#tell me new information or at least frame old information in a new way

[stackthedeck]

y'all gotta stop opening your fanfics with descriptions of the weather

[finniestoncrane]

Virginal vault dweller reader you say?? I'd eat that up (and so would Cooper, heh) but seriously I would read the hell out of that if you're up for it <3

Different Up Here

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 6.3k anon thank you lmao i had already started drafting this, so vault dweller reader isn't quite a virgin but they are definitely inexperienced and have never known pleasure like the kind that cooper can offer 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: power imbalance, dubious consent because once you've said yes to cooper you can't change your mind, overstimulation, crying, oral sex, fingering, instructional, full penetration babiessss i realised i never tag that shit but yeah it's in here lmao, cumming inside, no protection, sweet coop afterwards but only briefly

If anyone else had asked you in that moment how you were, you couldn't have answered accurately without any hint of sarcasm and irritation. You were being worn down, like buildings by the sands of the desert. Each little molecule of your optimism being torn away from you, painful like plucking a hair. But when Cooper asked you, you tried your best to push down your knee jerk response.

"Let's see, shall we? Since leaving the vault a month ago, bravely in search of resources and supplies for my friends, I have killed, maimed, and eaten things I hope to never think of again. I'm in a constant cycle of very, very stressed and then very, very bored where there is no happy medium between fearing for my life and wishing for death. And oh, by the way, I'm sweating buckets the whole time because it's deathly fucking warm. Thank you for asking, Cooper!"

Instead, you shrugged and offered him at least a partial truth.

"It sounds silly... but I'm kind of bored."

A dry chuckle passed over Cooper's lips.

"Heh, that's a new one for out here."

Sensing an opportunity to at least get some conversation out of him, you sat up on the rusty bed frame, your body sinking into the almost entirely flattened mattress as you crossed your legs and did your best to get Cooper to talk more than a sentence at a time.

"Really? I would have thought you'd be bored a lot, especially when there's no raiders, or mirelurks, or scavengers, or feral ghouls, or super mutants, or roving gangs of-"

"See, this is why I'm never bored. Always somethin' or someone to be killin'."

"But what about like... now? When there's nothing else to do. There's no magazines, no books, no TV."

You watched as Cooper turned from you with a slight smile. You knew the one, the familiar grin that meant you'd divulged some information about your life in the vaults, something he always found so amusing. It was your naivety, your optimism. He was endlessly fascinated by it, as though listening to you talk about it reminded him of something he had before.

That fascinated you. It made you want to stay around him, the way he listened silently as you talked about the old films that were on the holotapes, the food that was still fresh and available, the music you could hear whenever you wanted to, not reliant on some two-bit radio host. He paid attention to you. And any time his deep, brown eyes focused on your lips it made your heart flutter in an admittedly unexpected manner.

Remembering that feeling, you tried again, hoping that your next approach might be something that interested him a little more than just conversation.

"You know how we used to pass time in the vaults?"

Over the sound of the evening breezes that whipped up the sand you could still hear Cooper sigh before he spoke.

"Now if you tell me that you wanna go out there again tonight to find an old blast radius board... well I am just going to have to shoot you."

You laughed at what you hoped was a joke and waved him off, despite the fact that he was still turned away from you, unable to see your gesture as he tried ignoring you in what you assumed was the hope that you might shut up and leave him alone.

"No, no no no no no. Just..."

The lump in your throat felt like it was about to choke you, so you swallowed the clump of nerves quietly, your voice trembling as you finished your sentence.

"... fooling around... y'know?"

Cooper turned to face you. You had piqued his interest, and you couldn't help but show the giddy glee on your face, the smallest smile crossing your lips as your eyes widened. But his words wiped away all hope that you had garnered in that short span of time.

"Oh... oh darlin'."

He laughed a little, each little sound of the short, sharp giggle like a slap to the face.

"I don't think you're ready for that at all."

You raised an eyebrow, defiant, irritated, and keen to know how he thought he had you pegged so quickly. You'd never talked about anything like that with him before. Was he assuming that you were a virgin based on how you behaved around him alone? Maybe he figured that the lack of flirting on your part was down to a complete lack of experience, when in reality, it was because every flirtatious quip he threw your way made you so nervous and flustered you felt like you might throw up.

"How come I'm not ready? I mean, I've... I've done stuff... I've done it!"

"The fat you're not saying it how it is makes me think that you are absolut-"

"I've had sex, Cooper. I've fucked before. I've been fucked."

Blinking off the irritation at being interrupted by you, Cooper pushed up the brim of his hat and stared directly at you, as though he was examining your, to see if you would stand up for yourself any further.

"By who? One of your little buddies underground? Fucking like little bunnies? I don't think that qualifies you, sweetheart."

"Why? Sex is sex..."

You said it with such confidence. As if you really knew. As if you hadn't spent your teenage years practising on your hand, holding a pillow close, lining up for that one girl in the vault who would sell practice kisses for extra bubble-gum. You'd had sex before, of course. You weren't a liar. Just because you'd only ever done it once didn't render it nonfactual. Just because it had only lasted for all of four minutes. Just because you weren't sure you even orgasmed, and your friend had told you that you'd know if you'd orgasmed. Just because it was all over so quickly, and he'd run off before anyone could catch you both, avoiding you at every opportunity after that.

"... Isn't it?"

"Oh no it ain't. Besides, like I keep telling you, it's different up here. Everything's different up here. And that includes fuckin'."

The way he said the word, consonants enunciated with such grit and vigour, filled your stomach with knots that began to tighten as you considered in what way things were so different.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Cooper sighed, exasperated, resigning himself to the fact that you were going to keep talking to him regardless of his short replies and attempts to end the conversation.

"You are a dog with a bone, huh? Ain't gonna let it go."

His yellowed teeth were exposed as his lips pulled back in a baring, mischievous smile. Those knots doubled, the ends being pulled by tension in your nervous system as Cooper's smirk put you into a dazed stupor.

"No, sir."

"Now, I don't remember signing on to be your personal tutor in all things apocalypse. Do I really need to show you how everything works up here?"

As your cheeks began to blush, you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, sir."

You were hopeful for just a bit of a distraction. Something to help take the stress away. To relieve the tension that had been building up between you and Cooper as of late. You'd been studying him, watching the way he looked at you, fascinated by your perceived, and frankly obvious, innocence. The way his fingers moved, contributing to the skilful way he handled his gun and his ropes. The confidence, the charisma, the charms.

You wanted him, but you weren't quite sure how to broach the situation without it seeming desperate. But you were past that now. You were desperate For anything, just something. Something to cure the monotony of walking and hiding and fighting and surviving. You didn't want to just survive. You wanted to at least find a semblance of fun and pleasure in this nightmare you had found yourself in. And in the vaults, when board games and books and debates got boring, there was always fucking. That was what you desired most right now. The fact that Cooper happened to be the closest target for your desires was just a sweet miracle, or a cruel tease depending on how willing he was.

And luckily, he seemed agreeable.

"Well then, how about you come over here and let ol' Coop show you a little thing or two about how dirty you can really get up here in the mean, dusty Wasteland, hm?"

Your excitement was palpable, even though you were trying to keep your composure. There was no escaping the echo of the giddy squeal you let out as you jumped up from the bed and made your way over to Cooper. He waited in the far corner of the room, setting himself down on an old armchair as you stepped towards him, slapping his thighs as an indication of where he wanted you. And you did as you were told, following his instructions, knowing they hadn't led you astray so far in your time together.

It felt awkward at first, being so close to him. You shifted your weight nervously, trying to get comfortable while making sure Cooper was still at ease, which of course, he was. He always was. Nothing stirred him, he was forever at peace. Competent in any situation. Quick to adapt. And as you fidgeted and fussed, you felt his strong hands pushing you forward on his lap, until your chests were practically pressed together, his hands skirting over your lower back as he held you still. In command. In control. The sudden sensation of his hands on your body made your breath hitch, a soft, surprised squeal on the inhale that had Cooper raising his brow at you.

"Now... you agree that you asked for this, alright? Because I am not going to put my effort into entertaining your little whims if you're gonna get fussy and decide it's too much for you. I did warn you."

"Yes, you did, and I really don't think you needed to. I doubt there's too much different about it, and I've picked up what I needed to know pretty quickly from your other lessons, haven't I?"

Your retaliation to his insistence that you needed him to teach you everything, and that some things just might prove themselves a little too hard even for your levels of enthusiasm, had irritated him when he'd first met you. But now your optimism and sheer refusal to believe anything was too much for you were a source of entertainment for him. A challenge.

"That's fine then, darlin'. But I'll remember that."

His eyes bore into your soul, keeping your focus on him as he dared you to look away. They sparkled as he ran his tongue over his lips, the pretence of preparing for his next words covering the obvious flirtation in the way he dragged the flat muscle along his chapped skin.

"So, gimme a benchmark here, lil lady. How much foreplay was involved in your previous encounters? I'd hate to leave you high and dry."

"Foreplay...? What... uh, what is that?"

Cooper sighed, rolling his eyes before closing his eyelids over gently.

"Well, it's something like this."

He pushed a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, rough fingers following the curve and grazing over your neck as he let them drift down the front of your chest, tickling the exposed skin as far as your jumpsuit would allow before he took a hold of the zip at the front. A quick flit of his eyes up to you seemed to ask for permission, and your small, almost imperceptible nod, told him to keep going.

Slowly, painfully so, he pulled the zip down, watching as the centre of your torso was slowly revealed to him. Smooth skin, in comparison to his anyway, clear of any unnatural blemishes or war wounds. One calloused digit followed down your sternum to your stomach and back up, hooking under the left side of the fabric and pulling it over, then the other, exposing the top half of your body to him.

Cooper traced his fingertips over the top of your breasts, watching as your chest moved in and out, slowly, but exaggeratedly. The knots in your stomach felt like they might burst with the tension as his sharp, ragged nails crossed over your hardening nipples, a gentle tingle coursing through your veins.

"Well?"

"No... n-nothing like that... just grabbing..."

"Oh yeah? You like that? How about this?"

He closed two fingers around your nipple, one hand still on your back to keep you balanced as your body reacted to his touch. Between the two digits, you felt your nipples heating up, the slight, burning pain from the way he squeezed them sending a signal down your spine that seemed to affect every part of you. Tighter, tighter, and then as your eyes closed a little more, eyelids pressed tight, he would ease up to offer some relief.

"You like that? Like it rough?"

"I think... I think I like both."

"So, something like this?"

He teased your nipples once more, pressing harder with his fingertips, pulling them out and jiggling your breasts as he tugged at them, this lewder act interspersed with a gentle caress as he held your breast against the palm of his hand, carefully cupping it as he flicked his thumb over the sensitive and completely erect nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, Coop's hand moved swiftly from your body to your cheeks, popping the lip back out as he pressed his thumb and forefinger into your face. Understanding the message, and seemingly showing this in your wide-eyed gaze, he let his rough, leathery hand make its way back down to your breast, cupping it once more as he spoke.

"Different, see? Pleasure is hard to come by out here. You gotta do it right when you've got the chance."

Cooper leaned into your neck, whispering the words low and slowly, his dry, chapped lips skimming over your skin as he continued.

"I bet down there they didn't know the first thing about real pleasure. Takes time, something like that. You gotta learn the body, gotta make it feel good."

His teeth grazed over your shoulder and back up along your neck before he pulled back, watching your eyes refocus from the haze of arousal.

"Did they make you feel good?"

"No."

You were confident in that statement. It hadn't felt good. It felt rushed. Clumsy. Shameful. And as you pondered it, your mouth remained open in a slight pout which trembled as Cooper asked his next question.

"And what about your pretty lips... did they kiss them?"

"A little..."

Cooper leaned in, his rough lips pressing onto yours with firm contact, his tongue staying in place as though he imagined that might be a bit too much for you right now. But that same level of restraint didn't keep him from letting his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, pulling it out, only letting go when you winced in surprise as the suddenness of the action.

"Didn't bite them either. Of course not, what am I thinking? That would be a little too adventurous for your kind."

His face took on a darker tone as he smiled knowingly towards you.

“And what about these pretty lips?”

Before you could piece together the question, his hand was diving into your jumpsuit, pushing down the front and past the waist, stroking against the front of your underwear which, by now, was soaking wet with your arousal.

“They touch these lips, huh?”

You gasped as he pushed your underwear to the side, stroking his fingers along your slick, plump pussy lips, withdrawing them soon after to taste you on his tongue, the way you had watched him taste the blood of enemies, the blood of victims.

“Stand up, darlin’… Why don’t you take that suit off, hm? Get yourself comfy.”

As you raised yourself up from his hips, your legs wobbled under you, not quite steady enough to support you so soon after being reduced to jelly by Cooper’s touch, his caramelised words that filled your ears, the sharp twang of his accent, the delicate cadence, the power rumbling underneath like an almost silent bassline.

“Do it slowly though.”

Cooper watched carefully as you stood nervously before him, shuffling out of your suit, stripping for him, your hips moving from side to side slow and steady, unintentionally sultry in the way you moved. Without taking his eyes from you he reached for his canteen, taking a long sip from it as you let your suit fall down over your legs, stepping out of it and pushing it to the side with your feet.

“That’s it, darlin’. Can’t do this half-hearted. I need to have access to all of you there. Now come sit back down.”

You held your arms in front of you, feeling far too exposed for the shelter you’d found for the evening. No windows, no locks on the doors. But it was difficult to focus on that worry for too long as you watched Cooper’s tongue flit back out over his lips, clear strands of drool sparkling in the light as he took you in, hungrily, dreamily.

“Turn around though. You face that way.”

The metal buttons on the front of his duster coat were cold against the skin of your back, but you leaned into them anyway. Cooper’s hand curved around your neck and up under your chin, holding your face forward.

“You keep an eye out, holler if you see anything coming. I’ll do everything else.”

A faint clicking sound, the safety on his gun being flicked to off, before those same fingers draped over your mound and down on to your lips, spreading them apart, the cool air of the decrepit room cooling the heat of your hot, aching cunt. With two fingers holding your lips apart, he let the middle digit tap against your clit, each tiny sensation turning your blood cold before heating it exponentially, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow as you felt a tingle in your abdomen.

The finger that tapped the sensitive bud began stroking it from side to side, laying flat against it length wise as Cooper strummed your body, still holding your chin in his hands, smiling to himself every time your back arched away from him in intense pleasure. Every nerve-ending was at his mercy. He was right, it was different up here. But you wondered how much of that was the Wasteland and it’s effect on sexuality and pleasure, and how much of it was just him. Cooper Howard, Wasteland bounty hunter, a past life he refused to talk about, the most charismatic monster you had ever met. His fingers, daintily crossing over your clit, as you felt his breath, silent except for an occasional hum of satisfaction in the form of a long moan. Maybe it was just Cooper who was different.

It was hard to focus on this new line of though as his hard fingertips clamped down on your clit, pinching it as he rolled it between his fingers. Even harder when he let his hand drop from your neck and instead began teasing at your nipples once more. Soft, cruel flicks over the hardened bumps, his fingers at work on your body, his lips kissing at the back of your neck. Moans growing louder, more frequent, as he let himself enjoy the act of making you squirm. You could tell he was having fun, as you rolled your hips back a little, feeling the thick bulge of his stiffening cock against your rear. You wondered how it might feel, how it might look, and what he could do differently with it.

“Cooper… Coop… I think I’m going to cum…”

His movements quickened, cock twitching against your body as he pinched tighter and pressed his fingers harder against your cunt.

“Don’t you dare, little lady.”

“Ok I’ll… I’ll try but… you have to… stop… please stop… Coop…”

He ignored your please, the whining, desperate begging as you tried to stop your body from the natural, encouraged reaction.

“Have some self-control, sweetheart.”

“Cooper, I really can’t… please… please stop touching me…”

“I absolutely will not.”

Your fingers dug into his thighs, but you noticed that you refused to move away from him. You wanted to do as he asked, wanted to hold yourself back from the brink of orgasm to prolong his touch, but you couldn’t risk him actually stopping, fearing that your body might crumble if his fingers left your quivering, pathetic body for only a second.

Each stroke against your increasingly wet and sensitive pussy had you trembling and shaking, and Cooper had to remove his hand from your breast to keep you steady, placing it under your chin and holding you steady by the neck.

“I am warning you, missy.”

“Cooper… I can’t stop…”

You shuddered and whined as your body gave in to the temptation, feeling a rush of heat and relief as you came on his lap, your arousal coating his pants, adding to the collection of stains and wear on them. But he didn’t stop then.

“No wait… seriously, Cooper… I can’t… I can’t take much more, honestly…”

“Listen, I told you. I said you better not cum. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Your eyes began to sting with tears of exasperation as your body kept on pushing to its limits, conjuring up another wave of climax, tormenting you with never-ending bouts of arousal that kept you rutting against him, despite how painful it was to keep writhing into his body. You could feel your stomach knotting again, not much time between each orgasm to relax, and you dug your hands into his thighs, pushing your body up off of him as you tensed completely.

“Ok, this time, you do it on my command. You do it when I say you can, alright?”

“Cooper…”

“Don’t give me that pleading shit, you asked me to show you how things are done. Well this is how Cooper fuckin’ Howard does things. So are you ready? You gonna come for me?”

“C-coop… I’ll… I’ll try…”

“Good girl, now you keep that mouth making those whines and moans. I don’t need you to call out my name or anything, I know I’m all you’re thinking about.”

The praise, the self-confidence, the way his fingers seemed to be pulling your orgasm out, motioning for it to come closer to him.

“Come on, darlin’, come on…”

Your vision blurred as the climax came over you, body rolling and convulsing as you came once more at Cooper’s insistence, your cheeks stained with tears, salted water rolling through the layers of grime and clearing paths to your chin.

As you settled back down onto his lap with a shudder, you felt Cooper’s fingers stroking through your hair. He was surprisingly gentle, oddly calm, but you supposed that you deserved his kindness as you had done as he had asked, making up for your previous indiscretion. He was almost cooing, shushing you as you found your breath, establishing your sense of self once more after the overstimulating orgasm that shook your core.

“You seen enough of the big bad world for one day then?”

You probably had, but you still found yourself shaking your head, ignoring the way your body reacted with a violent twitch at the notion of Cooper’s hands delivering intense pleasure.

“A glutton for punishment, hm? Or just keen to learn?”

As you pondered your answer, Cooper seemed to have come to the conclusion for you, as he tapped your hips and began to shift underneath you.

“Alright then, get onto your knees.”

Positioning yourself at his feet, you couldn’t help but look up at him, catching his eyes as he looked down at you with that unique brand of disdain and intrigue he had somehow mastered. You knew what was coming, what was about to happen, and your mouth began watering at the thought. What he might taste like. What he might look like.

You didn’t have to imagine for long though, as you could see his fingers working the belt of his pants, loosening it, unzipping his fly, and gripping his semi-erect cock at the base as he took it out, brandishing it. He kept close attention on your own eyes, a soft sigh of relief imperceptibly escaping his chest as he noticed your pupils widen, your mouth opening in preparation for him.

It was exactly as you had expected. The texture of the shaft was similar to that of his cheeks and his forearms, a similar colouring, though darker at the base and on the shaft which was tinted red. Thick, purple tinged veins covered it, winding around the length, cutting across the ridges of the scars.

“You can come closer, darlin’. I don’t know what they told you about mutations and radiation effects down there in your little utopia, but I can assure you… it doesn’t bite.”

The fear was palpable, clearly, but it was nothing to do with Cooper’s body and everything to do with your lack of experience, which, despite you arguing otherwise, was becoming plainly obvious even to you. You had only ever touched a cock with your hands outside of being quickly fucked. Several times you’d been cajoled into quickly stroking an erection under the blankets before your partner ran off to the bathroom, clean and tidy, flushing away the sins. And you were very well aware that there was always the option to suck on one, but it had never presented itself. It had never seemed that appealing to you. Until you were faced with Cooper’s.

He hadn’t even asked you to do either yet, but you found yourself curious, salivating over the thought of him, mind racing as you imagined how he might feel against your tongue.

“Can I taste it… you?”

Cooper smiled warmly, one of the few times you had seen him look at you with genuine pride.

“Now that is using your initiative. Of course you can.”

You kept your hands to yourself as you leaned in towards his body, content to let Cooper wield his length at you, his hand firm around the base as you inched closer, tongue pressed out over your lips. A strand of drool collected and spilled forward, hitting the floor in a soft patter just before the tip of your tongue came into contact with the tip of his cock.

A lot of the movements were instinctual, following your desires more than what you thought might be protocol as you dragged your tongue up the shaft and swirled over the blushing head of his cock. It tasted bitter, but in a pleasant way.  Savoury, not sweet. Salted, a tang that stayed there for a few seconds after your tongue had moved on to another spot. A flavour you found yourself craving now.

Cooper gripped tighter and pushed forward, taking you by surprise as he slid himself into your mouth, his free hand moving to the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. As the taste of him hit the back of your tongue, cock almost touching your throat, you coughed and spluttered a little.

“Fuck me, darlin’… do you need me to show you how to do this too?”

He looked down at you, filled with pity as he saw your face. Red cheeks, puffed out, lips stretched over the girth of his cock, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

“Breath through your nose… breathe in…”

You followed his instructions, instantly calmed when you found your lungs filling with air once more. Almost immediately back to enjoying yourself, the feeling of Cooper inside of you, the control he had as he held your head against him.

“Now… you don’t want to choke too much, so keep your tongue flat… yeah, just like that…”

It was so much easier like that, and you could feel your cheeks getting warmer and redder as you realised that not only had you embarrassed yourself with your spluttering and lack of knowledge, but that Cooper had clearly done this a lot.

“And your teeth… well, usually they’ll tell you to keep ‘em outta the way, but you know me… gotta be different…”

Taking the hint, you let your jaw close slightly, the pain of the stretch lessened, your teeth scraping along the top of his shaft as your tongue worked the underneath, sucking and rolling as much as you could while keeping it flat.

He didn’t say much else, and you couldn’t tell if he was particularly enjoying himself. It worried you, the fact that he had specific preferences, the way it was so clear how much more experienced he was than you. How many others had there been? And were they all better than you? As your mind wandered to your anxieties, you completely missed the fact that you had begun to drool all over yourself until Cooper relaxed his grip on your head and wiped at your chin with his thumb. Catching your eyes and sensing some of your worries, he was surprisingly quick to soothe you.

“You can swallow or spit or let it all spill out, I don’t mind makin’ a mess darlin’. But whatever you’re doing, you keep that up.”

You were so pathetically grateful for the encouragement, for the tiniest semblance of praise, that you felt yourself moaning involuntarily. The soothing motion of sucking on his cock, the taste of something new, the comforting knowledge that he was happy with your efforts. You could feel your clit throbbing, aroused by Cooper’s satisfaction, how pleased he was with the way you worked him over.

Which is why it surprised you so much when he pulled his cock from your mouth, your lips slipping off of it with a disgustingly lewd popping sound, drool spilling onto your chin in long strands which stretched from your lips to his cock and tore apart as he distanced himself from you.

And again, that sympathetic gaze, the way he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it.

“Oh, don’t you look at me with those big, sad eyes. You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. That was good, ‘specially for a first try…”

He winked to you as he spoke, causing your heart to skip enough beats that you thought you might die there and then.

“… It’s just that I’m all slicked up and ready to go now… so you wanna bend over for me? Or do you wanna come sit on my lap?”

“Uh… lap, please… I was kinda bent over for the last… first time.”

“Well, you come and take a seat then, darlin’, let ol’ Coop show you something new.”

You nervously settled your entirely nude body back down onto his thighs. Cooper’s hands were gentle against your shoulders as he pulled you backwards with him, leaning at a slight angle in the chair, his cock rigid and firm as it sat against your waiting cunt, coated in your drool which almost seemed to shimmer with the dancing light of the fire.

Then, so carefully, so gently, far more than you’d ever seen him be before, Cooper took hold of his cock at the base and slid it inside of you, one hand on your stomach as he braced you, keeping your body steady as he inserted himself further and further between your clenching walls.

“Bigger than before?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt the distinct stretch, his rough, textured cock forcing its way inside your cunt, pressed up to the hilt, testing your limits.

“Better?”

“Mhm…”

“Speak up, darlin’.”

With your voice strained and breathy, you managed to form some words.

“Yes… it’s better.”

“That’s it, good girl. Now, I’m gonna buck my hips, ok? You just try and keep your balance.”

Below you, Cooper shifted a little, his hips rolling backwards, inches of his cock escaping your tight, aching cunt, before he rolled them forwards and upwards, back into you. A slow, steady pace that he focused on keeping until you felt warmer, more relaxed.

“You got this, it’s like riding a horse.”

“I’ve never… hm… ridden a horse…”

Cooper chuckled, a low and rasping sound that sent shivers over your skin and seemed close enough to you that it was coming from inside of your body.

“Never ridden a ghoul before either, but you’re handling it alright for a first timer.”

You were coping ok, you had to admit, but you could feel your stomach muscles tensing, the knots back in full force as they tensed and tightened, loosened and frayed with each pump of his cock within you.

“Ah… Cooper…”

“Too much, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

There was a sense of genuine care in his tone, as though he had taken it upon himself to show you that yes, things were different up there in the Wasteland, but that didn’t always mean they were worse. Some things were good, if not a little bit difficult to take at first.

“A little…”

Cooper tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lean back completely against his shoulder. In a delicate move, one far more romantic than you imagined from him, he ran his thumb over your lips, angling his neck to look at them, his own mouth open ever so slightly, a monotonous panting as he kept his hips moving, increasing the speed and the force at which he entered you.

His eyes flicked up suddenly, looking into yours, catching your gaze and holding unblinking eye contact as he spoke.

“I know… I know… Just a little longer, though…”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his cock pushing against your body, enveloped in your hot, wet, velvety interior.

“I know it hurts… but I ain’t stopping, so don’t even ask… here…”

You watched as he brought a finger to your lips, offering it up to you.

“…you bite down on that if it gets too much, ok… but don’t hold back on those sweet sounds… I wanna hear you scream.”

With that vaguely threatening remark, he thrust up into you, banging against your body, spurring on your orgasm but unleashing a dull ache that spread through every sensitive part of you.

“Won’t… be long… keep it together… good girl…  good girl…”

It felt good, the pain, the sting, the ache, the shivers. The fact that he was using you, finding pleasure in you. All of it culminating in Cooper’s nearing orgasm which you could sense was closing in on him. His movements were becoming more frantic, sloppier, and he was mouthing all manner of sweet nothings as he let his façade slip away.

And those soft mumbles opened up into a wide roar as he clung to your body, the hand on your neck cutting off the air to your lungs only briefly, one hand on your lap pressing sharp indents into your skin as he forced himself into you. The last few moments of his fevered thrusting, fucking you wildly, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he rutted into you in a dazed stupor before his body gave in. His cock throbbed, each pulse sending another rope of cum against your insides, filling you with his seed as he shuddered finally, slinking backwards into the chair and taking in a deep breath as you removed yourself from him.

You’d only managed to take a few steps forward before Cooper addressed you, opening his eyes to watch you standing there awkwardly, his cum dripping down your thighs, a warmth that quickly turned cool in the air of the room.

“Did I say you could get up?”

Panic settled in your chest, aware that you had waited until you felt his muscles relax, his body retreating from you, before you slid off his cock, expecting him to push you away anyway, like your first time. You assumed he was finished, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the idea that he might not be done with you.

“Are we… oh, Cooper, I really can’t take anymore.”

Even as you stood, you could feel your legs shaking, weakened by the intense orgasms, the way they tightened against his every movement.

“That’s different up here too then, I suppose.”

Cooper stood up from the chair, pacing towards you with a purposeful stride as he pushed his cock back into his pants, zipping them up as he reached you. You inhaled sharply as he placed his hand at the back of your head, those knots in your stomach beginning to form again, worried that a further, albeit pleasurable punishment was on the cards. But you were surprised as he slid his free hand around your back, tugging at your waist as he pulled you in close to him. A quick smile before his lips were on yours, the brim of his hat pushed upwards as he leaned into the kiss. Warm, gentle, the kind of kiss you’d seen in movies. Practised and confident, meaningful, sincere.

When he pulled back, your body following him a little before you settled back onto your feet, he smiled warmly.

“Sweet with the sour, darlin’. You gotta keep ‘em wanting more.”

“M-more?”

More as in now? Or more as in the idea that Cooper had enjoyed himself and would be willing to offer that kind of pleasure to you again. And he answered with a wink.

“Definitely. There’s a still a lot you’ve got to learn.”

[silversodas]

Some Interesting Things About Peri and Dev

Truthfully this is more about Peri and his interesting flaws, but there is some character analysis about Dev too.

I think when Peri and Dev finally do become friends, they would actually make an interesting pair, we actually learn that they are conflicting opposites

Peri: Rules are the only thing that separates peace from total chaos

Dev: But Peace is boring

Now, Dev may be a neglected kid, but he is the furthest thing from a wet Cat. He is smart and resourceful and a force to be reckoned with when he feels a certain type of way. It’s not entirely what he can do it’s what he is willing to do that makes him dangerous. Speaking of which, I may be calling it early, but I think that the glass ball on Peri’s wand/cane is a stabilizer and that Peri is still insanely powerful but also a pacifist. So Peri will reason with you and let’s his all powerful self get bulldozed but his human, ten year old Godkid will feed you your hair. That dynamic has the potential to be hella interesting

We also learned that Peri has an interesting flaw, he has jealousy issues. And lies to his parents?

I mentioned before that in the Birthday take back episode that Peri showed to be a little bit jealous of Hazel but didn’t see that it was a hint to his issues with jealousy till he got really jealous of Irep in the next episode

In that next episode Peri tells Dev that he’s done, that he quits. But when Dev informs Cosmo Wanda and Hazel of this apparently Peri told Cosmo and Wanda a different story

Wanda: Peri didn’t quite, he was waiting for you to call

Cosmo: He thought you two were on a brake

Uhhhh that is not at all what Peri told Dev. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad he talks to Cosmo and Wanda about his problems but boy straight up lied. He probably changed his mind and just told his parents that because he feels like they would be disappointed in him if he actually quite. And at this point I am thinking he is only sticking around with Dev for his parents, but that’s not entirely the case

Before Dev and Irep unalives Cosmo and Wanda Peri steps in with Jorgan and straight up LAUGHS in Ireps face (this took me by surprise) and gloats informing him that he never actually quite so Dev was still his Godkid

What’s so interesting is that this is the most immature we have ever seen Peri. Like this is basically the equivalent of a child running up to another child and yelling MINE! Before snatching a toy away. And that’s basically what Peri did, he basically went MINE! And snatched Dev away.

I mean look at him here. He looks like a kid who is happy that another kid he doesn’t like is in trouble. I wonder of Irep brings out this childish side of Peri. And does Jorgan punish Dev for attempted murder-

Nope…man Jorgan must have less fucks to give this time around, from what I remember if Timmy so much as farted while in Fairyworld Jorgan would appear out of nowhere like “TURNER! THIS JACKASSERY WILL NOT STAND!!!”

In case we needed it to be any clearer, Peri accidentally admits that he was jealously spying on Dev, so Peri can be a bit jealous and possessive? Interesting.That actually didn’t really bother me till this frame

Like, really dude? Your just gonna mark your territory, snatch his new friend away and not even talk to him about it? I mean he almost killed your parents at least chew him out! Ok honestly if the episode had went on longer it probably would have shown Peri turning away from his parents to face Dev and talk to him only to see that Dev ditched him. But Peri ONCE AGAIN! Got distracted by his parents at a time he needed to have his attention on Dev.

If seeing Peri at his parents place is anything to go by, I would say that Peri is definitely in the dog house

[my-writings-and-musings]

The always awesome @stratofall006 and I did an art/fic swap and I asked for Earthspark Bumblebee with a sparkling strapped to his chest. I was not disappointed to say the very least LOOK AT HIM!!!

I was so inspired, in fact, I just had to write a short little something based on the image. Set sometime after Season 1 where Bee and Breakdown have had a bitlet and our beloved Scout is trying to teach his students. I couldn't think of a name for the bitty so just use your imagination.

---

"Kids, my optics are up here."

The five Terrans seated before him in their makeshift outdoor classroom all shrunk upon being called out, but Bumblebee was hardly angry even at the umpteenth interruption. He couldn't blame the kids for struggling to focus, as the tiny bundle strapped to his chest was taking up a sizable chunk of his own attention as well, and they were all struggling to return to the old routine now that he was no longer carrying. Most of his negative emotions were bound up in how delayed Optimus had been in informing him that Breakdown would be needed for a field mission today, leaving him to multitask between teaching and parenting with almost no forewarning...

"Sorry, Bee." Twitch apologized sincerely, big orange optics bringing a soft smile to his face as she tried not to look at the sparkling.

"We really are trying!" Thrash added just as emphatically, making his teacher chuckle in appreciation. If nothing else, their commitment meant a lot to him. The bitlet on his chassis stirred at his laughter, compelling him to look down as her tiny servos flexed for the sky and her stubby pedes kicked in amusement.

"She's just sooo cute!" Hashtag spoke up, saying what they were all thinking. Bumblebee couldn't deny he and Breakdown had produced one of the cutest bitlets he'd ever seen, and that in her harness said cuteness was on full display, rounded frame bouncing in the straps as her optics continued to look around her audience. He was about to try and redirect his class when Hashtag squealed once more at the adorable antics. "Look, she's sticking her tongue out!"

Blowing a messy raspberry for no particular reason, the bitlet quieted when he directed her stubby servo to her mouth, compelling the little one to nom on it. Trying to get the class back on track, the Scout turned teacher turned parent remembered where he'd been interrupted and got back to teaching.

"I know she's cute, but we've got a lot to get through today. Back on topic; the key to remaining undiscovered is to focus-"

"How precious, she's waving at me!" Nightshade interrupted as they clasped their servos together, once more bringing attention to the sparkling. Bumblebee couldn't deny the way they flapped their arms was beyond amusing, and he began to wonder just how on Earth he was supposed to get through his lesson as Nightshade returned the gesture with a polite wave of their claws. "Hello there, little one!"

"Kids-"

"She's waving at me now!" Jawbreaker gushed as the bitlet swapped arms to wave in his direction, compelling Bumblebee to sigh as he completely lost control once more. Not having the energy to keep this up much longer, he considered telling Optimus that unless he wanted the Terrans to fall even more behind on their training, the big bot would start planning to schedule a babysitter when he pulled bots for mission duty. He already knew Breakdown would be handling most of the sparkling related chores tonight...

A tiny sneeze against his chassis brought him out of his dissatisfied quiet, instincts compelling him to check over the sparkling even though he found she had merely had a tickle in her nose. To his students, however, each new action was the most adorable thing they'd ever seen. Their glowing optics told him that a sneeze was no exception.

"Oh my gosh, I got that on film! Let me share it to the group chat!" Hashtag proclaimed as she rapidly tapped away on her tablet, sharing the video with everyone in their circle as the group once more descended into chaos. Sighing as he briefly dipped into the background, the Scout offered a digit to his sparkling and allowed her to chew on it as his students all vied for her attention. Not having the energy to handle much more, he decided to cut his losses and accept that the lesson was done for the day.

"Alright, everyone, let's just... enjoy a day off for now. We'll take it from the top tomorrow." he announced over the din of five excited Terrans, who were now focused on going through the digital album of pictures and videos they'd put together of his sparklings short but precious existence. Not too put off by the chance for a well earned rest, he sat down on a broad stone and allowed the bitlet to continue nomming on his digit, glad that at least one bot was focused on him.

[youryurigoddess]

Aziraphale’s secret investigation and overlooked Clues

Remember this frame from Good Omens S02E06? Apparently Aziraphale had been using the empty carton box brought by Jim to store things in. It became a new home to at least two out of three “Lost Quartos” — the supposedly lost Shakespeare plays briefly but hilariously mentioned in the Good Omens book — as well as a very mysterious legal document.

Thought probably half of the Good Omens analysts here, including the ever so wonderful @fuckyeahgoodomens, who managed to find some information about the deceased John Gibson from New Cumnock (1855 - 1905).

Unfortunately the most interesting thing about this early 20th century provincial postmaster was his youngest child James (1894 - 1973), a quite famous stage (West End!) and film actor immortalized on screen in The Master of Ballantrae (1962), Witch Wood (1964) and Kidnapped (1963).

After that particular discovery the fandom-wide search seemingly led nowhere and the topic died a premature death.

And I almost figured it out seven months ago.

“But Yuri, you’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”, you probably want to shout across a busy London street at this point. Well, let me tell you. Much like Aziraphale, I'm blindingly intelligent for about thirty seconds a day. I do not get to choose which seconds and they are not consecutive.

Only tonight the stars have aligned in an ineffable way.

For those of you who don’t follow this account, some time ago I’ve realized that John Gibson isn’t the only testator whose estate was being investigated by Aziraphale right before The Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting.

If you watch S2 finale closely enough, you should notice that Crowley not only stress cleans Aziraphale’s bookshop — he also goes through the books and papers on his desk between the last three angels leaving the bookshop and Maggie and Nina’s intervention. A seemingly permanent arrangement of the props post-shooting, visible in detail both on Radio Times tour and SFX magazine photo shoot, sheds even more light on this detail.

The close-ups published after S2 release are legible enough to refer us to a much more prominent historical figure, Josiah Wedgwood (1730 – 1795) — an English potter, entrepreneur and abolitionist. Founding the Wedgwood company in 1759, he developed improved pottery bodies by systematic experimentation, and was the leader in the industrialisation of the manufacture of European pottery.

Long story short, I transcribed the handwritten pages abandoned on Aziraphale’s desk, found out the source and the full text of what could be identified as Wedgwood’s last will and testament, took a walk to visit his Soho workshop, and proceeded to write a lengthy meta analysis about it.

I was today’s years old when I realized that there’s something else connecting those two dead British men.

The Scottish Post Office Directory of 1903 recorded John Gibson from New Cumnock as a “stationer and china dealer” (above) operating from the shop located in the town’s post office building.

Indeed, a close look at his post office shop window in the Henderson Building (below, bottom left) reveals an artful display of fine china and pottery next to postcards printed by Gibson.

There are multiple ways to connect this surprising link with possible S3 plot points, obviously, but it’s getting late, so let’s just name the two most important ones.

You’ve probably heard of the Holy Grail, maybe from Monty Python or Good Omens S01E03 1941 flashback. Depending on the version of the story, if can be a cup, a chalice, a bowl, or a saucer — but almost always a dish or a vessel connected personally, physically and metaphysically to Jesus (unless you’re partial to Wolfram von Eschenbach’s idea that the Grail was a stone, the sanctuary of the neutral angels who took neither side during Lucifer's rebellion).

A slightly more obscure dish related to the Son of God appears in the sixteenth chapter of the Book of Revelation as a vital part of His Second Coming. The Seven Bowls (or cups, or vials) of God’s Wrath are supposed to be poured out on the wicked and the followers of the Antichrist by seven angels:

Then I heard a loud voice from the temple telling the seven angels, “Go and pour out on the earth the seven bowls of the wrath of God.” So the first angel went and poured out his bowl on the earth, and harmful and painful sores came upon the people who bore the mark of the beast and worshiped its image.

The second angel poured out his bowl into the sea, and it became like the blood of a corpse, and every living thing died that was in the sea.

The third angel poured out his bowl into the rivers and the springs of water, and they became blood. And I heard the angel in charge of the waters say, “Just are you, O Holy One, who is and who was, for you brought these judgments. For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and you have given them blood to drink. It is what they deserve!” And I heard the altar saying, “Yes, Lord God the Almighty, true and just are your judgments!”

The fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and it was allowed to scorch people with fire. They were scorched by the fierce heat, and they cursed the name of God who had power over these plagues. They did not repent and give him glory.

The fifth angel poured out his bowl on the throne of the beast, and its kingdom was plunged into darkness. People gnawed their tongues in anguish and cursed the God of heaven for their pain and sores. They did not repent of their deeds.

The sixth angel poured out his bowl on the great river Euphrates, and its water was dried up, to prepare the way for the kings from the east. And I saw, coming out of the mouth of the dragon and out of the mouth of the beast and out of the mouth of the false prophet, three unclean spirits like frogs. For they are demonic spirits, performing signs, who go abroad to the kings of the whole world, to assemble them for battle on the great day of God the Almighty.  (“Behold, I am coming like a thief! Blessed is the one who stays awake, keeping his garments on, that he may not go about naked and be seen exposed!”) And they assembled them at the place that in Hebrew is called Armageddon.

The seventh angel poured out his bowl into the air, and a loud voice came out of the temple, from the throne, saying, “It is done!” And there were flashes of lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder, and a great earthquake such as there had never been since man was on the earth, so great was that earthquake. The great city was split into three parts, and the cities of the nations fell, and God remembered Babylon the great, to make her drain the cup of the wine of the fury of his wrath. And every island fled away, and no mountains were to be found. And great hailstones, about one hundred pounds each, fell from heaven on people; and they cursed God for the plague of the hail, because the plague was so severe.

[bonzos-number-1-fan]

TMAGP 26 Thoughts: Sam is awkward. Celia is hot.

Yet another guest writer episodes and this time it's Muna Hussen. She' co-creator and producer on The Silt Verses, and produced and acted in I Am In Eskew. The Silt Verses is a show I can wholeheartedly suggest giving a listen. It's great in just about every way a thing can be. I might leave a pitch for it as an addendum. I Am In Eskew is in the forever pile of things I may one day get to. It's a really well written episode too, I liked this one a lot. It is, unfortunately, another pretty explicit one so I don't expect to have a load to say, but that's not the same as it being bad.

Spoilers for episode 26 below the cut.

Celia and Sam's conversation doesn't have a load of note in it. Yes, they're going to meet Helen but that's for later. The important detail here is how Celia categorises her incidents. Which she does with the least effort imaginable. She's not had any misfiles yet which tells me that either those no longer happen or you just need to get it in the right Section. But more importantly than that it's also a good look at just how little she cares about the job. We've all known she's had ulterior motives from her introduction but it's nice to see ways that is reflected.

Much like the last incident there isn't too too much to rip into for what I talk about. I'm not sure the themes of this one speak to any greater connection and the characters are all new as far as I know. Which only really leaves one detail to talk about. The Archivist or, rather, *an *Archivist as that's the more interesting detail. The Archivist here didn't really do much we've not seen before. The forced running isn't to dissimilar to the forced drowning and Jarrod did seem to be mumbling in classic fashion. No statement to be heard as such but that might just be because of the framing. However, unlike previous run ins with an Archivist they're very much aware that they're not the only one. Whether this leads to something more grand or not is hard to say but it's an interesting detail.

Alice is finally up to episode 11 with the plot. More seriously it's nice to see her piecing things together now. I do wonder if that was Chester's point or not. Gwen was a little weird in this interaction IMO. Alice and Gwen shared a fairly major revelation together, that this ties into, but she seems to have distanced herself a lot from that emotionally already. Which isn't out of character but does come a little fast.

Helen is *very *Helen here. I think of all the returning characters she might have changed the least. At least from where she started. It's lovely to see her back, although I do wonder if maybe they're leaning on these characters a little too much at this stage. It's hard to know if this is one-off fanservice or the way of things going forward. I hope it's the latter because the less of the old cast we get the more of the new cast we'll see. There isn't a huge amount to say here but its good to see them getting more information about the Institute. Also, unfortunately Helen is still a tory. Categorically disproving the "these characters are now living their best life" theory. It's all still hell. I'd also include the transcripts note for the laugh but that's a TMA spoiler and probably one person hasn't seen that show. Besides if you know, you know.

Sam and Celia finally fucked. Good for them. Well, bad for them if TMA is anything to go off for couples in this setting. But, y'know.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet and Terminology Sheet

DPHW Theory: 4463 is pretty normal for this, I think. No major surprises.

CAT# Theory: 1 is a 1. I'll maybe try to write an essay on this before the season ends. No prommies tho.

R# Theory: BC seems about right.

Header talk: Exhaustion (Athletic) -/- Compulsion (Tape). Also very very normal.

I guess I will write that addendum then.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Addendum: Go listen to The Silt Verses.

It's a horror audio drama that's more or less a world where the modern religious landscape is a polytheistic one, with fabricated corporate gods putting pressure on local ones, outlawed religions, and all sorts of fun stuff. But it's a world where religions, fabricated or otherwise, are also powerful and gods do exist and perform miracles. It follows two worshippers of the Trawler Man, and outlawed god, on their pilgrimage up its great black river. As you might expect things don't go smoothly and soon enough there's a man hunt, run ins with cults stranger than theirs, and all sorts of revelations.

The world building is a real high light too. It's just the right level of "this world is horrific yet treated as mundane". It's worth listening just to see how that's all built on.

I rate it a strong prisoners-buried-alive-in-the-foundations-of-new-construction-projects-to-bless-them/10.

[itskattkm]

New York New Rules Pt. 5

Warnings: Violence, Trauma, Fluff, maybe Smut, mental health, blood

Summary: Y/N meets the survivors of the last events in Woodsborrow and gets on Ghostface's list. But there is also a darkness in Y/N wich path is she going to choose

Female Y/N x Tara Carpenter

Sorry for bad writing. I'm using a translator and hope you guys can enjoy it. Also, this is going to be a slow burn

A/N damn guys I wrote that on the plane and what happens before I finished? I deleted everything by accident… and then I had to rewrite. What means, I couldn’t write it like I I did in my first draft. Hope you still like the chapter, and if I hadn’t rewrite it, well it would also be longer

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,

Now I stood here and made the pizza for the Woodsborrow Gang. I was basically free on Friday because of the therapy. Maria had even insisted on this herself because I worked here most of the time on the weekends. But now I didn't have a therapist anymore, how would I do it now? On the other hand, I had done it this way so far.

Heavy steps that just moved over the ground came closer to me and the next moment Maria kept me company. I would recognize Maria's steps of hundreds of meters. But to defend her at this point, she is already around 50 years old and had opened the pizzeria here with her family when they had emigrated from Italy to America. They wanted to get a taste of the American dream and in the end they got it too. Maria was a great inspiration at this point, she had always stuck to her wish, no matter how difficult the way there was. Thanks to the job with her, I always had the advantage of baking pizza when I wanted and as much as I wanted or I took something else from the restaurant with me. My mother doesn't feel that I was still eating pizza, but at least it was something. I always called it the pizza diet back then.

When suddenly something wet hit me on my neck I looked shocked at Maria she had hit me with her rag "Don't you think that's too many jalapeños?" She said with her arms crossed and looked skeptically at the pizza I had just topped "It was a special wish" I said with a smile. Now Maria raised her eyebrow, looked at me skeptically. Her brown hair with the caramel highlites had been put together into a messy bun when she said with a strong accent "Y/N you don't have to exaggerate right away, I hardly see the tomato sauce or the cheese" I grinned and looked at the pizza "that's still possible" she sighed "hopefully this is the first and last pizza you did this way“

Where would I be without Maria?

I listened to her while she was talking in Italian until she was finished. Now there was a short silence, she was interrupted by the entrance door. When it had opened and touched the bell. I degenerated on Maria's usual greeting, but it never came. Confused, I turned my gaze forward and wiped my hands on the black apron I was wearing around my hip. I took it off as I walked around the workplaces and ran towards the restaurant. When I stood at the door frame, I found Maria on the floor. Her eyes were wide open as she held her hand firmly on her neck. Blood.

She was flooded with blood and had leaned against the wall. Slowly my gaze wandered in and met him.

Ghostface. He was here...

I had held my breath in the hope of becoming invisible.

"Y/N I would have called you, but unfortunately I don't have your cell phone number," he said and looked at me crookedly.

My gaze wandered over the white empty face of him and got stuck in his black eyes.

"You could have called the pizzeria," I said before my brain could process any information and situation. Was that the adrenaline? Or did the survival instinct felt like that? Carefully, I took a step back and looked back to Maria. His knife was in her neck. Maybe she would survive? But there was already so much blood. Way too much... how could she stay so calm?

With her eyes she tried to tell me something when she looked at the kitchen several times. I understood and turned my attention back to Ghostface "you wouldn't have answered on your day off," he said.

Analyze. Analyze! I screamed in my head. Okay Y/N that was now the chance to take information with you. How often would I run through the Ghostface otherwise? Let alone survive?

Note one, he definitely seemed taller than me. So it must have been a man, but the robe made it very difficult to distinguish that. I understood why the killers had chosen this costume. Okay note, two he had a Voice distortion and then his face. Damn you couldn't see anything except a crooked look here and there. But wait... Note three...

"How do you know that I work here and have Fridays off? And since you don't have my number, maybe Mindy's statement wasn't so wrong... you're Ethan" I said cooler than I thought. Ghostface straightened up and did not answer. His body language told me that he was pissed off.

Fuck. The next moment he sprinted towards me so quickly that I almost stumbled when I ran back into the kitchen. I reached for everything I found to put as many obstacles in his way as possible. After I had made a round around the work surface, I grabbed the noodle wood and threw it on his face on the way to the restaurant. However, I only missed him there slightly. So I grabbed every chair in the restaurant I got into my hands and threw them mercilessly at him. If I could do something well, then it was to throw chairs!

When I hit him again, he fell to the ground. That was my chance! I grabbed another chair and started hitting him with it. There it was, the anger. Fear? No, I wasn't afraid.

Suddenly Ghostface was able to reach for the chair and now turned the tables when he began to press it firmly against me.

I fell hard with my back on the floor.

No. No. No. I quickly tried to get up, but realized that I had slipped and was now in a blood trail. My gaze followed the blood pool and I found Maria lying on the floor next to the small reception. No... my gaze continued to follow her tips that she had left behind and there was the phone itself, it hung down the wall.

The next moment, Ghostface lay over me and pushed me firmly to the ground. He put both hands around my neck and began to choke me. No. I certainly wouldn't die now! Not after what Maria had done. And then there was this feeling again but I couldn't say if it was the adrenaline. I grabbed Ghostface firmly by the shoulders "Fuck you!" I screamed and hit my head against his. His grips left my body and he groaned in pain. I fell back exhausted and suddenly he took a knife over me the next moment. Ghostface pulled out and I would immediately be hit by a pain that I couldn’t avoid... but what I could do was to decide where this pain would hit me. With a force that I never expected, the knife came towards me and pierced my left hand when I came to meet the knife with it. Trembling, I resisted him a few centimeters above my face. Why didn't I feel any pain? I asked myself now, I barely took how the blade had drilled through my hand. I looked into the black of his eyes and screamed as he began to move the blade in my hand. He would cut my hand in half just between my fingers and I couldn't do anything about it. On the contrary, I continued to exert pressure to push him away from me. I felt his strength read and could perceive his astonishment despite the mask.

Piece by piece I felt the metal destroying every one-liner muscle and that tendon. Only a few centimeters were missing and my hand wouldn’t be one piece.

Just when I thought my cry would be the last thing I would hear and ghostface's face would be the last I saw before my death, a sound appeared that I never thought I would feel safe of it.

Sirens. Ghostface resistance disappeared from now on. I smiled dirty at him and whispered " now you're fucked!" His gaze fell to the window. The red and blue lights of the siren were reflected in the white of his mask.

And then he gave me one last look and ran into the kitchen. The door was torn open and I was met with a relief that I would never have wished for. Kirby held her gun in position and glanced through the restaurant, behind her a SWAT team and some police officers.

When my vision deteriorated and the pain hit me like a bullet in the chest, I croaked "K -Kirby" and I no longer had to stare at the darkness, I saw in Kirby's eyes that were as bright as the sky. Worried, she looked at me "kitchen" I whispered and let my head fall back. " Hurry up!" She called out to the team and was by my side the next moment. I shook my head "Maria..." Kirby followed my gaze and I recognized so many feelings in her at once, but she managed to collect them and gave clear instructions. Her gaze fell on the police officers "paramedics immediately!" Already a group of them stormed in and they gathered around Maria.

Was she still living? Did she have another chance? I had to know I had to see her.

"Why cant I see anything!" I said without a voice and shook my head. Kirby straightened up much carefully and leaned my upper body over hers as she pressed me into her arms and began to wipe over my face.

"Tell me that you can save her! "I called the paramedics in my half voice. I hadn't realized how much I had screamed while Ghostface was about to kill me.

I began to breathe hard. Kirby's grip around me became stronger and she wiped away more and more of my tears. So they were the reason why I couldn't see.

"Williams... I need you here," Kirby said sternly and one of the paramedics turned around. He came to my side and raised my arm to look at my hand.

My head burned and pounded... my voice was now just a soft whisper. "I -I was so scared Kirby... i -I thought I was dying" tormented she looked at me and nodded "everything will be fine Y/N" I shook my head "no... no it won't"

I resisted her grip and wanted to stand up, I wanted to destroy something. I wanted to hurt Someone like I was hurt and there I was hit by a small sting on the upper arm. Confused, I saw to my right upper arm " fuuuck..." I whispered before everything got dark I began to fall.

[alynnl]

A line I read in one of the Sherlock short stories ("My friend never stood on the dock") and my recent fixation on the Ace Attorney series led to me asking one question.

"What if Sherlock Holmes did go on trial, being accused of murder?"

The short story title would refer to the courthouse (maybe The Old Bailey, referenced in The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles.)

Immediately following his arrest, Holmes sends a message to Watson. In the note, he tells Watson not to get sentimental and visit him in jail that night, but instead to investigate the scene of the crime, and see what he can deduce from it. Showing great trust in his friend, Watson does just that and takes very detailed notes on his findings.

"There was never a greater test of my own powers of observation."

And because of Holmes's status as a sort of celebrity, he will have a closed trial, with only members of the judiciary and key people on the case attending. This is to prevent the trial from becoming a media circus, and ensure the verdict will be reached by evidence and testimony rather than public opinion.

Godfrey Norton, who is now Irene Adler's husband, is serving as Holmes's defense counsel. Irene herself is attending the trial, watching from the gallery. (This is the final way Irene outsmarted Holmes in A Scandal in Bohemia - everyone believed Norton was a prosecutor working on her behalf, when he was actually a public defender.)

The opposing counsel is Charles Culverton-Smith, a prosecutor who is on track to become Director of Public Prosecutions. There’s a possibility that he took the case to add to his reputation (but that’s just speculation on Watson and Norton’s part.)

Watson tells Holmes of this theory when they speak in the defendant's lobby just before the trial, but Holmes is skeptical.

"If Culverton-Smith truly wanted to bolster his reputation, he would insist on a public trial where he could show his legal prowess to a larger audience. There is something else at play here, something far more sinister."

The trial begins. Both Norton and Culverton-Smith give their legal arguments, supporting their stances with evidence and witness testimony.

Watson is the final witness to speak in the trial. He describes his findings at the crime scene, and tries to use factual language (as Holmes remarked to him before, when talking about his writings.) Everyone in the courtroom (including the judge and the prosecution) believe Watson's observations to be so important, that they agree to call for a thirty minute recess. During the pause in proceedings, Lestrade and other policemen to look over the crime scene one more time alongside Watson to confirm what he said was true.

Sure enough, Watson's deductions prove that Sherlock Holmes couldn't have been the killer. When court is back in session, Lestrade gives his report. Based on the new information, the judge hands down a verdict of "not guilty" to Sherlock Holmes.

There is little time to celebrate, as Holmes immediately whisks Watson away to the streets of London. He insists they make haste the nearest carriage, because "There's still time to catch the true mastermind behind this devious plot!"

Lestrade picks up on Holmes's pursuit and decides to lead his own forces to block one of the main exits to London.

Meanwhile, Holmes and Watson enter a high speed chase against the true culprit, who's been behind at least two other incidents of framing people for murders he committed.

At the end of the chase, the criminal is surrounded by Lestrade and his police force on one side, along with Holmes and Watson (who is armed with his revolver) on the other side. He finally surrenders and gives himself up, at last being taken into custody.

Watson is astonished at this turn of events. "My dear Holmes, you've done it again! I'm speechless!"

"Indeed I have, but I insist you don't undersell your role in this, dear Watson. This case would have a much darker conclusion without your thoughtful analysis. I trust that you will reflect that in your writings, if there is ever a time you will be permitted to release the details to the public."

Charles Culverton-Smith catches up with Holmes and Watson. He didn't get a chance to speak with them after the trial, but wanted them to know that he harbored no ill will towards Holmes. He was simply doing his job as a man who practices law, and couldn't imagine leaving the trial to anyone else. Because everyone deserves a fair trial, and many other lawyers are biased either for or against Holmes, depending on how his actions affected their cases.

Holmes comments that Culverton-Smith will make a fine Director of Public Prosecutions when the time comes, since his integrity speaks for itself.

"If I am ever on the dock in the future, I would trust your judgment."

Watson insists Holmes not talk about "the next time in court" because he doesn't want there to be a "next time."

Holmes agrees to move on from the subject. He points out there is still ample time for breakfast and sets off to find the nearest place that will serve Watson's favorite dishes. "My treat, naturally."

Watson concludes the story mentioning that five years have passed since the first and only trial of his friend, Sherlock Holmes. The events in the closed courtroom have been made public, to teach students of law how to conduct a fair trial of a famous (or infamous) client.

[oops-it-happened-again]

Chapter 4

Izzy reports to her friends and decides that she can't just passively bear all these new developments.

-> Chapter 3

Words: 1355

Warnings: mention of virginity, mention of injury

“Where is Osferth?”

Izzy stared at the screen in confusion; as promised, she’d joined a video call with her friends to assure them that no shadowy monster had appeared out of the darkest corners of the city to drag her to its secret lair.

Instead of her friend, though, she was looking at Uhtred’s handsome face for the second time in one evening.

“He’s in the shower,” she informed him, feeling oddly defensive. “He’s a funny one—I twisted my ankle, and he bodily carried me home.”

“Why is he in the shower? What did you do to him? He’s not…he’s never…Oh…” Uhtred looked positively flustered.

“I’ve done nothing to him,” Izzy cried and winced when a side-step drove a lance of dull pain up her leg.

“Where are you?” Ethel interrupted, pushing into the frame forcefully. “Are you…cooking? Did Edith not warn you?”

“I’m not allowed to cook for the man who’s borne me like a babe in his arms? Are you insane? As long as you don’t explain yourself to me, I’ll do as I see fit.” Izzy hissed, giving her sauce a provocative stir with an old, wooden spoon.

Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What do you mean by ‘he’s never…’?”

“Don’t tell her, it will only inflame her further,” Ethel warned thunderously.

“We’re all pretty convinced he’s never been with a woman.” Uhtred cackled.

“Stop telling people that,” Osferth interrupted, standing in the doorway like the wrath of God. “She’s not interested in that!”

“Oh, but she is! She definitely is,” Izzy contradicted and gave him a sweet smile over her shoulder. “Please sit down in the living room. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Turning back to her phone, she saw Edith join at last.

“How are you doing, babe?” she asked, leaning against an open window.

“Turn up the volume woman, I can’t hear anything!” Finan cried from seemingly a good distance away.

“Osferth let her get hurt!” Uhtred jeered.

“Is he standing outside?” Izzy interjected, but everyone just made a dismissive hand gesture as if the answer was evident.

“Did he?” Finan then bellowed. “Are you both all right? Do you need someone to come over?”

“I twisted my ankle,” Izzy corrected, raising her voice almost comically. “I’m perfectly fine, and so is your precious friend. We’ve come to no harm. Now, before dinner gets cold…”

“You’ve cooked dinner for him?” Edith slammed her open palm against her forehead in wordless disbelief.

“Well, someone has decreed that he’s to stay with me,” Izzy commented in an increasingly snarky tone. “I might as well make it worth his while, shouldn’t I?”

She was about to end the call, her thumb already hovering over the red button, when she hesitated.

“The way I see it, people have come to defend and protect us even though you’ve disparaged them adamantly. The least I can do is show the man some kindness—I know not what wrongs they have inflicted on you, and I doubt you’d tell me in their presence, but they’ve been nothing but good to me thus far.”

“You have a good heart,” Edith sighed. “And I fear it might lead you astray. You do not know the circumstances of his birth, and he doesn’t know yours. Do be careful!”

“Edith,” Ethel gasped. “That is not your secret to allude to.”

“The Baby Monk is a good man,” Finan yelled through the open window behind Edith. “He won’t hurt her—stop putting dreadful ideas in the woman’s mind.”

“He might tell her if he so wishes—it’s hardly a secret,” Edith, ignoring Finan, replied with a lopsided shrug. “We just want you to be careful! It’s too easy to fall into something that will…put you in danger, body and mind. Not Osferth himself, of course, he’s…as good as they make them. In theory.”

“Your enemies seem to be mine already anyway,” Izzy laughed wryly. “Fate is unpredictable, and I might have been foolish to think that I could outrun mine. If my past came for me tonight, would you desert me? Hide?”

“Of course not,” Ethel burst out, vexed by the mere thought.

“What past? Are you in peril?” Uhtred shoved himself into the frame once more from below. “Osferth must be told at once!”

“Not tonight, no,” Izzy chuckled. “I’ve never been safer than I am in this very moment, I think. Good night.”

“What past?” came the echo of another voice from behind her. “Are there people who wish to hurt you?”

Blowing up her cheeks, Izzy turned around slowly. “Only if you think matrimony is evil.”

“It can be—do you wish to be married?” Very carefully, Osferth pried the ladle from her hand and set it down beside the bubbling pot.

“Oh yes, I do. Not to a man my father picked for me, though, and not on another’s terms. But enough of that—tell me about yourself!”

Izzy was unsure why she so yearned to know more about a man she’d been warned not to get too close to, but she couldn’t control her boundless curiosity which had thrown her into many an unfortunate situation before.

As he stood in the oblique light of her cheap kitchen lamp, she had to admit that it couldn’t have been the baggy, beige sweatshirt or the ill-fitting, ripped jeans that had caught her attention.

“I haven’t given much thought to getting married, I’m afraid,” Osferth replied tersely, and Izzy automatically wondered how much of her conversation with her friends he’d overheard. “My father, if you need to know, would never dream of organising a match for me.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Izzy said as she started to heap pasta onto the only two plates she owned in this flat—she took a perverse pride in their plain, blue enamel.

When she turned back around, the epiphany hit her like a gut punch. He looked kind and tender, and the fact that he had eyes like a summer sky didn’t hurt either.

In a quiet, lanky way, he was compellingly handsome, but his closed stance—arms crossed, brow puckered in mistrust—made him look much more fragile than his height suggested.

Edith’s warnings echoed through her mind—Izzy decisively pushed them aside.

“Let’s eat; I still don’t know what’s going on. There seem to be a lot of secrets in this place I will have to dig up,” she sighed as she walked past Osferth, woefully aware of the tiny flinch he tried to suppress when her arm brushed across the back of his hand.

“There are no secrets. I know that Edith calls us ‘The Lost Boys’ behind our back. Uhtred and Ethel dated for a while, but she’s decided to prioritise her career. I take it you know that she’s married to another. Finan and Edith had a thing, then she took off to study medicine abroad. His next girlfriend died in a rock-climbing accident. Sihtric is coming to terms with the fact that he and his girl have grown apart.”

He exhaled loudly. “And I’m just me.”

“Is what they say true?” Izzy asked, aware of how unbearably direct that question was, but she couldn’t focus on the revelations he’d imparted while his beautiful eyes were still drilling holes into her forehead. “Do you not hold with womenfolk?”

“I’ve kissed girls before,” he replied defensively. “I have! But…the schooling I’ve had, the life I’ve led—let’s say women were a rare blessing, and…”

“Do they make you nervous?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“Do I make you nervous?”

Her gaze was calm and steady even if slightly amused as she sat down on her couch again and looked up at him expectantly.

Izzy didn’t know what had come over her—she usually wasn’t the kind of woman to flirt randomly with men she’d only just met, but something about his demure demeanour and candid eagerness to please moved her to insanity.

“Are we asking the hard questions then? Before dinner?” he sighed, shuffling his feet against the worn carpet as if unsure whether he should sit down by her side or remain standing. “Very well!”

Thank you for reading!

If this is something that could interest you, please let me know!

Read this on Ao3

-> Chapter 5

[fates0end]

Alright, fuck it, I'm ranting about how Deltarune theorists treat the Halloween Hack

Forewarning: I'm probably going to come across as rude here, but good LORD is this reading insidious. Alright, so apparently there's an epidemic of using the Earthbound Halloween Hack to justify their Deltarune theories. Something to the effect of 'Well, the Halloween Hack was about you, the player, being a murderer and that the only ethical choice is not to play it and kill the innocent old man, so who's to say he didn't recycle those themes into Deltarune?'

Which would be fine and all if it weren't for the fact that it's wrong. And this has been spreading secondhand by people who have never played nor experienced a LP of the Halloween Hack, so I guess it falls to me to correct it. There are some correct broad strokes here; the character we play as is a bounty hunter in a framing that portrays the job as being a more socially acceptable assassin, and there is a sadistic, possibly third party entity that takes glee in Andonuts' death. But the one thing we know for certain is that it is NOT the player. And by the start of the game, Andonuts is anything but innocent. To elaborate on the latter, the Andonuts in the Halloween Hack is not the goofy old man from Earthbound, but a maniac driven insane with guilt trying to bring the whole world down with them. He's turned his immediate surroundings into a hellscape of bioengineered monstrosities and a few survivors desperately trying to survive, and said monsters are starting to encroach into other towns, it's implied even that those monsters are abducting people - or killing them without even leaving a body. And when Varik comes a'knockin', he doesn't try to deny that he caused this; he fluctuates between laughter and gibbering in terror, locking himself into the Magicant machine in the belief that it will in some way save him. Which brings us to the former.

Now, I'm not sure that Toby had a solid metanarrative idea in mind here - all interactions are portrayed as being spoken to Varik. But it's at this point that the narration (or at least the real world narration), who or whatever it may be, gets VERY pushy. It starts portraying Andonuts as less of a man, and more of some kind of beast, a monster to slay, and urges you to kill him in his sleep. If you choose to do so, it praises you, tells you/Varik that you did the right thing, and then the game ends because that's not the true ending. If you choose the blank second option, the narration gets annoyed, and tells you that you don't have the option to do nothing. But if you press the "B" button, it loses its shit. It starts trying to convince you, pleads with you, telling you that you want to, NEED to kill him, eventually devolving into the rage of the leftmost textbox as Varik enters Andonuts' mental world instead of committing cold-blooded murder.

As you explore his mindscape, you start to piece together the reasons Andonuts ended up this messed up - repressed sexuality, strained relationships, and, of course, the mistaken belief that he personally caused the death of his son and his friends due to a misunderstanding of how time travel works. You're informed that you need to gather Dr. Andonuts' "courage" in order to reach the deepest depths of his mind. As you progress through his memories and self loathing, you find entities that call themselves "courage". However, it becomes more and more clear, until Poo outright states it, that they are actually some kind of psychic projection (Earthbound is about kids with psychic powers FYI) from the kids who Andonuts thinks he killed (besides Ness, who for some reason that even the game seems to be confused about is narratively equated with Varik), from the new timeline they ended up in after killing the game's main antagonist. The motives get clearer too; at first, you're told that their goal is to 'help' or 'save' Andonuts in some vague way, but as you progress, it becomes clearer and clearer that Andonuts has gone far past the point of no return; Poo makes it clear that they know they can't save-save Andonuts, and the best thing they can hope for is to stop him from mentally torturing what little is left of himself in his dream world. And then, the final battle. It starts with fighting Andonuts' Id, a gory, deformed creature that does nothing but be miserable and beg for mercy. This feels less like cruelty, and more of a necessary evil; the status quo is only making Andonuts lose his mind more, and killing it isn't the same as killing Andonuts, as evidenced by the fact that Andonuts is still there to fight you after you kill it. After that, you fight Andonuts' Rage, who claims that with the Id gone, his mind is nothing but hatred. Whether it's true or not, he makes it quite clear that the Andonuts we are fighting is pure anger; there's the memey dialogue, which, while somewhat tastelessly executed and overly crude by modern and professional standards, does the job quite well at portraying him as a being composed of hatred. There's also his most powerful attacks being "PSI Bitchkill" and kicking you in the dick really hard. Yes, really.

Ultimately, Andonuts' Rage is defeated, and Magicant fades away, and we find out the outcome - Andonuts is dead. The game muses on what the point of this whole thing was if he was going to die anyway, and closes out on Varik musing on how his life is pretty good, a fart joke, and a 'Happy Halloween' from Toby.

Now, while you could be forgiven for interpreting Magicant as being pointless, and you are intended to feel cheated on some level, I don't think it's quite so simple. Yes, Andonuts dies no matter what you do, but the portrayal of it is treated quite differently. Killing him right off, between the tone of the narration and the lack of ending, feels gross and wrong. His death upon beating his mental hangups feels more melancholic. Like you tried to do the right thing, but failed.

And I feel the weight of Magicant is important too - you actually come to understand and even feel bad for Andonuts, rather than simply writing him off as a monster and discarding him. The canon heroes, too, find it to still be worth it to try to put him out of his misery to try to give him some semblance of a peaceful death, given how they're all gung-ho on finishing the adventure and how Poo acknowledges that there's no way at this point that Andonuts can reach a happy ending.

So, to try to bring it back around to Deltarune, if there's anything that Toby took from this to bring to Deltarune's plot, I believe it is this sentiment:

Sure, Andonuts died either way. Whatever you try, that can't be changed. But still, there is value in your choice to disobey the narration. there is value in choosing to understand him, despite being doomed, in trying to give him a better death than being stabbed in his self-torture chamber. Yes, what you chose to do may not change anything. But there is still meaning in the fact that you chose to do it.

If Deltarune really does only have one ending (and that little question mark in that one description is putting that into doubt), you participating in Kris' story, and how to choose to do so, still matter. Snowgrave wouldn't be that big of a deal if they didn't. Choosing not to play might even end up being the worst outcome for that world.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: child abuse, violence, implied domestic abuse, self-deprecation

AO3 link

Chapter 29 - Wylan

Wylan walked through the streets of the Barrel for the better part of an hour. He had no idea where he was going, more than once he realised he’d doubled back on himself but he apparently had just enough awareness not to let his feet lead him back to the dark walled gambling den with the crimson facade, nor the tipsy greyed building where his things - quite possibly the only things left in the world that he owned - were still sitting in Jesper’s bedroom. His clothes, his favourite jumper. His ruined flute. The only thing he was wearing that was actually his own was his still slightly damp jacket, and one of the two things that had been left in his pockets was sitting on Brekker’s desk in a blank, wet clump. The papers were completely blank. His father hadn’t even bothered with committing to a convincing ruse. 

The only other thing in his pocket was a few purple kruge notes, not many and not really enough recovered from their bout in the canals to be described as dry, but perfectly good for spending. He needed somewhere to stay, and once he had that he would need a job - a real job - to be able to keep on affording it. Of course, he could have gone back to Jesper’s - when he stopped and focused he thought he could remember the way back at least well enough to find a landmark that would get him there - and collected his things, then at least he wouldn’t need to buy new clothes, but he didn’t feel ready to face him. To face any of it. 

Wylan was an idiot. He had been stupid and foolish and so utterly and completely naïve. Why would someone like Jesper have wanted anything to do with him? This was exactly what his father had meant. He’d called Wylan vulnerable, and it was true. He was so easily taken in by their tricks, too stupid to understand when he was being lied to. Imagine if he’d been allowed involvement in his father’s business, and let himself be tricked like this. Everything would collapse around then and it would be all his fault. Maybe that almost stung more than realising that Jesper had lied to him: finally knowing for definite that his father had always been right. 

“I don’t want to do this, Wylan,” his father had told him, when Wylan was eight, “But you have left me no other choice. Do you understand that?”

Wylan had nodded, not sure if he was supposed to speak or not. It was a day or two after Jan Van Eck had informed his son of the plan to fake his sight loss, so it must have been just over a week after his mother died.

There used to be a miniature portrait of Marya Van Eck sitting on this desk, next to one of Wylan when he was maybe four or five, in a little folding frame that propped them both up side by side, he could picture it well. Most of the time he had ever spent in this office had been devoted to avoiding his father’s gaze and the painting of his mother was in good view from Wylan’s chair, but it had never been a good place to look either. Marya had never been angry with him for his failures, but every time he tried without success, every time another harsh report came from his tutors, every time one of his father’s new plans to help him learn to read proved useless compared to the extent of Wylan’s shortcomings, he saw the same look in her eyes. He thought it was disappointment but it was certainly mingled with fear as well; he supposed she was afraid that he would ruin everything her husband had built for them. For her. Wylan was eight, his eyes daring to rise high enough to search his father’s desk for the missing portrait, when he realised that the tiny release he’d just felt in his chest was relief. He was relieved that his mother would not have to suffer him anymore, and he was relieved that he would never make her frightened again. How evil of him, no matter how tiny or fleeting the thought, to be momentarily relieved that she was gone. But it was a fact, whether she had ever told him so or not, that Wylan had hurt her. He was glad that he would never be able to again. 

“And you understand that we have to make sure it’s realistic, or you will only embarrass us both,”

Wylan nodded. His father had said this yesterday, or the day before or whenever Wylan had last sat in this chair and tried not to look him in the eye. The painting had been there, then, but now it was gone. 

“You don’t want to become even more of an embarrassment, do you? Or do you take pleasure in hurting me like this?”

“No, Father,” he’d whispered, “I’m sorry,”

“Sorry does not fix what you have done, Wylan, and you will not succeed in trying to win any kind of sympathy from me here. You have threatened to drag our name - my name, and the name of my household - through the mud, and I have no pity for someone who would do such a thing,”

Wylan looked at his shoes. 

“We’re going to go on a little trip,” his father continued, his voice level, as though he were discussing one of his business deals, or when he was hosting his next dinner party, Anything normal, “We will leave tomorrow morning to go to the Lake House, but as far as anyone else knows we are leaving the country. Understood?”

Wylan nodded.

“When we return in two week’s time everyone will believe that we cut our trip short after a tragic and violent accident that cost you your sight, when in fact you will have spent those two weeks practising to convince the world that you cannot see. You’ll be getting up bright and early, so best go to your room now and get sorted for sleep,”

Wylan glanced briefly at the window - the sun had not yet set - but of course did nothing except nod and wait to be dismissed. He wanted to go and hide under his duvet, to try and summon the tears he wanted to shed for his mother but had so quickly vanished when he heard the change in his father’s tone as he told him to grow up and stop crying. He wanted to be swallowed by that warm hollow of darkness in his bed, where he could hide, where he could pretend that nothing existed beyond the feeling of the sheets, where he could try to convince himself that everything would be okay. 

“My Corporalnik will travel with us in a Squaller kefta, so if anyone sees us they will simply assume her job is to summon winds for our ship as we cross the True Sea. By the time we return, you must be convincing enough for even myself to think that you are blind, or I will have to find a new solution to this problem. Have you understood everything that I’ve told you, Wylan?”

There was a brief pause, before Wylan dared - an perhaps this was foolhardy of him - to whisper:

“Why do we need a Corporalnik?”

Jan Van Eck shook his head, his sigh long and low. 

“Did you not listen to me at all, Wylan? It has to look realistic,”

No, Wylan could not go back to collect his belongings from Jesper. At least not today.

The street he’d found himself on now was quieter than the others he had walked through, which must mean he’d gone farther South again. He had heard the tourists were less likely to venture here, and that this was where the bright, falsely jovial fronts the gangs put up in their gambling dens and pubs and other tourist businesses began to slip. It was probably not the best place to stay, but it was almost probably going to be the cheapest. 

“Excuse me,” Wylan all but forced himself to say, as he approached a man sitting on the front porch of a dilapidated building, “Do you know where there might be rooms to rent?”

The man surveyed Wylan with distaste as he puffed on his pipe, before hacking loudly into the crook of his elbow. He was chewing a wad of jurda that had stained his teeth and lips orange, and when he coughed streams of the stuff slew from his mouth and stuck onto his shirt sleeve. Wylan had to fidget his fingers in and out of his fists and try to subtly glance away so that it didn’t turn his stomach. 

“Sign right there says vacancy,” the man grumbled, “What are you, blind?”

For a brief, almost surprising moment, Wylan found himself contemplating the possibility of dropping the lie. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? To simply not say anything of it to a stranger; all he would have to do was find some words or other to get him through the end of a short conversation and then just walk away, the first step to dropping this stupid facade that he hated so much, such a simple way of letting it loosen its suffocating hold on him. It should be nothing. But even for the tiny moment that it flickered through his head, Wylan felt sick. 

“Yes,” he said, the shame or annoyance or both that he could feel burning towards himself turning into impatience and impertinence as it translated into his voice. 

The man grunted, leaning forwards and uncomfortably close as he stared at Wylan’s eyes - he smelled very strongly of pipe smoke, and something beneath it that Wylan was pretty sure was alcohol on his breath - and Wylan had to fight not to squirm away. Then he just shrugged and pulled back. 

“How did you know I was here?”

“I could hear you,”

He grunted again. 

“Rooms for rent on your left - there’s a step in front o’ the door,”

Wylan thanked him, and then walked away as calmly as he could stomach. 

He managed to get himself a tiny and barely affordable room, and lay awake all the rest of the day and night on a mattress that reeked of the chemicals they’d used to try and rid the thing of lice. His skin crawled, and he couldn’t tell if the chemicals had failed their task or if he was just putting too much thought into the image of the little bugs scuttling across him. He had no night things - he quite literally had nothing at all - and no food for the evening or the next morning, but he wasn’t sure that he would have eaten it if he had. As soon as he was lying down, with the possibility of lice or none, it took a good chunk of time to convince himself to rise again. What if he just stayed here, lying like this, letting the world move around him forever? When he was little he used to hide in the house’s warren of upper rooms, beneath a servant’s bed or in one of their linen cupboards, praying that everyone would just forget that he was there. But it had never worked, and it would not work now. No-one would forget that he had rent to pay, at the very least. 

At some point, he was sure it was days later, he could smell a food stall below his window and suddenly felt more overwhelmed by hunger than he ever had been before in his life. He bought an entire cone of fried potatoes and sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, scarfing them down so quickly that he burned his tongue. After that he stayed sitting there for a short time, watching the world go by, before he forced himself to his feet and began to walk again. He needed a job, though he had no idea what he might be able to do. He wasn’t strong enough to do any of the labour-intensive jobs, and anything softer would require him to read - or at least to see, and apparently he wasn’t ready to let go of that hang up yet. Maybe he could try to force himself through admitting the truth, but if a job would require him to read anyway then what would be the point of it? 

It took Wylan a week to find a job at a tannery in the warehouse district, stirring chemicals and dyes in massive vats on the factory floor. He gave the name Wylan Hendriks, without even really thinking about it, because he knew that Brekker had been right about that, at least. The foreman made a slight show of being good enough to take Wylan on despite his lack of sight, but nobody mentioned it after that.There was no protective or safety clothing offered to anyone working there and the chemicals made Wylan woozy after only an hour or so; the pittance he was earning probably wasn’t enough to justify his constant exhaustion from the twelve hour shifts or the constant unpleasantness in his head that had grown to cloudiness and seemed to be growing on to be persistent enough that it could be described as illness. He found that he could do little but stumble along his well-learned walk in the dark of every morning and every evening, do his job with the absolute minimum attention it could possibly require each day, and collapse onto his little, possibly lice-ridden bed each night. At least he was too tired for staying awake late into the night to be an option - though unfortunately it would seem that exhaustion did not make him too weak for dreams, and they would often rouse him in cruel bursts; too late to bother going back to sleep, too early to start walking to the warehouse district. 

At some point Wylan looked up into the grimy mirror and saw that the Tailoring over his scars was starting to come undone. There was no chance of him scraping together enough money to see a Corporalnik - after rent was paid he only had just enough to eat twice a day - but he found that he didn’t really care. The misty white layer on his eyes was still there, which he knew anyway because his view of distances hadn’t gotten any better, but it was perhaps a little thinner. Only one of his scars was properly visible - the full extent of the one that ended in a silver line above his cheekbone. 

Just stop the bleeding. No, don't Heal him - let it scar. 

Wylan ran a finger over it, staring at the boy in the mirror. He was thinner than Wylan, with heavy dark circles beneath his eyes, slightly hollowed cheeks that made him look like a ghost in one of the children’s stories Wylan remembered his nanny reading to him as a small child. How long did it take for the Tailoring over his scars to come undone? Wylan didn’t know how long it was supposed to last, but it was the surprise at seeing the scar that made him realise he had no idea how long he’d been there. He sat and counted each week, as best as he could remember through his weariness and burning headache. 

A month. Wylan had been in the Barrel for an entire month. 

[drakeheart]

MEMORIA

Decima receives a visit from a ghost of her past, and is faced with a decision that will shape her fate. Set just before the start of IBS.

cw: trauma, manipulation

---

Waning rays of autumn sunlight carved golden paths through the mist-laden boughs of a secluded Ascalonian forest. Varinia Stormsounder picked her way carefully through this rugged terrain, noting the signs of her quarry: faint but recognizable scratches upon the bark of the trees marked out a carefully concealed trail. It seemed her information had been good, after all.

As if to confirm, the dense underbrush soon gave way to a clearing, revealing a humble dwelling--a small grotto set against a rocky outcrop, complete with a makeshift scrap-metal door and several ill-tended patches of wild plants. Barely a settlement, but a sure sign that someone lived here.

Cautiously, she stepped forward and reached out to knock, but before her hand even made contact with the door, an arrow whistled past her head, lodging itself into the metal frame. Startled, she turned to see the looming silhouette of a tall female charr emerging from the treeline, bow at the ready, another arrow already nocked.

"…you. Why are you here? How did you find this place?" the charr growled, her voice deep and wary.

"Decima. It's… good to see you again." Varinia responded, doing her best to smooth down her bristling fur. "You're a difficult charr to track down, you know that?"

"Yes, and I intend to keep it that way. Now answer me, before I make you regret your efforts." She bared her teeth.

"Come now, is it too much to believe I simply wanted to catch up with an old friend?"

Decima's pull on the bowstring tightened. Varinia nervously cleared her throat.

"No, I, uh… I suppose not. But will you at least hear me out? I have a… proposition, of sorts. Something I believe you'll be very interested in. It'll be quick."

Decima's expression was unreadable, but after a few moments of tense consideration, she lowered her weapon. Varinia exhaled in relief, a wry smile curling across her muzzle.

"Excellent. I promise, you won't regret this."

---

The inside of the grotto was just as unassuming as the exterior. Charr did not typically live lavishly, gladium even less so, but this was meagre even by those standards. The room was barely furnished, with little more than a workbench, a straw-lined bed and a small table with a rickety stool. Upon being let in, Varinia had promptly perched herself upon the single seat, so Decima paced restlessly about the floor, listening as the smaller charr spun her tale.

"…a legion rally? Why are you telling me about this?" she rumbled, scowling deeply.

"It's not about the rally, but what comes next. Bangar has plans for the future of the charr. He seeks to forge a new era, one of unity and strength. All charr beneath a single banner, legion and gladium alike. No one left behind."

"That seems unlikely." Decima snorted, shaking her head. Her voice then grew quiet. "Besides… the High Legions made it very clear that I have no place with them anymore. Old, or new."

"Decima…" Varinia sat up straight, her expression serious. "What they did to you is disgraceful. Despicable, even. After all those years, all that you'd done for them, and your warband--"

"You keep them out of your mouth." Decima snarled, suddenly rearing up to her full height, her scarred face contorting with anger. Varinia couldn't help but flinch.

"Fine! Fine." she yielded, holding up her hands. "But it doesn't have to be this way. Gladia deserve better than this. You deserve better."

Decima turned away, struggling to maintain her composure, fighting against the sudden tide of fragmented memories flashing through her head. Searing flame, twisted steel, shattered bone. The remnants of all she had lost. Wounds even time couldn't heal.

She took a deep breath.

"Even if that were true…" she hissed out bitterly, "Why would an imperator want a crippled old gladium like me in his ranks? He's got the pick of the legions. I've been out of the fight for... years, now. What purpose could I even serve?"

"You and I both know that a soldier like you doesn't simply retire." Varinia rapped her claws across the table, leaning forward intently and fixing her with a stare. "You're no wretch, Decima. War is in your blood. Even if you can't fight quite as you used to, you're nothing if not… adaptable."

Decima shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wondering just how much the charr had poked her nose into.

"I didn't let you in here so you could stroke my tail, Stormsounder." she retorted stiffly.

"No, I don't imagine you did." Varinia's stare was relentless. "But you do know that I'm right."

Decima remained silent for a long moment, keeping her eyes averted, then spoke again.

"…do you really believe he can change things?"

"Of course he can! Imperator Bangar is might incarnate! He has seen the rot that festers at the heart of the Black Citadel, and he intends to excise it." Varinia's voice rose with fervor and pride. "He is the only one who lead us to claim to our rightful place! But he alone is not enough, we need unity for all--"

"Don't preach at me. A simple 'yes' would have been enough."

"…very well. Yes, I do." Varinia sighed, rising from her seat and stepping closer. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Decima, I want this change. For the charr. For you."

Decima startled as a hand softly touched her arm, turning instinctively to find herself transfixed by Varinia's bright blue eyes, glittering in the dim light of the grotto. A new memory tugged at the back of her mind, of warm youth and feelings left unspoken--long since buried, now drifting dangerously close to the surface. A time she yearned for nothing more than this gentle touch.

She tore herself away.

"…it's getting late. You need to go."

"I… suppose you're right." Varinia reluctantly withdrew her paw and began to make her way towards the door. "Just… promise me you'll give this a chance. Come to the rally, hear what Bangar has to say, and make your own decision. You deserve that, at least."

"I'll think about it. Now, leave."

She paused at the threshold, casting a final glance over her shoulder at the gladium behind her.

"Trust me, sister. I'm offering you a place in the new world. You need only to come and take it."

---

Long after the other charr had left, Decima stood still in the doorway of her home, staring silently out into the darkening forest. A cold breeze threaded its way through the trees, ruffling her fur as it slipped past, carrying with it the promise of coming frost. The seasons were once again preparing to change.

Perhaps this time she would join them.

[analoghorrorexplained]

Analog Horror Review: UrbanSPOOK

[ Warning, this post will contain spoilers for the work of media mentioned in the title. This review will also contain mentions of upsetting topics such as the SA and SA of a minor. Please read at your own risk]

It has been awhile since I have made an analog horror review since, well, there have not been many series I have seen that has caught my eye. But, while I am not really “dazzled” by the newer content being put out there (minus Vita Carnis). But... despite me not really finding much of what is being released right now interesting... I found myself unable to not say anything about the series above. 

UrbanSPOOK is an analog horror series detailing the exploits of an extremely violent serial killer who leaves paintings at the scenes of his crimes. That is it. The horror from this series is actually a little different than what we are used to since instead of something paranormal or extraordinary happening all of what we are seeing happen is caused by a presumably normal (although extremely deranged) man with no other extraordinary traits. In a way, this makes urbanSPOOK more realistic than some other series. Things like this could very well happen (and probably are happening) in our real world. This is more or less the extent of the plot. Each video is set up to be a VHS recap of the crimes of this serial killer recounting in detail how this serial killer murdered these people in the most violent way they could. And in each video, the paintings left behind by this person are shown. 

I watched the entire series which was not hard to do since each video was under 5 minutes long. And I did not like what I saw.

For one, as many others have said, UrbanSPOOK does not really use the actual genre of analog horror that well. While I can tell the creator put some serious effort in those paintings along with research involving the methods of killing: the series itself is more reminiscent of a slideshow. There is no reason this could not have been any other type of horror or even just a series of twitter posts providing backstories for these paintings. These videos dont seem like PSAs since they do not state what organization they originate from or any other specifics like the dates these murders happened, approximate locations, or any other details that really give us a time or a place. With the analog format, you are supposed to be using analog formats of media to tell a story. This can take the form of a channel hijacking, old TV ads, old children's shows, PSAs, or radio broadcasts (among others). While the channel says the videos we are being shown are from supposedly “old VHS tapes”, they do not even show the old VHS grain or distortions most tapes have and, again, lack a lot of the information we already went over. There is no time frame for events other than “2 months ago” or “4 months ago” nor is there a location, or even any organizations we can trace things back to.

If this is supposed to be a PI or a family member of a victim raising awareness, why are they detailing the killings in such crippling detail when the focus should be on catching the guy doing this? If this is meant for police eyes only (which would explain the graphicness) why is there a number at the end of the video? If this was made by the killer, what would be the point in doing this when they are already leaving behind paintings at the scene? And if this is a news network: all of the above is still true but why is there no secondary voiceover? Why are they showing the paintings when those paintings do not help identify the victims and are evidence? Why are no specific locations being mentioned other than “the lighthouse” or “a mine”. At least with series like Gemini Home, Vita Carnis, Local 58, and Mandela, we have some sort of base location we get to be familiar with. We know why the story is being presented in analog format. It makes sense because the story is set in a time where that is the only format available. We have clues. This isnt giving us anything other than the phone number. And the phone number only tells us that the series takes place in Louisiana, near New Orleans, and is sometimes during of after 2001 since that's when that area code was introduced. And even then, DVDs were introduced in 1996 and surpassed the sale of tapes by 2003. This isnt to say people did not use VHS after 2001 but by 2008 everything was mostly switched over to the DVD format. 

My point is: the story does not make a lot of sense in the format it is. Either the creator is having this take place in the early 2000s which... I guess can work but then begs the question of the phone number. But if its before then: the phone number itself is a massive continuity error. 

That is not the only issue I have with the series though.

Sexual assault, themes of genital mutilation, and pedophilia are also pretty common or at least are openly displayed in the series. Grant it, these are traits the killer is shown to possess. These are not things being inherently endorsed or promoted. However, what I do take issue with is the fact that the series lingers a little bit too long on describing these acts and the violence that results from them and not really much else. While the series creator has stated multiple times on now-deleted tweets that he does not view himself as “having limits” in regards to his series and makes this mostly for shock value: I do not think this should excuse just how haphazardly the subject of SA is handled. Almost every episode of the series has something that is either blatantly rape or can be interpreted as a form of rape somewhere in the episode. And a lot of these scenes also involve children, mutilation, or the abuse of animals as well. This is in almost EVERY SINGLE EPISODE. And once again, these are all described in sickening detail. 

Other than being “gross and disturbing” it serves no narrative purpose just like it being on a VHS doesn't. If this was supposed to make us hate the villain: we already have gotten to that point I think. If anything, we have gone well past it. But what also bothers me is that these themes also pop up in the creator's other work. This same issue is a near-constant thing with the other work they put out. I am not accusing the creator of anything, lets be clear on that, but it is not a good look to admit you make content for shock value, have SA be a main theme in your work, and then make a lot of art also about SA and the SA of kids while also selling the painting your in-world serial killer made of a SAed murdered child as merch. 

If you want to address some dark real-world subjects, do that, other places have (for example the SCP foundation or Mandela). But doing that and describing the most graphic rape scene you can think of are not the same thing. Not only is it lazy, it just makes your series into torture porn. It serves little purpose. And when that is a majority of what you talk about: I am inclined to think you have more of a darker connection with that topic beyond using it to simply advance your art. Again, this is not an accusation, just an observation from what is public. 

Overall, between the fact this series fails to really live up to what “analog horror” actually is and lacks any story beyond “here is this guy, he kills people in really violent ways, he leaves paintings behind, and did I mention he does fucked up stuff with their genitals” and it does not progress beyond that. It is edge-fodder without a coherent story or point for existing beyond being disturbing. The only thing that makes this series interesting is the fact its a person doing this and not a monster but after recent episodes even that is questionable. The fact that a teenager who spends a little bit too much time on Liveleak could have written this tells me its not worth following further. The horror here is the fact that something this seemingly loved by other people is this terrible in terms of execution and its ability to convey a point other than “look, a mangled human body I may or may not have SAed, be afraid”. 

Over all I give this a “For the love of god try harder, and no not in that way/10″. While the art is well made, I have no idea why this series gets praise when it fumbles this badly at everything it tries to do. This could have been so good, why is it so bad?

And analog horror community, get better standards if this is the “new standard” of the genre. This is laughable. 

[itsstrange]

Mystery Bird

Fandom: MW2

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Rozlyn “Ace” Doyle (OFC)

A/N: After many weeks/months I’ve finally finished this one! Been coming back and forth with this one for a while now and I’m so glad it’s finally done! I just wanna thank and give a huge shout out to @ebbandfleur for collaborating with me on this one! They definitely deserve it! Thank You Love for bringing my vision alive! Much Love!

With that being said, hope all y’all Ghost sluts enjoy this one! And maybe stay tuned for a mini series 👀

Summary: Ghost is not a hypocrite.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings ⚠️: (No, Maybe?) Fluff, Curious Simon, Cuteness, a little bit of angst.

————

Enjoy! ✨

————

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Simon “Ghost” Riley was not a hypocrite by any means. Well.. at least that’s what he tells himself. Everyone who lives, works, or knows of the 141 crew, all know that Simon “Ghost” Riley is one secretive man. Nobody knows his story, nobody knows anything from him— well.. minus Price, he knows snippets of his story— but other than that nobody else knows and he liked it that way. Easier to handle, especially out on the field, if he were to get captured, again, nobody would know anything about him.

He hopes.

It was better. Safer. Why give any information at all? Especially in his line of work, it’s always better to keep thing’s limited. Besides, nobody needs to know anything about him except for the way he works, the way he gets shit done without question and nothing else. There’s nothing to know anyways, just a dark, painful story that he honest to god would rather avoid. There’s no need to bring those dark times back, no need to share such information, he doesn’t need nor want to, ever, so he doesn’t.

But again, he’s not a hypocrite. But then again he is. Just don’t ever tell him that, unless you’ve got a death wish and are looking for different shades of pain.

Now why hypocrite? Well, maybe because the moment he laid eyes on her frame he has been wracking his brain in trying to figure her out. By her, he means Rozlyn Doyle. Or better known as Ace by the rest of the team, or Roze, the nickname Ghost—Simon has claimed for himself.

It’s been around.. five to six months since she’s joined the team, and from those months, Ghost hasn’t been able to figure her out, figure her story, her secrets. How ironic right? He doesn’t even share his own. She was just hard to fucking read, and that alone held the Lieutenant in a tight grip. He didn’t know why he couldn’t brush it off, brush her off, normally he would, but for some reason he just couldn’t let this go. Just like his job, he was determined in figuring out the rest of her story. He tried asking Price that same month she joined, making it seem like he was just curious on who he was going to be working with alongside on the field, but the older man only lets a short chuckle escape while a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

‘Ask her yourself Simon,’ Is what the old man told him, patting him on the shoulder as he turns to walk away with a fresh cigar in between his lips,

He did not ask her. Obviously. Otherwise he wouldn’t be staring at her from dark corners trying to figure something, anything new that he doesn’t know already. Despite already knowing her incredible hand to hand combat skills, incredible speed, phenomenal aim, he did in fact learn new things about her while lurking in the shadows. As creepy as it sounds he learned things from keeping a close eye on her. For instance, in the first month of her being in the team she had managed to get shot in the arm, it was that same day he learned she was ambidextrous. After that it was the little things, like her favorite drink, whiskey, neat. On exhausting, traumatic days, she’d go for Tequila, 5 shots. If it’s one of those brutal tough days, she’ll drink till she forgets. (He’d know of course since he’d be the one to carry her back to her personal quarters once she’s passed her limit. Yet, she didn’t need to know that). Then there’s her Coffee, sometimes black or with 3 sugars and five creamers. Favorite foods, pizza, sushi, but honestly he’s noticed she’s not picky, she’ll eat whatever is available. Then came the habits, from twirling a knife with her fingers whenever she’s bored, smoking whenever she’s anxious about something, going to the gym whenever she needs to blow off steam, which happens to be on a daily, specifically whenever they come back from a mission.

Then came the annoying habits which were, tag teaming with Soap to annoy the shit out of him, bickering with Soap over ridiculous things, like seriously they were just alike in various ways it’s no wonder they are always arguing over the dumbest things.

One thing Ghost honestly loathes from her would be, not getting help for her injuries, again, ironic right? He alone doesn’t even step foot in medical, usually takes care of himself in his room, unless it’s serious then he’s being dragged by Price or Soap. But that wasn’t the point, she has the habit of hiding her injuries, like the time she got shot in her arm, it was dark and raining that day perfect coverup, but it was when they made it to the safe house where he found out. She was sitting on the broken down bathtub, aid kit wide open on the floor, bloody rags littered the ground, blood oozing down her arm as she shakily stitched herself up. It was a fucking massacre, literally as if someone had been butchered in the bathroom, and boy did he talk her ear off as he took over in patching her up.

Every time he learned something new from her he couldn’t help the way his chest fluttered, the way he was more interested in learning new things about her. Whether it was good or bad, he wanted it all. Wanted to know everything there is about her. Yes, he did know certain things about her, the little things, the snippets, but that wasn’t enough. He wasn’t satisfied with what he’s learned and he knows it’ll eat him alive if he doesn’t figure her out soon.

He really doesn’t know why, but he wants to feel that feeling every time he learns new things from her. It’s a feeling that settles in his chest, he doesn’t know how to explain it other than it brings him peace, admiration and.. happiness. Something he definitely has not felt for years but oh how much he craved it, knowing she was the reason for it only made him want to feel it once again.

Like now for instance, he laid on the ground with an arm propped behind his head as he kept his gaze up at the molded ceiling, mind constantly wondering back to what he had seen a couple hours prior. While meeting with Alejandro’s informant, an ex gang member who had new information about where Valeria is possibly hiding— after she was taken—broken out of their custody— they had been interrupted by a little girl no older than 6 years old. She was collecting a couple of coloring books and crayons, completely oblivious to their conversation or the fact that there are seven armed soldiers in her kitchen, however, before the little girl can intervene any further Ghost watches how Roze quietly makes her way towards the girl, considering she’s the closest to her and quietly whispers something to her before helping her with the rest of the crayons and walking outside with her.

Ghost, who stood opposite side of the room next to Price, silently stared at the whole interaction. He didn’t know why, but the way a small smile appeared on the Sergeants face as she sweetly spoke to the child made an unfamiliar feeling stir at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was actually quite the opposite, it was a warm feeling that dissolved into pure utter happiness as he watched her around the child. Something that has never ever crossed the Lieutenants mind. However, that same feeling only grew stronger as he stepped out the house.

Once they were debriefed on the whole Valeria situation, Ghost and the rest of the soldiers made their way out of the home, where they see Doyle sitting on a small kids table coloring and chatting away with the little girl. It might’ve seemed odd, an armed soldier with an M4 resting on her back while coloring with a nearly 6 year old child, but for Ghost.. it was a sight. Even more so when he catches a glimpse of the sergeants work on the paper.

She can draw? Is what he questions with furrowed brows, yet, interested eyes. On the paper laid in front of her was an identical drawn out portrait of said little girl, exactly the same.

She can draw. Is what he’s been saying throughout the whole day. He just couldn’t seem to get the new fact out of his head, even worse now, as he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor besides Soap, who was snoring like a damn hurricane on a beaten up couch. He already doesn’t sleep much as it is, but if it wasn’t for knowing something new, so innocent and raw about Roze, then he definitely would blame Soap and his brutal snores for his lack of sleep. But he wasn’t to blame. It was Rozlyn Doyle who he couldn’t keep his mind off of, he was too invested in her, he just could not stop thinking about her, everything about her was just so captivating and Ghost—Simon knew, he had fell hard.

Shaking his head with a heavy sigh at the foreign feeling, he pushes himself to a sitting position. Softly groaning from the way his shoulders feel tensed and tired from carrying a vest all day and possibly from laying on stone like floors. Popping the aching muscles from his neck and shoulders, Ghost looks over at Soap—who remained in a deep sleep with an arm perched behind his head— and quietly gets up from the floor. As quietly as his feet can, he makes his way towards the door that leads out to the roof.

Quietly stepping passed Garrick who was fast asleep on a smaller couch by the stairs and Price who was also asleep on the floor, arms crossed over his chest with his iconic hat slightly bent covering his eyes, he successfully makes it to the door without awakening his teammates. However, he just remains standing still by the door frame when his eyes land on her, Roze, who was currently sitting on a foldable chair while quietly looking down at her hands, who were fiddling with something. Darkness surrounded them, only the light from the moon and the small LED lantern by her feet illuminated her beautiful features. From where Ghost stood he noticed the way her brows met in the middle, tongue slightly peeking through her lip as she kept her focus on whatever it was she was doing with her hands, who then realized held a blade on one hand and another object in the other.

She was so engrossed in her task that she hadn’t sensed his bulking figure by the entrance, yet, she had the vision of an eagle and hearing like a moth. Then again, Ghost has always blended well with the shadows, either that or she just wasn’t aware of her surroundings at the moment, which would defeat the purpose of her assignment of taking first watch. With a soft snort and a shake of his head, Ghost finally emerges from the door frame.

“Get some sleep Ace, I’ll take over,” His baritone voice causes the woman to glance up from her work, that happens to be some sort of small wooden block,

Roze gives him a smile, eyes following his large frame until he settles beside her on an empty chair, “It’s okay, I don’t really sleep much.. wouldn’t mind the company though,”

Ghost looks over at her, catching that little smile on her lips before averting his gaze outward, definitely feeling the way his stomach buzzes from the small affection. Silence quickly settles in between them, neither saying anything, it wasn’t an awkward or uncomfortable silence, it never is. At least not with her. The sounds of crickets chirping, coyotes howling every so often, and the way Roze’s blade scrapes along the wooden block can be heard around them.

Speaking of.

“What are you doing?” He finally asks her after watching her scrape her knife against the wood for five seconds,

A wide smile spreads on her face, without glancing up from her work she responds, “Wood carving,”

“Wood carving?” Ghost repeats her response in a question, one brow raised while his brown orbs continue staring at her soft, skillful hands,

“Mmhm,” Her smile still visible on her face as she continues carving whatever it is she’s carving, “Wanna see?”

She suddenly asks, bright hazel eyes staring into his own brown orbs, which of course only ignited his feelings towards her even more by the way she looked at him. Not being able to help himself, Simon’s eyes drift from her hazel eyes to her soft pink lips— that looked slightly red due to her constantly nibbling on them— and back towards her eyes again.

He really did fell for her and that honestly scared the shit out of him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on watch?” He asks her instead, eyes not once parting away from hers,

She shrugs a shoulder, same smile on her face, “I get bored of staring out in the darkness alright now c’mon.. put your hand out,”

Ghost rolls his eyes at her but obliges by extending a gloved hand, palm facing the sky and waits patiently as she bends down to her right. With a wide, childlike smile she excitedly places her woodwork on his hand.

“Dog,” She proudly begins by balancing a small wooden dog on his palm and continues with, “Cat. Horse. And a bird,”

Ghost stares at the small wooden objects with an unreadable expression, yet, he couldn’t help the way his heart swelled in his chest when he sees that bright, wide, gummy proud smile on her face. The way her features illuminated beautifully from the moon light and the LED chandelier on the ground was something Ghost would never grow tired of. He would absolutely do everything in his power to keep that same smile on her face, would do anything to not have it disappear from her face because that smile gives him life.

“It’s not my best work but..,” She claims with a short shrug when she watches the way the lieutenant stares at her work in silence, not saying another thing she carefully begins removing the wooden objects from his palm,

Slightly feeling a little insecure from the heavy silence radiating from the brute, she never did believe she had artistic skills and the way he stared down at her art with an unreadable look only made her insecurity overcome her confidence.

However, before she can remove the small bird, Ghost repositions it to grab it with his gloved fingers. Skull fingers gently holding the small wooden bird as he carefully observes the little details she had carved onto its little body.

“It’s weird, I know,” She jokes with a nervous chuckle, eyes looking down at the other little wooden pieces in her palm,

“No,” Ghost quickly corrects her, eyes still observing the small wooden bird, “It’s mysterious. It’s a Mysterious bird.. like you,”

At his words he turns around to face her, immediately locking eyes with wide hazel orbs but catch the moment they switch from wide to soft in a matter of seconds, then catch the way a small, shy smile tugs on her lips. He didn’t know if he saw correctly due to the lack of lighting, but he was certain he caught a glimpse of red forming on her cheeks.

“I’m not that mysterious,” She argues back, hazel eyes falling to the ground, shy smile still plastered on her face,

“Have’ta disagree sergeant. You’re like a rubrics cube that’s difficult to solve. Once the colors finally match.. it’s like I’ve won the lottery,” Ghost. Simon partially admits on how he feels, come to think of it he’s never really shared on how difficult she is to figure out,

Roze couldn’t help but chuckle as she turns to look at him again, “What why?”

Simon stays silent for a few seconds, just enjoying the way her eyes shine beautifully from the small light illuminating around them, “Because I unlock something new about you. Hence mysterious,”

Again, a wide smile spreads on her face as she takes in his words. She didn’t know it, but a small smile also tugged on his lips beneath the mask. He really did love seeing that smile on her.

“Well.. all you gotta do is ask if you really wanna get to know me better,” She gently shoves his shoulder, same smile on her lips,

No. Because it’s dangerous. Dangerous for me. He thinks to himself, brown eyes observing her beautiful features in silence.

“I don’t like to pry,” He claims, averting his eyes out to the darkness when he hears a twig snap in the distance,

It was a lie, obviously. And he knew she knew it too, but was glad she didn’t call him out on it. Instead she only lets a soft chuckle passed her lips as she sits back in her chair, arms crossed in front of her chest while her eyes glance out towards the darkness. Mind constantly repeating the lieutenants words in a loop. Mysterious Bird. She didn’t know why, but she just loved the sound of it, probably because it came from him most likely, or the fact that this brute of a man who can easily break an enemies neck with his bare hands had just gave a her a heartwarming nickname, another nickname which only widened her smile even more and made her cheeks just a little warmer.

Comfortable silence surrounds them. Again, only the sounds of coyotes howling every once and a while, crickets chirping, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance, and the calm soothing sounds of each others breathing. Ever since she’s met the Ghost, she knew he’s not one to engage into a conversation, let alone start one, but luckily she just didn’t need to have a conversation with the Brit. He preferred silence, observing his surroundings, and she respected that because deep down, she too preferred just sitting in silence with someone. Enjoying the view, the sunset, a movie, just enjoying each other’s presence without any words and she knew she had that with Ghost. Now don’t get her wrong, of course she’d love to talk to him, she usually does, just a few words here and there, at least thats how it was in beginning when they first met, now she gets more than three sentences from him. But she knows he’s not one to talk, at all, at least not with her, she’s seen and heard him have a full conversation with Soap and Price, so maybe it’s me? Maybe he just doesn’t like talking to me? She thinks to herself as she continues to stare out into the darkness. But little did she know, the lieutenant was just too nervous to speak to her, afraid to say the wrong thing that’ll have her distance herself from him, and he didn’t want that. So he limited his choice of words when it came to her, besides, despite wanting to actually talk to her about anything and everything, he truly did enjoy her presence—company in silence. It was something they both built without knowing, but surely enjoyed it.

After 10 minutes or more of comfortable silence, Roze quietly reaches down to her right and picks up a slightly beaten black leather journal with a small golden rose in the center. Something Johnny had gotten her one day after finding out about her hidden talent. The poor thing has seen and been through more things than she can count; from dirt, mud, water, rain, concrete, sand, sour cream for some odd fucking reason that she can’t remember, bullets, blood, vomit, sweat, tears but in other words it’s been through hell and back. Till this day she doesn’t know how it’s still usable or how it even managed to survive every torture she put it through, but is still grateful for its immortality.

Gripping the journal in one hand she maneuvers her chair to the side where the lantern resting on her feet gives her enough lighting. Placing one foot on the small rotten crate in front of her she lets the other swing on top of her other leg, ankle resting just above her kneecap when she places her journal down on her lap and begins doodling away.

Ghost watches her every move in silence. Dark eyes observing her from the corner of his eye. Taking in the way her skin lights up beautifully with the small lantern on the ground, watches the way the light illuminating her skin only makes her look younger, breathtaking, astonishing. It was fucking dangerous. For him. Why did he have to come outside? Why couldn’t she just take his offer to go rest up inside the building? Why does she effect him this way? What the fuck is she doing to him? Question after question piled in the lieutenants head, questions he had no answers for, questions that have been digging into his skull for past couple months.

He really needed to get his shit together, otherwise he’d be making a mistake that’ll only hurt both of them, a mistake that’ll most definitely cause her to leave, for good. And he couldn’t have that, he wouldn’t have that.

So, after what seemed like eons of just staring at her, observing her, he silently inhales deeply through his nose as he reaches in one of his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. Plucking one out from its beaten box, he slips it in between his lips before fishing out his zippo lighter. One that Johnny had gifted him with one day while staying at the Los Vaqueros base. He was relaxing with the gang on a old couch, having a beer or two when the Scot had plopped down right next to him with a pink plastic bag of necessities. With no explanation or any other word, Johnny reaches inside the bag and tosses him the lighter before rummaging through it and pulling out a couple snacks for the men and a chocolate bar for Roze. Simon sat there, staring at the lighter in silence, rubbing his thumb against the carved skull, feeling the way his lip slightly curls upwards beneath his mask before slipping his new lighter inside his pocket without another word.

He doesn’t like gifts, never has. Yet, here he is igniting his cigarette with a gifted lighter.

Comfortable silence surrounds them once again. The weather slightly picking up it’s temperature, but nothing too extreme where they both have to switch to their jackets, it was nice and fresh. Perfect weather for the middle of June.

Besides the chirping sounds of crickets, coyotes howling in the distance, trees swaying with the wind, it was a peaceful night. For once. The past few weeks have been so chaotic since they’ve arrived in Las Almas, from gun fights, to driving to various locations for different information on where Valeria can be, it is finally nice to have some sort of peace and quiet. They were still on guard considering they were only 5 miles away from where their next target is holding, but luckily this old beaten mansion hidden amongst trees allowed them to get the rest they desperately needed.

So, to past the remaining time they still have, Roze goes ahead and sketches random things in her journal. From birds, buildings, burned cars, stray animals, street vendors, or as she learned “El Paletero” the ice cream man/woman or “El Elotero” a corn on the cob. She then goes ahead and begins sketching things that have caught her eye, like the little girl, some elderly couple holding hands, a not so good sketch of Soap trying on a sombrero, her M4, birds, roses, Price smoking his iconic cigar, and finally those eyes. She sketched his eyes from different angles, then transitioned to his masked face in different angles, his gloved skull hands, his actual hands that have beautiful scars that she has noticed every so often when he’s either tuning his gun, writing on something, smoking a cigarette or simply just slipping on his gloves.

Yeah. She lurks observes too.

However, due to the exhausting day of traveling from one place to another getting different information, running into the cartel which resulted in a 40 minute fire fight, then chasing one of the surviving gang members through the woods where she had tackled him into a small river and ended up having a leech latched onto her fucking neck, which of course she didn’t spot it right away, it was Soap who had pointed it out but it was Ghost who had carefully removed it from her. A relived thank you slipped from the sergeant along with her cursing under her breath and hoping she wouldn’t catch any sort of diseases.

So due to a hectic day, it all creeped up on her very slowly. One minute she was sketching, shading, and the next she feels her eyelids shutting on their own. She fought to keep them open, fought to keep herself awake, but her exhausted body fought back and before she knew it she had already dozed out. Head slightly leaning to the side, pencil holding dearly between her fingers and her journal resting on her lap as she slept the remaining hours of darkness.

It was the sudden silence and the way he couldn’t hear the way her pencil scraped against the pages that made him look over to her. Only to feel the way his heart fluttered heavily in his chest as he noticed her sleeping form.

Fucking Hell. Even sleeping she looked beautiful. Peaceful and for some weird odd reason, she looked younger. From the way the small lantern by her feet illuminated her features only made her younger and only made him fall harder.

There was nothing more he wanted than to just watch her sleep, to take advantage of just memorizing her sleeping form, from the way her lips slightly pout in her sleep, from the way a few strands of hair make their way across her face, from her brows knitting together every so often, from the way she just looked peaceful, happier, calmer, and safer. He wanted to memorize as much as he can before doing the unwanted.

The thought of waking her up from her peaceful sleep brought guilt in the pit of his stomach, but he knew had to. It’d prevent her from getting a lecture from Price, not that the old man would give her a hard time for falling asleep when he’d be on guard right next to her, but he mostly wanted to prevent her from getting a sore neck. He genuinely wanted her to be comfortable, to get a good amount of rest before having to wake up in a few hours to head out for the mission.

So with a regrettable inhale Ghost reaches over to shake her awake. While leaning towards her space his eyes cast down in hopes to not knock over the lantern, but instead they land on her opened journal where a beautifully hand drawn portrait of him can be seen.

Wide brown eyes scan the page in front of him, every little detail she had made, every stroke from light to dark, he was so mesmerized and in awe to look away. He couldn’t. Not when he knew she had sketched every single detail of his features, and that alone caused a foreign feeling in the center of his chest. So many things can be said about the portrait, she probably got bored of drawing trees. Was she drawing trees? Does she even draw trees? She probably didn’t have anything else in mind so she went ahead and drew a full portrait of me, right? People do that, besides what can she draw when the only speck of light she has is by her feet, everything else in front of her was nothing but pure utter darkness.

Fuckin’ hell she’s a bloody minx. If only she knew how fuckin crazy she makes me. Can never go a day without her clogging my bloody mind. Ghost—Simon thinks to himself as he continues to stare at her sleeping form, not realizing how he had reached a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. God, what he wanted to say to her, what he wanted to share with her, what he wanted to do to her. Yet, he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t appropriate, things would get complicated rather quickly if it were ever to go that far, and the most important thing, he knew he’d hurt her. One way or another.

He only knew violence, hurting people, killing people, he lives for it, no good thing ever stays with him. Even if it did it would fade away all too quickly. And if it wasn’t him who would hurt or push her away, it would be the job. Hell, he definitely doesn’t know what he’d do if her ever lost her, yet he knew one thing. He’d go insane. On a rampage, only this time he doesn’t think he’d ever come back from it. Not this time.

So, in order to prevent any of that from happening he had to keep his distance, had to not let their relationship go any further other than teammates, had to be her superior who needs to push her into being better, not risk both—her life because they were to busy being worried about one another rather than focusing on the mission at hand. He couldn’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen. As much as it honestly pained his dark, broken heart, he knew it was best for her, not him, for her.

“I can’t have you… Bloody hell I want to, but I can’t,” Simon whispers to himself, brown eyes still observing the sergeant, watching the way her brows furrow, probably dreaming of something or someone,

Whatever it was, she won’t ever be able to dream or have a nightmare again if she stays with him. He’s bad luck, a land mine that is waiting for someone to step on for it to go off and ruin everything and everyone around him. She’s good for him yes, but he’s not good for her, at least that’s he sees it.

“Sergeant,” Ghost softly calls her by her rank, but sees it didn’t do much so goes ahead by calling her name with a shake to her shoulder, “Roze,”

That makes her eyelids crack open. They quietly scan his eyes before averting them out in the darkness with a silenced yawn.

“Get some proper sleep Sergeant, I’ve got it from here,” The lieutenant claims before averting his eyes towards the dark,

He doesn’t look at her, not even when she nods her head with a soft yawn or when she stands up from her chair. It’s only when she grabs her rifle from the floor and makes her way towards the door when he allows his eyes to watch her frame.

He fell too hard. It was dangerous. She is dangerous, she is his weakness, and little did he know he is hers as well.

He would never ever want to put her in any harm, would never want to hurt her, so it was better if he kept his distance, remained as her superior, a teammate and a.. friend.

Better than having to carry her casket, having to mourn for her, cry for her. He can prevent that by not giving in… right?

Right?

Right.

——————

-Hey loves! I’m so glad I’m back with another fic! My god it’s been a wild one writing this one. You have no idea how many times I’d come back and forth with this one, I’d write for a week straight then completely abandon it for the next few weeks.

Lordy was it freaking annoying but thankfully I got my ass to finish this, it’s been way too long and I’ve been wanting to get it out there for y’all.

-So again, I hope you enjoyed this one! And stay tuned for more of this Handsome man!

-Make sure to Turn On Post Notifications!! 🔔🔔 For more Updates!!

——————

[ashcal99]

Certain Things : Leah Clearwater II

Chapter Two

"Something about you, It's like an addiction, Hit me with your best shot honey, I've got no reason to doubt you, 'Cause certain things hurt, And you're my only virtue"

Summary: Conner Swan moves to Forks Washington in hopes to help his sister Bella through her breakup with Edward. In hopes to find happiness again. He finds much more.

Warnings: Eventual smut (18+ only), mentions of death, depression, loss, antidepressants, general angst, slow burn

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Comment if I missed any warning or anything plz thnx.

Soundtrack

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

——————

December 19th, 2005

Conner woke up the next morning, hearing the banging of pots and pans from down stairs. Sitting up groggily, he rubbed his eyes. He sat there for a moment, trying to muster up the energy to start his day. Finally, deciding to be productive, he rolled off of the mattress, groaning as he took a stand. He really needed to get a bed frame. 

Walking to the dresser, he picked up his phone, seeing that it had died sometime during the night. He pocketed the phone and his keys, grabbed his coat, and began his track down to the kitchen.

As he rounded the corner to the small kitchen, he discovered the source of the sound. Bella stood at the stove, a pan full of scrambled eggs sitting on the burner directly in front of her small frame. Conner coughed, trying to gain the teen’s attention without startling her. His efforts failed as the younger sibling gave a small yelp, her eyes widening. She turned to her brother, a small awkward smile adorning her face. “I wasn’t sure if I had dreamt seeing you last night, but I looked outside and saw your truck. Do you want any eggs? I tried to make them the way you like.” She asked lightly.

He sighed, settling down in one of the old wooden chairs that sat at the small table of the breakfast nook. “Sure, Bells. That sounds delicious.” He reassured her. She smiled back at the older sibling, turning to plate the eggs for the two of them. She sat the plate down on the table along with two glasses of orange juice and joined her brother, sitting and making herself as comfortable as the awkwardness would allow. As the two siblings sat eating their small breakfast, the tension was thick in the air. Neither one knew what to say to each other. How did you start a conversation after not speaking to each other for so long?

Finally, both decided the awkwardness had drawn on long enough, as they both spoke at once. “Bells-“, “Con-“ they interrupted one another. Smiling lightly, Conner gestured for Bella to speak first. “I-I’m sorry Conner.” She paused, gathering her jumbled thoughts. “I know I was the one to stop calling or answering the phone and I’m so sorry.” She choked out, failing to push back the building emotion in her voice. 

She knew she was to blame on their lack of communication in the last nine months, but she had good reason to do so at the time. Or at least she had justified it back then. Everything had happened with the worst timing. The accident with Mia had happened on Conner’s birthday in October, and then just three months later she had moved up to forks to live with her father. She had seen the longing in her mother’s eyes, and knew she wished to be with her new husband in Jacksonville. 

In truth, Bella didn’t exactly know how to comfort Conner through his loss, having never been needed for that level of emotional support before by anyone. But she knew they would keep in touch once she moved and vowed to call him every day. 

At first she had kept that promise, making sure she devoted at least a half an hour a day to speaking to her brother. But everything changed when she discovered the Cullen’s deep dark secret. She knew it would be difficult to keep the information from Conner, as she was so used to spilling every bit of her life to him, but she tried. She really did try, but after the third time of almost slipping up and telling him everything, she knew she had to do something. It started with one missed call. Then three. And then suddenly, it had been two weeks of no communication between the two. 

Then James happened. This was the validation that had she needed to further prove she had made the right decision in keeping Conner far from the situation. She didn’t want him in any more danger than he already was by just knowing her. Still, she knew this didn’t make it hurt any less for him. It pained her to know that he was going through all of it relatively alone. She felt as if she had betrayed him by leaving at the worst possible moment, but she didn’t know what other option she had. She couldn’t go back and change the past, and she honestly want sure she would want to if she could.

By the time Edward left, it had been so long since the two had spoken, that she didn’t know how to go back to the way it used to be. Months had gone by, her running on autopilot, just going through the motions of life as a shell of her old self. Edward had left her empty, with no signs of life inside. She knew it wasn’t the same situation at all, but to know that Conner had been going through this and she had just abandoned him hurt. 

Sitting at that table, looking into her brothers eyes, she saw the life had drained from the once bright blue irises. The dark purple rings under his lashes taunted her and she wandered if she looked similar. After months of disassociating, it was no wonder her father was so concerned. He looked like death, and even though she hadn’t looked in the mirror in ages, she knew then that she looked the same. The gaping hole in her heart ached as she came to the conclusion that she didn’t deserve his love anymore. Conner was so pure, protecting everyone he loved with so much effort, and she had went and dug the knife deeper into his chest. Self loathing didn’t even begin to cut it with the way she was feeling about herself at the moment

Conner raised his hand to stop the girl from continuing. “It’s okay, Bella. I understand, you don’t need to apologize.” He began. “What matters is, I’m here now so we can try to go back to normal, yeah?” He asked, receiving a nod in return. 

He continued. “Dad asked if I would be willing to move up to be with you two. He’s concerned, and frankly so am I. No offense, but you look like a zombie and it’s very alarming.” He forehead creased. “I know we both have been through some shit, but let’s just try forget everything that happened in the past year with us and just be there for each other now. Okay?” He asked hopefully.

Her chest tightened with emotion. She definitely didn’t deserve him. How could he be so selfless still, after everything. She nodded, a tear escaping the corner of her eye, a single wet trail running down her pale cheek. “That would be great, Con.” She answered.

——————

The rest of the day had trudged on slowly, Conner unloading the boxes from his truck and gradually starting to unpack his belongings. Bella had offered to help unload the boxes with him, but knowing how clumsy she was, he knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. So there she sat on his mattress, keeping him company as he went through box by box. He only had a few left, and knew they wouldn’t take too much longer to unpack, seeing as they were mostly things from his dresser at the apartment and he could just empty into his new dresser without much thought.

It wasn’t until he reached the box with the baseball cap that he paused. His eyes lingered on the small pouch that held the rings. He sighed, grabbing the bag and joining his sister in sitting on the bed. He slouched, staring at the bag for a moment, gaining a questioning look from Bella. He sucked in a breath, pulling the bag open and dumping its’ contents onto the sheets between them. Bella froze, seeing the small velvet box. She slowly took the hexagonal shape in her hands, lifting the top to reveal a small diamond ring. The oval stone was set onto a thin white gold band, sparkling as the sun hit the box. Glitter danced across the walls of the room, as she stared at its’ beauty. 

Conner finally let the breath he was holding loose in a puff of air. “I saved every penny I made for months to buy it.” He started, his voice thick with emotion. “I know it isn’t much, but I figured I could buy a better one later down the line.” His chest tightened at the view of the ring. 

Bella frowned, her heart aching for her brother. “Oh, Conner.” She paused, looking up with tears brimming her eyes. “I had no idea you were going to propose.” She sniffled.

Conner nodded solemnly. “I haven’t looked it since that night. It’s just been sitting on my dresser with this,” he paused, picking up the promise ring.”and I’m not sure what to do with them. I wish they would’ve buried them with her, but they figured I would want them, and by the time I got them, the funeral had already happened.” He admitted shrugging his shoulders.

He began to raise from the mattress, pausing as his sister muttered to him. “She would’ve loved it.” She said, trailing off, sympathy’s coating her voice.

Conner smiled. “Yeah I think so too.” He offered his hand to the girl, helping her stand. “Now, are you up to helping me cook dinner?”

—————

Conner and Bella had been in the kitchen cooking dinner when Their father returned home from work. It wasn’t anything special, just spaghetti. It was obvious that Charlie had been left to fend for himself in the way of food by the little amount of actual ingredients in the fridge and cupboard. So spaghetti would have to do for the time being. He heard the sound of the front door slamming followed by heavy footsteps, as he continued to stir the pasta. 

“Something smells delicious in here.” His father spoke. His lanky body leaning on the doorway of the kitchen, as he looked over at his two children.

Conner scoffed. “I don’t know about delicious, but it will definitely be edible. Better than anything you would’ve cooked.” He joked. Grabbing the strainer and pot, he walked to the sink to drain the noodles. “You’re just in time actually, just need to add the sauce.”

Charlie grinned at the younger man, walking to the cabinets to grab plates for the meal. He reached up, taking five down and laying them on the counter. This earned a questioning look from his son. “I may have forgotten to let you know that Billy and his son are coming over to watch the game tonight. I hope we have enough.” He admitted apologetically.

Conner ‘ahh’d understandingly. “Right. Monday night football. How could I forget?” He teased incredulously. Just then, the doorbell rang. Making his way back to the front door, he twisted the knob revealing the Quileute man, and a very tall teen behind him. “Speak of the devil. Come in, dinner just finished.” He ushered the two inside. Walking back into the kitchen he saw that his sister had added the marinara in his absence and now joined his father in sitting at the table. The two waited awkwardly for the rest to join at the table, the plates of pasta steaming on the placemats in front of them. Not wanting to be impolite to their guests in starting to eat without them. Grabbing their plates and forks, the three joined the table and began to scarf down the food.

“It’s good to see you Conner, I know Charlie’s very happy to have you living here again.” Billy said, breaking the silence. He sent the man an apprehensive smile.

Conner turned his head to the man. “It’s good to see you too, Billy.” He replied, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly upwards. He turned to the tan teen next and spoke, trying the best he could to bring the topic up naturally. “Jacob, I hear that you’re the one who rebuilt Bella’s truck?” He asked.

The boy perked up, grinning widely. “I did. Pretty proud of it actually.” He bragged.

“You should be.” Conner reassured pausing, clapping a hand to the boys shoulder. “Speaking of, would you be able to look at my heating sometime? I’d pay you of course. I’ve just been putting off getting it fixed, since there’s not much need for it in Arizona. But I’d really rather not freeze my ass off this winter.” He joked.

Jacob smiled proudly. “Of course, man. Just run it down the rez sometime, and I’ll take a look at it.” He said. Glancing over to Bella, he continued. “Y-you’re welcome to come too if you’d like. I think your tuck’s about due for oil change by now.” He said, a light brush spreading across the highs of his cheeks. 

Bella looked up, seemingly startled by the sudden attention, and nodded lightly. “Okay.” She muttered, returning to her food. Billy and Charlie continued to banter back and forth about the upcoming game, as the sounds of forks scraping across their plates filled the small room. 

By the end of dinner, Jacob had eaten at least three plates of the pasta, so the leftovers that Conner had hoped would tide the house over for a few days were nonexistent. Conner wasn’t sure when the teen had gotten so gigantic, but he practically looked like he was on steroids. Either way, this meant Conner would have to go grocery shopping soon if they wanted to eat anything besides cereal.

——————

December 25th, 2005

About a week after moving to Forks, Christmas arrived. The holiday had snuck up on Conner, and he hadn’t really remembered how close the holiday was until he had set foot in the local grocery store and seen how busy it was. Or at least busy by Forks standards. But luckily, he had enough time left to try and find some last minute gifts and put in some job applications. He wasn’t exactly flush with cash, but he had successfully gotten a gift each for his father and sister and hoped that they would like them. He was still driving around without heat, seeing as he had promised to pay Jacob, and didn’t have much money leftover after buying the groceries and presents. So he had filled out a few applications while he was in town, deciding to try the local diner and convenient store, seeing as it would probably take a bit longer than he was willing to wait to find a job in accounting.

So there the family of three sat, the warmth of the fireplace filling the small living room as they opened their presents. Charlie had just opened his gift from Conner, having received a new tackle box for his frequent fishing trips he took with Henry Clearwater. “Oh thanks so much, Con. The latch on my old one just gave out last month.” He said, sending a smile to his son. 

Conner grinned back. “What can I say, Dad? You’re predictable.” He joked, laughing lightly. He stretched, reaching under the tree, grabbing the rectangular package marked with his sister’s name. He handed the present over to the girl, watching her rip the wrapping paper off, revealing a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “I knew you liked Romeo and Juliet, so I figured you could use some new reading material.” He said.

Bella smiled. “Thanks, Con. I love it.” She said, standing to her feet and walking to the tree to grab the last gift. She turned, handing the small box to the older sibling. He grasped the thin ribbon that wrapped around the corners of the box, pulling on both ends. Tearing the paper’s edge, he found a palm sized black hinged box. Opening the box, he uncovered a shiny silver rope chain, laying neatly on its’ velvet interior. “I thought you could use a nice chain to put the rings on so you keep them with you.” His sister told him.

Tears filled his eyes as he looked down at the white gold necklace. A warmth filled his chest as he moved to envelope the girl in a hug. Her arms wrapped around his waist, burring her face in his chest and breathing in his familiar scent. She eased into his embrace, soaking in the comfort of the strong arms that were wrapped around her shoulders. She had missed his hugs. 

She tensed, feeling drops of wetness soak into her scalp. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She said softly, instantly regretting the choice of gifts. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea and she should’ve just avoided the topic all together. 

He pulled away, keeping his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “No, Bella. They’re happy tears. I love it. Promise.” He reassured, sniffling slightly. His eyes shown as the tears brimmed his lower lash line. He took the back of his hand, wiping at his cheeks, attempting to pull himself together, and gave a soft reassuring smile to the teen.

——————

That night, sitting on his bed, he took the rings, sliding them onto the the thick rope of the chain. Reaching up, he clasped the chain around his neck, running his fingers down to the two small loops hanging at the end. He curled his fingers around the metal, holding it close to his heart. Feeling the coolness of the stones on his palm, he took deep breaths. His chest banged, his heartbeat racing. He slowly brought himself flat on the bed, curling into himself, hand still wrapped around the two rings. He closed his eyes, he continued taking deep breaths, trying to calm the wave of emotions crashing over him.

He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, but when he woke, it was dark outside his window. He sat, gasping for air, sweat beading down his forehead. It was the same nightmare as usual. The cold hospital halls and smothering sense of death in the air. The stabbing feeling in his chest as he heard the doctor tell him that she was gone. The overwhelming numbness that had followed. He knew he should be used to it by now, having had the same reoccurring dream for over a year at this point, but reliving the worst moment of your life never really got old. 

As he took in a ragged breath, trying to steady his pounding heart. He looked to the glowing numbers on the alarm clock sat on his dresser. Seven thirty in the morning. Deciding there was no chance of him sleeping again anytime soon, he sighed, standing from the mattress. Running his fingers through the sweaty mop of hair on his head, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. 

Chugging a glass of water from the sink, he stood, grabbing the edge of the counter for stability. Thoughts swirled in his head as he set the empty glass down. He usually didn’t wake so early in the morning, especially considering the family had stayed up late the previous night, drinking hot chocolate while watching old Christmas movies together. Charlie had the day off and Bella was still on Christmas break for school, so he knew the two would sleep in.

So, Conner decided he would go on a run. He often did this back in Phoenix when he needed to clear his head, and he figured he’d use the time to further familiarize himself with the small town. Pulling his shoes and thick jacket on, he tugged a stocking cap over his messy hair. Opening the door, a rush of cold air shot up his spine, waking him further. The sun was just rising, the dull glow surrounding the small street lined with houses. Coldness nipped his exposed skin, sending shockwaves through his chest.

His feet thud, one after the other on the cold damp pavement. His warm breath let out swirls of vapor in the air as his breathing became rapid from physical exertion. Working out had always helped clear his head, focusing on the pounding of his heart in his ears rather than the memories that haunted him. So, he continued to push himself along the chilled ground, in hopes of clearing his mind of the persistent reminder of that dreadful night.

Next Chapter

[dbphantom]

1113 spoilers

Okay the ocean part we predicted but MAN... You guys know that one post about how fish are free from sin because they weren't on the arc? Yeah

[continues to VERY PATIENTLY wait for more information about the Eve tree (processes sunlight) and what the sapphire scale disease actually is bc why was it the result of a chemical experiment by Saturn and why specifically natural light and why is there a tree that can process sunlight-]

My biggest worry (and I know this might sound hypocritical but bear with me) is that Oda ties the sapphire scale disease back to fishmen/merfolk and doesn't do it with tact or nuance...

Like I have been flirting with the idea of humans turned merfolk for a while bc of H2O au and I don't think it's something you can just add w/o considering the implications (which is why I changed a lot of FMI to make Sanji the one who gets the transfusion from Jimbe... And you know, addressed Sanji telling him to kill himself (seriously, you write an entire arc about ending cycles of hatred and then have a main character tell another main character to kill himself as a casual joke and never address it? Huge missed opportunity right there)).

And don't get me wrong I'm not like "ahhh I know more than the author" and Oda did pretty well with FMI (ignoring Sanji's... entire character that arc) as far as I can tell (I'm not the end all be all) I just... worry, I guess? I really don't want it to end up with a 'cure' because being different is wrong. I just don't want there to be a moment of "hey here's a way to make them 'normal' again!" and it be framed as a positive.

I've been watching the new Xm/en show with my bestie and I like the way they framed it there (at least so far, we are only a few episodes in). After all, it's a fictional show, I'm down for fictional scenarios (what WOULD happen if they could strip away a core element of someone's personhood just bc it made them different?) But it's been handled relatively well (so far!) with a good amount of tact. Also, it's for adults and is focusing on this to give it the depth, time, and nuance it deserves. Its not a comic book for kids with 90 other plot threads going on.

It's funny how fixated on this I am because it probably isn't even going to happen??? Like it's probably just that Oda wanted a way to write Ginny out that was also symbolic (sun = hope -> Saturn turned her hope into something that killed her) but still... You get my dread at this being a thing just for a shocking plot twist, right? I'm hoping it just the H2O brainworms that immediately made me jump to this conclusion and nothing else [side eyes the trivia section on the wiki page for sapphire scales] it's fine, we're going to be fine, it's just a spin on a lot of old Biblical stories. It's fine.

Anyway enough of me griping bc "PROTECT ROBIN" obliterated me on the spot. Nami, I fucking adore you, you will always be famous to me 🥺 she deserved that spot on the throne in the cover art solely because she is the best