#his hair was a damn nightmare It Took Forever

[derpu-doodles]

he boye <3 (aka my sister got a niche game and I became mildly invested)

update I am now Very invested (not enough to override the Dangan hyperfixation but Hot Damn These Guys Be Bouncin Round My Head Like An Idle DVD)

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep…. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 33 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You need answers so you can move forward with Bradley. He wants to reassure you that you're everything Meredith is not. And it always feels like everyone else is trying to define your relationship for you, but you want to take control. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, mentions of smut, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley felt sick. This must have been why you were clearly so uncomfortable since he got home yesterday. He could tell that something else was wrong outside of the break in at your old rental and the cut on your hand. And it was the fucking dirty video he had made with Meredith years and years ago.

God damn it.

As he rushed out of the kitchen and tried to find you, Bradley called out, "Princess!" But you didn't respond.

How irresponsible and careless of him. He hadn't watched that video since he and Meredith were living together. Sure, he'd uploaded it to his phone and watched it on a few deployments before Noah was born, but that had been it. He had deleted it from his phone, but apparently there was a backup copy. And the fact that you had seen it had him in such a vibrant state of panic, he couldn't get to you fast enough.

"Baby, where are you?" he called out, yanking his fingers through his hair. He looked in Noah's room and then continued to the bedroom that he wanted you to share with him forever. And there you were, standing with your shoulder pressed up against the bedpost that was adorned with your paper crown. You looked impossibly young and so sad, and he wasn't sure what else to say except, "Princess. I'm sorry."

You just shook your head and looked at the floor as you wrapped your arms around your chest like you were trying to protect yourself. God, you never needed to protect yourself from him anymore. He wanted to be the one to protect you from everything else, not make you worry. 

When he took a step closer, you looked up at him with tears shining in your eyes. "You told me I could go through the stuff in the attic," you whispered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms nervously. "I didn't mean to watch your personal video. I wish I hadn't. And now I feel so stupid for moving all my stuff in."

Bradley ran his palms over his face. The bedroom smelled like you. The whole house smelled like you. It was intoxicating, and he was always going to need it. "Baby, I had no idea that was in the attic. I didn't even know it was saved anywhere. It was from years ago, okay?"

"I know," you replied, wiping at your eyes and looking toward the dresser he had encouraged you to finish filling up with your stuff. "I know it's not new or anything. But... I hated it."

"I hate it, too," he replied immediately. "And I hate that it hurt you."

Then you pushed away from the bed and squared your shoulders, and it felt like you were forcing yourself to keep eye contact. "Did you keep it because you still watch it? And am I an idiot for giving you those photos? Because I don't know if I can compete in that way." The words at the end of your sentence started to fade away softly, and Bradley closed the distance between your bodies without touching you.

"I didn't keep the video intentionally, Baby," he swore, ready to drop to his knees and beg. "I don't watch it. I didn't know it still existed. Why would I keep it when I'm with you now?"

You traced his knuckles softly with your index finger and whispered, "Because she's beautiful."

"No," Bradley growled, tucking his fingers under your chin and gently guiding your gaze up to meet his. "She's been a nightmare for me. For us. That's not beautiful. She's nothing like you." Then you melted against his body, and Bradley whispered, "Nobody competes with a Princess."

He rubbed his big hands up and down your back as yours settled around his waist. "I don't even want to have to think about her," you whispered against his shirt. "But she's everywhere, like she wants to make sure she's not forgotten."

Bradley kissed your forehead. You weren't wrong. Meredith had come out of hiding as soon as he got involved with you, and she just wouldn't quit. "She's in custody now. There's no reason for us to have to think about her."

"But the USB-"

Bradley took your chin a little rough in his palm and kissed you hard, eliciting a whimper. He kissed you until both of you were breathless, and you were clinging to the front of him. Until he felt like things could get back to the way they were. "Let's destroy it."

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

You let Bradley take you by the hand and lead you to the kitchen where he bent to pick up the USB drive from the floor near the sink. Then he reached into one of the cabinets and grabbed a cutting board.

"What are you doing?" you asked. 

"Something I would have already done if I knew it was still here."

Then both of you walked out the back door into the afternoon sun where he set the USB drive down on the cutting board on the patio. And then you watched him dig around in the shed and return with a hammer. He went right to kneeling on the patio without any hesitation, and you watched him make quick work of it. With three swings of the hammer, bits of blue plastic went flying in every direction. By the third hit, all that was left on the cutting board was some mangled wire and flattened metal. The stupid thing was obliterated, and when Bradley looked up at you, there was a smile on your face.

He tossed the hammer aside. "Come on, Baby," he said, standing and scooping you up in one smooth motion. "I want you forever, Princess. You don't have to doubt that." He kissed you softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes."

He grunted as he kissed your cheek. "She's gone. She doesn't live here. She has no bearing on what we're doing."

"I know," you promised as he carried you back into the kitchen and set you on the counter. "I know, Daddy." You watched his expression soften further at your words and your touch as you pulled him closer by his shoulders. 

"She's not coming back," he whispered, placing soft kisses to your lips and face. "It's just us. And Noah. He's ours."

Ours. You wanted that. You wanted to be as much a part of this home and this family as Bradley was. As Noah was. And you knew they both wanted you here. They were your boys, and you were their Princess. You needed to accept that it could just be that easy. 

"You're making everything seem so simple," you whispered, squeezing his shoulders and biceps as his fingers kneaded into your hips and waist. 

"It is," he promised. "It's just us, and we'll figure out the rest."

"I don't want you to feel like I'm the one making it harder though. Like I'm the one taking advantage of the situation and your house and your money."

Bradley took a deep breath and planted one hand on the counter next to your thigh, his other thumb skimming along your lips. "That was what Meredith was like. Not you. You're too smart to waste money. You're too sweet to take Noah for granted. And you're too perfect to ever intentionally take advantage of someone. And it makes me want to share everything with you."

You kissed the rough pad of his thumb, and he replaced it with his perfect lips. His mouth was everywhere, and his hands were starting to roam, and you thought he mumbled something about a ring. But then your phone started ringing in the pocket of your scrub pants. 

Bradley paused with his hands on your thighs as you held up the phone. San Diego Police.

"You better answer it," he whispered, kissing your cheek and pulling his big, warm body away from yours.

"Hello?" you said a bit breathlessly. 

"It's Detective Summers. We've completed our search of your rental. Just wanted to let you know you can enter the house again and clean it up, and we'll be in touch with your landlord."

"D-Did you find anything?" you sputtered, holding the phone tight to your ear.

"No," he replied, almost monotone. "Nothing. We've got no leads and barely any evidence. I'll email you the report and call back with any updates."

Then the line went dead. "Fuck."

"What's wrong?" Bradley asked cautiously. You barely recounted the brief conversation with him before your phone was ringing again in your hand.

"It's my landlord," you said, tossing your head back. "He's going to start making a big deal about the glass again."

But you answered the call so you could hopefully just get him off your back and move on from this headache once and for all. And he wouldn't shut up about the stupid broken window. "You need to come over today so we can talk about how you're going to get this repaired. And then we can discuss an additional month of rent."

Bradley must have been able to hear your landlord clearly through the phone, he was talking that loudly. And when he took it out of your hand and pressed your phone to his own ear, you didn't stop him. 

"Right," Bradley growled, and you would have loved to see the look on the other man's face. "So what you're saying is you'd like to wrap all of this up today? Sounds great. We're on our way over."

Then he ended the call and helped you slide off the counter. "Uh oh, Daddy. I think you just made things worse for me."

Bradley scowled and said, "He shouldn't have been talking to you like that. Like any of this bullshit was your fault. Let's go. I promised I would fix everything. Let me try to fix this for you so you don't have to deal with it. You live here now."

You watched him grab his checkbook before he took your hand in his and led you outside.

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

Bradley was pissed off. You and he were finally getting somewhere talking in the kitchen. You were listening to him, he knew you were. He was in way over his head with you, happily. He would do anything to make your day easier, gladly. You always did the same thing for him and Noah. But he didn't appreciate how nobody else seemed to want to get off your back.

He was holding your hand, maybe a little tighter than was comfortable for you, while he drove to your rental house. He loosened his grip a little bit and asked, "Has your landlord always been a prick?"

You just shrugged and ran your thumb along the side of his hand. "Kind of. But definitely worse since I told him about the glass."

"Needs an attitude adjustment," he grunted, passing Penny's house and pulling up to the curb in front of the rental. "Is that him?" he asked, nodding toward the man standing on the porch with his hands on his hips. 

"Yeah, that's Sam," you confirmed, and Bradley leaned over to give you a quick kiss.

"Let's get this sorted out so we can go get Noah."

You climbed out of the Bronco, and Bradley rushed around the front end until he was at your side. He was pleased to note that Sam's eyes went a little wider as Bradley marched up the sidewalk with his arm wrapped around you. He was also pleased that you seemed completely relaxed next to him now. 

Sam planted one hand on his hip and scratched his bald head. "Listen, missy. Let's get this sorted out with a rent payment so I can get my new tenant in here." Bradley had to fight back a smirk, because he sounded nowhere near as aggressive as he had over the phone. 

"I just don't understand why you expect me to pay another month of rent. This was literally a crime scene, Sam," you said. "I didn't break the window myself."

He pursed his lips at you. "That's debatable, since the police said there was no way to know who broke it. And honestly, with the things kids get up to nowadays-"

"I'm sorry," Bradley said, cutting him off, but he wasn't actually sorry at all. "Sam? Is that your name? Sam, she's not a kid. She's an adult. Start treating her like one."

He opened his mouth and snapped it shut again before finally asking, "Who are you, exactly?"

Bradley wrapped his arm a little tighter around you as he said, "My name is Bradley. But you can call me Lieutenant Bradshaw. Just wanted to let you know that I already talked to my lawyer, and she doesn't owe you another month of rent."

Sam's eyes bugged out. "Your lawyer?"

"Yes," Bradley barked. "Pay attention. There will be no additional rent payment. Got it?"

"Y-Yes," he stuttered. "Fine. But she still owes me four hundred dollars for the broken panel of glass."

Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose before he turned to you and kissed you. You looked up at him with surprised eyes as he said, "Do you still need anything else from inside, Princess?"

"No. Nothing."

"Great." Then he left your side and marched over to Sam, glaring at him as he opened the door. Bradley's shoes crunched on the broken glass and he looked around the floor inside the front door. "This looks like about a hundred dollars in damages to me."

Sam looked scandalized. "No way. It's four hundred."

Bradley glanced at you out on the front step before he leaned in closer to Sam. "If you make me get my lawyer on the phone, I'm sure she would be delighted to explain to you why your departing tenant actually owes you no money at all. And we can get the San Diego police department on the phone as well just for some added clarification. Tenants are responsible for damages they cause to the property. That does not apply here. Understand."

When Sam didn't say anything, Bradley pulled his checkbook and pen out of his pocket and asked the man how to spell his name. "Here's one hundred bucks, because I've been in an exceptionally good mood this afternoon with my girlfriend. You really caught me at a moment where I'm feeling generous. Now that's going to be it. Sound good?"

Sam met his eyes, and Bradley really thought he was going to try to disagree with him. "That's fine," came his eventual response, to which Bradley smiled smugly. 

"And why don't you just go ahead and delete her number out of your phone. Go ahead. Do it now, while I watch," Bradley encouraged like he was talking to a very dim person. "No reason to keep calling and bugging her when you have a new tenant moving in, right?"

"Sure," Sam murmured, and Bradley watched as he deleted your name and phone number. 

"Now, one last thing. You stressed my girlfriend out for no good reason. So I'm going to need you to apologize to her."

Sam's gaze was steely, but he turned toward you anyway. "Sorry." It was the saddest excuse for an apology that Bradley had ever heard, but he nodded at the man regardless. 

"Great. Won't be talking to you," Bradley told him, and then he reached out for your hand. "We should go get Noah before we're late," he said.

"Yes, Daddy," you gasped, and Bradley's eyes snapped up to meet yours. He paused halfway to the Bronco and slid his hand around your hip. Your eyes were filled with need as you very slowly pressed your body tight against his. 

"Princess," he grunted. 

"That was so hot," you moaned softly, and Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "I don't even know if what you said about rent and Tracy and the police is actually true or not, but my god, Bradley... so.... hot." You pressed up on your toes to kiss him.

"I'm not sure if it's true either, but I was prepared to call Tracy," he told you, gently guiding you along to the Bronco.

"Well Sam certainly believed you."

"Yeah, well I was feeling a little aggressive. I don't understand where he gets off talking to you like that. Probably talks to all women that way. You think my mom would have let me talk like that when I was younger? You think Nat would let me know? Jesus, he's lucky I didn't kick his ass."

Bradley had the door open and you were halfway inside when you leaned in and kissed him, tugging him closer by his hair. "I'm really turned on."

"Fuck," he grunted as he heard Sam start his own car and pull away. It was probably the combination of clearing the air about the video and making sure he reiterated that he was in this thing with you forever. And it probably didn't hurt that he took care of your landlord, too. Because Bradley was turned on as well. 

Your kisses felt like the heated ones he knew by heart. The ones he thought about while he was looking at his collection of polaroids. But when you moaned his name against his lips and stroked him through his jeans, he pulled away. "Baby. Later, okay? Later."

"Okay," you said breathlessly, still reaching for him. 

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

You sat in the Bronco on the way to get Noah with your hands tucked under your thighs. Bradley was stealing glances at you at every stoplight, and you were doing the same. 

"Princess," he grunted, turning to face forward as a light turned green. 

But you couldn't help it. You felt a million times better than you had this morning. If the video with Meredith was never kept intentionally, then you could get past it. And if Bradley was willing to shield you and Noah with his life, then you could stop questioning him about everything else. It was like the floodgates of your apprehension finally opened up, and you wanted everything with him again. His time, attention, love and care. The fun and the physical intimacy. 

When he parked at the daycare, you crawled across the seat in your ridiculously wrinkly scrubs, and he welcomed you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and said, "Thank you for today."

He kissed your cheek and asked, "What did I do?"

"Everything," you told him right away. "You made me feel comfortable with you paying Tracy. And you didn't get mad that I was upset about that video. And then you had a real conversation with me about us. And you never let anyone treat me like a child. I love you."

"I love you, too," he promised, and you kissed him before you reached for his door handle.

You still weren't sure what he had been expecting last night, but he didn't seem annoyed with you one bit. He never did. But you wanted to make it clear anyway. "And later, after Noah goes to bed, I want to have sex with you."

He stopped you from climbing out of his door with his big hands at your waist. "Only if that's what you want. The last few weeks were rough for you. For both of us. We don't have to rush getting back into that, even if you and I are turned on right now, okay?"

You met his eyes and shook your head slowly as the image of Greyson popped into your mind. "You're perfect," you told him, and then the two of you walked inside to get Noah. Casey was still there, just like earlier this morning, and you felt smug as Bradley kept his left arm draped over your shoulders while he signed Noah out for the day. 

Then he bundled you up in his arms with his lips and mustache pressed to your temple for all the world to see while Casey turned away with an eye roll and went to get Noah. 

"Daddy! Princess!" he called, carrying some new artwork in his hand as he bounded toward you both. You didn't think you'd ever get tired of watching the way Bradley effortlessly scooped his son up into his arms and held him so you could get a hug and a kiss from Noah. 

"Did you have a good day?" you asked brushing your thumb along his cheek while he handed you a painting of a dinosaur. 

"Yeah. I'm hungry."

"Oh," you said, looking at the two of them. "Today was a little crazy, and I didn't plan dinner."

"Let's get pizza," Bradley replied easily, barely saying goodbye to Casey as she hovered near the desk and called out to him.

You were smiling as you buckled Noah in while Bradley called in the order, and then the three of you went to pick it up. He ordered from the pizzeria on the same block as his preferred coffee place, and when you moaned, "I love when you bring me coffee from that shop," he chuckled as he parked.

"That's why I ordered the pizza from this location. Figured nobody was bringing you French vanilla coffee on a regular basis while I was away." Then he paused and raised one eyebrow. "Nobody else was spoiling you with overpriced luxury coffee drinks, right?" he asked playfully.

"Nobody," you confirmed. "They might write my actual name on the cup if they tried. And I would hate that."

Bradley carried Noah inside and you hooked your fingers through his belt loop as you waited in line. "No," Bradley mused. "That would be absolutely unfit for a Princess." 

When the drinks were ready, the barista slid them toward Bradley along with a marker, and he handed Noah to you. Then you watched him write Princess on your cup. 

"Am I still allowed to be the Knight?" he rasped softly, looking up at you for permission. When you nodded, he jotted that down on his own coffee cup. But before he could hand the marker back, the barista slid another cup across the counter.

"Something sweet for the little guy. He's so cute!" she said with a smile at Noah. Bradley shoved five dollars into the tip container before writing Prince Noah on the small cup filled with whipped cream and a plastic spoon. 

He had it all over his face as you held him while Bradley opened the door to the pizza shop, and then you watched your boyfriend juggle a pizza box, a container of salad and two coffees on the way back to the Bronco. 

"You're very coordinated for someone so old," you told him softly, and Bradley carried you around to the other door while you squealed with delight.

"The slander," he growled playfully. "I won't tolerate it."

"What do you plan to do about it?" you asked, cupping his handsome face in both hands as you kissed him. 

"I'll kiss you until you learn to respect your elders."

You laughed with your head tossed back as he kissed your neck. "I think it's great that you don't know the difference between a punishment and a reward. You must have forgotten in your old age."

He groaned and said, "You're just making it worse for yourself for later, Baby."

"Excellent."

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

Bradley watched you cut up a slice of pizza for Noah while he liberally dumped the dressing onto the salad and mixed it up. You seemed more relaxed now. He did too. The destroyed USB drive and the open conversation and all the little touches and kisses made today almost perfect. Sure, there had been the details about Meredith and your landlord to contend with, but Bradley would do that shit any day as long as you were here. 

"It's still pretty hot, Noah," you said, putting the plate in front of him. 

Yes, you should absolutely stay here forever. The desire to have another child with you was always strong for Bradley, but it got so much more intense when you took care of Noah. He wanted to talk to you about it, but today already felt overloaded with feelings. So he would wait.

"This is good," you said in between bites of salad. "I like this dressing," you told him with a grin. 

Bradley looked back and forth between you and Noah. Your palm was still covered in a bandage, and he knew you were tired based on the way you'd slept so soundly on him last night. The deployment had been a lot for you, but of course you did everything just right. Of course Noah was happier than ever and asking if he could call you his mom.

"We should take a vacation," Bradley said absentmindedly. 

"We should?" you asked as your eyes met his. "Where?"

He smiled as Noah asked for more pizza. "I have some ideas. We can talk about it later."

You pressed your lips together. "I thought we were going to do other things later?"

Bradley laughed. "With age comes experience, Princess. And I'm pretty good at multitasking as long as nobody asks me to cook anything."

"Multitasking?" you asked, eyes wide as Bradley got more pizza ready for Noah.

"Yeah," he replied. "You want me to show you later?"

You hid your smile behind a slice of pizza. "Sure do."

Bradley let you and Noah off the hook after dinner, and he cleaned up the kitchen, not that there was much to do. Then he joined you outside on the driveway where you'd drawn a gigantic crown with purple sidewalk chalk in front of your car. While you helped Noah color a rainbow dinosaur, Bradley took the time to write Daddy loves Princess in huge lettering, and when he was done, you rewarded him with a kiss. 

"You boys play while I take a shower?" you asked, wiping orange chalk on your scrubs. 

"Of course. Or take a bath if you want to. Go relax."

He wasn't sure what you ended up doing, but you were in the shower or bath for a long time. Bradley got Noah ready for bed after he put the chalk away, and when you walked into the bedroom wrapped up in a towel, he was getting himself undressed. 

You took a deep breath and blurted out, "Just one more thing from our conversation earlier? About that video?"

"Of course," he said, his hands frozen at the hem of his undershirt, not sure what to expect.

You ran your fingers along the bedpost and said, "I know I'm here now and she's not. And I know there's nothing I can do with you that you haven't already done before... but is there any way we can buy a new bed? That's only ever going to be ours?"

Bradley's heart was pounding. "That sounds like a commitment? You planning on staying forever?"

"Yes, Daddy," you whispered with a smile.

He tugged his shirt off and told you, "Pick out a new bed. Whatever you want."

Your fingers grazed your purple crown as you smirked and asked, "Now why don't you show me some of your multitasking?"

He smirked. "Sure you can handle it?" he asked, tossing his undershirt into the hamper. Did anything feel as good as the way you joked around with him? You were grinning nonstop when he wrapped his arms around you, holding you and the damp towel against him. 

"Yeah, I can handle it."

"You say that now..." he replied softly, unwrapping the towel and letting his hands skim along your soft skin. "God, I missed you when I was gone." He watched you preen for him, and it was like night and day how much better you obviously felt since this morning. He pressed his lips to your ear and whispered, "When something's bothering you, I want you to tell me right away from now on."

The soft nod of your head had him tossing the towel aside and holding you against him as you shivered in the cool air. "Yes, Daddy."

He grunted and said, "You know I'll always take care of you."

Your eyes were so needy as they met his, and he watched your head tip slowly back as his thumb stroked your nipple to a hard peak. He worked you up slowly, always coaxing your gaze back to his as he spoke in a very matter of fact voice. 

"Now, let's talk about this little family vacation. I think we could all use a break, yeah?"

"Yeah," you moaned.

"Eyes on me, Princess. There's a lake house that Mav and Penny mentioned wanting to take a trip up to, and there are a lot of extra bedrooms. Do you want me to get more information about that?" His hand was sliding down toward your pussy now, and he chuckled as you tried to rub yourself against his fingers. "Well? Do you?"

"Yes!" you gasped, grabbing at his shoulders. "Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" he murmured, grinning as he slid one finger along your wet slit.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, eyes half lidded as he teased you. 

While he figured he could get you to agree to almost anything, he knew exactly what he wanted. And tonight was too perfect to waste on anything except the sweetest words and just the right touches. "I want to take my family away for a few days. I want to spoil the hell out of you."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and moaned, "Yes," while you pulled him toward the bed. You were perfect, easing yourself back on the pillows, naked and needy as he took his jeans off. 

When he eased his body on top of yours, he let you reach for him first and pull him closer where you wanted him. "Let me spoil you every day? Show you how good I can be? Make you never want to leave?"

You combed your fingers back through his hair as you looked up at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

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

Daddy is fixing it. And Daddy is going to spoil his family. Hope you enjoy your babysitter story @beyondthesefourwalls and thank you @mak-32

PART 34

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

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@desert-fern

[llamagoddessofficial]

It was the best hidden room in his castle.

Nightmare appeared, emerging from within the liquid shadows at the far corner, taking on a solid form. The room had no doors- that was the trick to it. Only a being who already knew the room’s location in the castle, and had the ability to transport themselves through space, would be capable of accessing this place.

... Though there was no door, there was a window. Just one. A circular skylight, directly above the bed... it gave a perfect view of the stars.

It was a small, comfortable chamber, the obsidian walls draped with finely embroidered midnight blue tapestries to maintain warmth. Ancient murals, moons and interlocking patterns that had long lost their meaning, inlaid with silver- the silver caught the light from the small glowing blue stones that dotted the walls. The room was barely brighter than a dim twilight. 

Of course... the most important thing in the whole room was what was at the centre.

... Nightmare approached your bed.

A fine bed, of course. A large canopy draped luxuriously, for even more warmth, protection and quiet. Only the best for you. You were tucked under sumptuous sheets, your head upon a satin pillow, sweet little face barely visible under all the layers of comfort.

... He reached out, tucking the blanket down slightly, to get a better look at you. You were so peaceful. Your cheeks had regained some colour, over the past few days, as had your lips- but your eyelids did not move.

He knew what it looked like. If his damned brother found this room, and the sleeping human, he’d jump to conclusions (as he always did); Nightmare had stolen a human, cursed them with eternal sleep. Worst case scenario, Nightmare was tormenting this human as a sick game- best case scenario, Nightmare has grown so feverishly attached he would rather have someone sleep in his arms forever than be free to walk away from him.

...

And... well. It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t enjoying having you this way. But it was missing one crucial detail.

... You would wake up the moment you wanted to.

He sat on the bed, beside you. He reached out, and gently stroked your hair... enjoying the softness and texture.

You didn’t stir.

Nightmare had felt your pain far across your universe. Like a moth to a flame, he came to you- and though he originally had only the intent to feed, he loved you the moment he laid eyes on you. Your Soul, such a pretty thing, cracking under the weight of its pain; the fractures sparkled like fault lines in a diamond. You were holding the agony within, unwilling to let anyone know. You were on the verge of shattering. On the verge of your Soul going out.

When he came for you, you didn’t protest, you didn't even struggle.

You had looked at him with an empty, accepting expression.

Perhaps you thought he was death? Cute.

... So he took you, instead. You let him put his arms around you- he had never had someone accept him so completely, his jealous desire only intensified. He carried you back to his palace, he cradled you lovingly. Once your eyes had closed, he laid you down in the quietest room, in his finest bed... cuddled under his softest sheets and guarded by his most possessive magic.

The spell in question was one he hadn’t used in a long, long time. There was nothing on any Earth that could forcibly awaken you from your slumber. No sound, no touch, no pain nor magic. No power he (or any other great being) possessed, nothing in the wide multiverse. Nothing could awaken you from the outside.

But... the moment you wanted to open your eyes, you would. The tail of the Rupert’s drop. As if waking from a pleasant midday nap, the spell would shatter into dust around you.

It was a one-way spell. That was what made it so powerful.

... He continued to stroke your hair. Your dreams were safety- he ensured nothing crossed your mind but visions of peace and warmth. You curled deeper into his dreams like a hibernating rabbit. He could sense the injuries in your slowly Soul mending, your wounds slowly healing, as you were finally allowed to rest.

You had yet to even think of opening your eyes.

At that moment, the moon emerged. Its light passed through the skylight window... catching a small array of crystals that hung above your bed. Flecks of iridescence silently scattered across the walls, and over your face. 

“... beautiful.” He murmured. “no one will ever hurt you again, my darling. no one. i promise.”

...

... You, of course... did not even stir.

[echantedtoon]

Perhaps In Another Life P2

Part 2 of this let's go!

This is inspired by a similar post by @o3o-aya and I wanted to put my own take now. Daki will be included but their own parts will be PLATONIC!! COMPLETELY PLATONIC!!

Summery is the reactions of the Upper/Lower Moons watching you run back to your Haishira s/os upon their defeat. Will stay sfw etc.

Warnings for yandere themes, kidnapping mentions, death, Karaku and Enmu ARE their own warnings, possibly some innuendos,etc.

Zohakuton will be included as a part of Hantengu's but bit he's written as PLATONIC!!

ENMU:

Your husband warned you not to get on trains.

This was the reason why. How you ended up being trapped by a sadistic gremlin like demon who took fascination in you. First it was just an idea to hold you as bait for your Flame Haishira husband seen sneaking around the trains lately but it quickly became a more intimate fascinating for him as he watched your dreams and thought the tears you had as you begged to be reunited with your husband was so delicious.

So that's why he cursed those brats who killed him and glared with the hatred of a thousand nightmares at the Haishira who gave him a similar stare of his own holding you unconscious body in his arms.

However he's smugly satisfied knowing he forever put the fear of loosing each other in your minds. His part will always be in your minds.

GYUTARO (+PLATONIC UME/DAKI):

He knew something was up when Daki brought back a woman that was infiltrating the houses to find them. Stupid really. But he had her comb through the other houses quickly in order to cut down on anyone.

She ended up finding three other women including you.

You were so pretty. So pretty it made his sister pause seeing her brother's reaction to you and gave her the idea of keeping you as a kind of doll and gifting you to her brother. He agreed. Asked his sister to get rid of your wives. Got angry when he learnt you married. Got angrier when your husband showed up looking for his wives.

And now here he was crying out to his sister and blaming her for allowing those damned brats to find where they hid you. Watching with tears as you were group hugged by your wives. Clinging to your severely injured husband as poison pulsed through his body.

He wanted to cry out for you. But his mouth was already disintegrated. All he could do was cry a few miserable angry tears and hope in your next life he could claim you first.

HANTENGU (+CLONES):

You were kind and compassionate. That's what the Love Haishira loved most about her girlfriend, a.k.a You. And you loved her just as much. Unfortunately it was that kindness that was your downfall. You showed some kindness outta fear when you ran into the Upper Moon Four, and he had taken you.

Deluding himself into believing that you two were in love all along and the evil slayer brainwashed you into thinking you were in love with her instead.

So he couldn't stop sobbing when he saw the pink haired woman he had been fighting swinging you around in her arms happy to have you back. You were crying too, latching onto her as she twirled you around.

COULDN'T YOU SEE HE WAS THE VICTIM ALL ALONG?!

SEKIDO:

DAM SLAYERS!! DAM YOU!! HOW DARE THEY TAKE YOU FROM HIM!! HOW DARE YOU EMBRACE THAT WOMAN!! He's angry with everyone until the bitter end as he watches through Zohakutan's eyes.

URAMI:

Like Sekido he's so angry and bitter! He resents the way you chose your wide over them and he resents the pink haired Haishira most of all.

AIZETSU:

CRYING. SOBBING. He wants to yell out to you and beg you to come back. They'll be better he promises! Unfortunately his tears and turmoil can't be heard outside of Zohakutan as they all disintegrate into coming.

KARAKU:

He's mostly numb to be honest. He wants to say something but doesn't know what to say. He couldn't anyways even if he tried being trapped inside with the other three. But he does feel deep regret making you cry like that.

UROGI:

His first instinct is to try and make Zohakutan screech at them. He panics when he realizes that he's unable to do that. Like Aizetsu, panics and cries from within where no one can hear them.

ZOHAKUTAN:

Like Urami and Sekido, he's angry and resentful. However being the clone of hatred it's amplified to the extremes as he hears the other sevens' mixed reactions.

[retromotherfuckers]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[callsignfoxy]

Blue-collar!Simon who goes to the same restaurant every day for lunch, ordering the same thing, but today he takes note of you, the new server, and you strike up a conversation.

Fem!reader POV Word Count: 1079

"___, is it? Uh, thanks for gettin' this out to me so quickly," he grunts as his eyes meet yours.

You intended to turn away to attend another table when you heard him speak and met his gaze. Oh, so he does know how to talk, you thought humorously, turning more of your attention onto him. The first time you met the large man sitting in the booth was a couple of days prior, and you had tried your best to do your waitress thing.

Flashing your bright smile that usually did well. Even commenting on the weather and trying to make conversation. He gave his order, and then all you received in response were short nods, a few grunts, and barely veiled annoyance. You backed off, assuming he just wanted to enjoy his meal alone. No harm.

Then, after yesterday, you had a sneaking suspicion that he may be the kind to order the same thing every day. After asking around, the other servers confirmed your theory. You took a risk today, and hopefully, it'd pay off. You may not want to do the waitress thing forever, but you were damn good at your job when it came to grumpy customers.

Smiling brightly, you tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear that had fallen out of your updo. "Yep, that would be me, and don't mention it. I figured that might be what you were ordering, so I thought, 'Why not?'" You chuckled. He nodded in response, and you really couldn't help yourself. "But, you know my name now; how about yours?" You inquired, trying to make small talk.

Simon leaned back into the booth, taking you in more before responding. "Simon," he stated simply, his voice like gravel. It softened slightly as he added, "Was a damn clever move, puttin' in the order early." His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, suggesting a slight smile you couldn't see behind his black mask. "You always this attentive with your tables?"

"Ah well, when you work in the business for a while, you pick up a thing or two," you explained with a self-assured smile while pouring his tea into a mug. You took him in for a beat; his light-wash jeans were covered in concrete dust, and his white t-shirt had multiple oil stains, among others. The black mask was odd, but plenty of people wear masks out and about these days. Your eyes trailed subtly to his forearm tattoos, but you didn't linger. "You part of that crew building that new skyscraper down the way?" You asked curiously.

"Aye, that's us," he confirmed, the pride in his profession evident even through the stoic delivery. "Construction site manager for that project. It's been a right sod to keep on schedule with all the weather we've been havin'." His hand gestured vaguely to the window beside him, where the rain was still coming down in buckets.

"Should be a right monster of a building once it's done, though. Can see it from miles away," he added, a bit of admiration and pride twinkling in his eyes.

"Sounds like quite the task, being a manager of such a large project and team," you commented, raising your eyebrows. You'd held a manager position at your last serving job and even just that was a lot. You couldn't imagine the enormous undertaking of managing a whole skyscraper project.

"Like herdin' cats most of the time, but... bigger and a lot more swearing involved," he chuckled softly. When you joined him, it was like he realized he'd let the sound out and then cleared his throat. "But yeah, bloody nightmare somedays, but it's what I do," he finished.

"An' the rain?" you asked, gesturing to the window with your carafe. Simon rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated huff.

"The rain," he said glancing back out at the storm, "sure doesn't make the job any easier, but gives me an excuse to come here and get out of the wet for a bit." His eyes landed back on to you, the brown in them a little warmer than when he first came in.

You smiled, seeing that his shoulders relaxed slightly more. That alone was a job well done for you. "Well, glad to provide a little bit of respite," you said good naturedly. "I'll quit talkin' off your ear off though, and let you get back to your meal. Just call me out if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll be back with the check," You nodded with the tea carafe and turned away to attend your other tables in your section.

Simon, for his part, watched you turn, feeling your presence wane like a warmth he hadn't realized he was basking in for the moment. He tore his gaze away from you, the reality of his solitude trickling back in as he dug into the meal that had completely gone unnoticed until now.

"All done here?" You said, picking up his plate a little while later. "Just the check or would like some tea for the road?" You asked.

"Jus' the check, thanks," he said with decisiveness. It was your turn to nod as you fished the check out of your apron to place it on the table. You watched as Simon pulled his wallet out and placed the notes on top of the slip, not missing the extra he had added. he shifted out the booth and stood gazing down at you. "Thanks for the quick service, keep the change," he said in a gruff but appreciative tone.

"Just don' my job. The cook makes it real easy though. She whips up meals faster than you can blink," you joked with a chuckle. "So, Mr. Simon, same time, same meal tomorrow?" You beamed, returning his gaze.

Simon gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Same time, same meal." With that he headed towards the door, his footsteps echoing softly against the diner's linoleum floor. You watched him go, with a small smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Maybe there was more to Simon than just grunts and nods after all.

As you continued your work day, the interaction with Simon would pop up when your mind wasn't occupied, and you couldn't help but be curious about the masked construction worker that had graced your section. It was a curiosity that had you looking forward to tomorrow. Same time, same meal.

I'm thinking of doing more tandem POV going forward because I know that man had some thoughts. Would that be confusing? Idk, anyways, hope y'all enjoyed 😘

[sculptorofcrimson]

Snowfields

Synopsis: A cold walk atop the mountain with Valdor.

Relations: Valdor x female Emperor shard

Warnings: Suicide attempt

This is relatively tame for what I write, and I wrote it in one sitting when I had roughly 20 minutes to spare. Ty for your time!

“Do you remember Ararat, my liege?”

No. No, she didn’t remember Ararat. She has never heard the name before. But she will. By the gods, she will. 

The air was cold. It rattled through her lungs when she tried to breathe. The white seemed to stretch forever, like malignant bones, the wind laid bare and rattling its screams. It would rise like a frosty howl around the two of them, wailing like a soldier who had lost a limb, weeping its cries for eternity. The cold bit at her, tore at her, the snow would have frozen mortal blood solid in mortal veins. Thunder grumbles in the distance. A crack of lightning splits the sky in half, purplish white against the ghoulish grey. 

His cloak was warm when he wrapped it around her. But his touch, without doubt, without even question, was unfathomably cold. Without even thinking of it, she had shrunk away.

Valdor’s grip had only tightened then. He fastened the clasp of the too-large cloak, the stench of incense and parchment wafting from the silk. A small smile, the emotionless movement perfected by a mind that could not actually smile, flashed briefly across his visage as he took her wrist, trapped it so effortlessly between his fingers and kissed the soft skin there.

“There was a Primarch once. A magnificent man. One that even I respected, in some regards.” Valdor led her, slowly and patiently, holding her up when she stumbled through the knee-high snow. The mountaintop seemed to rage against her. Well, too damn bad. She hated mountains, and she hated snow, and she was about to teach him a lesson out of spite. It was pure pettiness, but it was hers, it was one last plan she held to herself, one last wish she was certain was hers and not his, and if she was going to die, drowned limb by limb into the unseeing gold, she wished to at least pain him with it. 

How had it gone so wrong? How had angels of such glorious aurite turned into nightmares wrapped in gold and crimson? 

She yanked her arm away. Valdor let her go without struggle, simply rising back with a singular, elegant motion, as if he were a dancer performing a long-awaited waltz. When she stumbles over another snow-covered rock mere moments later, he was there, as if he had never left, one arm gently wrapped around her waist as he hauls her upright. This time, when she tries to pull away, his grip only tightens, as if he was defying the very storm itself.

“The snow reminds me of him. The Cataegis Primarch of the IVth legion. You watched us duel atop a mountain not so unlike this one, my liege, when the storm ended. It felt like the top of the world. We were in a deadlock when you appeared, your attention straying just for a moment to our fight. I snapped his wrist with a twisting motion, and slammed him into the ground hard enough to snap part of his spine. Your attention had departed by then, but it was enough. You still remember the frost, do you not?”

No. No. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Valdor’s hand, so gentle, so damnably gentle, placed itself under her chin. It stroked her hair, his gauntlets’ touch heavy yet tender, the jewels flashing dully through strands of hair that were quickly becoming darker, swallowed first by brown and then by black. He had not forbidden her to cut it. Out of spite, she had ordered him to cut it for her. 

It didn’t matter.

The strands had grown back, with an unrelenting zeal, glossy and luxurious and flowing like ink over water. She was innocent once, she was mortal, she lived among men and walked amongst mortals, and she will never be again. She will never live again, and that truth was simply so jagged, so broken, so horrifyingly caught between her chest and her throat that it was as if something broke a little further every time she took a breath. Valdor had only quietly polished, brushed and glossed over her hair, his movements methodical and calculated, even when silent tears rolled their way down her cheeks, her vision blurred by the salt and the water but just visible enough to see the flakes of gold swirling in her pupils. Still clear enough to see herself die.

She had felt Valdor’s fingers through her hair then, braiding it carefully in an intricate style she had never seen before, but one that tugged at familiar roots she had never felt before. 

Her hair. Some mewling, broken part of her(was it her dream or His? Was there a difference anymore?) instinctively felt like it should be darker. Longer. Wreathed with gold, and weighed down by a crown. But it was her hair. It was her hair, once upon a time, and she had lost it strand by strand, inch by inch, as the gold swam up through her vision and blocked out her eyes.

A rock clattered over the side of the mountain, followed by dull, distant thunder. It jolted her back to her mind, to her body, to the world that she did not rule over and should have never ruled. 

Numbly, she felt herself shake her head. Valdor only raised an eyebrow, and adjusted the clasp.

“I remember the rock, my master.” Valdor was saying. His voice rose and fell like a litany, carefully retracing steps the Emperor had once guided him through, when He was a king and gods walked the earth. She felt so small against him, so tired, so far from the invincible god-warrior he had once served, but that was alright, He had returned to him, and he would shepherd Him, guide Him, protect Him, through this life and through this death till the last. “Even the rocks felt cold. It was black, and it glistened like oil whenever the sun shone. There were storms every day of that campaign, as if the heavens themselves were against us, as if the gods had conspired to strike you down, but yet you gave us the order to march. And the wind. You told me that you heard it screaming. Malcador jokingly asked that if you should live again, you would choose to enact Ararat during the summer instead, if only out of sheer annoyance from the wind.” Valdor’s smile was nothing more than a reflex. There was no humor in it, nor human emotion. “Do you remember it then, my master?”

The wind. Had it screamed then, as it screams now? Had it screamed, beneath the weight of the betrayal, wailing with the sheer horror of what it had taken? Did it scream, singing a threnody with the thunder, as the skies growl and hail shudders from overcast clouds ahead? She shivers underneath her layers. The finest climate suits had been prepared, coupled with the Custodian cloak over her shoulders, but she felt cold, so unspeakably cold that it was nearly painful. 

Oh Throne. She was cold, so cold. 

“Constantin?” she rasps. Her voice was not her own. It was rusty from disuse, and cracked, and weak, but yet some part of it resonated, it echoed like the tongue of a god, speaking through the plaintive shell of a mortal, just enough to hiss like a shadowy undertone. It should have been more sonorous, it should have been softer, it should have been the voice of a conqueror, it should have been the voice of a girl snatched away from her home by an angel and transformed into a god. It should have been hers, but it was His instead. She licks her lips and tries again. “Constantin.”

“Yes, my lord?” he was at her side(was he always so close?), the memory jarringly left unfinished. The hand once gently guiding her and became more insistent as he knelt down until they were eye to eye. 

“I don’t remember the mountain.” she replied flatly. Her voice was weaker than a whisper. She didn’t care. She knew he’d hear it anyway. And if he didn’t, she no longer cared enough to ensure he did. She no longer believed she had the strength to stomach that voice any longer. 

The cliff looked dizzyingly as she peered over the edge. She wondered if even a Custodian could survive a fall at such a height. 

“I don’t remember the snow, Constantin.”

“That is alright, my liege.” He was so sweet, so sickeningly sweet, so unerringly gentle. It made her want to claw at him, to crack him, to see what could finally burrow under that invincible flesh and make him howl. It made her wonder how the Emperor broke him to make him the man he had become, how deeply He must have laid His tongs in the forge of flesh and fire. 

She wondered what his screams would sound like, if he could scream at all.

“Do not trouble yourself, my liege. Your form is still young.” Of course, he could afford to wait. He had waited for ten thousand years, and he would gladly wait for ten thousand more. In that broken, delusional mind of his, it was only just, after all. He’d speak litanies of loyalty, roaring them over the screams of her brethren, he’d speak praises so numerous that they’d drown out the sobs of her family. “Your memories will return, when given due time. I can tell you about them. The preliminaries, the campaigns, the plans you undertook.”

Of course. They’d have to return. They must return. They will return, and He will live again, born out of this mortal shell under Valdor’s guidance. Valdor simply could not be, must not be, could not accept, could not live in a world where his liege has fallen forever. 

The snow was no longer biting her. It seemed to have been cowed, laid low beneath the vengeful eye of its rightful master. Even the storm seems to have settled, briefly, at least for now. For the eye of the King, the Emperor, the god-sorceror. 

It was so cruel, the revelation, the realization that welled up in her when she gazed dully back at him with listless eyes. The revelation that came for her, and not for him, for he would be nothing if not for his delusion. How quickly she understood the truth beneath why she had called him here, why she had suddenly finally accepted his offer to visit the mountain, when she had been delaying it, dreading it, putting it off for weeks upon months. 

The edge. 

The end. (And not the death).

She wondered if even a Custodes could survive a fall from this height. She wondered if it mattered anymore. 

The plan had been formulating itself for weeks now, brewing like boiled flesh in a cyst, nursing itself, grieving its wounds, growing stronger, gaining weight. First she had refused to eat, then to bathe, then to move at all, all the dreary, listless days crushed into the same monotony as brass as she had sat still upon a throne she did not want and stared off into oblivion, as he occasionally knelt by her and asked for her commands while she numbly stared off in the distance, her eyes a thousand yards away. Her gaze had been lost in a time beyond time, beyond memory itself, and not even dreams could steal her away. 

First it had only been how she stopped even trying to hide from him. She simply let him follow her, on her aimless, little walks aboard the massive ship that had become her only location. Then it had been how her tongue had stalled and she no longer even greeted the serfs that occasionally came by to deliver her food she did not eat, water she did not want, utensils she did not use, how she simply stared ahead, as reactive as a corpse, about as conscious to the world as the dead. Valdor had cared after her then, when even her memory had failed her, when she lay still and sullen like ash, the weight of the world upon broken shoulders, silent, painful tears trickling a cheerless trail from her eyes to her duvet. How he had lifted her up and cradled her to him, asking which stories she wished to hear, which glories she wished him to recount. Which memories that were not hers but soon will be, tales he regaled her of His conquests, of His victories and His lessons, His mantras drilled into her bones as they have been drilled into his.

She had left the world, bit by bit, husk by husk, until she felt as if she weighed no more than one of His eagles’ feathers did, frailly clinging onto the world with a whisper and a dream. It was as if she was sinking into some calm, clear, colorless water and feeling the waves close in above her, but there was no sensation of drowning, no voiceless cry in the deep. Simply the noiseless struggle in her own dreams, as she prepared herself for the final breath before oblivion. 

(Did she have the strength? Did it matter any longer, when he could overpower her no matter the answer?)

It was so beautiful, up here, at the edge of the sky. She could hear the storm breathing in the clouds. It was close enough that she could close her eyes, and dream of Ararat, listening to Valdor’s words. An end. An end, just like the Thunder Warriors He(and she?) slaughtered so long ago. The final unraveling. She didn’t want to die, but was she truly living? An immortality without life, without passion, without even joy itself, was that truly living when she was little more than a corpse, kept alive through obsession?

If the Emperor had loved them, He would have never created them at all. What merciful god would create such grotesque angels? 

If the Four were merciful, they would have sought Valdor, as they sought the Primarchs. They would have whisked him away, upon winds of change, tainted him with their mark, made sure He would never accept him as a servant again. They would have saved him, corrupted him, broken him, taught him what it felt like to dream, before the golden light shone again, and His dream took over his. 

But he was a servant, not a master. He was not a leader. He knelt, instead of ruling, and the Emperor had sunk in His claws so deep even the Four could not pry it out. And so he was His, forevermore.

He died ten thousand years ago. And somewhere, inside that twisted, broken Palace that was a mind, His dog was still waiting loyally at the door, waiting for Him to return. 

He was kneeling beside her now. She had never even heard him move. With infinite reverence, he cups her features, admiring the black strands falling over his gauntlets, the golden eyes - so broken, so gorgeous, so His - staring back at him.

“It was the end of the Unification Wars, my liege. And the start of your rule. The Imperium was born that day, your coronation happened atop that bloodstained snowfield, when Malcador held up that laurel, and crowned you King. How could you forget how I, the first of your Custodes, knelt first and rose last, when the ceremony ended?” 

So careful. So gentle as not to hurt her.

“Tell me about them.” a small, cruel smile had found its way onto her face. She was no longer looking at him, instead smiling serenely, blankly staring out upon the sky. The mountain truly was beautiful. It was such a shame this was where she would die. She should have felt something then. A sense of guilt, perhaps. A moment of horror for what she had become, for taking advantage of something so deeply broken into him that it was written into his very bones. Obedience was carved into his blood, seared into his marrow. He would know no other way but to obey. 

“The Unification Wars?” Valdor asks, the question poised so effortlessly, head tilted like a loyal dog, perfectly prepared to obey his master’s every word. 

It would be almost easier, she thought, if he had been a crueller man. Easier to break him, easier to hate him, easier to gaze upon that perfect, immaculate features and wonder what if he had lost those duels. If he had been taught to be mortal, what his screams would’ve sounded like, what sounds of pain he might wheeze out when his perfect, immaculate dancer’s grace falters and he learns, he learns the price for immortality. 

He was never meant to love. 

Not for the first time, she wonders if he can feel pain. If she’ll even care, if it’ll even matter. For a creature who loved no one but his master, would it even be a sin?A sin, to teach him what it meant to fear? To taste the copper tang of terror, to twist the knife in him as he had twisted the knife in her. And to die, exalted, knowing she would have hurt him, knowing she brought down a demigod. 

You can’t reason with a mad dog. You can’t plead with someone who knows they’re right. You can’t gaze into the eyes of Constantin Valdor and expect to see reason back, when his master was right in front of him and alive, so sickeningly alive he would rather kill than forget Him again.

Would he even mourn this time? Did he even know what mourning felt like? She had an inkling that he did, however twisted it may be. Because, for him, the tale isn't over yet, the tale must not be over. His Emperor is not dead, it cannot be, he cannot be, in a world without the Emperor, it simply is not possible. Without Valdor, the Emperor could not lead His Custodes, but without Him, the Custodes could not live. 

“No.” she replies. “The mountain. Tell me of them.” The smile that stretched across her face felt nothing like her. It did not belong to this life. It was too old, too heavy, too sad and too cruel for a face that was once joyous and wide with mischief. She had an inkling of the words Valdor was about to say, the bitter, treacherous words she would weep to hear, and regret ever having forced him to speak. 

“The Thunder Warriors.” she murmured. She had closed her eyes again by then. The plan was formulating, inking itself together with the same mindlessness of crawling, squirming things beneath the earth. And she didn’t want to see what the ground would look like when she fell. She didn’t want to see what it felt like to die a second time. This was only a distraction, a charade, a pitiful illusion built by a mind almost broken. There was no one here but a madman, a broken girl, and the ghosts of the storm calling out its mournful rage overhead. 

“Tell me what became of them. Of that Primarch you spoke so highly of. And no lies.” she sighs, and the voice that whistles out of her is too old, too broken. She brushes his hand away. This time, he doesn’t even insist on remaining. “Tell me what happened on Ararat. I want to hear the truth from your lips.” 

If there had been anything left of her heart, she might have mourned for him. For what he had become, living not for himself but for another. Living His life for Him. And when He died, what could become of him? What could become of him except to endure? When he had slaughtered brothers, lovers, children upon the snowfields, betrayed loyalists and watched life fade from their eyes, all in the name of Him, what could be left of him if not to serve?

He served, and loyalty was its own reward. Loyalty, unyielding, unbreaking, even in death his duty would not end.

Valdor tilts his head like a confused dog. “What good will it do now?” 

She utters a dry, raspy laugh. It had no inflection within it, no actual human emotion. 

“I command you, Valdor.” she spoke. There was nothing behind it, nothing even when the command hurt him. It stirred nothing but a deep, dull ache and the brief knife of guilt, which was quickly surpassed by the lasting numbness that did not seem to leave her bones. “I command you to speak of them. On Ararat. What happened on Ararat?”

She turns from him, walking slowly, and without care. She needed to be on a ledge. Distantly, thunder shrieks, and the storm crashes down. Lightning briefly illuminates her features, skin half-tanned, black hair flowing and golden eyes peering through the brume, and in that radiant flare of lightning she looked positively divine, a half-god caught on earth, if not for the weary, haunted gaze of a hunted animal. Her shoulders were hunched, her movements withered, as if her bones could no longer support her weight. She walked without a singular care in the world, and Valdor trailed immediately afterwards. She knew to jump was no longer an option. Even the stormclouds seemed to mock her. It was foolish, so foolish, she knew. He could not let her die. He would move faster than she could even think, he could catch her, snatch her around her waist and carry her to a safe distance before she could even advance an inch towards the edge. 

She could not die here. He would not allow her to die.

And they both knew that.

Voicelessly, soundlessly, she gazes up upon the stormladen sky. Its grey dances across her golden irises, the stormwind playing with her hair. Thunder crashes, and she feels herself scream back, wordlessly, soundlessly, without even conscious thought. Dully, she knew she was raging, screaming, that her mind was seizing at the clouds and tearing at them, begging them to save her, but physically she made not even a single move. Her body was frozen, the snow pelting her shoulders, Valdor’s cloak swirling from the wind. She felt frozen, too. Her mind was no longer wreathed with such self-pity it once had, it was churning, clawing, raging like a caught rabbit in a trap, desperately wishing the ground would open up and swallow it whole, not as a kind of freedom, but as a final form of spite to the hunter.

Thunder crashes around the two of them. Neither of them move. The edge was close, so dizzyingly close that she could feel the wind gusting around her. Valdor was watching her closely, the same way a starved wolf may watch a weakened deer.

When Valdor finally speaks, unable to resist the bluntness of her command, his eyes were still distantly focused on the memories of Ararat. And his voice was passionlessly dull, carefully kept neutral and utterly without pity. 

“I slit his throat.” he confesses dully, flatly, without even a hint of inflection. “The Primarch. I slit his throat on Ararat, from ear to ear, then from ear to clavicle. I only stopped when I felt bone scraping against the edge of my knife.”

Surprisingly she laughed, and the sound was garbled, as grim and as dry as bones. “I suppose you killed him then?” she asked. One more step. One more step and she would be at the edge. He would not let her. He would move faster than the earth could drag her down anyways. But it did not matter. Slowly, incredulously, she could feel herself smiling. It was going to be alright. She could feel it in her bones, the static, the storm. Even the snow seemed to be on her side. For a moment, she felt like a god, standing at the top of the world, the conquered earth groveling beneath Him, knowing that even the elements would fall beneath His gaze. 

She could taste the ichor then, sweet and lifeless and pouring from the sky along with the snow, the charge in the sky and the thunder. The vengeance it held. The sheer rage, an echo of her own. She would rule them. She did not want to rule. She would rule, for one singular moment in her wretched life, she would rule, and she would hurt him, as he had hurt her. For the serfs he terrorized, for the Sisters he slaughtered, for the martyrs he first betrayed and then hung out to die. All in her name. All for her wishes. She no longer wished to wish. She no longer wished to reign. 

Let her abdicate the throne of skulls. Just once. Just once, she prayed. 

“No.” Valdor shook his head. He was already moving, one hand reaching out to grasp her arm and drag her back before she could approach the edge. “It would have been a kinder fate if he had died then. It would have been a kinder fate if-”

“-if you had granted him an honorable death.” she finished for him. She spoke softly, plaintively, as if this was a comfort. She had turned her face a little, just enough to see him, just enough to see his elegant features illuminated by the storm. To gaze upon him, one last time. The way he held himself, like a dancer, his lean features accentuated by the lightning as the thunderbolt carved the sky open and struck the ledge beside her. The way his auramite had shuddered from the lightning as he had, for the first time in her memory, stumbled, his gait not utterly perfect before the divine rage. The first word she had heard him say that was not perfectly calculated.

The lightning snaps the ledge like bone.

The surprised intake of breath she had uttered, a squeal that was nearly a gasp as the rock beneath her feet had caved in, and then crumbled as she had desperately hoped, the weathered stone no longer capable of supporting its own weight bending and breaking and shattering as the lightning arced through it, the smite separating the ledge like the same way Valdor had carved through that serf. That poor, poor serf who had slipped her a kiss upon her request. It was little more than a peck, that poor thing. And he hadn’t even been able to scream when Valdor separated his bones like paper. 

In a silent vow to him, in a wordless vow to them all, the corpses he laid so she could climb atop her throne, she promised she wouldn’t scream as she fell.

Grimly, lips drawn in a tight line, she only felt the distant thunder as she descended like a one-winged eagle, her face utterly expressionless, lightning briefly dancing sparks against her hair as if in reverence. 

Valdor’s cloak, still wrapped around her, its silk as crimson as spilled blood, unfurled around her as she fell.

Distantly, from somewhere beyond the mountaintop, thunder roared. 

~~~~

It was warm, when she finally awoke. She muttered something, tried to turn, and decided to burrow deeper against the warmth instead. There was a rumble, a purr-like sound, and the slow, drifting scent of incense as one titanic hand came up to rest against her hair. 

With careful reverence, it adjusted the master’s laurel. 

“Welcome back, by lord.” the voice purred. “You expressed quite the interest in the Cataegis Primarch.”

She groaned. Golden irises flickered back and forth, as if in distress, beneath her lids. Valdor’s other hand reached up to stroke through her hair, careful not to upset the laurel.  

“I had thought you would have recognized him, my lord. It was, after all, his grave that I showed you that night upon the mountain.”

He makes a long, slow chuckle, almost like amusement, if he had been capable of it. “I had expected you’ve greeted him already, my master. You were standing atop his bones.” 

Somewhere, distantly, thunder growled. And without even being conscious of it, she shivered, and tried to burrow closer to his warmth.  

Pinglist(checks notes, holy fuck!): @nonus-secundus @badbobdooley @bleedingichorhearts @starfrost740 @katie-faye1 @sigtamds @troylovesdoomguy @the-pure-angel @metronix36-blog @krynnmeridia @distantmoonbeam @futuristicchaospoetry @liar-anubiass-blog @subtle-like-a-brick-to-the-face @squishyowl @slaanesh @absent-still @sharenadraculea @idonotknowhowtochoosenames

[this-aint-massachusetts]

MORE FNAF HCS BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT

more hcs because I’m losing my mind and I can’t contain the sillyness any longer

-Mike sometimes have nightmares of William succeeding and Abby being another victim of his and will get up in a cold sweat to check on her in her room, sometimes glad to see her staying up late because it means she's still there

- Abby gets nightmares of Mike not waking up when she ran over to him and wakes up in tears, and goes and climbs into his bed, forcing his arm up to sneak in and hold her, he's usually awake by then and tells her everything will be okay and that he's okay

-Abby is really picky about the texture of her stuffed animals so Mike learns over time and buys them accordingly, even warning people ahead of time if they ever wants to buy one to bring him with her

-When Mike really got into doing pushups, if Abby was awake early enough she'd sit on his back or play with her dolls on his back pretending it's a boat in the ocean (he complained at first but took it as another moment to be with his sister)

-Ness is the type to remember everyone's orders, he has them memorized by their third visit His boss would be impressed if he wasn't constantly yapping to the customers disrupting kitchens flow 

-Mike Found the song that the animatronics played and will play it for Abby sometimes and watch her dance, glad to see her smiling again (until he's invited to dance to which he pretends to hate witch makes Abby giggle)

-Mike: "Abby if I die here you can draw on my grave, wouldn't mind.

Abby: "Please don't talk like that."

-After waking up, Vanessa chose to take a bit of a calmer job as a SRO at Abby’s school

-Mike went to Abby's school for her lunch to surprise her for her birthday and Vanessa is only is told it's a "surprise visitor" & nearly makes Mike piss his pants w how scary she was to greet him before seeing it was him

-Vanessa is very caring when it comes to Mike or Abby being sick or injured. Mike has a really hard time excepting help so he just pretends he’s fine until he can barley function 

-Abby loves to paint others nails but not hers, if she has any kinda nail polish on or paint on her nails she’ll bite at them

-Ness writes little silly puns and jokes on to-go orders and will for sure spend forever choosing the right one and will wake up the next day with an even better one and be down the whole day

-Vanessa is really, like embarrassingly bad at bedtime stories, like Mike tried being nice about it but Abby wasn't

-Mike is both the pickiest eater and the will try anything guy at the same time

-Abby Was taught to warn Mike of cops on the road but now she recognizes Vanessa's car and says "there's Vanessa!" And she purposely pulls him over to chat with Abby

-Abby called Mike dad by accident and he couldn't stop crying for hours and Abby thought she offended him and made it a thing to call him "big brother Mike™”

-Abby will pretend to be asleep for more time in bed and Mike's comfort. Mike knows damn well she's awake but doesn't have the heart to actually wake her up and finds himself playing with her hair and glad she's safe

-Abby still has Mike's old security badge and vest and likes to go around pretending that she has a taser and goes around "defeating animatronics" which is just tickling Mike while he's trying to get work done

-Abby before the events at Freddy's she was always warned by Mike about the germs in a ball pit so that one scene was quite literally a last ditch effort for her

-Vanessa has been asked multiple times to scare Abbys bullies but gives the corny "tell a trusted adult they're not worth it" speech to her and feels proud about it. Mike tells Abby to just beat them up /hj (She takes his advice and both get lectured by Vanessa)

-Mike was 100% ready to fight Vanessa if he needed to because he really needed the job and was fully prepared to live up to the "keep people out" rule (based off the scene where they first met)

-Mike entered his emo phase the second Garrett got taken and left it the second he got custody of Abby, mostly because he was too busy to dress up anymore

-Abby managed to get ahold of Mike's taser from when he was a mall cop and brought it in for show and tell

-Vanessas first reaction to seeing the fazbear band for the first time was to ask why the band didn't have a drummer and William grounded her for seven months and didn't speak to her the entire time because he was so deeply offended and embarrassed

-sometimes when the animatronics get bored they dial random numbers into the phone and see what happens and one time they managed to call the White House completely by accident

-Abby and Vanessa do sister stuff together like braiding hair, baking cookies, and playing Barbies with insane reality tv level drama (it freaks Mike out but he just assumes it's girl stuff he wouldn't understand)

-Mike was really into skateboarding when he was younger, he doesn't do it much anymore but whenever he needs to flex on someone he whips out the triple kick flip and everyone is like how tf is that pathetic wet cat of a man doing that

-Ness runs a blog on Livejournal that’s basically food theory but in the 2000’s and he takes it very seriously 

-When they were at the pizzeria Abby found the ballon boy figurine and wanted to take it home because she thought it was cute. Mike almost had a heart attack when he found it at the house

-One time Abby found Mikes bong and thought it was a vase so she put some flowers in in and put it up for decorations, Mike, Ness and Vanessa nearly pissed themselves laughing when they saw it

-Abby is obsessed with furbys, Mike on the other hand almost shit himself when he heard it talking in the middle of the night. Fear only got worse after Freddy’s 

-Mike couldn’t afford an ambulance to drive Vanessa to the hospital so he just called a taxi (Cory went through enough that night so he just gave up and drove them, he was pissed afterwards tho because blood got all over his seats)

-Abby has a fish tank in her room that’s just filled with bugs and dirt, Mike has insisted to get rid of it multiple times because it smells rancid and the bugs kill each other regularly 

-It took Mike 5 times to just get his learners permit 

-William was a frat in collage

-Ness and Abby are both bug lovers and both cry when you squish a bug, Mike hates bugs and doesn’t get it

-Mike likes fishing and is lowkey hyperfixated on it

-William kept all the important files in a small ass trapper keeper that he stole from Vanessa 

-Mikes car hasn’t been inspected in eight years, not cause he thinks he won’t pass he just forgot to do it and just never did it again (but srysly look at it it’s fucking disintegrating)

-Mike also doesn’t like when other people take care of him because he doesn’t want to be seen as needy but Vanessa and Ness are like: “YOU WILL TAKE MY LOVE AND CARE GOD DAMNIT!” (In a loving way tho)

-Ness steals the crayons from the kids menus and gives them to Abby 

Oki final part for now because I can’t think of anything else 😜

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones - II

Genre: Angst/Drama/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse.

biggest shoutout to @abruisedmuse ♥️ without you, I don't know how I'd finish this fic. ily!

Tagging: @sabrinaacarpenters | @vanserrass | @climb-the-mountian | @positivewitch | @ladyelain | @helion-ism |@readthelastpaage | @sarions | @spinachtz |@elizab3th-grace | @ladystarrynight | @zenkindoflove | @animezinglife | @eastofatlanta | @carolynmezzosoprano | @daily-dose-of-sass | @highlady-fireheart | @carnythian | @thedarkinmansfield | @krem-does-stuff |@that-golden-lyre | @lovedbyth3sun | @moonfawnx | @runningwiththeoceans | @sweet-but-stormy | @illyrianshadowhunter | @this-is-rochelle | @comingupbexx | @foxybananaaaz | @weesablackbeak | @thewilderheart | @rityrooroo | @electromagnetic-waves | @secret-third-thing | @feysandfeels | @mali22 | @theeternalstruggle | @devilsfoodcake22 | @maidr-00 | @the-midnightwriter | @moobell55 | @alohaangels | @readychilledwine | | @ladywhilemia | @easchies | @goldenmagnolias | @princessofmerchants | @clockwork-ashes | @bibliophiliaxvignette

Find it all here.

Iris slammed the door shut behind her, her trembling legs barely keeping her upright.

She was now shackled to that male. Tied to him forever. 

“I would never harm you.”  

But she knew about his mother. Everyone heard the whispers of what their High Lord put her through. His favorite son couldn’t be too far off.

“This wasn’t how anything was supposed to go.” she whispered, covering her eyes in frustration. She had been so close. So close to escaping to her mother’s home in the Day Court. Her father never dared venture there since her mother’s death. She would’ve been safe. 

But no. It was like her wretched father had sensed it, sensed something in her change, and needed to act fast.

A whole month. He had sold her off a month before. No wonder his leash had gotten tighter. His fist harder.

How stupid was she to think she’d ever had a chance to run away from him?

And now, Iris was stuck here. Until she either died trying to kill Eris or he killed her. This wedding that was no wedding. This marriage that would likely result in a nightmare. The husband that held no love for her or she for him. Nothing was the way it should’ve been and Iris sank to the ground, her white gown pooling around her as she finally broke down in quiet sobs. 

He had said he wouldn’t touch her. But for how long? How many times could she threaten him with a stabbing before he called her bluff? 

Iris gave herself a few moments — a few moments to shatter before she had to step back into her reality. She had been patient for so long, hoping for some kind of miracle, for an out from her father. This wasn’t what she had expected. 

Sniffling, Iris finally wiped at her eyes a few moments later and forced herself to stand. Tears wouldn’t help. She would not let him win. 

Glancing at herself in the bathroom mirror, Iris wrinkled her nose and then let out a breath. 

“It’s fine.” she whispered and wiped at her eyes again. “It’ll be fine.”

But it took Iris a few agonizing moments of trying to unbutton and remove her dress to realize it wouldn’t be fine. There were just so many damn ties, making her frown. Nothing about this union was her choice, including the dress she was wearing; her father had simply had it delivered without saying a word. Sighing deeply, Iris moved on to the pins in her hair instead, digging out as many as she could until she couldn’t reach the ones in the back and let out a growl of frustration.

She would need her stupid husband’s help and that idea had her imagining death. 

Iris looked at herself in the mirror again and huffed a piece of hair out of her face, briefly thinking about just ripping the dress off and leaving her hair as is. Who cares if she looked like she’d been attacked by a Suriel? She could just sleep like this. 

Maybe if she looked like a wild animal he really wouldn’t touch her.

Iris looked at herself in the mirror again and grimaced. She was a mess with red, slightly puffed eyes and disheveled hair... but more importantly, she was exhausted. The sooner she could get out of this, the sooner she could attempt to sleep.

Sighing in defeat, Iris slowly unlocked the bathroom door and opened it, already glaring in Eris’s general direction. 

He had almost kissed her. And she had almost let him. They had barely spent time together and she couldn’t even hold up against an attractive male, never mind if he was a piece of shit. 

Color bloomed on her cheeks thinking about how close he had stood, towering over her. She shouldn’t have allowed it...but again...how long would he allow her to refuse him?

Iris quietly stepped back into the room and froze at the sight of him. He had removed the jacket and dress shirt, standing in front of their shared closet, shirtless. Her eyes zeroed in on his back and she blinked at the number of scars found there.

Eris slowly turned at the sound of her return and quirked a brow, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking about. 

“Change your mind about the touching? If you want me to ravish you, I’ll need a minute to find the perfect silk sleeping bottoms to seduce you with.”

Iris’s expression flattened. “Go die.”

“Gladly.” 

And he turned back to his closet.

Iris clenched her fists and glared at his back. And to think, she had been seconds away from being sympathetic. Her fingers flexed and she envisioned grabbing the dagger still rooted in the table and cornering him against the closet, putting it to his throat. She could easily picture it and would get a thrill out of cornering the pretty little son of the stupid High Lord. She refused to feel sympathy for him.

But he was her stupid husband. And she did need help with her dress. And her hair. And she needed something to sleep in. Which would all require her to walk up to him.

Closing her eyes, and taking a deep quiet breath, Iris braced herself. 

“I need help with my dress.” she mumbled. 

She watched Eris pause and her whole body heated in embarrassment. She felt his flicker of amusement before he turned again and smirked at her.

“Come again, wife?”

“I said, husband,” she began through clenched teeth. “I need help with my dress.”

“And the hair, I’m assuming?” he added drily, scanning her from head to toe. “Did you fight with someone in there?”

She glared at him. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Eris chuckled then held up a finger. “I will. On one condition.”

The nerve.

“And before you throw the dagger you stole at me, it’s a reasonable condition,” he said and she rolled her eyes.

“And what is this condition?”

Eris paused again and their gazes locked on one another. A curious feeling blossomed in her chest at the look and before Iris could let her mind wonder if the look meant more, she gestured with her hand for him to continue.

“You and I don’t know each other,” Eris began and moved a step towards her, holding out his hands. “I was given no chance to speak with you before the wedding and you didn’t even know until last week.”

Iris pursed her lips, crossing her arms. “And?”

“And, there is no out for either one of us now.” he continued and gestured between them. “We are stuck with each other unless we want to take the very romantic route of mutual suicide, which I am not interested in. Are you looking forward to death?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “It depends on how much more talking you plan to do,” she replied and he chuckled, giving her a look that suggested he would plan to do nonstop talking just for that comment and Iris scowled. “Your point?” 

Eris shrugged as casually as possible. “A question for a question. To get to know each other.“ he proposed and Iris blinked. “The pleasant conversation we had prior to you hiding in the bathroom inspired me for such a solution.”

Iris glanced at him warily. “Must’ve been exhausting for you to think so hard with such a little brain,” she mumbled and Eris’s eyes lit up. 

“That tongue of yours is going to get you in a lot of trouble with me.”

“If it bothers you so much, rip it out then.” she challenged, the smirk on his face igniting a furious rage in her and doubled when he only chuckled.

“Oh wife,” he only said and gave her a rather suggestive look. “We both know how much of a waste that would be. I’m sure it’ll come in handy for me eventually.”

Iris glared at him, the color deepening on her cheeks and her loathing for him grew by the second. “If you don’t stop talking to me in that tone, that dagger isn’t too far out of reach and will find its way into your throat faster than you could stop it.”

“Big words, little gazelle,” he said with a smile. “But your threats don’t bother me so use your big brain and think for a moment about what I’m saying.”

She bristled at the dismissal of her words and only crossed her arms, glaring at him in silence. She wasn’t going to dignify him with an answer and Eris scoffed at her body language.

“The point of my condition here, wife, is that I had no say in this marriage and clearly, neither did you,” he said and waved a hand. “I’d rather we attempted some civility than resort to murder.”

Iris rolled her eyes with a scoff. “You really expect me to believe that you, Eris Vanserra,” she began and he scowled. “The high lord’s firstborn, didn’t have a say in who you married? I thought you had a list to choose from.” 

Eris shot her a withering look, his body tense. “You overestimate how much my father values me and my opinion,” he replied quietly then took a step back and turned away from her again, closing the closet door. “I was ordered to get married, not asked.” 

Iris blinked and the annoyance towards him dimmed slightly at the way his expression had shifted, at the look he shot her. 

“Why attempt civility?” she asked. “Why not just make me?”

Eris sucked his teeth and scoffed, turning back to her again. “Are you determined to make me the villain in your story? Have I shown you any ill will at all?”

“How do I know it’s not all an act? To catch me off guard? This is only our first night together.” she said and if Iris had blinked, she would’ve missed the anger that he schooled off his face.

He shook his head, turning away from her again and Iris kept her eyes on his stance, tense once more, his fists clenched at his side. “If I wanted to be the villain...do you think you’d still be standing in that dress and not sobbing on the floor by now?” he said quietly and Iris froze. “If I wanted to be the villain, wife...you would be tied to that bed with my hands all over you. You would’ve already been covered in fresh bruises. I would’ve already been buried deep inside you and whatever shot you thought at a happy life with me would’ve already been long gone.”

He turned his head to the side and met her gaze over his shoulder. “It would take me very little time to make you miserable.”

Iris backed a step, trying to muster disgust in her paled expression. “And yet?”

“And yet…” Eris said then took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back, running a hand down his face. “The person you are expecting is my father. And I am not my father. Nor do I ever want to be.”

“Aren’t you daddy’s favorite boy?” she sneered shakily. “Why wouldn’t you want to be like him?”

“Because my father has chosen violence in every instance of his life. I do not wish to continue his legacy of living that way.” Eris said sharply and Iris’s brows furrowed at the tone.

“Even if it gets you what you want?” she asked quietly. 

When he turned to look at her fully again, Iris stood with narrowed eyes, her heart treacherously beating quickly at the violence found in his words. Words he knew would hit home, for as much violence she threatened him with, he would always be a warrior who was stronger than she was. He had fought in wars. He had seen battles she hadn’t even dreamed of. 

Iris hadn’t underestimated how easily he could overpower her and yet…what was throwing her off was that so far, he was choosing not to.  

Eris slowly walked up to her again and when he paused in front of her, Iris met his heated gaze full-on. 

“Every moment outside of this room, I have had to fight and claw my way through this court. I do not want my bedroom and this relationship, however, it came to be, to be another battlefield,” he said quietly. “Nevertheless...should you insist on making me the demon in your fairytale, know that I have been fighting demons worse than you for years. I will break you and feel no remorse.”

“Is that a threat?” she growled and the corner of his mouth went up.

“Oh, my little gazelle,” he said sweetly. “It is a promise. One I do not wish to keep. So please don’t make me.”

Iris hesitated, scanning his face for any signs of treachery, any sign of menace, but he was too good at hiding his thoughts. 

“I could kill you if I wanted to,” she said softly. “At any moment. At any time.”

“I have no doubt you’d put up a good fight.” he agreed, in that same soft tone. “But in the end, I would win and it would not end well for either of us, I think.”

They stood in pregnant silence, one opponent seizing up the other. 

“What are you going to do to me, Eris?” she asked quietly and Eris tilted his head.

“Nothing that you wouldn’t want me to do,” he replied, his hands clasped behind his back as she assessed him.

His signature stance, it seemed.

Iris eyed him quietly, her eyes taking the time to shamelessly gaze at the sharp panels of his toned body and slowly moved up to his face, the ever-present smirk causing her cheeks to flush when his brows quirked. Her husband had a handsome face, indeed. A handsome face that tragically needed to be smacked. 

“Like what you see?” he teased and she scowled. “It’s yours for the taking, wife. Just say the word.”

“Please die.” was her only response and he chuckled.

“Only if we die together,” he said sweetly.

“We’ve been married for barely a few hours and you’re already planning to follow me in death?” she said with a snort.

“What can I say, I am a simple male. A beautiful female tries to stab me...how can I do anything but yearn?” he replied and Iris rolled her eyes at his sarcasm.

“Charming.” she deadpanned, his smirk grating on her every nerve.

“Would you still like my assistance or do you plan to sleep like that?” he asked. “All it would take is a few tears in the dress here and there and they’d believe I did my duty by you so well, you simply couldn’t be bothered to remove the dress before fainting from pleasure.” 

Fury fueled her body, for she was sick of his taunting and Iris had barely raised her hand, ready to strike him, to show him exactly how much she’d tolerate his bullshit when Eris caught her arm.

“You got away with it once. I will not allow it again.” he said, his tone ever so pleasant but Iris didn’t miss the fire in his eyes.

“Then don’t say things that make me want to rip your fucken throat out.”

Eris smiled. “You want to rip my throat out?”

Iris smiled at him in return. “Desperately.”

Tension rose between them as they shared an unexpectedly heated glance. If it had been any other two people, their lips might have already met.

“Don't threaten me with a good time, wife.” he said quietly, his eyes scanning her face before she yanked her hand away.

“Stop calling me wife. I have a name. Use it.”

He chuckled and Iris wanted to throttle him. 

“But you are my wife, Iris.” he said softly and she was embarrassed to note the goosebumps that erupted on her arms when her name slipped from his lips. “I like saying it. Or would you prefer I gave you a pet name?”

Iris scowled, shaking out her arms and she knew he noted the movement when the corner of his mouth turned up. “I’d prefer if you didn’t speak at all actually.” 

“Ah wife, I’m afraid that’s a preference I won’t be catering to.” was his reply, and Iris whirled at him with a glare. 

“Cut the bullshit. Will you help me with my dress or not?”

“A question for a question.”

Iris pursed her lips, curious even as weariness started to weigh on her. 

“You have no reason to distrust me this much, you know,” he said casually, pulling the hair tie from his ponytail and running his fingers through his hair. 

“I have no reason to trust you either.”

Once again, Eris shrugged as casually as could. “This is why I’m proposing a middle ground. A question for a question, Iris.”

“And you’ll be honest?” she asked with a quirked brow. 

“As honest as you’ll be.” 

“And you deem me trustworthy enough to share information with me?”

Eris raised his brows. “Well...as my wife, you can’t run off anywhere and share this information. I’d just kill you.”

Iris gave him a small smile. “Not if I kill you first and then run off,” she said and he had the nerve to look delighted. 

“Oh, I do love the way you flirt with me.”

Iris shot him a look full of loathing but turned away from him, finally weighing her options. She could give him a chance. He hadn’t broken his promise of not harming her so far. If she was being honest with herself, Iris had imagined the exact scenarios he had described earlier to happen to her this evening but...her husband seemed to be surprising her. At least the expectations have been made clear. 

“Fine,” she said and took her sweet time walking over to their shared vanity, making sure to stop by the dagger still stinking into their dining table and grab it. She placed it on the vanity, gripping the handle tightly, meeting his gaze in the mirror as she sat. “Just in case you get any ideas.”

And for the first time that night, Eris’s lips curled into a small genuine smile.

[bee-snail]

I had a vision

(redeemed) Daniel, David and Gwen !!! they are siblings, your honor

- Daniel's albino and David is ginger — absolute win in genetics right there

- cuddles forever (they didn't know how much they loved cuddling until they found each other, man. They didn't really have opportunities to do so before that because David grew up with Campbell (who's not exactly the cuddly type) and Gwen (who is absolutely not the cuddly type), and Daniel grew up in the damn Church of Xemüg)

- blankets are for the WEAK (and for Gwen) (she's strong but she needs the blanket) (honestly she'd end up hogging it in her sleep even if she didn't really need it)

- Gwen is very grumpy if awakened too early, and Daniel takes about an hour or two to fully wake up, regardless of whether he woke up early or late. David however wakes when the sun does and he's always immediately wide awake

- they have cute pajamas

- Daniel takes the longest to fall asleep and he finds himself strangely soothed by David's sleep talk. It's like a spoken, odd little lullaby

- both twins get bad nightmares from time to time. Somehow they always get them on the same night, even if they're far apart. twin telepathy or something.

- David plays with Daniel's hair when they're cuddling (so soft and silky!)

- David also plays with Gwen's hair when she's within reach (so curly and bouncy!!)

also this is very badly drawn. However I do think he'd grow his hair out because it lets him do more things to his own looks. He spent his entire life purified and the years after that were spent learning how Society truly works, how feelings are a part of you, and what he's actually like. Mentally, he was like seven years younger than David thanks to a life of purification, man.

He had to take time to explore himself, his looks, his hobbies, his sexuality, his gender; his true personality

It took him a while before he could genuinely pinpoint what "happiness" was, but now he definitely feels it. He loves his family (they love him too)

[epicthemusical]

Too Late to Trust

The Underworld from Eury POV

the bracelet idea is from @awnrii designs thank you for letting me use them

Eurylochus stands firm even with the haunting moans of the spirits surrounding them. He oversees the crew making sure they do their jobs, refusing to show just how much the stale air and flickering of ghosts terrify him. He ignores the strange shapes and shadows in the corners of his sight. He watches as hundreds of souls stretch out from the river, eyes staring straight at Odysseus blaming him as chants of captain echo through the air. Odysseus stumbles back in shock and Eurylochus feels guilt smothering him. Those men may have died blaming Odysseus but the real blame lies with him. If only he had not opened that bag and actually obeyed Odysseus then they would not be dead. They would not be souls cursed to forever be stuck in the river Cocytus, never to find peace.

All I hear are screams, every time I dare to close my eyes.

I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died.

He heads over to Odysseus to try his best to comfort his Captain and brother. That is the least he can do since he can't bring himself to admit what he has done. Odysseus is sitting curled up on the deck clutching at his head, obviously struggling with something. He places a hand on Odysseus' shoulder and hears him mutter about the infant he had killed back in Troy. Before he can say anything he hears a familiar voice singing in the distance that makes his heart ache.

This life is amazing when you greet the world with open arms.

Polites pale and see through form floats next to the ship as it continues singing. Eurylochus has to blink away tears at the sight of his friend. He looked like he had never died but something is off somehow. That's when he realizes Polites didn't have his headband or bracelets. His hair is not held back and his wrists bare. The three of them had worn the bracelets throughout the war after Polites insisted on it, saying they had to match. After 10 years of war he had gotten used to the flash of gold whenever their arms move. His hand brushes against Polite's bracelet resting on his own wrist.

Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart

No matter the place, we can light up the world

Here's how to start:

Greet the world with open arms

Greet the world with open arms

Eurylochus feels guilt well up inside as he hears Odysseus call out Polite's name again, his voice broken and filled with grief. How disappointed would Polites had been at him for not trusting Odysseus and opening the wind bag?

Another voice starts singing out and this one has him freeze. It can't be who he thinks it is… Did she really die? She can't have died before they had gotten home. He had promised to bring Odysseus back to her safely and if she died that means he failed.

Waiting

Odysseus, when you come home I'll be waiting

Even if you're the last thing I see, I'll be waiting 

I'm right here, mom

Waiting 

Can't you see? I'm

Waiting

We took too long… why did he have to open that damn bag? If he had just trusted in Odysseus then they would have made it home by now. They might have made it in time to see her in her final moments.

Bye, Mom…

The spirit fades away leaving them even more shattered than before. Once again grief and guilt rip at him at how broken his brother sounded as he watches Odysseus stares straight ahead, his mouth set firmly in a line with teary eyes. He is obviously trying to hold back his grief just like Eurylochus. He decides to try and comfort him later once they are safe and alone.

Odysseus orders everyone to stay on the ship as he heads off alone to talk with the prophet. Eurylochus can only nod and watch him walk away concerned for his friend. He can only hope he won't end up breaking. Prophecies are not something to mess around with and rarely ever end well so they can only pray Odysseus comes back with good news. who is he kidding the gods have long since abandoned them.

As he waits with the crew his mind starts to wonder to his beloved wife, Ctimene. He wants to see her so badly but it seems it will take even longer to get home to her. Is she safe and alive? He hopes so, the fact he didn't see her soul is reassuring at least. Once he finally gets back he will do everything he has missed out on while away.

Eurylochus is jolted out of his thoughts as Odysseus barks orders to set off and he can't help but notice how off he is. Even after all that had happened his friend had a spark of mischief in his eyes no matter how dull it had become. Now though that spark is gone leaving only steely determination. His movements are rigid and his aura cold as he barks orders. 

It scares Eurylochus at how detached and distant his brother seems almost like- he stops that trail of thought immediately, he refuses to doubt his captain anymore. If Odysseus thinks this new attitude is what will get them home then he will trust that judgement.

After all Odysseus has shown he will do anything he can to get them all home alive.

[genmui-to-infinity]

[GenMui week day 5: After the war]

Dear Nemi,

How are you? I hope that wherever you are right now, you are the happiest you could ever be. I'm sorry that we didn't have more time to spend together but I'm glad that even life was cruel, it gave us one last chance to be together before death took me.

But I won't talk about that today. Nemi, I have news for you.

Uhm, guess what, I got married today. Surprising, right? Hehe. What if I told you that I married the former Mist Hashira? Oh, I could totally hear you screaming bloody murder right now but it's true.

If somebody would tell me years ago that I will end up falling in love with the kid Hashira, and a boy at that, I would rather believe that the boar-masked weirdo is a genius. But I guess trivial things don't matter here anymore. Mui, I mean Muichiro, (that's what he wanted me to call him, okay?) had been there for me since day one. I thought that he would disappear forever but then fate threw him right back at me.

And then one day, he told me, "Genya, did you know that you could wish for anything here?" I wished that you and Mother were here with us Nemi, but Mui said, "In due time." and I guess he was right, so together, we wished for the next best thing, a home in a paradise we could call our own. A world we would also share with Mui's family. We thought of a big home, an abundance of trees and the sea and the sky.

It is beautiful and forever, Nemi.

Oh, you're curious how Mui and I fell in love with each other? *That is a story for another time.

But hmm, let's just say there were denials, tons of sibling teasing, an angry twin brother (shocking) and the realization that we were meant to be together. To become something more.

Life didn't give us the chance so death did.

Nemi, I am now married and Mui is right here in my arms as we watch the endless blue sea before us. Everyday he tells me how much he loves me and I make him the damn happiest ever. Children? We couldn't on our own but our siblings and his older twin brother are difficult enough for us to handle. Haha.

And from this moment on, everyday, I will wake up to my lovely husband, the golden sunrise will bathe his gentle sleeping face, the birds will sing us their morning songs and the trees will keep rustling in the wind to remind me of you. Then we, me, Mui my love, our siblings, Mui's family, would all run to the sea to greet the waves.

Dear Nemi, the memory of living in a rough neighborhood in a household filled with rage and abuse is long gone. As of speaking to you right now, we are all lazing together, laughing together. My rough, ugly scarred hand entwined with Mui's calloused battleworn one and he couldn't be more beautiful under the afternoon sun.

'I love you.' He says to me, I whisper it back to him.

Nemi, my dear brother, we are finally free.

"What do you mean, you want me there too, you jackass! And marrying Tokitou, really, Genya?!"

Few heads turn to the three men settled on a bench outside of a Dango shop. Rather, two men were busy grazing on snacks and one is peacefully dozing off on a separate bench beside them. Until an ear-splitting yell made everyone in the vicinity jump in surprise.

Giyuu Tomioka tries to shake the white-haired man awake and when he couldn't, Tengen Uzui opted to kick the poor wooden seat he was lying on. "Oi, Shinazugawa, are you sleep talking? Hahaha!"

Sanemi groans and slowly sits up, fingers rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. "More like a fucking nightmare. My brother got hitched to Tokitou." Uzui starts laughing hysterically and in confusion, bites his tea cup then attempts to drink his dango.

"Are you okay?" Giyuu asks in a low voice, only audible to Sanemi. Although he had formed a friendship with Giyuu and Uzui, it was only the former who knew about the dreams he had of Genya.

The dream he just had, were different from all others. Because somehow, it felt real. It felt as if it was Genya's soul talking to him.

Genya, living in some paradise with the people he love...Genya, living the life that Sanemi had dreamed for him, even if his partner was Tokitou, even if his children were their siblings....

Relief rushes within him. A lump forms in his throat and his light purple eyes start glimmering against the high noon sun..

"Tomioka, come help me pay at the register, I don't know how to money.." Maybe they have underestimated Uzui's way of understanding things. He and Giyuu wordlessly get up.

The moment they were gone, tears start cascading down the former Hashira's scarred face. Sanemi savors the feeling.

And only heard by the Wind, he joyfully sobs, "Congratulations, you morons."

[yesthisismycurrenthyperfixation]

Lo'ak leaves Spider scarred: Part 2

Part 1

WARNING! Suicidal thoughts/intentions at the end. If this is triggering to you, please do not read. If you are experiencing suicidal thoughts please, please, please get help.

“SPIDER!” Kiri screamed in horror as she watched the boy fall like a branch that broke off a tree. Had she taken a second to look she would have noticed the look of betrayal and anger still written on her brother’s face. “Lo'ak, help me get him back to his shack.” She cried, but Lo'ak didn’t move. Looking up at her little brother, Kiri tried again. “Please Lo'ak, help me.”

Lo'ak looked down at the unconscious boy, blood pouring down the side of his face. He then looked at Kiri's tear-streaked face. “I'm sorry Kiri.” He whispered before turning and walking away.

“Lo'ak? LO'AK!” She screamed. Her brother didn’t reply and didn’t look back. Struggling to lift Spider into her arms, Kiri half carried and half dragged him as fast as she could.

Stumbling into the village, Kiri saw her father. “DAD!” She screamed. “DAD HELP!”

Jake turned to look at his daughter and his eyes went wide, taking in the sight of her carrying Spider. Blood coating both of them.

“What happened?”

“Mask broke, please” Kiri gasped as Jake scooped the human boy from her arms. Not waiting for Kiri to explain further he sprinted to the boy's shack, praying it wasn’t too late.

Spider was not having a good day. Even after five years of having sight in only one eye, his depth perception was still off. It started that morning with him reaching out to grab his toothbrush and instead slamming his hand into the counter, bruising it.

By the time Spider had made it out to collect samples he was ready to call it quits with the whole day. Just to realize he had forgotten the damn specimen jars. Tears of frustration blurred Spider's vision as he returned to High Camp and the science shack. He had gotten his emotions under control by the time he made it back so no one would worry about him… more than usual.

Opening the inner airlock door Spider was surprised to hear Norm. “You’re back early” he said sounding slightly strained.

Spider removed his mask. The rubber of the seal pressed on his scars causing them to ache, yet another way his life had been forever changed. He couldn’t wear a mask for more than a few hours at a time without the damaged nerves in his face making themselves known. It was agony. “Forgot the specimen jars, how dumb is that?”

“Spider?” A shaky voice asked. That voice featured in Spider’s nightmares, it yelled at him when he was struggling to keep going. It was the last voice Spider wanted to hear.

Drawing his shoulders up to his ears and lowering his head so his hair would hide the fright in his eyes, Spider willed his heartrate to slow as he struggled to control his breathing. The last thing he wanted was the owner of that voice to watch him have a panic attack. He didn’t want Lo'ak to see how much effect he had even all these years later.

“Spider, bro? Is that you?” Lo'ak sounded hopeful, happy. Like he hadn’t destroyed Spider's life in the blink of an eye.

Anger coursed through Spider's body. How dare Lo'ak act like nothing had happened. “Don’t call me that.” He said, still struggling to breathe and causing the words to sound like a whisper. Spider wanted to kick himself for sounding so weak.

“Call you what?” The Na'vi sounded confused, though Spider couldn’t understand what he would be confused about.

“Bro. Don’t call me that.” His voice sounded stronger this time, much to Spider's relief.

“Why not? You’re my brother.”

Spider was floored by the audacity of this statement. How dare Lo'ak say that! How dare he believe they could ever be like they were as kids!

Spider's anger boiled over and he spun on the other young adult, not caring that Lo'ak would be able to see how much damage had been done. Not caring about the look of horror that crossed the Na'vi's face as he took in the true extent of the damage.

“We haven't been brothers in a long time, in fact we never were.” Spider spat, his voice like venom as he stared the others straight in the eye. Five years worth of pain, five years worth of hating himself and the person he saw in the mirror everyday exploded out of Spider. He wanted Lo'ak to suffer. The feeling was new to the human and it frightened him a little. “I can’t tell if your proud of your handy work or disappointed I survived.” He said before he could stop the words.

Spider bit his tongue, turning to Norm before he said anything else he would regret. “Radio me when he is gone and I’ll come back.” Reaching out to grab his mask, Spider misjudged the distance and smacked his hand into the table top. The pain from his already injured fingers didn’t stop him from putting his mask back on and storming out.

Spider didn’t know where he was going, he just knew he had to get away. Miscalculating yet again, Spider whacked his shin against a box. Causing him to trip and fall, barely getting his hands up in time to catch himself from face-planting into the dirt.

Tears burned as they filled his eyes as sobs tore through him. He couldn’t do it anymore. Everything hurt, everything was a struggle. All of his friends abandoned him or, in Lo’ak’s case, tried to kill him. Despite the best hopes of Norm, Max and the other scientists, the nerve damage was permanent. What did he have to live for? Why did he keep trying?

Reaching up Spider removed his ear piece before hitting the talk button on his radio. He knew all radio signals were recorded so even if no one heard him now, they would hear what he said later.

“Norm, Max… thanks for always taking care of me, worrying about me, putting up with me and everything else. You wont have to deal with me anymore but I still wanted you to know I appreciated it. I also want you to know that I’m sorry… well… I have to go now, so goodbye.”

Removing the microphone from around his neck Spider could hear yelling come through the ear piece on the floor. He couldn’t understand what was being said, not that it would have mattered if he could.

Mind made up; a calmness overcame the human. It would be over soon and that’s all that mattered, maybe he would be lucky enough to join Eywa's embrace, though that was doubtful. Eywa didn’t take Demons into her rest, and if there was one thing he knew and had known since he was a child… It was that he was a demon.

Part 3 now available!

[edosianorchids901]

Ere the Sun Rises

Ace Omens Hugfest prompt - "a morning hug"

When Crowley snapped awake for the fifth time, gasping and drenched in sweat, he immediately rolled over and grabbed his mobile. He flipped it up, then mashed the home button when the screen decided not to light up.

1:10 am.

“Crowley?” A hand landed on his arm, and he yelped. “Easy, easy. It’s only me. It’s Aziraphale.”

“Hi.” Shivering, Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself, and then flopped back to the pillow with his mobile still clutched in one hand. “So. How about that morning, eh?”

“Morning?” The soft sound of a closing book, and Aziraphale moved closer. He slid his hand under Crowley’s, lifting it, and kissed his knuckles. “Is it already? It’s so dark out.”

Crowley held up his mobile without comment. This time, the screen decided to light up.

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. “Um. I don’t think that technically counts as morning, Crowley.”

“It’s after midnight. That makes it morning, by my book.” Hissing, Crowley flung his mobile back to the bedside table and rubbed his eyes. They were crusted with dried tears. “I’ve had it. I’m done. No more sleep for me, at least for now.”

Slowly, Aziraphale laid down beside him and fussed with the blankets. “You do seem to be having an awful lot of nightmares.”

“Could say that.” A few more tears rose, and Crowley quickly rubbed his eyes. He might not remember crying, but he’d apparently already done plenty of it. “It’s nothing huge. Just, y’know. Humans coming after us, demons coming after us, Archangels coming after us, that sort of thing.”

Mostly, though, it was the thing he never talked about if he could help it. All of today’s nightmares involved humans and demons and angels coming after them, and destroying Aziraphale. And then Crowley running around, screaming for his angel, unable to find him.

Aziraphale gave him a worried look, and Crowley quickly looked away. “Um. That sounds rather ‘huge’, in truth, even though I know it’s not exactly abnormal for you.”

That was an understatement. He still had nightmares almost every time he slept, although they were usually loads less horrible than this. Usually, they were just mildly disruptive of his sleep instead of shattering it.

“It’s not terrific,” Crowley finally admitted. “And I’m definitely not going back to sleep. So. What grand adventures shall we have today?”

He tried to say it sarcastically, but his voice cracked. And there were those damn tears again, threatening to break free.

Aziraphale gave a little sympathetic pout. “I think we ought to start with the grand adventure of having a lovely hug. Is that okay?”

“Gosh, yes.” Managing a faint smile, Crowley curled towards him. “S’ always a good way to start the morning.”

This time, Aziraphale didn’t challenge him about the definition of morning. He curled a hand around the back of Crowley’s neck and drew him closer, cradling him to a warm, reassuring chest. “There, now. Everything’s okay.”

Everything very much did not feel okay, even here, but Crowley found himself breathing a little easier. He closed his eyes again, sinking into Aziraphale’s warmth, into the endless field of love that hummed through the cottage at all times. Sometimes, he thought he could stay right here forever.

At the moment, he was tempted to try to stay right here forever. Normally, he didn’t like to be held for too long, feeling trapped. It was different after nightmares. He didn’t pull away, even when Aziraphale’s arms loosened and a kiss brushed to his head.

“My dear?” Aziraphale murmured after a few minutes of him not making a break for it. “Are you okay? Did you fall back asleep?”

“Nuh, not back asleep. Just… comfortable.” Which was a novel feeling, after the panic of thinking he’d lost his angel again. “I love you so damn much. You know that?”

“I do know that.” With a soft hum, Aziraphale nuzzled into his hair. “And I love you dearly, as well. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Nnnnh.” Even now, after all these years, Crowley hated asking for help. “Maybe… can we just stay here a while longer? I know it’s morning, but the sun’s not up yet. Won’t be up for a while, so I can’t go out to garden or anything.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “You can see in the dark.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think the plants would appreciate being woken up this early. And it’s cold.”

With another chuckle, Aziraphale slid one hand down and rubbed Crowley’s back in slow, careful circles. Then, with the same care, he pulled the blanket back up. “It is indeed a touch nippy. Therefore, I think it would be perfectly acceptable to stay right here until sunrise.”

“Mm.” Crowley wasn’t quite sure if he was that patient. That was hours away, and he wasn’t very good at remaining still for hours. But even a shorter time in Aziraphale’s arms would soothe him and chase away the lingering chill of his dreams. “Definitely a grand morning adventure.”

[slytherinlizzy]

Unforgettable night – an unfortunate visit to bar Aurora

Summary: Paying a visit to Aurora, since Jake has given no signs for months, and suddenly free alcohol doesn't sound that bad after all

Characters: Lyra Ambrose (my Mc from The afterfire), Phil Hakwins, Jessy Hawkins

Warning: use of alcohol, sexual related content, vivid description of intoxicated state

___________________________________________

"It's only a two hours car ride." Lyra paced the living room as she nervously tried to convince herself. She won't deny, the thought of a persuasive PowerPoint slideshow have crossed her mind, but that might have been a bit too sick, even from her. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair and stared out into the late afternoon sun that completely covered the street.

"Let's think rationally. What reason do I have to go there?"

What reason does she have? Jake hasn't given a sign of himself in months, not even that he's alive. She was aware of what had happened that night in the mine; the news was full of it, just as the German government itself was puzzled by the incident. The thought, the guilt that she should have been the one to be there didn't let her rest. Richy wanted her to come. All these thoughts embedded themselves in her everyday life, even at night, and dreams suddenly turned into nightmares full of terror.

She couldn't take it anymore, no matter how much she convinced herself, or even Jessy, she started to give in under the weight. The redhead was the only one who knew about it; she shut herself away from the others, refused to hear anything about them. Everything took a toll on Jessy at least as much, and on top of that, even keeping a secret fell on her shoulders. This also made Lyra feel terrible. She would have preferred to escape from the world.

And what was she about to do? Go to the very place all her problems originate from.

"This will be just one night..." she picked up the car keys from the dresser and put them back. "I can't hide here forever, waiting to wither away."

But you know well you deserve it. The evil little voice in her head spoke. This voice had guided the longest six months of her life so far, and before she could surrender to it again, she grabbed her jacket and bag, shoving the key in hee back pocket. She calmed herself down the whole way with the thought that nothing would go wrong, and suddenly the promise of free alcohol didn't sound that bad after all.

* * * * *

The woman pulled into the parking lot next to the building in total darkness. Even from the road, the illuminated sign was clearly visible; the Aurora welcomed those who wanted to have fun with open arms tonight. Carefully pulling on the worn-out jacket, she started towards the entrance wearing the blouse she had just put on for the first, and most certainly for the last time in her life.

Uncomfortable and too cut out, she thought. She sneaked through the door and immediately stopped, all she could manage to say was: "Damn thing this is."

The music was louder than it should have been for the ears, she could almost feel the blood rushing in hee eardrums. At some places, the lights were as blinding as on the sign outside, the inhalation of the smell of alcohol and people was unavoidable. This wasn't a nice little bar where you sit at the end of the day, Lyra realized, but a party place. Why though, hardly any young people live here!

She ventured inside, since she can't stand leaning against the door. She fought her way through the people – not many, but there were noticeably enough to block her way – and reached the bar, where a man was wiping the glasses deep in thought. Lyra plopped down on a chair and waited patiently for him to notice. As she did so, she scanned the tattooed black haired from head to toe. All his movements were measured and determined as he placed the whiskey glasses one by one. He looked quite like a bartender, she came to the conclusion.

"What can I give you?" He asked without looking at her. Lyra watched from the side as his Adam's apple bounced up and down his tattooed neck. It's pretty scary that someone can stand someone drawing it full on there. The guy must be a sociopath.

"Something pretty strong and a lot."

At that, he suddenly turned his head to the woman who was resting her elbow on the counter. He, too, studied her, brows narrowed in thought. Or maybe he was surprised? Did he find her question unclear?

"Lyra, am I wrong?"

"Nince meeting you in person, Phil." She held out her hand for him to shake.

"Surprising you found your way here after all these months."

Lyra watched as he set to make her drink, trying to answer with a good composure. "I remembered your invitation. Would've been rude to forget about it." The silence was long, so before it got awkward, she quickly asked, "Have you talked to Jessy?"

"I should've?"

She stared back at him in disbelief. "She's sister! She's in a terrible state because of the loss of a friend, you emotionally cold prick! Of course–"

"Quiet," he hushed, nervously running his eyes over the crowd. Even if they wanted to, they wouldn't have heard anything. If it wasn't for the music, then because of the alcohol. "And don't call me a prick."

The woman forced herself to calm down. "I'll call you whatever the fuck I want since I take better care of her than her own brother."

Phil shrugged and reached for another bottle, but Lyra didn't even have time to finish the first glass. "What are you doing?"

"Drink." He pointed at the ingredients. "This is my job."

"I didn't ask for a new one."

"You're my guest, drink as much as I make. Drink as much of them as you can, of course."

As if this were a challenge, Lyra took the half-finished cocktail from him and drank it up with two sips. Phil watched in amusement how that woman whom he just met in person – a rather pretty one, he had to admit – was so easily offended.

"Better give me a shot. Or two. This," she pointed to the now empty elegant glass, "was nothing."

And it went on like this for long hours. Phil didn't talk to anyone all night except the increasingly talkative woman who was drinking alcohol like others eat sugar. As the numbness began to take control over her body and soul, she began to feel better and better, and she didn't understand why she hadn't done this before. It seemed much easier to forget about Jake and the problems, even the fact that she was very much in Duskwood, from where she would have to drive home.

All she could see was Phil and the liquids floating in the lights, more and more of which she was putting into herself than it was in the bottles. The glasses just piled up in front of her, Phil after a while watching her in concern, which easily faded as he listened to her words.

"Tell me," she tried to swallow, but her dry throat didn't let her, "is this place always like this?"

The man laughed and looked at the woman and the dancers behind her. "No, not at all. As a matter of fact, you're in luck today, because I don't often organize such fast-paced evenings. But I did it by popular demand, you actually just wandered into a guy's birthday party."

The realization crept into her brain so slowly it was ridiculous. She lowered her head to the counter in shame, muttering a line in annoyance until two warm hands lifted it up.

"Get your pretty head up from there ."

"I'm sorry, I–"

"There's nothing to be sorry about, I was already bored to death here. They aren't very talkative with the bartender. But you," he poked a finger at her forehead, Lyra going cross-eyed to see what's there that he needed to point it out, "you came and saved me, love."

"I'm not love," she grimaced, watching the fingers move away.

"Well, we can easily help with that."

She hummed and nodded, as if she understood anything from Phil's complicated words. She reached for another shot, the sips traveling down her throat more and more slowly. What time was it? She needs to go home.

"I'm now... going home now– okay?"

"You're not going yet, Lyra, stay a while."

"I'm not going? Now... why wouldn't I go?" She looked at the grinning man in confusion.

"Because I don't want you to yet."

The bartender again turned the woman's gaze towards him, which had been wandering towards the exit. He was out of the counter in a few long steps, plopped down on a chair next to Lyra, taking a sip of a drink. Lyra looked at him with interest, since he shouldn't be there now, he was standing somewhere else before. She found another glass in her hand, this time for unknown reasons. Without thinking, she chugged it, an unpleasant feeling running down the back of her neck, burning into her lungs. Then another one. She could barely swallow the honey-colored liquid, a new one was already there, like some kind of miraculous magic, recharging itself.

"Maybe I should some water–"

"Shush, we don't give that here."

Oh. So no water, okay. Okay. Okay?

She felt fingers on her own, but they were definitely not hers. One, two...six, nine, that's twelve, she counted the body parts to herself, the rising warmth that made the hair stand up even where it didn't touch. Eagerly, ever higher.

Phil stroked the flushed face, the touch seeming both soft and hungry, far from tender... Lyra stared down at the remaining brownish drink in her hands, debating whether to drink it, when she heard a deep voice so close to her it felt like it's coming from her very own body.

"You're such a lovely young lady, such a waste you come from so far away. We can't let you drive tonight, can we?"

"No..." she mumbled, because honestly, even that one word seemed hard to articulate properly. Intoxicated not just by the alcohol, but that something dusgustingly creeping through her body. She focused so hard on trying figure it out that she didn't even notice the screeching of her own chair. Something wrapped around her legs that hold her close, a feeling of warmness and strong, strong grip, and suddenly she had four legs. How the hell did she just get four of them? Where did they come from?

The fingers continued to map the skin incessantly, burrowing into the freshly washed hair at the base of her neck.

"Olive, am I right?" The voice hummed in her ear. Olive? That's not delicious.

Something sticky and moving traced itself along her jaw, and that was the last straw the drunk woman could take. The new legs around her were acceptable, but this new thing – a bug, fingers, lips? – on her face was too much. The chair creaked loudly on the floor and she nervously began to search for a way out through the heaving crowd. An arm grabbed hers, spun her around a few times, then let her go again, finding a better dance partner. Lyra, on the brink of an impending panic attack, stumbled on until she felt something solid and cool under her fingers. She pressed the doorknob hard, and she stumbled out of the bar, all tipsy and halfway unconscious.

She took a look at the parking lot, scanning the cars shrouded in darkness with the brown eyes, desperately searching for a grey one. She found it, then another, and then one more.

Okay, then we're not going by car.

In the cool night, where not even the Moon nor the stars decided to come for her help, Lyra ran and ran until her lungs collapsed inside her chest, heart pounding louder than the shoes against the gravel, and her legs felt like they might give out at any moment.

As if this was the way her body wanted to cleanse itself of the unpleasant alcohol, she felt tears on her burning cheeks, but she continued to jog. To where, she didn't know, but far away from there, to a place where there is no excess of people and alcohol, no intrusive touches, and no Phil Hawkins.

Even the rain poured down, pelting the ground with all its might. Maybe it also wanted to cleanse itself of some terrible, disgusting feeling? Or is this how it punishes those who cannot protect themselves from this?

"What did I do to deserve this?!" She shouted, staring up at the sky, her words lost in the night. She just stood and cried in the middle of the road, not a soul in sight to hear her obvious suffer from the pain she didn't ask for. She has no car, no dignity, Jake left her just like that, Richy ruined lives, she's a horrible person, and she's too drunk to walk to the side of the road to avoid being hit by a speeding driver.

Sobbing, she took out her phone and called the first person on the list.

"Hello? Lyra– why are you crying?"

She took a deep breath as she explained everything to Jessy. She drove to Duskwood because she's totally nuts, and there's no denying that. Also went to the Aurora, where she found herself uninvited at a guy's birthday party, and that made her feel even worse. She drank, talked, and her brother is a total jerk for whom she can't find a better adjective at the moment. It's too dark and raining and her whole life is crap.

"And I've got this bloody blouse on, and those extra two legs! Jessy, I don't want it on me!"

"Lyra, listen here," she tried to get the brunette's attention, feeling that this was not the right moment to discuss why she thinks she has four legs. "Look around and tell me what do you see, okay? A house, sign, bench, flowers, a car, do you see anything?"

Lyra sniffed and looked, but she couldn't make out much in the cloudy night. "Well, there's a nice house here, oh how I'd like to live in one like thaz! There are more next to it, and two black cars on the right side... I'll go see what else there is."

"No! Don't move from there, Lyra, do you hear me? Stay put. I'll be right there to get you, understand?"

Feet rooted to the ground, she was standing on the road, just blinking in the rain. It was pouring without wanting to stop.

"There's also a nice looking rose bush," she said suddenly. "Oh, there's more! Dark flowers, Jessy, they look like black flowers! Can you imagine such?"

For long moments, there was only shuffling on the other end of the line. Lyra checked several times to see if the line was broken, but she didn't understand much of the words, and the flickering screen was quite painful to look at.

"Wait, I see you! You're in front of my house!

And really. A woman stood in the window, waving at her. The movement seemed too fast for Lyra, dizzyingly fast. The figure suddenly disappeared and a warm light flooded from the front door, a woman in pajamas clutching an umbrella rushing towards her. Muttering desperate words, she ushered her in, and in no more than a few moments she was standing in a hallway dripping wet, as the tousled redhead rushed around her.

"You're drunk! What happened, Lyra?"

She didn't get an answer, but she didn't expect one either. Jessy dried her off and changed her into more comfortable clothes. While she spread the soaked clothes on the chairs, she pressed a glass of water into her hand, telling her to drink it until she returned. Lyra felt like a small child again, fearing the wrath of her strict mother and doing everything she was told.

Jessy soon returned and took the glasd from her with a satisfied nod and they sat down – Lyra collapsed – on the couch. The redhead wanted nothing more than to have her tell everything that happened to her, but given the her condition, she just pulled Lyra close and held her.

"I thought," she whispered by herself into her neck, "if I came here, maybe it would be better. But it didn't get better. I went into the bar, you know."

Jessy hummed in understanding, but she didn't stop, the words just kept rolling off her tongue.

"I drank one glass, then two, after the third I don't remember how much more, but I didn't even count. It was really bad, but for some reason I was still sipping the alcohol. Then... your brother... You know exactly what he's like..."

"I know," she placed a small kiss on the top of her head. "It's okay now."

"I'm constantly afraid and nervous," she looked up into the pair of brown eyes with her own tearful ones and she saw in them all the sadness in the world, including what Lyra hadn't said yet. "I miss him. I want Jake here, just this one thing. I want to know… I want to know everything so I can die peacefully."

"Oh Lyra," she held her close, which was almost impossible, since there was not an inch between them. "Don't be dramatic, you dolt."

"I'm going to die someday anyway."

"Yes, but not now. By then, Jake will reach out and the two of you will have reconciled nicely, all the truth will be revealed and there will be no more secrets."

"Do you seriously think so?" She looked up hopefully at the smiling face. She smiles so reassuringly…

"The most seriously."

And Jessy was often right. Not always, but when Lyra felt she was right, it usually was the case. And now she felt it. Two can't be wrong, can they?

That night, she ended up falling asleep in Jessy's arms. For the first time in seven months she felt safe, so she spent the next seven one there; most of the time with quiet nights, next to Jessy, in secret, knowing nothing about Jake.