#and when i try to gather the broken pieces of those memories

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Keyhole

Pairing: Dark!Marc Spector x Reader 

Summary: After a break-in at your apartment, your neighbor offers you comfort in a time when you most need it. 

Warnings: Fluff, Meet-cute-ish, Romance, Smut, Overstimulation, Breeding, Canon Typical Violence, Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Kidnapping, Murder, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Drugging, Implied torture, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

A/N: that request for dark Marc just really got all the gears turning lol. i don’t have the triple PoV in this fic (sorry everyone) but i do reference steven and jake! do trust that they are there and they are thoroughly enjoying themselves, haha. mind the warnings! bottom divider courtesy of @firefly-graphics

The door is open. 

It shouldn’t be—you’d locked it securely when you left, you know you did. Human memories are fallible, sure, but not now. Not this time. There was no comforting thunk as the deadbolt slid out of its home when you had turned your key. 

There was no sound at all. 

With a trembling hand, you reach out to touch your front door, laying your palm flat against the faded white paint. The metal is cool under your hand, but you only feel it for a moment as the door swings open easily. You clap a terrified hand over your mouth at the sight of your apartment. Even from the doorway you can see its been ransacked; the cupboards you can see are all open, dishes thrown onto the floor in broken shards of porcelain. There are clothes in the hallway, your things strewn about haphazardly. You begin to take a step over the threshold to assess the damage and pause immediately. 

What if Jamie’s in there?

He was out now, as per the email you’d received two months ago. You’d moved states away by now of course, but the fear was unshakeable, and now neither was your suspicion. You don’t want to go in, not now and certainly not alone. You take a step back instead, keeping your eyes on the open door—or, at least, you try to.

“Careful, neighbor.” You turn with a start, though your shoulders sag with relief when instead of Jamie, you see your neighbor. Marc smiles at you, though his expression darkens as his eyes dart over your shoulder. “What happened here?” He steps around you to peer worriedly into your apartment. “Everything okay?”

You’re not a dramatic person—and not usually a crier on the worst of days. Even Jamie had had to raise a fist to get you to shed a tear, and those were more out of anger at your own helplessness and the pain rather than fear. But you feel them gathering in the corners of your eyes now, your chin trembling as you try to hold the pieces all together. 

“I—I don’t—” You swallow thickly. “I think my ex…” You trail off, and he places a hand on your shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t go in there alone.” He casts another dubious look at your apartment. “Is he still in there?” You shake your head, shrugging with a choked sob. 

“I don’t know!” You wrap your arms around yourself as you feel a shiver work its way through you. “I don’t know.” 

“Okay, why don’t you come with me. We’re going to call the cops, okay? And they’ll check everything out, make sure it’s safe for you to go home.” You’ve met Marc on more than a few occasions. There’s only so much you can learn about a person on a twenty minute bus ride, but you don’t think he’s the sort to hurt you. 

At least, you hope not. You suppose you don’t have the greatest track record, given the circumstances. But you don’t want to stand out here in the hallway, and you can’t go in there. 

“Okay.” 

—

Marc’s apartment sits opposite yours, but you realize as he shuts the door behind you that you’ve never even caught a glimpse of it before. He tosses his coat on the little bench by the door, and you kick off your shoes next to his, nudging them beneath it with your toe when you’re done. The apartment itself seems to be the inverse of yours in layout. There’s a strange mish-mash of furniture; old, antique chairs and side tables, with a sleek, modern couch and bookshelves. And God, are there bookshelves. They line nearly every room, and they’re crammed to the max with all manner of books, and what looks to be a mix of actual scrolls and loose papers. 

You’re ashamed and embarrassed, but too upset to stop the tears, panic tightening your throat until you’re gasping and choking with every sob. You don’t mean to cry in front of him—you really don’t, but once they start they don’t stop. How had he found you? You’d been so careful, had done everything the attorney had suggested and more and it still wasn’t enough. Jamie had sniffed you out, and it hadn’t even taken him very long. You’re so focused on that that it escapes your notice that every wheezing breath you draw into your lungs is smaller than the one before it until your vision narrows. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you realize—

Panic attack, I’m having a panic attack—

“Hey, hey, Sweetheart I know this is awful, but you have to calm down.” Marc squeezes your shoulders as you stare unseeingly at him, willing the noise in your head to stop.  “Can you focus on me? On what I’m saying right now?” You can barely hear him over your own frenzied thoughts—where Jamie was, what his next move would be, why he couldn’t just leave you the fuck alone. Marc threads his fingers through yours, holding both your hands against his chest. 

“I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? You have to breathe, Sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Take a nice deep breath in, okay?” You inhale a shaky breath, whimpering as you release it. Mark’s warm brown eyes are so easy to focus on, and he nods encouragingly. “

When the police arrive, he lets them in, standing protectively over you as they question you. 

“So your old boyfriend’s jealous of your new boyfriend, here.” The dismissiveness drips from the officer’s tone. He isn’t even writing anything down, his thumbs hooked through the loops of his belt as he shakes his head at you, like this is your fault somehow. You shoot an apologetic look at Marc. 

“Oh, we’re not—” You shake your head. Of course he’d want to chalk everything up to a little domestic disturbance, and it’s hard not to be angry at his dismissal. “My ex’s name is Jamie Parrish, and he got out of prison almost two months ago.” He has the good grace to look ashamed of himself, at least. “I have reason to believe he’ll be back, if he’s not still…” 

“He’s not, ma’am.” The second officer shakes his head. “There wasn’t anyone. But we did find this.” He produces a small, square jewelry box from his pocket, and you feel your stomach lurch. It’s white, a gold stripe running along the edges. “Have you seen this before? It was sitting on a plate in the kitchen.” He opens it, and you nearly puke. 

It’s that goddamn fucking ring.

You’d hated that thing when Jamie had showed it to you—and his pouting at the store had become full fledged screaming in the car when you’d said you’d rather have something else. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, he’d said, ignoring your panic as the car accelerated, swerving wildly. Didn’t you want to fucking get married? Why didn’t you want to be with him? Why were you making this so goddamn hard—

“Yes.” You lick your dry lips. “I’ve seen that ring before.” 

In the end, they take your statement and leave, and you feel much the same as before they’d gotten there. You had thought, naively, maybe, that the police’s presence, their sweep of your apartment would make you feel safer, not worse. 

Fool me twice, I guess. They’d never been particularly helpful, even when you’d answered the door bearing the marks of Jamie’s displeasure. 

“Fucking assholes.” Marc slams the door behind them. He shakes his head. “At least there’s a paper trail now.” You nod, and force a thin smile. 

“Right. Thanks, Marc.” He sits down beside you on the couch. “You okay?” 

”I want to lie and say I am, but I am really, really, not.” 

“Can’t say I blame you.” When he rests his hand on your thigh, it feels friendly, not forward. “Look, I know we don’t… You don’t have to go back there tonight. If you don’t want to, I mean.” The offer is tempting. You don’t want to go back to your apartment, not tonight. Hell, maybe not ever. You feel like turning tail and running now that Jamie’s found you, but you know you can’t do that tonight, either. And Marc is nice. 

“Would it be weird if I took you up on it?” You ask with a little laugh. “I just… I don’t want to be alone in there, you know?” He smiles warmly, and you feel your cheeks heat.

“It’s not weird if I offered it.” He stands up. “Let me change the sheets on the bed.” 

“W-what?” You stare at him. “I’m not taking your bed.” 

“The couch is fine for me, trust me.” His smile goes a little sad, somehow. “I don’t get much sleep anyway.” 

—

You help him change the sheets on his bed, noting the large fish tank on the opposite wall. There’s a fish inside, and as you step closer, you realize he’s only got one fin.

“What’s this guy’s name?” You ask, jerking a thumb at the tank. Marc snorts. 

“Gus.” He smooths out the comforter. “The one-finned-wonder.” He smooths the comforter down with both hands before standing back up. Marc  had been sweet enough to accompany you back to your apartment long enough to get some clothes, but the entire time you’d been there you’d felt watched, and you wonder if Jamie had found time to bug the place, or something. 

“I’ll be right out there if you need anything.” 

Sleep is slow and reluctant to come, and you toss and turn in your neighbor’s bed, staring at his ceiling. It’s not that it isn’t comfortable—it is. It’s more that you just feel uneasy, something you attribute to Jamie’s sudden return to your life to wreak havoc. 

Around midnight you give up and decide to get a glass of water. You take extra care not to make a sound as you creep out of the bedroom, though your efforts prove fruitless when you spy Marc sitting up at the table in the living room, back bent over a book. You pad into the kitchen and search the cupboards for a glass.   The water comes out of the tap surprisingly cold, and you take a grateful sip before peeking back out of the kitchen. 

You realize he’s muttering to himself in a low voice, so low you can’t hear him. He shakes his head like he’s responding to someone else you can’t see. 

“Marc?” He goes silent, sitting straight up. He doesn’t respond for a full ten seconds, before he shudders, and turns. 

“Hey.” 

“Are you okay?” You ask, your brows knitted together with concern. He glances at the table, and then back to you.

“Yeah, I—” He scrubs his hand down his face. “I was just reading.” Marc closes the old looking book in front of him, before running his hands through his hair. “Can’t sleep either?” He asks, and you laugh bitterly. 

“I guess not.” You take another sip of your water. “I can’t shake the thought that Jamie’s still there, or something, I know it’s ridiculous but I can’t.” 

“It’s not ridiculous. He sounds like a real piece of shit.” Marc actually looks angry, his fingers twitching against the table like he wants to curl them into fists. You sit in one of the wooden chairs next to him at the dining table. “You said he was in prison?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was supposed to be ten years.” 

“And how many did he do?”

“Three.” 

“Fucking Christ.” 

Marc pushes himself away from the table, shaking his head. He heads into the kitchen, and you find yourself drawn to the book on the table. There are hieroglyphs on the cover, though, not English as you’d expected. Post-its stick out of it, scrawling handwriting on them. Marc didn’t much seem like the scholarly type, much less the type to take notes and do homework for fun, but who were you to begrudge people their interests?

He returns with a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses, each with a couple of cubes of ice.

“Here.” He pours you one and then himself, lifting it in a silent toast, and you take yours gratefully. “You earned it.” The whiskey burns pleasurably as you sip it down. 

“You’ve been… thank you,” you say, stumbling over the words embarrassingly. “Tonight has been a nightmare.” 

“No problem. I mean, I figured you wouldn’t try to rob me or stab me in my sleep,” He says, laughing. “Thought we might have enough good will built up from all those bus rides.” He winks and your cheeks warm. You laugh too, and it actually feels good—needed. When you drain your glass, he picks up the bottle, offering you another pour. You nod. 

“Please.” You’re feeling comfortably warm and fuzzy by the time you’re finished with the second glass, shaking your head when Marc offers again. “I better not. I still haven’t decided if I’m going in to work tomorrow.” 

He clucks his tongue. “Seriously? You can’t actually be thinking of going in after this.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of your apartment, and then shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m not—I’m really not trying to tell you what to do. It’s just… I don’t think it’s a good idea. With what you told me about this guy, we need to make sure you’re safe.” 

“We?” You ask teasingly. “Is that like the royal we?” He doesn’t answer. “I’ve been dealing with Jaimie for years on my own. It just feels… normal.” You admit. He’s your own personal boogeyman, showing up when you least expect it just to wreak havoc on your life. He gets off on it, you know he does. The control of it all. 

“That’s exactly why an outside perspective,” Marc points a finger at himself, “is necessary.” You tap thoughtful fingers on the rim of your glass. You grimace. He does have a point. 

“Maybe calling out until the cops have him back in custody is a good idea.” 

“Just sleep on it.” Marc says, holding his hands up placatingly. “That’s all I ask.” He’s just as easy to talk to as he had been on the bus, all charming smiles and pleasant banter. “I just… I would hate for something to happen to you.” The words sound like an admission, and they bring heat to your cheeks. Your fingers slip against the rim of the glass and it tilts dangerously, the ice nearly spilling out until you right it with a clatter. The thought occurs to you that your  very handsome neighbor might be interested in you in a more than neighborly way. 

“You would?” 

“I—well, isn’t it obvious?” He asks with a little laugh. He sets down his half full glass on the table. 

“Not to me, apparently.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “But I am notoriously bad at reading the room.” Marc laughs and you do too. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this after finding out I have an insane ex.” Marc snorts, glancing at the window beside you before meeting your eyes again. 

“We’re not worried about him.” 

“Again with the we stuff,” you say, shaking your head. “Your apartment isn’t the one that got ransacked.” You shiver. “I’m just… I’m glad I wasn’t there. I’m glad you weren’t there.” It’s all too easy to remember just how hard Jamie can hit. Absently, your fingers trace the scar just beneath the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Sweetheart, I’m more than capable of defending myself. And you.” The confidence in his words makes you shiver pleasantly. “Trust me.” There’s a heat in his eyes and in his voice that leaves you both interested and a little apprehensive. It’s a bad time to date—though it seems lately it’s always a bad time to date. Jamie had been practically breathing down your neck even from prison before you’d moved, calling, sending letters ranging from promises to do better when he returned and threatening that you would regret ever having involved the law in the first place. 

Not exactly the stuff budding relationships are made to withstand. 

You lick your dry lips. “And you’re anticipating having to do that?” 

“If you needed me to.” He says it plainly and without hesitation, and a little chill travels up your spine at his matter-of-fact delivery, and the dark intensity of his gaze. 

“Awfully neighborly of you.” The whiskey burning in your belly has emboldened you—you want to hear him say it. Hear him admit it, instead of dancing around it. You need Marc to make it real—mostly because you’re afraid to. He grins at you, and your stomach twists itself into a gordian knot. 

“Maybe I’m interested in being more than neighborly.” His hand is warm when he places it over yours on the table. You revel in it for a second too long before withdrawing your hand, curling it against your chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I—” He pinches the bridge of his nose before scrubbing a hand down his face. “Whiskey.” 

You nod with a soft laugh. “Yeah,” you say, swallowing thickly. “Whiskey.” The silence is even louder than his admission, and you find yourself making excuses to escape it. “I should, um. I should head to, to bed.” 

“Mm.” Marc nods, his eyes back on the window. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

When you close the bedroom door you linger in front of it, rocking from foot to foot. It’s been so long since you’ve dated, you’re unsure of the etiquette—you don’t remember the proper order of operations, not anymore. The debate in your head leaves you paralyzed, fingers twisting in the hem of your t-shirt. Should you go back out? Talk more? Do you even have anything to say? 

Should you tell him that you like him too? 

That you look forward to your Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday shifts the most because those are the ones that start with him? Honesty’s a stranger to you now, mostly because being honest about your feelings had usually been a one-way-ticket to Jamie’s shit list—but Marc isn’t Jamie. 

He’s not. 

You place a hand on the door handle, and when you push down it swings back open easily, revealing Marc on the other side. His hand is outstretched, like he’d been about to do the exact same thing. 

“Come here.” Marc groans as he pulls you hard against him. You’re dizzy from him—and from the whiskey you can still feel warming your veins. His mouth feels so good on yours that you whine a little in protest when he stiffens and pulls away. 

“I—fuck, I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his curly hair, looking up at the ceiling before mouthing another curse. “I’m sorry. I—you’re vulnerable and I fucking—shit.” Marc shakes his head again. “I have wanted to do that since goddamn April.” He admits with a soft laugh. He presses another to your forehead, and you laugh too. 

“April, huh?” You grin at him. Marc’s body is solid against yours, hard muscle boxing you in against the door, but you don’t mind it. “You—o-oh,” His hands skim your sides hungrily, bunching up your t-shirt as they slide beneath it. You gasp as he cups your breasts beneath the fabric, and Marc curses again. 

“Marc—”

“I don’t think you’re going to work tomorrow.” His thumbs flick across your nipples, and you moan, head falling back against the door with a thud. “Okay?” You nod as one of his hands drops to your hip, pulling at the elastic of your pajama shorts. He snaps it against your skin and you hiss. “Good.” His mouth finds yours again and you melt against him, knock-kneed and sighing. Marc kisses you breathless, walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

“It’s okay, right? Fuck, tell me it’s okay,” he pulls your t-shirt over your head, groaning at the sight of you. Marc crashes over you like a wave. There’s so little space between his words and his actions you don’t really have time to consider yourself if it really is okay before you’re nodding your assent. 

“I-it’s okay.” His hands are everywhere, tugging at your nipples, cupping your chin affectionately while he sucks on your tongue, tugging down your pajama shorts— “Marc, Marc slow down—”

“M’sorry, Baby,” he presses a line of heated kisses down over the curve of your hip. “Just—just wanted this for so long.” His desperation is palpable, his touches hungry, reverent. You feel him settle himself between your legs, his hips fitting neatly between your thighs. “Fuck, you are so fucking beautiful.” He presses his lips to the space between your breasts, and then you see his eyes go dark before he caresses the burn mark on your arm with soft fingers. 

“Jamie?”

“Jamie.” 

He mutters something then, something you don’t quite catch. You don’t even hear it, not really, the words barely registering as background noise before he kisses you again—“fucking deserved it” before they’re gone, disappeared into the heated air between you. 

To his credit, Marc does slow down, taking his time lavishing his attention on each of your breasts until your nipples are puffy and oversensitive, each pass of his tongue making you squirm and whine. As he does so, he slides a hand down to cup your cunt, and you gasp, hips rolling shamelessly into his hand. He moans, grinding the thick weight of his cock against your thigh. 

“Didn’t you tell me to slow down?” He asks, his tone mocking. You had, but you don’t have the bandwidth to explain that that wasn’t what you’d meant, but you aren’t really sure you want him to stop now, no, not when his fingers feel so good—

“F-fuck, fuck, Marc-!” He rolls your clit between his fingers, his eyes trained on the slick mess he’s making between your thighs. 

“Again,” he says lowly, repeating the motion as you squeal, thighs locking around his hand. “Say my name like that again.” And when he drops to his knees and latches his mouth onto your cunt like he’s starving for you, you do. His name, mixed in with strings of curses as he curls his fingers inside of you and circles your clit so perfectly with his tongue. 

“M-Marc!” 

He sighs against you, mumbling curses and praises into the slick folds of your pussy. With the hand not buried between your writhing thighs, he holds you down, keeping your hips pressed against the bed. You whine as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, and you throw your head back against the mattress as your hips buck pitifully. He mumbles something against you that you can barely hear, “He didn’t fucking deserve you,” but you don’t get the chance to ask him about it as his tongue finds you again. 

“Sweetheart I need to know—” Marc scissors his fingers inside you—“do you want to cum on my face or on my cock?” Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he hums, shaking his head. “Use your words.” He punctuates the demand with a long, slow lick through your sopping folds, and you hate that you can’t make yourself look away. The choice is taken from you when he rolls your clit hard against the roof of his mouth and electricity arcs through you down to your toes. 

You’re cursing and crying as it happens too, rocking against his face as he mumbles unintelligible words into the skin of your inner thigh. Your twitching fingers are tangled in the sheets and his curly hair, you realize, though Marc’s voiced no complaint, though when you release him, he leans up to grin at you, pressing a damp kiss to the side of your knee. His face is half soaked from you, and he absently draws the back of his hand across his mouth before he gets to his feet. 

Your head is still spinning as he tugs you down the mattress to meet his hips, and you gasp at the feel of him. Thick and throbbing, Marc rocks against you with a moan. 

“Feels good, right Baby?” He asks lowly, reaching down to press the head of his leaking cock against your clit. You’re still sensitive, and you whine, attempting to retreat from the feeling but Marc holds you still with a chuckle. He spreads your thighs with one smooth motion, his hands pressing outward steadily until you’re wide open before him. “Too good, maybe.” Your response is a slurry of syllables and his name, cut short as he pushes inside without preamble and the words all cease. You’re practically choking on them—on him, the thick weight of him burning deliciously as he parts you. 

You would whine and plead and moan Marc’s name, only you can’t get the air in. There’s not enough room with his cock inside you, and the weight of him pressing you down into the mattress. He mumbles a curse as he draws back before sliding all the way home again with a satisfied sigh. There is no cool-down with Marc, no, only one exhilarating peak to the next. Tears gather in your wide eyes as you feel the pull again, only deeper, and more—

“Baby are you crying?” He asks breathlessly, and you feel him throb hard inside you. “Ah, fuck.” Marc’s hands are everywhere then, squeezing your chin as he forces you to look him in the eye, two fingers resting on the flat of your tongue, the other gripping the curve of your hip as he slams into your over, and over. You cum again, you can’t help it, drool leaking down your chin and tears tracking down into your hair as he stares hungrily down at you. You clutch at his wrist, mumbling his name against his fingers. 

“Fucking—you are going to make me—” You haven’t even finished cumming yet when Marc does too, holding you so tight you know there will be bruises. Marc pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping them on the sheets. He doesn’t pull out though, humming with pleasure as an aftershock makes you clench down around him. 

Good thing I have the IUD. He hadn’t asked, but you’d learned your lesson well enough already to get the stuff no one could sabotage—not that you thought Marc would do that. It was spur of the moment—not time, or thought to grab a condom, you were sure. He smiles down at you, as if in reassurance. 

“You okay?” He cups your chin. Your body is still humming with the echoes of the pleasure from before, your thigh muscles twitching every few seconds, and you feel warm, like you’re floating in blissful soup. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod with a smile of your own. “I’m, um. Really good.” 

He slips out of you then, and crawls up onto the bed beside you with a huff before tugging you against his chest. “Come here.” You giggle when he presses a kiss into your hair. Your thighs slide together, wet and sticky, and you groan. 

“At least let me clean up first,” you say, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay?” Marc folds his arms. 

“Only because you asked so nice.” When you get out of bed, the palm of his hand cracks across your ass and you squeal, batting his eager hands away. 

“I’ll be right back, jeez.” His eyes are already closing as he dozes off, nodding absently. You shrug into his t-shirt, grabbing your own shorts before heading off to the bathroom.

His bathroom is in much the same place as yours, if a little larger. You help yourself to his body-wash, rinsing the evidence of your romp from your still tender skin. As you dry off, you realize you’d been right in your earlier summation that Marc would leave visible reminders on your body, the hollows where his fingers had been already turning dark and angry. 

He’s strong.

You exit the bathroom and turn back toward the bedroom—when a dull thump makes you pause. 

“Marc?”

There’s no answer from your paramour, and when you peek back into the bedroom, he’s full asleep, eyes closed and lips ever-so-slightly parted as his soft breaths puff through them. You hold yourself as you stare into the darkness of your lover’s apartment, fear twisting in your belly. Could Jamie have gotten in somewhere? Another door? An open window? 

In your own apartment, the hallway ends just past the bathroom, with just enough room for an end table to fit neatly beneath a rather expensive looking painting you’d bought for three bucks at Goodwill. In Marc’s, there’s a whole other bedroom. You hesitate, your fingers trembling above the handle before you open it. You’re expecting another bedroom like the one you’ve been sharing with Marc, and to some extent it is—but the far wall is simply… missing. There’s a hole roughly eight, maybe nine feet wide smashed through the brick, though there’s drop-cloths and tools littered around it like it’s a work in progress. 

“Hello?” You pick up a hammer, hefting the weight of it in your hands. “Jamie, if you’re here… you better fucking not be.” You’re not ready for a fight—you’re not even wearing panties under these damn shorts—but when have you ever been? You step through the plastic sheeting into the room on the other side. The building next door isn’t finished—and you don’t know that it ever will be. The perfect fucking location. What if your ex had set up shop here? Watching you? Waiting?

Your foot catches against something and it almost sends you sprawling, your palms scraping against the exposed brick walls. You’ve never been particularly adept at seeing at night, and you squint down at the dark shape slumped against the wall in the narrow space. It takes your eyes some time to adjust, and your heart leaps straight into your throat as you make sense of it. 

It’s a leg. 

You feel the scream building in your throat, and you clap a hand over your mouth to keep it down. The owner of the leg doesn’t move, though, doesn’t rise from their position slumped over on the floor like a puppet with slack strings. You swallow. 

“Hello?” There’s no response. Timidly, you tap their foot with your own, and when they don’t move, don’t breathe, the terror in your chest becomes concern. You kneel down slowly, squinting in the dark. “Are you okay—”

This time you do scream as finally your eyes adjust, and Jamie’s blank, dull eyes stare back into yours like glassy marbles. 

Why is he here? What the fuck, what the fuck— You stumble backwards against the wall, covering your mouth with your hands. It was Marc’s apartment—you’d gotten here through Marc’s apartment. You feel the urge to vomit, but there’s nothing in your stomach but bile. You retch it up anyway, before drawing the back of your hand against your trembling mouth. 

“I really thought I locked this.” Your head snaps up. There, silhouetted against the gently swaying plastic sheeting, is Marc. You can only see the shape of him, but your skin prickles at his presence anyway. You don’t answer. “I’m sorry, Baby. I really didn’t want you to find out like this. I was going to tell you you were safe, I promise. I was just enjoying being with you so much.” You watch his hands curl into fists, before he drops them back down to his sides. “I couldn’t let him hurt you again.” 

This time, you do answer. “You killed him,” It’s hard to keep the accusing note out of your voice. 

“I saw him trashing your apartment. I knew he was going to wait for you to get back from shopping with your mom—” You practically choke on your tongue. How did he know that? How did he know you were with your mother? “And I couldn’t take the chance he’d get to you.” He shakes his head. “He’s not a good man, Sweetheart. He had to go.” 

“I see why you weren’t worried. Hard to worry about a dead man.” No sooner than you force the words out, Marc lunges at you, grabbing at you through the sheeting. He misses, though, and you stumble around behind him, practically tripping back into his apartment. You feel dizzy and uncoordinated, like your body can only give you the bare minimum of responses. 

“You need to rest, Sweetheart. It’s been a long day for you.”

“F-fuck you.” The words are like loose marbles in your mouth, rolling around aimlessly. You pull the door shut as you throw yourself through it, realizing belatedly that you’d never seen Marc take a single sip of his Jack Daniels—and you beat the hammer against the  door handle until it bends unnaturally, and you drop it from your clumsy fingers. 

You can hear Marc shouting, but the words are too far away to make sense, or at least, that’s how they sound in your cotton filled ears. You don’t even realize you’re down on your knees until you feel the hallway rug on your hands, the short, hard fibers digging into your raw palms. The door isn’t that far away now, but it still feels like miles as you drag yourself towards it, blood roaring in your ears.

It is cruel irony when you reach it, cool air flowing from the sliver of space between the door and the threshold while you pant on the floor. You can’t reach the handle, are too weak drag yourself to your feet so that you can—so you beat feebly against the thick metal, your tongue flopping uselessly in your mouth. 

As you lay your heavy, throbbing head against the cool floor, your fingers skip across deep scratches in the wood. The bench has been moved. Many times. On the floor across from you are more scratches, like the bench had been moved to sit parallel to the door. Tears leak from your bleary eyes, pooling on the floor beneath your cheek. It was the perfect height for someone to sit at. 

The perfect height for Marc to watch you, through the keyhole. 

the end.

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[hiitsm]

Beneath the Surface: The Third Piece

Beneath the Surface is for 18+ only.

Angst & if you squint your eyes: Smut, is included in this Third Piece.

Note: a little bit earlier as expected. Work is heavy and I feel like tomorrow I'll be sleeping a lot 😅

-

Other parts of: Beneath the Surface: The Broken Heart Pieces

-

You find yourself in the bustling back of the restaurant, surrounded by the clatter of dishes and the rush of water as you diligently tackle the never-ending pile of plates. Despite the chaos, there's a sense of familiarity and comfort in the routine of it all. This small breakfast and lunch spot has been your second home for over three years now, a cozy haven where you've honed your skills as a waitress.

But lately, things have felt different.

Ever since that fateful day when you discovered the letter on your kitchen counter, everything has been tinged with a sense of unease. The possibility of encountering her hangs over you like a heavy cloud, casting a shadow over your once-beloved job.

You've made the difficult decision to retreat to the kitchen, away from the front-of-house hustle and bustle, in a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the pain of potential encounters. It's a bittersweet compromise, trading the joy of serving customers for the safety of anonymity.

As you scrub at a stubborn stain on a plate, your thoughts drift to Alexia. You wonder if she'll ever walk through those doors again, if she'll ever reach out to you. A part of you longs for the chance to talk, to seek closure, to understand why she left without a word.

But another part of you recoils at the thought, wary of reopening old wounds and risking further heartache.

You've confided in a sympathetic colleague, asking them to alert you if Alexia ever stops by. It's a small comfort, a glimmer of hope in an otherwise tumultuous sea of emotions.

Yet, deep down, you know that even if she does come, you may not have the courage to face her. The pain is still too raw, the wounds too fresh.

In the midst of your internal turmoil, a sudden clatter shatters the silence, drawing your attention to the floor where a plate lies shattered, broken into jagged pieces.

You can't help but see a reflection of your own broken heart in those shards, scattered and fragmented, waiting to be carefully pieced back together.

As you crouch down to begin the painstaking task of gathering the shattered fragments, you're acutely aware of the parallel between the broken plate and the broken pieces of your heart.

There are still too many pieces scattered on the floor.

There are still too many pieces that you need to pick back up again.

There are still too many unresolved emotions that need to be addressed before you can muster the courage to speak to her again.

To see her again.

As you gaze at the shattered pieces on the floor, a wave of emotion washes over you, threatening to overwhelm your fragile composure.

The memories and pain of your broken heart bubble to the surface once more, tugging at the frayed edges of your resolve.

But you're determined not to let them consume you again, not now.

With a deep breath, you push aside the tumultuous thoughts and focus on the task at hand. The rhythmic clinking of dishes and the steady flow of water provide a comforting backdrop, offering a brief respite from the storm raging within.

As you stand there, lost in your thoughts, you're suddenly startled by a familiar voice breaking through the silence. It's Elena, your kind colleague, gently nudging you out of your reverie.

"Come on, rush hour is over now. We have 5 minutes for a quick cigarette," Elena says, her tone laced with concern.

Though you don't smoke, you find yourself following Elena outside, grateful for the distraction from your swirling emotions. As she lights up her cigarette and takes a drag, you let the cool air wash over you, trying to calm the storm raging within.

After a while, Elena speaks up again, her voice gentle yet hesitant. "She stopped by this morning," she confesses, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Your eyes widen at the unexpected revelation, your heart skipping a beat at the mention of her.

"Lo siento, it was very busy so I couldn’t come to you right away," Elena apologizes, her hand finding its way to your shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

You offer her a small, appreciative smile, though there's a tremor of emotion in your voice as you respond. "It's okay," you murmur softly, trying to mask the turmoil brewing within.

Elena continues, her hand finding its way to your shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "She asked for you, and when I told her that you weren't here, she panicked and asked if you still work here."

"What did you say?" you ask quietly, your fingers fidgeting nervously.

"That you are working in the back now," Elena replies, her words causing a swirl of conflicting emotions to rise within you. "She looked relieved by the mention of you still working here."

Her words hit you like a wave, stirring up a maelstrom of conflicting emotions within you. Memories of Alexia flood your mind, her unwavering support and encouragement echoing in your ears.

You remember how she always admired your passion for your job, how she found joy in witnessing your dedication and determination. It was her unwavering belief in you that fueled your own confidence and drive.

"She didn’t leave right away. I think that she hoped to still get to see you, but after two hours she had to leave room for the people who had a reservation," Elena reveals softly, her words carrying a weight of understanding.

You absorb her words with a mixture of surprise and longing, the image of Alexia lingering in your mind like a ghost.

Two hours.

Two hours she spent waiting, perhaps hoping for a chance encounter, a fleeting moment of connection amidst the chaos of this busy restaurant.

You can't help but feel a pang of regret at the thought of her lingering presence, her silent plea for reconciliation hanging heavy in the air.

Despite the ache in your chest, you can't deny the flicker of hope that ignites within you at the realization that she still yearns for you, even in the wake of your fractured relationship.

But along with hope comes a wave of uncertainty, a gnawing fear that lingers at the edges of your consciousness.

Will you ever find the courage to face her again, to bridge the chasm that separates you?

As you stand there, grappling with the whirlwind of emotions swirling within, you can't help but wonder what lies ahead.

Will you continue to retreat into the safety of solitude, shielding yourself from the pain of potential encounters?

Or will you muster the strength to confront the ghosts of your past, to seek the closure and healing you so desperately crave?

You don’t have a moment to process all your thoughts and emotions as your 5-minute break comes to an end, and you re-enter the bustling restaurant. With a grateful smile, you thank Elena for her support and the valuable information she shared, before diving back into the rhythm of your work.

A little while later, you find yourself trudging back towards your apartment, the chilly winter rain adding to the somber mood that has enveloped you lately. All you long for is the comforting warmth of a long, hot shower and the soothing routine of cooking a home-cooked meal to momentarily escape the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

Finally reaching your apartment door, you step inside and flick on the lights, only to be met with silence and darkness. With a heavy sigh, you realize that your lights have once again decided to call it quits, adding another item to your ever-growing to-do list.

Undeterred by the lack of illumination, you navigate your way through the dimly lit apartment, shedding your coat and shoes with a sense of resignation. All you want now is a hot shower and a comforting meal to soothe your troubled mind.

However, fate seems to have other plans for you tonight. As you try to switch on the electric plate to cook some rice, you're met with yet another setback. No electricity. With a frustrated groan, you realize that your plans for a home-cooked meal may have to be postponed.

Deciding to prioritize a hot shower to wash away the stresses of the day, you make your way to the bathroom, shedding your clothes as you go. But to your dismay, the water remains stubbornly cold, refusing to provide the warmth and comfort you so desperately crave.

Despite the lack of electricity and hot water, you push through, forcing yourself to endure the chilly shower in an attempt to at least feel somewhat refreshed.

Afterward, feeling slightly defeated, you seek out your neighbor for any insight or assistance, but his response offers little comfort, leaving you feeling even more disheartened.

Returning to your apartment, you settle for a meager meal of crackers, the taste of frustration lingering on your tongue. But amidst the frustration and disappointment, a faint chuckle escapes your lips as you recall a similar situation from the past.

-

Alexia stormed into your apartment, looking utterly drenched from head to toe. The sight of her, soaked to the bone, took you by surprise. You had been cooking, the sound of the heavy rain outside barely registering as you assumed she was safely in her car.

"Did you walk all the way from the training ground?" you ask, bewildered by her appearance. Despite her obvious discomfort, Alexia bursts into laughter at your incredulous expression.

"Why would I walk for 30 minutes when I have a sponsored car, bebé?" she replies with a mischievous grin, shrugging off her oversized coat and kicking off her waterlogged shoes. Despite being drenched, there's an undeniable allure to her appearance, and you can't help but admire her.

As she stood before you, her clothes clinging to her frame in a way that you couldn't help but find appealing, a playful glint danced in her eyes.

"It's just that you don’t have any parking space here, so to me, it felt like a 30-minute trek if I'm being honest," she explained, her words accompanied by an exaggerated sigh as she dramatically approached you.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her theatrics, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite your attempt to maintain a stern facade. "Don't be dramatic," you chided gently, pointing an accusing finger in her direction with the cooking spatula still in hand. "Put on a raincoat next time, or maybe bring an umbrella."

"Bring an umbrella, bebé? I thought you would've come to my car with an umbrella to pick me up and keep me dry," Alexia retorted, her grin growing even wider as she teased you.

With a mock-serious expression, you countered, "Do you want to sleep on the balcony?" but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.

"You wouldn't dare do that to me. How else would you get any sleep?" Alexia shot back, her playful banter bringing a lightness to the air between you.

"Alright, let's drop this and finally give me a hello kiss," you playfully insisted, a warm smile gracing your lips as you met Alexia's eyes.

Without hesitation, Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist, drawing you close as your arms found their way around her neck. With a gentle touch, your lips met in a soft, tender kiss, the world around you fading away in that moment of sweet connection.

As she pulled away, a mischievous grin spread across her face. "Hello, bebé," she greeted you cheekily.

You playfully pushed her away, a chuckle escaping your lips. "You should have a shower while I finish up dinner," you suggested, gesturing towards the bathroom.

A hint of disappointment flashed across Alexia's features as she pouted, "Are you not joining me?"

With a gentle smile, you planted a quick apology kiss on her cheek before gently pushing her towards the bathroom. "And let this dinner burn down the apartment? I don't think so, amor," you quipped, the warmth of your love filling the room as you continued to banter back and forth.

She finally gives in and heads off to have her shower while you busy yourself with finishing up dinner. The sound of running water from the shower fills the apartment, its rhythmic patter bringing a sense of calm to the air. You move about the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring pots, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the looming darkness.

But then, without warning, the electricity cuts out, plunging the apartment into darkness. All of your lights flicker off, leaving you standing in the dim glow of the candles you had just lit. You let out a frustrated sigh, hoping it's just a temporary glitch that will be resolved soon.

Quickly, you make your way around the apartment, lighting up candles in every room. Their soft, flickering light casts dancing shadows on the walls, creating a cozy ambiance that contrasts sharply with the earlier chaos.

As you finish lighting the last candle, you're startled by a sudden squeak and a squeal coming from the bathroom. Your heart skips a beat as you hurry towards the source of the noise, your mind racing with worry.

"¿Bebita, estás bien?" you inquire as you step into the bathroom with a rather big flashlight, which you put on the bathroom sink, concern etched across your features. "You're not playing a prank on me, are you?" you add, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Your girlfriend turns to look at you, her expression more annoyed than amused, in the midst of washing her hair.

Despite her irritated figure, you can't help but be distracted by the sight of her naked body, water droplets cascading down her gorgeous form.

Your eyes linger on her breasts, noticing the way her nipples stand erect against the chill of the water. You're tempted to reach out and play with them, but before you can, she grabs both of your wrists.

"No, bebita, my face is up here," she says, pulling your hands towards her cheeks and planting a playful smack on them. Despite her irritation, there's a hint of amusement in her eyes at your flustered reaction.

"Did you turn off the boiler to make my shower ice-cold? And where is the light?" she asks, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

"No, amor, I would never," you protest, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "I know how much you love your hot showers."

"Then why is the water still freezing?" she questions, her grip on your wrist tightening slightly as she pointed with her head towards the tap.

"I think there might be an electricity and hot water failure in my apartment," you admit apologetically, your cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

"Well, that's just perfect," she grumbles, pouting slightly before her expression brightens with mischief.

"Looks like we'll have to find another way to warm up."

You watch in surprise as she tugs you into the cold shower with her, your clothes clinging to your skin as icy water cascades over you both.

"Alexia!" you exclaim, a mixture of shock and laughter in your voice as you brace yourself against the ice-cold water.

-

As the days passed, the recurring electricity and hot water failures in your apartment weighed heavily on your mind. Each morning, you woke up feeling drained and disheartened, the constant discomfort of cold showers and cold meals taking its toll on your well-being. Despite your best efforts to adapt to the situation, you couldn't shake the lingering sense of frustration and longing for something better.

Night after night, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find solace in sleep. You were feeling cold and the memories of your breakup with her still haunted your thoughts, replaying over and over like a broken record. With your friends away on holiday, you found yourself feeling more isolated than ever, longing for the comfort and support they usually provided.

In the midst of your turmoil, you couldn't help but think of Alexia's mother, Eli. She had always been a source of warmth and understanding, besides Alexia, her keen intuition often sensing when something was amiss. You remembered the countless times she had offered you a sympathetic ear and a comforting embrace, her unwavering support helping you navigate the challenges life threw your way.

This is why you found yourself trudging down the familiar path towards Eli's house, a small duffle bag slung over your shoulder. It was already 10 pm, and exhaustion weighed heavy on your shoulders, your weary steps echoing in the quiet night. You hoped fervently that Eli wasn't hosting one of her infamous family dinners tonight, where Alexia and Alba would undoubtedly be in attendance.

You were still in the midst of your self-imposed phase of avoiding Alexia, determined to keep your distance for a little while longer. The thought of facing her, of confronting the tangled web of emotions that still lingered between you, filled you with a sense of apprehension and unease.

As you finally reached Eli's doorstep, you paused for a moment to gather your thoughts, taking a deep breath in and then exhaling slowly. With a flicker of nervous anticipation, you reached out and rang the doorbell, the sound echoing through the quiet night air.

You hear the soft patter of footsteps approaching, and moments later, the front door swings open, revealing Eli standing there in her comfortable sweats. A bright smile lights up her face as she takes in your presence.

"Oh, hi, dear! I've missed you! Come in!" Her initial excitement quickly gives way to concern as she notices your tired demeanor. "Did you walk all the way? You could've called me," she frets, her maternal instincts kicking into overdrive.

Her genuine concern washes over you like a soothing balm, easing the tension that had been building within you. With a grateful nod, you step into the warmth of her familiar home, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you. "Do you want some tea?" she offers, her voice filled with warmth and kindness.

You return her warm smile with one of your own, appreciating her thoughtfulness. "Yes, please," you reply softly, the weariness evident in your voice.

As you peel off your coat and shoes, you're grateful for Eli's unspoken understanding, knowing that she'll be there to lend a listening ear when you're ready to talk. For now, the simple act of being in her presence brings you a sense of solace and reassurance.

"Lo siento for coming here so late and unannounced," you confess softly, your voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. You sink into the plush cushions of the couch, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you. "My apartment has been experiencing this electricity and hot water failure for a couple of days now, and I've reached my breaking point. I didn't know where else to go."

Eli's gentle smile reassures you as she enters the room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of tea. "It's really no problem, dear. I'm glad you came to me," she says warmly, setting the tray down on the coffee table before taking a seat beside you.

"I know Alexia is away at that event, so it's good that you came here. You can sleep in the spare room and have a nice shower if you want."

Her words offer a lifeline of comfort in the midst of your turmoil, but beneath the surface, questions gnaw at your mind. You force yourself to push them aside, not wanting to burden Eli with your inner struggles. Instead, you focus on the warmth of her presence and the soothing aroma of the tea.

As you glance around the room, your gaze lands on the framed photos of you and Alexia displayed prominently on the walls. Despite the bittersweet memories they evoke, you can't help but feel a pang of confusion at the sight. Eli has always supported your relationship with Alexia, but seeing the photos still hanging up feels like a contradiction in the wake of your breakup.

Eli noticed your gaze drifting towards the framed photos adorning the walls of her cozy living room. "Oh, I need new ones, those are so old," she remarked casually, her tone tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

Her words caught you off guard, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you. It was a simple comment, but it left you feeling unsettled and confused.

Did Alexia not talk to her mother about the breakup?

Why were the photos still displayed so prominently, as if frozen in time?

The pain of the breakup resurfaced with renewed intensity, threatening to overwhelm you. You blinked back tears, struggling to maintain your composure in the face of Eli's well-meaning words.

Despite the flood of emotions threatening to consume you, you forced a tight smile and nodded in response. "Yeah, maybe it's time for some new memories," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eli's gentle gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing her features as she reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay, dear?" she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

You nodded again, though the gesture felt hollow, your heart heavy with the weight of unresolved emotions. "I'll be fine," you assured her, your voice trembling slightly.

"It must've been tough," Eli continued, her tone gentle yet resolute. "Alexia told me the two of you had a bit of a break. But not in a negative way, in a positive way. Sometimes we all need a small little break, right? To find each other again."

Her words echoed in your mind, stirring up a whirlwind of doubt and uncertainty.

Had Alexia truly confided in her mother about the break, painting it in such a positive light?

Or was this just another layer of deception, another mask hiding the truth?

The question hung heavy in the air as you mustered the courage to voice your own concerns.

"Do you think she will talk to me any time soon?" you asked, the words tumbling out with a boldness that surprised even you.

Eli's response was measured, her expression thoughtful as she considered your question. "Qué quieres decir?" she replied, her voice tinged with confusion.

"Alexia told me that the two of you are doing more than fine and that therapy helped a while ago. You both had just been a bit busy, which is why I didn't get to see the two of you much."

The revelation hit you like a blow to the chest, leaving you reeling with a mixture of anger, betrayal, and a glimmer of hope.

How could Alexia lie to her own mother about what had transpired between you?

Did she truly believe that everything would magically fall back into place, that lying about therapy would somehow mend the chasm that had formed between you?

Your eyes welled up with tears, a tumultuous mix of emotions threatening to spill over. In that moment, you couldn't distinguish between the tangled mess of feelings swirling within you—sadness, anger, confusion, hope—all blending together into a single overwhelming wave of emotion.

Eli, ever perceptive, noticed your distress, her expression softening with empathy and concern. "Lo siento, no quise ponerte triste," she said gently, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

Without hesitation, she pulled you into her comforting embrace, enveloping you in warmth and safety. In that moment, all the pent-up emotions that had been swirling inside you came pouring out, released in a torrent of tears and sobs.

As you calm down from the overwhelming flood of emotions, your head still resting on the comforting crook of Eli’s neck, you muster up the energy to speak. You feel a deep-seated need to unburden yourself, to share the weight of your feelings with someone you trust implicitly.

The urge to confide in Eli grows stronger with each passing moment.

After all, doesn't she deserve to know the truth?

What if she holds the key to helping her own daughter navigate through the complexities of her emotions?

Perhaps Eli possesses insights and wisdom that you couldn't offer Alexia, despite your best intentions.

Regrets and what-ifs swirl in your mind, each thought a testament to the depth of your emotions and the complexity of your situation. You can't help but wonder if things might have turned out differently if you had only reached out to Eli sooner, if you had allowed her to be a part of your journey from the start.

Before you could second-guess yourself, the words spilled out in a quiet whisper and between sobs.

"She needed space.’’

''I didn't know.''

''I don't understand.''

‘’She left me.’’

‘’She left me and told me through a letter’’.

‘’She left me with a letter."

The admission hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your emotions, yet strangely liberating at the same time.

With each word spoken, it felt as though you were delicately piecing together one of the many shattered fragments of your broken heart.

Holding that small piece closely, you made a silent vow to yourself to safeguard it, ensuring it wouldn't slip from your grasp again.

It was a tender moment of reclaiming your truth, a step towards healing and self-discovery in the midst of emotional turmoil.

-

Note: as we dive deeper into the story, I'm considering switching up the perspective for the next piece. Should I continue with Reader's perspective, or would you be interested in exploring The Fourth Piece from Alexia's perspective?

Your opinion is valued and appreciated, so feel free to share your thoughts openly but remember to always express yourself kindly and respectfully.

[kpislby]

A love never to forget

parings: bf/ex bf!riki x fem!reader

synopsis: After a sudden and unexplained breakup, Riki struggles with the emotional fallout and the absence of closure. As he grapples with his grief and searches for answers, a surprising discovery forces him to confront his pain and find a new path forward.

genre: angst

warnings: death of character, mental health, grief and loss, i think that's all but let me know if there is more i left out !!

the sounds of rain echoed through the room, constant noise that filled the silence between them. y/n sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched in her lap, looking down at the floor.

riki was pacing around the room, trying to piece together how they had ended up here, in this moment, when everything had seem fine just days ago.

“what now?” his voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “you can’t just walk away like this, not without a reason.” ..more under the cut

y/n flinched, her fingers tightening together, but she didn’t look up, “i need space,” she whispered, the words fragile and brittle, like she’d rehearsed them a thousand times but never believed them.

his chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “space? from what? from us?” he knelt in front of her, searching for any sign of the girl he loved, the girl who, just a week ago, had been laughing beside him like nothing was wrong.

but now, she was a stranger. distant. cold.

“you’re not telling me everything” he said softly “i know you, and i know when you’re hiding something from me y/n”

her breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought she was going to break, to tell him the truth. but she swallowed hard, closing her eyes as if it took every ounce of strength to hold her self together.

“i’m sorry riki, i really am” she murmured. “i just- i cant do this anymore”

y/n looked up at him, the tears clung to her lashes, trembling like they, too, were afraid to fall.

riki’s breath hitched, he hated seeing her like this. but what he hated more was not being able to comfort her.

he longed to reach out, to pull her close and ease her pain, but his hands remained frozen at his sides. helpless, he watched the love of his life unravel before him, hurting in ways he couldn’t understand.

she rose slowly, her gaze lingering on him like a memory she wished she could forget. Every step felt like a betrayal as she gathered her things, her heart breaking with each quiet movement.

“baby please” his voice cracked, raw with desperation as she neared the door. “don’t do this,” he whispered, tears tracing down his cheeks. “i love you”

i love you… those three words shattered her. she wanted to turn back, to let his love pull her in one last time, but she couldn’t. not now. not when leaving was the only way to save him from the agony that laid ahead.

with a final glance, she ran—out of his apartment, out of his life—tears falling freely as she disappeared into the night, hoping he could one day forget her, even if she would never forget him.

fast forward three months

riki was laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. the familiar hum of the city outside seemed more depressing than ever. sleepless nights became a norm, each one blending into the next with an unrelenting blur of darkness. The echoes of their last conversation replayed in his mind, a broken record that was played on loop constantly.

he had tried so hard to distract himself—immersing in work or losing himself whilst dancing to loud music. yet, nothing seemed to help. his heart still left broken, nothing being able to tape his heart together again.

each attempt to escape only led him back to the same agonizing question: why did she leave? the absence of closure tearing him into pieces, like an endless void, leaving him relentless and hollow.

deperate for relief, riki talked to the ones he trusted most. they would tell him time would heal, but he found it hard to believe. the void she left behind felt too great to overcome, and the journey to move on seemed as impossible as the answers he sought.

one day, riki couldn’t handel the unknown anymore, he needed answers.

he reached out to all of their mutual friends, looked up her socials, did everything he could think of

nothing

he spent hours searching for answers, only to be met with silence. exhausted, he decided to continue his search for answers later, hope for a glimmer of resolution.

a few days later

riki visited his grandmother’s grave, a sanctuary where he sought solace. his grandmother had practically raised him, having been his rock when his parents were absent. her passing last year had torn a gaping hole in his heart, a wound that the recent breakup had only worsened.

sitting next to her tombstone, he cried silently, his shoulders shaking with each sob. “Why? Why does this world hate me so much?” he whispered, his voice breaking with every word.

after hours of crying and cursing the world for being so cruel, he looked up, his eyes red and puffy, only to notice a small kitten nuzzling against him. he extended a trembling hand, careful not to frighten the tiny creature. “hey, little guy,” he murmured, gently petting the kitten. the kitten, after a moment, pulled away and wandered toward a nearby tombstone. curiosity piqued, riki followed.

the kitten meowed softly, urging him closer.

when riki approached the tombstone, he was struck dumb. the name etched into the stone sent a chill down his spine:

y/n l/n

2005 - 2024

forever in our hearts, your love and kindness will never be forgotten

his breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to comprehend the gravestone’s message. a mix of disbelief and agony overwhelmed him. he sank to his knees, his hands gripping the grass as if it might anchor him to reality

a thousand thoughts collided in his mind, each more painful than the last.

as he sat there, tears streaming down his face, he noticed the kitten once more. it meowed once more. it meowed softly, brushing against his leg before settling beside the grave. riki reached out, his hand trembling as he stroked the little creature’s fur. the comfort of the kitten’s presence was a small solace amidst the storm of his grief.

riki felt a sudden weight lifting from him. it was as if the kitten was offering a tiny measure of peace, a gentle reminder that life, despite cruelty, continued to hold moments of tenderness. the simple act of connection helped him feel less alone in sorrow.

after a long time, he rose unsteadily to his feet, his heart heavy but his resolve strengthening. he knew y/n sent him this small form of comfort.

The pain will always be there, but perhaps it could be woven into something meaningful–a reminder of the love they once shared and the lessons learned.

riki glanced once last time at y/n’s grave, his heart aching but also filled with a newfound sense of purpose. he knew that her death would forever shape his, but he was determined to carry forward her kindness and warmth, to live in a way that would make her proud.

as he walked away from the graveyard, the rain had stopped, and the first hints of dawn began to break through the clouds. the city, once a backdrop of despair, now felt like a canvas for a new beginning. the path ahead was uncertain, but riki took a first step with a fragile hope that, though scarred, he could find a way to heal and to remember her with love rather than just pain.

sooo… did you guys like it?!? hahahaha sorry riki stannssss, i wanted to make an angst fic and riki came ti minddddd. i love you guysss !! thank you so much for reading ❤️

[preciousbarnes]

Haunted

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Tags: angst, loss, mourning, hurt/comfort, fluff eventually

Inspired by: Haunted by Taylor Swift

You felt ice cold, laying alone in a bed once kept warm by two bodies and now to be forever occupied by only one. It had been 3 days since you were given the worst news of your life, the worst news you would ever receive.

Part of you knew the second you opened the door to Sam standing on the doorstep, wringing his hands together and stuttering his request to come in. He never asked before, he was never nervous before. He had looked like he had just lost his best friend.

He had.

He explained to you the mission they were on in Eastern Europe, targeting an underground group attempting to recreate the super soldier serum.

Extensive, deadly injuries, you were told.

They knew with the number of injuries there wasn’t much hope, he explained to you. But hope was all you could hold on to at that moment.

Not compatible with life, you were told when asking for more details.

In between the cries, Sam assured you he did not suffer. Swore they loaded him up with every painkiller and sedative known to man to allow him to pass peacefully. That was it. When asking if you could see him one last time, Sam explained that it would be for the best if you remembered him as he was, breaking your heart even more.

You found yourself thinking of the obituary you had written earlier that day. How could you sum up a life like his into less than a novel? All he was, all he had to offer. Him as a whole.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Known simply as Bucky by loved ones. Aged 109. Loving husband, devoted soldier, and friend. Killed in the field defending what he believed in most, freedom and safety.

That was all you could bring yourself to write, and Sam assured you it was simple but beautiful just as your husband would have wanted.

Sam was arranging the rest of the funeral for you, which would take place tomorrow evening. Just a small gathering for those closest to Bucky during the sunset. All you had asked was for a private place for him to rest, preferably by nature. Known by few other than yourself, Bucky loved the outdoors. You wanted him to have a piece of beauty to himself forever. Thus, a small meadow had been privately purchased where he would by laid to rest.

You laid in bed, trying uselessly to go to sleep. You couldn’t. Each time your eyes closed, you saw Bucky. His smile, his beautiful eyes gazing at you, memories of his laughter and voice telling you he loved you. What once brought you comfort and warmth now kept you awake.

Late the next morning you moved robotically, getting showered and ready. As you did your hair and makeup, you saw how lifeless you appeared. Your hair was dry, without its normal shine. You had deep dark circles around your eyes. Your skin was dull. You looked lifeless, which matched exactly how you felt. As you styled your hair, you swore you saw a figure out of the corner of your eye. Gasping, you immediately dropped your styling tools.

You creeped out of your bathroom, and through your small home. No one was there. You could have sworn there was someone.

“Must be just lack of sleep,” you brokenly mutter to yourself, as you turn back to your bathroom to finish getting ready.

Around 5 Sam arrived to drive you to the small funeral. Tears slipped as it all began to become reality. He was gone. All you had was his memory to haunt you now.

The car ride was quiet. Sam kept looking to you out of the corner of his eye as he drove. He was worried, and heart broken for you.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything. It won’t undo the pain, but I’m here for you. I swore to Buck I’d always be here if something happened, just as he promised me for my family. You aren’t alone, honey. We’re all right here for you to lean on,” he softly told you.

“Thank you Sam. I’m just. I’m not ready to talk about all this yet. It’s too fresh still, but I think it always will be,” you tell him, voice becoming a whisper at the end.

You arrive at the meadow, to see the rest of the crew there. Agents, supervisors, the avengers, anyone who meant something the Bucky was there, just as you wanted. He deserved to be surrounded by love and respect as he is laid to rest. The scene was beautiful, a small meadow full of wildflowers near a little stream, with willow trees off in the distance. The sky was a mixture of pinks and oranges, beautifully painting the landscape in a honey golden color.

You all stand around the grave as Sam begins to speak, delivering the eulogy. You rest your hands on Bucky’s casket, stroking it the way you once stroked his cheek. As it all sinks in, the emotional dam you had built breaks open wide.

Out of your line of sight stands a figure hidden in the tree line. He watches as his own heart feels ripped in two, watching as you sob over the casket in front of you.

“You’re not gone! You can’t be gone!” you cried over and over. You were no longer numb. Seeing the casket, the flowers, the simple and inconspicuous grave marker, it all made it painfully real.

A small, sad smile takes over his face as he watches Sam gently pull you from the casket as it begins to be lowered into the ground. The man in the shadows tears up as he watches your sobs become heart wrenching wails of pure sorrow and grief, you begging for it all to be some sick nightmare.

The man slinks away further into the forest, left with nothing but sorrow and regret in his heart. It was coming over him like it’s all a big mistake.

That night Sam brought you back to his home, afraid to leave you on your own. Weeks slowly drudged on. You barely left his guest room. You couldn’t return to the home you once occupied with your husband. It was too much. Full of memories of love and promises of forever that was taken away far too soon.

When you did leave the guest room, usually when Sam was gone, it always felt as if someone else was there. A safe presence, a warm and familiar one. You swore you caught a figure out of the corner of you eye a few times. You’d always search the house high and low, some part of you hoping to find something but always coming up empty handed.

It all came to fruition one fateful night when you woke around 4am to hushed voiced down the hallway.

You creeped down the hall softly and slowly, stopping at the edge but not daring to peak around the hallways corner and down the stairs into the living room.

“Man, this cannot go on any longer. She’s fading away. There’s no way she can last a year like this. She won’t survive,” Sam said urgently and desperately. Your heart clenched despite your confusion at who he’d be talking to, hating to have worried him so. He had tried to take away the pain that he could, and had even made you smile a couple times. But it didn’t undo the hole in your heart and soul.

“I know, but I’ve worked something out” says a voice you’d recognize anywhere. One you never thought you’d hear again. You gasp, tears springing to your eyes as you’re suddenly running down the stairs to the two men.

There he was. He wore his all black tactical gear you had seen many times. His face had fading bruises and scrapes, obviously having just came from a fight of some sorts. He looked at your with a heart broken gaze, taking in your shattered appearance.

You sniffle, tears cascading down your cheeks as you feel like you’re seeing a ghost.

“Bucky?” You brokenly cry, as your knees buckle.

Before you can blink you’re swept up into strong and familiar arms, Bucky holding you tightly to his chest. Your fingers claw into his shoulders, gripping him to yourself as you sob violently, overwhelmed. Sam finds himself smiling softly at the reunion he wished for as he quietly excused himself.

“H-how?” You cry between sobs. Bucky sits down in a chair, bringing you down into his lap as he cradles you close, allowing you to rearrange yourself to straddle his lap, holding him tightly to your torso. You’re afraid to let go, afraid this is another dream and that you’ll wake to his memory slipping through your fingers.

His metal hand pets your back softly but firmly, grounding you as his flesh hand cradles your face, looking you in your eyes.

“Hey, baby doll. I’m right here, but you gotta breathe for me. Let’s just breathe for a moment alright?” His voice softly suggests. You look over his face, seeing the man you love more than life itself, alive and warm and healing in your arms. You nod, trying to catch your breathe.

After a few moments pass as you calm your breathing, you ask again.

“Bucky, I- I don’t understand. You, Sam said you were gone?” You question, voice wet with emotion.

He nods, and grimaces.

“We lied. I had to lie. The mission, it was bad. It is still bad.” He explains to your softly, continuing to give you soft pets and caresses that ground you. They tell you he’s here, he’s safe, he’s alive, he’s yours.

“How could you? Do you know how I’ve been? Bucky I was dead without you,” you sob softly.

His guilt ridden frown deepens, and there are tears in his eyes.

“I know, baby. I know. And I am so so sorry. There was no other way. There still isn’t. But I’m too selfish to keep this charade up, even if you’d be safer if I had,” he explains to you.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“I’ve been here, checking in on you. I was at the funeral. I know how I’ve hurt you, and I will be sorry for the rest of my life. But I hope to spend the rest of my life making up for this.” He tells you, the realization dawning on you. You hadn’t been crazy. That figure had been him.

“It was you,” you whisper. Bucky smiles sadly and nods.

“It was. The mission was bad. They knew about you. They knew where we were, even with all our precautions we took. They were going to use you to get me, and kill you. I couldn’t let that happen. So Sam, a couple higher ups, and I faked my death. We figured in a year I could reveal the truth once my undercover mission going after them concluded. I needed you alive, I can’t live in a world without you on this planet. Even if it meant coming back in a year and you maybe moved on. It was worth it. But then I saw you mourn me. How broken it made you. I heard your cries, your pleas for me. I’m too selfish to continue this lie, even if it’d keep you safer.” He tells you, voice choked with emotion as his eyes fill with tears.

Your hands move from where they had grip of his shoulders to cradle his face, wiping away the tears the fell.

“Oh, James. I’m just so, so glad you’re not gone. I can’t live in a world without you. I would have never moved on. I promised to be yours and yours alone forever. Even after all of this, I mean every word I said to you.” You tell him, before pulling his face to yours for a kiss.

He kisses you like a man starving, his lips soft and warm but firm and demanding. His hands hold you reverently, like you’re made of glass and he refuses to let you slip through his fingers. You hold him softly but firmly in your arms, feeling his strong and sturdy frame under you. It promises safety, comfort, love, and a future.

You wrap your arms around him tighter, pulling him impossibly closer. After a few moments you both begrudgingly part to breathe. Your foreheads rest on each other as you gaze into each others eyes. The rest of the world had faded into the background, and it’s just you and the man you thought you lost; the man who you love and will love until the end of your days no matter how misguided he may have been.

“I’m so so sorry, doll. I love you so much. Missed you so much. I’ll never hurt you like this again, I just needed you safe” he vowed to you, voice breaking as he hugs you to his frame.

You readjust in his lap, wrapping your legs around him so you’re seated firmly on his lap. Your head rests on his shoulder as your hands softly map his back soothingly.

“I know,” you whisper, “I love you too. Always.”

You both sit there, basking in each other’s presence quietly, before you break the silence again.

“You said you have it worked out now? What did you work out?” You ask him in a whisper, not wanting to break the soft and peaceful atmosphere surrounding you both. You move to sit back up instead of leaving against him, grasping both his hands in yours.

“We’ll go into hiding for a while, until Sam and others can figure this all out. In the past few weeks I’ve narrowed down locations for them, and their structure. I’ll assist from the sidelines when necessary, but I won’t be in the field at all. I’ll be with you. We will be together.” He promises you.

“Sounds perfect to me,” you sigh, knowing the rest will be figured out. Looking down to where your left hand rested with his, you smiled as both your wedding rings caught the light. You were just glad to have your husband back in your arms, no longer just haunted.

[holymolyfizzie]

stolas, self-awareness, & self-help

the narrative i keep seeing is that Stolas has little self-awareness, but idk how much i believe that really? or at least, i really don't think that Stolas is actively trying to be oblivious. it's been clear for a while now that Stolas is trying to understand what's going on. we can go back to the texts from after the night at Ozzie's of Stolas asking Blitz to talk, but honestly we have so much of him saying upfront that he wants to understand what's happening between him and Blitz exactly

i mean, take "Just Look My Way" as a case. this is a song where Stolas makes it clear that he is aware of the privilege differences ("I don't care that you're of lower station... Scorned by a realm that cannot comprehend what you are"). and we see that again when he realizes Blitz and him are in an unfair relationship due to the power imbalance, then actively works to make sure Blitz can leave at any moment without jeopardizing his livelihood. but he also makes it abundantly clear that he knows there's something missing and wants a dialogue with Blitz. a dialogue that Blitz is refusing to engage in beyond, frankly, assumptions and mockery. Stolas has reached out time and again, and he's so upfront here about wanting to understand the whole context!! he's missing knowledge. but it's a leap to say that he's completely not self-aware. and we have it again in Apology Tour:

Stolas is still saying that he wishes he understood more, that he wants a dialogue! Stolas is a self-aware birdy, enough to gather that he has knowledge gaps, but he doesn't know how to get that knowledge except for the words that Blitz has refused to give him so far. he is holding so much evidence (memories) at once in his head, but Stolas is also clearly someone that is trying not to make big assumptions (like Blitz does), so he's not understanding the evidence given to him in terms of a narrative. Apology Tour is about giving him the narrative that Blitz is an abuser and doesn't care about him (obv we know Blitz does care, and it's clear that Stolas pieced that together himself as well, at least before the party), but even now he has doubts in his gaps in knowledge. that's not an oblivious person to me -- it's someone who's uninformed but trying his best with the info he's been given

Also. Stolas has been going to a therapist, or getting self-help in some other way. we should know that already because he has meds for his depression. he has some form of help outside of what we see on the screen. but Apology Tour has really showcased how he is using "therapy talk" to express his feelings. because, for those who don't know, when it comes to couples counseling especially, it's encouraged to use "I feel X" statements when communicating:

compare this to how Blitz uses so many "you" statements (You want me to show your rich, prince-y ass what a real fuckin' is. / You get off by being plowed by people you look down on). when Blitz speaks, you can hear the automatic assumptions, and it's a stunningly clear contrast to how Stolas only speaks about what he knows

and then there's expressing how he knows Blitz doesn't need to reciprocate Stolas's feelings and actions, but a dialogue is still necessary if they're going to try and make things work. Again, this is very much the signs of someone who is seeking outside help to understand the situation:

And as much as I know we like seeing Stolitz again, Stolas has set his boundary over and over and over again in these past 2 eps. a boundary that Blitz keeps breaking. But Stolas is still communicating that he's uncomfortable in the best ways he knows how, in spite of the alcohol and pain:

we need to take a moment on that! Stolas is self-aware enough to know his boundaries and to communicate them. It's frustrating to see them broken (which is NOT Stolas's fault, Blitz shows up unannounced and even broke into his home! what the fuck!), and it really puts Blitz into an abuser role right now. but stolas has been setting healthy boundaries.

(also for the whole oh he wants a romcom, it's unrealistic. no, he is not that delusional. he literally acknowledges in Apology Tour that he knows romcoms are fake, but that he still wants a loving relationship. and he gets so excited when someone asks him to dance!!! Stolas doesn't want some huge romcom -- he wants to know what it's like to be actually loved, even in the smallest ways. don't come at me about Stolas being romcom-delusional, he's not. such a non-starter)

Stolas is a gay man who has always known he is gay. He was literally forced into an abusive, hetero marriage that he didn't know he could escape until very recently. he has some 2 decades worth of relationship trauma and having his boundaries violated by his own father + Stella. but he is still getting some forms of help and working on growing as a person who can hold a healthy relationship that includes healthy communication. he is reaching out to Blitz, asking for clarification, and asking for boundaries to be respected with the tools he has

and frankly, speaking as an abuse survivor myself, Stolas is incredibly self-aware. it's such a huge step forward to know what your boundaries are and actually set them after getting out of an abusive situation (Blitz is yelling at me? i can leave this time). and not only to know his own boundaries, but to understand that Blitz also has walls up because of his status in Hell. Stolas knows how he feels, and he is really fucking trying to understand how Blitz feels

should he try again to apologize for the contractual relationship and earlier treatment? yes, of course. but. Stolas has been trying for several episodes now to work this out, and he's hit a wall. he can go no further on his own with this relationship. all he can do is try to move on from what has, honestly, become another abusive relationship for him

I'm sorry but that's not an oblivious birdy. Stolas has grown so much and is so self-aware, actually. he's simply not getting the communication he needs to sustain this relationship anymore

so to Vivzie's "Stolas still not quite being self aware enough at times" in the ep description: prove it. because i'm not fucking convinced Stolas is that bad off.

[red-ropes-of-avalon]

All I Wanted Was to Be Loved For Myself

Chapter 1- Angel of Music

Phantom of the Opera! Nanami x Christine!Reader

Author Notes: Nanami and Reader are around the same age, not the weird age gap in the actual Phantom of the Opera. 

The auction in the abandoned opera house was solemn. The few bids caused little noise, while the most common noise was coughs from the settled dust. “Lot 665 then ladies and gentlemen.” A collector’s music box, it piqued Gojo’s interest at that moment. “A paper mache music box, in the shape of a barrel organ. Found in the catacombs of the opera house. In perfect working order.” The announcer had wound up the box letting it play its eerily beautiful song. “Shall we begin at 20?” The room had not a single bid, just a small cough. “Fine then fifteen?” The announcer said with an exaggerated sigh. Gojo raised his number for the bid. While 2 others bid against him, Gojo eventually won. “A fine piece Vicomte Gojo. Thank you, sir.” As Gojo looked over the music box his heart was filled with longing, a faint memory of the girl who had told him all about that very music box. “Lot 666- the broken chandelier. Now some of you may recall the strange affairs with the supposed ‘Phantom of the Opera’ the ghost of this very opera house. It was never known if this monster truly existed but this is the chandelier supposedly involved in that famous disaster. We have worked hard to restore it and add in new wiring for electrical lights. Perhaps we can shed some light and frighten out those ghosts from so many years ago.”

You were stood on the side with your fellow dancers dressed in flowy outfits for this scene of Hannibal. When Mei Mei hit the highest note of Rome, you all flowed out dancing in synch and singing beautifully. Shoko was on one side of you, a new girl on the other side. The scene was cut abruptly when Naoya the male lead sang Rome incorrectly, to which Gakujani the conductor stopped to yell. “No, no, no! You must enunciate Rome.” As Naoya and Gakujani argued Shoko simply rolled her eyes, rehearsal was long enough without Naoya being unable to pronounce Rome correctly. Mei Mei was the most annoyed and having him hold her hand for his higher notes, her face spoke entirely to her displeasure with Naoya. However, you had no time to watch her face as the ballet portion followed immediately and you were not getting yelled at by Yaga for being distracted. Following the big ballet, the pinnacle of the act was reached as the ensemble behind moved forward to begin singing. Of course, another fluke with Naoya occurred as the sword got stuck. You swore you heard him mumble something about cheap props and by the look on Shoko’s face, she did too. “Maybe if we didn’t have to pay you and Mei Mei an arm and a leg each we could have better props,” Shoko snarked.

“We are running that again from the top.” Gajukanji shooed everyone from their spots. You crossed the stage amongst the dancers though not without catching a nasty side-eye from Mei Mei simply from crossing her path. Still, it was better than passing Naoya who would push you and then delight in mocking you for falling.

“As you can see gentlemen our rehearsals for this season’s production, Hannibal are well underway,” Ijichi spoke as he led 2 men through the theater and to the stage. Trying to gather the cast’s attention was always hard for Ijichi. Yaga instead banged his foot, gathering the attention and causing silence for Ijichi. “I’m sure all of you have heard rumors that I’m retiring. I can put the rumors to rest today, I am in fact retiring.” Ijichi was always so timid despite being the owner of the opera house. “But these are the new owners, meet Monsieur Sukuna, and Monsieur Uraume.” The two men side by side couldn’t be more different. One looked like a bull of a man, and the other looked delicate enough he could be one of the dancers with you. “Monsieurs this is our prima donna Mei Mei. We’ve had the pleasure of having her as our leading soprano for 12 seasons now.” Mei Mei seemed to preen under the attention.

“I've heard you have an amazing voice, Miss Mei Mei. I know there is a wonderful aria in this production. Would you care to sing for us?”

“I don’t do any excess work for free Monsieurs.”

Sukuna barked a laugh motioning for Uraume to give the women some money to incentivize her.

“Ah, now Gakuganji would you do me the honors.”

“Is 2 bars sufficient Miss Mei Mei?” To which the woman gave a dismissive handwave. As the woman was singing she was clearly engaging the 2, strutting her stuff and proving just why she was the leading soprano for so long. As she reached the end, the backdrops for the other scenes fell from the rafters. It cut Mei Mei short, obviously startling the woman. Among the cast whispers of the phantom’s doing were spreading.

“Where is that stagehand? Haruta why would you drop the backdrops?’ Ijichi was clearly nervous, more than he usually was.

“I didn’t, I wasn’t even up there sir. If there was someone it would have to be a ghost.” The blonde’s response just spurred more phantom murmurings.

“It’s an accident. Things happen they probably weren’t tied well enough,” Sukuna dismissed.

“These aren’t just accidents! This has been my life for the last 3 years! I should not have to worry about my life whenever I rehearse. No amount of money makes this worth enduring! I am leaving, either sort that out or I will be finding a new contract.” Following her little tirade Mei Mei stormed out. Naoya sneered at the 2 men before storming out behind the woman.

“Sirs a note for you was found in the rafters,” Yaga handed the men an envelope with an ornate wax seal.

Dear New Owners of My Opera House,

I welcome you to my opera. I am sure Monsieur Ijichi has established with you the rules of how this opera house works I shall give you them in writing. You are to leave Box 7 empty for me and my salary is to be paid on time. I will not tolerate it being late. I hope the best for you in my opera house and look forward to our collaboration.

Best,

Opera Ghost

“A salary?” Sukuna almost wanted to laugh, a phantom demanded a salary.

“Ijichi used to pay him 20,000 a month, though with the Vicomte sponsoring you.”

“We can return to the matter of a ghost’s salary later. Who is the understudy for Mei Mei?” Uraume tried to soothe the situation by diverting.

“There is no understudy for Mei Mei.” Gakuganji balked at the insinuation.

Seeing no volunteers Shoko dragged you forward, “she can do it. She’s been taking lessons.”

“This little dancer girl? Tell me your name girl.” Sukuna intimidated you and Shoko wouldn’t let you disappear back into the cast.

“Y/N L/N.”

“L/N, tell me are you perhaps related to the famous cellist of the same name?” The way Sukuna’s voice was tinted with intrigue did you little comfort.

“Yes sir, he was my father.”

“Very well then, sing, show us if you are good enough.”

Very timidly you began to sing Think of Me, and while it seemed Uraume still held his doubts Sukuna was sold, despite your nervousness. Meeting Yaga’s eyes with his firm glare you began to open up more. Gaining a false confidence simply to avoid Yaga yelling at you. It seemed that was what sold Uraume on your ability, that or Sukuna’s insistence.

The performance was sold out and while you were nervous you were also excited. All eyes would be on you for the first time ever. Having the heavier costume on was an odd feeling, the weight of the skirt and how restricted you were compared to the ballet costumes. Wringing your hands deeply and taking a deep breath, you exited your dressing room to wait in the wings for your cue. By the end the packed opera house was applauding your every move and every note.

After bowing you exited offstage where the ballerinas quickly encircled you giving you praise. They were gossiping though just as quick after, something about the new owners with another man in their box. “You did well Y/N. I’m sure he will be impressed,” Yaga said placing a hand on your shoulder. You guess you had zoned out listening to them chatter and Yaga had pushed through the group of girls. “As for the rest of you, that was a pitiful performance. We must rehearse now, your feet were too flat and not enough bend in your knees. Y/N go get your costume off there’s nothing for you to fix.”

Seeing as you didn’t need to rehearse with them anymore, which was odd to say the least, you began the walk back to the dressing room you were given. In the hall an eerily familiar voice echoed, “bravo, bravo, bravissimo.” You felt yourself go pale at the words walking faster to the room.

Sitting yourself down in the room you let out a sigh. Seconds later Shoko enters the door, obviously having ditched rehearsal. “You were amazing out there. Where did you learn to sing like that?” Shoko quickly sat herself beside you and took your hands in hers. “Oh dear your hands are so cold, and you look pale.”

“I’m fine really. I was taught by a mysterious Angel of Music.”

“Who’s the Angel of Music though?”

“My dad he said when he passed he would send to me an Angel of Music, so that I will always know I am loved.”

“That’s weird but whatever you say. Don’t worry I’ll get all the gossip from the ballerinas and we can keep making fun of the rest of the cast during rehearsals.” Shoko was rambling again, she probably missed you in the wings.

“So this is where you snuck off to Shoko. You are still a dancer and therefore you still need to rehearse.” Yaga stormed through, obviously annoyed that Shoko had disappeared. Shoko shuffled off unhappy to have to part without talking to her best friend more. “As for you, I have a letter.” Yaga handed you a pristine letter swiftly before disappearing after Shoko to watch the ballerinas.

[legendl0re]

A Court of Peace and Ire: Chapter 4: Repaying A Debt

Rhysand visits Tamlin, demanding answers and hurling threats about his son, and the fateful clash of two High Lords finally unfolds.

Notes:

Rhys vs. Tam fight scene as well as arguments to bring forward the crux of Tamsand’s relationship. Lots of angst but I swear the healing is coming xD

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Slight Gore, Fight Scenes, Emotional Angst, References to SA, Ideation of one’s death, Acceptance of death

WARNING: The fight isn’t as bombastic as it may be in canon for two reasons imo:

1) Tamlin has not been using his powers so they are much less refined than if he was using them every day.

2) Rhysand lost a great deal of his own power when he died.

That and also I didn’t want Prythian to be destroyed by their fight, which according to SJM, would be the case.

——

Tamlin felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his temple as his magic swept glass off the floor, carefully shaping it back to a flat plane and nestling tight into the window frame. This morning, he awoke with the gift of the slightest motivation—a desire to fix some pieces of the manor to make it less broken, less dangerous.

Stepping on splinters and broken glass was nothing for a High Lord—one of his many small enduring punishments—but for a child through?

Tamlin shook his head, trying not to think about it. Replacing his wards was the first thing he had done; a starting measure in case that boy ever attempted to winnow back in again. But if that blonde’s snatching of Feyre was any indication, it probably was for naught.

He had little practice with abjuring magic, since he could always just be present to protect those he wished to defend, before he became High Lord.

“A warrior has little use for wards,” his father always said. “Why bother wasting energy with needless shields rather than saving it for the fight to come? If any are so brazen to approach Spring with killing intent, our power shall sharpen to claws to rip them apart, and nothing else.”

His father was a fool, a bloodthirsty fool whose shortsightedness left Tamlin with nothing, save the burden of a responsibility he had never wanted nor trained for.

As he released the arcane hold a breath shot away from him; he really had been out of practice with his powers, surprised to still be able to perform something as involved as reforging glass from hundreds of shards.

Like any weak muscle, he would have to work at it, but he took a moment to admire what he had done, how the window looked pristine as if it had never been shattered to pieces by one of his episodes.

Even though the rage felt like a distant memory, he knew in truth. It was lingering, slithering within his bones and lying in wait. Isolating himself was the only way to protect everyone from its lashing out, from the moments his anger took the reins and tore into the world with his magic.

It had gotten so much worse since his time Under the Mountain, every day a struggle to keep that gaping pit inside him from stretching farther and farther, threatening to consume him along with everything else it could get its hands on.

All because of her.

That hateful, murderous, predatory woman whose malice scarred Prythian even years after he had torn her to pieces…

Torn himself to pieces.

Tamlin shook his head; no sense in dwelling on broken bonds. Wood splinters groaned as his magic pieced them back together, gathering to reform one of the many structural pillars that struggled to bear the manor’s weight.

The High Lord then took a rest, sitting at the top of the steps by the double doors that led to the courtyard. It may have just been the foyer and the entryway, but the progress he had made fixing everything let the weight in his chest lighten just a little. A lone bookshelf, two love seats, and solid, uncracked floorboards were the few, minute details that he had gotten too, but tomorrow he would tackle the stairs and the frayed, broken banisters that flanked them.

Maybe he’d get far enough to see his own bedroom again—perhaps even sleep in it.

Tamlin rolled his sleeves down, thinking about the conversation he had with Feyre’s sister at the border, how much less vicious and vengeful she was compared to the past.

Having eavesdropped a bit on the discussion before making himself known, it seemed the Night Court was keen to keep favor with Eris in preparation for his eventual ascension as High Lord; the eldest Archeron serving as the lure.

Given she had cut the King of Hybern’s head off, she didn’t seem the type to seduce or cajole for the sake of anybody except herself. Yet now she was mated to Rhys’ war general while also serving as a carrot on a stick for Lucien’s disdainful brother?

What was going on there? No mated fae would ever even consider sharing their mate with anyone, even playfully. Eris had already suffered the wrath of one of the Night Court’s Illyrian brutes; why tempt the other one?

Tamlin stood up and shrugged off his pondering. The Night Court was beyond welcome to any inconvenience, and frankly, he had better things to do than waste any further thought on it.

If only the feeling were mutual.

The windows shuddered, then splintered apart, the fresh pane once again scattered on the floor as shadows burst through and coalesced into a familiar, dreadful shape. Tamlin however, gave no notice to the darkness, just staring blankly at the shards at his feet, and the reflection of his eyes within them.

He had long been past sitting in the anger that Rhysand’s presence evoked, instead opting for the small, comforting mantra that allowed him to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

You did the right thing. You bought him back, and he will never forget it.

“Talk. Now.” Huh. Not even a hello or feigned attempt at cordiality; straight to the venom.

“I just fixed these windows.” Tamlin replied, still not meeting Rhysand’s eyes.

“I don’t give a damn about your windows.” The High Lord’s shadow coiled over, but even as his lethal cerulean gaze took over Tamlin’s in the broken glass below, the lord of Spring didn’t turn up. “Why was my son here?”

“I’d say “perhaps you should ask him,” Tamlin muttered, finally meeting the stare, “But he doesn’t seem to be at the talking stage yet. Perhaps you should keep better track of your things.” Rhys’ hand knotted around Tamlin’s collar, jerking him to a stand.

“That’s. My son.” Every word was laced with a promise of death, Rhys’ mouth twitching as he bared his teeth. “If you ever-“

“If I ever what, Rhys?” Tamlin barked back, swiping away Rhys’ grip. “I seem to recall only one of us has a history of mutilating children. So you can keep all of your paternal bloodlust and save it for the Illyrians.” Rhys looked confused at that. “Oh, you intend to spare Nyx the wonderful experience of breaking atop the mountain?”

Tamlin felt a single hint of regret as Rhys’ pupils cut down to slits.

“He won’t know that life.” He hissed coldly.

“That your decision, or the High Lady’s?” They were mere inches from one another now, Rhys’ shadows nearly thundering while Tamlin felt the claws stir within his hands. “You have a lot of nerve coming here and badgering me about visits I don’t even want, especially considering how many times I keep catching your oaf-general and his mate.” Rhys laughed, the sound brimming with disdain.

“Finally found a bit of nerve, Tamlin? You never had the gall to insult my brother to my face before.” Tamlin huffed a soft breath, eyes rolling.

“No nerve, Rhys. Just a lack of interest in whatever you have to say, and an ever-growing wish for you to leave me the hell alone.” Tamlin pushed past Rhys, unsure of where he was even going. He just had to get away from him, had to remove himself from the stirring in his chest, the rushing in his head. The High Lord of the Night Court was furious; utterly thirsting for a fight and willing to say anything, touch any nerve he could to get it.

“My son comes here by accident, and suddenly you’re tidying this place up.” Rhys’ hands found their way into his pockets. “Peculiar, isn’t it?”

Tamlin paused. Shit.

“I told him to never come here again. So if I see, if I hear that he is here a second time, I will hold you personally responsible.” Tamlin’s hand gripped the edge of the doorway, wood whining as his nails latched into it.

Enough, goddamnit. Enough!

“Sure.” The High Lord of Spring crooned, head coiling back like a serpent. If Rhys’ words had so much venom, it was only fair that Tamlin shared some of his own. “I’ll be sure to ward up my mansion so the next time he winnows here, he bounces right off and finds himself outside with the naga. I’m sure he’ll be a nice snack.”

Rhys took a step, the shadows of the room drawing back to gather deep within him.

Preparations for the inevitable.

Tamlin turned to face him in full, complete acceptance of what was to come filling his heart.

Ever since the day Rhys and his father cursed him to rule this Court, he knew things between them would only end one way.

“Your son ever comes here again, do well to remember that I’m the only thing standing between him and oblivion, so perhaps you should be thanking me for sending him home, fed and warm.” Rhys continued laughing, as if ignoring every single word Tamlin had said.

“You know. I never did repay you for your words at the High Lord’s meeting. About Feyre.” Regret would have given the high fae a slight chill, had fury not boiled it all away.

“No. You didn’t. And I haven’t repaid you for letting your father open my mother’s throat, or Feyre for setting my court aflame. There’s many things that haven't been repaid, so be mindful of the debts you owe.”

Tamlin didn't’ realize what he had said until it left his lips, and Rhys’ smile vanished entirely.

“What did you just say?” He whispered, a wrathful shudder as he inclined his head.

Tamlin felt a flicker of worry, an urge to scramble back and try and balm the words over with something, anything…

But there was nothing. There was no want for peace, no wish for change, no reason to continue and suffer this abuse in the name of hoping things could go back to the way they were.

This was it. The end. One of them would live, and one of them would die.

“It means,” He growled, teeth elongating to punctuate his words. “Be mindful. Of the debts. You owe.”

Rhys pointed a finger, a blast of misting power ripping through the air between them, but just as Tamlin had burned through Amarantha’s magic when he slew her, his energy flooded over Rhys’ and crushed it to nothingness.

He tore forward, hands turning clawed as they pounded into the floor for a leap, before bludgeoning Rhysand through the double doors into the courtyard outside. The half-Illyrian’s hands clamped down on Tamlin’s growing jaws, warring to keep his teeth from tearing his head from his neck.

Tamlin continued to shift in his grasp, golden fur and horns bursting forth before he planted his legs, and swung the ruler of the Night Court through a stone fountain.

Rhys tumbled up to a stand, wind shooting into Tamlin’s face as his wings burst out in full splendor, drinking in all the color of spring around him.

“I should have tore you open the second you put your hands on her.” Rhys threatened, violet globes of energy bloomed in his hands. Tamlin smirked as well as he could in his beast form, cobblestones cracking as he stepped toward his great tormentor.

“And I should not have wasted my power bringing you back. But come on, Rhysie. Let’s see who handles it better. You? Or me?” The vines and greenery around Rhysand begin to coil like snakes, enlivened by Tamlin’s power and wrath. “I'm sure Amarantha will be glad to have you warm her bed again in Hel.”

Rhys howled, taking to the air as his hands shot forward, energy exploding against Tamlin’s body in violet flame. Circling around the courtyard, his power burned the remaining flowers in the garden to blackened ash, Tamlin using stone rails and the manor’s remaining pillars as cover against the magic. Catching a fallen column in his jaw, he hurled it at Rhys, sending the High Lord crashing through the roof into the house’s second level.

“You pushed me to this!” Tamlin hollered, the tree shaking from the volume. “I never wanted to be High Lord, and you fucking forced it on me!” The manor’s wing erupted, spears of raw magic shooting from Rhys’ eyes at eating up all the stone and wood in its way. Black mist boiled from the half-Illyrian’s mouth as he screamed, like the shadowy breath of a dragon.

Tamlin scuttled through into the opposite wing, narrowly evading the power that threatened to disintegrate to shreds of flesh and bone. The light then vanished, replaced with a swiftly rippling darkness that surrounded him at all sides. Every angle was completely black, Tamlin knocking into furniture and feeling glass and splinters puncture his hands.

A fist crushed into the side of his skull, then came a kick to the ribs hastened by the flap of wings. Tamlin swung his claws out blindly, only to be rewarded with an open palm to the throat that nearly knocked him unconscious.

As his throat pulsed in pain, he drew back his rage and opened his ears, listening to the quietest step, the subtlest beat of wings, anything to tell him where Rhys was going to strike next.

Tamlin heard the glass shriek to his left, and thrashed his horns just in time to catch Rhys lunging towards him. To block being skewered by antlers, Rhys gave up the concentration of his spell, and so the darkness fled and revealed the manor once more. The High Lords struggled, Rhys’ hands bleeding as he pushed to keep Tamlin from goring him with horns.

Once again, their gazes clashed together like swords, utter hatred compelling one another to rip, to fight, to tear and scream and forget any possible semblance of good the other may have once had. Neither of them realized that tears had begun falling from their eyes, a quiet, repressed mourning that neither would ever acknowledge.

Rhys drew himself down to get the leverage he needed, lifting Tamlin up before crashing his knee into the Spring court ruler’s lower jaw. Tamlin felt his teeth loosen, and the High Lord of Night drew all of his power into his fist before plunging it into the beast’s flank, sending him careening across the hall and down the stairs.

Agony tore through the high fae, lumbering to a stand as he struggled to breathe, the left side of his torso flaring with blood.

“You pushed me to this.” Rhysand said, the half-Illyrian’s voice infesting Tamlin’s mind. “When you laid my family out for your father on a silver platter. When you decided to fuck my mate.”

“She wasn’t your mate at the time.” Tamlin growled, and suddenly his bones, his muscles, his entire body, began to betray him. Rhys’ talons had plunged into his mind, knowing that no matter the volume of magic he levied at the High Lord of Spring, a physical fight would be an uphill battle.

“I could snap your brain in half and trap you in the form forever. Maybe I’ll put a collar on you and take you back home, make you a pet for Feyre.” Tamlin, despite the agony coursing through his brain, grinned.

“It…won’t change…a thing.” Tamlin felt Rhys swoop down from out of sight, and his thumbs pressed into his forehead with the full force of his Daemati powers piercing into him. He wailed and roared for his power—his court—to save him, and the brambles that had roped around his home leapt to his rescue.

Before he could shatter his mind, Rhys was torn away; latched to the floor by roots and thorns as Tamlin was forced back into his fae form. But with a swipe of his wings, the High Lord of Night slashed through the vines and turned them to rotted dust for good measure, before slamming upward to get him back to his feet.

Tamlin coughed and tried to wade through the pain in his head, until Rhys gripped him by the neck with one hand, before plunging the other right into the wound at his side. His ribs being pulled centimeter by centimeter, Tamlin strained to remain still, right where Rhys wanted him.

“Guess I wield it better.” Rhys muttered, the whites of his eyes now entirely drowned in black as he embodied his full power. Both his hands and mental talons had clenched in a vice around Tamlin, like a hawk with a struggling rabbit.

“Does it feel good?” Tamlin managed to get out, blood dripping down his chin.

No. Tamlin heard? Or, felt? Rhys hasn’t said anything, his teeth clenched so tight they threatened to break, but that “no” was in his voice, as were the thousands of other thoughts worming their way into the High Lord of Spring’s head.

In his rage, in his need to lock Tamlin’s mind down, Rhys had left his own mind wide open. Images and feelings were pouring a deluge, a psychic rapid of anger, fear, and self-hatred that had been all locked up inside.

He saw Rhys and Feyre form a new bargain; one of unity in death and foolhardy desperation.

He saw Feyre’s sister kneeling before her pale, pregnant body, wielding primordial power to change fate itself.

And he saw the darkness Rhys had been lost in upon giving his life to seal the Cauldron, and the small kernels of Prythian’s High Lords to guide him back.

Tamlin’s eyes widened, and he let every muscle loosen in a final surrender.

Rhys was broken, harried, lost between the mask he wore and the truth that lay in his heart. It was the same sort of suffering Feyre had gone through, the one he had been blind to while trying to make everything perfect and meaningful for them.

But whereas Feyre could fight, could push and claw herself back from that abyss, Rhys it had seemed, could not.

“I hate you.” The High Lord of Night said, his hateful voice tinged with sorrow.

“I wish I could hate you.” The High Lord of Spring replied, shimmering eyes meeting those of the soon-to-be ender of his life.

It was true—even when he served Amarantha, even when he slew his family and cursed him with rulership, even when he stole his one possible chance of happiness away—Tamlin never hated Rhys.

That made what he was about to say all the more worse.

“You can’t live with it.” Rhys paused at Tamlin’s words, his fingers having already grown to talons primed to cut his throat. “If it wasn’t for me bringing her here, you never would have met Feyre, and if it wasn’t for me convincing the High Lords, she would still be dead.” The high fae swallowed, throat raw as if he had swallowed glass. “If it wasn’t for me giving you that last light, you would be gone too.“

Tamlin remembered clear as day why he did it; because someone needed to live. Someone needed a happy ending after everything that Hybern had done.

Everything that he had done.

“Your love, your life, and your son, are all because of me. And you…can’t…live with it." Rhys let his claw dig into the side of Tamlin’s neck, his eyes wide like a mad man.

“You think you convinced the High Lords to bring Feyre back? When Amarantha died, when the curse was broken, we all got our powers back, Tamlin. You think I didn’t peer into their minds and make them give it up, make them bring her back?” Tamlin winced, teeth stained red from the blood in his throat.

“Of course.” He lilted. “They wouldn't have done it because they owed her everything, because she freed them from fifty years of torment. Why should Feyre have earned anything on her own merit, when you and the Night Court can just take the credit for every good thing that happens in Prythian?” Tamlin sniffled, eyes stinging at the mention of her name so many times. It had taken its toll.

“I loved her, more than you ever will, and more than you ever could. So do it. Just do it. I’m tired of being alone.”

Rhysand’s trembling hand rose up high, the sun gleaming against his claws, and Tamlin closed his eyes as his chin lifted to expose his neck.

Finally.

“Rhys!” The two High Lords heard, the faint rumbling of a winnow right before it. Both of them turned, and found Feyre standing in the middle of the room.

Nyx was seated in her arms, eyes wide with fear at what was unfolding before them. One look at his son’s face sent Rhys up to his feet, releasing Tamlin from the grasp of both mind and body.

“What’re you doing here?” The High Lord of Night asked, Feyre stepping back as he approached. Catching his reflection in one of the broken windows, he saw the black-sclera of his eyes, the wounds and welts that had patterned across his face and his body, and the blood that coated his hands, hair, and face.

He looked like a monster.

“Feyre, I…” Nyx hid his face away, and Feyre’s brow furrowed in a cold, solemn rage.

“Rhys. Go home. Please.” Rhys faltered for a moment, but then slowly rose ram-rod straight.

“I’m not leaving you here with him.” Not after what he had done. Tamlin would have laughed if he wasn’t in the worst pain imaginable.

“Yes you are.” Feyre retorted, nostril flaring as she took a step toward the ruler of the Spring Court. Rhys reached for her but she wheeled back on him, and Tamlin weakly watched as a bout unfolded with their minds. Yet the entire time, he noticed that Nyx had turned up slightly to face him, a small tear running down his round cheek.

Eventually Rhysand relented, sighing in defeat as the space behind him peeled in a winnow. “Please have Mor look at you.” Feyre urged, Rhys not even nodding before he left.

And there they were, just how it started.

Feyre and Tamlin, alone in his manor.

At least that's what she had thought, until she learned of the glamour and how her sneaking about made her look like a fool in front of his court.

Tamlin sat up as best he could, eyes chained to the floor as if he just couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I told him not to do this.” She started, voice cold and distant as if to hide her initial horror, her concern for him. The High Lord said nothing, his chest undulating with a mixture of fear, distress, and resentment. Why couldn’t she have just remained as hateful as he thought she was, and sat back while her High Lord peeled him apart, finally freeing him of this torment?

“It’s fine.” He said, clutching his side and grunting as the pain surged. Feyre knelt down, trying to meet Tamlin’s eyes, but he shied away.

So she opted for a different approach, nestling Nyx closer to her as her son turned to face the Lord in full. “Nyx wanted to come back. I…supposed it would have been a good excuse to talk.”

“About?” Tamlin hissed, retreating further into himself.

Feyre ran through the list. Beron? Koschei? The changes in Prythian? Lucien and Elain’s situation? There were plenty of subjects, but Tamlin hadn’t been around for any of the now seasonal High Lord Meetings to be informed of them. But she kept silent, waiting until the silence between them grew unbearable for the High Lord.

“I think your mate had the same idea,” He murmured, “To talk…”

Feyre walked over and placed Nyx on one of the few undamaged chairs. “Stay here.” She ordered, earning a nod from him. Turning back, she approached Tamlin again, but he shuffled away from her touch.

“Get away from me.” She pursed her lips in a stern look, the pointed stare of a new mother.

“I’d rather we speak without you having a gaping wound in your side.”

“I’d rather we didn’t speak at all.”

“Glad to see your stubbornness hasn’t changed.” She offered her hand again, the blooming light of the Court of Dawn’s healing magic resting within it. A shock of agony in his left side made Tamlin relent, taking his former lover’s hand and letting the energy course through him.

Best case scenario, it was a trick and he would die anyway.

“Rhys told me you were living peacefully.” She said, a half-truth. Rhys never talked with her about his visits with Tamlin, and after what she had just saw, she could see why. Perhaps she just hoped that he was doing fine without ever having to hear about it.

“I didn’t realize how I lived my life was any of your business anymore.” Tamlin replied, wincing as Feyre willed the flesh, muscle, and bone to knit itself back together.

“From a personal standpoint, it isn’t. But you’re a High Lord, and I’m a High Lady. We can’t divorce ourselves from each other entirely, much as we wish.” Feyre felt the weight of that truth, forever unable to unlatch herself from those first memories no matter what she did.

Tamlin suppressed a small smirk. We. As if any of this breaking had been mutual. At least she was taking her new role seriously.

“There was a lot going on, which was why I was keen to let Rhys handle everything.”

“I noticed.” He replied, both their gazes moving over the fidgeting Nyx. The stuffed night beast was still in his hands, the boy making growling noises as he let the beast rove over the hills of the oversized couch. “Congratulations…I guess.”

Tamlin’s words threw a wall of cold bitterness between them, and Feyre pulled her hand away as the last of the wound was repaired.

It confounded her a bit, how Tamlin could not want to tear Nyx apart or hold him over Rhys and her as some sort of hostage, some sort of last vengeance against them. But it seemed the conversation she had with Nesta held true; Tamlin had bought Nyx back safe and sound.

“If you want us to leave, we’ll leave. But I’d rather we actually talk.” Feyre stood and took a seat by Nyx, before picking him up and placing him on her lap. “And Rhys won’t be coming back here anymore.”

Tamlin chuffed, sitting up fully. “Never knew him to take being told what to do lightly.” Feyre remained stoic, unshakable in her resolve. She had long since passed the feeling that she could just leave things as they were, ignoring Tamlin and being unable to face the harshness of the things they had done to each other.

That wasn’t a good example for a mother to be, nor was it for a High Lady, a role she had finally begun to sink her teeth into.

“I have an unfair advantage.” Feyre smirked for a moment, but then realized just how much every sentence spilt more salt into the old wounds they had with one another. Every word, every attempt at light heartedness, was soured by all that had happened between them, all still raw and unresolved, left to dry and rot like a festering wound.

“Regardless,” she continued, “He can take it how he likes.”

Tamlin finally let his eyes rise, catching the visage of Feyre seated with her young son at her lap. “Is that not what you wanted?” He asked. Admittedly, it was a low blow to tug on Feyre’s vengeful streak, but it was the truth.

“I never wanted him to hurt you.” She answered, a slight pain in her voice even as Nyx reached up to her and spoke in incomprehensible babbles.

It should have burned Tamlin—the sight of her with her son—should have awakened in a torrent that brought down the last of the manor upon them both.

But it didn’t. He just kept focus on the boy starting to teeth on his little night beast, and his mother watching him dutifully. She practically paid Tamlin no mind beyond the initial concern, having grown strong enough with her own right that she had nothing to worry about.

Tamlin felt as if a small part of him would have been proud, but he sighed, careful not to aggravate his bruises as he stood up.

“Has he eaten?”

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

On The Hunt: Run Run Little One

Summary- 1.8k Alpha Steve Rogers x Little One. You are navigating a life unbonded and without your mate.

Warnings- There is no Steve in this chapter, it is dedicated entirely to our Reader. I felt our reader deserved her own chapter showing how she is handling life after Steve left. It is heavy on angst.

A/N- Well I had the hardest time with them after what happened. Seriously, I broke my own heart with that ending and tried to pick up the pieces after that... I needed to mourn it in my own way I guess. But let's see what happens. Thank you to everyone who ever followed The Pack series, and had a deep love for Alpha Steve and Little One. Please don't give up on them. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

You turned the last bolt and pushed up from the engine, peeking around the hood to a teenager sitting in the driver's seat. “Turn the key Parker.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He said respectfully, which you hid a grin at the young wolf. Still, a pup, displaced from his home, he tried so hard to belong. You immediately liked the kid and found him smart with all the technological stuff. Sam was smart to quickly recruit him to help keep the equipment running while most of the pack went back into the logging business, trying to keep them afloat while they all tried to recover from what happened. 

The truck shuddered to life, Peter giving a fist pump in victory. “I knew we would get it Y/N! And Sam thought we were going to have to junk it.” 

“He should have more faith in us.” You agreed while closing the heavy hood with a loud bang and started putting away the garages tools, Peter gathered others scattered around, handing them off to you. You noticed his glance continuing to drift back to the back of the garage but you ignored it. There was nothing back there for anyone.  

“Hey, what's up with that truck under the sheet in the back? Does that one need to be fixed?”

You felt a tremor roll through you because underneath that oversized sheet was Lenore. Steve’s precious truck that he left behind. It was something that you couldn’t bring yourself to go back to look at, the truck had so many memories that still hurt. When you returned back, Sam had it already stored away, another sign that Steve was gone. 

It felt like a lifetime ago and just yesterday all at once. 

Your Little Wolf whined at the sudden change in you, trying to keep you from sinking back into those feelings of a broken heart. “That one isn't to be touched, it is out of commission,” you said sharper than you meant to, unable to mask the anger and hurt that Lenore brought up in you, Peter snapped his mouth shut from any more questions, picking up the clear warning in your voice. A soft thump against the garage entrance broke you from your tension.  

Sam made his way into the garage to check on their progress. “Is it ready?”

“Yup, Parker took one look and figured it out.” Your tone changed from earlier, one that said you were happy and content. A lie. The Little Wolf yipped happily as the teenager blushed at the praise, rolling his thin shoulders. 

“It was really just a guess.” 

“Well when you save us from having to purchase a new truck Peter, you helped us out a lot with your guess.”  

“You keep bringing the equipment you guys deem can’t be fixed. I will put money on this kid making it work better then before.” You winked at Peter, who was scoffing at the praise, red in the face. 

You bowed out of the conversation, leaving the garage to head to Natasha’s cabin. Peter waited till you were gone before speaking privately to Sam. “I’m worried I might have upset Y/N by asking about that truck in the back.” 

Sam sighed sympathetically. “Don’t worry about it Kid. That was Steve’s truck and he is a sore subject for Y/N, you didn’t know.” He pointed to the engine. “How about you show me what you did so I can fix it myself next time.”

As soon as you stepped into Natasha’s home, you started stripping from your sweaty dirty clothes, feeling much too sensitive. The shower called your name, and when you stepped into it, your head tilted back to let the water stream over your face, rivulets of grime that came with working on equipment brought. The Little Wolf seemed to feel more relaxed, grooming herself in your mind just as you started to scrub yourself clean. 

<I think you scared that kid when he asked about the truck.>

Your mouth twisted at her observation, you certainly hadn't meant to. Peter didn’t know anything about your broken bond with Steve. He just caught me off guard with the question. 

<Eventually people are going to start talking about him. We can’t avoid discussing him forever.> 

That made you snarl, whisking the last of the soap and shampoo off. You didn’t want to talk about your mate. It had been months and it still stung, broke your heart, and reminded you of the bond you lost and the man who you still loved with that said broken heart. 

“I’m asking you, as your mate to not do this, don’t shut me out from you. Sending me away from you won’t keep me any safer than before.” 

“Ever since you have been with me, you have been hurt Y/N. When have I ever actually been able to keep you safe? I already freed you from me Little One.” He paused at the door, his hand on the door handle, and pushed through, never once looking back at you.

The memory was an onslaught that made you sob out in the streaming water, mixing with your tears. Watching him just walk away and holding out hope he would turn around, tell you that you two would figure it out. He didn’t. You waited so long till Natasha came to you, telling you he left. 

He really was gone. The hardest part was you couldn’t hate him because of it. You knew he held himself responsible for what happened to you and was doing it because he was scared of ever hurting you, that he couldn’t protect you like he promised he would. 

The Little Wolf brushed against you for comfort till you felt control again. She dropped the conversation, but you already knew what she was going to say. 

That you had a home already, the cabin that Steve let you make into your home sat vacant and dark, waiting for either of its people to return. Maybe it’s time to return home, and start healing from everything that had happened. 

It was just too hard. 

You needed to take your mind away from the past, you needed to run and play before leaving the pack once again.

The Little Wolf spanked the ground in front of the black yearling, yipping at him to play with you. Peter was cautious, pretending to be uninterested in what you were trying to entice him into but he soon broke, giving chase after the Little Wolf, who swiftly took off. 

You had the advantage of knowing these trails with all the twists and turns, the thick underbrush you could hide in and attack the younger wolf. You ducked into the blackberry brambles, your thick fur keeping the thorns from pricking you, and the sweet fruit was fragrant enough to hide your scent. Lowering to the ground, you waited, patiently. 

Soon the black wolf breezed past, his nose to the ground and circling with deep inhales. A confused growl rolled from him as he twisted back, having lost the trail. Your tail twitched, and your muscles flexed with anticipation to leap. When he stuck his nose in the hole where you darted into, your paw thumped the tip, making him fall back and you pushed out, knocking him over with playful yips and licks to his face.

Taking off again, Peter scrambled after you, picking up speed with his lighter yearling body. You took his challenge, picking up speed to lead him to fallen logs that lay decaying in the path. Your hind legs powered beneath you, sending you easily soaring over them where Peter had to skid in his surprise at the sudden obstacle, losing seconds in making his jump. 

It was freeing, to feel the bursts of forest floor shoot underneath you as you leveled yourself, streamline racing through the last of the woods till you burst onto a stony beach, twisting to tackle Peter and roll him into the edge of the lake. Tumbling together till splashes of water soaked you, you and Peter both stumbled out of the cold lake to shake the water off and in a peaceful lope, trotted onto the beach, panting to catch their breath. Both dripping wet, the Little Wolf started to run a tongue against the pup's ears, chewing out the debris that got caught in his fur. He grumbled in agitation at being taken care of but rolled his head this way and that for you to do so. After all, it was so reminiscent of his mother taking care of him that he wasn’t going to stop you. 

A howl sounded up, calling the wolves all back, and the Alpha compel in it made Peter whine, having to trot away from you. You chose to ignore it, watching as Peter left you the way you two came. Pushing up off the stony beach, you started following the water's edge, able to weave back and forth as the gentle waves rippled on the shore with the wind blowing. The cool autumn was starting to touch pack lands, the trees hinting at the color changing with bites of yellows and reds. 

Other pack mates answered, there ‘I’m here, I’m here” location cry, but none of them had the deep boom of the Alpha you so desperately missed. 

Returning back to Natasha’s, you dashed past the redhead who was lounging on her porch, face tilted to the twilight sky just starting to edge the treeline. After changing back and slipping on your clothes, you made your way outside, a bag slung over your shoulder. Dropping it near one of the chairs, you slipped into it. 

It was quiet between you and Natasha for a few minutes until she stirred in her chair to finally face you while you too admired the night sky, recalling happier times when your Little Wolf sang her Alpha’s song. “Time for you to leave again?” 

You gave a wistful smile, nodding. “Yeah, I’ve been here longer than I intended already. T’Challa won’t care but…” You shrugged, finally turning your gaze back to knowing green eyes and a sad smile. “I’m still trying to figure out what I want in life. Helping the Panthers find their stolen, gives me a purpose right now.”

“Y/N” Natasha reached over to grasp your hand, squeezing tightly. “You have a home here, a purpose, all those things. You are family, always will be.” You nodded at her words, tears building in the corner of your eyes but refusing to spill. “But I know you have to do this. Just come home when you can?” 

“Of course, I will, keep your couch free for me?” 

“Well, you could just take the damn bed woman. Not like I’m here all that much either.” Natasha laughed and you pushed to a stand. She followed suit, you both embracing in a goodbye hug. “Stay safe Malen'kiy volk, don't make me come to Wakanda to save your ass.” 

“You can come, but to hook up with that panther again.” 

Natasha gave a wicked smirk and arch of her brow. “Now that is tempting indeed.” 

You laughed before one last hug. Grabbing your bag, you headed off the steps. Stark's was a few hour's drive and he already was expecting you in the morning to send you back to Wakanda. 

It hurt to leave, but it hurt to stay too much.

[suchalonelysunflower]

Was I on Your Mind? (l.h)

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x fem! Reader

Requested? Yes by the lovely @whentherosesbl00m

Summary: Based on the song "Was I on Your Mind?" You find out something that compromises your paradise. Is a lie better than the truth?

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of cheating. Language. Some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, I'm sorry)

Word Count: 2.9 k

Author's note: I really hope you like this one! Remember that REBLOGS are incredibly helpful as well as COMMENTS and INTERACTIONS. Please SUPPORT THE WRITERS. Hope you like it and happy reading 🦋✨🌻

My masterlist // tag list on bio!

The clouds hid the sun behind them, almost as if to protect it from what was about to happen. You knew it wouldn’t rain, the clouds and the pain were still new to the picture-perfect paradise you built for yourself, the rain would only make it all go away and let it start anew.

So the paradise is gloomy and cold even with the windows open to try and make it seem alive; prove that it hasn’t consumed you yet. Or maybe it was just denial, still.

You haven’t cried since you learned about it. Not a single tear as the dark hole that settled upon your heart grew wider and wider until every inch of you was covered in dark matter. You let the pain settle inside you until it became nothing. Till you felt nothing. You just gathered up your things - the ones you had at his place at least - and left without looking back, taking your paradise with you to see if you could ever fix it.

The keychain on the table felt empty without his key to adorn it. You took it out today and left it on his kitchen counter, releasing yourself from the house that was now forever tinted with broken glass memories, where you know they’re there but it’s hard to see them through the damage. It was the last piece you had of him. All the pictures framed and all of the gifts he showered you with are now tucked and hidden inside the box that was now laying next to your feet.

The clock said it was 7 a.m, yet your mind has been reeling since 2. With a sigh you walked toward the kitchen and put the kettle on, he must be on his way.

You knew he would come eventually, it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t at least try to make it right. That’s something you loved about him, how he’d never let you go to bed angry or without at least talking about what was making you mad that day. But the valiant prince could not save the princess this time, no words or acts of service could ever fix her broken heart, so she walked out of the castle through the back door without even facing the dragon.

The water started boiling the second the first rounds of knocks were heard all over your home. They were desperate, angry even. You imagined him standing at the other side, knuckles white as snow clashing against the wood over and over again, hurting him as they got louder accompanied by the sound of your name. You waited for the tea to be poured into the two mugs, the heat evolving your hands when you carried them back to the table and left them one in front of the other. Only then did you turn to the door.

The knocks stopped once he heard the click of the lock being opened. You prepared yourself for this moment, but it was still as painful as ever to remain calm once the door was swung open and he was standing at the other side.

He was leaning over the entrance with a hand balancing his weight at the side of the door. His lips were parted as he breathed heavily, chest rising and falling with every beat of his heart. You knew he mustn’t have slept, not with the way his hair swayed in different directions - but the eyes were the ones that told you everything. Those bright blue eyes that were now hidden under a cloud of tears and dark, hollowed bags under them that mirrored your own.

“Y/N…” He said quietly. Your name sounded foreign from his lips, like a spell or a curse “What’s this?”

You looked at the crumbled piece of paper he was holding, the one that had your handwriting and your last goodbye.

“What do you think, Luke?” You asked, turning around and walking back to your home, hearing how the door closed behind him.

“Why?!”

You sat down at the table, not reacting to his outburst or his demand. You just grabbed your mug of tea and took a sip without saying a word.

Luke, on the other hand, was starting to lose it. A curse slipped under his breath as he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it somewhere across the room, huffing. His sudden ringless hand messed up his curls some more before he had the decency to sit down across the table from you, begging you for an answer.

“Why is the first thing I find when I come back from the desert your key and a piece of paper that says you’re leaving?”

‘From the desert’ he said, and you almost believed him. The new album made the guys take new approaches to their creative process, traveling for weeks to a secluded place in Joshua tree so that they can connect with the music in a more personal way. Yet, when he said it, it almost sounded like the truth.

You looked him in the eyes, silence striking both of you as you tried to decipher where was the man you fell in love with. Was he still there somewhere or should you start looking for the remaining pieces of your heart that he still held hostage on the empty vessel that he called love?

Now, every word felt like a new charade. A new lie. You wondered how many of those you believed were true.

Luke sighed, frustrated with the silence as he dropped his head in the cave of his palms.

“Y/N, I’m lost here!”

“I’m as lost as you”

You could tell that was not the answer he was hoping for. His eyes met yours as he frowned, not in anger but in confusion. Could he tell? Or did he actually have no clue?

“Baby-” He started, but you shook your head, tearing your eyes off of him “What’s wrong? Talk to me”

“I- I don’t think I can”

Silence. A silence that contrasted the yelling inside your mind, all the questions, and all the worries. The fears that will not be out in the open and the turning tables of the lies that you hoped were just as recent as your heartache.

For nights on end, you wondered what it would be like to see him again. If the emotions will finally overcome you once you are standing in front of those baby blue eyes. What front would you put? Could nothing be enough to let him know what you know? Or would you just stand there with open arms, pretend nothing is wrong and continue with your paradise with the windows closed, never opening them again for the fear of what is out there?

But there was nothing to wonder about anymore. Not when he’s sitting right in front of you, demanding answers you were so scared to even ask him in the first place. But nothing can allow fear anymore.

“I can’t talk to you anymore, Luke,” You said, ever so calm and quiet that the clock on the wall made louder tics “Because if I do I’m afraid I won’t like the answers”

“What are you talking about?”

“Luke, why haven’t you called me this past week that you were away?”

The words got stuck at the tip of his tongue, only a breath to witness the unsaid. He lowered his gaze, just for a moment, and you wondered if it was the shame of the lie that made him do it.

“You know there’s bad signal there, we are not in touch with anyone while we-”

“Have you asked yourself why I haven’t called you this past week?” You asked, feeling the words burn down your throat as you spoke “Or maybe you didn’t even notice”

He said nothing.

“You want to know what I was doing this week instead of calling?” You asked, hands wrapped around the mug that was slowly losing its heat “I started to pack up, slowly. All the things that were in your house that belonged to me are now back here somewhere. I took my time knowing you won’t be back, I fed Petunia like you asked me to and took her on walks. I watered the plants and cleaned what needed to be cleaned. But with every passing day, I started to disappear from your world and you didn’t even notice. Not even a text”

“But… why?”

“I don’t know, I hope you could give me the answer”

Luke huffed and rolled his eyes.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” He asked “I’m blindsided! Yes, I fucked up about not calling and shit, but fuck! Y/N, you can’t just take your things and leave without at least giving me-”

“I’ve seen the pictures, Luke”

He sat back. Your words startled him into shock as he looked at you with wide eyes. His fingers are still levitating from the wood of the table, pausing the constant drumming he does when he is nervous. It wouldn’t seem like much, but his reaction alone broke your heart.

You finally let out the thoughts that had been consuming you every night. The words that you rehearsed in your head over and over again, you finally said them even when you prayed to god you didn’t have to.

“What?” He asked, sounding small. Like a child getting caught.

For a moment your mind went back to those chill afternoons spent on his couch, where he’d never raised his voice to not disturb the peace that you created for yourselves. He would lay on your chest as you played with his hair, just enjoying each other’s company where everything seemed so perfect and real.

Now that image is shattered and you don’t know who to blame.

“I’ve seen them. I’ve seen… her” You said, trying to calm your thoughts “Pictures of you with her, by her side. Holding her waist as if you were afraid she could go away. I’ve seen you both in the background, talking very closely, wondering where I was in the conversation. Doubting my place, my mind. Pictures of days you said you were away to write, but the location tagged at a local bar. There were so many of just one night and I’m scared to find out if there’s more from the nights where you didn’t call”

Luke shook his head “You don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Enlighten me”

“I don’t know what you want me to say”

“Then tell me I’m wrong” You pleaded, holding his gaze “For the love of god, Luke, tell me I’m wrong. I want to be wrong, I don’t want to be right. Or tell me a good lie, a new truth that I can accept and we could move past this. Anything that could take away this awful feeling! Just tell me I’m wrong and I’ll come back, make me believe whatever you want, I don’t care anymore if you lie. Just tell me I’m wrong, please. Please”

Your lips trembled from the words, but there wasn’t a tear in sight. The beating of your heart finally caught up to the adrenaline, you wanted to carve it out of your chest and present it to him on a silver platter, making him see that you were not lying.

He could see it as well, all the pent-up energy now wasted on him. The desperation to cling to something he knows is lost. For every emotion you felt, he felt it twice as much and twice as hard when it finally hit him. Now the silence is back with an answer he would never have the heart or the guts to give.

The damage was done, the paradise broken.

And you knew. For minutes he sat there without being able to look at you. You knew there was no coming back from it.

“Did it feel good?”

“Y/N-” He begged, tears forming in his eyes.

“No, tell me. Did it hit you as it should? Did you feel free? Or was it just curiosity to see what you’ve been missing while you were with me?”

Luke shook his head, unable to meet your eyes as your words hit him hard.

“Was it survival? To have that primal feeling of calm, to do it with someone new and see what it was all about”

“Stop, please”

“I need to know” You begged “I need an answer that could help me live through it. Something that can explain why you decided to burn it down before our ashes even hit the ground. Did they make a sound? Give me an answer, Luke, something that breaks my heart completely. Something that shatters all the love that I have left for you. I can’t live with it anymore, I won’t survive it. Break me and tear me apart. Or lie to me and make me come back. I can’t keep going, I can’t not know why”

He clenched his fists on top of the table, pressed his lips on a thin line. He couldn’t answer something he didn’t know. Cause that’s the truth and you can see it clearly as day: he didn’t even know why.

“Was I on your mind?”

“Don’t-”

“Tell me if I was. Even a glimpse of consciousness during that time. When you kissed or when you touched, did it feel foreign or like coming home? Did you call her by her name forgetting mine along the way? Making yourself believe that I wouldn’t find out or that I never existed at all, pretending there was nothing wrong when I was sleeping in your bed. Was I on your mind when you decided that I wasn’t enough?”

“No”

And there it was, the truth that sounded sweet even when the knife cut through your heart like it was nothing. He did it. He gave you what you wanted.

And it felt good to hear.

It felt good to finally know the truth from a lie. It felt good to have that pain finally collapse its walls and consume you with just a simple word. It felt good to know that there could not be any love left, not like the one you felt before anyways. You were free, after sleepless nights you could finally rest with your broken heart.

A small laugh escaped your lips as you looked at him. His eyes were puffy and red, and the tear stains on his cheek told you that he was hurting. But you didn’t care. Instead, you laughed.

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, how he could be the one crying in front of the victim. The silence was finally broken by your outburst and his confusion. Tears of laughter ran down your cheeks as he mirrored them with regret. Nothing less to be said.

Once you calmed down and wiped the tears from your eyes, you leaned down and grabbed the box with his stuff in it.

“I think you should go,” You told him.

Luke’s eyes widened as he looked between you and the box.

“Y/N, please-”

“No,” You shook your head “No more ‘please’ it’s done, Luke. We are done and there’s nothing left for you here”

“No!” He stood up, walking over to you but you stood up as well before he could reach you. Instead, he took your hand “Y/N, it can’t end like this! I know I fucked up, I made a mistake and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I love you-”

“You don’t,” You said, taking your hand from his “You don’t, Luke. And if you did I don’t think I could believe you anymore”

“Then let me prove it.”

“I don’t want you to.”

He took a step back, almost as if you’d shot him in the heart.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to prove anything to me. I don’t want to hear you say you love me or that you made a mistake. It’s not true and you know it. Because someone that loves - truly loves another person, would not hurt them the way you hurt me. That’s not love and no words you say could convince me otherwise. You had your chance to lie, now it’s not the time anymore”

You grabbed the box and handed it to him. He was looking down, you knew it was for the best. You walked toward the door and opened it for him.

“Goodbye, Luke”

He just shook his head as he took wide steps to get out of there as quickly as he could, he didn’t say a word. But that wasn’t your problem, it’ll never be your problem again.

The paradise was officially gone and with that your chance to start anew. So the first thing you did when you closed the door was to break down and cry.

And you cried for the first time in a week. Cried for everything that could’ve been. The tears were not for him, but because of him. The tears were cleaning the hurt inside your heart, knowing that it’ll stop one day and the hurt will only be a memory for a rainy day.

Now, the clouds were gathering and the tea was getting cold. Let yourself feel the hurt, that the world will wait for you.

* * tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hoodhoran @hoodharlow @littledrummeraussie @bubblegum183 @irwin-fletcher-ash @wiiildflowerrr @in-a-world-of-fandoms @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @in-superbloom @sadcupofcoffee @personalmuyverypersonal @vtte @himbohood @sofiaaraee @irwindoll @weasleytwinscumslut @fairytrice @colourfulcal @nibin0912 @hfkait @savagejane1 @youneedtocalumdown @ashtonsunflower @nicebasscalum @calumspupils @secretsicanthideanymore@alltimesos @wontlastimokwiththat @cncoangelss @whywontyoulovemecami @theimpossiblehologramtree @perriexed @abiancajg @rewmuslupin @icelily13 @bookthingz @kingxnichole @wildflower98

[marinerainbow]

🍧 SHAVED ICE - does Poppy still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

(Or, if it got broke *looking at the weasels >> *)

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it? (Or if it got broke)

Ooooh I actually have two ideas for this!

The first one is a music box. It's be the kind where you'd have to open it to start the music, and you could store little trinkets inside. Poppy actually does have this still! She got it for her 10'th birthday, and has kept it in the best condition she can all these years. It's got the usual signs of age, but other than that, she's actually done a pretty good job! And she does keep the few prices of jewelery she's got in it, along with other items of sentiment to her.

When Poppy's feeling depressed and just wants to be comforted, but can't go to anybody (especially if it's an issue she'd want her parents' comfort, but she knows she won't get), she'll pull out her music box and start it up and just listen to the tune for a while. The song gives her the comfort that childhood nostalgia always brings. If she ever lost it, she'd be so heartbroken.

If the weasels ever broke it somehow, maybe Stupid was being clumsy while holding it, or Psycho was being careless while snooping, Poppy would honestly be distraught. The box is very important to her, it survived all these years, and she was even hoping to pass it on if she had children. But now that it's broken...

She'd be quiet, not even acknowledging any apologies given or questions asked, and just focused solely on gathering up the pieces and trying desperately to fix it. Regardless if she can or not, she'd forgive whoever broke it, but she's going to be far more cautious about where she leaves her valuables. And next time she shows them something, she's keeping a close eye on them.

The second thing, she does not have. A piano. Her and her mothers piano lessons are a valued childhood memory for her. And, even if she couldn't keep the one she used during her childhood, she still wanted to bring a piano into her own home when she moved out. Poppy did actually have one when she still had her house! It was a small piano, but she loved it so much ^^ though she lost it when Henry broke things off with her and she lost her house. And her current home, the run-down apartment in Downtown, is too small for an instrument of that size.

She'd love to one day move into a house again and get a new piano. Though she's starting to lose hope on that happening. And it's been put on the back burner for her; she's just focused on making ends meet for now.

If that piano ever got broken, Poppy'd have a more devastating reaction to it. This is the second piano she's lost! After so long of saving up and hoping of a new one! And her own friend(s) was the one who broke it. This'd be one of those rare times where she actually gets so upset, she doesn't try to hide her anger. She won't yell and get violent, that's not her nature. But whoever broke the piano is going to regret being careless.

[siennadraws]

"it's you. it's always been you."

I see how it is xjsjsksjx

The house was so small- as small as she had been when she lived there.

Back then, her aunt would tell her stories as she brushed her hair. And Laïs would have told her about her day, about her friends, about a crush. About how hard it was to play the lyre, and how hard she tried anyway.

Laïs could almost feel her warmth, how sweet the fruit had always tasted back then, how soft the bread seemed to be.

As she risked a few more steps inside, she clenched her teeth, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill as the memories resurfaced.

The house was so small, and she couldn't fit in it anymore.

It was no use.

Laïs' whole body shook as a pained sob ripped her open.

She would do anything to go back in time. To keep replaying those old days of peace. She'd tear herself into pieces to fit into this house again- but instead, she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking whatever little comfort it gave her.

Laïs froze as a hand fell on her shoulders, her head snapping to the man behind her. But as she recognized Deimos over her blurred vision, all of her tension seeped away.

She turned around, bringing her hands to her face and letting her tears flow freely once more, as he wrapped her into a tight hug.

Grief still crashed against her chest like waves, but in his arms, she felt steadier, the fear of drowning melting away completely under his warmth.

Laïs couldn't tell how much time had passed until her sobs weren't painful anymore, or until they stopped and her eyes were run dry. But even then he hadn't let her go, fingers drawing soothing patterns on her back.

"You didn't need to do this alone."

She pulled herself even closer, as she felt the worry in his voice, "This once, I did, but you came around just in time."

"Of course," Deimos scoffed, pulling a broken giggle out of her.

He was right- even while spending so much time apart, it seemed the Fates always permitted their reunions when it really counted. It felt absurd to even think one couldn't be there for the other, now that they traveled together.

Laïs felt another wave of grief then. She should have been able to introduce him to her aunt- to her parents too. They would've liked Deimos, even if they started off a bit weary of him. How could they not? She loved him.

Gently, she pulled herself away from his arms, just enough to see his face, and Deimos cupped her cheeks and brushed away her tears. In turn, Laïs brought his palm to her lips. His frown softened then.

"You know, ever since I fled Mytilene I-" she cleared her throat when her voice gave out, "I've been searching for something."

She took a second to gather her words, leaning into Deimos' hands. It was far too late to start being bashful around him, but this kind of vulnerability was still so foreign to her. Yet, he looked so earnest, with his brown eyes fixed on hers.

"War had already stolen so much from me. Seeing it with my own eyes, seeing it be repeated- I thought there was nothing left in me.

Nothing I could give, no matter how much I tried. And seeing so much being stolen, I needed to give something. I still do. But-"

She took a deep breath, her voice was steadier now, fuller, "You changed that. It sounds so selfish in my mind, but you changed everything, even if I was scared of it.

You made me remember hope.

Life is still so hard- but I can finally see a future.

What I was seeking, all that time, was you. It's always been you."

[chenziee]

Freedom

Second piece for the @yamabrozine! This time full of Ace, fluff and ~pain~ 👹🔥

Shout out to my beta again, both for the help and for leaving wonderful live commentary of "don't make me ship them", "who would WANT to go there?!" and "oh fuck you". Love you <3

[ Read on AO3 | Yamato zine fics ]

--------

When he had woken up that morning, Yamato hadn't expected to make a friend. But then evening came and with it, pirates.

Angry pirates, too young and hot headed—literally—for their own good. It was lucky Kaido wasn’t there, if only because that made it possible for Yamato to fight their captain himself; to test his power, to see him free the captive children, to break the large dragon statue at the entrance to Onigashima, and with it, the chains Kaido had around his soul.

The moment he swung his kanabo at the statue which represented Kaido’s power, it was like something snapped. Something that had restrained him, kept him from spreading his wings and even dreaming of flying.

Now, he felt light, like the sky boats that the people of Wano set free during the Fire Festival; the ones that Yamato could only watch float into the sky from his confines of Onigashima. He knew they were sent as messages to the dead… but every time he saw them, he couldn’t help but think how much freedom those messages—and the dead who received them—had.

But now, with the statue destroyed, its broken off head lying at Yamato’s feet…

He knew he, too, would fly one day. Not today, maybe not even once the dawn finally came to Wano.

But one day… he was going to leave.

“Why are you suddenly looking so serious?”

Yamato jumped at Ace’s words. He stared at the man for a moment, trying to gather his lost thoughts. “You came here from the East Blue, right?” he asked, leaning forward.

“Yeah?” Ace blinked at Yamato in confusion.

“Have you seen the island in the sky?!” Yamato questioned eagerly.

“Which one?” Ace shot back, a smirk on his lips.

Yamato gasped; he could swear his heart skipped a beat too. “There’s more than one?!”

At that, Ace laughed, loud and full of amusement. It took him a while to calm down enough to reply, “Yes. Though I haven’t actually been yet. They’re a real bitch to get to.”

“That’s amazing!” Yamato cried, a giggle on his lips as he let himself fall back; he laid on the ground, arms spread out while he grinned at the stars above. 

It was real.

“And the island where lightning falls like rain?” Yamato mumbled, breathless.

“Deuce nearly murdered me when we arrived on that one! It was fun though.” Ace burst out in laughter all over again, no doubt at the memory of his serious first mate and navigator absolutely losing his shit over his captain’s reckless decisions.

And Yamato…

Laughed.

Twice tonight, a weight was lifted off his shoulders. First, his chains.

And now, his doubts about the crazy places that Oden had described—dismissed so easily. It wasn’t made up. It wasn’t exaggerated. Those places really existed, just waiting for Yamato to make his way there and experience them for himself.

Waiting for him to create his own adventures.

—————

A small smile played on Yamato’s lips as he thought back to that night almost two years ago. It felt like yesterday that he had interrogated Ace about every little thing in Oden’s journal, listened to his stories, sighed at Ace’s endless boasting about his brother.

Now, Yamato was alone again… but he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Letting go of the sky boat in his hands, Yamato watched as it rose up to the sky, floating up and up and up, away from Onigashima.

Free.

Yamato’s smile didn’t falter when a single tear slid down his cheek.

“Goodbye, Ace.”

[lunaetis]

@kiriisu​​ asked :

Heavy eyes looked at Tifa with great displeasure. It was as if the words he was gathering with such heaviness could not come out of his mouth. Suddenly there was a quiet sigh. "She will never leave me. A crying muse clinging to my wounded shoulder. " He said sorrowfully extending his right hand to the side and immediately after it grew a large wing dressed in black feathers. "I continue to be a monster. This is not my reason for coming home. I was naive... Lost in the eyes of the Goddess who drove me mad. And now? All that's left of her is a crying muse whispering the word why in my ear." ( Genesis for Tifa uvu )

inbox call. || always accepting

─「ティファ」─  a being of PAST AND FUTURE was the person before her. the man who donned the color red like blood that flowed through the veins of all humans. a soul who was lost within the darkness that was his MIND and the ideology of a world he once envisioned. a worn-down hero, an EX-SOLDIER who used to lift his hands and fight for the company that wouldn’t think twice to bleed the planet dry for their own gain.

                yet, the time she had known him, the GLIMPSE of who he used to be, who he is now, and who he wanted to be, blurring the lines and forming a broken man standing in grief and regret, shackled down by the decisions and CONSEQUENCES of his believes and actions. should it be her meeting him while she was consumed by the need for revenge, she wouldn’t be listening to his words nor had noticed things that were subtle enough to miss. the heaviness he carried in those mako-infused eyes, and the inner destruction seeping like poison in his own blood.

                that was when BLACK WING was spread before her eyes — and she remembered a piece she read long ago.

                the same wing she had seen upon the HERO SEPHIROTH.

                silence hung in the air, and the fighter finally moved. her hands trembled, before they raised and the DISTANCE between them was gone.

                with her arms coming around him in a tight embrace.

                “ ... i don’t hate you. ” i don't see you as a monster. the SILENCE was broken in a whisper, even then her whole body was shaking and trembling by an assault of so many emotions washing through her. to know that he was the reason that her hometown had been reduced to nothing but a tragedy and MEMORY, yet ... yet ... she couldn’t bring herself to do anything. even her, even the actions she had chosen also resulted in the PLATE being dropped and the death of so many innocents.

                how could he have known the tragedy that were to follow in the wake of his footsteps ?

                her arms TIGHTENED around his stronger form, fingers clutched against his back, and she could feel the brush of the dark feather against her cheek. a lost man who had stumbled to try to find his way again. she saw the SORROW deep in his eyes, the confusion of the fragments of himself, broken to pieces by the poison laced in his blood, the poems he recited, the love turned into hatred.

                and her own hatred for him turning into something warmer.

                “ i can’t ... ever forgive sephiroth for what he did ... but ... i can’t hold you responsible for it. ” he wasn’t the one who BURNED DOWN the village, he wasn’t the one who turned his back away from everything. this man, right in front of her, was seeking REDEMPTION. he wanted to be better, and ... and who was she to judge him ? she wasn’t in the position to do so when her own hands were tainted too. face buried to his chest, and she felt like she was holding onto him for dear life more than embracing and soothing him.

                she was finding a reason to FORGIVE, and to move on. and she found it in him.

                the BARMAID could only imagine the emotions that went through him. he didn’t have to show her the truth of it all, and he could simply keep it in and take it to his grave. yet, he chose to bare the DEEPEST PART of himself to her eyes, leaving himself vulnerable for her to pass judgement upon and the black wing that represent the degradation and warped view he once had.

                it made him look more beautiful than ever.

                “ then ... let’s walk forward. ” the past made up who they are now, but it wouldn’t define the future. the path they were to take, the person they were going to be — that was their choices to make. she thinned her lips, and her embrace turned into something gentle, tender ...

                “ together, this time. ”

[shewriteslife]

Life lesson #1

Forgiveness

“If God has forgiven, so should you” 

This line is usually what we hear from other christians; from podcasts, tiktok, reels, or even our friends, just slightly phrased differently. They mean well, the intention is good, and it’s true that it feels rewarding to forgive, but it is a process. It’s not easy to forgive; our emotions get in the way of our forgiveness because we replay the scenarios in our head like a broken record, it happens unintentionally though. One time you're thinking about what to have for lunch, the next you’re spiraling into a pit of negativity, wondering why they did what they did and if you ever deserved it. I have been through moments of my life where I thought I would never forgive someone, then it turned into me thinking about forgiving them, to actually forgiving them, but the focus of this topic is: Conditional Forgiveness

“I forgive you but, I’m still hurt, and it will be awkward when we see each other”

“I forgive you but, only a little, I still won’t talk to you”

“I forgive you but, I’ll remind you everytime we fight what you did”

This is valid but it’s emotion based. Your forgiveness is conditional to how you feel, we shouldn’t let our feelings decide for us because our emotions are fleeting and always changing.

Forgiveness is not a linear timeline, we go through so many emotions and so many ideas on why we should or should not forgive, but it takes both mind and heart to forgive. You could be kind, and you could forgive, but once you’re reminded of the pain they have put you through, you see yourself back again at square one, gathering the broken pieces that THIS TIME, you broke. They are no longer responsible for the hurt that you put yourself through by entertaining those memories. Do not let yourself be stuck, hurting yourself by past scenarios. What they did was wrong, but it is your responsibility to help yourself get back up and move forward. Pray for them and remind yourself that it’s the enemy (the evil spirits influencing them to do things that hurt you) that you’re at war with, not people.

You can stay where you are and be stuck or free yourself from the shackles of the pain this has caused. You don’t have to forgive, you are free to suffer from your own unforgiveness obsessing about the people who have wronged you, but I know it’s exhausting to carry the mental load, so even if they aren’t apologetic, forgive to free yourself from suffering.

“New Level, New devils”

This is a level that you need to conquer in order to proceed to the new one. When you feel that it’s hard to forgive, it’s the enemy, trying to instill pride, ego, and hatred in your heart so that you may fall deeper in sin with him. 

“When an impure spirit comes out of a person, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says I will return to the house I left, when it arrives it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other evil spirits more wicked than itself and then go in and live there. Matthew 12:43

When you find yourself in situations where you think you’re back from where you started, remember this verse as a warning sign. Overcoming sin that has been gripping you by the neck is already hard enough even before knowing and accepting God in your life, when you accept God and change your habits into something more pleasing to Him, you will feel relieved because you will be freed from the sin that had you in a chokehold, but the battle does not end there, so you must remain in prayer, you must remain in the presence of God. 

A stronger opposition will try and win their ownership over you, they will invite 7 more demons stronger than itself. This is why when you fall into temptation, you feel disappointed, you have thoughts like: “How come I’m back to sinning like this? I thought I’ve overcome it” 

You have. This is the assurance you have been looking for, but right now you are dealing with more demons than before. There is a mischievous demon playing with your thoughts in the background, trying to make a fool of you, it sees you as a prey that needs to be conquered.

When you don’t know the authority you have over them, the enemy will take advantage of your ignorance and rule over you. They will display their “achievements” by making you do things that you thought are your desires but really it’s their desire.

“My flesh is weak but my spirit is whining” Your flesh knows right from wrong, it just wants instant gratification. Make your flesh stronger by making your spirit stronger. Have self discipline and understand that delayed gratification is worth more than getting what you want in an instant. Social media is instant gratification, it is a dopamine inducing tool that leaves you in a state of satisfaction but this is only an illusion. You are satisfied but only if you keep scrolling through it, if you stop you get bored again, it’s like an addiction. Release yourself from this and seek real dopamine by connecting with people around you, exercising, and having real life adventures, but especially reading the word. 

Reading the Bible will fulfill you in more ways than any other book could, but don’t just read it like a regular book, you must understand it with your heart, meditate in the word.

Ignorance is Bliss

Sometimes we hurt people out of our own ignorance. Seek forgiveness and repent. We focus on people hurting us, we victimize ourselves too much, in hopes to not deal with the consequences of our actions. Open your eyes and see, your ears to hear, and your hearts to love.

“Love the Lord your God with all your soul and with all your mind, love your neighbor as you love yourself. Hang on to these 2 commandments”

When you love God enough, you would second guess hurting Him by committing sin against Him, when you love your neighbor enough you would second guess hurting them, but we are only humans and commit mistakes, that is why we should train our hearts to love. 

Loving people unconditionally is easier said than done. There are just people in our lives that are hard to love, but nothing is ever impossible with Christ. Pray to God and ask Him to improve the posture of your heart.

A heart that is broken leaves a portal for an evil spirit to enter and infiltrate your heart. Heal so that they won’t have the ability to enter you. A heart that is on fire for God protects you from being infiltrated by the enemy. Remain strong in prayer, and level up your faith.

You are meant to share the word, that is one of your purposes in life, but the topics should level up, don’t be stuck in the topic of repentance. Grow your faith further.

[splatashawentnatasha]

Birthday Cake - Simon Riley x Reader

Synopsis: Simon doesn't like to mention his birthday. What do you do? Why, you give him a new one.

Author's Note: Is this angsty? Maybe a little bit. I came up with this idea after a bot I had used, so this isn't an original idea. I thought I'd try and interpret it in my own way.

Gender: Not specified / Not applicable.

Proofread: None.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, mentions of substance misuse (alcohol), mentions of violence, suggestions of death, mild language.

Birthdays are a celebration of a person. A reminder that you've lived another year of life. A chance to commemorate the past years and what's to come in the future.

For Simon Riley, they were a burden. Filled with the violent experiences from his childhood, he wanted nothing more than to leave those memories along with the past. A birthday, to him, was a memento of his upbringing; those countless years of abuse and trauma inflicted upon him by the one person he should've been able to look up to. The one person who should've been there to keep him safe from harm.

The topic of his life was a sensitive one, and others knew not to bring up his past. Simon would avoid the dreaded conversation at all costs. He preferred to keep to himself; always had, always would.

Until you came along.

An optimist, always adorned with a smile on your face and a positive attitude to go with it. You were a ray of sunshine, and Simon, a dark cloud. An open book, widely known and easy to read, and a locked door, hiding everything within from people who don't have a key. An unbroken string, untouched and waiting to be played, and a scratched record, shuffling and replaying the same things over and over again until it broke down.

Simon could never comprehend how someone so pure could join a life of work like the military. More so, the Taskforce. The work was ugly, and the sights that presented themselves on duty were enough to deter a person and change their frame of mind. This kind of life wasn't made for someone like you. You were young, and you had so much more to live for. He'd never understood it.

You were a social butterfly around the base camp, always present and engaging in conversation, always happy and smiling. You had spoken to Simon a few times on operations and in the mess hall, but ultimately, you didn't see much of him.

Simon wasn't a talker. He was more of an observer. He had a couple of friends in the Taskforce, you recalled, like Johnny and Kyle, but he didn't initiate anything with other people. That included you. Simon had the fear that people would be able to see past the large man with a skull mask. The fear that people would see the real Simon Riley; a broken, war-roughened soldier, who was trying to pick up the scattered pieces of his life underneath that black balaclava.

The recent operation was just the same as the other countless missions you'd been on with your team. Infiltrate, gather information, and keep yourself alive. Working in the military was a routine, running over the same system time and time again. You'd go in and come out, leaving the place a little more wounded than you were before; physically and mentally. Sometimes, it was hard to keep looking up when it felt like everything was going down.

At the end of said operation, the members of the Taskforce gathered in the mess hall, surrounding tables, picking at half-eaten plates of food, and exchanging conversation.

When the team talked about reintegrating, you noticed Simon visibly tense up as he sat opposite you. The fork that was balanced in his hand hovered around his plate as he pushed around his food, his gaze lowered, and his shoulders went rigid at the mention of the word 'family.' You didn't know much about Simon outside of the military, though you figured he had someone out there waiting for him, like everyone else. Didn't he?

Your gaze would flick to Simon every once in a while, keeping an eye on his movements. He almost seemed wary, like he was waiting for something bad to happen.

That's when Kyle mentioned something brief about taking his family out for dinner because it was his mother's birthday. The other men continued to eat and speak, but Simon's movements had stopped altogether. His fork had stopped moving his food around his plate, and he watched the idle dishware with a distant gaze. He'd suddenly become disconnected, no longer paying attention to his surroundings as he got lost in his thoughts. You suddenly wished you could read his mind.

Simon's head was a dark place. Lurking with the ghosts of his past, memories threatened to break the surface if he didn't keep them buried deep in the back of his brain. He couldn't let them go, however; it was impossible. His fears kept him awake at night, and he knew that he'd never fully escape the life he was trying so hard to hide.

There was a loud screech of metal against tile, and just like that, Simon was gone. Leaving his dinner discarded and the conversation at a pause, his large figure left the mess hall and disappeared outside. Your brows furrowed, though you could see that the conversation had been making him uncomfortable ever since the crew had spoken about leaving base to go and see their families.

"What was that about?" You asked, head swivelling around to face the three other soldiers sitting at the table. Kyle had stopped talking, Johnny was watching the door shut behind Simon, and Price was eating quietly. Something was going on here, and you were determined to find out what.

One by one, the men turned to look at you. Johnny's expression caught your attention, in particular. His brows were slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed as if he was debating saying something. Again, his gaze would dart from the door and back, until he finally spoke up.

"He's gey closed aff. Doesn't lik' talking aboot his-sel," Johnny told you, his brogue accent rolling off his tongue with every word.

"How come?" You asked. You knew it wasn't right to ask about Simon, even more so because he wasn't there to tell you himself, but you couldn't stop yourself.

"Family matters," the Scotsman replied. "Nae a man o' celebration."

The cogs started turning in your head. What did Johnny mean that he wasn't a man of celebration? And family matters? You suspected that the topic of Simon's family was a sore one, as your mind went back to the Lieutenant marching out of the mess hall. You turned back to Johnny and, despite the voice in your head telling you not to, asked another question.

Simon gripped and twisted the door knob, stepping into the barracks. The noise of the door clicking shut behind him, and the sound of his combat boots clipping against the hardwood floors were the only indicator of life inside the quarters. He found his bunk and ducked down, taking a seat on the edge of the firm mattress. The man blew out a sigh and slid back to the top of the bed, extending his legs out straight across the bottom and putting his hands behind his head.

He stared blankly at the planks of wood above him which served to hold up the bunk above his head, his mind stirring with thoughts and feelings, near the point of overflowing.

Kyle hadn't said anything wrong. Hell, Simon had no reason to walk out of there anyway. He'd just been listening to Kyle talking about visiting his family, right? There wasn't anything wrong with that.

The man felt like he was reaching a tipping point. An edge of no return. Recollections of his drunken father, stumbling through the small town house where Simon spent his childhood with his younger brother, Tommy, and his mother. Evocations of the man swearing at the boys' mother, throwing fists with a beer bottle in his hand. Thoughts of how he'd give his sons a beating after seeing how he'd treated their mother, threatening them to keep their damn mouths shut, or he'd give them something to cry about.

He couldn't think about a family without remembering his own. He'd failed to protect them.

He shut his eyes and tried to get some shut-eye. There hadn't been any more news about any new operations yet, so he took the time to catch up on some sleep. Working full-time for the military could be tiring work, and his exhaustion quickly caught up with him.

As though no time had passed at all, the soldier woke with a start at the sound of knocking on the door of the barracks. He immediately found it strange, considering the barracks were communal. Ladies and gents were separated, but people rarely knocked. There was just no need.

He sat up, avoiding bumping his head on the top bunk as he slid out of his own bed. He had no idea what time it was, but he was still in a bad mood. He was upset and angry. Angry at the world. Angry at his family. Angry at himself.

Grumbling silent curses to himself, the Mancunian approached the door with a slight hunch. All he wanted to do was try and relax until they'd be dispatched again, but he knew deep down that that was impossible. The word "peace" wasn't in the job description, and for good reason.

He grasped the door knob and gave it a twist and yank, pulling the door open and revealing the visitor outside. He was silently taken aback by the sight. "Christ, the hell is all this?"

You stood in the hallway, looking like your usual positive self as you smiled up at the giant of a man. Your military gear had been replaced by civilian clothing, and you were carrying something in your hand. Upon closer inspection from the 6-foot-something soldier, he realised you were carrying a small china plate in your hand. In the centre, a cupcake had been delicately placed.

A small frown grew on Simon's face, but before he could protest your sudden arrival with a cake, you gestured for him to move backwards and took a step forward yourself. To your surprise, he turned around and walked back to his bunk, leaving the door open. You took that as your cue to enter, and you took a small step inside, nudging the door shut behind you.

Simon hunched back under the bunk, pulling his legs up and keeping an eye on you as you walked deeper into the room. You were walking slowly, cautiously, to avoid dropping the cargo you'd been carrying. You looked so careful, and it almost made Simon smile. Almost.

Simon moved his legs off the bed as you gently placed the plate on the thin duvet, and he was now able to get a better look at what you'd brought with you. A small cake sat atop the plate, encased in a gold and white striped cupcake case. The top was messily smothered with cream-coloured icing, and a silver, unlit candle protruded from the top.

"What's this for?" Simon asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his voice. He silently wondering why you'd brought a cake with you. Was it for him?

"It's decided that today, Simon Riley, is your new birthday," you said, and Simon's expression flattened.

A new birthday? He already had a birthday. He didn't need a new one. He had one already, and that was unnecessary, too.

"And who decided that?" He questioned, his gaze shifting from you to the plate you'd placed on his bunk.

"Me."

"You?"

"Yep."

"Y'know that I'm over thirty years old, right?" He said bluntly, looking back up at you. He watched you as you began patting down your trouser pockets.

"But isn't that only more of a reason to celebrate?" You'd asked him, digging your hand into your pocket and fishing something out. As Simon continued to observe, he noticed that you'd pulled out a lighter.

Without answering your previous statement, he asked a question of his own. "What's that for?"

You inspected the small lighter between your fingers for a moment; adorned with a scratched up flag of your own country, it reminded you of home. You smiled to yourself before flipping up the cap, brushing your thumb against the spark wheel and igniting a crimson flame at the top.

Simon realised what you were doing. You were lighting the candle. For him.

You'd taken a seat on the floor beside his bunk, one arm resting comfortably on the edge of the mattress as you lit the candle up. It glowed with a flickering orange light, melted wax drooling down the candle as it began to melt.

"What's so special about this whole new birthday thing anyway?" Simon asked, the warm light reflecting in his dark eyes.

"Everyone needs to be celebrated," you said simply. "And birthdays are a great excuse for eating cake," you added with a soft chuckle. You rarely spoke to each other, but you acted like you were his friend. Maybe that was what you hoped for.

And just like that, Simon could feel the icy armour around his frozen heart begin to thaw. Solely because someone, you, had done something like this for him. He may have acted like the idea was insignificant and useless, but inside, he was warmed by the thought that someone cared. Someone cared about him.

"I don't know your real birthday, so here's a new one," you added, your eyes moving from the lit candle to Simon as he sat on the bed opposite you. "A chance for you to make some new memories."

Simon was too taken by the gesture to realise that you knew about his experience with birthdays. He hadn't had a proper birthday in years. The last birthday he remembered was his tenth birthday party, where his father had thrown his cake against the dining room wall in a fit of drunken rage. The boys had spent the rest of their afternoon scrubbing chocolate icing off the wall.

Simon was snapped out of the recollection when you spoke again.

"Make a wish," you told him.

The man swallowed and looked down at the melting candle. He felt so vulnerable. He'd never given someone an opportunity to get this close to him, and he felt like he was betraying himself by letting someone past the barriers he'd built.

When he looked down and saw the look of quiet enthusiasm on your face, he lifted the china plate and held it up. He gazed into the weak firelight for a moment before he shut his eyes to obey your ask.

Before he blew out the candle with a small, lingering cloud of dark grey smoke, he wished for his family back.

Author's Note: I apologise profusely for this. I don't know if it's sad or not, maybe I'm just a sensitive person. Regardless, my asks are open, so feel free to bombard me.

[ammiemarie]

It's been 15 years...

On the 15th anniversary of his passing, I remember my grandfather, Donald Asa Harman. He was many things to many different people, but I believe he wanted to live out his golden years on the straight and narrow, making amends for all his wrongdoings.

My hope would be that we could have a ride to Harman, WV or Missoula, MT in his honor. Maybe that may be something achievable this summer.

Honestly, I didn't even know he existed until early 2005, when I was 14 years old. I didn't meet him until that July... and I had only known him for 4 years when he tragically passed away on March 9, 2009.

Yet, he made a lasting impression on me like none other -- as he did so many others throughout his lifetime. I've written a handful of songs and poems about him in the years after his passing. I've cried many tears over the loss of him in my life, and how his absence inadvertently tore the family apart in so many ways.

Over the past several years, I have been gathering court case dockets, photos, personal accounts, handwritten letters (his words), and memories of his life, trying to piece together his life story.

People remember when he came to their rescue when their car broke down or when they needed help fixing a broken ceiling fan.

People remember when he gave those in need a warm, hot meal at his bar during the holiday seasons.

People remember when he bought the entire bar a round of drinks, greeting old friends and new faces alike as if he knew you since birth.

People remember when he stood up for them, defended them in a fight, or helped them with their own legal woes as a jailhouse lawyer.

People remember when he gave them the courage to stand up for themselves, their family, or friends against injustice or go for whatever it was that they desired most out of life.

He often prioritized his homes as a safe haven for family and friends, offering food and shelter to anyone in need.

As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and many would argue that he tried to make decisions with good intentions.

Ultimately, he spent the majority of his life in and out of prison for a litany of bad decisions (and crimes) made with good intentions... well, by his logic anyhow.

In his honor and legacy, "ACE" is a biography about his life story... and a discovery of who he was as a person to many, between the many loves of his life, the family he left behind, the choices he made, and the person he wanted to be in his lifetime.

As I continue to uncover details about his life, I'm learning what it means to forgive and try to make sense of the "why" or "how". Writing his story been a work in progress... a labor of love that I hope will help someone else, someday.

Rest in peace, grandpa. I love you always.