#I keep Sanctuary ruined for a little while

[shatinn]

Fallout 4 - 16/?

[vaaaaaiolet]

When you run out of his work summit on the brink of tears, you can't believe that Leon hasn't picked up on how he hurt you. His only option is to apologize, but you're not listening to a word he says. So he'll just have to make you watch.

mdni i'm so serious. married f / m smut where porn is the plot THERE'S LORE I SWEAR, sour then sweet dom leon, mirror sex, EMOTIONS, aftercare :3 + 1 bad pun

a/n: anon req'd reader w/ praise kink. i really thought i did something and then i read it and i wanted to die. it isn't my writing if i don't try turning smut into shitty poetry.

word count: 2.9k // read on ao3

“I’m apologizing now, aren’t I?”

“A little late for that, Agent Kennedy,” you seethe. 

Your metronome heels keep time with the irate pounding of your heartbeat. This California Ritz-Carlton hallway stretches like the goddamn Shining and you can’t seem to get away fast enough from your husband. He’s too damn good at his job, and you’re too smart to pretend that this dance the two of you are playing at is anything but a distraction, an impediment.

You are a distraction. You’ve been an unwelcome one all night.

So you’d cut it short yourself.

One keycard slice through the sensor and the sanctuary of your hotel room opens up to you, messy with the aftermath of black-tie preparation. You step up to the vanity; plant your palms on its wooden surface and stare straight ahead as if to admire your ruined mascara. It’s a formality, really. It’s not as if you need the mirror to remind you what happened in this room. Tonight began with indulgent kisses afraid to smudge dress shirt collars, hands squeezed for courage, Leon in perpetual pursuit of the train of your gown. Big dreams.

“You wanna talk? We can talk.” Leon shuts the door with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing,” you hiss. You stare daggers at his reflection.

“Really?” His shoulders drop. “Then what was all that with the storming off, the- oh baby, don’t look at me like that.” 

Leon’s arms wrap around your middle while his nose buries itself in your diamond-laced neck. He’s good at that, that sneaking thing without leaving so much as a whisper to signal where he’s going. The higher-ups at the DSO call it stealth. You just want the man you married to tell you what the hell he’s doing before he makes a fool out of you. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I swear,” he whispers, kissing softly down your neck. “Didn’t mean it at all, I’m sorry. What’d I do?”

You scoff. 

He’s testing the waters. A rough thumb finds and starts running down the divot of your spine, thank you backless Mirror Palais ballgown. Pass the smoking gun back and forth, pretend not to see the shrapnel from the bullet holes. You don’t pay Leon any heed as you stoically unhook diamond pendants from your ears, and he frowns.

“I said I was sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t need to tell you what you did, Leon.” 

Shame simmers sickly and strong in the pit of your stomach. You teeter on the edge of snapping altogether and consider throwing his blankets on the floor for the night – you will, actually, as soon you take off all your evening regalia. In your haste, your nails end up nicking Leon’s nose when he tries to murmur another weightless apology.

The kisses stop leaching onto your collarbone. “Don’t play this game with me, sweetheart.” 

“So now you’re calling me immature?”   

“Isn’t that what you call running out of my work summit? Making me chase you down?” Leon counters, running his hands down your sides in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. Thinly-veiled irritation finally seeps into his tone. “What exactly did I do?”

And gosh, does that get the tears going. He’s so blind it hurts.

You tug pins furiously out of your hair in an effort to keep an impending outburst at bay. “You practically had me on a leash!”

Not once had he let you out of his sight in that dreadful ballroom. In front of all those international representatives and agents, people whose reputations preceded them, Leon had kept you attached to him with a heavy hand on your waist, glued to his hip like an untrustworthy child he’d lose track of at a supermarket. Coughs had quickly turned to snickers behind your back. You’re no agent, sure, but you could expect to have some kind of autonomy, right? 

The guest badge you’d flung over the hotel room bed glints tauntingly now, respected by every security detail except the one whose chest your back is currently pressed against. It’s humiliating how untrustworthy, how incapable he made you look tonight.

Leon blinks. “You’re saying I think you can’t handle yourself?”

“You don’t have to. You showed me all night.” 

Tears drip down your cheeks when he relents, his arms lifting like fog over the Golden Gate, and if you’re finally free from his clutches, you might as well take off this suffocating dress. It’s gauzy and gorgeous and completely worthless despite the stack of bills Leon paid for it, however giddy you’d been when he’d brought it home. 

If only you could reach the tiny zipper perched on your tailbone. 

Leon, ever the perceptive one, however, never passes up an opening whether it be zipped or not. He’s got a handy index and thumb; he puts them to use. He’s your husband after all. 

“Right, okay,” he exhales sharply, tugging the chain as your back bows forward, “I did this all wrong. I thought you’d catch on when I should’ve just shown you instead.”

“Show me what?”

A hand inside your newly agape gown. A palm pivoting south to the curve of your hip, pressing, searching. Leon presses his lips to your neck in answer, but this time, it’s urgent in a way that doesn’t quite feel like remorse. He hisses.

“Tell me to stop and I fucking will, but this is my last resort considering how bad I seem to be with my words, sweetheart. How many times have I told you I’m sorry?”

“You-”

A squeeze on your hip. A direction. 

“I need a number.”

The door, your neck, seconds ago.

“...three.”

“And not one of them made it inside that pretty head of yours,” Leon scowls. “Doesn’t look like words are either of our strong suits. Chin up for me, doll, and pay attention ‘cause I’m only asking this once.”

So you do, you lift your face to meet mascara-rimmed eyes in the mirror along with Leon’s sapphire-blue ones that glint right behind, and his palm drifts up to cup your jaw from underneath. He tilts it back and forth. Kisses his teeth. 

“Tell me. How am I supposed to let my wife loose in a room full of criminals just like that?”

What?

Leon circles your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pulling away quickly. Too early to indulge in this kind of affection. “Thought I asked you something, doll.”

But you hesitate, and so Leon must disappear. His final instructions are to face forward.

He dives to the floor, locking rough fingers around your ankles only to slide them up to the backs of your shins. He goes under so quick that there’s a breeze; you’re granted mere seconds to watch Leon’s blond head duck underneath the floor-length train of your dress and by then, it’s far too late to notice the fire. 

Leon loves starting those.

He also doesn’t wait. Invisible flames lick up your bare legs from Leon’s dragon mouth. Red hot kisses trail up your thighs – he drops a sweet one on the inside of your right knee, makes you buckle momentarily – and these stubbled kisses of his have a tendency to sear any skin on their skyward path. You can’t remember when your elbows propped themselves on the vanity, out of instinct, maybe, to keep the floor of your stomach from falling out at the very first sneak of Leon’s tongue inside the drenched lace gusset of your panties. 

But you can’t afford to be surprised, can you? Not with the line of destruction he’s left behind on his way to his destination. They say it takes one to know one. 

You clutch the edge of the vanity’s shelf, suck down sobs in your throat fluttering into something indecent.

“I need you to talk to me,” he whispers with his lips pressed to your pussy. The vibration echoes up your spine, jerks your head back. “You’re all clammed up. Keeping secrets.”

Air gushes down your throat. “And you’re not?” 

“Of course I am, baby, but I’m explaining, aren’t I?” 

Kiss. Kiss. Suck. 

You keen with your mouth shut.

He noses at your clit, prompting you. “So, where’s your explanation?”

Another quality the DSO prides itself on is your husband’s ability to sweet-talk himself out of a tight spot. That seems to includes in between your legs. Your thighs clench together in a final attempt of defiance when his mouth makes contact with your cunt. Your reflection in the mirror starts to swim at the first swirl of Leon’s tongue, and he makes quick work of you with his goal being none other than to dangle the promise of more to come, literally. 

Thumbs tuck into sensitive folds, and you’re gone. Shaking at the first breach of Leon’s fingers inside you. You spread apart at his will. He dips into arousal now impossible to ignore, and when sparks finally light at the hot air Leon blows over your spasming pussy, he commits his second unforgivable sin of the night: ducking right back out at the crest of your orgasm.

You have principles. The mirror reflects Leon’s swollen lips, tousled hair damp with you when he rises from his knees, and above all this, you clench your teeth. Face forward. 

He wipes his mouth.

“That’s one.” 

The other two remain rhetorical.

You’re being lifted bridal-style when the seal on your mouth finally breaks. “Leon,” you tremble in his arms, “where are we?” The summit, the people; you chase his mouth for any explanation. “You’re working with criminals now?” 

“Yes and no. Arms up,” Leon rasps, and tugs down what remains of your gown, crashes his mouth onto yours. 

You taste yourself in his kiss. Surely that’s not an answer, is it?

“Tonight was a mission,” he continues in his feverish haste, quickly laying your naked body onto the bed before kissing down your breasts.

Pride gets tossed on the floor next to your undergarments, his crumpled dress shirt. 

“The DSO couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t become collateral for this assignment if things went south and I didn’t want to risk it. So I took you with me.” 

“You brought me to a- oh! ” 

Two thick fingers push into your sopping cunt. You squeal, clutch the sheets. Leon presses the ribbed flesh nestled deep inside you, carving out room for himself from his kneel at the foot of the bed. He gouges deep and you writhe. Your arousal shimmers on his fingers when he finally pulls them out and you find that have nothing to say about that.

“Go on,” he coos lowly. “Don’t get quiet now.” 

Your head whirls. “You sh-should’ve told me they were dangerous.”  

“And where do you think that would’ve gotten us, sweetheart? I didn’t want you panicking. Blowing cover. I had you to take care of and intel to gather, I couldn’t think straight myself. Letting you out of my sight could’ve meant losing you.”

Fuck. You don’t need a mirror to remember how antsy Leon had been before going down to the ballroom. 

Hands squeezed for courage. Hand on your waist. 

The vanilla and leather on his skin had reeked of nerves, and you? You’d written it off.

“I wanted to keep you safe.” Leon looks up at you now, eyes glinting in the dim light. There’s a new softness in their blue depths, a sincere apology. “I just wish you'd believe me.” 

By all intents and purposes, Leon Scott Kennedy is sorry.

There’s been a lapse in judgment. Your elbows sit you up from the bed to fix it. Cupping his cheek, you lean forward to meet Leon’s waiting mouth in a long overdue embrace, one he can melt into with relief. There’s no bitterness on your tongue now. Just sweetness in the seconds you take to breathe your forgiveness into him. The clink of his falling belt promises no punishment.

“But you can’t let me off the hook just yet,” Leon murmurs when he tugs free from your latch on his bottom lip, “I hurt you, angel, and I never wanted to. Tell me I can fix it.”

He can. Your husband can fix everything, the world included. You sigh your approval, yes, yes, more, because forgiveness feels incredible as he lays your shoulders down, sets your hips straight when you twist them the first time he teases his cock’s weeping head over the soaked seam of your pussy. 

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror for a second,” Leon instructs.

He plants his palms on the sides of your head. You whimper; swear you won’t.

“I mean it. Watch yourself, and maybe then you’ll understand how crazy you drive me.”

So begins your descent. 

You’re drowning, crying for air when Leon sinks into the liquid warmth you’ve saved for him. There’s so much of him to take, tight, tight, tight – your mind is a melting record. You’re breaking. Can’t disappoint him again. When your overwhelmed cunt nearly pushes him out, Leon just chuckles. He cants his hips to compensate, goes at it again. That should be enough to tell you how the DSO’s finest agent never lets a detail go amiss. 

“The Belgium ambassador started tailing you by the fountain." 

And to your astonishment, he starts rattling off half the world map. 

“Got rid of him quick. Then there was a – oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me – Swedish agent, don’t remember what I did to him.” 

A roll of his hips. Your nails down his back. 

“Someone from Germany tried to dose your champagne. Another from Argentina, shit,” his thrusts grow erratic the longer the list grows, “two from Russia, a Japanese spy – perfect fucking pussy, oh my God…”

Your husband takes you on a trip around the globe. He’d traveled to the ends of the earth in that ballroom, kept your back bulletproof with just his hand, the one that was once a collar to you. Turns out being a Kennedy puts you on a hitlist; makes your blood run blue. 

“Too much!” you sob.

You can’t take the responsibility. 

But here in the dark, here with Leon, there’s just pleasure. Opulence. The back of his head is a blond crown in the vanity mirror, the diamonds on your breasts sparkle with each bounce from Leon’s cock slamming home. Even the gooey mess you’re leaving on the chiseled marble of his lower stomach shimmers. War paint from a battle won for you.

Your head falls away from the mirror and Leon guides it back without losing his rhythm. “Mm-mm. You need to see your face when you break.” 

Never has a threat sounded so loving on anyone’s lips, you imagine. 

Your hands tangle into his hair, you grow quiet, you clench. You’re close. This, he can feel.

His lips curve into a weary grin. “Wanted you to see why I had eyes on my baby all night. My pretty girl, all mine.”

Lucky you. 

That somehow does you in. Every word of praise Leon utters makes it clear that no, he did trust you, does trust you. He trusted you enough to know you could hold your own in that lion’s den downstairs, trusts now that you’ll forgive him for a misstep born of love. And with that realization, your pleasure rides helium high. 

“Shit, Leon!” you cry.

Electric pressure builds in your sensitive bud, the one Leon rubs frantically now. Gasps from your wide open mouth sweeten the air like perfume and Leon wishes he could breathe it all in, you’re beautiful when he turns you into a wailing mess. All for him.  

“This one’s two, angel,” he groans when you flutter around him. No way. 

His cock had put you in a trance, so warm and filling is it inside you. You’d forgotten about the deal entirely. 

Your cries increase precariously in pitch. “Oh, please, please, you can’t, Leon, I have to-” 

“Hold on!” 

Leon presses you into the sheets one last time to free the pretty songbird singing his name. You sprout wings in the looking glass.

The afterglow is golden. The sunset is long gone but it glows in your hotel room all the same, wrapped in silk sheets and Leon’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know?” he hums, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“What, all sweaty and gross?” You wouldn’t expect him to know. He’s gorgeous. Leon is gorgeous when he makes love to you.

He nods, laughing when you roll your eyes. “Really, you do. Enough that I had to spend half my mission clawing bad guys off you. But I got it finished, and so did you in the process, huh?” 

Leon drops a kiss to your forehead, murmuring one last I’m sorry, his fourth one.

Shit. 

You scramble to hide under the sheets, leaving him cocking his head after you in utter confusion. “Wait, wait, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t do any more, Leon, I’m gonna pass out.” 

“Do any…?”

“You only left off on two!” 

Leon snorts. You soon feel a warm press on the top of your head: a sugary, schoolboy-sweet kiss.

“There you go, baby. That’s three. Apology accepted?”

And when you poke your head out of the covers to give Leon a kiss of your own, you make sure he knows it’s for apology number four.

He shouldn’t be so surprised you noticed. It’s not like you can take your eyes off him either.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Stirring the Quiet - Sweet Mistakes

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: In the bustling streets of Hollywood, The Daily Grind café offers solace to those seeking peace—famous or not. Y/N, co-owner of the cozy shop, wasn't expecting a masked Jenna Ortega, a regular, hiding in plain sight. Is it just you, or did the spilled sugar not turn out to be the only thing that sweetened your day?

Word Count: 1.1k

The smell of espresso hit me like a warm hug the second I opened the door to The Daily Grind. We'd only been open for three weeks, but the place already felt like my second home. Wilma, my best friend and now business partner, had really nailed it with the cozy vibe— mix of warm lighting and cushy chairs that practically begged you to sit down and spill your deepest secrets into a cup of coffee. We were doing pretty well for ourselves. A lot of it had to do with how we ran things. We prided ourselves on being a low-key spot where even the biggesr stars could come in and out without anyone batting an eye. No paparazzi, No instagram Stans, just people famous—or not trying to enjoy their coffee.

We've had a few people challenge our "No photos, videos, or interrupting other customers of any caliber." rule—a sign clearly displayed at the top of the menu and outside the café. The moment a camera was raised, we'd calmly walk over and politely ask them to leave. If that didn't work, we had a quiet agreement with the boutique's security guard next door—one glare from him, and they usually scurried off. Our café was a sanctuary, and no one would ruin that for our customers. After all, our motto was "We serve coffee, not fame. Take a sip." Today had been like any other day: customers trickling in, ordering their usual, and leaving with smiles. But something was different tonight. Maybe it was the way the door chimed a little softer than usual or the quick sound of shuffling footsteps. I didn't look up right away, as I was too busy balancing a stack of to-go cups while trying not to trip over that corner of the rug that always seemed to curl up, which, let's be honest, was my usual struggle. But I felt it—a shift in the atmosphere. Someone was trying way too hard not to be noticed. I peeked over my shoulder just in time to catch a figure in a hoodie, sunglasses, and a face mask slipping into the booth in the back corner.

I chuckled lightly, nearly knocking over the cups I had stacked. Of course, someone who tried not to stand out only made them stand out more. But hey, this was Hollywood; people like to stay incognito. I walked up beside Wilma as she finished giving a customer their order. She was also watching the spectacle; Wilma leaned in, wiping her hands on a towel. "That hoodie's been here three times this week. Any hunch who it could be?" We, of course, leave celebrities alone here, but we like to talk between ourselves to try and figure out who it is. I shake my head. "No, but they're definitely someone. No one hides like that unless they're trying not to be recognized." Wilma smirked. "Duh—You can tell by how they keep looking over their shoulder." Our eyes met, and she gave me a knowing look. Her smirk grew into a giant grin. "Your turn, mascot," she said, tossing her towel over her shoulder as she walked away. I blinked, confused. "Wait, what? What is that supposed to mean?" She stopped briefly. "Maybe you'll have better luck talking to them. After all, you are the people's favorite barista and a great icebreaker. She looks anxious, so work your little charisma magic." And with that, she disappeared into the back, leaving me staring at the mysterious figure, wondering how I'd gotten roped into this.

As I walked over, I flipped to a new page in my notepad and repeated my mantra when serving customers: Treat everyone the same, whether they're the guy from down the street or some A-lister hiding from the world. No fuss, no fanfare. I tried to stay calm not to scare them out of the café. There was no need to be weird or awkward about it I'm just going to—oh. As I slid up to the table, I managed to knock over the sugar container. Smooth, Y/N. Real smooth. With a quick glance, I crouched down to pick it up, hoping I hadn't drawn attention to either of us. When I stood back up, the figure in the hoodie had their head down, but I could feel them watching me. Great, now I spooked them. "Uh, sorry about that," I chuckled nervously, brushing the sugar off my apron. "That usually only happens on Wednesdays, more than I'd like to admit." A soft giggle escaped from under the mask. Before I could attempt to piece the giggle to a voice she pulled down her mask just enough for me to see her face.

Jenna Ortega.

I blinked, not sure why my brain of all times decided to short-circuit now.

Jenna—freakin'—Ortega was sitting in my café, laughing at my stupid joke.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've seen worse." I swallowed, trying to play it cool, even though my hands were suddenly very sweaty. "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I wasn't expecting..." I trailed off, realizing how dumb I sounded. I mean, who was I expecting? Jenna looked around cautiously, lowering her mask completely once she realized no one had recognized her. "I just...needed to get away for a bit. You guys are pretty discreet." I nodded, my heart still racing. "Yeah, absolutely. This is a judgment-free zone. No one here will treat you like, you know...you." A soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and I tried not to stare. "Good. I could use a place like that right now." "Well, you found it," I said, sending her a warm smile. "Is the other barista not here today?" she asked, fumbling with the strings of her hoodie. "Wilma? Yeah, she's hiding in the back. I can go get her if you'd like?" she softly cleared her throat, "No, that's alright, she just knows my usual." "Well, I promise not to screw it up." I smiled, flipping back to a blank notepad page. "Alright, I'll hold you to that. I'll have an iced coffee with caramel and whipped cream." She smiled back at me. I nodded, jotting it down and turning back to the counter. "Coming right up." As I worked on her drink, I couldn't help but glance back over. There she was, sitting quietly, reading a book with her headphones around her neck, looking a lot more calm. Just another person needing some space and quiet in a world of phones, lights, and cameras 24/7. It felt great that our little café was something special for people. Not just because of the stars who might show up but because we somehow created a space where people could just be. And that? That was worth all the spilled sugar in the world.

[generalllimaginesss]

author’s note: I blacked out while writing this, so it will be as much of a surprise to me when I wake up and reread it as it will to you when you read it for the first time. It wasn’t requested, just something that my brain came up with and wouldn’t let me sleep until I finished it. It’s loosely based off of Olivia Rodrigo’s The Grudge and the movie Sweet Home Alabama (my favorite movie). Also, this is completely made up in my head and in no way reflects something that Luke Hughes has done, or will do. It’s also 2:06 AM and I can’t promise that it’s proofread very well because I can barely keep my eyes open (I worked a double today).

Warnings: cursing, ANGST, cheating, kinda sad but has a good ending. Slow beginning, but I promise it gets better!

Without further ado….

The Grudge

“Hello?”

The single word that was the catapult for the demise of your relationship. The single word that changed the course of what you pictured your future as.

Luke’s side of the call was silent, the only noise able to be heard was his breathing, heavy as if the weight of the world was crushing his lungs, deflating him of life.

He wasn’t supposed to be calling. He had told you he was having a guys week, a time for him to regroup with his brothers and friends at the lake house. It was his own little sanctuary away from the life that he had worked so hard for. A quiet place. He had asked for that time, to which you agreed, he needed a break.

“Luke? Everything ok?”

He wanted nothing more than to hang up the phone in that instance. The reality that he was about to destroy the last bit of trust that you held for him constricting him as he fought with his vocal cords, trying like hell to form some form of vocalization.

“I need to tell you something,” He managed to squeeze the words out, every bit of courage mustered into it. The feeling of facing the mistake that he had made seemed impossible compared to simply just refusing to acknowledge it. He could ignore it all, ghost you, and pretend like he had never ruined everything. He had ruined your relationship, your love. You. He had ruined you, including everything that came from the relationship the two of you developed a couple of summers before he had left to play for Michigan.

Ironic that it would begin and end during the summer.

“Ok. Are you-”

“Are you alone?”

His brothers will kill him when they find out, but your family? The thought of them being there to wipe your tears and listen to your rants that have to do with him break his heart. He had developed a special relationship with your dad, your mom always put a stocking out for him during the holiday season, your brother? He had taught your little brother how to skate, how to play hockey. Even though he couldn’t coach your little brother’s team, he had supported him since the beginning. He had bought him his first jersey. 43.

“Yeah, Luke. You’re scaring me.”

“God, I fucking hate myself. I’m so sorry,” Sobbing, the sound of his arm wiping his nose could be heard. He knew he shouldn’t cry. He chose this.

He knew he didn’t always treat you like you should have, no deserved, to be treated. He didn’t spend time with you like he should have, he didn’t tell you he loved you enough. When you yelled at him about things, he would scream back. He would never hit you, but his words cut through your core, sometimes feeling worse than what you imagined the sting of one of his slaps might feel like.

The anxiety that stemmed from Luke’s call gripped your lungs, confusion coursing through your body outweighing the blood that sucked at carrying the oxygen at the moment. There was nothing random about your relationship, he didn’t surprise you with anything, much less a phone call.

Something is wrong.

The silence was deafening, overwhelmingly so.

“I tried to tell myself that you would never find this out, but there was somebody taking pictures and I need you to hear it from me first, ok?” He closed his eyes forcing himself to find some shred of courage left inside of him.

“Ok,” The word was breathy as it left your lips, a courtesy to encourage him to continue.

“I cheated,” It flowed out of his mouth in such a casual way that it felt like somebody had stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife and watching as you writhed in pain. The taste of iron flooded your senses as you bit your cheek to hold yourself together.

“We went to one of the local bars. She was the bartender, she knew us. Trevor invited her to the house after her shift and me and her ended up alone together while the others were out back and one thing led to another…one of the guys took a picture and posted it on their story. They forgot about you.” He tried to explain it in a way that redeemed himself. He was only 20 years old…this bartender could’ve taken advantage of him, but you knew him.

He didn’t get close to just anybody, he was the gate to his space. Nobody would get through the gate if he didn’t want them to, including this girl. Which made the bile that was building in your throat much more bitter. The fact that he not only cheated, but is trying to play victim makes you bubble with rage. Luke Hughes was very good at many things, but the one thing he had never quite mastered the role of was “victim.”

The shock coursed through your body like metal to a magnet, searching endlessly for something to smash into and deciding your heart was the place to do that. It felt like you forgot to breathe, your lungs aching for a breath.

“Y/N?” He willed you to talk, silence causing more anxiety than your anger ever would have.

“I never would have done this to you,” Your whisper spoke more volumes than a scream would have, cutting through the phone and going straight through Luke’s body. He wished you would scream at him, tell him he fucked up, but the way you said those words made him feel like this was it. He couldn’t come back from this one.

“I’m sorry,” His words were meaningless, but he spoke them nonetheless.

Those two words sent you into a silent rage, one that wrecked the inside of your mind but couldn’t be seen by anyone else. You hung up the phone, throwing it across your room and immediately packing everything that had to do with Luke into a box that you found.

Packing 4 years worth of things that you acquired from him was emotionally draining, each article triggering memories through the years.

His first Michigan Hockey sweatshirt that he had bought himself packed into the bottom of the box reminded you of the date he had planned. He had snuck the two of you into the arena when no one was there and taught you to skate, skills that still stick with you to this day. His first hoodie became yours that night, the smell of his cologne long gone from the comfort it brought you many nights when you felt lonely.

A Devils snow globe and jersey that was decorated with the number 43, his number, packed next. He had bought it for you the day he was drafted, convinced that it would be worth something one day. And it was. Just not to you anymore. The snow globe was attached to a memory that was better left forgotten. It was for your birthday, which happened to be the day after his. When you had gone all out for his 20th birthday, buying him a new custom suit and designer shoes that required months of savings, he gave you a snow globe that “you could add to your collection.” You had said some backhanded things to him, a huge fight came from that. A fight on your birthday, something else that you would’ve never done to him.

The last items consisted of hoodies, a few pairs of sweatpants and boxers, and a couple of jackets. The last thing, however, was something that you didn’t know if you could part with.

It was a letter that Luke had wrote you for Valentine’s Day the second year of your relationship, a sweet surprise that you weren’t expecting with your usual bouquet of daisies and roses, your two favorite flowers.

When you doubted your relationship with Luke in the past, when arguments and fights felt like it was all it consisted of, you always found your way back to his letter. He had told you that you were his end game, that there would never be somebody else that was better suited for him. He poured his heart out in that letter, telling you that he was going to marry you one day. One day when he had made it to the NHL and could roll in money, he was going to buy a rock for your finger and a huge house for all of the babies that you talked about.

Rereading the letter normally made you remember the good times, when things were good, but under the circumstances now it made you want to burn it, to watch his words turn to ash, just like the promises he had made to you.

Meaningless. His words were meaningless now.

It wasn’t always his fault, no. There were instances where you said things that you knew hurt him, things that echoed in the back of his head every now and then. Something along the lines of him never being as good as his brothers, that he would always be in their shadow. That Luke Hughes would be known as “just another Hughes brother.”

Some days he felt like that statement couldn’t be more true, that he would never live up to the records that Quinn and Jack seemed to break every time they stepped on the ice. Some days he just couldn’t see it coming together for him.

But other days he knew he was determined to make a name for himself, for Luke. The Hughes name was a force to be reckoned with. Luke wanted to be even better than his last name. Whatever it took, sometimes at the expense of those around him.

You snatched the letter that was stuck in the corner of the mirror that perched on top of your dresser, the sound of the paper crisp beneath your fingertips. As much as you wanted to destroy the letter, you figured it would be better to send it back to Luke. He needed to see all of the promises he broke and hurt he’s caused.

The paper was the last thing in the box, folded neatly on top of everything else.

Closing the box, you carried it to your car, placing it in the backseat behind the driver’s side. If there’s one thing that could be payback to Luke, it was telling his parents. He thrived on his parent’s approval, likely a symptom of being the youngest brother of an extremely successful family.

Ellen and Jim’s faces burned the back of your mind, so many memories that consisted of the two of them. Countless games at Michigan were spent with the two of them, as well as a couple of trips to New Jersey. You had helped Ellen cook supper many times, and watched as Jim coached his sons. Ellen’s pep talks were rarely intended for you, but you always felt like something could be learned from her wisdom.

The drive was silent, muscle memory the only way you could manage to get there in the state you were in. You didn’t know if the lights were green or if you used your blinker, all you could think about was Luke admitting to cheating. All of the shit you had been through with each other, all of the petty fights, had finally come to a head. You may have gone low, below the belt at some point in time, but this? You never could have ruined him like this, no matter how bad you wanted to.

As hurt as you were, you were numb. Tears wouldn’t fall, your body still in shock over the news.

As you drove up the paved driveway to the house that had become your second home, the emotions hit you when you saw Ellen in the flower beds, digging up weeds and planting new flowers.

She had heard a car approaching, causing her to look up and recognize you. Although she loved for you to visit, you normally didn’t come over unless Luke was with you, especially now that him and Jack owned the lake house.

She wiped at the sweat that was beading her forehead, dirt from her work gloves sticking in some of her blonde locks that were glued to her face. She smiled at you, before confusion flashed and she saw that you were carrying a box.

“Hi, Doll! Luke’s not here, but I’m glad you stopped by!” Her warm tone and kind smile didn’t fade, even if she did notice something off about your demeanor.

Her voice broke you. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring her and Jim into this. Maybe you should have just threw everything that connected you to Luke in a garbage can and called it a day.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” She walked towards you with her arms open, noticing your quivering lips and teary eyes.

She was drenched in sweat from the summer sun, but you didn’t mind it. Dropping the box on the driveway, you allowed her to wrap her arms around you tightly. Her embrace gave you comfort as sobs racked through your body. How could such a loving mom and dad create such a jack ass? They had done perfect with 2/3 of their sons…what happened with Luke?

“Do you want to go inside? Jim’s working on a sink faucet, but he won’t mind,” She ushered you inside, her hand gently pushing your back.

Nodding, you wiped your nose on your sleeve and allowed her to walk you inside. She quickly washed her hands at the sink Jim was working at, earning a few objections from him, but she hushed him and motioned to you.

His face filled with concern as he noticed something wrong with you. He could fix a lot of things, but girls was something he would leave to his wife.

The leather of the couch soothed the heat that the summer sun had left on your skin. Ellen joined, sitting next to you as she rubbed your back, calming you. She truly was like a second mom.

“Is everything ok?” She held onto your arm, the pressure from her fingers sending tingles to your brain.

“No,” You croaked, the single word rattling your throat as it struggled to exit.

“What happened?” Her voice had dropped below her regular volume, but above a whisper. She cut her eyes at Jim who was attempting to listen from the kitchen.

“He cheated…”

The shock hit his parents as hard as it did you. Quinn would never cheat, Jack? It was questionable sometimes. But they’re baby? The one that had endured the lectures from his parents the longest, the one that had seen his brother’s mistakes and learned from them, the one that seemed so in love with you that nothing could ever separate you both? It seemed nearly impossible. Surely it was a mistake.

“How do you know? The press always lies…” She trailed off, your eyes connecting to hers.

“He told me,” The strength you tried to regain from your prior meltdown was useless as your voice trembled, “…said that he wanted to tell me before somebody else did.”

“Oh, Honey. I’m so sorry,” She pulled you into her arms, watching as Jim rounded the corner to join. You were like the daughter the two of them had always wanted, so seeing you hurt killed them in return. And at the hands of their son? They were immensely disappointed. They didn’t raise him like this.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, and I probably should have left you both out of it,” Your attempts at stopping the free-flowing tears were useless, so you embraced each one as it fell, “…um, I brought his stuff back. I know he’s at the lake house, but I don’t think I can see him right now. I really wish we could have worked. You two will never know how much you and your boys mean to me.”

“Likewise, sweet girl. I wish I could make this all better. You may not feel like it right now, but our family will always hold a spot for you,” Ellen reassured, a hum of agreement resonating within Jim.

“Anytime you want, and I’m serious, our door will always be open for you. No matter the time or circumstance, do you understand?” Jim waited for you to respond, a nod of your head, before embracing you again.

Their words meant so much, but the hurt still ached, seemingly never ending.

You said your goodbyes, taking in the house that you would probably never see again. The walls holding memories that only those in the house would ever understand or appreciate.

Closing the front door felt like closing a chapter on your life. A chapter that felt like it was ending in the middle with no resolve, but it closed.

It needed to.

———

As the New Year approached, your parents reminded you of the plans they had that would draw them away from home. They claimed that they celebrated Christmas with you, but the New Year meant that you were alone in a house that felt big and lonely while they celebrated with their fellow group of middle aged parents.

The months had passed, agonizingly, since Luke’s cheating admittance. The summer turned to fall and fall into winter, getting colder like you were allowing your heart to do.

A few dates here and there did nothing but remind you that the guy wasn’t Luke. They should’ve been better than Luke since they actually treated you with respect and checked every box that a girl had.

But the lack of teasing, of being the biggest pain in your ass and best friend, made the hole in your life bigger. You were sure nothing would help, not even the texts from Ellen and Jim, periodically, made it better.

They all consisted of the same topic: “How are you doing?”

It was the same old same old, until it wasn’t. Until Ellen texted you after Christmas asking you about your plans for New Year’s Eve. The Hughes had always thrown a party for the New Year, packed to the brim with people.

When Ellen asked if you had plans, you had every intention on lying and saying yes. Saying that you had a date and that he was taking you to see the countdown and fireworks that followed, but something told you to tell the truth. So you did.

After you had admitted to her that you, in fact, would be all alone, she reached out and invitation to join them.

The invitation had toggled in your mind for a few days now. On one hand, you wanted to go see how everybody was, talk to his brothers, catch up with his friends. On the other, you wanted to stay home in your pajamas and watch Andy Cohen get shitfaced with Anderson Cooper while wondering if Luke would kiss somebody for the occasion.

The saying “curiosity killed the cat” proved to be true as you had finally decided to go, a sparkly gold dress accentuated your curves, hugging you in all of the right places, the places that Luke had once yearned for. You don’t know how, but your makeup was flawless, your eyeshadow bringing out your eyes in a way that you had never seen, but you loved it. Maybe this was revenge?

Even though you hadn’t made the drive in over 6 months, you still knew it like the back of your hand. Your nerves were working overtime, anxiety squeezing your thoughts the closer you got to the Hughes’ residence.

What if Luke had a new girlfriend? What if his parents were the only ones that wanted you there? Was this actually a good idea?

Too late now.

There was probably 25 or more cars that littered the driveway, most carrying a minimum of 2 people. It was a relief, maybe you could just blend in with the rest of them. A chameleon in the house of your ex lover.

Music blared, drifting from the backyard into the front, making the walk to the door less daunting of a task. There was no use in knocking, the sound of talking and music would most likely just drown it out, so you took a breath as you pushed the door open. It appeared to be the spot for the more mature crowd, Jim spotting you as soon as you walked in.

He was confused as to who you were at first, but as soon as you gave him a shy smile his face lit up with excitement. He had missed you more than he realized.

“Y/N! What a nice surprise! Come in, make yourself at home,” He squeezed you in a tight hug before relinquishing you.

“Y/N! Oh my, I wasn’t expecting you to come, but I’m so glad you did!” Ellen squealed, the clinking of her heels against the hardwood floors becoming faster as she did her best to jog to you, embracing you like her life depended on it. It lasted a few seconds before she held you out at arms length, examining you.

“Gosh, you look absolutely stunning! That dress was made for you!” She gushed.

“Thank you! I just decided to throw something together last minute. I should have let you know I was coming, but I honestly didn’t decide until right before I got dressed,” you chuckled, explaining the lack of communication on your part.

“Honey, you do not have to explain a single thing to me! I’m just so happy you’re here!” She hugged you again, rocking you side to side.

“The kids, sorry, young adults are out back. I do have to warn you…Luke did bring a date,” As she explained the dilemma, you expected yourself to break down. When it didn’t, relief washed over you. It had been almost 7 months, why wouldn’t Luke have moved on? You couldn’t be mad at him for that part, but you still held a grudge against him for allowing you to love him as much as you did and shattering your heart in the end.

There was never another conversation between the two of you. His parents never brought him up, he had never attempted to contact you, so the resolve was the fact that you returned everything. He had nothing left connecting him to you. That was how it was supposed to be, so there was no need to communicate with you. He had gotten the message loud and clear when he had returned home to a box of his things in his old bedroom and an ass-chewing from his parents and brothers. One that he would never wish on his worst enemy.

He learned from his mistake, but felt like the very toxic situation between the two of you was better left where it was: untouched.

He had been trying to move on ever since, sleeping with any girl that reminded him of you, sneaking them out before Jack had noticed, or simply just embracing the newness of being alone. It sucked at first, but he got used to it.

Ellen’s face flushed with concern at the momentary silence that followed her statement, scared that she would scare you off with the news of her son, your ex, having a date that wasn’t you.

“Ellen, it’s ok! I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” Making light of the situation was easier to fake on the outside, but trying to convince yourself was a bit harder.

You talked to Ellen and Jim for a few more minutes, catching them up on the latest details of your life, and then grabbed a Michelob to give you some liquid courage as you walked to the backyard.

There was people dancing, circles of people talking, various games being played, the scene never-ending as your eyes scanned over them. A few people locked eyes with you, recognizing you as the ex, but most everybody just continued to do whatever it was that they were doing. It wasn’t until Quinn’s eyes softened from his party vibes to concerned big brother that you felt nerves wrack your body. He immediately excused himself from the group he was talking to, making his way through the small sea of people to get to you.

For a split second you wanted to run away, but the rational side of you talked you down. It was just Quinn. Quinn had done nothing to you except loved you as if you were his own sister, so why would you run?

“Y/N! I wasn’t expecting you…how are you?” You immediately threw your arms around his torso, him returning the gesture, his hug similar to the way Ellen had hugged you.

“I’m good! I had no other plans and Ellen seemed like she really wanted me here…”

“Yeah, she hasn’t shut up about you,” He laughed, recalling how his mom mentions you anytime a girl was over, even one that Luke brought, and always comparing them to you when they left.

You were the standard that she held possible daughter-in-laws to, but they never lived up to you, she would admit.

“Gotta love her,” You chuckled, a slight awkward tension fell between you, a foreign, icky, awkwardness.

“That you do,” Quinn tried to repair the conversation, but some friends began to pull him away. He had mentioned to not leave before telling him bye, and then left with the group.

“Didn’t think you’d show up here,” The voice turned your blood to ice, freezing up what the beer had tried to let loose prior. No matter how many ways you envisioned this interaction to go down, nothing could have prepared you for hearing his voice after so long. It wasn’t like “nails on a chalkboard” irritating, but more along the lines when you pick a scab and it starts bleeding again.

That’s quite literally what it was. He was an old wound in your life that was becoming irritated because it was being messed with. No matter how much time had passed, it was still sensitive.

“Well, didn’t think I would be here either. It’s just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” You turned around, met with the beautiful, curly-haired boy that was once your everything and a petit blonde that was his temporary. She was gorgeous, you’d give her that. But it wasn’t real beauty. It was bought. There’s nothing wrong with that, but her bleach blonde hair, fake tan, and push-up bra was irritating like nails on a chalkboard.

“Do you mind going to get us something to drink?” He turned to his date, giving him the empty bottle that his hand wrapped around.

“Is that a Michelob Ultra?” You almost snorted, her question a breath of fresh air in this unfortunate meeting.

“Not her and I, you and I,” Luke quickly cleared up.

She left with a smirk playing at her lips, kissing his cheek and heading inside.

“God, please let’s go somewhere else,” He grabbed your arm, tugging you to a secluded, area beside the shed out back. Your brain told you to rip your arm from his grip and scold him for thinking it was okay to ever touch you again, but your deemed in control and allow his touch to erupt butterflies in your tummy.

“I don’t know what I was thinking bringing her here,” he groaned, realizing he was still holding onto you, quickly letting go.

“She seems more Jack’s type, if you ask me,” You suggested, Luke squinting his eyes at your words.

“Good thing I didn’t ask…” He may have been the reason the relationship ended, but he wasn’t going to put up with any slander that you had for his current life. The life that didn’t include you.

“Whatever, why did you bring me here?” You looked around at the spot. It had definitely been a spot where the two of you had snuck off to make out several times, escaping the teasing of his older brothers.

“To talk…” He shift his weight to his heels, his hands finding warmth in the pockets on his pants.

“Oh! To talk about you being a complete dipshit and cheating on me this past summer? Yes, let’s talk about that!” Sarcasm dripped from your voice like venom from a snake, targeting the next victim: Luke.

“I’m sorry…” Again, the empty apologies were beginning to grind at you now. You didn’t want the apologies or the excuses. You wanted him to shut up for once, hear you out, and then come up with a genuine apology. He had said his piece, now it was time for you to say yours.

“No, Luke. You’re not sorry for cheating, you’re sorry you got caught. Save the apologies for when you actually mean them,” You started, him immediately shutting up and listening.

“We were so fucking toxic. You know it, I know it. The whole world probably knows it by now. But, God, I loved you so much. I would have spent my whole life trying to fight for that stupid relationship and you turned around and threw it all away. And for what? Some temporary pleasure? You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to get back to me?” Your words shot through him, like bullets hitting glass, shattering the surrounding areas. He couldn’t argue because everything that you were saying was true, but he’d be damned if he let you find satisfaction in being right.

“You said it yourself, it was toxic! You probably would’ve found a problem with me being there without you, anyway!” He tried to defend himself, but he was fanning a flame that he shouldn’t be messing with right now.

“Don’t you dare try to manipulate me into thinking your cheating was justified! Luke Hughes, I’ve said some fucked up shit throughout the years, but I never have, and never will ruin your trust. That’s the type of shit that lasts a lifetime. I can’t date anybody else because there’s always that ‘what if’ of them cheating!” Tears brimmed your eyes, softening the wall that surrounded Luke’s heart. He was a tough guy, but the sight of you hurting was a soft spot for him, an Achilles heel.

“You promised me a future, and then turned around and burned it to the ground without a second thought once you got a taste of fame,” Your finger poked at his chest hard enough for him to wince, expecting to see bruises the next morning.

“You’re a liar! A fucking liar and cheater!” Your voice broke as the words left your mouth, but Luke took the verbal beating that he deserved.

“Do you think I want to be labeled as a cheater, Y/N?! I’ve prayed for months that I’d just wake up and it not be real, that we’d still be together!”

“Awe, so sad, Luke. Truly heart wrenching!” You grabbed at your heart, feigning compassion as he began to clench his jaw, the muscle flexing as his annoyance rose. It was hot, but not hot enough for you to do anything about it.

“Stop being such a bitch, it may suit you, but it doesn’t mean you have to wear it.” His eyes grew dark, almost challenging you to see who would win in a game of insults.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was supposed to act however you deemed fit. Even if you’re a cheater…”

“I cheated, I’m not a cheater,” he tried to correct, a viscous chuckle tumbling from your mouth in response.

“I’m not! That’s the one and only time that it will ever happen, I can promise you that!” His voice rose in volume as he continued to defend himself.

“Oh, one and done Luke! How nice! My trust is fixed, so there’s nothing left to worry about!” The sound of people counting down in the background didn’t distract you.

10…9….8…

“If I’ve had anything in the past months it’s peace in knowing I don’t have to put up with your fucking nagging anymore!”

7…6…5…

“Yeah, and I don’t have to worry about you fucking some rando anymore!”

4…3…2…

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

1…

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The voices erupted behind the shed, but the whirlwind of a kiss muffled it all.

Luke eagerly pulled your face toward him, his lips colliding as intensely as a train hitting a car on the tracks. An accident waiting to happen, but there nothing that could be done about it.

It took a second or two, but you kissed back with the same passion as him, him pushing you backwards until your back hit the wall of the shed.

His lips were like home, sweet and comforting. The remnants of his vodka redbull tempting your taste buds to plunge deeper, but you didn’t, you let him set the pace.

One of his hands tilted your chin up, steadying it as the other pulled you closer from the small of your back. Every sense inside of you erupted in fireworks as his tongue tried to gain entrance into your mouth, but you stood your ground, or tried to at least.

The hand that steadied your chin found itself wrapped around your neck, the shock causing you to gasp as he gained entrance.

“Luke! I finally found something to drink, but we missed our-” The voice immediately tore the two of you apart, the fireworks over the lake and store bought pretty interrupting the fireworks that were going off inside of you. Your breathing was a little shallow as you tried to control it again.

“-kiss. What the hell.” She glanced between the two of you before storming off, her stiletto sinking into the grass as she desperately tried to remove it from her foot.

Luke groaned, but the chirping had just begun for you, “One and done, huh?”

“Me and her aren’t even dating!” He squealed.

“We’re talking about this tomorrow, Y/N. Do you understand me?” He pointed at you as he began to smooth over yet another failed attempt at dating, but he wasn’t going to reconcile that one.

“Aye aye, Captain,” You gave him a silly salute, earning an eye roll from him, but as soon as he turned away from you the smile wouldn’t disappear.

Call you crazy, but you hadn’t felt butterflies for a long time, probably since his note to you. What you felt tonight was an army of butterflies being obliterated by fireworks. The feeling of his fingers around your neck, his jaw muscle contracting, everything about him had turned you on.

Did you really fold that easily?

Oh well. The thought of the next day, the possibility of getting him back, along with his family far outweighed your pride.

He could be your Luke once more.

[jester-lover]

Boys Don't Cry

comforting your boy when he needs it the most (part 1)

cw- angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, body insecurities, mortality, discussions of depression, unbearably sweet

Riddle

Riddle tried to wipe his face with the edges of his bedspread, everything was going wrong. Ace and Deuce ruined his tea party, half of his guests didn’t show up, and he spilled tea all over himself. 

If his mother was here, she’d mock him for his emotion, his insolence and inability to keep his composure.

 His lower lip quivered, and he broke out into sobs again. 

The worst part of it all, however, was that you were there. You saw how he lost his temper and yelled at the freshmen, losing all of his gentlemanly composure.

He turned around and faced the long mirror against his dresser, his face was red and swollen with tears, and his nice new shirt was ruined. 

He felt like a fool.

Riddle got up out of bed, looking to go speak with Trey about further action, when he saw you standing in the doorway, a soft smile on your face. His tears bubbled up again.

“I’m so so s-sorry I didn’t mean for-”

You leaned in closer and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His arms found their place against your waist.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault, you have nothing to apologize for.”

His sobs were muffled by the shoulder of your shirt, as you kissed his hairline and rubbed his back.

“Let it all out Riddle, cry as much as you need to, I’ll be here.”

His tears quelled as your hands moved up to brush against his hair. His arms against your waist tightened.

Leona 

Leona looked out the big window in his room, he slowly undid the braids in his hair, taking deep unordered breaths.

His brother had sent a letter again, asking for him to return for a visit over summer. Deep down, Leona knew Farena had good intentions, but the idea of returning to the palace made bile rise up his throat. 

He reached for the hairbrush on his side, only to realize tears had begun blurring his vision. 

Leona couldn’t understand why he hated his brother, who had only been kind with him. Maybe it was the press constantly comparing the two of them, or the sense of inferiority he felt around him. Whatever it was, he didn’t care. He didn't want to see Farena, not when he’s finally beginning to feel content.

The tears began rolling down, and Leona wiped them off furiously. His hands were shaking and he dropped the brush back onto his bed. His shoulders shook too.

“Leona.”

His head snapped toward the door, you stood there, still and frowning. He just stared at you.

“Do you need some help with your hair?”

Leona nodded, his head down, hoping you wouldn't see the tear tracks on his face. You moved to kneel on the bed beside him, breath touching his ear. Slowly, you untangled the knots along his nape, slowly adjusting to move near his forehead, keeping your hand steady,as to not to catch a knot too fast. Leona continued to stare outside, into the falling sun. He was thinking again. 

Slowly, after you finished with his hair, you wrapped your arms around his still shoulders. He brought one of his hands to rub your arm, leaning back against your touch.

“You deserve more than this.”

His words have a sense of tiredness to them, like he’s been meaning to say them for a while.

“I’ve got everything I need, everything I could ever want.”

You can see his reflection in the glass, his smile.

Azul

The door of his office slammed shut, Azul looked at himself with disdain, breaking apart all the points of himself he didn’t like.

 The silence of his sanctuary helped him think back, to all those moments as a chubby little octopus. His thoughts turned to the stretch marks on his back and hips, and he went to go sit at his desk.

 Moments of self hatred had slowly dissipated as his career and reputation grew, but deep inside he knew he’d always be that little boy, crying his inky tears. 

He put his head in his hands. No tears came, only thoughts swirled around his head.

“Azul, would you like to help me solve this?”

You stood by the end of his desk, he didn't notice you come in, and he raised his head up to look at you. You held a small wood puzzle in your hand.

His stupid self hatred disappeared, and a feeling of warm fuzziness rose in his chest. His regular charisma returned.

“Of course I would.”

Vil

A crumpled mass of magazines littered the floor of Vil’s room, he was hunched over his vanity in a display that ashamed him. 

A new poll was entered into his favorite fashion magazine, pitting him and Neige against each other. 

Niege had won by a landslide.

Vil’s mascara ran down his cheeks, he wished you were there to comfort him, but you were busy doing whatever Crowley had planned for you. He was proud of your hard work of course, but as he desperately wiped his makeup away with cleanser, he knew he needed you by his side. 

knock knock

“U-um please wait a moment, I need to recuperate myself.”

The last thing he needed was an annoying freshman or nosy sophomore disrupting him.

“Vil, dear it's just me, could you please open the door?”

He rose out of his chair in a hurry, reaching for the door and pulling it open, quickly shutting it after you.

At this point his shoulders were heaving, and his breathing was uneven as his hands curled at his shirt, digging back into his palms. 

“Hey, hey Vil, it’s gonna be fine, it’ll all be fine.”

He reached for you quickly, pulling you against his chest, brushing his hands against your head, his other wrapped snugly around your waist. He was silent.

“What happened, Vil?”

He turned his red face towards you, grasping your face in his hands, and pressing your foreheads together until his breathing slowly turned normal again.

“I don’t know, maybe- maybe this was the final straw, I’ve just had a terrible week and now my runway shoot is delayed and I think they might drop me-”

His sobbing started up again, and he went back to hugging you, head pressed firmly into your shoulder. 

“I understand, Vil, feeling like the world is turning its back on you.”

Your fingers brushed his back, and his hands loosened.

“Around me, you're free to do whatever you need, I can never see you in a negative light.”

Vil beamed.

Idia

Idia felt himself weasel his head out of the thick bed sheets, his messy hair clearly not cared for. There was knocking on his door, and he quickly looked at the security cameras. 

It was you, looking as radiant as the sun. He looked down at his pajamas.

Slowly he opened the door, and you gave him a hug and littered kisses all over his face.

He turned a little red, and looked at the ground. By this point, he would have asked to play a game or watch an anime, but he was silent.

“Hey, Idia, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

He smiled a little at how quickly you could read his mood. Your hand moved up and grasped the side of his jaw.

“Don’t you ever want a more adventurous boyfriend?”

You looked at him with a puzzled look on your face, mouth slowly turning into a frown.

“I much prefer you, Idia.”

His face fell, tears beaded at his eyes as your second hand came up to cup his face.

Idia felt like a tall child.

“You could have anyone.”

His voice was quiet and still.

“But I only want you.”

Idia leaned down and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

Malleus

The cool night air kissed malleus’s skin as he waited for you to come out of Ramshackle. He watched you slip out of the door and come up to him, pressing a kiss against his hand. 

The only thing Malleus saw was the large bandage on your cheek. He grazed the spot with the back of his fingers.

“Child of man, what happened here?”

You laughed and grasped his hand. 

“I was walking through the forest looking for clean branches for the fireplace, and I tripped over a root.”

Malleus thought for a second, a fall of that nature wouldn't even phase him, he would probably not even fall in the first place with his natural grace.

For you however, such an incident would leave a permanent scar, he wouldn't like to think about what would have happened if you had hit your head, alone in those unforgiving woods.

Flashes of fear ran through his head, regarding your mortality and human clumsiness. 

He went quiet, even more than usual, and squeezed your hand.

Malleus knew that one day you’d leave him, grow older and slip through his fingertips like the wind. Normally he ignored such thoughts, choosing to spend every hour cherishing you, but now a sense of dread filled him and he felt weak to the power of natural order. Suddenly he turned around, giving you a firm hug around the shoulders. 

“Malleus, what’s up, are you okay?”

He kissed your head, leaning down to look at you.

“Do you ever think of your mortality?”

He could see the wires turn in your head, and you gave him a sweet smile.

“Sometimes, but then I remember how happy I am, spending all of my days with you.”

His eyes closed for a moment, before opening again.

“Your life is fickle, short, and the most valuable thing in my world.”

He parted from your embrace.

“I wish to make your life as enjoyable as possible, especially as you rule by my side.”

Malleus saw tears brimming in your eyes. He smiled.

“Your life will be spent laughing and smiling, but after it ends I will spend forever yearning for you.”

The tears fell as you leaned against him.

“I will love you until my last breath, Malleus.”

“And I will too, Child of Man.”

Sebek

“How annoying can he get?”

“Someone doesn't understand noise control.”

“Stay away from him, he’ll make your ears hurt.”

Sebek had grown used to ignoring the lingering words he heard in the halls, and he held his head up high. No matter how often he felt unimportant in human spaces, he knew he always had a place with you.

“Human! How did your classes go today?”

You smiled at him, grabbing his hand and walking alongside him.

“How can someone like them like someone like him? He’s insufferable.”

Sebek turned his head around, but whoever said it had already disappeared into the crowd of students.

He turned his head back in shame, something about being insulted around you made him feel insecure and upset.

“Whoever said that clearly hasn’t ever been passionate about anything.”

Sebek turned to look at you, he was quiet for once.

“Listen, no matter what anyone says about you, you have joy in your job in a way none of those idiots will ever feel.”

Sebek could feel his smile start to show again.

“Of course you think that! Any human would be glad to spend time with the retainer of the great Malleus Drac-”

AN/my sincere apologies to all the Kalim fans, I seriously couldn’t think of anything for him

[your-poetic-lifeline]

omg i saw the ask about dating the legends in secret, would you be able to do one for revenant?<3

yaaarse of course

i kinda have a thing for rev so I almost flew off the handle with these. Now i have headcanons of him stashed in the vault for later >:)

here’s a link to the previous secret dating hcs for those interested (with mirage and octane! 💙)

Dating Revenant in Private

pairing: revenant x reader

content included: private relationship, a little possessiveness (but we’re into that aren’t we), mentions of rev-typical violence

•°. *࿐

༻ It would seem, at first, that it wouldn’t be too complicated dating Revenant privately. You both prefer to keep more private lifestyles. He’s unapproachable, only goes out for work, and certainly doesn’t let anyone in his business.

༻ But it actually came to be harder than expected. Not by much, but there’s still a little risk.

༻ Revenant isnt known just for his assassinations and hellish appearance, but for his performance in the apex games too. And unfortunately, even a stone cold robot assassin can form an intense fanbase.

༻ He didn’t care for the idolization either way until the public took it as an opportunity to try and poke their noses into his personal life. Which he actually has now that he’s with someone.

༻ Some paparazzi actually have the balls to try and follow him outside the games sometimes, and that pisses him off to no end. He always thinks about killing them right then and there, but then he’d have to explain to you where all the blood came from.

༻ And being the gentleman he is, he wouldn’t want to step into his partner’s home like that.

༻ Especially since your home is somewhere for him to fall back, somewhere to find peace and a little routine. You help him experience a tinge of normalcy while he struggles with his immortality and sense of self. He’s made it a rule to never come home with the remnants of what he’s done throughout the day.

༻ Because your place is sanctuary to him, where any public perception of him is able to be left at the door.

༻ So the idea of anyone catching sight of it when it’s none of their business makes him quite possessive of you. He hates how aggressive fans or media outlets run the possibility of affecting your relationship with obscure narratives or stupid rumors. He fumes at the thought of anyone or anything ruining your relationship, because you’re pretty much all he has.

[petrichorium]

BAM: Empty Beds

in which king gojo satoru returns from a diplomatic mission to find his bed empty, and has qualms with it

gojo satoru x fem!reader

word count: 3k reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, fem clothing including dresses) tags: kinda hurt/comfort but mostly fluff, royal au, childhood friends to lovers, gojo picks up the reader, the end is a little bit intense emotionally but not super bad the reader just has intimacy issues and gojo confronts her abt it

usurper!gojo tag || masterlist

“embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. it’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). he kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. when he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “embrace me, wife.”

“talk to me, husband,” you retort. “your sulking is bad for my health. i was terrified.”

against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “you’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

Someone has slipped into your room.

You’re asleep. You have been for hours, yet Satoru’s borderline paranoid insistence on you learning to defend yourself even while resting have led to a far less deep manner of slumber, and so you’re roused by the simple sound of the door opening and are made aware of this unwelcome visitor the moment they enter.

It’s all you can do to keep still, even out your breath. Your mind conjures thoughts of your guards slaughtered just beyond your door, your maids and your ladies-in-waiting massacred in your vast array of rooms meant to be a sanctuary, your king returning home from his diplomatic trip east to find your own body not even in your shared bed but in the lonely one occupying the queen’s bedchamber, yours in name but so rarely used.

You hear the figure’s footsteps approach you; they sound large, imposing, though you dare not open your eyes until the ornate dagger beneath your pillow is in hand and the possible assassin close enough that it can do you any good.

Your fingers find the heavy hilt, wrap around it securely just as the mattress beneath you dips with the weight of the trespasser. The motions are ingrained in your body from weeks of practice with your husband; you lash out, knife against the intruder’s throat before they can realize you’re not asleep, aiming to slash at the throat—but then you pause, thankful that you’d opened your eyes to see the face of your attacker before you spilled their blood.

“Satoru?”

Hardly an assassin at all, your visitor is your husband, back far earlier than anticipated. He looms over you in silence, one knee braced on your bed against your side, arms hovering where they’d been prepared to embrace you but frozen by the blade you hold against his neck. His damned blindfold remains tied over his eyes preventing you from knowing where they might be focused or what they might reveal of his thoughts.

“Wh—you’re not expected to return until tomorrow evening.” You remove the knife from his neck. Immediately, those hands are on you, tugging your covers away to pull you to him. “You frightened me, I believed you to be an intruder.”

Still no answer. For a moment, you feel him breathe you in, certainly allowing himself to bask in your presence after weeks without. But then, in one swift motion, wielding that stunning strength which has left armies in ruin, he slings you over his shoulder and starts for the door.

“What are you doing?” you shriek, squirming in his grasp. “Put me down!”

It wasn’t as if you thought he’d do it. But you at least expected a response; your king is nothing if not loquacious (and you hardly say so praisingly) yet he remains stubbornly silent even with your struggling form in hand as he passes through your doorway. Your guards stand alert just beyond your door, averting their gaze regretfully as if unwilling to meet your eye. You can hardly blame them, for it isn’t as if one can refuse a king—in fact, considering moments before you’d thought them dead by your assassin, you’re a little relieved to see them alive and well—yet the gesture feels too little too late.

“My king—husband,” you try, breathless, because reminding Satoru that you are bound to him for the rest of your lives never fails to make him preen, “what on earth has gotten into you?”

No avail. Not even so much as an arrogant laugh at stealing his own queen from her bed. You’re insulted at first; even your desperate attempts to free yourself don’t spark any form of response beyond a tightening of his arm around your waist. Insult gives way to concern the longer it goes, as he leaves your bedchamber and all but sprints through the intricate series of rooms which make up the queen’s chambers. The first time he passes by a room you know to be occupied by one of your ladies-in-waiting you decide that your valiant struggles aren’t worth rousing every maid and courtier you’ve allowed to take up residence with you. You’d rather they not see your husband’s indecent displays. This, at least, has occurred so late in the night that even if one were to open their door they’d likely be too groggy to understand what they might witness, and there is so little in the way of light that they might not even be able to see a thing.

At least your newfound resignation allows you to appreciate certain things your previous efforts had made you miss—you’re so enamored by his strength, his agility, and it’s admittedly thrilling that he’s so capable of manipulating your form with such ease. An inappropriate appreciation, certainly, but you’re coming to terms with how inappropriate everything about him is. And if you cannot allow yourself to enjoy how your usurper husband can steal you from your bed then you’re not altogether certain what the point of marrying him would have been.

He turns down the corridor leading to the door that connects to the king’s chambers and it suddenly seems to make sense: he’s bringing you back to his room, to his bed, where he’s insisted upon you spending your nights despite the absurdity of such a thing (not that you mind entirely, not that you aren’t flattered by his unabashed infatuation with you even all these months after you’ve wed). The room in which you’d slept during his absence had been used as more of a dressing room than one for rest, yet it had felt too odd to be sleeping in your king’s room without him present and had moved there after the first night. And you’d expected to be awake for his return, not for him to show up nearly a day early long before sunrise.

The mirrored halls, labyrinthine as your own, are empty; he hasn’t filled them as you have, not yet, though at times he receives visitors you recognize as his fellow conspirators from his coup. To an extent you appreciate the privacy it allows, and he remains so confident in his own abilities that he doesn’t bother excessively with guards. It’s hardly an undeserved confidence, either. His height is so towering that he’s forced to duck beneath the doorframe to his bedroom in order to ensure you don’t hit your head on the top. Once the threshold is crossed it’s as if his whole body breathes a sigh of relief; tense muscles relaxing, grip on you becoming less fervent and more adoring.

Satoru throws you to the bed with little ceremony. He spares a single moment to rip the blindfold from his face and toss it into some unknown corner of the room and then joins you hastily, hands upon you again in an instant, throwing the covers over the pair of you as he tangles his legs with yours, buries his face into your shoulder, and lets out the first noise you’ve heard from him in weeks—a sigh, sweet and self-satisfied, which rumbles in his chest and somehow reassures you.

The way he cradles you is halfway to suffocating, as if he were attempting to burrow into you simply to be closer, and between the silence and the manhandling you think you might have been terrified if not for how gently he carried you. It’s contradictory, certainly, yet despite snatching you from your bed with little regard for your wishes his hands had been so tender with you, as if you were some delicate thing to be handled with care. Even now you can feel he’s being cautious, deliberate with how much of his weight he puts on you and careful not to give you too much. You find yourself endeared by that, almost compelled to melt into him with the upwell of fondness that rushes through you and dizzies your mind.

Except that you’re still not willing to give him what he wants, not if he’s continuing to be so obstinate. You can’t find a reason for his stalwart lack of speech other than pettiness; it’s normally a trial of perseverance to get the man to silence himself. So you remain still beneath him, denying him his desires and refusing to return the embrace, rather choosing to lie limp as he holds you.

He groans in annoyance, lifting himself up to stare down at you yet still not verbalizing anything. His hair is long enough that it brushes against your face like this, mere inches away, and even in the imposing inky black of the enormous bedchamber beyond his eyes seem to catch on the most fleeting light and almost gleam from within.

One of his hands removes itself from where it was shoved beneath your back to find your wrist and drop your own on the back of his head. You let it fall, raising one eyebrow in simultaneous question and challenge that you can only hope he can see as clearly as you can see the exasperation in his eye—along with something else, something notably more desperate. Feral.

You don’t censor yourself despite that, pushing forward to explain yourself. “You’re grown, my king. You can speak rather than silently demanding things of me.”

Satoru’s eyes are drawn to your moving lips, the ice within them thawing and giving way to easy veneration. His lower lip pouts. His head falls back down and he nuzzles into you as his hold on you tightens.

“Embrace me,” he orders, muffled against your throat. It’s sullen, demanding, and you make no move to comply.

Your husband whines wordlessly at you—it’s that noise which calms the tumultuous unease within you, an assurance that whatever mood he’d been in is quickly passing (or that your touch is so important he’ll cast aside any other thoughts in favor of pleading with you). He kisses up your throat, along your jaw, only to nose against your cheek like some affectionate cat. When he speaks it’s a beg; beseeching. “Embrace me, wife.”

“Talk to me, husband,” you retort. “Your sulking is bad for my health. I was terrified.”

Against your skin, his lips quirk into a teasing smile. “You’re adorable when you’re terrified.”

“I nearly slit your throat.”

“With the knife I gifted you.” The words are crooned, a bit covetous; you wonder sometimes, when he says such things in such ways, about his sanity. You don’t think the phrase madly in love has applied to anyone more than him, though you might be just as deranged as he for how you adore it. “I wouldn't have let you, though. It’s sweet of you to worry,” his hands tighten swiftly where they rest against your skin, pinching hard enough to make you jump before releasing, “but you’re still no match for me.”

“No?”

“No.” He kisses you without pulling away, lips brushing past your cheek to press passionately against yours. “Though I’d very much like to see you try.”

You speak your response into his mouth, refusing his silent attempts to deepen the kiss. “You haven’t yet apologized for frightening me.”

Huffing at you, he removes his arms from your body and pushes himself up to hover over you again. He stays like that, staring intently as if simply watching you will suffice for what you’re demanding. You let him at first—then as the seconds pass grow tired of waiting, and open your mouth to pester him again only to be silenced by his own.

It’s fast, there and then gone, too quick for you to respond. He so likes those kisses, a perfect way to keep you quiet, but tonight he isn’t satisfied with it; he does it again when you inhale, then once more afterwards though you haven’t even indicated any further intent to speak. And then he moves on, pressing lips to your nose and your cheekbones and your forehead, dotting them across the bridge of your nose and along your jaw, featherlight and relentless.

He refuses to let up, covering your face with kisses as if to make up for each one he’d have given you if he’d been here. You attempt to dodge, out of sheer obstinacy, but he doesn’t allow you to. So you change course, lift your hands to embrace him as he’d begged you before—yet he catches you, using a single grip to pin both above you as his ministrations expand and he presses kisses to your neck, down your throat, along your collarbone.

“Imagine you’re me, hmm?” he murmurs, words barely comprehensible through his affections. “Lamenting after weeks without your company, rushing home faster than my party simply to see you sooner, arriving to my chambers expecting to find my darling wife awaiting my return”—he pulls up suddenly, heedless to your discontented whimper at the loss of his touch which peeters off the moment you see the way he’s looking at you; that feral tinge has returned to his eye, infused into the soft devotion he always regards you with—”only to find my bed empty, my exquisite queen missing. How might you feel, do you suppose?”

He's always been loose with his compliments but something about the way he says them now, so matter-of-factly and laced with a seriousness so uncharacteristic of him rather than a teasing tone, makes your face burn. Still you respond, unwilling to let the question stand unanswered. “Ah… concerned, I’d imagine.”

“Concerned?”

“Distressed. Fearful of misdeed.”

“You frightened me, too, then, did you not?”

“I apologize. You weren’t supposed to be back tonight, I hadn't thought there was any harm in it. But I'm safe, and I'm here with you now.”

He blinks. For a moment you wonder if he’ll really apologize now—a foolish thought, you know your king better than that. Instead he pushes on. “Now consider that you leave your chambers, and you demand to know where she is, only to be told that she has refused to sleep in your bed and has instead insisted upon taking residence in an entirely different room. What then? Tell me, my love, what is so wrong with this bed?”

You swallow thickly, watch his eyes dart down to the bob of your throat before returning. He lifts an eyebrow in expectation, but your mouth is so dry you can’t find it within you to say what he wants to hear. Both wrists still held in his grip, he rubs his thumb against one, quietly contemplative as he scans your face—and this, you decide, is too much. You turn away, hiding your face, unable to take the way he peers at you.

“Why do you still pull away?” It’s barely audible. In fact you wonder if the question is meant for you at all, or if it had been entirely for him. His free hand comes to your face, gentle as it cradles your cheek and turns you towards him, forcing you to meet his stare. This time his words are undoubtedly for you. “Have I… misinterpreted? Is this truly too much? You say it is, call me too bold, but you never insist upon it. You seem happy and yet the moment you have time away from me you run, behind my back. You know I would do anything for you, yes? Even… let you go? If that is what you want.”

You can’t find the words to reply right away, can’t parse it all out within you fast enough. You realize quite suddenly that you’ve been unfair—selfish, even—in your passing acceptance of his pursuits. Simply because that has been easy, simply because it would be difficult to be even a fraction as bold as he. Simply because you do like his boldness, and you do like the way he chases you, and he does it so relentlessly that you’ve never found it necessary for you to return it. You’d have to retrain yourself to speak candidly, to reach out for his touch, and even behind closed doors such things are arduous. Yet now you see it—now he lets you see it, the chip in his armor, the one you’ve caused with your avoidance, the one you have the ability to mend. And you decide that you will.

The time that it takes to think all of that through, however, is too much. Satoru pulls back; his hand releases yours, his head turns away, his eyes no longer visible. It’s panic that makes you move, panic caused by the way his body turns to remove itself from you. In all the time you’ve spent with him since the coup he’s never pulled away like this.

You hook your leg over him, yanking him back down and clumsily swapping your positions. He lays in bed now, eyes wide with surprise as he stares up at you, and you straddle him with hands bracing yourself on his chest. The kiss you give him is an attempt to find peace of mind but it hardly works—too desperate to prove him wrong with your actions, too caught up in the sensations, your mind fogs. At least he kisses back, hands finding home on your thighs and pulling you close as he melts, though that’s perhaps part of the problem.

The words still don’t come when you pull away, and the way he regards you now is even worse than before, pure exaltation in his eyes as he looks up at you. On impulse you lean in again, brushing lips to that white scar bisecting his brow, and though his eyes flutter closed with the motion it doesn’t help the way you’re feeling in the slightest—a little restless, a little undone, far too seen for comfort. You bury your head into his shoulder in an attempt to quell it, feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath yours as he turns his face into you and breathes you in.

“It was too large,” you manage to say, small and quiet.

“Hm?”

“The bed. It’s too large when you’re not here. Cold. Empty.” You squeeze your eyes shut tight. His hand comes up to your head, stroking softly there, and of everything that seems to finally help. shoving your head even further into his neck, you say even quieter, “I miss you, husband, when you’re gone. I miss you so terribly it becomes difficult to bear.”

His laugh rumbles through you. It’s assured, arrogant, just like always—it melts away the lingering remains of that unease you’re still sifting through and allows you to finally relax on top of him, easing your legs down to lay tucked into the crook of his arm while he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Then I’ll just have to remain here for your sake, wife.”

[itsphoenix0724]

Meet Me On The Ice (Azriel x Reader)~ Chapter 3

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1.9k

MMOTI masterlist

A/N: It's been a while and I'm sorry but I hope you guys enjoy it <3

Disclaimer: DISCLAIMER: I am not a figure skater or a hockey player, so while I'm trying to be as accurate as possible, it's likely some things may not be correct and/or are bent a little to fit the plot!

“He’s just so infuriating!” You fall back onto the plush couch in the Vanserra pool house, stuffing a mouthful of popcorn. The underused pool house had been You and Lucien’s sanctuary since you were small, his rowdy brothers not really caring to venture here, much preferring the amenities the woodland mansion had to offer. 

Well except for one. 

Eris Vanserra’s favorite hobby seemed to be annoying you whenever you were over. It seemed like no matter what he found some way to weasel into your business, and now as he settles into the couch between you and Lucien–shoveling a handful of your popcorn into his mouth, it seems he’s wormed his way into your venting session. 

“Trouble in paradise?” He raises an auburn brow and you can practically feel Lucien rolling his eyes. You can’t believe you ever thought he was the most tolerable of Lucien’s brothers. “I’ve seen that broody one you’re trying to replace LuLu with, he doesn’t seem like your type.” It’s probably true, most of the Vanserra brood played for the Autumn University Smokehounds except for Lucien, the Velaris Comet’s biggest rivals on and off the ice. 

“Like you know anything about my type Eris,” You snarl and he does nothing but laugh, even as Lucien looks like he wants to sink back into the couch cushions. 

“Go away Er, find someone else to bother.” Lucien supplies, removing the bowl of popcorn from his brother's lap, passing it back to you, fixing his heated gaze on Eris, and then pointedly looking at the door. Eris gets the hint, seeming amused by the level of aggravation he’s caused for the day and stands to leave. 

“Alright, but I’m hurt you didn’t ask me, Little Minx,” Eris’s heated gaze fixed on you as he reaches down and grabs one last piece of popcorn from your lap, crowding your space with eyes locked together with brutal efficiency. “I think we would’ve danced very well together.” He leaves without another word. 

“It’s like I’m not safe from assholes anywhere,” You scoff, collapsing back into Lucien’s lap. He looks at you apologetically, running a soothing hand through your hair. You relish in the simple affection of the balm that is Lucien’s presence. 

“I’m sorry about him,” He supplies, twisting a lock of hair through your fingers. 

“I know how to handle Eris, it’s the other one I’m more nervous about.” Your eyes slip shut, taking calming breaths.

“What about Az gets you so worked up?” He asks readjusting his casted foot to be propped higher on the pillow. 

“I don’t even know, my whole life he’s just hated me. I get that I was an annoying little kid who always wanted to hang out with them, but we’re adults now and he should fucking get over it.” You can feel the annoyance start to creep back into your body, your temper already rising at the thought of the practice you have to attend later. 

“You’ll survive Dove, don’t let this ruin your last season. At least one of us needs a good one.” You glance up at Lucien who’s glaring at his leg like that could make it magically heal.

“I know I’m sorry. I just wish we could do it together.” You say, and he smiles down at you mournfully, rubbing out the crease between your eyebrows as you try to relax. “I’ll try to keep my head up.” 

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Your head slams down hard against the practice floor as you’re dropped for the third time tonight. 

“Alright!” Alis yells, her forehead wrinkled with irritation as she stops the music. You glare hard at Azriel whose chest is heaving up and down, an equally intense glare fixed on you. “You two clearly haven’t taken my advice, and it’s showing in your work.”  She calls your name and you sit up, rubbing the sore spot from where your head hit the floor. “What did you and Lucien do when you first started skating together?” 

“We used to get pizza and go the arcade once a week.” You supply and you and Az share a mutual look of distaste. “But that was when we were eleven and Azriel and I are very much not eleven.” Alis shakes her head again. 

“Well, I don’t care. If you want any chance of even stepping on ice this season, you’ll bond. If you can’t get this on the practice floor, I’ll be damned before I let either of you on skates.” 

“I don’t have time for that.” Azriel’s voice rumbles through the room, and Alis shoots him an incredulous look.

“Well young man, let me make some time for you now. Practice is dismissed early, and the two of you are going to get pizza and go to the arcade. In fact, I’m giving you homework, you two have to hang out once a week.” Her tone is final despite the mutual protests of you and Azriel. So with the grumbling, you’re reluctantly climbing into the passenger seat of Az’s beat-up jeep as he’s plugging in the directions to the old Funland Arcade. He sets his arm on the back of your headrest as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the parking lot and set out on the road. 

It's most likely the most awkward car ride you’ve ever been on. 

The radio is playing on low with some old rock band Azriel must be fond of and the monotone voice of his phone’s GPS is the only noise in the car. Even the sound of your breath seems to blare throughout the vehicle's cab. Luckily for you, the drive to the old arcade is short. He parks the car and the two of you make your way inside, when you get in line behind him for game tokens he raises his eyebrows at you pinning you with a silent question in his hazel gaze. 

“What? I don’t expect you to pay for me, it’s not like we’re on a date.” You give him a noncommittal nod and he shrugs in response before feeding money into the machine that spits out the tokens. You repeat his actions filling your bucket as you set out upon the battlefield of neon lights and arcade consoles. 

It takes all of about 30 seconds for another argument to ensue. 

It's stupid really. You want to play the old Dance Dance Revolution machine in the back and Azriel wants to play some zombie shooter with grotesque graphics and obnoxiously loud gun noises. 

“Well, then we can just each play our own game and meet up when we’re done.” He huffs and starts to walk over to his choice, but you grab his arm. 

“The entire point of being here is so that we spend time together. Alis said we’re supposed to do things together as a team.” You drop his arm, glaring at him as he scoffs and shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. 

“She’ll never even find out if we don’t” He tries to walk away again fully turning his back to you but you grab his hood and yank him back again. He lets out a choking sound before whipping around to you absolutely furious. “What the actual fuck was that for?” Azriel questions, yanking his collar back down. 

“Listen to me, Azriel. I get that this isn’t important to you but it’s important to me. This is my only chance to skate, so I don’t care what I have to stoop to.” You pinch the crease between your brows and try to offer an olive branch. “So can we at least compromise okay? I’ll play your shooting game first if you play my game after, and then how about we try to pick a game together.” Az finally relents, nodding his agreement. So the two of you walk over to his game, eloquently titled Undead Massacre III, and pick up the red plastic gun assigned to player two. 

You were officially complete dog shit. 

You had wasted a good chunk of your tokens because you kept dying and Azriel was too far ahead or too focused to revive you, and you could tell that he was annoyed at having to start over. You wanted to quit, not understanding the gun upgrades or reloading mechanism, insisting that you played enough and it was your turn. Az insisted that you had to win at least the easiest round before you could move on. After you died for the fifth time and the game over screen flashes bright and angry as Azriel comes behind you. 

“You can’t reload or switch guns fast enough because you’re holding it wrong.” He rumbles the warmth from his chest seeping into your back as he repositions your hands around the plastic. “And you can’t aim because you’re holding the gun too low and it’s not registering with the sensor,” He pulls your arm up so that the gun is now level with your collarbones. “There, see how that feels?” You shudder as his breath hits your neck, rolling your shoulders to fight off the rising goosebumps from his proximity and pray that he can’t see the heat creeping up your cheeks in the dim light. He inserts the tokens for both of you and starts the game again. You actually manage to beat the easiest level and let out a shout that makes a few mothers shoot you angry glares, turning to Azriel eyes blazing with victory. He smiles, actually smiles at you, and you start toward him before awkwardly pausing. If it was Lucien, Rhys, or hell even Cassian you would’ve thrown your arms around them to celebrate. But it was Azriel, so you settle for an awkward smile and offer your hand up for a high-five. He returns it and reluctantly follows you over to DDR, which he does surprisingly well at. 

You should’ve known apparently he’s good at everything. You shoot him a questioning gaze and he gives a nonchalant shrug, but there’s amusement in his eyes that makes a laugh bubble out of your chest.

The both of you settle on ski ball and a couple other arcade games that leave you both with a massive pile of tickets that you have to spend at the counter. You end up combing your tickets for the free pizza coupon so you settle into the booths and wait for it to be delivered to your table. This time the silence isn’t terribly awkward, you’re surrounded by kids laughing, terribly censored pop radio, and the smell of mediocre arcade pizza. You flick through social media on your phone and answer a couple texts before the waitress brings you a pitcher of lemonade and a large cheese pizza. You take two slices and Azriel piles 4 onto his plate, raising a brow at you as he shoves his face. 

“You don’t have to eat it like it’s about to run away from you.” You giggle out around a sip of your lemonade and Azriel thankfully takes the comment as the joke it is instead of an insult and laughs. 

“I’m a growing boy sweetheart, gotta eat.” He shoves almost half a piece of pizza in his mouth and pats his stomach for effect. The blush is back and Az watches it darken your cheeks with amusement dancing in his eyes. Thoroughly stuffed and satisfied you climb back into Azriel’s car as he drives you back to the rink, looking out the window as stars twinkle in the night sky. 

“I had fun tonight,” you mutter as he drops you off at your car. “I’ll see you tomorrow for practice.” Azriel nods at you from his rolled-down window and waits until you’re in your car and pulling out of the parking lot before he starts his drive home.

Taglist: @sidthedollface2, @bionic-donut @lyinginameadow @feyretopia @natashachelsea @going-through-shit @mika-no-sekai-blog @hijabi-desi-bookworm @brandywineeeee @littlelunatica @gorlillaglue25

[yandere-plague]

Any version your comfortable with thank you

All of them at once- jk

// mentions of drugging/spiking , kidnapping

takes place sometime during borderlands 3

without spoiling much, I leave it up to you as what your 'previous' job was.

"Huh, never thought this ship would have a bar." In hindsight that would be obvious. But for one in space? Definitely not.

Everyone calls it Moxxi's nightclub, though its more of a bar than anything else. Can you really call it a nightclub if your always in space?

Sanctuary III, the home of the Crimson Raiders. Where legendary people are formed to hunt vaults. Though you know that already.

The room gave off a radiant pink, a splash of colour from the rest of the ship. And in the middle stood who you assumed to be the woman herself, Mad Moxxi.

"Well hey Sugar. Dont think I've seen you around here." Her voice sounds like honey, a mix of courteousness and flirtiness enough to give some drunk people the wrong idea.

"Just came from Promethea actually."

"Promethea? Hope the corpo war hasn't been to hard on ya."

"Eh I'm doing alright. They raised the rent at my apartment because Atlas needed to get everyone out of the city. I don't blame him but. To be honest most of us have nowhere to go."

This became a regular occurance, after your job on Promethea you head to Moxxi's for a quick drink or a bite to eat before heading to your dorm.

[A few months later]

"Hey Moxxi, guess who finally managed to get enough funds to live back on Promethea!"

You ran into the bar, giddy with excitement.

"Aww, really? I'm going to miss you sugar."

Her makeup never changed since you first met. Still wearing the ruined mascara, intentional or not.

"Dont worry Mox. I'll visit you!" You chucked.

How about one last drink? On the house~"

She smiled, she always wanted to give you free drinks. But every time you denied her.

'Well. I- why not?" You shrug.

Looking around you notice that nobody else is around.

"You closing up early? Wait, what time is it?"

"Well after closing time, but I decided to let you in." She said while trying to get rid of a damn stain on her dress.

"Shit. Sorry-"

"Dont be, now bottoms up sugar~"

She poured the drink up to your lips. It felt kind of awkward but you went along with it for now.

It tasted familiar, like her finest blend but a little bit saltier? Maybe you're just imagining things.

"Thanks." She put it down after.

"Need some help back there? Like tidying up or something?"

"You're too kind~, mind checking the tables for any leftover drinks or anything. I say people just leave their drinks like its nothing." She sighed.

"Sure thing."

You stand up, almost wobbling a bit. Did she give you an extra strong version or something?

You look at every table, they all seem to be clear. Apart from one of the booths at the back, a few glasses lay there.

You pick them up and head back to her. Placing them on the table.

"Thanks doll."

"Oof. Yeah. I think im going to go now. I'm beat." You sit back down on one of the stools, placing a hand on your forehead.

"Jeez, how strong is this stuff?"

"Its a special blend."

"It sure is..."

"Oh sugar~, can't keep you're head on straight can you?"

The world around you slipped, as you fell on the floor.

"Dont worry. Momma Moxxi will take very good care of you. Just sleep. Kitten..."

You revealed Moxxi's true voice, a sickening sap that once she gets you into her clutches, she's never letting you go...

(I actually have the moxxi finest blend bottle. But I've never drank alcohol before and I don't think that whiskey is a good thing to try first 😅)

I AM SO SORRY FOR MAKING THIS TAKE SO LONG. I was busy with college and then tumblr decided to not let me edit for some reason. I'm personally not impressed with what I've written :/ I

[captain039]

PART 6 Predator grounds (Cooper Howard)

Alpha!Cooper Howard (pre-war)x omega!reader

Alpha!Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB dynamics, vault tech things, forced heats/ruts, eventual smut, age gap, angst? Experiments, needles, drugs, talks of pregnancy, first times, anxiety attacks, anxiety, forced claiming, mentions of rape, plus size reader, fat shaming.

Me to me: Finish the story’s you’re writing! 😡

Me to me also: oh look new idea 😘

Fricken roller coaster 👌🏻

Previous part <-

It’s strange. Coming back to the world, one you thought you knew the one you grew in. This, this wasn’t it.

Nora stared with you, the browns, yellows and little green. The rusted ruined cars, building and ship cargo. The overly hot sun.

“Come on, I used to live down there in Sanctuary hills” she whispers and you just nod following her down the path. There’s skeletons by the gate and you hold your breath as you go past before letting it go. You follow the woman through the shrub and into the nuke ruined homestead. She talks with a Mr.Handy while you’re staring at the world you can see past the broken stone wall. Your minds blank yet over running and you reach out for Nora instinctively. She stops talking as does the robot and she holds your hand following your gaze. The beta lets you hold her hand before you’re searching the ruined houses for anything you guess. After it’s clear this place has been ransacked the Mr. Handy robot, or Codsworth points you in the direction to the next city.

You follow Nora silently she’s got the gun and knows how to use it, you’ve got scared omega running through your veins right now. You rub the mating bite on your neck, gods you wonder if he’s alive, if they froze him again or he got out. You hope he didn’t get out as you pass what you think is a dead dog in the middle of the road. You almost gag seeing its insides and quickly avoid it while looking away. You continue down the road seeing a red rocket station and a bark making you and Nora jump. You frown as she aims her gun but what comes running from the garage doesn’t look like what was on the road. The dog wags his tail, tongue out happily as he sniffs you both intently before barking.

“Ok boy?” Nora asks kneel to pet him before looking around.

“No owner?” She asks glancing to you and you shrug.

“Good boy” she mutters petting the dog one last time before checking the station. It’s empty besides some medical items that look very out of date. The dog follows you the whole time sniffing around before your on the road again. You take in the broken buildings, broken road and weird smells, it’s been like this since the bombs dropped and you’ve been hiding away underground, forced for some breeding program when there were already people up here?

You hug your middle keeping your eyes on the ground before you hear shots.

“Stay here, hide in that building!” Nora says quickly urging you into the rundown store.

You hear more shooting and shouting, your spot in the dusty smelly closet is horrid but it keeps you from out there.

You don’t know how much times pass, but the shooting stops, the shouting stops too. You don’t leave your spot though. You hear your name called though and peek out the door and see Nora, you sigh in relief and head out hugging her quickly without thought. She’s panting slightly and sweaty but you don’t care.

“Sorry” you say letting go and she just smiles saying it’s alright.

“I found friendly people” she says and you nod following her. You meet with some survivors, Preston alpha, Mama Murphy beta, Sturges another alpha and two betas a man and woman who seem intent on arguing more than giving their names.

“Oh you’re not from around here” Mama Murphy says looking at you and you gulp a little.

“No, no you’re far from home, far from your mate” she hums and you frown a little.

“Hm I’m getting the sense he’s changed” she says frowning and your heart skips a beat despite not believing the woman.

“Mama Murphy come on” Preston sighs.

“Oh shush” she waves the man off.

Your group heads back to sanctuary hills. You stick close to Nora the whole way. You help her clean out her old house, keeping what’s useful like the old table, couch and mattress. Nora sets up the mattress outside trying to dust it off the best she can while you sit on the surprisingly stable old chair, head in your hands.

There’s a scattering that wakes him damned rad roaches thinking he’s an easy meal. He barely looks to blow the thing to pieces before sighing and getting comfortable again. It’s morning before he can sleep again and his clicks his tongue before moving. This bounty he’s been chasing enjoys running too much and he’s getting sick of it. One Charlie James, stole something from some high and mighty, he didn’t care, didn’t matter as long as he was getting paid. He needed the caps fast, he’s been running low on viles for a while now and the coughs started to hurt more.

He finds the rat bastard hiding in a shopping mall, holed up like a little rat with his trinkets. The man doesn’t get a chance to speak before there’s a hole in his chest and his heads coming off with a few saws. Cooper grunts as he raids the little hide out before he’s heading back to the small town to get his bounty. He wonders how he got this far, roaming America, his first instinct was to stay around Los Angelas see if he could find his ex wife and daughter so he could find you. Hell there hasn’t been a day in the last 200 years he doesn’t miss you, his body aches every time he thinks about you, about that bite he left on you, about how you’d react if you saw him. After they took you away he went haywire, feral as the doctor said, he was teeth and claws before he got turned into this. Now he was truely feral, well not in the ghoul sense feral. Heading back into town with a head strapped to his thigh made most people look away or dart inside while he went to the towns mayor. He got paid, left a head lighter and headed to the closest drug dealer he could find. While hes waiting he hears about sanctuary hills, about how a Vaultie is running it with her little mated omega that ain’t even hers. Running it with the minutemen apparently. He shrugs it off at first but what makes him clench his fist though is their description, laughing about how the omega was ‘fat’ then the exact description of your hair, your face then your name leaves their mouth… He snatches his viles throws caps at the man, shoots the bastard laughing about you in the leg and barges out the door ignoring the pissed off yelling. He’s storming through the town before he looks to a map to find Sanctuary hills He’s got a five days trip to get there.

It’s been four months since you got here, three months to watch people build and grow this place into something of a community, guess Mama Murphys got one thing right about this place. You’re tending to the plants, Nora’s out helping another settlement and you’re left in charge seeing as Preston would happily stand by and guard rather than lead and leave it in your very incapable hands. Hell Struges would be better at this, Marcy could easily bark around orders, you just want to curl up in your bed. It’s been hard, really hard, you’ve sworn and yelled at Nora more than once and you felt like an absolute shitty friend but she would smile, give you a hug before heading out. Preston tries to offer his comfort in his weird way, Sturges makes sure to not cross your path when you’re in a mood and Marcy fights back and poor Jun looks like he’s about to cry if you slightly raise your voice at him. You’ve avoided all other settlers like the plague and thankfully they only introduced themselves and moved on. Nora was the real hero, saviour, mayor of the town, she ran this place like she knew how to run a government. You bonded with her, your mind and body designated her as your person and she didn’t mind. She had that motherness about her, strong but kind. Though you missed your mate, Cooper, you hear people saying how you’re lucky you hadn’t followed his path into death, or how you hadn’t been plagued by sickness or him being gone. It made your hope spark that he was alive, frozen like you somewhere. It’s hard with limited medical access out here despite the clinic, your heats come, people’s smells feel like an attack every time, you have a nest you made, Sturges yelling over construction makes you want to tuck talk and run. It wasn’t like this before, you could live your life, with suppressants and scent blockers. You were heading down to the clinic, made after the ruined house was removed by the bridge when you see a figure across the bridge. You think it’s Nora or a settler at first but the way he’s standing has your neck hairs standing up. You signal the guard standing by the clinic having a small chat and she’s up instantly heading to the gate. Despite the gate open and this place being friendly with most, sometimes raiders or other hot headed people think they can take on a community. You’re weary as the stranger approaches the gate and the guard Kayla simply nods and he’s let in. Not a raider then thankfully.

You go into the clinic smiling at Jun before your body tenses, a scent invaded you and your mind reels back to Cooper. It feels like a bullet, quick hitting and build up flaring. You turn seeing the stranger, he’s hidden under his cowboy hat and cowboys outfit. Your body shakes at the familiarity of the outfit, the scent that hits your nose when a soft breeze comes. You can’t speak or say anything as he just stands there. Your mate bite seems to flare up in response knowing who gave it to you is here. What lands a killing blow though is that he walks away, walks down the road heading into the guns and ammo store. You let out a noise sounding like some strangled cat crying and take the extra long route back to Nora’s house where you slam your door shut and hide under your blanket.

[amazinglyegg]

JAY! JAY! JAY! JAY!

The most basic survivor with the most basic story! Very long ramble about him below the cut (sorry)

Physical appearance

Short, skinny, pale (malnourished vibes)

Part way through his story he loses his eyes from a grenade and gets synth eyes as prosthetics

Has scars all over his body from that incident, as well as the average amount of scars for a wastelander

Always wears long sleeves, usually a white tshirt

Jean jacket over top with some silly little patches!!!

I am terrible at clothes so idk what pants he wears. Vaguely grey probably

Other outfits you'll see him in are any random clothes he needs when going undercover in the railroad (he keeps an outfit in his bag for synths still in their old uniform!) and rarely the Brotherhood flight suit when it's laundry day

Backpack

Big ol' hiking backpack he scavenged in sanctuary, also ties his sleeping bag on the bottom

Food, water, and caps are necessary

Sketchbook and pencil to keep him busy while having to sit around and wait, loves sketching and journalling

Teddy bear! Lovingly named Mr. Cuddlesworth, keeps him tucked away so nothing bad happens to him

Fancy Lads for any synths he comes across, also (not in the picture) a blank box filled with chems for bribing his way out of problems with raiders and the like

Uses his baseball bat, especially before he got comfortable with guns, but occasionally uses Rightous Authority and a combat shotgun

Keeps an extra knife on hand as well as pepper spray and a rape whistle, both of which he kept on his body since pre-war

Stats!

Physically weak but very perceptive - not very high charisma but his perception usually helps him along

High perception means he has very sensetive ears, which can both be useful and a problem (prone to sensory overload!)

His perks aren't based on his SPECIAL at all

Medic - he was trained as a scribe in the Brotherhood of Steel, much more comfortable healing than fighting

Vans - He's practically reliant on his pipboy to keep track of all his quests! It has a detailed map and GPS that can even give directions out loud

Rooted - He's a freeze response type of guy. 100% deer in the headlight vibes

Personality

He's a big ol' scaredy cat!

Trauma from the vault has left him absolutely terrified of enclosed spaces, the dark, and radroaches. Also dislikes loud sounds, the cold, alcohol, and chems

He likes touch and always gives out hugs and handshakes! He also likes the sun (and light), nature, sweets, sleeping, being non-violent, and brahmin

He's a crybaby and will cry at every little thing. Just give him 15 minutes and he'll be fine

He's very naive and trusting, especially starting out. He just blindly goes along with what anyone says, and that becomes an extreme as he tries to cope with how much the world changed

Everything's in ruins now? Okay. There's cows with two heads? Okay. You're going to rob me and steal all my money? Okay... wait.

Always tries to see the best in people and things, and will much rather get shot than risk shooting someone who may not be a danger to him (hey, maybe they're only aiming a gun at him because they misunderstand! We can talk things out!)

Very rarely gets angry or loses his cool - tends to just cry instead. Not too great in the wasteland!

He doesn't like kids (and didn't like Shaun, which he feels guilty about...) despite being so childish and friendly. He gets along with them great! He just... doesn't like them...

Story

Jay has two storylines of sorts, one of my first playthrough and one of my second playthrough that diverges a bit

My first playthrough is a Railroad playthrough

Jay is Shaun's older brother. Their father was a veteran and Sanctuary was a small neighborhood specifically advertised as PTSD/veteran friendly (AKA HOA had a field day with banning fireworks and loud parties, and didn't bother with much else...) - Codsworth was also part of a pack for veterans!

Jay gets some basic survival skills from Preston and the group (after becoming severely ill due to a 200yr old immune system, but whatever) and leaves with Codsworth to Diamond City

He meets Nick and joins the Railroad quickly after! However Codsworth gets pretty beaten up in Vault 114 and after staying with Arturo for a while Jay convinces him to go to Sanctuary where it's safe

At some point Jay runs off on his own to try and collect the last few of Winter's holotapes, which is where he gets cornered by gunners in Quincy and throws a grenade which bounces off the wall and back near his own feet

He was mostly blind and severely injured, and staggers his way back to Railroad HQ (thanks to his high perception + VANS to guide him) where he gets taken to Doctor Amari and gets his synth eyes

He infiltrates the Institute and befriends X6, and also finds out he's a synth after reading a terminal he was told very sternly not to look into

In the same way Shaun is sort of a test for child synths, Jay is a test for teenage synths, as well as to study personality and emotions, and how a synth would grow if they believed to be human

Barely anyone knows this, save for Father and maybe a few other scientists, so Jay keeps it a secret until the Railroad is attacking the place, where he tells Father on his deathbed that he knows the truth

Father tells him that they're not real brothers and he feels nothing for him, and Jay responds by telling Father that he loves him and that their parents would be proud of him before mercy shooting him in the head

He adopts synth Shaun and gets adopted by Nick, making a family of entirely robots (including Codsworth!)

Far Harbor comes after this and stuff happens idk this is getting very long, but DiMA is his uncle!!

The second playthrough, which is forever unfinished, is a Brotherhood playthrough, follows all the main plotpoints above with a few changed details

Instead of immediately leaving to Diamond City after Call to Arms, he and Codsworth stay with Danse and his group with the promise of food, shelter, and in-depth survival and weapon training (he's still relying on his baseball bat at this point despite his horrible strength stat)

Codsworth eventually goes back to Sanctuary (all this fighting stresses him out) and Jay does still find the Railroad and go along with them, but he spends a majority of his time on the Prydwen learning everything he needs to know

Jay's still supportive of synths but is less active in the Railroad, and he finds out he's a synth around a week or two before the events of Blind Betrayal

After Blind Betrayal Jay leaves the Brotherhood and goes for a Minutemen and Railroad ending, where the two factions sort of combine, and a lot of settlers are either rescued synths or helping the Railroad in some way

Danse is also in the Minutemen! Although he's mostly unaware of how involved in the Railroad they are - Jay is trying to ease him into it slowly but it's taking a WHILE to unlearn all that Brotherhood propaganda!

Jay isn't as active in the Railroad in this playthrough, and he's more critical of their ways of doing things. He's a bit more distant with Nick (as Danse sort of takes the roll of surrogate father) but generally the vibes are the same

These two stories somehow both exist equally in my head, so I guess they're both "canon"!

Fun facts!

Jay is a genre of person. Whenever there's an RPG and I can't tell if I should make an OC or pretend to be myself, I make Jay! He also exists in Stardew Valley!

Jay is my middle name, but not on purpose. While getting my name changed my mom offered to include Jay as a middle name (unrelated to my OCs) and I went along with it. Jay had already existed for a while before this!

Jay's original design included a hard hat. I decided it wasn't for him.

Jay disliked Codsworth and Shaun before the war. He was going through an angsty phase and was a bit jealous of not being the only child anymore. He feels very guilty about it now

He can't bring himself to go back to Sanctuary anymore so most of the Minutemen's work is done at the Castle

During The Lost Patrol he finds himself alone at the Revere Satellite Array and trades a bunch of food, water, and caps with the Super Mutants in exchange for Scribe Faris' holotags (and his life). Danse is not happy about this

Despite the fact I never travelled with Curie or Strong in my playthroughs, he's friends with them! He thinks they're pretty chill

The first person he tells about being a Synth is X6, and he asks whether he knew. X6 had no idea.

He doesn't tell Nick for a looong time because of his reaction when DiMA asks if he's a synth. He asks DiMA for advice after the events of Far Harbor before he tells Nick.

[TRIGGER WARNING beyond this point for claustrophobia, suffocation, roaches, PTSD, and suicide] He spent several hours stuck inside the vault, barely able to move or breathe due to having to dethaw in an already cold room. His cryopod couldn't open from the inside and he was slowly suffocating as the seals were air-tight. He had to claw his way through the cushioning to get to some wires that, when broken, finally released the doors.

He was still too weak and pained to move, and the radroaches started swarming him once they sensed fresh meat. They didn't do much damage to him but it was still very traumatizing

The first thing he did as soon as he got out of that room was try and shoot himself with the 10mm. The safety was on and he didn't know how to switch it off, so he gave up

Attempted suicide again a few days later after the power armor from the Museum of Freedom reminded him of the cryo pod and triggered a nasty flashback (plus the general stress of everything), but gets stopped by Codsworth. After retelling this to Captain Cade he finds out that it's not a "normal panic attack" and that he does in fact have PTSD, and that he's not allowed in power armor until he gets his symptoms under control.

[mochiwrites]

last life au

in light of third life turning two years old today, I offer a wip I've had sitting in my google drive since february! if any of you remember this post I made a while back, all you need to know is that third life!grian has swapped places with last life!grian somehow. without further ado, here's my very unfinished and very rough last life au wip (pls don't judge it too harshly LOL)

happy two years to the series that changed me as a person! :D (edit: now posted on ao3! read here)

if you enjoyed, please reblog! reblogs do more than likes <3

To Grian, the desert was once a home.

It wasn’t perfect, not really. Perfection is nearly impossible in a game of death, but what he and Scar had came close. The desert was the farthest thing from a good location, all things considered. The days were hot, far too hot, and the nights were so cold that it left Scar and Grian curling up close for warmth. There was nothing but sand for miles, which made gathering materials a constant challenge. 

But they had their home. Their tower, their place of respite. Dogwarts was a constant threat barreling down their door, but together they made it work. Their home was far from perfect, but it was theirs and that’s what Grian came to love about it. 

Except now, as he stands in a ring of cacti, he has destroyed his home. 

His home is filled with lava and craters, a reminder of what they did to survive. Their desert was ruined days ago in what they had hoped to be the final showdown with Dogwarts and The Red King. They blew up their desert for a win they never achieved. 

Maybe that was the first sign that things were going wrong. Their desert, their home, their small temporary sanctuary in this hellish game was blown apart. 

Ends justifies the means, no?

After all, to Grian, their home was more than just the desert. Their home was with each other. The desert never mattered much to him, not when he had Scar, and vice versa. The desert was a symbol, more than anything. Of Grian’s debt, his guilt. He’ll never admit it, but it felt a bit liberating to destroy it. 

And maybe that’s why things went oh so horribly wrong. 

Maybe that is why his fists are shaking, knuckles raw and covered in blood. Maybe that is why he stares down at the bloodied corpse of what was once his partner, his other half. His insides twist and turn, creating a mangled mess of emotions within him. The sun beats down on him, sweat and blood mixing together as one. His hair is in his eyes, but he doesn’t care much. His tank top feels like too much but also too little all at once.

His knuckles ache, his body is sore. He’s hardly covered in bruises and scratches, and yet he still feels like he’s just been beaten half to death anyways. 

He can’t bear to look at Scar, to meet his gaze and see his own brightly shining eyes reflected in lifeless, empty ones. 

“For everything you’ve done to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.” 

Scar’s words ring in his head, accompanied by his laughter. Grian puts a bloodied hand up to his mouth as a wave of nausea rolls over him. He doesn’t pay any mind to the copper twinge that fills his mouth. He tears his gaze away from anywhere remotely near Scar, instead turning and looking over the mountain. 

Their home is in ruins. Their home is gone. The last of their home has been destroyed by his own two hands, killed for the sake of winning some pointless game. 

His victory feels hollow. Empty. 

He had wanted to win together. Winning without Scar felt… wrong. It feels wrong. After all they’ve been through, after establishing something between them, winning alone just… didn’t look as appealing anymore. 

“I’m getting you! I’m getting you good!” “I don’t think you are!” 

His hands ache. His chest feels tight, as if his ribs have been coiled tightly around his lungs to constrict his air flow. He takes a slow step back, as if trying to escape the scene of the crime. His legs shake from the weight of both his body and his actions. Grian takes a shaky breath. 

“Can we win together?” 

He stumbles as he walks backwards, his world dipping and tilting. 

Grian won alone. 

He doesn’t feel like a winner. 

He doesn’t even want that title. 

The guilt is eating at him. Why? Why is he the one that survived? The point of all of this was so that Scar could win! That’s why Grian stayed with him! 

(He won’t admit to himself that there’s more to it than that. He won’t admit to himself that somewhere along the way his feelings changed. No longer was he staying by Scar’s side out of guilt or obligation. Without Grian even noticing, Scar grew on him. Scar broke through his walls with his ridiculous yet charming nature, and Grian found himself wanting to stay with Scar because he wanted to see him win. Because somehow, somewhere, Grian’s heart had been swayed and stolen. Somewhere, he had fallen in love.) 

For a moment, he’s angry. He’s angry at the blood lusting ghosts for demanding a final fight. He’s angry at Scar for letting him win, for making him win. Frustrated, bitter words lay on his tongue as he turns around to admonish the man, emotions getting the better of him. 

Only to turn and be met with his corpse. Blood pools around Scar’s body, bruises littering his face and chest. Grian had been throwing punches wildly. 

His stomach lurches, and he covers his mouth again. Copper fills his nostrils, heavy and thick. “Oh… I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, but there’s no one around to hear him. 

He tears his gaze away, instead surveying the desert around him. His blood is rushing in his ears, making it hard to hear. His head swims as he stands still, looking over at the rivers of lava throughout the desert. 

Grian’s eyes settle on the cliff face.  

This desert isn’t a home anymore. It’s vacant, empty. Pointless. His home doesn’t exist, not without Scar. 

He walks toward the cliff. 

“Scar, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry too!”

The desert is unfamiliar, morphing and twisting into something dark and unwelcoming. It has become  a monster of Grian’s own creation. It has become something that Grian has ripped apart with his own two hands. Something that once brought him warmth is now cold and barren. The desert is a shadow, a weak imitation of what it once was. 

He stands on the ledge. 

He wonders what was going through Scar’s mind during all of this. What was he thinking? Does he hate Grian for being the one to survive? Is he at peace, having been the one to die? Does he hate Grian for killing him? Does he hate Grian for ruining their home? Or is he happy with the way that things have gone? Grian supposes he’ll never get to know. 

He shuts his eyes and jumps. 

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

Muffled noises surround him.

He can’t quite make out what the noises are, not when it feels like his head has been submerged under water. One by one, his senses return to him and huh, that’s weird. He’s dead, yet he can feel his body? That… shouldn’t be normal. Granted, Grian has never been permanently dead before. Do most dead people still feel their body? Is that even possible? 

The next thing he feels is something soft underneath him. Now Grian knows that isn’t right. The last thing he remembers feeling is his body slamming into the hard ground below, shattering his bones. The pain had only lasted a few seconds before Grian fell unconscious, but it had been excruciating while he could still feel. Darkness had come to claim him quite swiftly. 

But whatever he’s laying on… it feels nothing like the harsh sand. It’s softer, almost silky. Plush. It only serves to confuse Grian more, seeing as once more, he isn’t sure if feeling things still is normal for a dead person. 

Ever so slowly, Grian slowly opens his eyes. His eyes are met with a stone ceiling, which… is that supposed to be there? 

Grian had a few ideas of what the afterlife would be like – if he even has one. An empty void, or maybe the End. Perhaps he’d return to the wasteland that was once his home and haunt it as a ghost. (A kinder part of him had hoped that he’d reunite with his friends, and they could all cry and hug one another. And maybe he could see Scar again, and shake him around for making Grian kill him, and then hold onto the man so that he’d never lose him again.)

Experimentally, he wiggles a finger or two. Yup, there’s still a body attached to him. Alright. Though to his surprise, he isn’t in any sort of pain. Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising, all things considered. 

Something wet touches his hand then, and Grian leaps up with a shriek. He pulls his hand back and looks at whatever touched him, finding a dog sitting on the ground. “Huh?” He looks at the dog, seeing a red collar around its neck. “Why is there a dog here?” The animal simply tilts its head to the side in response. 

It’s then that Grian actually takes the time to look around at where he is, and he pauses. The first thing he notices is that he’s laying in a white bed. There’s a chest and a crafting table in front of the bed, and there are dogs just about everywhere. Ah, so that’s what all the noise was. A furnace is set on the floor against the wall, and Grian finds himself feeling very confused. 

This is… definitely not the afterlife, that’s for sure. 

Did someone rescue him? How? Grian was the only one left on Third Life, everyone else was… 

Lips curling in a frown, he moves to slide off of the bed. Just as his foot touches the ground, he pauses, recognizing the extra weight on his body. Looking down at himself, Grian finds iron armor on him, which only worsens his confusion. Why is he in armor? 

Standing from the bed, he looks around at the room. He’s certain that he’s underground, if the walls of stone and dirt are anything to go by. He watches as one of the dogs (a pup) clambers onto the bed and circles the pillow before curling up and laying down. 

It leaves him feeling very confused. 

He casts a glance around at the stone box he’s in, looking at each of the dogs. Some of them don’t pay him any mind, and others are staring right at him. Who’s dogs are these? And why are they here, wherever here is. They seem friendly with him at least, but Grian doesn’t know if that makes him relaxed or more nervous. He remembers Joel’s pack of wolves. 

While looking around, he spots a ladder tucked against the wall leading down. He doesn’t go toward it, in case it’s trapped. Instead, he looks at the pickaxe he has on him and uses that to cautiously dig a little staircase up. 

It takes him a few minutes to get to the surface, considering he’s trying to dig out and also listen to his surroundings. When he finally pops his head out from the dirt, he does so carefully, peeking out to look around him. There’s no one around him besides trees and mountains. He sighs softly in relief. Though he still has to remain vigilant. 

Climbing out of the hole, he covers it back up with dirt (just in case if he was saved by someone, they won’t immediately notice he’s gone). Standing at full height, Grian takes a look around. The first thing he notices is how the landscape is completely different to Third Life. What is this place, he wonders. The terrain all looks different.

Lips dipping in a frown, he sets his hands on his hips, “Definitely not in Kansas anymore…” he mumbles to himself. If this is the afterlife, it’s quite odd, that’s for sure. 

While looking around, he catches sight of something in the distance. It looks like some kind of cobblestone building with roofs of dark oak. From where he is, he can spot four of them. One is at the very top of a mountain, being the most visible. 

The idea of approaching it leaves Grian hesitant, but maybe a little investigation wouldn’t hurt. He’s going to have to check it out if he wants any answers as to what this place is. So he makes a journey toward the direction of the towers. Trekking through the trees, he uses the branches for coverage. 

And when he gets to the big entrance of the four towers, he pauses. 

Grian stares at the front entrance, watching as pistons move up and down in front of him. Watching it, his eyes follow the movements curiously. Surrounding the entrance are walls of dark oak and cobble, wrapping around the base completely. He considers walking inside, maybe exploring whatever this new structure is. There was nothing inside the chest within the bunker for him. 

His inventory is an assortment of different items, none of which Grian knows what’s important and what isn’t. By now he’s ascertained that he’s in fact not dead. Which is… confusing. How is he alive? And where is he?

“Oh, Grian!” Someone’s calling his name, and the sound of someone else’s voice makes him jump. He looks up, seeing a familiar blue and red jump suit and dirty blond hair. 

Grian’s eyes widen, “Tim..?” The name escapes him with a sharp breath. No longer does his skin look sickly and gray, instead healthy and free of blood. His hair is vibrant, as are his brown eyes. A diamond chest plate sits over his upper body, iron leggings and boots. Grian almost feels like he’s seeing a ghost. The last time he saw Jimmy, it had been in the desert. Right before he died. 

It feels weird to see him again, considering he wasn’t meant to die in that fight. He was meant to stay safe. With Scar. 

Grief and regret crashes into him at once, nearly knocking him over. Images of that battle flicker in his mind, as well as the aftermath. They hadn’t spent long at Jimmy’s grave. 

(Grian paid Jimmy’s grave a visit late that night. He had been fully aware of the risks, knowing that anyone from Dogwarts could attack him. But Grian could bet with certainty they were too busy enjoying a perceived victory against the Desert. 

Jimmy’s grave was nothing fancy. Extravagance was a privilege they didn’t have there. Simple cobblestone walls and a poppy planted in the ground was all Scott could give him. 

Grian sat down, and apologized. He hadn’t even been there for Jimmy’s death. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to die. And Grian hadn’t even been there to help him. He apologized for that. He promised revenge. His death would not be in vain. 

At some point, someone had joined him. A warmth slotted against his side, and the smell of sweat, burnt sand, and summer heat filled his senses. He relaxed. 

Neither of them spoke for a while. Grian leaned against Scar, letting his thoughts wander. 

“I’m sorry the trap got messed up.” Scar apologized with a low mutter. 

Grian huffed quietly, gently knocking his head against his arm,“I don’t care about that. I mean, I do since the only one it got was me, but — I’m more thankful you survived.” 

“…I’m sorry you died,” was Scar’s response, “But on the bright side, your debt’s been repaid! You’re a free man!” Grian knew Scar well enough by then to know when he was forcing himself to act cheerful. He could hear the underlying sadness in his voice, the way he was holding something back. But most of all he could hear the fear. 

To that, Grian only pressed himself more firmly against him. “Then my first act as a free man is to see this through with you until the end.” 

He heard Scar take a breath; shaky and rough. An arm wrapped around him, and he heard a murmured, “Thank you.”)

Jimmy looks a little nervous as he stands on the other side of the pistons, “What’re you doing all the way over there for? Get in ‘ere already!” he exclaims, gesturing for him to come in. “Mumbo disabled the trap!” 

His body moves as if it’s on autopilot, legs carrying him toward the gate. He clumsily hops over the pistons and line of stone bricks, landing on the other side. His footing is a bit clumsy as he hits the ground, wobbling slightly. Jimmy laughs at him, and Grian tries to process the sound. 

Jimmy isn’t dead. He’s alive. 

What in the world is going on? 

Grian goes over to him, staring at him with something akin to marvel. Jimmy turns to him, still looking nervous. “So uh… I’m not going to be kicked out, right? I know we had the vote and all yesterday but just wanted to triple check you didn’t change your mind overnight,” he rambles to Grian, shifting back and forth on his feet. 

“What?” Blinking in confusion, Grian looks at him. “Why would I be—”

“Oi, Tim! Give the man some space to breathe, would ya?” Another voice joins them, and Grian tenses at the familiarity. “He only just got back last night. At least wait an extra five minutes before you start pestering ‘im.”

Glancing to his side, he spots The Red King’s right hand man approaching them. He’s dressed in iron, a shield attached to his arm. The familiar black bandana peeks out from underneath his hair and his blue eyes are creased with amusement as he looks at the pair. “Martyn?!” The exclamation escapes him before he can stop it. He takes a small step in front of Jimmy, knowing that Scott would be crushed if he lost him a second time (The memory of Scott in his mind would be, anyways). He keeps himself on guard. 

Martyn smiles at the pair, “Good morning to you too, fellow Southlander!” He grins. “How’s it feel to be yellow again, eh Grian?” he questions, which makes Grian bristle slightly. He remembers Martyn taking his first life very clearly.

“I’m–”

“Watch out!” A voice calls out, followed by the sounds of feet hitting the ground. Grian jumps as someone barrels past himself and Martyn, cutting right through them in a blur of black. “Hot lava bucket in my hands!” 

“I told you to wear gloves!” A second voice follows, and Grian catches a glimpse of yellow and black. He turns his head in the direction the two voices went, seeing them both by the entrance of the fort. Almost instantly, Grian recognizes Impulse from behind. But the one next to him… 

Grian feels his entire body freeze. His breath is punched out of him, eyes widening. 

The man next to Impulse is setting the bucket of lava down with a large sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. He straightens up, taking a moment to glance around. His eyes lock with Grian’s, and Grian feels rooted to his spot. His throat feels dry, as if he hasn’t drank anything in weeks. He swallows, but it does little to rid the feeling. 

Oblivious to Grian’s freezing, the man smiles wide at him, hurrying over. “Grian!” he exclaims, “Glad you got here before I reset the trap, mate, “ he greets cheerfully, but Grian feels too stunned to speak. 

Why is Mumbo here? Why? 

A multitude of emotions crash into Grian’s chest at the sight of his best friend. Relief, horror, guilt. They each roll over him, loud and vicious as they threaten to overwhelm him. He can’t look away from the man, the feeling of confusion holding his head above water. 

(“Do you think Mumbo would be proud?” The question had been half nonchalant as the pair ran through the desert, digging deep underground. The true meaning of the question was a secret, one between only himself and Scar.

Scar paused to consider it. He had lifted a finger to his chin as he thought, “Oh! Mumbo would be crying from happiness!”

“Be honest with me.” Grian had said. 

Scar hadn’t been.) 

Standing in front of the man, Grian does not share the thought. Not after the blood staining his hands. And isn’t that ironic? In a game where your aim is to kill and survive, he feels guilty over killing. But maybe that’s because of who his final kill was. Because of how it all ended. Grian had hoped he’d never have to face Mumbo after that, but apparently fate had other plans. 

“Speaking of getting here early,” Martyn’s voice cuts through the fog of confusion settling over Grian’s mind, causing him to look over at the other. Grian forces his gaze away from Mumbo with a painful pang, meeting Martyn’s eyes, “I see you’ve gone and scored another life on your way back from Scar’s.” He wiggles his brows.

Just hearing Scar’s name causes Grian’s stomach to curl with grief, “W-What?” he asks, the shock of Martyn’s statement sending him back a small step. 

“Don’t you try and fool me, G, the last time we saw you you were on yellow life. And now you’re green!” Martyn points at his wrist, and naturally, Grian’s gaze follows. 

His heart squeezes uncomfortably tight as he sees the familiar line of hearts down his wrist. There’s three hearts on his wrist, green, yellow, and red. Nausea rolls over him like a blanket, wrapping around him and tightening around his neck. He feels sick. Why? Why?! He thought he was done with all of this! Was killing Scar not enough? Was winning an empty, meaningless victory not enough?! 

Is this his punishment? Or some sick kind of joke?! 

He clenches his fists, watching the way they shake from how tightly he clenches them. Burning hot anger runs through him like lava, melting his insides. The warmth goes from top to bottom, engulfing him in an angry, vicious flame. He feels too much, yet too little all at once. He wants to scream. To cry. Maybe break something, or blow something up. Blood is pumping in his ears; his heart feels like it’s going to burst. 

This isn’t the afterlife. This is hell. 

“Grian?” Mumbo’s gentle, concerned voice breaks through the anger threatening to overtake him like a light. The sound of his voice snaps him from his spiraling thoughts, and he notices how his fingers dig uncomfortably into his skin. As if his nails can break the hearts on his wrist, shatter them. He lets go instantly, seeing angry red lines left behind. 

Lifting his gaze, Grian sees four pairs of eyes watching him. Yet the only eyes he focuses on are Mumbo’s, it’s been so long since he’s seen the man. His presence is normally a comfort for Grian, something grounding. But right now, all Grian feels is conflict. His grief and guilt is suffocating, and Mumbo’s presence does little to help that feeling. Mumbo looks at him with nothing but concern and kindness, with the way his eyebrows dip and lower, a worried frown marring his face.

Mumbo takes a step closer, hand reaching out to him, “You alright, mate?” Looking down, Grian sees the man’s wrist. Four hearts go down his wrist in a line. Two of them are already gone, looking faded and cracked. The sight of the hearts on his wrist sends his stomach dropping, heart lodging in his throat.  

Grian recoils from his outstretched hand as if it were a weapon, and Mumbo freezes in place. He pulls his hand back. His face falls, and Grian pretends he doesn’t see. 

“I’m fine.” Grian hastily replies, ignoring the burst of pain in his chest. He scans the people around him. Mumbo, Impulse, Jimmy, and… Martyn. He takes a breath. So he’s stuck in another life game. Great. And it looks like these four are his… alliance. 

A sudden thought strikes him. If those four are here then… who else is here?

His communicator pings, and he pulls it up, heart still firmly lodged in his throat.

<GoodTimeWithScar> oh team BEST~

<GoodTimeWithScar> A wizard *never* forgets his promise.

If seeing Mumbo made him sick, then seeing Scar’s message in chat plunges him into freezing cold water. Scar’s name is red (of course it is), and it sends nostalgia and grief tearing through him all at once. Everything suddenly feels like it’s too much, his head swimming. He stumbles slightly, nearly falling if it hadn’t been for Jimmy taking hold of him. “Seriously, you alright?” Jimmy questions, and Grian… Grian doesn’t know. 

All he can think about is his final moments with Scar leading up to that stupid duel. The splashing of water below him as he jumped down to meet him in that shallow pond. 

“Betrayer!” he had screamed. 

Well look who’s laughing now. 

Grian had thought about it very briefly, in his final moments, what it’d be like if he ever met Scar again. He had wondered if Scar would scorn him, or if Scar would pull him into his arms and congratulate him on a battle well fought. He had also considered keeping his distance, as far away as possible, as to never hurt Scar again. 

And yet, just as usual, his heart never listens to his brain. 

Because as he looks at his communicator, watching the others reply in chat, his eyes only focus on Scar’s name. There’s a part of him, a very deep part within, that cries out for him. It sees Scar’s name, and it reaches. It reaches far and wide, and it doesn’t concern itself with the logical side of Grian’s brain. No, it simply sees the fact that Scar is clearly alive and well and it wants to run right toward him. 

Seeing Scar’s name makes Grian’s chest ache with a deep yearning that he knows can never be satisfied. There is an ache in him that he knows will only continue to eat away at himself, until he is rotting and reaching. His soul is crying, begging for Scar at his side, and though Grian knows that he will only be the catalyst to Scar’s ultimate demise, he is weak to the pull of his emotions. 

Grian’s other half is alive! He is alive and that part of Grian feels incomplete without him. Empty. His heart aches at the thought of being with Scar again, of being able to give him the apology he deserves. Just the thought of being able to apologize to him is enough to break Grian down. 

“S-Scar,” he stammers, completely forgetting that Jimmy even asked him a question. “He’s – I have to get to him,” he says, turning to the others. 

He’s met with varying expressions of confusion, though it’s Impulse who says something, “Didn’t you already bring him his stuff after he died?” he questions, and Grian quickly shakes his head. 

“No I just – where is he? I-I need to see him, I–” he stammers, thoughts running far too quickly for him to actually think coherently. 

“Up north dude, where he always is.” Martyn replies, though he’s looking at Grian with… something. If he weren’t so distracted by the thought of Scar, he’d probably look closer into that. However, distraction is the card he’s been dealt, and he lets it play. He spins on his heel for the exit, walking briskly with purpose. “Make sure he doesn’t kill you!” Martyn calls after him, “Remember the guy’s on red!"

Grian knows he won’t. 

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

If Grian is being honest with himself, he probably should have put more thought into this. He didn’t even come here with a plan! He had just heard that Scar was north, so north is where he went. He was moving too fast for his brain to actually catch up. 

It was a bit of a journey, getting from the cobbled towers (the Southlanders, his mind supplies) to the big mountain in the north. But the second he saw the hut on top of the mountain, he knew exactly who lived there. 

Maybe what made the journey so difficult was the thoughts that accompanied him. 

Grian won’t say that he ran to Scar’s — because he didn’t. Not really. He had walked. And his thoughts consumed him with every step. 

He’s stuck in another life game. Scar is here. Mumbo is here. He doesn’t know what it means. This game isn’t Third Life, he knows that much. His mind is scrambling, trying to come up with some kind of plan. A strategy. He’s trying to lay out a safety net for himself but he should’ve known from the start it’d be pointless. 

There are no safety nets in a game of death. There are no “plans”, despite how badly Grian may want to use one. He learned in Third Life that plans don’t work, even the most carefully planned strategy blows up in his face. It won’t stop him though. A plan gives him something to fall back on, a faux comfort. 

A plan keeps him from running headfirst into danger, a plan keeps him alive.  

Which is why he probably should’ve come up with a plan before going to Scar. He doesn’t know what kind of state the man will be in. He isn’t sure how to even approach a reunion with him. It’s obvious that he’s in some kind of… who even knows where. Obviously his friends all know him here, but he isn’t sure if they remember him. Who he is. What he’s done. What they’ve all done. 

It doesn’t help that he’s apparently been dropped right in the middle of this new game. 

He doesn’t know how to handle an approach to Scar. Hug him? Smack him? Ask him if he knows who he is? A no on that last one, Jimmy and the others have already answered that. Besides, Grian isn’t sure if he could handle Scar looking at him like Grian was a stranger in every sense of the word except the literal one. 

He settles on just seeing what happens. Sometimes no plan is the best plan! 

But just — not in a death game. 

His thoughts trail off as he approaches the bottom of the mountain, and he looks up. He grimaces as he gets a clearer view of the hut up top, sighing. “Of course Scar had to put his base in the most precarious spot ever,” he grumbles before beginning to make his way up the mountain. He makes sure to be careful with each step, keeping himself aware of where he’s stepping. 

When he makes it to the top of the mountain, he’s rather out of breath, chest heaving from exertion. This mountain is a lot bigger than the one back in the desert. But he reaches the top, and is face to face with a hut made of wood and dark stone. The roof on top looks like a wizard’s hat, and Grian can’t help his fond huff. 

He focuses his gaze on the entryway, finding it wide open. This is it. Scar is beyond that doorway. Grian’s hands shake just at the thought of seeing him again. Anxiety runs through his blood like water, filling him completely. His heart picks up, beating against his ribcage. He swallows thickly. 

A small part of him wants to run away. A small part of him wants to turn around and head right back down the mountain and forget that he even came here. A small part of him is afraid to look Scar in the eyes. It makes him feel like a coward. 

And yet despite that small part of him, Grian walks forward. 

He walks right into the hut, and promptly stops. Right in front of him is none other than Scar. He’s digging around in a barrel, humming to himself. Grian isn’t sure what the tune is, or where it’s from, but the scene feels familiar. His chest aches. 

“Scar?” he says, causing the man to yell out. 

He jumps up in surprise, letting out the typical fearful scream he does whenever he’s snuck up on. It makes Grian smile softly, and god he misses this man. Scar spins around on his heels, turning to look at Grian. Grian gets a good look at his eyes, and he sees a dark red haze swirling in them. There is not a hint of warmth in his eyes, no kind of recollection or even joy at seeing him. Grian isn’t sure what he sees in Scar’s eyes, but he knows that there is anger in them. Bloodlust. 

(He thinks he might see hatred. And that is a thought that shakes him right to his core. He does not want to live in a world where Scar hates him, even if it is justified. Does that make him selfish?) 

“Oh, Grian,” Scar eventually says, and his voice is cold. Empty. He takes a step forward, something whimsical about his footing. Scar is dressed in dark robes, stark white hair peeking out from underneath. “If you’re here to nab another life from me, Grian, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. There is a promise of a threat in his voice. 

Grian frowns at that, chest panging. “I’m not interested in your life, Scar,” he says matter of factly. He’s already taken one (two, if his guilt counts the creeper), he doesn’t want another one. 

A laugh spills from Scar, something lacking any real humor. “Oh, don’t you play with me!” he exclaims, voice sharp and angular. The sound of it causes Grian to jolt in surprise. “You can fool me once or twice! Or…” he trails off, thinking. “Three times, whatever, it doesn’t matter!” 

“Scar…” Grian says, and he quickly realizes that he probably should’ve prepared himself a bit more. He lets the other approach him. There’s something different about him compared to Third Life. Something bitter, cynical. Grian isn’t sure if it’s because of the nature of this new game, or if it’s simply because Scar is on red. 

“No, Grian!” Scar exclaims, reaching for his diamond sword. “You know, I was planning on hitting Team BEST first, give ‘em a real good thrashing. Send a message and all that! Can’t mess with ol’ Scar! Not anymore, no sir!” He takes another step toward Grian. 

It’s the instinct of green life, Grian knows, that has him backing away slowly. He takes a few tiny steps backwards. 

Scar looks at him, something angry and hurt in his gaze, “But I think you’ll make a good first message to the masses. You were the first to take advantage of me, after all.” 

Grian’s back slams into the wall behind him, crushing his wings. He cringes at the feeling, but he doesn’t move. Scar is cornering him, holding the blade to his throat. He easily towers over Grian, putting just enough pressure on his sword to spill a bit of blood. 

Looking at him, Grian doesn’t see a hint of the Scar he once knew. He isn’t quite sure what’s going on here, what the Grian of this game has done to wrong Scar, but what he does know is this. 

He killed Scar. 

And the hatred in Scar’s eyes isn’t misplaced or even misdirected. 

He doesn’t fight back against the blade on his throat, the blade that is spilling his blood. He simply stands there and meets Scar’s hazy red eyes. To Grian, he thinks this is good retribution for the cactus ring. He sees no point in fighting against Scar when this is something he believes he deserves. 

Yet Scar thinks otherwise. 

See, he had expected a lot out of today. He’s on red now, and he had a goal in mind. He was going to make everyone on this forsaken server regret thinking they could just use Scar as they please. He was going to start with BEST, and then work his way to the others. But then Grian just came waltzing in like they were old buddies and Scar wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity slip past him. 

He has a whole separate issue with Grian, after all. 

But as he stares into Grian’s eyes, he sees something odd. Firstly he stares up at Scar with blatant confusion and hurt. It makes him want to laugh. What does Grian possibly have to be hurt over? 

Though that isn’t what makes him pause. No, what makes him truly falter is the guilt he sees in Grian’s eyes. 

He observes the green life in front of him (Wasn’t Grian yellow? Did he swindle someone else out of a life?) and notices that there’s no fight. Grian isn’t pushing back against him. He’s not arguing or drawing his own weapon. Not even as Scar draws blood and pushes the blade harder. 

Suddenly the appeal of killing Grian leaves him. What fun is a kill that rolls over and exposes their weak point? 

Scar scoffs at him before making up his mind and taking a step back. So much for that perfect message in chat. Looks like Team BEST is back as his number one target. He lowers his sword completely. 

Grian watches him with confusion, “Scar?” 

The red life meets his gaze, a deep frown settling on his lips. “Who are you?”

[starry-nights12]

Despair

One Word Prompt (Jinx's Diary Entry)

CW:Brief mention of torture

══════════════════

My Ekko is an actor.

He loves to perform every day.

He pretends that he's fine to his community and presents them with a dazzling smile.

Everyone sat in box seats while I had front-row seats to everything he was going through.

They begrudgingly agreed to let me stay before I came here. That's how good of a leader he is.

Get their hated enemy to stay in their sanctuary all because he was in love with me to give me a second chance.

He didn't tell them that. I figured that was his other reason for having me after we started dating.

I didn't come here for their forgiveness nor expect them to even if I did care.

The crazy, sadistic, psycho they resented was the one to comfort him during his time of need.

When he was on the brink of despair I was the one that had to pull him out before he drowned in it.

Their cheerful leader told me about  violent ways he wanted to kill the chembarons and the enforcers.

I told him about Singed gleefuly operated on me when I woke up in the middle of the surgery. He wanted to join me in finding him and torturing him.

I know it's because he loves me. I also know he wants revenge on the man for creating the drug that ravaged our town.

Even though he loved his people and the secret community he created-he sometimes felt lonely. He missed all of us and wished they were here.

All these people do is take and take AND TAKE.

Never ONCE stopping to think that their beloved, respected leader needed help like they do.

The only worthwhile person here is Scar. We hated each other but eventually, he became our mutual friend.

I hate Heimerdinger the most. I'll never understand him letting a Piltie here.

Ekko has too much of a big heart. It's what I admired about him but also found frustrating.

I tucked him in and kissed his forehead. He's sleeping next to me right now.

Sometimes we both have restless nights. Our nightmares terrorize us and the only safe place was to stay awake.

He hadn't tossed and turned, his face didn't scrunch up, and he wasn't crying yet. I hope he sleeps peacefully throughout the night.

He just finished crying over Benzo and wanted me to comfort him. He hates Silco but lets me cry to him about it.

Uncle Benzo was his father and we both loved him. If I never grabbed those crystals I would have never met Silco.

We still would have had our Dads.

He doesn't blame me because we didn't know the fallout would happen.

He blames himself for even telling Vi. He feels like he ruined everything in our lives.

My poor, sweet angel.

It is my fault.

I'm sorry, Ekko.

I ruin everything I touch yet haven't managed to keep you so far.

That's what angels do. They're able to perform miracles.

He's my world.

He's the air that I breath

He's my everything.

If Ekko gets killed because of me then I might as well die too.

I'll only seal your death if I say it aloud but I love you.

I love you SO much that despite Silco scolding me, I let myself become weak around you.

You ARE my weakness.

He hates you for it.

You're my baby.

I love you unconditionally and want to take care of you. You're precious to me and I savour the time we spend together.

I love you, Little Man.♡

I love you.♡

I love you.♡

I love you.♡

I'll always be your girl just like you promised.♡

I'm yours just as much as you are mine.♡

Forever and always.♡

[whalesandstars]

Pyrophobia

Wanderer & Nahida, Platonic [Hurt/Comfort, Pyrophobia]

Summary:

Fire. It was the vicious monster that nearly burned him to death at the Mikage Furnace. Fire. It was the name of the one that ate Niwa and the young boy’s body until only ashes remained. Fire. It was the element that Dotorre mercilessly used in his experiments. Fire. It was the one that had ruined his daily walk with Nahida, the one that was currently spiraling his thoughts down to the abyss.

He was drowning…drowning in a sea of fire, But thankfully, a little hand reached out to him, And saved him from the fire and his own mind.

“You want me to play the role of a bodyguard while you roam on the streets, is that it?” Wanderer crossed his arms on his chest.

The light on the Sanctuary of Surasthana gave the dendro archon’s eyes a cheerful glow, “You can think of it that way. But personally, I prefer to call it as a stroll with a friend.”

Friend, huh.

Ridiculous. He had tried to replace her as Sumeru’s deity, spat slanderous words to her face, and attempted to kill her and the traveler 168 times. She should resent him. She should have banished him and left him to rot somewhere. Her eyes should hold contempt as it stared at him, but no, it was filled with tenderness. She should have abandoned him, the one who had nearly thrown her beloved nation in chaos, and yet here she was in front of him, her lips not speaking scorn but was instead calling him a friend.

Ridiculous.

“You are too kind for your own good.” He huffed, “While it’s true that you are clever, one day, that kindness of yours will put you at great risk.”

“Well, I do have you to watch my back. So that puts my mind at ease.”

Wanderer chuckled, “So you are indeed appointing me as your bodyguard. Or rather, as your babysitter. Regardless, I do owe you something and if me keeping you company on your frivolous strolls and keeping enemies from stabbing you in the back proves useful to you, I’ll do it.”

Nahida who was getting used to reading his words between the lines, translated the statement as an agreement to her proposal, “Thank you. Though I want to make it clear that I am only asking you to join me and not demanding it. You have a choice. You always have. You are not bound with the obligation to accompany me with the idea of ‘balancing the books’”.

A pause. The Wanderer’s mind pondered on her words.

“I understand.” He replied, “I will not be able to sleep at night if something happened to you anyway.”

Nahida’s eyes widened a little.

Wanderer immediately corrected himself upon seeing the look in her face, “Don’t get me wrong. It just wouldn’t sit well with me if you die without me paying off my debts to you.”

He dropped his arms to his side and continued before the archon could utter a word, “Enough chit chat. Let’s stop wasting time here.” His feet made soft taps on the ground as he started walking towards the door, “There’s usually a lot who line up in your favorite candy shop so if you want to get some before it runs out, we better get going.”

A warm smile bloomed on her face while she jogged to his side.

Wanderer tried to distract himself with the candy in his mouth, which was too sweet for his liking. He rolled it to the other side of his mouth with a scowl, causing the glances of people to retract from the stranger in their city…who was walking with the archon, their hands clasped together.

Earlier, when the crowd in the market was thicker than they expected that day, Lesser Lord Kusanali--Nahida, he corrected upon recalling the little god’s insistence--suggested for them to hold hands in order to avoid being separated from each other. Of course she would come up with such an absurd idea, being the child she was. He growled at her suggestion. However, seeing her big round eyes looking like a puppy seeing the eyes of some people on him, he did not want to cause a scene so he agreed.

Thus here they were, walking in Sumeru City looking like a pair of loving siblings eating candies.

Like a family.

He gulped down the lump in his throat, letting the tooth-rotting sweetness wash away a thought.

The idea of family made him feel warm but the coldness of his memories extinguished it. He remembered the frigidity in the air when his mother abandoned him in a desolate pavilion, in the withered heart of Niwa on his palm, and in the lifeless corpse of a young boy. They were all cold. 

His family. Cold and dead.

Cold as the make believe family he had in Snezhnaya.

Cold like the hollowness in his chest.

He exhaled.

Maybe one day…

One day he would be able to keep the warmth of having a family without fear and without regret.

It may not be tomorrow or the next day, next month, or next year.

But someday.

For now, he would settle on the feeling of Nahida‘s warm hand on his, the mellow light from the sun encasing his whole body now that he was not wearing his hat. Now that he thought of it, a long time had passed since he felt like this; to see the world without the shadow of his hat. For years, he would hide under it, limiting his view and blocking out the people he crossed paths with; his vision faced ahead, to the mission he was tasked with and to the road paved by the unquenchable fury inside him. He would hide his face, his emotions, his vulnerabilities–all of him–under his hat; his walls raised so that no one would be able to hurt him again.

Today though, Nahida suggested that he keep his hat hidden to avoid it bumping people along the way. Without it, he felt a little naked, a small patch of fear lingering in a dark corner within him. But…it was nice. This was nicer than he thought. It was like a veil had been lifted from his eyes, allowing him to see the vibrant colors around him. He was no longer seeing a straight and narrow path but the whole area, the colorful silk fabrics on the stalls, the redness of apples in  baskets, the greenery decorating the streets, and even the blueness of the sky above him. Without the obstruction, he was no longer seeing feet at the corner of his eyes, but the arms of people as they gestured, and their faces, including their expressions and emotions.

Maybe taking walks like this was not too bad.

Yeah, it was not too bad.

Especially with the reassuring warmth by his side.

It was now Friday and the rest of the morning was spent in idle leisure as always. They had picked fabrics that Nahida could use to make new clothes for him. They had tried some food he had not tried before with the archon countering his argument of not having a need to eat using ‘it’s all about the flavor and the experience’ . They also came across a peculiar dusk bird that could sing. However, he could not share the archon’s enthusiasm for it, not when it was too loud and annoying, not after it had insulted him by perching on his head and making his hair some sort of nest. The audacity. If not for Nahida trying to pacify his anger, he would have sent it straight to the desert in a blast of anemo.

As the day dragged on, the archon pulled him to different places as if they were birds jumping from one branch to another. Or perhaps the better wording was that she was teaching a bird who had fallen from the sky and had broken a wing how to fly again little by little. She would help him stabilize in the air whenever his thoughts stumbled and spiraled to the ground. She would stay by his side whenever he tried to fold his wings around himself, until he felt safe and comfortable enough to unfurl them and take flight with her again. She was the wind beneath his wings. She would guide him, support him, until he found his way out of the dark forest that kept him prisoner and into the clear blue sky where he could be free.

He was doing better than he ever did for the past 400 years thanks to Nahida’s company and wisdom.

He was recovering.

But when you were on the road to recovery,

Sometimes,

The path you were walking on could suddenly collapse.

Today was one of those.

It was supposed to be a simple stroll to the market for supplies. It was the same song and dance they had done countless times before.

He could remember the smile on Nahida’s face as she held out a bouquet of flowers given to her, the way her eyes shone as she offered him a rare blue Sumeru rose, and the mocking tone in his voice when he said that he could find a much more astonishing flower than that one. He could recall her inviting him to a performance happening in the Grand Bazaar next week.

He remembered her small hand tugging on his sleeve.

Then nothing.

Only the fire.

The flames that erupted from a nearby stall.

Close.

Too close.

It was staring at him,

About to devour him.

Nahida was speaking to him, but he could not understand it.

His body trembled.

His hands clenched into fists.

His teeth gnashed together.

Hot.

Too hot.

Its hands were reaching towards him.

It burns,

It burns,

It burns,

The flame warped its hands around his throat.

He gasped.

He could not breathe.

Fire. Fire Fire.

It was inches away from his face.

Burns. Burns. Burns.

It was choking him.

He took a step back.

He could not breathe.

Another step back.

It hurts.

Another.

His skin was on fire, peeling it, turning them to ash.

Another step back,

Until he was running.

Away. Away. Away.

Away from the fire, away from everything.

He did not know where he was going. The surroundings were all a blur and everything was spinning. His thoughts were a pile of ashes blown away by the wind.

He ran away.

He ran away from the Mikage Furnace but the flames, but the pain still followed and scorched him. His skin was on fire. He was on fire. Every inch of his body screaming at the agonizing pain that was consuming him. Tears fell from his eyes. 

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Help me.

He ran and ran only to find himself inside a burning horse, the ashes of his little brother left on his feet–

It burns.

Then he was back at Dotorre’s lab, the fire reflected on the Doctor’s maniacal gaze as he pressed a blazing torch on his skin.

Stop.

It hurts.

Help.

Help me.

The smoke obscured his vision that was already hazy from tears.

He tried to pull a breath onto his artificial lungs, but he was underwater, under a sea of fire and he was drowning.

He placed his hands on his ears because even though he was underwater, their voices were not muffled–Niwa’s final words, the child’s promise, Dotorre’s mad laughter. He could hear them all at the same time, screaming at him, blending with his own sobs as the fire ate him alive, as the water pulled him into the deepest and darkest depths.

He was blinking away the tears, shaking his head. gritting his teeth against the pain, against the sensation of being burned to death. He was opening and closing his mouth but no breath came.

“--rer!”

He was burning.

He was suffocating.

He was dying--

“Wanderer!”

His head snapped at the person in front of him.

White hair, emerald eyes.

Nahida.

“I–I can’t–” He huffed, his eyes wide and frantic, “It burns, I can’t…”

Small hands took his, “Wanderer, look at me.”

With panic in his eyes, he looked at her.

Nahida squeezed his hands and spoke gently, “Follow my breathing.”

She took a deep breath, letting the wind fill her lungs. She held it in for a while before exhaling it, her shoulders sagging as tension left her body.

“Breath in…and out…” She watched her panicking companion struggle to follow her actions, “You can breathe. Just slow down. Repeat what I am doing.”

He tried his best to imitate Nahida, focusing on her face, the rush of wind in her chest and mouth, and let the air she exhaled supply his failing reserve stolen by the sea of fire. He followed her until he was no longer suffocating underwater, until the pain in his skin lessened.

“Just like that.” Nahida commended. Her thumbs started drawing circles on the back of his trembling hands, “Now focus on the action I am doing on your hand. Feel my skin against yours, the motion, and the warmth of my hand. Can you do that for me?”

Wanderer nodded, his calmer gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. He watched her dainty fingers dance on his. He followed the trail they walked on, focusing his attention on how they brush against his hand, how soft they were compared to his wooden limbs, and how warm they were as they lightly massaged his cold hand.

“Wanderer.” She called, causing him to return his gaze to her face, “Can you say the colors of the first three items you can see?”

“Your eyes, green.” His eyes shifted to the left and found a small pebble on the ground, “A gray stone.” Indigo irises roamed around the surroundings, “A brown tree.”

He was in a forest. Though he did not remember how he got here or where this part of the jungle was exactly located.

“Good. Now I want you to wiggle your fingers and toes. Yes, like that.” She nodded, “Feel the grass beneath you, how it tickles your skin and how your weight sits on it.”

He was in a forest, he repeated. He was not in the Mikage Furnace or that burning house. He was not in Dotorre’s lab. The Doctor was not here; he could not harm him.

He was in a forest with Nahida, with only the slight rustle of leaves and chirping birds were audible. The wind was calm and the blue sky was clear. He was not burning. There were no flames here, only trees and a moment of peace.

“You are safe here with me.” Nahida blanketed his trembling form with reassurance.

They stayed like that for a while, basking in the warmth of the sun, in the calmness that the earth offered, and in the presence of one another. Nahida was the anchor that kept him from being swept away by the tides of his fears, the hand that pulled him out of the murky sea, the cold water that extinguished the flames and soothed his burns until they were mere echoes of the past. With her here, his body stopped trembling. With her hands holding his, no more tears fell down his lap.

“Are you feeling better, Wanderer?” Concern swam in her emerald irises, her voice as soft as the whisper of the wind that passed by.

He hastily wiped away the remaining dampness in his eyes with his arm and straightened his back, “Yes. I apologize that you have to see such ugly display.”

She shook her head, “There is no need to apologize. Things like this do happen.”

Great, he had embarrassed himself in front of an archon, in front of a child.

“You do not have to be embarrassed about this. It is not an ugly sight. After what you have been through, this is to be expected. So please, do not beat yourself up over this.”

“...What happened?” He asked, seeking answers from the archon’s eyes.

“Let us start with what you last remember.”

“Fine. We were strolling through the street and you’re inviting me to watch a performance then there was a fire…” He trailed off, feeling the nauseating feeling crawl back into his throat.

She placed her hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze, “That is correct. Apparently, a group of children accidentally hit a store owner’s table while playing, causing a candle to come in contact with flammable materials. A fire broke out moments after. You spaced out for a moment then ran away. After giving instructions to the people about safely putting out the flames, I followed you here.”

“Sorry for running off like that.”

Nahida shook her head, “Do not worry about it.” Her eyes softened, “If it is okay with you, can I ask what happened?”

He steered his gaze away from the archon, “When I saw the fire, I…” He fumbled to find the right words, “I felt uneasy.”

Terrified was the more accurate term but his pride did not allow him to verbalize it even though he knew his actions earlier spilled it already to Nahida.

“The next thing I knew, I was running. I don’t know where I’m going but I just kept running and found myself here.”

“Then I ran here to clear off my mind.”

Nahida’s head bobbed, not saying a word to the unspoken words she heard from his mind, “I understand.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing, “When a person experiences severe psychological distress, it can heavily affect them that day onwards. When they encounter something that reminds them of those upsetting memories, their body’s fight or flight reaction activates to save themselves from the perceived threat.”

Her palms rested on her lap, “In your case, the fire must have triggered that reaction.”

She recalled the turmoil inside her upon seeing how distraught he was when she found him, trembling, panic and pain in his eyes as he struggled to breathe while uttering the words,

“It burns, it hurts, help me.”

She was calling him over and over, but her voice could not reach him. He was in too deep in his delirium, which she could infer was caused by the memories she saw in his mind that were deeply rooted to fire. She had to use a bit of dendro to help calm his mind a little, to create an opening where she could stick her hand in and pull him out of his misery.

“How do you get rid of it?”

The question broke Nahida’s trail of thoughts.

He folded his arms on his chest and tried to regain his old composure, raising back his defenses, “I don’t want it interfering with future battles and other tasks.”

A sad smile appeared in her face at how he worded it as if it was something that could be easily discarded like trash, “I am afraid I cannot give you a definite answer to that. Each individual’s situation is unique. I can help formulate some measures to help you recover but this type of wound takes time to heal. So I ask you to be patient with yourself.”

He replied with silence, his mind processing her words.

An idea struck her at that moment, “Though we can do something now to help ease it.”

“What is it?”

With warm sunlight spilling down her form, Nahida’s smile was loving and radiant as she spread out her arms, “A hug.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Is this some kind of joke? You’re toying with me are you?”

“Why would I joke about such a serious topic? Researchers had found out that a hug created a feeling of calmness and relaxation. It is good for relieving stress.”

No response.

Her arms were getting heavier but she did not lower them, “Can I?”

He pondered for a while before releasing a sigh, “Suit yourself.”

Nahida’s voice sang merrily, “Thank you.”

Others said that when one experienced the warmth of another person, when they feel arms wrapping around them, tender and full of love, that was the time they would truly know what it meant to not be alone. When there was someone who would hold them as they wept, embrace them as if they were their most beloved treasure, accept them for being their vulnerable and weak self, they would know what it felt like to be loved. It was how deep wounds start to heal. It was when a wanderer endlessly and aimlessly roaming around the world finds a home.

A hug was not a miracle cure by any means.

It would not erase the wounds or the scars left by the fire.

It would not be able to restore a broken vase to its former unblemished self.

What it could do was to ease the pain,

And let you know that at this moment,

You were safe and loved.

Even if everything seemed to be crumbling before your eyes,

Even if the ground beneath your feet disintegrates,

Even if your fears try to pull you underwater,

I will be here,

Holding your hand.

You are not alone.

Not anymore.

[earthstellar]

Classics Mirage and the Turbo-Fox Sanctuary

I like that in the Classics (Marvel US continuation) continuity, after the war, G1 Mirage returns to Cybertron 

and in the wake of realising pretty much all of his old friends/fellow nobles are dead, he decides to open up a turbo-fox sanctuary as they are now an endangered species

I’m just imagining this really massive Towers estate being converted into a nature preserve with a bunch of turbo-foxes hanging out in a huge open enclosure and Mirage dutifully helping the population so it can restore itself 

Perhaps Mirage was so burnt out on the war by the time it ended, he was so sick of killing anything, that he sees this turbo-fox population dwindling and nearly extinct and immediately sets to work trying to save the species because 1) what else is there and 2) they deserve better than to die out, like Cybertronians themselves very nearly did 

Something he used to hunt for sport becomes his only real anchor to his past (and the pre-war era in general); Creatures that he used to consider only as trophies have become the last living memory of his entire lifestyle, and that lifestyle can no longer exist, and it shouldn’t exist 

He feels bad for the old days, when he got so much joy out of hunting them down-- The way they scratch up his paint when they try to climb him doesn’t bother him, the hard work involved in making sure all the new babies have enough fuel and are well-groomed with healthy plating keeps him busy 

Mirage surrounded by baby turbo-foxes in the slowly re-growing ruins of a Towers crystal garden-- He doesn’t have to think about the war so much, looking at the ruins of all the other Towers estates doesn’t hurt as much, now that they have a new and better purpose  

He can’t bring back his friends, but he can help this little species 

and yeah I know canonically after a while Optimus calls him back from Cybertron to go to Earth and keep doing more fighting bullshit 

but still, I think the whole idea of Mirage starting up a turbo-fox habitat out of the ruins of the homes of the people that used to hunt them constantly is a really good way of showing not just how much things changed due to the war, but how much war changed Mirage himself--

--and how a more peaceful, beneficial, restorative outcome can still be possible in the ruins of both personal and planetary destruction 

(tagging this with ROTB too, because that’s the current Mirage zeitgeist, lmao)

[ravenrose18]

My Personal Savior

Chapter 3- Reunion in Ruin

Raven sees all the men come out of the building and a woman backs away from the gate and holds her hands up she only has a pistol, a set of knives, and a crossbow with a backpack of course. She keeps her head down, barely showing her face she keeps her hands up

"I was just looking for shelter. I didn't know this place was occupied it looked abandoned." She says softly, glancing up with her icy blue eyes looking around her, not knowing what's going to happen next.

Even though Raven was keeping her hands up and away from her weapons, Arat remained on high alert. After everything that she and the Saviors had faced during the apocalypse, she couldn't help but be cautious. One wrong choice could compromise everything that they had worked so hard for.

Arat's eyes scanned over the new face once more, taking note of how shy and nervous Raven seemed. Of course, anyone would react that way with a gun in their face, but she was still a little worried that Raven might have other intentions than just settling down."You're looking for shelter?" She repeated, her voice expressing her skepticism, "Who told you that we were letting people in?"

Raven looks up at her keeping her hands up and shakes her head "Nobody I just saw this place and thought it was abandoned I thought I could take shelter here I don't mean to be a bother or a threat of any kind but I only hurt people if they threatened me or intend to hurt me. But you're trying to stay on guard, and I get it. I have been alone this whole living in the woods and finding whatever shelter or food I can." She says softly

Arat listened closely to what Raven said. As sincere as it seemed, she still wasn't quite sure about how to regard her.

"How do we know that you're telling the truth? I mean, staying alone this entire time? You didn't join a group even once?" She had just begun to open her mouth to speak again, but before a single word could be uttered, something interrupted her. It was a whistle, a simple one with just two notes. A high note to a low note, a brief pause, then the same thing over again.

As innocent as it seemed, the men's fierce expressions lightened, fear shining in their eyes. They lowered their weapons and moved away from the gate, giving room to whoever was approaching. A deep, grave voice chuckled before speaking up. "Arat, is that any way to be speaking to our guests?" Soon, Negan strolled up to the gate, curious about what the fuss was all about. His trademark grin was stretched across his lips. Lucille was casually lying upon his shoulder, her polished barbed wire glistening in the fading sunlight. His eyes didn't look at the visitor just yet. Instead, he turned his gaze to Arat.

Arat sighed, avoiding his eyes for a moment before eventually making eye contact. "Sorry, Boss. You can't be too careful these days."

"The hardworking people of the Sanctuary are what makes this whole operation. Remember that the next time you try to turn down the miracle of an eager, able-bodied person who saunters up to our gates." Though he didn't raise his voice, it was clear that she got the message. Arat nodded, apologizing once more before taking a step back.

Raven closes her eyes, and then she hears the whistle she looks at the men, and then the woman, At their reaction and noticing the man walking up he must be the leader/ boss of this place.

But once Raven heard that voice, she couldn't believe her ears she thought she never hear his voice again, let alone see him again. After she left once she found out bout Lucille's diagnosed cancer she had to get out of there she didn't want to come between her and Negan while they figured out everything Raven even knew about Negan cheating on Lucille but never said anything. She tries to stay strong and act like she doesn't know him yet. After she went back home to kill her parents after the apocalypse started, she went back to Negan's house, and it was burnt to the ground she didn't know if Negan was still alive or not. She just stood there looking down as the hood covered her face, and she kept her hands up. Negan turned his eyes away from Arat, placing his full, undivided attention on Raven. He didn't recognize her yet, due to her face being hidden from sight. "Sorry about that, sweetheart. You'll have to excuse my dear friend, Arat, here. She's a fiery one." He spoke with a grin. After a moment, he glanced her over, taking note of the weapons that he could see. Although, he didn't seem too bothered by them, for his bravado never wavered. He took a small step forward, leaning into the step a little. "So, I overheard that you want to join our little group. Well, you are more than welcome to skip your merry way in, but that's only if you're willing to work like everyone else here. You pull your part, and you'll get food, a place to lay your weary head, and protection from everything out there that wants to kill you." He moved his hand a little to hold Lucille a little more comfortably before continuing to speak. "Now, to me, that sounds like a damn good deal.

So, what do you say?"Raven glances up slightly at him she sees his face and recognizes him immediately she is in shock but she doesn't want to get in the way or be a distraction for him being a leader here maybe they get alone later and catch up. "I'm willing to help in any way I can. I know how to scavenge, hunt, track, and I know how to defend myself, and I know how to kill." She says softly as she puts her hands down and starts messing with her necklace. When she is nervous or starts getting anxious, it helps her calm down. She hopes Negan hasn't changed a lot to where it's a different Negan than who she once knew before the apocalypse, but everybody changes because the apocalypse makes people do crazy and unthinkable things. He watched her glance up but didn't quite catch her facial features. From what he could tell, she seemed a little familiar, but he didn't think too much of it. After all, he could have seen her at some neighboring community while on a supply run. People from other communities had joined them before. His smile brightened as he heard her list her talents.

She was exactly the type of person that they needed. "Well, then. What are we waiting for? Let the poor girl in." He looked to one of the men, who, without a moment of hesitation, opened up the gate for her to walk inside. Negan's eyes trailed back over to her before landing on the pendant as she messed with it, his smile fading slightly. It was the same necklace he had given Raven. His eyes jumped from the necklace over to her face, but unfortunately, he couldn't see it. Then the sinking feeling hit. If this wasn't Raven, then how would the girl get that necklace? Of course, she could have just bought one similar before the outbreak. Negan momentarily pushed the thought of the necklace aside. He'd ponder on it later when he was alone. He forced his smile right back, waiting for her to walk into the Sanctuary. The old Negan was still in there, but he was overshadowed by what he'd become. Now and then, the old him would slip out, but it wasn't often.

Raven smiles softly and nods as she walks past the gate and looks around her she is going to keep her guard up she may have been invited in by Negab but that doesn't mean she will trust anybody she follows Negan into the building she needs to get alone with him she doesn't want their reunion to be witnessed by everyone in his group. "Do you mind showing me around and maybe if it's okay to clean up umm... I like to have a moment alone with the leader of this group to know what is accepted and the rules." She says

They immediately closed the gate behind her. A few stayed there to keep guard in case of anyone else, but everyone else began to disperse to do their own thing. A group of 5 stayed with her and Negan as they walked into the sanctuary, acting as guards in case anything were to go wrong.

Negan didn't seem fazed in the slightest by the requests. After all, that was normal stuff that he had heard every single time, just delivered differently. However, the last bit piqued his interest. His brows raised and he stopped in place, flipping around to face her. He leaned back a little, his mouth slightly agape. A scoff of amusement escaped his lips before he smiled once again. "Well, that's a new one. Usually, Laura is the one to tell the rules since people are too scared to ask me themselves, but this is a breath of fresh air. Finally, someone with some guts from the get-go." He stood upright once more, before looking to the followers. He gave a gesture with his hand for them to disperse, and though a little reluctant, they did as they were told. Once they had left, Negan put his attention back on her. "So, what does the lady of the hour want to do first?"

Raven smiles and giggles "How bout we talk in private first in your room? I don't feel comfortable being around so many people and I might as well talk to the man himself and know who I'm putting my trust and life to. I don't trust people easily and like I told Arat I was alone this whole time that's why I never was in a group." She says

Negan looked even more surprised by the request, his smile brightening. Whoever this was, Raven or not, he already had respect for. No one in that Sanctuary was brave enough to be completely alone in the same room with him. Even his second in command, Simon, feared Negan at times. However, a possible stranger was willing to put themselves in a vulnerable situation, having only just arrived there. That either meant that they were crazy, or extremely brave. Either way, he saw that as a win. "Well, shit. This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" He gestured for her to follow him, before beginning to make the journey to his room. His worn, black cowboy boots echoed on the concrete floor as he walked.

Raven smiles and walks with him toward his room she knows as soon as she gets in that room with him she is going to reveal herself to him by taking off her jacket since her body is covered in scars from all the abuse she has gone through with tattoos he is sure going to recognize her. She may think this might be a bit of a weird request and whoever is nearby watching might think she is crazy but if Negan was going to hurt her to show he is a leader and show people to fear him then she might as well show she is not afraid of him or anyone. She was getting warm with her leather jacket so she unzipped it showing a black tank top underneath. She wore black ripped jeans with combat boots. She was surprised to find the boots in a store to replace her old ones.

It didn't take too long for them to reach his room. Inside, it looked like some kind of hotel suite. A Queen size bed with a fancy gray comforter and matching pillows, realistic fake plants, wicker lampshades on floor lamps, two designer armchairs with a triangle pattern embroidered on the fabric, extravagant vases, and a pronghorn's head mounted on the wall. Other than that, there was a leather couch, a glass coffee table, a modern shelf filled with books, some fancy rugs, a stereo, and a few other things. He stood aside from the door, gesturing for her to enter the room ahead of him. "Ladies first."

Raven looks at him and smiles as she walks into his room as she looks around she takes off her backpack and sets it beside the couch. Raven has her back towards him and she takes off her jacket and puts it on the back of the couch and she stretches. "Oh, your room is very nice. Man, it feels good to let my skin breathe I never take my jacket off." She says as she looks down at the tattoo she got with Negan on her forearm.

Next Chapter

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