#someone remind me not to do one-point perspective again

[ribbonaroundthebomb]

T3-M4 in the suitably festive “Feel The Love” palette—number 29 from this post.

(My Valentine is the Spectra brush, which I used for the first time on this piece. Painting is much more fun when you don’t have to do a dozen passes to get visible color!)

[bare1ythere]

Trying to figure out why this guy in my discussion group for class was annoying me so much and I finally figured it out: I hate being in any class after 3:30pm and the moment I set foot in that room I am immediately irritated just by the fact that I'm there

[aphrvdisiac]

TO LIE AND LOVE LIKE YOU DO.

ellie williams & abby anderson x fem!reader.

part two of off to the races.

part three — the blackest day

summary — it’s been months since you ran away from the loves of your life. you think you have escaped them forever — only for them to return, with a sick game of cat and mouse coming into play as they remind you just how much you belong to them.

warning tags — adult language. extremely dark content; m*rder, stalking, possessive and obsessive behavior, threats of kidnapping, lowkey blackmail (?), threats made with a weapon. strong adult content; slapping, spitting, double penetration, edging, mommy and daddy kink(s), gun play, bondage, threesomes.

author’s message — let me know if i forgot any important missing tags for this. please proceed with caution as this part is extremely heavier than the first part; ellie and abby are so not nice in here, and it gets dark pretty quickly.

“Where the fuck could she have gone?” Abby asked, her and Ellie frantically searching the penthouse. “She knows better than to turn off her location, or leave unannounced.”

“She was just here, sleeping and resting,” Ellie stated, and their panic was overcomed with frustration and anger instead. You knew that if you went anywhere without them, that you had to tell them exactly where and your location could never go off.

They would chip you if they could. They have thought about it numerous times.

Ellie’s phone rang, and she grabbed it out of her back pocket, noticing Joel’s contact. “Hello?” She answered, irritation playing into her tone. “What’s goin’ on, Joel?”

“The police are heading to your place,” Joel said, and Ellie put the call on speaker. “I don’t know what you two have done this time, but it is bad and I am not helpin’ out with any clean ups.”

“What are you talking about?” Ellie asked.

“I’m not some moron, Ellie!” He yelled, and she rolled her eyes. “They know you killed someone. They know your girlfriend was with you, too. I called her, and asked questions.”

“You did what?” Abby shouted. “Joel, what the fuck!”

That’s how they knew you had run away from them. You were a timid and easily frightened individual, and now that you were aware of what they had done, you scurried away and were going to hide. The pair knew they had some time to track you down to your home.

“Fuck off, Joel,” Ellie cursed, ending the call. “We have time to get her, to make up a story or whatever. We can avoid the police for the night?”

They agreed to find you and explain everything, to lure you back to them as they assured that there was nothing to worry about.

Abby’s eyes go wide. “The shirt.”

Ellie cursed under her breath, running to the closet and into the hamper — only to find the shirt completely gone. You had taken it, and now many possibilities surged through their heads.

“It’s gone!” Ellie yelled, and before the two could leave the penthouse to go to you, two detectives walked in.

The amusing yet realistic part of everything is that even though they knew that you thought you had gotten away for good, they were preparing on how to get you back, and never be able to escape again.

You had a particular interest in Philosophy during high school.

You loved to read the knowledge these scholar men would try to pass on, what they had to say about life, beauty, or death. You wanted to understand their wisdom, their perspective of all things, of everything around them, and how they got to a certain point about it.

You remembered a certain quote from Plato, of how Zeus feared the power of two humans mending together as one, leaving them with four arms, four legs, a head with two faces on it. However, he was so threatened by this that he split them into two, and left them to wander Earth to find each other again.

You had believed in that quote when Ellie and Abby entered your life. These two girls, the most threatening pair, would put a grand shift on your life, and how you perceived it as. They utterly shifted your world, they took you in, and prioritized your needs.

You were worshiped by them.

You couldn’t see beyond the horizon of the world without them there, and in your isolation, you still didn’t know how to.

More than sixty-five days since your departure, leaving them behind, and not hearing a single word from them.

When you came to your parent’s villa, your mother opened the door, and you sobbed into her arms, clutching onto her. She hugged you, stroked your hair, and didn’t know if she should’ve spoken or not.

Your tears soaked into her shirt, and she had to nearly drag you inside, afraid of what was happening with you.

“My dear, what’s going on?” She asked, clear to see the exhausted look on your face, your eyes bloodshot as she sat you both down on the couch. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

“I just… Abby and Ellie,” you sobbed, heavily breathing, and shook your head, still in denial of what they did. “I just need to be here for a while. I’m going to transfer to Oxford.”

“You already decided on Columbia,” your mother stated, and you continued to cry, earning a sigh out of her. “You can’t just drop it now.”

You wanted to scream, “they might kill me if I return. They may never let me go after that.” You knew that they were combing through New York, probably already onto their next target — you knew the lengths they would go to just to have you back.

That was something you couldn’t fucking stomach.

“Mom, please,” you whispered, your voice jagged and shaky. “I just can’t go back to the city.” You stared up at her, and she cradled your face in her hands for a moment before nodding, and let you rest your head on her lap.

“Okay, love. You can stay here,” she assured, rubbing your back, and let you sob until you finally calmed down and fell asleep.

The next morning, your father was telling you about Abby and Ellie, wondering if you had any idea about it.

“They’re in deep shit,” he said, glaring at you. “What are you not telling us?”

“I don’t know anything, dad!” You denied, and your mother stood aside, arms folded. “Joel already asked me the same things that you are! I don’t remember shit from that night!”

“So you were there?” Your dad asked, and you fell quiet. He took your silence as an answer, sighing heavily and rubbed his temple in frustration. “You weren’t with any one of them? At all?”

“I… Ellie gave me some coke,” you confessed, guilt reeling into you as you were partially lying, and throwing her under the rug. “I was having a tough night after this guy was harassing me, and after she gave it to me, I was left with Dina and Jesse.”

An exasperated sigh came from your mother, simply frustrated that you had been doing drugs. You were never going to be her perfect daughter, and you didn’t know how long it was going to take until she accepted that fact.

Your dad took a minute to process this information before grabbing your shoulders, and forcing you to look at him. “From here on out, you know nothing. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, and he brought you into a hug, coddling the back of your head. Your father’s affection was never this tender or earnest, and you knew he was only being protective for the family image, but you didn’t care for that — your father was holding you for the first time since you were eleven.

You had to change your phone number, deactivate any social media you had, and new butlers, maids, and chauffeurs were put into place. Your parents allowed you to move to London a month later, staying in a comfortable flat, but were patrolled by bodyguards in answer to your paranoia.

After your readjustment to life, you prevented yourself from hearing anything Abby or Ellie, or if they were at trial. You needed to focus on yourself, get your shit together, and focus on your classes at Oxford.

A few months into the new school, you kept your head low and isolated — something you were used to doing when at Faye Academy, before they made themselves stuck in your existence.

You considered taking your courses online, but knew you’d only lose your mind being stuck in your flat for days on end.

All in four months, your life was granted something that you’d forgotten — freedom.

Not that Abby and Ellie were extremely possessive, but you haven't known anyone besides them in a while. You were able to make friends at Oxford, go out to bars and diners, without the fear they may kill someone who even breathed in your general direction.

It was a relief. And you felt human again.

Your parents constantly checked in on you, and often tried to visit. It was the first time in a while since they hovered over you, and were concerned for your well being.

“Yes, mom. I’m fine,” you assured over the phone, the device stuck between your shoulder and ear as you were returning your textbooks. “I finished classes early, so I was thinking of going back to Milan for semester break.”

“Well, honey, you see,” your mother started off, clearing her throat. “Your father and I were going to attend a gala tomorrow; Joel is throwing it.”

“I thought you guys cut him off,” you said, rushing out of the library, and to your car. “Especially after everything.”

There was silence.

“Mom?”

“Ellie and Abby were found not guilty,” she said, and your heart sank to your stomach. “The trial concluded yesterday— we didn’t want to say anything.”

You froze in your tracks. “What?”

“They didn’t kill that boy. I guess he had enemies all along,” she continued, and your head spun. “If you come with us, they won’t be there. Joel assured us of it.”

“So everything is just fine now because they’re innocent?” You questioned.

“Honey, you’re acting as if you know something,” she stated, and you exasperatingly sighed, continuing your walk to your vehicle. “But Jerry and Joel did say they were going to get the girls in contact with a psychiatrist.”

“Huh, and why is that?”

“I’m not sure,” she muttered, and you hopped into your car, locking the doors. “Would you like to come? And maybe we can then spend a few days in the city. Shop around Fifth.”

“I’ll think about it, momma. Still unsure about the city,” you said, and she sighed, visibly exasperated with your nerves. “I just don’t want an accidental run in with the girls.”

“You guys were so close,” she remembered. “I don’t know what happened, but I hope you all make up soon; they were the best part of your life.”

“Bye, mom,” is all you said, hanging up the call, and tossed your phone into the passenger seat, along with your book bag. You heavily sighed, staring blankly out into the parking lot.

They were the best part of your life.

They were the tragedy of you. They were Hell masked as Heaven, where their lure was nothing more than a ticket to damnation.

Yet, all of them were bestowed to you. You were their alter, their religion, the only reason as to why they believed in life, as you did with them.

But in your time of being free from their grasp, you could breathe, and find a newer light where nothing could dim it.

Your phone dinged, and your eyes snapped over to it, hands fiddling for the device. You opened up the lock screen to see a message from a random number.

Unknown: Image Attached.

You swallowed thickly, your hands numbing as you unlocked your phone and went to the conversation.

It was a picture of you from last night, hanging out with your friend, Delilah. She was someone you had been fond of since attending Oxford, and you had gotten close to her.

Unknown: Cute girl.

R: Who the fuck is this???

Unknown: Didn’t know running made you so dumb.

Nausea washed over you, and fear rattled in your bones.

Unknown: Hi, little lamb. You miss us?

R: I’ll call the police.

Unknown: I’ll tell them you tampered with evidence. We wouldn’t want that, right? Pretty baby like you isn’t suitable for jail time.

R: You would go down with me.

Unknown: You betrayed us. What makes you think we wouldn’t betray you?

You wanted to break your phone on your steering wheel, and you searched the outside of your car, checking your surroundings. There were only a few students, and it was still light outside.

But you knew they were watching you.

Unknown: You run again, and we will find you.

R: Why now?

Unknown: Had some troubles along the way, baby. But we took our time keeping tabs on you. Oxford treating you nice? How’s every bitch who fucks you?

R: You’re stalking me?

Unknown: You really are fucking stupid.

R: Don’t think I won’t get a restraining order against you.

Unknown: Why would you want that, little lamb? After everything we have done for you? Didn’t take you for an ungrateful brat, you know. We have been there when you needed us, taken care of you, dealt with people for you.

R: You mean murder people.

Unknown: Mhm.

Unknown: Be careful, honey. Scary world we live in.

You tried to send another message, but it wouldn’t go through. “What the fuck, what the fuck!” You screamed, going to your phone contacts, and bringing your phone up to your ear.

“Miss, are you alright?” Carson asked. He had been your personal bodyguard since you moved to London, and was respectful of when you wanted to be alone. “Are you in danger?”

“I need my house and the surrounding area to be checked out,” you said, reviving your car engine, and pressed on the gas. “Check for any sort of security cameras, too. Tell Rosaline to pack a suitcase for me as well, I’m heading to Los Angeles.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carson answered, the call dropping, and you put your phone in your lap. You were trying not to get into a car accident on your way back to your flat, but you needed to leave the city immediately. You were just happy you finished your courses on time, and you didn’t need to worry about your education for a while.

About to reach home, your phone started to buzz in your lap. You pulled over to the side to look at the contact, only for it to be unknown again.

You hesitated on answering, just wanting to let it ring through, but a part of you wanted to know what sick agenda they had planned out for you. You knew they weren’t going to stop, that they needed you vulnerable and scared in order for them to pounce at you at the perfect moment; just like a prey and predator situation.

A game of cat and mouse.

You accepted the call, putting it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Hi, bunny,” you heard Abby’s voice, and your head spun. It had been so long since you heard either girl's voice, that you frowned at the sound of it, and almost how comforting it could be. “Missed you.”

“Abby…” you whispered out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I… You both need to stop this.”

“Why, bun? You don’t like it?” She asked.

“You and Ellie killed Brandon, and probably many others,” you told her, sniffling as tears carelessly dropped out of your eyes. “I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but murder is wrong.”

“You have the shirt, bunny,” Abby stated, and you went quiet. “Why would you do that, hm? If you really wanted to dispose and run from us, you would’ve left it behind, or turned it over to the police.”

You couldn’t tell her your logic or reasoning behind taking the shirt. It even sounded unreal to you, unbelievable, given the circumstances, and how you ran off.

“I couldn’t help but think of what would happen if you both went to prison,” you admitted, hot water running down your cheeks. “I… You and Ellie protected me, and I thought it was only fair I returned the favor. But that didn’t mean I wanted you in my life again.”

Abby hummed. “And why is that?”

“I’m free,” you muttered, inhaling sharply. “You and her wanted to keep me in a cage, keep me locked up forever. You have done it ever since you stepped into my life, and I couldn’t see it until that evening.”

“You make it sound so horrible, bunny,” she breathily chuckled, able to hear Ellie’s own laughter roughly in the background. “Let me ask you again; who’s going to put up with you? Who was fucking there when Miranda Rhodes was fucking spilling rumors about you having eating disorders? Who the fuck handled Timothy Yales after he said he had sex with you after Winter formal?”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT!” You shouted, millions of emotions flooding over you, and taking you at once, drowning “I never once fucking told you or Ellie to go out of your way to do that shit! I can fucking handle myself, and being away from you both has proved that.”

“Oh, bunny. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Abby stated, sharp and clear with you. She talked as if you were dumb, that you were about out of your mind.

You could nearly burst apart, everything of you filled with terror and rage. You weren’t sure if they expected you to bow at their feet for all their maniacal endeavors they willingly decided to partake in, but you weren’t going to.

You had come this far without them, you had managed to escape them for a good time, and you weren’t planning on stopping everything now. You weren’t going to surrender your freedom and life all for them, all because you knew what they were, and what they could do.

“If I have to turn in that shirt to make sure I never see either of you ever again, I will,” you said, and hung up the call, dropping your phone back into your lap, and continued to drive back home.

The moment your car was parked, you rushed up the stairs of the building, and bursted through your front door. Your guards were all there, Rosaline getting finished up with your second suitcase as Carson approached you from the side.

“Miss, we have searched the area,” he stated, following you while you walked into your bedroom. “We found no sort of threat, especially here. I have called your family’s plane to be prepped and ready for take off to Los Angeles.”

“Carson, please close the door,” you said, sitting down on the edge of your naked bed. He listened, shutting it, leaving you and him in your bedroom as you looked up at him. “I need to ask a question, and this stays between us. Do you get that?”

“Of course, ma’am. I am under your and your parents serving,” he reassured, keeping himself near the door, a secure radius between the both of you.

“Is it possible for me to avoid the law? Few months ago, I may or may have not tampered with evidence,” you blurted, and he inhaled heavily, but nodded, tuned in with you. “My reason is so stupid, but I’m regretting keeping it in my possession, and I don’t want to anymore.”

“Well, what is it?” He wondered.

“A shirt,” you began, and he cocked his head to the side. “With blood on it. Someone’s blood who isn’t mine, because my ex-girlfriends in New York beat this dude who was harassing me.”

“And you want to turn this in now?” Carson asked, and you nodded. “Okay, miss. I’m going to see what I can do, and once I do, you can hand it over to me.”

“Thank you so much, Carson,” you smiled, standing up. “Now, let’s head to the city of angels.”

You had your own bungalow at the Chateau Marmont. It was cozy and spacious, everything to your liking, but only stayed at it when you wanted to escape home. You had once brought Abby and Ellie, and to that, you had to undergo a whole alias, and a different room.

You didn’t have much anxiety about being at Chateau, you were packed with protection, and knew the pair wouldn’t make so much time or risks since their trial had concluded, also sure that Abby understood your threat about the shirt.

You had flown late into the night, it was about three in the morning of the next day, and you were drained with exhaustion. Sleep was becoming you, yet you were on high alert, and couldn’t help but to keep checking your phone.

You worried that there would be another call, or a text; that they weren’t quite finished with their game. In your isolation, you had much time to mull over Abby and Ellie, the things they were capable of, or the people they were.

You knew blood and carnage were them. Their beauty and charm was a simple mask that only you were able to see past as violence and cruelty rotted in their souls. Maybe they couldn’t help how callous and aggressive they could be, but they lived off of it; it was all they were. There was nothing to stop them, nothing that could change them.

In a sense, you assumed your presence and soul balanced them out well — you were a complete polar opposite to them, and that’s what stood out to people at Faye Academy.

They were terrorizing, vicious females, standing with you — a loving, and free-spirited person who didn’t do much, and just kept to herself. Nobody understood or could comprehend it, but that didn't matter to them — you were the solace in their life.

You knew that they were still rough with people — mostly men — in high school, but you didn’t know you were the cause behind each act of violence that they performed. But it made sense, even as you built a timeline.

There was Teresa Doles; she had nitpicked at your appearance for weeks. When you had finally gone to Ellie and Abby about it, pictures of her partying, doing drugs, and medical records of her being in rehab had been leaked everywhere. Her family came from a prestigious lineage, and her reckless behavior put a great indent to it. She had to move to England.

Jonathan White had to be admitted to the hospital after an event for the school. Doctors said they found traces of drugs and poison in his system — which made you laugh because he said he would murder you for rejecting him for Junior prom. You recall him shouting at you, calling you a series of derogatory names, but paid no mind. Ellie and Abby weren’t happy when he told you such a thing.

Kayla Lynn was sent to the ER after her body had been found beaten and bloody in the bathroom. She was barely conscious, unrecognizable to those who found her — the doctors had to pull a tooth and fingerprints from her just to get an ID. You remembered how she bullied you for liking girls, calling you derogatory names, and even said she hoped you would be killed for it.

And you knew there just had to be more than those people. So many of your bullies either switched schools, dropped off the face of Earth, or were in physical therapy after you had told Abby and Ellie about what each of those people did to you.

You were too gullible and head over heels in love with the duo to know they were doing so much behind your back. You had been completely tuned in with love and the relationship, all you saw was them as your blessing.

They meant it when they said they would do anything for you.

“We handled it,” Ellie’s voice would play in your head from that morning. It would repeat itself like a broken record, never shutting up.

We handled it.

We handled it.

We murdered someone.

You didn’t know exactly why the murder scared you, or what provoked you to exactly take the shirt.

You were about to close your eyes until a knock tapped at your door. “Ma’am, it’s Carson,” he said, and you welcomed him in, sitting up on your bed.

You turned on the nightstand's lamp, and he gave you a small smile. “I found a way to submit the evidence without it being traced to you,” Carson said, and your heartbeat went still. “If only you’re wanting to give up the shirt, of course.”

“Well, that was quick,” you nervously laughed, staring down at your lap. “What’s the plan to turn it in?”

“I have trusted connections to the NYPD. Some officers work as guards like I do,” Carson reassured, and you hummed, chewing on your lower lip. “We can send the shirt to them as anonymous, and you won’t have to worry about the shipping coming back to you; it’ll be under my name.”

“Are you positive about that?”

“Absolutely, ma’am,” he said, and your body trembled, mind hazy. You knew it would be the moral thing to do; the guy harassed you, but Ellie and Abby could’ve done anything else besides murder.

The only murder you were aware of, of course.

These girls protected and defended you and your name. They would put the world on fire, yet never let a flame brush on your skin; they were the poisonous paradise you couldn’t see as Heaven or Hell.

You had to release them, though. You needed to grow up without them by your side, because you were more than them, and they were more than you.

And if the shirt didn’t get them anywhere, at least it was out of your grasp.

You got up from your bed, padding over to your suitcase and opened it up. You grabbed a brown paper bag, and held it close to your chest. “Please make sure I don’t get in trouble for this,” you said, pleading eyes looking into Carson’s soft ones.

He could tell you were beyond frightened. That you were just someone who didn’t mean to do this, that your kind heart thought you were doing something right.

You had absolutely nothing to do with this crime, but somehow, you looked ashamed and guilty as if you did. In a sense, you were — you called Abby about the guy, you knew very well what she was capable of. It was no secret how violent and cruel Abby and Ellie could be — physically or emotionally.

“You’re safe with me,” Carson promised, and you smiled small, hesitantly handing him the bag. “Are you sure about this?”

The bag was out of your hold, Carson grasping onto it. “They need to learn their lesson,” you said, all your logic and thoughts mixed up in your head, utterly brainless at this given rate. “And I just want them to stay out of my life for good.”

He just nodded, taking the bag with him as he exited the room, leaving you alone again.

You couldn’t sleep after that. You couldn’t even try to rest knowing you were going to ruin their lives, putting into consideration all they did for you.

But, you had just regained your freedom, discovered who you were without them. You were able to make friends without their eyes boring into your soul, you could live in peace.

You couldn’t accept anymore threats or violence, just so you could remain theirs forever. Because you knew if they truly loved you, they wouldn’t put you in harm's way.

You stared blankly at the ceiling, trapped in your mind when your phone had a sudden ring to it. Your heart stopped, and you froze, your body wanting to sink into the mattress.

You let your phone ring through, letting silence fall pass after the noise stopped.

Not even a minute ticked by as the phone rang again.

You reached for your device, answering the call and brought it up to your ear. “What?”

“So much attitude, little lamb. You’re going to hurt my feelings,” Ellie's voice came through, and you sighed, sitting up. “I’m starting to like this game. Because I know you’re fucking scared.”

You scoffed. “No I’m not. I’m just wanting you to leave me alone.”

“You can’t deal with the idea of what might happen if we catch you,” she began, and shivers cascaded on your body, holding in your breath. “You want to keep running, baby? I don’t mind the chase— it’s exhilarating.”

“You’re fucking sick.”

“You knew that, bunny,” Abby joined in, taking over the call. “Why are you acting so surprised? You fucking got off on how insane we got about you, don’t act clueless now.”

“I was naive,” you retorted. “I was manipulated and blinded by you two.”

“Manipulated? Big idea for you to get at,” she continued, and you heard Ellie’s cruel laugh in the background of the call. “You knew what you were doing when coming to us about your bullies. You knew what we all would get out of it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you muttered.

“You liked us hurting you too, bunny,” she stated, and your breaths were becoming uneven. “Always in skimpy outfits, flirting with others to get our attention. We fucking saw through you. You’re just as sick as us.”

“Shut the fuck up, Abigail!”

“Using my full name? I’m so frightened,” Abby chuckled, amused and lightened by your poor intimidation act. “Got me shaking in my boots here, sweetheart.”

“I hope you die— both of you.”

“God forbid, right? Then who’ll take care of you?” Ellie returned into the conversation. “Not even that Delilah bitch could do it. Or Holly, Nicole, Emily, Zaya— no one.”

You fell quiet for a moment, your eyes widened in disbelief. “How do you know them?”

“Baby, we told you this,” Ellie reminded you, sighing. “If you were to leave us, we would get you again.”

You zipped your mouth, anxiety surging through you.

“Having fun at the Marmont?” Ellie asked, and you shot up from your bed. “Nice name you got— Emily Dickinson. Really… that name?”

“You’re fucking here?” You asked.

Ellie snickered. “Always in your corner.”

“I have people here, patrolling—“

“Oh, we get it, you fucking princess!” She yelled. “We know you have men, we aren’t idiots. For a valedictorian, you are sure fucking dense. You think you’re always one step ahead, but you aren’t.”

“Fuck you, Williams,” you sneered.

“See you real soon, lamb,” she said, and the call ended. You knew there was no point in trying to reach the number again, it was unknown and a useless line.

Ellie and Abby stood at the top of the hotel, Delilah beaten as cable ties strapped her wrists behind her back. “Alright, you bitch,” Abby picked up Delilah from the ground, adjusting the feeble girl on her feet.

“She’s…. she’ll hate you for this,” Delilah croaked out. “And no one will believe I’ve jumped to my death.” Her head was spinning, barely conscious enough to process what these two random, strange women wanted with her, or why they cared so much. She swore a second ago she was in her flat, sound asleep and relaxed, and now she was on top of the roof of the Chateau Marmont.

None of this made sense.

“We are going to share this little secret with you since you will be dying,” Ellie said, taking out a cigarette from her pocket. “You’re not the first person who has pleaded for their life, or thought their death wouldn’t be convincing. We do this all for her, and unfortunately, she does enjoy it.”

Delilah shook her head. “No, no. You don’t know her whatsoever.”

“She brought you here to your death, sweet Delilah,” Ellie continued on, puffing out a blow. “She knows that whoever tries to steal or touch her, will be either beaten or killed by us.”

“She wanted you dead,” Abby added, and Delilah broke into hysterical sobs. “And we do give our girl whatever she wants.”

Ellie cut off the cable ties, and Abby maneuvered the frail girl over to the ledge. “Anything else you need to say, honey?” Abby asked, and Delilah’s lips parted, prepared to speak. “I don’t give a shit,” the blonde said, pushing her off as her and Ellie watched attentively, grinning to themselves as Delilah’s body splat on the concrete, blood making a river around herself.

It wasn’t long until your guards were shouting, and there were sirens in the distance.

“Ma’am, there’s been an incident on the grounds,” Carson bursted into your room, and you swallowed thickly, your phone grasped in your hands.

You threw on a robe and your slippers, pushing your way through the men. “Let me go!” You shouted, Carson being the one to shove them off. “I need to see what happened outside!”

“It’s for your safety that you don’t!” One of the men, Jackson, protested, but Carson seized your arm, and tugged you outside by your bicep.

“We listen to her,” he reminded the group as they all followed you outside. You could hear a wave of voices and distress, police officers talking to one another. In your gut, you knew something wasn’t right, and you were overwhelmed with nausea.

The noise drew you closer to the entrance of the hotel, where a symphony of shouts were clattering, and police lights mixed into the moon’s gleam. A part of you told yourself to get back into your abode, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your feet tugged your forward, curiosity tingling in your body.

You shoved yourself through a heavy crowd, officers trying to get everyone to back away or stop filming what was happening.

“Excuse me!” You yelled, and pulled yourself further in.

You regretted listening to yourself for another time. Fiery and stressed voices shifted into echoes, banging off the earth’s walls, your eyes struck open by a corpse splashed on the pavement.

Your heart beated in your throat, vomit coating it, and knots twisted in your stomach.

Delilah.

Delilah was on the ground. In front of you.

Your brain didn’t dare register any part of the gory, morbid scene that was plastered in front of you. Blood pooled around her head, her scalp visibly cracked open and her eyes open. You swore she was staring at you, everything in you shaking and trembling with great fear.

“Ma’am, get back!” An officer shouted at you, taking you out of your trance. “Please, this is a crime scene!”

“I… I know her,” you stated, and Carson approached your side. “That’s my friend— her name is Delilah Morse.”

“Please sir, let us get through,” Carson chimed in, and the officer sighed, shaking his head. “This is someone she knows. Only she’ll give you details.”

The officer went to discuss with another official, and your hand buzzed. You flinched to it, not realizing you kept your phone in your hold.

You received a message from Unknown.

Unknown: Want to keep playing, baby?

Unknown: Look at you, so scared and sick. It’ll stop once you give up.

A tear from you covered the screen, and Carson had to push you out of your stare. “Ma’am, let’s go,” he said, and you had not realized the officer was holding up the caution tape to let you through.

You heard a female’s voice come to the side of you. “I’m Detective Anna Blake. What’s your name, and relationship to the victim, miss?”

You stated your name, your voice hush and shaky as you couldn’t look away from Delilah’s body.

“And your relationship?” Anna asked.

“We… I was her friend,” you answered. “What… what did she do?”

“It looks like an apparent suicide,” she responded, and that was enough for her to gain your full attention, a confused expression plastered on your face. “She dropped from the rooftop, and ate it right here.”

“That can’t be,” you shook your head. “Delilah wasn’t at all suicidal, or had any ideations. She was the most positive person I knew.”

“Yeah, but people have personas,” Anna stated, and you furrowed your brows. “She could’ve been acting for you, and everyone else.”

“She’s from London, Detective,” you said, and she stared at you appalled, but intrigued. “She wouldn’t kill herself here.”

Anna was quiet for a sparse second. “Huh… do you know something we don’t?”

Why couldn’t you just shut the fuck up?

There was an open entrance for the vehicles to come through, and for a moment, you swore you saw Ellie and Abby standing across the street.

You knew their silhouettes. And they were watching you, witnessing their crime.

You stared at them back, because now you accepted the truth that no matter where you ran off, that would be there. They would create mess and murder back to back until you gave up the running, and realized you only belonged to them.

Fear was a disease in you, and the only way to kill it was to face them.

Your mother wanted you back in New York. She gave you no choice but to attend the Gala with her and your father.

You tried your best to talk your way out of it, explaining that you had just witnessed your best friend’s corpse the previous evening.

Your mother said the Gala would be a great distraction. You tried to make any point or excuse to stay home, until your father had himself step into the argument. He tended to never insert himself into fights with you and your mom, but this time he felt the need to, and that’s when you were left with no choice.

Of course, your main concern was that Ellie and Abby were going to be there, and confronting them was going to be an inevitable situation. You had to prepare yourself the most as to what to say or do if they were to be in your eye radius.

“This dress is killing me,” you muttered, patting down the bottom part of the simple, yet elegant dress you wore. “And the corset of this is smashing my boobs.”

“Your dress is lovely, dear,” your mother assured, and you scowled. “You have always loved long dresses like this; so long at the bottom, we can’t even see your heels. And you always adored sleeveless corset tops on them, too!”

“You look perfect, honey. You wore this exact dress for junior prom,” your dad reminded, and you shivered to the memory of it. Abby and Ellie were your escort — of course — and everyone adored your dress, even making it into a page in Vogue because it was Vivienne Westwood.

“I just… I don’t want to see them,” you muttered, and the limousine came to a halt. “And it just doesn’t feel right being here, having fun and socializing, when my friend just fucking died.”

“Cherie, Delilah’s death was not your fault or anything,” your mother said, and you glared at her. “It is unfortunate it took place at the same time you were there, but she was just an unhappy girl.”

You didn’t want to converse with her anymore, only getting out of the car before any of them, and were immediately blinded by flashing lights. Your parents stood behind you, and you fixed up a promising smile, making your way into the gala.

The second cameras and screaming men were out of your way, you hunted down a busboy for a glass of champagne. “I will take that!” You grabbed the drink from the silver tray, thanking the man, and earned a groan from your parents.

“Can you at least greet people before you get wasted?” Your father asked, and you shrugged, letting him drag you over to the familiar faces of Jerry Anderson and Joel Miller. You hadn’t seen them since the few days before the murder.

“Ah, there she is!” Jerry exclaimed, and you exchanged a cheek kiss with him, and Joel. “We heard you moved to London. Oxford, right?”

“Yes. It’s been quite delightful,” you shortly shared. “I finished exams early, so I came back into town for the meantime.”

“And do you plan to catch up with the girls?” Joel asked.

You knew at that moment that no one quite understood what really took place that night, and you would never confess to it. They all blindly assumed that there was a great falling out in response to the murder of Brandon James, that you simply didn’t tolerate that behavior, and in some parts of that, it was true.

You had no place or reason to tell the whole truth, or to be honest, when there was an exact, appropriate place to share such a thing. Yet however, if you did, no one would believe you — there was no evidential proof or key to say that Ellie and Abby killed him.

They thought the girls were saints, who were being wronged by another higher power.

The actual case would have them dropping to the ground, and you couldn’t exactly say, “Abby and Ellie are sadistic killers who get off to the pain and torture.”

God fucking forbid, though.

“I’m not so sure,” you answered, taking a light sip of your champagne. “I want to keep to myself for the meantime, and make more goals for my future.”

“Well, if they came tonight, I’m sure it would’ve been lovely,” Jerry said, and you dryly laughed with them.

Champagne wasn’t enough to fill the hollow in you. You needed the strongest shit to exist at the bar.

You had a clear cue to let yourself leave their conversation, leaving you alone in the event. You went to the bar, and sat there, requesting a martini. You put your clutch purse in front of you, and sighed heavily, a migraine coming to your head.

You weren’t used to going to these high class functions by yourself — hell, you didn’t even go until the girls became a part of your life, and would be by your side at each and every one of them. It made your parents happy that they were there to tug you out of your shell, make you more extroverted.

A figure sat at the chair next to you, yet you didn’t pay any mind to it.

Until they said your name, and the voice was familiar.

Your eyes flickered to the side, and you saw Dina. Your eyes widened, your body directing toward her, and she smiled. “How have you been!” She cheered, pulling you into a hug, and you could only hug back. “You fell off the face of planet Earth!”

“Oh, yeah,” you broke the hug, facing her. “I… I decided to do school at Oxford. I just needed to get out of the city.”

“Oxford is nice,” she said, smiling small. “Jesse and I were worried about you. The girls said you had broken up with them.”

You gawked at her in disbelief as she went on to order herself a drink.

Who else was fucking clueless?

“Well, I guess,” you mumbled, your martini set down in front of you. “We just had issues we couldn’t resolve from the night before.”

“Oh shit, that sucks,” she sighed, shaking her head. “The breakup must have been terrible to have you move to London.”

Her glass of tequila on rocks came to her as she took a refreshing sip of it, and you were about to claw out your eyes. Either she had brain damage, was lying, or truly wasn’t aware of what occurred that night, but must have since it happened at Jesse’s club.

“Dina Woodward, be fucking serious with me,” you said, and she raised a brow. “You know what happened. That night.”

She blankly stared at you.

“That night… at your boyfriend’s club…”

Dina shrugged, and you were taken aback. “Jesse must know, then.”

“Ellie and Abby were accused of a serious crime,” she began, and you bitterly scoffed, “which they were found innocent to. They had to go through that trial alone, they went through Hell without you.”

“They killed him, Dina,” you told her, yet lowered your voice due to the gossip crowd that circulated. “You cannot seriously be defending them.”

“I’m not defending them,” Dina stated, and you rolled your eyes, downing your martini. “They have plenty of enemies, and you know that, too. Everyone wants to see them at their absolute worst, and do their own dirty work to make it happen.”

You got up from your seat, grabbing your purse. “It was nice seeing you, Dina.”

You shoved your way through the bustling crowd, and were stuck in the middle as soon as your phone began to buzz.

“Not this shit again,” you mumbled to yourself, and pulled out your phone, putting it up to your ear. “What the fuck can I do for you?”

“You look pretty, sweetheart,” Ellie said. “Don’t you worry, we aren’t in your vicinity.”

“Oh, I’m so fucking pleased to hear that,” you exasperated, rubbing your temple in frustration. “Then how do you know I’m here?”

“You’re right, my apologies,” Ellie laughed, and you heard rustling over the line.

“Bunny, we are going to play a game,” Abby came to the line, and your heart jumped rapidly. “We can see you, but we’ve made sure you can’t catch a glimpse of us.”

“What do you want?” You asked.

“You still don’t get it, darling. But that’s okay,” she took a hast pause, collecting her thoughts. “We told you many times that if you were to run, we would catch you, because you are ours. You can hide, change your name, go to different universities, but we will always be there.”

You swallowed thickly, knowing you were getting stares to your frightened look on your face.

“Your parents don’t give a shit about you, they only kept you away so their image wouldn’t be ruined,” she said, and you knew that was more than true; your parents would do anything to remain prestigious and clean, and you were the taint in their life. “You said you kept that shirt to return the favor, but there’s more than that.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about, Anderson,” you scoffed, and she hummed. “I gave that shirt away; you and Ellie are going to prison for good.”

“We’ll see about that, bunny,” she said, and the line went flat. You rushed yourself to the ladies room, nausea building in you as the room spun, and your nerves weakened your muscles. Laughter and shouts from strangers rang in your ears as you dragged yourself further to the bathroom, and the sickening gut feeling came back to you.

You couldn’t pull apart if you were truly just sick to your stomach, or your intuition was stronger than ever.

You pushed the door open to the ladies room, and to your luck, it was completely empty. You lunged yourself into a stall, and collapsed down on your knees, yucking it up into the toilet. Your anxiety and worry got the best of you, making you a mess so easily, and you were embarrassed by it.

You stood up after a few minutes, taking in slow, steady breaths, and gathered yourself, standing back up. You moved over to the sink, and settled your purse down, opening it up to grab your lipstick. You rinsed out your mouth with the faucet water, and sighed heavily, turning off the sink.

You reapplied your scarlet red lipstick, and put the item back into your purse, along with your phone.

Then a click was made from the side of you, gaining your attention.

The nausea came back, but not in a wave, yet in a violent crash. You swore your heart stopped for a moment, but could hear it violently beat in your eardrums while bile stung inside your throat, threatening to come out again.

Your body trembled, knees about to bring you down, and all you wanted to do was die at this very moment.

“Hey, little lamb,” Ellie said, grinning in pride. Your body pressed back against the sink’s counter, and tears approached over your eyes as you stared at her. “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

“No… no,” you said, able to take yourself to the bathroom’s entrance. You opened it, only to be met with Abby instead, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “You are both not here.”

“Oh, but we are,” Abby said, moving forward in sync to your steps going backwards. She maintained a fairly safe distance, but one close enough to grab you if you tried to run. “Why so surprised, bunny? We promised this.”

Something about them was gravely different this time. There was a darker energy to them, a sense of evil and anger heating off of them as they stared at you down in the way the predator does when they have finally cornered their prey.

Yes, they got you, and you had no way out anymore — what a fucking terrifying and cruel revalation.

The cat got their little mouse, right by the tail.

You had fallen right into their trap perfectly, in all the ways they wanted you to. It took great cunning patience and practice to get you in this position, to have you trapped.

You were beyond scared; this was the reoccurring nightmare you dreamt of since the night you left. You always tried to consider or plan out what you would do if they were to approach you in any way, but you never paid mind to how methodical and intelligent they were.

You doubted their skills and abilities, and you were dumb to think they wouldn’t get you any time soon, that you would be free from them for a few more months, maybe a year or two – maybe even a lifetime — you wished and prayed upon it.

You were stuck now. The cat and mouse game came to their precise ending.

“Are you going to kill me now?” You asked, and they hummed, shrugging to themselves.

“Well, if we wanted that, we would have done it back in LA,” Abby said, and your eyes averted back and forth between them, trying to see if there was a possible way out. “Or back in London, who knows. We had so many open opportunities to kidnap you, but we liked this little game.”

“Is that what you’re planning to do now? Kidnap me?” You asked, snickering dryly. “Keep me hostage forever? Wouldn’t be anything new to me.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” Ellie told you, tilting her head to the side. “You liked this claim we have on you. You will never admit it and that’s okay, because we know it, baby.”

“Now let’s not be so rude,” Abby said, and you glanced at her. “Let’s say bye to our guests, and go back home, little bunny.”

Ellie and Abby had seemed to have enough time to decorate the penthouse. To your last memory of it, only the shared bedroom was furnished, and now, they had everything perfectly perched in precise spots.

You sat in the living room, on the black velvet couch as you stared out the window with a mindfulness of thoughts. The city was bustling, sirens louder than ever, and traffic stacked up. You tried to concentrate on the noise outside because it would be last time you would hear it.

The pair had finished fixing themselves up a drink, returning to the room, and sat across from you. You didn’t pay attention to them, fits of rage and terror consuming you inside. You don’t know why you thought you would actually escape them, and you had only dug yourself in a deep grave.

The familiar silence moved through the home, and you could feel their eyes spiking into you, waiting for you to say something. You had more than to say and ask, but you didn’t know where exactly to start, or if you were allowed to question certain things.

“You killed Delilah,” you blurted out, your eyes averting from the window. “You killed Brandon James, and many others, I assume.”

“We have,” Ellie answered, drinking her bourbon.

“I don’t get why. Why do you kill people? How do you even get away with it?” You asked, and Abby glanced over at Ellie, communicating to each other through their eyes. “Are you in like a fucking cartel or some shit?”

“Joel didn’t have an easy time getting to where he is,” Ellie began, setting her glass down, and slouched back on the couch. “He has some connections, and so does Jerry. It’s hard to get into it all, but they were doing illegal shit on the side to get money, build their legacies.”

“We didn’t kill until you,” Abby said, and you raised a brow, positioning your body in their direction. They could tell you were now intrigued, and you were; you were more than curious. “It was two months into knowing you, and you told us about Rachel Wayne. Remember her?”

“Of course I do. That bitch bullied me like it was her life’s purpose,” you lightly joked, and she sighed. “Why?”

“It was the day when she beat you in the girl’s bathroom, ramming your face into the blow dryer all because you got a higher score on your SAT,” Abby said, and you hissed at the memory. You were a good fighter, but Rachel’s envy possessed her strength that day, and she kicked you around like an animal in the bathroom.

She locked the door, keeping her friends, you, and herself locked in, while they recorded the whole moment. You went home with a concussion, a busted face, and cried to the girls about it.

“We were so fucking pissed,” Ellie said, scoffing to herself. “We knew Rachel well. We invited her over to my place, and made small talk, getting the information out of her about what occurred. We got names, and everything.”

You remained quiet, but stayed tuned in and fully focused.

“We got her high off cocaine, and once she was zoned out, we beat the fuck out of her,” she explained, and your heart thumped against your chest, about to pop out. “She was crying, and screaming; but it made us think of how that was you previously because of her. Our anger overrode us to the edge, and we started cracking her body in. We didn’t know we had killed her until she was completely fucking limp.”

“Those who had the video were dealt with too,” Abby assured. “If they refused to delete it, we made sure their lives would be ruined, their parents would be left with nothing. We knew how to obliterate these spoiled fucks.”

“Are you serious?” You asked. It was rumored that Rachel ran away to her boyfriend in Spain, and refused to come back because her parents were assholes to her, and just a straight disappointment to them. “How did you clean up your tracks?”

“Well, I called Joel in a panic, and told him everything,” Ellie answered, finishing her drink. “Joel told Abby and I to get ourselves cleaned up, and these men came over like an hour later, picking up after us.”

“They wiped our phones and tracks completely,” Abby said, and slid you forward her glass of whiskey. “And then we did it again, and Joel quickly realized we were doing it for you. He saw that you were our purpose, so he let us use his connections, and everything.”

“He was worried everything was going to collapse the second the cops came about Brandon,” Ellie recalled, and took out a fresh cigarette. “That was a mess we had to fix, of course. Like, I’d never seen Joel so pissed off before, it was insane.”

“How did you get away with the murder?” You questioned.

“Easy shit,” Abby laughed, shrugging. “He had himself in rough, bad business. We basically found someone who he owed money to, planted all the evidence and shit on that dude.”

“Now that motherfucker is serving life,” Ellie lit up the stick, inhaling sharply. “We made sure it wouldn’t come back to us.”

“But the shirt,” you reminded them, and they stared at you for a moment before aweing at your little tactic. “The shirt is with the cops.”

“Is it, though?” Abby teased, and a faint ding of the penthouse elevator chimed, footsteps approaching into the living room. “Right on time, too! God, I fucking love dramatics.”

Your eyes shifted to the noise, a broad and muscular figure walking to everyone; and you swore it was the night you were going to go into shock, or have an aneurysm.

Carson stood before you with the shirt in a clear zipped bag, and Abby stood up. “Thank you so much,” she grinned, and Ellie shook his head. “Your money has been transferred to your offshore account.”

“What the fuck?” You blurted, Carson directing his eyes towards you. “You knew?”

“I’m the one who’s been cleaning up their messes,” he admitted, and Abby opened up the bag, taking out the shirt. “It didn’t take much to convince your parents to hire me. I just needed a believable resume.”

You shot up from the couch, staring him down. “You told them where I was at, and everything! You are a fucking narc!”

“I didn’t have to tell them anything,” Carson dryly chuckled, amused by your terrified expression. “They were able to do that all on their own; I just gave them the starting point, and left it at that.”

You smacked him, the skin contact echoing in the home. He only laughed, finding you childish and weak, and shrugged. “I’ll have you fucking killed!”

“Loved to see you try,” he said, and took his exit, waving to the pair. You stared at where he was in utter shock, widely appalled with slight betrayal hitting your heart. You had trusted Carson wholeheartedly, felt secure and safe with him, and it all was a blinding lie.

Ellie started up the fireplace, and your eyes flickered to the ghostly fire. “No, no!” You shouted, trying to seize the shirt from Abby, but the auburn haired girl entrapped you in her hold, forcing you to watch the shirt to be burned.

“You know, I hope you start to learn tonight,” Abby tossed the shirt into the fire, and you wailed, thrashing in Ellie’s arms, yet it was pointless; in every way, they would always be stronger, you being a weakling.

The shirt crinkled and disappeared in a matter of seconds.

Ellie let go of you, and you glared at her. “We aren’t done talking,” she settled you back on the couch, and Abby brought a glass of chardonnay to you. “Now we want our answers.”

“I’ll fuck you up!” You spat, and they tried not to laugh. “What else shit do you have to say?”

“What did you expect to happen when you came to us about your bullies?” Abby asked, genuine and engrossed. “Did you think we would just have chit chats?”

You took a second to yourself, and you stared down at your lap, fidgeting at your dress. Before Abby and Ellie came into your life for good, they were notorious at the academy, and held that title with such pride. You knew what they were capable of, what they could do, and you saw them as your defenders from everything.

Did a part of you know what you were doing? Yes, but not that it would lead them to murder. You never understood or knew why they were so fixated on you, even before they decided to lure you into their lives. They had been riveted by you, and there was not a clear indication as to why, but you used it to your full advantage.

Your parents didn’t care about you, and they knew that. All three of you played a dangerous, deadly role in the relationship; it was volatile and brutal, but it was all you had, and they were all you wanted.

You spent so much time running and hiding from them, you never took a particular moment to realize your role in everything. You took that shirt because it was a part of you; you had Brandon killed, he was a deadman the second you called Abby about him.

You were just as guilty as them, you were just as part of their games and murder.

No one else was going to do this for you, nobody would burn and tear apart the Earth just to have you in their grasp again.

“There’s our girl,” Abby cooed, and you looked up at them, tears in your eyes. “You finally understand. After these years, now it has come to you.”

“You gave us the cards, we just played them the way you liked,” Ellie said, and you downed the chardonnay, exhaling shakily as you set it down. “We knew you were too much like us, we couldn’t deny you anymore. We had to have you.”

“Every time you said we handled it,” you sucked in a hard, jagged breath, “was that code for ‘we killed someone”?”

“What else would it mean, princess?” She mused, burning her cigarette out alas in the ashtray on the coffee table.

A silence slowly creeped into the room, crinkling of the fire and outside traffic filling it as it lasted what felt like moments.

“You know the first time we say you — God, we just knew we had to have you,” Abby spoke, and your eyes trained focused on them. “You hypnotized us by simply existing, by being in our vicinity. It was like we were blessed to come across one of God’s angels.”

You were always sure that they were attracted to you because you simply co-existed within their class status, and because they knew you were the only girl at Faye Academy that wasn’t corrupted or tainted. You were like this fresh breath for them to use — and you still thought like that after everything they had done for you, and even prove that they did love you beyond your body.

“Why me?” You asked.

“We don’t know what you did to simply draw us in, but we couldn’t resist. Every time I saw you in class, in your nicely ironed pleated skirt, in your dark blue polo sweater… your makeup done so pretty…” Ellie reminisced, a crude grin playing onto her lips as she recalled the first moment she laid eyes on you. “You were so pure, so perfect for us. It was no longer about wanting you, it was about needing you — we had to; everyday that passed by where you weren’t in our grasp, we could almost die from it.”

“You will never truly know how much you have us at our knees for you, sweetheart, and that’s okay,” Abby said, and you sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing you had been barely breathing the entire time they spoke about you. “But understand the risks we would go through for you; we live and breathe you. We crave and yearn for you, despite the fact you are already ours. What is our purpose if you simply don’t exist in our lives?”

There was not much you could say to that, only able to break down. They sat up from the couch, and Ellie reached her hand out for yours, softly looking at you.

“Let’s go upstairs, baby,” she gently spoke to you, and peered up, hesitantly interlocking your fingers with hers. She walked you with her, Abby trailing close behind as an easy quietude settled in place, though your sniffles were the only thing to be heard.

Walking into the bedroom, you were momentarily paralyzed by the memory of your last moment in it. You were on that same bed when you put all the pieces together, and had left them with no letter or anything; you took your absence, and that was that.

Ellie guided you over to the wall mirror, her and Abby brushing up close on your back, the two attentively admiring you. “We would do anything for you, sweet girl,” Abby said, and your sobs slowly came to a halt. “We’ll always happily be your executioner, for the rest of our lives.”

“You’re our girl,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But I think you need a fresh reminder of what you put us through.” Her hand hid behind her for a moment, grabbing something from the back of her jeans. A gun came into your vision, and your breath hitched, but she kept it by her side.

Your neck was met with Abby’s soft lips, her warm breath fanning against your skin, and her fingers loosened the strings of the corset. You softly moaned, Ellie fixated on the sight of you easily falling apart to Abby’s kissing, and grinned to herself. “Doesn’t take much to have you under us,” she said, and you eyed her, nodding.

The dress was undone, and easily dropped off your body, the duo getting the view they had longed for all this time. You were bare and exposed, only in underwear, and a primal urge had shadowed over them, wanting to ruin you without any thought.

“Oh, bunny,” Abby whispered. “Just as perfect as we remembered.”

Her lips separated from your marked neck, and you whimpered as Ellie pressed her gun to your abdomen. “What a sweet sight that I will never get tired of,” she mumbled, kissing your cheek. “Seeing you fucking petrified as if we will kill you at any moment.”

“But you won’t,” you retorted. “Right?”

“No,” she promised as the gun was slowly dragged to your temple, and she clicked the trigger, only for the barrel to be empty. You flinched to the trigger, your heart racing. “But we will hurt you, I can assure you that, little lamb.”

She used the gun to steer you to the foot of the bed. “On your fucking knees,” Abby demanded, and you collapsed to them, your knees thudding against the cold, hard granite tiles. “Anytime you stop, we use this gun, and you can find out yourself if the barrel is cleaned out.”

“Yes, mommy,” you muttered, and they amusingly hummed. Ellie kept the gun in position, using one hand to unbuckle her belt, and strip off her jeans as Abby did the same. It was a rare thing for them to have their straps under their pants, only if they knew they would have to handle you at any given moment, and this was one of them. You were going to come crawling back, and they were prepared for it, to claim and destroy you all in one.

“Mama gets to have you first,” Ellie said, and you parted your mouth open, Abby’s stuffing your mouth full with her cock, careless to your gagging. She had her way with you, her hand holding the top of your head as she thrusted herself into your mouth, trying your best to not pull back and gasp for air. The gun was there to keep you place, and you couldn’t ignore how it pressed deeply into the side of your head.

“That’s right, baby. Fuckin’ whore,” Abby said, and you tried to best out of your nose, desperate for more air. You used whatever strength you had, forcing your head back, and engulfed amounts of oxygen into your lungs. “What the fuck did we say?”

The trigger was pressed, and your ears rang with it. Empty, again.

“You’ve been away too long, princess,” Ellie said, and Abby retrieved your head, your mouth filled with the silicone object again. “Was too busy fucking other girls, huh? I bet they couldn’t make you like this; I can see you fucking dripping through your panties.”

Your arousal was a wildfire in you, spreading through your stomach, and down into your thighs. You could feel the mess you were making, seemingly ashamed and embarrassed how you got wet from their threats, with a gun pointed to you that was possibly clipped.

“There she is, now you are being good,” Abby praised, her thumb pressing away the tears that fell on your apple cheeks. “Always doing your best for us, hm? Knew you missed us too, baby.”

Ellie crouched down to your level, the gun lined up under your head as her grin turned into a twisted smirk. “All that we did for you, little one,” she mocked a frown, sighing. “And you just ran away like that? Coming home to find you gone, and betraying us?”

You were lightheaded and dizzy, your mind hazy, yet tried to stay focused. Your moans and whimpers gargled in your throat, drool running out of the corners of your mouth, and falling down onto your breasts.

“You belong to us, and you better start getting that through your fucking skull,” Ellie seethed, her bitter fury coating her mind. “You are only hurting yourself by doing the shit you do. A fucking brat you are.”

Abby decided to give up on you, your mouth hollow and free. She grabbed you by your throat, a sinister shade lingering in her eyes, and air whistled through her teeth. “Little bunny, you have no clue what you’ve done to yourself.”

You were put in the middle of the bed, and Ellie looked at her gun. “Let’s see if she can still take us,” she said, and Abby hummed, nodding. Ellie adjusted herself in between your legs, shoving them open, and stripped off your underwear, moaning at the sight of your cunt. “Fucking hell. She’s fucking soaking, babe.”

Abby had bunched ropes in her hand, kneeling into the bed, and stared at your cunt. “What a sick bitch you are, bunny,” she teased, running a finger down your slick folds, and you whined. “All of this from a gun, Ellie. She fucking loves it.”

Nothing else was said as Abby grasped onto your legs, and pushed your legs up against your chest. Her hands gripped on your wrists, having you hug the underneath of your legs, and made sure you kept yourself locked in the placement.

Ellie tied your wrists together, tight enough to not cut off any blood supply, and then went on to your ankles, knotting them in one. She used another string of rope to connect your ankles to your wrists, making your position trapped and stuck.

“We don’t want to hear you enjoying this,” Ellie said, and gave the gun over to Abby as the blonde sat herself in front of you. Ellie took off her strap, letting it drop to the ground, and took off her underwear, only to move herself over your face. She carefully lowered herself down on, and her aching cunt met your mouth as you obediently sucked and ran your tongue on it.

Abby slowly slipped the gun into you, yet you were soaked enough to let it easily be fucked into you. She pressed down onto your stomach as she rammed the cold weapon into your pussy, and you tried to muzzle your needy noises, tending to Ellie’s needs.

The auburn girl rutted herself against your mouth, eliciting shaky moans and cursed under her breath. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart,” she muttered, looking over at Abby while she continued to fist the gun into you.

You lathered Ellie’s slick on your tongue, pleased how it dripped over your lips as you moaned to the sweet taste of her. If your wrists weren’t restrained, you would keep your arms around her thighs just to eat her out for hours on end.

Abby and Ellie were intensely dominant, it was unwonted when you gave them pleasure. They were refusing about it, saying that you were the one who needed to be desired and tended to whenever you wanted to be.

You couldn’t tell if you were immensely desperate or if the gun was fucking you so well, that you were already at the peak of your climax. You denied your orgasm, needing to get Ellie to hers, and harshly ate her out, fucking her hole with your tongue, sending her into a moaning, pleading mess for you.

“Oh shit, sweetheart— yeah, keep going,” she softly moaned. “Being such a good girl for daddy, gonna make sure to cum in your pretty mouth.”

“She’s making a mess on your gun and sheets,” Abby said, and for a moment, your cunt was not filled until she pushed her cock into you. “There we fuckin’ go, this is exactly what she needs.”

Ellie craned her body near Abby, the two kissing each other in a sloppy manner as the blonde roughly fucked into you. Abby kept her close as Ellie’s jagged moans and whines breathed into her mouth, doing all she could to keep herself up and close.

“You going to cum, baby, hm?” Abby asked, and Ellie moaned against her lips, nodding. “Go on, cum for us. You can do it.”

Ellie’s orgasm came crashing down as she squirmed and cried out, twitching on your mouth. Ellie pushed herself up, kneeling beside your head and leaned down to kiss you, both of you moaning at the taste of her. You sucked on each other’s tongues, Ellie slipping her hand down your stomach, and made way in between your thighs, rubbing your cunt.

She broke apart the kiss, her free hand gripping onto your jaw to make forced eye contact, and spat into your mouth. “Make us proud, baby. Want you to give daddy a good one,” she whispered, and you kept your eyes trained into hers as Abby pounded herself deeper into you, the squelching noises of your slick mixing in with your whimpers and throaty moans.

“So fucking tight, never gonna get enough of this perfect pussy,” Abby breathed, her hands squeezing the back of your thighs. “Made just for us, sweet girl. Everything about you was made for us to worship and ruin.”

“No one fucked you like this back in London, huh?” Ellie asked, and you shook your head. “Oh, I know, sweetheart. Probably had to get off all by yourself while you thought of us, too.”

“Just… just thought of you two the entire time,” you confessed, brows knitted together. “I need you so bad, ‘m sorry.”

“We’re here, baby,” she said, kissing the side of your head. “Next time you try to escape, you’ll absolutely fucking regret it. Got that?”

You nodded, and a warm sensation kindled in the pits of your stomach, knowing the familiar feeling. You squirmed, and Abby glanced over at Ellie. “If she doesn’t understand, we’ll just beat it into her,” she said, making it a sincere promise, and a chaste kiss was made to your forehead. “I would hate to do that, but it might just happen.”

Your approaching orgasm made it too troubling to know if they would harm you in such a way, but you were at the point that you couldn’t put it past them.

“Cum for mommy,” Abby insisted, and you moaned, your hips jittering as your climax broke out of you, broken moans escaping from you. “That was fucking nothing, you crybaby.”

The cum from her strap leaked with yours, dripping out of your hole, and making a puddle in the bedsheets. She unknotted the ropes, tossing them to the ground shortly after, and massaged your wrists.

You laid there for a second before bursting out in a fit of laughter, the two confused by it.

“What?” Ellie bluntly asked.

“Surprised you even let me cum,” you said, laughing a little more. “Usually you have me work for it.”

Abby and Ellie looked at each other before their eyes went back to you as they puckered their lips in thought nodding to themselves. Ellie picked you up from the bed, and brought a violent backhand slap to your cheek, halting your laughter altogether.

“You want to keep fucking laughing!” She yelled, giving you another one. “You are even fucking lucky we are touching you. We could have had you strapped to a vibrator for hours, and hit you every time you tried to cum.” Your lightness turned into sobs, and you stared at her through glossy vision, your pout shaking on your lips. They had simply run over their limit and patience with you, and you no longer doubted the sadism they would lay on you.

Abby just stood by, soaking in your tears and how easy it was to crack you. It was enough for the both of them to get off. She took you from Ellie, putting your arms behind your back as her chest brushed up against it, and Ellie took off her shirt, harnessing back on her strap.

God, I know you hate me, you thought to yourself. But please, have mercy on me.

Abby spat down your ass, using the saliva as lubrication, and dipped you down onto her strap, your ass hole brutally being stretched open. She kept you steady and positioned right for Ellie, who was not far behind as she shoved her cock into you.

“Ride us, bitch,” Abby said, and you obliged, hissing under your breath. The pain lasted longer than you thought, tears flooding into your ears while their size brutalized your cunt. “Such a sensitive cry baby. So easy for us to break you.”

Your head fell back on her shoulder, looking up at her. “Please, mama. ‘M sorry, I’ll be so good for you.”

Ellie grabbed your jaw, a violent smack struck against your cheek. “You enjoy lying to us, all the fuckin’ time. We should’ve disposed of you a while ago, see how you would’ve done without us.”

“What a pity that would be,” Abby taunted, laughing breathily in your laugh. As they found humor at the thought of you being a lost lamb without them, you were ripping at the seams as you went on to ride them at a gentle pace for you, the discomfort shifting into grand pleasure. “I would like to see that. Maybe next time we will leave, have you feel what we did.”

“No no!” You cried, shaking your head, and broke into hysterical sobs. “Didn’t mean to go, swear I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ellie jested, that eerie smirk of hers resting on her lips. “Because who will put up with you? Make you feel like this? Give into your fucking sick desires?”

“That’s why you’re perfect for us,” Abby noted, her hand creeping up to your neck, and viciously gripped on your throat. “Just as twisted and fucked in the head as us, more than you’d care to admit. No one will want or need you the way we do.”

You refused to deny them that. They were what you craved, they were the epitome of your lust and dreams, everything you yearned for, and were the helping hand to expose who you were to yourself. You would’ve done the same as them if they tried to leave; you would fucking slaughter those who they cared for just to have them again.

A match made in the ninth circle of Hell.

Your next high came to you, making it easily known as your noises got high pitched, making it an indicator. “Let me cum, please,” you pleaded, sobbing. “Want to cum, I need to— I’ll do anything you want.”

“We like you this way, stupid whore,” Abby said, and made the gun useful again, pointing it to your ribcage. “You cum, I pull the trigger.”

You body tensed, and you nodded, trying to ignore your unbearable high as it was becoming raw ecstasy to you. Your thighs trembled, about to give up on you, and you looked at Ellie through wettened eyelashes, your face drenched with tears and sweat.

The bedroom was rare filth, you could smell sin and vices burning through it. Your life was in their hands in every literal sense, but you wouldn’t have it any other way; you would rather die than not have them, and if that meant they would have to kill you themselves, you would let them. You were utterly nothing without them, and they knew it, too.

You had all the fucking wealth and privilege in the world to be someone, but you couldn’t be if they weren’t there on your side. You were them, and they were you. Your souls were eternally intertwined, and no matter where you went, you would always come back to them because they were it. They were all you sought out for.

Despite their desecration and souls being planted from Hell, they were Heaven and all things bliss.

You needed them. You would always need them.

You were winded out of your head as your orgasm stung inside of you, crying to be freed. You sobbed with it, shaking your head, but had to consider the gun that was indented into your skin. You had not known how much was passing when holding in your cum, but you couldn’t take it, and it was easily making you fall apart.

“Mommy, please!” You cried, blubbering in your tears. “I have to— ahh, please! I can’t do it, I can’t!”

“Yes you can, and you will, you fucking whore,” Ellie argued. “Unless you want to find out if the next shot has a bullet in it.”

You shook your head, and continued to break into sobs, your orgasm threatening to be released at the edge of you. It was becoming too much, your vision was blurring, and your heart was overwhelmed, almost frightened you would have a heart attack of some sort.

Ellie and Abby gave in, violently and recklessly pounding into you, putting your riding to a complete stop. You placed your hands on Ellie’s shoulders for support, Abby’s nails clawing into your throat as she continued to hold onto it for leverage while she maintained to hold you at gunpoint.

Utter euphoria rode over you, your eyes rolling to the inside of your head, and your back perfectly arched, crying out for the both of them. Your nails scratched at Ellie’s skin, your eyes getting a hast look at her fucking your cunt. Your noises and voice grated like rust at the back of your throat, breaths shuddering in your ribcage.

“You want to fucking cum, bunny?” Abby breathily asked. “Cry for it more if you really want it, sweetheart.”

“Mama, please!” You sobbed loudly, your mewls and cries faltering in your cries. “Want to be full of you, need to be bred by you two, please. Make me a pretty mommy for you, keep me trapped with you.”

They fucking lost it on you, ferociously driving themselves deeper into your wet, abused holes, and were coming to their own high. “Yeah, baby? Want daddy to fuck a baby into you?” Ellie cooed, a faux pout dangling on her lips. “Then you wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

You nodded, on the brink of being braindead. “Yes, yes! I wanna be leaking of you. Wan’ mama and daddy to breed me so badly, please!”

You were an incoherent babbling mess, your voice raw and rough as you cried with your noises of gratification. They easily had you at the tip, and were ready to push you all the way down, keep you sobbing.

“Fucking cum for us, fuck!” Abby demanded, dropping the gun, and let go of your throat. She laid her hands on your torso, her nails scraping against your skin, and you hissed to it. Wanton moans and whimpers echoed throughout the room, and a second hadn’t passed when your climax ran out of you, riding it out as the girls went on to fuck you.

You let them use you like a fucktoy until they had come to their own orgasm, stuffing their cum into you as a symphony of curses sputtered from their lips. All movements came to a stop, bodies trembling and sticky.

You had to internally keep yourself conscious, but it was seeming impossible. You collapsed onto the bed the moment you were unfilled with their cocks, letting them handle themselves before you.

You could feel a warm, wet rag running over your legs, and you stared up at the ceiling, your eyes lazily blinking. “We need to clean you up, sweetheart. C’mon,” Ellie said, and picked you up, carrying you into the bathroom.

The three of you shared a warm bath, sitting in the middle of them as they cleaned you up nice and well, being sure to be gentle to touch you. You had missed the sweet scent of them, or how their violent hands could be so kind to your body, chaste kisses being pressed on your spine and forehead here and there.

It took you a few years for you to figure out your purpose with them, and all that they did for you. It was more than enough. To many, it would seem insane of your justifications and reasonings to why they did what they did for you, but no one else's opinion mattered in the fact. They worshiped you, they devoted every inch and breath of themselves to your protection and well being.

This is all you wanted. You and them forever the rest of your life. If carnage and bloodshed had to present, then so be it; because as long as you had them there by you, it was okay.

It was going to be okay forever.

[yumeka-sxf]

Today's new chapter reveals why Hemlock resents Yor so much: as I suspected, it's the fact that, from his perspective at least, she's "lost her edge" which made him angry to the point of wanting to wipe her out of Garden completely.

We haven't seen Yor do a Garden mission since the cruise arc, but we know from there that she definitely hasn't lost her edge. Even though she messed up a bit at first, it was only because she was trying to understand why she's continuing to fight as Thorn Princess. And once she realized what that reason was, a renewed strength welled up inside her that allowed her to overcome very strong adversity.

In this sense, having a family has actually made her stronger. Originally she was fighting solely to cleanse the country of "bad guys," and that reason hasn't gone away, it's only been amplified by her other reason for fighting, which is to create a peaceful world that her loved ones can thrive in.

Unfortunately, Hemlock interprets Yor's happiness about her family and lack of the "robotic" aura she used to exude, as a degradation for Thorn Princess.

He's also extremely resentful because he sacrificed so much to reach the level of skill he thought Thorn Princess had - isolating himself for who knows how long just to keep honing his assassination skills, despite suffering true loneliness.

And now he thinks Yor has thrown all her skills away because she'd rather be a housewife than an assassin. He not only sees this as a betrayal to Shopkeeper and Garden, but a slap in the face to someone like him who had to work so hard for skills that she's now seemingly tossing aside.

Hemlock also sees Yor's hesitance to fight him as a weakness, but I think it's an indication of how she stays true to her principle of only fighting "bad guys" she's ordered to fight by Shopkeeper (or anyone who threatens her loved ones or the innocent). It's hard to say if the past Yor that Hemlock admired would have immediately fought back, but regardless, he interprets this as just another sign of how she's lost her touch when it comes to being an assassin.

But once he decides to threaten her family, a threat to the people Yor desires to protect the most, that's more than enough to ignite the will to fight in her, even against a fellow Garden member. I've mentioned in past posts that Yor doesn't have many personal desires for herself, which is something that likely came about from her upbringing as a "mindless soldier" for Garden. She also tends not to fight back if she herself is being threatened, insulted, or berated, which again could stem from whatever was instilled in her from Garden. However, when others are being harmed, especially those most important to her, she doesn't hold back at all.

And fight she definitely does - in the end, Hemlock is brought to his knees just by the intense aura of Yor almost stabbing him.

This scene reminded me of how Fiona reacted after she lost the tennis match with Yor. Yor is quite good at devastating her rivals just by displaying her skills, she doesn't even have to injure them!

Another person Yor has left her mark on 😂

Even though the chapter ended on a lighter note, with Hemlock in total shock at his defeat, it's hard to say if he's had a total change of heart or not. Is he now going to accept that Yor is stronger than him despite her passion for her family, or will he continue to be hostile to her? We'll have to wait and see.

I'll end this post by pointing out the fact that in the Japanese version of the below panel, Hemlock uses the phrase "icha icha" when describing Yor's "making out," which is the same word that Anya uses whenever she says "Papa and Mama are flirting" 😅

[blindmagdalena]

All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

[manganiti]

Amane's Mindset & Love

Amane's Mindset

Amane lived his life being fully human. So he stuck with human moral convictions and emotions. I think that Akane, Teru and Kou (to some extent), which are all humans, represent what deep down Amane thinks about himself. Amane doesn't justify his wrong actions morally. He does them for the sake of his loved ones, but he never has thought that it's morally right to do them. He acknowledges it when he's doing something wrong.

Akane and Teru always remind him of what he did, that the murder was something that marked his existence forever, that he's evil because of it and even if he's fulfilling his duty, there's no way he could ever atone for his sins. Also, from Teru's perspective, the fact that he's a supernatural proves he's evil. "There's no such thing as a good supernatural because they could attack anyone at any moment".

That's why despite what he did, he never justified his wrong actions and actually likes it when people reminds him of them. He likes people who have a strong sense of morality because deep down, he sees himself as evil, as a muderer. That's part of the reason why he decided to give up on his future and killed himself after he killed Tsukasa.

In contrast, there’s Nene and Kou. At first, when Kou fought with Hanako, his perspective was like Teru's. He believed that Hanako must be exorcised because "he's the evil spirit of a murderer".

During this fight, Hanako told Kou that god would erase his guilt if he fulfilled his duty so he couldn't let Kou exorcise him. However, at the end of their fight, Hanako agreed with what Kou thought of him and he told Kou that he was looking forward to the day he was going to be exorcised by him.

After this fight, Kou started to see other side of Hanako. His gentler side. Kou decided he wasn't going to exorcise Hanako and he tried to justify the murder committed by Hanako. But Hanako reminded him that there's no justifiable reason to ever kill someone.

Even though Hanako reacted violently at that moment, entering a state in which he reenacted his past actions and poured out all the guilt he couldn't longer contain, Kou still doesn't deep down believe that Hanako is "just some evil spirit".

Now, in Nene's case, she became attached to him and saw him as a friend, despite Kou revealing his secret—that he was a murderer. But again, Amane reminded her "I'm a murderer. How can you see me as a friend?" Amane didn't feel that he was worthy or deserving of forgiveness, bonds, love or anything good after what he did.

After Tsukasa appeared, the guilt he feels for what he did, was very evident. He can't forgive himself for what he did in the past.

Hanako has a white and black view of morals, even thought he's a morally gray character. To him, his thoughts, his actions are "black", bad. He feels bad because of the way he is because he's capable of the worst in his own POV.

Now, his black-and-white mindset is more evident when he talks about supernaturals and humans. Amane thinks that there should be limits between humans and supernaturals because supernaturals are very different from humans.

Humans are different from supernaturals, but Amane takes it to the point of him believing that when a human becomes a supernatural, they stop being themselves, completely. To him when someone is born as a human, it's the only real part of themselves.

He thinks that once humans dies, it's over. There's no continuation of life and dead have no future. Not even if they wander the near shore. In his perspective, there's no hope once a human is dead no matter what they do.

So, Amane views humans and supernaturals in a very black-and-white spectrum. For example, one of the reasons he may want Nene to keep on living is that he thinks that after dying, she must go to the far shore to still be herself, because if she wants to stay in the near shore she must become a supernatural and if she does so, she'll "get all jumbled up" to the point that her identity will change completely because she would become an entirely different being, that "she wouldn't be Yashiro Nene anymore".

Amane's Love

Amane always keeps his feelings locked up in his heart and he has always had a hard time expressing himself since he was a little kid. For example, when Tsukasa asked Amane if he loved him, Amane didn't straight up said that he loved him too, but rather "Of course I do!" more in the sense of "isn't that obvious?" He never expressed his love in a straightforward way, unlike Tsukasa.

However, I think he was more open to expressing himself when he was a little kid, because when Nene traveled to the past and she met 8 year old Amane, he straight up expressed his attraction towards her. He wasn't as shy as when he was in middle school and he was kinda cheerful.

But when he started middle school, he began to repress what he liked and how he was feeling. I think he started to be like this because of the bullying he was suffering by his classmates (Probably), or maybe because of his parents. I don't think Tsukasa was the one hurting him because when they were younger, Tsukasa didn't show any sign of violence towards Amane and these signs of violence began to appear in the first year of middle school. Also, they were close to each other.

Amane doesn't show his love through words, but through actions. Even though he has a hard time expressing himself and seems like he doesn't care, he really does. Most of the evidence of his love shown in the story so far is with Nene. He wants the wellbeing of his loved ones and to do what's best for them from his perspective, but here's the issue: he doesn't take their feelings into account. For example, Nene wanted to escape the Picture Perfect world, but Amane didn't let her at first because he wanted her to keep on living.

Also, he was going to sacrifice Aoi in order to keep Nene alive even thought she didn't want any of it. Nene even told him that he "always decides things by himself without telling anyone".

So, he never takes into account what his loved ones are feeling or what they want. He just does what he thinks it's best for them. He wants to take control over their fates, over their choices and that crosses into "possessiveness" territory. For example, when Nene and Hanako reunited after the severance, he said to her that he "needed to breathe life into her by his own hands". So he needed to have control over the way her lifespan would be extended. He didn't want Kou or others interfering in it. He felt the need to show Nene his love in some way or other. He couldn't bear the thought of others taking his place, so he needed to do something by his own hands. Even Nene interpreted this as he wanting "to have her to himself".

However, there's also other aspect of his love, and it's that, he doesn't care if he has to sacrifice his life, existence or his future. He's willing to throw it away for the sake of his loved ones. He even gave up on going to the moon because of his brother and also after the severance, he didn't care if he was going to be exorcised by Teru. He just wanted Nene to keep on living and he got angry at her because she didn't stay in the human world.

After Amane killed his brother and himself, it's later revealed that Amane loved his brother so much, that Tsukasa became his yorishiro. Perhaps the murder and suicide were acts of Amane's love for his brother because he wanted to protect him, but in a selfish way. Even when Sakura was talking about the yorishiros, it implies that Tsukasa was "The most important thing he wanted to protect".

Conclusion

Amane's set of morals and his point of view on supernaturals and humans are black-and-white, because he adhered to human's morals and emotions as he was fully human when he was alive. Despite this, he's a morally gray character. He also thinks that once a human becomes a supernatural, they cease to be themselves and become something entirely different. Due to his perspective of morals and supernaturals, he views himself as evil and irredeemable. Teru, Akane and Kou (in the beginning) remind him of this.

Regarding the nature of his love, the way he loves is selfish in the sense that it's possessive and he does what he thinks it's best for his loved ones without regarding what they actually want, yet it's selfless at the same time because he's willing to sacrifice his future or existence to protect them. His morally gray actions stem from his deep, possessive, overprotective love.

[luanna801]

Despite me joking about Lan Xichen not reading the room re: NMJ and JGY, I actually disagree with the idea that the Sworn Brotherhood was inherently a terrible idea and he should have known it would make things worse. I think it's a classic case where because we as the audience know how it turns out, that outcome seems like an inevitability and the characters end up being called dumb for not predicting it. But I think with the information Lan Xichen had at the time, it wasn't unreasonable for him to think this might work and was at least worth trying.

And I think in a different story, this is the kind of idea that could easily have worked and led to a heartwarming story about redemption and healed relationships. MDZS is just sadly not that story, at least for these characters, but as always fictional characters don't know what story they're living in and can't be expected to predict the future. All they can do is act based on the information available to them, and I would argue Lan Xichen didn't really have enough information to predict how this would turn out:

(1) At this point, the only time Nie Mingjue has tried to kill Jin Guangyao is when he mistakenly thought JGY had actually betrayed them and defected to the Wen side. Once the truth was cleared up, NMJ is still furious but backs down from trying to kill him. (JGY, meanwhile, has made no attempts to kill or even harm NMJ yet, and in fact actually saved his life.)

From Lan Xichen's perspective, he has every reason to think this incident was just an anomaly based on a very extreme situation where NMJ was acting on faulty information. He has no reason to think Nie Mingjue would try to kill Jin Guangyao again, or vice versa, so as far as he knows the worst case scenario for the sworn brotherhood is just... that it won't go great. That maybe they'll never really get along again, but they'll still collaborate politically for the sake of the Sworn Brotherhood, and there will be no real harm done that they tried. There isn't really a way he could have predicted things would escalate to them trying to kill each other.

(2) Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao used to not just tolerate each other but get along/work together EXCEPTIONALLY well, and Lan Xichen saw them during that time. He also knows they're both pretty closed-off people who canonically don't have a lot of friends and are hurt by the way things fell apart. It makes total sense for him to think they might be able to get back to how things used to be if they just got a chance to clear up misunderstandings and be reminded of the things they used to like about each other. And it makes sense that as someone who cares about them both he would want that for them.

(3) Lan Xichen sees both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao as fundamentally good people. We can argue that he's mistaken in one or both of those evaluations, but based on what he knows, and indeed what they're respectively actually guilty of at that time, I don't think it's unreasonable for him to think so.

Most of JGY's worst actions are still in the future at this point. His only real crime (other than the things he did undercover, which LXC doesn't condemn) is killing the captain, which is an ambiguous enough situation that it makes sense for Lan Xichen to not consider it conclusive. Especially when weighed against what for LXC is far more substantial proof of JGY's goodness, like JGY having saved his own life when he was on the run, his time loyally and effectively serving NMJ, his incredibly brave and critical contributions to the war effort, etc.

Likewise, Nie Mingjue has yet to start acting as violent and unhinged as he later will on account of the saber spirit. While he's gotten angry, it was typically in rational ways that are largely proportional to the situation. He isn't doing anything comparable to the way he later flies off the handle at both Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang in largely irrational ways.

(We could argue that LXC should have known that he'd eventually end up there because of how saber cultivation works, but considering even Nie Huaisang apparently didn't know about it, I don't know that a member of another clan would have that kind of in-depth knowledge of the effects of Nie saber-wielding. LXC presumably knows the basic idea, but that doesn't necessarily mean he knows the specifics or how bad it can get.)

Therefore, from LXC's perspective these are two fundamentally kind, good people who all other things being equal should be able to work things out. And on the whole, he has far more evidence backing that up than contradicting it at this point in time.

[dollwhite]

Face of another

FOA fic. Made by dolling

Aunt reader chapter 4

Also this does not look like 1k words but it is I promise😭

“So auntie what is it that you’ve been doing around the world?” Damian asked his gaze fixated on you. “You know, the usual. Modeling, rich party’s, and more modeling.” You muttered. Your eyes focused on the road.

“How come you never bothered to call, or text, or send a letter?” He hissed. If you were just doing the same things you did, when you were living with his mother. How come you didn’t make time for him?

Your only nephew? What since did that make? Oh well he can answer that!

Simple, it didn’t. No matter how hard Damian tried to look at it. From different perspectives, and angles. He just couldn’t see what could possibly make you so busy?

So busy you couldn’t send one ‘good Morning’ text?

“Hun.. I just needed a well deserved break.” You confessed, pulling over the car into your apartment driveway.

“Away from your family? Grandfather also said family should never abandon family.” He uttered, his voice flat, trying to get straight to the point.

“Me and your…Mother, didn’t exactly get along.” You whispered, even just thinking about the memories with Talia were painful. “Even as we got older, she always felt… superior towards me.”

“But from my perspective, you and mother got along just fine.” From as far as Damian could remember you and Talia, always had a Solid relationship.

Even if you both had a disgment about something. At the end of the day you both put it behind eachother to get to the bigger picture.

You and Talia once had a sibling relationship, but that was when you were 12 and younger, at least that’s what Damian believes.

From the rare occasions when you told him stories about your childhood.

“Yes, from your perspective. Me and your mother knew better than to be around you, when we were arguing, our relationship only started getting better when you were born.”

With any other person, they would have just left the conversation there. But Damian? Oh he wasn’t just any other person. If he wanted to know about something, he would find out. One way or another.

“Tt, blood sisters not getting along?” Damian questioned, he’s never heard of such a ridiculous thing. Sibling argued and had sibling rivalry.

But just plan not liking each other, at all?

And by his mother and her twin. His mother, the same woman who constantly reminded him when he was growing up. That family is everything?

“Maybe we should continue this conversation later” you said, not giving him the opportunity to speak.

“What wait-you, you can’t just walk away!” He said opening his door to follow you to your apartment.

“Child, do not try and tell me what I can and cannot do” you peep him trying to get the trunk door open, so he can get his bookbag out of the trunk . he really does look exactly like Bruce and Talia, such a beautiful but sad combination.

“Tim, what did you find about her.” Bruce said, it had been only a few hours since you and Damian left. But they had wasted no time, in trying to find anything about that they could.

“Nothing other than the fact, that she models” Tim said. His voice hiding his uneasiness. Finding any information on someone from the league was hard enough. Finding info about Ra’s second ‘daughter’?

Now that was tough, even for the greatest detectives in the world.

That’s why Bruce was so quick to send Damian with you. He was Bruce’s son, sooner or later. Damian would ‘try’ and put mini car in your house.

Dick had left a little while after you, and Jason went back to his apartment to get ready for patrol.Duke is sleeping, Stephanie is doing whatever shit she does before partrol.

And Cass is already out there fighting the crimes, so really it’s just Tim and Bruce.

And Alfred with the occasional pop up with refreshments.

Maybe Bruce should’ve asked you where you lived, just so he could check up on Damian. Or…to check up on you.

And here you go again, flooding Bruce’s thoughts. It’s like he couldn’t get you off his mind no matter how hard he tried. Maybe it’s the way you look at him.

The way you look at him like he’s not Batman the greatest crime solver, like he’s not Bruce Wayne the billionaire playboy. Like he’s just him.

Like he’s human.

“Understand, you should grab something to eat before patrol.”

Tim sighed in disbelief, Bruce telling him to go to sleep? the same man who Alfred has to continually remind him to go sleep?

“Maybe you should take your own advice.” Tim hissed, he didn’t mean for his words to come out that way. It’s just this random woman, walks into the batcave.

Like she’s some close old friend of Bruce’s? And than clams to be Damian’s aunt! And Damian doesn’t even deny it.

When Tim was with the league, he hadn’t heard of Ra‘s having another daughter.

And the worst of all was, that Bruce let Damian go with this random woman. Even if Tim and demon spawn had a confusing relationship Tim still didn’t want his bother in danger.

Tim didn’t trust her. Not one bit.

“I’m sorry, da-Bruce I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” Tim said, turning around his chair to take a look a Bruce. Lightly stroking his hair.

It was a habit, he had since he was younger. It was something his old nanny did to him when he use to cry because his parents wouldn’t make it to his birthday celebrations.

Aka them parting like their lives depend on it. Sometimes even forgetting they had a child at home, most of the time they would remember when it was time to pay the nanny’s.

“It’s fine Tim, I get your just worrying about Damian. But I can reassure you, he will be fine.” Bruce said, his voice not reaching his eyes.

It was clear he was slightly paranoid about Damian too.

“How can you be so sure about that? We know nothing of her. Nothing…”

“Your brother knows how to take care of himself.”

Hopefully you guys liked thissss! 1k words but special! Because myyy bday is coming up! March 24444444

Taglist: @lazyemmy @ninihrtss @tsuniio @jsprien213 @smithieandy

[bunnysbrainrot]

Too Sweet

A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.

Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?

A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn

The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.

A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.

It was nice to be a part of something again.

Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?

A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.

Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.

When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.

You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.

“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”

Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.

She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.

————

You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.

The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.

Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.

A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.

“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.

There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”

“That sure is an early start.”

“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.

It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.

He might be someone to watch.

You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”

With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.

“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”

Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.

His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”

Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.

The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.

“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”

Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.

Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.

Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.

Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”

————

The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.

That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.

For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.

Joel.

You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”

For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.

“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”

The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.

His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.

Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.

It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.

Right?

That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.

—

The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.

You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.

In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.

“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.

A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.

With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.

“What?!” You shouted.

“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”

You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.

In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.

Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.

Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.

“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“

Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.

“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”

It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.

He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”

A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.

“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”

Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”

You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.

“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”

A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.

“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”

With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.

Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.

For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.

Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰

[baphometsss]

the 'memories of a duet' codex is so interesting and not just because you can read it in so many ways. given that mythal is on the codex card i think you can safely assume it's about her, but it reveals so much about their relationship if you pay attention. this is a memory of solas learning a song/composing it for her, to remind her of who they are (were) when everything sang the same (in the fade, when they were spirits). she's doing her own thing at court but he does it all just to get a single happy glance from her, to see her remember the familiarity that is so integral to solas's understanding of who he is. 'seeing wholly, being wholly seen'. remember that spirits reflect: solas reflected mythal's benevolence, and mythal reflected his wisdom. they need to reflect to maintain their sense of who they are: it is not just about his love for mythal, but his way of retaining his sense of who he is, by prolonging the memory of that reflection even as she grew away from him.

the 'away from mindless worship and well-meant misunderstanding' is really fucking interesting too. it's a memory of a moment where mythal could forget her role of the charismatic all-mother, who was loved and adored by her children, and where solas could ignore the no doubt frequent insinuations from others that his devotion was romantic. it was a way for them to connect in a way where they could just be true to who they were and how they felt about each other: like branches of the same tree, like family. of course, this was before he rebelled, before mythal betrayed him by joining the evanuris--although how long before is questionable since they're only sharing glances at this point. it's kind of sad, too; it reads like he's already having to do so much to get barely anything in return from this person who is meant to be his family.

it also puts a lot of things into perspective about solas's feelings on the modern elves in dai. that feeling of kinship, the twinning he felt with mythal and felassan and no doubt other elvhen and spirits, is so precious to him. he doesn't want to share it with anyone in this terrible, broken world he created, as if to share it with them would somehow taint it. it's only by the end of dai and into datv that he sees he was wrong, that the elves may have forgotten their history, but they are of the same family: different branches on the same tree.

when he says to a romanced lavellan, you are unique, i have never found a spirit such as yours, you have a rare and marvellous spirit, etc. he's also saying that he hasn't felt this sense of kinship for a long time, that he didn't expect to bond with someone from this broken world in the way he did. it's a different bond to the one he had with mythal, too, because he says he never thought he would find someone who would draw his attention from the fade and by extension, his longing to be a spirit once again--something he constantly tried to get mythal to agree with him on and failed. with lavellan, for the first time, he actually wants someone in this overwhelmingly physical and romantic way--something spirits don't feel, apparently. cole doesn't get with maryden unless you make him more human, and he also says he doesn't feel any attraction as a spirit. solas is actually glad to be a person and not just a spirit, because it means he's actually able to experience romantic love and desire for the very first time (as the romance description in datv heavily suggests). what's more, despite his misgivings, he likes it.

as others have pointed out, lavellan's speech in datv is in hallelujah cadence like the dialogue with the other elvhen. the duet is being sung once again--in a different context, but no less meaningful. there's a song by bjork called stonemilker, where she sings: 'a juxtaposition in fate/find our mutual coordinates'. it really reminds me of this; the need emotional synchronicity, of being completely on someone's wavelength, understood totally, seeing wholly and being wholly seen.

[martialartslover7]

Happy Birthday, Sakura. You deserve better.

You know me and Sakura have a troubled history together, but I will say, just for today, I really want to make peace with all this. Because, the more time passed, the more I realized, I was a dumbass for hating her this much to begin with. Since I neglected to remind myself of this shot of her, right here:

It may not seem like much, but remember the full context behind Sakura's tears here. Naruto is down in the dumps, but for her, it's not a mere obsession with Sasuke that makes her react this way, that's oversimplifying it in the worst way possible. And I say this, because let us not forget:

She feels responsible for this entire mess to begin with.

This is why she is crying. Put yourself in her shoes for a second, leaving all your personal disdain for her character side, imagine:

The love of your life left, for reasons, far beyond your control, making you feel like, not even your feelings for him could make him stay

The entire retrieval mission that you have insinuated, because you want him to see reason, and it ending in failure

Even worse than that, all the shinobi sent to bring him back, return crippled, like, being in the worst state imagineable, and you feel responsible, because they nearly died for a guy, you always believed in

She trained her ass off for three whole years, she became this strong, hoping to no longer be a liability

But what happens? It worked against one Akatsuki, but against the boy she loves, she couldn't do anything, he was way too strong

And let us not forget, before even getting there, your friend nearly injured you, losing complete control over his own emotions, feeling like a failure for not being able to bring your love, who is also his bro, back home, and the promise puts so much pressure on him

And then, they fail AGAIN

All this circus, all this hard work, just HOPING to do something, only for it to end in failure.

Again.

And again.

And again.

AND AGAIN.

Now tell me, would you still be able to keep your tears from falling by that point? And questioning your sanity, and your abilities and self-worth? Because those had always been major weaknesses of Sakura. So, losing THIS badly again, must have broken her spirit in ways, that is tough to comprehend. As always, she feels useless, despite having become stronger and better as a person and shinobi, and yet, her best is just not good enough.

Also, I want you to put this in perspective, on all the reasons why you may hate her:

She loves Sasuke? Simp.

She never returns Naruto's feelings, despite him fighting so hard for her, despite her clearly not being interested? Thot.

She literally healed thousands of shinobi in her lifetime, especially during the war, saving Naruto's and countless other lives in the process? Still useless.

And every time someone tries to speak positively of her, all you do is consistently undermine her, even if she is right, or she does something cool and realistic, ALL. THE. TIME.

You consistently bring up "she treats Naruto badly", as if Naruto has ALWAYS been the innocent angel, considering how pushy he can be about his feelings towards her (she talked shit about Naruto as an orphan, ohhh, but let's conveniently forget that Naruto used the Transformation Jutsu to impersonate Sasuke, hoping to get a kiss from her, that's definitely not creepy at all!) and just, in general, being a complete asswipe at times, without even realizing it.

Please, give her another chance, and try to be lenient with her, even if not everything is put into pages or words about her character, considering how badly she has been fighting with feelings of inadequacy, never bringing the desired results, and yet still receiving hate from everyone in the fandom:

Think, before you start hating.

Happy Birthday, Sakura.

Someone like you is entirely wasted on the author and fandom you are stuck with.

PEACE.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Racing Hearts, Fractured Bonds

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

The garage was eerily quiet as I lingered near the entrance. Above, the TV displayed the times from today’s FP1, and my stomach twisted as I saw that name paired with that time. Sure, I’d done decently again, but Jack—he was struggling. Alpine hadn’t been treating him the greatest, and with his contract situation hanging over him, I could only imagine the pressure that had to be weighing on him.

It was the third race of the season, and Jack hadn’t scored any points yet. The closest he’d come was 13th, and it was painful to watch from the sidelines. A few days ago, he called me, needing to vent, desperate for the support of his younger sister. I had to lie—pretend I was clueless about what was happening in F1. I spun some story about how my job was stressful, how I was so busy that I barely had time to catch my breath. He needed something to distract him, some reminder that he wasn’t alone in dealing with pressure, and I gave it to him.

I tried to weave in a little of what I dealt with in the garage, but twisted the details enough so he couldn’t catch on. He couldn’t know the truth—not yet. He couldn’t know that I was Ghost. This season wasn’t about me; it was about Jack, about what he could achieve. I couldn’t risk stealing his spotlight. It was too late to share my accomplishments with him anyway. The family had no idea that for the last five years, I’d been secretly racing. Thanks to my uncle, I had the chance to continue karting when our parents couldn’t afford to support both of our careers.

I had taken the fall back then for Jack. I played the part of the dutiful sister, stepping aside to make sure his dreams came first. So why not continue to do that now? He loved this sport, and I was determined not to let our family’s drama overshadow his passion. He deserved this chance, and I would help him get it. I could put my dreams on hold until I earned my own sponsorships.

My uncle had seen the favoritism, saw how my talent was being buried beneath it, and quickly stepped in to help me race in secret. With his guidance and support, I proved myself and managed to secure a sponsor in just one year of karting. It was my time to shine, but not yet. Not until Jack had his moment.

During the last race weekend, Jack had been asked about the growing friendship between him and Ghost. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched his quick, genuinely happy response on the screen. “I don’t know who he is behind that helmet, but he’s one hell of a driver. I’m just really happy to have this growing friendship between us. At first, I thought I was just going to learn that all the rumors about him were true, but after the first few minutes of talking to him? Ghost is someone worth the time and effort. He’s more than just racing talent behind that visor—he gives incredible advice and offers such a fresh perspective.”

Hearing Jack’s words felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Even though my real identity couldn’t be there for him in the way I wanted, at least my secret persona could offer him something—the support, the advice, the genuine connection that I couldn’t show as myself. It was bittersweet, but it was something.

Suddenly, the TV cut to the Alpine garage. I watched as Jack’s car was rolled into his pit, and he got out, helmet still on, but his face was already etched with frustration. The expression on his face was unmistakable—he was angry, likely at himself. I knew how hard he could be on himself, but in this moment, I also knew that the harshest voice in his head wasn’t coming from anyone else—it was coming from within.

I turned away from the screen, my heart aching for him, and walked toward my driver's room. Once inside, I locked the door and turned on my TV. I grabbed a couple of towels to plug up the cracks in the door, trying to soundproof the room as much as I could. It wasn’t a perfect setup, but it would have to do. I needed to call Jack, to find a way to lift his spirits, and maybe, just maybe, if he asked, I could offer him the real advice I knew he needed.

The memories of seeing his face change from disheartened to energized—his expression lighting up with that newfound motivation whenever I gave him advice in the past—pushed me into action. I couldn’t waste time. He needed something now, and I needed to figure out how to help him find his way back to the confidence that made him the talented driver he was.

I took a deep breath and dialed Jack’s number, my heart pounding a little faster than usual. The phone rang a few times before his voice crackled through the line, sounding more strained than I’d ever heard.

“Hey, you okay? I’m watching the Practice Session right now. ” I asked softly, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest.

Jack let out a heavy sigh on the other end. “I don’t know, honestly. Just… struggling. The car’s not right, the team’s on me, and I feel like I’m falling short. Every time I think I’m getting close, something goes wrong, and I don’t know how much more I can take of this."

His frustration was clear, and it made my stomach twist. I’d always known he had a tendency to be hard on himself, but hearing him speak like this… It was like hearing a piece of my heart crack.

“Jack,” I said, my voice more firm than I felt. “You’re not letting anyone down. Trust me, I know it feels like it’s all piling up right now, but this is just part of the journey. You can’t rush the process. It’s gonna be tough, but you have to keep pushing.”

There was a long pause, and I could almost feel him processing what I was saying. I knew he didn’t want to hear clichés, but I wasn’t going to let him spiral.

“I don’t know, y/n,” he muttered, sounding defeated. “The pressure just keeps getting to me, and it’s hard to stay focused when the results just aren’t there.”

I bit my lip, choosing my next words carefully. “Look, I get it. It’s easy to get caught up in the frustration, especially when you’re putting in everything you have and not seeing the results. But the setbacks? They’re just lessons. They’re gonna make you better. You’ve got to use them to push yourself forward, not let them hold you back."

He was quiet for a moment, and I heard the faint sound of a chuckle. It was a small sound, but it was enough to make me feel a little lighter.

“Yeah… I guess you’re right,” he said, his tone softening. “I’ve been letting everything get to me more than I should. I needed someone to remind me of that.”

I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Anytime, Jack. You don’t have to do this alone. You’ve got more people rooting for you than you realize.”

He was quiet again, and I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Thanks, Y/n,” he finally said, sounding a little more like himself. “I’m gonna take a break, reset a bit. I’ll get back at it tomorrow. I’ll figure it out.”

I let out a quiet breath, feeling a weight lift off me. “You’ve got this. Just take it one step at a time. Don’t let the pressure eat at you. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he said again, his voice lighter. “Talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah, talk soon,” I replied softly, a warm feeling settling in my chest.

I ended the call, staring at the screen for a moment, letting the relief wash over me. Jack was going to be fine. I knew he would be. He just needed time to sort things out in his own way.

I glanced around the small drivers room I’d been staying in and grabbed my bag, the weight of everything still pressing down on me. The call had gone well. I’d said what he needed to hear. But now it was time to move on, to get ready for the next race, the next step in all of this. I couldn’t dwell too long on this moment.

I threw my comfy clothes on and headed toward the door, the familiar sense of purpose settling back into my chest. I wasn’t just Ghost in the car. I could be someone Jack needed, too. Even if he didn’t know it yet. With my helmet pulled back over my head,  I walked out of the room. 

Returning to the track the next day, I felt a surge of energy running through me. It was a fresh day, and I was determined to finish FP3 strong and carry that momentum straight into Qualifying. As I walked through the entrance of the paddock, I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander, scanning the familiar surroundings. The excitement of race weekend always felt like a breath of fresh air.

My gaze quickly locked onto the unmistakable bright orange of McLaren team gear near their garage. And just like that, I spotted the one person I couldn’t help but feel a bit more drawn to than most. Oscar.

I quietly jogged over, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips beneath my helmet. Oscar spotted me almost instantly and without missing a beat, he made his way toward me, his own grin widening as our gaze met.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Oscar teased, his voice light but his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

I gave a mock, dramatic sigh as I stopped in front of him, adjusting my gloves as if I were trying to appear serious. “I had to make sure you weren’t getting too cocky after all the hype from yesterday.”

He laughed, leaning in slightly as if to whisper a secret. “You’re just jealous. I’m the one people are talking about now. You’re just... mysterious."

I raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Mysterious? Oh please, you just wish you had my level of intrigue.”

Oscar chuckled and shook his head, clearly enjoying the banter. “I mean, it does give you a certain… allure, I’ll admit. But I think people would be more interested if you started hinting at who you were.”

I rolled my eyes beneath the visor but couldn’t hide the grin. “You know I’ve got my own idea of when that's happening. Besides, someone’s gotta keep the mystery alive, right?”

“Fair enough,” he said, giving a dramatic shrug. “I’ll just have to settle for the occasional secret chat when no one’s watching.”

We both laughed, and I felt the familiar warmth of friendship and camaraderie wash over me. Sure, we were competitors on the track, but off it, it felt easy. It was moments like this that reminded me why I loved being part of this world.

“Alright, alright,” I said, raising a gloved hand in mock surrender. “I’ll let you have your fun, but only because you’ve been so charming this morning.”

Oscar’s eyes twinkled, clearly enjoying the friendly banter as he patted me on the shoulder. “Just wait until you see me on the grid. I’ll be the one turning heads this time.”

I raised an eyebrow in challenge. “We’ll see about that. But good luck, anyway.”

“Luck? Who needs luck when you've got talent?” Oscar shot back with a grin, giving me a wink before turning to head toward the McLaren garage.

I stood there for a moment, watching him go, feeling lighter than I had in a while. Racing was intense, no doubt, but moments like these reminded me that it wasn’t all about the pressure—it was about the people you shared the track with.

I turned away from the McLaren garage, still feeling the lingering warmth of my conversation with Oscar. It was moments like those that reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone in this sport. But as I walked toward my own garage, that light feeling slowly faded, replaced by the usual tension that came with being in this space.

Stepping inside, I immediately noticed Franco standing near one of the engineers, engaged in a discussion about setup changes for FP3. Normally, I would have ignored it, heading straight to my driver’s room without a second thought. But something about him caught my attention today.

His expression.

It wasn’t sharp, wasn’t full of frustration or disdain like it usually was when our eyes happened to meet. Instead, there was… nothing. No irritation, no biting remarks waiting on the tip of his tongue. His face was calm—indifferent, even. It was such a stark contrast to what I had grown used to that it almost made me stop in my tracks.

For a brief second, I wondered if I should say something. A passing comment, a joke, maybe even a simple nod of acknowledgment. But just as quickly as the thought appeared, I shoved it away. Whatever had shifted in him, it wasn’t my concern.

Without a word, I walked past him, heading straight toward my driver’s room. I swore I felt his eyes on me as I passed, but I didn’t turn back to check.

Once inside, I shut the door behind me and exhaled. The quiet hum of the room wrapped around me, offering a brief sense of isolation from everything outside. I moved toward my locker, taking a moment to center myself before I started gearing up for FP3.

Whatever’s going on with Franco, it’s not my problem.

I had bigger things to focus on.

—

FP3 had been exactly what I needed—a confidence boost. The car felt dialed in, my times were consistent, and for the first time this weekend, I felt like I was fully in control. Every sector clicked, every adjustment I made felt natural, and by the end of the session, the data confirmed what I already knew.

I was fast.

Faster than I had been all weekend. Fast enough to believe that making it into Q3 wasn’t just a hope, but an expectation. My engineers were optimistic, the team was behind me, and even Diego had radioed in after the session, sounding genuinely excited about my pace.

"Keep this up, and you’ll be right in the fight today."

That was the goal. I was determined to deliver.

Now, sitting in my car during Q1, the world around me had faded into tunnel vision. My focus was razor-sharp, locked in on the track ahead as I pushed through my first flying lap. The tires were warming up well, grip levels felt solid, and every input I made was instinctual. The car responded exactly how I wanted, allowing me to carry more speed through the corners without hesitation.

This was it. The kind of feeling every driver chased—the harmony between man and machine.

But just as I was settling into that rhythm, my wandering thoughts were abruptly cut off.

Jack.

I spotted him in my mirrors first, then again just ahead as he threw his car aggressively into a corner. Too aggressively. His Alpine twitched under braking, barely catching itself before he powered out of the turn.

I frowned. That wasn’t like him.

Lap after lap, he was reckless, pushing way too hard, taking risks that didn’t make sense this early in qualifying. It wasn’t just a normal push for pace—there was an edge to it, a desperation woven into his driving. He wasn’t being smart about it, and that sent alarm bells ringing in my head.

And he wasn’t just fighting the track—he was fighting me.

I could see it in the way he defended, in the way he positioned his car in places that forced me to either back off or take the risk alongside him. Even when I wasn’t on a hot lap, he was making it difficult for me, as if he had something to prove.

To himself. To Alpine. To the entire grid.

And suddenly, I understood.

He was still chasing those first points. Three races in, and he hadn’t been able to put himself in a position to fight for them. Alpine had been struggling, his contract was in the air, and the pressure was mounting with each passing weekend.

He needed a result today, no matter what it took.

But if he kept this up? He was going to get himself into trouble.

Or worse—drag me into it with him.

"Diego, what’s Doohan doing? He’s driving like his life depends on this lap." My voice was calm, but there was an underlying concern I couldn’t shake.

There was a short pause before my engineer responded, his voice even. "We see it too. Just stay smart, you’re on a good time. Don’t get caught up in his mess."

Easier said than done.

I gritted my teeth as Jack lunged into the next turn, right as I was about to commit to the racing line. I had to adjust mid-corner, costing me a couple of tenths, and frustration flared in my chest.

"Come on, Jack…" I muttered under my breath.

I knew he was better than this. He didn’t need to drive like a man on the edge. He had the talent, the control—I’d seen it firsthand. But right now, that wasn’t what was driving him. It was something deeper, something clawing at him from inside.

I needed to be careful. If he kept up this aggressive approach, something was bound to go wrong.

And I couldn’t afford to be collateral damage.

Q1 wrapped up with a sigh of relief as my name remained above the cutoff line. I had made it through to Q2—barely. Jack had scraped through as well, his last-minute lap just quick enough to put him through. But the way he had fought for it? It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t calculated.

And it wasn’t over.

As Q2 began, I focused on my out lap, taking deep breaths to steady my mind. Jack had been reckless in Q1, but maybe now, with fewer cars on track and the pressure slightly eased, he would dial it back.

I was wrong.

The aggression was still there—worse, even.

Jack was everywhere. Blocking unnecessarily, moving unpredictably, throwing his car into corners as if I wasn’t even there. It was dangerous. He wasn’t just fighting for track position; he was fighting everything—the car, the circumstances, himself.

I was setting up for my push lap, giving myself space before the final sector when I saw him in my mirrors again. Too close. Too erratic.

"Ghost, be mindful of Doohan—he’s on a push lap." Diego’s voice was steady, but I could hear the edge of concern.

"Yeah, I know," I gritted out. "But he’s being a fucking menace right now."

I was about to back off slightly, let him go, when I saw the move coming—too late.

Jack dove down the inside at a speed that was never going to stick.

My heart jumped as my instincts took over. I tried to avoid him, turning wider to give space, but his rear snapped mid-corner. There was a split second of helplessness—nothing I could do, nowhere I could go.

The impact was violent.

The back of his Alpine clipped the front of my car, unsettling me at the worst possible moment. My tires lost all grip, and suddenly, I was a passenger. My car spun wildly, the world turning into a blur of colors and motion as I fought to regain control—but the speed was too high, and the barriers were too close.

I braced.

The moment of impact rattled my entire body. The left side of my car slammed into the Tecpro barrier, the force jarring through me. My head snapped forward against the restraints, my hands gripping the wheel instinctively even as the shock reverberated through my arms. Sparks flew, debris scattered, and the car jolted to a stop, leaving me pressed against the side of the cockpit, my heart pounding.

For a moment, all I could hear was my own breathing, harsh and uneven.

Then, Diego’s voice cut through. "Ghost, talk to me."

I pressed my head back against the seat, letting out a shaky breath.

I felt… okay. Nothing immediately hurt. Whether that was the adrenaline talking, I wasn’t sure, but I could move, I could think, and my vision wasn’t spinning. But I couldn’t speak—not yet. Not without risking the voice changer.

Instead, I used the failsafe we had set up.

My fingers found the pit confirm button on my steering wheel—two quick taps, a pause, then one more tap.

All okay.

There was a beat of silence before Diego responded. "Copy. Marshals are coming. Just sit tight."

I exhaled, trying to process everything. The replay was already playing on the big screens, and as I glanced up, I saw exactly what had happened.

Jack.

That fucking idiot.

He had completely ruined both of our laps. His car was limping in the runoff area, his best time now meaningless as yellow flags had been thrown in the final sector. My crash had messed up the track conditions, ensuring nobody else could improve before the session ended.

I was out. He was out.

And I was going to kill him.

I unclipped my harness as the marshals arrived, waving them off as they tried to help. I climbed out of the car myself, ignoring the stiffness in my muscles, and threw my arms up in frustration before stomping toward the escape road.

This was my chance. My first real shot at making it to Q3. And Jack had taken it from me.

I had sacrificed so much for him—so many years spent in the shadows so he could have the spotlight. And this was what I got in return?

By the time I reached the medical car, my hands were shaking—not from the crash, but from anger.

I didn’t care what bullshit excuse Jack had.

The moment I got back to the pit lane, I was going to let him have it.

The ride back to the pit lane was quiet.

I stared out the window, my arms folded across my chest, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away. The anger had dulled, no longer the white-hot fire it had been when I first climbed out of the wreckage. Now, all that remained was exhaustion and something else—something I hadn't noticed at first.

Pain.

At first, I thought it was just the stiffness that followed every big hit, but as I shifted in my seat, a sharp, pulsing ache spread through my side. Not just soreness. Something deeper.

Great.

Diego’s voice had already crackled over the radio, telling me to check in with the medical team the second I got back. I hadn't argued. I could walk fine, and I hadn't blacked out, but something definitely wasn’t right.

As soon as the car pulled into the paddock, I unbuckled and climbed out, biting down the wince as I straightened up. I took a deep breath and turned toward the medical tent, ignoring the curious looks from team members and journalists nearby.

I just needed to get through the checkup. Then I could deal with everything else.

But apparently, the universe had other plans.

I barely made it five steps before Jack Doohan was in front of me.

He wasn’t just walking toward me—he was storming.

His eyes were blazing, his jaw tight, and before I could brace for impact, he was right in my space.

"What the hell was that?!" he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs around us. "You completely ruined my lap! I had one shot to get through, and you—"

I closed my eyes for half a second, inhaling deeply.

"Jack." My voice was calm. Too calm. I wasn’t about to do this here, not when we were both still full of adrenaline and frustration. "We should talk later, when we’re actually thinking straight."

I tried to move past him, but he stepped in my way.

"Oh, so now you want to be rational?" he scoffed, arms thrown up. "After you wrecked and took me out with you? I needed that lap, Ghost!"

I clenched my jaw, rolling my shoulders in an attempt to keep myself from snapping.

"And you think I didn’t?" I asked, voice still steady. "Jack, I was on for Q3 today. This was my best shot at a points start, and now I’m out. But I’m not standing here blaming you, because—"

"Maybe you should." His voice was bitter. "Because I guarantee you, this was your fault. If you had just held your line, I—"

I let out a sharp laugh—one that wasn’t amused in the slightest.

"If I had held my line?" My calm shattered, fury creeping back in. I took a step forward, forcing him to meet my visor. "Jack, I saw what you were doing. I knew you were being reckless, and I gave you space because I didn’t want to crash. More than I didn’t want to ruin your lap, I didn’t want us both to end up in the wall. But guess what? You still managed to make that happen."

Jack’s mouth opened, but I didn’t let him speak.

"You think I don’t know what you’re going through?" My voice rose, frustration bubbling over. "You think I don’t understand what it’s like to fight for a seat, to feel the pressure of proving you deserve to be here? I do, Jack. More than you fucking know."

His expression flickered, something breaking through the anger for just a second. But I wasn’t done.

"I get it," I continued, shaking my head. "I get that Alpine has been screwing you over. I get that every race feels like a fight for survival. But this?" I gestured back toward the track. "This is not the way to prove yourself. Being reckless, making desperate moves—this isn’t going to convince anyone you deserve that seat. It’s only going to prove them right if they think you’re not ready."

Jack’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his anger still simmering, but there was doubt creeping into his eyes now.

"You don’t—"

"Yes, I do," I interrupted, my voice softer now, but no less intense. "You’re a damn good driver, Jack. But if you keep driving like this, you won’t just lose your seat—you’ll lose the respect of the people watching. You’ll lose the people who believe in you."

I took a steadying breath, my grip tightening at my sides.

"You think I don’t understand what it’s like to have people doubt you? I started in Formula E and IndyCar when I was barely more than a kid. Nobody thought I deserved those seats. They called me a risk, said I was too young, too inexperienced, that I was only there because of politics or sponsorships. But I didn’t prove them wrong by throwing myself into reckless moves. I didn’t try to force my way into respect—I earned it. I showed them that I belonged, that I had the skill to back up my place on the grid."

Jack’s expression wavered, the fire in his eyes dimming just slightly as my words sank in.

"That’s what you need to do," I continued, my voice unwavering. "Not by desperate lunges or risky blocks, but by proving to everyone—your team, the other drivers, the fans—that you deserve to be here. And you can’t do that if you’re too busy fighting the wrong battles."

For the first time since this argument started, he didn’t have a response.

He just stood there, staring at me, his chest rising and falling quickly.

I exhaled, the last of my fight leaving me, replaced once again by exhaustion. I adjusted my suit slightly, trying to ease the growing discomfort in my side.

"Look," I said, voice lower now. "I need to go get checked out. We can talk later, when we’re both thinking clearly."

Jack swallowed, still tense, but he gave a slow nod.

I didn’t wait for anything else. I turned and continued toward the medical tent, each step reminding me that something was definitely wrong.

But I had said what I needed to say.

And judging by the look on Jack’s face as I walked away, I knew it had hit exactly where it needed to.

The medical tent was colder than I expected, the harsh white lights overhead making everything feel too clinical, too still—like a place I shouldn’t be. I sat stiffly on the exam table, fingers gripping the edge as Nico stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning for any unwanted intrusions. He had already made sure only one doctor would see me, someone willing to sign an NDA, ensuring that my identity remained a secret.

It wasn’t long before a nurse stepped in, clipboard in hand, a calm but no-nonsense expression on her face. “I’ll be your designated medical contact for the season,” she said, voice even, eyes flicking between me and Nico. “I’ve been briefed on the situation, and I’ve signed what’s needed. Now, let’s get this done.”

I gave a curt nod and let her do her job, staying silent as she pressed carefully along my ribs. Each touch sent sharp, burning pain through my side, and I had to fight to keep my expression neutral. When she reached the worst of it, I inhaled sharply through clenched teeth.

She sighed, setting down her clipboard. “Cracked ribs,” she confirmed, shaking her head. “Not the worst I’ve seen, but bad enough. I highly recommend you don’t drive for the rest of the weekend.”

I stiffened at that, already shaking my head before she could finish. “No.”

Her brows furrowed. “Ghost, be serious—”

“I am serious.” I met her gaze with unshakable resolve. “I can’t risk sitting out this early in the season. If it gets worse, I’ll deal with it then, but for now? Say nothing. Clear me.”

The nurse let out a long breath, clearly not thrilled with my stubbornness. But then she glanced at Nico, who remained silent, his expression unreadable, before looking back at me.

“Fine,” she relented. “But only under one condition.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Which is?”

“You follow a set of rules any time you’re off-track. No unnecessary movement, no overexertion, no lifting anything heavy. If I see you wincing or struggling outside of the car, we’re done. I will pull you.” She paused, voice softening just slightly. “I’m giving you a chance here, Ghost. Don’t make me regret it.”

I exhaled, biting back the protest that sat on my tongue. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a compromise I could live with.

“Alright,” I agreed. “Deal.”

The nurse nodded, scribbling something on the clipboard before stepping back. “Then you’re cleared. But don’t push your luck.”

Nico finally spoke up from his post by the door. “She’ll be careful,” he said, though there was an unmistakable edge to his voice that told me he wasn’t convinced.

I hopped off the table with only a slight wince, rolling my shoulders as I looked at him. “Come on, Rosberg. Let’s get out of here before someone starts asking too many questions.”

He gave me one last assessing look before nodding. “Let’s go.”

As Nico and I walked through the paddock, my thoughts drifted to Jack. What would he be like if he knew the truth? If he knew the driver he had just crashed into, the one he had stormed at in a rage, was actually his little sister?

I could picture it too easily—the hesitation, the guilt. Jack had always been protective, even when we were younger, even when he tried to act like he wasn’t. If he knew he was racing against me, he’d be too careful, too cautious. He’d hold back in battles, refuse to take risks, and in this sport, that was a death sentence. His chances at proving himself, at keeping his seat, would slip away. I couldn’t let that happen.

This was why he couldn’t know. Not yet.

When we finally made it back to my garage, I let myself wince as I moved, knowing that with my helmet still on, no one could see the pained grimace crossing my face. The adrenaline was fading now, and the ache in my ribs was creeping in, reminding me of the damage done.

One of the engineers came over, relaying what I already knew. “The crash put both you and Doohan in P14 and P15 for tomorrow. As long as nothing on your car needs replacing that would earn a penalty, that’s where you’ll start.”

I gave a small nod, unfazed. I had seen the aftermath on the screens before heading to medical—I knew where I was starting.

The garage buzzed with activity as people came and went, but eventually, I was left alone for a moment. I exhaled, letting my body relax ever so slightly, shutting my eyes behind the visor as I let the pain settle into something I could compartmentalize.

Then, the soft sound of something being placed in front of me pulled me out of it.

I opened my eyes and looked down. A small snack and a bottle of water sat on the table in front of me.

I frowned slightly and looked up, following the movement of the person who had left it there. Franco.

He was already turning away, walking off before I could say anything. But just before he disappeared from view, I caught the smallest shift in his expression—the slightest crease in his brows, the hint of something lingering in his eyes. Worry.

And then, just like that, he was gone. Not a word spoken.

I stared after him for a moment before shifting my gaze back to the water and snack, something unreadable settling in my chest. Then, without a word, I reached forward and picked them up.

Masterlist

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp

[hqbaby]

one — the aftermath

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

masterlist — next

word count. 1.9k content. profanity, talks of sex

Breakups suck, there’s no denying that. Especially when the breakup in question is with someone you thought was the love of your life. Someone you thought felt the same way about you.

When the breakup turns into some big revelation that you are in fact a fool for even believing in love in the first place—well, it’s safe to say that it doesn’t feel good.

But you know what makes a breakup even worse? Hearing that the person you broke up with has started dating someone new. Two weeks after your split.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Nobara declares as she stabs a slice of meat with her fork and shoves it in her mouth. Through a mouthful of food, she tells you, “I know friends aren’t supposed to say that kind of shit immediately after a breakup, but it’s true! He sucked!”

“He did not suck,” you tell her, and you know this is true. You remember just six months ago, Nobara was singing his praises, so glad that you were finally being “treated like the princess you are,” so you don’t really believe her sudden shift in perspective. “It just didn’t work out. It’s no big deal.”

Maki frowns at you, pointing her fork in your direction as she speaks. “Any guy who starts dating someone new two weeks after a breakup doesn’t deserve to be respected,” she says. “Slander him, babe. He deserves it.”

You can’t help but laugh as your two friends agree with one another, pointing out all the little things about your ex that they found “slightly off,” and how you’re so strong, how you’ll get through this like it’s nothing. You’re sure that when you met them in freshman year, you didn’t expect your friendship to turn into this, but you’re glad it has.

“So who’s the girl?” you ask as the conversation lulls.

“I don’t know,” they both answer in unison.

You roll your eyes. “You’re terrible liars.”

They look at each other for a moment. Nobara raises a brow, Maki shakes her head. Maki raises a brow, Nobara shrugs. They both sigh.

“It’s Kimi,” Maki tells you.

“The cheerleader?”

“Yeah.”

You prod a stray grain of rice on your plate then nod. “Okay,” you say. “Figured he’d go for someone like her.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Nobara says again.

You chuckle. “So I’ve heard.”

“Does it bother you?” Maki asks. Her tone is careful. She’s probably worried you’ll burst into tears or throw a fit.

“No,” you tell her simply. “It’s fine. He can do whatever he wants.”

You notice how they seem to breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe they’ve finally convinced themselves that you’re fine. You’re okay.

The three of you finish with your lunch and clear up the table. It’s become tradition for the two of them to show up at your apartment on Saturdays to eat together, mainly because you actually have a table to eat at. You also often have more than enough food to spare, what with your mother constantly sending care packages and your neighbor being an old woman who likes cooking enough food for an army.

It’s nice, these days you get to spend with your friends, and you’ve found that it’s been a real comfort these last two weeks. You’d never admit it out loud, but the breakup has been hard on you. More than it probably should be. Aside from the fact that you find yourself alone more often now, you’re also constantly reminded of his absence. And, boy, is it a terrifying thing to remember.

“Are you heading to training?” Maki asks, drying her hands on a towel. “I can drop you off if you don’t wanna drive.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine,” you tell her. “Someone’s picking me up.”

“One of the girls?”

“Nah,” you say. “Sukuna.”

Nobara snorts as she places the last dish on the drying rack. “You sure his driver’s license isn’t suspended?”

You whack her shoulder with the dish towel in your hands. She yelps exaggeratedly and you laugh, apologizing as you rub her arm. “He’s really a good guy though,” you say. “You’re just way too hard on him.”

“Uh-huh,” Maki says, unconvinced as she crosses her arms and leans against the counter. “So the fact that he’s fucked half of the girls on campus is just a thing he does on the side.”

“Since when were you such a prude?” you ask, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Just last week, you were all ‘everyone deserves the right to fuck.’”

Maki wags her finger at you. “This isn’t about being a prude,” she tells you. “The guy uses girls for his own pleasure. I just don’t see how you can be friends with him.”

“Well, I’ve known ‘the guy’ since high school. He really isn’t that bad,” you say. “And he only ever fucks people who want to be fucked, so I don’t see what the problem is.”

You’ve got a point there, Maki realizes, so she bounces on her toes and says, “Okay.” Then, “I’m still judging him though, but out of respect for you, I will do so in secret.”

You nudge her with your shoulder and chuckle. “I hear you though,” you tell her. “But trust me. He’s not a bad guy.”

“Where’s my kiss?”

“I will rip your balls off.”

Sukuna smirks at you as you hop into the passenger seat. His car is a mess, like it usually is, with old, disintegrating Slurpee cups and Monster cans littering the dashboard, receipts scattered on the floor, and what you suspect is a midterm with a big red C- stuffed into the open glove compartment.

You pick a half-empty bag of popcorn from your seat before sitting down. “This thing is gross, ‘Kuna,” you tell him, grimacing. “You should really get rid of all your trash at least.”

He sticks his tongue out at you and puts the car in gear. “What was that?” he says as he backs out of the parking slot. “‘Thank you for driving me, Kuna! I owe you a big favor!’ Oh, yeah, definitely, tiger.”

“You owe me,”  you point out, pulling your seatbelt on. “Need I remind you how many times I’ve had to drive you home from a party because you were wasted? Do I need to show you the pictures to jog your memory?”

“You are so mean,” he tells you. “How are you gonna get a husband with a mouth like that?”

You scoff. “Please,” you say. “My mouth is exactly why they’d marry me in the first place.”

Sukuna gags, pretending to vomit into his mouth. “Aren’t girls supposed to be all shy and quiet about that sort of thing?” he says. Then, his eyes light up in faux realization. “Oh, right! You’re not a girl. You’re some sort of monster that ate the real you.”

You reach over and flick his forehead before slumping back in your seat. When the car stops at a red light, his face charges towards yours, attempting to lick your cheek. You manage to push him away with the palm of your hand before he does.

“Eyes on the road, fuckhead,” you tell him, giggling as his face twists in disappointment. “You got plans later?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “A blonde and a brunette. You know. The usual.”

You make a face. “You’re such a pig, you know that, right?”

“I prefer to think of myself as a connoisseur of sexual deviancy.”

“I feel so bad for the girls who fall for that.”

He beams. “Oh, I wouldn’t be. They like it just as much as I do.”

You shake your head in amusement and fold your arms over your chest, leaning your head against the window. You’re a few minutes away from the gym, the car already passing through the familiar grounds of the campus.

You pass by the steps of the science building. The place where it happened.

“We broke up,” you find yourself telling Sukuna quietly. “Two weeks ago.”

He’s silent for a moment. You can already tell he’s contemplating either listening to you and letting you vent or, well, murder.

“I figured,” he says eventually.

You peel your head away from the window and raise a brow at him. “How?”

He glances at you, as if to check that you’re okay. When he’s sure that you’re not upset or anything, he nods and says, “For one, you’re hanging out with me. If I remember correctly, Mr. Perfect doesn’t exactly like me.”

You scrunch your nose up. “That’s not true,” you tell him. And when he gives you a look like, Riiiiiight, you relent and say, “Fine. But that never stopped me from spending time with you.”

“Sure it did.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t tell me you were jealous.”

“Sure I was.” He grins at you. “But enough about my feelings—because, ew, gross, feelings, yuck. What happened? Why’d you break up?”

You open your mouth to explain, but you realize you don’t exactly have the words to talk about it just yet. Whenever Maki and Nobara asked, you just gave them some vague reason and they knew not to press. If you said the same thing to Sukuna, you know he’d call you on your bullshit, and you don’t think you’re ready to confront “the truth” just yet.

He probably notices your hesitation, so he says, “You don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious.”

You smile at him. “Thanks.”

“‘Course, tiger,” he says. The car pulls up in front of the gym and he turns to look at you. As much as you two tease each other, you know that you can always count on each other when things aren’t exactly good. “I do have one question though that you’re required to answer.”

“What?”

“If I see him, do I punch him or run him over with my car?”

You groan and swat his arm. “Don’t you dare do anything,” you say, reaching over to grab your tennis bag from the backseat. “I mean it, ‘Kuna.”

“Hey, no one breaks up with my best friend and gets away with it,” he says. “So what will it be? Vehicular manslaughter or straight up murder?”

You frown at him. He matches your frown. You smile. “You know, a grown man probably shouldn’t be calling anyone his best friend,” you say, opening the car door. You get out and lean your head in through the window. “Thanks for driving me.”

He waves it off. “You can thank me by buying me dinner,” he tells you. “Text me when you’re done with training. I’ll pick you up.”

“I thought you had plans tonight,” you say, tilting your head to the side as you step away from the car.

“Text me when you’re done,” he repeats, and he drives away before you can say another word.

You watch as his car turns a corner and disappears. He might not be a bad guy, but he sure is strange.

Sliding your tennis bag over your shoulders, you start your trek to the court. You haven’t been to training in a while, only dragged here by your coach reminding you of your scholarship. You’re a little nervous to be back, but it’s really—

And that’s when you see him.

There, standing outside the doors to the gym, just as you remember him.

Satoru, the love of your life, kissing another girl.

Maybe you really aren’t fine at all.

notes. trying to contain my excitement for this series but it's not working!!!!! hope you guys enjoy it as much as i do <3

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 13: You Made a Plaything Out of Romance

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter thirteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 7.3K (And every word hurts, except the beginning the beginning is nice and then it goes downhill)

Warnings: I'm going to label this one 18+. This one is sad guys. References to sex, Implied Sex, Nudity (lying in bed with someone the morning after), Brief explicit sexual encounter (it's like one sentence), Self-detrimental thoughts, Cursing, Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: This one took me a while to write, because it was painful. I can neither confirm nor deny that I cried when I wrote it. But I hope y'all hate it as much as I do.

1984

Soft light from under your floral curtains kisses your face as you wake from sleep, your arms tightening around Ben with a happy sigh as the memories of the night before blanket you in a soft cocoon of love and warmth. You had imagined that night many times over the years you'd been with Ben, but none of them compared to the real thing.

A dull throb of pain coats your limbs and body, that serves as a gentle reminder of exactly how you spent the late hours and the early hours of the morning with Ben, but it was a happy reminder. The memories of last night were passionate and more wonderful than you could have imagined. All thoughts of leaving him wiped away by one night filled with love that was all you wanted for so long. Because now there wasn’t a point in leaving, now that you had the one person you’d wanted since you were eight, you’d never leave him ever again.

You can feel the soft drag of Ben's hand against your back, coaxing you into a peaceful glow of contentment. You were laying on his muscular chest, your head directly over his heart, listening to the steady beat, your arm wrapped in an possessive hold over his body and you never wanted to leave. You wanted to exist in this moment the rest of your life, laying here with the man who'd had your heart for so long, finally at peace and finally allowing yourself to show him how much you loved him and how much he meant to you. Apart of you couldn't believe that this was real, and was worried that you'll wake up and the bed will be cold and Ben will be gone.

"Good morning." Ben's voice rumbles up through his chest. He moves his free hand to push back some of the hair that has fallen into your face, a content smile gracing his perfect lips as he allows his hand to brush over your cheeks.

"Good morning." You smile, leaning into his touch, before you press a kiss directly over his heart. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not too long."

"You didn't want to wake me up?"

"No." He murmurs, his hand still stroking your back in a soft smooth motion, that trails sunshine down your spine. "You're cute when you're asleep.

"Only when I'm asleep?" You tease, propping yourself up so you can look in his eyes, your hair tickling over his chest and you're sure that you must look ridiculous, but you don't care.

He looks better this morning than usual, you decide, noting the sweep of his dark hair over his brow and the sleepy haze in his eyes. His lips are a little red and swollen from when you kissed him and you assume your own look the same.

"No." Ben shakes his head, slowly, smiling down at you, and you can't help but kiss him, brushing your lips against his and letting him set your nerve endings on fire. Ben's happy smile against your mouth makes you want to melt into him and never leave, to curl up inside his heart and let yourself be filled with the glow of his love. “How are you?”

“Good, better than good.” You tighten your arm over his chest. “Just a little sore-“ You smile against his lips.

You hadn’t meant it like a bad thing, if anything, you liked it a little bit,  but judging by Ben’s reaction to those words you understood that he took it the wrong way. 

Ben’s eyes widen, his own smile faltering. He grabs the blanket wrapped around your waist raising it, so his eyes can trace your body to look for bruises. “Did I hurt you?” Ben’s eyes lock with yours once more, voice tinged with worry in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“No you didn’t.” Your hand gently falls on his cheek to reassure him. “It was perfect.” For a second you're afraid you said too much, but then Ben’s crooked smile breaks something inside of you.

“Yeah, it was.” He whispers, turning to press a kiss to your palm.

The look in his eyes is soft, filled with so many unspoken things that it makes you dizzy. He’s never once looked at you like that and you know you’ll never get used to it. Because he’s looking at you the way you saw the elderly couple look at each other all those years ago, when you longed for the same thing to happen to you, longed for a man to look at you that way. And you’re sure you’re looking at him the same way, because now it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to hide how you feel about him. There’s no more frustration or anger, there’s only love that crashes over your head and pulls you out to sea with Ben.

 “And It’s a good sore.” You smile sheepishly, cheeks blushing under his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind-um-getting used to it.”

“Oh really?”

You nod, hand still cupping Ben’s cheek.

“Huh.” Ben's smile turns into a mischievous smirk.

All of a sudden he flips you over so that you’re on your back with him hovering over you, smirk more pronounced than it was a few seconds ago. As he does so, your bed makes a terrible creaking sound and shifts to the right precariously on its last leg, literally.

You snort, pressing your lips together, body shaking with stifled laughs. Ben presses his head to your shoulder laughing too, the rich sound of his voice sending tingles down you spine. His eyes shine with laughter as he leans down to kiss you again.

“You owe me a new bed.” You mutter against his lips.

“I think we are both responsible for breaking it.” Ben's hands stroke along your sides, before he drops back down to kiss you.

“Well as slutty as you are I’d think that you would know how to avoid breaking one.” You tease raising a hand to brush his dark hair out of his eyes and Ben leans into your touch. You loved how he responded to you, it reminded you so much of how you felt whenever he touched you, like he couldn't get enough and he never wanted it to stop.

“Did you just call me a slut?” He pulls back with a frown.

“Yes. I did.” You laugh at his sullen expression.

Even when he frowns he's handsome. How did I get this lucky?

"You're lucky you're so cute." Ben sighs. “I’ve broken a few, but I will say I had the most fun breaking this one.”

His words make your heart thud madly in your chest in understanding. It confirms the thing that you had been thinking since you woke up, that last night meant everything to Ben too, that it wasn’t just sex for him. That he wanted to be there with you. And it made you smile wider.

Ben’s eyes are locked with yours, so much love and care slipping through his gaze that it makes you dizzy. “Next time we can break my bed. Just so we’re even.” He finishes capturing your lips with his, the words next time circling on your head on repeat.

You kiss him back eagerly, wanting to be lost forever in the warmth of the two of you together, because it’d finally happened, you’d finally gotten your Ben.

Your fingers scratch against the back of his head softly as you gaze up into his bright green eyes. You couldn’t believe it, after all these years he was yours, your best friend and now the man you love with all your heart. Your entire chest soars with emotion, smile stretching across your face so wide that you knew it probably wasn’t attractive but you couldn’t stop. You were so blissfully happy for the first time in years and you wanted to share that happiness with him the rest of your life.

“What?” Ben smiles down at you almost tenderly, so different than the way he looked when it wasn’t the two of you. One of his hands strokes the curve of your hip to bring your leg up to wrap around his waist the other brushes your wild tangles from your face, tracing the dips and curves of your cheek and jaw with a fingertip as if he wishes to commit each one to memory. He touches you with a reverence that you’d never imagine possible, a gentleness that is so different than Soldier Boy that it takes your breath away, like you’re a marble statue and he wishes to understand your beauty.

You move both of your hands to cup his cheeks feeling the wonderful scratch of stubble against the smooth skin, smile still firmly in place. And you finally say the three words that have haunted you since you were children. “I love you.”

Ben blinks. “What?”

“I love you Ben.” Your heart thuds madly in your chest remembering the past 24 hours when he made you feel special and loved, just how you’d imagined it so many times.

You didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop smiling, ever be able to stop feeling so warm as if you were catching fire.

Ben doesn’t move, his muscles tensing.

“Ben?” You’re still smiling, hoping that he’ll say it back, expecting that. Because how could he not? How could he not and be so caring and attentive? How could he make love to you like that, hold you close, take care of you after, dance with you, buy you a thoughtful gift, and take you out for your birthday each year and not love you? How could he look at you like you were the only person in the world and not feel the same way?

“I-“ He looks at you earnestly eyes soft in the morning light, his touch warm against your cheek, as if drinking you in. "I-" But then the softness in his green eyes is gone replaced by a familiar hardness that makes the warm feeling evaporate in your chest. Ben glances at the alarm clock on your bedside table. “Fuck is that the time?”

“What?” You ask confused by the change.

“I have a meeting with Legend.” He rolls off of you, pulling his face from your hands, and out of bed making it buck and shudder, not embarrassed by his nakedness. It was like he suddenly needed to be as far away from you as possible, and it was like someone dropped a bucket of ice water over your head.

You sit up, clutching the blankets to your chest in confusion. He moves around the room trying to find his clothes where you practically ripped them off his body last night.

“You do? I thought you just had the premiere tonight?”

Ben never scheduled things the same day as a premiere. He liked to spend the early part of the day drinking and imbibing in whatever he wanted so he didn’t have to be sober when he got there. He didn’t like to deal with the reporters, fans, and other people sober. Honestly, you didn't either, but you'd rather acquire a buzz while you were there, rather than before.

But today was different. You were hoping that this time it meant you and Ben would spend the next hours together enjoying one another before you had to go, spending as much time together in bed as possible. Hoping that at the premiere maybe you could announce your relationship, not that the press deserved that, but after all these years you wanted people to know that Ben was yours and you believed that he would be happy to say that you were his. Especially given what he had said before taking you to bed.

“No. I’ve got to talk to him about some shit for that thing in Nicaragua. That fucker Stan is gonna be there-“ Ben walks around the room picking up articles of clothing and refusing to make eye contact with you.

“Are you sure? I thought we could go to that diner on the corner and get some breakfast.“ You try to catch his eye, but Ben turns away as if he's looking for his shoes, hard to believe given the fact that they were sitting in the opposite direction. "You really liked it last time-"

“Sorry baby I can’t.”

The nickname “baby” is like taking a bullet to the chest.  Ben never called you that, Sweetheart yes, Doll, yes, but never baby. It was reserved for the other women. The endless cycle of women that Ben bedded and then never talked to again. It was his way of putting distance between them and him and you knew that better than anyone. And the fact that he called you that made uncertainty pulse in the back of your throat. You try to shake it off and try again.

“Oh well. You’re still picking me up for the premiere right? We always go together-“

“I’m not sure how long the meeting will run so I’ll see you there.” He won’t meet your eye as he pulls up his pants, the harsh sound of his zipper like a slap in the face.

“But Ben-“ Your start to say, your heart sinking.

“I gotta fucking go.” Ben snaps.

“Oh, Okay.”

He looks in your general direction one more time, not quite meeting your eyes, and not apologizing, but then he turns and leaves the room, not even taking the time to put on his shirt or his shoes.

What just happened?

When you finally force yourself to get out of bed to go to the bathroom, you see your reflection in the mirror, hair a tangled mass, lips bright red and swollen from Ben, and the prominent mark he left behind in the shadow of your jaw that marked you as his.

As you stand there examining your reflection, the pain of his rejection hits you all over again, causing you to crumble against the counter, hands tightening so hand in the marble vanity that it comes apart in your hands.

You weren't sure if it was a rejection, rather it was the abruptness of how he left that scared you. How easily he slipped back into the façade of Soldier Boy after spending the entire night with you and making you believe that every moment was special.

The memory of last night sends a wave of warmth through your body, goosebumps prickling against your skin. But this time a cold shock of the way he left strikes your heart.

Maybe he really did have a meeting. But then why did he have to leave immediately after I told him that I loved him?

The memory of how happy you were in that moment makes you cry harder, when you told him the one thing you'd longed to for so long, while he looked at you with so much love that it made you feel more happy than you ever had.

You knew that Ben had a difficult time expressing that and feelings in general, but the way he acted last night at dinner and after when he made love to you, spoke greater than that. He had to love you, had to care about you.

Didn't he?

"Indigo over here!"

"Indigo who are you with tonight?"

"Indigo what do you have to say about the rumors of you and Noir being in a relationship?"

The questions are coupled with flashes of brilliant light as you wave and force a wide smile on the red carpet. Tonight Legend had insisted that you wear the new supe suit he had designed for you, the one that didn't require a hood and the only thing that hid your identity was a black eye mask that looked suspiciously like the red one Countess wore.

But you weren't focused on that, or the reporters, all you could think of was Ben.

He hadn't called and hadn't answered any of the three phone calls that you placed to his apartment at the time you guessed he would be home getting ready. You even left messages, but he still never called.

Each minute you stayed away from him you could feel the crack in your heart growing wider and wider. You still didn't understand why he did that, why he left as soon as you said the words you wished to for so long.

You had felt like a weight had lifted from your chest when you said them, wanted to live in the warmth that followed as you gazed up at the man you loved finally able to let him know how you felt.

And then he'd run away.

You'd spent the rest of the time before the premiere trying to convince yourself that it was a coincidence, that maybe he really did have a meeting with Stan and Legend about Nicaragua. But you wondered why you weren't told about it.

Stan had been making such a big deal about it, about what it meant to finally have supes help in the military. Not to mention Stan usually liked having you at those kind of meetings, because you were able to keep Ben calm.

So then that begged the questions: Why did Ben lie? Why did he run away?

As you weave your way through the crowded lobby of the movie theater you spot Ben up ahead, his back was to you, but then you freeze halfway to him. His muscular arm is wrapped around Countess's waist, pulling her into his side so tightly that her free hand is resting on the front of his supe suit in the middle of his chest where you had pressed a kiss to hours ago. He leans down to whisper into her ear and she laughs, before whispering something back that makes Ben's hand squeeze her hip.

All of a sudden you're transported back to your 16th birthday, when Ben showed up with Missy Callahan, who flaunted him right under your nose. But this is worse.

It's worse because you can't think of anything else but last night, when Ben kissed you, held you close, made you feel more loved and appreciated than you ever had. When he made every moment you spent together feel special, when he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

Tears build behind your eyes as you stand there staring at them, all the other patrons passing by in shades of multicolored dresses and suits, with the sound of Countess's laughter echoing in your ears.

When Ben and Countess walk towards the theater you follow, hoping to catch his eye, wishing that he would look at you. They choose their seats in the front row, Countess sitting down on Ben's left, and just as you try to sit on Ben's right, Gunpowder slides into the seat on Ben's right, your usual seat.

"I was actually going to sit there." You say, and this time Ben looks away from Countess to see you for the first time. You wait to see some kind of recognition in his eyes, see some semblance of the man you woke up with in your bed, but you see none of the warmth he had earlier.

He looks indifferent, and the frustration and anger makes tears burn behind your eyes, but you keep them down.

"Sorry Indigo. The director told me to sit here because I'm in the movie." Gunpowder shrugs, but he doesn't quite meet your eyes.

Each time this had happened in the past Ben would shove either Gunpowder or Countess out of the seat so you could sit next to him, even though he hated that you usually mocked whatever movie it was endlessly. But this time Ben does nothing, only sits there.

How can he do this? How can he act like nothing happened between us? How-

The next thought is lost in another wave of emotion that crashes over your head, but you refuse to cry in front of Countess, who is the only one really looking at you. Ben's eyes are on you, but they're cold, unyielding, nothing like the soft clover they were last night when he took you to bed and made you feel special.

"Ben can we talk?" You ask.

"I don't want to miss the premiere." He replies, taking a swig from the glass full of scotch in the cupholder between him and Gunpowder.

"I think this is more important-" You begin to say.

"You should find a seat. The movie is starting." Countess interrupts with a smirk, running her hand up Ben's muscular arm where it lays on the arm between their chairs. You watch the drag of her hand and you feel like the sixteen year old girl in the monstrosity of tulle watching the boy you loved dance with another girl, who made you feel ugly and fat.

You hadn't felt like that girl in a long time, especially not in the last 24 hours when Ben made you feel beautiful and sexy in the best way. The memories of the time you spent together flash through your mind. When each time he moaned your name made you proud to know that you could do that to him, that you could cause him to fall apart, that you could leave your mark on him, make him be lost in you the way that you were lost in his every caress.

Ben doesn't say anything as the commercials begin to play behind you on the large screen, only sits there allowing Countess to touch him.

"Um- yeah. I guess I should." You whisper, swallowing the ball of emotion before shuffling away to find a seat. It's several rows back, in the aisle away from them, next to someone who smells like they've bathed in whiskey.

And damn it all it does is remind you of Ben. Your eyes don't leave him and Countess where they sit and each time you watch them whisper and hear her giggle you feel yourself sink lower and lower into the pit of despair.

Finally when the movie is over you try to chase after Ben, to corner him because you want to know why he's doing this, why he's acting this way, why he's finally allowing Countess to have him the way that she always tried to in the past. The exact thing that he and you mocked her for late at night when the two of you were talking at your apartment. Ben hated her almost as much as you did, or you thought he did.

But he expertly avoids you, like he knows you're following him, given his super-hearing it didn't seem that far from the truth. You follow him through the theater and into the banquet hall where the afterparty is occurring, ignoring the clinking of glasses, the soft music from the band on the stage, and the laughter coming from the people around you who are too drunk already to remember any of this.

Something you wish you were, drunk that is. You didn’t want to forget last night, you just wanted to know why Ben was acting this way. You didn't want forget the way he touched you, the way he felt, the way he made everything else melt away so that it was just the two of you, exactly what you had longed for. You wanted to understand.

Because maybe I did misjudge what last night was, but I couldn't have. The memory of this morning before he left blankets your mind in a cocoon of warmth all over again. You don't look at someone like that, hold them close like that, agree that last night was perfect if it was just sex.

The thought made you irrationally angry.

"Indigo." You hear someone say and touch your arm.

"Huh?" You turn to see Dr. Vogelbaum. He was wearing a dark blue suit, perfectly tailored, with a red tie. Very patriotic, but also surprising. He had never seemed the type to want to come to one of these premieres. "Dr. Vogelbaum, I didn't know you were here."

"I thought I'd come and see what all the fuss was about." He smiles tightly. "Would you like to dance?"

"Um-" You look over the crowds of people dancing in the center of the room. You didn't feel like dancing, you still wanted to corner Ben, drag him away to another room where you could ask him what the hell was going on. He'd never done anything like this before, never iced you out even when he was really pissed off, he'd always find you.

So why was this any different? Was he angry? Upset by what I said? Why would that upset him? You think about how happy he looked when you were laying on his chest and how he leaned into your touch. I thought he’d be happy. He was happy up until I said “I love you.” So why would that change anything?

"I don't really feel like dancing-"

"Please, oblige me. A woman as beautiful as you shouldn't be here alone." Vogelbaum smiles as he pulls you onto the dance floor, ignoring your protests.

You begin to sway back and forth to the song, but everything feels wrong. It makes you think of last night, when Ben held you close and finally kissed you for the first time while your song played. And now this entire night feels like a mistake, last night feels like a mistake, everything that's happened the past forty years feels like a mistake.

He spins you away from him, and as you turn you see Ben. You didn't realize that he was standing on the edge of the dance-floor watching you and Vogelbaum. His arm is still wrapped around Countess, who is practically attached at the hip, talking with another woman in a long blue dress in front of her. You watch his jaw tighten as he takes in Vogelbaum’s hand placement, a dark look flashing in his eyes, but just as you try to identify it, Countess drags her hand up the front of his suit, grabbing his attention, and goes on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear.

How could I have been so stupid?  You think to yourself watching him drop his gaze to her and smile. The thought makes tears burn against your eyes. You couldn't understand, couldn't understand why he was doing this, ignoring you and getting friendly with Countess. And you couldn't understand how he could shift from hot to cold so suddenly, how he could act like you were the only person he saw to not even looking at you, refusing to speak to you, acting cold and indifferent. Ben had never once done that to you, had never once acted that way, even when he was mad.

Vogelbaum pulls you back into his chest, but the way his body feels against yours is wrong. "He's quite the flirt isn't he?"

"Huh?" You look up from his tie.

"Soldier Boy." He's watching them over your head, but you don't want to look at them anymore, you don't want to watch Ben with Countess and feel ugly, feel like you weren't enough, feel like the girl who only had one friend and a mother she could never please.

"Yeah." You mutter.

"Legend mentioned that you were thinking about retiring." He continues oblivious to your current state.

The mention of your plan to leave makes you remember it. You hadn't thought about it since Ben picked you up for dinner the night before, when you had been drinking and finally decided to leave, to walk away from everything and do something for yourself.

And now you wished you had. You wished that you had slammed the door in Ben's face when he came to get you last night, wished that you had told him that you were leaving, and wished that you had been strong enough to say no to him. The memories of last night come back to you, how it felt to kiss him for the first time, how happy you were because you believed he loved you as much as you loved him, how he cared about your first time being special-

The tears are so close to falling now that your jaw is  clenched together so tight that you think you hear the crunch of your teeth cracking.

"Yes. I'm retiring." You respond.

"Well, if you're looking for a change of pace I might have a job for you."

"I'm not really a scientist-"

"It wouldn't be a science job and I think you should come to the lab this week-"

"The last time I was in a lab, all this supe shit started." You snap before you stop yourself. "Forgive me for not wanting to have that happen again."

"It's not an experiment." He continues to sway the two of you back and forth. "I've been working on a project with Stan and we both thought that you could help us."

"How?"

"Well we've been focusing on the next generation of supes and what that will look like-"

"Next generation?"

"Yes. And I know someone that might benefit from meeting you. I've been working very closely with him and he needs a strong figure in his life, you have some things in common-"

"I'm not interested in being a babysitter."

"Why don't you just come by this week and meet him? I'm sure you'd hit it off-"

"I said I wasn't interested." You pull yourself from his arms. "I'm done with all of this."

"Indigo-" He reaches for your wrist.

"If you touch me again, I'm going to rip off your arm." You force a smile knowing that the cameras are still flashing, and say it low enough so that he is the only one that can hear.

Vogelbaum immediately moves back from you, putting as much space as he can and you turn back to where you saw Ben standing a few minutes ago, but he's gone.

You stand there in the middle of the dance floor for a minute, not sure what to do, so you decide to go to the bathroom to collect your thoughts. And you immediately regret your decision.

Before the door of the bathroom opens all the way you know, call it a feeling or a psychic premonition, but you do.

You wish you were wrong, but you knew Ben better than anyone, or at least you thought you did.

You can feel it in the air, hear the rapid beating of their hearts and the loud moans, smell the sour odor of sweat, but you're still not prepared for what's waiting for you. Countess's hands are braced on the white marble of the sink in front of her, Ben's hand fisted tightly in her hair, pulling her head back to where his face is buried in her throat, her own face contorted in an expression of pure ecstasy, with each snap of Ben's hips as he crushes her against the sink.

The bathroom door slams shut loudly behind you, drawing Ben's gaze to where you stand, your hands clenched tightly into fists, the skin pulled tight over your knuckles. He freezes and for a moment you think he looks sorry, but then it's gone, fading into the hardened expression he's had since you told him that you loved him.

You don't know what to feel, anger, frustration, heartbreak, and rage all form a white hot ball in the pit of your stomach. You have the sudden urge to throw up and also burn the entire building down to the ground, but you can't move, can't look away from where they stand.

"Baby why'd you stop." Countess gasps, reaching back with a hand for Ben, but he steps away from her, to zip up his pants. Countess finally looks over at where you're standing and smirks. "Oh hey y/n. I didn't know you were here."

Her face is flushed red, almost the same color of her hair as she reaches down for her pants and drags them back up her body. The proud look in her eyes makes you snap your jaw together to fight the urge to rip her in half.

“There are private rooms for that.” You keep your voice as monotone as possible, pushing down the heartbreak and the anger that burns against your skin.

“It’s much more fun when anyone can walk in. Don’t you think so Ben?” Countess reaches for Ben, but he shrugs her off.

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you taste blood, trying very hard not to lose control. You prided yourself on that, you hadn’t lost control in all your years as a supe.

Ben doesn't say anything.

“Get out.” You snap.

“I don’t think I will. We were in the middle of something-“ Countess's sultry smile widens. "Maybe you should leave so we can fini-"

Her body flies forward towards you, until her throat is clutched tightly between your right hand. “I’ve never liked you Countess. Other than a flash of light you're pretty worthless. Your powers the only thing that make you special, and I know that you need both of your hands to use them, right?" Your hand tightens on her throat and you know the next day she'll have bruises.

I should just kill her right now. Who would miss her?

She gasps for air, clawing against your hand, eyes wide. She'd never seen you lose control before, never seen you use your powers quite like this, and the fear in her eyes makes you feel better.

“So I suggest you get out. Before I rip them off and make you eat them.”  You snarl before throwing her in the direction of the door behind you. She stumbles forward a step, placing a hand against the bathroom door as she catches her breath. When she turns back to look at you, her eyes are flashing with malice, but you can still see the pride under it all.

“Well I’ll see you two later. Hopefully we can finish what we started.” Countess smirks at you, recovering as she saunters out.

It takes an amazing amount of willpower not to drag her back into the room and rip her head off.

Ben adjusts his suit, not meeting your gaze. And for a second you think he looks guilty, but it’s gone as soon as you see it. His ridiculous helmet is laying on the floor next to him, probably took it off before-

Your jaw clenches together remembering what you walked in on.

“Ben why are you doing this?”  You say, composing your voice as much as you can. You force yourself to look him in the eye, you want him to see how hurt you are.

“Doing what?” He crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

"You’re pushing me away, avoiding me, and acting like last night didn’t mean anything-"

"It didn’t.” He states. Ben's jaw is clenched tight, shoulders tense, as he begins to slip back into the façade of Soldier Boy that he adopted after you both got the serum.

Tears burn against your eyes at his sharp tone. You let out a shaky breath. "I don’t believe you. You don’t act that way, kiss me, hold my hand, make love like that and then pretend it never happened.”

“We didn’t make love, we fucked.” He snaps eyes blazing. “Don’t turn this into something that it’s not.”

 “I’m not just talking about the sex. I’m talking about dinner, the dancing, remembering my birthday, getting me pearls because you remembered I lost mine, the fact that you had them play the song we danced to when we were 18-“

“So?”

“Why are you acting like you didn’t do any of those things?”

“I’m not saying I didn’t do them. I’m saying that you’re being damn hormonal and reading into it.”

“I’m not being hormonal!” You snap. “Are you really telling me that you did all of those things just to get into my pants and that you don’t feel anything for me? That what I said to you this morning meant nothing to you? After everything we’ve been through-“

“Everything we’ve been through?” Ben spits, suddenly angry. “All I know is for the last 40 years you’ve been getting in my way. You think I care about you? I don’t care about anyone! I’m Soldier Boy. I’m America’s first fucking superhero. And I could never care about someone like you. You’re pathetic. You’re always here, fucking with my decisions, following me around like a fucking lovesick puppy, standing in my damn way with those fucking stars in your eyes, trying to remind me of who I was before and I wish you would just fuck off!”

Your own anger surges up to push away the heartbreak at his harsh words. “You say that I’m always here, but it was your idea for us to do this. You did this to me Ben. I’m here because you wanted me to be, because you needed me. And it’s you that keeps showing up at my apartment. I don’t make you come over!”

The memory of the night he asked you to come with him rises at the back of your mind. You remember how happy you were to go with him because you thought it was as close as he would get to admitting that he loved you, and you had hoped that if you went with him it meant that he wanted to be more. You were not remembering wrong, you remembered exactly what he said that night, you knew that he acted like he needed you. So why was he lying now?

“I never wanted you here.” He takes a step forward, green eyes hardening. “I don’t fucking need you or anyone else. I’m not a pussy. I’m a man.”

Your teeth clench together in anger and frustration. “I don’t believe you. You say that you know all my tells when I’m lying, but I know yours too. So just tell me the truth!”

“That is the fucking truth. Are you too stupid to understand that? I don’t care about you, I never have!”

“Then why did you kiss me?”

Ben freezes.

“I didn’t initiate that kiss, you kissed me! You were the one that started whatever the hell happened last night!”

“So?”

“You’ve heard me talk about what I want. You addressed it at the table last night. You know that I want more than one night, you know that I want love, that I was willing to leave to find those things. I was ready to walk away from all of this Ben and then you fucked with my head. Did you kiss me and do those things because you thought it would keep me here with you? Because you can’t stand the thought of being alone?”

“I wouldn’t give a single fuck if you left. If you want to go then go. I won’t miss you and I’m not stopping you.”

 “I don’t believe you and I don’t understand why you’re doing this, why you’re trying to push me away and act like you don’t care about me-" You shake your head in frustration.

Ben advances on you, grabbing your shoulders so tightly you know there will be bruises. Ben never touched you when he was angry, sure he’d stare you down, but Ben never did anything to harm you. It’s why you were never afraid of him, because Ben didn't want to hurt you. Even this morning you remember how worried he'd looked when you said you were sore, when he thought that it mean he hurt you. Ben cared about you. You knew he did.

But for him to do this was shocking and you can’t fight the shudder of fear that creeps along your spine.

“You mean nothing to me.” He growls. “You’re just another woman with a warm pussy. That’s all you are. I fucked you because you needed someone to and I thought it might as well be me. I don’t care about you. I never did. And I could never love some one like you. So get the fuck out of my way.” Ben pushes you from him so harshly that you fall back against the wall.

The memory of what your mother shouted at you the night you told her you were going with Ben settles over your mind.

“You really think that disappointment will ever love you? Care about you? You are nothing to him, just another plaything. And the day he finally tosses you away, don’t bother coming back here.”

Your mother's words were harsh, cut to the quick. You hated to admit it, but she was right. You understood that now, understood that the last forty years and all the years of your friendship had been a lie.

Ben didn't care about you, probably never did, he just saw you as a tool for his own amusement, and his harsh words were enough to make you realize that the boy you knew was gone and enough to jolt you into the new harsh reality.

Your hand flicks and Ben's body flies into the concrete wall on the other side of the bathroom hard enough to crack the solid cement. You find your feet, rising to your full height, hands glowing bright purple. The entire room trembles with the force of your anger, the mirrors shatter on the bathroom wall, raining down glass and metal onto where Ben sits stunned on the tile that has begun to crack and split with your display of power.

“That night you came to me I chose you. I chose you, Ben. I left everything behind for you because you asked me to. And I regret it. I regret every moment I have wasted caring about you and taking care of you. I have made excuses for you my entire life. To my family, to society, to your damn team, and to myself. I have stood by you through all of this and I never complained because you were my friend. I was here before and after you decided to take the serum, when your father broke you, when your mother died, when you needed someone to sit with you because you couldn’t take the silence alone, but not anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t be the voice of reason or your fucking babysitter and I can’t be your damn conscience. I shouldn’t have to. You are a man after all, so do it yourself.” The tears are falling freely now, searing against your skin as they trickle down your cheeks. “I tried to cut you some slack because you were my friend Ben, and I loved you.” Your voice breaks when you use the past tense. “But maybe that’s my fault, I romanticized you. I shouldn’t have but I did. I ignored so many things because I loved you but now, I’m fucking done.” You reach up to grab the pearl necklace around your throat, the one that you thought was ridiculous to wear with the supe suit, but the one you kept on because you wanted to remember last night and rip it off, sending the pearls rolling in every direction.

Because now you just wanted to forget it all, forget your friendship, forget the years you spent together, forget all the nights he spent in your bed, forget last night, and forget him.

Ben stands from the ground, brushing off his supe suit and for a second you think he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t.

“I can’t do this with you anymore. I can’t stand by and watch you do this to yourself, embrace whatever the fuck kind of person you are now. I won’t. I never want to see you ever again. And the next time you touch me, I’ll kill you.” You turn to go, but then you stop short of the door. “You once told me that you never wanted to be your father, you wanted to be better than him. Funny. After all this time you still became him.”  You spit.

You throw open the door and storm out as the mindless drone of people talking, glasses clinking, and buzz of music settle over your ears. But you don’t hear it, all you hear is the harsh words of the only man you’d ever loved and the feeling of your heart breaking in your chest.

A/N: Well this one was very sad and I hate myself for putting the reader through this. Let me know what y'all think :)

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[starberry-cupcake]

no preamble because this one's gonna be long

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag with all of them

CHAPTER 22 (BROKEN NINTHS SKULL, BABY!!!)

camilla is instructing nona on all the things harrowcita nonagesimus wouldn't do

which is a lot of things

there's also a makeover montage, still including indications of all the things to do and not do as harrowcita nonagesimus

they have to dye nona's eyes, in a way that sounds painful at best, to hide their color

which also implies that nona has to act like she's harrow AND blind

we suffer tells camilla that they didn't tell them blindness could be a recourse from varun's effect and camilla says it's only theoretical

nona, at hearing this, thinks she can remember something, but is not sure what

not decided on whether this is a point for the ice cube barbie theory or not

nona is also pretty attracted to tsundere pash

looking at tsundere pash is making her giggle, which is bad for the harrow impression

camolive are switching back and forth to communicate via letter and palmolive gives nona instructions to be more into the nonagesimus vibes

this is kind of the issue we've got going on

camilla also has to take a minute to catch her breath in a corner after all the switching

nona has to get dinner so, after forcing herself to eat some real human fodd, she goes to chew on an eraser

nona would have eaten these like cereal

camilla suggests nona to pretend that she's got the "blue madness" and act like judith if she is asked something difficult

act like judith now, not act like judith would regularly, which would be to call the second and rat people out

I still like you, judith, you wet pathetic mouse

nona is very turned on by tsundere pash handling a knife

tsundere pash is ordered to guard angel teacher because she's the only one left who can, even if she's probably in trouble for all that happened in school

tsundere pash says that angel teacher "shouldn't be near th—" and gets interrupted

we suffer asks camolive if they're certain a simple touch will be enough, to which camolive say yes

I thought this was about gideon but I'm not so sure now

they all get in tsundere pash's uber and angel teacher is also there

nona looks at all the people on the street doing their daily people things and I really like that, because we're reminded again how nona's perspective is always on the people around her

how observant she is of everyone and how she sees everyone, even in moments in which she's in the midst of the most determining thing that will happen in that planet

she's looking at people righting their bins and walking around and it's like

people are always people, even when situations are dire, and there's always going to be humanity, even in the midst of chaos

and nona takes some time to see that, and I think that's wonderful

ANYWAY

angel teacher asks camilla if it really will be so simple, to which camilla says "yes" but idk about that

simple doesn't tend to be the way with lyctors

camilla says their chances are 50/50, with her dying in the bad ending

WHICH I DON'T WANT

and then, camilla proceeds to arm herself

it's all incredibly cool

I love her

she feels relieved when she's armed with all her knives and weapons

me too, babe, give 'em hell

tsundere pash starts being tsundere with camilla and her weapons

she starts telling her things like "die quick, die cold, bring 'em with you" and "I pulled a trigger next to you, that doesn't mean nothing. But it doesn't change who you are."

TSUNDERE PASH STOP FLIRTING WITH CAMILLA WITH YOUR TSUNDERE WAYS

YOU DON'T DESERVE HER

when they get to the building, they are let in without any of the preamble they had gone through with coronabeer

they enter the building, that is filled with rubbish and smells, like someone wants to get rid of stench but can't

and then they reach a scene that's like some jabba the hut situation, with yandere chad, coronabeer and pyrrha

(is pyrrha kinda boba fett coded or is it just me?)

nona takes some time to describe how beautiful coronabeer looks

to continue with the star wars references, yandere chad's got some uniformed corpses standing around like the stormtroopers at the entrance to rise of the resistance

nona (and the audience) is reassured by pyrrha moving in a very pyrrha manner, which means the quadruple crossing allegations are true and she's still on our side

this is some mechamaru level scheming

yandere chad goes "You're nearly a minute late, Harry"

and I'm like

CHAPTER 23 (SIXTH HOUSE SKULL, BABY!!!!!!)

yandere twin is mad and trying to discredit that harrowcita can be in the planet with her own body, while she has to use chad like a power wheels car

she's also mad that coronabeer didn't mention that harrowcita was allegedly blind

she's also having trouble handling two nervous systems at once

yandere twin is also surprised that camilla is allowed to wear gideon's glasses

she's constantly trying to get a rise out of camilla, but camilla doesn't give a fuck

"Who cares what I think? I'm only a Lyctor, a sacred fist and gesture holding the power of life and death, having ascended to the state your pompous moralising blowhard of a necromancer disdained"

nona is giving just "no" answers, and yandere chad is disappointed because she was expecting harrowcita to come in there demanding gideon's body

not like that, you naughties

yandere chad asks nona (as harrow) if she's changed gideon for camilla, who she considers an upgrade, because of the lack of ass jokes

camilla is an upgrade of anything anytime at any occasion

yandere chad says she doesn't care about the sixth house

(and the sixth house doesn't care about you, bitch)

but she wants to take it back to dr reverend emperor john, who does care very much

camolive don't want to tell yandere chad how they managed to get the sixth house across and yandere chad says she'll ask the oversight body, since she doesn't "need all of them"

I'm getting S I C K and T I R E D of people playing 3d chess with the sixth house

yandere chad wants to make dr reverend emperor john use more military brutality

of course she does

camilla is smiling at the whole thing, though, which yandere chad gets mad about

she tells yandere chad that cassiopeia left the sixth instructions to leave a long time ago

"If he hears that yet another of his duplicitous sluts betrayed him, he's never going to come back from it."

coronabeer is trying to convince yandere twin to run with her and leave everyone alone

they have a way of talking to each other that I'm gonna pretend isn't making me uncomfy at times

yandere chad says they're closer to their goal than ever, so she can't

yandere chad makes it clear that "people" are the last thing on her list of priorities

yandere chad asks pyrrha where the few necros who are alive are and they talk about their lack of training

but then yandere chad gets tired of going around in conversations and plain and simply asks nona (who she thinks is harrow) how tf is she alive and why she's there

nona remembers she's supposed to play judith and starts freaking out and crying "help"

at that, everything kind of goes to hell

lights go out, yandere chad drops nona and staggers back, pyrrha is down on her hands and knees, coronabeer is standing, flanked by dead people, zombies (actual zombies, not metaphoric ones) are falling around

yandere chad goes

nona thinks she's fucked up

yandere chad says she's going to leave with her tied and gagged and "not as a sex thing"

not again with the lyctor orgies

so, pyrrha announces that everyone with a necromantic body is down and yandere chad decides to pack their bags and go without the sixth, especially because she doesn't want dr reverend emperor john to find out about cassiopeia spilling beans

and clarifies that she never cared about the people in the planet

yandere twin also holds a grudge because camilla didn't save her arm

yandere chad decides to kill camilla and coronabeer doesn't like that

I DON'T EITHER

yandere chad says she's already saving judith, so she only gets to keep one

camilla, though

camilla brings back the RECEIPTS

remember back in canaan house when everyone was acting like they were better than camilla, so she had to go kick martita's ass in front of everyone and then yandere twin was like "we can challenge you"?

well, camilla is like "we never said no so, you owe us"

she says that if she loses, she dies but, if she wins, she gets to walk

without nona (posing as harrow)

she says she wants to die on her feet

I'm a little nervous ngl, but also, I LOVE HER AND I KNOW SHE'LL KICK ASS SOMEHOW

yandere chad doesn't want to accept because it's all too "storybook-like"

so coronabeer decides to be very dramatic and put a gun on her throat

then they do the most sisterly thing they've ever done in this whole series

"Stop being so fucking dramatic—" "Staaahp being so fucking dramahhhtic"

they argue until yandere chad accepts to fight camilla

coronabeer calls her "my necromancer" which is a lot and I'm not gonna touch it

coronabeer sets a rule for no active necromancy

yandere twin calls camilla a "pea brain" and gives her the advantage of winning if she takes her handkerchief off her

camilla asks if she can keep the handkerchief if she does

I'm out there throwing my handkerchief on the ground for camilla to pick up like lydia bennet

nona is having liquid coming out of her orifices and her head is throbbing and is worried her eye dye must be ruined

nona can't catch a break

coronabeer dictates the rules of combat and the fight begins

camilla blocks all of yandere chad's attacks at first

soon after, though, she is nearly hit and nona gets worried

I'm concerned but also hopeful because I trust her with my life

camilla is moving fast and handling her knives back and forth and flipping them around

she gets behind yandere chad, in a position in which she can't get to camilla so she can stab her

but yandere chad attacks her anyway and ends up stabbing camilla, who holds her wrist, then hand, then sword

camilla, however, says "match to the sixth"

to which yandere chad replies "what?" before falling backwards

MATCH TO THE SIXTH, BITCH

BUT PLEASE GET MY WIFE A NECROMANCER DOCTOR PLEASE AND THANK YOU

CHAPTER 24 (GIDEON SKULL, BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I should have stopped at the previous chapter but the gideon skull and the uncertain state of my beloved made me continue

once yandere chad is out, all the dead stormtroopers fall, some on top of poor nona, who still can't catch a break

coronabeer runs to camilla and she responds that she's not going anywhere

thank whatever god that isn't the one in these books

yandere chad then springs back to life and is glad to see camilla alive, to which pyrrha says "You fucking legend"

because yandere chad isn't yandere twin or chad anymore, it's palmolive

if you had told me in book one that palmolive was eventually going to be inside chad's body, this is not exactly what I would have thought

camilla wants them to take out the sword from her body, she says she'll be fine

peer reviews are mixed on that

they do it anyway and coronabeer goes to fetch a med kid

something that should have been done before the sword extraction imo, but I'm not a doctor

"I gambled and you covered my bet. You kept the faith, and were the instrument of both my vengance and my grace. And now I have fought through time, and the River, and Ianthe the First —fought and bested Ianthe the First, and I hope I never fight her ever again...Will you not look at me now, Cam, and know me?"

"Yes, Warden, I will always know you."

QUEERPLATONIC RELATIONSHIP GOALS

pyrrha asks palmolive to use his vulcan necro powers to sense where gideon's body is stashed

palmolive literally gives the info like this

pyrrha is like "palm, bud, this is the best intel I've ever gotten of anything ever"

pyrrha has spent eternity doing group projects with the same asshats and finally is paired up with someone who pulls his weight

palmolive assures them that yandere twin is still alive somewhere in there and that, even if it was mere seconds to them, he spent a long time fighting with her for the dominance of chad's body

gideon would make a comment about that

coronabeer is grateful to palmolive for not killing her sister

but nona thinks she's grateful in a way that reminds her of noodle the dog, which is another thing to add to the weirdness of the third

I mean, if you think about it, it's a design problem, the way to become a lyctor was clearly meant for the truly unhinged, so what else can we expect from this casting process dr reverend emperor john was doing

pyrrha and nona go on gideon duty and pyrrha asks nona how she's doing

she's hanging in there, barely, like the rest of us

nona decides to also break the news to pyrrha that she's dying

and pyrrha says she's not gonna die on her watch

they're all making a lot of promises on things they have no idea about

yandere twin has left some wards in a sus door with instructions that go "Don't go through here. I mean it, idiot. You will disintegrate."

reminds me of canaan house

pyrrha says that they're gonna have to use nona to go through, because she has the best regenerative powers this side of the river

she says gideon is the key to the door that's been closed for ten thousand years, the last thing left from a woman she tried to trick into loving her and might be nona

in this moment, I don't think she's nona, there's a lot of book left still

straightforward isn't the way we do it here in tlt

pyrrha helps nona start putting her arm through the ward and then we're immediately in body horror territory

nona is able to pull through, though

claps for nona

pyrrha clips her nails with a pocketknife and she's good to go

she stays behind to clean the ward while nona goes inside to find gideon's body

nona isn't very impressed with gideon's body and she mentions her having redder hair than pyrrha

I was told by someone that pyrrha had red hair and I had never in this whole time caught that fact

sometimes you miss a detail and then it hits you in the face

nona thinks it'd be a downgrade to go from harrow's body to gideon's

which, RUDE

she's ok with the golden eyes, which are like hers

that's another important thing to note

so, after ripping gideon's appearance to shreds, nona decides to kiss her

to which, gideon reacts with shock and disbelief (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

and nona says "You looked like you wanted to be kissed, that's all."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

pyrrha comes back and gideon is again very dead

nona asks pyrrha about commander wake, to which pyrrha says that her and og!gideon punched her through an airlock but she was ready to commit

nona observes that pyrrha looks at gideon like she wants to protect her and own her

and she tells her that she kissed her and woke her up, but gideon doesn't seem to be moving anymore

pyrrha is thankful that nona isn't a puddle on the ground after that

she says it's good that yandere twin couldn't transfer but that she's too dangerous to be running around with lyctor powers

nona also thinks that gideon's clothes are very nice but don't look good on her, which I agree

not butch enough

nona is still a little wobbly but they manage to go back with gideon's body into the jabba the hut dais yandere chad had going on

halfway there, they find coronabeer and pyrrha says that gideon might be a copy and not the real one, because she can't think of why dr reverend emperor john would let her body go around like that

also, the shuttle, according to palmolive, is fucked

AND judith is starting to feel bad and palmolive can't use chad's body to do necromancy the way yandere twin could

coronabeer has to give nona a piggyback ride to the jabba dais

when they get there, the most important news: CAMILLA IS FINE

SHE'S FINE PEOPLE, SHE'S OK, SHE LIVES

coronabeer doesn't think gideon is a copy because yandere twin wasn't acting like she was

palmolive checks her wounds and they are consistent with gideon's

he also can't do necro stuff, not even minor, because of dr reverend emperor john's powers over gideon's body

coronabeer mentions that, while gideon's body was with BOE, they dropped her from places and tried to drown her and other stuff and it never looked more than minutes dead

coronabeer is also reassuring her gf judith who's having a hard time

camilla offers her blood and palmolive says he'd slap her if he didn't find the idea of chad slapping her to be super awful

which, fair

palmolive thinks the way to go is to look for the sixth first because his mom might know how to figure out the suttle situation

palmolive has a whole to do list, actually

I'm already tired and we haven't even started

they decide to take some of gideon's blood to see if it survives outside her body

BUT GIDEON WAKES UP

SHE WAKES UPPPPP

"If that's how you get a lady's pants off, holy shit, no wonder I stole your girl" "Unlike some of us, I've never much seen the allure of an evil cougar"

WE'RE SO BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CHAPTER 25 (BROKEN GIDEON SKULL, BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

"You're the one who bragged about spading my mom."

I missed her so much

(I think gideon would like wynnona earp)

pyrrha doesn't understand how dr reverend emperor john got gideon back if harrow hadn't been able to manage full fusion

gideon says she's a lot of titles (more than yandere twin) and also "mega dead"

she calls nona "fake nonagesimus" and asks, with very little tact, how palmolive is there if he exploded

nona is like "I TOLD YOU SHE WAS AWAKE"

(awake, pun intended)

gideon is not having it with nona and goes "Who is this literal infant?"

gideon, that's a great question

my money right now is on somewhere around amnesiac ice cube barbie with maybe something else going on

nona and gideon are NOT getting along

gideon used to be good with kids but I don't think she appreciates an unknown kid occupying her situationship's body

turns out, gideon hitched a ride with yandere twin because she was bored

she also gives a very cryptic comment about the current state of the river

and says she wants to go with them to the ninth

palmolive asks gideon if she shouldn't be trying to stop them and gideon goes "you wanna fight me?"

palmolive also tells her he considers her a friend, which makes nona angry because she doesn't think gideon deserves it

nona, you missed two books of context, my child

gideon gives excuses that sound very vague and nona clocks that she's lying

which makes gideon very upset and camilla upset at gideon

gideon says she just wants to go to the ninth and people should mind their own business

(translation: "who cares what I do? who cares what I say?", iconic lyrics from an iconic song by alaska y dinarama)

my theory is that maybe harrow is in the tomb? or something? because that's where she was in book two? maybe she wants to find her? maybe the tomb was already opened though not physically? idk, man

DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING PLEASE I BEG YOU

camilla staggers at one point and gideon catches her before remembering she's acting all stoic and indifferent

I see you, gideon

nona sees you too

also, gideon's skin is now impenetrable because dr reverend emperor john turned her into more of an xmen than she already was

she tells pyrrha that the wounds he didn't fix are her "speed holes to go fast" and I'm here like "I've missed this idiot"

she also tells camilla that she's gonna end up like her if she keeps fucking around, which is yet another moment of not being able to pretend she doesn't care about her friends

she explains also that her blood outside of her body turns to ash and gives some necromancy jargon I didn't think gideon would ever learn

nona says that she's never seen anyone so sad in her whole life

:'( poor gideon

hugs to gideon, group hug

AND THAT'S IT!!! SO SORRY IT WAS SO LONG!!! I actually ran out of space for pics and had to delete some T_T I'm falling asleep as I go, so I hope this isn't the messiest recap ever. I'll try to make the next one shorter??? maybe??? it's difficult!!!

[cdnonymous]

Hi again @muletia! Maybe you didn’t.. see my first part of this but it’s fine really you probably didn’t see it… or maybe you don’t care… ANYWAY HERE’S PArt 2 of Silence is Stronger than Words!

Part 1

- 💿 anon ^v^

~1500 words

•—•—•—•—•—•

Silence is Stronger than Words

Yesterday… The merman I gloriously call Megatron… laid his helm on my lap… for the entire afternoon. Heck he even let me carefully stroke his buckhead.. and he had the audacity to growl at me when I stopped. My legs are sore for obvious reasons, my arms are tired, and it’s now nighttime, yes you heard me correctly, it’s. Fucking. Nighttime.

At least he’s sleeping right now, or that’s what he wants me to think, because as soon as I stop stroking he opens his scarlet eyes and glares at me, as if silently ordering me to continue. If I don’t want to become fish food… I’d better continue “comforting” him right? Even if my eyelids are as heavy as at least 20 anvils, even if I feel like my legs are only mere phantoms now from how ungodly long his heavy ass laid on me for… I need to stay with him, I don’t really have any choice anyway.

At least there are a few.. good sides, if I dare say, from being stuck with him. For example, I learned that mermen can purr… like cats, and it’s comforting despite everything. His “purrs” are more like the rumble of a car’s engine, humming satisfyingly in the dead of a rural night… and damn it’s hard to stay awake with this soothing sound going nonstop through your whole tiny body. I also learned that they like to be petted, well at least he likes it… when he’s in the mood for them obviously.

A small shift in his position made me come out of my boredom’s thoughts, he changed his grip on my shoulders, making it less strict, but still firm. I sighed, still lazily stroking his silver-scaled helm, I looked up at the stars, which were visible from my perspective. They reminded me of why I bought the cabin in the first place; because I wanted to relax, to be myself, to not be judged by anybody. I wanted to stay calm in the weird solace that solitude generously gave me each time she accompanied me.

After thinking about it, meeting that merman, no… Megatron was maybe something that was meant to happen. This cabin hadn’t been bought for years, it was on the market for almost 5 years when I first stumbled upon it. Which means that Megatron was probably alone as well, from what I observed he was completely alone in this lagoon, the only one of his species inside the Shy Lake. He probably yearned for company, which may be the reason why I was stuck under his helm for so long. Maybe he needs someone that cares about him, or someone who he can care for?

Someone to love?

Why was I thinking about love? He’s a merman, would we even be compatible? Besides I’m just making assumptions, maybe he is just clingy on the inside, cold on the outside? Maybe I’m overthinking things again. This was supposed to be a vacation—

My train of noisy thoughts was abruptly interrupted by another, almost annoyed grumble coming from Megatron’s sharp maw. I continued to gently stroke his helm again, but he stopped me, pinning my hand to the rock we were both lying on at this point. I didn’t even have the time to say “what now?” To him before his head was back closer to my own face, shutting my own mouth pretty quickly. His crimson irises pierced through me like arrows, despite this I almost saw a hint of… worry?

Why would he worry about me? I’m nothing to him, just a mere fleshy woman who can’t even dare look back at him, maybe even a snack for later if I let my pessimistic mind wander far enough. He’s a titan compared to my toothpick build, his fangs alone could rip my throat off, his strength could tear me in as many pieces as he wants… but he’s not doing anything of this sort. In fact he has the same expression from before he pinned me to this back crushing rock; he’s conflicted… or he might again be feigning it like last time.

That’s when I see them for real this time, his teeth, his full rows of limb-ripping fangs. Is he.. smirking? No, is it my sleep deprivation? It must be.. what is he trying to do? Is he actually going to eat me? I thought I was being pessimistic earlier. I didn't mean it! My eyes widened slightly as he showed them to me, his biting power probably more powerful than a piranha’s.

And me reacting to this was probably the worst mistake I've ever made.

He leans closer to me, his hands keeping me from squirming too much, I have to admit it; I’m scared now. I want to get the hell out of here, but even if I tried, or even if he wasn’t restraining me, I’d probably be frozen in place. Like a stupid deer in headlights, I’d be stuck and die as a coward, awaiting my fate with hesitant open arms. I look terrified, and I don’t want to think that he likes it, not wanting to jinx it again. I silently but shakily breathe, I’m not the type to tremble when afraid, in fact it’s quite the opposite, I’m frozen like an ice block.

A low, barely reassuring purr is heard from Megatron as he’s now dangerously close to my left shoulder. I didn’t even want to look at him anymore, and by reflex my eyes shut by themselves, letting me meet my fate in darkness. I didn’t faint, I’m a coward but my heart is strong enough to bear it anyway, instead I looked away while pressing my eyes closed. I waited, despite not fearing death, I didn’t really want to meet it that way… but I didn’t have a choice anyway now did I?

Then… I felt it… I felt his teeth on my skin, but they weren’t piercing it, ripping it apart like in the gruesome way I anticipated it, they were… marking it. They were pressuring on my skin just enough for me to not be hurt, but just enough to be carved in my shoulder. I gasped audibly when he “bit” me, maybe I was overreacting a bit, but still… I thought I was going to die here. He didn’t even flinch when I gasped, in fact he didn’t even seem to notice or care in the first place, until I felt his fangs slowly moving away from my shoulder… and he pulled away, abruptly letting go of his grip on my arms.

I immediately sat upright, breathing heavily, the adrenaline still very present and flowing rapidly in my veins. My right hand on my chest, trying to calm my heart down, my other hand keeping me from falling from the rock as my legs were still numb. I breathed in and out, trying to regain a decent composure, which was surprisingly fast. My curiosity got the better of me and my right hand went from my chest to my left shoulder, where Megatron bit me. I wanted to know if he actually left a deep mark, if it would take a while before it healed. There was no blood, just red dots for every single one of the teeth that touched me.

I looked at him, shook by all of this, not knowing what to say, but I doubt that “saying” anything would do much right now. He stared back at me with smugness, a pure “haha look what I did to you~” expression, he seemed proud, proud that he bit me, as if it was an accomplishment. As if giving me a “love bite” or something was completely normal despite the fact that I’m human and he’s not? As I was now the one being conflicted, he returned into the water as if nothing happened, and conveniently enough, my legs got their nerves back. I got onto both my legs, picked up my sketchbook and pencil… then I stopped.

Why did I stop? I don’t know, I just did… and I looked back, Megatron was still in the water, only his upper bust was visible again, his ruby eyes reflecting on the lagoon’s wavy surface. I could see his smirk from where I was despite the darkness.

— I’ll… I’ll come back tomorrow… I finally mustered after my throat was so dry from all the heavy breathing I recently had to do.

He stayed silent of course, and I simply walked back to my cabin, the darkness surrounding me felt right, even if I felt his stare on my back. I sighed as I heard the familiar creaks of the porch under my feet, I opened my door, closed it behind me, and did everything I usually did before going to bed. Except this time, except for thinking about my plan for tomorrow…

I remembered that axolotls bite their mates when courting… and now I can’t help but feel my face become hotter…

Don’t ask why… because I won’t answer… I prefer demonstrations over explanations.

•—•—•—•—•—•

OMG IT’S 11 PM I’M GOING TO WORK TOMORROW- anyway I hope my sleep deprived ass fed you well ^v^

I’ll make part 3 if @muletia notices