#i was worried i would have to use the dead dove tag for the first time but when i read it again it really wasnt that severe

[angelcloves]

reading over it again i might have overhyped todays request upload but it still deals with things that might not be nice to see so exercise caution

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.7 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter. 6 Chapter 8.

Silk

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Reader has an emotional breakdown, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI

 While Rex and a few others scouted ahead, You took a desperate shot in the dark.

“General Krell,” you had the comm close to your lips, “We need the medical speeder. There's several wounded that need to get out of here.”

You were met with silence.

“Sergeant Appo, if it's you i'm talking to, get me General Krell before I shove my laser scalpel up your-”

“That will be unneeded, Doctor.” the General’s voice came through on the other end, “The wounded will be extracted when the airbase has been taken.” 

“Sir, some of the wounded can’t wait that long. They need to get to a safer location so I can-.” You were practically begging the Jedi at this point.

“I have the utmost faith that you’ll be able to save them from where you are.” He responded, but even on this end, you could practically hear the uninterested look on his face. You were about to respond but the comm cut. Krell was done with you.

You looked around you, taking in the injured. Three of them needed surgery. Two needed bacta tanks ASAP. Five were entirely unconscious from blood loss and missing limbs.

And one, Fisher, was leaning against a broken and destroyed AT-RT. His chest had been completely eviscerated, exposing broken ribs and damaged organs. You couldn’t do anything, you didn’t have the bacta or supplies to save him. Yet, it would take hours for him to die. 

So you held his hand in yours and gave him as many painkillers as it took to stop his heart. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Jumper. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. 

“Doc?” Nax had remained close, guarding you while Rex and the others went ahead, “Are you ok?” 

“No, Nax.” You admitted, “I’m not.” 

This wasn’t the first time you’ve had to mercy kill. But you hated yourself every time you did it.

He remained silent as he stepped towards you and offered a hand. He was sweet. Very polite. So you took it and stood, “Thank you.” 

The trooper looked like he was about to speak when the ground rumbled. Terror filled your blood. Were there more of those worm tanks!? The air crackled and burned with fire and explosives. They sounded different from the centipede tanks the men shot down earlier…new weapons? You desperately hoped not.

Several soldiers dove over your cover, breathing heavily. Very quickly others joined, remaining hidden. You didn’t want to risk your head to get a look at what was happening. So you knelt, looking at Jesse, who had made it before Rex or the others. He met your confused and worried gaze before answering, “Heavy tanks.”

Rex, followed by Kix and Fives, got to your position. the captain had his comm on, speaking hurriedly, “Sir, we’re overpowered. we need reinforcements!”

“The rest of the battalion is holding the entrance of the gorge, captain.” Krell was on the other end, sounding about as calm and uninterested as when you called, “They're guarding it so your troops can break through to the air base.”

Jesse jerked his head up, sharing a look with Hardcase. Seemed everyone expected such a cold response, but it was still despair-inducing to hear.

A shot exploded directly on the other side of your cover. The heavy tanks were attempting to break through the trees and roots that protected everyone. Another shot hit right above you, raining scorched plant matter down.

You dove towards an unconscious, bleeding trooper and held him close, using your body to protect him from the debris. Once everything passed, you got to work stabilizing him. 

Rex continued to argue with the General, “But sir, we can’t possibly-!”

“You must stand your ground!” Pong fucking Krell shouted from his comm, “Do you read me!? Captain, are you listening? Do not fall back! That's an order!” 

Your lover was unmoving. He was paralyzed in horror that Krell would still push this suicide mission. After a few heartbeats, he shook his head. 

Two voices cried out from the otherside of the cover. You and Kix shared a look before scrambling over to grab them and drag them with the others. Your hands were on one trooper and getting his wounds under control while Kix was dealing with the other.

“Keep the wounded as quiet as possible.” The clone captain nodded to you before addressing everyone else, “Alright, you heard the general. Let's go.”

Jesse whirled around from where he kept an eye on the battlefield, “You can't be serious!”

“I used to think the General was reckless,” Fives spat, “But now I'm beginning to think he just hates clones.”

Dogma stepped forward, clear on which side he stood, “The captain is right. Now let's move out!”

The trooper, Trident, under your hands spasmed. He seized, and you did your best to get him on his side and let the seizure pass, “With who!?” you snapped, cracking under the stress, “Everyone is injured and exhausted or dead!” Trident stilled in your arms, and once you felt his neck, there was no pulse. 

The traumatic brain injury he sustained was too much for him. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Trident.

“Isn’t it your job to patch everyone up!?” He retorted, “With all the dead, you certainly are doing a great job!” 

Your eyes widened and Hardcase shot forward, immediately punching Dogma, sending him to the ground. “Shut the fuck up!” he shouted down at the trooper, “You’d be among the dead without Kix and-!”

“Hardcase! Enough!” Rex stepped between them, keeping his gaze level with the heavy gunner, “Fighting each other isn’t going to help.” Despite his words, he cast a glance at you.

Your eyes met him in his helmet. He was checking on you, in his own way. So you nodded, indicating that Dogma’s words didn’t affect you. You’ve been blamed before. Troopers that were grief stricken would lash out at you, blame you for your failings to save their brothers. Though, later, they’d come to you and apologize. You expected Dogma wouldn’t.

Still, you appreciated how Tup knelt to put a hand on your shoulder. Dogma didn’t look at you as he got up.

“What will help is finding another way to deal with the tanks!” Fives got into Rex’s face, clearly angry. Judging by the way his hands clenched into fists, he was ready to start getting physical too, “We can’t take them head-on.”

The captain remained steadfast, “You got any ideas?”

The ARC trooper looked down and shook his head, keeping silent.

“Then this is it.” Rex looked over at the men who remained standing, and turned to get out into the field. 

Hardcase huffed, adjusting the rocket launcher in his grip, “Ok, let's do it!” He, along with Jesse, Tup and Fives sprinted out. Kix was about to follow before he stopped and looked back. 

“Go. Send anyone hurt to me.” you nodded, remaining with the injured. He gave a salute before rushing to follow his brothers. 

Since the squad of soldiers had run out, all attention from the tank shifted to them. No longer were the trees that protected you threatening to fall or collapse from the shots. You looked over your cover, spotting the second tank that was shooting the trees across the field. Its focus was on the men who were fleeing into the foliage to hide. 

A trooper high in the branches fired a rocket. The explosive didn’t do much other than cause the massive tank to stumble. Once it corrected itself, it blasted the poor clone with its cannon.

You waited for the Umbaran to turn its focus away from that side before moving in. Your feet were quick, diving behind downed AT-RT’s, boulders and whatever other cover you could hide behind. 

Once you made it to him, you realized the trip was worthless. He was dead. Half of his body was gone the moment he was hit with cannon fire. 

But he wasn’t alone. Someone else was down, crying and writhing in pain.

Arm missing. Main problem is blood loss. Still awake. I have time. I can save him.

You got to your knees quickly, skidding on the wet ground as you did so. Your pack was off your shoulders as you began to get as many gauze pads and bandages on him as possible. Your hands were stained with his blood as you controlled the bleeding. 

“Come on,” you draped his good arm over your shoulder and stood, “I’m getting you with the others.”

You watched the tank again, waiting patiently before dashing to another point of cover. Getting back to the injured was slower this time, but you managed to get there. Leaning the trooper against a tree root, you commed Krell again, “General, I need the supplies on that speeder!” 

There was only silence. 

“General Krell!” You were desperate, and your voice was shaking from the fear. Fear for the men. Fear they wouldn’t even get a chance to survive, “General Krell, please!” 

Nothing. Unanswered. 

Your hands were shaking and you let out a frustrated, angry cry. The names of the dead replayed in your head over and over again.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Trident.

No. You still had supplies on you. You weren’t giving up. You refused. 

A trooper stumbled over the cover, carrying an ARF trooper. You recognized Silk and Hinge.

“Doc, he needs help.” The trooper slid the injured carefully down. 

Before you even inspected him, you could tell Hinge was barely hanging on, if he was even alive. His armor was blacked and scorched. Smoke still billowed from his body. When you approached, you felt his neck. 

Nothing.

“I’m sorry, Silk.” you murmured, taking off Hinge’s helmet. Carefully, you closed his eyes before standing. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Jumper. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge.

“...we’re all dead, aren't we?” Silk sat down, leaning against the tree. 

You hesitated to answer. Truthfully, you thought so. You wanted to agree. To accept the truth that Krell won and lead all of you to your deaths.

But…Rex would keep fighting. Your kar’ta wouldn’t go down without taking as many separatists as possible down with him. 

You looked at your hand, testing if you could close it in the brace, luckily, you could. You could feel the movement. Feel your fingers on your palm. Your arm, despite the immense damage, was healing. Your nerves were connecting. Your veins and arteries were directing blood flow again. Your body refused to give up.

You could still fight. Just like Rex would.

“No.” your voice was resolute, “I’m not giving up.” You looked over the injured. More had managed to find your location in various states of bleeding, dying or crying, “I’m not giving up on any of you. Even if I have to pick up your rifles to protect you, I’m not giving up.”

Silk sighed and stood, “Doctor,” he saluted, “I am at your command.” 

You couldn’t help but smile softly, “I’ll need your help. Stay within cover, prioritize your safety, but look for any injured. Bring them to me.”

“I’ll help.” Hem, another ARF trooper stood, rotating his arm to stretch his shoulder, “I’m not too hurt.”

“Thank you both.” you saluted as they climbed out of the safety of the trees and roots. The ground shook with another cannon shot nearby. Thankfully, everyone seemed to be out of view. Or the Umbarans weren’t interested in killing those who couldn’t fight back. 

Still, since those heavy tanks weren’t focused on you, it allowed you to continue your job. These soldiers were your patients. They needed you. They needed your skills. And with whatever supplies you had left, you’d try to save them.

So you got to work. Triage. Deal with the more serious injuries. Prioritize. 

Your training took over. You were on autopilot weaving between the troopers. Your supplies dwindled. You ran out of painkillers and bacta entirely. Your tourniquets were the lifesavers at this point. Using them allowed you to spread your bandages and gauze pads between everyone.

Despite your effects, you still lost a few.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno.

At some point Tup had made his way back to you, followed by Hem, carrying Zeke. Silk wasn’t accounted for, but you trusted he would be alright. 

“Doctor,” Tup got to your side, “How can i-?”

Wordlessly, you handed him bandage scissors. He looked confused, even as you removed the minimal armor plating on your sleeve. As a field doctor, armor wasn’t the priority, medical supplies were. You had some plates on your wrists, thighs and chest, but that was about it. Everything else was covered in protective clothing to allow more medical packs and more freedom of movement. 

Which came in handy, “Cut the sleeve up to my shoulder, and then cut it into long strips.” you commanded Tup. 

“Ok…don’t move. I don't want to accidentally nick you.” The poor clone sounded unsure, shy even, but did as you asked. Despite his shaky hands, he kept the shears steady enough to prevent any small injuries to your skin. Once the cloth was separated, you slipped your arm from the sleeve and returned your focus to the other troopers.

Tup was an efficient assistant. Not even a minute later he had the sleeve cut into lengthy straight strips. You grabbed them silently and used them as extra bandages. 

The ground rumbled and shook. One of the tanks was getting close. Too close. You looked up, taking a chance to peer out into the battlefield.

Three heavy tanks were damn near on top of you as they chased those on the field. Through their shining spotlights, you recognized the silhouette of Rex and Jesse running across the field. Rex had a rocket launcher, and with a broken heart, you realized Hardcase must’ve gone down. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Hardcase…

Hardcase.

“Doc!” You jerked your head up, Silk had returned with another trooper slung over his arm. Once he put the unconscious soldier down, he went back out into the field before you could stop him. 

Kix had found you. He was standing on top of a thick root, back to the tanks, looking over the injured you've collected. Something in him snapped because he shook his head before letting out a cry. Your medic friend began to fire his rifle in the air wildly. 

Tup shot up, “Hey, Kix, put it down! You're wasting aim!” When words didn’t work, he body slammed Kix down to the ground, saving him from the massive foot of a tank.

The Umbaran weapon turned its cannon to where Tup and Kix hit the ground. Before it could annihilate the two, it was hit by a rocket. The explosion caused it to stumble, and its powered up shot hit the branches above your triage area. 

Rex had gotten to your position, standing on a toppled tree that was part of your cover. In his arms was a smoking rocket launcher. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but think of how handsome he looked. Smoke and ash billowing around him. Back straight, standing tall and determined. You could picture his focused gaze under his helmet now. 

The tank readjusted, stabilizing its huge legs. It focused on the captain and was then joined by the two others. They all charged their shots, ready to destroy Rex completely. You ran towards him, intending to grab his hand and…do something! Save him!

Die with him.

Just as your fingers met his, shots rained down from the dark sky. Two Umbaran starships were shooting wildly. Their guns poured out bright green bolts like water, hitting everything they pointed at. 

You looked up and inside the glowing, round cockpit of the Umbaran ships were Fives and Hardcase! They were laughing, trying to navigate the never-before-seen tech.

They were alive!

“Clear out, captain!”

“The big guns have arrived, sir!”

The 501st captain wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest as the tanks exploded. He leapt from the position on the tree and held you close. 

Their rayshields weren’t made for their own shots it seemed. They buckled and broke, breaking down and exploding from their own weaponry. That didn’t stop them from trying to shoot at the clone controlled air support. Thankfully, Fives and Hardcase were doing a good enough job flying; they managed to avoid getting shot down.

Fives and Hardcase skillfully cleared the field. They managed to keep control well enough to finally destroy the heavy tanks that have taken so many good men. As the burst and exploded, killing the Umbarans inside, there were cheers and celebrations.

“Woo-hoo!”

“Attaboy, Hardcase!” 

“Way to go Fives!”

Once Rex stood to cheer with his brothers, you dashed to Kix. The medic had calmed down and was tending to the injured, “I’m entirely out of bacta and gauze.” He looked up at you, “and I can see you’re out of bandages.” 

You nodded, snapping your focus back on the injured troopers. The fight had been brutal. Even those that had managed to get to you alive, were fading fast. For every soldier you saved, it was like two more perished from their wounds. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia.

You repeated their names. Over and over again in your head. As the quiet took over, Kix helped you with the hurt and dying that crawled their way to your position. You didn’t look up, even as reinforcements ran passed to take that fucking airbase.

“Doc, we need help!” Was the only statement that caused you to bring your eyes up. 

Silk managed to stumble from the smoke. His right arm had been ripped off and his chestplate was shattered. His left hand was placed over his stomach, keeping his innards inside his abdomen. 

“Kix!” You practically howled, bolting from where you were tending to Jesse’s gashed wrist. 

You sent Silk out there! You were the one who asked him to risk his life for others! 

Your hands were on him, getting him to the ground, “I got you, Silk. I got you.” You breathed, ripping off the pieces of his armor. Kix was next to you, scrambling to get the situation under control.

Tup had managed to get a hold of the medical speeder. Krell must’ve finally brought it into the gorge when reinforcements were sent in. Ken and Rin were still on the stretcher, but you didn’t pay them any mind as you threw open crates and bags, scrambling to get supplies. 

Bandages. Bacta. Gauze. Sutures.

Supply levels were low. There wasn’t enough for everyone. But you grabbed everything you could and darted back to Silk.

He was still down, but Kix had stopped trying to treat him. The medic removed his helmet and looked at you, sorrow and despair evident. 

“No!” You dropped what was in your hands and immediately straddled Silk. Your hands were on his chest as you began compressions. The cartilage of his ribs cracked and broke as you began CPR. You were in a frenzy to bring him back, throwing his helmet away to pinch his nose and breathe for him.

Something in you broke. The situation finally hit you and your mind shattered. You sent Silk out to find his brothers. Silk returned injured. Dying. It was your fault. You got Silk killed. 

Dogma was right. You had failed so many of these troopers. They relied on you to keep them alive, and you failed in your duty.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia.

Tears blurred your vision but you weren’t going to stop. Kix said your name, but you ignored him. He grabbed your shoulder, but you shoved him off, “How long!?” you demanded before getting your lips on Silk’s to force air into his lungs. 

“4 minutes,” Kix informed you, “He’s been down for 4 minutes. It’s time to stop.”

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia.

“No it isn’t!” you snapped. Kix looked up at someone who approached. Another injured soldier? He could deal with it. You had to save Silk.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia.

5 minutes now of compressions. 5 minutes of forcing oxygen into Silk’s lungs. 5 minutes of forcing his heart to beat. Yet it couldn’t function on its own. There was too much damage.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia.

Someone grabbed you and you howled as if burned. Your compressions stopped to thrash and fight. You weren’t giving up. Not on Silk. Too many have been lost. You couldn’t handle losing one more. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia.

Whoever was holding you had fallen backwards, getting both of you to the ground. They called your name, but you refused to listen. You clawed at their armored wrist, trying to get their hold off of you.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia.

“I’m not giving up!” Tears were running down your cheeks. You’d finally broken. Under the loss. Under the death and destruction of the soldiers you failed to save. You kicked your legs and tried to get out of the arms that had wrapped around your torso. 

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. 

Silk.

Silk.

Silk.

“I know.” Their words, Rex’s, finally reached you. He was hugging you from behind so tightly, “I know, Mesh’la. I know.” His helmet was off and he whispered softly into your ear.

Your breath shook as you let out a wretched sob. You’ve lost soldiers before. They’ve died under your care. But never this many. 

Too many. There were too many! 

You wept, leaning into Rex’s chest, “I’m sorry…” you cried out, “I can’t save them. I can’t…I’m sorry Rex…Please…forgive me!” Your begging and pleading devolved into more sobbing. You’ve failed him. You’ve failed the man you loved and all of his brothers.

Rex remained silent, continuing to hold you.

[nocturnesmoon]

Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

Wordcount: 6.2k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT Religious trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Angsty, Fluff, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: It's been so long since Simon last saw you. He already has a million things to worry about, and the reappearance of an old childhood friend being one of them, was not something he expected.

A/N: Finished editing sooner than expected, so thought I might aswell release it now. Also first time doing taglist, so let me know if it's not working. I think I did it right, but I don't know.

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The crows are especially loud this time of day. Always placing themselves in the dead trees that lean in over the graves. They screech and scrawl at anyone who dares come into the cemetery. They act like unofficial guardians of the dead, as if any presence that moves in would disturb their eternal sleep.

Simon has never really minded them, but his tolerance only goes so far when they don't seem to quiet down. It's the same routine every night in the late banks of summer. The warm glow of the sun would put the entire cemetery in a different mood. This place doesn't look so dark and miserable when you take a look at it from a different angle.

The fence door creeks in tune with the crows. A few of them look towards Simon as he pushes himself inside from the little opening he made. He knows exactly where to look to catch a glance of you. It never fails to surprise him how you manage to come earlier than him, but there you are. Climbed high above to the roof of the little shed, and bathed in the light of the descending sun.

Your figure is set in a defensive stance as you screech right back at the crows. He can't help the smile that crawls unto his lips, subtle and small. It was something you always ended up doing when the crows got too loud. Not even Simon's relentless teasing could stop you.

Sometimes the crows would fly away, too annoyed from the disturbance you gave right back. Other times, they would stare back at you, and Simon would start to worry they would fly down and peck their beaks and claws at you.

Luckily, they never seem to go that far.

"One of these days you're going to fall and break your neck." As soon as his voice reaches your ears, you whip around with the brightest smile. You always had a way of smiling from ear to ear like an idiot.

"Si!" You yell out, dropping down to your knees and crawling to the edge to greet him. He would have chewed you out about it, but he knew your knees were already bruised as scarred from getting up there.

"I brought food," he lifts up the plastic bag to be in your line of view. It twists around, making the handle choke against his skin and the water in the flask slosh around. You let out an excited squeal, and by the sounds of your loud rumbling stomach, he made the right choice to bring extra.

Getting up on the roof proved harder than he expected. The ladder you usually used had been locked inside the shed. Some snitch must have seen the both of you up there, and told the graveyard keeper.

You had found some creative way to stack some boxes on top of each other. However, there was still a small way you'd have to pull up, and while he was working on getting stronger, he didn't succeed in masking the few grunts and groans on the way.

"I swear you're going to be an old man by the time you turn 18 with the way your knees are popping," you teased when he swung his legs up over and rolled in. You had gracefully taken the bag from him when he was halfway. You were quick to take out it's contents and lining it up.

"Says the one who's been acting 18 since they were 10," he retorted out of breath.

You merely scoffed in response, but he caught the small smile. "Whatever, old man" your hands smoothed over the sealed bowl. You looked like you were waiting for his permission. It never failed to amuse him. He had brought the food for only you and you alone. You never actually accepted it before you were sure that you were allowed to.

"Go on, I could hear your growling stomach from the gate" he motions for you to just get to it. You rip the lid off like an animal starved. He can practically see the way your mouth glistens, at the sight of the freshly cooked meal.

"Ugh, you're a lifesaver Si, thank you."

He watches as you fold your hands, drop your head low and close your eyes in silent prayer. You do it every time before a meal. Simon can't even pretend to begin to understand why, or what the point of it is, but he knows it's important to you.

He respects it and doesn't interrupt you with stupid questions, but there will always be the little itch in the back of his brain that reminds him, that the religion forced upon you is a big factor of your pain.

You always try to convince him that it's fine, that you want it to be like this. He knows you're lying. Despite how much your parents will glorify it for you, he won't forget that it's them who starves you, just for accidentally taking the lord's name in vain.

"Say thanks to your mom from me," you mumble out through a mouthful of food. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips at the sight. You looked so content with your favourite food right at your fingertips.

"I made it."

Your eyes shoot up to meet him, surprised. "Really? Damn, you're a much better cook than I am." There's a swell of pride in his chest, he wasn't going to admit to you how many times he had failed to make that dish good. He had waited for the right moment to show you, and it paid off in the end.

"Flowers are in full bloom," he mentions offhandedly. He looks down at the small corners of red, covering the grave areas. The graveyard keeper had planted them awhile ago, hoping to let them bloom and give the grey space a pop of colour. An added bonus that it would deter people from messing with the graves.

The old man didn't like the two of you very much, chasing you out whenever he caught you here, and trying to find out who you were so he could tell your parents. It quickly made Simon internalize the man’s schedule so you could keep the space to yourself. Not like anyone ever came and visited these old graves. Not in this part of the yard.

"Mhm I know," you speak with your mouth full of food, "I plucked a few from behind the shed." He raises a brow, his curious look almost making you chuckle before swallowing. He always wondered how you lost all your manners as soon as you left the house, though he had decided to let you be on the subject long ago.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

You scoff, gulping down almost half the water bottle he brought before answering. "No, I didn't, you have so little trust me. I was careful," you assure him. You nudge to the little plastic bag of six red spider lilies. Their strings crumbled in some places, from where you had been a little less careful.

He gently picks them up. The plastic bag rustles when he moves them around, putting them into the shape of a bouquet. "You know, they kind of remind me of you" he brings them closer to his face. He looks down into the bundle of red strings, and green stalks. The sweet floral fragrance is surprisingly overwhelming. He scrunches up his nose, before moving the flowers away.

"Really?"

"Of course, my little spider" he gives you a cheeky grin. He can't help the small surge of giddiness, that rises in his chest when he sees your annoyed face. He had given you the nickname with no explanation two years ago. You didn't like it one bit, but he never relented. Over time, it just became part of your friendship.

"Are you serious? Is that why you chose it?" You didn't sound impressed. Your annoyance definitely wasn't relieved, by the potentiality of the pretty flowers being the reason for your odd nickname.

He snorts, shaking his head quickly. "Nah, could be partly" he offers you the spider lilies ceremoniously, like one would offer their partner romantic red roses. "More likely, you remind me of spiders" you accept the flowers unsure, "cute, always there, hiding in the shadows."

You swat his arm, "Hey! I do not hide in the shadows like a creep!"

His laugh echoes out louder than he meant it to. The both of you looking around suspiciously, eyeing the place to see if the graveyard keeper should suddenly pop out of the shadows and chase you away with a pitchfork.

"Of course, not love, you have absolutely never done that once in your life."

He finds himself unable to look away from your eyes, when you chuckle along with him. The little creases of genuine joy in the corners, the way they light up with life. It's a look on you that he realizes he's missed. Much more than he thought.

Simon's room is drenched in darkness when he wakes up. It's only after he forcefully blinks that he's even sure he actually did open his eyes. His breathing turns quiet and strained, the images of his dream replaying on his mind like a sick mantra. It hadn't even been the usual night terrors that he got; this one was something old yet new.

His lungs felt too big for his ribcage. The warm hand resting atop his chest felt all the more restrictive. It wasn't his own. A quiet panic sets into his blood, one that's relieved just as quick when the man next to him stirs in his sleep.

Johnny had always been a restless sleeper. Even when he was deep asleep, he had a tendency to twitch around. The first few times they had fallen asleep together, Simon hadn't gotten much, but he still found it to be worth it. Being able to hold Johnny close in his arms, and make sure that the man got as much sleep as possible, did things to the protective voice in Simon's head.

He gently moves Johnny's hand off his chest. He had fallen asleep caressing his scars. A much more frequent occurrence now that Simon had finally gotten the courage to tell Johnny of the origins. They weren't new by any means, but it felt nice regardless.

He hadn't felt cared for like this since…. well, since you.

He sits up, trying to not disturb him. His hand wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, and grimaces at the feeling. He needs a shower. Why had he even dreamt of you now, after all this time? It didn't make sense to him. Sure, he occasionally had a thought about you, but you hadn't had any prevalence in his life for a long time.

The memory was distinct to him, but it bled together with countless others you had shared on the roof of that shed. This was the first time he could see the vibrancy of the blood-red fill his vision. Those damn flowers you loved so much. The ones he nicknamed you after, when you expressed how much you hated your own name.

He could feel the touch of your fingers, running down his arm, over the tattoo he had gotten in secret. A quiet rebellion towards his own family. The softness of your skin was stuck in his mind, gripping him like a vice and choking him through his uprising emotions.

It was so clear to him. Terrifying, really, he had felt so deeply about you. Now you were but dust in the wind for him.

"Simon…"

A much rougher hand than yours had been, gently rubs his arm, bringing his attention to its owner. Johnny stares up at him with drowsy eyes, the deep blues looking to him for an explanation.

"Nightmare?" he asks, his voice still laced with sleep.

Simon shakes his head. It wasn't a nightmare, was it? His emotions are disturbed, for sure, but his nightmares are violent. They leave him rattled and shaken, barely allowing oxygen into his lungs. They have him fighting back against any physical force, and remind him of his worst memories. Typically, it didn't include scenic graveyards, beloved childhood friends and red spider lilies in full bloom.

"Then why are ye cryin'?"

Simon's eyes widen. His hand come up to touch the tears, wiping them away in a quick motion. Yeah, why the hell was he even crying. It wasn't something to cry over, it was simply the past. It wasn't even something he regretted. It was a pleasant memory; one he wishes he could go back to.

Johnny's hand traces up his muscle, until he is fully sat up himself. His lips come into contact with Simon's cheek, giving him a soft kiss.

"Ye wanna talk about it?" Johnny looks like he's ready to pass out any second. He always had that interesting ability to become sleepy anytime he's around Simon alone. Managing to become relaxed enough to let down his defences.

"No…" Simon let's out a deep grumbled sigh. He moves his head to the side, meeting Johnny's concerned gaze. He dips down to place a kiss to his lips, just as soft. "Go back to sleep…you can still catch a few hours," he says in a whisper.

They both had another day of hard work ahead of them. It wouldn't be any use if Simon was the reason the both of them were lacking energy. Their current case was a difficult one. The entire taskforce was more used to short clear-cut missions, one after the other they cleared them with minimal struggle. All they've done the last few weeks has been intel gathering, and a few fruitless ops to various places in the world.

It was, in short, frustrating. The group of people they were looking for were incredibly good at keeping themselves in the shadows. Trying to catch them has been like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

They've been down two men as well. Ever since, Price and Gaz left to retrieve extra help, so to speak. He doesn't see how any more help will do anything for them, the people they've already consulted were dead ends. Talented absolutely, he even learnt a new thing from one of them, but not what they needed.

The stress of the job itself was taking its toll on his brain, but he couldn't ever imagine himself doing anything else. Not when he's got this far already. People like himself aren't suited for a quieter life, somewhere else doing something that's a lot more mundane. At least he can't complain about having a boring day to day.

"Yer thoughts are loud."

Simon let's out a heavy sigh. It's too late for this, or early rather. He shuffles under the sheets, brings Johnny with him as he morphs his own body to his. Johnny instinctively wraps his arms around him, squishing themselves close as they can get. The heat of the room ignored.

"Sleep…" he mumbles and closes his eyes, "We can talk later."

A sharp knock pulls Simon away from his report. His eyes narrowing at the door as it opens, taking notice of the creek. The hinges have needed changing for a few years now. No one ever got around to it.

"Got yer lunch," Johnny steps into the low lighted office. Always with that tone of optimism that Simon can never really grasp.

"Jesus, ah don't understand how ye can see anythin' in 'ere." Johnny pushes the door closed, and makes his way over to Simon's desk. He puts down a plate of whatever he could find (that Simon would like) from what they're serving today. A task that could prove challenging.

Johnny squints in the low light, even the lamp Simon keeps on his desk doesn't do much for the total lighting in the room.

He prefers it this way though, it goes easy on his eyes, and he doesn't have to listen to the incessant buzzing from the lights that apparently only he can hear.

The first time Johnny questioned him on his choice, Johnny had called him a vampire in response. In retaliation, he had woken the man up in the middle of the night, and scared the shit out of him.

He was not questioned again.

"Got yer favourite," the Scot scoots an extra chair over to his desk. He tried to sound as upbeat as he could. The last while had taken a visible toll on everyone in the taskforce, and between the two of them, Johnny wanted to remain positive for them both. Simon sure as hell wasn't going to.

Simon let's out a grumbling noise in response. "Oh, quit that," Johnny waves his hand between the report and his face, "ah know for a fact, that ye barely ate anythin' this mornin'. What's the matter with ye."

The quiet stretches between them. He ignores the offended sputters, when he removes Johnny's hand from his view. He was right though, unfortunately, Simon hadn't had much of an appetite ever since he failed to go back to sleep. There was something about the dream he had, it wouldn't leave his mind.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself it was nothing, the reminder of the past felt like a storm in his body. It swirled old emotions back to the top, things he never got over and had instead repressed the hell out of.

He tried to not make a habit of dwelling on things he couldn't change. Yet now he finds himself wondering what could have been different if he chose other actions, than what he did all those years ago.

What if he hadn't given up on reaching out. What if he had tried to find you. What if he still knew you.

What if, what if, what if.

He bit back on a groan. Normally it was the annoying (Loveable) Scotsman occupying his thoughts, not childhood crushes.

For a time, he had tried finding you again, years later when it would already be too late. What he found was abnormally little, and nothing worthy of note. All he could boil it down to was that you had your own life now, somewhere else, far away from him.

"Simon," Johnny snapped his fingers, "Ye don't get to ignore me, talk to me." Still, he remains quiet, only gracing the man with his supposed undivided attention at his request. Whatever Johnny wanted from him would be better than fantasizing about a past he couldn't return to. It wasn't like him.

"Jus' stressed."

"Aye…sure…just the stress," Johnny mocks him light-heartedly, his mouth tugging in the corners. "C'mon Si, ah know what ye're like when ye're stressed…this is different…is it the supposed non nightmare ye had?" He's adamant on not letting the morning go.

Simon had been more quiet than normal, hastily going on with his day in an attempt at finding something to distract him. He had failed miserably in his pursuit, instead letting himself drown in the unanswerable question. What exactly was the goal of The Divine Principle.

"It wasn't a nightmare," he stresses.

"Didn't say it was."

Simon puts down the pen he had been writing with. The small joints in his fingers aching at the release. The pen was the only thing that had been at his disposal for several hours, which allowed him to fidget. Anything else left him restless, only the bouncing of his own leg did it justice, but even that got tiresome after a long time of it.

"I dreamt up memories." He looks away from his partner's unwavering attention. He had told several things from his past already. Old ghost stories that's better left dead and buried under the rubble of his past self.

He allowed Johnny in years ago, opened up his stone turned heart, and let him hold it. He gave him the ability to squeeze the life out of it, drain it of whatever feeling it still had left.

Instead, Johnny let it prosper in his care. Showing the scars of his own, and gaining mutual love and understanding.

There were still things he didn't know. Wounds that never really turned into scars were still left in the darkness. Scabs being picked at every few years or so, reminding him of the hurt he never quite tended to.

"Yer family?"

"An old friend."

"Childhood friend? Not somethin' ye've ever mentioned before," Johnny says in an intrigued tone. He pushes the plate of food In front of Simon's vision to remind him.  It doesn't forward his eating. He barely even looks at it, instead remaining his fixed gaze on John.

"And I don't intend to," he doesn't react to the disproving look he gets, "at least not yet."

"Aye…Ah not gonna force ye to Si…but it's clearly botherin' ye." Johnny let's out a pleased sound when Simon finally rolls up the bottom of his mask above his nose, and pick up the fork to stab at his food.

He takes a big bite before he continues. It gives him enough time to gather his own thoughts. They still spiral within his skull, feelings of want and longing buzzing in his bones. "I jus' didn't expect it," he whispers, "been years since I’ve had a dream from the past that wasn't riddled with…unease."

It's not a generous term. It doesn't quite grasp the full complexity of it, but he'd rather suffer beneath a blade once again before he admits it out in the open that they terrify him.

Nightmares are frequent, things from the operations he goes through here. Night terrors have become a much smaller occurrence for him, his therapy sessions helping more than he thought they would, and extra support from Johnny had done wonders.

He didn't know what to make of it, but Price's words from years ago of how far you could go with a solid support system, were apparently true. He wasn't planning on admitting that to the man anytime soon, however.

Johnny stares in silence, waiting for him to continue, but the matter is dropped when he shakes his head no. Johnny let's out a deep sigh, and with a soft shake of his head, he begins eating his own brought lunch. "Fine, have it yer way" he mumbles while he chews, "Captain and Gaz should be coming in a few hours."

"I would've thought you'd show more excitement over new people," Simon speaks after swallowing his mouthful of food. He didn't want to go back to the subject of his dream, instead letting it simmer in the back of his head.

"Ah would, but I'm too busy worrying about yer ass." Johnny grins, and though he means it, Simon can see the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. He had always been one for the newcomers, the few people that had helped them on the cult case so far had been on the questionably delightful receiving end of Johnny's flirtatious manner.

"You worry too much."

"Funny, ah should be the one saying that," that earns Johnny a look of annoyance. One he can only chuckle at. No matter how much Johnny would humour it, he was right, even if Simon didn't want him to be.

He always found himself something to worry about, or so he's told from everyone around him. One thing was for Price to say it, the hypocritical bastard. Another was for Johnny to mention it, it got him thinking, but it was a complete third thing when even Kyle would give his two cents of concern.

He was labelled a worrier, through and through. Not something he took on with particular pride, but it kept them safe. It made him aware of the dangers, all of them, and with the right precautions he could fight them before they took something precious of his.

It's the unknown that's the hardest to compete with. He knew nothing about the upcoming arrival, he couldn't prepare his proper defences, or what he needed. His brain still had to constantly remind him that the person coming wasn't a threat to his peace. They were coming to help. That was all.

One thing Simon can be thankful for, is that the base doesn't feel it when it's at it's busiest. The quiet can still reap the noise in the halls, and outside the wind is reduced to a slow breeze.

There's a chill in the air, the leaves of autumn already starting to fall from the dedicated few trees left on base. The colour on them had kept something pretty to look at around, soon they would bare and boring again. Sometimes the snow would make up for it, if there was enough of it.

He'd been waiting out here a tad too long. Not even Johnny would join him before the plane got a bit closer. The anxious part of him wouldn't allow him to be late. An ideal he'd always held to, rather be too early than too late.

It keeps him within of that carefully crafted control.

A control that very quickly starts to dwindle when the doors open.

A part of him finds himself relieved when he sees Price and Garrick come out of the plane unscathed and in the same state as they went. He could try to deny it to himself all he wanted, but he had grown to care about the taskforce as a whole, not just Johnny.

That part of it all was fine, a variable he knew.

The person walking languidly behind them, is what sets him out of his carefully calculated control.

It trails down his back like claws of ice, bringing the warmth of his blood into an ever long cold. His limbs cease, his already rigid stance becomes like stone. The person that walks towards him, is not a person he knows any more, nor is it a person he ever expected to see again. Because that person is no longer the little kid, he would watch scrape their knees climbing the trees, or the little kid he would hold close when they broke under pressure.

The little kid was now a grown adult.

And in tow behind Price with a nervous look.

You look different.

He couldn't even be sure that it was truly that little kid, sure they carried your features, more mature and older, a new amount of scars and weariness you should never bear. It's been so long, he can almost convince himself that he's hallucinating. That his own sleep deprivation is finally catching up to him, and forcing him to make correlations based upon his own wishes.

"Boys, it's good to see you" Price voice thrums out. The smile playing on his lips tells Simon more things than he likes. The eye-contact they're making only makes the nausea in his stomach worse. If only throwing up would fix the problem standing in front of him, half obscured by Gaz.

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting out here too long," Price voice almost echoes, "I want to introduce you to someone."

The tense air doesn't alleviate, and when your name leaves the captains lips, Simon knows that he is completely and utterly fucked.

"Ye know them, don't ye?"

Johnny's voice startles him out of his thoughts, bringing him back up from the rabbit hole he ventured down. He's been standing here for who knows how long, staring out at the training recruits doing their drills for the evening, or at least that is his cover. Truly he doesn't see anyone of them, he looks past the moving crowd, his eyes boring into your figure on the other side.

He answers Johnny with a simple grunt. He still can't quite believe it himself, that it really is you, that you're alive and here. It makes him angry to even think about, you being here. You're not supposed to be here at all, you were supposed to be far away from the likes of the military.

You weren't supposed to look like you did, flimsy and cautious reactions to everything that moved, new scars he knew nothing about adorned your once soft skin and made it rough, your eyes were no longer sweet and innocent, they had seen things he had as well.

A future he had blissfully believed you wouldn't have to share with him.

His nausea hasn't left since you arrived hours ago.

"Not on good terms, then?" Whatever Johnny thought of you, he was having a mighty good time with this. Since you'd uttered your first words, Johnny had been smitten with you. A quality to impress that you still seemed to possess, despite your differences.

Simon had worried that Johnny would have scared you away with his overwhelming form of an introduction. His presence commanded space, something Simon counted on when he wanted to retract into the shadows of a room and go unnoticed. But on you and your tense muscles, you looked more like a frightened rabbit ready to sprint back into the plane.

You didn't.

No, you held yourself in place, did the courteous thing and introduced yourself as properly as you could.

There hadn't been a whole lot of time for reunions. Simon didn't even know whether you knew it was him under the skull mask. He hadn't greeted you, too afraid of his own reaction to you, and he had likely looked like a rude, brutish soldier that wanted nothing to do with you.

He wanted to adhere to that, keep up the act, and keep hoping you wouldn't see through him and his longing glances.

"I think they're quite charming," Johnny says with a hint of suggestion, "pretty thing."

"Keep it in your pants, MacTavish."

Across the yard, he sees you light a cigarette. You bring it to your lips and take a puff, rolling your shoulders back to release tension. It's a nasty habit, one you shouldn't indulge in. You should've stayed away from it, just like he told you all those years ago.

His hand twitches when you take another puff, and the pack of cigarettes burn against his thigh where they rest in his pocket.

"I thought ye liked to take said pants off-" he lets out a scoff when Simon moves past him, not allowing him to finish.

He crosses halfway through before the small voice in him quivers and changes his mind. He trails to the side, slowly making his way towards you by staying close to the raised wall. You don't look towards him, but with the way you had anxiously assessed every corner of every area you went, you likely knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.

Nonetheless, he found himself standing with a distance to you, using the excuse that it was a dedicated smoking area, to actually allow himself this close. It feels out of place for him to be this cautious of his own movements. Normally his moves were calculated, a bit heavy and tense, sneaky, when need be, but not the nervous caution he embodies now.

He fishes out his own pack of cigarettes, narrowing his vision on it while he lights it to make sure he doesn't let himself trail towards you. He needs to be strategic about this, he couldn't just assume you knew who he was. You might not even remember him.

"I was starting to wonder whether you were going to come say hello, or if you were going to keep hiding in the shadows, and staring like a creep."

The first drag comes into his lungs wrong. He seals his lips and lets the cough reside in his chest. A mistake to do, since you seem to notice anyway. Your voice isn't what he would think. Though, he starts to realize he doesn't actually remember what you used to sound like in his memories, but it wasn't this.

"Wasn't staring," he defends.

"Sure, and I’m royalty."

At least you hadn't lost your love for sarcasm.

He takes a better drag of his cigarette, lets the nicotine into his body like he needed it to breathe. He really should kick the habit, set an example. If not for you, then for Johnny. He didn't quite think you'd care so much for his 'example' any more.

"No reintroduction?"

"So, you know then," he turns his head to look at you. He meets your eyes, already staring at him, looking him over like he's some fascinating creature you've never seen before. Yet he feels like you're staring right through him at the same time.

There's something haunted about your appearance and stance.

"Of course I know, Simon, you really think I would've come here if I didn't get all the information."

Simon doesn't know what to think. You're not even supposed to be here in his mind. "Been a long time," he comments idly, instead of indulging your rhetorical question. How many years had it been since you parted? Since you stopped answering and turned away? He can't remember.

"It has," you bring your own cigarette to your lips to take a drag, the silence kills, "you've come far."

"I thought you were too stubborn to join up." He watches on as you look away. Is that a hint of shame he sees? He's not going to pretend to know what's going on in your head anymore.

"People change," is all the answer you seem to muster up and give him, "and I’m not currently enlisted."

His jaw twitches behind the mask, it clamps to his face uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too scratchy against his skin.

People change.

He knew that, he wasn't delusional about it. It just didn't feel right for you to change so drastically. He had always imagined that you'd be living alone by now, in a city far away from the likes of him, maybe even a different country. You'd have bought that flat or house you always fantasized about, finally making it yours. You'd have a beloved pet or two, and a husband or wife to keep your bed warm.

He lets out a grunt in response, taking another shot at filling his lungs with smoke. "Well, you're not the only thing that's changed over the years," he doesn't know what point he's trying to make, yet he tries nonetheless.

"Clearly." He no longer likes the tone of voice you've taken on.

You turn yourself to him fully this time. He has no idea what's going through your head. There's mystique in your eyes, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for him to realize you aren't staring at him, but his mask.

"Out of all the motifs, you could've chosen…" you sound almost disappointed in him. He doesn't understand why it stings. You look down at his skeletal gloves with the same expression. He's never been one to be embarrassed, or self-conscious about his persona. You've only been back in his life for a few hours, and the old standard he held for you long ago comes back like it wasn't ever gone.

He can't even remember caring that much about your opinion of him. Maybe it's because back then you adored everything about him. Now your eyes don't hold the warmth he's come to miss.

"You got a problem?" His jaw tenses behind his mask. He regrets his tone of voice the instant he sees the narrow squint of your eyes, the distaste never quite leaving your face.

"You know that I do." He does. He doesn't try to deny it. Back when you were kids, he knew you better than even your own parents did, your family or anyone else you would surround yourself with.

"If there's a conflict of interest-"

"Always so prone to the extreme," you cut him off. A callback he doesn't appreciate as much as he once would. "Good to see not everything is changed," none of your words are said with honesty nor the friendliness he could've expected from you.

There's deceit, passive aggressiveness, a hostile tone you've never bourn before. You've never had to Infront of him before. It's a foolish realization to only have now. It's the only constant he could be sure of the first time he saw you again, in all these years. You weren't going to be the same, you have changed, and so has he.

To go back to such a time isn't a possibility. It rests within either of your memories, buried beneath layers of stone and ice. The feelings you once had couldn't be expected to be upheld. It was unfair of him to think such a way.

He doesn't recognize his own voice when he softly calls your name. His3 hand moves forward about to graze at your arm, but before he can even come near, you back away. It's a rejection that cuts deep, and one he wishes he actually could blame you for. Alas he can't.

"No," you say steadfast "don't do that. It won't end well…for either of us."

He doesn't nod, doesn't shake his head. No verbal response is offered, only a mere silent movement, the retraction of his own hand to give you the space you have asked for. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it anymore than he liked the way you became a ghost all those years ago.

You're finally within reach of his grasp, and you've never felt further away.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz

[queenimmadolla]

Can I request a Eddie one shot where it’s that scene where he was basically telling Steve how Nancy still loves him and she didn’t hesitate to go after him but like instead it’s Eddie and female reader and it’s Steve telling Eddie that and Nancy and robin tell the reader something similar where it’s obvious they 1. Still love each other or 2. They like one another. You can choose whichever or go however you like!

Had to squeeze in some angst but I still think it’s pretty good, hope you like it!

𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, exes to lovers)

“I can’t fucking believe I’m gonna die like this,” You muttered under your breath, watching your feet as you made your way through the Upside Down, covered in who knows what, drenched and exhausted. You’d been perfectly content (anxious) at home as a witch hunt for your ex-boyfriend assembled. Why you cared was beyond your knowledge, why Chrissy Cunningham being in his trailer in the first place plagued your mind was something you refused to think about. Thinking about it gave it more power over you and you would not let Eddie have more power over you. Not after he’d dumped you last week only to hook up with the most popular girl in school despite sneaking around with you for months because he didn’t want to go public with your relationship. Your feelings were beyond hurt. 

Despite the emotional pain, you’d been about to go looking for him when the witch hunt came to you. As in Jason and his shit friends had abducted you from your home, foolishly believing there was a possibility Eddie could still care about you. They’d dragged you with them to the boat house where they had found Eddie and tried to use you as bait, only you’d been able to slam your fist back into Jason’s balls. His grip had dropped from around your neck as he crumbled to the ground and Patrick made no move to stop you–his eyes almost pleading with you to escape–as you dove into the water. 

Jason recovered quickly, though, jumping in after you. Patrick had jumped in after him, pulling him away from you to give you more time to escape. You’d almost reached Eddie’s boat, where he was leaning over, ready to pull you on board when you could hear Jason start yelling at Patrick. Despite Eddie yelling at you to keep coming to him, you turned just in time to see Patrick go under. Then he’d shot up into the air, where he proceeded to contort in ways the human body was not ever meant to, like he was some soda can before plummeting down to the water. At that point, Eddie was in the lake with you, tugging you with him and you went willingly, positive Patrick was dead.It had more of an effect on you than you cared to admit. He’d been nice to you the entire time you’d been Jason’s hostage. More than once, you’d almost been on the receiving end of Jason’s emotional tantrums and Patrick had been the one to step in and take the hit. Almost like he was used to it. He’d kept you calm, let you know he wouldn’t let Jason harm you, that he’d get you out of there.

You had tried sympathizing with Jason, aware stupid ass police officers had been the reason he believed Eddie played a major role in Chrissy’s death but he was taking things way too far. You didn’t think he’d stop until the boy he believed to be his girlfriend’s killer was dead. You’d been stuck with Eddie in the woods until help came in the form of Steve Harrington and his rag tag group. Then you’d been on that damn lake again, unable to think of anything but Patrick’s body hitting the water. 

Eddie had tried to talk to you, console you but you’d shrugged away from him and moved onto the otherside, next to Steve. Knowing Eddie was alive soothed your worry but your annoyance and disdain for him was at an all time high. You were in this mess because he just had to play hanky panky with someone else’s girlfriend. 

When Steve had been pulled under and everyone jumped in, you’d been about to dive in after Robin.“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Eddie screamed at you, hand darting out to secure itself around your wrist as you stood with one foot on the edge. “I’m going in! They need help!” You frowned, ignoring the sensation that had shocked its way through your nervous system at his touch.

“Like hell you are, you’ll get yourself killed!” His eyes were pleading with you but you couldn’t see past your own hurt. “Just stay in the boat, please I can’t lose you!”

“I’m not yours, remember?” It made that ache in your heart rip wide open to say and you couldn’t stand to look at him any longer so you’d torn yourself away and jumped in. Probably wouldn’t have if you had known you’d have to fight bat looking demon creatures. You’d been on the tennis team so you were impressively knocking them out of the air like flies until a fucking wave of them were approaching. You’d all run into the cover of the disgusting looking woods rather than face them. Now here you all were, licking your wounds and making your way to Nancy’s house. 

Eddie and Steve were somewhere behind you while you walked alongside Nancy and Robin.

“Are you guys like a thing?” Robin blurted out in a whisper, “I wasn’t gonna ask but if we’re gonna die, I’m kind of curious to know. He seemed to be coming onto you pretty hard in the boat.”

“No, we’re not a thing,” You sighed out, rubbing the soot—or wherever the fuck the nasty shit in the air was, off of your face. “Anymore.”

“I told you,” Robin lightly slapped Nancy’s shoulder with the back of her palm. “He looked pretty crushed when you ignored his help getting in the boat.”

“Yeah, well, when you get dumped you kind of don’t want anything to do with the guy after. Not that being held hostage and getting sucked into another dimension with him isn’t romantic.” 

“Are you being sarcastic?” “Yes, Robin. I’m being sarcastic.”

“So, it’s over? Donzo? Caput?”

“As dead as the girl in his trailer.”

Robin pursed her lips and nodded while Nancy bit her lip.

“You know, he sort of implied she was there for other reasons.” Nancy supplied and you winced, trying to push the imagery out of your head.

“I don’t need nor want to know that.”

“No, no, not that! Business related.” You glanced her way to see her raising her eyebrows, hoping you’d understand her implication.

“You want me to believe Chrissy was at Eddie’s to buy drugs? The first scenario sounded more believable.” You huffed, glancing behind you just in time to see Eddie’s gaze dart away.

“It’s true,” Robin agreed, having grown fond of Eddie in their short time forced together, “I mean, yeah the guy was sad about her death, but I think it had more to do with the fact that he ran away.”

“What was he supposed to do?” You chortled, picturing Patrick’s death again. If Chrissy’s was as brutal as that, there had been no saving her. And why a coroner seemed to think a practical teenager was capable of breaking limbs, dislocating a jaw and crushing their eyes in like that was also questionable. Someone deserved to be fired. “Unfold her broken bones and tell her dead body to get up and run?”

Robin shrugged her shoulders, looking almost like she agreed with you, “Yeah, I don’t know exactly what he expected to do there, to be honest. But I know he feels at fault, almost. And I know he stares at you like my dad stares at my mom.”

You and Nancy both raised your eyebrows at her.

“In love! He stares at her like he’s in love! He jumped in after you, right? That guy has been hesitant every step of the way but he came in through that weird ass portal thingy right after you did. You weren’t even settled on your feet when he came through. It means something. Look, I can’t exactly be with the person I’m interested in, but if sh-they were looking at me like he looked at you? I’d be in their arms right now, professing my love and ready to take on Vecna.” Nancy stared at Robin, looking slightly awed at her speech, “Wow, Robin. That was actually really good.” “Because I mean it.” She was giving you a look you didn’t need to decipher, too busy thinking about how scared you’d been when you didn’t know if he was alive or not. You could lie to them all you wanted, but you couldn’t lie to yourself about being in love with Eddie. A love like yours wouldn’t just go away after a week.

“Nancy jumped in after Steve, are you saying that means she’s in love with him?”

“No!” Nancy made a face, shaking her head. “Now that is done. Plus, I’ve got a boyfriend who I am very much in love with. If it had been Jonathan, that thing wouldn’t have had the chance to drag him all the way through after I was done with it. Steve’s my friend. I wasn’t about to let him drown. Robin jumped in, too.” 

“I am also not in love with Steve,” Robin commented dryly, as displeased with the idea as she was in Starcourt. Behind you, Eddie was getting a similar pep talk. “So what’s going on there, Munson?” Steve gestured to you as they hung back. Eddie glowered at him before his gaze was focused on the back of your head again. “None of your business.” Steve shrugged, satisfied with having tried. Eddie quickly grew restless. “She hates me.” He admitted with a frown. “Highly doubt that.” “Did those bat things get your eyes, too? ‘Cause you are definitely not seeing what I’m seeing.” Eddie had expected you to ignore him, you’d done so immediately after the break up but he was hoping now that you were in an actual life or death situation, you’d be a little more open. 

He’d been scared shitless when Jason called out to him from the shore and he’d seen you with him. Then he noticed Jason’s hand gripped around your neck. All he knew after that was rage.

By some fucking good luck, you’d both managed to get out of the situation relatively unharmed, though he knew how effected you must have been with Patrick’s death. You’d been in a near catatonic state until the others showed up and informed you on exactly what was going on. Then you went right back to purposely ignoring him while all Eddie wanted to do was hold you until this was all over. “We’re literally in a very filthy version of Hawkins, she saw me almost eaten alive, there’s a very good possibility we won’t get out of here and she still won’t talk to you. If she hated you, she’d have no trouble chatting you up in these circumstances, for the hell of it. But she’s not, which means she’s really hurt, really mad, or both. And that means she cares, a lot more than she wants to admit.” Eddie dragged his stare away from you to glare at Steve, suspicious of his intentions, “You noticed all of that? Is there a reason you were paying such close attention to her?”

The jealousy stirred in his belly, though he was aware he’d been the one to end things between you, meaning he didn’t really have the right to be jealous, Eddie was. He was so very jealous. He’d wanted to rip Steve’s arm off when you’d been the only one to accept Steve’s assistance getting into the boat and not his. 

And you’d jumped in to save him, despite knowing him for even less time than Eddie had. The implications were there and Eddie didn’t like them one bit. The only reason he’d broken it off with you in the first place was all the flack he was catching as of late, he knew the moment you went public with your relationship, they’d group you in as a freak with him. You were anything but a freak. Smart, beautiful, vice president, you had a lot going for yourself. Who the fuck was he to hold you back? So, he’d painstakingly let you go; felt very much so like he was ripping his own heart out along with yours. Then a week later, everything went to shit. Still, through all the supernatural events taking place, you were at the forefront of his mind. You were all that mattered. Making sure you got out of this alive was his only goal, whether you hated him or not. 

“Whoa, no! She’s all yours buddy, I’m just stating my observations. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading women, lately. Ironically, I can't seem to find one.” 

Eddie glanced between Steve and Nancy, aware of their previous relationship but there didn’t seem to be any romantic interest between the two, Steve remained relatively unbothered (though annoyed with his lack of a female companion), it seemed that chapter was truly over.

“You’ll find her eventually. As for her,” Eddie’s attention was back on you as his longing hit him full force. “I love her. Really messed things up and I don’t think she’ll forgive me.”

“Won’t know if you don’t try, right?”

“Right.”

When they reached Nancy’s house, Eddie pulled you aside in the entryway while the others all seemed to conveniently vanish.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Was the first thing out of your mouth, you moved to head up stairs but once more, Eddie held you back.

“Don’t know if you noticed, honey, but right now might be all we have. I get it, you’re mad at me. And you have every right to be, I’d just rather not go out if this world—or, this dimension, I guess—without you knowing I’m stupid fucking in love with you.” Eddie declared, hand squeezing your unresponsive one.

“Sure,” You rolled your eyes, trying to yank your hand out of his grasp. Eddie wouldn’t budge, slowly reeling you in.

“Why are you so intent on being hard headed?”

“Because if we weren’t in a really fucked up alternate dimension, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now. You’d be nice and cozy with a pretty cheerleader in your trailer. Let’s just get back to our normal, shitty dimension and go back to pretending we never existed to each other, yeah?” It wasn’t a question. You tried to pull away again but once more, Eddie didn’t release you.

Instead, he tugged you forward until the tips of your shoes were touching, grinning victoriously down at you.

You were stuck in a world filled with monsters and the idiot was smiling??

“You’re jealous.” He stated, eyes alight with delight as his thumb stroked along your wrist. “You still love me.”

“What!? No! I just-I’m pointing it out!” You stuttered out, floundering to come up with an explanation as to why you brought up the other girl.

Eddie finally dropped his hold on your wrist only for his hand to move to the back of your head, holding you in place as he crushed his mouth to yours. 

You raised your hands in surprise before they moved forward to rest on his chest and surprisingly, you didn't push him away. Instead, your hands bunched the fabric, face of the Tiefling mascot scrunched in your fist as Eddie worked your mouth open. The kiss tasted heavily of Lover’s Lake but you hadn’t thought you’d ever be in the position to kiss him again so neither of you gave a fuck.

Eddie pulled away, much to your dismay, panting out, “She was there to pick up special K. That’s it, okay? Just business. Only person I wanna be cozied up to is you, honey. I was fucking stupid, we should be together, baby. Me and you. How it was always meant to be and yeah, okay this whole ‘we’re all gonna possibly die’ thing prompted me but that’s all it was, a prompt. Bucket of ice cold water, a kick to the ass, a wake up call; if I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die knowing the love of my life is aware of just how much I love her. Never stopped. Not for a single goddamn second.”

You were fighting back tears when you flung yourself at him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as his wound around your waist, clutching you tightly to him.

“Don’t say that! You’re not gonna die. We’ll get out of this.” You weren’t so sure, especially now that you know what the clock meant. You hadn’t told the others you’d heard the cursed sound while you were in Jason’s car after they had snatched you. You couldn’t tell Eddie, he’d be devastated about your impending fate.

“Say it,” he begged, pulling back only enough to stare down at you with pleading eyes, “please.”

“I love you.” Your response was instant, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Eddie made a choked sound before he was dipping down for another desperate kiss. The two of you stayed molded together for a handful of minutes, indulging in your renewed declarations until Steve called out.

“You guys hear that? Dustin?”

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Only for you

Dark!yandere Marc Spector x gn!reader

Category: Twisted Letter - I recommend you read the informations for twisted letters first ->here<- if you haven't already.

Summary: Reader has escaped from Marc and he's on the hunt.

Dead dove do not eat - you'll get exactly what's in the tags!

Tags: Threats, hints of captivity, yandere themes, possessive Marc, reckless Marc, dark themes, use of sedatives, mention of kidnapping.

Hi troublemaker,

You've done a big mistake, honey. Do you really think I wouldn't go after you if you escaped? Why did you even run in the first place? Didn't I promise I would keep you safe forever and take care of you? You're an ungrateful little brat...

I should have known you were up to something, you were so good the past few days it made you suspicious. You were just biding your time and strike when the moment was right, didn't you?

But all that doesn't matter anymore, I know I can't trust you now - or atleast you have hell of a job to do that will make me forgive you and give you atleast some trust back.

Do you know how worried I was when I discovered you ran away? How furious? You know exactly how I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt and this is how you repay me?

I swear once I have you back I will not let you out of my sight again, so there's that. But I will think about to cuff you to your bed so you won't be able to make any fuss.

And I really hope for you that you're atleast smart and don't run back to your house again, because that's the first place I'll check. Don't think you can run forever, I will get you back where you belong and you will learn to accept it.

Oh and I wouldn't recommend calling the cops, they can't stop me, not even the goddamn army can. The only thing they can do is stand in my way. And once I've tracked you down it's over for you.

You know I would go through hell for you. After I first kidnapped you I felt guilty, I admit that. But you had to have someone in your life who will protect you. I am the only one, and once I set my mind on something, I will go after it, and rightnow that's you. I promise once you're back I will improve security measures to make sure you stay put. That includes a fingerprint lock for the front door.

But don't worry, at first I will take away a few privileges, but if you behave and be good again I will give them back to you. And in return I expect you stay with me and don't scurry away, or else I might have to remove some of your privileges permanently...

I really hope you understand why I went after you. To keep you safe. I can be the sweetest and most loving guy in the world, but I can also be your worst nightmare. And trust me, you don't want to see that side of me...

And if I catch you, you better come peacefully or I won't hesistate to use sedatives on you.

Wherever you are rightnow I hope you know it's only a matter of time before you'll be back in my arms. And if someone tries to take you away from me, I'll teach them not to mess with me. If you got hurt I will take such good care of your wounds.

Lastly, I hope you understand that I'm doing this all for you. Only for you...

--Marc Spector

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

In The Woods Somewhere

Chapter 3: Fall Of Man

Summary: Memory is a monster.

Pairing: Father Ignatius x nun!afab!Reader

Word Count: -3k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Discourse About Trauma, Past Trauma Triggering An Episode, The Usual Heresy, Angst… Lots Of It!

A/N: I don't even write slow burns…how did we get here?!

No pressure tagging: @queer-crusader @theprettiesthead @midnight-mess @blueberrypancakesworld @theidiotwhowrites

But the wind has picked us up now, we're hanging in the air

And as you grip me like an animal that you're about to spear

"Be good to me, " I whisper

And you say, "What?" and I say, "Nothing, dear"

- That Unwanted Animal By The Amazing Devil

Bowing down to the inevitable change of season, the leaves of the thick and mighty chestnut tree right behind the herb garden turned from a vibrant green to countless shades of orange and auburn, one color variation more beautiful and intricate than the other; chlorophyll withering away to grant the tree one last show of its beauty before the leaves would be dead and rotting on the floor in mere weeks.

Beautiful thing, you thought, looking at the tree from behind a dust and dirt-smeared, thin glass window, so unbothered and simply perfect in the way it grew out of the dark soil for decades now.

“BHAAAAA.” Sister Carla tore you out of your musings, not only mentally but physically as well, pouncing at you in a playful manner, nearly knocking you over, back slumping on your hay mattress.

“Carla, please.” You shoved the younger woman back, her gleeful smile dying down remarkably fast in such juvenile innocence that you regretted the harsh tone rolling over your tongue.

“Sorry.”, You tried to catch her mood from falling further, consoling her with a smile you had to work your face for, “I’m just very tired, be gentle with me, dear.”

“Oh, I figured.”, Sister Carla grinned again as she made herself comfortable next to you, the bed barely being wide enough to accommodate, “Wandering the hallways at night and smelling strange after that. Where have you been? You know you can tell me. Please? Please tell me, I want to know.”

“Carla, I’ve told you already.”, Keeping that lie of a smile plastered to your face, you took the Sisters hand gently in the palm of yours, “It’s been the wool itching against my skin so much that I mindlessly scratch it all open. Then I went into the kitchen to grab some of the alcohol Sister Margarita keeps to clean the scratches. Did you know that alcohol keeps scratches and cuts from getting infected?”

The younger woman shook her head, her rusty brown hair falling into her slim face. It didn’t surprise you just one bit that she didn’t know, being raised in this cesspit of censorship and carefully spoon-fed knowledge and education.

“Is that why you stink so much? The alcohol, I mean.” To nonverbally underline her point, Carla scrunched her nose after curiously prodding fingertips had nudged against the discolored collar of your gown.

You nodded, a sense of uncomfortable uncleanliness tugging at your insides.

“Can you please save me some from the lunch? I’d like to clean myself up, yeah?” Carla jumped off of your bed, crossing her arms in front of her chest and tilting her head to the side.

“You already slept through breakfast! Sister Margarita is getting really upset with you and Sister Iphigenia is worried. What am I supposed to tell them, huh?” Sister Carla had a point but she mustn’t know why you very willingly slept through breakfast and wanted to avoid lunch at any cost as well.

“Please tell them that I will grab lunch a little bit later and see to my chores right after because I’d like to clean my dress before the stains are too dried up to do so.” You tried reasoning with her and Carla opened her mouth to respond but a new, much more exciting thought raced to be uttered first.

“Oh, I haven’t told you yet, did I?”, Your brows knit together, feigning obliviousness, “We have a visitor!”

Sister Carla bounced on her heels, face beaming with excitement because the periodical stays of Father Ignatius unfortunately really came as the most exciting thing happening in this outsourced circle of hell.

“Oh? Already?”, Your throat rendered dry, mind reeling and thrashing in poor attempts of trying to shove the freshest memories out of your thoughts, “See? Even more reason to get freshened up properly, no?”

“Hurry! Talk is that he brought some things from the mainland for us!” Carla was almost squealing before throwing you one last look and dashing away, probably to the kitchen to help Sister Iphigenia with the cooking.

Oh, you sure knew that he had certainly brought things from the mainland. Whisky, cigarettes, and who knows what else and you could hardly believe that there were things amongst pleasure-stained sacrilege that were meant for the convent.

The thing he’d brought for you so far was chaos. Nothing but chaos and confusion, temptation - planting it in your head, his spindly roots working themselves through every layer of your conscience, making you feel like you couldn’t get rid of him even if you tried to cut him out of you.

Father Ignatius wasn’t a man of god, he couldn’t be, no, he was a hypocrite and a pretender…just like you.

As Sister Margarite brabbled an endless cacophony about the gardens of the monastery, her pride and joy, the supple inventory of the apothecary, and the almost finished renovation of the little chapel, Ignatius couldn’t bother to listen to any of it to save his life. Maybe he should propose a vow of silence upon the convent, perhaps a doable task for the upcoming weeks of lent in about 6 months. For endless minutes, the elderly woman went on and on and on about things that wouldn’t tickle his interest in the slightest, not in a hundred years’ time.

Occasionally, Father Ignatius nodded along pretentiously, taking a sip from his tea that could most certainly use some sugar or honey but god forbid and heaven shall burn anything in this place was ever made with the intent of being enjoyable.

His thoughts drifted off, away from the lunch table in the small dining room, slithering along the cold stone tiles beneath his feet and back to the confessional, towering crooked and lackluster in a nook down the hall. The memory of your wide, frightened eyes held him in an iron-tight grip, evoking a distinct flush of anger directed towards anything that had you scared and distraught like this. Ignatius knew this kind of scare that had flickered in your eyes, a sentiment way beyond awe and reverence, something had shaken you so harshly in the past that it was haunting you ever since. It hadn’t been the first time seeing you look that way at him, no, most certainly not.

Ever since the very first time Ignatius had set food past the ancient door frames, you’d looked at him like this, endlessly sharp splinters of trauma replaying in your mind, that if you dared to put your eyes on him at all; trails of nagging guilt and intangible amounts of internalized shame gushing from your lashlines, the very type of sadness everybody here, but especially Sister Margarite, was hellbent on ignoring.

Every few months, he’s watched you getting a little worse, the way you carried yourself a twinge more disheveled, at times almost regressive and him being in no place to really help you because he hardly understood what was actually happening to you in the first place; that was until the previous night: You quivering and shaking next to him after trying to purge the contempt out of your body by violently ripping at your throat - poor thing.

He chewed down at the inside of his cheek reflecting on his unfortunate whim of trying to get to you, lapping at you like that without even giving it a second thought. Fucking idiot. Ignatius suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at himself. It had been way too much, he’d come off too strong for someone in such a delicate state to handle, practically sticking his finger in the helplessly festering wound and drilling a nail into it.

His eyes darted right past Sister Margarite, out of the dingy, rectangular window that didn't close properly anymore and probably never really had, a swiftly moving, stark white spot catching his attention as he watched it rush towards the woods.

“How long till lunch you said, Sister?” He tilted his head to the side, managing a brief smile.

“An hour, maybe two, Father. Cooking over a fire takes a bit of time, you understand.” Sister Iphigenia explained and apologized in one go.

“But of course, no rush. Would you excuse me until then, Sisters? I feel like taking a walk, enjoy the fresh breeze away from the city.” Ignatius was getting up from the table already whilst still talking, not waiting for the women to actually agree or disagree; they wouldn't dare to talk back anyway.

“Oh, please, enjoy!” Sister Margarita answered this time, not trying to hide her being somewhat upset with her monologue being forcefully ended.

“Will do.” Ignatius tapped his hand onto the table before pushing away, not just the need for a cigarette quickening his steps.

You cowered crouched down, hunched above the water’s surface in such a curve that you nearly fell forward into the narrow creek rippling cold water between your digits as you scraped your nails over the tarnished wool of your overdress. The cool of the water mixed with a stiff breeze ghosting amongst the trees caused your skin to erupt in waves of goosebumps over and over, the thin linen underdress hardly enough to keep your body’s warmth from disappearing into the air that smelled like rain, amplifying the earthy fragrance of the soil getting crushed beneath your boots.

Getting the stains out of your gown came as a troublesome task you didn’t expect. Cold water should’ve rinsed the dried blood out of the fabric just fine but you surely had to pick and scratch at it quite a bit to see any difference.

“I came to apologize.” You halted instantly, startled, sucking the air in sharply as your brain played catch up with your thoughts that ran wayward like a spilled sack of potatoes.

In a matter of seconds, you shot up from your compromising position, the soaked overdress falling to the ground with a wet thud as you turned around to see the priest standing a little uphill, waiting along the walking path. Synapses fired away relentlessly but no muscle wanted to move just now as you thought about picking up the next best stone to throw at him, ready to hurt the devil in the means to make him stay away, instead, you stood there frozen, staring like a bewildered animal, deciding whether to fight or flight.

“I am earnestly sorry for my behavior last night.”, Father Ignatius came walking down slowly, hands in the pockets of his cassock, “I want to apologize.”

A brittle twig snapped underneath the sole of his shoe and the cracking sound was like a gunshot to you, eventually tearing you out of your stupor and making you lunge forward without a plan; the only objective being survival.

“Stay away from me!” You shrieked at the man whose eyes widened rapidly.

Father Ignatius stumbled back but not nearly as quickly as you came after him, palms flailing through the air aimlessly as to where they thunder down on him - shoulders, chest, face, wherever it hurt was fine.

“You cannot do this to me!”, You heart was almost hammering through your ribcage and your voice broke over and over, not familiar with being used at such volumes, “You are supposed to keep me from all this worldly malice!”

One palm stuck down against his and the priest groaned out, his own hands trying to get a hold of your wrists that were flying through the air like the ends of a whip.

“Sister!”, Father Ignatius huffed, trying his best to remain calm and de-escalate the situation, “I need you to calm down. I am not here to do you any harm, Sister!”

However, his voice wasn’t enough to get through to you, quite the opposite, hearing him talk only fueled the desperation, the fear of being dirtied by a man's hand yet again and punished for things that weren’t your fault to begin with.

“No! You don’t understand!” The words clawed their way out of your dry throat, bordering on being sore with your yells very soon.

“Then tell me!”, First, his hand caught your right arm, the left following swiftly as you lost the momentum, “What do I not understand?”

You tried to tear yourself out of his grasp but his hold on you was too strong, firm but not painful, and within seconds your shrieking turned into sniffled sobbing; anger fed by fear mellowing into drowning despair.

Father Ignatius stared at you, eyes ever attentive yet gentle. He was shocked at the intensity of your outburst but internally groaned at himself because he could’ve figured just by the state you were in.

Lost in your own train of thought, thrashing through a spectrum of emotions that wasn’t kind to you, you rambled at him.

“Stop…stop it. This is all I have left. I can’t go back home.”, Now the words slipped past your lips in a stumbled slurry, “I can’t fuck this up, too. Please.”

“Hey, hey…it’s going to be okay. Breathe.”, The Priest took a step closer to you, thumbs gently caressing over your pulse points in an attempt to calm you, “Look at me. I know you don’t belong here, neither do I.”

Just as he carefully asked you to, you looked at him, a gush of tears threatening to spill from your lash line as it trickled from your tear ducts.

“What…what do you mean?” You mouthed, your tone barely there anymore whilst you turned horribly self-aware of your vulnerability, your affliction of wanting attention, and what it did with you once you started getting just the most meager amounts of it.

“Those things you feel. The things they don't want you to feel in a place like this. They are normal, human, you know that. There is no shame in feeling desire.”, You just blinked at the man whose gaze turned soft, features losing their aura of indifference, he pitied you, “There's no shame in having those urges and acting upon them. It's just…normal.”

Ignatius breathed the last word as an expression of his eternal exhaustion about the incredibly regressive ways of his church.

He watched you calm down slowly, the air between him and you stagnating, loading up with what felt like electric tension and he knew this had to stop, he had apologized and now it was upon him to leave you to take care of your dress.

“This is my opinion and I know it wouldn't fare well with the Sisters. Perhaps another secret to share? If you'll have me.” Ignatius wanted to let you know that you had the reins, that it was your call to make, giving you the power of choice back that had been stripped from you in the monastery.

His eyes dropped to the scabbed cuts along your neck and collar bones, a stark contrast to the thin white underdress hardly covering anything.

Unlike almost a decade ago, it wasn't Ignatius who shoved himself at you in a dusty closet like the janitor's son had done, no, he wasn't lunging at you like a hungry wolf, teeth gnashing and ready to bite in the supple flesh of you bottom lip, a shaky hand finding its way between your legs, palm curving, taking as you had tried to pull back in shock. Instead, it was you who took the leap of faith and stepped forward, closing the distance between your bodies and Ignatius wasn’t howling and barking at you, he was humming as mouths touched, lips pressing against one another tenderly, cautiously even.

For a moment, you forgot to breathe. The taste of herbal tea and a recently smoked cigarette swapping into your mouth as you just went along, stumbling through the interaction as his tongue stroke yours. The janitor's son hadn't kissed you like that, he'd eaten you alive, swallowing the sounds of panic and discomfort, shushing you to shut up or you'd be found out.

Whore.

An icy tingle shot up your spine into the nape of your neck, making you jerk your head like a pupped tugged along at its strings.

“Did I hurt you?” Father Ignatius eyes widened as he immediately loosened his careful grasp around your wrists.

“No.”, You waited for the pain of the sudden and violent twitch to fade, “Sometimes…sometimes that happens when bad memories come back.”

Time halted as you looked, stared at Father Ignatius, admiring how his hair started to curl from the humidity. Handsome devil in a cassock, silver cross heavy against his heaving chest, lips glossy with your saliva and you couldn't decide whether to run or cave, the thrum in your body so ancient and aching.

You wanted him, wanted to feel him, wanted to know what it was like not to feel disgusted and wretched in your own skin. A hand shot forward to grab at the black of his garment and you pulled, inviting him and Ignatius followed suit.

“You're not painful. You're gentle.”, You whispered, lips almost touching again, smelling him in your space but for once it didn't arouse any fear, “Would you have me?”

“Not here. Not like this. You're freezing. It's about to start raining soon.”, Broad palms cradled your waist, squeezing gingerly, “I know I'm asking a lot but do you think you can sneak out after nightfall?”

“To where?” You asked eagerly.

“The chapel? Think about it. If you want that, I mean. I'll be there.”

[punemy-spotted]

Sixteen Tons - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Muscle and Blood

Pairing: Miner!Curtis Everett x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS A HORROR FIC, Discussion of death, graphic depiction of someone bleeding out, 1890s coal mining town aesthetic in the modern day, strong pro-union opinions, Pentecostal Christianity, Appalachian Gothic Horror, Cosmic Horror, See future chapter warnings for additional tags, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: The world melts away, rots into dirt and decay, and as a garden grows untended, you find your gifts crowding out the rest of your life.

We all know that the only light in the deep dark is a paycheck. So hush. Count your blessings, boy. Roof over your head, food on the table, diesel and grease, work boots on the porch, crippled back, crumbling joints, and silence. Company and even union, tuck you in, shut you up, and leave you to rot. And God damn it, you’d better be grateful. - Old Gods of Appalachia Episode 3: The Covenant

Notes: This fic also serves as a sort of direct sequel to Glory, Amen, in that the reader is technically the daughter of Pastor and Ma Rogers, but uses a pseudonym outside of the home she grew up in. The song referenced in this chapter is No Glory, by The Eagle Rock Gospel Singers. They're wonderful, so check them out!

At the time of publishing this chapter, the Family Sleepover, Down in the Valley is still ongoing! Please come by and check it out as we celebrate spooky season all year ‘round!

Also, in this house we support Unions.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

‘Course, everything dies, eventually. Much as you loathed sittin’ through your daddy’s sermons, you knew the truth in ‘em — death is a prize every livin’ being, regardless of sapience or the desire to be, ought to aspire for.

Death is the gift of all gifts, your daddy would proclaim from his bone-and-antler pulpit, the final gesture of our loving Lord and Savior — an’ of course, you, your sisters, your momma, your daddy and a few others your daddy claimed were kinfolk on his side were just… all the guides meant to introduce all manner of worldly beings too blind t’understand just how precious that kind of oblivion was to the glory of that final, permanent end.

Still.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Curtis Everett is going to die in your kitchen, his own pickaxe embedded in his chest, the final desperate pumps of his pierced heart pouring blood all over that pretty linoleum you didn’t actually like keepin’ in your kitchen an’ probably would tear up after you came to terms with never feelin’ like you could scrub away the remnants of him.

You watch it play out before you like you’ve done plenty of times before, the course of Curtis Everett’s life written in scars yet t’be earned, bruises waitin’ to bloom on flesh that has known little more than the danger an’ dread of coal dust for as long as you have known him.

You also watch him sittin’ in your clinic, for once not complainin’ as you finish cleaning and re-wrappin’ the thankfully not festering burn he’d been dutifully lettin’ you treat — per your own professional orders — for the past week-and-a-half, Looks like it’s healin’ nicely, but it’ll probably scar.

It’s not the first scar he’s earned in Snowpiercer, but it’s certainly not goin’ to be the last. You’ve been countin’ down the months — and injuries — to that particular worry for a while. The ones you can help him avoid — the ones he listens to you about — you warn against, and the ones he can’t escape, you patch up. The same as you would anyone in Snowpiercer, bein’ the company’s own doctor as you are.

Your momma’d scold you up, down an’ sideways if she knew what you were doin’, interferin’ with the predestined path of men as you watched ‘em struggle, suffer, an’ eventually succumb. But your momma wasn’t here to know, an’ ever if she was, your momma’d never be able to understand just what sorta poison of a gift it was she’d saddled you with.

Death is a Rogers daughter’s birthright, even if they themselves were more often than not denied the majesty of its truest gift. You were not born into this life to die, but to be a guardian of it, to guide the walkin’ dead makin’ their way beyond the borders of that ol’Holler you’d been born in through the trials of judgment an’ that precious, ultimate verdict.

You were not, your momma woulda reminded, voice sharp as the trowel she always kept at her side, garden bloomin’ by her stern hand, meant to shield ‘em from the pains of life — an’ the lessons to be gleaned from ‘em!

Anythin’ you want me to do with it? Curtis Everett’s question breaks you out of your bitterness, reminds you of the more pressin’ responsibilities you chose. You turn to watch him, lookin’ at him as if you might just need a moment to remember the exact instructions you ought to give for his wound care.

Except that’s not what you give, is it?

‘Stead, you look over Curtis Everett’s work-weary expression, the quest dread in his eyes at the prospect of needin’ to manage yet one more thing, one more purchase at the Company Store, one more burden to bear, Just come by every evenin’. I’ll keep the coal dust outta them wrappin’s for you.

You know full well you’ll need to work late t’take care of it — an’ t’clean the coal dust outta your clinic — but it’s better you than him.

Least, that’s what you tell yourself, as Curtis Everett’s shoulder relax, relief floodin’ those work-weathered features you’ve almost started memorizing by this time, makin’ the sleep you will almost certainly lose tomorrow and the remainder of this week worth it.

It must always be worth it.

By the time you leave your clinic, barrin’ the doors for  the night, even the moon’s started its settin’, leaving the town in near-pitch darkness. You might’ve — if you were young an’ naïve enough — equated the darkness around you to a mineshaft, if mineshafts still had the privilege of fresh air to reward you for breathin’.

Not on Company Time.

Wiser folk than you might’ve considered stayin’ indoors ‘til sunup. Maybe even considered the merits of puttin’ a cot in your office to avoid havin’ to brave the deep woods durin’ the Witchin’ Hour, everyone more than aware of what sorta shadows lurked beyond the borders of a sad little minin’ town — an’ what sorta shadows would encroach upon those borders the moment they got the chance.

You… ain’t got much time t’think about that now though, not when you catch sight of the figure lurkin’ by the road, the only path there is t’ween your two worlds — the Clinic and the House. Everett?

There he is, hands jammed into the pockets of his overcoat, lurkin’ by the lone streetlamp Pierce an’ Rumlow’d finally seen fit to install in this part of town, after you’d spent about four years complainin’. Too late to be walkin’ back alone, Doctor, he tells you, almost sheepishly, expression invisible in the darkness — and yet you know exactly how his lips have curved into a half-smile you might’ve been quick to return had you seen it in the daytime, Figured I’d walk you back up as thanks for stayin’  late for me.

You can’t help yourself, really — you smile at him right back, the corners of your mouth tickin’ up despite the cruelty playin’ out before your eyes, at least until you remember yourself an’ blink away the vision, If I kept the same hours as you pit boys, nobody’d be gettin’ patched up. Now you best not be tellin’ me you were lurkin’ out here in the pitch dark an’ cold waitin’ for me t’finish my notes and close up, Curtis Everett.

Maybe you ought not have put words in his mouth — or taken ‘em out, as the case may be — as he shrugs at you and flashes you a grin you cannot see but are certain of, Then I won’t, Doctor.

An’ with that, he starts off back down the road, towards the lights still spillin’ from the windows of your boarding house, hummin’ some ol’ work song you only halfway knew the words too. An’ you watch him go on for longer than you should, takin’ in the sight of his silhouette slowly becomin’ part of the gloom.

You catch up soon enough, keepin’ up with his long, languid strides as if by some miracle, your own steps quick and harried. There are moments you wonder how a man like Curtis Everett — always managin’ to tower over everyone in the room, includin’ Superintendent Wilford an’ that lady Minister Mason he’d installed over at  the Tabernacle of the Iron Gospel — ever really managed to fit in the mines this whole sad sack of a town was built around.

Shouldn’t have stayed out waitin’ for me, you scold with a good-natured ribbin’, not really meaning to chastise… but worry instead, You’ll’ve missed dinner call, Everett.

So’ve you, Doctor, he counters, the burr of laughter in his voice makin’ you roll your eyes an’ put on a scowl you barely mean — mostly cuz you hate feelin’ so outwitted, but no one dare make you admit it.

I’m allowed to be late, I own the place, you argue right back, a rebuttal that earns you another low chuckle, a sound you’re only used to hearin’ from Curtis on rare occasion — earnin’ you a burn of pride in your chest at hearing it now.

You really ought not do this, you know. But here you are, comfortable in the cold silence of the deep night, hands jammed into your coat pockets, walkin’ alongside Curtis Everett with all the calm an’ ease of dear friends.

Glancing at him. Looking without lookin’, pretendin’ you don’t know what you’ll see when you—

You know better, is the bottom line. You know you ought to know better — hell, you know your momma taught you better.

In the corner of your vision, Curtis Everett bleeds his last on your linoleum floor.

In front of you? Curtis Everett hums a work song an’ walks with you through the gloom, right up to the gold-light gleam of your doorstep an’ into your kitchen, the ghosts of the future fadin’ into an approaching dawn.

An’ maybe that’s enough.

Company House — its true name barely in use by you or your boarders, halfway for your own protection an’ halfways cuz it’s just easier — is a handsome-enough structure, nothin’ like that ramblin’ greenhouse you’d sprouted in, a bloom in your momma’s garden.

No. Company House — name lost an’ purpose found — on the other hand, is yours. All yours.

A loomin’ thing, the house cuts through the nighttime gloom like a lighthouse, every window on its main story burstin’ with light. Built on a hill overlookin’ the town proper, it served as home an’ hearth for any miner ineligible for the pretty pre-built housin’ developments south of the mine, where Pierce & Rumlow… rewarded those willin’ to produce more bodies to throw into that gapin’ wound the combine’d carved into the mountainside with such luxuries as driveways, fences, mortgages, an’ obligations.

It was just the way you liked it. Home for the lonely an’ the friendless — least that’s how it sounded in town, if someone dared ask Minister Mason about the mountain fortress an’ the ‘Godless Heathens’ inhabitin’ it. The Iron Gospel she preached ran on the blood an’ bones of its congregation, on family an’ obligation, on ties that bind whole generations to the mine.

A Gospel that had no room for the wholly different kinda worship that comes from strangers sittin’ round a table breakin’ bread an’ formin’ bonds. On brotherhood an’ union, on wantin’ somethin’ better that the paltry concessions afforded by minders with plenty of money t’provide more. You knew it then from your daddy’s own congregation an’ those Sunday suppers your momma arranged each week. You know it now from the warm surety of Curtis Everett’s hand on your arm, keepin’ you from losin’ your footing on that trick step you ain’t had time to fix — I can get Ed to take care of that tomorrow — and the sound of hurried conversation bubbling outta your front parlor, house still buzzin’ with life.

Shit, Curtis’s swearing nearly startles you outta your skin all over again as you both stand on the front porch, stompin’ the day’s coal dust off your shoes, forgot there was meeting tonight. Foreman’s gonna have words for me, no doubt.

You’re allowed t’be late, for walkin’ me home, you tell him, letting the light of the house illuminate your smile as you open the front door.

Meeting is a cute word for it — s’the way things go, get the lonely and the friendless to start airin’ grievances an’ suddenly they ain’t so lonely nor so friendless anymore. A man with a wife and children might think twice about givin’ the company a reason to tear away the roof over his family’s head, divin’ into his future tomb day after day, respirator an’ headlamp in hand, but a man with nothin’ to lose is a man with a bone to pick with the only industry in town capable of puttin’ food in his belly on a daily basis — so long as he survived to see his next meal. Unions, you got used to hearin’ back in your own holler, are the Lord’s way of puttin’ His protection back into a man’s own hands.

Too bad them folks at P&R’d forgotten that sorta conventional wisdom.

Tonight’s union meeting is just about comin’ to a close when you and Curtis walk in, a cracked joke derailing whatever Gilliam’s supposed agenda had left to cover. You’re late, the old man half-scolds, room hushed by his disappointment as all eyes turn to you and the union leader you know you’re already being accused of distracting.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Ignoring the raised voices that begin in your wake — and unwilling to get between two men in the middle of a union dispute — you make yourself proper scarce, disappearing into the kitchen. Between running the clinic and  the house, you’re run halfway ragged, but you do cheer quietly upon seeing two foil-covered plates sitting in the fridge — Yona keeps true to her eternal word, making sure nobody goes hungry if she’s got the time and the ingredients.

The sound of someone entering the kitchen while you’re putting plates in the warmer don’t surprise you much — someone was bound to follow you into this place eventually — but you don’t turn around, not immediately.

Not ‘til Curtis Everett clears his throat, Thought I smelled food.

You sure  you ain’t part bloodhound, smellin’ it all the way out there?

There. Another burr of laughter, low in his throat, and another burn of pride.

They calm down out there? You wave your hand toward the general direction of the parlor, noting the distinct lack of raised voices now that the warmer’s stopped beepin’ at you.

It’s my fault — should’ve told ‘em I’d be late.

They worried?

He’s quiet at that, the silence sittin’ heavy on both your shoulders while you move around the kitchen some more, collectin’ utensils and glancin’ back at him occasionally, waiting.

Finally — Gilliam’s steppin’ down. Nobody wants the job — company’s made sure of that.

You set the platter in front of him, to quiet thanks, He still want you to take over?

He don’t need to answer. You see it again, written all over his face — someone’s gotta do it.

The rest of the meal is… quiet. Heavy. Uncomfortable. A silence neither of you are willin’ to break, coupled with glances neither of you are willin’ to admit to, brows furrowed and thoughts elsewhere. Barely tasting the food, just glad to have something to busy your mouths with, ‘stead of trying to hold a conversation neither party wants t’have or worse — trying to change the fuckin’ subject, with both your minds trapped on the things you’d rather not think about.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Everything dies, eventually. You rationalize it between bites, teeth on tongue to keep the scream of it all held in your chest. Everything dies, including Curtis Everett. Including Gilliam — whose death you’ve pre-emptively forgiven certain parties for. Including Yona — whose hands will evidence endless adventures before she lays down for that final rest, satisfied an’ satisfying. Everything dies. Includin’ Curtis Everett.

Curtis Everett, who will take on the work. Who, in three weeks’ time, will be back in your clinic, bullet in his shoulder an’ strike unbroken. Company infuriated.

One injury closer.

You open your mouth, about to do the unthinkable, disappointment and poisoned bloom — everythin’ dies, but Curtis Everett deserves to choose — when the music finally registers with you both.

Music. And singing. And laughter.

The kitchen door slams open hard enough to rattle the plates in the cupboard, Yona’s wild presence in the doorway, Come on!

No explanation. No answers. You’ll have t’see it to know it.

Curtis glances back at you, brow raised an’ hackles too. Better make sure they’re behavin’ out there, is all you give in response to it, on your feet in a flash, empty dishes in hand.

He lingers, eyes on you. Imposes his will with his presence, You need help with the dishes?

Let him stay.

You don’t.

S’two plates an’ a couple mugs. I’ll be fine — you go, keep an eye on ‘em for me.

He’s so fast — behind you in a flash. How does a man so tall an’ so full of presence move so fast?

Got no time  for answering that, not when his hand’s on your shoulder and you’re glancin’ back at him without thinkin’, waiting. Come out there when you’re done or Yona’ll never let either of us hear the end of it.

An’ neither will I, is what he doesn’t say. Not aloud, at least, stepping back only when you nod.

It don’t stop you from hearin’ it though, playin’ on loop in your mind all the way through dishes, through cleanin’ up your kitchen, through makin’ good on your word an’ takin’ that cautious walk to your parlor, where the sound of stompin’ boots joins in with the chorus of voices pouring outta your record player, blessedly drownin’ out all manner of conscious thought.

Take me down to that red dirt road Where all them white tails, white tails roam

The parlor is abuzz with life, a hive of movement as you take in rearranged furniture an’ the slowly climbin’ beat of stomping boots coupled with clapping hands, ring of bodies circlin’ the room, all watching Tanya — up from the General Store like always, on behalf of the widows this town left behind — in her valiant attempt to tutor Edgar in the complexities an’ social conventions of a good ol’ fashioned barn dance.

I don’t belong in a big coal town Can’t hear my Lord in all that sound

You almost manage t’become part of that ring of onlookers, slippin’ past the disapproval ruining Gilliam’s face, but turns out no one escapes Curtis Everet, work-hardened fingers winding around your wrist an’ pulling you back, Thought I was gonna have t’come rescue you from the sink, and now there’s no getting away, nor are you feelin’ quite so keen on it anymore.

Not when he looks at you like that.

Wanna show ‘em how it’s done, Doctor?

You dance, Everett? Since when? And since when did Curtis Everett become capable of smiling so sweet he just might fool you into saying yes?

Hell — what gave him the right?

Well I’ve had my fill, of concrete floor Where all them highways, them highways grow

You don’t get a chance to ask too many questions of him, not when he’s pullin’ your fool self right into the center of that cleared floor, sayin’ somethin’ about secrets you barely catch before he’s turnin’ you about an’ you gotta start paying some fucking attention.

There ain’t no glory None that I see None to compare Your love for me

‘Course, you’ve danced before — your daddy might’ve been a fire an’ brimstone preacher up at that bone an’ antler pulpit but he wasn’t a fool — but barn dances an’ church revivals don’t do shit t’prepare you for the rush, for the easy pressure of Curtis Everett’s hands on you, for the peal of laughter that pours outta your throat before you get a chance to think about it the moment he spins you out an’ catches you back with entirely too much ease.

He surprises you and doesn’t at the same time, sure hands and steady feet, both of you catching on to the rhythm quickly as the rest of the room drums the beat, a cacophony of work boots strikin’ the floor in a steady pattern, You gonna answer my question properly, Everett, you accuse him and he pulls you closer, smile on your face betrayin’ any anger you might be feigning.

I’m full of surprises, Doctor.

My days are few, my time is near But I know God will take my fear

He keeps his hands respectful, holdin’ one of your high and keepin’ the other at the small of your back, but there’s nothin’ either of you can — or want to, you’re startin’ to realize — do about the closeness, about the way you can’t stop looking up at him and the stormclouds in his eyes, like you’re seeing them for the first time. Really seeing them, that is.

It’s somethin’. Hypnotic.

The chorus turns into a loop, a rising swell of voices joinin’ your thudding heartbeat, lips parting to ask another question, make another joke, feel that burr of laughter against your chest, feel hands fallin’ from the glory of God to meet a different kinda worship, feel fingers curl into his coat like a lifeline.

He holds your cheek. He draws you in.

His mouth slides over yours like an invitation, your lips parting like an acceptance, like forgetting, like surrender. The music does not slow, but you do, fallin’ into the languid ease of hungry breathlessness, like you could find answers in the sweep of a tongue against yours, in the tightening of his grip on your back, in the wall of him around you.

Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me

[obsessedtomone]

Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 4 - Mistakes▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤ Honestly, what the fuck were you thinking?!

All alarms are going off in your useless excuse of a brain and you start feeling an immense amount of dread seeping into your bones. You need to take this back, right fucking now, or who knows what he’s going to—◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three • Four • Five

Chapter 4 - Mistakes

It was ninety-three MILLION fucking miles away, and somehow, the sun still manages to shine through the blinds and right into your fucking face.

You squint at your phone and then sigh.

150 missed messages from the computer science project group chat, and another eight from Taylor, making you feel more than overwhelmed.  The past one and a half weeks were pretty uneventful. 

You slept, climbed ranks in the holy trinity of Riot Games, worked at your part time job and showed up to your classes for at least half of the time. Despite trying to convince yourself it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You were especially prone to dodging your CS classes, most of them all. 

In short, you’re doing fine. The ‘free’ time you have feels boring and seemingly peaceful. And you couldn’t complain when boring was exactly what you needed—especially since most of your life was anything but. 

That being said, it’s hard to ignore that broken part of your monkey brain that craves the instability and stress you got used to growing up. You feel uncomfortable feeling comfortable, like bugs crawling under your skin and waiting, wanting for the storm to brew, so that you can fuck yourself over, the cycle of self-sabotage going strong as always. Having insane academic goals and working hard towards them helped that aspect of yourself quite a bit, but it still feels like something’s missing.

Something only years of therapy and healthy relationships with people would be able to change.

As the deadline is quickly approaching, it’s finally time to check what the project is about and do your part before your presentation on Wednesday. You glance at the unsaved numbers of three other people you’ve never previously heard of—or cared enough to learn about—being displayed on top of the chat. So you go ahead and save them, knowing you’ll remove them as soon as the presentation is over.

Scrolling down, you notice your group mates freaking out about two of the members—one being you—not sending their part in yet, despite the deadline being around two and a half days away.

Yui(I think?) — What do we do about the others, Ojiro…? :( Guys pls, I seriously don’t wanna do everything by myself.  [Sent 9:13 AM]

Mashirao(jock blondie) — Don’t worry, I’ll call them later today. If they don’t reply by then, we’re on our own I guess. We’ll have to let the professor know. They should know better than to ghost us, honestly. Honors student or not, they’re both dickheads.  [Sent 9:17 AM]

Yui(I think?) — Ahh! Stop! 💀 They can read this too!!!  [Sent 9:25 AM]

Mashirao(jock blondie) — Let them. I’m not afraid of either of them and they should feel ashamed for making us do all the work.  [Sent 10:05 AM]

You can’t help but roll your eyes at their childish hostility.

Wow, first of all, they have absolutely no faith in you. Second of all, are they like, three years old? They’re openly discussing fucking you over in a group chat that you’re literally part of. At least do that shit in your DMs, not in the open where both targets can read them.

And maybe, maybe, if you really thought about it, you know it was sort of fair. You probably are the world’s laziest, biggest procrastinator, but if they knew about your name enough to diss you, they should also know you’d never compromise your grades because you really fucking need this scholarship. 

Besides, you’re not bad at farming credits. Two days of work is more than enough for you to do your part and then some. Deeply flawed individual that you are, but a highly functioning one with a brain good enough to power up whenever you need it to. 

If anything, it’s you who couldn’t understand how these losers needed so much time to figure out their shit, when the material has always been always pretty straight forward (except when the fucking professor is too tired of his life to do his fucking job).

Yui(I think?) — Yeah so… I finally added my part to the shared cloud! If by some miracle the other two see this, you guys have access to the project too! Please please please send it in time, I don’t wanna fail CS this year again maaan ;_; We still have to prepare the talking points together! [Sent 10:30 AM]

You — ill get everything done before the deadline, assholes [Sent 2:14 PM]

You — also pro tip, if you tap the back button on the chat window, look for someone’s name and then open it, you can actually talk shit privately ;)  [Sent 2:14 PM]

Before you close the chat window, you see two rows of angry dot animations ready to cuss you out, no doubt. Too bad you can’t be bothered with irrelevant idiots.

And so you stand up, take a shower—the first one in a couple of days—and mentally prepare yourself for two weeks worth of work, squeezed into a one all-nighter and a half.

After all, in stress, you thrive.

─────────

Thud –

After dropping your bag next to your desk, you slide in your seat. You’re petty as fuck when you do, because of course you have to pick the seat that is right beside him. 

Your favorite neighbor’s white haired head is buried in his arms, laying against his desk and probably taking a goddamn nap.

This motherfucker.

The two week creep-detox did fucking nothing for you, because you notice your disdain for him is still as fresh as it was the night at the convenience store—if not stronger. 

Not only did this asshole not fucking reply to your group in time (like you fucking did), but he also didn’t contribute to your project whatso-fucking-ever. In fact, he’d never even read any of the chat messages. 

God are you fucking pissed at him. Beyond pissed, you’re fuming—because who else would’ve done his fucking part if it wasn’t for you? Not even! You’ve done your part, his part and then on top of everything, you had to fucking fix everyone else’s too!

Incompetent fuckers! All of them!

It bothers you so much because you really do feel like you were getting walked all over, but at least it shut those two clowns up and that was enough motivation for you to get the job done. That, and the ridiculous grades you need to get for you to keep your stupid fucking scholarship rolling every year.

You sigh, staring at the mop of white hair next to you, wishing you had superpowers so you could burn a hole through his head and melt his brain off. 

That being said, there’s two ‘interesting’ things you've found out about him during this annoying ass group project, first one being that the asshole’s name was Shigaraki fucking Tomura.

The Shigaraki Tomura.

You’d heard about his infamy over the years—never being able to put a face to the name—but nothing came even close to the stories Taylor began telling you about him. ‘Like girl, do you live under a fucking rock?!’ is what your friend asked in an extremely dramatic tone before setting off on spilling the ‘tea’ for your ‘uncultured ass’—whatever the fuck that means.

The second interesting thing you’ve found out is, that the mystery white-haired slacker isn’t just a random incel loser, who gets off on paying for strangers’ energy drinks, but also seems to be a serious anti-social, borderline criminal individual.

According to the stories, he’s now been in court more times than you can count, charged with various offenses that range from physical violence, assault, theft, vandalism, drug-related charges, to more minor ones such as trespassing and public disturbances—all of ‘em either involving students or straight up gang members. Shit you’d normally hear about from the news or in movies.

He’s friends with a bunch of other convicted criminal misfits, seems to have spent—like you—a few months in juvie and people swear he’s not all talk when he threatens to beat the shit out of you, never discriminating between genders. You’re pretty sure that this wasn’t what women fought for when they said feminism.

That alone begged the question if he was really gonna make good on the promise to fuck you up, last time you bothered him. What if you kept pestering him further? 

Thinking about it leaves your mouth dry.

There’s a reason as to why he’d managed to get out of every court case with nothing more than misdemeanors. That reason came in the shape of his daddy’s wealth and connections, a convenient ‘get out of jail free’ card and something normal people (you) could never afford. Which is why your criminal record was now forever tainted. 

A true show of society’s totally unbiased conduct towards the mighty upper class, you suppose.

But it doesn’t fucking matter what his past was like, you quickly decide, if for your own sanity. It also doesn’t matter if you can relate to the shitty overblown rumors that are circulating around. Or the fact that the two of you share so many similarities. 

What really matters now, is that he’s actively trying to jeopardize your perfect score sheet—and by extension, your scholarship—by not stepping up and contributing to the project. And you couldn’t let that slide.

Shigaraki continues resting on his desk, occasionally scratching the top of his head and yawning while not paying you any mind.

You bite the skin off of your lip anxiously, unable to wait and teach this entitled little asshole a fucking lesson for messing with you.

─────────

Time passes and it’s finally your group’s turn. 

All of you gather in front of the lecture hall—well, all of you, save for Mr. Creep in the back corner of the room, who’s still hunched over and scrolling his phone.

If the rare upturned corners of your lips is something to go by, you’re in for some serious mischief today.

The professor opens up with a brief introduction to your project in front of the many bored students, and your group finally starts presenting. It all goes well except for the fact that, despite your age, you have this incredible stage fright. 

On paper, nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone has their weaknesses, right? But in reality, your hands are shaking uncontrollably, your voice is trembling involuntarily and you mess up most of your speaking turn, feeling like a complete fucking idiot. 

It gets worse the moment you realize that somewhere along the presentation, a pair of piercing red eyes began studying you incessantly. His sudden attention on you makes your body sweat about three times the amount everyone else’s would combined. It’s insanely jarring, in the worst fucking sense. You scoff, thinking that he might as well have pinned you to the wall. 

It’s like he knows you’re up to some bullshit. Like he could smell it. There’s no way he actually could, but the tiny guilty part of your lizard brain isn’t able to comprehend that right now, not when it feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Fuck him.

You steel your flimsy resolve and you try to recover your composure as much as you can, doing your best to make-believe you’re in a nice, quiet place where you could feel at peace (maybe at his funeral) and you somehow make it to the end of your stupid speaking part.

It’s easy to tell how utterly embarrassed your group mates are with your awful presentation, as their parts are much more animated, smoother and definitely confident in comparison—no students snorting or snickering at their desk neighbors during the time they presented. 

But it doesn’t particularly bother you aside from a slight hit to your ego, because you know this professor will read the documentation and ultimately see the amount of work you’d put into the written part of the project. Your shitty teammates could glare at you all they wanted, but you did more than half of the fucking project on your own and that would lead to one thing only—a great fucking score. 

Who needs social skills—not that you were blessed with any—when your future job will probably only require you to sit behind a screen most of the day? That’s something you’re already really fucking good at, to a detrimental point. It’s a real miracle that you made it so far in life without your vision getting much worse than it already is.

“Very good,” the professor says simply.

He begins praising the sturdiness of the project, mentioning your name and making you cringe when he inevitably points out the bumpy part—your bumpy part—of the presentation. Overall, he seems quite impressed with the quality and the execution and promises to email everyone their scores once he’s done correcting them.

“However,” you hear him talk again, his following sentence filling you with unbridled giddiness, “I seem to notice you’re missing a member of your group?” The professor trails off with a furrowed brow as he stares at his notes. “I’m positive I’ve assigned everyone four people, except for the previous group who was the only exception in this class. Your project however, only mentions the three of you. Why is that?” 

He flips through the papers and checks on his barely-working laptop as well, checking for something akin to an error on his part.

“No, you are correct, sir,” you chime in mischievously, “Mr. Shigaraki over there—” you speak up and your eyes meet his unexpectedly focused ones.

His expression seems to turn into one of intrigue, maybe at the prospect of your little scheme. He’s definitely sitting a little straighter than before. Listening. As if this class finally became interesting to him, opposed to almost falling asleep in his chair earlier.

You clear your throat after feeling it contract with a pang of anxiety and continue, “—decided that we weren’t worth his precious time, and sadly did not contribute to our project whatsoever.” You finish your sentence while glancing at your fingernails before completely throwing him under the bus. “In fact he dumped all of his work on us and decided to not communicate. I—um, we thought it was for the best that he shouldn’t take credit over all of our weeks of hard work, sir.”

You almost slipped up, but managed to recover—and then you notice how the other two NPCs in your group stare at you in horror.

Despite tactically lumping them in with you, to save you from getting in potential trouble, they did in fact not know or have any say in your decision to leave Shigaraki out—not that you cared to ask for their worthless opinions anyway. They should be happy for the free full marks that you’re confident they wouldn’t have gotten without your help.

A sly smile begins spreading on your face. 

This was it. Fuck him, his stupid mug and his shitty attitude.

Checkmate, Shigaraki, you muse to yourself, smirking and gauging the reaction of the professor who seems to be deep in thought for a moment.

When you look back at Shigaraki to check how he’s faring—

You feel literal chills running down your spine.

He’s simply… smiling at you.

A wide, creepy and weirdly calculating smile.

A smile that tells you, you’re in trouble.

Like a bucket of ice dropping over your head, you just grasp the weight of your mistake. The reason your classmates stared at you in disbelief. The reason the whole room of people stared at you in disbelief.

He is a rich trust fund kid who, according to the rumors, has a background consisting of only unpunished violence and very fucking little to lose. You are a lower class student, who fucked with him knowing the horrible stories that circled around him.

So why was it again that you decided to not believe he was capable of retaliating, even when you’d found out most students avoided him like the plague? Did you think he would be as pathetic and powerless as you were? Are you projecting again?

Honestly, what the fuck were you thinking?!

All alarms are going off in your useless excuse of a brain and you start feeling an immense amount of dread seeping into your bones. You need to take this back, right fucking now, or who knows what he’s going to—

“I see,” the professor interrupts your train of thought, scratching the stubble on his chin thoughtfully before speaking again, “To be honest with you, I’m considering disqualifying your group’s entire project, for the simple fact that the bunch of you made such a hasty decision, and did not think of consulting with me first to find a solution.”

You feel your gut twist even harder and your two classmates are now rightfully glaring daggers at you.

“I will however opt to only cut your score by twenty percent, because it really is an outstanding project, but I expect this to serve as a reminder that I—do not—tolerate insubordination, and this instance is not to be repeated by any of you.” The professor looks at your group, then at Shigaraki himself. “Have I made myself properly understood?”

You feel shame burn your cheeks red as you nod before the figure of authority, but the boy in the back wasn’t listening anymore.

It was as if the rest of the world—save for the two of you—ceased to exist at that moment.

[yooniesim]

That being said, I am NOT sorry to tianshii88/rentbunny/zhuhaitang/yin-shimo for anything. I still stand by everything that I said about their shipping preferences not being tagged correctly or kept away from unconsenting parties, how they conduct themselves with minors, and how generally creepy I find them as a person. I blocked them partly because they were liking posts calling me a coon and telling me to kill myself, and I think it's very funny they sifted through people simply not liking their extremely high poly count (ignoring all the times they got compliments of course) and an out of context remark not even directed towards them as "receipts" to play the victim. They are not a victim in any capacity and when I have the time to do so I will post everything I have and everything I can find. I was going to let it go and leave them unnamed but I guess they don't want it to be that way. I truly find them unnerving and one of the only people I know on simblr I would worry about the minors here being around. I stand by their ban from my server 100% and I would encourage others to do the same.

In the last few days, I've actually seen more people saying how they were made uncomfortable by tianshi's actions towards them, and if anyone else feels comfortable coming to me with the details, please do so. You got the actual receipts, hell, send them. Especially if you have the ones from his server with the dead dove channel full of 12-15 year olds. I'll add them to the mountain. And I'll censor them and keep you anonymous. I'm not one for callout posts anymore, but honestly, as a victim of CSA myself and someone that was groomed on the internet as a young child, this entire situation has been sending up red flags throughout for me. The flippant attitude, the mocking of survivors, the lack of empathy or accountability, it's all really disturbing. This may be the one time I really just have to force myself through all the shit I've been sent and lay it out like I used to. It's tough and it's triggering as hell and I don't want to. God knows I don't have the mental energy or a lot of time for this shit anymore. But they will not stop attacking me and unrelated people in the server even though I tried my best not to name them or bring them shit, and I think they really think they haven't done a thing wrong ever. They admit to everything yet defend everything, from saying putting a minor in a sexual pose for cc preview is okay because the original mangaka did it first to pretending having a dead dove channel in a server full of minors is okay because it has a simple react role to access... and more near incoherent word salad. Every concern you bring up has a convenient excuse, while they call survivors crybabies and dumbasses for being triggered by their irresponsible and creepy behavior. While they try to invalidate people with legitimate concerns about their creepiness by calling them bullies for bringing up their poly count or trying to frame them as something they're not. And if they think all that is okay, people in the community are going to continue to be harmed by them in the future, and I really don't want that.

When I post it, it'll be appropriately tagged and most likely under a read more so that anyone that doesn't want to see it can avoid it. Sorry guys.

[ladysomething]

rushed back home. pretty sure I broke like 7 different basic driving rules from the driver manual in my country that even kids are aware of. also my best friend says he's never letting me drive ever again. he also says you're kinda a mastermind. I may not have a driver license for tomorrow, or a car to drive, but I do have new hatred and also a new level of crush (ness? English-is-not-my-first-language moment) for Max Verstappen. and my brother as well. he also pleged alliance and eternal honor to you, Madds.

5+1!!!!

1. honestly Charles, I get you. cramps are how some criminals should be punished. make them suffer for their wrongs. make them regret ever living. make them feel pain for comitting their crime. (says the lawyer. at this rate, for tomorrow I will loose not one but TWO licenses. who cares)

2. as stated beforehand, the Max crush that you've been cooking in me with this fic is absolutely massive. gigantic. astronomical. and let me tell you something. Max taking care of Charles during his pre-heat melted me. my ex boyfriends should learn from him, because that's the bare minimum and yet they didn't do shit. and Charles here has this lovely dumb idiot (affectionate) while he hates him. honestly goals. where do I buy one.

3. I kinda understand why Max distanced himself from Charles. sorta. actually barely. but the guilt trip that my man has to be going through has to be though. what reminds me

4. FUCK MATTHEW AND FUCK LANDO AND FUCK THE DOCTOR WHOSE NAME IS NOT WORTH OF ME TO REMEMBER. oh and FUCK FERRARI AND FUCK MCLAREN AND FUCK EVERYONE. GO TO HELL PIECES OF SHIT. yeah, that's it I think. my poor baby Charlie (IBEIDNDOSNDLSBDOWHEODIAJS I went batshit with that. just so you know. worried Max might be my favorite Max. maybe slightly behind horny, protective and obedient Max) did NOT deserve that and everyone should rot in the darkest pit of hell for that. no less. cramps for you all.

5. we love Jean-Luc in this house. that was the resolution the three of us got to. my man deserves a cold pillow on both sides, a cup of tea and the chance to see his family anytime and to be happy forever. please don't make me hate him, I love him too much.

+1. if you've told me at the beginning of the year that I would be eating dinner with both my brother and my roomie while we were reading a quite explicit Lestappen omega verse fi in TV, no less, I would've not only not believed you. but died of shame or something like that. my yearly choice of a dead dove do not eat fic (I've been learning about tags!!!) has united this household. who would have thought that.

+2. Max is down BAD. but you know what, so is Charles. they really are exactly like the other. when Charles said that he was feeling lonely all I could think of is how Max said the exact same. and the hospital part had me kicking my feet, jumping around excitedly. then I alarmedly had to go all the way up to see in which chapter we were. and after, I just felt scared. chapter 16 is my worst nightmare it seems. how funny.

+3. hun, how has been your hand? I hope you're feeling better 🩷 as much as I love weekly uptades I can't help but feel worried that you might push your hand a lot. the chapter was absolutely lovely but remember to rest please 🙏🏼 speaking on my behalf and the other two readers' (and I hope everyone else's) we don't want you to be hurt, regardless of the fic.

thank you for the early uptade, even if now I'm a reckless driver to my country's police. at least I didn't read it while I was working. I don't know how I could've managed that.

I will take eternal allegiance wherever I can get it. I am making men kneel before me, one at a time, and so I'm glad to add two more to my collection.

cramps as a form of punishment .... you get it.

no because that whole heat sequence with Max .. melted me. he's so written by a woman coded in this fic (which you'd hope. considering he is. lmao)

he's hurt!!! he's sad!!! Max is going through a phase right now ok

the doctors name is Leo, and funnily enough Charles got Leo the same week that chapter came out and I was like ... Charles reads wygig confirmed

THIS IS A JEAN-LUC STAN ACCOUNT and honestly????? I love that you all love him. maybe he should get his own fic one day. who knows.

+1. the war being over because you've bonded over the lestappen war .... there's something so cosmic about that.

+2. everyone being on the edge of their seats for 16 ... god I'm good.

+3. thank you for the well wishes! it's wayyyyy better now, thank god.

p.s. I think maybe your brother and your roommate would riot if you read it at work without them sooooo

[atopvisenyashill]

🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇸 🇵🇷🐢🏝️ i got tired of complaining constantly on my main blog (@thewingedwolf is me!) about how sansa and rhaenyra did nothing wrong and also i needed a way to organize my theories and stuff. yes i have read all the books. yes i have (unfortunately) seen the whole show. yes i have seen all of hotd as well. so here we go. my stances are this, so you have an idea what to expect:

i am a catelyn, sansa, brienne, elia, lyanna and rhaenyra stan FIRST and a person SECOND

i would die for Gaemon Palehair, Lady Essie, and Sylvenna Sand, those are my canon OCs, and that’s why they’re my header.

Sansa and Bran are my favorites! I am a Sansa will be Queen in the North truther and a Bran will be the King in Harrenhal conspiracy theorist, It Is Heavily Foreshadowed In The Text and I stand on that!!

I'm well aware Rhaenyra has plenty of faults, I am saying that the greens (as in, the characters) do not like her because of her gender, and not for stuff she does that’s actually wrong, also, idc that she did all of that i simply think she’s fun.

Helaena really IS the one who did nothing wrong tho.

i am a Dark Daenerys believer. no, i don’t hate her - in fact, i really love her, although i do hate her show counterpart - I just think her arc is heading towards a dark path and being a villain protagonist is the more interesting route for her character.

House Martell will rise or I will piss in old man germ’s cornflakes.

I Will talk about the racism Dorne faces in the text and outside of it and neither your favorite house nor my favorite house is exempt from this. If you have a problem with that, keep it to yourself bc i do not care 🙏🏽

i multiship!! just bc i ship it doesn’t mean i think it’s gonna happen in the series, i just like the dynamic!!

i am in fact the annoying book jonsa truther they warned you about. i will Stay bitter about this. argue with the wall.

with that said, i also like theonsa, throbb, daemyra, laenyra, rhaewin, nedcat, braime, briensa, and a million other ones. faves listed here. several of them are dead dove-esque; what can i say, that's just george's style.

you decide whether it’s romantic or platonic when it’s an incest one, my opinion changes by the hour & im gonna fight grrm for making me think this much about incest.

i don’t like jonerys!!!!!! i'm sansan & sanrion ambivalent and i simply do not care about littlefucker like that. i would say i’ve thought positively about basically every other ship.

i’m in the middle of a reread, as of this moment (april 2024) i’ve kinda stalled on the beginning of a dance with dragons but i Have started a rewatch of the tv series as a form of torture.

i first read this series when i was 16 in like 2012-2013. i love to bitch about the takes i’ve seen. i sometimes reblog really old ass graphics bc they deserve new life even tho the creators are long since deactivated. i sometimes make graphics that look like they’re from 2014 bc we should bring that style back dammit i hate the typography movement going on rn.

big on tagging triggers so lmk (i’ll tag for all characters & major triggers but i’m fine with adding a specific one if asked and don't worry about it being a "weird" trigger - if sean bean's face or knives or wolves or whatever trigger you, i'm happy to tag for that!). my spoiler policy is that i’ll tag everything from this season as “hotd spoilers” and any of the Big Events with “episode title spoilers” but i can’t guarantee I can be consistent longer than like 2 days though i will try!! i Will be talking about any book canon events tho, the books have been out for years either you know how to avoid them or you know everything, i’m not tagging that.

i have a tag page that is more organized than the slapdash nonsense on this post, feel free to check it out here.

i may sound angry but i promise i am genuinely just here for a laugh. i just have resting bitch voice and no feel for tone and use the word fuck too much. it’s fine and unserious.

[les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques]

Ten First Lines Game

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have.

Thanks for the tags @emotionalmotionsicknessxx and @catcorsair <3

The Fly Agaric

(Erik/Christine, Rated M. Leroux-based. Post-canon angst, smut, and fee-fees.)

The simple explanation, or, at least, as simple as an answer one could distill from such madness: Erik clung to Christine like that because he was clinging to the very idea of life itself. The moment he coiled those bone-licked hands of his into the threads of her skirt was the moment he finally managed to wrap his soul around Christine’s very own.

All Imaginable Pangs

(Erik/OC, Rated M. Leroux-based. Pre-canon angst, smut, and art.)

Augustine had tasted so many pleasures in her little life—the love and respect of men born to stations high above her, the sweet sting of champagne upon her tongue, the most beautiful vistas Europe had to offer to those with enough money to spare. But as her maid welcomed her into the vestibule of the charming quarters she kept on Rue Oberkampf, she was reminded yet again of what she treasured more than anything else: her loneliness.

Le Phénomène

(Erik/Christine, Rated M. Leroux-based AU. Fluff, smut, and misunderstandings!)

It was the sort of July night where sweat and vapor mingled so heavily in the air that one could not tell where skin ended and the night began—the sort of humidity that ruined hair and silk and any appetite for labor. The sort of heat that chased millionaire and milliner alike out of their homes, for want of distraction and respite, forcing all to collide against one another until that great heap of Paris was nothing more than a thrumming mass of mischief.

Between the Lines

(Erik/Christine, Rated M. Leroux-based. Angst, BDSM, and flirtations with Dead Dove Do Eat territory.)

The most remarkable aspect of Christine’s captivity was how utterly unremarkable it had been. The immensely peculiar circumstances of her abduction, which had left her with a little more than a miasma of resentment, anger, and pity, had faded into something that almost resembled a normal waking life. For a man who swore to lay heaven and earth at her feet, who had cloaked the initial months of their relationship in the most absurd deceit and mystery, Erik had been a downright mundane captor.

The Follies

(Erik, All Ages. Leroux-based crossover with the Stephen Sondheim musical Sunday in the Park with George. Post-canon fee-fees and lots of hope.)

The monster was bored.

The so-called Palais Garnier was long finished, and President MacMahon’s clique of ministers and prefects were more than happy to have finally wiped their hands of the project’s costly nature, content to descend from on high every few years to gift the company with an endowment from their vast coffers; to think of how the management balked at a mere 20,000 francs!

All That is Solid Melts into Air

(Erik/Christine, All Ages. Leroux-based modern AU where Erik is reincarnated as one of those inflatable tube men. It is the dumbest thing I have ever written.)

From the moment he first gained consciousness, pain and derision was all the monster knew. The hooting of children and idiots. Being forced to sleep outside in all manner of weather, barring a hurricane warning or a flash flood. The constant barrage of rocks and pebbles and trash that rained down upon him; he’d once been pelted in the face by a Slurpee cup so hard that, had he a nose, he was sure it would have shattered to smithereens on impact. It was better, he supposed, than the used diaper that took out one of his comrades earlier that winter. The thought of that particular disaster made the monster shake with fear, moreso than usual.

Tagging @ladystormcrow @box5intern @shinyfire-0 @ashadeintheshade @lincolnlogger @phannah--montana @paperandsong @flora-gray and anyone who wants to join in. My apologies for any double-tagging!

[camaro-and-smokes]

Eve

Chapter 3: Into the Belly of the Beast

Chapter summary: Eve—still toying with Billy—seemed to be open to collaborate with him in order to find Eddie and Steve. Okay, mostly Eddie, probably. Because she and Eddie...well, they have a complex relationship.

MIND THE TAGS - S E R I O U S L Y. This is a horror/scifi/creature movie crossover and loyal to the film. If the image below makes you queezy, this is not for you. Unless you like that queezy feeling, then, happy reading :)

Warnings for this chapter: Graphic descriptions of the gory and disturbing process how Eve was created. Human & alien bloodrelation and unnatural, potentially disturbing parent & offspring dynamics mentioned. Tags: Aliens (1986), Alternate Universe - Aliens, Horror, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, Xenomorphs (Aliens), Science Fiction, Military Science Fiction, Crossover, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, unnatural parent & offspring dynamics, alien & human relationships

Read on AO3 >> Other chapters on tumblr >>

::::::::::

Eve raised herself on her hind legs, reaching up to her full height. With her crown raised up and spread open, she easily hit twenty. Thankfully to Billy, her tail still swished calmly behind her, and the crown still remained closed, calmly rippling behind her head.

However, she kept her maw pointed at him for a while, as if measuring him, then turned it to follow the rest of her body as she turned towards the habitat door.

Billy hoped she would remain calm. At least until they got out of the ship. He didn’t oppose her killing xeno drones or unfriendlies, but he himself wanted very much to stay alive.

The only one who really didn’t have that much to worry with her was Eddie. Because of course he had a strange—no, a totally fucked up relationship with the Eve.

Everyone knew xenos were intelligent, and the queens even more so. Including that they had zero desire to please anyone, they were pure hatred from eggs to face huggers and to their very source.

But Eve…She was something else.

No, she wouldn’t do anything that she didn’t want to do. In fact, if anyone except one of them three—Eddie, Billy or Steve—got on her way, she just bit their head off. Literally and without hesitation.

From the start, they could see that she was exceptionally intelligent, even for a xeno. It was Eddie’s modifications of her DNA speaking. Even so, what she was agreeable in doing first and foremost was what only benefited her. If it benefited anyone else while at it, so be it.

Then at some point she’d started—albeit begrudgingly—doing also things that were mostly beneficial to others. Okay, well, one specific other, that is: Eddie. Which meant that she was getting something in return and Eddie sure as hell didn’t feed her treats after a trick.

So, it was a fairly valid assumption that Eve felt good when Eddie praised her. Which truly was both amazing and fucking scary, if you’d ask Billy. Eddie, a mere mortal given the kind of power Eve granted him just for a figurative pat on her crown?

And the first time she had cooed at Eddie—yeah, actually cooed in this odd purring kinda sound—the man had come back to the living quarters at their base shaking all over and his jeans wet because he’d been sure that she’d used the sound to locate him and kill him.

Maybe it was that Eddie had made sure his own blood and cloned guts were used to feed the embryo inside the fake womb. So, biologically, the queen was his offspring as much as a xenomorph could be—and she clearly considered Eddie as her…father.

Which was twisted, but not as twisted as Eddie being affectionate towards her. Like a father to a daughter, of course, in all healthy way, you know. Not that anything about Eddie’s and Eve’s relationship was healthy, mind you.

But yet, Eve definitely wasn’t always safe to be around, even for Eddie.

That was then again why Eddie had created the artificial intelligence named Little Sister, or Sis for short. The AI’s sole purpose was to help control Eve and keep her calmer and less unpredictable. Eddie had implanted a biological circuit for Sis in Eve’s brain when she was still developing in the fake womb. As Eve grew, so did the circuit, allowing Sis to take over certain areas of Eve’s brain.

It didn’t mean Eve was under the AI’s control in full and that she couldn’t play tricks around Sis. In fact, she did it frequently, coming up with new creative ways to try to slither away from the AI’s control.

Because what does any caged creature with a high intelligence want more than anything? Get out of the cage.

And that was why Sis was an AI and not just another piece of rigid code, but something that could rewrite itself, add to it and grow. Sis could do the math on all possible outcomes in a nanosecond and outsmart the queen before she could take her plan into action. Eve had still managed to get close to escaping her habitat a few times. Because she, too, was creative.

Even Eddie didn’t question the fact that she would find a way to outsmart Sis one day—it was just a matter of time. But he also trusted the fact that Eve didn’t want to leave him, so there was that.

Billy, though, had never felt confident about Eve or around her. Her plain existence was terrifying for everyone with half a mind and if Billy didn’t play together well with most humans, trying to do that with an intelligent alien species was pretty much an impossible equation.

Which was why Billy had loudly resigned from having anything to do with the xeno. He wouldn’t go alone to her habitat at their base or to the cargo hold when she was there, no matter how much sedated or calmed by Sis she was.

Being left in charge of her while they were docked on this fucking piece-of-shit of a station was such a shitty move from Eddie and Steve. Billy knew Eddie was not the most attentive guy, and he needed someone to go with him to the station or he would’ve gotten lost for sure, or at minimum, forgotten the number of the space dock they were docked in. Billy would’ve liked it to be him Eddie would’ve asked, but Steve got dibs this time.

Whatever.

No matter the reasons or how little Billy wanted this, he was the one who was here. He was the one who had to take Eve out and make her understand he needed her help in locating Eddie and Steve. Billy steeled himself. At least the alien killing machine and he shared affection towards one human being, which would have to be enough for them to play together, for now.

He took a deep breath and told Sis to open the habitat door.

It opened with a quiet whoosh. Eve walked out with heavy footsteps, her maw pointing at Billy as if glued, as her skeletal body moved to match the maw’s position.

Billy fixed his posture and stood unflinching in front of the monster that had stopped to measure him.

She could just step on me and I’d be done with, Billy thought to himself.

Eve leaned down on Billy’s level with a swift move and opened her lips, drool spilling from the both corners of her mouth.

Billy went even more rigid, trying to will even his eyelids to blink calmly at a fairly normal pace. Trust Eddie, trust Eddie, he repeated in his mind. Do not fucking let her see your fear.

Eve leaned closer to Billy, her maw slowly moving around as if she was sniffing.

Billy didn’t think she’d spend time on something like sniffing, though.

Then she opened her horrid mouth in full, displaying the length and sharpness of her first set of teeth. The smaller mouth came out slowly, closing in on the visor of Billy’s helmet.

Billy stood in place, trying to calm his breath and keep himself from shaking, when the tool that so easily crushed a man’s head with one quick hit stopped an inch away from his visor. She moved her maw just a little so that when the small mouth closed the distance, it slowly nudged his shoulder instead of his head.

Did she just...fist bump me? Billy steadied his breathing. He was just this far from shitting his pants.

Eve closed her mouths and stood back up, cocking her head as if asking, ‘okay, what now?’

Billy swallowed and showed Eddie’s shirt to her. He opened his external speakers to talk to her. “See? The shirt is empty. It should have someone in it. I was wondering if you could help?”

As if she could understand my words, he thought. But maybe she understood the lone shirt. Billy trusted Sis to help the monster to understand.

She cocked her head to the other side.

Then, after a while, Sis spoke to him, “Let’s go find father.”

So, yeah. Eve could speak through Sis. If she chose to. The implant at work and all that.

Not terrifying at all.

They walked into the airlock where Spot was already waiting. It could hold a lot of cargo, but with Eve so close it suddenly felt very much smaller than it was. She had to crouch down on all fours to fit the spikes in her back in and her maw was way too close to Billy—yes, still directly aimed at him—as he waited for her to curl her tail around herself.

Once she was all in he glanced at her. “Okay, big girl,” he said, trying to convey confidence he didn't quite feel, “Let’s go find father.”

He pushed the button that opened the outer airlock doors and walked out behind Spot, all the while Sis was keeping an eye for him on Eve who crawled out the doorway and followed close on his tail. He tapped a lock command to his wrist computer to make sure the doors to the ship were sealed. There was no chance in hell he’d risk having another xeno slipping on his ship. One was way more than enough.

His boots connected with the cold metal floor of the station with a hushed thud that seemed far too loud in the silence. Eve stood next to him, now in full hight, her steps eerily quiet considering her size and weight. It sent a shiver through his spine. She could bolt off and he wouldn't know a thing before she was gone. “Sis, let me know if...”

“I will,” the AI replied, clearly knowing what Billy meant.

Another reason that made Billy sometimes uncomfortable was Eddie's skills to create stuff straight from his worst nightmares. An AI that behaved like humans, an seemingly lifelike entity that could control their lives—or help control a beast, one Eddie also created—and yet be only seen in the shape of code.

Maybe the one he should fear wasn't the giant killing machine next to him or the AI that controls her but the creator of both.

His gaze swept over the dock in the light from his helmet and from the one attached on top of his plasma riffle, the light slicing through the darkness. Mutilated bodies here and there, and blood and gore everywhere. Poor bastards who’d been on the dock had been slaughtered before they even knew what hit them.

He kneeled next to one of the bloody heaps and touched the part that—based on hair that still was there—used to be a head. There was something stuck in the hair and as he pulled his fingers back from it, a string of transparent goo followed. The slaughter on the dock was analysis enough for Billy to guess what was going on, but this confirmed it.

This part of the station had definitely been overrun by xenos. They were right inside the belly of a beast—not a mere metaphorical expression this time.

The only wish Billy had right then was that there would be just a few xeno drones around. Sure, he could work with a lot of xenos with Eve. But he only hoped that there wouldn’t be a hive. Because if there was…

He didn’t really want to think about it. But maybe that was exactly why the thought forced itself through.

If there were enough xenos, one of them would inevitably turn into a queen. The xenos were funny like that. Of course, unless one egg carried an actual queen embryo and some poor fucker was impregnated by it.

And if there was a queen on board, Eve might have other things to think about than finding Eddie. Because she was a xeno, too.

No matter what, Billy just wanted to find Eddie and Steve and return to the ship—with or without Eve—as soon as possible and get the fuck away from here.

He looked for the signs that pointed the direction to the commercial part of the station and they followed them to the corridor that Eddie and Steve had vanished to earlier.

“Lead the way, girl,” Billy said and waited Sis to communicate the prompt to the beast.

Eve leaned down and entered the corridor, her strong, bony tail with the deadly stinger in the end curved over her shoulder, ready to strike anyone she didn't reach with her teeth.

The flicker of overhead lights cast erratic shadows all around, making the walls pulse as if breathing. Even though Billy was on this side of the xeno queen and not in the receiving end—one definite show of trust from Eve to turn her back to him freewillingly—his breath hitched at each stuttering blink of the fluorescents as he scanned and cleared the surroundings and each junction of corridors, half-expecting some chitinous horror to emerge from the strobe-like effect. But there was nothing—nothing but the echo of their own movements and a distant, rhythmic scuttling that played tricks on his ears.

“I am losing my edge,” he muttered to himself. “I do this stuff for living.”

But the truth was that he wasn't usually doing this stuff alone. He always had Steve to cover his six. A team mate, someone he could trust, someone he could strategise with on the run. While he now had far more lethal tools with him, none of them replaced Steve. Nothing ever would, in any of the ways Steve was important to him. Which made his heart clench. He needed to find both of them and bring the safe back to the ship. He could never forgive himself if he couldn't do that.

He glanced to Eve. Her sleek exoskeleton reflected the artificial light in eerie ways, blinking on and off on it, and in the dark still shining in the bleak light cast by the lights he and Spot had.

The maw now pointed straight ahead. She was in operating mode. Ready to kill anything that came her way.

Billy was a little sorry if that anything happened to be any other human than his lovers. Not much though. Everyone on this station was already doomed, even him, unless they could get out of here. The people here would never have the chance he and his team had.

“Stay sharp,” he reminded himself, eyes darting to the motion tracker on his HUD. It remained a calm green, but he knew better than to trust calm. Calm was merely the prelude to chaos.

[princessb4mbi]

╰─▸ ❝ HE'S AT YOUR WINDOW

𖦹 tags black!femafabreader, obsessive!leon, stalking, leon is very ooc, dead dove do not eat, mentions of emotional abuse 

𖦹 synopsis to sum this up, completely based on the “check your window, he’s at your window” trend on tiktok

𖦹 word count 1.1k

𖦹 a/n this will be the start to a series, how long? no fuckin idea, but enjoy this first part [story below the cut]

“Think the rain’s gonna let up?” Your close friend Vee asks as she looks out the window. It’s pouring outside of the store, causing the outside to have a nice blue hue to it. “I hope so, we don’t want to be here if it floods..” You responded, taking a sip of your bubbly soda after. 

You stare at the window too, slowly zoning out of what’s going on currently, and thinking about the past. When you and your ex, Leon, were together and it rained, you would just cuddle and watch movies all day. It was so perfect. Until.. until he went.. insane. His once calm and sometimes stoic demeanor would turn into a possessive and jealous one. “Hey. You alright?” You snap back into reality, facing Vee’s face. You shyly nod your head yes. But you assume that she has already seen the saddened look on your face before you could change it. 

“Babe.. he can hurt you anymore. He won’t hurt you anymore.. not as long as I’m here,” Vee says empathetically. You really owe her. To get someone out of an emotionally abusive relationship is hard, but she still pushed through for you anyways, even though it wasn’t her responsibility. She cared for you as if you were related to her. She placed her hand up to your cheek, caressing it softly. “I don’t want you to worry about him anymore, kay?” 

“Ok.” You smile at her. You’ve already told her this, but she would make an amazing partner if you two wanted each other non-platonically. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick, text me if you need something, ok babe?” You hum in response, watching Vee get up from her chair, fix it, then take her phone and walk away. You take another sip of your soda, then go on your phone scrolling mindlessly on Twitter. Suddenly, a message pops up in your dms. Usually, you thought of it as those weird sex bots who desperately try to scam people. But it seemed too off, so you decided to check on it. 

Propped up was an obvious Twitter pre-made username, but they had a black pfp. The name simply said, KL. The message coming from them saying, I miss you. I’m lonely. You think nothing of it, deleting the message soon after. These people are just so weird behind a screen huh?.. You continue to scroll on your Twitter, giggling to yourself whenever you see a funny post. But then again, you see another message from the same account. You click on it again seeing something way more ominous. I miss your laugh. It’s weird, but there can be many reasons as to why someone would say that, and you were praying that it wasn’t because you were genuinely laughing just a moment ago. You decide to not entertain it by simply blocking and deleting the account from your dms. Then closing Twitter entirely. 

Vee comes back from the bathroom, walking back to the table the two of you shared. “Ready to go?” She said, visually refreshed. “Yea, let’s go.” The two of you walk out, then head to her car to go to her home. 

----

“Hey Vee, can I use this?” You say wrapping yourself in a towel and walking over to her. “My mielle? shitt girl.. you know those things rarely get restocked ‘round here,” You frown to that. Although you get where she’s coming from, you don’t need her to be stingy. “Pleasee.. I promise to go to the store and find you one!” You make a frown to try to convince your friend. She looks like she's deep in thought, but then she gives in. “Fine, put on your clothes first, then we’ll head to CVS quickly.” You hug her, then head back to the bathroom to finish up. 

The two of you walk into CVS, going separate ways almost immediately. You lift your head to find for the haircare aisle, walking to it when you see it. You accidentally bump into someone, mumbling an apology soon after. The person says “It’s okay,” with deep, raspy voice. You feel like you recognize the voice, but mark it off as nothing and continue to look for the hair product. 

The person you bumped into is still in the same aisle as you, but they have a hoodie on so you can’t make out their face. Not that you judge or anything, but they didn’t have the stature of a woman, and their muscles lowkey poked through their hoodie. They were tall too, maybe around 5’11? You quickly turn back to yourself so you aren’t caught analyzing someone. 

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Assuming it’s Vee, you take it out to see what’s going on. Another Twitter message. You unlock your phone to go look at it, another black pfp account, but with another name. KSL. It seemed similar to the other “KL” account since it had the same getup and all. The message they sent through, was what made you nervous. You’re still so clumsy as ever, princess. You look to the person next to you, them being in the same spot as before but staring at a product. What the fuck? This was getting too good to be true, and you were getting freaked out. But you did what you knew best.. block and delete the account from your dms. 

You go farther down the lane, passing by the stranger. “Looking for this?” The pale hand extends to you the Mielle Oil you were looking for. They turn to face you, and your heart drops in horror. 

It was him. You left him 6 months ago, and never spoke to him again. Just took your things and left. You honestly have never seen him around since then. His icy blue eyes stare down into yours, with his lips curling into a small smirk. Your toxic ex was back in your face, and you couldn’t believe it. You had no time to worry, you needed to get out of here. You run to the check out isle, seeing Vee scan her items. “Did you find it?” She says looking around your hands for the product. Her expression changes the moment she truly sees your face. She furrows her brows and asks “What’s wrong babe?” 

“He’s here. I don’t know how, but he’s here and we need to leave. Now.” 

Vee nods at your request, and you help her bag her stuff. You panic as you put the items in the bag, and the two of you hurry to leave the store and get to the car. “Go inside the car, I’ll put it away,” Vee says as she opens the trunk of her car. You get inside the passenger seat, putting on your seatbelt and waiting patiently for Vee to finish. She gets inside the driver seat, putting on her seatbelt then wastes no time to turn on the engine and drive away. A sense of relief fills you, but you see Leon in the outside mirror of the CVS, standing ominously. 

“You won’t get away from me. Not anymore.” 

[aspiring-artist-em]

get to know better tag

thank you @achilleslikespeas!! you're so so amazing omg- anyhoo

three ships: wolfstar, ineffable husbands (someone pls talk to me about good omens I literally can NOT rn), drarry

first ship: drarry, it’s a tried and true ship for me, ive been shipping it since I was like, a child  (literally flashback to me at like, 7 years old telling my mom that harry and Draco should get over each other and buy a castle and live together forever as a happy couple (parents were not happy that their daughter was saying this (they were homophobic( (im now gay and still shipping it so suck it, ig)))

last song: I would love to lie and say its something cool like “killer queen” or “lady stardust” bc I listen to those a lot, but once again, I would be lying and my actual last song that I listened to was “no hands (ft. Roscoe dash and wale)”, yk, the frat party song, I like to play it while writing angst

last movie: Harry Potter? idk what one, I like to put the tv on while I do stuff like budget money and write fanfic and draw, so honestly idk, it was probably the chamber of secrets, that and poa are my all time favs 

currently reading: ur mom LMAO (im so sorry) no, what im reading is smut, and also like, a good omens fic about Crowley’s fall (witness the fall) bc im trying to forget about season 2′s ending. im also reading away childish things (again) bc like, that's one of my fav drarry fics of all time. if we’re talking about marauders fics, it was probably her body is a temple down in the frozen food aisle  by achilleslikespeas, both for my emotional masochistic enjoyment and bc I wanted to draw a scene in the story (go read it now pls, its really good, Claude is really good a writing and im freaking out bc I wanna draw a scene from every single one of their fics I- like go-to horror dead dove fics for me I reccomend Claude and for smut I go to moonie), if we’re talking books books, Ive been reading yellowface and I am a cat which so far, are really really good, but also like, im really bad at reading so like, I haven't actually touched them in a week LMAO

currently watching: good omens, its playing on my tv in the background both because I love it and also because Neil said if u stream it enough amazon will see how valuable it is (with the strike and everything) and like, actually be willing to negotiate, essentially, help out the strike, go watch gay celestial beings 

last thing i wrote: 'Til Death Do Us Part, and Even Then, I'll Do My Best to Stay With You, its a dead dove fic centering around grief and denial, uh, 2 chapters in lol

currently writing: I have like, a million wips and no motivation to write rn so lets dive into them lol

1) chapter 3 of do death do us part, very sad, like, maybe 3 sentences in?

2) the next part of my lesbian wolf star series, its the one right before the trail one, so like, part 10 is gonna be another chapter centering more around Sirius’s memories and part 11 is gonna be the trial, I have like, 2 separate things ive written for it and I need to decide where I want it to go tbh

3) smut, gay wolf star, frat hazing blow or blow smut. sirius is on his knees and almost throws up but he doesn't and its lowkey like actually non con but its also frat hazing, like, idk how to explain the vibes but sirius is referred to as a dog and a filthy animal and degraded and he's sucking remus’s dick on coke and im like 2k words in and like, running out of ways to describe a cock lol (its also hard to bc like, I don't have a dick and my textbooks are no help sometimes) but he is also called the “pike puppy” and like, I think im smart for that and also its really filthy ngl, not a happy ending?

4) a short fluff fic to make up for the angst I put my readers through, im like 200 words in

5) au kinda thing, inspired by don't worry darling and like a TikTok that I saw (and now people are commenting on me commenting if I can write the idea and asking for the fic name and like, Im 500 words in? pls I need time), the idea is that Dumbledore has everyone under imperio or a potion to get them on his side to fight for him, lily’s pov, I really like it so far, uhh im like 500 words in I think?

so yeah, when I get inspiration im gonna write everything all at once lol, probably when my body isn't trying to kill me lmao or im at work

tagging: @spookymoonie @pinklume @wxlfstxrisbest @spindrifters @siriuslystargazing @siriusly-sapphic @green-lights-33

[hazbincalifornia]

(I’m pretty sure the way I type is recognizable but I need to like pretend at anonymity bc I feel. Remarkably silly about this)

I wanted to like idk rant to someone in the HB fandom who isn’t balls deep in the “anti proship” sphere bc like, I’ve been struggling w guilt over enjoying a certain ship that everyone hates and considers problematic (I think Loona and Octavia is rlly cute!) and I’d like to make content for it but I also rlly fear being seen as like a pedophile. Do u ever worry abt that kind of thing? And is there anyway ur able to get over it if u do? I don’t like getting into anti/anti anti discourse bc I feel like it’s a very reductive way to view and interpret media but I still have a crazy amount of worry/guilt

First off, it is still ridiculous to me that this is even a problem in this fandom. This is an adult show about characters in Hell, and the main characters are, respectively, assassins and the eclectic cast of the Hotel which includes a cannibal serial killer. (I am eternally both amused and completely baffled that like half the awful puritanical takes I see are from Val icons. Buddy. Pal. The fucked up fiction is coming from inside the house.) I saw waaaaay more fucked up shit on Zim nsfw twitter than I see on Hellaverse twitter and that show was Y7. Up your game, guys.

Personally, I don't really see Loona and Via as siblings/sisters as much as I think a lot of others do, more just friends (and honestly I think canon moved much too quickly to give them such a heartfelt scene together, they hadn't even met officially before that point?) so it's really only the age thing and even then, the plot of HB has seemed to imply that a fair amount of time has passed since the series started, probably around a year- so Via would be 18 or older by the time anything actually started anyway, especially if they became friends first. Setting aside the 'justification' though... they're not real. They're cute together, I agree, and I think you should be perfectly fine enjoying them just in the lens of 'they're similar, I like how they'd interact, and I think they're cute together'!

I was pretty much forged in my opinions about this from Invader Zim stuff, where people insisted that liking two characters that I'd liked together since I was thirteen made you a pedophile. Obviously, I could tell that wasn't true, because it had never been the case in all those years up to people starting to be bitchy about it in 2019. (Before that, it was that it was bad because it was enemies to lovers and, more importantly, gay. Great hater throne to inherit, guys!)

Unfortunately... as stupid as it is, this fandom is way more puritanical than it should be, so it wouldn't be wrong to engage through anonymity to protect yourself. Find the people in the tag who are using 'proship/proship interact' or something along those lines (I've seen a few, although some tend to lean more on hard/dead dove content), post on ao3 into the anonymous collection which removes your name, make a tumblr sideblog that doesn't connect to your main, find fellow shippers and interact with them specifically. Do whatever you need to do to keep yourself safe from people who can't understand that thinking something is cute or interesting to explore in fiction is automatically bad just because they don't like it. The more stuff that's put out there about the ship, the more likely you are to find kindred spirits, that's honestly part of how I gathered my mpreg weirdos to me in both this fandom and the last.

I'm pretty sure that the callout I got for Sunny was why several mutuals who were a friend group unfollowed (and likely muted) me on twitter. Unfortunately, it left me worrying that the other shoe was going to drop any day for about a week because it got just enough notes to make me worry but not enough to get to anyone with any real reach to spread and get it 'over with'.

At this point, I've sort of reached a state of 'fuck it', because if it happens, it happens. I know that I'm fine, and the people I genuinely care about know that too. I know that what I'm making is entirely separate from my morals as a person, if not from how dumb the IZ stuff was than from the fact that I was an English major. Literature is full of stuff that authors don't make as a 1:1 with their real-life morals! And the one you're thinking about isn't 'bad' comparatively at all.

I think the fandom is starting to see that being a dick about fictional content is bad through the backlash to Poison and 'hey, maybe telling somebody that they need to detail their trauma to the public to make fiction is bad?', but it seems to mostly be centered on dub/noncon, so I wouldn't necessarily hold my breath.

At the end of the day though, remember this: You, as a person, are completely fine, no matter what others might think. Octavia and Loona would probably be seen as a totally normal ship like ten years ago (except for people who'd be dicks about them being gay) and there is no judgement to be made on your character in any reasonable way for thinking they're a good ship. You're not a pedophile for thinking a fictional owl and hellhound look cute together, any more than I was for smacking together two Nicktoon characters, and frankly the IZ argument held slightly more water than 'the almost-18-year-old and the 22-year-old' because Zim's age was so ambigious. Try explaining this 'people think the young adult animals holding hands are bad' to any adult who isn't sucked into fandom discourse and they'd probably be baffled that it's a problem.

I know that the guilty feelings aren't always rational and it took a bit of time for me to unwind how I felt about creating certain stuff too, but try to remember that above all else- exploring things in fiction has been a thing people have done for a very, very long time. What matters is your actions towards other real people, not what you do with fictional dolls.

If nothing else, if you want you can always send me a dm and chat that way, I'd be happy to talk.