#i say through gritted teeth at my reflection while i grip the sink white knuckled

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

doctor who is about loss

[omniswords]

Seeing Scarlet [Lila Rossi; Marinette Dupain-Cheng]

Adrien is with Kagami. Gabriel has a new agenda. Marinette's back in school, and everyone adores her.

And Lila? Well.

Lila is just about ready to snap.

Mentions of end-of-S3 events, but not too spoilery. Vent piece. Also, please let me know if I should tag this as Lila salt? I’m not 100% sure, but I’ll defer to other people’s judgment, and if it has the potential to be hurtful, then I can certainly go back and fix that up.

Gabriel Agreste doesn’t need Lila anymore.

He told her so yesterday afternoon, the way he always speaks—spoke—to her: at the Place des Vosges, from the comfort of his car, while she listened in from a nearby bench. She didn’t turn to look at him, no matter how much being supposedly relieved of her duties meant she could break every bit of their agreement as much as she wanted. All she said was, “I don’t follow. I thought you only wanted good influences around Adrien. He even said we’re friends. Isn’t that what— “

“What we agreed on, Miss Rossi”—he cut her off rather coldly then—“was that you would do your utmost to keep certain bad influences away from my son. To date, I have failed to see you do so.”

She stayed quiet, but only for a spell. She liked to think she was above begging for chances. No need, when she had every tool in her pocket that turned those chances over to her so willingly. “So you think I’m a bad influence, too,” she said. Final. Sour. It always worked.

“I have my own agenda,” he said. “I’ll let you see to yours.”

Lila had no idea what that was supposed to mean—and she prided herself on knowing what adults meant most of the time. But before she could ask, Gabriel Agreste had already rolled up the window and driven away.

She could have screamed, but really, that was the other thing she was proud of: quietly biding her time to exact the worst revenge. That always worked, too. Besides, adults had taught her how to play the manipulating game. Some of them had even lost to her. He would just be another one. Eventually.

It was supposed to be that easy, anyway. Except she spent the whole train ride home stunned with a silent and otherwise indescribable rage. Except she woke up the next morning to nothing but an apple on the table and a sticky note on the fridge, again. Except she took herself to school and got an eyeful of Chloé goddamn Bourgeois gloating about something or other, and another eyeful of Adrien and that fencing girl holding hands of all things, before she’d even made it to the front steps. And then, as if the universe had decided she just hadn’t had enough to ruin her life, there was Marinette talking to that blue-haired boy again, the one who always carried his guitar around like some stupid security blanket. And they were smiling, and he had his hand on her shoulder, and what right did any of them have, getting to be so happy?

Lila composed herself just in time for Guitar Boy to salute and pedal away on that cheap bike of his, and she pushed into the school building before she had to endure any more of that nauseating expression Marinette had on her face. Anything to get away from her stupid friends, and her stupid smile, and her stupid happiness. Anything to get away from her.

She found herself in the empty, echoing silence of the restroom just down the hall from her class before the bell rang. Found herself staring down every hard line in her face, the grit in her teeth so firm they might break, knuckles white from gripping the edges of the sink. The hate in her eyes. The hate everywhere.

Don’t break, she told her reflection in the daggers she glared at it. Don’t you dare break.

Her teeth didn’t break, but she did, in spite of herself. Her cheeks flared, and her jaw stayed tight, and her heart twisted on itself so many times that it was almost unbearable. she hated it, hated them, hated her, right from the first angry, poisonous tear. And the next, and all the ones that came after that.

Her name was Lila Rossi, and she was not supposed to drown. She would stare herself down to death if she had to. And if she took anyone down with her, well. That would only be for the better. If she had to hurt, then so did everyone else.

She was so focused on crushing the growing weight in her chest that she almost didn’t notice the creak and swing of the restroom door. Half-wildly, she jerked her head toward the door with no time or chance to compose herself, nearly ready to scream because no one would believe it if it got around the school—she would make sure they didn’t believe it.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t done with her just yet. Because of course it was Marinette standing there, her expression caught somewhere between sour and exhausted and... concerned. Not even a hint of glee at the corners of her eyes. It made Lila sick all over again.

“Miss Bustier’s taking attendance,” Marinette said simply, her words echoing hollow off the tile. “She’s looking for you.”

Lila steeled herself, turned back to the mirror. The angry wrinkles in her mouth. The hair in her eyes. “Get. Away. From me.”

“For the most part, I’d love to, trust me.” Out of the corner of her eye, Marinette folded her arms, hip cocked. “But I can’t. It’s kind of my responsibility. Class representative?” A pause. A sigh. “Look, do you need me to—”

“Do you want to know what your problem is, Marinette?” God, Lila even hated saying her name. Tasted like sour milk. Like plaque. It took everything in her to tear away from the sink and stare her down. Maybe if she did it long enough, Marinette would finally screw off.

But Marinette stood unfazed; even the quirk in her brow barely budged. “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

The air went cold, and Lila counted the steps she took toward the other girl. She wouldn’t dare get so close that the tear streaks would be obvious, but her limbs locked with every threatening click of her shoes. “Everyone just fucking adores you. All you have to do is walk in a room—you don’t even have to lift a goddamn finger—and eeeeeveryone wants to be around you. I bet you don’t ever have to think about it. You just get to be so popular, and so loved. You just get to be a goddamn blessing to everyone, don’t you?”

Her voice was rising even though it didn’t need to, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care. She was beyond it. She’d scream if she could get away with it. Somehow, backing her into a corner was starting to be enough. “And I bet you don’t even care, do you, Marinette? You don’t even care how much everybody loves you, because you’re just basking in it. You probably don’t even hear it. But I do. I hear it all the time, because it’s like no one can stop talking about how great you are for two seconds. Don’t you get how sick you make me? Don’t you get how much I can’t fucking stand you?!”

Take it, she wants to scream. Take every last goddamn word, because if I have to deal with it, then so do you. Because if I have to destroy myself, then I’m taking you with me. Because if I can’t have control, then neither can you. Because if I can’t be happy, then neither can you. You don’t have the right. You did this to me. You did this to me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, do you hear me? You did this, you did this, you—

Marinette was tense, standing in the corner with her arms still folded. Lila would take even that as a victory. But her eyes were searching her face, looking for all the unsaid things, and if she found any of them, she made no sign of it. Eventually, all she said was, “Are you finished?”

At first, Lila was too stunned to do anything but look at her incredulously. “Excuse me?”

Marinette shrugged; it was just barely visible. “Did you get it all out?” she said none too sweetly. “Do you feel better now, taking that all out on me?”

Of course she didn’t. She wouldn’t feel better until she never had to see Marinette’s sorry face again. That, or until she finally crushed her under her heel. She didn’t say anything. She only glared.

“Because if you’re not,” Marinette went on, “I’ll just tell Miss Bustier you’ve got some weird, totally-not-contagious stomach bug or whatever, and you had to leave school early. That’s right up your alley, isn’t it?”

Lila still said nothing. There was nothing to say. There was no reason for Marinette to do something like that for her. If anything, it only made her more furious. “Didn’t I tell you to get away from me?” she spat.

“You approached me,” Marinette said. “And you’re mad that I’m right.”

“You’re a liar too.” It was the first thing Lila could think of, and maybe it would hurt enough to make Marinette go away for good. “You tell her that, and you’ll be just as bad as I am. Don’t you hate liars, Marinette? Do you hate yourself now?”

The only little victory was that Marinette actually paused for a moment. And that her arms loosened, and she seemed to go… disgustingly soft around the edges. “No,” she said. It didn’t matter how quiet it was; it still rang through the bathroom and scurried into the stalls, hauntingly matter-of-fact. “I don’t hate myself. And I don’t lie because I want people to like me.”

“Of course not.” Lila narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to.”

“Neither do you,” Marinette said. “No one does. And for what it’s worth to you, not everybody loves me.”

“Good.” Lila said it without thinking, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Why should she? “It’s about time someone didn’t.”

Marinette winced, either because she was hurt or because she was holding back what she really wanted to say, and Lila loved every nanosecond of it. But otherwise, she kept her composure, and turned on her heel. “I’ll just go tell her—”

And then she paused, and Lila saw exactly why.

A butterfly.

Hawk Moth’s butterfly. Phasing through the bathroom door, all royal black and purple, and fluttering towards her.

Perfect. She’d show him. She’d show all of them how much they needed her—

“Get down!” Marinette yelled, and Lila saw and heard her tackling her to the bathroom floor before she actually felt the impact. When she sat up, Marinette was already standing up, arms spread out, firm from head to toe. Shielding her.

Lila scrambled to her feet. “What is your problem?” she nearly screeched, reaching out for the butterfly.

Marinette swatted her hand away before she could touch it. “Don’t.”

“What do you care?”

For a moment, the butterfly hesitated, and Marinette turned back to look at her. “I’m not gonna let you use your feelings to hurt other people,” she said. “And I’m not gonna let you use your feelings to hurt yourself.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Oh, forget it—” But she’d barely taken a step before Marinette shoved her back again—surprisingly, she was stronger than she looked—and she stumbled backwards, slamming into the wall with nearly all the wind knocked out of her. Her head throbbed, and she stumbled to find her balance again, and Marinette was still standing there, still protecting her as though she could actually do anything about it. 

“What? She gripped the edge of the sink, didn’t bother to look at her reflection again. “You think you’re Ladybug now or something? What are you, her best friend? Don’t tell me you’re doing this because you pity me all of a sudden.”

“I don’t.” It was… almost exhilarating, hearing Marinette talk through her teeth like that. “I don’t pity you. Not for how you’ve strung people along, and not for how you’ve treated me. And I don’t have to be Ladybug to know what she values. But when Ladybug says that everyone deserves to be protected, she means you, too. I don’t care how much you hate her. I don’t care how much you hate me. But I’m not gonna just stand here and be okay with you making choices that hurt people.”

“People?” Lila sneered. “Or Adrien?”

Marinette didn’t give her an answer. Instead, she turned to face the butterfly again, stood stock still. Its wings were still fluttering, though slower now. She took a few deep breaths, mumbled something to herself. Numbers, it sounded like. Over and over, she said them, and eventually the butterfly balked and flew backwards, through the door, away again. 

She went lax, sighed in what sounded like relief, and turned toward Lila again. She looked… almost exhausted. “Your move, Lila,” she said. “I’m going back to class. As far as Miss Bustier is concerned, you went home sick.”

Finally, Lila spared herself a glance. Well. At least she looked the part. “Why?”

Marinette looked her up and down. Not a hint of judgment in her eyes. It was almost sickening. Almost. “Because you’re hurting,” she said, voice shaky as she made for the door. “And I was hurting once, too. And if someone being nice to me helped, then maybe someone being nice to you will help, too.”

The bathroom door swung open and shut behind her, and Lila was still left by the stalls, the echo of the words still taunting her. And when she was sure no one else was coming in or out again, she cried. With her back to the mirror and her fist pounding the edge of the sink, with every emotion and none she could actually name. She drowned. She’d go home, and that sticky note would still be on the kitchen counter. Adrien would still have that fencing girl, and Marinette would still be his friend, and have that guitar boy to boot. And Gabriel Agreste wouldn’t actually need her. Gabriel Agreste didn’t need her anymore.

By the time she wiped her eyes and walked out of the school building, she had already decided to prove him right.

And if Marinette Dupain-Cheng thought that some empty words and seventy seconds of shielding was going to do her any good, then she had another think coming.

[get-your-fics]

Suburbia - Part Three

Playing Games

Summary: You have the seemingly perfect life, with the perfect house and the perfect husband. But the illusion threatens to be unraveled when you start to have strange but familiar nightmares.

Pairing: Albert Wesker x reader

Series warnings: Smut, dub-con/non-con, breeding kink, sex pollen, blood, violence

PART TWO

You were running again.

The undead creatures were hot on your trail, hissing and snarling and growling like animals. The same one lunged at you again, but you easily evaded its attack and threw it backwards as if it was second nature for you. You sprinted towards the bright light in front of you, glowing like the light at the end of the tunnel. You kept your focus straight ahead, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You expected the dream to end as you drew closer, but it continued on. You stepped into the light, and the doors slid closed behind you with a mechanical whoosh, locking the monsters out on the other side. You doubled over with your hands on your knees, desperately trying to catch your breath. When you stood up, you saw that you were in a completely white hallway that seemed to stretch on and on forever in front of you.

Next thing you knew, men in white lab coats were on you in a second, poking and prodding at you with advanced technological devices. “Sir, subject 107 has completed the test.”

You heard the thud of solid boots and looked up as another man entered your field of vision. His broad shoulders and large, well-built frame intimidated you. He stood out in the white hallway clad in all black. A pair of dark sunglasses concealed his eyes, but besides that, his face was a blur. Whoever he was, he exuded an air of smug confidence and authority.

“By running away like a coward,” the man said. His voice was low and gruff.

“I’m done playing your game.” You barely recognized the voice as your own, bitter with a hardened edge to it. It felt like the words weren’t coming from you at all.

The man laughed, sending chills down your spine that made you visibly shiver. “You’re not done until I say you are.” He turned his back on you. “Take her back to her holding cell.”

Two of the lab coats grabbed onto each of your arms and started dragging you away. You grit your teeth and jerked against their hands on you. You shook one of them off, sending him flying into the wall. He hit it with a resounding bang, his neck breaking with an audible snap. You kicked the other one in the chest, knocking him back against the wall. He slid down it and crumpled into a lifeless heap.

Once freed, you barred your teeth and ran at the man in black. You jumped on his back and started scratching at him with all your might. He reached behind him without looking, and you felt a sharp prick in your neck as he stabbed you with a needle. Almost immediately, all the strength left your limbs. You slipped off his back and landed onto the floor.

Your vision grew fuzzier, and the world swirled around you in a blur of black and white. The last thing you saw was the man in black leaning over you. “We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I,” he whispered before everything faded to black.

-

You gasped as you sat up straight in bed. You clutched your chest as you hyperventilated. Your hand absentmindedly fluttered to your neck where you had been injected in the nightmare. You felt like you could still feel the sharp sting as the needle entered your flesh.

There was a shift in weight on the bed beside you, and the covers rustled as they were drawn back. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Your husband’s arms wrapped around you and pulled you back against his chest. When you still didn’t respond, he cupped your face in his hands and forced you to look at him. “Sweetie, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

You stared into his eyes. They were so full of caring and concern. “I... I had another nightmare,” you stuttered. “But this time, it was different.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“After running away from the creatures, I was in this hallway.” You took a pause to suck in a breath. “There were these scientists, and this man. I couldn’t see his face, but he was dressed in all black.” You felt tears well in your eyes as the nightmare came back to you in full detail. “I think they were experimenting on me.”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he spoke soothingly. He carded a hand through your hair and rocked you back and forth. “It was just a dream. It’s not real.”

“But it felt real.” You pushed away from him. “These aren’t nightmares. They’re real things that happened to me, I know it. I don’t know why I can’t remember, but I think talking to Alice and Rain yesterday unlocked something in my memory,” you urged. “I know how this sounds, but you have to believe me.”

“No, I don’t think you do know how this sounds,” Albert sneered at you. He stood up, towering over you. “Don’t you realize how crazy you’re acting? Undead monsters? Experimental tests?” he said incredulously. “You’re letting your imagination run rampant. They’re just dreams - nothing more, nothing less." He shook his head at you disapprovingly. "I don’t know who you are, but you’re not acting like the woman I married right now.”

You felt your heart sink in your chest. Hearing it all out loud did make you realize how absurd you sounded. “Albert, I’m sorry.”

“I have to get ready for work.” He turned his back on you and walked into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, shrouding you in darkness.

-

You listened to him clomp around behind you, from the bedroom to his office to the bedroom again as you painted your nails red in the bathroom. Finally, he stopped his clomping and appeared behind you in the mirror wearing a wide grin.

“I’m heading off to work now.” He placed a hand on your shoulder and kissed the top of your head. “Be a good girl for me while I’m gone, okay?”

You smiled back at him. “I always am.”

His smile only grew. “I know.” He gave your shoulder a gentle pat before leaving, briefcase in hand. The smile slipped from your face the second he was out of sight.

You finished painting your nails and heard the muffled rev of a car engine starting up. The garage door opened and closed, and the noise of the engine faded down the street. You capped the nail polish and gripped the edge of the sink until your knuckles turned white.

You stared at your reflection so hard you thought you would burn a hole through your mirror image. You let your gaze rake over your hair, your facial features, the flimsy nightgown covering your body, the flawless skin of your collarbone where there should be puncture wounds. You looked back up at your eyes. They seemed dark and void of light. Was there even anything behind them? Did you have a soul? Or was none of these real? Was this all some illusion, some fantasy you concocted for yourself that you only woke from when you were sleeping? You swore the mirror would shatter under the heavy weight of your contemplative gaze.

You pushed off of the sink. You had made up your mind. You wanted answers.

You walked out into the hall to the mystery door. Without hesitation, you jiggled the doorknob. It was still locked. Growing frustrated, you cried out and kicked at it. You stared in shock as the force of your kick broke the lock, and the door swung open on its hinges with ease. You leaned inside the dark room and felt along the wall for a light switch. You found it and flicked it on. You winced and blinked rapidly as your eyes adjusted to light flooding the room.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Something sinister, maybe. But definitely not whatever this was.

You stepped inside. The walls were painted a pale yellow, and the carpeted floor was plush under your bare feet. You walked over to the solid, white dresser with a mirror above it. You reached out for one of the many plushies lined atop it and squished its soft center. Continuing your perusal of the room, there was a hamper in the corner and a bookshelf stocked full of books. You picked one up and flipped through it. They were all children’s books. You put it back and moved on. On the other side of the room was a toy box and a rocking chair next to a crib, and a changing station...

It was a nursery.

You didn’t know how to react. There was nothing overtly nefarious about the room. It was rather normal, and yet there was something off and fake about it that sent chills down your spine. What was inside this room didn’t give you any answers. If anything, it only raised more questions.

You left the room and walked across the hall to the door of Albert’s office. You tried it, and it was locked. You kicked it like you did with the other one, and it caved in. You walked inside and switched on the light, the lamp by his desk flickering to life.

His office was ordinary. There was a long bookshelf along one wall, and a large, oak desk on the other side. You ran over to it and practically ransacked it. You pulled out the drawers and dumped them onto the ground. You sifted through the piles of papers on his desk top, searching for something, anything, that would give you some clue as to what was going on. But all you found were work reports, transcripts from meetings, bills, receipts, budgets, grocery lists. You looked through the files on his computer. Surprisingly, it didn’t require a password to access. It was more of the same, excel sheets and emails between employees.

You sat back in the middle of the room surrounded by the mess you had made. Maybe you really were losing it. You were so sure something larger was at play here, and yet all you had found was a nursery and an office. Albert had probably just finished renovating the former and planned to surprised you, which was why he had kept it behind closed doors - literally. You must have hallucinated cutting off your fingers. All this time inside wasn’t doing you any good. Maybe when Albert got back, you would ask him to take you on vacation somewhere, get away from the hum drum of day to day life. Or maybe he had the right idea, and a baby would eat up more of your free time.

You rose from the ground with a sigh and started putting everything back in its rightful place. You were finishing shuffling the papers on his desk when your hand accidentally knocked over a bronze statue of a doberman pincher. A rumbling came from behind you, and you turned around to see the bookcase split in the middle and slide apart to reveal a hidden part of the room.

You slowly stalked forward. When you stepped inside, the room illuminated with a garish and fluorescent glow. It looked to be some sort of lab, tubes filled with electric green and blue liquid lining the white walls. You padded across the cold, tiled floors to a desk. Above it were several televisions displaying surveillance footage from multiple places inside your house - the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, and even the nursery.

On the desk were various manila folders marked confidential in big, red letters. Each one had a red and white insignia with ‘Umbrella Corp’ printed underneath. You spotted one labeled ‘Subject 107’ and flipped it open. Your eyes scanned over the words in neat, black typewriting font:

”Subject 107, otherwise known as (Y/N) (Y/L/N), was successfully injected with the T-virus. Her cells bonded with the virus, granting her superhuman abilities such as advanced strength, speed, and regenerative healing. Unlike Project W, 107 does not require regulated doses of the anti-virus in order to keep her levels in check. Instead, her antibodies mutated of their own accord to balance out the amount of T-virus infecting her cells. It is not completely certain why this is, although test results show that her genetic DNA may be what makes her an ideal host for the T-virus.”

You reread the paragraph over and over before closing the folder. You picked up another one and searched through its contents. There was a calendar that looked normal enough, but upon closer inspection, appeared to be keeping track of your menstrual cycle. You moved to the next file; it was a list of every meal you ate throughout the day. You came across a stack of printed out reports that documented your time in the house. You skimmed through them, a sentence or a note catching your attention every now and then:

“Subject is responding well to the fertility treatment, however, still has not been able to conceive.”

“Subject has been describing reoccurring ‘nightmares’ that depict scenarios similar to tests she endured in the past. This could be a side effect of the memory erasure.”

And, the most recent, written and printed out mere hours ago:

“Subject’s nightmares have further developed. I believe this was caused by conversing with the Alice and Rain clones from yesterday. It seems her repressed memories are appearing in her dreams. If this continues and the subject becomes suspicious, we should consider enacting the contingency plan before the situation gets out of hand.”

You dropped the folder on the desk as if it had burned you. You turned your attention to the computer. Unfortunately, this one did need a password to access it. You tried several phrases you had read in the files, such as ‘subject107’ or ‘projectw’ or ‘umbrellacorp,’ but none of them worked. You chewed on your bottom lip in thought as you blinked at the bright screen. The keys clacked under your fingers as you typed in ‘(y/n)(y/l/n)’ and hit enter.

It took a second before the computer loaded to a plain, red background. There were several folders scattered all across the desktop containing what you were sure were varying levels of important information. But one folder in particular called ‘Project Eden’ caught your eye. You clicked on it, bringing up several video files. You scrolled through them and chose one titled ‘Trial 017.’

The window popped up. You made it full screen and pressed play. It looked like footage from a security camera high up in the corner of a room. It was all white, the only furniture in the room a bed with a metal frame bolted down to the floor. You squinted at the screen. You could barely make out a figure in the bed, and your eyes widened in shock when you realized the figure was in fact you.

You were wearing a hospital gown, and your wrists and ankles were strapped down to the bed. You hardly recognized yourself. Your hair was matted and mussed, dark circles hung under your eyes, and reddish-purple bruises decorated your skin. The door to the room swung open, and four men in lab coats followed by the man in black stormed into the room.

“Hold her down,” the man in black boomed. Your heart stopped beating when you took in his facial features for the first time. Even with his sunglasses on, you knew who it was.

It was Albert.

The men grabbed onto your arms and legs as you started to thrash. Albert produced a syringe full of a clear liquid and held it up threateningly, the sharp point of the needle glinting in the light. “Hold still. This will only hurt a little bit.”

You reared back and spat in his face. “Fuck you, Wesker!”

He didn’t even flinch. He merely lifted his gloved hand and wiped away your spit in one swipe. “Struggling will only make this more painful for you, (Y/N).” His voice sounded so unfamiliar, so unlike him. “We can either do this the easy way or the hard way.”

You sat up and bit into one of the men’s arm, ripping out a chunk of flesh with nothing but your teeth. He screamed and let go, clutching his wounded arm in horror as blood stained his white lab coat. You cried out in anguish as you broke free from your restraints. You leapt onto one of the men, snapping his neck with a twist of your hands. You released him, and his head hung limp at an unnatural angle.

Wesker sighed. “The hard way it is.”

He grabbed you by your collar and jerked you back against his chest. He snaked his arm around your waist as he injected you with the foreign substance. You grimaced and clawed at his grip on you helplessly. “Get out of here. Now,” he hissed at the men.

They instantly scurried away like rats towards the door, dragging the corpse of their colleague along with them. Once they were gone, he threw you on the ground and scrambled on top of you. “Get off of me!” you whined, but your defiance was weakening. “Get off...”

You tried to crawl away from him, but he pulled you back with ease. He flipped up your skirt, and you were disgusted to see that you were bare underneath the hospital gown. He unzipped his pants and took out his hardening cock. He held you in place as he gave himself a few strokes. He positioned himself at your entrance and pushed into you fully with one thrust.

You let out a high-pitched wail as he didn’t hold back, slamming into you at an inhuman pace. You fought back at first, but as time dragged on, you watched as your face contorted into an expression of pleasure. Your pained grunts morphed into moans, and you rocked your hips back against him desperately, beads of sweat dripping down your forehead.

Wesker chuckled darkly above you. “That’s right. Stop resisting and let go.” He wrapped his fingers around your neck. A strangled moan escaped your throat as he tightened his grip, your irises now mere rims around your blown out pupils. “I told you we would have fun together. We’re going to change the world.”

You hit pause on the video. You couldn’t handle seeing anymore. You inhaled a shaky breath. Memories came flooding back like a dam had broke in your brain, of you locked up in that room, no way of telling time, of scientists running experiments on you and treating you like a lab rat, of being subjected to tests with those horrid creatures, of Wesker torturing and abusing you relentlessly. You felt a drop hit your cheek, and you touched it with your finger. You hadn’t even comprehended the tears starting to leak from your eyes.

“So, you finally figured it out.”

You whirled around to see Wesker standing behind you. He looked exactly as he did in the video, as he had in your nightmare, dressed in all black leather with a pair of shades covering his eyes. You hadn’t even heard him pull into the garage or his usually heavy footsteps as he climbed the stairs.

“I have to say, I’m proud of you,” the corners of his lips curled into a sinister smirk, “but you just got yourself into a world of trouble.”

PART FOUR

[drakewalkerfantasy]

Consequences: Chapter 12

Synopsis: Two people from two different worlds, two complete strangers come together for a night of solace from their moment of anger and hurt. By consequence, they were brought together and their fates intertwined. What will happen when the reality of the one night’s actions filled with lust and anger will hit them both? What will happen with two complete strangers who seem to have nothing in common? Or do they have more in common than they thought?

Words: 2813

Authors notes: Some chapters maybe NSFW or have a mature content. Also English isn't my native language so sorry for any mistakes I make.

Thank you for ready, please let me know, if you want to be removed or added from the tag list.

Beckett Harrington x TE MC (Maeve)

Cole Harrington x Liza Harrington

**Warnings: unplanned pregnancy**

Beckett stood still, leaning against the cold wall, his heart pounded as if trying to jump out of his chest. He could feel how his head began to spin, and his vision blurred, while his breathing became erratic. Quickly he leaned on the sink, grabbing the edges firmly with both hands, his knuckles becoming white from the force with which he was gripping on to it. Taking a few calming breathes, he raised his eyes, meeting their reflection in the mirror, his hair tousled, his eyes widened, and his face flushed. Turning on the tap, he splashed his face with the cold water, trying to calm down from the discovery he was still holding in his hands. He looked at the test, trying to think clearly, not letting emotions take over, not letting himself loose control.

Shit... he thought, splashing cold water over his face again, letting it run down his muscular chest, disappearing behind the waistband of his pants. Can this baby be mine? But she--- she told me that this isn’t possible as days weren’t right--- that chances were too small to get pregnant. Can this be this moron, who tried to take advantage of her during the party? Even a fleeting thought of this moron made his blood boil with rage. He knew that type of guys, unfortunately too well to know that he would never take responsibility for the child unless--- unless he needed something from the girl. And he was sure, that Maeve could hardly offer anything that could potentially interest this jerk. What could mean, only one thing, that he would want nothing to do with her or her child. He groaned with anger punching his fists against the wall on both sides of the mirror, feeling the pain shot through his hands, but ignoring it. The memory of his sister and the jerk who made her pregnant occupied his thought, making his gaze clouded.

“Kat? What are you doing here?” asked Beckett, watching his sister on the porch of their family’s mansion with a suitcase and a four years old child on her arms.

“I... Guy filled papers for divorce and threw me out of the house with Lydia, so I--- I just don’t know where else to go. Is mother home?” she asked weakly, swallowing the tears that ran down her face.

“Yes, she... she is in the cabinet. Come in, I can watch Lydia while you will speak with mother,” Beckett suggested, taking the little girl from his sister’s hands and putting her on the floor. Taking her hand carefully, he guiding her further into the hall, turning around to look after Kat, which disappeared behind the huge oak doors.

It took some time before Katrina finally walked out the door, her shoulders fell in defeat. Beckett raised his head, watching their mother walking behind her with the steel look in her eyes, without spare him even a single glance. Stopping just for a second to give an order to security guy whom she called earlier while in her office.

“Make sure, that these two would never cross through the threshold of the premises, and call everyone to gather here, I have an announcement to make,” Mrs. Harrington said in an unemotional voice before turning to Katrina who was now cradling next to Lydia, picking her up. Her face was puffy from tears that stopped flowing from her big eyes that matched Beckett’s and hold the depth as his. A huge red mark was visible across her cheek. Beckett carefully reached toward her hand, placing his on top of hers to get her attention a silent question deep in his eyes. She shook her head as if letting him know, that he shouldn't ask a question he wanted to ask, a silent conversation passing between them until their mother spoke.

“Beckett, leave her...,” she instructed, not even looking at him, her eyes focus on all servants that started to gather in the lobby.  Her voice loud and clear thundered through it, making everyone's blood curl up with fear, knowing that Mrs. Harrington is serious. “From now on, I forbade you or anyone else in that household to have any contact with this woman and her bastard. She caused that on herself, so now, until she will learn her place, she is no one. If I will find out that anyone helped her in any way, this person will be punished. Is that clear?” she roared, looking at everyone, watching them nod their heads, too frightened to say anything against the woman in front of them. “Beckett...,” she requested, still no sparing him a glance. “Yes, mam,” he hissed, looking at his sister and at her kid, who were sitting on the floor, both looking hurt. Small girl watching at him with her silver eyes filled with tears, her world crashing around her within one day, too young to understand why everyone turned their backs to them.

Beckett could feel how his heart got filled with rage and hatred to the woman who called herself their mother, to the woman who was the reason why Katrina ended like that. Not sure yet why Guy has finally filed papers for divorce, the only thing he knew for sure, that even that, was on their mother’s order. He sighed heavily, his heart broke and bleeding for his sister and this little kid in front of him who have watched him with these big silver eyes hoping that he will somehow protect them, not letting for their world to fall apart. This look in the child’s eyes filled him with determination, and he softly smiled at her picking her up in the air before helping Katrina to get on her feet.

Looking around, he noticed that they finally were left alone, whispering to Katrina to wait for him at their grandma's, the only place where they both felt safe and loved. Making sure that Kat and Lydia left safely, he ran upstairs taking out all his savings, his heart thundering, full of determination that whatever would happen next, he will never let his sister down. Hoping that this money will be enough for her to start an independent life, somewhere far away from their mother, somewhere where no one will be able to find them. Somewhere where she will find happiness.

With great effort, he shook himself from the memory, his thoughts returning to the present, and his eyes darkened from the single thought that another man like Guy could hurt another girl who was naive and stupid. Or who was used--- His hands curling into fists, and he looked into the mirror, the decision forming in his mind almost immediately, his face full of determination.

I need to do something. I need at least be here for her and make sure she will not get hurt. No one should get hurt the way my sister was--- and if I can do a damn thing about it, I will.

Taking a quick shower Beckett went to check on Maeve, once again softly tapping at the door. He waited for a moment longer, trying to clear his thoughts before finally entering her room. He noticed that she didn't change her position still lying curled up on the edge of the bed, her hands covering protectively her yet flat stomach, and her eyes were closed. The throw blanket slipped slightly from her body during her sleep. Trying to not wake her up, he came closer, carefully pulling up the blanket before turning around, throwing a last glance at her, not able to tear his eyes away. His heart skipping a beat when she sighed quietly in her sleep, wanting nothing more than to stay there and watch her sleep, making sure she wouldn't be alone when she would wake up. But he knew that he shouldn’t, at least not yet. Finally, with great effort, he looked away and exited the room.

After hours have passed, and the evening began to draw near, he started to worry. He came to check on Maeve more than once during the day, adjusting the blanket with which she was covered and making another cup of tea after the first one got cold. But every time he checked on her, she was still asleep as if exhaustion and reality were too much for her to handle. Getting down to the kitchen after another round to her room, he leaned on the counter with a heavy exhausted sigh, listening carefully to the smallest sounds that would come from Maeve’s room, but everything was still dead silent.

It was already past ten pm when he felt how his stomach started to rumble as if reminding him that since this morning he didn’t have a single bite in his mouth. His brows slightly furrowing when it occurred to him that Maeve probably was as hungry as him and still deep asleep in her room. The single thought of her made his heart flutter and an image of a blonde girl with eyes of a forest, protectively cradling her belly in her sleep, emerged in front of his eyes, making his stomach somersault inside of him. He never felt like that for anyone before, except... he gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching, while a pain struck his heart. The pain he didn’t felt in years coming back as if never leaving him as if he never promised himself not to think about it, not to remember that only time when he lowered his guards just for his heart to be ripped apart. Shaking his head as if trying to shook the memory away, he thought about Maeve and hunger they probably both felt. Quickly he opened the fridge looking at what they had in there, just now realizing that he had not the slightest idea, what pregnant woman should eat or what she shouldn’t. The worry line cut his forehead when he thought about accidentally do something wrong and by that hurting Maeve or her unborn baby.

Throwing a glance at his watch, he checked the time before dialing the only person’s number apart of his sister’s, that he knew may help him. He took a deep breath when he heard a signal coming through his phone, knowing that this would be the quickest and most accurate way to get the information than to browse through hundreds of internet pages looking for recipes. Thinking that he will explain later why he needed that information. After a moment the sound of gruffly a little bit out of breath voice came through the dynamic.

“Harrington, be quick. Or pray to God, I won’t go all the way to you to kill you or stuff the phone up your ass,” answered the man’s voice from the other side, making Beckett smirk.

“Dear cousin, I’m happy to hear you too, and send my greetings to your lovely wife, who found your threats amusing by the sound of it," said Beckett, listening to the soft giggles through the dynamic.

“Beckett, I’m serious,” growled the young man.

“Did I interrupted something?” Beckett asked, leaning on the counter with his back.

He met his cousin just a couple of years back when their grandma died. He came to the funereal only to be accused by Beckett's mother that he wants only her inheritance. Trying to bribe him to waive all claims, trying to threaten him. But instead, he just smirked at her, ignoring her for the rest of the evening. Surprisingly but Beckett and he immediately got along. It helped that by the time of their first meeting, they both loathed Beckett’s mother and the fact that they both had trust issues. Trusting only a couple of people who were close to them, but still not letting anyone get too close. Although Cole had at least one person who was closer to him than anyone ever got, and who owned his heart unconditionally. This person was Liza. His everything. Something, that Beckett would never have... He was torn back from his memory with a threatening but at the same time concerned voice coming from the other end.

“Beckett...”

“Cole, sorry I zoned out, but I need your help or... or Liza’s,” said Beckett with a sigh. He was silent for a moment before asking the question that was on his mind, hoping that this will not reach his mother or anyone they both knew. “What can a pregnant woman eat? What food is recommended, what to avoid and what is healthy,” he quickly rumbled through the phone, holding his breath after that. He could literally hear how the wheels in his cousin’s head were turning, working out why all these questions, and what Beckett is up to or have done.

“Beckett, did you make someone pregnant,” carefully asked Cole, feeling the warm hand of his wife running up and down his chest, trying to ignore the desire that boiled his blood every time she did that. He gently took her hand with his and squeezed it as if letting her know that this isn’t the best time. Not when his cousin seems to make someone pregnant.

“No... I... I didn’t,” breathed Beckett, hoping that Cole didn’t catch the stuttering in his voice before continuing to speak. “I didn’t,” he said more confidently. “But someone may... and I’m sure as hell this prick will not take responsibility. He is one of these guys who only use them... I feel sorry for her, so please don’t laugh, and not give me a damn speech that it is not my business. I know it... but I also know that she has no one to turn to, and if I can at least make her something to eat, as she didn’t eat from the morning I need to do that. Cole... please."

“ ‘Key,” simply said Cole, not a single note of judgment in his voice. He quickly listed everything that Liza craved at the beginning, and what food would be good for the girl or what to avoid. Liza chimed in after Cole stopped talking, listing recipes that are healthy and tasty. The ones that both could equally enjoy.

“Thank you,” Beckett finally said, writing down everything that was said. “I really am grateful,” he added after a moment.

“No problem, but Harrington, if you will interrupt us again, I will not hesitate to come all the way down there and shove that phone up to your arse. Understood?”

“Clear as day,” smirked Beckett, ready to end the call before his cousin's voice sounded again.

“Have fun with whoever this mysterious pregnant girl is,” smugly said Cole before hanging up the phone, not giving Beckett time for a reply.

Beckett looked at his phone with a mix of annoyance and amusement at his cousin for his last remark. Mumbling under his breath that he isn't planning to have any fun with a girl before moving to the fridge and starting to look for ingredients for the dinner. Something that they both would enjoy.

After an hour of preparation, he was finally finished and looked satisfyingly at the tray in front of him. He had put a big plate of beetroot risotto with feta and peas, and a bawl of fresh fruit salad with various colored fruits that were cut neatly into small pieces. He also made sure to put a new cup with his grandmother's herbal tea and the jug of orange juice with a glass. Everything looked nice and colorful on a big tray with a couple of red napkins and cutlery to use. After making sure he didn't forget anything, he made his way upstairs, taking a deep breath before entering the room. His gaze softened when he saw Maeve still laid curled up on the bed. Her breathing even and her hand gently placed over her belly as if protecting her unborn child from anything that will come their way. He quietly went further into the room, closing the door behind. Sitting on the edge of her bed Beckett leaned closer to her, inhaling a sweet lavender scent that made his head spin.

“Hey, wake up,” he whispered softly into her ear, brushing away a strand of her hair with a free hand, while the other was holding the tray firmly. His hand moving to her forearm, shaking her slightly. “You need to eat something,” he said, watching her stir in her sleep. She blinked in confusion as if trying to understand where she is before turning her head to the side, meeting Beckett's piercing gaze and their lips almost touching due to her movement. Both simultaneously feeling how their breaths hitched, and Maeve's eyes flew wide open.

“What are you doing here?” exclaimed Maeve, bolting up and almost knocking out the tray with a dinner from Beckett's hand. Her body tensing, and her eyes narrowed.

Tags:  

@fluffy-marshmallow-heart @annekebbphotography @thequeenofcronuts @symonde @lapisreviewsstuff @madampugzalot @emichelle @lilyofchoices @msjpuddleduck @feartheendlesssummer @catlady0911​ @the-soot-sprite​ @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ @xxrainbow-princessxx​ @cordoniasmost​ @kingkassam​ @laragazzaconunsogno​ @desireepow-1986​ @choices-bound​ @choicesloversstuff​

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 23

Like...here, I can’t do this anymore, I’ve been sitting on the first part of this for forever.  Please, join me in...whatever this is.  

Ao3

00000

Four thirty-seven in the morning is not time to wake up, but Astrid doesn’t have much of a choice after Hiccup’s side of his bed goes cold and the wheels in her mind start spinning, skating across the last twelve and twenty-four and thirty-six hours. Hiccup exhausted beyond sanity at the hospital, Hiccup sleeping with his head on her lap. Hiccup with damp hair and wide eyes, laying her back on his desk. Hiccup laughing at a joke that could only be funny in the first hours of the morning, sleepy hands holding her close.

“I don’t want it to be tomorrow,” he’d whispered in her ear, voice hoarse and comfortable as he pressed a tired kiss to her jaw, pulling her leg over his hip like if he just arranged their limbs carefully enough, they could feasibly meld into a single person. “Tomorrow’s just going to be more hospitals and decisions and not enough…” He trailed off, palm dragging up the curve of her waist.

“It already is tomorrow, technically,” she’d looked at the clock until he dragged her face back to his, soft thumb on her chin.

“Well sure, if you’re still a stickler for a linear definition of time,” he smiled, bringing her back to her apartment hallway where she couldn’t help but notice he was charming and handsome under the stupid hat. “But cyclically, it’s not really morning until we sleep, is it?”

“We already slept,” she reminded him, difficult just so that he’d narrow his eyes in a cute, shrewd way and kiss her. He went further than that, rolling her onto her back and holding the sheets dramatically above his head before disappearing under them, breath ticklish on her navel as his hands made room for himself between her knees.

“No more of that then,” he’d laughed, kissing her hip, “no sleeping, no tomorrow. It’s a deal.”

The only thing more shocking than how quickly Astrid trusted Hiccup is how quickly she got used to him.  As electric as his presence has become, it’s comfortable too, a secondary North her internal compass passively tracks when he’s in range to keep herself in alignment.

She bites her lip and sighs, staring at the ceiling for a ten count before giving up and rolling out of bed.

His closet isn’t a walk-in, but it’s larger than hers, and she finds a soft sweatshirt that smells like him hanging at the back of it. She pulls it on and pauses to touch the cold side of the bed, taking in the silence, as temporary as it is. He was right, there’s a whole day of hospitals and adult arrangements ahead of her, but after how easy and good last night was, nothing seems insurmountable.

She brushes her teeth with her finger again, looking around the bathroom at the old bathmat and Hiccup’s shirt from yesterday balled up in a corner. There’s a trimmer on the counter and auburn stubble in the sink and she finally starts to come around to the idea that sometimes when things seem too good to be true, it might just be because they are that good.

Hiccup wasn’t exaggerating how empty the kitchen is, but she manages to find a glass in one of the old walnut cupboards and get some water. She didn’t have much of a chance to look around yesterday, given she had better things to acquaint herself with, but since Hiccup isn’t back yet she starts scoping out the living room.

It’s a bachelor pad, obviously, old comfortable furniture without a decorative pillow in sight, video game controllers on the end tables and an empty beer bottle next to the remote. The rug is soft though and there are thankfully no Patriots posters on the wall, only two framed diplomas by the front door, both from the Berk Police Department. One is three years old and says ‘Snotlout G. Jorgenson’ in crisp black ink on thick white paper and the other was folded at some point and is starting to yellow around the edges, the name ‘Stoick Haddock’ handwritten in careful cursive script.

The frame of the older diploma is dusty and Astrid tucks her hand back into Hiccup’s sweatshirt sleeve to clean it off, and as soon as she does, it reflects the heavy deadbolt on the old door behind her turning. If months of living at a bona fide murder site honed her reflexes, last night’s uneven sleep dulled them because she freezes, holding her breath and watching the reflection of the door slowly swing open.

A single footfall heavier than any Hiccup would be capable of producing crosses the threshold and her heart sinks as she turns to face whatever she’s being dragged into next.

“Can you take any longer to open a door?” Snotlout’s improbable voice cuts through the sudden silence and he stumbles into the living room.

“The plan was for me to sweep the place,” Eretson follows him, teeth clipping the consonants as frustration pours around the dulled corners.

“Sweep the place? It’s my apartment, what are you expecting to find?” Snotlout throws his arm up and looks around for evidence that Eretson’s concern is unnecessary, but his eyes land solidly on Astrid.  

He raises an eyebrow and she jumps, coming back to life all at once and dropping her glass of water on the way to yank down the hem of Hiccup’s sweatshirt.

Eretson doesn’t flinch at the sound so much as he condenses, pulling his gun from the holster on his hip and cocking it with a cold steely click. Then he sees what, or who, he’s aiming at and his grip goes slack, barrel of the gun pointing towards the slowly spreading puddle on the floor as his jaw works soundlessly, eyes wide.

“Good morning,” Snotlout says, slow blooming grin spreading across his pasty, stubbled face as he takes in her bedhead. She almost wishes his eyes would dip lower because if he were being pointedly creepy, she’d have a reason to yell and maybe regain her grip on the situation, but instead she’s wedged under the weight of his obviously amused observation.

“Why aren’t you in the hospital?” The question comes out shrill and she jumps back from the water starting to pool between her toes. The sweatshirt is far too small for current company and she yanks it down again, fisting the fabric beside her thigh and holding it there. Eretson is still frozen, wrist slack and eyes wide and she snaps. “Never mind, I don’t care, can you put the gun away?”

“Apologies.” Eretson directs his startled gaze to the floor and stands up straight, thankfully re-holstering his weapon.

Well, thankfully until the lack of weaponry renders the situation impossibly more awkward.

And cold. Drafty even.

“And shut the door!” Astrid orders, even though she has no authority, and Eretson looks at Snotlout for corroboration.

“Just got shot,” Snotlout looks pointedly at his arm and Eretson sighs, bright red as he resigns himself to shutting and locking the door, clearly weighing the consequences of being on the other side and wishing his lot in life were different.

Something truly awful must lurk outside the door for Eretson to choose to be in this living room right now and Astrid wishes she knew what it was so that she could make her own educated decision.

“Good morning,” Snotlout repeats and Astrid glares, holding the fabric tight around her thighs.

“We already did that.” She steps sideways out of the puddle, daring either of the men in front of her to say something about her state of dress. For once in her life, it’s a fight she wishes she hadn’t picked because everything in Snotlout’s slight grin says ‘good game, Champ’.

“Where’s Hiccup?” Snotlout asks, looking around for another target to embarrass.

“He went to get breakfast.” Astrid does her best to frame the sentence as an insult but Snotlout is unfazed. No, unfazed would be better, he’s a delighted audience.

“That’s my boy.”   He’s more than delighted, he’s disconcertingly, disruptively proud and Astrid wishes she could hitch a ride on Eretson’s shoulders as he attempts to sink into the floor.  

Her clothes are in Hiccup’s office, where they were enthusiastically abandoned the night before, which she can’t think about with Hiccup’s nearly mortally wounded cousin grinning at her like a proud coach.

They aren’t even her clothes, they’re Tuffnut’s clothes.

She wishes she could ask Hiccup where he is, but of course, no phone. Eretson is so absolutely mortally embarrassed that she half thinks she could ask to borrow his phone to call Hiccup, but she doesn’t have his number memorized. Snotlout probably does, but asking him probably involves details requested in the name of ‘bro’.

“I’m going to go get dressed,” she announces, trying for something official and feeling like an inadequate cat herder.  

It’s impossible to set her shoulders and stalk to Hiccup’s office while keeping her ass covered, but she tries anyway, eyes locked dead ahead to give her periphery a chance to reorient. Snotlout follows, lurking in the doorway as she confronts the mess on the office floor.

Or no, not mess. Her clothes and Hiccup’s towel.

Snotlout whistles under his breath.

“Damn, on the desk by all his special books?” He laughs, “that’s like nerdy hot, I’d give you a wedgie if I thought you were wearing underwear.”

“Oh my god!” Astrid snaps, “if I didn’t think you’d bleed out, I’d—“

“Those are your clothes, from the hospital, does that mean Hiccup was in the towel?”

“Snotlout,” she hisses his name, “why the hell aren’t you in the hospital?”

“I’m proud of you two, really.” He nods, more encouraging coach than the creepy opportunist she knows how to deal with. She half expects him to clap her on the ass and tell her ‘good game’. “At the rate you were going, I thought you had another year of hand holding before anything happened. But then you fu—“

“Can you give me a minute?” She grits her teeth and he nods, hand held up in half surrender as he backs into the living room and shuts the door.

She takes a minute to breathe, leaning back against the desk and pressing her knuckles to her eyelids until she sees static.

“Where’s your mop?” Eretson asks, voice muffled through the door.

“What? My floor isn’t clean enough for you? Sorry, I was pretty busy being shot and almost dying, I should have mopped first though, I guess.”

“Just trying to make myself useful.”

She gets dressed with both eyes locked on the door, even though it seems like Snotlout is more likely to interrupt to congratulate her than to catch a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. She briefly thinks that she might not be cut out to be his ‘bro’ if this is the kind of involvement she can expect, but that’s not a train of thought she has time to catch right now, so she pushes it aside.

Last night felt like she and Hiccup were potentially the only two people in the world, or at least the only two that mattered.  The only two she had to think about.  But now it feels like the rest of humanity is butting its way back into her mind by way of one recently shot idiot and chasing any dregs of that peaceful feeling away.

When she opens the door, Snotlout is sitting on the couch, pouring over his phone. Eretson is lurking by the front door with one shoe on, obviously debating over taking the other off. Astrid’s shoes are next to the couch, vaguely under Snotlout’s legs, approximately where she abandoned them the day before as Hiccup left to shower.

She clears her throat and he doesn’t look up. Eretson doesn’t look away from his mismatched feet.  

Snotlout doesn’t look good, that’s the obvious place to start.  His face is nearly gray under patchy hospital stay stubble and the circles under his eyes look like bruises.  She doesn’t know much about almost bleeding to death, but she’d assume a person should sleep more and move less afterwards and it looks like he’s been doing the exact opposite.  He’s wearing sweatpants and a suit jacket that’s so oversized that its sleeve is cuffed above his wrist and his other arm is hidden inside of it, presumably in a sling or something to restrict him from ripping his stitches.

“What are you wearing?”  She frowns, trying to place the jacket.  It’s familiar somehow but she’s not used to it looking so absurd.

“When is it my turn to ask the questions?” He grumbles and she sighs.

“I don’t think I’m going to answer any of your questions,” she raises her eyebrows at his suit jacket, “and I didn’t realize harassing me required business casual.”

“Shit,” he looks down like he’s only now realizing his outfit might be out of the norm, “I fucking told you I was going to forget to give your fucking jacket back, this is not my fault.” He points a shaky, accusatory finger at Eretson who flushes over an absolutely stoic expression, rolling his sleeves up his forearms.

“You can keep it,” Eretson says, looking somehow larger and also more uncouth without his suit jacket as he decides to put his discarded shoe back on, apparently not planning on staying.

“Who said I want it? It’s itchy as hell,” Snotlout huffs, settling further into the couch and making no move to take the jacket off. “Oh, maybe I’ll need it when I have to sit on someone’s shoulders to pretend to be as freakishly tall as you are.”

“Or for when stripping doesn’t work out and you decide to become a flasher,” Astrid offers, folding Hiccup’s sweatshirt over her arm and pacing slowly, glancing at the door and wondering where Hiccup is. The handle of Eretson’s gun glints darkly and she pauses, turning her glare on him, “and why’d you point a gun at me? What could you possibly have been sweeping the place for, actually?”

“Grisly,” he says dumbly, a kid caught dually red handed next to a broken cookie jar.

“Why would Grisly be here?” She knows the broadest form of the answer even if the specifics are hazy.

Grisly would be here to do awful, nefarious things, and she swallows hard, waiting to be proven right.

“Because he shot Jorgenson.” Eretson squares his shoulders, bracing for an argument even as Astrid’s knees threaten to bobble.

She wishes she were shocked, then she could claim credibility instead of facing the fact that she half believed what Grisly was capable of just because Hiccup said it.

“He remembered?” She nods quietly to herself and Eretson relaxes, glad to not have to convince her.

“He is right here,” Snotlout grumbles, “and he didn’t have to because the idiot informed me that he came to the hospital to ‘finish me off’.” He rolls his eyes like he didn’t just tell her that someone connected with the police tried to kill him twice, “like he learned English from shitty mob movies or something. If Ruffnut hadn’t shown up when she did—”

“Oh my God,” Astrid cradles her head in her hands, staring at the floor and thinking of the day before, staring silent at a closed bathroom door and coaching Ruffnut through trying to do the right thing.  If she’d stayed on the phone a second longer or if Ruffnut had turned around in the lobby like she’d threatened, Snotlout would be dead. Hiccup would hate her for making him leave the hospital.  

Hiccup would be planning a funeral in his office instead of trying to get breakfast.

Hiccup.

“Where’s Grisly now?” She asks, dread creeping up her spine.

“Have you heard anything strange?” Eretson asks, back in detective mode, and Astrid shakes her head.

“No, but I can’t say I was listening for Grisly.”

“Yeah, you were too busy banging Hiccup on his desk.” Snotlout snorts, still not creepy. Still alive even though someone wanted the opposite. Thrilled to embarrass her, definitely, and so disconcertingly unconcerned with his own mortality that she feels coerced to protect him.

But Hiccup is out there alone, and if there’s even a chance he was right about Grisly, she doesn’t know how she’ll ever forgive herself for not going with him.

“Hiccup—he didn’t have any proof,” Astrid’s brain fills in ‘at the time’ as her eyes flick to the clock yet again. “But umm, he has a hunch that Grisly was connected to…what we talked about the other night. All of it, I mean.”

Eretson’s phone rings and Astrid jumps at the sound, wishing she’d been clearer or that she hadn’t talked at all. She won’t know which until he picks up and the way he’s looking at the caller ID makes her wary.

“This better be important.” He says, curt and responsible, and Astrid wants to snatch the phone away from him and put it on speaker. “A development? Explain to me how there can be a development on my case when I’m not working it.”

Astrid used to be the queen of ‘this better be important.’

For a while, in her teens, it seemed like a magic phrase. A filter that made people rethink before they added their petty issues to her already overfull plate. It felt like one of the only things she could say to make people hear her, to think twice about how many actually important things she must be dealing with to deny their request. And maybe it made her feel important too, to place herself in a position to rate other people’s problems on a scale she got to set.

Then she learned what it’s like when people rightfully push past it.

Important never means good. Important is never better.

“Who is it?” Snotlout asks, tensing on the couch until Astrid offers him a silent hand to help him up. He’s heavy in an amorphous, exhausted way that scares her, like all his weight has shifted to the wrong ends of his bones.

Eretson’s face falls under the weight of the importance he’s about to communicate, his eyes flicking between Astrid’s expression in limbo and Snotlout’s growing frustration, “when? No, take him to my office—it’s still my bloody case—that’s your job then, Johnson—Well, I’m on my way in now, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He hangs up, exhaling one sharp breath and not so much puffing out his chest as making the most of the space he knows he takes up. It’s comforting, like a doctor trained to deliver bad news, and Astrid glares at him, willing him to spit out whatever it is so that she can shoulder her part of it.

People who hoard information inevitably drown in it and thinking of Hiccup’s books in the next room makes it hard to breathe.

“Is everything ok?” Astrid asks the general question, hoping against hope that it’ll keep the specific at bay. “Is Hiccup ok?” She tries the words on for size along with the lump of heavy concern in her chest that she can’t quite remember deciding to take on.

She did, of course, a long time ago.

It was there in the hospital when Hiccup looked at her for stability while his world spun out of control. It was there when he was too frazzled to function, when he needed to see the city for what it is and not what he wants it to be. It grew from a little seed of trust planted when she followed him into an alley, unsure of what she’d find but willing to take the risk.

Then, it didn’t feel like a risk at all.

“Grisly brought Hiccup down to the station on murder charges,” he says simply, and again, Astrid wishes she were surprised.

For months, she’s been reminding herself that if anything had gone differently, she could have ended up like that poor woman who trusted the wrong man in a dark alley, but because of Hiccup, that reality wasn’t ever really on the table for her. This one was.

“Murder charges.” It’s not a question, it’s another unfortunate sentence to try on, feeling out the edges of yet another situation happening to her without her input. “Who died?” Astrid asks because she doesn’t know what else to do. At this point, she doesn’t expect an answer, but the question was doing nothing useful overflowing inside her head.

It’s not doing anything useful in the open either. It flops on the floor like it’s dead itself and she starts planning for the worst, just in case.

“And all those morons just believe him?” Snotlout huffs, trying to inflate himself but leaking out of a painful, obvious hole.

“Says he caught him in the act.” Eretson looks like he’s lost many races training to win this one and the enemy is pulling ahead in the final sprint. “I’m heading in, it sounds like Grisly has my boss half-convinced to hand the case over to the NWF.”

“Those idiots couldn’t find the big bad wolf if he blew their house down or, I don’t know, shot another cop!” Snotlout gestures at his shoulder, “and yeah, I just called them pigs, indirectly, but I meant it.”

“Which is why I’m going to go deal with this,” Eretson crosses the room and almost gingerly helps Snotlout out of the suit jacket, sliding it back on like it’s bulletproof and he thinks he’s going to need it. Underneath, Snotlout is wearing a scrub shirt with a thankfully dry blotch of red-brown blood on the shoulder above a square of thick gauze taped to the wound.  “Get that shoulder re-bandaged at least.”

“No! I’m just going to bleed out on the floor to spite you, specifically.” Snotlout does his best to take the sweatshirt Astrid’s holding but his face goes even paler when he yanks. “I’m coming with you.”

“Jorgenson,” Eretson’s tone would be patient if it were wrapping around any other word, but now it’s ill fitting, chafing at the seams.

“Hiccup didn’t kill anyone, you know he didn’t, I know he didn’t, and I don’t give a shit what that creepy fucker says—”

“He already tried to kill you once, don’t be stupid enough to give him another chance.”

“He already proved his aim sucks once, you mean,” Snotlout is giving up the fight though, clammy sweat blooming across his forehead as he leans back against the arm of the chair, catching his breath. “Oh fuck off, you don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“You shouldn’t stay here,” Eretson checks his jacket pockets and pulls out a Ziploc bag with a handful of white pills in it and hands it to Snotlout who takes it, reluctantly grateful. “Either of you.”

“Oh we can’t stay here? You can’t kick me out of my own place, it doesn’t work like that,” Snotlout swallows one of the pills dry and winces as it sticks in his throat. It must be dry, like Astrid’s, like her automatic functions are on pause, waiting for permission to start working again. “And last time I checked, you still aren’t my commanding officer, so I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he says so that no one can say he didn’t.

“He can’t be anywhere on file,” Eretson tells Astrid, obviously done with the pointless argument, and she stands up straighter, glad for even the suggestion of something useful she can do. “Grisly might check there, especially now that he confessed his intentions, Snotlout is a liability.”

“I’ve always been a liability, thanks.” Snotlout rolls his eyes and Eretson’s jaw flexes at the comment. “Maybe we should go stay with Ruffnut, Grisly was scared of her for some reason.”

“No, the twins were suspects too, they gave information at the station,” Astrid thinks, tapping her finger on her chin and trying not to think about Hiccup’s developing penchant for touching her there. “Wait! I’ve got somewhere. Fishlegs didn’t give you his home address, did he?”

“No, would he have a record of any kind?”

“Absolutely not.” The first relief Astrid’s felt all day sweeps away just enough frantic anxiety to make room for dread, and Astrid doesn’t know any antidote for that but action. “Should I come to the station with you?”

“And leave me out?” Snotlout starts trying to stand up again but Eretson responds before he can put too much effort into it.

“You should stay out of it for now.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” The idea of backing off, of having less power in this already powerless situation, makes her want to scream. “He was with me last night, there’s no reason I couldn’t go down to the station and say so. I’ve been his alibi before, I am his alibi now. Someone has to listen that Grisly is behind this.”

“Last time you were his alibi, you ended up looking guilty by association,” Eretson reminds her.

“But—”

“And I got suspended and then shot,” Snotlout adds, forever helpful.

“Ok, but—”

“You need an alibi,” Eretson rubs his chin, “there’s no way Grisly won’t ask about you, you’ve been involved from the beginning.”

“She was with me,” Snotlout shrugs one shoulder, deflating a little against the chair, “no alibi like a cop alibi, right?”

“But I wasn’t.” Astrid is surprised to sound panicked, like even saying last night didn’t happen could take it from her somehow. Like lying could take the feeling that Hiccup’s apartment inexplicably feels like home away. That hasn’t faded, if anything it’s stronger, like being surrounded by his space is keeping her sane through the latest insane moment.

“That’s not bad,” Eretson halfway compliments, checking for his gun one more time, “that gives you a reason to leave the hospital too.”

“But I wasn’t with you last night,” Astrid shakes her head, “especially as a ‘reason for you to leave the hospital’ four days after you were shot—"

“Yeah, you were,” Snotlout starts texting someone, “it was super hot, I’ll tell people it was hot.”

“No, you won’t.” She tries to take his phone and he winces when he tries to hold it out of her reach.

“Too late,” he grins, “already told Ruffnut.”

“She won’t believe you!”

“She doesn’t have to, she just has to lie, and she’ll know that since she helped me sign out of the hospital.” He looks seriously at her, “the last thing Hiccup needs is you looking like an accomplice again and linking whatever Grisly says he caught him doing back to three other murders.”

“Never thought I’d say this,” Eretson clears his throat and looks purposefully at Snotlout, “but you’re right. Get somewhere safe, I’ll call when I can.”

“Ok, but before you go can you tell me I’m right again?” Snotlout asks as Eretson opens the door, “and maybe add in that I’m tall and muscular, because flattery is the best medicine.”

“You mean laughter,” Eretson deadpans, expression chiseled in stone as he shuts the door and leaves them in silence.

Astrid steps forward and locks it, trying to weigh whether she feels overwhelmed or entirely disconnected from everything that just happened. Maybe it’s both and that’s worse, and she lets out a breath that feels shaky but sounds slow.

“I’ll be right back,” Snotlout announces before disappearing to the bathroom, the sink turning on as soon as he shuts the door.

She lets herself think, for a second, what the morning would have been like if Hiccup hadn’t left. No less awkward with Eretson showing up here, of course. Then again, Eretson didn’t see Hiccup at the hospital, chances are seeing Snotlout out of it would have reactivated his Mother Hen Protocol and he would have been out of bed fussing, nudity be damned.

Snotlout would probably be furious at Hiccup acting like the wrong ratio of “sexy” and “nurse” while he wanted to be invasively congratulatory. Eretson might have actually combusted from awkwardness.

Grisly wouldn’t have been able to frame him. Or Grisly would have come here next, after wherever he found Hiccup. There’s too many variables missing, the tight setup she familiarized herself with in Eretson’s office sprouting roots and propagating itself into any number of possible outcomes.

The sink is still running in the bathroom and she can hear Snotlout splashing occasionally so she decides that the chances of him bleeding out in there are low, at least until she hears him hit the floor. The utter helplessness of being without her phone or the ability to search for anything on the internet gets the best of her and she grabs the remote off of the coffee table, turning on the TV and fiddling with inputs until she finds cable. Patriots re-runs, of course, and she mutes it before Snotlout can come out and decide it’s time for another of their great bonding marathons.

Like last night, apparently, which she can’t think about without thinking about Hiccup. Hiccup warm and safe, no part of him too far away for her to touch, their bedhead tangled together.

No, that won’t help anything. Getting somewhere safe might help Snotlout, but she doesn’t have Fishlegs’s number memorized or any way to call him. He must be working this morning though, since she isn’t.

If a few missed shifts get between her and safe harbor, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.  

She’s looking for the news when she comes across a local channel, pausing when she recognizes Heather in an interview close up on a repeat of some Sunday night in-depth expose on the Grimborn murders.

“…course there’s something really compelling about looking at history through a modern lens, and I’m glad to see this unfortunate string of events connect people to the city’s past,” she says pleasantly while the camera pans up to show the Ripped Tavern’s pre-renovation grimy walls and a rack of Grimborn tee-shirts.

“I understand that the Berk PD has hired you as a Grimborn Expert to consult on the ongoing case?” A reporter that Astrid vaguely recognizes asks and Heather can’t seem to help but look a little smug.

Astrid’s thumb hovers over the channel button, her jaw twitching when she thinks about how happy Hiccup is to teach and learn and how imperious he isn’t, and she’s glad enough to have a distraction deflecting worry for frustration that she doesn’t change it.

“…really discuss that, given that the case is ongoing,” Heather continues with an almost flirtatious grin, like she’s getting a real kick out of keeping secrets only because she knows she’ll get to reveal them later, “but I think at this point in the investigation, the connection is inevitable. Obviously, whoever is committing these murders has not only a big Grimborn knowledge base but also a personal connection that they find motivating, for some reason.”

She thinks of Hiccup, motivated by seeing the city as something capable of surviving trauma and her stomach turns with the contrast to where he is right now.

“Given advances in modern forensics and the assumption that this ongoing string of murders will be solved, what do you think the chances are that it will provide insight into the original Grimborn murders?”

“The chances?” Heather snorts, “I can’t say anything about the chances, but whoever’s doing this really knows their stuff. I’m half tempted to visit their eventual cell and run a few of my pet theories by them.”

The bathroom door opens and Snotlout steps out, a fresh square of white gauze taped to his shoulder as he dries his face with the scrub shirt, pausing on the way to his closed bedroom door to frown at the TV, “Heather?”

“She’s talking about being hired to help with the case.”

“You can’t watch something normal for five minutes while I get change?” He mumbles on the way into his room, struggling with the knob for a second before getting it open and disappearing inside. “Nerd.”

“…paper recently mentioned the Admiral Haddock theory, do you think there’s any present connection to the Haddocks?”

Astrid didn’t know there was more than one. She didn’t know it was a family with a legacy aside from Hiccup and the freshly dusted diploma on the wall. It’s another link of the chain that Hiccup is somehow in the middle of as the noose tightens and she swallows hard, trying to focus on Heather’s words.

If a news channel is showing this as a rerun, that means there can’t be any news.

Except there’s so much that can’t be reported yet, and it’s not the first time recently she’s wished she knew less about the system that has her lying about whereabouts she’d never take back. She wishes she weren’t confronted with this reality, where Hiccup is in trouble and she has to contemplate what her life would look like without him in it.

“That theory is a joke,” Heather’s laugh is a little sharper, willing to lash out at the idea of feeling unheard, “it was the…the flat earth conspiracy of the day.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?”

“It was…sensationalist and sensationalist on purpose, there’s no way that the Admiral could have had anything to gain from the murders.”

“So, you think whoever is committing the murders now has something to gain from it?” The reporter asks with a little too much interest and Heather is obviously reminded of something by an ear piece she’s not good at hiding.

“I really can’t discuss the current case.”

“Well, the bleeding stopped at some point,” Snotlout comes back out of his bedroom in a baggy black tee shirt that’s stretched at the neck like he struggled getting into it. The color makes him look paler and she almost advises him to change, but if Fishlegs is mad at her for missing work, a little pity might be on their side.

She thinks about asking Snotlout to use his phone to call a cab, like it’s nineteen ninety eight and people get their information from the news, but there are enough holes in this plan already that it shouldn’t matter if they get an Uber to the archives. The driver looks at Snotlout like Astrid is trying to use the first dregs of a zombie apocalypse to her advantage and she attempts to distract them with small talk, wondering how Ruffnut gets drivers to wait outside with a shovel.

It has been the longest few months of her life, and every city block dilates further. It feels like it takes hours to locate the service elevator down to the archives, but all of the lost time recondenses when she’s standing in front of Fishlegs’s desk, a half-dead Snotlout leaning on her shoulder and no miraculous news from Eretson propping her up.

She clears her throat, trying to remember if she’s ever missed a shift of another job and of course, coming up dry, “Hey, Fish.”

“Astrid?” He looks up, taking his one headphone out and jumping to his feet, “where have you been? I must have sent a hundred texts—”

“Sorry, I don’t have my phone, I know I missed…I don’t know how many shifts I missed but that’s not like me, I promise it’s not.”

“Seems like you’ve been doing a lot that’s ‘not like you’ since you started here.” Fishlegs crosses his arms just long enough for Astrid to freeze up. He looks mad, sure, but worried too and she holds out a placating hand.

“I can explain.”

“No, sorry,” he deflates, patting her shoulder apologetically and seemingly noticing Snotlout for the first time, eyes widening. “I was just so worried, with hearing how it went with the detective and knowing that I told him about Hiccup and the copier and—”

“It’s ok,” she cuts him off, shifting from foot to foot and debating whether she should offer Snotlout a chair or not. If she does, she’s half worried he won’t get back to his feet again, and he’s heavier than he looks, even after the blood loss. “I should explain, before I ask this favor, actually.”

“No, you don’t need to explain,” Snotlout insists, holding out his hand. His left hand, because his right is hanging lame at his side, “Snotlout.”

“Fishlegs.” He frowns at Astrid, “is it drugs?”

“See? He won’t help you if you explain. Do you want some?” Snotlout takes the bag out of his sweatpants pocket and holds it up. “Because if that’s what it takes—”

“Put those away,” Astrid hisses, helping Snotlout sit down in her office chair, “it’s not drugs, it’s—well, he has drugs because he just got shot, but—well, I need your help.”

“Back up, he just got shot?” Fishlegs sits on the edge of his desk, “who is he, again?”

“I just told you, I’m Snotlout.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“He’s a cop,” Astrid tries and Snotlout shushes her.

“Don’t lead with that, a lot of people don’t like cops—”

“We think Hiccup’s getting framed for murder, and we need to lay low, is your spare room still available?” She asks simply and Fishlegs narrows his eyes in his standard ‘more information required’ thinking face.

She tells him everything. Snotlout interjects with details she didn’t know, some of them he must have learned last night when he was evidently helping Eretson with the case. Fishlegs doesn’t ask much, and by the time she gets to this morning, her voice catching over describing how they learned that Grisly has Hiccup at the station for questioning, his frown is set in to the point that she worries she misjudged.

She was forced to trust Snotlout and Eretson and even Hiccup, in a way, if she didn’t want to go through all the hassle of making a formal harassment complaint. From the beginning, she chose to trust Fishlegs and if he throws that back on her now, she’s worried it would snap something tenuous deep inside her. An instinct that could be strong if it just has time to grow.

“Let me summarize. Instead of just taking me up on my offer to stay in my spare room before your apartment became the newest target of a Grimborn copycat serial killer,” Fishlegs pauses to swallow, “who you think is in league with the police, you got even more entrenched in the mystery, and now you’re asking me to essentially harbor two possible fugitives, one of whom was shot four days ago and might still have the well-connected murderer after him.”

Astrid squares her shoulders, “Yes. Please.” One please is just polite, but two is begging and she pauses, hoping she won’t have to and hating that she would.

“I’ll do it,” he nods, “I was just making sure I’m not biting off more than I can chew.”

“You must have a gigantic mouth, dude—”

“Thank you,” Astrid throws her arms around Fishlegs shoulders, effectively cutting Snotlout’s surely very complimentary statement off. “Seriously, thank you.”

“Hey, you’re welcome, no one would come up with a lie that elaborate for missing two shifts,” he pats her shoulder and she sighs, finally able to take an actual deep breath now that someone is sharing at least some of the weight on her shoulders.

“You haven’t met Hiccup,” Snotlout snickers and Fishlegs looks like he’s going to join in on the joke until he catches Astrid’s fallen expression and stops himself.

“I think I need a drink if I’m going to do this,” Fishlegs looks around at the stacks, the dust layers on the books separating stories that ended when they ended and those still growing with everyone who still picks them up. “I’ve never harbored fugitives before, but I think I can justify closing the archives for a day to learn the ropes.”

“That…sounds like the best plan I haven’t pulled out of my ass today,” Astrid laughs but gestures to the clock on the wall, “it is seven in the morning though.”

“Oh!” Snotlout perks up slightly, “I bet I know a place within our budget that’s probably open.”

[eviemarcs]

stage fright || { solo }

Evie’s left hand cradled the microphone, her lips pressed against the grate. Slender fingers of her right hand entwined themselves in the cord. Body swaying to the rhythm supplied by the three other girls, she let her sticky, lilting voice take up with the music.

“Sex addicts, drugs, and vampires They permeate my life Don’t know which one I’m gonna be tonight.”

The microphone stand moved with her, tilting up on its edges as she let her mind unravel more in the music. 

“I know you think I’m crazy. You think I’ve lost my mind. I’m locked and loaded - got you in my sights.”

With her fingers, she made the shape of a pistol, taking aim at no one in particular as she began to sing the chorus. “Turn the lights out, Lay your head down Now you got me where you want me. I’m the pain and you’re the pleasure. Can’t you read the signs? I got a one-track mind”

Pale eyes scanned over the sweaty, drunken crowd, trying to find someone to sing to, someone to increase crowd involvement. No one was watching the show, though. They were barely even listening, more focused on the sloppy gyrations of their hips in dance. She snatched the microphone from the stand and curled the wire around her forearm before starting the second set of verses.

“I'm numb; I've got no conscious Can't get you off my mind You're in my line of fire every time You narcissistic lover You complicate my life But then I find myself with you tonight.”

Before the bridge to the second chorus began, she had flounced across the stage toward December, her guitarist, and draped a lazy arm across the girl’s shoulders. The girl cracked a smile as she strummed, picking up the beat just a bit.

“You are my nemesis, The one I can’t resist. I’ve got a one-track mind: I’m losing it. I need another hit, I think you could be it, I’ve got a one-track mind...”

As she sang, Evie let her hand gently caress the guitarist, toying with her hair before pretending to push her away at the end. Making her way back to the center of the stage, she began the chorus again. After the stunt with Ember, more eyes were on the band, and her in particular. The familiar rush of adrenaline pulsed through her as she began to sing the bridge in a sultry voice, eyes closed and hands tangling in her mess of golden locks.

“I wanna love you to oblivion, Get underneath your skin.”

Evie opened her eyes, about to sing the next line with a hollowing gaze, but instead she was hollowed herself. Her words fell back into her throat. With their lead frozen, the band played on for a few moments before drawing the song to a premature and disheveled end. With her hand still holding the cymbal, Antonia hissed, “What the fuck, Eve?” but Evie didn’t hear her.

Instead, Evie’s attentions were focused on the pair of women who had walked in just moments before and were hanging up their jackets. One girl had striking blue eyes, but she hadn’t caught sight of the other’s yet. Still, she knew they were deep, endless dark pools fit for not much more than drowning. More eyes were drawing to her, noticing the lack of rhythm if nothing else. It was only a matter of time before Allison would turn around, drawn to the scene, and see her. Her legs started before her mind, so that by the time she realized she needed to flea, she was already backstage and crashing into the staff bathroom.

Knuckles turned porcelain white as she gripped the edges of the sink, leaning over, ready to retch. She rocked on her palms, eyes raising to meet identical ones in the mirror. Sweat was beading at her brow from the stage lights, and her body was quivering.

The door opened, a patron walking in but also revealing the crowd beginning quiet again as the rest of the band attempted to gather up their pride and continue the show without her. Evie gritted her teeth. Shame, anxiety, and hopelessness swirled through her. Her fingernails scraped the smooth stone as her hands curled into fists. A purposefully discordant note came from the stage, and she felt something snap inside. Her fist met the mirror before she could process. Glass splintered, small shards falling to the floor while what remained resembled a spiderweb that skewed her reflection. Blood began flowing from the dozen fresh cuts on her fist. She cursed herself as she held it beneath running water, watching the pink go down the drain.

“You seem tense,” came a voice from behind her. Evie looked up, seeing a dozen smaller versions of the same woman she saw when she turned around. She was maybe the same age as her, but she looked older. She was thin, wiry, and her blonde hair hung limp and lifeless. Evie knew the look. She’d worn it once. The girl smiled, producing a small, clear tube with white powder in it. “Want a hit to take the edge off?”

Evie’s throat went dry. The water in the sink was still running, and the girl approached, reaching by to turn it off. “So what do you say?” she pressed again, holding the tube between her thumb and index finger in front of Evie’s face. “It’ll help, promise.”

An irritant found its way to Evie’s nose, and she crinkled it. Her heart had gone from her stomach to her ears, and once again, her mouth wasn’t forming the words it needed to. Nothing came out, so the girl simply dipped her pinky into the powder before holding it in front of Evie’s nose. For the first time, Evie noticed the tattoo the encircled her upper wrist: a snake eating its own tail. She exhaled. It all comes back to this, she thought. She leaned down slightly, pressing one nostril closed as she inhaled the coke.

“You’re a pro!” the girl claimed, delighted as Evie sniffed at the new irritant in her nose. The flickering lights in the bathroom seemed to hum now, though her hand was throbbing more. “You should wrap that though...” Her voice seemed to trail off, as if she had just noticed the injury. 

“Thanks,” Evie said, realizing it was the first actual thing she had said to this girl. “I should go.” As she walked from the bathroom, she tore around her shirt, turning it into a crop top and wrapping the fabric around her hand as a makeshift bandage. She didn’t have time to think as she bounced back up the stairs to the stage. Allison would see her this time, she knew that, but she had no idea how she would react to being seen. Her gut twisted as she told the band, “Let’s play ‘Dying’ and then call it a night, okay?” Antonia and Nikki both nodded and started setting up, but December looked like she wanted to say something. Not giving her the opportunity, Evie turned and grabbed the microphone stand.

“Sorry about that,” she apologized with faux sheepishness to the crowd. “One too many whiskey sours, I guess.” She laughed and shrugged, and one or two chortles came from the crowd. “Anyway, we’re Candied Poison, and this is ‘Dying’.”

Evie didn’t dare look up toward the bar yet, too scared she’d be transfixed. Lips pressed against the microphone, she whispered, “See the cripple dance,” as the band played its first few notes. She continued, “Pay your money, baby / Now’s your chance”. It wasn’t until she breathed “Eyes like cyanide” and the band started taking up with the true rhythm that she raised her eyes to the bar, immediately locking - whether by chance or fate - with Allison’s.

“I am so dumb Just beam me up I've had it all forever I've had enough”

She let the note hang in the air for a moment, watching Allison’s movements as she did so. Her fears had been right; she was completely transfixed. But something she didn’t expect happened. Allison couldn’t meet her gaze. Anger replaced shame, adrenaline fueled by the drugs.

“Remember, you promised me I'm dying, I'm dying, please I want to, I need to be Under your skin”

The beat slowed again, and Evie found herself on the floor, legs bent on either side of her. 

“Our love is quicksand So easy to drown They steal the gravity, yeah From moving ground

Our love is quicksand So easy to drown They steal the gravity, yeah From moving ground”

Rising as she sang the chorus for the second time, her eyes found Allison again. She seemed to be begging the girl she was with to leave, and, she couldn’t quite tell under the dim bar lighting, but her cheeks may have been glistening with tears. What right did she have to feel hurt? Evie’s uninjured hand gripped the microphone tighter, leaving crescent indentations on the rubber handle. As she sang first part of the bridge, the venom seemed to drip from each word.

“And now I understand You leave with everything You leave with everything I am Withering”

She held the last note out, jumping off the stage as it drew to a close. The microphone chord trailed behind her as the crowd parted ways for her to make it towards the bar. Allison’s back was to her, but she turned just as Evie began singing again.

“And now I know that love is dead You've come to bury me There's nothing left here to pretend Anything”

To any onlooker, it may have been hard who wilted under whose gaze. Evie turned her bravado begin to wear thin, tears welling in her eyes. By the time she had reached the stage again to finish the song, Allison had disappeared.

*  *  *

Evie inhaled the last breath of the cigarette she was smoking, dropping and stubbing it out onto the concrete. Nikki slammed the van’s doors shut, giving it a couple smacks as a sign it was all loaded up. December walked towards Evie, concern on her face before she could even speak.

“Don’t,” Evie preempted her, putting her hand up and starting to walk away.

Ember put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, who shrugged it off. With a sigh, she said, “I’m just worried. You seem...” Although the sentence hung in the air, unfinished, both girls knew the rest.

Without looking at her, Evie said, “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“You’re scratching again.”

Evie looked down to see blotchy pink lines across her old track marks. She only scratched when she was close to using. Tugging her sleeves down, she walked toward the passenger door of the van.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

[shownuslaugh]

Tease

Pairing: Leeteuk x Reader

Summary: Neither of you really understand the definition of teasing

Warnings: Daddy kink, the tiniest bit of degradation, biting, spanking, Teuk’s got a purity kink, rough sex

Leeteuk huffs out an annoyed breath and slams his hand down on the table making you jump slightly in your chair. When you look up at him he’s fixing you with an even stare, face completely expressionless. Your blood turns to ice in your veins.

“Teuk?” No response from your boyfriend.

“Oppa?” Again, nothing.

His tongue darts out to swipe across his lower lips as his gaze travels from your face to your chest. He’d told you exactly what to wear to dinner and you followed his rules to the letter. Your dress is tight in all the right spots, complementing your body in all the right ways. The fabric is a nice shade of blue that makes your skin look beautiful.

“Daddy?” You ask.

You see him breathe in as his eyes flutter shut. His shoulders are rigid and his back is straight. His knuckles are turning white from his grip on the edge of the table. Everything about him, about this moment, screams danger.

Finally his eyes open, and he tells you in a calm tone that doesn’t reflect his tense body language, “If you bite that damn lip one more time, you’re going to regret it.”

“But I wasn’t-”

Leeteuk raises a brow, his mouth falling from a small smile to a deep frown. “Are you talking back?”

“No!”

“Really? Since when does telling me you aren’t doing something that you clearly are count as not talking back?”

You shut your mouth and look down at your food. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“No you’re not.” He tilts your chin up with the tip of his steak knife. His head tilts to the side while he watches your pupils widen. “But you will be.”

Those words echo around and around in your head for the rest of dinner. For the rest of drinks at a bar near your shared home. For the rest of the walk home. Your mind is so preoccupied with anticipation that you don’t even register the fact Leeteuk is already snoring lightly beside you until you look over and find him curled up under the covers.

You curse at him under your breath, annoyance suddenly filling your body from top to bottom. How typical of him to make promises but not deliver. It’s his specialty if you’re being honest. Leeteuk is incredibly talented at making your body sing with excitement only to let you down in the most horrible of ways. If you didn’t know better, you would swear he does it on…

Purpose.

“Hey!” You smack Leeteuk’s shoulder, irritation bleeding into your tone. “Wake up!”

Leeteuk grumbles but opens his eyes anyway. “What?”

“Do you do this on purpose?”

“Do what on purpose?” His voice is deep and thick with sleep. “What are you talking about?”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “I knew it.”

“If the only reason you woke me up was to irritate me with nonsense, congratulations. Now let me go back to sleep.” Leeteuk turns over on his other side, presenting you with his back.

He should’ve known better.

He knows you can’t keep your hands or mouth off the muscles in his back. It’s an almost addiction of yours. Every single time his shirt is off, you can’t help but run your fingers over his shoulder blades, dipping and tracing them over the delicate curve of his back until he’s a shivering mess beneath your touch. It’s honestly the closest you ever get to seeing him lose control.

“Teuk,” you call out in a soft voice. “I’m being serious. Do you tease me on purpose?”

Leeteuk sighs and rolls over on his back. “I’m not teasing you. I’m punishing you.”

“For what?”

He sits up, grabbing your wrist and tracing the blue veins with his thumb. He doesn’t look away as he says, “I give you rules, you break rules, you get punished. It’s the way our relationship has worked since the beginning. If anyone in this room is a tease, it’s you.”

You yank your wrist away. “I don’t tease you.”

“Oh?”

“No.”

Leeteuk pushes the blankets off his body and pulls you on his lap. Your legs straddle either side of him, exposing the embarrassingly wet spot on your panties to him. He looks down with what’s arguably the best poker face you’ve ever seen on anyone in any given situation.

“Do you know,” he begins, “just how powerful you are?”

You shake your head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

His hands trail up from your waist, over your arms, across your shoulders, to rest at the base of your neck. He pulls you forward and slots his mouth against yours. His lips work roughly over your own, demanding more and more from you with each second that passes.

“You,” Leeteuk says into the kiss, his minty breath fanning across your face. “You absolutely ruin me.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it,” you pant out.

Leeteuk smiles at you indulgently, showing his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “Oh, baby, you have no idea, do you? Mmm, I’ve been so terrible to you, haven’t I? Do you want me to show you? Do you want me to prove to you once and for all that no matter how much I might look otherwise, you’ve got me right in the palm of your hand?”

You manage to swallow despite the large lump in your throat. “Y-yes.”

A low hum vibrates through his chest as his teeth nip at your bottom lip. “Does Daddy need to make his baby girl feel better?”

“Yes.” You grind your hips in desperation, craving the feeling of him pounding mercilessly inside you. “Daddy, please?”

“Will you do what I say?”

“Anything you say.”

Leeteuk nods, satisfied with your answer. He moves his hands from the back of your neck to the front of your shirt, slipping it off your body in one smooth movement. You gasp when he bends his head and takes one of your sensitive nipples between his teeth. Leeteuk holds you closer as your nails dig into his shoulder blades, working his mouth over your chest and leaving bruises the shape of his teeth in his wake.

“Get on all fours,” he tells you.

“But I want-”

You don’t even get the full sentence out before Leeteuk’s hand comes down across your ass. You jump up on your knees from shock and he hits you again, this time even harder than before. He squeezes your bright red ass cheek in his large palm, gritting his teeth as he hears you cry out. The way your face screws up in agony has his cock as hard as a rock in his boxers.

“Get. On. All. Fours.” He emphasizes each word with a painful smack. “Understood?”

You scramble to do as he says but secretly hope you didn’t do it fast enough for his liking. The sting might hurt, but the pain is delicious. Leeteuk always knows exactly what to do to make you a drooling, horny mess.

The mattress shifts behind you as Leeteuk lines himself up with your entrance. Your body jerks when his tip teases your soaked entrance. A high pitched whine escapes your mouth and you fall forward into the matress, pushing your ass back towards him, presenting yourself fully. He traces a finger up your slit, collecting your juices before popping his finger in his mouth. Leeteuk’s eyes fall shut as he groans at the taste that floods his mouth. You’ve always been the sweetest of his girls, only made sweeter by the fact you came to him completely pure.

Leeteuk smiles at the memory.

“Do you remember our first night together?” He asks her. “You practically begged for my cock. You begged to be my baby girl if only for that night.”

You suppress the shiver that runs through your body. “Yes… Daddy, please stop teasing!”

“I thought I was teasing you earlier?” Leeteuk clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Make up your mind, baby girl. Am I teasing you now or was I teasing you before?”

“You…” The words won’t come out. Your mind goes completely blank as Leeteuk grips your hips and buries his cock inside your silky soft pussy. “Daddy!”

Leeteuk’s mouth falls open and he throws his head back while he adjusts to being inside you. You’ve never taken him all in one go before. He’s always had to slide in inch by inch so you didn’t get overwhelmed and had time to relax. Now, with your walls clenching around him, he wonders why the hell he ever did that. Your body can clearly take so much more than what he’s been given.

Maybe it’s time for him to up his game?

“Say it again, baby.” Leeteuk snaps his hips forward in one harsh movement. “Who am I?”

You whimper as his pace quickens to a punishing speed. The only sound you can hear is his harsh breathing and skin slapping against skin. You push hair out of your face only for it to fall back in its previous place as your body sways in time with Leeteuk’s thrusts.

He repeats himself one more time. “Who am I?”

“Daddy!” You grab the bedsheets in your fist and bite down on your lower lip until you taste blood. “Oh… fuck…”

Leeteuk looks down between the two of you and watches his cock pump in and out of your pussy with wide eyes.

“Ah,” he moans. “You’re taking me so well, baby girl.”

By now you know the appropriate response to a compliment from Leeteuk is, “thank you Daddy.”

He pets your hair softly. It’s a stark contrast to his opposite hand’s grip on your hip. His breathing grows ragged and his pace becomes unpredictable. His eyes are still glued to the spot where the two of you connect.

“You’re such a good girl for the rest of the world, aren’t you?” His question is rhetorical, but you still nod your head anyway. “Such a good girl in public but my baby girl in private. You’d do anything for my cock, wouldn’t you? I bet I could make you get on your knees in the middle of a church service if I just asked.”

“I…” You nod your head. “Yes, Daddy.”

Leeteuk moans. “Fuck… you’re such a horny little slut… you just couldn’t stand the thought of going to bed unfucked so you woke me up…”

You grab his hand that’s all tangled up in your hair and drag it down your body to your clit. Leeteuk gets the hint, circling his thumb roughly around your clit in perfect sync with his thrusts. You moan loudly only to be cut off abruptly when his sharp teeth sink in the flesh of your shoulder. He licks at the wound, kissing it gently.

Leeteuk’s hips stutter as you clench around him, reaching your own orgasm. He pants heavily in an effort to keep his own orgasm back, but it’s really no use. The second he feels your juices flood around his cock he cums deep inside you and pumps you full of his cum. The two of you collapse on the bed in each other’s arms, a sweaty, satiated mess.

[hydrangeathief]

long-limbed, not lovely

Title: Long-Limbed, Not Lovely

Pairings: platonic LAMP

Warnings: body horror/general horror elements, some generalized anxiety, not much else? as always let me know if there’s anything

Wordcount: 2,444

Author’s Note: i wanted to write about the dark sides looking horrifying. this is that fic.

The thing is, the sides aren’t human. They look human, sure, but that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. Their physical forms are constructs at best, held together on willpower alone. Patton has freckles. Logan is slight and angular. Roman is muscular and tanned. The dark sides are horrible, shambling creatures made of fear and darkness. Virgil… well. He’s doing his best.

At this exact moment in time, Virgil’s best is not quite good enough. Try as he might, he can’t quite shake off the anxiety that sends cloying shadows swirling around his fingertips. A quick glance in the mirror shows him pale skin, almost white, with dark shadows at his temples and under his eyes. The eyes are the worst part, he thinks idly, running his forked tongue over the razor edges of his teeth. They’re slit-pupiled and dark, a purple so lifeless that they’re nearly black, huge and sunken in his face.

Virgil sighs and blinks at his reflection. He hates this. He hates having to work so hard to look even vaguely human. Even now, when he is heart-stoppingly wrong, he is far from his baseline physical state. It could be much worse, he supposes, so he grits his teeth--ow, sharp--and concentrates.

With a feeling like an ice cold rain, Virgil’s skin shudders. Color comes back into his cheeks and his eyes brighten, brown blooming to cover the darkness. He lets out a shaking breath as his teeth shrink. He’s gripping the sink with claw-tipped fingers, but soon they’re nothing but shaking, human hands. He lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and rolls his shoulders. They pop as the bones settle into their rightful places.

Sometimes, he thinks he understands why Deceit spends all of his time flaunting some of his less human attributes. It’s exhausting to force himself into an ill-fitting frame like the one he pretends to own. Deceit, lazy or confident or perhaps just hellbent on being as terrifying as possible, embraces it. The scales, the eye, they’re jarring at first, but the others are used to them. Surely they could get used to Virgil?

He shoves that thought back down the instant it occurs to him. No. They wouldn’t. Patton would scream and Roman would hate him again and Logan would stare at him with cold, calculating eyes, and Virgil would shatter into a million pieces. He can’t do that. He won’t.

“Virgil?” Patton calls from right outside the bathroom door. Virgil startles hard and his spine shifts, elongating and stooping until he hits his head on the light fixture. He bites back a groan and clears his throat, trying to will away the double-tone that he knows will be there when he speaks.

“Yeah?” Okay, that was okay, not much distortion. He bends to look at himself in the mirror. His eyes are wrong again, but his skin isn’t translucent, and his teeth haven’t sharpened into fangs yet. This is salvageable. He can do this.

“Come on down to the kitchen when you’re ready,” Patton says. “I have a surprise!”

And just like that, Virgil’s pulse is quickening and there are shadows gathering at his joints and his hands are bent into crooked, razor-tipped claws. He hates surprises, even when he knows logically that Patton means him no ill will and would never surprise him with anything that could hurt him. But just because he knows and understands something doesn’t mean that he’s not going to react negatively, and now he’s going to have to start calming himself down all over again.

The complete picture of the monster that Virgil shoves under a human skin is horrifying enough to tear a scream from even the bravest of throats. He’s tall and bent, rail thin and deathly pale, dark veins visible at his temples and joints. He’s sharp in all the places a human should not be. His bones jut at sickening angles. His tongue is forked and he has far, far too many teeth. His fingers end in claws and his knees bend backwards and if any of the others saw him, he would be abandoned again like the monster he is.

Virgil meets the flat darkness of his eyes in the mirror and takes a deep breath, blinking back frustrated tears. He hates this.

There’s a knock at the door that makes Virgil jump. He hits his head on the ceiling and lets out an involuntary curse, hands flying up to touch at the forming bruise. His hand comes away wet with dark black blood and he takes a brief moment to go over every single invective he knows.

“Are you okay?” That’s Roman’s voice. The doorknob jiggles and Virgil is endlessly glad that he’d locked it on the way in. “It sounded like you fell. Did you fall?”

“No,” Virgil says and immediately winces at the distortion. Good. Great. Wonderful. Now Roman will be worried.

“Are you sure?” Roman demands.

“Yeah, I just--” Virgil clears his throat and grits his teeth, trying to will himself to some semblance of normalcy. “Hit my head.”

“If you say so,” Roman says breezily, and if Virgil didn’t know him he might assume that Roman wasn’t worried at all. As good of an actor as he is, Virgil can see right through him. He knows all about worry, after all. He is worry.

“I say so,” Virgil says firmly. It’ll take him probably another ten minutes to get back to normal, but he can do it. He just needs time, and no more surprises, and some space to breathe in. He wants-- he wants his room. He wants comfort. He wants to jam his headphones over his ears (and are his ears pointed now? they usually are, when he’s like this) and bury his head in a pillow and just sit still until he’s calm enough to focus on shifting his bones back into place. That’s what he wants. Can he get that? Maybe, if Roman leaves, he can hurry down the hall and slip into his room without anyone noticing.

“If you’re fine, I’m going downstairs,” Roman calls through the door. He sounds bored, now, and Virgil doesn’t think it’s an act. He listens intently for the sound of Roman’s boots clomping down the stairs and exhales, turning to the door. He cracks it and peers out into the deserted hallway. Quickly, and with all the quiet he can muster, he darts into his room.

The weight of the room’s aura is welcome. It’s heavy and sluggish and with the underlying current of urgency that he needs to kick-start his brain into working again. Normally, the sweeping darkness of the room is unsettling, but when he’s tall and long-limbed and horrifying, it feels like home. It feels like a place he belongs.

It only takes five minutes for Virgil to cram himself back into a human shape, and he cracks each and every one of his knuckles before shrugging on his hoodie and creeping downstairs. His hands are still shaking, but he’s fine. He’s breathing normally and he doesn’t hit his head trying to enter the kitchen, so he must be fine.

The others are there already, of course. Patton is leaning against the counter with a huge grin on his face, waving his hands excitedly as he rambles at Logan and Roman, who are seated at the kitchen table.

“Virgil!” Patton shouts brightly. Virgil gives him a two-finger salute and a small smile as he takes his place at the table. Roman gives him a brief worried look, but the scrape on Virgil’s head had closed up as soon as he’d calmed down enough to control his appearance. He’s genuinely fine now. Just tired.

“We are all assembled, Patton,” Logan says with a note of suppressed impatience in his voice. He waves a hand for Patton to get on with it.

“Oh! Yeah! My surprise! I finally learned how to make bread!” Patton shouts. He whirls around and opens a cabinet, reaching inside and grabbing at a plate. On the plate is a loaf of bread. It’s lopsided and lightly burned on one side, but it appears generally edible. Patton brandishes at at them, beaming.

“Padre! It’s magnificent!” Roman declares with a sweep of an arm.

“That is definitely a loaf of bread,” Logan says, ever observant.

“Cool,” Virgil says. He can’t believe the surprise was a loaf of bread. He got scared by the concept of a loaf of bread. He sure is easy to startle. With a rueful smile at his own jumpiness, he turns on his phone, content to waste a few minutes lost in the eternal downward spiral that is his tumblr dashboard.

“Well, are we going to try it, or are we gonna keep staring at it?” Patton asks, laughing. He sets the plate on the counter and turns to rifle through the drawer where they keep silverware. Halfway there, his elbow knocks into a stray glass, left abandoned on the counter, and it goes flying. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

The sound of glass shattering isn’t, in and of itself, terrifying. Neither is the sound of Patton gasping. But put them together and add in the fact that Virgil wasn’t looking to see what, exactly, went wrong, and it’s just enough to send panic through his chest and down his spine.

“Fuck,” Virgil grits out. His phone shatters in his hand. His heart is beating too fast.

“Whoops!” Patton laughs. He’s fine. He’s completely fine, bending to pick up the bigger pieces of glass while Logan hurries to grab the broom. No one is hurt and they’re all completely fine, but Virgil--jumpy, anxious, always on the edge of panic--startles right out of his skin. Literally.

“You okay there, my Dark Knightmare?” Roman asks. Virgil tries to get out an answer but his mouth is wrong, his mouth is full of sharp edges and his tongue is too long and oh no, oh no, ohnonononono--

“Oh my god,” Patton squeaks out. Virgil stands abruptly and hits his head on the ceiling. The last thing he sees before he sinks out in a panic is a look of blind terror on Patton’s face.

He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget that, as long as he lives.

It takes him nearly an hour to relax enough to mold his shape, and when he does, there is no comfort in it. He spends a while flat on his back on his bed, just breathing and thinking.

This is the worst case scenario. The others know that the Dark Sides aren’t exactly… normal. Deceit is, perhaps, the most human of them all. The others are a mess of long limbs and glowing eyes and grinning, glistening fangs. Virgil is far from the most horrifying of them, but he knows he isn’t exactly something lovely to look at. He’s a nightmare given sentience. He’s fear itself, physically and emotionally. And now they’ve seen him.

He’s going to have to withdraw. He can’t just leave, he knows that now, but he’s going to have to start spending more time in his room. Maybe he’ll only leave at night. Maybe he’ll get lucky and the others will still be willing to be around him, sometimes, if he’s careful. Maybe if he promises to be normal--no, that’s wishful thinking. That’s impossible.

There’s a knock at his bedroom door and Virgil flinches. He holds his form--small miracle--but it’s a close thing.

“What?” he growls. Might as well shrug that dark persona back on. He has a feeling he’s going to need it.

“Can we come in, kiddo? Just for a second?” Patton calls. His voice is soft and even.

“I guess,” Virgil says with a shrug. Let’s get this over with.

Patton cracks open the door and gives Virgil a tiny smile. Over his shoulder, Roman is on tiptoes trying to peer in, and he shoves past Patton the instant the door is open. He marches right up to the edge of Virgil’s bed, points a finger at him, and says, “You’re a monster.”

Virgil flinches, biting down on his tongue. He draws his shoulders up around his head and fists his hands in the sheets, ready to be shouted at, accused, hated.

“That’s so flippin’ sweet, man!” Roman shouts, and Virgil’s heart stops.

“It--what?” he asks. His voice sounds like gravel on sandpaper, but at least it’s not distorted. He’s more firmly in this body, now that he’s had a while to collect himself.

“You’re so cool!” Roman gushes. He swings his arms wide. “You’re, like, a million feet tall! It’s far more imposing and terrifying than anything I could have dreamed up, and that’s saying something!”

Logan readjusts his glasses on his face, saying, “I’ll admit I had wondered about your physical form, given that you often seem more aligned with the Dark Sides than with the three of us.” Virgil’s face falls and Logan shakes his head, continuing, “No, that is not meant as an insult. It is merely a statement of fact. Things change, Virgil, and you are one of us now, appearances notwithstanding.”

“Yeah, kiddo, you’re family. We love you, no matter what you look like!” Patton finishes. He reaches out a hand and Virgil stares at it for a moment before gathering his courage and extending one of his own. There are no claws, only blunt fingernails, but he’s still terrified that Patton will flinch. That doesn’t happen, though, and Virgil finds himself being drawn into a very tight hug. He rests his head on Patton’s shoulder and breathes in the sense of security.

“How tall are you, by the way?” Roman asks. His eyes are lit up with excitement and he’s smiling.

“Uh, I don’t know? I don’t exactly measure,” Virgil says.

Something like curiosity takes up residence in Logan’s eyes, but before he can open his mouth to say anything, Patton cuts him off with a firm, “Virgil doesn’t have to do anything he’s not comfortable with.”

“No, I’m fine, I just.” Virgil can’t string words together past the weird mess of fear and relief mingling in his chest. He wants to thank them for being nice to him about his horrifying appearance, wants to make them promise to not run screaming from him, wants to wriggle his way back into Patton’s arms and cry a lot of grateful tears, but he doesn’t do any of those things. He looks each of them in the eyes and sees only earnest acceptance there.

Slowly, a grin stretches across his face, too wide and too sharp.

“I could show you,” he says, and he does.

[naturalhealthgodsway]

Guest Blog: Katie Tippett Introduces Selah ~ Pause and Praise

Five years ago, I put my fussy baby in the car and started driving. She didn’t want to nap, but she was just so tired. And sometimes a car ride would soothe her. I had so much to do, but she was screaming, and I was desperate for just a moment to myself. I was a new mom in a new city. I had no friends, and 3 part time jobs. We had moved to a new place – this pretty little island – for a fresh start. But it just didn’t seem to be clicking. We had given up so much security to make this move because we felt led – guided – to THIS place. And now? I was honestly just exhausted. I had no direction. I was dragging my baby all over town to my day jobs, and handing her off to my husband at bedtime to go to my night time job. I felt like everything was a big mistake. Why did God bring me here?

As I drove endless loops around the island, I gritted my teeth and tried to sing soothingly. I didn’t want her to pick up on my anxiety. I wanted to be a place of rest and peace for my baby. So with a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, I sang lullabies while my heart wrenched wildly for answers. And then, finally, silence in the back seat. She had dozed off, but I didn’t dare stop driving or singing for a long time. I focused on signing lullabies in the quiet car, feeling alone and wondering what it was all for. After a few songs in the quiet stillness, the tears began to fall. I wept all by myself in the car with my sleeping baby riding peacefully in the back seat. My tears turned me to prayer, and I angrily asked God, Why did you lead me here? This is not working. I feel like I’m meant for more than being exhausted. What do you want from me? Expecting silence – nothingness – I was surprised when He answered me. As if He were right there in my passenger seat – a gentle friend, unafraid of my tears and my anger – He breathed peace over me, Stop. Lay this all down. Be still and focus on your family now, and I will do the rest. Trust Me. I have a plan for you. I breathed deep and calm, but my heart raced with the excitement of His presence. I found my resolve in Him, and that day, I began to lay it all down.

I left 2 of my jobs, and within a year, I would leave the last job as well. I withdrew myself from social media, and turned my attention to my little family. In the beginning I was bored and lonely and confused. When I was busier, it was easier to avoid my pain. But now at home with my baby and no distractions, I was forced to face my pain. And over time, God worked in my heart, and a question rose to the surface. I asked myself this one question when I was struggling with contentment, overwhelmed with uncertainty, or exhausted from mothering a toddler while pregnant with the next babe. I asked it again and again when I felt lonely, or without purpose, or even apart from God, I asked it – a question that would eventually evolve into my mantra, my mission, my message born from my mess. I would ask simply, Where is my joy in this moment? And I would search for whatever sliver of truth or beauty I could find in that very moment. Once I found it, I said only, Thank You for Your gift. This very small and simple practice made a thousand mundane moments meaningful. It shaped a vision and a purpose in my life. It glorified God in the in between spaces of mothering – the dish washing and the rocking and the laundry and the vacuuming. Those spaces became sacred and holy spaces – overflowing with gifts of grace from my Father. My joy in a moment might come from the color of my baby’s hair or the sound of her laugh. It might come from the feeling of a cool breeze at my back or from the flash of a bright red cardinal swooping across my yard. Miracles abounded. When I just looked. After months of this practice, I stumbled across a word in Psalms – Selah. It felt lyrical and lovely, and it appealed to me instantly. When I looked up the meaning, I knew God was naming the question I had been asking myself. Selah means to pause and reflect – or give praise. Click To TweetIt’s mostly used in the Psalms to prompt a pause in reading – as if instructing the reader to pause and find the value in the passage. And isn’t that exactly what I had trained myself to do in my life? Pause and find the value? Pause and praise.? Selah. It was named. And when something is named, it is known and knowable. Once Selah – my practice of pause and praise – was named, I began teaching it. And today I’ve taught it to hundreds of women. Selah is why God told me to be still. It’s why He needed me to sit in my pain. It’s what He needed me to learn to transform my own life, and to love His people better. He needed me to be still so He could prepare me for the work he had laid out for me. It is still the message in my heart and my prayer for you – to learn to Selah. You can do it right now, where you are, whatever your life looks like. He is waiting for you to be still so He can show you something beautiful. So sister, if you find yourself in a season of uncertainty, overwhelm, or exhaustion - or if your life just doesn’t look the way you thought it would – keep your heart. The God of the universe crafted you for purpose and for abundance. So Selah. And see all that He has prepared for you. And the best part? Friend, He tells us just what to do find Him in the midst of it all. He gives us a plan right here in Scripture: Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. (Philippians 4:8). Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. (Romans 12:2) …we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. (2 Corinthians 10:5) Do you see it? He’s telling us to train our minds. To control our thoughts. Take every thought captive… So what’s flowing through your mind today? Can you take captive every thought? Can you think about what’s lovely and pure and noble and praiseworthy? Once you can, then you can be transformed by the renewing of your mind. He’s waiting to show you what He has for you. Selah, sister. Pause and praise. And you’ll find Him. You can practice Selah in any moment. At a red light, washing the dishes, in car line, doing your makeup, changing a diaper, cooking dinner, or paying bills…pause, breathe, and name what you find. There will be good right there in that moment. And you know what? Nothing is too small to be named. Nothing is too insignificant to point to God. It could be your baby’s smile or your hot coffee. It could be the roof over your head or the sun on your face. It’s all abundance and it’s all meant to be delighted in. So delight in it. Don’t hold back. Grab every true and beautiful piece of your every day life and praise God for it. If you can do that, you can change your life. Love + Light, Katie From the Selah Toolbox: To start practicing Selah, you’ll need a plan. A great tool to begin your own practice is to set a few pause and praise triggers throughout your day. Think through your day and find a few spaces in your day that you can make pause and praise triggers. Every time you come to the trigger, no matter your current state of mind, just take a deep breath and pause to look for reasons to praise. One of my triggers is a sign over my couch. It says Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life. I can see it from my kitchen sink, and every night after dinner, when the kids are running wild and my back hurts and there’s a sink full of dishes, I take my place to start washing and I see that sign. It triggers me to reframe my situation. Instead of feeling like a tired mama with an aching back, I begin to see myself as a daughter of a King. Blessed with beautiful and lively babies, a strong body, and a wildly abundant life. Try creating your own triggers and let me know how it goes!

Katie is the founder of Selah St. Simons, where she coaches women to transform their lives by renewing their minds. She is the creator of The Selah Journal and the The Selah Journal for Kids. And she lives in St. Simons Island, GA with her husband, Jordan and their three daughters. You can connect with Katie at selahstsimons.com. Read the full article

[radioactivedelorean]

Words: 1311

Stan’s knuckles were white as he gripped the bathroom sink, his head hung low. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, slowly trickling down his nose and landing in the sink. His stomach was churning. His head spun and ached. He felt sick. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, concerned to see how pale he looked. He had dark bags under his eyes. He took his glasses off, setting them down on the side of the sink. He turned the cold tap on and splashed his face with cold water.

“C’mon Stan, it’s just a stomach bug,” he muttered to himself. “You’re fine. You can’t afford to be ill.”

He felt his stomach lurch violently. He bent low over the sink, feeling his stomach empty itself. His throat burned and his eyes watered. The vomit splattered up the sides of the sink and onto the taps. Stan was glad he’d shut and locked the bathroom door when he came in here. When his stomach stopped lurching, he turned the taps on to wash the vomit away and grabbed some toilet paper, wiping his mouth off. He cleaned up the sink and tossed the paper into the toilet, flushing it away. He splashed some more cold water into his face and forced a grin. He set the fez back onto his head and marched back out into the gift shop to greet the next tour group.

After the tour was finished - the last one for the day - he returned to the gift shop to supervise the customers as they browsed the various bits of Mystery Shack merchandise. He noticed Wendy shoot him the occasional concerned glance and he realised he must still look pale. He flashed her a thumbs up and told her to keep working, earning an eye roll in return. She went back to dealing with sales.

Soos must have noticed as well. He paused next to Stan while restocking. “Mr Pines? You okay? You uh… don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine, Soos. It’s been a long day. I’m tired,” Stan brushed his concerns off. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Soos frowned, but nodded and continued stacking the shelves once more. Stan noticed Soos seemed to be wavering as well. He touched the man’s shoulder. “Are you okay? You seem sick. Can’t have you throwing up around here - it’ll drive the customers away.”

“Well, to be honest with ya Mr Pines,” Soos scratched the back of his neck, putting the last couple of snowglobes on the shelf. “I was sick this morning and I’ve had like a real bad headache all day.”

Stan frowned. Those seemed to be the same symptoms he was having. His head had been pounding like a jackhammer all day. “Listen, Soos,” Stan muttered. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve been feeling like crap all day. I’ve already been sick twice and I’ve got an awful headache too.”

“You don’t think something’s going round, do ya?” Soos asked with a frown.

“Well surely by now Wendy, the kids and even that nerd would have show symptoms if that were the case.” Stan pointed out. “But as far as I’m aware it’s just me and you. You know what Wendy’s like - first sign of illness and she’ll call in claiming she’s got the plague.”

Soos chuckled. “Yeah, true. Why’s it just us then? What have you and me both done that no one else has?”

Stan thought for a moment, but came up with nothing. “No idea, Soos. It might be an illness, unless…” His eyes narrowed as he realised something. Both he and Soos had fallen victim to that stupid mind-control tie Ford had given the twins. He gritted his teeth. “That asshole.”

“What?” Soos blinked.

“Finish up around here and lock up once people have gone, would ya?” Stan passed him the keys. “I need to have a chat with my brother.”

Soos puffed out his chest and saluted. “Yes, Mr Pines!”

Stan walked through the “Employees Only” door and down the hallway towards his brother’s room. He knocked on the door loudly. “Oi nerd!”

“I’m busy, Stanley!” came Ford’s reply. “Can’t this wait?”

“No, it damn well can’t!” Stan stormed in. He noticed Ford scramble to cover something on his desk before getting up, crossing his arms.

“What do you want? Don’t you have customers to scam?”

Stan narrowed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists. “Where’s that damn tie of yours?”

“What tie? Stanley, you know I never wear a tie. If you’ve lost one of yours then-”

“That mind control tie, you ass.” Stan spat. “The one the kids used on me and Soos.”

“Soos and me, Stanley,” Ford rolled his eyes. “Your grammar is awful.”

Stan’s rage boiled over. He strode forward, shoving his brother backwards violently. He restrained himself from decking Ford round the face. “Would you quit inflating your own damn ego for five fucking seconds?! You didn’t answer my question. Where is that damn tie?!”

Ford stumbled back, his own eyes narrowing. He shoved Stanley backwards with equal force. “I put it away, for your information.” He spat back. “And for the record, I am not ‘inflating my own ego’. I’m simply pointing out a grammatical mistake that someone at your age shouldn’t be making.”

“Not everyone is some super space-genius with twelve fucking PhDs, you know,” Stan growled. “That damn tie of yours has made Soos and me sick.”

“Ridiculous,” Ford scoffed. “You have simply just caught a virus from somewhere. There is no way that invention of mine has made you ill.”

“Care to explain why me and him are both ill and no one else is, then?!”

Ford shrugged. “Don’t know and frankly I don’t care. Just go back to your customers and stop complaining.”

Stan growled. He marched forwards and grabbed the collar of his brother’s coat, hauling him up off his feet. “Stanley!” Ford yelped. He gripped his brother’s arms, trying to force him off. “Put me down!”

“You don’t care, huh?!” Stan spat, shaking his brother in the air. “Gee, that’s real nice to hear, especially since I spent thirty years getting you home, which by the way you still haven’t thanked me for. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered if you didn’t give a shit about me in the first place! But then again, who ever would? After all, I’m just a worthless piece of shit, aren’t I?”

Ford stopped struggling. He was shocked to see tears in his brother’s eyes. “Stanley….?”

Stan gritted his teeth. “I should have left you there. You would have been better off without me anyway, since I just ruin everything.”

With that, Stanley threw Ford onto the floor and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him. Ford growled and got up, straightening his coat and brushing himself off. He let out a quiet sigh. His shoulders slumped. He hated fighting with his brother like this, but both of them were too damn stubborn to apologise. He ran a hand through his hair and sat back down at his desk. He pulled one of the drawers open, taking the tie out. Was it possible that this had made his brother and that employee sick? Were there side effects of this tie that he wasn’t aware of?

Sighing again, Ford put the tie back in the drawer and put his elbows up on the desk, holding his head in his hands. What was it Stanley had said. “You would have been better off without me anyway, since I just ruin everything.” Ford swallowed. When had Stanley had those thoughts. They couldn’t have just spawned recently. Stan wasn’t the sort of person to make something like that up just for the sake of getting through to people. Did Stan have some underlying thoughts like that?

Or did Ford just not know his brother anymore?

_______

@nightingalejune

I don’t think I’ve written much with Stan and Ford pre-Weirdmageddon. These two poor old men need to get their shit sorted out.

For the record: prompts are still closed! I’ve had two more prompts in the last day or so and I did say that I closed them. Doesn’t mean I won’t do them, though, just please don’t send any more!

[fierysafrina]

Growing Pains

Fandom: Kuroko no Basket

Pairing: Nash Gold Jr. x f!OC (Tianela)

Summary: He was always her hero.

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Romance

Notes: I felt a bit angsty and I needed to write something so yeah, Nash was that guinea pig once more. Mentions of blood, cursing and a bit gore description on moments, but nothing major.

It started with a cough.

She stood beside him, her smile visible as he talked with his friends and teammates, ignoring the pain in her chest that slowly became unbearable. Her shortness of breath never passed through her thoughts, taking it in a way that she didn’t have much stamina anymore, growing older and lazier. He often joked about they need to pace up things behind the doors and as much as he stayed true to his word, he always found a new way to spice it up.

She laid in bed, her dark eyes observing his expression that seemed so peaceful like a child’s innocence while he was sleeping. It were these rare moments that she loved; showing the emotions he never showed to anyone and expression that seemed so unfamiliar even to him. But she accepted him as a whole, as a breaking man, whose cracks grew bigger and as an innocent child that could never really grow up into a man.

Rising her hand, she traced her finger down his cheek, his soft and warm skin tingling her, her lips turning up in a gentle smile. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips on his temple, trailing kisses down on his cheek and nose and over his lips that turned up in a grin. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her over so she cradled him under, her brown hair tickling his skin.

It continued with weight loss.

“You lost your weight from the last time I saw you.” Her mother kissed her on the forehead, her eyebrows furrowed together as she pulled away and looked at her daughter in worry. “Are you alright?” she asked, caressing her cheek gently.

“I’m fine, mom.” She smiled, but dark circles under her eyes and pale cheeks barely convinced her. “You know Nash wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.” It was a lie, they both knew, but it was also the truth.

“Speaking of Nash, where is your boyfriend?” Her mother asked and looked around the apartment she shared with him. “I met with his mother before I came and she asked me to deliver some food and dessert for you both.” she said and put a bag on the table, taking out small boxes.

“Oh, he has practice game in the evening with a team from Washington, so they’re training till then.” Walking to her side, she helped putting boxes on the counter and in the refrigerator before they sat on the chairs and talked while drinking coffee and eating cookies that she baked in the morning. She was smiling brightly, like she wasn’t tired; like she didn’t have any problems; like she wasn’t sick.

Standing in the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection in confusion and disgust. She has never been so skinny to the point of her ribs almost showing, of thigh gap between her thighs that a whole arm in thickness could pass through. It made her sick.

The need to cough woke her from her thoughts of her body and she put hand over her mouth only to frown when something warm and drippy made her look at it. Her face turned paler than it already was, her eyes wide and she stumbled towards the sink, cleaning the blood away. She continued to rub her hands together with soap over and over again, unknown that her eyes welled up and tears started streaming down her cheeks.

Her visit in the hospital didn’t go well. From surprise and shock, she couldn’t respond to Nash when he asked her where she was. All she could was burst out crying as she clang on his shirt, apologizing like a little child that was caught stealing or taking what he shouldn’t take from his parents.

“You should tell him.” Nick looked at her with sadness in his eyes as he stood by her bed. “He’s drinkin’ more than he’s used to…” he didn’t need to spoke the rest, knowing she wouldn’t take it well.

“He thinks I cheated on him.” Her voice was silent as she stared through window at the sun that was slowly setting behind the buildings of Los Angeles. “It’s better this way then seeing him leaving either way…” she closed her eyes and looked at Nick, who begged her with his gaze that never wavered. “Don’t look at me like that Nick. I don’t have much time left…” Her voice was even quieter.

“Don’t shut him away.” His voice was soft. “You need him and he needs you. Call him…”

“I’ve made up my mind.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes like it used to. “Take care of him for me.” And that was the cue for him to leave.

Nick looked to the ground, his hands slowly turning into fists, knuckles white from the tight grip. “Don’t regret it later.” Was everything he said and walked away, leaving her alone. Looking back through window, her smile faded away and all that remained was the shadow that grew darker with each day.

She stared at his name displayed on her phone, a photo of her hugging him from behind, smiling from ear to ear as he showed his usual scowl. She remembered that day clearly, knowing full well he hated taking photos of them together, but there were moments where he agreed and let her. A small smile spread over her lips, knowing she always received a ‘punishment’ for taking photos without his knowledge, but it disappeared when her call went to voicemail.

She put phone on her ear and took a deep breath. “Nash…” She breathed out his name, but it was followed with a cough. Quickly taking a tissue that was on her night-table, she coughed, but cringed when scent of blood hit her senses. It made her sick, yet in such short time she grew to ignore it whenever she coughed it up.

“Sorry…” she whispered and closed her eyes. “I don’t know if you’re there or not, but…there’s something I must tell you.” Her voice was quiet, but louder than a whisper. “I made you think I cheated on you, acting like I was caught by Nick, which was the reason why we argued at that time. It fell so perfectly that I just came up with that lie and I know you don’t believe me anymore, but it’s not true. I never cheated on you, less alone thought of it.” she bit her lower lip, afraid to start crying.

“I…” she continued, her voice cracking. “I-I don’t have much time left. They said a month, or two the most and I’m scared…” she closed her eyes, tightly gripping on the covers. “I can’t bear to leave without telling you what’s going on and without explaining. I’m so sorry for letting you think that I cheated on you for months, but I really didn’t. I’m so sorry you had to go through that pain all because of me. It’s okay if you won’t forgive me, I understand…” She took few breaths to calm herself. “You were always, and still are, the hero of my story and the love of my life. Don’t even forget that…”

Apology after apology were whispered until she hanged up and curled up in a ball on the bed, ignoring the pain in her chest as she silently cried. She didn’t care for anything anymore. What she wanted to do, she did and now all she waited was for the time to come.

Sweat dripped down his neck and disappeared under his plane T-shirt as he swung his arm in right cross before it was followed by a jab, his frustration growing when an image of her long brown hair appeared in front of him. She was smiling at him, her eyes closed as she leaned to the side, chuckling and saying something. A curse left his lips as he went for another jab before holding the punching bag.

“Nash,” Jason called from behind. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’ve never been better.” Nash gritted his teeth, Nick narrowing his eyebrows.

“Did she tell you?” The brunet went straight to the point, Nash missing the punching bag.

“You,” He turned to Nick, his blue eyes glaring at him. “Why didn’t you say anythin’?” he spit like demon itself was in him.

“It was her decision to tell you or not. I only persuaded her.” He responded calmly as Nash continued to curse. “Did you want to hear ‘bout it after she was six feet under? You would hate and despise her more than you did.”

“What makes you think I still don’t?” He snapped.

“You’re in a gym, training. If she didn’t tell you, you would be screwing around with women like you did till few days ago.” Nick didn’t waver one bit when he sent him a look, to keep his mouth shut. “Meet with her.” he said, his expression serious.

“Fuck no,” Nash cursed. “She decided to play this game. I’m following her rules.” he said and turned around.

“You’re such an arrogant asshole.” Nick raised his voice, gaining attention from the rest of the team, but neither wanted to meddle between, especially when Nash was close to losing it. “Are you really waitin’ for the last minute or for a fucking miracle? Before you know it she’ll be gone and then you’ll get back on pityin’ your sorry ass how you couldn’t see her one more time!”

“Don’t push it, Nick.” Nash gritted his teeth, pointing a finger at him in a threat.

“Oh, so now we are playing threatening games?” Nick scoffed. “Well go ahead,” he raised his hands in the air. “I’m done with you and your little games. I would rather be anywhere else than in the same room with you.”

“Then go!”

“And I thought you were better. Fuck you, Nash.” Nick cursed and grabbed his bag before leaving the gym. Everyone quietly stared at their captain as he turned to the punching bag and with all power he could manage went for a roundhouse kick, sending the bag off the hook.

Leaning on the wall in front of himself, his eyes were closed as water streamed down on his head and back. His lips turned up in a smile when he saw her face in front of him, pouting when he said he didn’t want to go to cinema and watch her favourite movie of the trilogy. He loved seeing those silly expressions on her face, knowing that he was the one that made her feel that way. He loved it even more when she was writhing under him, begging and moaning every time, calling his name like it was meant to slip off her tongue like a prayer. She always made him feel what he never did or forgotten and he always yearned for more.

He cursed quietly as he stood in front of closed doors, nurses giving him side glances. He knew he had a bad reputation even among hospitals and he couldn’t be annoyed even more that she was in a hospital where most of his opponents ended up in. Quietly staring in front, he took a deep breath before he held for the doorknob and opened the doors.

He walked, his eyes immediately falling on her body that was covered with a blanket, her back facing him. He could see from afar she lost weight and seeing her curled up, he wondered just how much has she changed.

“I don’t want to talk about Nash anymore, Nick…” Her voice was hoarse as he closed the doors.

“The last time I checked, I was still Nash.” He spoke rather quietly. Not missing the flinch and the way she covered herself more, he approached her slowly.

Before he could see her face, she spoke: “Don’t come closer…” almost begging.

“Why not?” he asked, like it was ridiculous of her to say that.

“I look hideous…” She whispered as she gripped the cover tighter, her knuckles turning white.

“I’ve seen worse,” He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Reaching out for her hand, he held it gently before he slowly turned her his way. His eyes lingered on her pale and skinny hand. “I thought you would have your nails painted…” he murmured and raised his gaze, meeting with her dark eyes he missed.

“They don’t allow,” she answered and averted her gaze away from his. She couldn’t bear to see his blue eyes that were searching for something. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” He didn’t know what to say. What was he doing in hospital? He looked at her hand that he still held and saw a ring he bought almost a year ago as an anniversary gift. It was unusual of him, out of character, but the moment he saw that ring, he could see it on her finger and it looked perfect. It still did. “You’re still wearing it…” he murmured to himself and smiled before looking back at her. “I came to visit you.”

“Why?” Her voice cracked, eyes tearing up, still afraid to meet his eyes.

With his other free hand, he held her chin and turned her face his way, his smile present like it never left. “I missed you.”

Without being able to control herself she burst into tears, covering her eyes with both hands. Nash’s chest tightened and not wasting a moment, he pulled his arms around her and pulled her in his embrace, against his warm chest. He closed his eyes when he heard her apologies as he responded with soft words of comfort. Feeling her hands clinging on his shirt weakly, he cursed at every god and saint, he knew, for being unable to stay by her side from the beginning and for taking her away.

“I’m sorry…” he spoke, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m sorry I cut you off like that when you were in so much pain…” His voice shook. “Y-you should have told me… I would call you a liar, but you wouldn’t have to go through this alone…” he tightened his embrace, sudden realization that she is slipping from him forever hitting him in the face like unexpected punch.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice shaking as she tried to control her tears. “I was scared that you would leave nonetheless…”

“You are an idiot…” he laughed bitterly. “I would never leave you.”