.

An abandoned teacup. It’s empty, lying on a coffee table filled with junk food. Plastic packages and crumbs mix into disgusting mess. TV plays in the background, characters of some teen movie have just started an unpopular musical number. A foot lies on your thigh. Its owner puts a chip in her mouth, eyes taking in the choreography. You couldn’t be any less interested in cliché songs about the power of friendship, but your better half? She’s that one hobby you can never see yourself giving up on. Yeji trashes in her place, doing her best to escape your tickling fingers, meanwhile laughing like a maniac.

The fact she’s never mad. Just disappointed. Her eyes, instead of endearment, offer you that damned sadness – a pointy arrow at your head, saying it’s all your fault for causing her gloom. If it wasn’t for your presence in her life, none of this would have ever happened. How dare you exist next to her when all you personify is the wrong? How dare you stab and claw at her heart when you were meant to heal and embrace it? And then the allusion that if you had tried, the things would have been better. But you never try, right? You’re the villain, right?

LIA

Face hidden in your neck. Arms tight around your body. Feet tucked in the space between yours. Soft noises of content. Hair basically pushed against your mouth. Despite the overwhelming presence, you feel happy. Your face hides in her hair. Arms lock on her back. You sigh from the very same sense of content. The hair on your tongue doesn’t annoy you. If anything, it brings another reason of enjoyment - the familiar smell of Jisoo’s favorite cosmetics.

Sudden grip on your hand. A look back at her pale face and uncertain eyes that scan your closest surroundings. With the night above and most people asleep, streets feel sinister. The individuals that are out and about bring a sense of danger, like they’re all mad from bloodlust. Like they all have only the devil’s doing in mind. Keeping the thoughts to yourself, you put out a brave front of indifference. If it’s what it takes to bring Jisoo a sense of comfort, you’ll make it a show to be remembered. Maybe even you will be fooled into peace.

A little kiss. Fingertips locked on your chin. Wide smile she adds as a bonus. And just like that, a moment later, she’s gone. You’re watching her back distancing itself from you with a little spring to Jisoo’s step. Are you the reason, or just an effect? Only when she stops and turns around do you realize, that you’re supposed to be accompanying her. But that’s Jisoo to you – so show-stopping you could forget to breathe even with throat tight and itchy. She doesn’t laugh, just smiles, as if she was aware that she, in fact, is the effect.

Hiding beneath a rainbow colored umbrella, with Jisoo stuck close to your side. You promised her a walk, but sneaky rain clouds have decided to make their surprise entrance. The weather forecast was so sure in their predictions of a sunny weather… Never again will you so blindly trust technology. Irritation clear on your face, you take a look to the side at Jisoo. Her head is leaning against your shoulder. Green and yellow clash on her features. Despite the uncomfortable sight of dark locks glued to her cheeks, she’s smiling. You’re not sure what is there to be happy about, but no comment breaks the rhythm of rain.

Read glaring at you from under your last message. It’s been like that for a while now. Every message read, but none answered. The silence is maddening, causing you anger, but no matter how much you want to do something, the compliance from your inner self never comes. Because in reality, Jisoo’s silence hurts as much as it angers. Why are you the only one trying to save a drowning ship? Why does she care so little about the pain her passiveness causes? Why is everything about it so unfair to you only?

RYUJIN

The suddenness of fingers hooking at the edge of your trousers. Their pulling has you turning around in confusion, stopping mid-sentence. Ryujin’s gaze is dark and meaningful. You’re worried she may not be feeling well, but observing her, you notice doubtful gazes she passes a person you were talking to. Nobody to be scared of, not when Ryujin’s herself. But even the warmest of stares you have reserved for her only aren’t enough to calm the storm brewing behind beautiful features.

A word idiot pressing itself at your lips. Of course, in the most lovable tone possible. Even if Ryujin’s “special” jokes are super unfunny and you’re cringing inside, you’re still enjoying them, or rather her own amusement. Does that make sense? Not really. But in the face of romance, logic is a rarity. Watching her as she laughs at herself, you’re reminded of a cold bath during a hot day – awakening, pleasant, somehow wrong, but also so right. Thanks to Ryujin, you can focus on things other than everyday struggles, even if the result has your face twisting in disgust.

Train jumps in its trails, shaking every passenger awake, including you. For a moment, you’re uncertain – what is this place you’re sitting in? A robotic voice announces next station. It’s an obscure name for a village, you don’t remember from the timetable. Have you missed your stop? Terrified, you attempt to sit up straight, but another head weighs you down. Ryujin is somehow still asleep, her cheek resting on your forehead, her hand carelessly abandoned on your lap. Even a loud conversation between two women sitting behind you doesn’t awaken her. And though your neck hurts, you stay in place so she can rest better.

A knock on a doorframe. A break in a train of thoughts. A look up from your phone at Ryujin’s awaiting silhouette. Her small pout is a picture of tiredness only your attention can cure, or at least so she thinks. Questions are answered with shakes of her head, a smile earns a smile in return. Before long, she climbs your lap and pushes you back to lie on bed. Like a pet missing their everyday companion, Ryujin sinks into your embrace. She’s a plush sensation to lean on and trust with your unconscious self. That is, if you manage to fall asleep with her weight crushing your lungs.

Either ignoring you, or staring with ridicule. Ryujin cannot decide on one, maybe because she’s just as conflicted when it comes to feelings. To detest, or to miss? She said the things were over, but how come you’re still in each other’s presence so often? It’s as if you were celestial bodies gravitating towards one another, unable to go alone, because all there is to your being is her. It may sound dramatic, but watching her back, with heart open and bleeding, you feel useless in your existence. You don’t know the now without Ryujin in it, and you don’t want to. So despite all the hurt, you still await her return to your side.

CHAERYEONG

A shy smile that causes you the feeling of warmth inside. A little embarrassed by your own body’s reaction, you try to laugh it off. But Chaeryeong doesn’t know what caused you so much fun. Her hands embrace you from behind, questions are fired as she tries to join your fun. Self-conscious smile looks like a blinking lightbulb. Avoiding her expectant stare, you play with the fingers locked on your abdomen, warmth now not only inside, but also outside.

An evening you spend lying on your back. There’s no motivation to get up and be productive. It’s funny. If anything, your heart’s understanding of productivity is watching Chaeryeong’s asleep profile. Hot air blows at a loose strand of hair, raising it into the air, only for the lock to fall back in its place. You could correct it, yes, but one of your hands is under Chaeryeong, while she weakly grips the other one. Pulling your limbs free would mean the possibility of waking her up. The result? Guilt, because you’d ruin a bubble-like moment that you should’ve taken the most out of. So you decide - the world can wait.

Cold autumnal wind blowing at your cheeks. Ice cold fingers warming themselves up in thin pockets to no use. Ache in your frozen toes, no amount of steps can melt. Finally, pharmacy’s door open. Chaeryeong’s return makes you shift attention to her winning smile. All the happiness because of a lip balm. She doesn’t waste time unpacking it to then spread gloss over her lips. You don’t know why you’re watching the interaction so closely, but it’s a distraction from the cold. She notices, giggles and – huh? – kisses you. To share the lip balm, apparently. Because it’s so cold, apparently. Because she cares about your well-being, clearly.

A snarky remark you can’t help, but laugh at. To others it may sound a little insulting, but you actually have to applaud her for a good one. Sarcastic, but funny – Chaeryeong’s unsure bite on a lower lip widens into a proud smile. She couldn’t help herself and you don’t mind. Still, maybe one day you’ll attack her the same way. Strike with sarcasm she’ll have to laugh at. In the end, all’s fair in love and war. Chaeryeong should see the revenge coming. Once you come up with a genius remark, that is.

Frustrating no’s she won’t stop using against you. As if they weren’t already driving you insane, she adds strong shakes of her head. There’s a no to every word, sigh, groan and wild gesture. Then there’s her posture – closed in on herself, making her appear smaller than she really is, so your resolve may weaken. In a way, it’s a gun pointing at you, forcing into compliance. Hidden behind a mask your knees may feel weak for, but a gun.

YUNA

Freezing in place when the world disappears from your sight. Warm palms cover your eyes, their touch comfortable and delicate. Their owner rests her head on your shoulder. She smells of freshness, best described by the (one would think) unexpected word home. You’re not scared. Surprised, but all fine. Yuna’s laughter joins yours when you take her palms into your own hands. Together, they slide down to rest on your sides.

A sudden look of bewilderment you’re given by friends when you laugh for no obvious reason. They’re not aware you haven’t been listening to them for the past few minutes, too taken by Yuna’s playful faces from across the table. You try to cover the laughter with a fake cough, but nobody’s fooled. They have so many questions to ask, meanwhile Yuna is acting oblivious to the entire scene, avoiding both your gaze and speaking up. Just she waits for the right moment, you’ll have your revenge.

How small she always attempts to be next to you. Doesn’t matter whether you stand higher, or lower than Yuna – she needs to be the one embraced, looked at, appreciated. If you’re not living thanks to her bright shine, who else could be your Sun? If your orbit doesn’t surround her, what’s the point of seeing one another? If gravitation doesn’t pull you towards her, how can she be sure you’re a planet made for her? Yuna needs to be both told and shown that she matters to you, and in case she notices the attention isn’t enough, she’ll be sure to remind you that she is the Sun to your Earth.

Her wild gestures as she attempts explaining her favorite things. Yuna’s arms flail in the air. At one point she’s pointing to her right, at another she has hands clasped on her left. Her eyes widen and close, to prove just how serious the case is. It’s amusing, but you don’t dare a laugh. Not when she’s so eager to share a part of her life with you. Not when she rolls her eyes at some silly thing that’s bothering her so much. Yuna’s hard work is adorable, but admitting aloud how heart-melting instead of heart-clutching she is would create a rift in the moment of happiness, so you let the little lie live.

The distance. As if terrified you may stab her, Yuna stays away. She won’t look you in the eye, answer a simple yes or no question, or even react to your words. As if you were a mare she shouldn’t look at. As if just a glance in your direction could hurt her. In your eyes, Yuna’s childish choice of action is despicable. So much that you don’t even attempt burying the hatchet. To every single act of avoidance, you respond with indifference. Every dejected sigh on her part meets a roll of your eyes. It’s an ongoing war that has no sense for it, other than destruction.

➛ pollenat’s list of headcanons

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

➛ pollenat’s list of scenarios

[bellisperennis0]

If I Stay

Word Count: 2,733

Warnings: Language, Slight spoiler to Season 2 x Episode 5 - That brotherly talk between EZ and Angel.

A/N: Sorry this is so angsty and so long. Thank you Anon for the request, and sorry it took me a while to get this done for you. Hope I did it justice. GIF credit to @pantherclawz​. Thank you for reading and Enjoy! ❤️

Anonymous said: Hi! I’m shoving all of this into one ask hehe. But it’s 3 seperate requests. So what I’m thinking is you choose which character you want to write for the following prompts: 23 in General, 15 in Angst and 20 in Fluff. I only know Angel, Coco and Ezekiel so you can choose who and what you write with who? I hope this makes sense... and that this is okay...

A year. That’s how long it has been since the last time you have stepped foot in this town. Making a promise to yourself that you would never return once you had left. Now you find yourself back in Santo Padre, standing outside your Best Friend’s house. With a trembling hand you knock on the front door, waiting for someone, anyone, to answer.

A couple seconds later the front door flies open, “What the fuck do you–“ you hear the familiar voice shout in pure annoyance.

Finally getting the courage to look up to the man standing before you, “Hay Johnny.” You say, voice slightly trembling.

“[Y/N]?!” he barely whispers as he steps out onto the porch, shock all over his face.

Unsure of what to do or say, you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him as you cry.

“I’m so sorry.” You kept saying over and over; your cries quickly turning into uncontrollable sobs. Coco pulls away from you slightly, taking your face into his hands as you do your best to control your cries.

“Hey. Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright? It’s all okay.” He tries his best to calm you.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side, he takes you inside. He sits you on the sofa, while he takes a seat on the coffee table in front of you. His thumb gently rubbing across your knuckles as he holds your hand in his, letting you release all the emotions you needed.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” You get out in-between sobs. Finally, meeting Coco’s eyes.

“Shh! It’s okay. We don’t have to go there right now.” He coos as he continues to do his best to comfort you.

“It’s not okay, Johnny. Things got tough and instead of staying and fighting, I fucking ran. Leaving everything and hurting everyone that I love. Who fucking does that?” standing up, you begin to pacing the small room as you continue rambling off your apologies.

“[Y/N]!” Coco shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls in the small space. It was the only thing he could think to do to get your attention and stop you from continuing to spiral out of control.

You stopped pacing and rambling, your brows furrowed as you looked at him, mouth slightly agape in surprise.

“My Bad!! Only thing I could think of to get you to stop.” He tells you, giving you a small smile.

“I’m sorry.” You once again apologize.

He grumbles as he makes his way into the kitchen, “Stop apologizing, Hermosa.” You hear him say from the kitchen as you take a seat on the sofa. Shortly after he returns, handing you a glass of water, before taking a seat in front of you again.

“Thank you.” You say as you take the glass from him.

“Are you back for good?” he asks you. Nodding your head as you take a sip of your water.

“Hopefully.” You finally say as you shrug.

“You know you can stay here with me and Letty, for as long as you need. But I can’t keep this from Angel, [y/n].” he tells you as he reaches for your hand. Knowing he was tapping into a sensitive topic with you.

“Just give me a couple days, Johnny. I know he has a right to know, and I don’t expect you to keep this from him. Just give me a couple days.” You practically beg.

“Its best that Angel knows you are back, Hermosa. That way he can have some time to process. We all know how Angel can get, last thing you need is for him to explode on you.”

“I know! I hear you, Johnny. I’m really sorry for showing up like this and putting all this on you. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” You tell him.

He quickly pulls you into a hug, “I’m just glad you’re home. We’ll figure everything else out later.” He places a kiss to the side of your head.

----------

Just returning from the grocery store, you were busy putting away everything when your phone rang. Looking over to it, you see Letty’s name on the screen.

“Hay, Letty. What’s going on?” you answer as you continue moving about the kitchen.

“Can you come get me? I was going to wait for my dad, but they had to go to the Dress Warehouse for something. I don’t know when they will be back.” She tells you.

Your heart racing at the thought of stepping foot into the Clubhouse again and possibly seeing everyone, especially Angel. You have missed them dearly, but you weren’t emotionally ready to face the Mayans.

“You sure you can’t just wait, Letty?” you ask her.

“It’s just me and Chucky here, [y/n]. Please!?” she practically begged.

“Alright. I’ll be there in 10.” You tell her instantly regretting your decision.

----------

Pulling into the Scrapyard, you sigh in relief when you spot the yard empty of bikes, a dead giveaway that all the guys weren’t around. Relaxing a little more, you get out of the care and make your way towards the Clubhouse. You’re stopped when you hear someone call your name; turning around, you’re met with a stunned EZ Reyes.

“Hay Ezekiel.” You say, shrugging, giving him a small smile as you do your best to keep your emotions under control.

“Holy Shit. It really is you.” He says as he is quick to approach you, taking you into a tight embrace.

After taking in the moment for a few seconds, you gently pull away, getting a good look at him. “How’s it going, Boy Scout?” you ask him, lightly chuckling.

“We don’t got time for all that.” He tells you as you both laugh.

“Coco told us you were back. Sorry I haven’t gone to see you. Shit with the clu – “ he began, but you were quick to cut him off.

Shaking your head, “Stop, I totally understand. It’s okay.” You tell him, giving him a reassuring smile.

You follow him into the Clubhouse. You smile as you walk in, all the memories you had in this place overwhelming you.

“Is Letty around? She called me to come get her.” You ask as you take a seat on the bar stool. EZ making his way to the other side.

“Yeah. Think I saw her in the Office helping Chucky.” He tells you as he places a bottle of water in front of you and opening a beer for himself.

“So, still Prospect, huh?” you ask as you point towards his kutte.

“Patch-in vote is in a few days.” He says taking a sip of his beer.

“You ready for all that?” you ask him

“Think I have proved myself to everyone. We’ll see what happens.” He just shrugs.

“Proud of you, Ezekiel.” You give him a smile.

He flashes you a genuine smile back. Leaning against the bar table towards you, “Thanks Hermana. So Coco says you’re staying a while. You home for good?”

“It’s looking that way. Just trying to get back on my own two feet.” You tell him starring down at your bottle of water, unable to meet his gaze.

“We are all glad you are home. And you already know, if you ever need anything, we are all here for you.” He tells you, reaching out to take your hand in his. Your lower lip trembled as you did your best to control your emotions.

As you both were chatting, you hear that one familiar voice you have missed the most, enter the room. Turning around, you watched as Angel strolled out from the back room, engulfed by something on his phone.

“Yo, Boy Scout. Grab your shit, we gotta go. We need to get over the border before the sun…” he trailed off as he finally looked up from his phone to meet your gaze. You watched as he tried to process you sitting there; seeing him go from shock, to hurt and eventually to anger.

“Hi Angel.” You say, attempting to test the water. Unsure of how Angel was going to react.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes as he stormed towards the front door, “Get your shit EZ. Let’s go!” he shouted.

“Angel!?” you called out for him. Unsure why exactly, now you held your breath for his reaction.

He stopped when you called for him. You and EZ both holding your breaths, waiting for how he was going to react. He then turned around and stormed towards you, all his anger clear on his face and in his tone.

“I have nothing to say to you! What gives you the right to just waltz back into my life after all pain you’ve caused.”

He just stared at you as you did your best to not completely crumble under his intense gaze.

“Alright, Angel. Lets go, bro.” EZ says as he steps in between you and Angel. Gently pushing Angel to get him to walk away.

“Whatever!” he scoffed as he stormed out the Clubhouse, slamming the door behind him.

“[Y/N], I’m so sorry.” EZ says turning to you to make sure you were okay.

Shaking your head, “No. It’s okay.” You say wiping away the tears from your face. “He has every right to be upset.” You continue.

“Just give him some time. He’ll come around.”

“I doubt that, but that’s okay. I should really go find Letty and get home. Be safe, EZ.” You jump off the bar stool and give EZ a kiss on the cheek before heading towards the Office to find Letty.

----------

A couple weeks after your encounter with Angel, you find yourself back at the Clubhouse. This time for Bishop’s birthday celebration. As much as you didn’t want to be at the Clubhouse, you knew there was no way you couldn’t show up to show Bishop some love; he would never let you hear the end of it if you didn’t. Thankfully Letty would also be there so if you needed an excuse to leave you could use her as a decoy.

You were genuinely enjoying yourself, but the thought that Angel was nowhere to be found wasn’t sitting well with you. He is always here.

You find EZ manning the bar passing out beers, making your way towards the bar you take a seat on a barstool, and wait for him to finish.

When he spots you at the end of the bar, he gives you a smile, opening a beer and placing it in front of you.

“You look like you are having a good time.” He tells you as he leans back against the bar counter.

“I am.” You smile, taking a sip of your beer. “But I can’t help but notice your brother isn’t around.” You continue. You notice how EZ’s face falls at the mention of his brother’s name.

“He’s uh—he’s with Adelita.” He tells you.

You furrow your brows in confusion. Coco and EZ both had told you about some stuff the club was dealing with. Obviously you knew it wasn’t every single detail, you were just thankful they trusted you in telling even the littlest of things. You had heard from Coco that the three stooges, and eventually EZ, began helping the Rebels, and that somehow led to an alliance between the MC, the Galindo Cartel and the Rebels. EZ had also let slip that the MC was to protect the Rebel Leader since she was pregnant.

“Coco mentioned some shit went down a couple days ago. That’s why you guys were over the border for so long. She got taken, you guys were there looking for her, but when you got her back, she told you to let her go. It sounded like some heavy shit, so I didn’t push for any more detail.” you tell him.

“We also learned something during those few days.”

“Like what?” you ask him.

“That night at the warehouse where I told you that Angel and Bishop got into a fight. I didn’t tell you that Angel admitted that Adelita’s baby is his.” He tells you, unable to look at you.

You sat there for a second processing this additional information, everything that you were told up till now slowing making sense.

“I’m sorry, Hermosa. I know all this has been hard for you and being back hasn’t been easy. Last thing you need is for all this to be dropped on you. I just want to see you happy again.” He tells you as he reaches for your hand.

You pull away when you feel his hand on yours, your eyes welling up with unshed tears.

“I—I just need a minute. I need some air.” You say as you get up and quickly make your way outside, before EZ can stop you.

----------

Once you get outside the Clubhouse, you take a couple deep breaths, doing your best to not completely break down into an uncontrollable sob. Taking a seat on the porch step, you wipe the tears streaming down your face as you try your best to compose yourself, secretly regretting showing up tonight.

As your sitting there, it startles you when you hear someone approaching. Looking up, quickly wiping at your tears, you silently curse when you see Angel approaching.

“You alright?” he asks you. You can hear the genuine concern in his voice.

“I’ve been better.” You give him a sad smile as you shrug.

He softly grunts as he takes a seat in front of you on the porch step. You just watch as he pulls out his cigarettes from his kutte, lighting one up. You both sit there in silence.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Angel.” Your small voice breaks through the silence. You can see him slightly cringe at the sound of your voice breaking.

He just shakes his head as he exhales the smoke from his cigarette, “It’s not your fault. I left you no choice but to leave. I was so deep with all the bullshit, I pushed you away.”

“I could have fought better. For you, for us.” You sniffle.

“We both could have, querida.” He tells you finally turning to look at you.

“But you’re not the one that left. For that I will always be sorry.”

He gives you a half smile and a nod.

“I heard about everything that happened with Adelita. You’re going to be a good father, Angel.”

He laughs softly as he bites his lower lip and shakes his head, “You know I’ma fuck it all up.”

You watch as his eyes welled up with tears, fighting back your own tears.

“Everyone talks about love and family, but people don’t do what you’re doing, Angel. In any world.” You continue to tell him. “The promise to Adelita. Carrying the weight of that secret. The shit that went down with you and Bishop. Clearly, you put your family first.”

At this point you both had tears streaming down your faces. As much as it hurt your heart, you knew Angel needed to hear this. You knew firsthand how he always felt less than and second best.

“And if you ever forget that or have any doubts about how good you are, we will all be there to remind you.” You give him a reassuring smile.

Before either of you can respond. The Clubhouse door flies open and Letty comes waltzing out in search of you. Both you and Angel wiping away any remaining tears.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” You hear her say.

“What’s up?” you ask her as you get up from the porch step.

“Are you ready to go?” she asks as she yawns.

You softly chuckle, “Yeah. That actually sounds like a good idea. Go wait in the car I’ll be right there.” You tell her as you watch her make her through the yard towards the car.

You and Angel both stare at each other for a second, “I should get her home.” You say pointing towards Letty.

“Yeah. Get home safe.” He says as he approaches you, gently placing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m glad you’re home, querida.”

“Take care of yourself, Reyes.” You smile and give him a wink.

He just chuckles as he watches you make your way towards your car, and out of the scrapyard.

-xx

[minahoeshi]

to be yours and you, mine.

Kuroo Tetsurō x reader | just pure angst. so much angst.

warning: major character death

prelude: the end lets its presence be known before it comes around. At times, that sense of awareness feels like a blessing. But with you and Tetsurou, the reminder of what soon will come can only hurt you even further. Because mankind has never been powerful enough to do anything against so many things. We have always been weak in the face of nature. especially against the passage of time and all the things it keeps taking from us.

It's almost odd how the world changed when you realised what the moments of silence has reduced your relationship into. How, when you finally acknowledged the fact that perhaps the end of a prolonged short story is nearer than you'd rather believe, a filter seemed to slip off of the camera, along with the vibrance you never realised was raised too high. It's not like the frames suddenly are less colourful. It's just that the tinges of blue in the shadows and highlights have made themselves more obvious, like a sign waiting for you to conclude things yourself.

Maybe it's because it's the new years and new beginnings just seem so scary. Or maybe it's the ice in the air, or the meteorologist on the television announcing that it's 7°C that morning that makes the lack of warmth between you and him more unbearable. But you wake up to the silence of the world, not even the birds are around to fuss above your house. To the empty space beside you, a reminder of his message three days ago.

Tetsu(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

I'm staying with my family this new year. Okaa-san thinks I need to spend 'the end of the year and the beginning of a new one with those that made such days possible for me'. You know, her usual line to remind me of their importance. Miss you.

Let's video call on new year's eve, yeah?

received 9:26

He did call you last night. Not the video call he promised, but a voice call on Line. But you didn't answer. If he asked why, you would've told him you were with your friends in a shrine celebrating new years with prayers for a better future for one another, drinking sake, and walking the streets of Shibuya with your girls and gays and the one guy friend that everyone wonders how he ended up in the group.

It didn't hurt that he only called you once and never tried again. It didn't hurt that he didn't ask why. But fuck was it painful to hear the voicemail.

"Happy new year, Y/N san. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be there with you, I promise. I love you. So much."

It's scary and painful how his voice seemed to waver. How it was shaky and devoid of his usual timbre, a ghost of what once was a joking and rarely serious tone that took light of most situations. His voice that you loved so much, absent because maybe he knew too.

Maybe he was aware that no saving can be done to bring forth the past as if it was the present. To rebuild the broken and to remind you both of what you had all these years. To you and him, the signs couldn't be more obvious. When the world crumbles, you don't save it. You kiss it goodbye and go on to search for a new one. One that won't break with you in it. (but you know you won't search. you never do.)

You spend the next hours awake. The consciousness, unwanted. You want so much to just fall down as if the darkness can just swallow you and you'd be happier in it. In silence, you might feel better.

But you can't help the way your brain works. You bask in the reminiscing, the present disappearing before you until it's the past that owns you.

It's not the memories that grabs hold of you but him in his entirety. You cry because you will miss all that he is. The lazy tone he uses when he feels comfortable beside you on the couch. The humour he finds in everything, even in chemistry which is crazy because nothing about chemistry is comical. The messy hair he refuses to tame because he loses his identity, a piece of him, his pride and legacy when his hair looks neat. You'll miss his hand on your back when you're walking outdoors, his iced coffee with a secret ingredient that is probably not really a secret, his hugs when you feel yourself falling in the deep hole of misery, his excitement when he speaks of volleyball, his pride when he talks about his achievements, his— all of him. You'll miss all of him. Too much.

Kuroo spends the car ride thinking of you. Reminding himself to remind you of all that you must remember. To hold your hand tight for as long as he can until he can't.

He reminds himself of the things he love so much about you. Of your unequaled patience and trust in him. Of your ability to strip him of all his bad so that he can only see his good. Of your laughter when he speaks of his day as comically as possible. Of the mornings he wakes up beside you. Of your— everything. All that you are.

Because as the car nears your house, he feels himself crumble. Because he just knows what is about to come. So he must keep in him all your good and bad to be grounded. To stay long enough.

Kuroo stays in the car and stared at the door. The door that opens slowly and reveals you in your scarf and windbreaker. Beautiful. You in all your tear-stained glory, your nose and ears red. He stares as you step into the snow and approach him. He stares as you knock on the window.

And so he opens the door.

You break again the moment you see him. You wish to be strong for him. He doesn't deserve your sadness and weakness but he told you to let yourself be. That your tears are better seen than hidden. Because it helps him and you know how you are feeling. So that he doesn't have to walk around eggshells because you both expose all your vulnerability to one another.

So you fall on his knees. You dont wait for him to get out. You cry on his lap and you know he cried with you. You fall apart together. The same way you built each other to be whoever you two are today, you both break each other.

You say, Testu. Tetsu Tetsu Tetsu Tetsu. He says it's fine, he's fine. He leans and kisses your head and you cry more the same way he does as he hugs you from above. I'm sorry, you say. I should've answered your call, you say.

But I was scared. I was too scared.

And you both know. You fear the same thing. Because as Kuroo is placed on his wheelchair with your help and Kenma's who has been with you two since the very beginning. He leaves both of you because he knows that's what's best. He gives Kuroo a hug before he drives away.

He's bone-thin. Dark bags under his eyes, cheekbones too visible, lips too pale— tired. He looked more tired than three days ago, before he suddenly disappeared that day and you felt too much pain because was he gonna leave you that way? Was he not gonna be with you until the very last of everything?

You were thankful he texted you that night. Because you would've gone crazy with all your thoughts. You understood why he had to go home. His family needed him and he needed them. You couldn't be selfish.

That night, you spend hours on your bed with Kuroo. He didn't need the morphine, he tells you. He's okay. But his breathing is ragged and he's sweating. He can't move without hurting. But you don't give him painkillers because he told you so. So instead, you kiss him. You kiss him and tell him you love him. You tell him you were happiest with him. He doesn't talk much. But the last he said before you both slept was, "I love you too. More than anything and everything. I love you."

The next morning, you cry harder. This time, all by yourself. Tetsutetsutetsutetsutetsutetsu. He never responds.

You cry harder.

But at the very least, he was still holding your hand.

-

Tetsu(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Science is yet to prove the existence of reincarnation so instead of pinning everything on it, I'd rather appreciate this one life I spent loving you. Because there's no other way for me to have lived than to be yours and you mine. This one life is enough for the universe to understand that we are eternity, you and me. Forever.

I love you. I know you love me too.

2:09 am

You

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

5:27 am

-

Okaa-san - mother

Tetsu - nickname for Kuroo from his first name, Tetsuro. In Japan, cute nicknames are more common than endearments like honey or love.

Shibuya - a city or special ward in the prefecture, Tokyo.

Sake - Japanese alcohol made of rice and other ingredients.

Line - most used messaging app in Japan.

Thanks for reading!

[thesarcasticside]

Anything-$00000DDD

Summary

He could have been anything. When he looked inside his own mind, he dug through darkness. Memories like ashes, the particles filling his lungs were all that were familiar to him—and those only felt like nothing. No fragments, just a fine powder.

Janus is a cyborg who works for the Dragon Witch, a criminal mastermind who runs a company that designs cybernetics.

He meets Remus, a self-taught biomedical engineer, and a variety of other robotic and alien characters, all of whom are trying to convince him that he is more than just a cybernetic puppet.

But who is “Dee” if not an empty husk created only to be controlled?

General warnings

Psychological horror, body horror, cybernetics, missing limbs, artificial limbs, Non-consensual forced medical treatment, physical abuse, blood, violence, guns, mind control, permanent amnesia, manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, nightmares, streams of consciousness, unreliable narration. Content that resembles depersonalization, derealization, or dissociation

More notes, links, and chapter text under the cut

AO3 Anything, AO3 series, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18

This is my story for the 2021 Storytime! Big Bang! @ts-storytime Thank you to @ben-phantomhive-trash, who is the artist I was partnered with for the event! They created this fantastic art!!!! I love it so much I can't even.

Thank you to PunkRock for helping me figure out the shorts characters and other plot things. Also thank you to AryaSkywalker, Thembo, and Carrotflowerking17 and the Big Bang 2021 discord for additional help!!!!

This fic is an alternative entry point to my (In Other Worlds) Series. This fic happens at the same time roughly as Millennia, a companion novel. You can read this fic and then check out the rest of the series, or check out the series and then read this.

Also, I don't use Janus's actual name throughout the fic for thematic and narrative reasons. You'll see. I hope that does not put you off too much. Consider it part of the angst.

Clarification of general warnings and pairings, minor spoilers

I added the tag unreliable narrator, but I will clarify that the narrator is not actively lying to the audience. This tag relates to Janus's memory issues and the uncertainty resulting from that. tbh I would not worry too much about the events being untrue, and more be concerned about these being Janus's imperfect recollection of events.

I think this fic is a bit more violent than Millennia at times, hence I added the archive warning for violence. I still feel like a teen would be fine reading this, so I am keeping the rating Teen and Up. This fic focuses the most on what I dub psychological horror (angst, mind control, memory issues, consciousness, nightmares, etc.). I also tagged this story with disassociation, and content in this fic may resemble derealization and depersonalization.

If you think I should warn/rate this fic differently, I am happy to hear feedback and reconsider.

I tagged this as Remus/Janus, but like, ya gotta squint. Mostly banter and being soft. I love romance, but I have a hard time writing it. Could be seen as platonic too.

HINT 1: KEY.

HINT 2: "kind of" not "kinda"

CHAPTER START

NAME J. D. Dedrick ID 25:35--25:44 / 51:09 ALIENRACE Dūcesnaca OCCUPATION Robotics Researcher

Chapter Warnings cybernetics, missing/artificial limbs (eye, legs), forced medical treatment/experimentation, amnesia, depersonalization/derealization/dissociation, unreliable narration, psychological horror, swearing Chapter Characters Janus, the Dragon Witch, Virgil (not by name)

He could have been anything. When he looked inside his own mind, he dug through darkness. Memories like ashes, the particles filling his lungs were all that were familiar to him—and those only felt like nothing. No fragments, just a fine powder.

He woke up to yellow in his eyes, stinging and unfocused. Lights beyond the veil flickered. He saw a figure move; he looked small. After a brief glance into the world, he began to drown. He threw everything into the yellow encasement, and after an agonizing struggle, the rush of acceleration threw him to the ground.

When the air touched his face, black fireworks exploded in his hazy vision, and the first memory he had was gone.

He woke up again, like a corpse left in the stale air for vultures: beaks plucking out his skin piece by piece. His vision blurry and halved, he stared up at the birds breaking his body into bits.

Reports say he was involved in a huge space crash. DRACANA has generously sponsored his artificiality.

That sounded like a lie. That sort of blatant untruth where there was no connection to reality tied to it. Everything his senses told him felt unreal, everything except the pain that grounded him like a shot duck.

Whispers like gossip broke into his mind between droughts of consciousness. His senses were pieced together and broken apart, like pieces of clay in a kiln shattering. Memories of vultures and lab coats glued together by agony floated through space until eventually he was awake.

Probably just one of her business rivals

Dei’dra—he knew her name—loomed over him, to his right. He could see nothing to his left. The light stung, he squinted and blinked his eye. He could feel nothing on the left side of his face. Dei’dra smiled at him.

“Wake up, dollface. Didn’t think you’d make it, but you pulled through.”

He did not know where he was. He did not know who he was. All he knew was that this woman was Dei’dra, the Dragon Witch, and he hated her.

“Well, he seems to be doing well. Might as well put him under and move onto the next stage.”

He lived out his days creating sand sculptures in his mind. He saw himself running in place, downloading skills and targets and concepts. The sand would blow away each day, leaving him with nothing to remember them by.

Between bouts of black unconsciousness, he saw grey, and white, and pale pink, brown, and blue. Abstract shapes morphing into creatures that prodded at him. Cold metal seething, machines twisting his body together like crochet. He gave nonsense names for some, not even names consisting of words, just pure thoughts.

Slowly, he lost sight of the sand in his brain, yet the grains still dripped from his ears when he shook his head. He became a part of reality. Or perhaps he became part of a hellish dream.

Darkness huddled in the damp sides of his eyes, danger snapping at his bruised joints and soles. Deep inside his chest, his heart damned, words mixed with intuitive instincts, daring his body to live beyond the yellow veil.

Stage One of Project $DEE has been completed.

$DEE was not his name. It was what he was called. One of the words that would echo in his brain. Dee. Dee. Dee. Like a rhythm, like the beeping machines. Like the ringing of the heart monitor. It was embedded in his ears. Baby words jumping around, forming pictures, babbling him into nothing.

Dee, his brain still a desert, started to make better sense of this reality he lived in. He could control his body sometimes. He could move his arms. Or what was left of his limbs. Or what they had lent him.

The second picture in his brain, the one after the yellow veil: it was the artificial lights on Lab C’s ceiling. Grey illuminated by white, he stared up at the square tiles and textured glass, like undulating waves of melted sand.

With how long he was locked in place staring up at this picture, he memorized it. He could close his eyes at any moment and picture it in its exact detail again.

“Time to get up, Doll-face. It’s time for your first mission.”

He saw Dei’dra’s face again. He felt his restraints loosen and break away.

His first mission was not all that glorious. He was lanky, unused to moving in his body. He was a wall of meat. Disposable. He followed a trail like a zombie. He barely spoke to the team he was placed in. He remembered their orders regarding him.

“He’s still pretty out of it. Give him some good experience, but we’d like to keep working on him so bring him back in one piece.”

Dee felt like a puppet, simply put. Some machine inside him aimed his cannons and lasers. He stood in place, shooting at targets. He was guided by an invisible leash by the team he was assigned to. He saw sepia shapes. Blurs of bodies. All he could feel was the emotions in his gut telling him, repeatedly:

Youaregoingtodieyouaregoingtodieyouaregoingtodieagainyouaregoingtodiestoppleasestoppleaseyouaregoingtodiestopstopstopstopstop.

He was kept suspended in place while his body completed the mission. And then he was back in Lab C, mind clearer.

He was thinking in sentences now. He could monologue, like any great villain. That is what he had become, hadn’t he? Why a villain? Where had he learned that word? The more he sifted through the sand, the more words he could find he no longer remembered learning. They were just there, connected to nothing. No memory. No past life.

He kept thinking these words. And then he decided that since his jaw was not glued shut, he would give speaking a try. Garbled and slurred at first, he kept talking as much as they let him.

They made him run between ceilings of grey. They made him speak between illuminated square tiles. He practiced lines of a script. Subterfuge settled in his brain like a mirage in the distance between the settled sand.

He could walk on the unsteady ground once again. He could see. He could hear. He could experience the world around him. He gazed up at the ceiling but was interrupted by a splotch of dark violet.

Another blot. Another vulture. He stood there out of the corner of his artificial eye.

“What are you waiting for? Get on with the tests.” His voice sharp, cutting through his tongue.

This was an unusual time of day for tests. To say it was a time of day was generous. It was more like he would be experimented on for hours upon hours and then suddenly they would stop. Nothing to do but bask in the nothingness it brought.

At this point, Dee thought that he was done with most of the tests. He had his limbs. He had an eye, which he opened wider to get a better look at the violet blotch. Something about the blotch was connected to something else in his brain, but he could not quite place it.

“Well, whatever it is, get on with it, it certainly could not have waited until morning.”

It shuffled closer to him. Less of a blotch now. He could make out shapes. He could recognize his face now if he saw him again.

Air escaped his lungs, and then he said again, asking, “Whatever might you need from me today, doctor?”

The blotch was shaking. “If you are just here to sight-see, I am going back to sleep.” His eyes weighed heavily on his face, eyelids falling through his willpower.

“Are you… okay?”

No, I am not ‘okay’. I am ‘$DEE.’

“Do I LOOK okay? Yeah sure, I am right as rain, having a grand old time—feeling peachy, even.” At this point, the words just spiraled off his tongue and through his teeth. The blotch made a sound, and Dee’s frustration grew, the pain of today’s tests ricocheting in his body.

“If you aren’t here to run another one of your little tests, then just get out. Go tell your superior, or better yet, go tell Dei’dra to go fuck herself and leave me alone.”

And he left him alone. He wondered vaguely what that was all about. He then fell asleep.