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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 months ago

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Deadly Proposal: Final Part (?)

Pairing: Vampire!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

Warnings: reflections of trafficked girls but instead of for sex it's for blood, angst

Summary: Tension comes to a head as Dean makes a plan to rescue you. He is faced with someone he thought stayed in his past, and you finally have what it takes to take control of your own life again.

Deadly Proposal Masterlist

Square Filled: human shield for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: i know i ended this on a sort of cliffhanger but this is where the series ends for right now. if you want to see more, let me know and i'll start to plan some more!

If this continues, you’re going to be dead before the sun rises. A woman had come in every ten minutes to take the pint of blood only to replace it with an empty bag. She never looked at you but you know it’s one of Richard’s girls because she had bite marks all over her body. She has come in three times which means you’ve given three pints of blood. Two more and you’ll pass out and likely die. You have to get out of here. You have to get back to Dean.

This time, the woman doesn’t come back but Richard does. He looks even younger and healthier than last time, and you know he took a few sips of your blood. He walks over to you and checks the progress you’re making with the new bag.

“You’re doing this wrong,” you mumble.

“Your blood will sell for top dollar in the black market once vampires know what it does. Tell me, how should I be doing this?”

You have to talk slowly and in deep breaths so you can only get a few words out at a time. You try to find whatever strength that’s inside of yourself to finish speaking because this is the only way you know you’ll get out of this alive.

“If you kill me now, you’ll maybe have ten pints of blood. That’ll last you, what, a few years if you’re smart? I’m human. Treat me right and I’ll live to maybe ninety years old. Keep me alive, and you’ll have ninety years to siphon my blood for your selfish reasons. Think about it.”

Richard growls with his fangs out and practically yanks the IV needle out of your arm. He knows you’re right. He can be very rich if he keeps you healthy. He’s not the boss of you, unfortunately, so until he gets word from his boss on what to do with you, you’ll stay in this delirious state.

“Try and escape and I’ll kill you.”

“Death is better than being here,” you mumble.

He’s not worried you’ll go anywhere. You can barely open your eyes much less do anything else. Richard takes the half-empty pint bag and leaves the room, and you look out the window that isn’t boarded up. I wish Dean was here. You were only pissed with him because you were hurt. You were hurt because you’re in love with him and didn’t want someone you love to lie to you like that. You fell for him over the course of blood bonding and normal bonding with him. He was there for you when your parents died, he was there for you with Amber, and he saved you from Richard once. If he can do it once, he can do it again.

You know he’ll find you, it’s only a matter of time. You have to stay alive until then.

It feels like hours when the bedroom door opens but Richard isn’t alone. A taller man is with him, and you blink rapidly to get your vision to focus. The stranger is very tall, has long silky hair, and is very muscular. He walks over to you while Richard stays by the room, and the man grabs your chin not-so-gently. He stares into your eyes and chuckles as if you told him a funny joke.

“I can see why my brother is so smitten with you. You look just like her.”

It takes longer to process his words but it finally clicks into place about who this man is.

“You’re Dean’s brother? I thought you died.”

He lets go of your chin and stands to his full height.

“Glad to know Big Brother is still talking about me. I did die but I came back ten times stronger and better than he ever will be.” He turns and walks to Richard who looks fearful of Sam. “Get her some food and water. Let her rest. No harm shall come to her. No vampire will feed from her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I find out she’s been harmed, I will do untold damage to you.”

Both Richard and Sam leave, and you chuckle tiredly. He really shouldn’t have said that in front of you. That’s your way out once you get enough strength. Don’t worry, Dean, I’m coming to you.

Dean gathered everyone he knew at his mansion to go over some kind of plan to get you back. Now that he knows his brother is involved, it changes things. He doesn’t think Sam would forgive him for what he did to him centuries ago, and he looks down in shame. Castiel, Amara, Rowena, Charlie, Donna, Garth, and Jody are gathered in his office where there are all sorts of intel on Sam, Richard, and Amber.

“Alright, from now on, everyone is dedicating their time and energy to this. I need eyes and ears everywhere looking for Sam. I know my brother. I might not be able to track Richard or Amber, but I can track my brother. He doesn’t know we know he’s alive. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Garth and I are looking for online activity going back a few centuries. Hopefully, it’ll tell us where he’s been or where he might have gone,” Charlie says.

“Widen your search. You need to go back as far as seven hundred years.”

“We’ll try,” Charlie nods.

“Amara, take Donna and Jody with you into town. You three know the trade. Do what you do best.” All three women leave and Dean looks at Rowena. “Talk to the girls who are willing and see if they recognize Sam’s name. Cas go with her.” Both of them leave. “The rest of us are going to help me. We’ll split into groups and hit the houses we’ve already hit. Excuse me.”

Dean leaves the room and takes out his phone. He hesitates but calls someone he never thought he’d hear from again. He didn’t want to call him but there are only two possibilities for Sam being alive this long. There is no way he’s a werewolf because they don’t live nearly half as long as vampires do. He isn’t a vampire because he’d heard about him at some point in the last seven hundred years. No, there is only one thing he can be and it’s much worse than a vampire.

“Do my ears deceive me or is the great Dean Winchester calling me?”

“Crowley,” Dean growls. “Where is Sam?”

“Nice to hear your voice, too.”

“I’m not playing, Crowley. Where is my brother? Surely, you have him after all this time.”

“Please,” Crowley scoffs, “I got rid of Sam a long time ago. He was becoming a bit of a problem so I had to cut him loose. He hasn’t been my problem for a few centuries at least.”

“Where did he go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He could be anywhere.”

“Crowley--”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Last I heard, Sam had such a fascination with the Dark Web. He’d love to go there for women.”

“Thanks.” Dean doesn’t wait for him to answer and hangs up on him. He walks back into his office and looks at the best hackers. “Change of plans. Can you get into the Dark Web?”

“Yes,” Charlie nods.

“Sam has a fetish for women being sold on there. See if you can’t track him that way.”

“You got it.”

Dean sits down at his desk and clenches his fist angrily. He shouldn’t have let you leave. He doesn’t want your fight to be the last thing you know. You might be dead but then he’s going to make sure no one gets out of it alive. If he has to, he’ll kill his brother a second time.

After some food, water, and rest, you’re feeling much better. You’re still not one hundred percent but you’re well enough to try and get out of here. They haven’t taken blood since Sam left and you suspect they’re waiting for you to get all of your energy back before taking more. The bedroom door opens and Richard comes in with a tray full of needles and an empty pint bag. If you have any chance of escaping, you need to know what lies outside of this room.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll pee and shit in this room and get an infection from it and die. Is that what you want?” you snap.

If Richard could cut glass with his glare, you’d surely be dead. He unties you from the bed and opens the bedroom door without saying a word. You pretend to be weaker than you feel just to let his guard down so it takes you longer than normal to walk out of the bedroom. Richard guides you to where the bathroom is. You pass by another room with the door open and you make the mistake of looking in.

A clothed vampire is sitting on the bed with a naked woman straddling him. He has his fangs in her neck but she looks like she’s in pain. A tear slips from her eyes and you have to stop yourself from breaking down into tears yourself. When Dean bit you, it felt so good like orgasm-level good. Maybe that’s because you and Dean had feelings for each other. Here, he’s taking that from her and not giving anything in return.

You look away from them and enter the bathroom. Richard keeps the door open but doesn’t come in, lessening any chance you have at trying to escape. You look around the bathroom for something that might help you and spot something gleaming in the corner on the counter. You lean closer and pretend you’re stretching. It’s a metal nail file with a pointed end that someone didn’t put away. You finish going to the bathroom and start to wash your hands.

Richard keeps his eyes on you the entire time but then someone grabs his attention from down the hall. As soon as his eyes are off you, you snatch the file and shove it into the waistband of your pajama shorts. Richard escorts you back to your room and into bed. Something must be on his mind because he doesn’t tie you down like he has before. He sticks a needle into your arm to get another pint or two out of you, but he doesn’t stick around while the blood is being taken.

The second he closes the door behind him, you yank the IV needle out of your arm. You get out of bed and approach the bedroom window that they hadn’t boarded up. These vampires must expect obedience otherwise all the windows would be boarded up. Not to mention they keep the girls high out of their minds so they wouldn’t escape anyway.

You take out the nail file and open the window only to be met by a mesh screen. You stick the nail file through it and start to drag it down. However, the nail file is small so it’s hard to get a good enough grip to pull down. Still, you’re not giving up. You’ll jump out this second-story window and risk breaking your legs than be a blood bag for these vampires.

The bedroom door opens and you turn swiftly to see Richard there with another empty pint bag. It takes a second to register that you’re trying to escape and when it does, his fangs come out and he growls lowly. He takes a single step toward you and you do the first thing that comes to mind.

“Take one more step and I’ll kill myself.” You put the sharp end of the nail file to your neck which is enough to make Richard freeze in his tracks. “This is how it’s going to go. You’re going to get me a phone so I can call Dean, and you’re going to tell me where we are or else I’ll slit my throat. I’ll bleed out very quickly, and even if you can get to me in time to heal me, I’ll turn. I’m assuming Sam won’t be happy with either option.”

The gears turn in Richard’s head before he smirks evilly. In the blink of an eye, he races out of the room and returns with one of the young women who are only wearing nude panties. She looks more aware of what’s going on than the other girls and the thought of him hurting her makes your entire body freeze up in fear. He pushes her hair out of the way and leans down so his fangs only graze her skin. She flinches from the touch and your heart cracks slightly.

“Kill yourself and I think I’ll have a tasty snack to the point where I rip her head off. Imagine that, her not getting to go back to her family. Once I’m done with her, I’ll do the same to every single girl here. I’ll turn you only for you to live your life in guilt because you forced my hand. You don’t want that, do you?”

Once again, a vampire proves to you that you mean nothing. There is nothing you can do. You’re not in a position of power. Yet again, you’re walked over like some weak girl. You lower the nail file in shame, and he whispers into the girl’s ear. She immediately leaves the room as Richard walks over to you.

“You’re nothing compared to me. You have no power here. If you thought you could leave, you’re never going to now.”

You want to cry but you think that’ll only feed his ego. Wherever you are Dean, please find me. Charlie and Garth have been working hard scouring the Dark Web for activity that seems like someone buying young women for vampires. Charlie writes something down on a pad before getting up and approaching Dean’s desk.

“You got something?”

“Maybe. There’s an anonymous user buying women in bulk.”

“Find out who owns the account.”

“Already on it,” Garth says. “There isn’t a picture attached to the profile but the name is Sam.”

“Of course, it is. He’s not subtle. Where is he?”

“This is where his IP address is coming from.”

Garth hands a printout to Charlie who hands it to Dean. It’s a printout of the land like what Google Maps provides and Dean recognizes some of the buildings marked around the area. He takes out the photo that Amanda drew and sees the similarities.

“We got him. Call everyone in.” Charlie does what she’s told and soon, everyone is gathered back in his office. “We know where he is and if I know my brother, he won’t stay there for long. We can’t just go barging in or he might kill her to spite me.”

“You know I used to run in that crowd. I can distract,” Amara offers.

“Jody and I can go in and get the girls,” Donna says.

“Castiel and I will be waiting with the van,” Rowena says.

“Garth and I will hack into the cameras and shut them down, or at least make it so they can’t see when you’re coming.”

That means Dean is going in alone. That doesn’t matter. All that matters is you. He won’t let anything happen to you--anything more.

“I need everyone to know the risks. There’s a good possibility that if Sam catches you, you will die. I understand if anyone wants to back out.”

“Come on, this is for your pretty flower,” Amara smirks. “We’ll get her back.”

“Anyone else?” No one says a word. “Then let’s go.”

Charlie and Garth hack into the cameras to shut them down, giving Dean exactly ten minutes to get in, get you, and get out. Dean won’t need that long. Cas and Rowena show up and stay hidden in the shadows with the van, Amara approaches the front door, and Dean, Jody, and Donna approach the back. Dean strains his ears and waits for Amara to do her thing before sneaking inside. Amara knocks and one of Richard’s vampires answers the door.

“Amara, what are you doing here?”

“Hey, Darren. How’s it going?”

“Why are you here?” he asks, on alert.

“What? I can’t visit an old friend?”

“I haven’t been your friend since--”

She cuts him off from thinking about Dean because then this whole thing will crumble to pieces before Dean can get to you.

“I’ve been alive for a long time, Darren. I remember when we used to wine and dine, bathe in blood. I miss those days.”

“Yeah, we had good times,” Darren chuckles and leans against the door frame.

Dean takes this as a sign to move on. Donna and Jody separate from Dean and slip into the main living room where the girls are. Dean doesn’t even see what he’s doing, he’s so pissed. Vampire after vampire until he gets upstairs where Richard is. He walks out of one of the bedrooms and freezes when he sees Dean at the other end of the hallway with blood splattered all over his face and clothes.

“Dean--”

“Where is she?”

“I--I--”

“Don’t make me ask again,” Dean growls.

Dean strains his ears so he can hear your slow breathing and he smells your sweet blood. His fangs come out and look at Richard who looks like he is going to piss his pants. Dean uses his vampire speed and runs over to Richard who barely registers what’s happening. Richard might be old but Dean is older and deadlier. Dean normally doesn’t do this but he wants to make it hurt as much as possible. He bites into Richard’s neck and uses his strength behind his bite to rip his head clean off.

Dean opens the bedroom Richard just came out of and sees you in bed hooked up to a machine that is pumping out your blood. He runs over to you and gently takes the IV needle out of your arm. You moan tiredly and open your eyes to see familiar green ones.

“Dean, you’re here,” you smile.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay.”

Dean slides his arms under your knees and behind your back, but he freezes when he smells someone enter the room.

“You’re so predictable.” Dean lets you go and turns to his brother who has a smirk on his face. “I mean, come on, you have to know I wasn’t going to let her be alone.”

“Sam, don’t make this any worse than it has to be.”

Sam looks at the door but doesn’t move toward it. He chuckles and shakes his head before looking at his brother.

“Do you think I’m stupid? I know you’ve got your team rescuing those girls and killing those vampires.” He looks behind Dean over to you. “If I knew she was like Annabeth, I’d have taken her a long time ago.”

“Why are you doing this? What the hell happened to you?”

“You mean after you killed me? He’s not so innocent, Y/N. I was lying dead on the floor with my throat ripped out when someone found me. You know what they did instead of letting me die like I wanted? They blew smoke up my ass and turned me into a demon.”

“Crowley found you,” Dean poses it as a statement.

“Yeah, but I know my worth. I stopped letting Crowley boss me around a long time ago. I don’t take orders from anyone anymore. Y/N has blood that is very rare and very important so if you think I’m letting you out of here with her, you’ve got another coming,” Sam glares.

Dean stands up to his full height even though it doesn’t compare to how tall Sam is.

“You’ll have to go through me to do it.”

In the blink of an eye, both brothers rush at each other. You watch them fight to kill, not caring if the other dies. You have to do something or else Dean might die. All your life, you’ve let everyone walk all over you. It started with your sister and it’s going to end with Sam. You’re in control of your own life even if it means you’re ending it. You grab the IV needle before it can fall off the bed, and you don’t think twice when you stab it into the side of your neck. Sam and Dean don’t notice you at first until both of them smell your sickly sweet blood. They pause to see you convulsing on the bed with blood squirting out of the side of your neck.

“Y/N!” Dean yells.

Everything goes black shortly after.

You open your eyes and first notice how unbelievably bright the sun is. You squint and move your hand up to block some of the light. Dean’s window faces the west which means he gets the sunset every day. You’ve seen this beam of light before but it’s never been this bright. Dean stands by the window with a drink in his hands. He’s looking out of the window silently.

“Dean?”

Whoa, you’ve never heard your voice like this before. It’s so much louder and more clear than before. Dean steps away from the window, approaches the bed, and holds out the glass that has some kind of red liquid in it.

“Here, drink this. You’re going to need it.”

“What is it?” you ask but take it anyway.

“Blood.”

You pause before looking at him.

“Am I a vampire?” He doesn’t say anything so you sit up in bed and trace the rim with your finger. “I’m not mad. What happened?”

“Drink.” The blood tastes metallically but bitter. You pull the glass away and lick your lips until the red color disappears. “After I unhooked you, Sam came in. We fought and you took your IV needle and stabbed yourself in the neck. It was unfortunate that you hit your carotid. You were going to bleed out if I didn’t do anything. I gave you some of my blood to heal you knowing it would turn you. You would have died if I waited for a younger vampire to do it.” You take another sip and suddenly feel the hunger for it, the hunger that is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. You down every last drop. “I tried so hard to keep you from all this.”

“It’s okay,” you sigh and hand him the empty glass. “I mean it this time.”

“I am so sorry for keeping this from you. I never meant for this to happen.”

“I’m sorry for overreacting.”

“You didn’t. I’m sorry for turning you.”

“Do you want to know why I did what I did?” He nods. “Control over my own life. All everyone has been doing is telling me what to do and how to feel. They’ve been pushing me around. Amber did it, you did it, Richard did it. I figured if I was going to die anyway, may as well die on my own terms.” Dean is quiet. “Did those girls get out?”

“Yeah, Cas and Rowena took care of it.”

“What about Sam?”

“He fled when I went to help you. I think he was scared I might have killed him so he ran. I don’t know where he is or when he’s going to strike next.”

“When? My blood is useless, right?”

“I don’t know, honestly. Fairies have always been such magical creatures. Pair that with dragon blood and vampire blood… I don’t know what that does to your blood.” Dean reaches out and tucks a stray hair back into place. “I was worried about you. You left.”

“I did. I needed space to think. Despite everything that’s happened, I don’t think I can stay away from you. You make me feel alive,” you whisper.

“I need you to know that you are not Annabeth.”

“I know that now.” Dean leans in and kisses you. A vampire has heightened senses so kissing Dean as one makes the fireworks more intense. “If you thought you’d be rid of me in forty years, think again. I’m going to be around for a long time.”

“Good,” he grins.

He leans in and kisses you again, not afraid anymore.

I need you to know that you are not Annabeth. That’s what Dean said to you. If only he knew just how wrong he is. Annabeth stands outside Dean’s mansion that she’s spent so much time in with a smirk. She runs her tongue over her fangs in thought. If you have any hope of surviving in this new world, you’re going to need her.

Not now. She’ll let you have this moment with Dean. She turns away from the mansion and slips back into the shadows.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fan fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #supernatural fiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic

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hatopixlriffs · 3 months ago

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This week, on CHC:

Flowers, trees, and dragons, Oh My!

Welcome to the CHC recap, my name is Pixlriffs, our writer is ZloyXP, our physical copies printed by Lyarrah. So much has happened in the past week and a half since the last recap, so without further ado:

Let's take a look at all the events and mishaps that occurred on Camp Hermitcraft, this week!

Starting with @gem-the-oracle, who caught a nasty bug, and spent most of the week ill in the Big House. Being the Oracle of Delphi of course, absolutely nothing could go wrong! Besides, it couldn't be weirder than her vision of purple flowers that were quickly identified as Hyacinths, the same kind of flower plaguing every Apollo kid and especially Apollo himself! This spirals into madness as @sungod7-fuckyoupearl starts getting texts from none other than Daphne, known to her account name @notoriginallyatreenypmh and the sun god as "The One Who Got Away". Apollo quickly undergoes the five stages of grief as he realizes this isn't a prank and @boatboynr1- who was turned into a cat by Apollo literally ten minutes prior- berates him with yowls.

Oh, and Apollo's dead boyfriend Hyacinthus seems to have been the one sending all the flowers. How @hyancithus is doing this beats all reason as he is stuck as a Hyacinth flower and can only communicate in 🪻 emojis. Daphne claims he's able to channel energy through her and the phone she stole but refuses to elaborate further. After a minor breakdown, Apollo teleports Daphne and Hya from their temporary prison of Italy to Camp Hermitcraft, where Daphne takes her axe- also stolen- and takes a breather in the camp lake. Apollo's hands are full as he does his best to take care of his dead boyfriend, whom is still stuck as a flower. A similar rescue mission is still ongoing, as @askhermesgrian, @camphermithater, and Joel have left on a quest to go retrieve @pearl-likes-hunting from some myserious woods. All at the request of @shutupapolloplease, of course.

And what do you know, a third retrieval is also ongoing! @hatotangoftek's metal dragon, Fotia, is loose in NYC and he scrambles to get her back before he ends up in more trouble than he already is.

@undead-daughter-of-heb attempts to help Tango, but not before blacking out and waking up hours later, with the Hebe cabin rearranged, nice notes everywhere, and people claiming that Gem had briefly possessed her. The strangeness doesn't end there, as she finds and almost adopts a stray cat in camp, before eventually realizing it was @askxisumachc who'd gotten cursed while shifted and couldn't change back. Cleo takes X to Camp Jupiter, where @lovemushroomsandflowers successfully returns him to human form. Ignoring the purring, cat tail, and cat ears that stayed behind, of course. And according to Scott, Xisuma also seems to have retained cat-like attributes, such as the innate need to chase a laser pointer.

(click for better size- couldn't enlarge it w/o crunchiness) Unluckily for Scott, or maybe luckily for X, @goldenqueenfalse ended up putting him in the hospital before he could test catnip on the acting camp director. This does mean that the fashion show, which most demigods have agreed to simply call "Prom", will be delayed some time, which is fine as some campers have yet to pick out outfits.

Some campers may need to re-choose outfits after ending up back as adults, as Cleo has figured out how to control her powers! Yay for Cleo!

Chaos isn't the only thing going on, as @asktheshreeper and @boatboynr2 spend the week hanging out and even make some shopping plans!

@askscarpjo makes head bead bracelets :)

@hatorendiggitydog also wants head bead bracelets. He then proceeds to dream about Tartarus and acts like thats normal. Etho is not convinced.

@askhatoskizz is not immune to his dad's dead boyfriend and after receiving Hyacinths, decides to do something else. He decides to take @erempulse to a musical and manages to get tickets from Apollo before the whole shrubbery shenanigans (see: above) go down.

@spoonsandmustaches spends his free time playing tech support for @hato-grumbot (ooc- run by the creator of the au himself: @ahllohehn).

@askhatokeralis spends the week running camp in Xisuma's absence. He's doing fantastic.

And finally there's @askluckskall, who's been contemplating his gender identity and is seeking help from Cleo. As of writing this, we have yet to see where this is headed.

AND that's about it for this weeks recap, our writer is ZloyXP, and my name is Pixlriff, physical copies printed by Lyarrah. Don't forget to leave a like while you're here, and follow so you don't miss future recaps. Thanks for reading, and we'll see you next week.

#hermits and the olympians #hato pixlriffs #hato recap

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luneymoony · 2 years ago

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The Butterfly's Effect (Prologue)

a SAGAU!Imposter! AU x Shinobu!Reader where the reader is.. well, shinobu kocho from demon slayer.

CW: mentions of death, swearing, slight mentions of dissecting? Major Spoiler Warning for the anime only watchers out there! (imsosorryomfg) WC: 1.4k Notes: reader will be shinobu, like, literally. english isnt my first language so i apologize if theres any grammar, spelling mistakes or edits. :)) i've been obsessed with crossovers and sagaus so why not put them together? Photo is not mine!

...

It's so dark.

What happened?

I can't remember anything..

Wait..

Am I.. Dead?

The final battle of the Demon slayer corps has finally come to an end. The demon king, Muzan has finally succumbed to his demise after more than ten thousand years of living as a demon. The upper moons were all defeated and Japan is now demon free.

Of course, everything comes with a price. As many people strived to defeat the demon king, many also died in the process. Tomioka Giyuu, and Shinazugawa Sanemi, The remaining Hashiras of the corps.

Rengoku Kyojiro, Iguro Obanai, Kanroji Mitsuri, Tokito Muichiro, Himejima Gyomei, Kocho Shinobu.

These were the pillars that had lost their lives in the battlefield. Many people lost something in that battle. Their lives, their loved ones, their abilities. It will take time to heal from these wounds. Emotionally, physically and mentally.

Kanao looked at the butterfly hairpin on her hand, her mind drifts off to the insect hashira and how she died, how she was getting absorbed by that vile and disgusting demon. How she could've saved her if she was more quick enough.

Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes, holding the butterfly hairpin more firmly and bringing it close to her chest. She misses them so much. She can only pray that they will be reincarnated to a world free of demons. A world where they could be happy.

A world that they can live in freely.

Your eyes flutters open. Your head was spinning and the first thing your eyes see is the clear, bright blue sky. You blinked rapidly to clear your blurring vision. You moved your head a bit to take in your surroundings.

You were laying on a soft patch of grass in the middle of nowhere. A large tree giving you enough shade to block your form from the sun's bright, and burning glow.

Slowly you sat up, groaning while doing so. You don't remember laying or being here when you were last conscious. The last thing you remembered was the sound of your sword dropping to the ground and-

Wait.

That's right, you were fighting uppermoon two. By what you can gather, you had died and had been absorbed by him.

But.. what happened after that? You certainly didn't remember getting yourself teleported to this unknown place, in fact, this wasn't even where you were when you had fought the bastard. And aren't you supposed to be dead?

Your thoughts were interrupted when there's a sudden noise coming from behind the tree. The loud noise startling you from your train of thoughts. You stood up —albeit a bit slowly— and noticed that you still had your sword with you, and your clothes were still intact. Your hand went to the back of your head to feel the butterfly hairpin that is strangely still there.

Choosing to save the questions that were racing in your mind for later, you feel the hilt of your sword and carefully and quietly approached the matter behind the tree.

You stopped once your eyes spot the.. Unusual looking creature? It looked a bit human, with arms, legs, a head and a mask covering its face. Weird ears. It also looked like it has something on its mask.

The creature seemed didn't seem to notice you or your presence, not until you stood in front of it did it froze. Its noises stopped too. It looked completely frozen by the sight of you.

Your hand on your sword's hilt had tighten, although it didn't show any signs of attacking you nor does it seemed armed, you were still very wary of it.

It doesn't look like a demon, well, not the usual demons. It is sure a humanoid creature with just some weird ears but it doesn't seem harmful. You also noticed that it had a briefcase from its side.

"What are you?"

Those are the first words you have spoken ever since you had woken up. Your voice was hoarse, your mouth and throat felt dry like the dessert. But you aren't giving in to the tempting urge to drinking whatever liquid is near to you until this creature answered you your question.

Although you did feel a bit stupid to just ask this random creature a question, when you could've just killed it right then and there for its unusual appearance. However.. you weren't going to attack it until it attacks you first. Plus, there were something off about this one.

Your gentle gaze and soft movements startled the Unusual Hilichurl. It couldn't get its eyes off of you, you looked like you simply didn't exist. It usually payed no mind to the others and the mortals that passed by. Taking no interest in them whatsoever.

But when its eyes laid on you, it froze. The hilichurl had no idea why but it felt like its about to drop to its knees before your presence. And that, it did.

Your eyes blinked in surprise at the kneeling hilichurl in front of you. Truth to say, your eyes were keen and careful to whatever movement its doing so as you were almost about to unsheathe your sword, it just dropped to its knees and bowed.

"What are you doing?"

The creature didn't moved an inch, it just kneeled and didn't say anything. It didn't even answer your first question.

You were even more curious by this sudden behavior of this mysterious creature. You wanted to investigate and possibly might dissect it for later. Yet you couldn't ignore your stomach that was begging for food, and your dry throat.

Seeing as this creature didn't want to seem to cooperate, and it most likely probably couldn't, you let it be, as you need to do more important things. Like finding food and water to prevent yourself from dying of thirst or starvation.

You just took once more glance at it and turned your heel to walk away. To your surprise, you have spotted a small river. You walked towards it and removed your butterfly patterned haori to properly drink it.

The water's very refreshing, and it felt like heaven when the liquid made contact to your mouth, and down to your throat. Not to mention, the water also tastes quite good. Its most likely because you haven't really drank much. Wonder how long you were laying in that area?

After drinking, you had put your haori back on and went to explore this unfamiliar place that you're in. Maybe you could find some sort of village or town here that would invite you in.

You looked around for a bit and noticed that theres something in the distance that caught your eye, was it a city perhaps? it looked huge, there were windmills that you could see clearly from this place. Maybe there'll be some people there that can help you.

The cool breeze of the air and the heat of the sun felt so much like home to you. It has been awhile since you felt this relaxed with such environment. The scenery, the relaxing atmosphere, it felt so nostalgic.

"This is nice."

You couldn't help but speak fondly out loud. You smiled to yourself, a real and genuine smile. Not the fake smile that you usually wore to hide your true self, but a relaxed, and actual calm smile. This sense of tranquility almost feels too foreign to you that you couldn't help but sigh and close your eyes.

Even if you didn't see it, even if you weren't there, you could sense that the uppermoon two had been defeated by your tsuguko, and Inosuke. You couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of the cocky bastard arrogantly mocking you from your "worthless" attempt to kill him.

It was only when the poison taking effect did you laugh at that fucker's melting face. He really did underestimate you huh? Who knew that a simple butterfly can unleash so much hell with a single flap of its wings? It was truly pathetic trying to see the little shit's futile attempt regenerate its head.

Once the uppermoon had been defeated and is now entering the gates of hell, you were triumphant of his demise. You couldn't stand seeing his stupid face and seeing it melting to the ground unleashed a wave of satisfaction in you.

You shook your head and chuckled to yourself, focusing on your only goal for now as you continued your way to the city with a slight and satisfied curl of your lips.

The windmills of this city was getting clearer to your vision, as you were getting nearer and nearer to the city, a voice suddenly calls out.

"Stop right there!"

You froze and stopped in your tracks. Was it another one of those creatures that you met at that tree? but this one can talk and- wait a minute. Are they speaking in a foreign language?

Where exactly did you wake up in?

~~~

hihihiii its finally hereee

i've been procrastinating this for a week now becuz ive been so busy but here it is! the amount of ideas i have for this is akkakkahdjas

but ive finally managed to put myself together to make this! i really hope u all like it :,)

lmk if anyone wants me to continue this, the prologue is slightly boring and messy at first but ill try to make it readable as possible.

Edit: i forgot to put a spoiler warninggg :C im so sorry anime only watchers akcsksksk

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narrators-journal · 3 months ago

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The SEES sexuality (plus a bonus)

To break up the persona 2 content and feed my persona 3 fans, have some thoughts on the SEES’ sexualities. Excluding ken, of course, and koromaru lol.

Yukari Takeba

Possibly a hot take for the p3 fans, but Yukari...isn’t my cup of tea. So, I don’t tend to comb over her character the same way I do Minato lol. So, the only real thing I have to go on for her sexuality is vibes, and the movies to say that she seems like she’s a bit of a man-hating lesbian type. Maybe she doesn’t know it, but she’s got that vibe to me.

Mitsuru Kirijo

Mitsuru vibes like she’s got too many gender issues to be dealing with sexuality too, but I think she vibes like she, like Yukari, likes women more than men. But, she also vibes to me like she doesn’t exactly look to date, maybe is some flavor of asexual and/or aromantic.

Akihiko Sanada

Akihiko is so fuckin’ gay. Namely for Shinji, but he doesn’t seem to show any interest in women in general in my opinion. I mean, he’s got a whole fan club that he seems to avoid more than anything, and while part of that is his tunnel vision on fighting shadows and protecting his friends, him and Shinjiro definitely have somethin’ more there lol. So, I think Akihiko is pretty solidly gay. At least for the most part, I’ll give him some bisexual wiggle room with Kotone.

Fuuka Yamagishi

Fuuka is a weird one. Like Yukari, she doesn’t really spark a lot of combing through and picking apart, but she also doesn’t give any strong energy. I can see her going either way, being hetero, or being bi, or maybe even having no real interest in relationships. But, if I had to chew on it, I’d say she’s maybe bisexual, or lesbian. She seems to have a fat ass crush on her best friend, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she got flustered about Aki being shirtless, or seeing Shinjiro being a sweetie.

Minato Arisato

This is gonna be another slightly heated one, but I think Minato is pretty firmly gay, or maybe grey-ace or some level of aromantic. Because in the game, his relationship with men seems just...so much more intimate. Like, Kenji gave him a damned choker, and Hidetoshi refused to frame him for power. Mans gave up his life goal to protect Minato. Something’s there. In contrast, his bonds with the women, while not stiff, don’t feel like they develop natural chemistry. Plus, in the movies, I just never got the vibe that he liked damn near anyone outside of Ryoji. So, I can’t really see him liking women almost at all. He’s either grey-ace, gay, or ryoji-sexual to me lol.

Shinji Aragaki

Shinji strikes me pretty strongly as unbothered by relationships. He doesn’t seem very interested in dating, since...well, y’know, his personal shit. That being said, he does strike me as pretty firmly bisexual. He has no real desire for a relationship, but he’d sleep with a woman or a man, Aki or Kotone, doesn’t really matter to him.

Aigis

I don’t think Aigis’ asexual like some might assume because she’s a robot. After all, she ends up basically growing a proper sense of self/a soul in the game, so she’s pretty well human. But! I do see her as demisexual and biromantic. She takes emotional connection to develop any sexual feelings, but either gender can get her romantic attraction.

Ryoji Mochizuki

There’s no competition. Ryoji is aggressively bisexual. He’s not choosing shit, he wants both lol.

Junpei Iori

I think Junpei is heterosexual, but bi-curious. Because, naturally, he seems very interested in women, but he seems to have a big ol’ crush on Akihiko, and maybe Minato. Would this grow into a proper bisexuality? No clue, but let’s be serious, we all know it doesn’t matter.

#persona #persona 3 #for fun #headcanons #The SEES #Ryoji Mochizuki

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child-of-the-danube · 21 days ago

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Going absolutely bonkers with theories vol.2 Electric Boogaloo

Post no.1 was focused towards the episode being Lilia's vision. This one is more on the Teen subconsciously controlling them/it being his trial AND/OR the Salem Seven messing with them.

Regarding Teen:

- Already mentioned that the whole cabin in the woods, 80s look, Ouija boards stuff is very teen horror tropes and Teen is the one leading it all. Before, they'd shut him off mostly or only occasionally listen but this time they all listened to him explaining the rules and let him lead them into the trial. He wants to see himself as equal and useful and has brought up wanting to truly be part of the coven in every episode (e.g "The curse attacked me. Does that mean I'm part of the coven now?")

- He lost his spell book right at the beginning, the one thing that gave him power in the coven was his collected knowledge on witchcraft. Losing it points to him having to use an alternative route without relying on an aid like magic or basically a cheat paper.

- As for everyone being out of character except Rio, somebody pointed out in their post really well how all of them seem almost like exaggerations/caricatures of themselves in this episode, but more so, in the way that Teen probably sees them. He is closest to Alice, so of course he'd put her as the "saviour", the one who'd try and do the right thing. When it comes to Jen, the only interactions he's had with her was her showing clear distaste for Agatha most of the time and her antagonistic attitude is turned to 100 in this episode. I don't think he can control Rio as she is not human/just a witch and is probably out of earthly bounds so she is in the clear. Lilia he doesn't really interact with beside seeing her as the old strange lady that doesn't believe in herself and always talks about how hurtful the stereotypes about witches are so beside that being even more on the nose this episode, he leaves her alone. Agatha he's deeply conflicted about. She's shown him kindness and encouragement but clearly everyone around her thinks she's irredeemably evil beside Rio so he is at the space between wanting to see her as good and thinking she deserves punishment. Lilia looks at HIM and not Evanora when she repeats the phrase "punish Agatha".

- He is always pointing out how they're putting themselves in danger by fighting and not working together and the entirety of the episode is exactly that, so I'm again inclined to think it's Teen's view of them and him trying to calm them down and work together is what he has to do to pass the trial (which he fails at)

- Somebody also pointed out how "Don't use the board alone" was one of the rules and when Nick talks through the board and the watches beep signifying the time having run out, it was only him at the board - a violation of rules which he doesn't pay for.

- He still ends up getting power even if the trial was a failure and they're worse off than they were before which is strange. Was Agatha accidentally killing Alice the confirmation he needed to snap and break his sigil or was this his purpose on the road the entire time - to play a demiurge of sort/devil on the shoulder between them? Was he sent by someone to slither his way into Agatha's life with or without knowing what exactly the purpose of it is?

Now to the Salem Seven :

- In the trailer for Lilia's episode, the Salem Seven are present at the trial but this episode they couldn't breach a simple wooden door? Something smells off there.

- Before the coven enters the house, they pass through the swarm of bees/wasps(?) of one of them. We have no idea what their actual powers are beside being able to turn into animals, so maybe messing with reality is one of them even tho I'd put that more into the Teen category given who his mother is and what WandaVision was about.

- Then the trial begins and there's no Moon phase on the door and no magic is used, nobody's skill is tested in an obvious way as they were before, no elemental danger like we had with water and fire etc. The only "danger" this episode comes in the form of possessed Agatha and the inner turmoil of the coven. In a way, the trial has no clear point or goal. In the previous ones, after the hardships, they ended up with new gained confidence, resolution of problems, getting their power back, closer than they were before, but not this time. This one was purely focused on fucking with Agatha.

- Excluding already present Rio, there's only two people fitting to send as torture devices for Agatha. First one is her mother, the only one she might still care about from the Salem lot she "killed" back then and the other person would be Nick. Rio said she hated ghosts a.k.a souls who linger due to unfinished business but Nick didn't even appear as a ghost in this so-called Agatha's trial despite being her biggest weak spot and trauma. Maybe he is comfortable in Rio's realm as he's familiar with her and she can probably protect him in a way from his soul/ghost being used by others like the Salem Seven.

- Evanora exploits Agatha's trauma with words and then possesses her, which could be taken as a strategy to make someone who can attack her do it and confirm that Agatha IS in fact the monster everyone thinks she is and that they should abandon her cause the Salem Seven know Agatha has no control of her absorption powers. She looks genuinely distraught when she snaps out of it and sees Alice dead and even goes in to help.

- The whole Teen turning on them thing is very much another torture method intended for Agatha. What better way to fuck her psyche up some more after mommy dearest than to make a child she deeply cares for turn on her?

- And where were the Salem Seven once they got out of the house? Wouldn't they wait and stage an ambush if this was a truly trial they couldn't interfere with and not just one of their versions of punishing Agatha? Since we don't know their powers, maybe they can't actually actively hurt her and have to find a way around to do it like through possession via Evanora cause what would the point of possession be other than to have someone do the dirty work of attacking Agatha for them. I'm sure Evanora would have tried to kill her on the spot if she could. She tells the coven at some point to leave Agatha with her and go but we've seen before that they physically CAN NOT leave the houses before the time runs out, so how would they be able to leave half way through if this was an actual trial?

- Again, pointed out by other people, but the screen ration in previous episodes changed to full screen when the trails began. This episode, it remained the same the whole time with so was that truly a trial?

Anyways, everything about this episode is weird, suspicious as hell and can be read a 100 different and/or overlapping ways. I need someone to invent a time machine and bring me to next week's episode immediately or I'll combust

#agatha all along #agatha all along spoilers #agatha all along episode 5 #agatha harkness #kathryn hahn #rio vidal #aubrey plaza #lilia calderu #patti lupone #jennifer kale #sasheer zamata #alice wu gulliver #ali ahn #teen #wiccan #billy maximoff #joe locke #evanora harkness #the salem seven

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filmofhybe · 11 months ago

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The perfect blend - YJW

part 1 of “IN EVERY MULTIVERSE”

In which..

can you ever imagine in this multiverse, you having the biggest fattest crush on your best friend - Yang jungwon, however knowing he already has a “girlfriend” hurts more than just a sting from a bee.

💌 PAIRING : yjw x reader

GENRE : friends to lovers , fluff

WARNING : angst , fluff , kissing

🗯️ FEATURING : huh yunjin - LE SSERAFIM

word count : 2,501

MASTERLIST to “IN EVERY MULTIVERSE”.

“Are you serious? Do you believe you can travel to different multiverse?” Yunjin looks at me as if she just heard the most ridiculous thing that has ever come out of a human’s mouth.

“Well, you never know. There’s always a chance we actually can..” I replied as I shoved another spoonful of rice into my mouth.

“Oh my gosh y/n, I’ve known you for years and this is probably the most idiotic thing that has come out of your smart-ass mouth.” She threw her hands in the air before turning her vision back to the TV screen in front of us.

“What if I actually get there though?” Now the room has turned absolutely silent. Even the TV at the background has sound coming out of it. “Well then tell me everything when I get my normal y/n back.” Sighing, as I watch her placing our bowl into the sink.

“Right, we have school tomorrow, I'll make you breakfast. And you can do whatever. Sweet Dreams y/n. And I want the normal y/n back ASAP.” We chuckled, as I watched her till her silhouette disappears into the end of the dark hallway. Pushing myself off the floor as I turned the tv off and walking to my bedroom to start washing up.

After a warm bath, I sat in my bed as soft music plays, the light in the room is dim, creating a cozy atmosphere. Cuddling into the soft duvet, my mind was full of thoughts on what would actually happen if I traveled to all my multiverse. Would something bad happen? How would I get back? Would I get stuck in one of them and never return? Pushing all those negative thoughts away as weight falls upon my eyes, closing them as sleep finally takes over me. Sending me to dream land…

“y/nnie~~ wake up!!” I jumped at the sudden stranger voice. Dizziness taking over me as I scratch my eyes, trying to adjust the brightness, I looked around realizing I’m in a classroom, wait wasn’t I-

“Are you ok? You’ve been sleeping for ages..” I look up, seeing a boy with define features, cat looking eyes with sweet soft pink lips, wait isn’t that jungwon? THE JUNGWON IM LITERALLY BEST FRIENDS WITH?

“Oh uh yeah I’m alright thank you..” I replied to him, not knowing how and why I’m suddenly in a classroom. “Y/n you seem confused? Come on let’s go get some food to get your energy up!” Man if only if he weren’t so damn cheerful.. Before I could react, jungwon takes my hand as he drags me through the hallway of the unfamiliar surrounding around me. We stop as we arrive at the cafeteria before getting our food.

“y/n I think we should totally hang out this week!” He said, as a big smile spread across his face. My brain still processing on how this is actually happening. How Im I going to hanging out with Jungwon, and why does this feel so real. “oh yeah of course we can!” I cheerfully said, cringing at how I replied to him.

“That’s great! I’ll pick you up from yours around 11 on Saturday!” Turning around as he throws away his rubbish. Grabbing my arm once again as I allowed him to drag me anywhere. His hands was soft like a baby’s cheek, his cheeks as pink as a baby girl’s pajamas. He is a real life softie. Running around the school before arriving to his destined spot. “Have you ever been here before?” Examining around, Sakura tress around us, pedals falling from the spring breeze, realizing it was the back of the school that no one goes to. I shook my head as I saw him take a camera out of his bag.

“Y/n look over here! You look extremely pretty right now, say cheese!!” Turning the camera towards me as I awkwardly poses in front of him. Click before he takes the film out, waiting for it to appear. “Film camera is our thing now okay?” Watching him lay below the tree as the sun shines on his face , making his defined features more visible.

Copying his move as I lay next to him as I treasure this sweet moment with the guy I have never thought would appear in my multiverse. Smiling as I turn to him grabbing his attention. “So 11am Saturday right…?” “Yeah don’t be late ok?” “I won’t-“ “pinky promise me! I’ll be waiting for you okay?” He extended his hand as we pinky promised each other.

Before we can kiss our pinky and seal the promise, I was waken by my alarm. Fuck.. did you really had to ruin my god damn dream.. I sat up realizing that wouldn’t be a dream right? It felt so real, I could move everything and control what I’m doing. What is this? Did I just traveled to another universe. Or I’m just tricking myself.

Throwing my shoes on before locking the apartment doors. Walking towards my 11am class which was absolutely a joke, I rather stay in my cozy bed, dreaming or even traveling back to last night’s dream. I was so deep in my thoughts I didn’t even realize I bumped into someone, dropping all my notes on the floor. Wow could my day be any better.. I quickly started picking up the stuff without trying ti embarrass myself more, too annoyed to even realize someone was helping me as well. Accidentally bumping into each others head as we stand up.

I heard him let out a little groan as I rub my head, looking up realizing it was Jungwon. “Hey y/n! I didn’t mean to bump into you here’s your notes.” Handing me it as I’m still processing what’s going on last night. His hands accidentally touched mines, the same exact soft delicate hands that held my wrist.. His features exactly identical from the dream, hair styled the same, confusing me even more. So your telling me your the same person as the guy that was in my dream..or multiverse or whatever I was in last night. Can’t be bother to deal with more crazy hallucinations. I thanked him as I take my notes back and walked towards my class, leaving a confused jungwon, wondering what he did. I hear him calling out for me but soon stops as he seems like he had given up to continue. Heart heavy, knowing the fact he doesn’t even know he was calling me pretty in my other universe, hanging out with each other when we rarely do it now.

“What do you mean Yang jungwon was in your dream, but in that dream you can move like physically.” Yunjin’s face displays a confused look. Not believing a single word that just came out of my mouth.

“Yunjin, I can literally feel his hand in my, quote on quote, so-called dream. The exact ones that touched mines today.” The more I talk about it the more, I just want to absolutely bury myself 6ft under. I just don’t believe that “dream” wasn’t real. It definitely have to do with something in my next life or whatever.

“We really need to get you some help because your telling me this is your dream, but you can feel all these little things isn’t making sense.” By now Yunjin particularly tired of my ranting, but I know she’s silently enjoying all of this. Watching her continue to type on her computer as i return my focus towards the opened Chemistry book in front of me.

Silently getting along with our work, the only slightest sound heard was Yunjin’s typing. Nothing could be more peaceful than this. I stopped reading the paragraph I’m currently on as i heard a familiar voice coming beside me.

“I got the coffee for you and y/n, you both better pay me back.”

“Fine! Your acting like we are using you or something..”

“Because maybe you are..” It was Jungwon’s voice.

“I’ll pay you back on Saturday-”

“Wait Saturday? How do you know I was about to ask you to hang out on Saturday-”

“it’s nothing I don’t know why I said that.” I awkwardly chuckled as i return my vision towards my notes.

“Your just as weird as the first time i met you, right 11am Saturday I’ll pick you up.” He said before throwing his bag behind his back, walking out of the common room.

“What the actual shit was that. How the hell is everything in your dream just implied to what happened…” Shock laid across both me and Yunjin’s face as we realize, my so called dream isn’t really just a dream. Is something more than just a dream. Maybe even related to the MULTIVERSE .

SERIES TAGLIST : @enhaz1 @dubuii @in-somnias-world @ultimatestayandminoronce @yenqa @euncsace @hoondiors @yannew @mrchweeee @ariadores @oldjws @frukkoneeeeg @dimplewonie @seobstarr @asteria-wood (white = i cant tag) / comment to be added to the series taglist.

; AUTHORS NOTE : Hope you guys enjoy the first chapter / prologue! Please reblog or comment to boost my story! Same time next week see you than!! Have a nice week :)

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suzukiblu · 1 year ago

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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @qwertynerd97, cat, and Necer0s; the wet nurse omegaverse.

"Here, let’s just set up on the coffee table, why don’t we," Bruce says, pushing the scant few knick-knacks and books on it down to the far end and sparing a last calculating glance for Carl, who has a hand on both Lor and Jon’s backs and is petting them both with heavy, steady strokes as he goes back to that low and rumbling purring. Jon is visibly melting into him; Lor is already functionally a liquid.

Bruce is still a little concerned that Lor might have difficulty digesting human milk, but all things considered, this seems to be going unexpectedly well. Apparently the list of prioritized nutrients he sent over to all those agencies is finally paying off.

Carl keeps purring like a very quiet engine and clearly doesn't care about anyone else in the room at all, including Tim and Damian. Tim looks a little relieved by that, for some reason; Damian just looks irritated. Bruce doubts he'd ever want to nurse from a wet nurse, considering, but not being offered the opportunity probably still feels like an insult to him. Still, he's not in Lor's pack, never mind his and Jon's not-quite-formed pack bonds that everyone else has been politely not mentioning in order to avoid making a thing. It's normal for pups to try and pack up with their friends, especially when they're particularly close ones, even if said packing up doesn't always succeed or pan out in the long term.

It's just not normal for Damian, so again, they've all been avoiding mentioning it just yet.

“Yes, of course, Alpha Wayne,” Travers says stiffly, setting out her paperwork on the coffee table in a tidy, easy-access arrangement. She's more than a little questionable as a chaperone, but at least she's efficient, Bruce supposes, which means her personal files should be easy enough to investigate when he asks Barbara to break into them. “The contract is the standard setup, but of course we can go over it as thoroughly as you’d like. Er–well, actually, if you’d like Carly to do direct nursing, it’ll be the A contract, not the B, but I have copies of that too.”

Small favors, Bruce thinks. Saves waiting for the office to email or fax it over, at least.

“Sounds good,” he says, leaning over the coffee table to glance at the papers she’s laying out. “Alright to take a look, Clark?”

“That’s fine, yes,” Clark says, flicking his eyes away from Jon and Lor and Carl and putting on a pleasant smile as he steps up beside Bruce and looks down at the papers himself. He makes a show of adjusting his glasses and leaning over too, as if he isn’t in possession of vision that could read paperwork with a font half this size from the opposite end of a football field without so much as squinting. Tim visibly resists the urge to come over too, being Tim and always wanting as much information as possible. Alfred has more patience and Damian just isn’t interested, Jon and Lor are both understandably distracted, and Carl is just continuing to ignore everyone that isn’t actively cuddled up to him, so otherwise they have all the space in the world.

“We strive to keep the contracts as straightforward as possible, of course, but there are a few necessary clauses and disclaimers,” Travers says, gesturing at the paperwork as she lays out the last sheet, and then proceeds to explain said clauses and disclaimers in agonizing detail. Bruce listens to and absorbs the information, resenting the entire conversation as something that could’ve absolutely been an email and also half the length it currently is, but keeps a touch of attention on Carl and the pups.

Jon ducks his head against Carl’s chest when he finishes nursing and . . . sniffs, once, very quietly. And then blinks, very quickly.

Clark’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. Bruce decides to defer to him.

Carl does not, and starts purring louder and drags Jon up to bury his face in the scent gland in his throat without even bothering to fix his shirt. His pheromones are clumsy, unrefined things, not the kind of clear and straightforward communication that an omega his age should know how to push through their scent, but they’re still omega-sweet and all-encompassing enough to fill up the room. He smells not quite comforting, perhaps, but warm and sweet as milk and strong and solid and present: the kind of protective and certain and promised scent that Bruce is more used to associating with powerful and secure omegas like Clark and Diana than random stray civilians who’ve barely presented.

So it’s not particularly surprising when Jon plasters himself against Carl and lets out a very, very quiet sob against his scent gland. Carl wraps his arm tighter around him and purrs at him as he inexpertly nuzzles his hair. Damian bristles, glaring at Carl, and for some reason Tim’s face is very red, but Alfred projects soothing reassurance through his own pheromones and Damian’s hackles . . . well, they don’t go down, exactly, but he also doesn’t try to attack Carl, so Bruce will take it.

Clark swallows, looking pained, and keeps his eyes on the paperwork.

So yes, he’s very upset about this, if he’s not going to Jon right now.

Travers looks stressed again but doesn’t say anything about the situation, just keeps carefully explaining the contracts. They do seem to be fairly standard arrangements from what Bruce has researched in regards to wet nurse agencies, and there aren’t any particular red flags so far. Some unnecessarily archaic language and a bit of benevolent sexism on behalf of Carl, who rolls his eyes when he hears it, but nothing explicitly concerning. Bruce glances towards Clark, because Clark’s the omega here and therefore likelier to notice an abuse an alpha might not, but he doesn’t look concerned either. Well–about Jon, obviously, but not the contract.

“And of course the agency can arrange an alpha, for propriety’s sake,” Travers continues, and then Bruce finds himself very concerned.

“I'm sorry?” he says as Clark bristles beside him. Bruce attempts to find any possible way to interpret that “of course” that doesn’t involve a goddamn arranged mating in the interest of him not having to worry about an omega under his roof having the right to make any paternity claims against him if they just so “happen” to get pupped. Politely phrased, obviously, because they’re in mixed company and the Waterton Agency has manners, but still no kind of subtle for anyone who knows those manners.

“The fuck do they need with an alpha?” Carl asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion, and Bruce is reminded that Carl does not know those manners. Which means Carl has no idea what Travers just offered on his behalf.

Goddammit.

#qwertynerd97 #cat #necer0s #omegaverse #wip: the wet nurse omegaverse #long post #rinfic

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ifishouldvanish · 11 months ago

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Some Olrox Analysis & Headcanons

Have you seen this man? Now you have! 🥰

I have a lot of thoughts about Olrox Castlevania Nocturne and I'm dumping them here.

DISCLAIMER: We know so little about Olrox's past and I am but a humble stan looking at an expressionist painting and projecting my own deranged nonsense onto it. I'm fully prepared for 90% of this to get jossed in season 2, but for now I'm just letting the worms in my brain wiggle and send me beautiful visions of what could be 🥹

1. Olrox Was a Commoner and Does Not Respect Hierarchies

I've seen people point to his manner of speech and dress as evidence that he must come from a privileged background, but I think he displays too much contempt for the wealthy/nobility to have been one himself. I think these things are just symbols of power he has learned to use to his advantage.

Of course, there's everyone's favorite quote: "I prefer my blood blue." But he also demonstrates virtually no respect for authority or symbols/institutions of power in general:

He refuses the escort sent by the marquis when he arrives in France and insists on staying at the inn because he likes to "keep his ear to the ground". He would rather be around 'the people' than accept anything from the wealthy.

When Drolta is reminiscing about her glory days as a priestess, there's really not any nostalgia or sentimentality when he interrupts and says "and now those temples are half-buried in dust."

For as good as he is at presenting himself as a Gentleman of Status, he cannot bring himself to even pretend to enjoy himself at Erzsebet's lil debutante ball at the chateau.

When Erzsebet insists she is a goddess, his response is "Of course you are, sweetie 🙂"

His whole speech to Mizrak in the morning-after scene is basically a deconstruction of what power means, and how it is only a perceived vs tangible thing, a temporary position vs an immutable one:

"There are petty demon princelings you can haggle with and cheat. There are demon charlatans whose faces you can laugh in, spit in. There are demons who once were gods... And those who still are."

Foucault? In MY anime adaptation of a vampire video game?? It's more likely than u think 🤔

(continued under the cut bc this got long as hell)

2. Olrox was an Adult when Cortés Arrived

(I don't have a relevant screenshot for this point, so here's Olrox being pretty for no reason)

I've seen it float around some places that if we adhere to historical timelines to a 'T', it would make most sense for him to have been a child, but I'm of the opinion that it's more useful to take what the text itself gives us and fill the gaps with bits and pieces of the actual history where it's convenient. At the end of the day, this is a work of fiction/fantasy. So what does the text tell us?

He lived a long time as human and vampire

As of 1783, he'd been a vampire for approximately 250 years

Now, if we want to take this 250 figure literally, that would put the year of his turning at 1533. But I think we can give ourselves +/-15 years leeway because 250 is just the kind of rounded, even number one would use in natural speech in place of "267" or some shit like that. It's just how believable dialogue is written. So what lies in this +/-15 year window? The invasion by the Spanish, 1519-1521.

Now, he tells Mizrak: "Long ago, when I was still human, I watched men wade ashore from ships..."

I think this is another case of how important dialogue is. Because if he was a boy at the time, this line would likely have been written as "Long ago, when I was just a boy..." or something like "One of my earliest memories is of..." instead. "Still human" implies not only was he a human, but that he had been human for quite some time already. That the events he's describing fall in the stretch of time leading up to "still human" no longer being true.

tl;dr: the Spanish arrival and him becoming a vampire happened within a few years of each other, and if turned vampires stop aging, then he would have had to have been an adult at the time.

3. Olrox Became A Vampire Willingly

I assume that vampirism is something that was introduced to the Mexica by the Spanish in the same way it was introduced to Haiti by the French, in Annette's case.

However, rather than vampires creating spawn left and right, the persistent lore (in the show at least) is that to be turned is to be accepted into the sort of elite in-group of vampire society. (Carmilla questioning why Lisa was never turned, the Count never turning slaves, etc). Vampires feed on humans, they don't view them as potential spawn to have in thrall or whatever.

The Spanish weren't going around giving natives The Bite, because vampirism is power. So what I think, is that Olrox recognized that power, and decided to take it for himself. Rather than being the passive 'recipient' of the 'gift' of vampirism, he pried it from some Spanish vampire's cold, undead hands. (i.e., he drank their blood)

Do I have any proof of this? No. It's just what the worms in my brain are telling me 🤷 But!!

Do I think it would be a sexy little inversion of the way Erzsebet drank a god's blood to obtain her power? Yes.

Do I think it would be thematically very appropriate for a morally grey character who seems to have a very... Interesting relationship with power (individual power vs institutional powers, the subverting of power, the weaponization of symbols of power, etc)?? Oh absolutely fuck yes!!1!

[sickos.jpg]

4. Olrox Was a Priest, But Not Like That.

Priesthood in the Mexica empire was largely dominated by the nobility, whose children would be sent to the calmecec to learn how to read and write, speak the noble dialect, perform rituals, etc. But if the circumstances were right, the children of commoners could also get in!

Olrox says he's never been much of a believer, but he's highly intelligent and incredibly good at reading people. Even if he was never a man of faith, the priesthood was still a powerful institution where one could climb the ranks and earn influence over the nobility. No doubt someone as sharp and charismatic as Olrox would be able to take advantage of the opportunity to get a good education and maybe try to undermine the system from within/play a bit of political games while he was at it.

Also... Olrox's weapon of choice is the dagger. Obviously a dagger is an appropriate weapon for a character who's kind of rogue-ish, but also consider: Aztec warriors used a lot of weapons in combat: clubs, spears, arrows, axes—but an obsidian dagger? That's something that would have been used by a priest during rituals.

5. Olrox is a Bitch™ Who Knows Just What to Say to Get Under People's Skin

A common myth is that the Mexica welcomed Cortés at first because they thought he was Quetzalcoatl. But this is a misreading of the way Mexica social conventions/the noble dialect worked, which was kinda ~passive aggressive in a way, such that the more loftily and overly politely you spoke with someone, the more you were actually telling them to go eat shit and die. I think Olrox's dialogue demonstrates this beautifully in the scene where he meets Erzsebet:

"Taker of Souls, Vampire Lioness, She Who Mauls, The Messiah of--" / "Yes, charmed to meet you 😒"

"Her magnificence has heard much about you." / "Flattered. For a god to have heard of me. 🥱"

"I am a goddess!" / "...Of course 🙂"

His words are receptive, respectful, docile, even... but his tone and delivery are completely the opposite. Compare this with the way he speaks with Richter and (in later interactions) Mizrak—which is more informal, open, confrontational. He's more direct with them because he actually respects them.

As far as reading and getting under people's skin with pinpoint precision, I present the following interactions:

When he catches the marquis' severed head in the catacombs, he reads him (and potentially also Drolta) like a book: "This one? He was just an opportunist, following the messiah because she's powerful. But there are those who love her [looks to Drolta]. So I'm told."

When Drolta gives him a verbal slap on the wrist for feeding on the wealthy, he says "mY Ap0LoGiEs, I didn't realize how invested you are in keeping the mortals happy." - To which Drolta goes on to grumble about how their alliance with some of the mortals disgusts her.

When Erzsebet is waxing poetic about how everyone will see her beauty and worship her, he has the balls to—without missing a beat—say "PaRd0n mEe, but you mean to do this through an alliance with a man who will never worship you? 🫢" right to her fcuuckin face mgod I love him so much (this is the point where she whips out the big guns and yells "I am a goddess!!" while threateningly flashing her orb of darkness btw. Like she did NOT like that)

6. Olrox Has an 'Eye for an Eye' View of Justice

A prevalent theme in Aztec religion is the idea that like... ain't nothin' in this world for free. Sacrifices to the gods weren't symbolic gestures of devotion, but an act of paying the gods back for providing humanity with the means to survive.

The idea that everything has a price pervades the dialogue he has with Mizrak in the morning-after scene:

"What was the cost? Who pays it? Just him? Or all of you? Will you? Which demon will claim his price when all this is done?"

And it's also present in the very first scene where we are introduced to Olrox:

"You see, your mama took someone from me I loved, just as much as you loved her. So, she had to die."

What's interesting about this scene is also how... calm he is the whole time—before the fight, after the fight. Yes, he's motivated by the murder of the man he loved, but he brings zero of that passion to this confrontation. It's just an execution, something inevitable that must be done.

That he's fine with confronting a terrified Richter immediately afterwards to explain what just happened (and is completely unapologetic about it) is also telling. It suggests that Olrox views this kind of thing as just 'the way of the world'—a hard truth that Richter will be better off for having learned sooner rather than later.

I think this also helps explain why, years later, Olrox seems to treat Richter with a little more.... Familiarity than we might consider appropriate. He approaches Richter in the catacombs like he's just an old acquaintance, as though Richter should have no reason to be terrified of him. When Drolta mentions the incident later, he seems kind of lightly amused by it. Then, when he drops off the book, he's visibly/audibly frustrated that Richter starts gearing up for a fight. To Olrox, the whole "killed your mom" thing is water under the bridge, nothing personal.

7. Olrox is a Vampire of Prominence in The New World

Obviously, he has to be kind of a big deal to give a Belmont a run for their money. But let's go deeper into the IMPLICATIONS!!

"In 250 years, do you know how many vampire hunters have promised to slice me in two?"

"Her magnificence has heard much about you."

"You will be her guide into America."

He's enough of a big deal that countless hunters have promised to kill him. Enough of a big deal that Erzsebet has not only heard of him, but sees him as a valuable ally who knows enough about America to guide her as she builds her empire across it.

Olrox wasn't just a powerful vampire who got entangled with the politics of colonial Massachusetts and happened to cross paths with a Belmont. He's presumably had a hand in matters across the continent. Erzsebet refers to the colonists as "American upstarts" but for her, this is a conflict between humans vs vampires. The American colonists aren't allies or even rivals to her—because they're not vampires. They're just more pesky humans to be dealt with. (Also??? 'Protestant Vampires' as a concept is just hilarious to me, I'm so sorry)

So.

What the worms in my brain are telling me is—And this is Big!! This is a Steaming Hot Take!!!

(...seriously, tin foil hat tier headcanon incoming)

Olrox has established a network of indigenous vampires who are resisting the colonial threat. He's been turning them (or at least select individuals who are into it), and thereby redistributing the power he took from the Spanish colonizers to wield against the British colonizers.

(Look I have 0.01% faith in this actually being canon or anything. I just think it would be cool as fuck.)

Anyway.

Thanks for coming 2 my Ted talk or whatever. 😘

#Olrox #castlevania #castlevania nocturne

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glazelilyy · 2 years ago

Text

before the roar of thunder

pairings (separately!) - diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, childe/tartaglia, xiao x gender neutral reader (no pronouns used!)

word count - 4597

genre - angst, hurt/comfort

format - drabbles

warnings - blood/injury/wound mentions, cataclysmic destruction, violence, crying, kissing, character deaths with no graphic description (but not for the paired character or reader EXCEPT in childe's)

summary - a storm approaches but just before it does, you share a tender moment with your beloved for the last time

a/n - i have been mia for a while :') but this idea just kinda hit me out of nowhere so i decided to write about it :P i don't know if this writing will live up to expectations or any of my work from the past because i haven't written in a while but i'm trying to enjoy writing just because i like it rather than to live up to an expectation, so i'm gonna try and do my best :) i hope you enjoy this piece and thank you all so much for your patience and love these past few months i could not be more grateful that i am being interacted with and sent such wonderful messages <3 (also fun fact i listened to multiple vbs songs while writing most of this which just doesn't fit in with anything happening in these drabbles and majority of the time i had akito rapping in my ear while writing about death LMAO)

diluc loved.

he loved his city, born from the death of corruption and nurtured by the souls and free spirits of her people. he loved the crisp breeze that swept by falcon coast and cradled its peak in a bough of brevity where his worries would fly away and cast themselves up into the sky to become stars. he loved the shade from beneath the towering tree at windrise where memories of summers and picnics and childhood mischief came alight with a single glance towards her wavering leaves. he loved the cool touch of a crystalfly's perch upon his gloved finger.

he loved his companions; silently from afar he'd send well wishes in quiet messages meant only for their hands to caress or ears to indulge. he loved lisa; lazy as she might appear not once had she ever let him down. he loved jean: hardworking, disciplined, strong, courageous, but for every pedestal she was placed on was she ever more human—flesh and blood with a heart that pounded for others and never herself. he loved kaeya—his beloved little brother who always preferred the cool shade of his shadow and shielded his back from the many blades that sought his head.

he loved you. you who brought light with gentle hands and placed it within his heart. you who illuminated the dark, winding pathway of justice he thought he'd walk alone forever. you who showed him trust, who knew how he liked his tea (sweet, for a man who was even sweeter). you, who braided cecilias into his hair and peppered kisses across his ruddy cheeks and doused him in all the sugary sweetness that love could ever provide.

diluc loved, and loved, and loved, tremendously.

and he still loved, even as mondstat burned in a storm of fire.

he still loved, even as he stood over lisa and jean whose eyes had lost their brilliance and sparkle of life.

he still loved, even as he wept for his little brother who had feared death and spent his remaining strength gripping onto the tassels of his jacket and begged for him to stay; to reassure him in his last moments.

he stayed, despite the agony that coursed through his body and the never-ending sorrow that scorched his heart when kaeya stilled.

he still loved, even as he gripped your hand with tenacity laced in his veins.

soot and ash coated both of your bodies and faces as you stood at the gates of mondstat and watched the world before you crumble beneath your feet.

diluc felt his heart bob up and down in the narrow passageway of his throat.

he was always too late.

too late for his city. too late for his friends. for his brother.

the love in his heart was never enough. he was never enough. and now everything was gone. burning.

never before had he despised looking at his vision so much.

"they'll be back," you whispered hoarsely, and diluc turned to look at you, "the abyss order."

your hand seemed to squeeze his with every ounce of strength you had left, eyes wide and trembling with the flickering flames of destruction reflected in the glassy haze of your irises. the fresh tear tracks on your face twisted his heart into a knot.

"i know," he replied, never once casting his gaze away from you, "i'm still alive, after all."

diluc would not tell you that he could smell the unmistakable stench of abyssal magic from over the horizon. he couldn't. you'd seen horror after horror and now was not the time to tell you that more bloodshed approached. the abyssal army approached slowly and steadily, and soon they would be here to have his head on a stick. there was no running, there was no use escaping the inevitable.

"diluc..." you turned to him, doll-like and devoid of life with a tremble of sorrow buried in the abyss in your expression, "what do we do?" you whispered to him, as if he contained secrets of the universe that should only be shared between the two of you.

wordlessly, he pulled you close and rubbed a soothing hand in gentle strokes up and down your back. his embrace guarded you from the inevitable end that slowly crouched closer, rising with newborn sun. gloved, soot-covered hands slid up to your cheeks to thumb away at the tears that collected near your eyes.

diluc's heart wrenched in his throat uncomfortably, knowing well and good that this may be the last tender moment he'll ever share with you.

to that end, he found himself asking, "would you care for a dance?"

the question came out broken and hoarse, just barely under a whisper and lost was the man who once held a burning flame of retribution and tenacious blaze of justice in his eyes. you peered into a pool of tired red, glossed over with a misty haze of sorrow.

wordlessly, you allowed him to guide your hands and let him set the tempo as you moved carefully to avoid the debris scattered at your feet.

you'd always joke that he was much like a prince when he danced; so elegant and refined with the composure of royalty itself, he spun and dipped you much like a silk ribbon weaving through the air.

this time, however, diluc held you close and swayed to an invisible song. no elegant movements or dips from your prince. now, he was but a man clinging to the last remnants of life in his soul; the only thing tethering him to this world.

your hearts wildly pounded against each other's chests, horribly out of sync yet still so tremendously close that you'd fuse together if you could.

as the sun rose and illuminated his once beloved city, home to the people he loved, diluc leaned in and captured your lips one last time in a kiss that touched your soul and wrapped your heart in a blazing warmth of flame.

his hand wrapped so tightly around your waist and held itself firm at the back of your head, desperate to drink every last drop of your love and desperate to not let your eyes open and see that the abyssal army had breached what was left of mondstat's defenses.

diluc loved, and loved, and he loved you more than life itself. but in the end his love was never enough.

(continued utc!)

once, at the tender age of five or six, kaeya alberich witnessed death for the first time.

he'd grown fond of the butterflies that fluttered near the crystal clear lake behind dawn winery. their vibrant colors were foreign and new and his childhood intrigue urged him to watch with glowing eyes at each flap of its multicolored wings.

it was on one of these days where he found himself in the presence of the gleaming scythe of death itself when a colossal frog leapt from the waters and captured a butterfly within its maw.

he'd never felt such fear, and he convinced himself he'd never feel that fear again.

he now realized he was wrong.

he felt it again when diluc screamed, a horrifying sound, for his fallen father and kaeya did not know how to handle the immensive wave of relief that flooded over him. he felt it when a fiery blade swung itself down against his eye and believed his punishment was nigh. he felt it now, as mondstat burned to the ground and the corpses of citizens, knights, and abyssal monsters alike littered the once love-filled, lively streets.

death had always followed him closely like a friend—like a lover, he corrected himself. its arms wrapped around his body and cooed sweet nothings to him. death trotted after him wherever he went.

perhaps he should've gave into its embrace. maybe if he had, death wouldn't have found a lover in his home and snuffed the life and vivacity out of every mondstatian and every building within the city's walls. death would not have sunk its claws into jean, who took the abyssal army's leader with her when she pounded at the gates of celestia. or lisa and albedo, who fought at the western front for days on end only to succumb to the overwhelming onslaught of enemies with not enough manpower. what a shame, kaeya thought; he was rather looking forward to his daily midnight tea session with lisa and bothering albedo during his experiments. in some other universe, he is there and he is happy.

he loathed to think of it, but death had latched its talons into the flesh of little klee. a child was no exception to this hoard of monsters, but was the monster not truly him for failing them all? he wondered as he held her cold body close and wept.

death had always followed him but kaeya came to the conclusion that he was the one who truly wielded death. where he went, bodies dropped and lives fell into ruin. his prime example: his brother, who now lay at his feet with a sword through his back. a sword through his back, he seethed, because his attackers were so cowardly that they knew this uncrowned king would not go down so easy. it filled kaeya with an ugly rage that blotted out the tears in his eye. his shirt remained caked in diluc's blood from when the man brought him into a hug as he dangled at death's edge and whispered apology after apology into his ear.

always caught between the worlds of the blessed and the sinned, kaeya believed that he had grown quick enough to outmaneuver fate itself. but death remained steadfast and tenacious.

death was his lover and he was doomed to dance an everlasting tango so long as he lived. if not for him, the imposter in an aviary full of beautiful, golden-winged seabirds, perhaps the abyssal army would have left mondstat alone. jean would be here, ready to give him an earful for getting carried away with all the scars littering his body. albedo would chide him as he dressed his wounds while klee went on about another dodoco story while her little legs swung back and forth in the air. lisa would hand him a cup of tea and enjoy his company in silence. diluc...oh diluc, all the things he wished to tell his brother.

the only problem in his death theory was you.

you were still here.

you held him close as he wept for his beloved friends, for the little girl who always called him big brother, and for his beloved most treasured big brother whose fiery hair blazed no more.

how were you still here? was death not his lover? did he not bring death and sorrow wherever he went?

but if anything you were life. in your hands he renewed himself again, much like a butterfly unfurling its wings after cocooning for so long. warm smiles and fluttering kisses always greeted him after a long day's work. even now, as you wept beside him for your fallen friends, you remained his last thread of life keeping him tethered to this world.

"everyone's dead." you whispered from the crook of his neck as you both sat on the dust covered ground where the statue of barbatos once stood, mighty and proud.

"i'm sorry." he pleaded in return.

you shot your head up, bewildered and...offended.

"it's not- it's not your fault!"

kaeya laughed dryly, "oh, darling, you know it is."

death was his lover and he was succumbing to it. death was his lover and he drank in each of its poisonous kisses and sneaky touches.

you wasted no time in bringing him close, effectively delaying off death for a while longer. "it. is. not. your. fault."

"they'd be elsewhere if not for me-"

"mondstat would have fallen a lot quicker without you, kaeya," you interrupted, "you are no harbinger or vessel of death. you protected this city and its people with your life."

how did you always know what to say? perhaps you were an archon—that would be funny, wouldn't it? a sinner and an archon in love. kaeya wanted to laugh at the thought of it but all that left his lips was a broken whine that slid into a muffled sob. you were there to catch him as he fell into the overwhelming onslaught of sorrow that flickered around him much like the distant flames of burning houses and crinkle of crackling wood and stone.

"it should have been me." he croaked.

you shook your head and swept away the locks that clung to his sweaty forehead. "if it were ever you, i would go as well."

his heart ached in the cavity of his chest, eager to run away from this all. but he lay tired in your arms as you peppered kisses to his skin. even as you sunk to the ground on your side and gathered him in your arms, all he felt was the overwhelming tide wash over him.

death was not his lover, you were. and you were life. he loved living with you and with his beloved friends and comrades.

he lay beside you and kissed every inch of your face, covering you in his love. he cared not for the distant roar of abyssal mages and monsters anymore, not when he held life itself within his arms. life who kissed him back with just as much love and sweet tenderness that set his heart alight.

on this day, two butterflies sat perched on a perfect calla lily, waiting for the inevitable end of a frog's maw; their hearts and souls forever intertwined.

childe can't remember many of his dreams, but there is one he's clung onto for years.

he is in a soft bank of snow, surrounded by his darling siblings and cherished parents. his father does not look at him as if he's seen a beast dredged up from the darkest of nightmares. the world around him is pure and crafted of childhood dreams: there is no evil and there is no heart ache.

you are there and you are smiling at him, waiting for him with open arms.

this has remained but a mere dream of his for a reason.

in reality, there was only the cold, concrete ground of the fatui jail cell and dry, underground air that left him suffocating. slivers of eerie, ghostly blue light trickled in from the false candles that lined the underground jail. the rust-caked iron bars bathed reluctantly in the ghastly glow.

his eyes flickered up to the ceiling, hoping to make out shapes or cracks within the foundation. just give me some hope, archons if you're listening—please! but the gods stayed silent and the ceiling remained unchanged.

his vision and delusion had been stripped, weapons all but ripped from his hands. there was no hope left. childe let his gaze wander to you.

you lay in the cell across, face down, unconscious after taking the butt of a fatui gun to the nape. how cruel—to involve the lover of a scorned harbinger. for the god of love the tsaritsa was awfully sadistic. no matter how much he struggled and screamed that you should not bear the burden of his crimes it did nothing but urge the fatui to get their hands on you even more urgently.

childe wishes that he had accepted reality—wishes that he had never tried to desert from the fatui. steal away under the cover of night with you in hooded cloaks and cross the snezhnayan border for a life free of misery and a life where it'd be you and him together.

as much as the fatui have given him power, you have given him strength and courage and hope and love. there was no place for childe among the fatui, not when he wanted his place to be by your side. to feel your love each and every day and wake up to your smile.

you stirred from your cell, snapping childe from his thoughts. his hands snatched themselves at the bars, eyes blown wide and searching for signs that you were okay.

"hmmn...childe? where...where are we?"

his heart ached tremendously and beat against the skin of his throat.

"jail." he whispered.

"what?! but...but we were just about to cross the border when-"

"when we were caught by pulcinella's men," childe finished, "and brought here. i've been charged with desertion and my punishment is at sunrise."

childe hated seeing you feel anything but happiness—anything but love and the sunshine of emotions that you deserved to experience. he failed you when tears gathered in your eyes.

"but the punishment for desertion..."

childe smiled with eyes that swam in a sea of sorrow, "execution." he finished.

you lifted yourself up onto your forearms and dragged your semi-awake body to the edge of the jail cell. between each cell lay a narrow path, where you desperately reached your hand out to the other side. the tears that had gathered in your eyes streaked their way down in hazes across your cheeks as you suppressed your sobs and whines. your fingers shook with everything within you as you stretched and reached out to him, this beautiful, golden man whose wings would be clipped at sunrise.

childe scrambled to shove his hand past the bars and reach your hand. he only managed to grab onto the tips of your fingers but it was enough for him. you were in his grasp, it was enough for him.

he was thankful his family would not have to bear the brunt of his desertion, he should really thank mister zhongli for sneaking them out of the country into liyue. he regrets not having you go along with his family, but you insisted on going with him. it's his fault you were in jail.

reality was far too cruel.

"you'll escape, right? you've always got a plan." you pleaded between heaving breaths.

childe weakly laughed from an ugly, hopeless place.

he wished to make all your dreams come true, protect all your wishes and hold your smiles and laughter close like a warm trinket tied around his neck. anything but this ceaseless crying and sorrow that he felt slither from your heart through your arm and into your connected hands.

"come now, no tears, sunshine. you know i'll be okay, i'll figure something out." childe cooed, though he knew better. oh, lord, these lies would swallow him whole, but it is fated.

"do you promise?" you whispered brokenly.

his heart screamed at him not to do it, conscience pounding at the doors of self control in his mind. but childe was a protector of dreams and happiness.

a lean, scar riddled pinky looped in your own, holding tight to the invisible promise that linked the two of you. "i'll keep it all my life."

"if you break it i'll throw you on the ice myself."

the warbled smile on your face was enough. your watery eyes and tender touch gave him light that was not reminiscent of death like the flickering blue candles that lined the jail.

"of course. i'll owe you a duel as well. do you think you'll best me this time?"

you scoffed and tugged on his fingers, "of course i will, so you have to stay alive for me to beat you."

"well, i can't ignore orders from the top now can i?" he joked and reveled in the muted laugh that bubbled past your lips.

even in the bleakest of moments you gave him hope, like a light shining in a sea of never ending darkness.

"you'll always have me, no matter where i am. i promise you i won't let them hurt you." he whispered, and unlike that last promise, he meant it.

you held his hand until the guards came and even as you screamed and pleaded and cried with all your heart for him to stay, there was some morbid part of childe that was glad he got to hold your hand for the last time. he called out his declarations of love one last time as he fought against the grip of the guards and shoved his hands through your jailcell bars to cup to face and swipe away your tears. agony coursed through his veins as the guards ripped him from your grip and your fingers slipped through his hands like the sands of an hourglass. the last picture of your face would be one of horror and tear-stricken as the guards dragged him off. he whispered your name and as it rolled off his tongue it left in its wake a taste of sunshine and mirth.

i love you, more than anything in this world. more than power and glory and all the temptations of this world. you are my dream.

as he kneeled before the tsaritsa in handcuffs and chains nailed to the floor with her hand raised to deal the strike of death upon him, he smiled once more at the dream he cherished.

he is safe, and warm, and everyone he loves knows no sorrow.

though he promised to protect that dream, he knows his tongue will freeze over so that he may never spew lies again.

for as long as he's lived, xiao has prepared himself extensively for only a single thing: his death.

it wasn't a matter of sorting out the wares and material items he didn't own—such things weren't of importance to an adeptus like himself. rather, it was the acceptance of death itself. he was no stranger to this cloaked figure of fear that knocked on its hosts doors or barged in uninvited. blood covered his hands, dripped down the slope of his jaw and pooled at his feet. death invaded every crevice of his life much like a persistent parasite that sought to drive him to the brink of madness and back again. but it was familiar and offered a morbid sense of comfort.

as far as he could ever consider, xiao had waited for death for as long as he'd known the stars to dot the sky.

those same stars flickered down back at him, almost pitifully, as the ground shook with tremors that made the grass come alive and dance a morbid waltz of terror. crimson smoke painted the sky and blotted out the overhead glow of the stars. screams cried out in the distance and clashed with the sounds of blades and battle cries and war horns to produce a macabre melody that twisted a knot in his stomach.

fading bodies of monsters lay at his feet, numbers in the dozens. his breath caught in his throat, desperate to retreat yet needing to escape. he clenched his blood-bathed spear, fingers curling taut around the metal to cling to the last shred of hope he could muster.

his eyes flickered up to you, who mimicked his breathless, tired disposition as a mitachurl fell at your feet. your weapon clattered to the ground, your knees following shortly after.

xiao raced to your side in a blip, quick to grip your forearms before you could hit the ground. his polearm laid abandoned where he once stood, now its final resting place. his arms were now full of you and eyes clouded in worry. exhaustion crept its way onto your face and it was then he knew: hope was all lost.

the abyssal armies and undead, ancient gods raged onwards in the distance, they harrowing sounds a mere whisper in comparison to the loud thundering beat of your heart against his body.

reluctant as he was to touch you for fear of his karmic debt, xiao found himself hesitant to let go. for you to slip through his fingers and the fear of never allowing his fingers to trace the slopes and edges of your face invaded him like an intruder. your arms reciprocated and slid around his shoulders as a silent plea. this madness would never end, let's stop. you seemed to cry out.

perhaps this was the very moment he'd been preparing what felt like eons for. death crept its way around the corner, leaving war and destruction in its wake and its march to sink its fangs into both him and you was inevitable.

his knees buckled as you both sank to the grassy bed, bodies and limbs entangled and intertwined in a connection that seemed impossible to sever. as much as his conscience begged him to move and enact his long written duty, his body cried out a different tune, his heart a different dance altogether.

you shifted his body and laid his head on your lap, bracing yourself on a palm as your other hand worked to move the sticky strands of lush, forest-green locks from his sweat-covered forehead.

"rest, you've done well." you murmured with a gentleness in your eyes that made his stomach swim up to his throat and choked him ever so sweetly.

had he done enough? war raged on, lives devoured by the endless deluge of monsters and evil beings that sought death. his most reliable companion, death, would soon march up to his door and barge in with a demand for his head.

all the while, xiao believed that he was ready to embrace death. he pictured it perfectly: he'd meet his end in the midst of battle and his death would contribute towards a greater good. some would garner a chance to escape while the monsters gorged themselves on his death and feasted on his powers.

now, however, an unsettling sense of dread settled in his chest. the world around him burned and crashed and yet you remained intact, gently stroking his hair and humming a sweet song that you'd often coo to the birds on the railings of wangshu inn (and he loathed to look west and see the silhouette of a once towering, proud inn now toppled to the ground).

had he not readied himself for the one, singular thing that has been constant in his life? had he not witnessed enough to resolve the conflict that was life or death?

as he listened to the melody that fell from your lips with the world around him blotted out to nothing but you and him, he realized a truly frightening thing: he was not ready yet. death could not guarantee that you would be there to sit silently beside him on cool, summer nights and fold butterflies out of leaves or go crystalfly watching in the early mornings of spring. death would not ensure that he felt an uncomfortable yet welcoming warmth in his stomach when your eyes met his and a smile bloomed on your face (and though he'd never know how he should respond, you always seemed to somehow know how he felt).

he was not ready to be without you. a dreadful realization. he had failed at preparing himself for the one thing he knew was inevitable. but in this moment, as the world caved in and crumbled around you, he felt peace. his worn body lay tired and supplicant in your arms. once a weapon, now he found himself rusted and worn beyond repair left with only this beautiful longing in his heart to be filled with all of you. his eyes fluttered up to your visage and behind your kind eyes and warbling smile, the stars glimmered back down at him.

in these final moments, xiao wished to be nowhere else. with a heart so full of love, its wings unfurling and stretching high towards the sky where it'd soar on forever in an unmarked destination.

date published: january 30th, 2023

#genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact angst #TW: MCD #TW: blood #TW: death #works—☆

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myosotisa · 1 year ago

Text

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ word count: 12k

ǁ Part 1 ǁ Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss…” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more.

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started.

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before…?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake.

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.”

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it <3

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