#second third and hundredth chances

[youareinlove]

the theme for the b-stage tonight was my ex friend(s)

[stillalivebydemand893]

Death, Desire, and Double Trouble

Ian Mckinley x Reader x Erik Campbell

Story:Three best friends. One deadly premonition.🫣

CHAPTER ONE 🚬: THIS RIDE’S A DEATH TRAP (BUT YOU’RE HOT, SO LET’S DIE TOGETHER?)

The sun was too damn bright for a place this cursed.

Your hangover was throwing a mosh pit in your skull while your stomach debated a full-blown rebellion. Tequila and edibles? Bold combo. Stupid combo. Past-you was a menace.

You wiped cherry slush off your sticky fingers using a napkin that disintegrated on contact.You leaned against the metal railing outside Devil’s Flight—the jankiest rollercoaster this side of hell. It screeched and rattled past you like a dying animal in heat. Honestly, it sounded like it wanted to be put out of its misery.

This shithole is a death trap, you thought.

Next to you, Ian McKinley, local goth menace and full-time funeral poetry enthusiast, flicked his Zippo open for the hundredth time. Just for the sound. He hadn’t lit anything, just stared ahead like he was waiting for Death to drop a sign from the sky or a hooker’s business card, honestly, whichever came first.

“You ever think this ride sounds like it’s moaning?” he muttered, not looking at you. “Like, weirdly sexual?”

You didn’t even blink. “You need therapy. Or a blowjob. Maybe both.”

Ian cracked a grin, still staring ahead. “Therapy’s expensive.”

Erik Campbell, the third point in your tragic love triangle of a friend group, choked on his soda. “And blowjobs are free if you say please,” he said with a grin, straw between his teeth, looking you up and down like he was about to say something worse. He didn’t, but the silence was filthy.

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost dislocated. “You’re both insufferable.”

“Hot, though,” Ian said, bumping your shoulder.

You shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

That stopped them cold. Both of them stared like you’d just announced you were secretly married to Jason Voorhees.

You just smiled and walked ahead, hips swinging a little more than necessary.

You’d been best friends since high school. The cursed trio. Trauma, tattoos, and zero impulse control. You bonded in detention over who had the worst therapist and who was on the best antidepressants.

Somewhere along the line, things got… complicated.

The kind of complicated where Ian’s hand lingered on your lower back just a second too long. Where Erik started calling you “baby” when he was drunk, then backpedaled like it didn’t melt your whole nervous system. The kind where you’d wake up in the middle of the night, sandwiched between them on a couch, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

But none of you ever said anything.

Instead, you rode rollercoasters.

And every time they pulled shit like that? Your panties didn’t stand a chance.

The line was long, but it was tradition. First ride of summer. Front row. Always the three of you.

Even when Ian almost threw up on a group of toddlers six years ago. Even when Erik got a black eye defending Friday the 13th Part 2 in a bar last July. You always did this.

You slid into the middle seat ,your seat—between them. Buckled yourself in. Erik leaned over you to adjust your harness, his arm brushing over your chest. Slowly. Like he didn’t notice. (He definitely noticed.)

Neither of you said a word.

Ian leaned in from the other side, his breath warm at your ear. “Hope it derails. At least it’d be a cool way to go.”

Goosebumps danced across your skin. That wasn’t just adrenaline. It was them. It was always them.

You snorted, forcing yourself to breathe. “Morbid fuck.”

The coaster lurched forward.

And then:

everything shattered.

You weren’t there anymore.

You saw it.

Screws flying. Metal shrieking. The track ahead warping.

Ian’s body slamming into yours,blood on his lips.

Erik reaching for you,his scream, then silence.

You,helpless. Weightless. Falling. Dying.

Your body jerked back to reality, gasping like you’d been drowning.

Your fingers trembled on the harness. “We have to get off.”

Ian blinked, surprised. “What?”

You were already panicking. “We have to get off this ride. Now.”

He reached out and placed a steady hand on your thigh. “Breathe. Hey-breathe.”

“No. I saw it.” Your voice cracked. “It crashes. You die. We die. I’m not making it up, I swear-”

Erik leaned in, brows furrowed. “Peach, you okay? Look at me. You’re scaring us.” His voice was gentler than you’d ever heard it. Worry flickered in his eyes.

He glanced at Ian, and they shared a look,an unspoken agreement: Get her off this ride. Now.

You were already fighting the latch, nails digging into the plastic. “I’m not fucking kidding.”

Ian unbuckled first. No hesitation.

Erik followed without a word.

The three of you pushed past confused teens, ducked the safety bars, and ran.

Two minutes later, the rollercoaster derailed.

Just like you saw.

Screams. Metal. Blood.

Bodies.

Fire.

Later, the three of you sat on the hood of Erik’s car in the back parking lot, staring at nothing.

“I saw it,” you murmured. “Before it happened. Like a vision. It was so real.”

Ian was beside you, thigh pressed flush to yours, heat radiating off him like he was still burning from inside. “You’ve never had that before?”

“No.” You swallowed hard. “I’ve had anxiety. I've had intrusive thoughts. But not a… death trailer.”

Erik stood in front of you, arms crossed, jaw clenched, veins tight across his forearms like he was one heartbeat away from punching Death in the throat. He looked pissed. Not at you-for you. At the universe.

“So what now?” he said finally, voice low and sharp. “We just… wait around until it comes back for us?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I don’t even know why I saw it. I just knew I had to get you off that ride.”

“Hot phrasing,” Ian muttered under his breath.

You snorted, the sound raw and shaky. Erik rolled his eyes.

He stepped in close and cupped your cheek. His hand was warm, calloused, grounding. “Next time you see something? You grab us. You scream. You tackle us to the ground, slap us if you have to.I don’t care. You don’t wait. You run. Got it?”

You nodded, a lump thick in your throat.

Then Ian leaned over and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your temple. The kind of kiss that wasn’t just friendly. The kind that said thank you and I almost lost you and I might be in love with you but I’ll die before admitting it first.

“You saved us Sweets,” he said quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

The moment stretched. Too heavy. Too quiet.

You realized, in the middle of that suffocating silence, how close you came to losing them. Your boys. Your dumbass chaos lost sons of Satan. Your favorite people on the entire planet.

Erik looked down at the ground like it had insulted him. Then up at you. Then at Ian. Then back at you. “I swear to God,” he muttered, “if one more near-death experience brings us closer to an accidental threesome, I’m blaming fate.”

You blinked. “Accidental?”

Ian gave a low laugh, deep and smoky. “Oh, sweetheart. If we go down, we’re going down filthy.”

You laughed. A real one. Ugly and loud and cracked around the edges. And suddenly Erik was laughing too, rubbing his hands over his face, and Ian was smirking like he knew how badly you wanted to climb him like a haunted tree.

The tension shifted-tipped.

Something in the air felt... sharp.

Too much heat. Not enough space. You could feel the weight of their stares.

Erik stepped closer. Too close. “You okay?”

You nodded.

He leaned in, barely a whisper away. “You scared the shit out of us.”

“You think I wasn’t scared?” you said, breath catching. “I saw your face, Erik. I saw you die. I watched it happen and I couldn’t stop it. And Ian was there all bleeding and I-”

Your voice cracked.

And then his mouth was on yours.

Not gentle. Not careful.

Like he’d been waiting.

You barely had time to register it,his hands in your hair, lips crushed to yours, heat and teeth and tongue,before Ian pulled him back by the shirt.

“Okay, not fair,” Ian said, scowling. “You don’t get to make a move first just because you’re taller.”

Erik turned, eyes wide. “What are you,are you seriously trying to-”

“Yes,” Ian deadpanned, already pulling you into his kiss.

It was different. Slower. Hotter. Like he wanted to savor it. Like he was learning every curve of your mouth by heart. His hand slid along your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip when he finally pulled back.

You blinked, dazed, panting. “That ‘s the hottest panic attack I have ever had.’’

“No shit Peach,” Erik muttered. “I blacked out. Did we just-did we just throuple-initiate?”

Ian shrugged. “Seems efficient. Death’s on our ass. Why waste time?”

You stood there between them, lips swollen, heart racing, your pulse pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to escape your skin.

Erik shook his head, clearly trying to re-oxygenate his brain. “If I die tomorrow, I’m haunting you both. Naked.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because we wouldn’t be into that.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stop from cackling. “Oh my God, you fucks. We’re being hunted by death, not starring in a MTV bisexual romcom.”

Erik raised a brow. “Yet.”

Ian nodded. “Give it a week.”

You groaned and leaned back on the car. “We need a plan. We need food. We need to not be murdered by a freak toaster accident.”

Erik: “And maybe a hotel room.”

Ian: “One bed, obviously.”

You: “I hate you both.”

Both of them, grinning: “No, you don’t.”

[joostkleindreambig]

Getting a new tattoo with Joost Klein would include...

He will come with you. Whether it's your first, second, third or hundredth tattoo he just wants to be there for you. He wants to be there with you.

Chances are he'll get a last minute tattoo himself.

You can get a tattoo of a drawing he made for you.

Wearing one of his older shirts or sweatshirts for comfort.

The tattoo artist has to stop multiple times because the two of you were just laughing too much.

"I'll tattoo your name on my heart."

"Then I'll get yours on my ass."

[stillgotscars]

thinking long and hard about “second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches” and “lost the game of chance, what are the chances?”

[mischiefmaker615]

Relax

Summary: Hyper Y/N 

Rating: PG13

Requester: @Nina87230022 (wattpad) 

Note: This was originally requested to be Y/N having ADHD but tbh i don't know the condition enough to feel comfortable writing about it. it's not so much accuracy but i don't want to risk offending anyone who has it and i describe it wrong so the one shot had to be adjusted to "hyper" 

Loki’s fingers tightened against his book, gradually raising it closer to his face so it somehow heightened the chances of concentrating better. The sound of shoes passed by him for what felt like the hundredth time before it would then come back to go to opposite way. His brows furrowed and a low hum threatened to leave his lips while his patience drew closer and closer to withdrawing.

Finally, as soon as the sound of a chair could be heard being scrapped against the wood flooring, did he snap his book shut and he rose his eyes quickly towards the sound with a frown.

Low and behold you had found yourself balancing upon a chair, reaching as high as you could for the drapes that hung from the hook by the largest window in your bedroom. you finally opted to balancing on one foot- somehow thinking it would give you extra height before a frustrated exhale left your nostrils. ‘I need to go higher..-‘ you thought and as soon as your feet left the chair, you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist and catch you from probably falling onto the ground.

A chest was pressed against your back, your hands flying to the forearms of the being behind you before you felt yourself being turned and set on the ground with less than a delicate landing. Turning around, you rocked a guilty look while your dress flowed with your quick movement, seeming to match the faint red color in your boyfriend’s cheeks while he opted to hide his bothered state and look down at you.

‘’by Norns sake Y/N- what are you doing?” he asked, his voice hiding his frustration weakly while he clasped his hands behind his back.

You barely flexed a muscle to wave at your present activity but he quickly held a finger up to stop you and drew in a breath. ‘’with your words darling.’’ He reminded, a little gentler while you looked up at him with his careful eyes that were ready to capture your monologue.

‘’so I figured while you were reading I’d busy myself around our room cause I noticed the chambermaid didn’t put on the sheets straight so I just decided to strip the bed and do it myself but that made me realize sheets are for warmth and I was cold at that point so I went over to made the fire bigger and then fire made me think about light so I turned around to find the light of my life- you- and then figured you may not have enough light while you were reading so I was going to open the curtains more but then noticed how they don’t exactly match to well with the new colored sheets we got then we picked them out together so I was going to take them down and go hunt some new ones before you stopped me just now.’’ You rambled, putting together everything into words in one breath while Loki gave you the familiar stare where it had no expression but his mind was trying to figure out things as fast as you had spoken.

‘’..darling..’’ he began with a low tone, calm even but careful so you wouldn’t think he was bothered. ‘’first of all, don’t ever go up onto a piece of furniture and risk yourself falling. Second of all, we have maids that can fix all that with the mere ring of a bell or a holler. Third of all, we’ve talked about calming your mind and finishing one project at a time so you are not accidently left with several possibly unfinished ones.’’

‘’I know it’s just- I thought I’d have no problem doing it all this time.. i like the work-‘’

Loki gently scooped up both of your hands and placed a kiss on both, having to lean doing a little so he could look you in the eyes with love and patience. ‘’I know you do darling, but here we have our own responsibilities and the ones you’re used to on Midgard are already being taken care of.’’ He reasoned, knowing it was still an adjustment from having come from Midgard to Asgard and adjusting your independence but at the same time your wild mind tended to get the best of you.

‘’besides,’’ he added, wanting to cheer you up when he placed a hand on your stomach. ‘’if you are to carry one day, you must learn not to exhaust yourself.’’

Your cheeks heated up and you turned away with your hands covering your cheeks. ‘’don’t talk about stuff like that- we haven’t even-‘’

Two hands wrapped around your waist then, pulling you back so your back was up against his chest again with his lips pressing to your exposed neck ‘’perhaps it’s a good time to start, distract you from other things..’’ he smirked, his voice low and but a whisper which made you shiver.

‘’your mother is expecting us this afternoon- we haven’t got time and need to finis-‘’ your steps were interrupted by Loki once again picking you up from the ground, arms around your own to pin at your sides while your feet dangled. ‘’Loki!”

‘’you worry to much darling and need to relax yourself.’’ He told you, his voice a gentle warning while he buried his face in your hair to inhale your floral scent.

‘’..fine, I’ll leave it to the maids.’’ You sigh with mild frustration while you squirmed in his arms.

‘’relax darling.’’ He warned you again, his voice soothing in hopes it will help while you drew in a breath and fell limp.

‘’faking it darling will not work again, I will only end up catching you to start over, so relax.’’ He told you again with a chuckle while you sighed and tried one more time to squirm out of his arms.

His hold on you was firm, like always and was a battle you haven’t won yet nor you think you ever will. Drawing in a deep breath, you closed your eyes to calm your mind and pushed away any thoughts as best you could before you felt your body begin to loosen and untense. You felt your heart rate begin to slow down and your body slowly lowered so you could stand on your own while Loki kept his arms around you.

Allowing you to turn around to face him, you smiled up at your lover while he moved his hands to your hips, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. ‘’alright darling, I’ll fetch the maid to take over. Why don’t you sit with me for a few more minutes before we get ready to join mother?”

You beamed up at him while grasping his hand excitedly ‘’you could always read out loud until it’s time?”

Loki chuckled and let you pull him over to the couch, taking hold of his book again while you got yourself comfy on his lap and closed your eyes. No sooner did a second pass before you looked at him again while he searched for his previous page.

‘’while reading, have you ever thought about-‘’

‘’no darling. Reading is reading, everything else can wait until I choose to be done.’’ He said calmly, clearly in no rush while he settled back and pulling you closer into him.

‘’wish I had your ability..’’ you shrugged, not entirely sad about it while you rested your cheek against his chest.

‘’then who would keep me busy?” he teased, laughing once you swatted at his arm until it turned itself into a chasing match, Loki laughing while he moved himself between furniture, making you trail quickly to keep up and catch him.

‘’you can’t run forever’’ you tease while you debating jumping over the low table to get to him.

He merely smirked and spread his arms out to his sides while he waited for you to run around to him.

‘’I’m in no rush darling.’’

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life

[thepeacefulgarden]

Promises you must make to yourself (and keep) when it's time to detach with love

I will stop trying to control anyone but myself.

I will set boundaries with this person, and I will not rescind those boundaries.

I will make those boundaries clear.

I will not give in to temper tantrums, threats, tears, bargaining, guilt trips, or other manipulative tactics. Instead, I will walk away.

I will stop doing things for them that they are capable of doing for themselves, and should be doing for themselves.

I will stop "loaning" them money I know I'm never going to get back.

I will let them be responsible for their own lives, and their own choices, and I will take responsibility for mine.

If it's necessary, I will remove myself and any children and/or pets from the household, and I will get us to safety.

I will prioritize my safety and well-being, and the safety and well-being of any children or pets.

I will not cover and lie for this person anymore.

I will no longer defend or make excuses for their unacceptable behavior.

I will prioritize my needs over their wants.

I will know that I am doing this because I love them and care about them, and I will absolve myself of guilt.

I will cultivate a support system of my own.

I will absolve myself of responsibility for their happiness, their life choices, their behavior, their words, and their responsibilities.

I will regulate my emotions when they try to dysregulate me. I will not lose my cool, no matter how much they agitate me.

If I cannot deescalate them, I will walk away.

I will absolve myself of responsibility for their feelings. I will let them be mad. Or sad. Or whatever else.

I will not bail them out of legal trouble.

I will not bail them out of any other kind of trouble or crisis.

I will no longer give this person second, third, fourth, fifth, hundredth chances they don't deserve.

I will accept that the situation is what it is, and I will stop trying to minimize or deny how bad it is.

I will accept that I cannot change or control them, and I will stop trying to do so.

I will find a sense of meaning, identity, and purpose outside of my relationship with them, or feeling "needed" or "wanted" by them, or anyone else.

I will let them face the consequences of their behavior, and I will absolve myself of responsibility for those consequences.

I will know and understand that I have done my best, and I cannot help someone who won't help themselves.

I will know that, no matter how much they may protest otherwise, I am not being selfish.

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

<- Previous Next ->

Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots

Word Count: 6,368

Read on AO3

Chapter Three: Day One Pt. 1

Left. Right. Left.

Nothing.

Awesome. 

Beth’s fingers slipped off the lock for the third time, and she let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a groan. She stared at the numbers the guidance counselor had scrawled across the top of her schedule again, then at the stubborn silver dial, which clearly had it out for her.

Around her, Coldwater High buzzed like a kicked beehive. Voices layered over each other, lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked, and Beth felt like the whole school was moving while she stayed stuck; right there, right in front of locker 312, like a glitch in the system. 

She already missed the middle school. Sure, Millstone had been a bigger school in the sense that it had been bigger than Maple Run. But the jump from elementary to middle school felt insignificant compared to the leap from middle to high school. That had been big. This was huge. 

A bigger school, a bigger campus, bigger lockers instead of the half lockers she’d used the past three years and knew how to open. Even the cinder block hallways felt like chasms lined with butcher paper posters, groups of students chatting with friends like they hadn’t seen them all summer, and the same chipping paint that had probably been on the wall since her mom went there in the 70s. 

Which seemed like a health hazard, because Beth was fairly certain that they still put lead in paint back then, and didn’t put it past a few of her classmates not to eat it on a dare. But then again, that seemed like natural selection at its finest. If the lead didn’t get them, then the asbestos that was undoubtedly in the ceilings would. If Jared McGinnis and Toby Schroeder wanted to tempt fate, that was hardly Beth’s business. 

The thing, or things, that felt biggest however were the kids. Everyone was so tall; she’d never been tall, that was why Coach made her a flyer on the first day of practice, but still. Some of these seniors should be asked to present their birth certificates, because if they were seventeen, then Beth was six feet tall. But the first day of freshman year was stressful enough without feeling like she was lost in a forest of patchy facial hair and perfume showers. 

And now, to add to it, she was going to be late to class because her stupid locker wouldn’t open. It had opened when the senior who led her orientation group showed her where it was no problem. What gives? 

Beth stared at the lock like she could will it open through sheer frustration. She’d turned the dial at least four times now, and all she had to show for it was sweaty palms and a rising sense of doom. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her cheer skirt while she tried to orient herself, stomach twisting uncomfortably, and gave it a gentle yank down. Dad had nearly had a heart attack over it when she came down the stairs that morning in her uniform, muttering to Mom about how ‘those damn things get shorter every year’ for the hundredth time since she got it. 

She swallowed down the nerves fluttering in her throat and let out a determined, steadying breath. New doesn’t mean impossible, she told herself. Be smarter than the locker, Baker. 

Twist to the left. 

Pass 0. 

8. 

16. 

26.

She pressed up the shackle, holding her breath out of sheer hope. Millionth time is the charm. And…

Nothing. 

She huffed and glanced around, hoping no one had noticed her losing a standoff with a school-issued hunk of metal. The halls started to thin out as first period grew closer and that nervous flutter grew more frantic, pounding against her ribs like it was trying to chisel them out. Either she had been given the wrong combination, or she’d been cursed. Honestly, at this point, it could go either way. 

She was just about to try again when a locker clanged shut beside her.

“Want me to try?” 

Beth turned, ready to roll her eyes, but stopped short. She’d braced herself for some smug upperclassman, the kind who’d offer help just to lord it over her while she swallowed what little pride she had left. But the boy standing there looked about her age. Tallish, with messy curls that looked like he’d run his fingers through them one too many times, a faint sunburn brushing his cheeks, and a fading bruise under one eye like he’d run into something, or someone. His mouth twitched, caught between a smirk and a smile, before tipping into a wide, easy grin that crinkled warm hazel eyes. Not smug. Not even close. He looked… kind. Kind, and just tired enough to make it seem like helping her hadn’t been part of the plan, but that not helping had never been an option. Something fluttered in her chest. Hard. And suddenly, the locker wasn’t the only thing making her nervous.

Great. Now her locker failure had an audience.

A really, really, really cute audience.

The nervous pounding in Beth’s stomach didn’t vanish, but it changed; softened almost. Muted, and left something lighter in its place. A fluttery kind of buzz, like a hummingbird was loose in her ribcage, flitting between panic and… whatever this was. Hazel eyes flicked to the lock in question, and the boy gestured to her schedule that Beth had forgotten she was holding. 

“Oh,” she breathed. She cleared her throat and nodded, “Sure.” She tugged lightly at the end of her ponytail, stepping aside as he moved closer to the locker door. “I’ve tried it, like, four times. I think it’s stuck. Or hates me. One of the two. I swear, I know how numbers work. Just not today, I guess.”

She cringed, suddenly aware of how much she was talking.

Oh my god, Beth. Shut up.

But the boy just smiled that smile and stepped closer. He smelled faintly of something clean and sharp; his soap, maybe. Her heart did another nervous little jump.

“I believe you,” he said. “Mine gave me trouble all morning.”

“Really?” she asked as he held out his hand for the paper. She hesitated, pride and desperation wrestling, then handed it over.

He nodded, scanning the numbers with that crooked grin still lingering on his face. Beth fidgeted with the strap of her backpack, her ears hot.

“Glad you weren’t there to see it, though,” he added, casually. “Would’ve sucked to embarrass myself in front of a pretty girl first thing this morning.”

Beth’s brain short-circuited. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to grin as heat flushed across her face. He glanced up just as she looked down, and their eyes caught briefly. 

He turned the dial with quiet focus, murmuring the numbers under his breath. On the first try, the lock clicked, and he pulled the door open with a little flourish.

“Ta-da,” he said, smirking.

Beth let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “Seriously?”

“What can I say? Magic hands.”

He leaned a shoulder against the lockers, still watching her with that lazy grin that sent the hummingbird flitting against her ribs again.

“Is that so?” she teased, stepping toward her newly-unlocked locker. Red pom poms sat in a heap at the bottom, a few binders already stacked on the shelf and a Polaroid of her and Becca from over the summer Scotch taped to the mirror on the door. The boy didn’t walk away, didn’t even move really, just stayed leaned against their lockers with that smile. 

“No,” he admitted. “You were just turning it the wrong way. I noticed on your second attempt.”

Her head snapped up at him, brows furrowed and lips parted in a moment of incredulous disbelief. The eye-crinkle smile returned and he attempted to hold back a laugh until Beth scoffed. “And you waited until the fourth to tell me? Why?”

“You didn’t look like you wanted help,” he said with a shrug. Something behind his grin softened. “And maybe I was waiting for a good moment to say hello.”

She bit her lip, trying to suppress the pink rising in her cheeks as she shoved her backpack into her locker.

“I’m Beth, by the way,” she offered, and suddenly the name felt new in her mouth. Lighter. Like maybe it belonged to someone slightly braver than she was five minutes ago.

“Jack,” he said, adjusting the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” she added, looking over her shoulder at him. “For helping.”

“Anytime.”

Something about the way he said it made her throat tighten a little. It was simple. Honest. Like he meant it. She nodded, suddenly shy, and busied herself with organizing her textbooks in her locker to hide the way her hands fumbled. 

He handed her the schedule, and when her fingers brushed his, they lingered for the briefest second. His hand tensed like it surprised him, and he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

“I saw you’ve got algebra with Mr. Oliver first period too,” he said, quickly. “Not that I was looking at your schedule or anything. I just noticed. When I was—uh—reading the combination.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I was thinking we could maybe walk together?”

It was his turn to blush. Long fingers fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket like he wasn’t sure what to do with them before he tucked the hand into his pocket. Beth smiled, nodding slowly, the hummingbird zipping around at the sight of the crinkle smile that returned. Jack reached forward and took her book like he had moved before giving himself a chance to think about it, stacking it atop his own and pushing his shoulder off of the wall, already angling himself down the hall without taking those golden green eyes off her for a second.

Okay. Maybe high school wasn’t going to be all bad.

Beth bit her lip again, smiling. The school felt a little less like a maze and more like a maybe. She shut her locker with a metallic clang and stepped into the flow of the hallway beside him, still smiling.

A metallic crash downstairs jolted Beth awake with a snort a heartbeat before  her alarm blared on the nightstand

She took a sharp breath through her nose and groaned, dragging the pillow over her head just as Atlas scrambled underneath the comforter, already howling at the noise from beside her feet. He thrashed, tangled in the twisted sheets of his own making, and flailed toward her feet like the apocalypse had arrived in the form of a clattering mug and a choice string of teenage profanity. 

Definitely a Stanley. Probably pink. Almost certainly dented now.

And judging by the thrum of music playing at a volume wildly inappropriate for five in the morning, her daughter was fully awake. And had no concept of time, respect, or acoustic physics.

Beth didn’t want to know what she was doing down there. Actually, scratch that—she absolutely did. Just not while she was still half awake with one foot still in high school.

Jesus, child.

The clang ebbed into silence, trailing behind like a ripple in the dark as Beth blinked at the ceiling, the edges of the hallway smudging into nothing but the whir of the ceiling fan over the bed. She could still smell the hallway. That weirdly clean-tile scent mixed with locker room deodorant and cheap perfume. Still hear the click of the lock when it finally opened. Still see him standing there with that grin.

She hadn’t thought of Jack in years. But dreams had a funny way of dragging the past back up by the collar. As did the past being your daughter’s emergency physician on a random Tuesday in August.

She reached out and smacked the alarm clock until it stopped screaming, then gave a lazy shove with her foot at the lump of fur pressed against her legs. Atlas shifted just enough to give a huffy little sigh of his own and flop back against her shins, all sixty pounds of him vibrating with sleepy indignation. Gee, what a guard dog. Still, she gave his butt a rub with her foot, lips tugging up when a stubby tail wagged hard enough to shake his whole rear.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed, the heaviness already pressing in behind her temples. That was a new one. The past few nights, it had been the paper mill—always the damn paper mill—before she blinked awake alone in her bed, heart hammering like she’d been chased. But this? This was different. A new flavor of unrest her subconscious had decided to sample. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t done much sleeping in the week since she saw him.

She lifted her phone off the nightstand and squinted at the time, then let it fall to her chest with a sigh. Usually, she was up before her first alarm. Working in healthcare did that to a person; rewired the brain until ungodly hours started to feel routine. Morning was relative anyway depending on what side of the clock you landed when the schedule came out. Beth had learned early in her career to invest in blackout curtains and an alarm loud enough to wake the dead. 

Still, it hardly mattered. She never slept much anyway. Call it discipline or habit, or call it being roused by dreams that felt too much like the on-call room and a pager that never stopped buzzing, she always stirred before the clock could scream. 

Or maybe call it sharing a home with a teenager who had no concept of volume control and was currently hellbent on giving her an ulcer by thundering up and down the stairs like she hadn’t been given strict instructions by the orthopedic surgeon to not do exactly fucking that. 

Or chalk that lack of sleep up to the six-day emotional demolition derby that had flung her from anxiety to rage and back again ever since she saw the boy who shattered her heart thirty years ago casually existing in a hospital five hours from the town he abandoned her in. The same boy who had the audacity to look exactly the same, and to say nothing more than hey, like that was enough. Like it hadn’t been three decades. Like she hadn’t spent entire years stitching herself back together. And just when she thought the moment would pass, grief, fury, disbelief and all, she blinked, and he was her new goddamn coworker.

Fucker.

Probably the same reason she’d sat in her car that night outside the hospital, knuckles white on the steering wheel while Becca stayed on the line and listened to her lose it; scream-crying, cussing like hell, trying not to throw up from the nerves while Abby was in surgery as all of that hurt ripped right back open like a fresh wound, ugly and gaping, until it oozed teenaged petulance all over again. 

The same reason she couldn’t focus on the only date she’d tolerated in the past six months last night. Not that it had been going well to begin with. The guy chewed like a cow, didn’t tip, snapped at the waitress to get her attention, and talked about CrossFit like it had personally saved his soul. She’d spent the whole dinner nodding through it, eyes glazed over, unable to stop replaying the way his voice dropped when he said her name. Like it still belonged to him. Like thirty years and a lifetime of silence hadn’t passed. 

By dessert, she couldn’t remember the guy’s name. Didn’t even care. After seeing Jack, she’d lost the thread entirely. Couldn’t focus on anything but the storm in her gut and the familiar burn in her throat that had little to do with the bourbon she let the guy keep paying for. Instead, she just handed the waitress a hundred on her way out, apologized profusely, and was home on the couch in her sweatpants before ten, Olivia Benson and a glass of red doing their best to make her forget the way her chest had betrayed her with that one stupid hitch when he looked at her.

Again. Fucker.

Jack Abbot. The fucking idiot.

The name still landed like a brick to the sternum, even though she hadn’t said it in years. The boy she used to know like the back of her hand. The wound healed and thickened by years of scar tissue. The man who’d stood in front of her the other night under the cold buzz of ER fluorescents.

And now? She worked with him.

Oh, irony. You cruel, useless bitch.

Whatever it was, fate, karma, a cosmic joke, Beth was awake. And this morning, she was choosing to blame it on Olivia Rodrigo being blasted out of the kitchen at a volume that made her genuinely concerned for her daughter’s long-term hearing.

She groaned, trying fruitlessly to blink the gritty sleep and late-onset astigmatism that blurred the room around the edges out of her eyes. Sheets twisted stubbornly around her legs as she rolled over, hair sticking to her cheek, her mouth dry. She patted blindly for her glasses on the nightstand and found them under the paperback she hadn’t finished in four days off.

“Turn it down!” she called, voice hoarse and low with sleep. A sigh followed, deep and theatrical, as she kicked her foot out of the tangle of bedding. “The neighbors don’t need a concert, Abigail!”

There was a beat of scrambling, a telltale thud, and the volume dropped.

“Sorry, Mom!” came the reply, muffled but enthusiastic.

Beth pushed her glasses up her nose and reached for the book beside her, dog-earing the page she barely remembered reading.

“What fell?” she called, skimming the page for anything that looked familiar before she resigned herself to starting the chapter over. Again.

“Oh my god, nothing!” Abby replied, drenched in exasperation.

Sure. Because nothing always made that much noise.

“Oh, excuse me. God forbid I ask,” Beth mumbled, letting her head fall back against the pillow. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was going to be that kind of morning.

Her feet found the floor, cold and real, and she sat there for a second debating the pros and cons of pretending the world didn’t exist for five more minutes. Behind her, Atlas let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like judgment.

“Don’t start,” she muttered.

The so-called boxer mix poked his head out from under the comforter and blinked like she’d offended him. He was all blocky head and dumb eyes, with a coat that blended right into the gray duvet. Technically, he’d been a foster fail. Emotionally, he was her most successful relationship to date.

With a squeaking yawn, he gave the massive head a shake, ears flopping like someone had pressed unmute on a cartoon. The shelter back in Boston had promised a boxer-mix, but one look at those shoulders and she’d known; pitbull, plain and simple. Probably half-staffy, too, if the stubbornness was any indication. He stretched with a groan, front paws sliding out first, shoulders low, hind legs still tucked under the covers like he hadn’t fully committed to being upright. Beth gave his hindquarters a firm pat as he finally slid off the bed.

“You coming, big guy?” she asked, pushing off the bed, joints popping in protest. The mirror across the room caught her eye and she caught her reflection in it; tired, tangled, with a faint wrinkle across her cheek from where she’d slept on the tv remote. Surprisingly, the curls she’d twisted her hair into the night before had held up decently enough.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it, she had to remember how to be the new girl again. In a hospital that already felt too familiar.

With Jack fucking Abbot.

She rubbed her eyes.

Coffee. Shower. Possibly in that order. But definitely coffee.

Maybe if she kept moving fast enough, the memories wouldn’t catch up.

Her stomach twisted the whole walk to the bathroom, churning like something mean and alive was trying to claw its way through her gut lining. Beth pressed a hand to it and curled her toes against the tile. Nerves? Please. She didn’t do nerves. Still, she grit her teeth against the nausea and turned on the shower, the old pipes groaning in protest. Steam began to curl around her like a warning. Or a benediction. She wasn’t sure which.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid.

She’d worked in enough hospitals and backs of ambulances to know her way around a trauma bay. She knew how to talk fast, move faster, disappear into the job until the job became her. But the thought of seeing him again, not as a one-time fluke in a too-bright ER, but every day? Shoulder to shoulder in the break room. Scrubbed in across the same bed. Charting in the terminal beside her… Good lord, what was she doing?

Beth stared at the mirror, fog creeping in around the edges. Her reflection blurred, softening all the sharp parts she didn’t like to look at too long because in them she saw her. She looked tired. Like someone who’d spent the last decade running on caffeine, sarcasm, and avoidance.

She took a breath, too fast, too shallow, then took another, slower one. Squeezed her fists at her sides like she could physically wring out the anxiety. Then, without looking again, she swept her hair up in a clip and stepped under the hot spray. It scalded her shoulders. She welcomed it.

No.

No. He didn’t get to do this to her. Not anymore.

He’d taken enough already. Years she didn’t get back, a version of herself she barely recognized when she thought about that girl she left on the roof of the paper mill now. He didn’t get to take her focus, her calm, her morning. Not today.

Beth tilted her face into the water and let it hit her full-on. Five minutes, then she'd be fine. She always was.

She was a grown woman, damn it. She wasn’t that girl anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. But for one fleeting moment, between the sight of his face and the sound of her name on his lips, that girl had clawed her way to the surface, gasping for air and begging to throw her arms around his neck and fold into him before drowning all over again. Beth had pulled her from the surf once. Pressed the water from her lungs. Taught her how to swim before she was swept away by the riptide again and needed resuscitation.

She would not do it again.

If that girl chose to dive back into those waters, she could drown on her own.

Beth slammed the faucet off, the clang of metal echoing through the bathroom like punctuation. She towel-dried her face, brushed her teeth with a little more force than necessary, and tugged on the same black scrub pants and gray compression top she’d worn a hundred times. Tried-and-true. Functional. Safe.

When she stepped out, Atlas had claimed her pillow again, snoring like a diesel engine. Abby, however, was sprawled out on Beth’s bed like she owned the place; boot propped up, one fuzzy-socked foot kicked over it, phone in hand, her crutches leaned against the wall. Without a word, Abby held out a cup of coffee toward her mother, eyes still on her screen.

Beth blinked at the mug, then took it with a small grateful smile. She bent down to press a kiss to Abby’s brow before turning to dig through her dresser for a clean vest.

Abby didn’t respond. Just glanced up, gave her a slow once-over, and made a face. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Beth turned to meet her daughter’s disapproving stare, looked down at her clothes, then up again. “Is there a problem, Stacy London?”

“Who?”

“She was on a show called What Not to—” Beth waved a hand. “Nevermind. What’s wrong with it?”

Abby gave a shrug and returned to scrolling. “Just saying. It’s your first day. Kind of a boring choice.”

Beth squinted at her, tossing a black fleece vest onto the bed beside Abby’s feet. “It’s an ER, babe. Not Milan.”

Abby lifted her brows, unconvinced, then turned back to her phone with a silent suit yourself shrug.

Beth rolled her eyes and leaned against the dresser, sipping. “Did you wake up at the crack of dawn just to roast your poor mom?”

“No,” Abby muttered. “I’m trying to unfu—” She caught Beth’s look. “—fix my sleep schedule before school starts next week.”

Beth paused mid-sip and let out an approving hum. “Look at you, being responsible for once.”

Abby didn’t even look up. “What do you mean for once? I’m always responsible. I’ve practically raised myself, you know. I’ll be discussing it in therapy someday.”

Beth snorted. “Oh, the woe of the long suffering. Should I reach out to the Pope regarding your sainthood now? Or should we wait until you start applying for colleges and just do it all at once?”

Abby laughed and weakly pushed at Beth’s arm when she leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “Can I at least do your hair so you don’t look totally boring?”

Beth gave her a look, but relented with a sigh. “Fine. But no bubble braid. I looked like a Spice Girl the last time.”

“Which one?” Abby asked, deadpan.

Beth raised a brow. “The mom one.”

Abby grinned. “There is no mom Spice, Mom.”

“Exactly.”

Beth disappeared into the bathroom to fetch what Abby called out for—brush, elastic, several products that she had to give up on finding by name before she asked for her to just describe the bottles—and returned like a surgical assistant prepping for an OR. Abby adjusted her posture and pointed at the floor in front of her. Beth sat cross-legged with a grunt, mug still in hand, and felt her daughter gather her hair up with more ceremony than the act probably required. At least three different products touched her scalp. One of them smelled like coconut, another like chemicals. 

“There’s a lot goin’ on up there,” Beth muttered, eyes drifting shut.

“Trust the process,” Abby replied with exaggerated solemnity, brush in hand.

Beth smirked and took another sip. “That’s what they said at my first Brazilian wax. It didn’t end well.”

Abby made a sound of exaggerated disgust and swatted Beth’s shoulder with the brush. “Ew! Oh my god, why would you say that? You’re foul.”

“Character building,” Beth laughed, grinning now. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, I hate it. I’m scarred for life now. You’re so lucky I didn’t put glitter gel in this.”

“Hm. Sounds like you’ll be discussing it in therapy some day.” Beth glanced over her shoulder, mock serious. “You didn’t, right?”

Abby just grinned.

Beth exhaled and let her head fall forward again. Atlas snored in the background. The sky outside the window was soft and gray. She had a new job. A fresh start. Her coffee was still hot, and her daughter was doing her hair. For the moment, at least, she didn’t feel like drowning. Not entirely, anyway.

Beth sat still as Abby worked, the rhythmic brushing of her hair a soft, familiar sound in the quiet room that mingled with Atlas’ snores. It tugged at her throat as she sipped her coffee. When was the last time she had done her daughter’s hair? She couldn’t even remember that last day Abby sat on the bathroom counter while Beth pulled her hair back, giggling when she would kiss her cheek or make a face at her in the mirror. Now that same little girl was going into her senior year, and soon that same little girl would be headed off to college, and the quiet that settled over the house would be a different one. Beth bit her lip hard, blinking back the tears. Can’t cry through her entire senior year, Baker. Maybe she could cry just a little, though.

Abby’s voice broke the silence, soft but direct. “Are you excited?”

Beth blinked, unsure how to answer the question. Her throat tightened again for a moment before she responded, trying to keep the conversation light. “Am I excited? I wouldn’t say I’m excited. It’s just the same old same in a new building.”

Abby’s fingers paused, a small beat of hesitation before she gently continued brushing. “I know,” she said, as if she understood exactly what her mom meant. “But you liked your old job.”

Beth’s grip tightened around the mug in her hand, and her eyes drifted to the window. She swallowed, nodding slowly. “I did,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. She let out a small sigh, twisting around to smile up at Abby. “But... changes are fun, right? Maybe I am a little excited. It’ll be fun.”

The words felt like a lie, but she said them anyway, trying to convince herself as much as Abby. Change had never been Beth’s favorite thing, but the truth was, she had to make it work. She had to. Change was better than the alternative. 

Abby’s fingers slowed, the silence stretching between them again. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, Abby’s voice cut through the quiet. “What about Doctor Mullet?”

Beth almost choked on her coffee, trying to mask her reaction with a casual sip. She was certain she’d gotten away with it. Of course, Abby wouldn’t let it slide. “Who?”

Abby scoffed dramatically, the brush halting in mid-air. “Oh my god. Don’t play dumb, Mom. I was high, but not that high. That whole interaction felt like it was produced by Shonda Rhimes.”

Beth grimaced, trying to steady herself, but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "He’s just someone I knew a long time ago, babe. I was just surprised to see him. That’s all.”

“Is he why you cried through, like, half of The Tortured Poets Department?”

Yes. 

“Of course not, Abby.”

“Whatever plunges your toilet, Mom,” Abby replied flippantly, her eyes rolling as she continued brushing.

Beth’s rolled her eyes, lips tugging up into a smirk. She leaned back slightly, lifting her mug again. “Don’t use your grandfather’s phrases against me, kid. I was there when they were written.”

“Seriously, Mom.” Abby’s tone shifted, turning more serious now. “Something happened and you’re not telling me. Parents aren’t supposed to lie to their children. You’re being a bad parent.”

Beth felt the pressure in her chest tighten for a brief moment. She wanted to brush it off, pretend it didn’t matter, but she knew that wouldn’t be enough for the bloodhound she was raising. “Oh relax, Abigail Quinn.” She took another sip, trying to disguise her unease.

Abby wasn’t buying it, and immediately started to double down while she twisted Beth’s hair up in an elastic. “I’m serious. I’ll start to feel unimportant and seek validation from unhealthy avenues. Before you know it, I’m stripping in a club by the airport, and it’ll be your fault.”

Beth laughed, but the sound was rough. “You’re incredibly dramatic, you know that?”

“Thanks,” Abby shot back. “I learned it from watching you.”

Beth couldn’t help but smile at that, but it faded as quickly as it came. She took another sip, but it felt more perfunctory than anything. “It’s a story for another time,” Beth muttered.

Abby sighed exaggeratedly. “Ugh, that’s just Mom-Code for you’re never going to tell me.”

Beth didn’t reply right away. She could feel Abby’s gaze on her, but for now, some things were better left unsaid. There were some stories that mothers just didn’t need to tell their daughters. She rolled her shoulders, giving Abby’s socked foot a gentle squeeze.

“Oh good, you’re catching on,” she teased, the corner of her lips quirking upward. Beth sat up a little straighter, lifting her coffee mug for another sip, then set it aside on the nightstand. She glanced at the clock. “Now, are you done up there, Paolo? I need to get going.”

“I’m done,” Abby replied, clearly pleased with herself. Beth pushed herself up, carefully touching the sleek ponytail that Abby had pulled her hair back into that did not feel like it needed the near ten minutes that went into it, but she’d take every single one of those minutes. Abby swung her legs back up onto the bed and flopped back into the pillows, returning to her scroll through TikTok without looking up at Beth. “I packed your lunch while you were in the shower. It’s on the counter.”

Beth tilted her head with a smile, taking in the gesture. “You’re making lunch for me now?” she asked, surprised.

Abby shrugged, her smile sheepish but warm. “It’s your first day,” she said, as if it explained everything. Her gaze softened a little, her hands stilled for a second as she met her mother’s eyes. “Tradition, right?”

Beth felt a little lump in her throat at that. She’d packed Abby’s lunch on the first day of school without fail since kindergarten. Every year, even if she had to pull herself out of bed after a night shift, she’d make sure to have it ready; sandwich, fruit, snack, little note tucked inside. It had started in a glittery pink unicorn lunchbox, the one Abby had insisted on year after year. As Abby grew, the lunchbox changed, of course. First a solid color, then something more grown-up. But Beth had never been able to part with the unicorn one. It was still tucked safely in a box at the back of her closet, where she didn’t dare look too often.

Damn it, maybe she was going to cry through senior year. She blinked back tears again and bent down to kiss Abby’s temple, tucking her hair behind her ear. She’d chastise her for going down the stairs without help later.

“Tradition,” Beth repeated, nodding, her smile wide and genuine now. She tugged on the black vest and reached for her mug once more before straightening up. “C’mon, let’s get you downstairs. You sure you’re going to be okay without me?”

Abby let Beth help her stand, accepting the steady hand without protest this time. Beth passed her the crutches, and Abby maneuvered them under her arms with a practiced ease that was still new enough to make Beth’s heart pinch. She followed her daughter out of the bedroom with Atlas padding loyally at Abby’s heels, his tail wagging like this was all just part of the routine.

Abby had been in much better spirits than she had been in the days immediately following her injury; laughing more, brushing off the awkwardness of her clunky boot with eye-rolls and sarcastic commentary rather than silence and swallowed frustration. Beth didn’t bring it up, but she suspected the Gavin boy might have something to do with it. Abby had been even more glued to her phone than usual the past few days, her smile sneaking out at texts she refused to show. Beth wasn’t going to press. Not yet, at least.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Abby replied, leaning against Beth as they started down the stairs instead of sliding down on her butt like she kept insisting was more efficient. “Mia’s gonna pick me up later, by the way. We’re going to the bookstore and then hanging at her place.”

“Who’s home?” Beth asked, guiding her down one slow step at a time.

“Her dad. It’s one of his work-from-home days today.”

Beth nodded, easing them both onto the ground floor without incident. She helped Abby over to the couch and lowered the crutches against the armrest.

“Okay. Make sure your location is on.”

“It’s on,” Abby said, collapsing into the cushions and tossing a throw blanket over her lap. “Don’t worry. I’d never deprive you of the opportunity to smother me.”

Beth rolled her eyes as she grabbed her backpack from the kitchen chair, absently picking up the lunch Abby had packed for her and the now-dented travel mug of coffee. The faint sound of The Office theme song echoed from the living room. Atlas, ever the loyal companion, jumped up on the couch and nestled against Abby, his head resting gently in her lap.

“Love you big,” Beth murmured, leaning over the back of the couch to plant a kiss on Abby’s head.

Abby looked up from her phone, a grin pulling at her lips. “Love you bigger.”

“It’s a beautiful day to save lives!” Abby called after her, her voice full of dramatic flair.

Beth made a face and scoffed as she grabbed her keys off the hook, barely containing a smile. “Gross.”

With a quiet laugh, Beth reached for her jacket on the hook by the door; just a habit she hadn’t quite shaken, even after all these years. Just reached for it when she left for her first day of classes freshman year at Penn and never stopped reaching. Her fingers brushed against the worn denim of the jacket and she paused, her hand hovering for a moment longer than necessary. She looked at it and brushed a thumb over the familiar fabric, and for a second, she wondered if she should take it.

But then, with a deep breath, she let go. Closing the door gently behind her, she stepped outside, leaving the jacket where it hung, untouched. 

Cool morning air met her when she stepped out onto the porch and locked the door behind her. Autumn had started to take hold of the neighborhood, the sidewalks now dappled with the first few splashes of fallen leaves. Beth inhaled deeply and let the brisk air bite at her lungs as she reached her car parked at the curb, Abby’s little white Impreza tucked neatly in front of her.

For a moment after she slid in, she just sat there, hands resting on the wheel, her thoughts swirling in a space where time had slowed. She closed her eyes and took a heavy breath, and turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life beneath her hands.

Here goes nothing.

[ashes-writing-corner]

Damn this is my longest chapter to date yall! Things are gonna start looking up a little for these two after this. I really hope you all enjoy it!

Taglist: @exactlyelegantwizard, @xenoanamorph, @hoeia-strigoi, @arwenkenobi48, @xanth420, @serpentdeath, @landlockedmermaid77, @uncensored-aj, @mypackpride, @whisperingwillowe, @sasksdemorg, and @emimuart

Without further ado:

Exile: A Nosferatu Fanfic

Chapter 7

Second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches. Those eyes add insult to injury…

She woke briefly, her head against something solid, strong. There was a faint, faint sound in her ear. It was like a watch wrapped in a thick covering. Her arms and shoulders were covered, as the wind pushed against her. Ellen looked up to see Orlok, keeping a hold of her as they rode back together. He looked…different in a way.

More alive, more…wholesome even. Did she do that? Did her blood do that? He had more color to his skin, and Ellen swore she saw a little more hair on his head. He looked down at her, and his eyes had gone from their moonlit shade to an almost storm cloud gray. Ellen looked into those eyes for all of a moment, and she saw a flash of concern in them before again, she slipped back into the darkness of her mind…

He rode faster back to the castle, the cold hitting him harder than he remembered. He was actually feeling it. For the first time in centuries, he felt it in his fingers. What in the world had his little Sylph done to him? One drink of her blood had affected him in a way Orlok couldn’t explain.

His hands had lost their pale, deathly pallor. He now had a soft slight color to them…like he was alive once again. It wasn’t a feeling he was sure he liked, given the circumstances of their being here. He felt stronger, but at the same time he felt human and he couldn’t stand that. Orlok didn’t want to be anything resembling human.

Resembling weakness.

He rode with Ellen back to the castle and carried her inside, the wolfhounds following close behind. They were all worried about her, and about how this revelation of her blood would affect their master. He was of course both concerned and curious, wondering if this strange Other World was giving them qualities of one another. A little of herself in him and a little of himself in her.

“How quaint…” the count thought, laying her down in bed.

Furie joined her on the bed, curling up next to her, while his siblings laid on either side on the floor. Sure they’d keep watch over her, but Orlok had no desire to leave Ellen’s side just yet. He wanted to make sure she was completely okay, as using power like that had the potential to leave the user with effects similar to an overdose. Yes, it was possible to overdose or overuse magic. It was a tricky thing, even in this world. But from what Orlok was beginning to understand was that, at least here in the Other World, there was no such thing as light or dark magic.

It was about intention. It was what one wanted to do with their magic that ultimately determined its power and price. Again, a quaint little thing. In the living world, there was magic of varying types, though generally falling into the light or the dark. Looking at his hand once more, he was beginning to lose feeling in it again. The price was paid, he didn’t need her blood anymore, so the effect was wearing off.

Orlok looked at Ellen as she rested, noting her color had returned to her when once she was pale. This more or less confirmed his theory. They seemed to draw power from each other now more acutely than they did in life. No light, no dark, only intention and an equal price to pay.

“Of all the oddities…we have become a part of each other” he thought aloud, still looking at her.

It was how he felt she was in danger, why he felt compelled to come to her aid despite his anger. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a will of his own, he did. He was still upset about her finding out about Mirela. He knew she would have questions, and Orlok wasn’t sure he was willing to answer those questions just yet.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to face it just yet.

There was so much to do…so much to figure out. He didn’t want to focus on the past right now. He didn’t want to think of who he was, what he had lost. Durere raised his head, as if sensing his master’s inner emotions. The wolfhound got up and went towards the door, most likely going to grab something that would only deepen it. He had a nasty habit of that.

Not this time.

“Durere! Sedere!” Orlok commanded and the wolfhound stopped, turning to face him.

The two locked eyes as if challenging the other. Durere would try, but Orlok always came out on top whenever he was aware of his tricks. During moments of awareness. He was master right now…

The wolfhound’s ears flattened and he practically crawled back towards his master. Durere put his head under his extended hand. For now, the wolfhound conceded defeat.

��Why…why do you call them those things?” Ellen’s voice cut through his thoughts and Orlok turned to her.

“You’re awake” he noted.

She nodded weakly. “Barely…I think”.

“You’re weak from how much I took from you. You need to-”.

“Why did you name them that way?” she asked, ignoring his concerns.

“Ellen…Micul Suflet…They’re just names” he told her.

“No, no…something tells me it’s more than-”.

“You need to rest. I took too much from you. You’re thinking of things that aren’t important”.

“Stop…Orlok…please stop. Stop hiding. Talk to me. Trust me”.

“It isn’t a matter of trust, little one. You are not thinking with a clear mind”.

“No, I am. If they are truly just names, why are you so defensive about them? Would you prefer to talk about what I saw? What I found down there? Who was she? Who was Mirela?” Ellen sat up.

She wasn’t trying to be forceful, but she knew something was going on here. Something she had an idea of but it was just that: An idea. Only he knew the truth. Ellen needed to know what was going on. What was this place? Why were they here? What were those things that attacked her back there?

Orlok growled but Ellen put her hand in his. “Please…I have questions and I think only you know the answers. If I’m never going to know anyone or anything else, I want to know you at least”.

He looked at their hands, now loosely entwined, and Orlok felt his heart lurch. It didn’t feel right, keeping things from her. For all they were to each other, for all they went through. But the Count had no desire to burden her, even if she was volunteering to take on said burden. Ellen looked at him with those soft eyes, those eyes that were among the last things he ever saw in the world of the living. Eyes he both loved and hated. Adored and despised…

“Please…you didn’t hide from me before. Don’t hide now” Ellen pleaded.

How tempting she was…How he wanted so badly to tell her everything. But again, not wanting to let himself be vulnerable, Orlok kept his guard up, pulling his hand away from her sharper than he intended.

“When you’re better rested we’ll talk” he told her, “Starting with why you were down there”.

“Are you then to reprimand me?! Like I’m some child?!” Ellen demanded.

The count snarled and turned to her again. “I just saved your soul! Do NOT make me regret it, little Sylph. I came when you needed me…Like those hounds you have at your feet! And this is how you repay me?! By questioning me?! By claiming to not know me?!”.

“I don’t know you! Not how…how I’d like to…”.

For a moment, Orlok was stunned into silence. She wanted to know him, despite everything he did. She wanted to know him fully, truly. For all of a moment, he was touched in a way that he hadn’t been in a long time. But once again, pride won out.

“You know only what you need to know. Nothing more”.

Ellen frowned. “You don’t trust me”.

“It is not a matter of trust, as I said-”.

“It is. We won’t last, not like this. If we’re to make it through this somehow, if we’re to co-exist, we need to trust each other. You know everything there is to know about me! But you can’t grant me the same courtesy?! Why? What are you afraid of?!”

“I fear nothing!”

“Then prove it!”

Orlok snarled. “I’ve proven myself more than enough, have I not?”.

“Please…” she got up and came right to him, taking his face in her hands, “Please, trust me. We need to trust each other. It’s the only way. We won’t make it otherwise…” Ellen looked up at him, “You trusted me once. You loved me once. What has changed? Tell me”.

He hesitated. “This world is…different. A place made up of memories, or at least, fragments of memories”.

“Memories?” Ellen cocked her head curiously.

“Haven’t you noticed? There are things around here that once were yours, and others that once were mine. Fragments and pieces of who we once were, all now merged into one place”.

“So this isn’t the afterlife?”.

“It isn’t THE afterlife in the way humans think. We were not human when we died. Their afterlife isn’t ours”.

“So then it’s an afterlife then? One designed specifically for us?”

“Our own creation. An amalgamation of all we have ever been, whether together or not”.

“Pieces of our lives all together in one place. But why?”.

“Some things we hold on to far too tightly we carry them in death. They follow us into this world. It’s how it is created. For example, your wedding bouquet is downstairs on my dining room table. I’ve tried to burn it countless times. And it keeps…coming…back” Orlok growled, saying it through gritted teeth.

“Wait it’s downstairs? My actual-”

“Yes”.

“And you’ve tried to destroy it?!”

“Also yes”.

Ellen glared. “Seriously?! Why?!”

“Because I don’t want any trace of your marriage to that useless mouse anywhere near me!”

“He wasn’t a mouse, he loved me! Thomas LOVED me!”

Orlok growled and shook his head. “You may think he did, and perhaps to an extent it’s true. But he didn’t love you the way you wanted. The way you needed, Micul Suflet…”

He leaned in closer, their heads almost touching. Ellen felt his long fingered hand caress her cheek. The texture was rough, but not in a painful way. Rather in a way that just simply made her senses writhe beneath the surface, like a ball of unsettled serpents. Despite that, Ellen couldn’t help but lean into his touch, cool and oddly comforting. It felt like he was touching not her face but her very soul, as though he could sink his claws in and rake them down the very fabric of her being.

But he didn’t.

No. That wasn’t who he was with her. Not with her. Ellen knew that. His claws didn’t even break skin. In fact, they never did. Sure she had a few scratch marks after their otherworldly encounters, but he never made her bleed until the last. For a moment, she remembered that. He never, ever made her bleed.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t hurt her. He was always a bit of a rough lover. He always was. Even more so just before…

“You abandoned me” Ellen said feeling his lips come closer to hers, “Why did you abandon me? I needed you and you-”.

Orlok cut her off with a passionate kiss, not wanting to focus on that right now. So many questions his little sylph had…none of which he wanted to answer at the moment. All he wanted was for her to rest and leave his own troubles to him. No matter what, he would not burden her. His pain was not hers to bear…

He released her, leaving Ellen soft, like she was floating back into Chaos. Her mind clouded a little and all she could think of was him. His eyes on hers, his hands on her. Ellen gently ran her hands down on his chest, feeling the ever so faint beat of his heart where once there wasn’t even a single one. How maddening was it that he was more alive in death than he was in life, at least when she knew him?

“I’m sorry…I did this to you. I turned you into this…this thing” she told him, her eyes sad.

“No, No it wasn’t all you-”.

“You said so yourself. I was your affliction…and it appears I still am. I always will be…” she slid her hands away from him and turned away, “Perhaps that’s why you left me…”.

“No…No little sylph. That wasn’t-”.

“Then why?” She asked, “You could’ve stolen me away any time. Anytime after my papa died and you…you didn’t. You let me marry Thomas”.

A flash of hurt reflected in his eyes at that. It was true, he could’ve had her years ago, and avoided all of this mess. He could’ve had her repledge her vow at any point after her father’s passing. But he didn’t. He knew why…And he was surprised she didn’t realize why.

He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit it out loud…but for her sake, he had to….

“I am what I am. And you could not love me for all I was, nor was I willing to curse you like I was. My anger was my greatest fault, and you were falling victim to it as well. You don’t hurt someone you love…”.

Ellen turned to face him again at that only to find he was gone, vanished as if he was never there. Left alone with the dogs and her thoughts, all Ellen could do was shake her head.

“Orlok…”

If you guys enjoyed this please like, comment, and reblog! Your support is very much appreciated!!!! Thank you all so very much! ^-^ if you want to be added to the taglist please let me know!

[actuallybean]

Holy Virgin* | Part Nine

You've shared everything with Sam but one thing—your faith. It’s never been a problem… until Heaven turns its gaze on you, and suddenly, devotion takes on a darker meaning. *Contains sexual material, pregnancy, thoughts of suicide/attempted suicide, virginity and has some religious themes: Minors DNI Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader (Platonic), Castiel x Reader (Platonic) Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @catsinacottage Part Ten Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It was just past three a.m.

Dean sat at the kitchen table, hunched forward, elbows braced like the weight of the world might finally crack his spine. The coffee in front of him had long since gone cold—his third cup, untouched. Open books surrounded him like a graveyard of desperation. Lore on divine births, messiah myths, purification rites, ancient celestial bloodlines.

None of them told him what he really needed to know.

How to stop this.

How to help you.

He ran his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time. He could still hear you crying in your room last night—quiet, muffled, but shaking through the walls. Sam had held you. Dean hadn’t gone in.

He didn’t know how.

But then Castiel’s voice echoed in his skull like thunder:

“She is the one He hears.”

That was all it took.

Dean shot to his feet so fast the chair slammed against the wall. He didn’t stop to think, didn’t hesitate. His boots hit the floor hard as he stormed down the hallway like a man possessed.

He didn’t knock.

The door creaked open slow. Moonlight pooled inside the room in silver-blue waves.

You were curled up under the blanket, tucked into Sam’s side, your legs tangled with his. Your breathing was soft, rhythmic, a rare moment of peace.

Dean froze in the doorway, guilt slamming into his gut.

You looked safe like this. For a second, he considered walking away.

But then he thought about something else.

He thought about finding your body.

He thought about walking into this room and seeing you cold and stiff, blood pooling beneath your head, your rosary still clutched in your hand. He thought about Sam screaming. About the way grief would break them both in half.

He thought about that image and how you must have already seen it too—because you were always one step ahead, always protecting them, even from yourself.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

He wouldn't.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice rough, cracking. “Hey—wake up.”

Sam stirred first. His eyes fluttered open, squinting at the light. “Dean?”

You blinked slowly. “What’s wrong?”

Dean stepped inside, his hands trembling. “I need you to pray.”

You sat up halfway. “What?”

“I need you to pray.” His voice was tight. “Right now. Please.”

Sam sat up too, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Dean—what the hell’s going on?”

Dean’s gaze darted between you both, desperate. “Cas said God’s listening to her. Not us. Her. And ever since that night in the war room, everything’s gone to shit. She’s quiet. She’s scared. And I don’t know if God’s ignoring her now or if He’s waiting for her to speak. But either way—” He swallowed hard. “I think maybe He’ll listen again. If she tries.”

You stared at him, stunned by the sheer force of his words. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He probably hadn’t.

“You really think He’ll answer me?” you asked softly.

Dean’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know. But you’re the only one He’s ever answered. And if there’s even a chance… a fucking sliver of one… I have to try. We have to try.”

You looked at Sam. His eyes were sad but resolute. He gave a slight nod.

You exhaled slowly. Then nodded too.

Pushing the covers back, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold. You shivered.

Dean stood frozen in place, like he was afraid to breathe.

Sam reached out and rested a hand on your back, a quiet promise. You closed your eyes.

Your hands came together.

And you began.

“Father,” you whispered, “I don’t know what to say anymore.”

Dean closed his eyes too, his hands fisting at his sides.

“I don’t know if I’m still worthy of You. Or if You’re still listening. But I’m here. And I’m scared.”

Your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop.

“I don’t want this. I never wanted this. I didn’t ask to be chosen. I didn’t ask to be a vessel or a symbol or a miracle. I just wanted to save people. I wanted to fight beside them. I wanted to live.”

The silence pressed closer.

“And I keep thinking,” you choked, “what if I can’t stop it? What if this ends with me in the dirt somewhere—just another body on the floor? What if Sam or Dean finds me like that? What if they’re the ones who have to pull me out of the wreckage?”

Your hands trembled now.

“They’ve seen so much. Fought so much. But I don’t think they could come back from that. I couldn’t do that to them. I can’t.”

Dean’s chest heaved. His eyes burned.

“I’m begging You. If You’re still watching—say something. Please. Say anything.”

A beat.

And then… it happened.

A hum. Low. Barely there. Like the Earth itself exhaled.

The air shifted—thicker, warmer.

The overhead light flickered once. Twice. Then glowed steady and bright.

Dean’s eyes snapped open.

“Did you feel that?” he whispered, voice hoarse with awe.

Sam didn’t speak. He was too busy watching you—your face turned upward, bathed in the light, softening into something serene.

You opened your eyes slowly. A tear slid down your cheek.

But this time… it wasn’t from fear.

“I think He’s still listening,” you said, voice like the echo of a miracle.

Dean let out a breath that sounded like a prayer itself.

“Good,” he said roughly, wiping his face with one shaking hand. “That’s… good.”

Sam pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively. You leaned into his chest like it was home.

Dean backed toward the door.

“I’m gonna call Cas,” he said, and he didn’t wait for a response. He was already moving, faster than before, like that flicker of hope had caught fire inside him.

And as his footsteps echoed down the hallway, you stayed there—held tight in Sam’s arms, heart still pounding, body warm from something divine.

Maybe this wasn’t the answer.

But it was proof.

And for tonight, that was enough.

✦

You stayed awake long after the prayer had ended.

Even with Sam’s body curled protectively around you, his chest rising and falling against your back like the tide, even with the quiet hush of Dean’s footsteps retreating down the hallway and fading into the hush of the bunker — you couldn’t close your eyes.

Not after what you felt.

Not after that fleeting, impossibly gentle warmth that had bloomed beneath your skin like something sacred. Like sunlight pouring through stained glass and pooling in your chest. Like a whisper slipping beneath the seams of your soul — too soft to hear, too heavy to ignore. It was the breath of Heaven. That’s the only way you could describe it. A touch that had no fingers, a voice that had no mouth, a presence that needed no name.

He was listening again.

And that terrified you more than silence ever had.

Because it meant this wasn’t over.

Because it meant you hadn’t been abandoned.

Because it meant He was watching. Waiting.

Because it meant something was coming — and there would be no hiding from it.

The truth was, you had spent months learning how to live with the absence. You had buried your faith beneath salt and soot and unanswered prayers, let it fossilize in your chest beside every other thing you had lost. You had almost started to believe it was over — that whatever grand, divine plan you were supposed to be a part of had failed quietly in the background while you went on bleeding and breaking and pretending not to care.

But now… now you knew He was back.

And you weren’t sure if that was comfort or a curse.

So you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, blinking against the soft dark. The room smelled like old books and Sam’s shampoo. The air was warm. Safe. You could still feel the echo of your whispered prayer clinging to the corners of your lips, like honey you hadn’t swallowed.

And that’s when the knock came.

Soft. Barely audible. A ghost tapping its fingers on your doorframe.

Sam stirred beside you with a groggy, “Yeah?”

The door opened. You sat up before Dean even said a word.

He stood in the threshold with Castiel at his side, both of them cast in the dim hallway light, faces heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“He’s here,” Dean said quietly.

Not a question. Not even an explanation. Just a fact.

You felt your stomach pull tight.

Castiel stepped into the room. His trench coat swayed around his ankles like a shroud, but his eyes — ancient, oceanic, impossibly blue — were softer than usual. Gentler. As if he understood. As if he mourned something already lost.

“There’s a message,” he said.

You swallowed hard. “From… God?”

He nodded once.

“But it’s not in words,” Castiel added. “Not in prophecy. It’s a vision. He wants you to see.”

You felt the breath catch in your throat.

A vision. You’d had them before — brief, terrifying things that split your mind open and poured fire into your ribs. They left you trembling and hollowed, half-alive with their meaning. But this… this felt heavier. More final.

Still, you nodded.

Slow. Uneasy. But certain.

Castiel moved closer, kneeling beside the bed like a knight at confession. Reverent. Almost mournful. He raised his hand, hovering it inches from your temple, his gaze locked with yours like he needed you to believe in him. In this.

“This won’t hurt,” he murmured. “But it may feel like… everything.”

Your breath trembled out of you in a shaky exhale.

“I’m ready.”

His fingers brushed your skin.

And the world fell away.

✦

You landed barefoot in paradise.

The first thing you felt was warmth — not from heat, but from light. It sank into your bones without burning, gentle and radiant and impossibly pure. A breeze kissed your face, rich with the scent of blossoms, untouched earth, and rain that had never known sorrow. The grass beneath your feet was soft as velvet. The sky above was endless — not blue, but gold, streaked with clouds that looked like spun silk.

Sunlight wrapped around you like a second skin.

You turned slowly, eyes wide, heart thudding.

This place… it was alive.

The trees around you bore fruit in colors that defied language — iridescent purples, glowing crimsons, silver-pink orbs that shimmered with every breath of wind. Birds flitted between the branches, their songs not chirps, but melodies — harmonies that made your chest ache, like lullabies from another world. Rivers ran through the grass, clear as crystal and lined with lilies, petals gleaming like stars.

You didn’t have to wonder where you were.

You knew.

This was Eden.

The Garden. The beginning.

And you were alone.

Until the voice came.

“Do you know where you are, child?”

It wasn’t thunderous. It didn’t crack the sky or shake the earth.

It was soft. Gentle. Like a father tucking in his child. Like a memory you couldn’t place, but had always known.

The voice didn’t echo, because it didn’t need to. It threaded through your ribs. Wrapped around your soul like vines around a trellis. Every part of you heard it — not with ears, but with something older, deeper.

You bowed your head. “I know.”

“This is where it began,” the voice said. “Where man took his first breath. And where woman was born of it.”

You turned, slowly, instinctively.

Under a fig tree stood two figures — naked, unashamed, beautiful in their vulnerability. Adam and Eve. Their hands were clasped, eyes wide with wonder as they looked at the world, at each other, at everything.

“They were given everything,” the voice said. “A world without pain. Without death. They were meant to walk beside Me.”

You watched Eve reach toward the tree.

Watched Adam follow without hesitation.

Watched the moment the fruit left the branch.

And then the sky dimmed.

Their faces twisted. Shame fell on them like ash. They clutched at themselves, eyes wide with a fear you understood too well.

“They sinned,” God said. “And so the world changed.”

The garden vanished.

Images replaced it — flickering like pages of Scripture being turned by a hurricane.

Eve screaming in childbirth, her face slick with sweat and tears.

Adam toiling in a field of thorns, hands blistered and cracked.

A body wrapped in linen, lifeless and still.

Blood spilled in war. Eyes turned cold. Doors locked against mercy.

“These were not punishments,” He said. “They were consequences. The price of choice. The cost of free will.”

You looked down at your hands — trembling, human, fallible.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered.

“No,” He answered, and His voice was so full of sadness it nearly broke you. “Neither did Mary.”

Another vision bloomed.

A young woman in a simple linen dress, kneeling on the floor of a stone room. Her hands trembled. Her face was pale. And before her stood an angel, radiant and terrifying.

“She was afraid,” God said. “She knew what the world would do to her. She knew the road would be long. But she said yes.”

You saw her body change. Saw her belly swell. Saw her endure the journey, miles and miles across sand and stone, her back aching as she rode on the donkey. You watched her give birth among animals — her cries lost in the night, pain and awe tangled together in her voice. You watched her raise a child destined to die.

“But she was never alone,” God said. “Not for a moment.”

You see Mary be embraced by a man. Joseph

And then the world shifted again.

You saw yourself.

Not bathed in light. Not cloaked in holiness. Just… you.

Barefoot. In your hoodie. Hair tangled. Knees scraped.

You were standing in the grass, uncertain. And Mary stood across from you, the child in her arms.

You reached out.

And the child reached back.

“You are not her,” God said. “You are you. But you carry her strength.”

Your throat tightened. Tears welled in your eyes.

“I don’t feel ready.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Then—

“You are.”

The words wrapped around your ribs like a warm shawl.

You sank to your knees in the grass.

And for the first time since your name had become a prayer, since angels began whispering prophecies in the dark, since you stopped believing there was a place for you in any of it—

You believed Him.

✦

When you opened your eyes, you were back in the bunker.

Castiel knelt beside you, tears clinging to his lashes.

Dean was still standing by the door, stiff with emotion. And Sam — Sam was holding your hand like he would never let go.

You swallowed hard.

“I saw Him,” you whispered.

Dean stepped closer, voice raw. “What did He say?”

You looked down, then back up at all of them — your family. The ones who had carried you when you couldn’t carry yourself.

“He said… I’m ready.”

No one moved at first.

Then Sam leaned in and kissed your temple.

Dean sat beside you, his hands clasped together tightly.

Castiel just nodded, something ancient and knowing behind his eyes.

And even though the fear didn’t leave you — even though the weight of what was coming still pressed against your shoulders like a storm not yet passed —

Something else lived inside you now, too.

Faith.

Peace.

And for the first time in a long time… hope.

[ohdorothea]

more info on the tournament here <3

lyrics under the cut

cardigan lyrics

Vintage tee, brand new phone High heels on cobblestones When you are young, they assume you know nothing Sequin smile, black lipstick Sensual politics When you are young, they assume you know nothing

But I knew you Dancing in your Levi's Drunk under a streetlight, I I knew you Hand under my sweatshirt Baby, kiss it better, I

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite A friend to all is a friend to none Chase two girls, lose the one When you are young, they assume you know nothing

But I knew you Playing hide-and-seek and Giving me your weekends I, I knew you Your heartbeat on the High Line Once in twenty lifetimes, I

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

To kiss in cars and downtown bars Was all we needed You drew stars around my scars But now I'm bleeding

'Cause I knew you Stepping on the last train Marked me like a bloodstain, I I knew you Tried to change the ending Peter losing Wendy I, I knew you Leaving like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young I knew I'd curse you for the longest time Chasing shadows in the grocery line I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired And you'd be standing in my front porch light And I knew you'd come back to me You'd come back to me And you'd come back to me And you'd come back

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

exile lyrics

I can see you standin', honey With his arms around your body Laughin' but the joke's not funny at all And it took you five whole minutes To pack us up and leave me with it Holdin' all this love out here in the hall

I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defendin' now? You were my town Now I'm in exile seein' you out I think I've seen this film before

Hoo, hoo-ooh Hoo, hoo-ooh Hoo, hoo-ooh

I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me Second, third, and hundredth chances Balancin' on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury

I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending I'm not your problem anymore So who am I offending now? You were my crown Now I'm in exile seein' you out I think I've seen this film before So I'm leavin' out the side door

So step right out There is no amount Of cryin' I can do for you

All this time We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (You didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

All this time I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) So many signs So many signs (You didn't even see the signs)

I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town Now I'm in exile seein' you out I think I've seen this film before So I'm leaving out the side door

So step right out There is no amount Of cryin' I can do for you

All this time We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

All this time I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) You never gave a warning sign (All this time) (So many times) I never learned to read your mind (So many signs) I couldn't turn things around (I couldn't turn things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (You never gave a warning sign) You never gave a warning sign Ah, ah

[sparklingdemon]

so! (claps) time for more hacker cody lore bc i just can't shut up today <3

so hacker cody was a p big pokemon creepypasta fan at one point. they literally wore a shirt with the pokemon tower ghost that says "game over" on it. they clearly took a lot of inspiration from pokepastas when designing their hack. the secret hidden escape rope easter egg is a direct reference to the "axe candle rope" pokepasta. leaf being glitchy when played as was a subtle nod to fallen leaf (bc hacker cody's then-friend at the time was working on fallen leaf's hack alongside cody's hack)

but at the same time, they also wanted to subvert the tropes that were a part of pokepastas.

"missingno?" nah, that thing is in every kanto creepypasta. get rid of it. it's not relevant to this story. "dead raticate?" nah, i can create drama between blue and the player without it. "self aware protagonist?" nah, the protagonist is the ONLY one that isn't a person anymore. everyone else is. "classic red vs modern red?" nah they're the same character. "red vs leaf?" nah they're the same character. "blood and gore?" nah that's way too edgy and tacky for what i'm doing. when MY protagonist dies, they're going to just drop dead with no visible cause. "suicide?" yes, but through implication only. blue disappears from the game and you're meant to assume the worst, but you never SEE it. the escape rope teleports the player to the tower but you don't SEE the player character hang themself. you're meant to let the implications speak for themselves.

it's got a "i'm not like other pokepastas" vibe to it, while never OPENLY throwing shade at the other stories that use those tropes.

and this all culminates with blue, who the hack's story (arguably) centers around. i initially wrote monochrome!blue for a separate scrapped project before placing him into monochrome instead. i initially intended to write him as a subversion of the popular idea of what a "creepypasta blue" is, and i feel like that's probably the in-universe reason for why hacker cody characterized him that way, too. they wanted something that felt "faithful" to the spirit of blue's character. he isn't trying to kill red/leaf out of revenge towards them personally, he's trying to kill them to drive the player away - and if he's SUCCESSFUL in doing that, then the player will turn the game off, therefore bringing red/leaf back to life when the game reverts to its previous save file. monochrome blue had No Intention of permanently killing off red/leaf, because all he wanted was to free them from the player's influence so that they would (hopefully) be themselves again. be equals again. be FRIENDS again. but blue had to come to the tragic conclusion that there was never a red/leaf to begin with. just cody. (or so he was programmed to think. he never realized red/leaf WERE actually still their own people.) even blue's relationship with prof oak has been subverted in this hack. i feel like blue-centric creepypastas like to adapt oak to be more of an asshole to blue - (for example, saying he doesn't love his pokemon enough sounds cruel and tone-deaf if his raticate died), to justify why blue is so jealous of red and desperate for oak's praise. but monochrome instead shows that (true to the spirit of the vanilla games) prof oak did indeed love blue, but that was not enough to save his life. in the vanilla games, oak is disappointed in blue for losing because of blue's own shortcomings as a person, but monochrome!oak instead finally recognizes that blue was Never Meant To Win Against The Player and tells him it was never his fault for losing against them. but blue couldn't forgive oak for continuing to let the player into the world of pokemon, giving them a second, third, fourth, fifth, tenth, hundredth chance to change for the better, but instead they continued to hurt him and red/leaf. blue viewed oak as complacent with that.

ngl it makes me kind of sad that monochrome!blue is such a Major Background Character (and also dead) bc he's got a lot of interesting depth to him that i'm not gonna get to explore in the same way that i would've been able to with the old project he was from. but it's ok bc i can ramble abt him here and hopefully u guys can appreciate him too kfdhgjgdks……

but that's also why it's so interesting seeing trainer cody interact w tears!blue now because we get to explore what cody thinks of blue personally. cody is an analytical asshole who's completely apathetic to his suffering. to them, blue was just a character in a story created by an indifferent playwright. so it'll be So Fun to have cody talk to tears about their blue like he was "just a character" when there is in fact a Real Sentient Blue Standing Right There who is Very Pissy about being considered "lesser" to red. (also think it's incredibly funny that trainer cody Literally Canonically Knows About Blue Tears thru the hacker's knowledge of pokepastas, but does not realize that they're talking to a blue tears!blue so they're just talking shit like he's just a regular blue. hope they get a rude awakening lmao)

[placingdaydreamss]

Second, third, and hundredth chances...

[wyn-n-tonic]

That's A Real Fucking Legacy: All of You, All of Me

Word Count: 968 Warnings: Uh.... death talk? Author's Note: SHE'S BACK ON HER BULLSHIT, BESTIES.

TARFL Masterlist | Author Blog

It’s been years in the making at this point.

You, Joel. Baby. Except her name isn’t Baby anymore and it’s not Thomasin either.

There was a lot of discussion, a lot of broken hearts and tears from all parties involved. Tommy was touched but he ached. Even when he got over it, found somebody else, he ached so deep in his being that there were nights he thought he’d split himself in two.

Because at the end of the day, he still believes—with all his heart—that your little girl should be his, too. He believes that when you took the last name Miller, it should’ve been gifted over from him.

“I’ll hold onto this hurt for the rest of my life, sweetheart,” he’d said.

Said he’d accepted that he’d caused it but that didn’t make the pain go away. Didn’t soothe that raw, bruised part of his heart—his soul.

There was no begging, Joel was on board from the beginning. Joel was on board before anybody else. Change her name, something more appropriate for who she is to you and Joel and this world. A gift.

A second chance.

Or third. Fourth. Fifth.

One hundredth and many more than you deserve after years and year over this life; this way of living. 

Especially for Joel, your strong, broad mountain of a man who believed himself irredeemable in the eyes of everybody but especially yours. He cradled her with such gentleness, even as she grew, that it was hard to believe he was capable of any kind of violence.

So, after a year of late night and early morning talks whispered across the pillows, decisions had been made. A lot of them, actually.

Joel admitted that he felt his humanity pouring back into him with every breath he took beside you; every moment he held your daughter in his arms. He bloomed as father, color darkening his cheeks with emotion every time he looked at her. He felt like before in some sense of the word, like he was being given the gift of fulfilling the only thing he ever felt he was good at. 

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, you know where that thought would often go. Silent promises to himself that he wouldn’t fail this time. Or, God help him, he hoped his failure was no longer being in this world to protect her when it came down to it.

In the registry office of town, where all the records of who was who and where they were were kept, you both signed as a new birth certificate was made. 

Clara Miriam Miller. No Thomasin, no Baby. No placeholder for who she was or name to carry as if she were some memorial, just Clara. 

It means bright. Clear. Joel joked that she was the only light in the darkness he’d ever seen or needed.

It was good, beautiful even. As you finished your signature on the page detailing everything you could remember about her birth—bloody, loud, an early morning surprise that still exhausted you to this day—Joel cleared his throat.

Trying his best to tuck an unruly piece of hair behind your ear and failing, he took a deep breath and finally said, “will you marry me while we’re here?”

That’s the last piece to his puzzle, always has been. The thing he always wanted before—-companionship. Love in such an intimate way. Not that your relationship lacks that as it is but there’s something about being official.

There’s possession to it and there’s this bit of submission as you vow to give all your life and love and hurt and pain and, even, your death to one person. 

No. No doubts in your minds about this one either. He loved so fiercely, so deeply, and he’d whispered all his insecurities and broken parts in all the nights you’ve lived together. He didn’t have it before, not when it happened. Selfishly, you’re glad that he didn’t, that his wife had walked away from him years and years before that. If he’d lost her the way he’d lost the others, the way he fears losing you or losing Clara…

But if that had been the case, there would be no you. Not for him. There wouldn’t even be a Clara, there would be somebody else with somebody else.

Or maybe nobody at all. 

Your vows are even more selfish as you tell him how grateful you are that you found one another through all this and the more that life tried to throw at you; that you went to him the way Tommy had said to when there was trouble even though it scared you so much to knock on his door.

It scared you to tell him the things you told him, to make the decisions for yourself and decide you were tired of pretending it wasn’t love that you felt for him. 

In the end, with Clara’s small face tucked neatly into the crook of his neck, he took your hand, looked at his brother and apologized with gratitude tacked onto the end. 

Looking back at you, he smiles and you reach out to touch your thumb into the hidden dimple as it wells deep into his cheek.

“When I go, I hope it’s peaceful,” he says. “I hope it’s beside you, Mrs. Miller, and I hope it’s only after years. And, selfishly, I hope it’s not a pain or absence you have to feel for long because I am going to be mighty pissed off if you make me wait for as long as I did to have you in my bed in the first place.” 

Going back to your signature on Clara’s paperwork, you pick up the pen and add -Miller to the end of your name. 

[stillgotscars]

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancing on breaking branches

Those eyes add insult to injury

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

EXILE || Kylo Ren x Fem!reader

Exile by Taylor Swift but it's you and Kylo

Tw: Straight angst honestly

You and Kylo had a falling out. Not just a falling out. A full on terrible break up. Words were said, threats were made. You were tired of begging Kylo for the bare minimum. You had split a few months ago and had successfully avoided each other. But you knew you'd see him tonight at the First Order ball. You chose a black dress with deep red accents that hugged your body in all the right places, a thigh slit up the side and a deep neckline. One Kylo had picked out for you long ago. Did you wear it so he would look at you? Maybe, but you would never admit to it.

Your date was not someone you knew well, just someone who had worked in your division and had asked you to go. You wanted to apologize in advance for the backlash he would receive from Kylo but you didn't. You swayed together to the music that played as other couples danced around you. His arms were wrapped around you pulling you closer than you had really wanted to be to him as your eyes scanned over his shoulder for the darkness that had shadowed you for so long. Your date whispered something in your ear, something that was probably supposed to be funny but you weren't listening as your mind was occupied, you forced a laugh anyway. I can see you standing, honey With his arms around your body Laughing but the joke's not funny at all

Kylo stood in the hall outside the ballroom. The doors were slightly open, enough that he could see you without you seeing him. He felt his skin crawl as your date's hands caressed the skin that was uncovered by the openness of the back of your dress. The one he got you. His jaw clenched as you smiled and laughed at something your date whispered in your ear.

And it took you five whole minutes To pack us up and leave me with it Holding all this love out here in the hall

Kylo wanted to rip his arms off of you and drag you out of there. You had not even been apart that long. Months maybe, but that was nothing to Kylo. He would never think of another person again and here you were already in the arms of another. You were still his regardless of what you thought. He scoffed as you left the dance floor to sit at a table hand in hand. Kylo had thought you wanted space. That is why he left you alone these past couple months. You were the only place Kylo felt comfortable, he might say safe even. He felt like he was watching from behind glass, like he wasn't really here. Everything he did was for you, so why were you acting this way?

I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town Now I'm in exile seeing you out I think I've seen this film before

Kylo pulled the doors open wider and stormed into the room. People looked to him as he stalked to the side of the room farthest from you. You didn't even look past the man sat in front of you to look at him. It only angered him more. I can see you staring, honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

You forced yourself not to look as Kylo stalked into the room. He of course haunted the corner directly in your line of sight if you looked past your date. You could feel his eyes burning into you. Your date excused himself a moment as a group of men called him over.

You looked directly to Kylo. You could almost see the violent tendencies that were crawling under his skin at the sight of you with another man. Not that the man meant anything. Kylo would make him temporary even if he did mean something. You couldn't help but shake your head and look away.

Second, third and hundredth chances Balancing on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury

You had given Kylo more than enough chances for years to give you more than the bare minimum. You had begged and cried and hoped he would act like you were more than something replaceable. He was cold and unforgiving. In all honesty, you never really knew how he felt about you because he would never tell you.

You looked up and made eye contact with him. The look on his face made you wince. At first glance he looked angry and you were sure he was but his eyes, his eyes looked almost teary. Hurt.

You looked for your date, who seemed to have found someone else to be more interested in. That was probably for the best.

I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending I'm not your problem anymore So who am I offending now? You were my crown Now I'm in exile seeing you out I think I've seen this film before So I'm leaving out the side door

You stood abruptly and moved quickly to the smaller door behind you to leave. You couldn't stand to be here anymore. To see him stare at you like a neglected puppy when you were the one who had been neglected. You slipped through the door, walking quickly down the hall when the door opened behind you and heavy footsteps followed you.

So step right out There is no amount Of crying I can do for you

A gloved hand grabbed your arm and whipped you around as tears fell from your eyes. Kylo gripped your shoulders as he stared into your eyes, jaw clenched. All this time We always walked a very thin line You didn't even hear me out (You didn't even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) "What do you want Kylo?" Your voice broke as it left your lips.

"Why were you with him? I gave you space like you wanted and this is what I get in return?" His voice was cold as always.

You scoff and shake your head pulling away from him. "Space? Really? When did I EVER ask for SPACE?"

He stares at you, unmoving as if his brain cannot process the words.

"All I have ever wanted is for you to act like you actually give a shit about me Kylo." You spun to look to him as he continued to stand there emotionless. You scoff and shake your head. "And for the record we have not been together this entire time, we are not together right now so it does not matter who I am with." You turn away from him but his voice stops you.

"When was it decided that we were not... I did not realize you did not want to be with me" You let you a chuckle, he couldn't even say you were together.

"Kylo, how many times did I beg you to stop treating me like I was temporary? Did you not hear me every time I told you I couldn't do this anymore?" The look on his face made you feel like maybe you really hadn't said it out loud but you know you did.

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

All this time I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (You never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) So many signs So many signs (You didn't even see the signs)

"You don't understand or you don't want to understand? What, did you think I was avoiding you for fun these past few months? That I removed all my belongings from your room just for something to do?" You threw your hands up in defeat. Again as usual, he still showed not a single emotion.

He opened his mouth to say something but shut it just as quickly.

"I'm done Kylo." You turned away and made haste in escaping him. He didn't follow this time. He hadn't seen the signs.

His hands bunched into fists at his side as the ring in his pocket burned a hole in him.

(also send requests! i appreciate them they help smmmm with writers block <3)

[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire: Exile

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader

Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader

Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader

Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The cracks start showing

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

Extra warnings for chapter: Some gore.... i think that's it? Pretty standard terribleness.

4.8k words

a/n: shorted song quote in a while lol This goes out to Alicia who always is drawing parallels between characters. Even if I didn't do it on purpose tee hee

a/n 2: please take note of my update on my writing here

"Second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches, Those eyes add insult to injury. I think I've seen this film before, and I didn't like the ending." ~Exile, Taylor Swift Ft. Bon Iver

When you wake up, you see Jonah’s head on the pillow next to you, bloody and nose caved in, eye bulging but looking directly at you. You feel hands around your waist.

You scream.

*

When Frankie and Will finally calm you down, you were coming down from another attack, his arms around your body rightly like the day in the meadow, Will’s hands on your face even though Frankie said you didn’t need that right now. 

“He’s dead.” Santi’s voice breaks your frozen state, making you jolt and turn to the right where he stood. His arms were crossed, as were his legs as he leaned against the desk.

Frankie felt your gasping chest again. “Santi, not now.”

The changes in Frankie recently were obvious… there was something different in his eyes. You found yourself clinging to him after every new disaster, his face being the guidance you need in these trying times… Until this morning when you woke up beside him, In Ben’s arms, and instead of his face you saw Jonah.

“No…” You whisper. “No he can’t be dead.” Your eyes begin to well up with tears again at the though of him being gone. He can’t be dead, you need him, you need him still. “He can’t… he can’t leave me…” Your face is already turned to the floor where you sat, but you can sense Pope’s displeasured face.

“What are you talk about?”

Angered, you shout, surprising everyone. “HE CAN”T LEAVE ME! I NEED HIM!” Your legs kick a bit like you are throwing a tantrum, but you simply can’t control your feelings.

Pope’s short legs stride over despite a warning call from Will still knelt near you. He ignores it. “Were you fucking him?”

“NO!”

Frankie’s grasp on you grows tight again, trying to prevent another melt down. 

Pope bends over. “WHY WERE YOU GOING TO MEET HIM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT DRESSED LIKE THIS!” He grabs your nightgown roughly, the material yanking on your still pain skin and you scream. 

“SANTI KNOCK IT OFF!” Will shoves him out of the way, giving his husband a stern look.

You begin to rock yourself, gritting teeth as you reply. “Because other clothes hurt my skin now, SANTIAGO!” You shout his real name, the sound foreign on your lips… the room lay silent as you watched the realization that you have forgone the honorific, something that might have pleased everyone in the early days… But this was not the blissful first month of your marriage. This was not a time where he wanted you comfortable, where there was an illusion that the 5 of you could leave peacefully, you as their center, not tearing each other apart with the 5 of you fighting for affection of each other. You swear you can see him put his mask on.

 Face softening, you flinch when he kneels down beside you, cupping your face in his hands with a soft smile. You are reminded of the day you met him, the day he told you that you were perfect. 

‘From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.’

You were everything he needed you to be. You carried the savior. That was the condition, wasn’t it? Get pregnant? But the goalpost had been moved now. Remembering the burning, you think his threat

‘If that baby comes out with blonde hair, we’re going to have a problem.’ 

How could this be the same man? How could the man who seconds ago screamed at your and pulled at your sensitive skin be the same who gently knelt beside you, holding your face like he did in your first kiss.

“It’s going to be okay, love. You’re safe now, no harm will come to you. I will protect you.”

But it was different now. You realize he never protected you. Ever. Will killed Jonah for you. Will took the bullet for you. Will bathed you and healed you and massaged you. Santiago didn’t do shit.

But your body hurt, your skin aching in a reminder of what he could do to you. So you nod, tears filling your eyes. “Thank you, my husband. I just… I wish to sleep now. I’m tired.”

Seemingly buying it, he stands. “Frank, leave her be.” The gestures to the others to leave.

“Oh, uh… can Francisco stay?” You begin to sit up, off of him.

He narrowed his eyes. “I supposed. Just until you fall asleep. He’s needing to bless the water.”

Iris would have to clean the kitchen of Jonah’s blood… a cleaning ritual would have to take place with the water. Jonah couldn’t be burned alive, which is good because you doubted Iris would dance as he did. You couldn’t bear it if whatver you did to tempt Jonah resulted in her death too.

Getting into bed, Francisco goes to take his usual place in your arms, but you pull back when he reached for you.

“Sorry, sorry…” You are quick with an apology when his face crumbles. “I just… I need company. Not touch.”

He nods, looking guilty as he climbs under the blankets. “I’m so, so sorry Madonna… I never thought Jonah could do this… never thought he was the kind to… to…”

But you shake your head. “I don’t wanna talk about this, Francisco.” But after a beat, still, you ask. “Was that you that held me last night? You and Rey… you smell the same.”

“It was me. I don’t… I don’t think any of the guards should be touching you after this. Especially Rey.” You agree. Despite not wanting touch, you reach out your hand. You fall asleep to him rubbing his thumb over the top, feeling the mangled skin.

*

“Benjamin…” Frankie holds his lover, one leg hitched up against the pants Ben was trying to pull down. Francisco was always bottomless, his pants stripped away the moment they made it into Ben’s room. “Benjamin we can’t do this… she needs us…”

“We’ll be quick.” Shucking off his pants with little kicks of his leg that make Frankie smile against the younger man’s skin, Ben grips Frankie’s broad shoulders, wraps his legs around his thighs and forces them both to roll over. Francisco is always considerably impressed by his strength, always finds it hard to reconcile him with the starving boy that was found so long ago. Ben rasps, ordering Frankie where he wanted to go with such dominance, such self assuredness… “Ride me”

Guilt tightens his chest when he thinks about Madonna, how sometimes he wishes she’d take charge more… but then he remembers what the pay off is. Unlike Santi, he doesn’t have to worry about you hurting him. Unlike Ben, he knows you aren’t fucking the entire community.

His thoughts of you are pushed back when he sinks down on Ben’s cock, the long member driving right up to his prostate when Frankie’s ass hits Ben’s firm thighs. He was so different now, so capable, so strong… He wasn’t like this when he was young. No, back then, he needed Will for everything, refused to leave his side for a while… Frankie wasn’t sure who it was that found the Millers, but Jonah brought them into the mansion during a blizzard, said he found the orphans in a shitty lean-to that had caved in. The ruckous of Jonah's billowing entry has drawn Santi and Frankie downstairs where Beatriz was telling him they couldn’t stay. Jonah insisted that he’d take them to the boys dormitory in the morning, but that it was too cold to go outside again.

Will has frostbite from giving his warm clothes to Ben in hopes he’d survive. Ben was emaciated. They never did find out what was wrong with him as a child, why he was so much thinner than Will who’d give him so much more of the rare food… but even after becoming permanent members of the Garcia family, for years Ben didn’t put on weight. Then in his teens, he beefed up and became who everyone knows him as now.

“Just like that… fuck, fuck thats good Frankie…” Ben praised him, so vocal as he always was, feeding him what he needed in these moments. Frankie was aware his body was different than how the others looked, that the weight in his 30’s packed on more around his stomach, but he when he was with you, when he was with Ben, hell even when he was with Santi and Will he didn’t care. The validation he got from feeling needed, feeling desired was enough for him.

Ben thrust up into him, making Frankie cry out louder than he should, and Ben yanked him down to his level to swollow his sounds of pleasure with a kiss. And fuck, could Ben kiss. With every roll of his hips and slide of his tongue, Frankie’s eyes rolled back into his head. Nothing else mattered but Benjamin. 

Ben was only 4 when he was brought to the house, Will was 8, Frankie and Santi were 9, but Santi was almost 10. When Beatriz approached the boys huddled in each others arms, she stared for a while. They were helpless and small, and while Beatriz was a lot of things, something probably tugged at her heart. Ben gazed up at her like she was the savior herself, like all her bullshit about godhood was true. He never doubted her for a second, firmly obeying every order, explicit or implicit. That loyalty extended to Santi, and he never, ever betrayed him…. Except with Frankie. 

Tugging at Ben’s hair, Frankie humped against Ben’s body as they kissed, fucking himself on his dick and seeing stars. He loved Ben so fucking much it hurt sometimes, and it was near unbearable, it burned him from the inside out and crushed his chest but they could never, ever be together. Not with Santi.

It didn’t start out like this. Of course not, not with the age. Ben was his little brother, someone he loved as such and whose company he enjoyed. Ben and Will never left the house in the morning, Beatriz taking them in. She had her reasons of course. She said Will showed immense courage taking care of Ben after being orphaned, that the self sacrifice he showed was that of a healer's nature. Will became the God of healing and war. Duality. Ben was always full of smiles, even as a starving child. “Mi sol”, as Beatriz called him. He was the sun god.

For a long time, the four of them remained as brothers. Homosexuality wasn’t discouraged, perse… but it wasn’t encouraged. Men and women were needed to pair up to birth children. When things began to bubble up between him and Santi, Beatriz set him up with Iris. For a long time, Francisco thought something was wrong with him for not wanting Iris the way he did Santi. It wasn’t her fault; clearly she was stunning to look at, and the… activities… they had gotten up to that went beyond kissing proved that he WAS attracted to her. But nothing felt like Santi… not until Ben.

Francisco had seen Ben at the orgies they used to have, and for a long time he simply had sense of protection over him. He was too young, and Frankie worried when he reached 19, the age Frankie had been, that Beatriz would touch him too… he thought that was it. 

Then suddenly Beatriz was dead, and everything changed.

Jonah was almost killed for being found fucking Delilah who had participated in the coup. Marcus was burned to death and their future wife was burned to dance, a trauma that gives her a glassy stare for a moment every time she smells smoke. Iris was forced into servitude at the house to pay for Jonah’s sins and the engagement was, of course, called off by Santi. A vacuum had been created, power sucked in and Santiago tried to take her place.

With the chaos, Ben and Franscisco simply… fell into each other, and suddenly what he had with Santi pales in comparison.

With a fistful of hair in his hand, Ben pulled Frankie off his mouth, admiring his kiss-swollen lips as he pants. “Gotta be quite, Frankie. Gonna get you off, but you gotta be quiet. Can you do that for me, pretty boy?”

Unable to speak, Frankie simply nodded. He sat up, bouncing on his cock as Ben jerked him off. Their eyes locked together, Francisco was lost in the sky of blue in his eyes, a cloudy sky his sun god resided in.

Cum flies out of him in strong spurts onto Bens chest, cumming hard as Ben filled his asshole with his spend. Rain fell from those skies he felt burning into him, and he fell over to kiss them away. A soft smile. A gentle touch. A warm hand in his hair and body on fire. The warmth of the sun blessed him.

*

“Baby’s hungry.” You mutter on the couch, sitting on the oppiset side as Ben strummed his guitar.

Francisco smiled. “Oh, it’s the baby, is it?”

“Yeah.” You nudge him with your foot. “Baby says enchilada’s sound great.”

“Let’s go to the kitchen then. I got you.”

Ben lights up, looking away from plucking at the chords. “Oh shit, you’re making enchiada’s? FUCK yeah!”

“Noooo, I don’t wanna get up, can’t you make them?”

This makes Francisco frown. “I wanna stay near you, Madonna.”

“She doesn’t wanna see Iris.” Ben points out your fears, and Francisco’s shoulders drop.

“I let her take some time off… We’re on our own for a few days… It’s okay.”

It felt wrong being in Iris’s domain without her, watching Frankie go through her cupboards, her fridge, her pantry… Jonah was dead and it was her fault. Now both of you are orphans… How could you explain to her that you could have never meant for this to happen? That you loved him like a father, that you felt lost without him here… 

“It’s not your fault, you know.” Ben’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, making you turn to him as Francisco busied himself with the food. “Jonah will fuck anything that walks. Asshole practically raised us, then slept with Delilah.”

“Ben, I don’t really wanna-”

“Man, I used to see him at the parties, he’d bury his head in any cunt he could get his hands on-”

Your brow furrows at that. “What parties?”

“Ben!” Francisco calls. “Come help me with this.”

The men whisper argue to each other at the counter, indiscriminate words grating at your ears as you try to make sense of Ben’s words.

That’s when she walked in, trailing behind her was Reyansh.

The door opens, Iris stopping in her tracks. Her eyes were clearly red and puffy but the tears had clearly been wiped away, trying to appear indifferent. It wasn’t working. You scramble to stand, knowing you have to face her, face the consequences.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could get out.

Iris’s face crumbles. “Honey…”

The sound of Jonah’s nickname for you from his daughter's lips shatters something in your heart, and you feel your lip quiver and eyes burn. “I’m so sorry…”

She takes a step forward, speaking softer to you than you ever heard before. “What on earth are you apologizing for…”

“It’s my fault! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You shout, and Ben places himself between you and Iris protectively, trying to usher you out of the room but you stay firm. “I should’ve seen the signs! I shouldn’t have been sneaking out of my room! I shouldn’t have gone unguarded!” Rey are vaguely aware of Rey behind Iris, of Francisco and Ben trying to talk to you but you couldn’t pay attention to that. The moment existed between two women whose fathers couldn’t be what they wanted, in whatever way that meant. Two women who were left abandoned. Two women who understood each other in a way the others couldn’t, no matter how much love was there. “I ruin everything I touch!” Sobbing, you shout ‘I’m sorry’ again and again and again.

Your knees buckle, and you hear Francisco shout your name as arms wrap around you, saving you and your baby from a fall. Then, Iris is knelt in front of you, hands on either side of your head and pulling you to look at her. Her voice is firm, steady and sure as it always is but an air of empathy that didn’t exist before. You understood each other now. When you eyes meet hers, eyes like a sturdy oak and just as unwavering, she spoke her words repeatedly. 

“It’s not your fault. None of this is.”

And suddenly, her voice mattered than Santiago’s.

*

“It’s okay to miss him.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Madonna-” Francisco’s hand reached for you, but you jolted back and away from him with wide eyes. “Sorry… Can I tuck you in?”

You scoot into bed. “Just… don’t touch me…”

He nods as you lay down, pulling the blanket over you and laying it nicely around you, careful not to touch your body or pull anything against your skin. 

“Do you… do you want to be alone?”

He watches you think for a minute. You’d been through a lot, Jonah’s attack leaving you… not yourself. Usually when things happened; the burning, the shooting, etc, you craved closeness from your husbands, but after this… You were so far from him, all the time.

“I… I don’t want to have sex, is that okay?”

His heart crumbles at your question, quickly sitting on the bed but far enough not to scare you. “Oh my god, Madonna… that’s always okay…and I would never, ever expect that from you after something like this…” Still, you  didn’t meet his eyes… just silently crying as you had been all day. He watched a tear drip over the bridge of your nose while you lay on your side. He sighs. “When Beatriz first… when she first touched me, I felt sick, honestly. She said it was a divine union or whatever… but she was my mom. To me, anyway. I didn’t… I didn’t want that to happen.

“The she died and I thought… you know I thought I’d be relieved. God knows I’ve thought about it enough… But I didn’t. I cried for weeks,  felt lost, directionless… there was nowhere to put my anger, my sadness…” That’s when he fell into Ben. “There was… I guess I remember being confused. I didn’t understand how someone I loved could hurt me… and why I still loved someone who could do that…”

You choke back a sob, and when he sees your hand reach out, smooth and soft compared to the other, he takes it. “I don’t understand why Jonah would do that to me… But… I’m also angry at him… not for…” You swallow hard. “but for leaving me. Jonah always knew what to do, what to say… he helped me figure this whole thing out… I feel violated but… also abandoned… If he had stopped, I never would have told anyone.” Shame swallows you as you get more and more intimate. “I don’t think I would have told anyone if he was successful, Francisco. If he didn’t start punching the wall, I wouldn’t have screamed! I such a fucking idiot! I just didn’t want him to die!”

Resisting the urge to hold you is difficult, knowing you have to be the one to make that move. You have to be the one to express it… Still, he lies down beside you. “Madonna, you lost your dad at a young age and you spent 10 years alone with no friends, no family, no love… It makes sense why you’d want to cling to any connection you have. He took care of you, you didn’t want to let go of feeling loved. Lord knows I’ve forgiven worse for the same.”

You turn into him, your face settling on your chest as you cried yourself to sleep.

His heart ached for you, panges pulsing through his body and he clung to you, holding you steady so you could let go. He would be your rock. He would pull it together, be the man you and his baby needed…

You were so precious when you slept, your body trusting him to keep you safe,to keep you wrapped up in love and adoration. He felt so, so horrible for what happened to you, that you were hurt so badly by someone you trusted… He was probably as shocked as you were when he found out why Will was beating Jonah bloody and why you were catatonic on the floor. Jonah, of all fucking people knew what it was like to have your body violated… It angered Frankie in a way he rarely felt.

Usually his emotions were pushed down, shoved away so he could be whatever Santi needed him to be. A stress toy, a cock, a hole, an emotional sounding board. His needs and wants didn’t matter much more than they did with Beatriz, but at least Santi was protective of him, showed affection without needing reward. Still, Frankie couldn’t be himself, so often… but today, as his sleeping girl breathed heavily on his chest, her face still on shirt in a pool of her tears, he let himself feel. He’d be better for her, he’d do better. He’d stay and protect-

The door opens. “Santi wants you.”

*

When you wake with Ben next to you, you’re heart sinks. Not because of Ben, no, never. He was a sweetheart, your sunshine, your joy. Seconds later, his sweet sleeping face makes you smile. You like the floppy chunk of dirty blonde hair that always tickles his face when he sleeps. No, you’re sad because you miss Francisco. Nightmares woke you up again, but Ben was out like a light. It was warm in the bed, Ben always ran hot and you felt like you were melting, even in your nighty. You always chose this one no, it was flouncy enough to allow room for your belly but the material didn’t irritate your burns that were still recovering. 

You think of how many members of Delta saw you naked, the scars and wondered if Santiago wanted you humiliated or not. You wonder if he knew what Divine Mother did to Francisco… Your mind reeled with questions, like what this meant for you. If the God you worshiped so clearly abused your beautiful husband, could she truly be good? You couldn’t imagine kneeling to say your prayers now, knowing she made him feel the way Jonah did to you. And then you realize you can’t stomach kneeling to Santiago either.

It’s too hot. It’s too muggy. The sheet felt wrong and you needed to get out of this room.

When the door opens, you expect to find Reyansh sleeping, but his eyes were open this time. He wore a small, sleepy smirk on his face. “Somehow, I knew you’d still find a reason to sneak out.” He had a busted open lip.

You smile back, quietly closing the door behind you. Really, you knew after Jonah you shouldn’t be around men who aren’t your husbands in skimpy nightgowns but… it was Rey. You trusted him and yeah, you trusted Jonah too but… If Rey betrayed you, there was nothing left to trust.

He stands, letting you sit in his chair and he takes a seat up against the wall next to you, despite your protests.

“Rey? Do you… pray?”

He gives a soft chuckle, resting his head on the chair. “No, I don’t. Call me a heathen. Or a heretic. Or a blasphemer? I’m not entirely sure the difference.”

“I don’t know either, honestly. I just… I’m starting to think Divine Mother wasn’t… good.”

Rey lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank fucking god, girl. No, she wasn’t.” He looks up at you, those big brown eyes framed by the curls falling around his face. He was beautiful, truly. Shame he wasn’t a god, he’d be a good one. “Beatriz Garcia is a piece of shit who sexually abused multiple young men- boys, really. She had hundred of people put to death, and she is not God, none of this is real, she’s a crazy woman who-”

“Wait.” You shake your head, frowning hard. “No, of course she’s a god. How else would Santiago, Francisco, Ben and Will be gods?”

The light in his eyes fades, and he looks sad. “Sorry, sorry. RIght. Why don’t… why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking…”

You’re curious about his reaction, but too tired to think on it further. You settle into your chair more. “I’m thinking if she’s not a good god, maybe she’s a bad one? Or a demon? I don’t know… I don’t really have anyone to talk theology with…”

Reyansh pats your leg. “You’ll figure it out, I trust you. You’re smarter than they give you credit for. You know that, right? That you’re more than just a womb?”

You laugh a little. “Well, yeah, but that's not really important, is it? My job isn’t to be smart, it’s to have the savior.”

He sighs. “You’re so much more… and yes, that is important. Just know, you matter after you give birth, okay?”

“Rey, I-”

“Just say it, please?” He sounded desperate, so much more serious than you knew him. Your eyes droop closed.

“Okay. I matter after I give birth. I know that.”

“Good. And I’m gonna be here for you, always.”

“I know.”

“Go to sleep. I’ll watch out for us.”

*

When Ben woke up, he was worried when he didn’t see you in the bed. Santi had sent him to go get Frankie, but not before filling his ass with cum, ensuring Ben couldn’t have a quickie with Frankie. Did he know? Did he know Ben was fucking he most favored lover? Everyone with eyes knew Santi loved Frankie more than anything on this planet, only Madonna was too stupid to figure it out. He liked her that way, though. 

Ben loved Frankie with a burning passion. It was an ache that was never satiated unless they were skin to skin, unless he was buried inside him or fingers interlaced with his. No one compared to Frankie, no one made him smile, no one made him laugh, no one eased that pain buried inside him that blinded his rationale like Frankie did. Frankie knew him in a way no one could.

When he was brought to the mansion, Ben remembered two things. Will’s arms refusing to let go until Beatriz insisted, and Frankie, watching from a corner. He was so quite that day, but the way he hovered… the way he watched with curious eyes wherever they were taken, sometimes whispering to Santi. Ben had no idea these two would become closer to him than his own brother. The chill of the winter he almost froze to death in rattles in his bones to this day. Maybe that’s why his body over-compensates, why the sun bows to him. Maybe it’s his anger at the sun for hiding as the winter nearly took his life, took his family’s. 

Years later, another storm would leave a child orphaned, a little baby girl. She’d be found huddled up in her parents arms as they froze to death, the last of their body heat sustaining the child until Jonah and Marcus found her. Instead of taking her to the mansion, she was brought to Marcus. Ben wondered what might have happened if she’d been brought there like he was.

Will never relinquished his grip on him, not for the next multiple decades. At first, it was endearing, the protective nature… but then it became grating, an irritant. Will prevented him from exploring his true self, his power, the things he could do… Beatriz said he was jealous, that Will liked having Ben to take care of, to control, tha the shift in the dynamic would make him try to hold on tighter and she was right. When Ben insisted he was ready to participate in the orgies, Will tried to stop him, argued with Beatriz about it and tried to get Jonah to intervene. Jonah tried, but who gave a shit what he had to say? He was a consort at best. WIll never let Ben do anything fun, anything enriching, always tried to keep him out of the activities of the other gods. He was selfish.

When he realized Madonna was not in her bathroom, he stood up quickly to find her. Francisco had been summoned by Santi, making Ben in charge of Madonna and if something happened to her, he was taking a beating for sure. Santi has Beatriz's temper, although Ben never received that end from either of them. He was as loyal as they came, did exactly as both wanted… save for his affair with Frankie.

But then Ben opened the door and he found you, asleep on the chair… with that shithead guard sleeping with his head resting on your leg.

I loved the reactions to the last chapter LMFAOOOOO everyone feeling v betrayed by jonah ;-;

AS YOU SHOULD

milder chapter, more world building focused than anything tbh learning more about ben and frankie, how will and ben came to be in beatriz's "care" if you call it that.

Thank you all for the continued support! we are getting close to the end! Ima try and finish either If You wanna Be wild (javi p x reader/oc x santi) next chapter or he finale for blessed be the fruit (joel x reader) then 4 or maybe 5 chapters. depends. the last chapters seems like a lot to squeeze in there. ANYWAY

Save the children (which has absolutely nothing to do with QAnon who hijacked their hashtag) our currently supporting relief efforts in the Congo above our listed some quick facts that I hope you’ll take a moment to read, and if you can afford it, please consider making a donation. I have made a small one, but if we band together small donations make a difference

LOVE YOU ALL!

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