#i think its because i had that breakdown in front of her before

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

MY MUM JUST BOUGHT ME AND HER TICKETS TO SEE SIX?? UNPROMPTED???? SHE IS THE MOST CONFUSING WOMAN ALIVE??????? BUT YAAAAAYYYY

[wasyago]

Please more Trail's gone cold au I'm begging you I need it just pour out every thought in your brain I want to hear it

hgdhhfbd i mean, sure why not

everything plot related is in the main post, there's nothing else really to tell. but i could share random details that didn't really fit into the lore drop. again tho, it's a small au and mostly an exploration of the concept, so there's not a lot.

❄️ gem and etho are siblings, i don't think it was mentioned anywhere? blood related and all that, they both have black hair, gem just dyes hers.

❄️ behind the scenes reasons for the order of deaths. generally i picked these three to be the main cast because i suddenly realized pet crew were just dungeon master and his two winners, and that was too crazy of a concept to not do anything with? so, tango as the main guy and actual master of the dungeon had to die first, seeing how he's the cave's favorite. pearl as the main explorer and as the one to unlock all the secrets had to die second, because she had to return to the dungeon / the cave to find out the truth, and she conquered it but never actually got out. and etho had to survive, because he's the "proper" winner and the one who actually escaped the dungeon with treasures.

❄️ lore reasons for the order of infection. tango you already know, but pearl and etho went in at the same time so in theory they had to start experiencing the effects together. but because etho was wearing a mask it did lessen the amount of sculk he inhaled, slowing down the process. wear masks kids!

and, well, you did say you wanted to hear every thought so. i really like the plot point of them leaving tango to die, so im gonna ramble a little about it. even just, the difference in their views on the situation is so satisfying to me. because tango had no idea something scary was happening to him! and for pearl and etho it was a life or death situation. and just-- they were talking about leaving tango and tango obviously, obviously, protested, because what the actual hell??? yes okay he's ill and a burden, but don't leave an ill guy to freeze to death in a cave, what is wrong with them????? or, okay, what is wrong with etho, pearl was against the idea. but, straight up tango did not plan for it to end this way, he had his whole life ahead of him and so many things ha still wanted to do! of course he cried when they left, what else was he supposed to do? thank etho for his awesome decision? be all cool and stoic and sacrifice himself? hell no, he didn't want to die, he never asked for this.

he did die tho, so. whomp whomp 🎺... i imagine he passed before pearl and etho even reached the stairs, so at least he didn't suffer for long. if he had a breakdown about being left alone he probably hyperventilated and inhaled like a ton more sculk, so that killed him even faster. must've sucked tho...

and then pearl, god, pearl.... she didn't encounter any dangers on the way back, since she wasn't trying to escape and the cave had no reason to be hostile towards her. but seeing how she was at the last stage before turning... she probably didn't get to tango before collapsing... not dying just yet, but too feverish and too weak to walk. but if tango was already back, he could very much go and find her. can you imagine the pure horror of drowning in your regrets as you slowly die and then having your supposedly already dead friend appear in front of you all cheery and oh so wrong. i dont know how much of tango is left in that thing, but the image of him sitting by pearl and holding her until she dies is so-- its haunting but it's sweet. and then there's still enough time to catch up with etho.

actually, gahhhh, all three pet povs are their own unique horror story and it's so good.

the horror of having to go through this terrifying experience, and then being the only survivor, knowing full well that the only reason you lived is because you left your friends to die, and there's no way of fixing it now.

the horror of everything falling apart around you because of miscommunication, and then the one time you decide to do it right you end up regretting every single decision and witnessing the direct result of your mistakes come for you.

the horror of being stupid... the horror of losing all control over your life and being betrayed in the moment of your most vulnerability, dying fully and utterly helpless.

this au is so sad but i love it so much...

okay wow that's enough for one post, ask more if you want tho!

[queenofmorningstar]

Caught Between the Vees

The Vees x intern f!reader

Summary: Though you tried to help Charlie by spying on the Vees by joining an internship at Voxtek, your plans are jeopardized by all the Vees taking an interest in you...

CW: No explicit stuff in this part, but will start from chap 2. The Vees being Vees, Valentino (I've tried to make him a little milder than his canon self, so he's not abusive to the reader at least), poly Vees, foursome with the reader eventually. Everyone wants a piece of f!reader.

Notes: at the end of post

Word Count: 1.5K

Chapter One (Part 1) : INTRODUCTION

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5

If Sir Pentious could spy on Hazbin Hotel, why can’t you plot a little payback? As the news of the hotel winning against the angelic army spread, so did the rumors that the Vees were planning something big.

Charlie and you were friends, but due to your own business, you couldn’t visit her often. After hearing the news, you immediately realised that things were getting serious. You both reconciled, and over a hot cup of coffee, Charlie told you of her plans.

“I’m just worried about the Vees.” Charlie sighed softly and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. 

You raised a brow. “Because of Angel?”

“That too. But, they are always on the news, and rumors are spreading that they are readying for war against heaven.”

Your hands tightened around your cup. “But Carmilla Carmine has a monopoly on those weapons. And I’m sure she doesn’t want to start a war.”

Charlie groaned. You can tell it was bothering her. She always wanted to have peaceful negotiations with Heaven, but you knew it was impossible. Though Charlie led a defensive war, but you knew it would lead to more bloodshed before it cooled down.

You smiled. “How about this? I will take care of the Vees problem, so you can focus on the main thing, okay?”

“Really?! Oh, thank you thank you thank you!” Charlie hugged you tightly and you chuckled softly as you patted her back.

So, here you were, standing in front of the Vees tower, since your internship letter was accepted. Well, of course, you did. You had excellent skills. Charlie was worried but you reassured her. 

Your first few days were good…as good as an overworked intern’s could be. You hadn't met any of the Vees yet. But no one suspected an intern, so you heard a lot of gossip of what the Vees were up to.

As days passed by, you tried to gain information and prepare yourself for seeing them but what you did not see coming was Vox, The CEO, literally standing right in front of you as you entered. 

Stay calm.

Though he was plastering a wide smile across his screen, he was whispering to another sinner, most likely his assistant. The poor guy was trembling. 

Vox gritted his teeth. “Why the fuck is the quarterly projection off by 12%? I asked for a breakdown of the metrics. Where. Is. It?”

The assistant swallowed hard, flipping through his notes. “I—I’m still waiting for—”

“Waiting?!” Vox’s voice rose, mixed with static, his patience hanging by a thread. “WE CAN’T KEEP FUCKING WAITING WHEN I HAVE A DEADLINE.”

The poor guy looked ready to melt into the floor.

Your fingers tightened around your bag’s strap, and before you could even think it through, you stepped forward. “Excuse me, um… sir.”

Vox’s head snapped up, his icy gaze landing on you. He looked ready to smite you on the spot. You should really think this shit through. Shit shit shit.

You tried to meet his gaze without flinching, but you felt your fingers trembling as well.

You were tense as hell, but tried to appear useful so he doesn’t smite you like an annoying fly.

Your tone was respectful but firm. “I ran a secondary analysis of the projections this morning. The dip isn’t from sales. It’s due to an underperforming vendor in Greed Ring. Their supply chain delays are driving up costs.”

Silence. 

Shit, should you have not said that?

The assistant’s jaw practically hit the floor.

Vox’s gaze sharpened. But at least his eyes lost its murderous vibes. “And you’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.” You didn’t blink. “I cross-referenced it with the regional performance reports and procurement data. If we renegotiate their contract or explore alternative suppliers, we can mitigate the loss in Q3.”

Vox’s expression was unreadable as he studied you. His attention was too piercing for you, but you somehow maintained his gaze.

Then…

“Show me.”

You quickly stepped beside him, pulling up the data on your V-phone. Your fingers moved deftly as you navigated through the figures, your explanations crisp and precise.

Vox watched you with newfound interest, his irritation cooling into something else — something far more intrigued.

You weren’t sure which was worse. It felt like playing with a shark, not knowing when it would stop acting nice and snap you in half.

When you finished, he leaned back, his lips curling ever so slightly on his screen. “Impressive,” he murmured.

You straightened, breathing again. “Thank you, sir.”

Good, good. You won't be electrocuted today.

A beat.

“Peppermint.” Vox didn’t even look at him. He looked at you, as if the chaotic halls of the tower did not exist.

“Yes, sir?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Get me a revised strategy by the end of the day,” Vox said coolly. Then his eyes flicked back to you, his tone softer but still authoritative. “I’d like you to sit in on the next strategy meeting. I think we could use your… insight.”

You blinked, caught off guard for the first time. “Of course, sir.”

Was this really happening? No, this can’t be that easy. You need to stay on guard.

As you stepped back, your heart pounded in your chest, but you managed to keep your face composed.

Vox’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“Dismissed.”

___________________________________

When you had walked out, a slight smile had tugged at the corner of his lips.

His mind wasn’t on your looks. Bitches always threw themselves at him, so beauty was something secondary to him.

She saw something he didn’t.

That thought echoed louder than he liked. Vox was used to being the smartest person in the room.

After all, he didn’t become this famous just by sitting around. But this intern — with barely a few weeks under her belt — had spotted a problem his entire team had missed.

Sharp. Calculated. She hadn’t jumped in to impress him. No… she had stepped up because she saw something in an incorrectly placed puzzle, and couldn’t stay away without solving it.

Someone who fixes problems, not just points them out.

Vox leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the desk. Various screens flickered in front of him.

Your every information was displayed on his screen, and photos and videos of you everywhere around the city and in the V tower played out.

“Who is this chica?” Val's velvety voice slithered in, as he walked towards Vox with a cigarette on one of his hands, pink smoke swirling around him. 

Vox could already see that Val was making calculations in his mind if you were good enough for one of his shows. Vox shrugged. “She is not under soul contract yet.”

Val gasped in light-hearted shock. “Why not, papito? Are you not seeing all this?”

“Are you guys tapping that?” Velvette smirked as she entered as well, her phone in her hand.

Vox's screen flickered, his expression full of mirth. "I don’t mind, but you guys better not make her run away. There's... business potential here."

Val draped himself dramatically across a nearby chaise lounge, his wings fluttering slightly as he adjusted his position to better observe you on the various screens. His eyes gleamed with predatory interest.

"Business, business, business," Val mocked, taking a long drag from his cigarette. The pink smoke formed hearts as it dissipated into the air.

“Look at all that tension in her body…she needs to fucked till she is begging me to stop.” He gestured toward you with a languid wave of his hand, four rings glinting in the dim light. "That's not business material. That's pleasure material."

“Bitch, please. Who says it has to be one or the other?” Vel folded her arms, her hip titled to a side. “You boys have no vision for this. That's why people run away from you. Val can’t handle his boytoy Angel Dust, and Vox has some homosexual rivalry/obsession with the Radio Demon, which is honestly fucking with your vibes.”

“Babydoll woke up and chose violence.” Val purred, dripping with lazy amusement, but there was an edge beneath it. Vox started to act like the man-child he is, but Vel tuned him out.

Vel put her hand on her hip, and sashayed back, typing rapidly on her phone. She didn’t need to hear the piss babies arguing, when she could be one step ahead. 

Later, your phone dinged with a work email.

From: radvelvetcakes@voktek.com

Sub: Requisition of duties

Darling _____,

Tomorrow your help is needed in my fashion wing. Be there at 8 with a pink Velvette Macchiato.

XOXO

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: The plot is set during season 2, non-canon, with no leaks/spoilers.

Vox and your conversation doesn’t make any sense and I just threw in some realistic-sounding corporate jargon to make the dialogue feel authentic.

This is my first fic, and English is not my first language.

Smut will begin from chap 2

Velvette’s email is taken from her non-canon Voxstragm handle.

Vox’s assistant’s name is made up/similar from non-canon posts from fandom

On my ao3 as well😊

Next>>>

[little-jana]

"Hearts at War"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader, Aaron Hotchner x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: Light rivalry, a bit of jealousy, and lots of pining, but ultimately fluff, no throuple thingy, just one of them at the end wins her heart, kissing

Summary: When a brilliant and captivating new agent joins the BAU, both Hotch and Reid find themselves drawn to her. Their attempts to impress her quickly escalate into a silly little competition.

a/n: This was requested and so fun to write! Enjoy!

The BAU had welcomed new team members before, but something about you changed the dynamic in ways none of them expected.

For one, you were effortlessly charming, intelligent, and sharp-witted. You had an impressive track record, a knack for profiling, and a personality that made even the most grueling days in the field feel lighter.

But most importantly, you had unknowingly done the impossible—you had both Aaron Hotchner and Spencer Reid completely, utterly enamored.

At first, it was subtle.

Spencer would linger by your desk longer than necessary, rambling about case files or psychological theories, his voice slightly faster than usual. Hotch, on the other hand, would offer small smiles (which for him was practically beaming), and his usual professionalism would crack just enough to reveal something softer whenever you were around.

And then, without either of them realizing, it escalated into a full-blown rivalry.

It started on a case in Chicago. The team had just arrived at the precinct, and you were setting up in the briefing room when the first incident occurred.

“I, uh, brought you coffee,” Spencer said, setting a cup in front of you, his ears tinged red. “You take it with two sugars and a little bit of cream, right?”

You blinked, touched by the gesture. “Oh! That’s so sweet of you, Spencer. Thank you.”

Spencer beamed—until a second cup of coffee was set down beside it.

“I already got her one,” Hotch said, his tone neutral but his expression just smug enough to be noticeable.

You looked between the two cups, then up at the two men staring at you expectantly. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“Well,” you said awkwardly, “looks like I’m going to be very caffeinated today.”

You took a sip of Hotch’s first (because it was closer), and Spencer narrowed his eyes at his boss like a cat who just had its favorite seat stolen.

And that was the moment Derek Morgan realized what was happening.

“Oh, this is good,” Morgan whispered to JJ as they watched from the other side of the room.

It didn’t stop at coffee.

Hotch started offering to drive you to crime scenes more often, opening doors for you, and giving you extra time to present your insights during briefings.

Spencer, not to be outdone, made it his mission to impress you with facts he thought you’d find interesting, bringing you books he insisted you’d love, and subtly making sure he was always the one sitting next to you on the jet.

It wasn’t long before the rest of the team picked up on it.

“Okay,” JJ said one afternoon, watching as Hotch and Spencer subtly (or not so subtly) hovered near your desk. “Are we all seeing this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Morgan grinned. “They’re both smitten.”

Garcia gasped dramatically. “Is our resident genius and our fearless leader competing for the same woman?!”

“Looks like it,” Rossi smirked, clearly enjoying the show.

“And who do we think is going to win?” JJ asked.

“That,” Morgan said, watching as Spencer tried to one-up Hotch’s impressive legal analysis with an even more impressive psychological breakdown of the unsub, “is the million-dollar question.”

The competition reached its peak on a quiet Friday night at the BAU offices.

Most of the team had gone home, but you, Spencer, and Hotch were still reviewing files when the power went out due to a storm.

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a bit,” you sighed, stretching your arms.

Hotch, ever the leader, immediately took charge. “I’ll call maintenance and see if they have an estimate for restoration.”

Spencer, on the other hand, saw this as the perfect moment. “You know,” he started, pushing up his sleeves, “since we’re waiting, I could teach you some magic tricks. I don’t think I’ve ever shown you my sleight of hand illusions.”

You grinned. “That sounds fun.”

But before Spencer could reach into his pocket for a deck of cards, Hotch returned. “It’ll be at least an hour,” he said, before casually adding, “In the meantime, I have some MREs in my office if you’re hungry.”

Spencer gaped at him. “You’re trying to impress her with military rations?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “She likes survival tactics.”

“That doesn’t mean she wants to eat vacuum-sealed beef stew, Hotch!” Spencer argued.

“I appreciate both of your offers,” you interrupted, thoroughly amused. “But, um… I think I’ll just have a granola bar.”

Neither of them looked particularly satisfied with that answer.

The storm raged on outside, but inside the BAU, a different kind of storm was brewing.

It was Rossi who finally pushed you toward making a choice.

“You do know what’s going on, right?” Rossi asked one afternoon while you were reviewing a case file at your desk.

You sighed. “Oh, I know.”

“And?”

You hesitated. “I care about both of them. A lot.”

“But one of them more?”

You looked down, biting your lip. The answer was already there—you’d just been afraid to say it.

That night, as the team was leaving for the weekend, you found the person you really wanted to be with.

And when you walked up to Spencer Reid, gently tugging his tie and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips in the dimly lit hallway…

Hotch, watching from his office, simply sighed, shook his head, and muttered, “I should’ve gone with magic tricks.”

Morgan, who witnessed everything, burst into laughter. “Oh man, I love this team.”

[drama-glob]

For those that think Ozzie doesn't care about the hierarchy or is somehow caught up in classism to actually want things to change for the lower class, I'd like for you to see this:

Look at the expressions each of the Deadly Sins wear as Blitz says this (except Belphagor since she's asleep so I didn't include her :/): Satan's is disinterested; Mammon's is gleeful; Leviathan's is cold (maybe sneering); Bee's is sad (as best as I can tell); but Ozzie's? That expression is more than just sad to me, it shows discomfort and guilt as he knows what Blitz is saying is true and he hates it. He also isn't looking away as if to try and make this blatant problem disappear, so that means he bears this weight on his conscience and it hurts; I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Ozzie (and likely Bee too) have tried in the past to make things better for all, only to be shut down like we saw in "Mastermind." :( In addition, while I can't speak for how well things truly are in Gluttony given how bad the Hellhound adoption agency seems to be, Lust at least seems to give its citizens the best quality of life from what we've seen, even though I know most of the population is incubi and succubi rather than imps and Hellhounds, but that's not nothing when we've seen how Greed and Wrath operate. :/

Yes, I know Ozzie's expression could also be related to how the trial went with Blitz being convicted, but considering Satan's bored/"I don't care" expression while Blitz is talking, I'm inclined to believe Ozzie's is related to what the other is saying about royals too. :/

So, as I saw on another post, maybe the question to ask isn't why Ozzie won't do anything and instead why he can't do anything because that is not the look of someone who is happy with the way things are for the lower class and is not blind to it. :( I mean, for goodness sake, Ozzie saw Fizz have a full-on breakdown in front of him about feeling like he's nothing without his title and barely worthy to even just work with a Deadly Sin, so even if Ozzie somehow didn't care about this issue or was unaware of it for THOUSANDS of years despite mingling amongst the deemed lower class all that time (so that means I highly doubt either was the case -_- ), he damn well would after that. (Yes, Fizz likely was dealing with internalized ableism too, but there's no way it was just that given how we saw Fizz's self-worth issues exist even before he lost his limbs, no doubt made worse by Cash Buckzo's influence as well :( ).

Also, just to put it out there since I haven't seen it mentioned yet, maybe we're shown this:

where they know Satan is uttering bullsh*t but don't say anything because it gives us a benchmark for setting up a future plot point of a royal civil war and we see which side of the fight they'd be on since they don't seem to like Satan and his forceful/harsh ways. :/ (Also, I'm pretty sure they'd be met with some form of punishment for speaking out against Satan, even if they are Deadly Sins too, so please consider that as well when it comes to reasons why they were silent; they have after all had thousands of years of experience dealing with Satan and how he'd likely respond :/).

[mysunshinetemptress]

Not Strong Enough

Alexia Putellas x reader

Warnings: angst, relationship issues/breakdown

“Well I’m fucking sorry I’m not her Ale.”

“No you’re not your just a fucking disappointment.”

You stood frozen looking into the fridge cleaning up from a dinner you had made hours ago that Alexia hadn’t even bothered showing up for. You turn slowly looking at the clock behind her head “I don’t want to do this right now.” Alexia shook her head “no I’m so fed up with you, why honestly why can’t you just be like her.” You shook your head looking at the floor feeling your throat close “I don’t know why, I am the way I am I’m sorry I’m not her.” You couldn’t believe you where apologising, you had done nothing wrong but she was Alexia Putellas, La Reina she deserved someone who could match that she deserved Jenni Hermoso and no matter how hard you tried you never got close enough. You shook your head as Alexia just stared at you looking for a fight but you didn't have the energy instead looking up at the ceiling thinking of the ring that burnt a whole in your dresser wishing to be used, you had it all planned out but you saw that future slowly slipping away as Alexia began shouting again so loud you could barley here the song "Boys Don't Cry" playing from the speaker.

You turned to look at her as continued shouting about how much of a disappointment you where to hear, how you would never be enough and you wanted to look at her and hate her for her words but you found yourself believing them and therefore you couldn't hate her if you agreed with her. As the older girl continued to compare you to her ex you couldn't help but think of how you would never be able to be enough for her like Jenni was, you didn't play football, you weren't famous or an influencer you worked a desk job, a 9-5 week in and week out, you didn't have trophies or medals adorned with your name across them you simply had an office where you added up numbers how could an accountant from A Coruna.

You where simply an angel not a god like Jenni, no never a god

You couldn't move as Alexia shouted out all of the ways Jenni was better then you and you felt yourself suddenly begin to realise what was about to happen. This was it the ring in your dresser wasn't screaming at you to get out and be placed on Alexia fingers your mind wasn't telling you to fit the energy was gone.

"SAY SOMETHING" you looked up at Alexia as your eyes refocused and you where pulled back to present time "What do you want me to say Ale" you sighed heavily tired of it all "See this is what I mean at least Jenni would talk to me, communicate her feelings with me you shut off." you subbed your eyes god did they feel heavy. "Theres no point." you moved to the drawer taking out your car keys before heading upstairs to pack your bag.

Alexia stood shocked as you waled past her to the front door "At least Jenni would fight for us you are walking away such a disappointment." you turned shaking your head. "Yes Alexia such a disappointment like you already said, like you have said since this relationship started, I'm done I...I can't take the constant fights after you realise I'm not here and then feel the need to take it out on me its...its not fair.. and the sad part is I tried to be her but I'm sorry I failed at that because I can't....I am me and I thought you loved me for that but clearly I was wrong." Alexia shook her head "Don't make it out like I'm the bad guy you....you only got with me for my name for my status." You looked at her in disbelief how could she ever think that.

"I have loved you before your injury, I have loved you during your injury and the sad part is I will love you long after this injury is healed and you are back to La Reina but I won't be in the stands, who would want such a disappointment of a girlfriend screaming for their return no."

You chucked the keys at her as you walked out the door. Done with never being enough for her always being a disappointment and falling short for always only being an Angel and never a God, for never being Jenni Hermoso

[queenimmadolla]

Summary: After making a scene and storming out of Eddie's trailer, you're left to wonder if you even have a boyfriend anymore, since he hasn't spoken to you in three days.

a/n: congratulations. you bitches wore me down. you all know how much i HATE angst with no happy endings so enjoy me fixing it.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

word count: 3.3k

  It’d been days since the fight in Eddie’s trailer. Days.

  You were mad as hell when you’d left, so mad you almost appeared calm. You’d angrily cried on the drive back home, hot tears leaking steadily past your lashes as you scowled and you were sure they left a trail of mascara behind.

  You’d dodged your mother when you got home, unwilling to face the barrage of questions she’d  send your way that would no doubt trigger a breakdown. The last thing you needed was anyone asking if you were okay.

  Besides, you thought you’d be fine. Eddie would get the point, come to his senses and be at your front door a little past dinner to apologize for hurting your feelings.

  You’d composed yourself to the best of your ability while you ate, forking the food on your plate down with the excuse of having not had lunch when your mother started questioning you and then hurried back upstairs to your room.

  Your landline was plucked from its place on your nightstand drawer and set on your bed in front of you. When half an hour passed, you assumed Eddie was still wrestling with his pride. When half an hour turned into an hour and a half, you started wondering if maybe he was still cooling down from the argument. He’d call.

  By 2 a.m., the tears were back and speeding effortlessly from the corners of your eyes, down the bridge of your nose to meet your pillowcase as you realized he wasn’t going to call.

  He didn’t call the next day, either. Or the day after that. 

  The two of you weren’t in school anymore, so you couldn’t track him down in the halls but you didn’t want to go find him. You wanted him to come find you, you wanted him to chase after you when you left his trailer, you wanted him to call you and tell you he loved you and you wanted him to not bring girls who wanted him the way you did over to his trailer. 

  You wanted Eddie. But you wouldn’t go crawling back, your heart may have been wailing in agony but your pride was howling at you, wounded and bleeding.

  Were you broken up? You hadn’t intended for your exit to be the end, but by day three, you were starting to get the feeling it was over.

  And despite how badly you wanted to, you couldn’t rot in bed. You had responsibilities, a job. You’d called into the arcade the first two days but you couldn’t put it off forever, couldn’t avoid leaving your house because you feared running into Eddie.

  Yes, you were desperate to see him, but under your specific conditions. What if you ran into him and he confirmed the two of you were over? What if he was with that girl you’d seen leaving the trailer? He said he’d given her a deal for flirting with him, had it progressed? Was he rebounding?

  The more you thought about it, the more sad you got. Samantha Stone, your former lab partner and current co-worker had stepped in to awkwardly comfort you when you kept dipping into the back room to cry and eventually sent you home with the promise she could handle the riveting crowd of three plaguing the arcade.

  You’d kicked off your shoes and thrown your bag onto the floor the moment you got into your room, but you hadn’t changed, just fell face first onto your bed as your tears mingled with your comforter.

  And that’s how you found yourself thinking about how long it had been since that damn fight. Maybe you were overreacting. Sure, Eddie had been a little intimidating in high school, but he’d also had no trouble in the romance department. He’d told you he’d been cynical about it, since it never went beyond sex, but he’d also said that had been before you had looked twice at him. 

  Unfortunately for you, the stupid ass curse that comes with having a boyfriend struck you. Now that Eddie had a girlfriend, all of a sudden he was a wanted man, even more so than he had been in the past.

  You’d seen girls overstep, had been waiting for him in the van during a deal while you watched one reach a hand out to caress his arm and it had taken everything in you to not storm out of the van to tear the offending appendage off and beat her silly with it.

  Maybe you really were just blowing things out of proportion because of your jealousy. Maybe you owed Eddie the apology. Would he even accept your apology? It had been days, after all. Maybe he’d take you back if you groveled. Tears were a no brainer, you were pretty emotional and aware you were in a somewhat manic state, so they’d come the moment you caught sight of him again. Your feelings, your love for him, and this stupid mess would overwhelm you.

  You glanced at your phone, still poised on your bed and taunting you without a single ring. Your mother would have mentioned it if he called. He hadn’t.

  You wanted Eddie.

  That singular sentence plagued you, wrapping around your heart over and over again, constricting like a boa until you felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you were about to have a heart attack. You could hear the loud and insistent banging that was your heartbeat, beating in time with your much too fast breaths.

  Eddie was the last thing you thought of before you shut down, body allowing exhaustion to overcome you to stop your impending panic attack.

  You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep, eyes prying open to your room shrouded in darkness. A lazy glance at the window confirmed night had fallen and you sagged further into your bedding, sighing when you remembered you’d fallen asleep in your work uniform which meant you couldn’t slip back under the veil of rest and peace until you’d gotten out of it.

  You sat up, fingers gripping onto the hem of your shirt to lift it. 

  A flash of movement at the foot of your bed caught your attention just before you raised your shirt over your head and you nearly had a heart attack as you fell back, quickly reaching for your lamp.

  The warm glow of it illuminated the room and revealed Eddie standing near the foot of your bed, hands up to show he meant no harm.

  “Sorry,” he gave a brief huff of laughter, mouth pulled into a nervous smile, “didn’t mean to scare you. Your mom let me in.”

  Your heart calmed instantly at the sight of him, but your anxiety made its presence known, sinking into your belly.

  He’s here to break up with you, it whispered.

  You pulled your shirt back down, smoothing it out to give you something to do. Suddenly, you were incapable of words, nonverbal as your mouth refused to part. Your heart had won the battle with your pride and was desperate to beg him to forgive you for overreacting, would say anything to get him to hold you but you were paralyzed.

  Eddie cleared his throat, a hand reaching up to scratch his head before he sat down on the edge of your bed and you took him in.

  The most apparent difference in his appearance was the dullness of his eyes and the bags under them. Eddie was usually so full of life, an eccentric being buzzing with a sort of energy at all times, even when he was pretending to be the cool, collected bad boy. Now, he looked tired. And he had a light dusting of scruff on his jaw and cheeks.

  Eddie never had facial hair. Hated it. He’d tried it out once, he wasn’t fond of not being able to feel your kisses directly against his skin, and it made him itchy so it didn't last long.

  He shaved everyday to make sure he could feel your lips on him and the reminder made tears pool at your waterline once more.

  “Look, I─”

  “I’m sorry!” You rushed out, cutting him off as emotion muddled your voice and made your throat thick with it. The tears followed, just as you’d predicted they would when confronted by Eddie, “I’m so sorry, you were right, I was overreacting! I was just jealous, you can bring whoever you want to your trailer, I know it’s just business. I was just stupid and jealous and upset, you were right to not call me, and I’m sorry!”

  Eddie’s mouth parted, eyebrows rising in bewilderment.

  Then he was kicking off his shoes and climbing onto your bed, softly hushing you as he pulled you into his arms and you sobbed against his shirt, relieved to finally have Eddie back.

  You hadn’t thought he’d ever hold you again so you clung to him like a lifeline.

  Eddie held you tight, hand rubbing comfortingly over your back as he pressed kiss after kiss to your head and nuzzled his face there, trying to make sense of what was happening.

  After you’d left, he’d trashed his room. Well, more so than its usual state. He’d wanted you to come right back after you stormed out, was hoping you would—but like an idiot, Eddie just stared at the door as his mind replayed the entire conversation, emphasizing the moment he’d crossed the line. By the time he finally snapped out of his stupor and ran out after you, you were gone.

  Eddie was frustrated with himself, so he took it out on his room. When that was done, he’d grabbed a beer from the fridge, a joint from his stash and got crossed on the couch out front as he thought about the fight.

  He had no interest in anyone who wasn’t you. None. And for some reason, you didn’t understand just how much he loved you, how not a singular fucking person on this giant rock could compare to you. Not Cindy Crawford, not Pam Grier, not Irene Cara, not a single member of Metallica, no one.

  You were Eddie’s favorite person. You were his person.

  And he made you feel like shit. The longer he thought about it, the guiltier he felt. It was easy to write off your behavior as jealousy, but your jealousy hadn’t been unwarranted.

  He couldn’t see the big deal about having her pick up weed from his place since she’d phoned to let him know she was already in the area, but when he imagined some random guy coming out of your home, you walking him out?

  Eddie saw red. The thought alone knocked the air out of him and it was a feeling he was keen to not experience.

  But you had. And instead of just owning up to his slip of the mind, he’d stuck to his guns and had promptly shot himself in the metaphorical foot, not before hurting you. You were upset, and you lashed out when you got like that. Eddie had realized a long time ago that you only made digs like that because you wanted him to tell you you were wrong without having to ask him.

  Only, Eddie hadn’t told you that no, he didn’t give her a deal for being ‘pretty and flirty’ as you’d accused. She had been flirty—yes, he felt even more guilty when he thought about it—but he’d been blunt and brief, exchanging the bag of nugs for cash before he was sending her back the way she came. You’d just been on the other side of the door when he’d opened it for her to leave.

  It looked fucking terrible. How the hell was he supposed to make this up to you??? He’d spent the remainder of the night lingering near the phone, picking it up and then putting it back on the receiver. Nothing he could think of was a worthy enough apology for you, and he assumed you didn’t even want to see him. Fuck, you’d been so upset.

  He ended up passing out on the couch.

  The next few days went the same, he tried to figure out what to say, how to to explain himself and dove for the phone anytime it rang. It was never you, but of course it was when Eddie was desperate to hear your voice on the other end of the line that all his usual customers had run out of weed and other things.

  And she had called. 

  Eddie wasn’t stupid, she’d smoked with him and a group of friends at a party once, she hacked up her lungs and coughed herself into delirium after one pull; there was no way she’d finished what Eddie had supplied to her that quickly. It certainly didn’t help that she knew Eddie had you, and she still kept up the flirting. You were right, Eddie knew what she was trying to do and he was a shit boyfriend for not turning her down outright. Eddie had nipped that problem in the bud over the phone.

  In his desperation, he’d done multiple drives by the arcade, too. You were never behind the counter, only that gothic chick that liked to curse people was.

  He got anxious fast, hoping like hell that you hadn’t broken up with him. When it became too much for Eddie, who missed seeing your beautiful face, he caved in and drove to your house, despite the fact that you might not want to see him. When your mom let him in instead of throwing pots and pans at him like he’d imagined she would, Eddie figured you hadn’t told her about the fight which gave him hope.

  Maybe you did still want him.

  There was no light under your bedroom door and when he knocked you hadn’t answered but Eddie walked in anyways, heart clenching at the sight of you sprawled on your bed asleep.

  God, how he’d missed you.

  Eddie found himself blinking back tears as he stared down at you. It was selfish of him, but he really wanted to wake you up, touch you, hold you, kiss you.

  And then he realized he was at your house uninvited, in your room, watching you while you slept. Could he get any fucking creepier? Jesus…

  Eddie had been in the middle of pacing a circle in your carpet, trying to play out how this conversation would go when you stirred and he froze.

  Then you sat up and he got a little excited when you started taking your shirt off, but Eddie was aware of how bad this could go if he didn’t announce his presence.

  You hadn’t started yelling at him like he expected, no. What you did was worse. You were apologizing. 

  He’d been inconsiderate, he’d put himself in a situation that would look bad to literally anyone who saw him knowing he was in a relationship, had hurt your feelings—even more so because you’d apparently been waiting for him, wanting him this whole time and he’d just been holed up in the trailer, phone in hand but never dialing. 

  “Baby,” he mumbled against your head, leaning back and moving his hands to frame your face, thumbs wiping your tears away as he angled your head up at him so you could see the sincerity on his face, in his eyes, “you have nothing to be sorry for.”

  You hiccuped and started, “But I─”

  “Shh, no. Let me say this okay?” Eddie waited for you to nod and when you did, he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead and another to the tip of your nose.

  “You didn't overreact or do anything wrong, sweetheart. You were right. I knew exactly how she felt, and while I promise you I had no intentions of letting anything happen, I still shouldn’t have had her over. If the roles were reversed, I would’ve been jealous, mad, and really hurt. She called, tried to come over again and I told her I’m in love with you and I’m not interested in her. If she needs to replenish her supply, she’ll have to get it from Rick from now on. And I’ve never given her a deal. The only person who gets free weed is you, pretty girl.”

  You sniffled and his thumb stroked over your cheek once more. He added, “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings and I’m sorry I didn’t call. I wanted to, so badly, but I didn’t know what to say or if you even wanted me to. I've been dying to see you, drove past the arcade a ton of times just to see if I could get a glimpse of you—your coworker, the scary one, flipped me the bird whenever she saw me, by the way.”

  That got a laugh out of you and Eddie grinned victoriously, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours, “I love you. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.” Your gaze dropped from his eyes, the brown in them now swirling with warmth, to his lips, “Can I kiss you?”

  “Oh, baby. You don’t ever have to ask.” Eddie didn’t wait for you to make the first move, closing the small distance to press a deep, chaste kiss to your lips. Once you were returning his kiss, he got a little more insistent, you realized this was Eddie’s way of asking for reassurance and you were more than willing to give it to him, parting your lips so your tongues could meet again.

  The two of you made out on your bed at a leisurely pace as you reaffirmed your love for each other. When things got heated, and you soon found yourself on your back with Eddie on top of you and between your legs, he pulled away from your mouth with a smack, and winced.

  “I really want to have makeup sex, baby, but I’m about to pass out. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Rarely has Eddie slept without you, add in you being upset with him and he could barely sleep at all. The last thing he wanted to do was pass out while he was inside you and leave you unsatisfied. 

  You laughed, pulling him down for another kiss, “That's okay. We can fuck in the morning.”

  Eddie let out the most pornographic moan at the mental image and you laughed again as you shushed him, “Eddie! My mom will hear you!”

  Reluctantly he rolled off you to undress, yanking off his pants while you shimmied out of yours, pulled your shirt off and discarded your bra. When Eddie yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it towards the ground, you’d intercepted it and pulled it over your own head.

  Eddie gave you a very appreciative onceover before he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will his hard-on away, “Down, boy.”

  You snuggled up to his side, and he pulled you into his arms, throwing your blanket over the both of you and letting out a sigh of content as you nuzzled your face into his neck, “Fuck, I missed this. Missed you.”

  “Missed you, too, Eds.”

  “Next time you get mad at me, I’m sitting on the hood of your car so you can’t leave.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  “Or maybe you can just kick my ass instead of leaving.”

  “No, I like it too much.”

  Eddie’s chest shook with quiet laughter and you smiled, eyes fluttering shut. 

  This time, when sleep finally overcame you, your heart wasn’t in pain or beating loudly in your ears. It was nestled against you, and snoring into your hair. 

[willbyersabyss]

I don’t think people actually gauge just how traumatic Shauna’s birth was. She went into labor in the middle of a blizzard. Shauna is an extremely private person. She had no choice but to give birth in front of a bunch of teenage girls who had no idea what they were doing. She was completely exposed emotionally and physically. Then Misty, the only one who had some medical experience, had a breakdown and left. The only adult didn’t even try to help. Instead, he covered his ears as if her pain was an inconvenience.

The placenta came out first. A literal medical emergency. So what did they do? They started praying to the tree entities, something Shauna made clear she wanted far away from her baby.

Shauna almost died. They thought they lost her when she passed out. In this state, she had a dream that the baby lived, only for her teammates to brutally eat it. This dream was so vivid that she believed it was real. She woke up to find the baby dead. Shauna likes to grieve in private. She had to grieve loudly in front of everyone as they pitied her because she had no where else to go. This lasted for days. She held her baby’s corpse in her arms until the snow passed.

Just weeks after she gave birth to her dead baby, they asked her to butcher a 13 year old boy who she was close to. No one stepped in. And before this, they wanted her to slice her friend’s throat as she looked her in the eye. Totally normal thing to ask of a girl who isn’t only actively grieving her baby, but her best friend who she inadvertently killed too.

To top it all off, they talked about how her dead baby was a sacrifice for the wilderness and that they expect something in return. They treated her baby like a small thing to be exchanged. Months later, they continue to do this by calling to the baby for guidance in a ritual. Shauna never wanted that. She beat Lottie to near death to express her dislike for their use of her baby. But do they listen? No. She had to dig up the baby and move its grave just to get some privacy because asking for it won’t work.

It really isn’t that hard to grasp why she holds so much resentment towards them.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Ginger Ale - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x reader Rating: Sigh - fluff again. Word Count: 2932 a/n: I started working on this one weeks ago and kept picking it back up and putting it back down until the last of it finally worked its way out of my head this week, just in time for our collective mental breakdown. :)

You're not sure who else to call, not when you'd only arrived in Texas a few months ago and know maybe a handful of people in the entire state, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Not that it slows the beating of your heart when you hit the call button.

You'd met Joel and Sarah the day you moved in, when you'd been struggling to get your bed frame through the front door. The younger Miller had appeared to offer her help, and between the two of you the frame was quickly set in place. Joel found his way over soon after in search of his daughter, and in the weeks that followed, you'd both begun to toe a line that neither of you seemed ready to cross, not fully at least. Chance encounters at your mailboxes, your offer to help Sarah with homework, his to fix up the fence in your yard. Stuck in a delicate balance that has you ridden with anxiety at the mere thought of hearing his voice. Thankfully, when the other end of the line clicks on, it's Sarah that answers.

"Hey Sarah," you start, but you're only able to get two words out before a cough consumes your entire body. It overtakes you completely for a moment as you struggle to let yourself breathe.

Sarah responds before you catch your breath. "You're sick."

"You guessed it," you laugh, careful not to trigger another fit of coughing. "I've been down for the count all day, but do you think you could do me a favor?"

"Of course!" Sarah eagerly replies, and you can't help but smile. It's been evident in the short amount of time you've known her that the teenager is eager to prove herself, and you have a sneaking suspicion that your arrival in their lives also provided an opportunity for her to be helpful to someone other than her father and uncle. "What do you need? Kleenex? Soup? Crackers? When I get sick usually my dad gives me ginger ale and..."

"Soup would be lovely," you reply gently, unwilling to tell her that you already have a cabinet full of canned chicken noodle and that the purpose of your call is to ask her father for something. "Is your dad still at work?"

Her response comes with a slight side of attitude, one that you know has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that Joel works incredibly hard to support them both. You catch his truck rolling into the driveway late most nights, and while you're aware that Sarah understands, and that Joel loves her more than anything, you also know that it doesn't make it any easier for either of them. "Yeah. He promised he'd be home by eight."

"Do you think you could give him a call and see if he'd grab me some cold medicine?" you ask, anxiety suddenly spiking. It's a perfectly normal request, and you're in no state to drive, already dizzy just from standing to make the phone call, but it still feels like a step too far. "It's alright if he can't though," you add at the last second.

"I'll call him and check. He probably will though because it's for you."

Sarah's comment catches you off guard, but she doesn't give you time to contemplate, already onto asking you what kind of soup you'd prefer before promising to be back soon with everything you need.

By the time you make it back to the couch, your head is spinning, both from the sickness and the suggestion that while Joel wouldn't do this for just anyone, he would do it for you. Sarah's words echo in your mind until she appears on your doorstep, an overflowing shopping bag in hand. She launches into an explanation of everything she got you before she's even through the door - tissues and cough drops, multiple flavors because she wasn't sure which you'd like best, and snacks galore. "To make you feel better," she insists when she pulls the cookies out last, the grin on her face doing more than the sweets ever would to make you feel better.

After insisting that you drink the ginger ale that she brought like it's some kind of miracle cure, you shoo her out, intent on preventing her from catching whatever it is you have. Reluctantly, she heads home, but not without the assurance that she'd call in a couple of hours and that her dad would drop by with the medicine on his way home, just as she figured he would.

Once the door is closed behind her, the remainder of your evening passes in a hazy blur. Sarah does call to check on you, but then you're passed out on the couch, your body suddenly too weary to do anything else.

It's a heavy knock at the door that jolts you back awake.

It takes you a moment, long enough that he knocks twice more, before you make it to your front entry, unlocking and swinging the door open with the last bit of energy you seem to have left. "Hey Joel," you sniffle, willing yourself not to cough.

"You look like shit."

"Straight to the chase, Miller," you frown, rolling your eyes before they land on the bag in his hand. "Is that my medicine?"

Joel looks down as though he's completely forgotten what he's here for, grumbling a bit as he holds it out to you, "per the doctor's order."

You take it gratefully, turning on your heel to head to the kitchen, but the action causes your head to spin and you stumble, barely catching yourself with a hand against the wall.

"Hey, slow down," Joel warns immediately, his voice dripping with concern as he steadies you with firm hands on your waist. "You okay?"

Nausea spikes in your stomach, just a symptom of the way the world is spinning more than anything else, and for a moment you wonder if you're about to throw up on him. "Yeah, I'm fine...just a bit dizzy."

Your vision continues to turn about as he guides you back toward the couch, settling you down before taking the bag back from you. "I'm gonna get you some water, alright?"

You nod again, dropping your head into your hands as you ward off the black at the edge of your vision. You can hear him rummaging through your kitchen cabinets as you sit, and the next thing you know he's back at your side, ripping open a package of the medicine so he can hand it to you with the glass of water.

"Thank you," you whisper, trying to ignore the way your fingers brush against his. "And uh...thanks for doing this. For getting the medicine, that is," you continue awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as you swallow the pills. "Let me know what I owe you for what Sarah got me earlier, too."

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. Thank you for letting her help. You could've just had me pick everything up but you didn't."

"She's a good kid, Joel," you remind him with a soft smile, the authenticity of your statement requiring you to finally meet his gaze because you know that just as much as Sarah wants to feel helpful and independent, he needs the occasional reminder that he's doing a good job as her dad.

There's a beat of silence, the two of you sitting quietly on your couch, before he clears his throat. "You gonna be alright?"

"I've survived this long," you tease him, even if at the next moment the world begins to sway again. He watches carefully, worry still evident. "I'll be fine," you reassure him again.

He doesn't look convinced, staring at you with an unreadable expression until he sucks in a breath. "I'm gonna go over and let Sarah know I'm gonna keep an eye on..."

You're suddenly short of breath as you're left to stare at him like a deer in the headlights. "You don't have to..."

"I want to," he cuts you off, tone firm, and it's enough for you to reluctantly agree. He leaves a moment later, promising that he'll check in on Sarah and be back soon, only departing after giving you clear instructions to stay put on the couch. You follow them easily, wrapping yourself in a blanket as you hit play on You've Got Mail for the third time today.

The movie is barely a half hour in by the time he's back through the door.

"Sarah okay?" you ask instantly, guilt creeping in that instead of spending his night with his daughter, he's about to spend it with you.

Joel nods, hands on his hips. "She's fine. Worried about you more than anything else, I think." You hum a response, too weary to do much else, but then the tension begins to fill the room again. You focus on the screen as he continues to stand in the doorway, like neither of you are quite sure what move to make next.

"I could get you some soup, if you'd like," he offers, toeing off his boots and turning toward the kitchen before you can even respond.

"Soup would be nice," you call out, "and maybe one of those ginger ales that Sarah brought earlier?"

His head pops back up the doorway, laughing. "She brought you some of that? I used to pretend it was real medicine that she'd have to take after the actual stuff just to stop her grumbling."

"Did it work?" you ask as you watch him move back into your kitchen like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Like a charm," he shouts back before reappearing a moment later to place a can of the soda on the table in front of you. If he notices the flush that rises to your cheeks, you're hopeful that you can pass it off as a fever, but he doesn't linger long enough to say anything, returning to the kitchen with the intent of getting something of substance into you.

The movie plays on as he brings you both food, dropping to the couch next to you despite your protests that he'll catch your cold. He does maintain a respectable distance between you, but he looks comfortable, and you curse the universe for making this the situation in which Joel Miller is sitting across from you. It could've been any other circumstance, but instead you look and feel like death and he's next to you eating soup.

It's almost domestic, the way he takes your dishes back to the kitchen when you're done, washing them like he's done it a hundred times before. You're half asleep by the time he gets back, but he maintains the distance, saying nothing as your eyes flicker closed and he hits play on the move again.

When you wake it's to the repeated sound of the main title screen. The living room has grown dark, and for the first time all day you realize that you're comfortable. The pressure on your chest has eased, your nose seems clearer, and you're no longer freezing.

In fact, you're warm.

It's only when you become conscious of the arm slung around your waist and the legs tangled with your own that you realize why.

Joel Miller is no longer just on your couch. You're sprawled out on top of him.

Your head is settled softly on his chest, and under any other circumstance its slow rise and fall would likely be soothing enough to lull you back to sleep. Instead, you panic, immediately attempting to extract yourself from his grip.

"Go back to sleep," he mumbles, roused by your movement, and it's unclear if the way his arm tightens around you is something he's conscious of.

With hands positioned on either side of his head, you push yourself up. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Joel. I didn't mean to..."

"Will you cut it out?" he assures you with a deep laugh, his eyes finally opening to meet yours as he runs a hand up and down your back, the motion causing you to freeze.

"But I fell asleep on you and you should've been home hours ago and I'm so sorry and..."

"Stop. Apologizing," he urges you again. You open your mouth to continue your protesting, but he cuts you off once more, "it was the only way I could get you to stop coughing in your sleep."

"Oh," you reply simply, and then you're letting him slowly pull your body back against his. You say nothing more as you settle your head against his chest, although your breathing remains erratic as you try to count just how many lines have been crossed tonight. When you'd called Sarah that afternoon it was just for a favor, and now you've gone from nervously asking your neighbor to buy you medicine to passing out on top of him.

Now, it feels like everything that's been lingering between you for months is finally coming to a head.

Joel continues to run his fingers up and down along your spine in some sort of lazy pattern, his other hand carefully tucking the blanket back around you both. The couch isn't really big enough for both of you, but with your body settled between his legs and his arms keeping you securely on top of him, he makes it work.

"You stayed," you whisper when the quiet becomes too much, your heart still pounding hard enough that you wonder if he can feel it too.

"I told you I wanted to," he replies just before you swear he presses his lips to the crown of your head.

"What about Sarah?" you question further. "Don't you need to get home? It's..." you glance at the clock on the wall, "fuck, Joel, it's nearly two in the morning."

"And? I told you I was going to stay and I did. Plus, I wasn't about to leave you here dying."

You frown. "It's just a cold," you point out, because it's not like you're actually in any imminent danger, especially not after the medicine has calmed some of your symptoms. Well, either that or the nap you just took against him or perhaps the ginger ale Sarah swears by. "You should get home."

There's silence again, but his movement doesn't cease, hand still trailing across your back. "I should, shouldn't I?" he agrees eventually, even though there's nothing about his voice that's convincing.

"Yeah," you repeat, even though you were the one to suggest it and you also haven't done anything to move from where you're draped across his chest. In a way, it seems almost easier to stay secure in his embrace than to confront the realities that will crash over both of you when you part. The questioning of what he's really doing here, on your couch, and why he was so intent on staying. Why Sarah had said earlier that he'd do it just for you.

Never mind the ease you feel now that he's here.

You can hear the seconds tick by on his watch, but neither of you move. Your breathing evens out to the point where you start to feel the heavy tug of your eyelids, and just before you will yourself to move, you press yourself just a bit closer. Your cheek flush against his chest like you're certain you'll never have this feeling again and you want to cling to it for just a moment longer.

He doesn't say anything when you do pull back, and he remains quiet as you untangle yourself from him to stand. The cough returns almost instantly, lungs wheezing when you double over, and you don't flinch when his hand rubs between your shoulder blades to ease your breathing.

When it calms, you step away, Joel's hand falling back. He mimics you, standing and hesitating before grabbing the blanket from the couch to wrap around your frame. There's something in his expression that you try not to read into, but the hope that blossoms in your chest betrays you anyway.

Not that there's anything you can do about it. Nothing you can say, nothing to do other than to continue treading the fine line.

"Thank you again," you say softly as he tugs his boots back on by the door, "for the medicine and for staying."

"Don't worry about it. Thanks for letting Sarah help, too," he responds, his words echoing earlier statements.

"She's welcome over here any time," you reply immediately, only to fail at containing the next words that spill from your lips, "you both are."

Joel smiles, warmth radiating from him as he slowly reaches to tug the blanket around your shoulders a little tighter, the silence settling as you both seem to push off the inevitable. Eventually, though, he shifts, fingers reaching for the doorknob, the door swinging open, his boots hitting the porch outside. It happens quickly, and you simultaneously feel like something has ended as something else begins.

This evening, the unspoken words, the way he'd held you so carefully, paving the path for the potential of something. Nights in his arms, Sarah at your kitchen table, ginger ale when one of you is sick. All of it suddenly on the horizon in a way you'd only let yourself fantasize about before.

He's halfway down your walk before you stop him. "Joel?"

"Yeah?" he pauses, turning back with an expression seemingly just as hopeful as your own.

"Tell Sarah the ginger ale helped."

[bubblesgarden]

｡˚○ — witchy!reader & rafe cameron

requested ! doing a tarot reading on rafe

the night was thick with summer— humid and soft, like the air itself was holding its breath. 

rafe sat on the edge of your porch, legs pulled too his chest as he sat on the worn wood, trying to act like this wasn’t something. like he didn’t care, but the way his knee bounced, the way his eyes kept drifting towards you as you shuffled the cards said otherwise. 

you were cross legged on a blanket in front of him, a small beeswax candle burning in a chipped mason jar between the both of you, flickering against the grainy wood. the deck in your hands was old, well loved. each card had softened edges and the kind of weight that only came from years of use— like they’d absorbed all the questions people were too afraid to say outloud. 

you didn’t ask him what he wanted to know. you didn’t have to. rafe cameron didn’t come here to make small talk, he came because part of him was unravelling and he didn’t know how to make it stop. 

“three cards?” you asked softly, peering up at him, hands still shuffling the deck gently. 

he nodded once, almost like it hurt. 

you cut the deck without looking, then held it out to him. “pick three. any order. just go with your gut.” 

he hesitated for a moment, then one from the middle, one near the top, and one from the very bottom. 

you laid them down in front of you, face down. the air felt heavier now, and you noticed how the candle flame stilled between both of you. 

“what’s the first one?” rafe’s voice was rougher now, blue eyes completely focused on you, almost like he was too nervous to look down. 

“past,” you said, tapping it with your index finger before you turned it over. 

eight of swords.

your eyes flickered up to his. 

he looked at the card— a figure bound and blindfolded, surrounded by swords. trapped, but not by anything physical. it was often by their own mind. by fear. you didn’t sugar coat it, just sat there with your hands in your lap, eyes on him. 

“this is self imprisonment. feeling stuck. lost. like you’ve been living in a story where you’re the villain, but you don’t know how to stop reading it like that.” 

rafe exhaled, sharp and bitter. “accurate.” 

you watched him, but didn’t push. “the thing about this card, is that the ropes are loose. the swords don’t cage her in. she could move, if she wanted. it’s just that she doesn’t believe it yet.” 

he was quiet, but you hadn’t expected anything else, so you reached for the second card. 

“this is your present.” 

the tower. 

you exhaled through your nose, a tiny smile playing on your lips. “of course.” 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning forward. “that bad?”

“it’s not bad,” you hummed softly, shrugging. “not really. it’s just inevitable.”

he squinted at the card, a finger lightly brushing over the edge before he pulled away. “looks pretty bad.”

you held it between two fingers, letting him study it: lightning crashing, people falling from a burning spire, chaos everywhere. “the tower isn’t about punishment. it’s about truth. breakdown. breaking free. everything you built on lies— it burns. but sometimes you need fire to clear the forest. you can’t build something real until everything false is gone.”

rafe stayed silent, saying nothing, but you noticed the way his jaw flexed. his silence wasn’t cold. it was concentrated, like he was trying to hold back the tide.

you turned over the third card. “future.” 

and then: the lovers. 

this time, he didn’t scoff. didn’t make a comment. he just… stared. 

“the lovers isn’t just about romance,” you said carefully, shifting in your spot. “it’s about alignment. choice. surrendering to something real, even when it scares you.” 

rafe didn’t speak, not for a long moment. but when he finally looked at you, his voice was lower than you’d ever heard it. “you think that’s where i’m going?

you met his eyes, a small smile on your lips. “i think that’s what’s being offered. you don’t have to be afraid of it,” you said softly, “of starting over.”

“what if i ruin it?” he asked, his voice cracking the tiniest bit. 

you smiled, sadness flickering behind your eyes. “then you try again. or you don’t. but pretending you don't want it— whatever it is? that won’t make the ache go away.”

the porch light buzzed above you, insects dancing in and out of the glow. rafe ran a hand through his hair and looked away, but only for a second. 

“read yours.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “you want to try?” 

“i mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck. “i won’t know what the hell i’m doing, but…”

you handed him your deck, something so sacred to you. something you didn’t even let kiara or sarah hold. but with him, it felt right. “cut it however feels right.”

he did exactly that. clumsy. hesitant. like he was holding something fragile. 

then he picked a card and handed it to you, flipping it over like it might explode. 

the high priestess.

rafe blinked. “that good?”

you smiled— slow and knowingly. “it’s the witch card.” 

“fitting.” 

“she’s about intuition. secrets. inner knowing.” your smile faded slightly, turning soft. “she sees things no one else does.” 

he looked up at you, something raw tugging at the corners of his mouth. “yeah,” he nodded, “sounds like you.” 

you held his gaze, unflinching. open. “you think you’re hard to read,” you said quietly. “but you’re not.” 

that stunned him into silence. you took the card gently from his hand, slipping it back into the deck without a sound. 

the air between you felt electric— charged with everything unsaid. 

then he leaned it. 

and when he kissed you— it was soft. it wasn’t hungry or angry or desperate, the way people liked to imagine rafe cameron did everything. it was too soft, for someone who swore he wasn’t looking for softness. barely there pressure against your mouth, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for more. like he’d been thinking about it for too long and still couldn’t believe it was happening. 

your hand reached up to brush the side of his jaw— just barely. and that’s when he stilled. not because he didn’t want it, but because your touch wasn’t demanding, or possessive, or trying to claim something. 

it was kind. 

and that undid him a little more than he expected. 

when he pulled back, his breath caught on the exhale. he didn’t move far— forehead still lingering near yours, noses almost brushing. and he didn’t open his eyes right away. 

you didn’t push. 

didn’t ask what it meant. didn’t ask if he regretted it. 

you just sat with him in the quiet, your fingers resting lightly on the back of his hand, like a reminder: i’m here. i see you. i’m not running. 

rafe’s voice, when it eventually came, was rough at the edges. quiet. 

“i didn’t plan that.” 

“i know.” 

he finally opened his eyes. “i’m not…” he shook his head, looking away like the words might burn. “i’m not good at this.” 

“at what?” 

“this.” he gestured vaguely between you. “being seen. being— fuck, i don’t know. good.” 

you tilted your head, studying him. not like he was a puzzle, but like he was something sacred. 

“you don’t have to be good,” you said softly. “you just have to be honest.” 

rafe looked at you then. really looked. 

no armour. no smirk. just a boy who’d been carrying too much for too long, blinking against the weight of being understood. he swallowed hard. 

“and what if i don’t like what’s underneath?”

you smiled, not sweetly, but like you’d known that question was coming. 

“then we face it together.”

something in him cracked. 

not shattered— just softened. melted, in that deep, aching place he didn’t let anyone touch. 

he reached for your hand again. this time, on purpose. 

he didn’t kiss you again that night. but he stayed— long after the candle burned out, long after the crickets quieted. until the night bled into morning, and even the stars seemed to hush themselves around you. 

and when he finally stood to leave, rafe hesitated at the bottom of your porch steps. 

“will you— uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “will you read for me again? the cards.” 

you leaned against the railing, that same knowing softness in your smile. 

“i think you already know the answer.”

and he didn’t. that scared him. but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t make him run.

i got a bit carried away with this, but i hope you guys enjoyed it !! lots of love my angels xx

please don't forget to like, comment, and/or reblog. i always appreciate the support x

requests are open !

[savannahsdeath]

heyyy could u write something where like reader is about to shower but starts to get really insecure and kinda has a breakdown, BUT ellie reassures her. (pls also give reader stretch marks bc i've been so insecure abt mine lately and i have them literally everywhere. thighs, hips, even on my boobs lol) <3

ELLIE WILLIAMS X INSECURE!READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! but tbh its minors safe this time i think ??

writers note: just a reminder youre all beautiful no matter what!! beauty standards or wtv was it called are something we shouldnt base our life on but we sadly do. self love is the key to happiness and dont let other people ruin it!!🩷🩷and to our lovely anon, you dont need to worry about stretch marks. trust me, most of people dont even pay attention to them! its nothing 'special in a bad way'. i lately got some too, right before my holidays and theyre sooo visible through my summer clothes but its something you can get used to be comfortable with. please, anon, dont think less of yourself because of them nor any other insecurities. and this comes to everyone!!💞

it was already late so you were getting ready to take a shower to not waste any more time. you put your clothes on a nearby shelf. you stood in front of the mirror in your underwear only, looking for anything that could be possibly pointed out, like you didn't have enough insecurities already. feeling rather self-conscious, you were examining your reflection for any flaws or imperfections. every detail of your body was being inspected up-close, from the lines on your stomach, to the size of your thighs, to the shape of your shoulders and face. your eyes were scanning every inch of you, seeking any signs of something you could hate, even if others wouldn't notice them. you couldn't help but wonder if the things you were stressing over were even worth worrying about, or if you were just creating problems where they didn't exist.

either way, you couldn't help but hate them. and since you mostly focused on bad things and you didn't see your advantages - you hated yourself. in your eyes your whole body could change. or even should change.

the more you stared at yourself in the mirror, picking apart every little thing, the more you hated what you saw. it felt like nothing was good enough, like every little imperfection needed to be changed or worked on. you felt like you could never measure up to this impossible standard, like your entire body was inadequate. the insecurities were eating away at you, gnawing away until any confidence or self-love you might've had was gone.

that was the moment your eyes beginned to get glossy. you didn't cry though, oh, no. you hated the way you look when you cry, just like everything else, so you tried your best to hold back tears. the floodgates were beginning to open, but you held them back with everything you had. you despised the way you looked when you cried: the tears down your cheeks, your puffy eyes, all those disgusting, revolting imperfections. as much as you hated your flaws, you despised your crying face even more. you would never let anyone see you like that, never.

suddenly, your girlfriend and roommate in one, knocked on the door. "everything okay in there?"

she must notice you're taking your time instead of simply taking a shower already.

you stayed silent, knowing if you try to open your mouth you couldn't control what comes from them. you'd probably break down and the thick door won't be enough to mute your pathetic sobs.

you didn't want to answer, but then again, you knew if you stayed quiet, your girlfriend would eventually come in and check on you. you had to keep yourself together. you couldn't fall apart right in front of her like that.

you let out a shaky breath and replied, "yeah, everything's fine." you could feel your voice cracking with each word, but you were determined not to let her see you in such a sorry state.

what if she sees me the way i see myself?

your girlfriend wasn't fooled by your shaky reply. even if you denied it, she knew something was wrong. she heard the emotion in your voice and could sense the struggle to keep yourself together. without another word, she opened the door and walked in.

"what's wrong, pretty girl?" she asked when she didn't saw your glossy eyes yet.

you, on the other hand, couldn't control yourself anymore. the nickname 'pretty girl' hit you instantly, thinking you're anything but pretty.

pretty.

girl.

those two words hit you harder than a punch to the gut, evoking a strong reaction that you tried to mask. you took a deep breath to steady your voice so that you didn't break, but it was impossible to sound completely calm when you felt so much pain just from those two words.

"nothing." you muttered quietly, but your voice sounded more like a choke than a word.

she hugged you from behind, looking in the same, unlucky mirror. her hands softly touched the scretch marks on your hips as she hold onto them, gently rocking you back and forth.

you wanted nothing more than to reject this hug and flee from your own reflection in the mirror, but you were too weak to pull away.

"nothing?" she asked gently, planting little kisses from your neck to shoulders.

you felt a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over you as your girlfriend's touch revealed the marks on your hips. she immediately spotted them and caressed them with her soft hands.

it all felt too much. you were fighting so hard to hold yourself together, but when she touched you, it all came crashing down. the tears finally escaped and you began to sob, clinging onto her tightly as you broke down. "no... not nothing..."

she held you close, feeling your warmth as her arms wrapped around you and her hands comforted your pain. she rubbed your back and kissed your neck as she tried to soothe you. "shh, come here, it's okay..." she whispered gently.

she led you over to the bed and laid you down. she carefully took off her shirt, leaving on only her bra and boxers, then laid down with you, hugging you tightly. she kissed your neck, your face, brushed your hair back, caressed your body, your stretch marks, your insecurities (at least the ones she knew about), anything to try and comfort you. she whispered words of reassurance and love as she tried to fill you with the affection you felt you lacked. "i love you, my pretty girl... i love you." she repeated those words again and again, hoping you'd believe that someone could love you, and that someone was her.

ellie continued to hold you tightly as you cried into her. your tears soaked into her bra, but she didn't mind; you'd done that many times before. she rubbed your back in soothing circles as she let you let it all out, and she made small shushing noises in your ear. your sobs turned into whimpers and then into a soft murmur, and as your emotions died down, she gently wiped away the tears, replacing them with kisses.

as she noticed you calmed down she slightly pulled away to get a better look at you. "can you tell me what's wrong now?"

"i... it's just..." you started, and your voice broke as you tried to find the words. your girlfriend gave you her undivided attention, focusing on you and only you. "i- i don't feel pretty... i don't feel good enough... i don't feel... enough."

with her eyes looking deep into yours, you couldn't help but be vulnerable as you opened up to her. your insecurities and flaws, the things you tried so hard to hide, were all laid bare in front of her now.

a pang of guilt hit you in that moment.

what am i doing?

ellie was so sweet and loving, and you felt like you were just taking advantage of her kindness. like you're just an attention seeker.

but before you could say anything, she pressed a finger to your lips.

"no. shut your mouth." she said sternly, and you couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "that's not true. i don't wanna hear it, not another word." she leaned in and pressed her soft lips to yours.

you found yourself sitting on her lap, as she stroked your hair, whispering something or kissing you from time to time. you told her all about it, about what and how you feel. and she listened.

you were so lost in your emotional story you didn't even notice the way she slowly took off her rings - one by one, and placed them on a bedside shelf.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

we need to talk more about Killer and Papyrus relationship and Killer wants.

So when he tells Color what he truly wants he mentions wanting his brother back first, then his friends, then his old life, and then about being "Sans" again. I just want to know why is it that Killer is never written as going back to his timelime the life he wants so badly.

I find it interesting that most drawing or comics with Killer and Papyrus. Killer is either turned slightly or the comic breaks stop before his soul. You rarely see his soul when he interacts with Papyrus and I can't help bit wonder if that's because of Stage 1 and Stage 2 and being unsure of which stage he would be on during those moments.

Almost anytime he is shown with Papyrus it shows us how much he cares about him. The comic where he kills him is a bit of an outlier he seems to release all his pent up frustrations and feeling like its something he must do or he wants to do but the moment he does so he breaks down even vomits. He doesn't like Chara wearing his scarf no matter how many times he's killed. Sees his brother in every Papyrus he meets. Often seems to make him unstable like with the comic on stage 4 and during the fight with swap Papyrus he even cries. Drawings always show him pushing Papyrus away or just turned away with a sad face. He considers Papyrus his best friend even in Stage 2. When, he left Papyrus it seemed he had tears in his eyes, his hands were shaking as they went to wrap around Papyrus and return the hug before suddenly deciding to push him away instead and run away. The Killer captured by Nightmare reset just so his brother could have a happy ending then was going to erase himself either because he doesn't think he matters which he does think Papyrus doesn't need him anymore or because he just doesn't trust himself or because he knows Papyrus wouldn't be happy in a world where Sans just died no he had to delete himself so Papyrus wouldn't have to mourn someone whose never coming back. Its just so akdjaoykdhf. Let him see his brothers, his friends the world he knew. He doesn't even seem to like other au's. Why must he always live in the omega timeline if he's rescued or in Nightmare castle if they make him good can't he have his world and his brother for once. He cares about Papyrus the most, Alphys the second best I would say and probably Grillby third. Toriel somewhere between Alphys and Grillby wether at the front, the middle or back. I say Alphys because she's in two comics. When he pushes everyone away to protect himself its Alphys and Papyrus. She's the only one he even took a moment to really talk to with Grillby and Papyrus it was to vent his frustration and just kill them almost immediately while with Alphys he had a bit of a breakdown then killed her.

Why does no one focus on the people in his world, the relations he had there. Like we get so many hints and people just brush them away and only want Killer to ever be happy with the Bad Sanses or with Color in the Omega Timeline why can't he be happy with his old friends and family one of the only things he admitted to even wanting. Sorry for the rant.

~Musical Anon

Because he refuses to actually go back. Notice how in the comics with Nightmare and the cats, Killer talks about how he thinks the others are in their own timelines living their lives, Nightmare asks him why he isn’t back home at his, and Killer doesn’t answer?

He can’t go back home, he feels. He wants to, but he can’t. And it’s not just guilt and shame, it’s that profound distrust in himself. So long as his SOUL is the way it is, where anyone can do what Nightmare does and use him for their plans and desires, he believes no one will ever be safe around him.

That they couldn’t even begin to trust him—why do you think he’s so insistent that Color not trust him when he’s in Stage 2–when he’s “like that”—or that Color kill him if he ever goes into Stage 3?

Not to mention how he hides and keeps Stage 4 a secret—and it’s shown very clearly that, when Killer is in Stage 4, he has absolutely no qualms about who or what he kills.

We all saw how brutal and violent Stage 4 can be, and that’s without mentioning Stage 3 being described as “crazy” and the examples we’re shown of Killer being violent towards others while in Stage 2.

He will kill Papyrus if he’s triggered into Stage 4—Stage 4 has done it many times before.

It’s because he loves his brother so much that tries to remove himself from his life—thinking he’s somehow protecting him or keeping him safe by making these choices for Papyrus.

Assuming Papyrus doesn’t need him anymore, wouldn’t want him and shouldn’t trust him—but these are all assumptions he makes without talking to Papyrus even once. I have to wonder if he even actually remembers how to talk to Papyrus anymore.

I think Killer in Stage 1 needs to rebuild that trust in himself and the people around him, including Papyrus, before he’d even begin to feel that he’s anything anyone could trust— let alone love or want.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hesitant to even touch or hug Color and almost excessively gentle with it, withdrawing quickly and likely has a tendency to keep his hands to himself — given how he couldn’t even bring himself to touch Dream while in Stage 1, even when he couldn’t tell if Dream was even real or not.

All in all—i don’t think immediately running back to Papyrus or his timeline would help Killer at all. Because he’d spend his entire time there living in fear of himself, walking on eggshells, trying to avoid triggers all while dealing with nightmares, dreams, and memories of all the times he’s hurt everyone in the Underground. All the times they’ve hurt him.

And he’d be alone with those memories, that pain and guilt, that shame and confusion. No one else remembers Killer—they remember Sans.

And feeling alone with all of it, the “only one” being hurt, the “only one” who remembers, is what started his resentment and jealousy of Papyrus way back then in the first place.

More than being afraid of killing or hurting anyone again, especially his brother, I do believe Stage 1 would be plagued by the fears that—if he goes back to that place, where it all started—that he’d start believing he wants to kill them again.

If that’s actually true or not doesn’t really matter—because Killer in Stage 1 believes it is, and could potentially remember the beginning of everything.

The anger, the jealousy, betrayal and hurt. But more importantly—the confusion. How none of it really felt real, how his mind didn’t feel under his control, how he thoughts didn’t feel like his. How his emotions didn’t feel like they belonged to him.

He thinks he can only go back to Papyrus if he’s “fixed.” If he’s Sans again. If he’s the same old person he was, as if everything that happened never did.

But what if that’s not possible? What if he can never go back to being that person? Does that mean he cannot have his brother or even his old friends back at all, because they are not his, if he is not Sans?

No, of course not. Because his brother and his old friends are their own people, who can and should be given the chance to make their own informed decisions on if they want him back in their lives or not.

And that’s why I like to think Color definitely encourages Killer to reach how to home, to Papyrus, even if it’s not an in person meeting yet—such as a letter or a phone call. Even if only to just let the poor man know his missing brother is alive, even if not quite okay. Even if not quite the brother he remembers.

Color definitely wouldn’t force Killer into this, but I do think Killer’s opportunity to reach out to his loved ones who remember and want him back is something Color has wanted for himself for what feels like longer than he’s even really been alive.

His family doesn’t know who he even is, and at this point it looks unlikely they ever will. He will always be a stranger to them—he’d never wish that on or want that for his friend, especially if they also want Killer back.

Even if the moment is bittersweet and brings up fears of being abandoned or forgotten again in Color, I think he’d also be both proud of Killer, and happy that he finally managed to help at least one Killer get here. Writing letters to his brother, making puns and laughing with Toriel over the phone, sharing information about soul research with Alphys.

Not every Killer was able to live long enough to experience this for themselves.

Also, a little off topic but it’s something I’ve wanted to talk about for a bit, but I do believe that Papyrus is the only person Killer in Stage 2 has ever felt anything like resembling guilt, regret, or remorse for the pain he’s caused him or for what he did to him.

Of course, it’s described as Killer “feeling sick” when he remembers what he did to Papyrus, so i doubt he recognizes what this emotion is or what it means when in Stage 2.

In contrast, when it comes to Color, I think Killer in Stage 2 feels frustrated or uncomfortable when he recognizes that he’s hurt or caused Color pain, knows he should feel bad about that, but he just doesn’t or can’t.

It’s those exact feelings of frustration and discomfort, as well as the fact that he doesn’t like being the reason why Color is hurt/upset and doesn’t want to hurt Color, that he puts in effort to either make it up to him or to try and figure out what caused the pain in order to try and not do it again.

He doesn’t feel guilty about it, maybe doesn’t even fully understand the extent of Color’s emotions, but he can see that something he did caused Color pain. So he tries to put in the effort to care and make it up to him.

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker: Downfall part 3

Ultimately, I associate the Wizard Breakdown Tracker with Aeor; I began it during the middle of the Nein's Aeor arc, and even bringing it back for the Nein reunions feels like it's missing something. That thing, it turns out, is a city of Wizard Hubris.

There are no wizard PCs so we can dispense with the formalities. For the purposes of this post, while The Raven Queen is an ex-wizard, Emhira isn't and is counted as a warlock, and The Raven Queen is counted as just a straight up god. As always, in no particular order, and if a wizard is not mentioned it's because I didn't have anything funny nor serious enough to say about them.

Calamity-era Wizards

Adamar: literally no idea. I think he was stressed but he got vaporized by Meteor Swarm (completely within the realm of mortal achievement btw; Imogen Temult could take it in 4 levels) before things really broke bad. Like 7/10; he was in pitched combat but he had 3 dragons and a bunch of demons on his side.

Primarch Selena: There are going to be a few wizards in this who truly do embody a more profound breakdown than anything we've seen before. Selena is one. What does it mean to be so good at creating a mortal-made form of life that the god of beauty chooses to reside in this when picking a vessel? What does it mean to realize in the same instant that your life's work is what doomed you and its target is standing in front of you and now holds your life in their hands? In the end, she doomed her city twice while also actively repenting; it's not just gods who contain multitudes and conflict. But also 10/10.

Arcadia Cerenvetorix: Well, she got tricked by Asmodeus and stuffed in a bottle. Asmodeus did a good job of imitating her too which, as a deity of truth and knowledge cannot feel great, to know that Guy Whose Thing Is Lying has your number even if he is technically lying and therefore in his wheelhouse in pretending to be you. Then she gets let out having been saved by SILAHA, who as a result of saving her, cannot stop Selena. I have to imagine this series of consequences drives some of her decision making in the very end, although at that point she is technically not a wizard and therefore out of the scope of this post. Anyway, 9/10; she did almost die.

Cassida Previn: There's no option for this other than 10/10. Her revelations were delivered with far less kindness than even Selena's; we see her break. She has time to consider that her good intentions have doomed Aeor as well as find the deity she's risked execution to serve is a more complicated being than what she expected and does not approve of her greatest act of service. And that's before we consider that the Society of Primes is implied to have not been successful (we don't know, since the Factorum Malleus is never fired, so it could be a bluff; but the Primes are heavily indicated to be in just as much danger) and that's also before her final moments are being presumably tortured by Asmodeus. I don't know if she really renounced The Everlight; Asmodeus lies, but it's not an unexpected consequence. As The Everlight says, it doesn't matter; she was well within her rights to feel however she felt in those last moments and it does not erase all that she did before. If she didn't it was a lie from Asmodeus, and if she did, she is forgiven entirely.

Those guys who were dragons for a hot second: Honestly? What a way to go. I wouldn't even be mad. 6/10.

The Wizards In The Cognouza Ward: THEY LEFT SO EARLY. AND FOR WHAT. Like, yes, yes, you want to show the moment so you have to do it pretty early on because you won't have the viewpoint of the divine entities later on since they'll be in the Genesis Ward, but COME ON MAN. It really is like...you could have been The Ring of Brass to Aeor. If you wanted to sound the early warning you could have done some strategic teleporting of as many people you could get onto Exandria, despite the storm, and hell, you could have taken a long rest and planeshifted the next fucking day if you had to go to the Astral Plane so badly but nooooo you had to fuck everyone else over. I mean does anyone deserve a millennium of madness and horror as Cognouza eventually became? no. But like, maybe a few years for this bullshit. 5/10 because it isn't bad yet because they jumped the fucking gun. and again. for what.

843 PD Wizards watching this or just hanging out elsewhere

Essek Thelyss: I imagine he is like those pictures of the math lady except he fully understands the math. Absolute mind blown. Trying to figure out the Luxon's relationship to Tengar if there is one. Wondering why Aeor was working on Cognouza and the Factorum Malleus and not their various Luxon experiments. Trying to figure out if the gods used the same principle as consecution. Trying to reconcile the image of Lolth as weirdly adorable with the horrors he knows his people escaped. Also he has been watching a movie for like 13-ish hours but I wonder if floating means his legs haven't fallen asleep. 6/10.

Allura Vyesoren: I really like to imagine she messaged one of Bells Hells and they were like "can I call you back later we're watching a movie" and she is just like I am getting too old for this shit. 4/10 in like, the relative sense of all wizards in this 843 PD narrative are dealing with an existential threat but like within that context, 4/10.

Caleb Widogast: I feel like the Nein would be best deployed to Ria'Doin but he might be on some other weird mission given that Essek was sent to Aeor in his place, and hopefully, we get a one-shot out of this. For me. Anyway though for practical reasons he did just hear from Essek recently and Trent seems gone for good so, within the broader "Ludinus Da'leth is fucking over existence" context, also like a 4/10.

Yussa Errenis: Really hard to tell! What unhinged fuckery that doesn't require physically leaving the house is this small bastard (affectionate) up to. Is he on the moon? Is Nicodranas on a nexus point thus sending him to some far-flung region of Exandria? Did he try to question Halas and get trapped in the gem? Is he just ignoring Iva Deshin? Anyway given his track record I am going to say 9/10 and he is in some kind of peril that is low-key his own fault, but it's anyone's guess.

Astrid Becke: Imagine being screwed over so hard you have to go undercover in retail. I think that fantasizing over who gets to land a killing blow in D&D Actual Play is not terribly interesting; what happens happens, and such fantasies are usually a dull slog of "who is wronged most" which is never good. With that said I don't think she is the most wronged, if that's even a metric one can know; and also I know this is not going to happen given her very tangential nature as a minor NPC in the story being told here; and I don't think I am speaking about a just or kind world in this fantasy; but in a world that aims for justice but lands in pettiness, she would get the final blow on Ludinus Da'leth. 7/10.

Ludinus Da'leth: There's a tumblr-famous post in which someone makes a lot of wild-ass claims about the status of, iirc, women who spun thread in medieval Europe and then when people were like "I don't think that's right" posted a fuckload of links and the phrase "*steeples fingers*" and then someone actually clicked on the links and was like "uh none of these back up your point, actually; most of them have little to do with it and what few do address it either contradict what you are saying, or are similarly unsourced from non-experts." Anyway I think we can all see the value in checking the citations and vetting your sources here, a lesson The Martinet seems to have failed to internalize. He is however either at a 3/10 or an 8/10 depending on precisely how up his own ass he is and whether he realizes he showed footage far too complicated to make but a single easy argument.

[ghosts-to-reid]

Neo Gothic III

A/N: Sorry it took so long for the next part! I went to a party and drank wayyyy too much wine. Uni's picking up a lot too so im still settling back into my routine. I hope you guys enjoy! Also MGG Reading my favourite poem??? I had to.

Summary: After the case in Texas, a new pattern emerges that links you and the crimes. Spencer is there to dull any of your worry, consoling your worry.

(When you get to the poem, I recomend listening to this. Trust me.)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 / Bibliography

A week had passed since Spencer had asked you on a date, yet there just hadn't been the right time for yet. Obviously, your finals were important, but Spencer had been helping you study after work. This is where you discovered how fast the man can actually read, making that night in the motel seem that much more special to you. These could be considered study dates, but when broaching that subject with Spencer, her would always shake his head.

"No, I want to do this properly." Is all he'd say. Not sure what this means, maybe he wants to go oldschool? Dinner and a movie, or maybe the arcade and a walka round the park? Either way, time spent with him was something to cherish in your point of view.

During one of these study dates that weren't study dates, the topic of profiling came up once more.

"Would you ever think about it?" His head was propped on hi shand as he looked up from a book in front of him, breaking the silence tha had filled his living room before.

"Think about what, Spencer?" Brow knitted in slight confusion

"Profiling. Getting into the classes at the academy. I think its worth thinking about." Honey coloured eyes met yours, they were soft and full of some adoration.

He had asked you a few times since the case you had assisted on. The confidence the boy genius had in you was touching, if misguided in your opinion. The truth of the matter was that you would love to, you just didn't think you were qualified. The breakdown upon discovering there had been a new victim was not a moment you wanted to relive, or the feeling of abject disgust at the image of the dead victims. Dissasociating from the truth of the images would only work so long, most of the reason you had been able to stomach was only due to you telling yourself they were actually images from a horror movie. Truthully, the guts that it took to do this job weren't something you were sure you were equipped with. Explaining this to Spencer many times, he would reassure you of his belief in you, but he understood your apprehension. He coudln't argue with your opinion of the gore however, he understood fully that there was a big difference in real violence and fake, and that dissaociating the victims like that wouldn't be healthy.

Still, he would persist. Shamefully, you had to admit that the walls you'd built around the idea were slowly coming down.

"How would I even get into the academy? You all have psychology degrees, or field experience. You're literally a genius. What do I have in comparison to that?" Laying the book you'd been reading face down, you sat upright to face him properly

"Practically, you'd think that would help but a lot of this comes down to knowledge. You've been absorbing more knoweledge from us that I think even you realise, and your subconcious brought it out when you were with us in Texas. It's like your brain has stored this because it knows you want to profile, because you know you'd be good at it even if you won't admit it to yourself. And because you know you want to help people." His smile was contagious as he spoke, so elequently about his faith in your abilities "And with a reccomendation from Hotch, you could be put into the academy after you graduate if you really wanted."

"Hotch would do that?" You raised a brow, unsure of Spencer's claim

"If I asked him to, yes." He was ammused by his own comment, a laugh escaping his lips "He thinks you have potential too though. I don't think he would take much convicing."

"If I say i'll think about it, can we get back to studying? I should probably get this degree out of the way before I start considering an entire career." A small smile graced your lips as you spoke, but finally spencer relented his pestering.

Truthully, he wasn't the only person who had been asking you about your thoughts on becoming a profiler. JJ had been dropping hints about how she technically was in a similar position to you when she started her training. Emily and Derek had been less subtle, parking themselves at your desk whilst discussing case details, and then asking you to weigh in. Clearly trying to perform some sort of reverse psychology on you, hoping you wouldn't notice their secret agenda. The atmosphere around the office was lighter though, as if you finally felt settled into the department. Knowing your co-workers sparked a new found joy in your job that made their offers all the more tempting.

2 Weeks after the replication case, you had finished your finals. The team had been sent to Colarado on a case, so you celebrated the end of your finals on your own, watching as many horror movies as you could in the 48 hours you had finally to yourself. The team had wrapped the case Saturday night, and hadn't picked up a new case yet, so you were eager to finnaly catch up with them all after their week long absence. Exiting the elevator, you made your way to your desk, placing your bag in its usual spot. The team were no where to be seen around the bullpen, noticing the shades of the conference room were drawn however, you'd assumed they had called onto a case. Before getting settled, Hotch's head popped out of the slightly ajar door, beckoning you over with a stern look. Not completely unusual, you were often sent on burracratic errands of file retriving for them for cases, so you didn't think twice when entering the room.

There, gathered around the table, was the whole team with huge smiles on their faces. There was a a few balloons, one saying 'Congratulations!' In winding Purple lettering, with a few small wrapped boxes beside a tray of muffins and coffee from your and Penelope's favourite coffee shop. With a start, the team all cheered "Congratualtions" as you entered, a warm feeling of happiness spreading through your chest as you took in the sight.

Penelope attacked you with a hug, whilst the group all said their congratulations.

"Guys... This is amazing. Thank you..." Was all you managed to say as JJ pulled you into a tight hug

"I knew you could do it! I'm so proud of you." JJ held your shoulders with a small squeeze, flashing a prideful look to you. JJ knew you had no living family, and a part of you wondered if she had a hand in orchastrating the surprise due to this. Either way, you were thankful for the teams enthusiasm at your upcoming graduation.

"Well, don't get your hopes up yet everyone, I don't get my results for another week. I don't even know if I passed yet." Smiling at the fuss, the team interjected with protest

"Of course you will have, you had our boy genius here helping you. And you certainly knew your stuff already." Derek slid his arm around your shoulders affectionatly, making your smile widen.

Spencer made his way over to you and gave you a quick, but tight hug. Whispering a small "Well done" into your hair before he pulled away.

"Ok, we have presents!" Garcia announced happily "Of course, we went in on the muffins, your favourite, lemon and poppyseed but without the lemon curd in the middle. Annnnddd-" She picks a cup up and hands it to you "Your favourite, Salted caramel Mocha with whipped cream. An absolute sugar nightmare but that is something you and our boy genius have in common after all. OH! And we have actual presents!" She claps happily, everyone her infectious glee as she flittered around the space, grabbing your hand for you to sit. One by one the group gave you their small gifts. Derek and Emily had given you a copy of book you'd been talking about, Penelope had bought you a little ceramic bat to keep on your desk, Whilst Rossi had bought you an empty frame, stating "Well, you'll need somewhere to put your degree in when you get it." The gifts were thoughtful, and showed how much the team had grown to appreciate you, even in a few weeks. Finally, Spencer stepped forward and handed you a small package. Unwrapping it with a curious smile, you were taken a back.

It was a first edition of Dracula, you gasped and clamped your had over your mouth in shock. You were in disbeleif that Spencer had managed to find this, and that he thought to give it to you.

"Spencer, this is too much! How much did this cost you?" The breath was absent from your lungs as you spoke, utterly taken back at his gesture. The team seemed to be equally surprised, they were still in the dark about yours and spencers recent tryst, so the gesture to them seemed all too much for supposedly platonic friends.

"Geez spence, is that a first edition?" Emily asked, eyebrows shooting up

"I have some connections." Was all he said, a teasing smile as he shrugged his shoulders. Still in disbeleif, you stood and gave Spencer another quick hug before Hotch's phone ringing interupted. Excusing himself, he returned a few moments later with a solemn expression

"Im sorry to interupt, but we have a case." His tone was morose, as usual when news of a new case hit. The pang of saddness hit everyone, any smile disolving as the team began to gather around the table. Collecting your things, you began to make your exit when Hotch held his hand up, making you to still your movements. "You might need to stay for this, Y/N."

Confusion painted your features, as did it the rest of the teams, yet you joined the others in a spare seat next to Spencers.

"Garcia?" Hotch spoke as she typed on her tablet, pausing before meeting your eyes

"Uh huh, just a second.... Y/N you might want to look aweay from the screen." Heeding her advice, you angled yourself away from the screen and in turn, more towards Spencer.

"Ok so, we have an Unsub right here in Virginia. He has been... Replicating the deaths of men in... Gothic fiction novels..." Penelopes voice trails off as she looks to you, the air shifts to one of uncertainty. One crime happening to do with the gothic was a conicdence, another unsub doing the same isn't.

"What are the chances of two seperate unsubs operating under the same MO just two weeks a part?" Emily asked, but Spencer shook his head

"Statistaically very low, these crimes have to be connected" He looked at the screen in search. "What do we know?"

"Well, currently we are on a body count of 3. The victims overlap with our previous unsub by one. They weren't conncted till now when local authorities ran it through VICAP and saw the similarities with the Texas case. We need to operate under the assumption the cases are linked until proven otherwise. Hence, your presance, L/N. Considering your recent completion of your degree and your field of expertise, I'd like to ask you to act as informant to us once more." Hotch turned to you, passing you Penelope's tablet.

"The crimes so far have replicated that of Dracula, This time replicating the title characters death. Down to the, um, beheading and..." Penelope trailed off "burning of the body..."

"I bet if the body was intact there would be evidence of a stab wound to the chest too, if he's like the texas case he'll have replicated this perfectly." You added softly, Reid gave you en encourging nod.

"The strength and accuracy of these crimes absolutely allude to the unsub being a man, the strength needed to behead someone like that is no joke." Morgan added, you nodded.

"The gothic is also very induvidual to a person, like any novel you get what relates to you from them. What other novels were replicated Pen?"

"Um, that would be the death that kicks off the castle of Otranto, yanno the... crushing thing with the suit of armour, and then with the latest vic he escaleted. Replicating Frankensein, except instead of digging up graves he just, put the vic back together..." Penelope's heart dropped, as did yours. Taking a deep breath you braved a glance at the screen. Images of violence you'd never thought humanity capable of, images you believed to be works of fiction. A pang of saddness hit your chest, when the feeling of a hand softly rubbing your shoulder broke you out of the trance you hadn't realised you were in. Turning your attention back to Spencer, who's hand rested softly on your shoulder, you gained back your clarity once more.

"So each crime he's becoming less and less precious about accuracy, so if the crimes in Texas were almost like a test run, and we interupted, then maybe he's deescalting?" Looking around the room, JJ's brow knits as she thinks.

"If you're right,then we need to figure out the significance of the gothic for our unsub, and hwy he recruited our last unsub to start the crimes in Texas. Why replicate these deaths? Why change victimology from women to men?" JJ stared at the screen.

"He breaks the boundries of literary releveance too. He goes from late 19th century, to late 18th, and then to early 19th. There's no organisation, and I can't think of any particularly strong links between the novels theme wise from the top of my head. I'd have to go back home and look through my notes. But the form fits the previous case. Dracula to start, from my experience its the novel that gets most people into studying the genre to begin with, its theatrical and camp, and in some ways epitomises the genre. But the Castle of Otranto is the birth of the gothic story, its the first story that used the word gothic for a ghost story rather than as a slur or to describe something medieval. But then we go to Frankenstein, arguably the gothic nature comes from the setting it was written in rather than the actual story, its mostly attributed to science fiction than the gothic but it teeters the edge." You ramble, once again zoning out asa you stare to the tablet in your hand, scanning through your knowledge to find any kind of link between the novels.

"Ok, L/N, Take Reid to your appartment to look through your notes, you'll get through them quicker that way. Emily and JJ head down to the recent crime scene and see if you can lend any fresh eyes to the locals. Derek and Rossi head to the local ME and find out what you can from the examiner on the victims. Penelope and I will stay here to find connections between the current victims." Hotch and the others quickly gather their things, giving you one last congratulations before exiing. Silently, you follow Spencer to his car, where he drives you both to your apartment once more.

The jangle of keys broke the silence inside the aprtment you had left less than an hour ago. Making your way around the living room and dumping your bag on your battered sofa, you quickly turn on some lamps before walking to the small kitchen situated in the corner of the room.

"Make yourself at home." You smile to him, busying yourself making two cups of tea, as he looks around the room, once more observing the space, taking in what he didnt the last time as he sat on the distressed arm chair cramed into the corner of the room.

Your place was small, sure, but you prefered the word cosy. The Kitchen and living room were in the same room, but to you it just made it easier to keep clean. The walls were lined with shelves, filled with all kinds of books, some with files and trinkets. Mementos of you that had collected over the years, that refelcted you both past and present. There were a few framed prints along the wall of famous horror movies, Scream, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Chucky, Hellraiser, you were sure your choice of movie posters could be analysed by Reid, and you were hoping silently, he wouldn't deduce a hidden part of your psyche that you weren't aware of yourself.

Glancing over to the man, you saw him observing the leafs on one of the various plants that were littered around the room.

"Did you know that Monsteras can bloom fruit? It's said to taste like a mixture of fruit salad." He spoke up, glancing at you with a smile as you returned from the kitchen with two mugs, handing him one.

"It's peppermint, sorry I ran out of coffee this morning." You place your mug on your coffee table and move over to one of your shelves, grabbing some binders and handing them to reid before grabbing a pile of your own. The pair of you sit beside one another, knees toutching as you both scan through your oldnotes. After a moment of silence, Spencer touches his knee to yours lightly, getting your attention.

"Im sorry we haven't been on our date yet..." His tone had a sheepish tone to it. The way his eyes met yours showed that he really felt guilty, but you shook your head.

"What do you mean? We've still been spending time together." Placing the binder you were holding onto the coffee table, you turned your full attention to man beside you, who mirrored your actions.

"I know, but I just wanted to do this properly with you." There was that phrase again, what did he mean?

"What do you mean by that, Spencer? What does properly mean to you?" Grabbing his hand softly, he starts slightly before melting into your touch, absentmindly intertwining his fingers with yours.

"I just mean... I mean..." He scanned your eyes, as if trying to find the right words in them. A small pleading look painted his features. "I just want to make sure I don't scare you away. Or do anything wrong... I don't date. Ever really, but the few I've been on... They just seem to run when they see the strains from my job. I just want to.., I dont know. Follow the right formula, you know take you out to dinner, walk you home, kiss you goodbye at the door. I want to experience what love should be, not the large spark that doesn't ignite anything that I have been..." His gaze had trailed away from yours, finding your intertwined hands, watching as he fiddled with your hand between both of his larger ones. A small sigh escaped your lips as you chuckled

"Woah cowboy, lets slow down with the love, we haven't even been out to dinner yet." You chuckled, trying to eleviate his anxiety. His head snapped up in panic, fear evident that he said something wrong, but you interupted before he could voice this "I'm not going to get scared away, Spencer. I've worked at that desk for a year now, and I've seen what your job entails, if i was going to get scared away, do you think I would've entertained the idea of us in the first place?" His lips draw into a small line, and he shakes his head no. "Exactly, Spencer. Besides, falling in love doesn't follow a formula. It's not the romcom script that you expect. It's quality time, it's strife and raw emotion, it's an exposing yourself to someone in more than just body, but mind and heart too. That takes time and being together, and thats what we've been doing already. Hell, we shared a bed the first day we spoke a full proper sentence to each other, i think we're already past doing this properly."

Spencer seemed at a loss for words, staring into your eyes as you brought your hands together once more, halting his fidgeting and squeezing his hand.

"If we're together, then that's all that matters to me." Spencer's lips broke into a releived smile, before he leaned forward to place a small kiss on your lips. He pulled away just as quickly as your lips had joined, however.

"Im sorry, I didn't mean to-" You cut him off by placing your lips to his again, free hand cradling his cheek as you gave him a longer, more passionate kiss. After a moment, you break a part. Spencer sported a dopey smile, eyes glued to your features.

"I was waiting for you to do that again since Texas..." Your voice was small, but full of happiness towards the doctor in front of you. Finally, the pair of you continued your research, unempeaded this time, for another hour. Eventually, you perked up, alerting the man beside you.

"There's allusions to God. Each one has some sort of religious message!" You shriked, Spencers eyes widenning, thinking for a moment before perking up himself

"You're right... Dracula is a representation of sin for the 19th century, Frankenstein is mans punishment for playing god... but how does the castle of otranto link to god?" Spencer questions

"It's about sin. It's sort of a slur piece playing on the fears of catholicsm in the 18th century, thats why Walpole set it in the crusades, its publication lined up with the catholic reformation in England at the time. It's a display of public fears." Eagerly, you went to grab your old copies of each of the books. All covered in annotations from your past studies.

"So the unsub's message is religious... So why choose the gothic as a mode to display his religious beliefs?" Spencer followed you, grabbing your copy of frankenstein and skimming through the poages.

"I'm not too sure on that actually... Maybe because the gothic itself is caused moral outrage at the time? Maybe that's what his message is, something might've happened that links his moral outrage to the genre?" Your gaze met his furrowed one, before he could speak however, there was a knock on your door. Unsure who it may be, you gingerly make your way towards it.

On the door step, there was a large, brown package. There was no shipping label, or return adress. Only a note placed central over the brown tape that held the box shut. The words 'For my Sanguinary Rosebud', signed 'Nosferatu'.

"Spencer?" Your call was weak, confusion littering your face. The man joined you, and peered over your shoulder to the box.

"That's... Odd." He reached into his pocket and grabbed a pair of blue gloves, He moved towards the box slowly, picking it up with gloved hands bfore resting it ontop of your small dining table. He retrived a knife from your draw after photographing the box unopened, and slowly slid his knife through the tape.

The smell hit you first, making you gag and back away, holding a hand to your face. 'oh my god...'

Spencer contuined to methodically open the box, slowly reveling the corpse of a raven. There was a note inside, Spencer retrived it and held it up before reading it aloud

"It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee- With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came  And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Does this poem mean anything to you?" His eyes were wide, clear with worry. Slowly you nodded.

"It's... It's my favourite..." You uttered, hand still over your mouth, eyes wide as they looked over the box "Who would do this?"

Spencers brow knitted further with confusion, you could see how hard he was thinking, trying to figure out the reason that you were targeted with such an odd gift. He quickly snatched his mobile from his pocket and dialed Hotch.

"Hotch? We have something. Y/N has been sent... Let's just say a token of affection and I think it's from our unsub... Okay... I understand... Be there soon." Turning to you he removes the gloves and places his hands on your shoulders

"The team are on their way to preserve the scene, but I'm going to take you back to the BAU. Can you pack a bag? If this is the unsub, then we can't let you stay here." He was methodical in his instructions, you were still in a state of shock from the last few minutes. Blinking in rsponse, you made your way to your room, haphazardly throwing some things into a duffle before leaving to the car with Spencer. He guided you out with a hand to the small of your back, finally talking once more in the car.

"Are you alright?" Softly, he broke you from the trance you'd been in since discovering the box. Shaking your head yes, Spencer saw through it and grabbed your hand once more, squeezing it reassuringly and pulling you into his chest, placing a small kiss to your crown.

"We don't know what this means for sure yet. He could be teasing us, he must know we're onto him and hes trying to psyche us out."

"But... why me? Why do this to me?" Your voice was meager in the wake of his claims, muffled into his jumper.

"I... I dont know. But I'll keep you safe. I promise." He broke from you, meeting your eyes with a kind smile "Im going to keep you safe."

Part 4 soon...

Tags: @pleasantwitchgarden @xamapolax @kchv

[xiaq]

Is it time for a Steddie time travel fix-it AU? (yes)

A03

There’s something wrong with Steve Harrington.

It’s not that Eddie’s watching him. Not that he pays any special attention to him. But the guy is noticeable. He’s the closest thing Hawkins has to royalty: Rich. Star athlete. Attractive. He’s the cliche golden boy of every teen movie with his polos and letterman jacket and vacant, pretty smile as he walks down hallways with his arm around the girl-of-the-week. He’s a predictable staple; a static figure in the horror script that is Eddie’s high school existence.

So when Steve Harrington shows up to school on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday looking and acting really fucking different, Eddie notices.

Well, he doesn’t actually look all that different. The clothes are normal. But his hair is far from its typical careful coiffure, and there’s a frantic energy to him as he shoves his way through the double doors and jogs into the empty hallway.

He doesn’t see Eddie, tucked in the bathroom alcove.

The only people at the school this early are the marching band kids, wrapping up their hellishly early practice, and Eddie, waiting to sell to a tuba player with no concept of how much weed should actually cost. Eddie has no intention of informing him.

Steve Harrington, pacing in front of a segment of lockers, checking his watch, shoving his fingers through his hair, is wildly out-of-place in the bright-lit early-morning hallway.

And then, things get weirder.

Because Robin Buckley exits the band room and they both freeze.

“Fuck,” she says, ���are you––”

“Rob,” Steve says, and it's the most gut-wrenching sound Eddie has maybe ever heard in his life.

She throws herself at him and they hug like—Eddie doesn’t even know. Like the people you see on the news from war zones who thought their family had been killed before a miraculous reunion.

“Are you ok?” she asks, voice cracked and carrying in the empty hallway. “I woke up this morning and my mom was just acting like everything was normal and I had to get to practice and I thought maybe it had all been some fucked up dream but even I’m not that creative.” She pushes away from him, tugging up the bottom of his shirt, “what about––are you––?”

He grabs her wrist, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m completely fine. I’m just…1983 me.”

What the fuck, Eddie thinks.

Well, he’s already been thinking that, but. What does that even mean? What else would he be?

“Are the kids ok?”

What kids?

“I don’t know. I don’t have a walkie or anything anymore it’s all––” Steve gestures, “reset. And if this is ‘83 then they’re all actual children again, El might not even be––and what if they don’t––”

“They have to. I mean, if we do, they have to, right?”

Are they on drugs? Is he on drugs? The blunt he smoked last night shouldn’t cause hallucinations. He pinches himself. Ow.

The band hall doors open again and Eddie shifts further into the alcove as several horn players walk past.

“We can figure things out after school,” Steve murmurs. “We just have to hold it together until then. I don’t know if we’re stuck here or not but if we are––”

“Right. Act normal. Just normal, 16-year-old Robin things. No problem.”

They grab each other again, a tight, desperate, embrace that is not at all normal, Eddie feels it’s important to point out. He didn’t even think that Harrington knew Buckley existed. It’s almost as strange as if Harrington decided to hug Eddie. Inexplicable.

They separate, Robin rubbing at her eyes and Harrington muttering something about not remembering his locker combination. Eddie’s customer arrives before he can decide if he wants to investigate things further.

Focusing in his first period is even more impossible than usual. Focusing on math is tedious enough normally, but when Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are having some sort of shared nervous breakdown it’s even harder to care about logarithmic functions.

He sees Steve again in the hallway after first period and Eddie will admit he’s actively looking for him now. Steve is talking in hushed tones to Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Beyers of all people. His hair is an absolute wreck, and his posture is…Eddie doesn’t know how to describe it. 'Aggressive' isn’t quite right but it’s close.

And then, like Harrington has some sort of intuition he’s being watched, he glances up and meets Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie doesn’t know why he runs. His fight or flight instincts have been well-honed his 4 years at Hawkins High and there’s something about the feral-ness in Steve’s stance, the completely unfathomable emotion in his eyes, that has Eddie shoving his way around the corner and into the bathroom. He drops his lunchbox into the sink and pushes both hands into his hair with a quietly muttered: “fuck.” He feels like he might be going crazy.

The door opens.

“Eddie,” Steve says.

It sounds strangely similar to the way he’d said “Rob” that morning–full of something Eddie doesn’t understand.

“Harrington,” he says warily.

Steve takes two steps forward and Eddie automatically scrambles backward, running into the wall and bashing his elbow against the paper towel dispenser. Steve has never actually hurt him before, but some of the guys he hangs out with have and—

Steve freezes: both hands out, reaching for nothing.

“You don’t—?”

There’s a question, there, but Eddie has no idea what it is.

“Eddie?” he says again. This time, it’s desperate and Eddie has no idea why.

The only time he’s ever seen someone’s eyes look like this is when he was looking at his own reflection in the church’s bathroom mirror, clinging to the sink at his mother’s funeral.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. 

Steve’s jaw works. “You don’t remember,” he says blankly.

“Remember what? You’re kinda freaking me out, dude, which is impressive, considering,” he gestures expansively to himself, gives a little shake of his hips so the chains rattle.

Steve doesn’t laugh.

“You don’t remember,” he repeats, more to himself than Eddie. “But you’re ok?”

He’s looking at Eddie’s chest.

“Yes? A-okay. Tip top. Hagan barely touched me yesterday, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“Tommy hurt you?” Steve says.

Well, shit. The crazy eyes are back. 

“Man, why do you care?”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, I know this doesn’t make any sense to you, but can I just–”

Eddie lets him approach, this time. Lets him reach out to touch. It’s just one hand, at first, tentative, like Steve is expecting to be rebuffed, palm cupped to the ball of his shoulder over his jacket. “Sorry,” he says again, letting go only to reach for the hem of Eddie’s shirt, “Sorry, I know I probably sound crazy, I just––” he pulls it up, stares at Eddie’s side, and then lets out a hysterical little noise that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a sob.

“You’re ok,” he says.

His fingers are hot on Eddie’s skin, pressed light and shockingly reverent to the space between his hip and rib cage.

“You’re ok,” he repeats. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“Hey,” Eddie says, it comes out more breathless than he’d prefer but Steve fucking Harrington has him backed against a wall in a bathroom with his hands up Eddie’s shirt so he thinks a little lack of air is warranted. “Are you ok?”

The fingers on his abdomen flex.

“No,” Steve says. His eyes are wide and fathomless and the look on his face is terrible. “No, I’m not even remotely ok.”

It sounds like a confession. 

Steve lets go of Eddie’s shirt.

He takes a studied step back but then stops, palm still splayed on Eddie’s side, free hand reaching for Eddie’s arm, for his elbow, to cling, like he can’t quite force himself to stop touching; not yet. He’s looking at Eddie like Eddie has broken his heart which doesn’t make any sense because they don’t know each other. They’ve never spoken directly to each other in their lives. So there’s no reason that Steve should be looking at him, like, like––

Like he is.

They’re breathing each other’s second-hand air and Eddie can smell him and there have only been a few times in his life when a boy has looked at Eddie with even half the want that Steve Harrington is looking at him with now. And never, never has a man who looks like Steve Harrington looked at Eddie with anything approaching whatever the hell is on Steve’s face.

“Eddie,” Steve says, and he sounds so lost. 

Eddie’s not proud of it.

He runs away.

He shoves Steve to the side, wrenches open the door, and runs without stopping through the hall, outside, down the sidewalk, and onto the main road. He runs until he has to stop because he can’t breathe and only then does he bend over, hands braced on knees, and look behind him. He almost expects to see Steve has followed him.

He hasn’t. 

Eddie can't decide if he's relieved by that or not. And then he realizes he’s left his entire stash in the lunchbox in the bathroom.

“Fuck,” he hisses, straightening, hands on his head, lungs aching.

“Fuck,” he says again, just for the hell of it.

He has no idea what’s happening.

But what he does know is that something is seriously wrong with Steve Harrington.

Pt2 here.

[mothergold]

| I Wanna Make My Murder Look Like A Suicide | 

Pairing: Diluc x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dark content, Yandere, Yan!Diluc, Fem!Reader, Reader wears a dress, Diluc is your husband, Abuse, Manipulation, Reader is disabled, Reader uses a cane, Reader is referred to as Diluc’s ‘Wife’, Mentions of past forced feeding, Arranged Marriage, It is implied that reader’s family was abusive, Scratching (Reader), Diluc is very cruel in this, Kaeya appears towards the end, Dissociation, Reader has a mental breakdown, Stockholm Syndrome (? I’m unsure about this one ?), 4.6k Words. 

A/n: Reupload because I deleted this foasijfasodi but yeah idk I really just think yandere!Diluc is neat. Also, the title are lyrics from the song Cotard’s Solution by Will Wood and The Tapeworms.

Summary: When your family arranges a marriage with the wealthy owner of Dawn Winery, you jump at the first chance you can to escape your cruel family, but what new hell awaits you on the other side?

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked in a cold tone. 

It threw you off for a moment but only briefly, because if there’s one thing you could promise yourself it’s that your husband, Diluc, would never harm you. But somehow you couldn’t help but clutch onto the fabric of your dress, the same one he gave you on your first wedding anniversary, hands shaking for some unknown reason.

“I was just going for a walk. Would you like to j-” He cut you off mid sentence, snapping at you in response.

“No, I don’t want to go anywhere and neither should you. It’s”— He checked his pocket watch before quickly tucking it back into his pocket— “Three in the morning and both of us should be heading to bed.” 

“But-” Before you could get another word in he’d grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward.

That was your cue that it was indeed time to end the night, in bed… with your husband. Your beloved husband who would never steer you astray. So, then why did you have this feeling in the pit of your stomach that something was terribly and unmistakably wrong? 

Soon the sun rose and pierced through the window of your bedroom, waking you up with its warm rays and urging you to get ready for the day. You didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do exactly—to be fair you never did—but that never stopped you from looking your very best. So, you quickly put on a decent looking outfit, brushed your hair, and grabbed your cane. And just as you were about to descend down the stairs you saw the flower embroidered basket out of the corner of your eye. It always tempted you, or maybe taunted is the more appropriate word, and you decided against fighting your desires and instead hooked it over your free arm. 

You checked both ways before tip-toeing downstairs, hoping your walk was closer than it was last night. Closer and closer you came to the front door, you knew it was silly but you really wanted to take a walk and you couldn’t understand your husband’s rejections towards it. Your hand was on the bronze knob and you were just about to turn it when a hand placed itself on your shoulder. You jumped and looked to see who it was and to your surprise and relief, it was Adelinde. It made getting caught a little less scary and a lot more tedious, because you knew there was nothing you could do to keep her watchful eyes off of you. 

She smiled fondly, too fondly, and finally spoke. “You’re supposed to be resting. Come on, let’s get you some breakfast. Master Diluc is expecting you.” She led you into the dining area.

Pulling back an open seat, Adelinde helped you into your seat, pushing your chair closer to the table while the both of you waited for Diluc to arrive. And once he did she did the same for him and walked outside as he dismissed her. Not once did she look back and it made you nervous for reasons you weren’t sure of. The both of you waited in thick silence for the food to arrive, and once it had he took a few bites before he ordered everyone in the house to give you two some privacy.

It was that moment, that moment right then and there that made you question just what exactly your husband would say or do. Maybe an answer to last night’s little event, or something truly dreadful instead. It was the very minute you happened to look at him that he set down his utensils and spoke at last.

“Are you unhappy?” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just questioned the very existence of you in his life. 

You were stunned, but not too much that you couldn’t speak. 

“Of course I am! What kind of question is that?” you replied defensively. 

Your heart began to pound harshly against your chest, and you could feel the sudden drop of your stomach. Clenching the fork in your right hand you tried grounding yourself, controlling your emotions, but the feeling was so strong you started to cry. 

Diluc reached over and gingerly wiped away the stray tear on your cheek. “Please, don’t cry.” You were silent aside from the hurtful whimpers you let out. “I’m not mad.” 

Diluc slowly made his way out of his chair and knelt beside yours in an effort to comfort you, but that did quite the opposite. He gently held onto your left hand and looked at you with softened eyes, except for the fact that they were grey and empty. You tried to stop crying but your tears became uncontrollable, and soon you were sobbing into the crook of your right arm’s elbow. It felt like your world was caving, as if your heart stopped and the air was stripped straight from your lungs. The worst part was how you had no clue what was the real problem, that was until you said that loathsome phrase you always did end up blurting out.

“Are.. Are you leaving me?” you asked timidly.

The fear in your voice was evident but you couldn’t find the strength or courage to pretend otherwise. Sometimes when you blurted it out you hoped he wouldn’t answer, just so that there was no choice for rejection. It was better that way you told yourself, even though he had never rejected you. To be frank, if he hadn’t put that worry in your head in the first place, then you wouldn't have reacted this way. But if there’s one thing you learned from this marriage it was that Diluc would show you only what he wanted you to see. So, to the world he was an honest man, a doting husband, and above all, kind, but that was not the reality you lived. 

Diluc took both of your hands now and gave them a tight grip, looking you deep in your eyes. “I will never leave you. Okay, sweetheart?” 

His words felt less like a promise and more like a threat. You used to have so much more fight in you, but these days you barely had any left. So, you nodded and allowed him to give you a hug before the both of you finished up your breakfast. The remainder of the day was spent watching out the windows of your regal prison, dreaming of the day you could finally feel the sun on your face again. This was the pattern of your every day, from the moment the sun went up and till the very time it fell below the ground; wishing and praying that someday your fate would change. Perhaps that day was closer than you presumed, but you were doubtful. 

The pattern continued for weeks, you had constant flare ups and Diluc would consistently refuse to let you leave the house. Until, one day ,the pain had lessened enough to the point where you didn’t need your cane or wheelchair, and instead could truly stretch your legs for once. It was by no means a permanent thing but you wanted to celebrate this small relief, and with what you might ask? A nice walk through the outside breeze of course. Today was the day you were so sure that Diluc would let you outside, or at the very least walk with you. 

So, you found a comfortable outfit to wear, looked at your aid with a triumphant smile, and carefully descended down the stairs. You were proud to be able to have a day free of your mobility aid, it was liberating, but you knew once you saw Diluc at the bottom of the steps that something was wrong. Something was very wrong, indeed. Slowly you walked down the staircase and once you were face to face with your husband, you could see his face was that of a truly frustrated and fed up man. 

He knows, you thought to yourself. 

“You’re late,” he said in a cold tone as he pulled out a chair at the table for you, and helped you into your seat. 

You kept your sights on your food as much as you could, because you knew damn well that Diluc could sniff out your true feelings with ease. Making sure to hold eye contact with Diluc as much as you could stomach, you took deep breaths as you readied yourself to ask the question you’d been dying to ask. This all depended on how healthy you appeared, if he caught even a whiff of pain or weakness it was all over for you. 

“Sorry,” you said weakly. 

Already your heart was banging hard in your ear drums, causing chaos before the eruption had occurred. You both waited patiently, and you, silently, for the remainder of the food to be served to you. Once you had been served the usual meal you were given, you stared at it for a good moment while Master Diluc began digging in almost immediately. Maybe he was in a better mood today, you thought to yourself. Maybe, or maybe not. He soon noticed you hadn’t touched your food and ushered for you to eat. 

“Eat,” he demanded, a hint of urgency lingering in his voice, but the overall tone was still harsh. 

It was when your teary eyes were long focused on the meal with no urgency to touch it that he raised his brow in suspicion and watched you with an angered expression. It was one thing to try to run away from his hot and cold exterior, but it was another to avoid his good deeds entirely. He set down his utensils with a loud clank and looked straight forward at you, trying his best to contain his rage. 

“I said, eat.” He demanded through grit teeth. 

This was the side of him that many– no, everyone missed completely. Those close to him didn’t see how cruel and unforgiving he was behind closed doors. They didn’t know that if all your food was not eaten how Diluc would sit there to make sure you ate even just a little more than you could stomach, against your begging wishes, of course. No one, and I mean no one except those that resided in the home, knew about his harsh tendencies. And that meant that not a single soul knew just how horribly he treated his sweet angel of a wife, but maybe it was better that way. After all, if someone like you was stupid enough to stay then maybe you really did deserve all the torture he’d constantly put you through. And you’d think that after his hardened voice demanding you to eat that your fear would kick in and force you to shovel down your food, but you’d be wrong. 

“Is there something wrong with the food, my dear?” He asked through grit teeth, again. 

You shook your head and tears fell into your food. 

Diluc stood up from his seat and stared you down. “Then what is wrong?”

You said nothing. Instead, you continued to cry into your food as Diluc stared down at you like a troublesome child. You just couldn’t stop, no matter how hard Diluc told you to calm down, relax, or ease yourself, it was all to no avail. It only furthered your pathetic tears. Diluc wanted to know the truth, just for you to tell him why you refused to eat, but if you told him the truth he’d only become more angry and you weren't sure you could handle that at the moment. You weren’t sure you could handle this life a moment longer, but unfortunately you didn’t and never had a choice. It was tragic really, but that was life for you. 

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried to leave him before, trust me, you tried, but it was all to no avail. You could hardly make it downstairs without some help, so what made you think you could escape all on your own unscathed. When your family arranged the marriage you blindly accepted, thinking escaping your heartless family must be a better life than if you were to stay, but boy were you wrong. Diluc was sweet at first, kind and gentle just as he is in the public eye, but it wasn’t till the honeymoon that you realized something was terribly wrong. And by time you realized your mistake it was far too late. 

“I-” You started to speak, but were quickly cut off by your choking tears. 

You tried your best to speak up, say something, anything, but each time you were silenced by gut wrenching cries. The one time you attempted to look up to address the situation you were met with cold, unfeeling eyes and averted your gaze with hiccuping sobs. 

“Ugh, will you just spit it out already?” Diluc groaned in frustration. 

That only furthered your sobs and worsened it. Your hands tangled into your hair and began to scratch at your scalp for relief, but you only ended up with a sore scalp and traces of blood underneath your fingernails. Your tears grew bigger, your cries louder, and all sense of rationale left your body. The atmosphere was foggy and unclear, like looking into a cloudy looking glass for reasoning and coming up with absolutely nothing in return. You swore you heard a voice through the thickness of it all, but even as you were dragged from your seat in the dining room and led back into the privacy of your own room, you held no grasp on reality. It must’ve been hours, maybe days, or so it felt like, before you started to come to. A strong grip held you close to something, something warm, and rocked you comfortingly as small shushes could be heard near your ears. 

It was only moments later that you began to recognize the world around you, and the familiar figure holding you close. Too close. It was none other than Master Diluc. Why he was holding you in such a tender and intimate position, you weren’t sure you knew, but you one thing was for sure, it felt extremely uncomfortable. You writhed in his holding, trying your damnedest to squirm out of his hold, but he was much stronger than you. A pins and needles sensation spread from your hips to the tip of your toes, and you could barely move from your position. Your hands were free aside  from the vice grip Diluc had on your arms, almost crushing them as he held you closely. You felt the need to cry all over again, but suppressed it as hard as you could. Thankfully, your attempts worked and this time you remained strong.

You tried to remain quiet and confident, but your confidence was shattered the moment you heard his sweet yet poisonous voice ring through your ears. “You’re awake.”

Unfortunately

“Y-Yes. What happened?” You asked, trying to put the pieces together. 

Diluc shifted into an upright position and prepared to tell you some of the truth. He couldn’t have you trying to run off, again. Unfortunately, what Master DIluc didn’t know was that your determination far outweighed any punishment he could potentially give to you. After he explained it to you in his own version, you nodded in agreement and expressed your exhaustion. You wanted to go to bed and forget all about this day., even though it felt like it had just begun. Sure, Diluc had his suspicions as to why you so suddenly wanted to sleep after such a conversation, but he brushed it off as his own paranoia. After all, he’d curated a life that he made damn sure you could never run away from. At least, not without some help. 

That night was spent with eyes vigilantly open, wide and observant as you rested your head on the pillow, keeping out for when Diluc would come to bed. If he caught you in bed awake right now he was sure to have a few words, but you’d simply lie and say the pain kept you awake, which wouldn’t exactly be far from the truth, but it wasn’t the truth. You watched out the only window you had in your room, gazing at the open sky full of stars and the full moon and wondered what was taking Diluc so long. What was taking him so long? He should’ve long been in bed by now. So, why was he still hard at work in his study? Regardless of the reasoning you calmed yourself down, trying your best to satiate your impatience, because if you weren’t careful it could very well be the thing that led to your downfall. 

It must’ve been about an hour or so later when you heard the heavy footsteps of your husband head up the stairs and then quietly trail into your shared room. You could vividly hear him discard his clothes and climb into what you guessed were more comfortable ones. He kissed you softly on the forehead, foolishly believing you were asleep, and climbed into bed with you. Feeling his hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine, you couldn’t remember the last time you slept without him breathing down your neck, literally. It was awful. Although you were thankful that tonight his vice grip wasn’t holding you in place —making it perfect for your little escape plan— there was still a heavy feeling of discomfort floating throughout the bedroom. 

You were patient, and all that patience of yours finally paid off when you heard the light to heavy snores of Diluc behind you. It was time, time to make your escape. It would be tricky getting out of the bed with him in it, but thankfully Diluc was a heavy sleeper. Slowly and very very carefully you removed the blankets from your body and started to slide down to the edge of the bed. Closer.. Closer.. Closer.. Until finally, your legs hung off the edge of the bed. Diluc shifted in his sleep and let out a loud snore which caused you to jump in your own skin, but looking back you saw he was still fast asleep. Letting out a silent sigh of relief you steadied yourself with both hands as you placed both of your wobbly feet to the ground. Now, the next part would prove one of the most difficult tasks, getting your cane. It currently sat in a cage with other canes and umbrellas you owned (not that you ever actually left the house) and could potentially make a lot of noise if you weren’t careful. 

Cautiously you tiptoed to the cage and took a slow, deep breath before reaching inside and slowly pulled it out. It was a wooden cane so if hit at just the right amount of speed it could make quite enough noise, not as much as it would if it were metal, but it would be just enough to awaken the young master. With extreme caution you began to pull it out, further and further, until it was almost fully out, but in an unfortunate turn of events your hand began to grow weak and numb and you dropped it. Thankfully, you were able to grab it with your other hand before it could wake up Diluc, but not before it banged against the cage in a painfully loud manner. You froze in place, not moving a single muscle until you heard the light snores of Diluc once again. Carefully pulling out the entire cane you then positioned it as you usually would for the day and used it to help you hold your weight upright, as you gradually turned the doorknob and opened the bedroom door. 

Peeking out the door you could so no one and nothing except for the moonlight illuminating the hallway. Now was as good a chance as any to make a run for it, and so you quickly tiptoed down the stairs with the help of your cane to steady you, eagerly walking towards the door the moment your feet touched the first floor. Your hand hovered above the knob as you stopped in shock. Was this it? Were you finally going to leave this miserable and pitiful life to live one full of joy and freedom? It is what you deserved after all, you thought. It’s what you had always wanted and needed. Without wasting a moment sooner you turned the knob and braced yourself for whatever waited for you outside those doors, and stepped outside for the first time in a long time. 

It must’ve been summertime because the heat was thick and the air was muggy. If you had been out on a daily or constant basis you were sure you would’ve hated it, but in that moment you loved nothing more than to feel the heat and thick, muggy air. You never realized how beautiful the Dawn Winery was from the outside until just now. Crystalflies flew through the air and around the grape vines. The moon was full and the stars shone brightly in the nighttime sky. It was beautiful, everything you’d always dreamt of and more. The flowers were even more beautiful than you had remembered and they smelt even better than you could’ve ever dreamt of. Everything was perfect, absolutely perfect. That is until you saw the mansion lit up with lights and realized that he and possibly everyone else was awake. 

You tried to make a run for it as best as you could but you were stopped by a hand on your wrist pulling you backwards and down onto the ground. You fell into a puddle of mudd, soaking your nightgown as you looked up in horror at the man that was supposed to be your husband. His face was cold and full of fury, you’d never seen him look like this before. This wasn’t like those other times when you tried to take walks, because this time you had actually tried to leave him. Leave him all alone with only his wounded pride and broken heart for comfort. He was seething with rage and all you could do in reply was cry, cry like a child that had been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. You didn’t know what exactly prompted you to cry so much, so hard, and so pathetically, but you continued to do so anyway. 

“Come inside, now.” Diluc demanded.

But now that you had a taste of the outside world after such a long time of being deprived of it you wanted more, so you shook your head and rejected his commands. This only further angered Diluc, because he then pulled you up by your forearms and dragged you back inside. You clawed at the door frame trying to stay outside, but he was much stronger than you. He threw you onto the floor and slammed the door shut, proceeding to lock it tightly with a key you’d never seen before. Immediately Diluc started cursing at you, a bright fire in his eyes that consumed his very being began to spread as you realized you had royally fucked up. You couldn’t even focus on a word he was saying because all you could imagine was whatever hell he was about to put you through.

One Week Later…

“Come on, let’s get you all nice and pretty.” Adelinde said, tightening your brand new dress that Diluc had bought you.

It was an apology, a present, but you knew the true nature of the young master, and nothing could fix this marriage, not even your own freedom. You stood there and looked in the mirror as Adelinde fixed your hair with a smile. You too would’ve smiled if it weren’t for the grim reality you faced. Especially on days where Diluc invited over his brother for dinner. Kaeya had no clue of anything that went on in the mansion, not a damn idea, but that didn’t mean he had no suspicions. Kaeya was smart like that, could catch onto things quickly especially being the cavalry captain, and this sort of thing was no different. 

After Adelinde had gotten you all nice and ready the two of you descended down the staircase where you ran into Diluc and his brother, Kaeya. Kaeya looked towards you and smiled, helping you down the rest of the way. Kaeya always was a helpful and kind man like that, constantly helping those in need. Sometimes, just sometimes, you wished he’d help you escape this place, but that was a childish dream. The two of you exchanged pleasantries as you all sat at the dining room table and awaited your food. Everything was going well until the events of a week ago started to come flooding in. You tried your best to hide it but with how brightly the sun started to shine through the windows you couldn’t help but miss the heat and the thick air you once touched. 

“Are you alright?” Kaeya asked, but you playfully brushed off your odd behavior with laughter and a joke, but he was not convinced.

No, Kaeya was not so easily swayed by the same type of joking behavior he too would use to cover his own emotions. So, he watched you the entire dinner all the way till the end. He noticed how flinched against his brother’s touch and noticed how your gaze always seemed to find itself lined up with the open windows. Something was wrong, something was not right about this and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. He would not let you suffer a moment longer, no matter how impossible the mission seemed. Kaeya wanted to tell you this, he wanted to reassure you that he was going to help you escape, but he could never find the right time with Diluc and Adelinde breathing down his neck as he was sure they did the same, and much worse to  you. 

It soon came time to say his goodbyes and as he did he locked eyes with you, saying things with them that he would never dare to say out loud in front of the young master. Even though it was just a dinner, and a revealing one at that, he planned to have many more dinners with Diluc in the future, warm up to you, get closer to you, and hopefully gain your trust enough to help you escape this awful, awful place. That is if he didn’t get killed in the process of it all…