#but when there's something more wrong with you...there's nothing vague and nothing uncertain. there are things that

[light-wrath-paradise]

Tomorrow, I have to go visit my parents for 4 days because my mother's birthday is fast approaching, pray that I do not kill myself while there

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 7 - anytime, sunshine

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol, drugs, drink spiking (read at own risk)

you hadn’t planned on going, but the girls wanted you to come so badly and how could you ever say no to them. so there you found yourself standing outside the kappa tau house once again.

you adjusted your outfit, inhaled deeply, and followed the girls in.

you met the others (jj, pope and john b) and started to enjoy the night with them, having drink after drink, letting the alcohol take over.

you felt someone come up behind you and whisper in your ear "didn’t think you’d actually show."

you didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"didn’t plan on it," you replied coldly, raising your cup to your lips, finally turning around to face him.

"and yet, here you are." he gave you a once-over, slow and deliberate. "you look nice princess."

you rolled your eyes. "do you have a tally for how many times you call me that in a day?"

"i could switch it up," he offered, leaning in a little. "angel, pretty, honey, take your pick."

"i’ll stick with none, thanks."

he grinned. "feisty tonight."

"you think i’m joking?"

"never."

"whatever. see you later." you walked away from him without another word.

you joined the girls, ignoring the feeling you had in your chest after your conversation with rafe. why did he have to get into your skin so much?

you got yourself another drink, leaving it on the side as you turned to talk to sarah. "so how's it going with john b?" you asked, wiggling your eyebrows.

sarah blushed, "good, i hope. i don't know. i really like him."

"and he likes you too," you said, taking a sip of your drink.

"you think?" sarah questioned.

"i know so." you giggled, a slight dizziness taking over you.

sarah continued talking, and you laughed at something she said. you went to take another sip from your cup, then paused. it suddenly didn’t taste like anything you remembered.

the music thumped loudly around you, lights flashing, bodies moving, but your own body felt slow, sluggish, like you weren’t fully inside of it anymore.

"hey,” you muttered to sarah, but the words came out wrong, slurred and uncertain. "i don’t feel good."

she turned toward you, worried. "what? what do you mean?"

you tried to answer, but the floor tilted, and your vision swam, turning black. your knees buckled, and someone caught you. strong arms. familiar smell. a voice you would've rolled your eyes at but in this moment suddenly felt like safety.

"woah, hey, easy. i got you."

"wha…?”" you mumbled, gripping his shirt as he steadied you.

"you okay?” his tone wasn’t teasing. it was serious. concerned.

"she’s burning up, he muttered to sarah, putting a hand to your forhead. his arm remaining firmly around your waist. "how much did she drink?"

"not enough to be like this," sarah said quickly, unease etched on her face. "she said her drink tasted weird."

rafe’s expression darkened. "who gave it to her?"

"i don’t know," sarah said, panic rising in her voice.

rafe didn’t wait. "i’m getting her out of here." he hoisted you up into his arms without hesitation, like you weighed nothing at all. you were vaguely aware of sarah’s voice behind you, calling out, but everything sounded like it was underwater.

"i’ll text you when she’s okay," rafe said over his shoulder, his voice tight.

you wanted to protest, say you were fine, that you didn’t need help, but the words never came. your body didn’t feel like your own anymore.

rafe didn’t speak as he walked, carrying you upstairs. one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back like he was afraid you’d disappear.

the next thing you were fully conscious of was soft sheets under your back, your head spinning as you blinked up at unfamiliar ceilings.

"hey, hey," rafe said gently, crouching beside the bed. his bed. you were in his room.

"where-” you croaked, your throat dry.

"my room," he said. "don’t freak out. you passed out, and i didn’t want to take you to some random dorm or leave you at the party. you’re safe. okay?" he slowly moved hair out of your face, his touch lingering.

you studied him, dazed and suspicious. but his voice wasn’t cocky. it wasn’t sarcastic. it was calm. measured. sincere.

"i didn’t- drink that much," you slurred, still defensive even in your state.

"i know." his jaw tensed. "someone fucked with your drink. you got spiked. i'm sorry y/n."

you turned your head away, heart thudding too hard. anxiety rising.

"i shouldn’t have let you out of my sight," he muttered, almost to himself, standing and pacing the room. "i swear to god, if i find out who did it-"

"you’re not… mad at me?" you asked, eyes fluttering as the dizziness came back again.

that made him stop. "mad at you? jesus, no." he walked back over, crouching again to your level. "i’m just glad i saw you when i did."

he handed you a fresh water bottle, his fingers brushing against yours for a second too long. you sat up and drank it slowly as he sat with his back against the wall next to his bed, watching you, almost like he didn’t trust himself to be closer.

you let the silence stretch, your thoughts hazy. his presence was strangely comforting. he didn't say anything, but neither did you. you didn't need to.

you took deep breaths, fighting the nausea but beginning to come back to your senses. "don’t let this go to your head," you mumbled finally, voice small, "but… thank you."

he looked over at you, meeting your eyes, his own softening. "anytime, sunshine."

you didn't even have time to process the new nickname before you passed out in his bed.

a/n: oh he wants the cookie so effing bad

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333 @cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte 

[brnbeexx]

first kiss with megan??? 😋😋

THAT'S ACTUALLY SUCH A CUTE REQUEST 😭

ok, we'll be talking about a shy megan, as always. You and Megan have been friends for a few long years and she has always tried to show you that she enjoys having your company. Whether it was days she spent by your side, days she called you to spend some time together just to have your company, days she would make you handmade gifts, or a mile-long letter about how great it is to have your friendship on your birthday.

However, you never picked up on the hints. As obvious as they may be, you are used to her showing affection and you never really found anything romantic in these acts.

One day, at a pajama party, the girls (Manon, Sophia, Daniela, Lara and Yoonchae) were talking to each other, doing a truth or dare or something. You excused yourself and went to the kitchen to get water, the chatter tired your throat.

Hearing footsteps behind you, you turned to see the redhead, shorter than you. Her hands clasped together, timidly playing with the hem of her pajamas, her head down.

“Shit, Meg- You scared me.” You just laughed. The room was dark, lit only by the dim light from the balcony next to the kitchen. Noticing Megan’s stillness, you set your glass aside and took a step forward. “Is something wrong?”

She doesn't answer right away, she just looks up. Her mouth opens, threatening to say something, but she stays quiet. “Y/N..” she murmurs, her voice strangely shaky. You give her a worried, but certainly welcoming look. Your friend, usually so lively and outgoing, quiet like this? “I just, I.. I wanted to talk to you, you know? I like you, really– I've already talked to Sophia about this and.. she said it would be good for me to tell you this, but–.. it's been like a few months and..–” You didn't understand a single word. She said it quickly, jumbled up.

Interrupting her, you let out a weak laugh. “Megan, slow down..” Gently, you tuck a lock of her red hair behind her ear. Despite the dark place, you can vaguely see her blush.

“I-... Y/N.” She begins, now looking only slightly more confident. Her hands seek out yours, and you see her run them over her pajamas as if to wipe away the sweat, probably because of nervousness. “I like you, Y/N. No, I- I like you, I like being with you, I.. I'm in love with you. And it's not a little, it's a lot, I- I just wanted you to know, even if you don't feel the same way. And if by any chance you don't feel the same, I ask – better yet... I beg that we can continue this friendship that we have, that I appreciate so much.” This time, you understood everything. The words were timid, sometimes trembling at crucial parts of the sentence, and the hands seemed uncertain about continuing to hold you.

You said nothing, your smile appeared, relieved. You pulled her gently in a way that she wouldn't even be surprised. You hugged her, and you two stayed like that, curled up, for at least 2 minutes, waiting for the redhead's breathing to calm down.

When you separated, she opened her mouth to ask something, but you shook your head. As if you were close to prey, you approached, your hands going down to her waist. She quickly picked up the signal, and approached as well. Her arms wrapped around your neck and your lips met. Surprising no one, her lips were as soft as silk, her cherry gloss lightly smearing across yours.

She seemed inexperienced, her hands unsteady and she didn't know she had to move her head at first, causing your noses to end up bumping.

However, none of this made you feel embarrassed, nothing. It was just you and Megan. And as soon as you separated, she looked at you, satisfied with life. The girl hugged you, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and leaving a quick kiss.

“I love you, Y/N.” Megan murmured, putting emphasis on "love".

[anenbylittlepotato]

Tears of Love

Includes: Zhongli, Furina, Neuvillette, Kaveh, Itto, Ei

Warnings: Furina's is post-Fontaine archon quest bc I doubt she would be in any relationship pre-archon quest. Both Neuvillette and Furina contain vague spoilers

Part 2

How Genshin character would react to you hugging them while crying and then saying "I just love you so muuuucch..."

Also, uhhh hey guys, I know I haven't written anything in 5 million years haha, sorry... I have been died dw about it. To make up for it I'm going crazy go stupid with this one. Gonna try and make a part 2 and maybe part 3 but idk when or if it’ll even happen

Zhongli

When he sees you crying, he is instantly concerned.

And then, when you run up and hug him, he's even more concerned as he hugs back, gently placing his hand on your head and rubbing your back comfortingly.

"My love? What is the matter, dear?

He gently moves his hand from the back of your head to cup your cheek when you look at him with them big ol wet eyes.

"I just love you so muuuuccch!"

He looks taken aback for a moment, surprised by that response.

Then he chuckles warmly and looks at you with all the love and adoration in the world

"My beloved, you and your love mean the world to me. Your brilliant radiance is more than enough to light up even the darkest corners of my mind. I cannot dream of spending my days without you, but if such a day were to ever occur, I would carry your memory with me at all times with all the warmth and love in my soul."

This makes you cry even more

"Aaaaaa I love you so much...."

He gently presses his forehead to yours.

"I love you too, my dearest."

And then he kisses you softly.

Afterward, he sits down with you, holding you gently.

Furina

When you come up to her crying, she's instantly panicking.

Oh no did she do something wrong? Did she say something that upset you??? Has she been neglecting you??? Did she forget something important? Oh no oh no oh no-

And then you hug her and she's like. Okay. Did someone else do something to upset you? She's not sure what she can do now that she's no long on the archon throne, but she'll try whatever she has to! Or maybe something else happened, maybe something that has nothing to do with other people, maybe some horrible thing happened to you like what happened to her.

"S-S/O? Are you okay?? What happened, what's wrong?"

Then you look at her with those big ol wet eyes and she turns to mush inside.

"I just love you muuuuuccccchhh..."

For several moments she just stares at you, not knowing how to respond.

And then she also starts getting emotional

"Oh."

She hugs you back really tightly, burying her face against you.

"I... I love you tooooo...."

And now you're both crying and telling each other how much you love each other.

Neuvillette

The moment he sees you crying, the beginning of rain can be heard outside.

He absolutely hates seeing you upset in any way and he immediately wants to just hold you in his arms and take all your stress and pain.

He immediately walks over and sits next to you.

"S/O? Are you alright? What's happened?"

He is a little surprised when you hug him, but not entirely, and he hugs back, gently rubbing your back.

"It's alright, dear, take your time."

"I just- I just- I love you so muuuuuuuucccchhhh..."

Well he certainly was not expecting that.

It starts raining outside even heavier.

"Ah... Is that... Not a good thing...? I am uncertain as to why this would make you sad..."

You uh... You'll have to explain to him that crying doesn't necessarily only happen when you're sad, but just when you're overwhelmed by An Emotion. Any emotion. Even positive ones.

He won't really understand all that well but he's trying 🥺 He'll definitely be thinking about it for the rest of the week and might even do some research about it if he manages to find the time.

In the moment, though, he just holds you and tells you how much he loves you as well. He is a little confused when this makes you cry more, but he doesn't say anything.

Kaveh

Like Furina, he also panics instantly the moment he sees you crying.

He's much more frantic and open about it though.

"Oh no, darling, sweetheart, are you okay?! What's wrong?! Did I do something wrong, what happened?!"

Then you hug him and he's surprised.

"S/O...?"

"I just- I love you so muuuuccchh!"

Kaveh.exe has stopped working

"Wha- You- I-"

My poor boy instantly melts into a puddle, becoming a complete emotional wreck.

This man is so fragile he just shatters like glass and the dam breaks and out come the tears, and now he's crying harder than you.

He somewhat incoherently babbles about how much he loves you and hugs you so tightly, just completely falling apart.

... He may have also been drinking a bit before this.

Okay, not a bit. A lot.

And now, even though you were the one who was crying initially, you're gonna have to sit down with him and try to calm him down

This poor pathetic little man... he's such a mess... I love him...

Itto

Also one of the panickers. Except he's stupid about it.

He actually has absolutely no idea how to deal with someone who's sad. He doesn't get sad often himself and his gang aren't the type to get sad often either.

So the MOMENT you hug him crying, he is freaking the fuck out

"Oh, nononono, baby, don't cry, don't cry! Hey it's okay, it's alright, don't cry!"

When he can't get you to calm down right away, he's immediately thinking of other solutions.

"Hey, ya wanna go see Granny Oni? She always knows exactly what to do to cheer me up when I'm sad!"

You have to stop him from picking you up and running off with you to take you to Granny Oni.

"No- Itto. I'm not sad, it's just.... I love you so muuuuch..."

He blinks a couple times.

"What"

For once, the man is speechless.

But only for a couple moments.

"Wait, but if you're not sad, then why are you crying???"

You'll have to explain it like with Neuvillette, except Itto's dumb so it'll take a lot longer for him to pick it up.

You end up spending so long trying to explain it that you end up not crying anymore and just laughing at him

And that just makes him more confused

"You were just crying a minute ago why are you laughing???"

Himbo <3

Ei

When she sees you crying she is surprisingly sweet about it.

She walks over and gently cups your cheeks, tilting your head to look up at her.

"What's the matter, dear? Are you alright?"

Her voice is so soft and gentle.

She isn't too surprised when you hug her and she hugs back, gently rubbing your back.

“I just- I love you so muuuucccchhh….”

She’s a little surprised by that response for a moment.

But once she processes it, she is just so endeared by it.

She looks at you with such a lovesick smile.

Like she feels like her heart is about to burst with love omg

She chuckles gently and pats your head.

“I love you too, dear.”

Afterward, she kisses you on the forehead, and then on the lips.

All she wants to do after that is hold you gentle in her arms

And she’s going to do exactly that

She takes you to your bed and gently holds you so that your head is on her chest

Doesn’t matter if you’re bigger than her. Your face? On the booba

I had to tag Neuvillette so many times bc apparently no one knows how to spell it 😭 Two Ls and two Ts people

If you like my writing, consider buying me a coffee! It really helps me out and helps me keep doing this!

[maskosis]

SNIPPET OF AN UPCOMING FIC: the "absentee father too busy saving the world and his needy, neglected daughter who was raised on cyber-misogyny and uses the only asset she was told she has to get her father's attention" incest fic no one asked for.

You become aware of it on the cusp of adolescence.

It's nestled in that transitory realm from a little girl, girlhood, to a bratty teenager. Marbled with the stretch marks of puberty and preadolescent angst; an incipient bloom, a budding flower, that stays. Grows roots in rotten, fetid soil. Acidic enough to corrode metal but a basin of filth where this needling sapling flourishes. 

And these feelings inside of you refuses to die through the evolution of innocent child making eyes at Kovu, Aladdin, and Shang with a stupid grin on your face as you sit in his lap (only vaguely aware of how he huffs about work, grumbles under his breath to your mother about how they don't need a separation, it'll be fine, we'll be fine, don't go makin’ any rash decisions now—i can fix this) to burgeoning adolescent shoving clumsy fingers against the gusset of your panties, scrubbing sloppy and uncertain at your flesh until something feels good.

The tether between these two worlds is him. Has always been him. 

His voice in your head as you rut your hips into the pillow shoved between your thighs, biting your fist in frustration because it just won't work—

The image in your head changes even if the content they sit you down in front of doesn't. Tarzan's dad. McCready, when your cousin lets you watch the Thing at a sleepover. Older men. Gruff men. Men who pry their thick, grizzled fingers into the soil of the earth and peel it apart with brute force and a snarl. 

(Men who pick that same world they claw apart over you—)

One's who look, who sound, just like your dad.

It just makes sense, you think, fingers twisting into the hem of your panties at night, hours after he sends you to bed with a pinched goodnight, princess. It just—is. Him. Him. Him—

Who else could it possibly be when all you can think of is stay, don't go, when his hand twitches towards the door, when he keeps his phone clenched between those bearish hands you wish would squeeze you just as tight. When he seems relieved to finally get pulled away from clumsily patching himself into some proximation of a man that isn't burdened by the weight of the world and eager to flee this tangled, knotted web of his fracturing family, splintering apart over divorce papers pinned to the refrigerator he said he'd replace four years ago, and a daughter who calls him dad in the same tone she says, hello, how are you? to strangers on the street. 

You say, I love my dad, this stranger in your home who weaves in and out of your life like a migratory bird nesting for the winter—you, this house, dad and daughter, nothing more than a pitstop, a bottleneck, on this grand journey to somewhere better—but it's wrong. Tastes of cyanide. Fills the gaps of your baby teeth like sticky, sweet mercury. 

A tale as old as time—absentee father and the needy, neglected daughter he abandons in pieces; unwilling to rip himself away like a bandaid so he hangs there, tugging on unblemished skin. A constant, bitter ache. A little sting. 

(You love him. But the word dad fits clumsily in your mouth like it doesn't belong—unpractised on your tongue because you can count the number of times you uttered this to him with just one hand.)

Of course he runs. 

And of course you try to follow the only way you know how. 

(Want love? Want affection? Crave a scrap of attention from a man that refuses to give it?

Well—

You have all the power between the meat of your thighs, darling, did you know that?)

It's huddling under the blankets at night, eyes glued to the blue-green glow of your screen as you watch big, brutish men ruin pretty girls. Shoving their thick, too big daddy too big cocks into their cunts, legs thrown over their brawny shoulders. Pov shots of a hairy, soft belly and a wisp of a thing underneath, yowling at the stretch, how good it feels.

At some point, it just becomes normal to want him.

Evolutionary.

But you're not stupid.

These feelings that bud inside your chest—girlhood crushes shaded in rose-pink, pealing giggles demanding daddy's attention, chaste kisses to the apple of your cheeks, a warm, rough hand on the crown of your head, nose tucked into his neck that smells of wet leather and smoke; to damp panties glued to your aching cunt when he brushes his thick fingers over your forehead, brows pinching together as he murmurs don't feel warm t'me, that heavy, scorching hand on your lower back when he walks you from the car to the restaurant as you babble about your day, the rough scratch of his beard when press your cheek to his, wondering how it it would feel against your cunt—are not normal. The furthest thing from it, really.

And you're too aware of it, you think. About how it should disgust you, but doesn't.

You know the word incest before you know the meaning. Read it as it pops up above the videos you like (daddy-daughter; daddy fucks his daughter and cums inside her tight pussy—)

[orangez3st]

In Some Other Lifetime - Chapter 2

Torture me to sleep

Clone Commando Scorch × F!Reader

↤ Prev | Next ↦

✧ Chapter Summary: For a fleeting moment, there seems to be the tiniest glimpse of hope. Although, the future remains uncertain—with Scorch's constant and cold presence towering over you.

✧ General Tags & Warnings: reader is a jedi turned bounty hunter, soulmate au, clone commando scorch fix-it-verse, the bad batch season 3 canon, rescue mission, prison break, other tags will be added

✧ Word Count: 3.3k

✧ Chapter Warning: f bomb, female body search done by a male (non-con, so beware! you may skip that part, it's almost at the end. tried to make it as vague as possible. really vague, nearly nothing graphic.)

Story Index ✧ Join Taglist ✧ Other Clone x Reader

Tantiss is supposed to imprison clones. 

Oppressing them under a medical routine to fuel Hemlock's underground cloning project where they draw blood out every single day.

Witnessing Crosshair, drained and his back hunched, as they pass each other every morning twists something in her stomach.

Omega no longer casts a concerned look, though. It breaks her a little to see her brother suffering that way, but she has to be more clever than wearing her heart on her sleeve in enemy territory.

Tantiss is supposed to imprison clones, she affirms herself—again—as she watches your calm meditative form through the bars of your cell. It's understandable. Part of your routine. You need peace. Tantiss is stressful. She gets it. Gungi taught about the essence of finding inner peace through meditation, after all.

And especially since you and Gungi are similar.

The thought must be a jinx somehow because when her attention returns to you, you're already acknowledging her presence.

“Oh. Hello,” Omega says with a small wave of the hand. Wandering in the detention block and chatting with prisoners are not part of her daily assignments, so she'd want to appear small when sitting by the door.

And a single raised eyebrow from you is all she gets for now. Your attitude kind of reminds her of that bounty hunter. Fennec Shand.

“What's your name?” she starts carefully, understanding your stance. “I'm Omega.”

You know Omega. You'd been the one hunting her down through systems and back. It was exhausting, especially when Clone Force 99 always put up quite a fight—especially since you weren't fully present for the cause. Everything about it was wrong. You were hunting a kid.

And loud voices aren't meant for the detention block. It incites trouble.

“Call me Eight, Omega,” you say, making your way to the door and lean close in the kid's direction.

“But–”

“I'm no longer associated with my birth name,” you interrupt her firmly. “You can look it up in the system. But I don't answer to that name anymore.”

The Empire never knows of your past existence as a Jedi. It was a protocol of the Order to erase every single exiled Jedi profile from their database for their own safety. You crafted a new identity the moment you were released into the wild. Your fellow bounty hunters and the rest of the damned galaxy recognize you by that name. The Empire has no idea of your real birth name. It'd been swallowed into the void long ago. The ones who know of your true name are either dead or have forgotten already.

Omega studies you, surprise and pity present in her eyes. Eyes which color are quite familiar to you. “Why?”

The question somehow puts you on edge, reminding you that the kid roams free instead of getting incarceration like you are—looking less of a prisoner than you are. “The Empire does things to you,” you answer curtly.

Omega looks away momentarily. “Does it involve you to throw away who you were before the war?”

Who you were before the war was a lovesick young adult who thought ignoring the Soul Mark was ridiculous. Even though it's just numbers. You clench your left fist, where it is. There had been someone out there who loved you. Scorch. Not the commando who tails Hemlock like a massiff pup. Your Scorch.

And as always, you deflect the thought in the presence of others. Reminiscing on how it went and how it's supposed to be with Scorch is private. You feel like you're desecrating him somehow. Desecrating the bond. Kriff, you don't even know if the bond still exists. Your dreams remain empty—no more whispered voices. Your heart is left hollow and floating in the darkest of chambers.

“What are you doing here, kid?” Shaking your head, you swallow the bile in your throat. “You'd get caught. You better go and do whatever you're supposed to do.”

Seeing you getting up to your feet, Omega starts, the panic creeping in. “Wait!”

You're a potential ally. She can’t lose you—not when she barely gets past building the start of a good rapport.

“I promise I don't mean any harm. Sorry. I admit that was kind of a bad start.” The Empire. This place. It's doing something to her, alright. You're right. “But just to be sure… You’re one of them that hunted us down in Bracca, right?”

You look at her long enough to be hopefully considered apologetic. “I am.”

Omega's uncertainty was shown as clear as day. She still needs to work on it if she wants to survive under the watchful eyes of the Empire. Trying to befriend you? The kid is onto something. It's in this moment where you wish you could lean onto the guidance of the Force. You sigh and settle your shoulder against the wall. “What do you want, Omega?”

“I just want to make sure you can be trusted first,” she says..

You deadpan. “You're talking to a bounty hunter turned you hunter, both qualities of which are tending to stab people in the back for the most profitable gain.”

“So you're stabbing the Empire in the back that it got you in this cell?”

It gets you to smirk. Omega eagerly leans in seeing your expression.

“I want to make sure you can be trusted,” you challenge.

The blonde teen sighs heavily. Comically. Her chin drops to her chest in the dramatization. Then, she looks back up at you sharply.“I want to break out of here so bad.”

“Good for you. The walls are listening.”

“I dread every second being in here.”

“You and me both,” you bitterly respond, not convinced yet.

“I've been domesticating one of this facility's lurca hounds because I have no friend and I really wanna get out of this place.”

You blink.

“You're impossible,” you muse.

Omega looks at the ground sadly. “I just want to be reunited with the rest of my brothers.”

Brothers. Clone Force 99. Their existence reminds you of Delta—or whatever it had been in the past. “Crosshair is here too, isn't he?”

Omega nods. “Yeah. Just on the other side of the block. Yours is quite solitary,” she says, before hesitantly adding, “He's your Sergeant, right?”

Your body flinches in remembering every muscle reflex when you hunted her down. “Was, kid. Remember that. The Elite Squad is toast now. It's the clone commandos over stormtroopers now.” Then, you let a small wry smirk slip through. “Rampart did his best.”

Omega lets out a small noise of amusement. “I guess so.” You can read her hesitation to properly comment on your statement. Kriff, you'd have to remember you're talking to a kid, and not a drink partner at a bar. Nevertheless, she looks more mature than her age. How old is she—15? The current cruel state of the galaxy has taught her so much, then. She's a survivor. Just like you are.

The conversation lulls—you can see Omega mentally formulating another prompt to ask or to talk about with you behind the apparent stress in her youthful features, behind the slightest frown that scrunch her dark brows.

Then, you feel it.

That tug in your gut. That pull when something unfavorable is about to happen. In the silence, as if an alarm has been set, your chest too twinges with the familiarity. Even though you've been carried away in this conversation, you never forget the occurrences around you. The stretch of corridor that spans before your door is your arena, after all. You are aware of the comings and goings like clockwork, and something's coming. And it's familiar.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if that was the Force giving you a warning.

The footfalls grow closer.

You alarmingly meet Omega's gaze, who surprisingly shares the same look at you. “Go,” you shoo her, “It's the commando. Don't get caught.”

Her head bobs in a series of urgent nods, already on her feet and scanning around for an escape route. Her eyes meet yours in certainty. “I’ll come back in a minute.”

You sigh. “Omega—”

“If I don't make it then it's nice meeting you, Eight.”

You watch her petite figure retreating as far as your peripheral allows you to. During the shift of the atmosphere, you're driven to your knees. You try to listen closely, your eyes closing. In the darkness, you try to seek light—as what you always do in the first minutes of your meditations—to seek the warm tendril of the Force to reconnect the bond once more.

Please. I'm sorry. I need you.

“Were you engaging in any suspicious activity, ES-08?”

Your eyes snap open upon hearing the boyishness of a certain voice—a sound that should never belong in these cold dark corridors. Tricolor painted boots beyond your cell door reign over your entire periphery, and you have to crane your neck back to find the commando’s blue HUD staring down at you in cold helmeted observation.

“Is meditating dubbed as suspicious activity now?” you retaliate.

Scorch fixes his blank gaze at you.

Then he tilts his head in the direction of your worn inmate mattress. “This is now a surprise inspection. Go stand in the corner, slide down the wall, and sit on your hands with your back straight against the wall and tuck your legs close to your body.”

He gives a jerked nod to a stormtrooper in the middle of the corridor behind him whom you didn't notice before. You hope Omega made it past security. You watch him in disbelief, even when the door slides open in a blocky noise of metal against metal and him chambering his ICWS to his backpack. But even then, you know you can do nothing.

“What could I even be possibly hiding? My fork?” You sit as instructed, trying to look intimidating even when he's the one dominating the room. “You're wearing katarn, for gods’ sake,” you mutter, undoubtedly picked up by his audio receptors.

The door slides close. Preventing any escape. Safest for both parties. You could throw a punch born out of your mounting frustration right here and then, he could easily deck you into unconsciousness. The sight would be similar to one of those cage fight gigs that you often ran into in the underworld of Coruscant.

Your hands begin to unsettlingly yet comfortably warm underneath the weight of your body. Setting your gaze down to the floor, you decide it's wisest to say nothing—for now. Your privacy breached, Scorch plucking off the sheets off your pillow and mattress to hopefully obtain misplaced objects.

His height towers far above you. You swallow heavily. You had never seen him in armor in the before—only images from your dreams that he projected where he posed in the mirror to draw gleeful laughter out of you—and now you're graced with intimidating, broad-framed katarn up close. You used to adore his armor, especially the striking choice of yellow, and his quirky and comedic personality that matched. The view of cold and dark corridors beyond your cell forms a pit in your stomach again—you don't think you would ever see him in his armor the same way again. Then again, it looks wrong. Too hospital-clean, void of scratches and battlefield grimes. Assigned to guard duties similar to clone troopers isn't what commandos are supposed to do—not even in the before.

You have to remind yourself again—the Republic fell. Scorch, the man you're supposed to love and perhaps still is, who was decanted during its glorious era or so it seemed, fell along with it. Your heart mourns for the man he is now. What wouldn't you give to have him back and see his broad smiles and savor his jokes? First things first, you want to be reconnected to the Force.

“Love drives you to do crazy things,” you mutter out loud, tone distant.

You notice a slight pause in Scorch's movement as he lifts the mattress of your berth, standing in silence, seemingly scanning the structure with his HUD. If you don't know any better, you think he's probably stalling to listen to you.

“In these dark times, out of all scenarios, we’re cursed to love. We're cursed to live,” you continue, “Funny that one needs the other. Love needs life to thrive like a plant in soil. Life needs love to feel complete.” Scorch's helmet tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You feel a surge in your body. “Like a pair of lovers.”

“Are you feeling unwell?”

Of course he thinks you're delirious. But you ignore his question, your eyes can only speak the truth there is, glimmering and unladen with meds or exhaustion. Inside, there is hope for your other half truly is listening. “If according to your textbooks feeling unwell equals speaking the truth, then yes.”

I hope you know I'm willing to be held prisoner. I hope you know I'm here solely for you. I hope you know I want to be near you. I hope you know that I still exist. We still exist. We could exist.

A mountainous amount of fool's hopes. Dangerous things to say in Tantiss because the walls have ears.

Once satisfied with his observation, Scorch turns to you. “Stand up.”

You comply.

“Turn around and face the wall for a mandatory body search procedure.”

Your heart suspends, horror washes all over you at the thought of the cold hands of your supposed lover running across your body. “You're kidding me.” The last thing you need is Scorch's hands on your body when he isn't even half the man you'd known him. “I demand a female trooper.”

His hand now is placed on his sidearm strapped to his belt. “Do as I told you.”

“And I'm just gonna let you touch me where your hands shouldn't even belong?!”

Scorch's helmet tilts to the side. His tone mocking and arrogant as if picking the trait up from Royce Hemlock himself, with the boyish softness that sounds both familiar and wrong, when he says, “Shouldn’t they?”

You feel your heart twists inside your chest. His stomach-lurching words, wringing the pain throughout your body. “You—” Tears sting the corners of your eyes and begin to cloud your vision. Before you can stop it, the urge to throw a hopeless hook to his helmet surfaces, seemingly worth the split knuckles and a stun bolt you'd definitely get—you take one step forward into his space, your fists clenching. “Say that again. Word for word. I dare you.”

“Last warning, ES-08.”

“Say it, Scorch! I double dare you!” you cry angrily.

Before you can anticipate, he roughly yanks you around and pins you to the wall in front of you, the abrupt motion drawing air and a sob out of your lungs. You feel your body tense uncomfortably, your cheeks pressed against the cold durasteel wall. For a moment, you think you'd rather die than be touched by a person who loves you not.

You try not to imagine the time of your first and last date where he'd been stealing glances to your lips and not even trying to make it not obvious. Accompanying the admiring gleam in his warm eyes, the excess cream and bagel seasoning stuck to his upper lip made him even more adorable. You try, too, not to remember the moment where his hands carefully yet confidently cradle your face, as if handling one of his explosives, before kissing you under the neon lights of Coruscant. It was lovely, the type of kiss that makes one addicted—even you got to deepen that kiss. In the end, it left both of you breathless and smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt.

It was beautiful.

“I advise you not to question order and continuously be difficult to deal with.”

Unlike now.

“Speak for yourself,” you rasp, your lips brushing the durasteel wall as you talk but you don't care. “I hope you know you're torturing me inside and out, Scorch. I'm going to make you eat a fucking live thermal det that you have in your pocket so you'll carry your fucking name to the fucking grave. If there's any left to be buried.”

“Cease talking,” his monotonic voice orders behind you. With a hand on your shoulder, he tugs you back slightly so you're standing in form. “Spread your arms. I won't touch you in certain areas.”

Gray walls. Gray walls. Durasteel insults you again and looks down at your pathetic fate—truly pathetic this time. Swallowing another oncoming sob, you spread your arms and close your eyes, anticipation already swallowing you and turning your stomach inside out. You're helpless. Utterly, hopelessly, helpless.

You twitch terribly as Scorch's gloved fingers swipe across your ears first. Then down your neck, where you flinch again at your own vulnerability—the possibility of getting choked and having you gasping for air right there and then if Hemlock decides he no longer needs your damn blood samples. Scorch inspects your back, his palms flat across your shoulders and down to your shoulder blades back and forth exactly twice. 

Moving to your arms, his pats had been firm, allowing you to breathe in relief for a moment. Down your torso, you gasp when he lingers a split second too long on your waist that you nearly don't notice. His hands leave the vicinity of your body a second later, and you can feel the hesitation radiating off his form even without looking.

Then, in a blinding speed, Scorch slightly lifts your shirt and runs his gloved fingers along and underneath the waistband of your trousers.

It was over before you could even comprehend.

He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable.

It drives another sob out of your body, your forehead meeting the wall in front of you with a quiet thunk.

Without even being given the chance to breathe, Scorch progresses downward to your legs. You start to register his search is no longer with pressure as he did to your arms. He'd definitely hadn't done this before—patting down a woman. You can feel the slightest hesitation in his movements that indicates his unfamiliarity with female anatomy in this instance as his gloved hands proceed to pat down each of your thighs, inside and out, down to your ankles.

“Turn around.”

He doesn't reprimand you for your loose form— your arms already tilting downwards, more toward the underworld for the doomed ones rather than straight to either walls of your cell. Whether Scorch has enough of your reactive outbursts or something else, you foolishly allow yourself to hope that there may be still a single bone in his body that actually cares about you.

You comply, your eyes still closed. You’re scared of yourself—you don't know what will happen if you pretend to look into his eyes through the glaring blue light of his HUD.

Scorch repeats his search from your ears and neck, you try not to shiver in addition to hearing his calm, rhythmic breath through his helmet's filters near you. The trousers have no pockets whatsoever, so he doesn't linger on your thighs. Once his hands leave you, you dare open your eyes. With the same distant movement as if he's merely another clone, he turns his back on you and signals to have the door open while reaching for his blaster.

The ghosts of his touch remain on your body. Suddenly you just can't wait for the next shower session.

“There is order in this facility we all must abide by,” Scorch says to you from beyond the confines of your cell, “Remember that, ES-08.”

You watch his form receding from your periphery.

It wasn't always like this.

↤ Prev | Next ↦

Taglist: @yoursrosie @msmeredithrose @hellfiresky @filamentlights @heidnspeak @lucyysthings

ISOL Taglist (lmk to join!): @mutilatemyheart

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

[moon-lit-petal]

From Chaos to Comfort Pt2

George Weasley x Fem!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summery: George becomes acutely aware that sometimes, people aren't the biggest fans of his and Fred's pranks

Warning: enemies to lovers(?) George fell hard and fast. I tried to do a slow burn but you can tell I gave up lol Also Y/N is a little mean to George ngl

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: N/A

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

-----------

For the first time in his life, George Weasley found himself at a loss. It wasn’t a prank gone wrong or a mischievous scheme that had backfired. This time, it was his own feelings that tangled him up, leaving him uncertain and confused. He had never meant to fall for Y/N—it had started as a vague curiosity, something small that grew each time he saw her, each time he noticed something new about her that intrigued him.

At first, it had been her quietness. She was unlike anyone else in their chaotic world of Hogwarts, someone who didn’t seek attention or the spotlight. Then it became her strength—the way she handled herself, always composed even when the world around her erupted into laughter or chaos. He noticed her resilience, the way she would stand tall despite the pranks she had endured. But it was her mysterious nature that had really captivated him, the way she seemed lost in her own world, as though there were secrets she held close, secrets he wanted to understand.

The more George watched Y/N, the more he realized how much she had begun to mean to him. He saw her in moments of solitude that he felt privileged to witness. Sitting by the Black Lake, her eyes focused on the horizon, Y/N had an almost ethereal quality—completely absorbed in her own thoughts, a peacefulness surrounding her that drew George in. He’d catch glimpses of her curled up in a chair in the library, lost in a book, her brow furrowed in concentration. She never looked more beautiful to him than in those quiet moments when she thought no one was watching.

But George was always watching, and each time he did, his feelings deepened.

The problem, though, was painfully obvious: Y/N despised him.

Whenever he worked up the nerve to approach her, she would pull away. She would tense up or avoid his gaze, and in her eyes, he saw nothing but wariness—anger, even. He had tried, time and time again, to catch her alone, to explain that he wasn’t like that, that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But every time he got close, she shut him out, cold and distant, as though she had built walls around herself, walls that George couldn’t break through.untill recently. He had begun to see the cracks in thoes wallsand was willing to wait for them to crumble completely. 

It frustrated him, this constant push and pull between what he wanted to say and what Y/N seemed to think of him. She still saw him as one half of a troublemaking duo, equally responsible for every prank that had caused her humiliation. And George knew that Fred’s relentless antics weren’t helping his case.

George’s internal struggle gnawed at him. He wanted to tell her how he felt, to let her know that he admired her, that he had fallen for her despite everything. But how could he, when she clearly disliked him, she barely tolerated him. He knew that if he tried to confess his feelings, she would shut him out completely, maybe even think it was another prank.

So he kept his feelings hidden, silently watching her from a distance, hoping that one day, she might see the truth—that he wasn’t Fred, that he wasn’t the person she thought he was. Until then, he struggled, caught between his growing affection and the wall of misunderstanding that stood between them.

----------

Y/N had always lumped the Weasley twins together—Fred and George, partners in pranks, equally responsible for her ongoing torment. It was easier that way, to think of them as a single, mischievous entity, both of them causing her misery and feeding off her humiliation. She had spent weeks avoiding them, shutting down any interaction with either one, her anger growing with each new prank Fred managed to pull off.

But lately, she had started to notice something different.

George had become quieter around her. Unlike Fred, who seemed to delight in keeping up the mischief, George no longer laughed as hard, no longer grinned when a prank went off successfully. There were moments when he seemed almost hesitant, as though he were holding back or unsure of himself whenever she was near. It was subtle, but Y/N’s sharp eyes caught the difference.

It happened again on one particularly stressful day. Y/N had been dealing with an overwhelming amount of homework, her nerves frayed, and her patience running thin. She was making her way to class, trying to keep her mind focused on the assignments piling up in her bag, when she noticed something odd about the floor ahead of her. It shimmered slightly, almost imperceptibly, and she recognized it instantly—one of Fred's classic tricks. The enchanted floor would send anyone stepping on it flying into the air with a loud "pop!" and land them in the middle of a roaring crowd of students. Y/N, already exhausted, couldn’t handle another public humiliation, not today.

But before she could turn around or find a way to avoid the prank, George appeared, his eyes darting between her and the enchanted floor. Y/N tensed, waiting for the inevitable, fully expecting George to let the prank unfold.

But to her surprise, George stepped forward, his wand flicking with a quick movement. The shimmer disappeared, and the trap was gone as if it had never been there. He looked at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, before he turned and walked away, leaving Y/N standing there, shocked and confused.

It wasn’t like George to undo a prank—at least, not the George she thought she knew. Why would he help her? Did he feel guilty? Was this some kind of trick? The questions raced through her mind, but the answers eluded her. Suspicion gnawed at her. It could easily have been part of a larger joke, some elaborate setup to make her drop her guard.

But something in the way George had looked at her—his eyes steady, not mocking—made her pause. Maybe, just maybe, there was more going on than she realized.

That thought lingered in her mind long after the moment had passed. She tried to shake it off, but later that day, in the Great Hall, she felt George’s eyes on her again. When she glanced up, she found him already watching her from across the room. For a second, their eyes met, and the world around them seemed to fade into the background.

There was no smirk on his face, no mischievous glint in his eyes. Instead, there was something softer, something hesitant, almost vulnerable. He held her gaze longer than necessary, and Y/N felt her pulse quicken for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. Her instinct was to look away, to brush it off as another moment of misunderstanding, but something about the way George was looking at her made her pause. It was as if he wanted to say something, though no words were spoken.

Y/N felt an odd pull toward him—an unsettling feeling that she wasn’t used to. It wasn’t anger or resentment, but something unfamiliar, something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. The idea that George might be different from Fred, that he might not be responsible for all the pranks, threw her off balance.

She finally broke the eye contact, her heart still racing, but the confusion remained. Could she have been wrong about him? Could George be more than just Fred’s partner in mischief?

Y/N didn’t have the answers yet, but one thing was clear: the more she noticed these subtle changes in George, the harder it became to hold onto her anger. And that realization only added to the swirl of emotions she wasn’t ready to confront.

----------

It was almost curfew, and the library was nearly empty. Y/N sat hunched over her parchment, her quill scratching furiously as she tried to finish an essay for Transfiguration. She was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching.

Looking up, she saw George hovering near the bookshelf. He wasn’t looking at her directly, but his presence wasn’t accidental. He had been passing by more frequently these days, always offering her a smile or a casual greeting that didn’t seem forced.

“You’re out late,” George remarked casually, glancing over at her table. “Mind if I join you? I’m hopeless with this Potions essay.”

Y/N hesitated, but after a moment of contemplation, she sighed and gestured to the chair across from her. “If you don’t talk too much.”

George smirked, sitting down and pulling out his parchment. “I’ll try to contain myself.”

For a while, they worked in silence. The quiet between them was comfortable now, and Y/N found herself more focused on her essay than on the awkwardness of his presence. Every once in a while, she would glance up to see him frowning at his notes, his tongue sticking out in concentration.

Without realizing it, Y/N broke the silence. “You’re doing it wrong.”

George looked up, surprised. “What?”

“Your essay,” she said, gesturing to his paper. “You’re using the wrong order for those ingredients.”

He blinked, then glanced at his notes. “Really?”

Y/N nodded, and before she could think twice about it, she reached across the table, turning his parchment so she could scribble a few corrections. George watched her with quiet admiration, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Thanks,” he said when she finished.

Y/N shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

They returned to their work, but something had shifted. The silence between them wasn’t just comfortable now—it felt like the beginning of an understanding.

----------

One late afternoon, Y/N found her usual spot by the Black Lake occupied—by George, no less. He sat on the grass, his legs stretched out in front of him, lazily tossing pebbles into the water. He noticed her standing a few feet away and smiled, patting the space next to him.

“I didn’t know this was your spot,” he said, tilting his head in a half-apology.

Y/N hesitated, but after a moment, she sat down beside him, leaving a respectful distance between them. “It’s quiet here.”

George nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

For a while, they just sat together, the soft sounds of the lake lapping at the shore filling the air. The late-afternoon sun painted the sky in hues of gold and lavender, casting a warm glow over the water.

“I never thought you’d be one for quiet places,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

George chuckled. “I have my moments.”

They both looked out over the lake, the easy silence stretching between them. For Y/N, it was strange but not unwelcome. George’s presence didn’t disturb the peace she usually sought here; in fact, it almost added to it.

After what felt like hours, George finally broke the silence, his voice soft and thoughtful. “Do you ever feel like you’re trying to figure out where you fit in? Like, even in a place like Hogwarts, where everyone seems to know their role, sometimes you’re just…lost?”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by his honesty. She didn’t expect such a vulnerable admission from someone like George Weasley. But she found herself nodding. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

George looked at her, his expression earnest. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you, you know. With all the pranks. I didn’t realize…what it was like for you.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she turned back to the lake, watching the ripples spread out across the surface. “I know,” she said eventually, her voice soft. “I’m starting to see that.”

Another silence fell between them, but this time it was different. There was an unspoken understanding between them now, a sense that they were both beginning to see each other for who they really were.

----------

A few days later, Y/N sat in her favorite spot in the library, a window seat tucked away behind a row of dusty shelves. She had always loved the way the afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting warm patterns across the worn pages of her book.

To her surprise, George appeared again, though this time he didn’t sit across from her. Instead, he stood near the window, looking out at the grounds with a contemplative expression.

“I’ve never noticed how nice the view is from here,” he commented quietly.

Y/N glanced up from her book, surprised. She hadn’t even realized he’d seen her here before.

George turned to her, his hands in his pockets. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, nodding toward the spot next to her.

Y/N hesitated for a moment but then nodded. “Go ahead.”

He sat down beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them as usual. For a while, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, side by side, the soft rustling of parchment and the distant hum of the library the only sounds around them.

After some time, Y/N spoke without looking up from her book. “Why do you keep coming around?”

George didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual. “I like being around you.”

Y/N froze for a second, her heart skipping a beat. She turned slightly to look at him, but George was staring out of the window again, his expression unreadable. His confession hung in the air between them, quiet but significant.

Y/N didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. Instead, she let the moment pass, and they returned to their comfortable silence, their shoulders almost—but not quite—touching as they sat together by the window.

----------

It was a rare sunny afternoon when Y/N found herself in the courtyard, sitting on a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree. She had her nose buried in a book, as usual, when she heard footsteps approaching.

Glancing up, she saw George again. This time, he didn’t ask to sit. He just stood there, looking at her with an amused grin. “Do you ever take a break from reading?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was no malice in her expression. “Do you ever take a break from bothering me?”

George laughed, sitting down beside her without asking this time. “Fair point.”

They sat in silence for a moment before George spoke again. “I wasn’t bothering you, was I?”

Y/N hesitated but then shook her head. “Not as much as you used to.”

George grinned at that, clearly pleased. “Progress.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, just a little. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, surprised by how easily he had started to grow on her. Despite everything, he had a way of breaking down her walls—slowly but surely.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t feel the need to push him away.

----------

The atmosphere in the Quidditch stadium was electric, students buzzing with excitement as Gryffindor faced off against Slytherin. Y/N sat among the Hufflepuffs, trying to immerse herself in the thrilling game, but her mind was elsewhere, tangled up in the confusion of her feelings toward George. She had tried to shake off the memory of their charged moments together, but the flutter of uncertainty remained lodged in her chest.

As the match progressed, however, Fred had other plans. He’d been plotting something big, something he believed would be the ultimate prank—one that would draw the attention of everyone, including Y/N. She noticed Fred whispering to some of his fellow Gryffindors, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and her heart sank. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the target, and she wasn’t wrong.

With a loud bang, Fred unleashed his prank just as the match reached its peak. A loud cheer erupted from the stands as a massive enchanted banner unfurled above the pitch, displaying a giant caricature of Y/N, her face comically exaggerated, with the words “I Love Fred Weasley!” written in bold, glittering letters underneath. The banner was charmed to hover above her, casting a spotlight of shimmering light down on her, drawing the attention of everyone in the stadium.

The laughter from the crowd rang in her ears, a symphony of mockery that made her heart drop. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, both from humiliation and anger. She sat there, completely exposed under the glaring light, her worst fears coming to life as her peers erupted in laughter.

“Look! It’s Y/N, the love-struck Hufflepuff!” one student shouted, and the crowd roared with laughter.

Y/N wanted to disappear, to sink into the ground and escape the relentless eyes fixed on her. In that moment, her fury toward the twins reached new heights. Fred’s laughter, buoyant and triumphant, cut through the air like a knife, while George’s horrified expression, watching from the sidelines, only added to her anger. Why hadn’t he done anything to stop it? Why did he let his brother humiliate her again?

As the enchanted banner began to twirl around her, she felt her heart racing. The fabric flapped loudly, and it felt like the entire school was watching her, waiting for her reaction. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could vanish from the spot where she sat, utterly covered in embarrassment.

Immediately Y/N stormed away, her heart racing with a mix of fury and shame. She barely registered the teasing remarks from her peers, her mind a whirlwind of betrayal and anger directed at the Weasley twins.

Just as she turned to leave the stadium, she felt a gentle grip on her arm. It was George, his expression filled with concern, his blue eyes wide with remorse. “Y/N, wait! I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t!” she snapped, pulling her arm away from his grasp. “Don’t you dare say anything to me, George! You’re just as bad as he is! You both think this is funny!”

“Y/N, I didn’t know—” he started, but she interrupted him, her voice raw with hurt and betrayal.

“You didn’t know? You didn’t know what he was planning? You’re supposed to be his brother! How could you let him do this to me again?” Her voice trembled with emotion, tears threatening to spill over as she felt the weight of the humiliation crashing down on her.

George’s heart sank. The guilt he had been carrying since the day of the library prank intensified, and he felt it clawing at him now. “I tried to stop him, I really did! I didn’t want this to happen to you! Please, just listen—”

Y/N shook her head violently, her anger boiling over. “Listen to what? More excuses? I can’t believe I thought you were different, that you actually cared. You’re just as cruel as Fred! I hate you both!”

With that, she turned on her heel, her heart racing, and stormed away. George stood frozen, helpless, the raw pain in her words cutting deep. He could feel the weight of her accusations like a leaden weight on his chest. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, and yet here he was, unable to prove to her that he wasn’t exactly what she thought.

“Y/N, wait!” he called after her, desperation creeping into his voice, but she didn’t stop. He reached out as if to follow her, but the chasm between them felt insurmountable. His heart raced, guilt washing over him as he realized just how badly he had failed her.

He watched as she disappeared into the distance, the echoes of laughter from the crowd still ringing in his ears, and at that moment, George understood—things had changed between them forever, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever repair the damage that had been done.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

[myuni-moon]

IT WAS JUST A JOKE AT FIRST. A funny little thing that you wanted to test, something born from your boredom and underlying fear of forever being unloved. You had written a letter of what you wanted your future partner to be like and put it under your pillow before going to bed - just like how the video told you. It was only going to be some manifestation, so how did you end up here?

You stared at yourself in the mirror, eyes shifting to every corner of the room reflected in it. There was something horribly wrong. You could feel it in your bones, that thrum of the unknown lurking in the shadows of your own mind. Something so real in your subconscious but so uncertain that it felt like you were going insane.

You gulped as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Were you going crazy? It wasn't like there was anything really wrong with you up until that point. Your mental health had actually been fine, and you're sure you hadn't accidentally been consuming anything that could be causing you to feel this way.

Maybe it was just stress or a weird week. It would blow over soon, becoming nothing more than a silly, little story you tell your friends when you get together once a month.

You sighed. You weren't going crazy; it was just a weird week. Yeah, a weird week.

A chill went up your spine, making you quiver. Your eyes darted around. Still, you found nothing out of place, but you couldn't seem to shake away the ring in your ears. It became louder and louder until it consumed your hearing entirely. It felt as if you were underwater, cotton blocking up your ears and making your head feel fuzzy. The shadows in your vision started to shift.

"It's so cute watching you, pretty," a voice rang out. Something deep and almost guttural. It chuckled, watching you hold yourself tighter. You were wrong, it was real - unfortunately and horribly real.

"I'm surprised, you know, dear. I never thought such an innocent thing like you could summon me."

Your nose scrunched up in confusion. The fuzziness in your head spread down your body, locking your limbs in place. Anxiety clawed at your stomach. In no way did you ever remember summoning anything.

"What do you mean?"

It laughed again. A small pressure pressed itself on your shoulders, as if fingers lingered there. "Silly, little creature. You're so endearing, aren't you?"

Another weight settled on your other shoulder, another ghost of a hand on your skin. Even worse after, the brush of something solid against your back frightened you despite there being absolutely nothing but you reflected in the mirror.

"What are you? What do you want from me?" You whispered. You heard the click of a tongue next, followed by a tut.

"Don't be so alarmed, sweet thing. I won't hurt you. I was made for you after all. You're very lucky. It's not every day Cupid decides to grant a wish."

You felt a caress against your cheek. The semblance of an entity gripped at your chin, locking your head in its grasp. Adrenaline trickled down your veins and screamed at your muscles to move, but your body refused to budge. You wanted to scream. You wanted to call out for help - anything to get you away from whatever it was that latched itself onto you. You prayed to anything for help.

It started with a breath that tickled your ears, as if something really was behind you. The graze of lips followed after, and you were helpless to the unwanted advances. Something slithered around your waist.

The lights flickered, and you became vaguely aware of the darkened pair of eyes which appeared in the reflection. Another second of darkness, hands. Everything followed after that, until you were face to face with the hauntingly charming face of the entity keeping you in his grip. Dark hair and even darker eyes. He was the spitting image of a sinner, tempting enough to entrance anyone who looked at him, but the aura of maleficence around him made him feel lethal.

"Call me Lucian, darling."

[thebibutterflyao3]

"Toxic"

@pandalilymicrofics - 1393 words

Series Beginning

part seventeen - part eighteen - part nineteen

Lily stared at the note on her nightstand for the fiftieth time that weekend, unwilling to touch it. When she’d awoken to an empty bed and a vague memory of Dora getting dressed on Friday, her first instinct was to look for a note. Her eagerness to reach for it died the moment she saw the name signed at the bottom. Pandora, not Dora. Pandora. As in, Luna’s mum.

She’d choked on a gasp and stumbled back, promptly tripping over her own clothes and landing on her bum. For a long moment, Lily could only stare at the signature in shock. What were the odds that she’d meet her son’s girlfriend’s mum at the pub? It had to be astronomical. 

“It’s not like there are a dozen ‘Pandoras’ running around. You know, you meet one at every party,” she said, rubbing at her temples. “She couldn’t be called ‘Emma’ or ‘Nancy,’ could she? No, of course not.”

For thirty minutes, she questioned every single life choice she’d ever made, wondering which one had led her to this. She was officially one of those parents. The ones that she read about in tabloid headlines at Tesco who embarrass their kids by sleeping with their teacher or their coach, or their girlfriend’s mum!

Lily groaned, dropping her forehead onto her arms. The sheer humiliation alone was likely to take her out, with no additional effort needed. How have I sunk this low? And yet, I want to do it again! I’ve gone off it, at last.

“Mum? Are you ill?” Harry called down the hallway. A solid thud of his bag hitting the floor and a door slamming confirmed his return from his father’s. 

“No, just tired.” 

With one more self-pitying sigh, she hauled herself off the bed and opened the top drawer in her nightstand. Because she was an utter twit, Lily used the bowl of crystals to slide the note into the drawer and closed it soundly. She decided that if she didn’t touch or read the rest of the note, then it was as if she never saw it in the first place. Which was complete bullshite and she knew it. 

I’m not prepared to deal with this yet. Tomorrow, maybe.

An uncertain, “Hey, Lils?” had her on her feet in no time. James didn’t normally stop to chat at Sunday drop-offs. The house wasn’t a neutral territory, so he generally avoided coming in. 

“James? What’s wrong?” she asked, hurrying down the hall. 

“Nothing is wrong, per se.” James avoided her gaze, looking everywhere else. 

Lily slowed her steps to give him space. She’d noticed that he’d started shying away from her touch when the decree was officially signed, and while it hurt to see him pull away, she understood why. Divorce wasn’t easy for either of them, but James was shattered by it. Seeing her, here of all places, opened old wounds. 

For her, it was different. She didn’t want to think of what she had with James in comparison to her first marriage, but the fact remained that it was easier for her to walk away from a loving, albeit broken relationship than from a toxic one. At least this marriage had closure and respectful boundaries. They tried their best to sort everything out without conflict, putting Harry’s needs first. An ideal divorce, really.

“Alright. Did you need something?” she asked.

After checking to make sure Harry was in his room with the door closed, James crossed his arms over his chest and settled his attention on a spot just over Lily’s shoulder. “I think that I…well, I’m pretty sure…that is to say–” James scrubbed his hands over his face, then closed his eyes and tipped his head back. “I’m seeing someone. Have been for about a month. Trying to figure myself out, yeah?”

“Oh. That’s…good?” she said, unsure how to respond. He’s already moved on? A month ago?

“It is,” he agreed with a little more confidence. Finally, James faced her fully, his hands in fists at his sides as if he was bracing himself. For the first time since their separation, he looked like his old self again. “She’s asked me to reconsider how I view relationships and after a lot of thought, I realised that I put you in an uncomfortable position.”

Lily was unable to stop the quip before it spilled free. “I’m pretty sure you were the one in an uncomfortable position.”

A choked laugh burst from his chest before he regained control. James steeled himself and inhaled deeply before continuing. “Yes, well, I meant figuratively. I tried to pretend like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t and ended up gaslighting you about it to avoid confronting my own insecurities.”

“That sounds very…clinical,” Lily said. 

James frowned. “I would hope so, since she’s a therapist.”

Realisation smacked Lily upside the head. “When you said you’re seeing someone, did you mean for therapy?”

“Yes? Obviously, for therapy! Did you really think I could just move on like what we had was nothing? As if I could just get over you that easily?” James blathered, waving his hands in unnecessarily large gestures. “Don’t be ridiculous! Our marriage was the most important–wait, are you saying that you’re seeing someone?”

“Not exclusively, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Just meeting new people, for now. I am trying to move on with my life though, James. As are you, with your therapy.”

James stepped back, blinking rapidly. “Oh. Right. My…therapy.”

A long, awkward silence filled with tension nearly broke her. 

In a futile attempt to end it, Lily cleared her throat and blundered on. “Anyway, I appreciate you telling me about all of this. Therapy was vital for me in the past, which you know, so I’m glad that it’s helping you too.”

“Yeah, it’s great.” James offered a visibly painful smile and turned away. He made it three steps before hesitating in the doorway to the kitchen, but not turning around. “I still love you, you know that right? I don’t know if that will go away.”

Pain seared her chest as she fought back the urge to repeat the sentiment. Lily couldn’t do that to him, couldn’t hurt the man she loved for 14 long, wonderful years by giving him hope that this was temporary, or something he could fix. “I know.”

“Right. G-Good,” he said, voice cracking. “I’ll see you around, Lils.” James tapped his fist on the door frame three times before walking away.

Tears filled Lily’s eyes, and she had to retreat to her room to console herself. A lie by omission was necessary. It hurt because it was him, but telling James the truth wouldn’t hurt him any less. Perhaps in the future, when they were both in stable lives, she would explain herself. 

Now was not that time. It may never be that time, and she was trying her best to be at peace with it.

Loving James was never in question. She’d fallen for him after weeks of banter and flirting, when he cradled her face in his calloused hands and told her that she was way out of his league, but he was taking a shot anyway. He was still the same man he’d been back then, but she wasn’t the same woman he’d married. She’d outgrown their comfortable, contented life and was holding on from a place of fear. 

Making a name for herself opened her eyes to everything she’d buried in favour of building a life with James. She couldn’t suppress herself for him any longer, no matter how much she loved him. It bubbled up inside of her and ached every time she saw a sapphic couple out in the wild. 

Lily needed more than a partner and friend. She longed for a soulmate. Someone who understood her and loved her for who she really was, not someone who loved her despite her flaws.

James deserved the opportunity to grow too, and a clean break was the only way it would happen. He would never allow himself enough space otherwise, even when it stunted him to stay. That was James all over, wallowing in the flames he was used to, instead of leaping into a lake he’d never seen.

I’ll play the bad guy, love, so you can still be a hero. I owe you that much, at least.

[talessculpted]

@mutatiio said:

akihiro hadn't planned on coming here. not really. he'd told himself he was just passing through new york. that he needed a place to crash for a night. that stark's place had those good blackout windows and he liked the smell of the coffee he had. that it had nothing to do with the way the cravings had been chewing through his bones like acid for days. lies. all of it. by the time the elevator opened into the penthouse, he was shaking. not visibly. not the kind of shaking anyone would clock, unless they had a exceptionally well-trained eye. but he felt it. in his teeth, in the back of his skull, in the way his claws kept twitching like they wanted to be out of his skin. he doesn't knock. stark's ai - jarvis - lets him in without a word. the place is quiet. midday. sun bleeding gold through the high glass windows, throwing long shadows across the floor. akihiro stands there for a second, caught in spot, uncertain. he feels... to loud for a space like this. like his nerves are buzzing at a frequency the world isn't built to hear. tony is at a work bench. of course he is. welding something sleek and vaguely dangerous-looking with an expression of complete concentration. and all at once, why he was here felt like too much. too much to ask tony to deal with, too much to even admit. so instead, "stark. your security systems getting soft. might wanna tighten that up before someone actually dangerous walks in."

Tony is hard at work. One of those bouts of inspiration post-depressing crashout that he clung to like a lifeline these days. Misery loves creativity, if nobody said that before then he's going to coin it.

Jarvis doesn't warn him, or he doesn't hear him, that someone is coming and so, when he hears Akihiro, he grips the blowtorch a little tighter before he processes who it is and relaxes. The flame goes out and he lives the still hot tool aside where it won't be an issue.

"Jarvis knows who's allowed in here and who isn't," he says, trusting Jarvis more than any bodyguard.

Taking off the gloves and lifting the welding mask, he turns to look at Akihiro. The easy smile fades into something smaller when he actually looks at him. Something is wrong, Tony doesn't know how he knows it, but he's certain of it the moment his eyes land on the younger-looking man's face. He's seen Akihiro in quite a few situations, some of them not exactly flattering for either of them, many of them —including the unflattering ones— had been a blast for both of them. But either way, Tony has spent more time with him than most people. He likes to believe he knows Akihiro.

Knows him enough to know something is wrong.

"What's up?" he asks. "Don't tell me you got somebody pregnant. That's the face of someone that's going to be paying child support for 18 years."

The second part is a joke, an attempt not sound concerned,. Tony knows that Akihiro doesn't respond well to that and, even if there's something amiss, Akihiro is an adult who could simply choose not to tell Tony what's wrong. It's frustrating, but it's a truth he accepted nearly as soon as they started hanging on. He respects it. It reminds him of his younger self.

He's heard before that being like him is not a good thing. Being anything like his young self is probably worse.

[lumenflowered]

[A video file is attached. In it, Maria can be seen seated at an outdoor patio table opposite... a Dratini? Probably? The being's vaguely Dratini-shaped, anyway, from what a viewer can see through the glitchiness. Though the color's all wrong—it's a reddish-purple, which is odd even for a potentially shiny Pokémon.

"I am quite aware that this is not what you wished to speak of," Maria says, hands cupped around what appears to be a coffee cup, "but will Dee be... alright? Without you close by?"

The Dratini-adjacent being ducks her head in what certainly appears to be a nod. There's a mug of coffee in front of her, too, though it looks untouched and also has truly ungodly amounts of cream and sugar added to it.

"S'nice you cared enough to ask. As long as we're in, like, the same town? It's fine, that's close enough," Mallory says, if it can count as saying anything when there is no mouth moving. "More than that gets iffy, but she's more powerful than she thinks, in a worst-case scenario she'd be able to keep herself going for at least a couple hours, I do not want to test that!"

"Rather understandably." Maria looks a little paler as she raises her own coffee to sip at delicately. "What, then, did you wish to discuss?"

"Well, for starters..."

The not-Dratini's eyes narrow. The air seems to shimmer a little, then the video glitches for several seconds to the point of not being able to make out anything. Once it returns to normalcy, there is a young woman with short dark hair and vividly purple eyes sitting opposite Maria, who is staring a little at whatever she just saw happen.

"You forgot what I looked like. Probably a consequence of my ascension, if I had to guess, but there's few enough people who remember that already. You don't get to be one of them."

"Fair enough, I suppose." Maria sounds a little bemused. She gently sets the mug down on the table. "I do remember you now, though I believe your eyes were different then. It is... rather difficult not to remember the person who killed you."

"Yeah," Mallory agrees. "It is, isn't it?"

"Most of the details of that place... blurred together, I'm afraid. I don't remember—"

"I'm not telling you how many times you killed me."

"Ah," Maria says.

"I will tell you it was a lot." Mallory slurps at her coffee. The fact that it's steaming doesn't seem to bother her. "And that I was touch-starved enough that I didn't even realize you were tearing my heart out until there was nothing left I could do about it."

Maria winces. "I genuinely do not know what one could, or should, say to that."

Mallory, or her illusion—is that an illusion?—shrugs. "I wouldn't turn down an apology, if you feel like it, but I'm not holding my breath waiting for one. You were trying to make up for what you'd done in the fishing hamlet."

"I... yes." Her shoulders slump a little.

"Genuine question. Did it work?"

"No." Maria sighs. "No, it rather did not. It may have actually been worse than everything that I tried prior to... ending up in the Nightmare, but having a purpose of some kind did keep me relatively sane in that place—"

"I can count the number of people capable of talking to me in the Hunter's Nightmare on one hand," Mallory says. "Well, when I've got hands, anyway. Don't always anymore. But by Nightmare standards, you were incredibly sane."

"...Thank you?"

"Eh, don't mention it." Mallory waves one of said dubiously-there hands dismissively. "So what did end up working?"

"You say this as if something did entirely work. As if I will ever be able to truly escape from the past." Maria sighs. "I suppose what worked, then, is that I accepted that it happened, and... began trying to move on? The past cannot be changed, but..."

"But?"

"But it is also in the past." Something resolute passes over Maria's expression. "I can do better in the present day. In the future."

"Damn, your mental health really is way better! And by that I mean that you actually have some, what the hell."

"I am thoroughly uncertain as to how one should take that."

"It's a compliment. Probably." Mallory clears her throat. "And it makes me think that my hunch was right. That it is time for this."

She reaches to her side—into thin air, really—yet her hand disappears as if passing behind or into something. The air shimmers.

"Time for..."

Maria's words die in her throat as Mallory withdraws her hand. It's holding a sheathed weapon, one that appears to be an intricately-crafted twinblade.

To those familiar with the weapon, it is immediately recognizable as Maria's own Rakuyo.

The video ends there.]

[alwerakoo]

Baby Blue (Chapter 10)

Rise of the TMNT Leonardo/Yuichi Usagi Chapter 10 of a longer fic THIS IS PART OF A SERIES - might be confusing to read without context

AO3

---

Leo spends the next day seething in his own anger, feeling his emotions slowly burning him from the inside out.

He doesn't talk to anyone, carefully avoiding all questions, the more caring and honest – the worse.

It feels like the whole world just caught fire, burning him with his every move, no matter which way he turns. He feels like he's the one who set it ablaze.

There must be something deeply, fundamentally wrong with him.

There's anger and frustration inside him that he's never been able to digest; it settles in every part of his body like hot ash. He's scared of trying to pry it away. He's scared that he'd hollow himself out and it still wouldn't be enough.

Leo locks himself in his room, idly tracing the same lines on the floor, taking his phone out and putting it back.

'Call me when you can start acting like it again.'

Leo doesn't know when that might be. He doesn't know if he ever really did in the first place.

He wonders if he's a bad friend. A bad brother. A bad person.

He feels the weight of his own thoughts crushing him; the way they loop back on themselves like the hands of a broken clock.

Once, in the middle of an evening filled with way too much junk food and sugar, Donnie told him about clocks. How sometimes, when you look inside an old one, you can see tiny scratches on the gleaming metal of the gears; traces of previous repairs. Witness marks.

“Then you know what's been fixed before,” he said, pausing to yawn.

Leo thinks that if he were a clock, his interior would be pristine.

He never tried to fix anything.

It feels like he's been ticking over the same hour for a long, long time.

He lies on his bed, his gaze tracing the lines separating the bricks on his ceiling, the lonely and pale glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling. He reaches out as if to run his fingers over them.

He must've put them there when he was twelve, maybe eleven, carefully balanced on his older brother's shoulders. It feels like a day and a lifetime have passed since then.

When they were done, Raph set him down.

“Good job,” he smiled, raising his hand for a fist-bump.

Raph often looked at him that way, even now.

Like he was seeing some better, cleaner version. Someone Leo hadn't been in a long time.

He had spent many nights in this anger; in hatred for someone he's not.

Someone he would never be.

And then, in the middle of that sleepless day, lying back on his own bed, Leo hits a wall.

Why not, he asks himself. Why not?

And with another breath, he realizes that any answer he could come up with would only be a poor excuse.

The truth is the simplest thing in the world.

He's afraid.

Leo stands up, feeling his stomach fill with cotton.

There's a mirror in the corner of his room; tall and irreversibly useless at this angle due to the cracks spanning the entire length of its top like a spider's web.

Leo stands before it, watching as the lines of broken glass distort his reflection.

It's an ugly sight, and he really needs to throw it away eventually.

He slowly reaches out, resting his fingers on the wooden frame until his knees buckle, hitting the cold floor. He tilts his head, staring at his new reflection.

There's a little less of him in it; his shoulders drawn up and uncertain. But it's real. Imperfect with all the hesitation and dark spots under his eyes that mark his face.

Maybe, he thinks, reaching out with his other arm to take the mirror in both of his hands.

Maybe, maybe, underneath all of this, underneath his anger and years of holding it in, there's a whole new, entirely different picture. And he can unravel everything that's been covering it. Thread by thread.

And with that, Leo makes a promise to himself. Just one:

He can do better.

Now, there's nothing left for him but difficult conversations – like walking a tightrope with only the promise of some vague, uncertain reward on the other side.

He tells himself not to look down.

And he starts at the very beginning. The closest to his solid ground.

***

He doesn't call before he arrives, but Draxum doesn't seem particularly bothered by his presence.

If anything, he seems a little distracted, only nodding slightly in a vague greeting. Leo wonders if his strange mood means that he's finally made peace with his youngest son, or just the opposite.

The door to Donnie's lab is closed, cold under his fingers when he lifts his hand to knock. He glances down the hall out of the corner of his eye, toward Mikey's home-brewed art studio.

Mikey probably already knows he's here, because he always does. Right now, Leo feels a bit more put off by it than usual. His brother will know if he chickens out, and he will never let him live it down.

Hearing the familiar creak of metal, Leo pulls that thought right into the back of his mind.

Donnie doesn't seem particularly surprised he's here. He doesn't seem particularly well-rested either, judging by the strong shadows under his eyes.

“Hey,” Leo says. It feels like he's pulling at his own teeth.

Donnie doesn't answer, but moves to the side, letting him in.

“I heard a lot of thing about you yesterday,” he says as soon as the door closes behind them.

Leo grimaces.

He's not wearing his hoodie, or anything with pockets for that matter, which he quickly begins to regret, mostly due to the sudden need to occupy his hands. He reaches for his mask, twirling the ends around his fingers.

“I can imagine,” he says, and it comes out a little quieter than he wanted it to.

Donnie raises his hand, counting down on his fingers.

“That you're an idiot, a moron, an egocentric-”

“You know,” Leo interrupts, his face flushed and hot, “I don't think Usagi would want you to repeat that to me.”

“Oh, no.” Donnie lowers his hand. “That was all from Mikey.”

“Ah.”

Donnie doesn't sound angry, or even particularly annoyed, which quickly fills Leo with a wave of relief. But there's something etched onto his face, something harsh and impossible to decipher.

Leo can't blame him for that.

He's not sure what explanation Usagi gave him, if any. He's not sure he wants to know.

Usagi was Donnie's friend before Leo even became a real person and forcing him to choose sides like this seems as cruel as it is useless.

“I'm sorry,” he says. Out of everyone, with Donnie those words always seemed to come out easiest. “I didn't want to put you on the spot like that.”

For a moment, Donnie looks at him carefully, like he's trying to gauge his sincerity. The fact that he even suspects Leo might lie to him about something so important sticks into his memory like a needle. Even if it's fully deserved.

“I think I'm the only one here who doesn't deserve an apology.”

Donnie walks past him, turning back to his seat at the desk. The chair creaks slightly under the weight of his shell. He nods to the other chair in the room, pushed close to the wall.

Leo doesn't take it, resting his hip awkwardly on the edge of the desk. He feels like he's halfway up a hill, unsure if he'll be able to get back up if he sits down now.

The chair also looks awkwardly close to collapsing in on itself, which he hopes is a good enough excuse.

“What even happened?” Donnie asks.

“Did Usagi...” He hesitates for a moment, looking for the right words and not finding any. “Tell you anything?”

“You just told me not to repeat what he said.”

Leo presses his lips together; looks away.

“It's my fault.” He shifts, leaning his shell against the edge of the desk, discreetly avoiding his brother's gaze. “I was pissed off when you and Raph went to badmouth me, I had a fight with Mikey, and then I said something stupid. It doesn't matter.” He tilts his head back, sighing quietly. “I was just being an idiot.”

“Well.” Donnie rests his elbow on the desk, burying his cheek in his hand. “Nothing new about that.”

Leo looks at him then, and he's not sure what the expression shows on his face, but it must be something deeply unhappy, because Donnie raises his hands in a defensive gesture, suddenly panicked.

“It was a joke! You-” He trails off, lowering his hands.

Leo wonders how he plans to end this.

You're not like that. You didn't mean it. Neither is true.

“I know you don't want to be like this.”

And not so long ago, maybe that would've been a lie, too.

Leo holds his hands together, close to his chest, feeling the tips of claws pressing against the thin skin of his cuticles.

“Yeah,” he says, not even convincing himself.

Donnie tilts his head, watching him with something soaked in sympathy and pity, and Leo supposes he can't blame him. Especially since when he blinks, he's surprised to find that the diagrams and charts hanging on the wall in front of him seem a little more blurred than they had been a moment ago.

He raises his arm, wiping at his cheek, his eyes with his hand.

Donnie, without any hesitation, reaches out, wrapping his fingers around his other wrist.

Leo can feel his heart in his chest, rhythm steady and grounding.

For a moment he wonders how someone he's tried so hard to hide all the worst parts of himself from, still has managed to see right through him.

A small but particularly intrusive part of his mind quickly suggests that it's always been obvious. That there's no 'worst' part of him, that everything he is has long since become obvious – in plain sight.

The larger part, the part that's known and loved his brother his whole life, knows that he'd never be able to hide anything like that from him.

If Donnie's life was a stage, Leo's always sat in the front row. He just never thought that from that close, the spotlight would shine on him, too.

For a moment he wonders how much Donnie knows. More than he's acknowledging, probably. He wonders if he knows about what happened at the hospital. He hopes not, and he'd rather not ask.

Donnie squeezes his wrist once, twice.

“But just to be clear,” he says, a little quieter, in a lighter tone, “we weren't talking about you then. Me and Raph.”

Leo sniffles.

“No?”

Donnie raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Sometimes we want to talk about something other than just you two idiots, you know?”

Leo blinks. He raises his free hand, pressing his fingers to his forehead.

“Jesus. Mikey was right,” he gasps. “I really do have an ego.”

Donnie raises his other eyebrow.

“Really?”

But there's a familiar, almost amused look on his face now. He moves his hand, giving Leo's palm one last squeeze before he pulls it back, sinking into his chair with a loud sigh.

“Sorry I ruined your trip,” Leo adds.

“It's okay,” Donnie says, sounding surprisingly sincere. And then, almost shyly: “Kendra wanted to go.”

That piques his curiosity.

“Oh?” He straightens up a bit, wiping at his eyes one last time with the back of his hand. “How is she?” He smiles, trying to keep his tone as light as possible. “Does she know you have a shell yet?”

He's both grateful for the change of subject and genuinely interested. Kendra still belongs to his brother's biggest, most private secrets – too fresh and new to tear away from the depths of his heart.

And Leo isn't nosy, no matter what Mikey has to say about it.

Donnie's face takes on a strange expression, like he knows he's being made fun of but isn't sure if he should care.

“Yeah, actually.” He shrugs. “I told her.”

Leo blinks.

He turns, leaning forward and resting his elbow on the edge of the desk so he can look at his brother more closely.

“What? When?”

“Literally just the other day.”

He sounds sincere, and the short time frame gives him a perfectly logical excuse. Still, Leo wonders if Donnie is only mentioning it now because of whatever is happening between him and Usagi.

He hopes not. That would only make him feel worse.

“And? How did it go?”

Donnie sucks on his teeth, looking up like he has to think about it for a moment.

“Good? She didn’t care. I guess.” He frowns, tilting his head. “Well, she didn't really say anything, but she did kiss me, so I assumed-”

“What?”

It takes a second.

One moment, Leo's leaning against the desk, the hard wood digging into his elbow. The next, he's throwing his legs around the back of the other chair, resting his chin on his crossed arms, shifting closer on the squeaky wheels.

“Dude,” he says, close to a whisper. “And you’re only telling me this now?”

Donnie clenches his fists, fingers drumming against his thighs. But there’s something equally flustered and giddy on his face, like this is a secret he’s been wanting to share for a long time.

It's an infectious sort of joy, and Leo can't help the smile that stretches over his teeth.

“Yeah, I guess,” Donnie laughs a little, shrugging.

Leo's chest feels just a little lighter than when he first came in.

He shifts, resting his cheek on his crossed arms.

“Tell me everything.”

[adzeisval]

Goodbye Note

Lucius notices that there is something wrong with Izzy. Also on AO3.

There was something wrong with Izzy. Well there was a lot wrong with Izzy but this was something new. Lucius vaguely noticed Izzy coming back on board from their trip to Jamaica looking bruised and fucked up but he didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t unusual for one or more of them to come back hurt or still drunk. In the week that followed though there were several incidents that indicated that something more was going on. 

Two days out from Jamaica they had a party for Oluwande’s birthday and Lucius had to help Jim get Olu back to their room. Izzy wasn’t at the party, which was odd but sometimes Izzy didn’t seem to be in the mood for parties. They tried to be quiet passing Izzy’s room no one wanted to wake Izzy up. On his way back up to the deck Lucius heard something from Izzy’s room. He paused and thought he heard Izzy crying. Or maybe he was just drunk and imagining it. 

Four days out from Jamaica Izzy caught Lucius and Pete in the storeroom and just sighed and went away. No snarky remarks, no teasing, nothing. 

Lucius spent the next day watching Izzy and he just seemed so off. Usually Izzy made his rounds around the ship to make sure duties were being done. He issued commands and orders and seemed to always be moving around. Now he was just standing and looking out at the water for a long time between half-heartedly doing his duties. 

That night was the crew meeting; they’d started the meeting after the Captain’s got back together to form a union of sorts so they had a say about what went on. Stede was a fan of the idea and Ed just shrugged and let them have the meetings. 

“So I’ve noticed…” 

“That something’s wrong with Izzy?” Jim finished.

“He hasn’t been as much of a bastard lately,” Roach said. 

“I…think I heard him crying the other night,” Lucius said. 

“I guess we need to try to get him to talk,” Roach said. 

“I might try,” Lucius said, “I guess that’s the only thing to do.” 

Lucius thought about how best to approach Izzy but Izzy seemed to spend the day avoiding them all. Lucius went to bed frustrated and uncertain. A few hours later Lucius woke to someone shaking him. He jumped a little when he saw it was Jim. Jim scoffed at him. 

“Get up,” they said. Lucius tried to think of a reason Jim would be waking him up in the middle of the night. It was dark but he didn’t think Jim was holding a weapon. Lucius got up and followed Jim below deck, which was probably a stupid idea. 

Jim walked right past their room and up to Izzy’s door which was open just a little bit. 

“We’re coming in old man,” Jim announced. God what was it about them that made them able to get away with that? The knives? Probably the knives. Lucius followed Jim into Izzy’s room. Olu was there sitting on a chair across from Izzy’s bed. Izzy didn’t look up from where he sat on his bed. Izzy took an unsteady breath and let out a little choked noise. 

Fuck, he’d been crying. 

“What’s going on?” Lucius asked. 

“Nightmare. We think,” Olu said, “He woke us up screaming and crying.”

“It didn’t even look like he recognized us at first,” Jim added. 

“Izzy? Can I sit down by you?” Lucius asked.

Izzy nodded.

“Do you want to tell us what’s going on Izzy? We’ve noticed you’ve been…not yourself. We’re worried about you.” 

That got Izzy to look up at them.

“It doesn’t have to be all three of us,” Lucius added, “Could be more or less. Please Izzy.” 

For a while Izzy was quiet then he spoke, “Alright.” 

*****

Izzy had been going to Rachael’s Tea House for almost twenty years. He’d found the place while trying to avoid another fucking barfight. He just wanted a place to sit by himself and spend some coin on food and drink.

A year and a half ago Izzy had gone to Rachael’s to find his old friend sick. He’d talked to her for a long time and wished her well. When he retired six months later Rachael was gone. 

It was almost exactly a year later when Izzy found himself at Rachael’s again. They’d kept the name the same and he knew Rachaels daughter and husband were running the place. He felt a little nervous going in, but really how much could it have changed in a year?

Izzy walked through the doors and at first nothing seemed that different. He saw several regulars there, people he’d seen almost every time. He approached the counter where Anne, Rachael’s daughter was washing dishes. 

“Afternoon,” he said. 

Anne looked at him and gasped, “You…” 

Izzy frowned a little and continued to stand at the counter even as Anne rushed to the back. He managed to glance back at the other people in the tea house who were all staring. What the fuck? Why on earth would Anne run off? Izzy had never so much as raised his voice in the tea house, he’d always paid with good coin and often extra when he had it, and he’d never fought on the premises. Rachael had known what he was, they probably all knew he was a pirate but…

“You need to leave.” 

Izzy looked at the man before him, Anne’s husband, still in a state of shock. 

“Leave and don’t ever come back you bastard,” he said. 

“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Izzy growled.

“You tormented Rachael for years. Terrified her. You’re the reason she died so young!” 

“Piss off you nasty pirate,” someone called out from behind him. 

“We’re done putting up with your filth here,” someone else said. 

“Fine,” Izzy growled and walked out. His head was reeling and he didn’t understand what had just happened. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice he’d been followed until someone pulled him into an alley and punched him in the gut. 

Izzy went to his knees. 

“Serves you right you little fuck, mom and dad might want to just get rid of you but you deserve worse. Grandma was terrified of you.” 

Izzy looked up at two young men who looked familiar. Ahh, Rachael’s grandsons. He looked at the men, both were over six feet tall and huge. In his younger days Izzy thought he might be able to take them but he wasn’t sure now. 

“Fuck off,” Izzy said and tried to stand. He dodged one punch but not the second which landed heavily on his jaw and sent him against the wall. Another hit to the head sent him sprawling on the ground. One of the men took the opportunity to pin Izzy to the ground on his stomach.  Izzy thrashed and tried to get up but the other one pushed him down, a hand to the back of Izzy’s neck the other pressing his back so hard he could barely breathe.

“We don’t need pirate fucks like ou around here. Only one way to get rid of you for certain.” 

Izzy started to panic. The men could easily kill him and he didn’t think anyone was going to come to save him. No one knew where he was.

Every time one of them would kick or punch him Izy tried to get free, tried to find some sort of leverage as blow after blow came. He was starting to feel dizzy and sick and he wondered if he was about to pass out or die.

 The man pressing his upper body down started  laughing, so much so that he let off the pressure,  just a little. Izzy made one last ditch effort to knock the men off and…it worked. Izzy scrambled up and bolted, not daring to look behind him. He ignored all the pain and bit his tongue to try to stay awake even though he was seeing spots and felt like he would fall over any minute. 

He only felt safe again once he got to the Revenge.

***

Lucius stared at Izzy, mouth open in shock. Fuck. He heard a sound and saw Jim twirling their knife. 

“I’m so sorry Izzy,” Lucius said.

“We’ll go kill those fuckers for you, I’m gonna fucking enjoy it,” Jim said. 

“No. No killing.” 

“Why the fuck not?” Jim said. 

“They’re Rachael’s family. If we were to kill them that makes me exactly what they think. I don’t want to destroy what she built. She…might have been a friend. That bothers me more. I keep thinking back to all the times I talked to her. I never thought she was scared of me. I don’t know if she was. I’m bad with people sometimes. I don’t mean to be. Fuck, I don’t know.” Izzy started to cry again. 

“We’re here for you Izzy,” Olu said. 

“I…fuck I hope I didn’t torment her. I can’t…did I really…what the fuck is wrong with me? That I couldn’t see it?”

“They could have been lying. Putting the blame on you because they’re grieving. Which is still beyond fucked,” Lucius said. 

“If I was there I would have slit their fucking throats for daring to touch you,” Jim said. 

“Are you alright? Physically I mean?” Lucius asked. 

Izzy shrugged, “Bruised and sore. I’ve survived worse.” 

“What can we do for you Izzy?” Lucius asked. 

Izzy frowned then let out a little sob, “I don’t know.”

“If you think of something let us know,” Lucius said. 

“Just don’t tell Edward or Stede please. And I’m sorry Jim and Olu, nightmares should go away soon.” 

“Just remember we’re here,” Lucius said. He wished that he could do something more but if Izzy didn’t know what he needed or wanted Lucius didn’t. He supposed he would just be kind to Izzy and check in. 

In time Izzy got back to normal, or closer to it anyway. There were still times when he seemed to get distant and sad and it seemed once a month or so he would wake crying or screaming. 

About a year later they went back to Jamaica. Izzy claimed to be sick and said he was going to stay on the ship. Jim stayed with him. 

When they got back Lucius noticed Stede handing Izzy a piece of paper. Izzy looked at it like it might bite him and quickly went downstairs. 

Later when Izzy came up he looked a little…off.

“Something wrong Izzy?” Lucius asked. 

“I don’t know. Yet. Can you…can you help me with something Spriggs?” 

“Sure, well unless it involves murder then maybe you’d better ask Jim,” Lucius said. 

Izzy snorted, “It’s not that. I need you to read something for me.” 

“Alright,” Lucius said, still confused, but he followed Izzy down below anyway. 

“Stede came by this letter. It’s addressed to me. From Rachael, before she died. I recognize her handwriting. I’m too nervous to read it myself, fuck, that’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid, I’ll read it to you,” Lucius said.

“Thank you,” Izzy said. 

“My dear Izzy, I wish I could tell you this in person, but I’m afraid by the time you return I will be gone. I’ve given control of the tea house to my daughter and her husband. They are trying to change things, draw in richer clientele. I fear this means they won’t welcome you there. I’m sorry. I hope you know how much I enjoyed your presence over the years. I hope you are well and wish you the best. Your friend, Rachael.” 

Izzy took the letter from Lucius and read it carefully. Izzy started to cry as he clutched the letter to his chest. 

“I didn’t scare her…they lied…thank you Lucius,” Izzy said. 

“You're welcome. I’m glad it was something good,” Lucius said.

[electricbluebutterflies]

jessleto + “Touch yourself.” 🫡🫡

"Actually not dead" canon-divergent AU continuity, vaguely nsfw, also on ao3.

It occurs to Jessica that she might not be questioning her current circumstances as much as she probably should.

To have her lover come back from the dead is… not beyond the realm of possibility, she will give it that, but what details he gives her are so mundane and the few days surrounding the attack such a blur in his version of events and-

Stranger things than this have happened, she reminds herself, but the worry remains.

She watches carefully for days, for anything that might seem off. She has known him half of her life and closer than anyone else ever got to her knowledge, and there is nothing new that cannot be explained by circumstances. A few scars he did not have the last time she saw his skin and a story behind each, and they have both done what they had to do to survive, and-

Perhaps she’s just being paranoid. Perhaps this really is a miracle.

Still, she sleeps lighter than usual, and she does not have the needle-thin knives she once hid in the seams of her dresses, and she worries and she waits, and-

They are in her space here, perhaps close to nightfall but it is harder to keep track of time as deep in the catacombs as she has been placed, when she breaks.

She has learned not to cry on this barren planet as she once did, but the rest of her distress is still visible, heavy breathing and flitting eyes and-

“Is something wrong?” her beloved asks, and she hears what is not said too, his first thought that something might be wrong with the child cocooned inside her and-

(It has occurred to her all too often that her daughter might be getting the wrong idea about the dynamic that created her, but that is a problem for years down the line, for-)

“You returned to me and I still question it,” Jessica murmurs. “You have done everything right and I still-“

“Does something make you-“

“You of all people should know better than to-“

“Forgive me for hoping your paranoia might have dropped a few notches.”

Oh, if anything she’s gotten worse since they’ve been apart, nothing like an apparently temporary widowhood to make one realize just how much one actually relies on one’s partner for emotional stability and-

“I cannot believe such an ending for us after everything-“

“Do you not want?”

She does, she wants to say, she had six months of haunted dreams and she has been so much calmer in these recent days but oh the things she had to become and she is still unsure-

“I have had vivid dreams before. Perhaps this is just another. Perhaps-“

And that is a best-case scenario, she thinks but does not say. If this is something more dangerous, it is unusually patient, but-

“What would convince you otherwise?”

She is uncertain, and she hates to admit such a state, and-

An idea occurs to her, perhaps not ideal but the best she can do under the circumstances. They have attempted intimacies but the state of her body has been distracting; she has yet to get a decent look at him, and-

“Undress for me, please. Let me see what is mine.”

He gives her a questioning look but complies after a few heartbeats. If there is an advantage to their circumstances it is that there are less layers to deal with; in the months to come, if they are still here (please let them not still be here), it will be much easier to undo each other in the quiet of night, and as it is-

She circles him, first assessing with her eyes. She knows his body as her own, or at least she did; some of the lines have changed in their separation, structure adapted to a more physical life, questions she will not ask and-

She runs a fingertip up his spine and feels him respond to her touch. It was always so easy to make him want her before, she never had to do much, and time was kind, and-

“Do you trust me?” she breathes.

He turns his head to look at her, and another questioning look but the bond they have built is not for nothing and-

“Completely, my storm.”

“Continue.”

She stands behind him, looks over his shoulder at the beauty of him. It has been some time since she’s had this, even before tragedy struck; their intimacies were always easier for her in the dark, familiarity combined with lower odds of a comment about the sight of her and she knows he always meant well and-

He wants her. She has barely done anything and his body still responds to her presence. And she is in no state to do anything about it, responsibilities be damned, and-

“Touch yourself. I… I cannot-“

She could find a way, at least with her own hands, but she will keep the fragility of her condition, and-

There are still new things between them, she thinks as she watches him take his prick in hand. She has never asked for… this was not their way, before, and she knows she kept him sated, and-

It is pleasing to see that he is as deliberate and cautious with his own body as he is with hers. There is no need to do this quickly, and from her current position she sees what she wants to see, slow movements and the ache of him and in another life-

In this one, she turns her head and kisses the curve of his neck and feels how that changes his breathing, and her own warmth pools between her thighs and she will do nothing with it, and-

Her arms wrap around his waist, and she wants him wants this wants-

“Do you mean to torture me?” he breathes.

“Only to make sure needs are met, beloved. This does please me, and-“

“You are rarely so-“

“Perhaps I have also been reborn,” she murmurs.

She traces patterns on his skin and this is the opposite of what they usually do, and she feels his body tense and his movements change and-

He falls apart into his hands with her name on his lips, and she finds the confirmation she needs in the aftershocks, desire-struck eyes and-

“What memory did you use?” she asks when she assumes he can speak again.

“If I say not anything specific…”

“That does make me more curious, but-“

“I have had nearly twenty years of the warmth of you, it is impossible to-“

She moves around him and takes a kiss, and she will apologize later if need be, and-

“Is it alright if I become… more assertive, in our spaces?”

“If you were to do what I have always hoped for? Of course.”

“You have wanted…?”

“Sometimes it is hard to tell with you. The line between delight and obligation is always-“

“You know how long it’s been since I’ve had trouble denying you, and-“

“There were still times… it doesn’t matter. If we are made new, and you are more confident…”

“Six months apart may have made me-“

“I will love you regardless of how you change, but-“

She feels her emotions break again, and she would cling if not for the state of him, and instead she moves to find a cloth and oh she did not think this plan through and-

“As I you,” she murmurs. “Although it is in my favor that you have changed so little. I have never… you do not know how awful things were without the stability of you and-“

“I would hope better than they were for me, but-“

“Horrific,” she breathes, returning to him and taking another kiss. “I would prefer for that to never happen again, but-“

“I am unsure if I can promise you so much, but-“

“Try for me.”

[canis-or-cannotis-lycaon]

Booksquirm

TIMING: A few weeks ago LOCATION: The UMWR Library PARTIES: Ariadne (@ariadnewhitlock) and Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f) SUMMARY: Resident bookworms Ariandne and Gael meet in a library where they also find a bookwyrm of a different kind. They decide not to pursue their curiosities. CONTENT WARNINGS: None

The university library was quieter during the summer session. Not that it was ever an exceedingly busy sort of place, but there was something to be said about the relative calm that settled over it once the summer months came. Ariadne couldn’t explicitly remember, but she knew that when she’d been a baby, her parents had taken her here. She cringed somewhat at that idea, and hoped that she’d been a relatively quiet baby and hadn’t disturbed other students there. Though of course, thinking about that eighteen years later wasn’t going to do her any sort of good.

She’d elected to make her way between the shelves, running her fingers along the spines of the books. She wasn’t looking for any book in particular, but more so just something to do. Maybe a book about geology, given that her class with Professor Langston had been more rewarding than she’d even expected. Or maybe she’d find something else to read, or something for Chance (if she could get him to sit down long enough to read, rather than go cliff jumping or whatever his thrill of the week was), or maybe Ariadne just needed somewhere to be that she didn’t have to focus on anything else.

She heard someone clear their throat and ducked around one of the bookshelves. “Oh - hi, sorry if I bothered you,” she began, “I - well, I’m stumped as to what to read next.” ________________ There was always a motive when Gael went to the library and that was ‘learn at least one new thing’. True, he could just pick up a book whether it be fiction or nonfiction and just absorb whatever was on the page but nowadays he felt like that was a waste of his time. He had people to meet, things to do, drinks to… drink. That last one needed work.  In any case, Gael was on his sixth book now and he was briefly skimming this one, looking for a term, a definition, a theory that he wasn’t at least superficially familiar with. Still nothing. He gave an exhale that turned into a clearing of his throat, almost as though expressing his verbal disappointment with the book when he heard movement coming from out of his field of view. It was a library, other people were to be expected but this was sharp and immediately followed by the apology of a young woman. “It’s no bother,” He assured the voice before turning to meet the source - a college student with dirty blond hair and stormy eyes. Gael had probably seen her around before but she didn’t appear to be one of his students. His expression was already soft but he gave her a small smile. “Well, the good news is that you’re in a library so there are a lot of options.” He looked around the space as he spoke. “What are you interested in?” ________________ “If you’re sure.” Ariadne hated how uncertain she sounded, even in the library, even during summertime, the second that she was near a professor. She was certain (mostly) that you could be respectful without sounding quite so very unsure.

“Thank you,” she added - he seemed nice. She could vaguely recall seeing him around the campus, but she hadn’t taken a class with him. His expression seemed kind though, particularly his eyes and the curve of his smile. Ariadne knew that she figured most people were good, but here he was, spending time indoors, in a library, on an arguably beautiful day, and she knew he had to work here, probably, which meant that maybe he needed to be here, but anyone who was in a quiet space by choice made her feel decidedly at ease.

She offered him a sheepish smile, “that’s a very fair point. There’s loads of options, and it’s great because you don’t have to spend money -” Ariadne shook her head for a moment, “I see nothing wrong with buying books but sometimes it’s nice to be able to get a lot and not spend like, over a hundred bucks, right?” She shrugged. “I really loved my geology class last semester - maybe something in that area, or like, Earth Science?” She stuck out her hand, “oh - I’m Ariadne, by the way. Sorry for just talking without introducing myself.” ________________ She seemed on edge. Gael couldn’t tell if that was just her temperament or if perhaps she was nervous because she probably recognized that he was a professor, or at least someone employed in or around the campus. Who could blame her? All 5’8” of him was pretty intimidating, so he loosened his stance a little more and continued to listen to her, keeping his eyes on her out of interest for whatever she was going to say.

He non verbally agreed with her perspective on the benefits of libraries with a raise of his eyebrows and nod; while he liked owning books, he couldn’t possibly own ALL of them and there was something… familiar about libraries. He assumed it was the scent. When she brought up geology and earth science, Gael’s expression brightened for a moment before she offered her hand to him along with a name he could call her. With the same smile, he took her hand and shook it firmly but not harshly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, señorita Ariadne,” He gave a small bow of his head. “And no apologies are necessary. I’m Professor Gael Córdova; I teach chemistry here,” He returned with his name in kind. “I’ve only been here since January so that’s probably why my face may not be familiar. However!” He withdrew his hand and enthusiastically turned to the bookshelves once more. “You didn’t come here for a backstory, you came for a book. So let’s find you a book.” He hummed, hoping his laid-back behavior would help ease some of her tension. ________________ “Pleasure to meet you.” She hoped he wouldn’t pay too much attention to the fact that she was cold - too much so to even blame on the air conditioning - when he shook her hand. Even if she wasn’t too much shorter than he was, he certainly carried himself in a sort of way that, at least to Ariadne, demanded respect, and so she couldn’t help but shrink away, just slightly. He seemed to somehow be able to sense her nerves (which she found herself immediately grateful for) and in conjunction with his loosening posture, she did her best to loosen her own.

“Oh, you don’t have to get all formal but I - thank you.” Ariadne offered him a quick flash of a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Professor Córdova. Chemistry’s not something I’ve taken,” she paused, “only because I don’t know if I’d be good at it, I’m wildly impressed by it,” she assured him, not out of any fear for how he was reacting, but more simply because she truly didn’t wish to offend him. “It’s alright, I don’t mind when other people want to talk.” Let’s find you a book. That much, she eagerly nodded at. “I’d love some help, thank you.” She took a deep breath, determined to stop freaking out so much at nothing. Libraries were a safe place, and Professor Córdova was kind and caring, and hadn’t yelled at her even sort of. Just the opposite, in fact. ________________ Two for two on cold hands. The people around here must have, like, slightly lower body temperatures to compensate for the colder weather. Maybe they were all fish people? Gael thought that was incredibly obtuse; he needed to get more sleep, he assumed. He also noticed that she seemed to relax if only slightly, which was good - he couldn’t speak for other people but if he started reading while he was pre-wound up it just made him more anxious. “Chemistry isn’t for everyone, señorita,” Gael assured her as he ran a finger over the spines of different books. “You mentioned appreciating geology, which is completely fascinating and simultaneously totally out of my field of memory retention,” He chuckled. “I told myself when I became a professor that regardless of whether or not someone liked what I taught, the class is only half the reason.” He pulled a book on Earth Sciences off the shelf, standing on his toes to reach it. “The other half is finding your passion; I’m here to help anyone and everyone find that passion, regardless of whether or not it involves chemistry.” He opened the book briefly as he spoke, flipping through the pages as if checking to see the quality of the book when in reality he should’ve just given it to the girl. Something caught his eye though, as he rifled through the paper. “Well— I was going to…” He trailed off, his brow starting to furrow as he kept his dark eyes on the page he rested on. “This is strange, check it out.” The professor held the book between a few fingers and turned it over to Ariadne, revealing that half a page of text was on one side, but the other was completely empty. “I was about to say “this is a book on Earth science, maybe you’d like to peruse it” but I guess whoever wrote it got busy?” Gael joked, though he already felt some concern at the back of his mind - if this was the quality of books, what else did that library have? ________________ “I just didn’t want you to think I was being rude, or anything.” She offered him a small smile. “That’s basically just about the last thing I’d want anyone to think.” Outside of murdering people, but that wasn’t something she could just up and admit to anybody, so her usual people-pleasing tendencies would have to do. Ariadne looked back up at Professor Córdova. “I - normally I’m not always great at the whole memory retention thing, but geology’s fun.” Her expression brightened at his next works, more of her anxieties slipping away. It was not unexpected but still always incredibly lovely to meet people who were so kind and giving. “That means a lot. Some people might just think what they focus on’s the only “right” thing to be passionate about, or whatever, but yeah.” She shook her head, acutely aware that she wasn’t making all too much sense.

“What’s strange?” She peered over the edge of the book. “There’s - what.” Ariadne shook her head, blinked a few times. “I don’t - I’m confused. I don’t think books can get published if they’re not finished, since it wouldn’t give the full - story or whatever the thing is for nonfiction.” She reached out to touch the book’s page, noting the tiniest sound of slithering as she did so. “I - uh. That’s -” she frowned. “Wait, look! The other page’s disappear now, too.” ________________

Yeah, that’s what Gael was thinking too as he got Ariadne’s input. He raised a brow as he examined the page closely - it was almost as though there weren’t any words there to begin with and while he may have heard the slithering, he either ignored it or didn’t attribute it to anything in this scenario. Stranger still was that as he was looking at the blank page and she mentioned that the other one was blank now too, his eyes darted over and saw that she was right.

“What the…” He breathed, lifting the page and turning it over, looking on both sides where the page was fresh, clean, inkless, as though the sparse words Gael managed to catch earlier were a figment of his imagination. “Is this another… town custom where the books mysteriously lose their words?” He asked, perhaps with more sarcasm than he intended. He glanced over at the student with a raised eyebrow. “Mmmmaaybe we should try a different book?” He wouldn’t say it aloud but he was completely caught off-guard by this mysterious tome whose knowledge seemed to have been stripped from the page without him even having seen it. ________________ “I don’t know. I’ve lived here my whole life and none of my books have ever lost their words?” Ariadne gulped, “so I don’t know what’s going on.” It didn’t make sense, but her existence also didn’t make sense, so it wasn’t like that was a whole lot to go off of. Except she wanted something to make sense - though she figured that trying to make sense of disappearing words was quite the leap to make when she couldn’t even make sense of the whole ‘coming back to life’ sort of deal she had going on.

“We could try something else, yeah. Except I’m still quite a bit concerned about this book.” She frowned, “because books are special and I’m worried this one’s like, broken, or something.” Ariadne sighed. “Can a book break?” She picked at her cuticles. “I’m sorry - I - yeah, should we see if another one works?” ________________

Gael picked up on Ariadne’s energy, somehow, and he gazed at the emptying book once more, a new expression overtaking his features. “It’s okay. Maybe it’s just shy. I may not know what’s going on but I’ll get the library a new copy of one of these - one where the words don’t have stage fright.” He made the comment lightly, trying to give Ariadne the impression that he wasn’t worried about it even if he was. He closed the book and handed it to her. “Here, you’re clever and your eyes are sharper than mine; maybe you can see something I can’t while I get you another book.” He offered the tome to her before turning back to the shelf.

“And you don’t need to apologize, señorita,” Gael said gently. “It’s not your fault. Books get old - one time I saw this book that was so old the words really were gone. Just… faded into obscurity.” He smiled, looking at the spines. “You could tell it was really well-loved.” ________________ “I’ve never met a shy book, but I think I might get along well with one.” Ariadne winced at how bad the joke was - something even she was aware of, despite her knowledge that making jokes under any circumstance was not her strong suit, but hopefully this professor wouldn’t mind. He seemed exceptionally nice, so far, and so she figured that he wasn’t going to change that. 

“I’m not clever.” She looked over at him, eyes wide, with a shake of her head. “But thanks for saying that, especially ‘cause you just met me. But uh - I can look.” She took the book, the slithering sound returning. “I - what.” Ariadne shook her head again, because there was no way something in the book had actually moved, was there? “That sounds like a lovely sort of book. Where was it?” She turned her head to the side, curiously examining the book, watching as another page seemed to lose its words. “Uh. This book’s still being weird, though, by the way.” ________________

“Not clever, eh?” He smiled to himself as he pulled another one off the shelf and brushed the cover off even though there wasn’t anything on it. “As she makes a joke about relating to a shy book.” Gael was about to open the book he was holding - something about the value of igneous rocks and volcanoes - when he paused and regarded the first one he had let her observe again.

Gael furrowed his brow, leaning and looking at the newest blank page of the book. “Curiouser and curiouser,” He muttered before one of his eyebrows twitched. He bit the inside of his cheek and inhaled deeply. “Uh, the book was Alice in Wonderland, by the way.” He answered. “It belonged to my ex. Specifically passed down from her great, great grandmother.” Meanwhile, the one she held didn’t have nearly as much love or care put into it - indeed, as he picked it out, it wasn’t as though the binding was old or the pages were loose… it wasn’t like a bunch of people were cherishing this particular text of earth sciences.

“Well…” He sighed, feeling his mood starting to turn, though it was no fault of Ariadne’s, of course. He was a man of science but even as his problem-solving skills started working a few minutes ago, nothing acceptable had come up aside from ‘it’s an elaborate prank. “I guess we can set that one aside for the librarian to examine.” He motioned for her to put it on the nearby table. “I’m sure this one is–” Gael cut himself off as he opened the new book to find that the pages he turned to were completely empty as well. “What the…” He flipped through them. Empty. Empty. Empty. “Wh– Okay, what?” He asked in a slightly exaggerated way. ________________

“I’m really not.” It was nice of him to think she was clever, but she knew that this wasn’t the case. Besides, he didn’t even really know her. It was a kind sentiment, even if an entirely false one. “But thanks for saying that.” It was only nice to respond that way, to not make him think she was rude. Ariadne didn’t want that - and there seemed to be an extra layer of awfulness to being rude in a library. Even if books weren’t always her thing, libraries were always a comfort. “Oh, I know of that book, yeah. My dad’s a fan. I like it too. Uh. Just in case you were worried I was um - I don’t know.” Ariadne made a small face. “Sorry.” She winced. “I - yeah. It’s nice to have well-loved books.” She wanted to bury her face in the library’s carpeted floors, because she was just making about as many linguistic blunders as was possible.

Her gaze shifted from her book to the other one. Why was more than one book suffering whatever fate this was. “Um. We should - uh, probably tell the librarian about this. Maybe they’ll be able to figure it out. I don’t know. I don’t think I could.” She stammered, words spilling from her lips faster than she could think. “I - something’s - something is slithering, I think. Or - I don’t know. I hear something.” He was going to think she was completely out of her mind. “I - I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” ________________

Well, far be it for Gael to keep something going if it was making someone else uncomfortable so he offered a small, encouraging smile to Ariadne in exchange for the thanks before looking at the book once more. “Methinks you spend a lot of time in your head,” He suggested mildly; as they looked at the book, and as she stuttered in what was obviously her being nervous for some reason or another (though hearing things wasn’t something to NOT be concerned about, he supposed), he felt himself relaxing slightly if only to try to maintain that he wasn’t upset at her. He couldn’t keep himself from being upset at the state of the books, however, and he sighed and closed the one he was holding rather gently as compared to how he usually would’ve done it - with exaggeration and character but he didn’t want to scare her more.

“And you apologize too much!” Gael said lightly, collecting that book and the one they set on the table in his hands. “Between you and me, I think I hear slithering too so it’s not just you.” He raised one of his eyebrows as he leaned in to mutter to her conspiratorially. What started as a statement to make her feel better, however, seemed to come true as now that he thought about it, he COULD pick up the faintest hint of… something, like a distant leaf being pulled through the sand.

“Tell you what.” He held the books aloft. “We’ll go give these to the librarian, try to explain what happened with them, then I’ll take you to a bookstore and just… buy you a book on something you want.” Gael offered. ________________ “I - maybe.” She acquiesced. “I mean, better than in somebody else’s, right? Not like that’s possible, or whatever, but yeah.” Ariadne blew a puff of air out of her lips, once again the professor’s words proving far too true for her liking. For her comfort, or anything like that. 

“I’m sorry.” Ariadne made a face. “I’ve been told this.” Except of course she couldn’t tell him the real reason she was apologizing constantly. That she wanted to say sorry until she somehow gave penance for what she was, for what she had to do. “Okay, I’m glad it’s not just me.” At least if whatever was in there was living, she couldn’t hear many signs of distress, but the slithering could have been the sign of its panic. Not something she was going to hyperfocus on too much, now.

She eagerly nodded to his next remark. “You don’t have to buy me a book, but I - that’s really nice.” Wide eyes met his, and Ariadne offered him a shy smile. “Only if you let me get you like, a dessert or something as a thanks. Is that okay?” ________________

Gael kept his dark eyes on the younger woman, subconsciously leaning his head into the books as he heard the slithering sound more clearly now but he was determined not to let whatever that was distract him and when she agreed with the condition that she’d buy him something in exchange, his smile widened and he gave her a graceful nod. “Y’know what? You got yourself a deal, señorita Ariadne,” He motioned to the front with his head and he started to make his way to the front desk.

This wasn’t the outing he had in mind but at least Gael managed to make a friend out of this. Well, he was sure she didn’t consider it a friendship - he was a teacher, she was a student after all but she certainly seemed gentle, if a little withdrawn and he appreciated her patience with him all things considered. “I’m partial to ice cream. With chocolate syrup, it’s so tasty.”

[godstrayedkeepsakes]

BASIC INFORMATION

triggers: vague mentions of SA from a parental figure, childhood abuse & neglect, & murder.

FULL NAME: Ezra Dawson.

AGE: 24.

BIRTH DATE: August 29th, 2000.

ETHNICITY: Caucasian.

SPECIES: human, empowered.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual.

GENDER: Female presenting, She/her.

SPOKEN LANGUAGE(s): English.

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Poor.

OCCUPATION: Petty criminal / perpetual part-timer.

POWERS: Soul absorption. Uncertain how it manifested, it doesn’t matter. It became a part of her just as much as SHE was. It’s hungry and it desires to be fed. It’s heightened by touch and not something she fully has control of.

RELATIONS: Sawyer Dawson, brother.

FACECLAIM: Sophie Thatcher.

+ personality

INTELLIGENCE: cunning, cruel, pragmatic, detached, resilient, clever, hot-headed, and smart.

LIKES: animals, bad rock music, and shitty paperback romances.

DISLIKES: pickles, the powerful, and blood.

DISPOSITION: Ezra is a survivor, through & through. Meaning she can be ruthless when it is required of her and have zero sympathy for the actions she feels she is required to take. She is MORE ruthless when it comes to protecting her younger brother Sawyer. She is the embodiment of the FINAL GIRL trope. She can sink to the mud without becoming it.

She was carved straight from the spine of a torn-up Southern Gothic paperback—dog-eared, sun-faded, stinking of mold and regret. Bought for pennies at a gas station that sold beer before breakfast. The kind of story where everything reeks of ruin before the first chapter even breathes.

Her life wasn’t tragic so much as it was predictable; cruel in the way of storm-damaged things left to rot. Born with the “trailer trash” label burned into her skin, poverty wasn’t just circumstance; it was a birthright. & She might have come from nothing, but she would not stay nothing.

Anna Marie and Bob Dawson were never meant to be parents—this wasn’t judgment, just fact. Bob was a mean, rotting hound of a man who stank of bourbon and betrayal, who treated fidelity like a joke he was too tired to finish. And Anna Marie�� well, her eyes never left the spinning cherries on a slot machine long enough to recognize her own children. There were too many nights filled with stale cereal and silence, the whimper of her little brother Sawyer echoing down the paper-thin walls of their trailer as she guided him back to sleep. Home was a place nightmares returned to roost.

And then came the vile things. The kind too ugly for the air, left to fester in the dark. Her mother said it was her fault. That she had asked for it. That somehow, she’d lured the monster with bare feet and nine-year-old eyes. Even as a child, she knew her mother was full of shit. But knowing didn’t make it less wrong. Didn’t make it stop.

So when he came at her again, reaching with those same rancid hands—this time, she did not freeze. This time, something in her shattered outward. Exploded. A scream with no sound. Blood and sinew painted the walls like vengeance. The trailer groaned with the force of it, sagging under the weight of deliverance. And there stood Sawyer in the doorway—wide-eyed, sobbing. Not for the corpse. Not for the father they’d lost. But because it was over. Because that man would never touch them again.

It wasn’t hard to run. There was nothing left to keep them tethered. They didn’t linger, didn’t enroll in school in new places, didn’t ask questions or answer them either. Drifted from town to town like two lost pups looking for quieter ground. Georgia faded behind them like a bruise.

And the nightmares? They stopped, in time.

Turns out, when you learn how to kill your demons, they lose their taste for haunting.

HORROR VERSE ⤷ cage me like an animal & eat me like a cannibal.

Triggers: Kidnapping, stalking, violence, torture, religious elements.

A final girl trope. Ezra survived a kidnapping & torture from a man named only known to her at the time as Mr. Reed. It's based and inspired by the film Heretic with minor changes. She is detained for almost a year. She is not the only woman he had caged in his basement. During her time there not only is she tortured but she is made to participate in the other womens' torture and mind games as well. After her escape, she goes on a media run to sell a book about her experience to keep herself float. She doesn't want to profit from the horrible experience but finds it as a means to keep herself off the street and pay off her mother's debt. She does not write about all the details of her capture only enough to satisfy morbid true crime fanatics - which she has come to hate.

[ * Please ask for details of what she might have experienced if you want to explore this verse. ]