#But I also wanted to leave this like vague enough to avoid it being about that if that's not what you had in mind!

[unovasaved]

@iruludavare said: ’ The manager is a vampire. He wanted me to join his legion of the undead. ’ Lilo & Stitch Starters // Always Accepting

"For real?? That's crazy!!" There's no sign of disbelief or skepticism to Rosa's astonishment. More then anything Rosa looks enthralled and impressed by Serena's statement. She glances to the cafe they passed then back to Serena just a few steps ahead and moving further down the sidewalk.

"Kalos is full of all kinds of cool stuff!" She declares as she picks up her pace to catch up with the prima ballerina. Typically while on location for a movie Rosa didn't get a chance like this to explore. She'd be far too busy with filming, fan appearances, interviews, television appearances, traveling, the general life of new found stardom. But her manager had given her the day off in order to get to know Kalos' champion. She'd mentioned something about the importance of strong connections but Rosa hadn't really paid attention to that. All she knew was that she was getting to spend the day with one of the most amazing people to live! Or at least someone she saw as one of the most amazing people.

"And I bet you've gotten to see and experience all of it! That's so awesome! What other stories do you have?" Her enthusiasm can not only be heard in her questioning but also seen in the way she skips as she walks along side her fellow trainer.

#iruludavare #❃ in character ❃ #❃ Asks ❃ #((*Looks to Serena's dealings with Lysandre & Flare* *Looks to this ask* Nothing to read into there! #For reals though even if this wasn't meant to be about that situation I can't help but think about like the comparison #The dots connected in my head with Lysandre being immortal(well in some instances) and like a mentor figure to Serena #And now I can't stop thinking about it #But I also wanted to leave this like vague enough to avoid it being about that if that's not what you had in mind! #Plus I just think Serena could tell Rosa the most outlandish stories and Rosa would take it at full face value))

[corroded-hellfire]

My gorgeous soulmate. The love of my life. I can’t stop thinking about Reader waiting for a ride and accidentally overhearing Eddie talking to the Hellfire guys about some beautiful girl and how he’s afraid to ask her out. Reader assumes it’s someone else and leaves because she’s upset and doesn’t want him to see her. Bonus points for wingman Dusty Bun, but not necessary. Okay love you byeeeeee xoxoxo @munson-blurbs 💚

Hello, my darling dearest. I hope you enjoy this and I love you too! 💕

Words: 1.5k

Band practice ran late, but that didn’t matter one bit. Your older brother was always running behind to pick you up, leaving you the lone person sitting outside the school, waiting. Usually, you had a book with you, but you’d finished your last one and hadn’t gotten a chance to check a new one out of the library today. Honestly, the fierce autumn wind may have prevented you from reading anyway; the pages would be obeying Mother Nature, not you. The wind whistles and whips so viciously that you slide off of the brick wall you’re sitting on top of and seat yourself on the cold sidewalk, pressing as close to the wall as you can to avoid the harsh blowing.

Luckily, the gust eases up and you only end up having four leaves stuck to your clothing. As you’re picking them from your gray sweater, you hear the telltale squeak of the main doors of the school opening. Your brow creases in confusion because you didn’t realize anyone else was here this late. The dark evening has your mind floating back to the dozens of slasher movies you’ve seen that started with this very scenario. Taking care to be as quiet as possible, you tuck your legs up against your body as you hug your backpack to your chest.

“Damn Eddie, I’ve never heard you talk this way before.”

The voice is vaguely familiar. Nancy’s brother maybe? Right! He’s in Hellfire with Eddie Munson, who must be the Eddie he’s speaking to. An involuntary smile curls on your lips at the boy you’re head over heels for being just a few feet away. The closer they get, the easier it is for you to hear the thunk of the metalhead’s boots coming down the sidewalk. 

“Ugh, I know,” Eddie says, a hint of a whine in his happy-go-lucky voice. “But she’s so fuckin’ beautiful.”

The butterflies in your stomach sour, churning at hearing Eddie talk this way about some girl. He’s not doing anything wrong, and logically you know that. He doesn’t owe you anything. But irritation bubbles up in you as a defense from the heartbreak you’re desperately trying to run away from. Your fingers dig into your backpack as you squeeze your eyes closed to prevent the tears from leaking out.

“Ask her out!” That voice was Jeff’s—from your history class.

Eddie scoffs and you can just picture him shaking his head, his frizzy curls swaying back and forth. The thought of Eddie asking a girl out forces the hot tears to leak down your face, despite how tightly you’ve been keeping them closed. 

“Like she would want to go out with me,” he says. 

Now your heart also breaks for Eddie. Who could be so stupid as to not want to go out with him?

“Aww, I think you’re scared,” another voice goads. Probably the curly-haired boy that’s friends with the Wheeler boy. 

“I’m not scared,” Eddie says. “I’m just…afraid.”

“That’s the same thing!” Wheeler says before you hear a thump and the boy mutters an, “Ow!”

“Shut it, Wheeler. I don’t want to hear shit from you or Henderson on girls. Both of your girls live far away. Huh, kind of convenient, isn’t it?” Eddie asks. “They’re probably as real as the damn hair on top of Higgin’s head.”

“Hey!” Wheeler shouts.

“That’s bullshit!” the boy who must be Henderson shouts at the same time.

“You guys are letting him change the subject,” Jeff says. “When are you going to ask her out?”

Instead of giving an answer, you can hear Eddie grumbling under his breath the closer they get to you. It won’t be long now before they’ll walk past the wall and see you sitting on the ground. Waiting for a ride is easy enough to explain, but the tear tracks running down your face are a different matter. 

Before the group of guys can get any closer, you carefully push yourself onto your knees. Balancing yourself against the wall with one hand, you seek out somewhere you can hide. The corner of the wall is pretty far away, you’d never be able to crawl there fast enough. If you stand up though, you could walk that distance. Realizing crouching down so far is going to kill your back, you push up to your feet and keep your torso and head low as you speedwalk to the corner of the wall. 

Luckily, it’s just a grassy lawn on the other side of the wall, so you throw yourself down on it and catch your breath. Unluckily, you hear the piercing whine of your brother’s car pulling up towards Hawkins High. Fuck. Of course he comes now. 

You peek out from your safe space around the wall and see that Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire gang are climbing into Eddie’s van. A rush of breath leaves your lungs and you’re sure your adrenaline is about to come crashing down.

Your brother pulls up to the curb and you push yourself off of the grass and quickly slide into the passenger’s seat. 

“Uh, you okay?” your brother asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you huff. “Just go.”

Like the piece of gum you’d stepped in last week, the sharp pains in your heart stay with you much longer than you’d like. The next day, right before last period, you’re at your locker, switching out your books and hoping your eyes don’t look as puffy as they feel.

“Uh, hey.”

The voice makes you jump and drop your biology book. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is; you’d know that voice anywhere. It’s just never been so close to your ear before.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Eddie says as he bends down to pick up your book. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay,” you manage to say as you turn around to face him. “Thank you,” you say as he gives you your science book back. 

Eddie clears his throat and glances over his shoulder before looking back at you—or rather, your shoes. Curious, you follow the line of sight where Eddie had just looked, and you see the curly-haired boy from Hellfire peeking around the corner. Henderson. As soon as he notices you looking, he pops back out of sight. 

“I, uh,” Eddie says as he finds the courage to meet your eye. “Hey.”

“You said that,” you say with a shy smile. “But then I freaked out, so…hi.”

The smile Eddie gives you isn’t his biggest by far, but it still makes your knees go wobbly. 

“You’re in band, right?” Eddie asks, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. 

“I am.”

“Yeah. So, I was wondering if maybe after the game this Friday you might want to grab a bite to eat? With, um, me?”

The world freezes around you, time completely stopping. Your body is locked in place as you stare at Eddie with wide eyes. He just asked me out, you think. Why would he ask me out? He thinks that other girl is beauti—holy shit. I’m the beautiful girl he was talking about? This defies all that you thought you knew in the world. Is this a parallel universe where guys actually like you back? You realize you’ve just been staring at him since you spoke.

“Yeah. T-That sounds nice,” you say.

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes light up and your heart comes to a halt inside your chest.

“Yes,” you say with a small chuckle.

“Wow. Awesome. Okay, wow.” His disbelief shocks you. How in the hell was he afraid to ask you out? You’re just…you. He gives you a wider grin now before tugging up the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Do you have a pen?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah!” You grab a pen from your locker and write down your number on Eddie’s pale skin, right below a colony of inked bats. 

“Great,” Eddie says as he pulls his sleeve back down. “Um, I’ll wait in the gym after the game?”

“Sure. It’ll only take me a few minutes to change and get everything put away.”

“Awesome,” Eddie says again, and seeing him acting this nervous just tickles you pink. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard him say “awesome” before and now he’s said it twice within the last minute. “I guess I’ll see you in English tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Oh, Eddie, wait. You’re going to go to the game?” You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. “I thought you hated basketball.”

“Oh. Well, I do,” he says with a chuckle. “Easier to take you out after the game if I’m there, though. And, uh, you know, Sinclair’s been bugging me to come see him play.”

“Right,” you say. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn a light red as he gives you a bashful smile. 

“See you later, beautiful,” he says. He doesn’t give you time to even react to his words before he’s heading down the hall. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. “I make Eddie nervous?”

A jovial giggle slips past your lips as you close your locker. You feel like you owe the Hellfire guys a thank you. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #request

[bountycancelled]

decisions

luke castellan x child of hecate!reader

requested: yep! I hope you like it anon

warnings: allusions about death, but no character dies.

content: yall, it's 1 am rn, and I just wanna go to sleep. it's unedited and nothing bad happens I promise. I'll do a proper content thingy in the morning. pls enjoy while I pass out.

"you know those kids are probably gonna have nightmares for at least a week, right?"

you didn't need to turn to know who was behind you as you leaned against a tree trunk, toying with a twig in your hands. Luke castellan seemed to have an affinity for interrupting you anytime you found solace in being alone. you didnt know how he just... knew, when and where to find you during times like these, but he always did. you found yourself minding his presence less and less as time when on.

"they should consider themselves lucky, I was debating whether or not I should just summon a ghost for them tonight, but I figured they couldn't handle it, and this camp doesn't have any trauma counselling so." the leaves on the twig in your hand withered at an accelerated place in your hands, and a part of you felt bad. you usually kept your distance from anything living since you knew your touch had the possibility of having an adverse, and sometimes deadly affect, but tonight was just one of those nights.

Luke chuckled at your words, plucking one of the now wilted leaves from the twig in your grasp as he spoke up once more. "you know, I actually want you to help me with something, if you don't mind. I need help deciding whether or not I should do something."

you rolled your eyes, giving him a pointed look. "you know I can't make decisions for you. I don't have the ability to know what consequences you'll have to deal with."

"isn't hacate the goddess of crossroads?" Luke countered, a small smirk on his face. you knew that he was only pestering you because he thought it was funny that you always needed to explain your abilities and your godparent to people, but you couldn't just keep silent at his bait nonetheless.

"that doesn't make me some kind of fortune teller, I can't decide for you which direction to go to when you reach a fork on the path. I just have a vague understanding over what you're currently debating if you should do."

"okay okay, no fortune telling. but can you at least point me in the right direction? it doesn't matter how vague." he asked, and you tilted your head to stare up at the starry sky, because you knew that even in the dark, Luke could convince you to help him with nothing but a pleading glint in his deep eyes.

he didn't relent at tour silence or your avoidance of his gaze, uttering a small "please?" which finally broke your resolve.

you took a deep breath, finally looking at him once again, your face deep in concentration. "not a guide either. but I get the sense that... if you don't do what you're thinking of doing, you'll regret it." you felt a bit lightheaded afterwards, but the tree you were leaning against was enough security for you.

Luke on the other hand didnt seem to think so, showcased by how his hands immediately went to your shoulders in an effort to keep you up, while also unintentionally coming closer. a bit too close for comfort, but you were too foggy for the lack of distance to hit you yet.

he nodded at your advice, biting his lip before speaking once again, not missing the way your eyes flicked towards his lips and then back to his eyes, almost instantaneously.

"then I'll just go ahead and say it, I like you. a lot." he had expected a few different reactions, you immediately jumping into his arms and accepting his confession (his personal favourite hypothesis), you shyly stating that you felt the same way, you being shocked that he had feelings for you at all (he liked to believe that he wasn't entirely obvious) but he didn't expect what you did next.

instead, you blew air from your nose, giving him a look he couldn't quite place. "you have horrible taste. and you're also delusional. we've had maybe 4 conversations the entire we've known each other, and you like me?" you rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the words you were about to utter. "but I guess that makes me delusional too, because I feel the same way."

he pouted at your words, feigning hurt with a hand placed on his chest. "you wound me. if I had known you were gonna be this mean... I would've confessed sooner." he added with a slight smirk, trailing his other hand from your shoulder down to your waist, leaning his face towards yours.

you were quick to shut down his advance, maneuvering your way out of his hold. "one thing you're gonna need to get used to, castellan. no touching. at all. at least, not until I'm sure I can control my ability. you have a goodnight though." you called out as you walked away from a now needy Luke, leaving him leaning against the tree.

he quickly followed after you, trying to plead his case. "no touching? that's insane, how could I not touch you? I'm not afraid of death, especially if it comes from my hands on your body, or vice versa. I'll happily forfeit my life for a kiss. come on, I'm fine with just a peck. actually, no. I take that back. if I'm gonna die, we need to make out before I go."

you simply shook your head, reiterating your rule, unable to stop a grin from forming on your face. you stopped abruptly, turning to face him with a serious look in your eyes. "... okay. but just a peck. im serious."

it was not just a peck. but luckily, Luke made it out alive. (though, he seriously wouldn't have minded if he didn't.)

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfiction #pjo x reader #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo #percy series #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x you #luke castellan apologist #luke castellan angst

[senp1i]

GYM BRO’s? GYM HOES!

(SNSD Choi Sooyoung x Male reader) rewritten!! WC: 3440 + also if u previously read it then read after the keep reading, from then on ive added and changed the story

Sooyoung stumbled into the brightly lit 24-hour gym at stupid o'clock in the morning, unable to stay still in her apartment . With SNSD’s big summer/late-summer comeback announced, her schedule was absolutely shit lately between vocal training, choreography bootcamp hell, and a new diet that had her craving carbs 24/7. 

Call her crazy, but a good workout sounded way more appealing than yet another hour tossing and turning in bed. 

The location near their dorm was usually blissfully empty at ass o’clock in the morning too - perfect for looking like a disgusting post-workout mess without judgment. She swiped her membership card at the empty front desk, earbuds already queued up with a stupid EDM mix. 

Rounding the corner towards the cardio equipment though, Sooyoung came to an abrupt halt. 

Wait a damn minute...was that...a guy? 

Working out alone in the free weights corner? Well crap, so much for having the place to herself, she thought.

Squinting across the room, she vaguely recognized him - one of their fan-sites maybe? He seemed just as startled to no longer be alone, nearly dropping the dumbbell in his hand with a awkward fumble. 

“Oh shit! Sooyoung-ssi?” His eyes bugged wide, literally about to pop out, “Shit, sorry, I didn’t think anyone else would be here this late...” 

Sooyoung snorted, shifting her gym bag higher on one shoulder. “You and me both, dude.” An awkward silence passed of them just standing there staring. *sigh* no use being a bitch about it, she decided. Gym’s open 24/7 to members, even nosy fanboys. 

Tossing him a casual chin jerk goodbye, she headed towards the treadmills. 

“Well don’t let me mess up your sesh or anything,” she called over one shoulder, queueing up her go-to cardio playlist. Setting her phone on the ledge, Sooyoung hopped up on the belt and started jogging.

The familiar burn soon had her zoning out - eyes fixed on her reflection in the big wall of mirrors, volume cranked enough to drown out any other noise. 

Including the sound of fumbling weights behind her...as the same flustered fanboy now seemed incapable of  looking away from Sooyoung's sweaty reflection. His eyes tracked her bouncing boobs barely contained in the old Nike sports bra, and down to those leggings leaving nothing to imagination with each pounding step. 

((a/n: so for the sake of my sanity we’ll all pretend this is a treadmill and that the fila is a Nike, alright? Good.🫡))

Sooyoung noticed the attention after a few minutes, torn between rolling her eyes or biting back a smug grin. Fan service was part of the job after all - but she also knew damn well what she looked like working out in minimal fabrics. Didn’t mean she enjoyed feeling ogled like a piece of meat, but the ego boost was kinda nice. 

Nearly 45 minutes and 5 miles later however, tiredness sank in as Sooyoung began cooling down to a walk. 

Her leg muscles felt more like limp udon noodles at this point, chest heaving to gulp oxygen. Risking a glance behind her, she noted the fan seemed to be wrapping up his own workout now too - re-racking an impressive set of heavy dumbbells across the open floor space.

Sooyoung slid her feet to a stop on the treadmill, skin sticky with sweat. She bent down to stretch her quads and muscles briefly, back to the weight area. 

When she straightened up from touching her toes, the guy was much closer than expected - openly staring with those wide dark eyes.

"Feeling pretty bold over here aren't we?" Sooyoung arched an eyebrow, unflustered. His mouth snapped shut audibly, face and neck flushing darker.

"S-sorry noona!" he stammered, glancing away and raking a hand through his messy black hair. "I just uh...wanted to say nice workout? You really seem like you know what you're doing..." His awkward compliment trailed off into uncertainty, still avoiding direct eye contact.

Sooyoung couldn't help chuckling internally at just how shy this random fan was at interacting with her one-on-one, especially with so much exposed skin on display. She had to admit she didn't exactly mind the shy flattery. After over a decade pressure-cooking in the entertainment industry, it was actually sort of refreshing.

"I thought maintaining stamina is important for those long music show rehearsal hours," she replied easily, straightening up with a slight groan as her abdomen muscles protest. 

Noticing the guy's eyes follow the flex of her defined abs, she had to hide another smirk. Too easy.

"But clearly you know what you're doing too," Sooyoung continued with a glance at the impressive set of free weights he had been using earlier

"I don't usually see guys your age lifting that heavy without a spotter."

Pink still dusted his sharp cheekbones, but he met her gaze now without the prior dose of awkwardness at the indirect praise. 

Rubbing the back of his neck almost shyly, his lips quirked upwards.

"I try to hit the gym pretty consistently. Can't let you idol types have all the good bodies, you know." Y/N murmurs with a smirk, a smile.. somewhere in between

Was he...flirting back now? Sooyoung thought as she cocked her head, curiosity piqued by this boost of confidence in him, 

She noted that he really was very good looking, with feline eyes and a sharp jawline that complemented the defined muscles under his sweaty workout t-shirt. No wedding ring either she observed.

"Oh really now?" she challenged, arms crossing under her boobs subtly. Enjoying the way his dark, definitely interested gaze automatically tracked and traced her tits, she took a half step closer.

"Maybe you could...give me some tips then?" Batting her lashes innocently, Sooyoung gestured one manicured hand at the bench press station nearby. "My upper body strength is definitely my weakness in dance practice lately." She says, 

Y/N looks momentarily caught off guard by the bold invitation, his adams apple visibly bobbing in a hard swallow. But then he regains his confidence, lips quirking in a smirk again.

"It would be my pleasure to help demonstrate, Sooyoung-ssi” he says with his eyebrows raised and the smirk plastered on

Sooyoung watched with interest as the handsome fan confidently adjusted the bench press bar to a heavy weight for her petite frame. Clearly trying to impress her. Smirking slightly as he patted the black vinyl meaningfully in invitation, she walked closer. Intentionally lingering longer than necessary in his personal space before fluidly getting into position on her back.

The barely there bra did nothing to save her from the cold of the bench against her mostly bare skin. Goosebumps rising, Sooyoung tilted her chin up towards her impromptu trainer hovering near her.

"Well show me what you've got Mr. Gym Rat," she prompted cheekily. 

His appreciative gaze flicked down to where her nipples had peeked almost visibly through the sweat-damp bra barely covering them. 

Clearing his throat, Y/N carefully guided her hands into position holding the loaded barbell now held above only inches from her breast . 

Sooyoung noticed how his fingers lingered, thumbs sweeping the inside of her wrists.

"Right uh, form is pretty important obviously..." Y/N started out slightly unevenly. As he began explaining proper technique, one large hand pressed unnecessarily against her toned stomach - supposedly to demonstrate using her core muscles.

"Make sense?" he asked, unconsciously stroking along her defined abs with his thumb distractedly. 

"Mmhmm..." Sooyong managed, hoping she didn't sound as breathless to his ears as her own thudding pulse. She chalked it up to a normal physiological reaction - an undeniably hot guy was freely running his big hands all over her pretty much naked skin. It had been awhile since she got this type of casual intimacy with her crazy schedule and long-term even busier relationship. 

Noticing her physical response, Y/N's lips curved slyly. He leaned down close, caging her under the heavy bench bar. "Why don't we start with a set, see how you handle it?" The intentionally lowered voice raised involuntary goosebumps on her skin,

Swallowing, Sooyoung tried focusing on proper breathing and form as she guided the weight smoothly down. But with him hovering so intimately close, she became hyper aware of every inch of bare skin exposed to the gym air and his wandering gaze. 

Each brush of his fingers igniting sparks over her nerves. 

Biceps burning from exertion, she carefully guided the barbell back into its holders. Breath coming shorter, she couldn't resist looking sideways up at him through her lashes. 

Heart kicking faster seeing pure lust in his hooded eyes. She should tell him to back off, that she wasn't some groupie to take advantage of. Should remind him she had a whole career, a boyfriend even - a goddamn celebrity boyfriend none the less. But the words died on her lips as his palm smoothed down her stomach again.

"I think you need another set baby..." 

The risky nickname from his mouth sent a new flood of wetness between her clenched thighs. Recklessly she arched up into his arm, just enough to make her stiff nipples touch across his wrist. His low hum is satisfying to her ears.

Maybe she could blame it on the adrenaline crash later she thought, Or the fact that she hasn’t gotten laid properly in weeks thanks to her and Jung Kyung-ho’s overlapping schedules . 

But right now, feeling so desired and drowning in endorphins was exactly what Sooyoung needed after endless brutal days of smiling through every nonsense using her idol-persona as a shield

So here and now, Sooyoung threw caution fully out the window. Grabbing a fistful of her Y/N’s sweaty shirt, she yanked him down insistently, crushing their mouths together. He responded immediately, large hand pulling too-roughly in her messy ponytail to angle her head for better access. 

She bit and pulled at his lower lip sharply. "What's your name anyway?" Sooyoung asked against his mouth, just realising she had no clue who this fan who felt so good pinning her down was,

"Y/N..." he managed, kissing wetly down her throat. Hearing the breathless need filling his voice sent another slob of wetness straight between her legs. 

"Hmm Y/N-yah..." Testing his name on her tongue earned a responding groan. His hands slid boldly up from her shaking stomach to cover her neglected tits, kneading roughly through the thin cloth of her sports bra. White burst behind Sooyoung's shut eyelids, back arching off the vinyl bench. 

"Oh fuck..." she moaned out. The vulgarness is a stark contrast from her idol act coming out unfiltered. 

Y/N’s dark chuckle against her hammering pulse made her inner muscles clench on nothing. 

"That's it baby, tell me what you want," he murmured , thick fingers tweaking her hard nipples for emphasis.  

"Ahh!" Sooyoung whimpered as the sensation went straight to her clit, hands flying down to roughly shove down the band of her leggings and underwear before she peeled her sweaty bra over her head. Tossing it carelessly to show her gorgeous bare tits with stiffen nipples. His pulse racing double time seeing literal fantasy material come to life right in front of him. "Holy fucking shit..."  Y/N mutters,  staring open-jawed,

"Like what you see?" Sooyoung purred, noting his stunned expression. Inching closer she took his shaky hands, guiding them onto her exposed tits. Hot soft skin filled his palms and Y/N groaned at finally living out countless fever dreams.

"Fuck yes... You're even sexier without clothes noona."

He tested their size and weight gently. Watching with wide crazed eyes as she bit her kiss-swollen lower lip on a moan when he thumbed over her nipples teasingly, properly now that her bra is off.

"Been wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits for years..." he rasped before ducking down to capture one of the brown peaks in his mouth.

"Oh god!" Sooyoung's shocked cry as he lavished attention on her breasts with lips, tongue and a hint of teeth. He smirked around a mouthful of her boobs.

"Sensitive here huh?" Tweaking her spit-slick nipple sharply in emphasis.

"Yes! Fuck..." Grinding against his thigh slotted between hers searchingly, Sooyoung fisted a hand almost too-tight in his hair. Urging him to give equal attention to her other needy tit.

The power rush left Y/N lightheaded. Never in a million years did he imagine his long-time celebrity crush would be practically humping his leg whining for more. He needed to be inside her like five minutes ago.

With urgency he flipped Sooyoung, bending her over the bench. Groaning reverently at the sight of her flawless bare ass and soaked panties.

"Fuck you have no idea how many times I've jerked off imagining this perfect ass up in the air for me." He emphasised the filthy words with a sharp open-palmed spank to one plump asscheek. Her answering moan urged him on. Gripping her slim hips bruisingly tight, he dragged his still covered dick along her slit.

"Please Y/N-aah... Want to feel you inside..." Hearing Korea's darling beg so prettily to be fucked sent Y/N into overdrive. With shaking hands he shoved down his boxers, dick springing free and almost smacking her ass. Groaning at the first glide of his angry red dick through slick soaked folds.

"Tell me how bad you need this cock baby..."  He asks as he teases them both - rubbing his swollen purple head along  her pussy but refusing to enter. 

Sooyoung whined, circling her hips urgently. "Please, feel so empty... Fuck me oppa!"

That was all the permission he needed. Tightening his hold on her hips,, Y/N thrust forward - plunging into her  incredibly tight velvet heat in one relentless slide. Balls slapping harshly against her clit. 

"Holy shit!" They both choked out. Frozen for a second, from just pure bliss

Then Y/N was fucking into her hard and fast - years of suppressed longing fueling his brutal pace. The lewd slick sound of their smacking flesh filled the empty gym. Her sharp cries urged him deeper.

Draped over her arched back, he slid a hand down her shaky stomach. Through the neat patch of pubes to circle her clit in firm strokes.

"Don't stop, please...I'm so fucking close!" Sooyoung whined, sharply circling her hips with his still imperceptibly swelling dick nestled deep inside her. Y/N starts fingering her clit in fast strokes, wanting to push her over the edge,

"Be a good girl and cum on oppa's cock," he rasped directly into her ear. Licking along the line of her throat when she tossed her head back, mewling.

"Oh god, fuck yes I'm cumming!" Sooyoung wailed, vision white as she orgasms hard - cunt spamming erratically around him. Milking every last drop of cum from his buried dick as she shook through endless waves of dizzying twitches.

Y/N fucked her slowly through the intense aftershocks until her limbs went limp, slumping forward. Soft puffs of breath hitting the bench under her flushed cheek. Holy hell she looked completely fucked out like this - hair, a wild mess, his release leaking steadily from her well used pussy.

Unable to resist, he carefully pulled out his sensitive dick free with a wet sound and her whimper, making him groan again as even more juices dripped freely down her soppy cunt in globs now coating her thighs. Gripping her ass cheeks, he spread them eagerly - her slick puffy folds still shaking, twitching.

Ducking down without hesitation, Y/N licked broadly up the entire crease. Tasting the salty-bitterness of her orgasm mixed with his semen.

"Ohhh fuck..." Sooyoung jerked, overstimulated nerves clearly on fire. But he just hummed directly against her, the vibrations making her squirm as he straightened his tongue. Spearing deep into her pussy to taste everything,

He gripped her hips again to hold her trembling body still, continuing to spear his tongue relentlessly into Sooyoung's oversensitive canal "Oh god, oh fuck!" Sooyoung whimpered and gasped as the intense sensations crashed over her overloaded nerves. The lewd, slick sounds of his sucking filling the empty gym.

Just when her thighs started really shaking from the stimulation, he finally let up. Pulling back to admire his handiwork once more with a satisfied groan.

But he isnt done with his bias yet,, he pressed two thick fingers back inside her velvet heat. Smirking when she jerked and whined at that light penetration.

"Mmm , you'll take a little more for your fan ,right?" He purred slyly even as she shuddered through another weak orgasm.

Not giving her a chance to recover, he quickly lined himself back up. Nudging just barely inside once more.

Sooyoung blinked sluggishly up at him, lips parted and slick with spit, eyes filled with tears even. "Ohhh f-fuck I can't..." Sooyoung whined, still shaking through the aftershocks. But despite her pleas she eagerly pushed her ass back for more of Y/N's thrusting fingers.

"Mmm yes you will," he growled. "Gonna make you cum all night..."

The lewd sound of his fingers pumping her soaked pussy echoed around the empty gym. Her broken whimpers urging him on.

"Oppa wants that sloppy cunt nice and wet before you take this dick again."

Adding a third finger, he twisted them until she bucked sharply - abusing her g-spot mercilessly. "Oh shit! Oh shit don't stop..." Sooyoung babbled, rocking her hips desperately to get those thick fingers deeper.

Y/N chuckled darkly at how needy she was for it already. His free hand cracked down hard on one jiggling ass cheek, making her yelp.

"Fuck yourself on oppa's fingers just like that. Let me see you cum again."

Arching sharply, Sooyoung braced her hands properly - shamelessly riding his thrusting fingers now. The lewd sound of her soaked pussy sucking them in greedily echoed with her pitched cries.

Right on the edge, Y/N suddenly ripped his hands away - ignoring her scream. Gripping her hips tight enough to bruise, he rammed balls-deep into her still-spasming cunt. Bottoming out so deep she saw stars.

"OH FUCK yesyesyes!" Sooyoung babbled mindlessly.

Y/N set a brutal pace instantly - their slick bodies slapping together loudly. Obscene squelching noises coming from where their juices dripped down her trembling inner thighs.

"Yeah? Oppa's cock feels good pounding this tight pussy?" He rasped filthily against her ear. Her constant and almost musical 'ah-ah-ah's with every deep thrust said it all.

Flipping her easily onto her back not the nth time, Y/N hooked one slim leg over his shoulder - driving himself impossibly deeper. Loud smack of balls against her ass echoing.

Sooyoung's next orgasm crashed through her violently - back bowing off the bench as she wailed his name. Cunt spasming erratically, trying to milk his cock.

Not nearly done with her, Y/N manhandled her limp body into his lap , as he sat down on the gym’s vinyl flooring next - spearing up into her dripping hole once more. Sharp cries ringing out as he bounced her roughly on his dick by the hips.

"Yes yes fuck! Shit I can't..." Sooyoung babbled, still cum drunk and now full on crying. But her petite yet tall  body continued riding him eagerly. Tits jiggling wildly with the force of it.

Reaching around, Y/N's thick fingers found her throbbing clit again. Rubbing messy circles as she squeezed almost painfully a fourth time. Her rhythmic contractions pushed him closer to the edge too.

But he still wasn't done using her gorgeous body yet.

Pulling out abruptly mid-orgasm, he smirked at her wrecked wail. Manhandling her to knees, he fisted himself rapidly - aimed right at her sweat-slick back curved so beautifully before him.

"Look so fucking good on your knees noona... Now tell oppa what you need," he gritted out, squeezing the life out of his own dick,

Whining and grinding her ass back desperately, Sooyoung glanced over one shoulder. Eyes glazed and burned into his.

"P-please...want you to cum all over me oppa," she begged prettily, pink tongue swiping across her swollen bottom lip. "Mark me as yours..."

"Fuck!" Y/N roared, fist flying rapidly over his slick dick. Her nasty plea instantly triggered his release. He painted her back and ass cheeks in endless ropes of white hot semen - marking SNSD's lead dancer Sooyoung as claimed, way more claimed then her man could ever mark her.

Chests heaving, he eventually tugged her fucked-out body upright against him. She mewled weakly feeling their mixed cum and her juices now dripping freely out of her loose fucked out vagina and down her thighs and his.

"Let's get you cleaned up hm?"

Scooping her up easily, Y/N carried his pliant bias towards the locker room showers....... [A/N: lol pt2 coming out soon , i might finally surpass 5 if not 7k words, it'll be a personal milestone, took down the previous one cause i noticed typos and added bs, i didnt spellcheck it or even read through it prior to posting like an idiot, anyway req: @snsdyb]

#kpop smut #snsd smut #girls generation smut #male reader #x reader #pov smut #reader insert #request #Snsd sooyoung smut #Girls generation Sooyoung smut #Choi Sooyoung smut #smut

[theindependenttrentcrimm]

I want to talk about ace Eddie so I’m going to talk about ace Eddie! this episode was absolutely delicious and I know many many people will tell me that I’m reading too much into this and it is simply what the show said: his catholic guilt. Which is compelling enough already but stick with me.

ace Eddie is so so near and dear to my heart and I enjoy analyzing his arcs and his relationships through that lens. The fact that ABC allows characters to have these candid conversations is !!!

this episode in particular is delicious in terms of ace Eddie (I’m sorry, I’m not wording this wonderfully, it’s been a very bad pain day). He initially says to Buck:

“I got here early to avoid not having sex” and yes, the reason he gives is his catholic guilt. But I also just want to pay attention to the way he was speaking about it after revealing to Buck that he was avoiding being home. He was purposefully using vague, almost immature (in the sense of the way younger people take about sex) language and justifying himself by saying that Christopher was away, so they had time to themselves so naturally… it felt very much like this was how he was supposed to be feeling and what he was supposed to doing because his son was away because they had free time, the natural conclusion to him was that they would have sex.

he also says “Marisol likes to have it in the morning” which, granted, could simply indicate that he prefers it at other times but if we look at it through the perspective of ace!Eddie indicates that they have sex when Marisol wants to rather than when Eddie wants to (if he ever broaches the subject at all). This also lines up with the way he spoke about having sex with Shannon which primarily centered around her desires and his ability to fulfill them rather than his own wants and needs. The discussion with Bobby only further solidified this. He suggests that this is simply Eddie’s reaction to moving too quickly, indicating that there was very little that he had heard about Marisol prior to her moving in. Now, and again I recognize I may be reading too much into it, but for me the way they framed Marisol moving in by opening with them having sex, it reinforces this idea that for Eddie, sex is easy and expected and there’s a natural progression of a relationship that he’s meant to follow (mentioned in his conversation with Bobby). He’s meant to have sex, enjoy sex, ask a girl to move in with him etc.

at any point in time, he could have texted Marisol or gone back to the house and simply told her that he didn’t want to have sex with her just then. If he was seriously concerned that she would be upset or ignore him, that’s a different issue entirely. However, he has so much anxiety over sex and his own role as a man in a relationship that he ignores this idea altogether. He would rather avoid her all day than face the idea of coming home and not being able to provide sex. Sex that he doesn’t even necessarily want. I also think that’s why it’s so important to his character that his restarting with Marisol wasn’t predicated on a sexual encounter but rather on his own terms. It’s the first time that we’ve seen him take the time to say ‘maybe this isn’t necessarily something I’m ready for.’ And it’s WONDERFUL to see that.

Eddie’s relationships and his relationship to sex specifically is something that is incredibly fascinating to me because it screams amatanormativity and over compensating for something you’ve been told you should want and provide. Noted, I don’t necessarily like Eddie and Marisol and I certainly don’t like Marisol’s actress (I truly hope she leaves the series soon). However, I do like what this relationship is teaching Eddie about himself. I like that he’s slowing down and taking the time to think about what he wants rather than what’s expected of him.

#t rambles #911 #911 spoilers #eddie diaz #911 marisol #ace eddie diaz #and I will die on that hill <3 #you guys I may not have totally been in love with this episode but it’s a near thing #there’s so much to dissect and I’m sure so many people have done a much better job #I loved loved loved the henren storyline (side note) they’re such wonderful parents

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Answer The Phone (Mycroft X Daughter!Reader) *PARENTAL

Characters: Mycroft X Daughter!Reader, Sherlock X Niece!Reader

Universe: Sherlock

Warnings: mentions of being drugged via gas (fun story, this happened to me once lol), bomb, explosion, burns, unhealthy relationship with parent

Request: Hello could you do mycroft x daughter reader. Final problem the two have really broken father and daughter relationship and they haven't express themselves and because of it sherlock is kinda the father figure of the reader. So instead of Sherlock doing the phonecall its the mycroft who did the phonecall and reader almost said 'I love you ' to mycroft but its time up and mycrift witness the explosion in reader apartment and the Holmes are broken as they heard the shrill scream coming from the reader. Its up to you if you wanna turn out to let reader died. 😊

It had been a long time since you had actually gotten along with your dad. A long time since tensions weren’t running high when in his presence, well aware that things were one thoughtless comment away from a bicker or an argument. Whether it was wanting something from one another- more affection from him, or a more agreeable personality from you- or just not agreeing on things in general. He often commented on how you were more like your uncle Sherlock, even when you were young. Back then you took it as a compliment, seeing your uncle as a genius who adored you and was by far the funnest uncle in the world, but in your pre-teens you realised he meant it as an insult.

You could never forgive him for doing that, even if he didn’t mean it, or didn’t even realise what he was saying. Everytime he said it, it made you pull away from him even more. Spend more time with the man he compared you to, the only person who seemed to actually care about you. Of course, that was until you met Mrs Hudson and then John moved in with Sherlock. Mrs Hudson kept you company when your uncle was busy and you were avoiding your dad, and she’d softly poke into your home life and your relationship with your dad and try and give advice. John thought you were Sherlock’s assistant for a short while before Sherlock corrected him, acting insulted that he thought you were ‘just an assistant’. When he met Mycroft, he immediately began to understand why you weren’t close, and tried to be a responsible adult you could turn to. In the end, when you became a legal adult, you moved to an apartment much, much closer to Sherlock than your dad, and never in the 3 years you’d had it, had your dad stepped foot inside of it. He wasn’t allowed to. 

You had a lot of feelings towards your dad from childhood to now. Anger, resentment, distrust. A disconnect you never thought and come to accept could ever be fixed. Whenever you needed support, you went to Sherlock. John. Mrs Hudson. Never him. But this time was different. 

You were currently trapped in the said apartment. The one place you were supposed to feel safe no matter what, yet here you were, eyes focussed on the bomb that had been planted in the middle of your living room, the heart of your apartment, with several wires linking to it all across the apartment like spiderwebs. Linked to every possible escape route- the windows, the fire escape, and the only door in and out. You didn’t remember what had happened- you vaguely remember an odd smell as you wet to sleep last night, and when you awoke, you found yourself laying on the floor of your living room, and sitting up and seeing the device. Whoever had done this, had been nice enough to leave your phone right beside the bomb. You didn’t call anyone or even turn the phone on for several hours, scared that it had been tampered with as well and that was also a trigger, but you grew desperate. The first person you tried to call was your dad. You didn’t get through, so then you called Sherlock, and he picked up almost immediately, and you told him what was going on. 

That was about two hours ago now. The police cars littered the streets outside, the complex and surrounding buildings completely evacuated. It was just you and this bomb within a 50 foot radius. Well, for a period of time, both Sherlock and John were on the other side of the door, asking you a billion and one questions about what you could see, and you described everything to the best of your abilities, and it was useful. One, Sherlock was able to piece together it was well made, and whoever made this was an expert and had experience with this- probably a military man, working in a bomb squad or something, and that this was purely explosive, no nails or anything to cause more damage, and due the size, the blast wouldn’t go far past the walls of your home. However, after demanding his honesty, he admitted he also had no clue how to diffuse it, or if that was even possible. It seemed too fragile, that even a light breeze could set it off. That solidified your decision to remain perfectly still within two of the wires attached to your windows, too scared to even touch the glass or move to quickly, remembering his comment on a breeze, and didn’t want to risk vibration. 

You still hadn’t been able to reach your dad. 

“John?” You had asked over the phone. The phone was often being in call between people, mostly Sherlock and John, though Mrs Hudson had called when neither were available to try and keep you calm. It was John’s turn as Sherlock was following leads. 

“Yeah? Is something happening?” John asked. 

“No it’s just… I can’t reach my dad. I keep trying to call him but he won’t pick up… I… I just want to hear his voice.” You admitted. It sounded ridiculous, childish, but you were tired, hungry, and the adrenaline had drained your energy a while ago now. “Does he know what’s happening?” You asked. He was silent on his side for a minute. 

“I don’t know, but I tell you what, I’m going to personally find him, and drag him here, and make him answer his phone, okay?” He promised, and you could hear the anger oozing over the phone, which you couldn’t help but smile at. “In the meantime, I think Sherlock is going to call you later, I think he’s onto something. Hang on, alright?” He said, before handing up. You placed the phone on the floor, carefully standing up, and with distance between yourself and the window, you peered out of it, able to see John as he dashed off towards Lestrade, telling him something, before the pair got into a car and took off presumably to go and find your dad. Looking around more, you spotted Mrs Hudson peering up. She waved when she saw you, and you waved back. With nothing else to do, you sat back down in front of the bomb, trying to examine it to the best of your ability, seeing nothing of importance, before you laid down on the floor, closing your eyes, and waiting.

You flinched when your phone rang. You flinched every time it rang, even if someone had told you just a minute prior it was coming. You reached over, picking it up and placing it to your ear, remembering what John had said. “Sherlock?” You asked. 

“How many pieces of furniture in your flat can you crawl under?” His question was far from reassuring, as you bolted up, on high alert. 

“U-Um, I don’t know, why? Do I need to hide? Take cover? What’s going on?” You panicked. 

“The wiring to the bomb is far too fragile for someone to be able to rig it from the outside after escaping. They must have either found or made another way inside, somewhere where you wouldn’t have noticed. If we can find it you can get out yourself, or we can get inside. Think. Lay on the floor and look around for anything, furniture that you can get under, or furniture light enough but large enough to cover an escape but be able to move from below. Be. Careful. Watch the wires. Call me back if you find anything, I’m on my way back.” He said before hanging up, leaving you alone with silence and overwhelming pressure. You looked at the wires around you, before trying to think of the best places for someone to hide a hatch- under the coffee table, the recliner that you knew was easy to move, your wardrobe in your room which had some crawl space underneath, and for you, the most creepy- under your bed. You quickly checked under your coffee table in front of you, of course finding nothing, because of course that would be too easy. Your recliner was across from you, so after a deep breath, you got down on the ground, and carefully crawled under the wires, spotting a wire that was too low to crawl under, and you stood and carefully stepped over it. You then carefully moved your recliner, checking underneath, and found nothing. That left your bedroom. 

Your phone rang again, and your cursed yourself, realising you left it beside the table, and you hurriedly but carefully moved back, grabbing it and answering it. “Hello? Sherlock?” 

“Y/N?” Your dad’s voice caught you off guard, and you gasped in surprised. “What’s going on? John told me to call you and said it was dire.” He asked. A relief came over you just from hearing his voice, your eyes burning as you sniffed. 

“Dad… it’s bad.” You started, getting silence on the phone. “There’s… someone put some sort of sedative gas into my flat when I went to bed and broke in- they moved me into the living room and- there’s a bomb. There’s a bomb in the living room and it’s wired up to every escape and I can’t get out and I’m scared and I don’t want to die-” You rambled to him before you heard him finally repeating your name to try and interrupt you. 

“Y/N, Y/N, breathe. Is Sherlock working on it?” He asked, that last sentence sound a little distance, and you faintly heard John confirm in the background, before he returned to the phone. “Alright. Sherlock’s working on it. What has he told you?” 

“He um… He said that he thinks there’s a secret entrance somewhere- and that’s how the person who did this escaped after rigging everything. He told me to look for it- I’m going to check in my bedroom next.” You explained to him, looking over, being relieved when you saw no wire attached to the door. 

“Is that door rigged?” 

“No. Hold on, I have to crawl under the wires.” You explained, getting back down, crawling under the wires, before reaching it the door, and holding the phone to your ear. “Okay, I’m at the door.”

“Do you feel like a secret agent?” He asked, catching you off guard. 

“What?” You asked, pausing in your plan. 

“Crawling under and over the wires. It’s like the laser lights and those agents avoiding them. You used to love those movies when you were little. You thought that was what Sherlock did in his cases.” He reminisced. A faint smile met your lips. You’d totally forgotten about that. 

“Yeah… I remember one time when I pulled out all the red thread from a jumper you had gotten me, pinning it all over the house so I could pretend to be a secret agent and then using it to make an information board… you were so mad when you came back home because the jumper was some expensive brand and I’d made the board on a wall and wrote on it and everything… sorry about that.” You told him, somehow finding the energy to chuckle pathetically. 

“Don’t apologise.” Mycroft told you. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You were 6, you were just being a child.” He pointed out. “I’m… I’m also sorry that I didn’t answer your calls. I should have known something was wrong when you kept trying to reach me.” He apologised. You hummed, before you realised something. 

“This is the first time we’ve been able to actually talk without bickering or arguing in years.” You pointed out. You heard him sigh. 

“When this whole mess is over, I promise you we’re going to have a proper family dinner, catch up, and actually talk. No bickering. No arguing. A genuine conversation. How does that sound?” He asked. You smiled to yourself. This was the best thing that had happened all day, not like that was hard. 

“Yeah. Let’s hope the escape is in my room.” You said, remembering your task. You reached out, grabbing the handle of your bedroom door, and opening it, and pulling the door open. “Hey, you know, despite not really getting along my whole life, I want you to know that I do love-” You looked up to search your room, but the sound of a beep made your eyes focus on the bomb attached to your bedframe, this one a lot bigger, that was rigged to your bedroom door, that you had just set off.

Mycroft heard you gasp, the sound of you running, hearing you muttering repeatedly ‘no, no, no, no”, the sound of you trying to open a door before the call ended. “Y/N?” Mycroft asked. He heard nothing. He tried calling you back, and it didn’t even ring. He got an awful feeling in his stomach and he wanted to be sick, but he looked up at John who looked confused at what was happening, having not heard what he’d heard. “Get me to her flat right now.” 

By the time the pair arrived on your street, it was already blocked off and there was more than one firetruck trying to subdue the fire that was blazing where your flat used to be. Mycroft didn’t speak as he approached, seeing the sight, realising what it was exactly that he heard. He heard his daughter realise she triggered an explosive. He heard his daughter run across the one place she was meant to be safe to the front door. He heard his daughter try and open the door, and realise it was locked and she was trapped inside.

He heard his daughter die, terrified and alone. And for what? Why? Why not him, or Sherlock? He wanted to be angry, demand answers, find who did this and get revenge even if it isn’t lawful, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t find it in himself to be angry right now. Only guilty. He should have spent more time with you. He should have tried harder to be a better parent to you, he should have been kinder, more understanding. He should have been there. 

“John! Mycroft!” Mycroft didn’t hear Mrs Hudson at first as she dashed over as quick as she could- she was sobbing and sniffling, clutching a handkerchief to her face as she approached. 

“Mrs Hudson, what happened?!” John asked alarmed and out of breath. 

“There was a second bomb in the bedroom, when she opened the door it set it off.” She explained. Mycroft finally looked away from the blaze to look at the woman. The call had ended only 20 minutes or so prior, and since the flat was still in fire, so there was no way to examine the scene. 

“How do you know that?” He asked her. She didn’t say anything, simply grabbing his arm and pulling him down the street, pass the firetrucks, past the police who looked defeated, and towards an ambulance. The back doors were open, and inside he was able to see two paramedics tending to someone in the bed. He felt his heart leap into his throat as he sprinted to the edge and jumped inside, able to finally see your face, an oxygen mask over your face, burns littering your body, and you were unconscious as a paramedic was placing bandaging on one of your burns. “Is she okay? Is my daughter okay?” He demanded answers, one of the paramedics looking up at him. 

“She’s suffered burns and blunt force trauma from the explosion. She was conscious when she was able to get out, but she fell unconscious, and we need to get her to the hospital now. Please sit down if you’re coming with her.” He instructed, and Mycroft followed and sat down. He turned, seeing John and Mrs Hudson stood, staring at you. 

“Please make sure Sherlock finds out who did this. They need to pay for this.” Mycroft demanded. John nodded firmly, before the doors shut, the sirens turned on and the ambulance began to move. Mycroft put his whole focus on you, making sure your chest moved up and down, looking for any sign of you waking up, and more importantly, any sign you were in pain. He only saw you breathing, and he decided for now he should be thankful for that. He didn’t know what exactly he was going to do, but he knew that somehow, someway, he was going to fix this. He was going to make everything better. He had to.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @holy-tea-cup-blog @sassy-specter @keenmarvellover @multifandomfix @sleutherclaw @otterly-fey @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines@huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

#sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #mycroft #mycroft x reader #mycroft x fem!reader #mycroft x daughter!reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x fem!reader #sherlock x niece!reader #one shot #story writing #writing #question #ask questions #ask me anything #send me asks #send me anything #send me questions #oneshot #request #reader #x reader #fem!reader #x fem!reader #daughter!reader #x daughter!reader #niece!reader #x niece!reader

[myosotisa]

Old Heart - Part 4 - Build

‖ chapter summary: Following the destruction of Memphis, you and Eddie make your way to the spot where he is set to hand you off for the final leg of your journey to Colorado.

‖ tags: enemies to lovers, age gap (41 and 25), forced proximity, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, HEA, "zombie" apocalypse, reader uses she/her pronouns, no y/n, no physical description given, minors dni

‖ chapter warnings: grief and the tumultuous emotions included. abandonment issues. mentions of untreated terminal illness (cancer). implied/referenced suicide (very implied, not graphic). animal death and using it in a meal. also alcohol.

‖ word count: 11k

‖ prev ‖ ao3 ‖ masterlist ‖ tag list request ‖ next ‖

August 18th through 23rd, 2016 – somewhere in Arkansas

You only make the mistake of asking Eddie to talk about Memphis twice.

The first time was Thursday night after the two of you had settled into a place to sleep that seemed secure enough for both of you to sleep through the night. He’d assisted you with changing the bandages on your wound with the supplies him and Max had managed to scrape together while you had been catatonic. It was vague – more of an offer that if he wanted to talk to you about it, you were there for him. He’d bitten back with a harsh retort that there was nothing to talk about before rolling over and pretending to go to sleep.

Progress had been slow as you trekked across the state together due to your injury. You felt tired faster, found yourself pushing to keep going until you got so dizzy you almost fell over, then had to take a rest before you did the same thing all over again. Eddie never once complained about the pace but you could tell the sitting and waiting for you to be ready to move again was weighing on him. He would anxiously pace while you sat, or make an excuse about going to make sure the perimeter was clear and disappearing for 15 minutes at a time. The first leg of your trip he was standoffish and closed off but, ever since Max left, he’s been fully avoidant. Not wanting to get into situations where he would have time to stop and think.

Running away from silence and stillness like he had a bounty on his head.

When you ask again if he wants to talk about anything that happened in Memphis, he doesn’t snap. He barely responds at all. He sits there in the moonlight with one leg kicked out and the other bent up with his arms crossed on it. There’s a far off look in his eye despite his gaze being firmly settled on his boot. Dark shadows are cast along his features that make the circles under his eyes seem more sunken and his jawline more defined. A shadow of himself in the dark.

“Who’s Sally?”

The question catches you off guard, your legs crossing under you as you lean back against a dusty bookshelf in the dark room. “Sorry?”

“When we were leaving Louisville, you told–” His voice is soft and ragged – it catches on the word and he has to clear his throat to keep going. “You told Dustin to ‘get home safe to Sally.’ I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”

You’re not able to contain the amused snort that forces itself out of your nose and you notice that the silhouette of his head whips toward you in response. Quick to explain, you tell him, “Sally is a German Shepherd. She lives on the farm with Dustin and Will.”

“Ah,” is his short response. You think maybe that will be the end of it but a few moments later he’s talking again. “His mom was a cat lady. He liked the cats, but I always kinda got the feeling he was a dog person. So that’s, uh… That’s nice to hear.”

“Yeah, he’s obsessed with her. Talked about her almost as much as you on the trip there.”

This makes him huff, a quick exhale of breath. You wish you could see his face – figure out if that was a good noise or a bad one. For not the first time, you find yourself wishing you knew what he was thinking.

“I had a cat for a little while.”

His confession has you suddenly on the edge of your seat and you struggle to rein yourself in. Try not to think about how excited it makes you to hear him let a little fact about himself like that slip free. Carefully, keeping your tone neutral like you’re trying not to spook a wild animal, you ask, “Oh yeah? What was their name?”

You’re surprised when he actually answers. “My uncle named her Mimzy. Stupid fuckin’ name,” he complains, though it comes out through a chuckle. “Then again, the cat was dumb as a brick so I guess the punishment fit the crime.” You spend a few moments considering if you should ask more questions to try to keep him talking but he does so on his own. “She lived under our trailer when I was in high school. Was just fur and bone when I started throwing scraps outside for her to eat. ‘Course she stuck around after that. Even though I was the one who started feeding her, she always preferred Wayne. Would rub all over his legs when he got back from the plant in the morning after ignoring me all night. Though she was a fan of mine for a while when I saved her dumbass while trying to fight a raccoon.”

Still not quite sure how to handle this situation in which Eddie is willingly talking about himself, you fall back on humor. “Trying to fight a raccoon is a rookie mistake. They have fully functioning fingers. A cat stands no chance.”

This time the huff he lets out is definitely amused and you find yourself warming under the approval. “I’m just glad she didn’t get rabies or something from the thing.”

While it feels a bit like pushing your luck, you take another metaphorical step closer by offering up some bits of your own. “We had a dog when I was a kid. Yappy little terrier named Lola.” He doesn’t move to interrupt you so you push your luck a little further. “I was always more of a cat person but my dad fucking hated them for some reason, so I was never allowed to have one.”

“Didn’t get one when you had the chance?” He asks, and it makes you hesitate.

Not sure if he forgot how young you were or if he meant something else, you are reluctant to remind him. Despite the worry that it's the wrong move, you still awkwardly answer. “Well, I was only 13 when everything went to shit. And they didn’t want animals on the base so… No.”

Silence falls like a blanket of thick snow. It feels fuzzy and heavy. You immediately try to figure out how you can reel the words back into your mouth, say literally anything else that would keep him talking. Keep the silence from creeping in like hands around your throat.

“I forgot,” he’s borderline whispering now and you can barely hear it over the buzzing in your ears. “Can’t imagine how fucked up it was to go through that as a kid.”

You shrug even though he can’t see it, feeling that captive piece of you starting to pace behind its bars again, looking for the first sign of weakness to lunge. “About as fucked as it was for everyone else, I guess.”

“Yeah… Guess so.” The moment sits heavy on you both before the sound of leather on polyester hisses in the empty air. There’s a lot of shuffling from his side of the room and you see the shadows of him settling down on his sleeping bag. You take that as your sign that he’s done talking.

A small part of you thinks about telling him goodnight. You decide to stop while you’re ahead.

The next 3 nights go similarly. When you’ve both found some abandoned place to sleep, he helps you change your bandages. Looks out for signs of it getting infected and lets you know if it seems to be healing or not. When your cobbled together sling gives out, he rips apart his white overshirt to make you a new one despite your protests that you can manage without. Once your arm is settled and you’ve both eaten at least a little bit of something, you start talking. Not much, maybe 15 minutes to half an hour. But those sacred minutes allow you to learn more little facts about Eddie. Never anything related to Memphis or life during the pandemic. It’s all things from before.

He had the same flannel shirt in 3 different colors because he just really liked how it looked on him. A part of him always wanted to get into fixing up motorcycles in his free time. He also used to enjoy drawing and playing fantasy games with his friends. He learned to play guitar when he was a kid from an old 6 string that his uncle had but never used. 90% of his tattoos were from before, only two being added to the mix over the last 13 years. Not for lack of wanting – more like lack of resources and not trusting those who had set up “shops” these days to do stick and pokes. On that note, his first two tattoos were stick and pokes he did himself in high school.

You drank all the information like sugar water for a fly – desperate to be filled even if it wasn’t the way you were hoping it would be. Even if it didn’t end anywhere, even if it didn’t help either of you. It was something.

In a world where everything felt like a luxury, vulnerability was the rarest among them.

Evening of August 23rd, 2016 – Three Corners, Cherokee Nation, Oklahoma

The last hour or so of your hike through the middle of nowhere has been dirt roads and wooden fences that barely remain standing on the dusty roadsides. While you have questioned him once or twice, Eddie is determined that he knows exactly where he’s going. That he’s made this trip before, could do it blindfolded. And, with the sun quickly sinking toward the western horizon, all you can do is hope he’s right.

As you kick your way through orange dirt roads covered with rocks and tree limbs, the ruined fencing to your right starts to slowly be replaced with newer wood – better maintained and more sturdy. Further beyond, the wooden beams are replaced by a chain link fence that rises a foot or two above your head. This looks even newer, barely rusted and without any cuts or weak points. Despite being far from anything you would even attempt to call civilization, it seems that you are getting closer to something someone is caring for.

You don’t realize that you’re lagging behind, distracted and exhausted, until Eddie looks back over his shoulder. “We’re almost there, Bambi. Just a little farther.”

Not sure if he means to be encouraging or condescending, you decide to take the opportunity to talk again. Maybe if you can focus on that instead of your sore muscles and swollen arm, you can pass the rest of the time easily. “Y’know, calling me Bambi is kind of fucked up.”

He stops, slowly turning toward you with concern and confusion on his brow. He waits for you to catch up before continuing on with you in step. “How exactly is it fucked up?”

“Y’know, because both of my parents are dead now.”

He chokes on air, a hacking laugh forcing itself out of his throat. His eyes are shining with a certain mischief in them, one you haven’t seen since Memphis. “First of all, that’s so fucking dark, Bambi.” You blink at him a few times, not understanding exactly what he means. He continues on, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Second of all, I don’t know if you noticed, but a lot of people’s parents are dead.”

You scoff, shaking your head and looking back out to the road as you murmur, “Asshole.”

“Third of all,” he continues, ignoring your retort, “I’m pretty sure we started calling you Bambi because you’re going out into the world for the first time on your shaky legs; eyes wide and unsure. Not because your parents are dead.”

The realization hits you harshly, suddenly embarrassed for your own morbid assumption. “Oh,” is all you muster, teeth clenching as you try to shake off the fumble. “I am not on shaky legs. I’ve been in the world this whole time, same as everyone.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think your tall ivory walls of government protection count as ‘out in the world’.” He goads, almost sounding pleased with himself. Either not at all catching on to how the assertion frustrates you, or not caring that it does. “We didn’t all get our 3 square meals a day or access to clean water whenever we wanted it.”

The boil in your blood mounts higher – hotter than it’s ever been in his direction. While at the beginning of your journey, you’d been annoyed with his attitude toward you, this is entirely different. This is him taking a knife to where it hurts and twisting it just to watch you bleed. White hot blood you’re quick to spit back.

Your tone is barely contained fire and steam when you say a resolute, “Fuck. You.”

He looks almost like he wants to laugh until he glances in your direction and sees the look on your face. Subconsciously, he shifts another inch away from you, swallowing harshly as he stuffs his hands back into the pockets of his jacket. “Sore spot. Got it.”

The acknowledgement that his comments hurt you does little to smother the flames clawing up your throat, but you leash your tongue and use them to propel you forward instead. Settling into a tense silence that could last 5 minutes or an hour. It’s hard to tell with the rate the sun continues to sink down onto the horizon and the grasslands surrounding you remain unchanging.

Luckily, the fuming is interrupted by Eddie using his long legs to his advantage and crossing over in front of you to grasp at what you’ve just noticed is a gate in the chain link fence. He fights with the chain wrapping the gate closed for a few moments before he manages to prop it open far enough for you both to squeeze through. You pass first, crossing from a dirt road to what can only be described as worn down tire tracks in the grass. It arcs forward and toward the left, disappearing behind a small grove of trees.

“Is this it?” You ask over your shoulder, glancing back as Eddie once again wrangles the thick chain back into place. “Three Corners?”

“Yup, just up the drive.” He exhales a huff as soon as the chain is back in place. Looking at you with an emotion behind his eyes that you can’t determine, he clears his throat and sets into following the path again. “End of the road. For me, at least.”

The startling realization that this is the end of your journey with Eddie hits you unexpectedly. Twists your gut in a way it didn’t when the handoff happened with Dustin. That you had always known was temporary, a means to an end. Just like this was supposed to be.

When had you lost grasp on that?

Oblivious to your internal struggle, Eddie treks ahead, the call of a place to rest and get clean too enticing to let wait any longer. He’s already disappeared around the bend of the trees before you even catch sight of the property.

First, there’s a light blue walled barn, looking only a little bit worse for wear. More like seasoned in the Oklahoma winds. Two of its off-white, rolling doors are shut, the third opened to a room lined with what looks like workbenches – but it’s hard to tell exactly what in the growing shadows of dusk.

Second, you spot a house. One story, laid out wide rather than tall, and organized with mismatched windows and shutters. The walls are painted the same sky blue as the barn, with white trim and a beige slatted roof that is missing more than a few shingles. The roof extends over a small porch, just big enough to fit the door and 2 rocking chairs, and ends in a copper rooster that slowly rotates back and forth in the light wind.

The front door is wide open, presumably from Eddie, and shows only shadows of what is happening on the inside. You hover there in the open space in front of the house, not sure what to do, until you hear Eddie’s voice calling out.

“Hey! Anyone home?” He barely pauses before continuing, his voice getting closer as he goes. “Jeff? … Ama? … Anyone?”

He reappears from the shadows of the house, crossing back through the threshold with a sharp crease of concern between his eyebrows and his mouth set in a thin line. “Hey, you out here?” He continues, long legs carrying him to the barn next, where he once again disappears into the shadows you’re not yet brave enough to venture into. “Jeff? Ahuli?”

The sound of a creaky metal hinge rings out toward you in the open space, echoing out into the quickly darkening sky. Determining your hesitancy in this unknown space is less important than your desire to sit down, you suffer the last few steps to one of the rocking chairs on the porch, tossing your pack to the ground before throwing yourself onto the seat, almost falling backwards with the force of your exhaustion.

Eddie comes back out into the open, hands on his hips as he makes a slow circle to search around the area within view. Leaning forward on your elbows to contain the sudden urge to melt into the ground, you tilt your chin up toward him as he stops to face you. “Looks like no one's home.”

“Yeah, which…” He takes a few steps closer, dust coated face still wrinkled in concern. “They knew we were coming, maybe not this soon but… I don’t know where they would even go.”

“Maybe they left a note or something,” you suggest, wanting just a few minutes to sit and not worry about what was going to happen next. Wanting a few minutes to just rest. “Could look around the house or – maybe they said something to someone over the radio?”

His expression drops from worry to something that looks a bit like despair when he turns back toward the open workshop door. “I should… Let them know we’re here. Tell them what happened.”

But he doesn’t move an inch. Just stares at the steadily growing shadows of the empty barn. Like if he doesn’t go over there, he won’t have to say it. Won’t have to relive it and remember it.

This is something you can’t run from.

You push yourself to your feet, almost numb at this point of exhaustion, and walk past him toward the barn. Without looking back, you hear him get moving behind you, following you as you approach the structure and cross the threshold. Straw softens your step over concrete floors, making your footfall near silent as you venture further into the darkness.

Try to ignore the fear, shake off the urge to reach for your gun or your flashlight. You’re safe here, you’re safe here, you’re safe here–

A short sound comes from behind you and then the room is bathed in harsh white light, nearly blinding in its sudden appearance. You squeeze your eyes shut for a few moments before slowly blinking them back open.

Two of the walls of the room are fully lined with wooden table tops, drawers and random scraps littering the spaces beneath. It looks almost like some kind of machine workshop – drills, hammers, pliers, wiring, and more scattered across the wood between tools and small machines. Most of it you couldn’t even hope to recognize, but as you slowly turn to scan more of the space, you see Eddie approaching what definitely looks like a radio receiver. There are wires all over, some disappearing behind the workbench it sits on and others loosely arching toward the ceiling and through a cutout. Homemade antenna?

He flicks it to life with ease, a burst of static echoing out along the space before settling into a stable hum of sound. Lowering into a crouch, he has to get pretty close to the dial as he adjusts the frequency, like he can’t see the numbers well. You’re about to offer to help him when he drops his hand and straightens up with a groan.

It tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Careful old man, or you’ll throw your back out.”

Bracing for him to lash back with something mean, you’re surprised when he snorts a laugh out of his nose, shaking his head lightly before throwing a glance back at you and saying, “Bite me.”

And maybe it’s the smirk on his face, or your exhaustion, or your life falling to pieces around you, but you somehow decide that the way you want to reply to that is, “When and where?”

This time he fully looks at you, eyebrows raised in utter surprise, his smile growing and shifting sideways as your face heats in embarrassment. “Yeah, Bambi?”

“Shut up,” you mutter to his teasing, dragging a tall stool across the straw floor to sit beside him. He is still looking at you, a sharp glint to his eye that makes you feel like a mouse being cornered by a cat. “Just radio in,” you try to order, but it comes out more like a plea.

“Whatever you say,” he concedes with a sly smile, pulling the receiver up to his mouth and pressing down on the button. The static hum cuts out as he says, “Hawk’s Nest, come in. I repeat, Hawk’s Nest, come in.”

The moment he lifts his finger, the static cuts back in. Neither of you move, almost not even breathing, as you wait for a response. Eddie, showing more impatience than you, tries again. “Hawk’s Nest, this is Crow, do you read me?”

When he releases the switch again, you dip slightly forward to look at his profile. “Crow? You have call signs?”

He groans, eyes rolling back into his head. “Yeah, and it’s all bird-themed shit. Blame your fucking sister.”

“Ah, Robin, figures.”

“Pain in my ass,” he reaffirms, but the small smile that remains on his face betrays him. He lifts the receiver again like he’s about to repeat when the static crackles a few times – waving between a very high and low pitch before a static tinted voice cuts in.

“Crow, this is Hawk’s Nest. Read you loud and clear.”

“Thank Christ,” he sighs out before pressing down the switch again. “Crow reporting package arrival at drop 3.”

Annoyance prickles at the base of your skull again, ready to snark back about not being a fucking package but the voice you still don’t recognize cuts back in. “Package arrival heard, will relay.”

He barely waits a second before jumping in again. “Drop 3 handoff incomplete, receiver not present. Any report?”

It all sounds so incredibly vague and short form – like if you didn’t know exactly what was going on you wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of any of it. That’s probably the point actually, that anyone listening in would have almost no idea what they were talking about.

There’s some additional crackling, a longer pause before the voice cuts back in. “Nothing noted. Standby at drop 3, will report back at 1500 hours tomorrow.”

“Heard,” he confirms and releases the switch. You wonder if he’ll leave it there, not mention anything about Memphis or Max or any of it. It’s almost like he’s tempted to, because he looks over at you with a hard tension in his jaw. You’re not sure why, if there is something he wants you to say or do. If there is some kind of encouragement you could give him, some comfort you could provide.

Nothing feels right to say. So instead you heave a deep breath, wounded arm protesting as your chest expands, and exhale long. Whether consciously or not, Eddie mimics the motion, shoulders rising and falling as he exhales out through his mouth and then presses down on the switch again. “Hawk’s Nest, additional intel for the line.”

A few seconds of hum before the voice replies, “Ready for the line.”

From your point of view, you can see Eddie rest his free hand on the table top, head falling forward as his eyes squeeze closed. His lips twist in a grimace, head rocking back and forth a few times, before he brings the receiver back up to his mouth.

“Memphis QZ is gone. I repeat, Memphis QZ is gone.”

This time you do hold your breath while you wait – heart pounding in your ears loud enough to drown out the static hum as you stare into the black coated machine. The silence stretches on way too long, the longest pause you’ve heard since the conversation began. You almost have to inhale just to keep from passing out, lungs groaning in protest, before the two of you hear a reply.

“Heard, will relay. Status on Flycatcher?”

A sigh out of his nose before he replies. “Headed your way, arrival unknown.”

Another, shorter pause. “Heard, will relay. Standby for 1500 report. Over and out.”

He sets the receiver down with a heavy hand, raises the other to flick the radio back off. Both hands on the table again, he exhales shakily as he hangs his head.

You don’t move or say a word until he does. Allowing him that moment to collect himself, if nothing else.

Slowly, he rolls his shoulders back to his full height, posture squaring off as he takes a step back from the table.

“Come on,” he requests softly, “let’s go clean up, change your bandages. Get something to eat.”

You follow him out of the barn, light flicking off behind you, across the red tinted dirt circle between the barn and the house, and into the shadows within.

August 24th, 2016 – Three Corners, Cherokee Nation, Oklahoma

Last night, Eddie showed you around a bit. They had an outdoor shower with a water heater, a working toilet and sinks, a small fridge, a wood stove. Electricity and hot water. And beds. Both of you would be able to get your own bed.

You’d awkwardly turned down his assistance on getting clean, insisting you’d be really careful with your arm. He let you go first – when you re-emerged from the wooden enclosure of the shower, there was a little bundle of clean clothes waiting for you. By the time you got inside, there was a small (but warm) meal prepared. He was already halfway done with his, and when he finished, he insisted on changing your bandages again despite your reassurance you could do it.

After making sure you were clean, bandaged, and fed, he told you where you could find a bed and went out to take his own shower. You washed the dishes as well as you could with one fully functioning hand and tucked yourself into bed before he even came back inside.

This domesticity felt unnerving. His care felt unnatural. It was different from the apartment in Memphis. This was the home of a family of four, with kids toys and art and pictures and everything. And, despite it only being the two of you, Eddie watching out for you, taking care of you, putting you first… It was overwhelming and uncomfortable and felt unsafe.

Somehow, laying alone in the dark child’s room, in clothes that weren’t yours and in the silence. It was worse than anything.

You couldn’t fall asleep until you heard Eddie come back inside and close the door to the room beside you.

When you wake up, there’s sunlight coming in through the opaque curtains, a soft yellow cast across the homemade quilt you had pulled up to your ears. As you slowly shift it down to your waist, dust starts to kick up and dance along the beams into the room. Making the blues and greens of the bedding and the child-drawn artwork look almost pastel. And while part of it was comforting, imagining a kid who still got to have a room like this – live a life like this – there were a lot of other feelings that came up. Feelings you weren’t ready to face this early in the morning.

Instead, you get up and get dressed to go find some water.

Your door is barely open an inch before you hear something going on in the kitchen, the scrap of wood against metal and the clink of a glass. Not sure if maybe the homeowners had returned while you were out, and you were now about to meet them, you walk as quietly as you can to the end of the hallway that leads to the rest of the house.

The only person you can see is Eddie with his back to you.

He’s standing in front of the wood stove in a tank top and sweatpants, bare feet on the uneven tile flooring, long hair down and haphazardly placed on either side of his shoulders. The scars along his arms are on show, allowing you a better glance as you slowly approach from behind. His right arm isn’t too bad, a vague slash mark here or there, along with a couple of black ink tattoos scattered across the skin. There’s a healed over bullet graze at the top of his right bicep, the skin indented and slightly puckered pink. Probably somewhat similar to how your own arm will heal.

His left has larger patches of scar tissue, a big section on his forearm and a few other spots as it goes up his arm. They almost look like burn scars – the skin damaged and discolored but healed over. It’s the same texture of the scar on his side you saw last week, also on the left. He must’ve been in some kind of accident with flames or maybe some kind of chemical. 

You wonder if he’d tell you what it was if you asked.

The closer you get, you can see there’s some small bowls on the counter beside him and one of them is stacked high with brown spotted eggs. He has a cast iron pan over the crackling fire and scraping at the yellow liquid inside it to scramble them.

Without otherwise announcing yourself, you ask him, “Are these fresh eggs?”

He nearly screams, wooden spatula going flying and almost losing the pan too as he jumps away from you. “Jesus Christ, Bambi,” he gasps, running a hand through his hair before dropping it on his heaving sternum, “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“No,” but your mischievous smile heavily implies you’re not exactly upset about the outcome. “Where’d you get the eggs?”

He glares at you while shuffling back to the front of the stove. He still sounds a little out of breath when he replies, “Ama has a henhouse out back, takes care of them. Tries to keep them out of the garden.” He points toward another wooden bowl that has 2 small pears, some leaves of lettuce, and a single shoot of green onion.

“Holy shit.” The fresh, home grown food nearly brings tears to your eyes – brushing past his back to take one of the small, green pears and hold it up in the sunlight to examine it. “I mean the food, the animals, the water, the electricity… How do they keep it all going out here?”

“The reservation was already making attempts to be self-sustainable before the pandemic hit. Their own power grid, water collection, the works.” He continues to cook while he explains, scraping the bottom of the cast iron to keep the eggs from sticking as he watches it carefully. “After everything went to shit, they fast tracked it. Jeff and Ama were living in the city and moved back to her parents' place to help them. Her folks died a couple years ago so then it was just them and their two kids. Jeff is a mechanical engineer and Ama is a fuckin’ genius in general so they made this into the best compound someone could ask for in an apocalypse.”

Looking over the house, you couldn’t help but agree. The stable fencing, communication, their own food and water. Depending on how they sourced the power, they could probably stay out here for who knows how long and the only thing they might need to worry about is bandits. Even then, there’s not much around. A bandit group would have to be really lost to end up here.

“That’s… amazing. I honestly didn’t think it was possible to still be living like this. Anywhere.”

But then again, I thought that about Memphis too.

He hums an agreement as he scrapes the eggs out of the pan and onto two plates. “Yeah. I know they are still in touch with other families around. Maybe they are out helping one of them with something.” He nudges his elbow against your arm, pointing for you to grab the other bowl of greens and bring it over to the table with him. “There was a ton of feed in the henhouse, like they prepped to be gone for a little while.”

You follow his lead in setting the bowls on the circular table in the center of the room before taking a seat to his right. “Well that’s a good sign, isn’t it? That they were prepared to not be here?”

He hums as he settles into his chair, the wood groaning as he leans too far back in it. “I guess so. I just hope Will has something to tell us at noon.”

Laying out a piece of lettuce, he makes a sort of egg wrap with bits of green onion before taking a bite right out of his pear. “So Hawk’s Nest, that’s Will? He mans the radios out on the farm with Dustin?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms as he finishes chewing, eyes locked on his plate like he doesn’t know where to go next. “With Sally, apparently.”

Long fingers wrap around his wrap and bring it up to his mouth with a crunch, so you pick up a fork and start to spear into your own warm eggs. Unseasoned but still warm and fresh. A hundred times better than the powdered egg stuff they made back at Quantico. Even just having a warm meal settles you in a way you hadn’t anticipated, relaxing further into your seat as your eyes close.

When you open them again, you’re struck by the sight of Eddie. The sun coasts in through an uncurtained window – bathing him and the table in bright morning light. His slightly frizzy hair, greys visible, is pulled to one side, showing off the length of his neck and the broadness of his shoulders. The scruff along his jaw has only gotten thicker, salt and pepper across weathered skin, almost enough to hide the scar on his chin. There’s a tattoo of a dragon along his bicep, a slashed scar of white right through its abdomen, and a swarm of bats on his forearm. His hands are clean, maybe cleaner than you’ve ever seen them and you find yourself thinking that he looks good like this.

This is a different person from the Eddie you first met. The wolf in denim and leather who is intimidating, unapproachable, someone you wouldn’t want to get in a fight with. With the sharp glares beneath aviators and sharper remarks against anything you had to say. This is a man who has seen terrible things – done terrible things – and now gets to rest. A safe place where he can just live. Not be constantly fighting to survive.

If only he would sit around long enough to enjoy it.

The two of you finish your breakfast and clean up the dishes. Eddie roots through closets and cupboards until he finds a jacket that will fit you (since they tore yours apart to make a sling), a corduroy coat in a forest green that probably wouldn’t stand up well in the elements but keeps you warm nonetheless. He helps you slide it up one arm and hang it over your other shoulder. Your arm is still in your makeshift sling at his request, insisting it would be better to take it off in another day or two.

After that, he explains he’s going to go check the trap line Jeff normally has set up, see if there is anything caught so the two of you might be able to eat some fresh meat tonight. You offer to go with him, to try to help, but he’s quick to deny.

While he says something about your arm and wanting you to rest since it’s still healing, you get the feeling he just wants to be alone for a while. So you watch him re-emerge from one of the bedrooms down the hall in his jeans, boots, red and black tie dye shirt, and his leather jacket before walking out the door with a promise to be back before 3pm for Will’s call.

Leaving you to your own devices.

At first you snoop around the house, trying to bide time. Walk the walls like an art gallery – seeing old and faded photos of families, women in calico tear dresses and men in their ribbon shirts. Newer photos of people gathered in churches, an older man and his three kids all climbing on a pasture gate. 

Closer to the fridge, there is a set of three polaroid photos. The top is a family of four sitting on the porch of this house, a man and a woman sitting on the steps with a boy and a girl posing between them. The boy is older, looks almost 7, and the girl looks about 5, with his black pigtail braids draped over her shoulders. The other two are each centered on one of the kids; a shot of the boy with a stripe of grease on his cheek and holding some kind of contraption in his palms with a huge smile, the name ‘Ahuli’ written in cursive underneath, and a shot of the girl sitting on top of the father’s shoulders, her hair wild and windswept as she appears to scream out with laughter, the name ‘Tay’ written in cursive beneath.

This must be Jeff, Ama, and their kids. All living out here on this land. These were kids born after everything fell apart. A family created in utter tragedy. There’s something bittersweet about it all. These kids… This is the only world they know. A world ravaged by man eating man and fungus that takes over your body, pilots your muscles and tendons, and leaves you aware. Cities were destroyed and millions of people died and society collapsed. They don’t even really know it. They’ve probably been told, at least some of it. But they don’t have any idea of what it was before – don’t have anything to miss. This is what they have, have always had. A safe home with a happy family.

The chained creature roars in agony, jaws snapping at the bars like it will tear free and take out its anger on them, on their happiness. Roars for you to grab the polaroids and tear them to pieces, to destroy, to light fire to it all. Burn it to the ground.

You go for a walk.

Slip on your boots with some difficulty and just start walking. Past the outdoor shower, the light clucking of the henhouse behind, and out into the grass beyond. Going until you reach the edge of the fence line and then follow along it, looking out for anything that catches the eye. There are a few horses grazing on the property, a single cow with its calf in the acres beyond the fence. Birds flit by overhead and the drying grass shifts as small creatures scurry far away from you.

You’re not sure how long you walk but the sun beats down, along your shoulders and a sweat breaks out. The breeze keeps you from being miserable but you’re still definitely getting sunburnt along your cheekbones. You’d think after days and days of walking, you’d want to do anything but that. But this feels different. It’s peaceful and relaxing. You’re not on edge, listening to every sound and searching for any sign that something or someone is coming after you. Somehow, your body has gotten the message that you are safe (for the most part) within this chain link fence, allowing some portion of your guard down. So you walk and listen to the birds without constantly looking over your shoulder.

Somewhere toward the back acreage, you intercept Eddie on his way back to the house with a string connecting two dead animals hung over his shoulder. He looks surprised to see you but gives an awkward little wave, waiting along the fence until you get there. “Dinner?” You ask, free hand stuck in the pocket of your coat as you look over the furry animals hanging from him, one on his front and one on his back.

“Dinner,” he confirms with a small smile, adjusting the line holding the animals together before you set off back toward the house together. “I can skin ‘em easy enough, and make sure they’re cooked through, but can’t guarantee it’ll taste very good.”

“If you skin them, I can cook them. While I was snooping around the house, I found some bone broth and other stuff. Should be able to make something edible at least.”

His head tilts toward you, eyebrows raised slightly. “You know how to cook?”

“Yup,” you keep your eyes forward, across the waving prairie grass and toward the outcropping of trees that hides the house and barn. “My mom taught me. She used to work in the mess hall on the base.”

He audibly swallows beside you, a nervous pause before he asks, “When, uh… How long ago did she… pass?”

“Eight years, I think. 2008ish. I think it was summer.” Your voice remains surprisingly steady as you explain. “I still don’t even really know what happened. My dad just came home one day and told me she was gone. I was 17, old enough to be more aware of stuff, but it still felt like he was protecting me from something.” You kick at a stone that caught the tip of your toe in the tall grass, eyes on your dusty boots. “Guess now I’ll never know.”

You cross another 15 feet or so before he replies. “One of the shittier parts of keeping secrets. Once you’re gone, they’re gone too.”

You huff a small laugh, gazing ahead at the trees as you continue to inch closer. “He says as a man overflowing with secrets.”

“There’s a difference between not knowing someone and being ‘filled with’ secrets,” he points out, almost defensively.

“Oh yeah,” you roll your eyes, “because you’re an open book.”

He quiets down again, the silence growing more tense than before. When you finally glance over, you see him looking straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw rolling with tension. Despite your desire to say something else and lessen the sudden distance between you, you decide to let him sit in that. Stew in it even. Like maybe if you reflect that mirror right back at him, he’ll see something.

Maybe something will change for him. Even if you’re not going to be around to see it.

The rest of the walk is quiet as you pass back through the treeline. You follow Eddie into the barn, where he disappears through a door into the other half before reappearing sans animal carcases. The two of you settle in front of the radio again.

Will comes through at 3pm sharp with almost no news. No reply from Colorado about Memphis. No news about Jeff. The only thing he is able to tell you is that he will have more for you at 1300 tomorrow and he lets you know Max arrived at the farm early this morning, unharmed. It’s all in code, but you’re able to get the gist of it. When the radio clicks off, Eddie’s frustration boils over. He kicks hard at a metal can sitting on the ground, the side caving in before it goes sailing out the open door and bounces across the dirt drive of the house. You watch it roll to a stop before looking over at him, one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth as he stares at the object, the sun reflecting off the coating in a glare.

“I’m gonna go skin the animals.”

The door slams shut behind him.

You stare at the closed door for a few minutes before getting off the stool and heading back inside the house.

When you wake up on the couch a few hours later, the sun is even further toward the west. The light no longer shines into the windows of the front room, leaving it much darker than it had been when you and Eddie ate breakfast this morning. Rolling up to sit, you stretch overhead with one arm and a yawn before glaring down at the sling keeping your other arm captive. You’re well past tired of the limitation now and slip it over your head, tossing the fabric to the other end of the couch.

Extending your arm, there’s still some pain and discomfort, but as long as you don’t bring your arms above your head or lift too heavy with your bad arm, you’ll be fine without the sling. It is well past time you were able to use both hands again.

The heavy glance from Eddie when he slips back inside implies he disagrees, but it seems not enough to say anything.

Heavy footfall breaks up the silence until aluminum hits tile. “They’re cleaned. Are you still willing to cook?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Padding across the room in your socks, you step right up next to him to peer into the container. Trying to ignore the way he shifts his shoulder back to make room for you at the counter. Tilting your head toward him, you’re closer than you thought when you add, “Thank you for doing that.”

He looks surprised by the proximity too – brown eyes even just a little bit wider as he scans your face. You can see the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow. The words sound a bit caught in his throat when he replies, “Sure, no problem.”

Although he looks nervous, maybe even uncomfortable, with how close the two of you are standing, he still makes no effort to move away. Neither do you, although you do lower your face to look over the meat before you in an attempt to ease some of the tension.

If you didn’t know any better, the warmth to your side makes you think he drifted even closer when you stopped looking.

Softly, entirely too intimate compared to the standoffish man who slammed the door behind him mere hours ago, he asks, “Do you want help cooking? Or can I go take a shower before we eat?”

“Go shower.” He doesn’t move an inch. “Oh, actually,” you twist and your noses almost knock together, causing both of you to jerk back in shock. What in the hell is happening right now?

“Could you…” Your voice is unsteady, a bit breathless. “Would you light the stove before you go? I’ve never used one like this before.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a small smile before he drops down to his knees right there beside you. Steady hands reach in toward the wood burning stove as you avert your eyes, shifting out of his space and over toward the cabinets you scoped out earlier. Overwhelmed by his quick change in attitude, you busy yourself in preparation until he pushes himself up with a groan.

Seeking some normalcy, you sigh louder than necessary. “Sorry, shouldn’t have asked you to do that. Old knees and all.”

He huffs a laugh, hair shifting while he shakes his head in your periphery. “Careful, Bambi, or I’ll have to give you a taste of what these knees can do.”

A laugh bursts out of you before you can contain it, turning toward him again. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

His eyes narrow playfully, a hand raising in an accusatory point. “Better hope you never find out.” Raising your hands in surrender, you turn back to the counter before he offers one more, “Anything else before I go?”

“Nope, all good here. Thanks.”

He dips his head in acknowledgment before leaving you to your cooking.

As the door clicks shut behind him, you find yourself wondering which Eddie will he be when he gets back.

Evening of August 24th, 2016 – Three Corners, Cherokee Nation, Oklahoma

The chirp of crickets is nearly deafening out on the dusty porch now that the sun has sunk below the horizon. It echoes through the circular clearing of the drive – ricocheting off of thick foliage and the aluminum siding of the barn in a chorus of hissing. A cacophony of noise that drowns out everything but the creak of the rocking chair while it slowly shifts beneath you.

A knit blanket, softened with age, is draped across your lap, frayed edges rolling between your fingertips as you look out over the darkening landscape. The wind has softened from earlier today, meaning you don’t really need the blanket to combat the cold itself. But there’s something about curling up on the porch with a blanket that feels so… Novelty. Comforting.

Another thing you never thought you’d be able to do again.

Dinner with Eddie had been… Strange. He wasn’t quite the tease from when he brought back in the meat, but also wasn’t the grump you left in the barn. Somewhere in between – or maybe something else entirely.

His mood appeared to be wildly shifting by the hour and left you feeling unsure in how to act. While dinner itself had gone relatively easily, you couldn’t help being uneasy by what the next shift might bring.

After eating, he’d insisted on cleaning up. You didn’t fight him on it and made yourself scarce. Found your current blanket, bundled it up into your arms to keep it from dragging across the ground, and made your way to your current spot in the rapidly darkening dusk air. Taking a little while to breathe in fresh air and do your best to reach some sort of relaxed state.

You don’t get anywhere close before the metal hinge of the door behind you creaks open to announce your companion’s arrival.

“I come bearing gifts.”

A cool, glass bottle of liquid is set in your lap – two long fingers releasing either side of the neck before retreating out of view again. Twisting it toward you, you recognize the label of the familiar liquor.

“Where did you get this?”

Eddie drops into the rocking chair beside you with a sigh while he sets a flickering candle on the floor between you both before moving to untwist the top off his own bottle. “A lady does not reveal her secrets,” he murmurs before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking three long swigs. He hisses in through his teeth as it lowers, face contorting in a sort of pleasured pain before falling slack. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Curious if the label is true to the contents, you’re quick to follow - popping the top and bringing the cool glass mouth up to your lips in a more cautious sip than Eddie’s gulps. Sure enough, the liquor is strong and sharp as the burn invades your mouth before sliding down your throat. You groan slightly, not sure if it’s a good thing or not, as you lower the bottle again.

“That’s strong,” you cough slightly, face pulled back in a grimace. “Haven’t had any real shit in a long, long time.”

“Yeah, well.” He glances over at you, brown eyes warm and bright in the dancing flame between you, as the corner of his mouth tips up in a small smile. “Don’t get used to it, Bambi.”

“You sure they won’t miss these?” You ask him, curiously. Despite the burn, you bring the bottle up to your lips again, seeking the numbness that is sure to follow.

He takes another long chug, releasing his mouth with another hiss. “I stashed ‘em here. Guess I should feel lucky they didn’t drink them.”

“Guess so.”

Silence falls again. Or, what can be considered silence beyond the buzz of insects in the dark. You both continue to silently nurse your bottles – you more gently than him – as the red hues of the sun disappear into the navy blue blanket of stars.

When you glance over at Eddie, he has his head hanging back, the base of his skull resting on the back of the rocking chair, baring his throat to the night. He looks exhausted but at rest. Like the alcohol is finally lulling him into some semblance of ease. His legs are splayed wide with the bottle resting between them, hands loosely resting on his thighs. The salt and pepper scruff on his jaw grown thicker than when you’d first met him and his hair pulled back haphazardly.

It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. Completely unguarded. Even with you right there beside him.

Which makes him breaking the silence first even more terrifying.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

You try not to tense too much in response, looking over at him again. His head is still facing up but his eyes are open now, trained on the stars above you both.

While you can think of a few things, you’re still unsure exactly what he might be referring to. “I feel like I might regret asking this but, for what?”

His hands shift in his lap, tensing into fists before relaxing again. Shoulders rising and falling in a heaving sigh, his eyes pinch closed again. “I haven’t exactly treated you fairly since we met. I…” He trails off, head slowly lulling forward to glance at you before sticking to the ground before him. He clears his throat before continuing again. “Your dad and I never liked each other very much, for a lot of reasons. The biggest one being how he treated Rob.”

You can’t help but cut him off there, confusion apparently in your face. “What do you mean how he treated Robin?”

Eyes shifting over to you nervously, he takes another swig before explaining. “I’m sure you know the story - your dad and Rob’s mom had her really young, didn’t know what they were doing, all that. You probably heard the sugarcoated version but your dad just kinda up and left them. Didn’t really call, definitely didn’t visit. Moved on… Started a new family.”

Your heart burns then, sorrow and guilt pulling you in different directions. A new family – your family. 

“Robin never blamed you, or your mom for that matter. She’s never had anything but good things to say about you.” He’s quick to add, making minimal eye contact with you as he continues to explain. “But I did. I was real protective of Rob around the time your dad came back around wanting to make amends. I remember how much it hurt her. And I think a part of me always blamed you for that.”

Definitely not what you were expecting, you don’t say another word, waiting to see if he’ll keep going. It’s a bit painful; knowing he disliked you for something that couldn’t have possibly been your fault. Almost like he hated you just for being born.

“Anyway, that wasn’t cool or fair of me. The fault was always with your dad and his choices. So… I’m sorry.”

While the sentiment is appreciated, it’s still hard to swallow. You counteract the choking feeling it leaves in your throat with another sip of hard liquor.

“Thanks for telling me.” You offer softly. While you might not be ready to forgive him or even to accept it, you’re still at least grateful to understand a little better why your relationship had seemed doomed from the start.

His chest rumbles in a hum of acknowledgment, turning his attention to his bottle again. You let that hang in the air for a little longer before you speak up again. “What were some of the other reasons?” You ask curiously, looking anywhere but his face. He mumbles a ‘huh?’, urging you to clarify. “You said there were a lot of reasons you and him didn’t like each other. What else?”

You see him grapple with the question, rolling it around in his mouth as he figures out how to chew it. The liquor has definitely loosened him, mentally and physically. Maybe you shouldn’t press for more info like this but… Maybe this is your only chance.

“He tracked me down a few years ago. 2011, I think. It was a week after… After my Uncle Wayne died.” His voice is thick with emotion now, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he remembers it. “He asked me to help him with something – something big. But I… We argued. Barely held back from punching him square in the jaw a couple times. He said a lot of shit about ‘expecting more from me’ as if he knew me at all,” he let out a bitter chuckle, his head shaking slightly.

“I was in a lot of pain,” he admits, slightly choked up. You’re shocked still, not sure how to handle this turn of events. Should I comfort him? Let him talk through it? Ask more questions? “I told him to go fuck himself and he called me a selfish bastard. And we kept our distance from each other after that. I’m sure he’s probably rolling in his grave right now knowing I’m one of the people escorting you around.” A huff of a laugh at that, bringing the bottle back up to his lips before his eyes widen and glance your direction. “Sorry.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “No, uh… Don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly feeling yourself scramble for something else to say or some way to keep the conversation going, you put your foot right in your mouth by asking, “What happened to your Uncle Wayne?”

He looks at you, shock and maybe even offense clear on his face, and you wince as you kick yourself mentally. What kind of question is that? What the fuck do you think happened to him, idiot –

“Cancer, actually.”

Not sure if you’re more shocked by that response or the fact that he actually answered, you focus in on his face now to make sure he knows he has your attention.

“He worked in a factory for years and years before everything fell apart and smoked a shit ton. Lungs started giving out a couple years after everything fell apart. Coughing blood, wheezin’, the whole thing. Wasn’t really much anyone could do, everything being like it is.” 

He pauses to take another long gulp of liquor, the points of his cheekbones tinged pink with it. Or maybe emotion, it’s hard to tell in the candlelight. “Did everything we could but he, uh… Decided he was ready. Said he didn’t wanna wait around for the day he tried to take a breath and couldn’t. So I helped him out to a church in a small town that’d already been picked clean. Held his hand while he said his prayers. Gave him a hug. Gave him a pistol.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, Eddie’s gaze far off. Reliving the moments in his head. “Went outside and shut the doors. Waited… waited until the shot went off.” His hand harshly clasps over his mouth as he leans forward, nearly knocking the bottle to the floor as he leans his face away. You can still see the reflection of the tears escaping his eyes.

The softest whisper you can muster, you twist your fists in the blanket in your lap. “Eddie… I’m so sorry.”

His face pinches tight, tears spilling out of his closed eyes, as he shakes off the feeling and rights himself again. “Better end than most people get nowadays,” he admits, voice rough and dismissive. “Least he got to decide on his own terms. Not everybody gets that chance.”

Pained by his dismissal but accepting this is how he needs it to be, you give a solemn nod. After Memphis, you’ve learned your lesson about pushing him.

“Haven’t talked about that in a long time,” he adds with an embarrassed laugh, rubbing his scruff with the palm of his hand. And while there are still tears in his eyes, he looks a little bit lighter. A little bit more free. Your mind flashes to the church in Memphis – Eddie staring up at the missing head of Jesus in reverence, a pistol strapped to his belt.

Searching for something.

You tip forward, the chair creaking as you rest your feet on the ground below you. He looks over at the noise, watching as you lift your bottle towards his in an offering.

“To doing things on your own terms,” you toast quietly, a small smile on your face.

He blinks at you a few times before a small smile tugs at his own face again. Eventually, the bottom edge of his bottle gently clinks against your own.

“To doing things on your own terms.”

August 25th, 2016 – Three Corners, Cherokee Nation, Oklahoma

It’s with a lot of difficulty that you blink your eyes open from a dead sleep – heavy lids and crusty corners protesting the smallest movement. Warmth surrounds you, coaxing you back to rest and away from the headache that is already starting to appear behind your eyes. It must be very early based on the blue toned light that comes in through the window, which you’re not even conscious enough to realize is not in the same spot as it was yesterday.

Barely aware of anything other than how comfortable you are right now and how much you have to pee, you groan softly before attempting to move.

You freeze up when there’s an answering groan from behind you and the weight around your waist tightens to pull you back in.

Shocked fully awake now, you take stock of your surroundings. You’re in a bed you’ve never seen before. There’s a half empty bottle of liquor on the floor beside you. Your pants are gone. And there’s a tattooed forearm wrapped tightly around your torso, belonging to the warm body lining your back. Hot air coasts along the back of your shoulders, the slightest hint of scruff on your skin, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his sleeping chest.

You’re in bed with Eddie. And you don’t remember how you got here.

Heart starting to pound in your chest, you try to calm yourself from spiraling with questions, many of them starting and ending with why am I not wearing pants–

He shifts behind you and you hold your breath, waiting to see if he’s waking up. You remember he drank a lot more than you so, with any luck, you’ll be able to extract yourself from this situation before anything too horribly awkward happens. When he falls still again, curled tight to the back of you, you cycle through your options.

First and worst, make a scene. Scramble out of the bed, shouting and hiding the fact that you’re half undressed, and mortify both of you in the process. Absolutely not.

Second, try to slowly and carefully remove yourself from his hold. Maybe you could replace yourself with a pillow or something, give him something else to hold onto. Or maybe just remove yourself and make a break for the door, hoping he doesn’t wake up in the 5 seconds between and realize what happened.

Third, accept this is your life now. After all, it’s really comfortable. He’s warm and holding you tight – comforting and safe. Feeling his breath across the back of your neck. You feel like you could drift right off again if not for the slight pressure of something against your lower back…

You need to get up. Now.

Like you’re the worst secret agent navigating the worst bank vault ever seen, you somehow manage to extract yourself from Eddie’s surprisingly tight grip. He moans in disapproval but remains asleep, bringing a pillow in to tuck against his chest in a poor replacement. If it wasn’t for the nearly empty bottle on his bedside table, this surely would’ve gone a whole lot worse.

Taking a few moments to admire his sleeping form in the early morning light – the crows feets beside his eyes only noticeable as tan lines, the harshly indented wrinkles between his brows smoothed over – you rush out of the room when he adjusts again just in case he’s waking up.

You make a pit stop in the room you stayed in the previous night, grabbing a pair of pants from the piles of clothes on the floor, and lock yourself in the bathroom.

After a quick wee, you appraise yourself in the mirror. Your hair is a mess. As messy as it normally gets with sleep, you tell yourself. You don’t have any hickies or other noticeable signs of something less “friendly” happening. In fact, it really just feels like you had the best sleep you’ve had in years, not including the rapidly progressing hangover you’re experiencing now. Still, you think back to last night, trying to remember how you might have ended up in Eddie’s bed.

After he told you about Wayne, the two of you ended up reminiscing on other people you’d both lost along the way. Your school friends, his band mates (other than Jeff), both your parents, a few of the friends he made in high school. A little bit of pondering where you both would be now if the world hadn’t gone to shit. He talked a little bit about Memphis and what he’d lost, which you listened to intently. Then… Nothing.

Resting a hand against your forehead as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you’re terrified to realize you can’t remember what happened between the two of you sitting on the porch and when you woke up in his arms this morning.

What the hell did you do?

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i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me!!!!! well guess what!!!! you haven't.

i obviously went a lot longer than i wanted before updating this but i have never, ever stopped thinking about it. i still have it all fleshed out in my head and i will finish it if it kills me. i appreciate your patience in the meantime.

and let me know what you think!! comments and reblogs mean the world <3

#happy birthday gods favorite princess #this one is for you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson series #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #Old Heart #myos ideas #myo4munson

[inactivewattpadauthor]

Fujin x Demon Reader

Warning: Slight angst? Vague background plot.

Also, you're wearing a kimono for plot purposes ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Night dawned over the desert where one of Special Forces' base resides at. Today's mission with them, along with the Storm Gods and Earthrealm's chosen one.

There's Kung Lao too. You tolerated the smug man as well as you could.

"Okay, Y/n, right here." Cassie stops in front of a door, opening it and presenting a spare bunker room.

You walk in and look around your temporary room. A sleeping bag was in the corner, and besides, it was a dusty mirror rested on a cabinet. You look to the right to see more junk, but that didn't interest you too much.

"I know it's not too exciting in here," the young soldier stepped to your side. "But at least you don't have to share a room with Liu or Lao." She smiles at you.

"I am very grateful for it. Thank you." You smile back at her, letting a normal hand rest on her shoulder for affirmation.

"The meeting starts in a bit. After that, would you want me to give you spare clothes? For, you know, in case that oversized robe of yours gets annoying." Cassie offers, gesturing to your kimono.

You were always aware of how large the kimono is compared to your being. At least how it was right now. However, you only went with the same excuse.

"No worries. As I said before, I wear it to honor my father. Heh, he was indeed tall."

"Suit yourself, miss." Cassie didn't push the subject. "But let's go, Raiden is going to go over today's progress and some future plans."

---Let's fast forward to during the meeting, Lord Raiden consulting with Special Forces instead of the Elder Gods---

Loitering in the background as everyone closes in and discusses the mission, and listening to Johnny rant about how his last film had a climax just like the mission, you felt some sort of pressure in your mind and body.

Of course, as anyone would, you attempt to push it down just for the moment. This one is familiarly different, though.

Sweat beads were forming on your s/c forehead, which you wiped, and you did notice your breathing becoming a bit harsher. But you didn't dare break during this meeting.

It was only after discussion was adjourned where you were relieved to let yourself slowly break. Letting out shaky breaths and placing a hand in your hair to mess it up subconsciously, an attempt to calm yourself.

In this realm, they'd call it a panic attack. You'd allow that because they wouldn't understand, really. But you knew what it is. You needed to go back to your room. Fast.

Watching everyone else be dismissed, you were about to begin your leave too, only to be stopped as you feel a hand softly caressing your shoulder.

Panicking slightly, you turned to see a comforting face. "I couldn't help but notice you seem troubled. Are you well, friend?"

Fujin. You're safe with him. All you had to do was play it off and quickly go back to your bunker.

"Fujin- Lord Fujin! Y-Yes, just a little fatigue." You avoided eye contact and anxiously rubbed the back of your neck.

The divine, warm-hearted man didn't buy it. "We are close friends, Y/n. Even if we weren't, a kind soul shouldn't look so distressed."

"Look, Fujin, I'm fine. W-We can speak more later, I really need to go to my room and- and rest for a bit." You walked off, not letting him speak once more.

Fujin watched you leave with concern on his face. He knew you to be a bit anxious and the awkward type, but you always meant well. He knew you well enough to know something suddenly was going on.

He looked back at Raiden, who was talking to Sonya and Johnny, before looking back at the doorway.

Rushing into the room and closing the door behind you, you were a hyperventilating mess. Almost tripping into the cabinet with the mirror on top, you dug into the large pockets of the kimono and pulled out a crystal and setting in aside.

Following that, you felt a wave of magic wash over you, relieving you of the pressure as well as your appearance.

Opening your eyes back up with an exhausted look, you see yourself in the dusty mirror. Seeing the red skinned creature that carried that tired look you dawned.

The red horns sticking out messy h/c hair along with a red-pointed tail that flicked upwards made you grimace at the reflection. A thing you learned to do while being accustomed to this realm.

"Y/n?" You hear Fujin's voice behind you clear as day. Were you too distracted to even hear the door open?

Normally, your face would turn pale, but that wasn't visible when you turned around and looked into the shocked glowing eyes of your trusted friend.

Fujin, at first, didn't think it was you. It took him a moment to notice the same kimono, only that it was perfectly fitting you now. He tilted his head up a little more to look at the horns.

"Y-Y/n? Is... this you?" He asked.

It was over. This is what you were always afraid of. Knowing there's no way of dodging the truth, despair and shame coerced over you.

"Fujin... I- You hate me now, don't you? I understand. You look down at your hooves, that resembled high heels pretty well. You grit your teeth harder, exposing the sharp fangs that came along your natural self.

"Oh... my dear... Is this why you're always anxious?" Fujin relaxed, seeing how distraught you were.

The soft tone isn't what you wanted to hear. You didn't want your hopes to falsely build up to be destroyed. You'd rather go back to hell than ever feel something like that again.

"Just- I'll leave when no one is looking. I know a god like you would find a foul creature like me repulsi-" Fujin cuts you off, shushing you with a hug.

"That's enough, Y/n. All this time, this is what burdens you?" Fujin asks.

Resting your chin on his silvered hair, you accepted the comfort, but you were so confused.

"Why? Why aren't you looking down on me like you should? Is this a trick?"

Fujin pulls back and looks up at you.

"As surprised as I was at first, you're still Y/n. Your appearance does not reflect the pure soul you have." Fujin reassures, then chuckles. "It actually explains a lot about you."

(Hint to that time the desert experienced an unimaginable heat scorch, whilst the a.c broke, but somehow you were just chilling + that time the monks tried to teach you how to use chopsticks, and you actually bit the end of them off along with the sushi roll.)

"But anyways, I know you wouldn't do any wrong with us. Your secret is safe with me." Fujin says, making your tail subtly swing to the side with joy.

The wind lord would make his way to the door, but before leaving-

"You may come out to the others whenever you feel ready, but I advised letting my brother find out right now." ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Woah, this was actually fun to write. (Btw I'm a HB/HH fan, so that checks out.)

#mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk imagine #mortal kombat imagines #mk headcanons #mortal kombat headcanons #fujin #lord fujin #fujin x reader #cassie cage mk11 #cassie cage #goddesswritings

[bi-bard]

Coming Back for You - Toby Nealey Imagine [I Came By]

Title: Coming Back for You

Pairing: Toby Nealey X Reader

Word Count: 2,004 words

Warning(s): **HEY, LOOK HERE!!!** kidnapping, hostage situation, mention of abuse (physical/emotional, but ultimately vague), mute reader

Summary: Toby finds himself in a far more dangerous situation than he ever meant to be involved in. However, he is saved by an unexpected source. Now, he is determined to return the favor.

Author's Note: I meant to write a story about this character a long time ago, and someone just recently reminded me of it, so I figured it was better late than never.

Also, I'm adding lore to Hector's story so that this story makes sense. I'm just gonna ask that you don't question me about it and just let it exist.

Toby Tag List: @dream-this-nightmare-over

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The first thing I heard was a thud on the floor.

At first, I assumed that it was just Hector moving around. But that wouldn't make sense. There was no sound after the thud. Hector always made a point to tell me when he was home. The door would shut and then he would call up to me. Or he would have warned me beforehand that he was bringing home a guest, so I could make myself scarce while he enjoyed his evening.

Once I knew that it wasn't Hector, I walked to the door. I don't know what my plan was. To confirm my suspicions, find a phone so I could call the police, try to plead for help, or simply warn the poor soul that had been unfortunate enough to come in. Maybe it was all of the above. Or maybe I had just gotten so lonely that facing down some burglar felt comforting in a way.

My hand paused on the doorknob. I stared at it.

Hector's words rang in my head: "You are not to leave this room until I come and get you. No matter what."

I had learned better than to not heed his warning. Not that he would ever call it a warning. If I had to guess, then I would say that he probably saw it as an act of protection or love. However, I liked to avoid guessing about him. He never liked when he believed that I was assuming things about him.

I had been a permanent guest in Hector's home for a few years by then. A silent presence. I never knew what I was meant to be in his mind. But I guess at some it didn't truly matter anymore.

I was to the point that I could barely remember a life before him. I just knew that I had one... and that I was never getting it back.

I could still remember the times when I would cry every night, sobbing as I shook. I would beg him to just let me go... or to simply kill me and let me have some peace. He didn't like when I did that. He said it made him feel bad for merely offering me a better life. I don't know if he had truly forgotten that he less offered me this life than he forced me into it or if he was just trying to ignore that he had taken me from my family.

It didn't take long for me to learn that he wanted silence from me. I had trained myself to be silent. Quiet at all times. I communicated in nods and head shakes and pointing and kind, gentle smiles that seemed to quell Hector's anger for the time being. It was just less of a reminder that I wasn't truly who he wanted me to take the place of.

It only took a few more sounds of the creaking floor for me to say hell with the consequences. I opened the door slowly and leaned my head out through the doorway. I couldn't see anything from there.

I slowly walked down the stairs, taking note to avoid the creaking steps. I paused, waiting for some sign of a person. There was nothing.

And then, there was a crash. A distinct sound of someone stumbling over something and then falling.

It was coming from the basement. My heart dropped. I had been avoiding the basement for a long time. It made me think of my crying and my begging. I didn't like being around it.

I quickly opened the door, seeing a man hurrying to stand a few steps away from the bottom.

He looked up at me. I squinted at the feeling of his headlamp shining in my eyes. He had all dark clothes on. He was a stranger. Definitely a stranger.

And he looked scared.

I knew what he had seen. I had seen it too.

My head perked up when I heard the gate opening.

It was as if every reaction after that was instinctual. I never considered myself a hero or anything great, but I found myself focusing on nothing more than getting that man out of the house.

I ran down the few steps between us before grabbing his hand and dragging him upstairs with me.

I was quick, as quiet as ever as I dragged him up the main stairs and up to my room. I pushed him inside and quietly closed the door. I continued shoving him to the window. I pointed at it, trying to get him to go to it.

There was a time when the window was sealed. I had managed to get it undone a long time ago but learned better than to try to get out through it. Pavlov's dog and all that.

"Is he... Is he keeping you here," the man asked.

I didn't have time to answer his questions, I just pushed him again.

"How long have you been here?"

I waved him away.

"(Y/n)! I'm home," Hector called from downstairs.

I panicked, pushing the stranger again. I was silently begging him to go. Save himself.

He finally listened to himself, opening the window and beginning to climb out. He turned around in the windowsill.

"I'm coming back for you," he promised.

"(Y/n)?" Hector called again.

"My name's Toby," the stranger explained. I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to figure out why he needed to tell me that. "I'll... I'll be back."

He quickly climbed out of the window. I shoved it closed as soon as I knew that he was out of it completely. I took a deep breath before going to step out into the hall. I walked down the steps, stopping a few steps from the bottom.

"There you are," Hector said. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, furrowing my eyebrows in the hopes of acting like I didn't know why he would be asking.

"Good, good," he muttered. He looked flustered. Worried. He knew that someone had been there. "You can go back to your room."

I nodded again, turning and going back up the stairs.

I let out a shaky breath as soon as my door closed behind me.

Toby was the first person I had seen other than Hector in a very long time. I found myself scared. Terrified. But I couldn't quite figure out what I was scared about. Was it the idea of Hector finding out that I had let some stranger escape after seeing his secret? Or the idea that I may never see Toby again and all that he said about coming back had been a lie? Or was it fear over what life would be like after I finally got out of that house and back to the real world?

I thought that I was going to have time to forget about Toby. I thought it was best to lose the hope early. Some part of me believed that it was going to save me from some pain in the long run.

How foolish of me.

The next night, I heard a noise downstairs again.

And again, I knew it wasn't Hector. He had left for the night. He didn't give me many details, just that he was going out.

I heard the stairs creaking as someone walked up them. Closer and closer to my door. I backed up toward the wall behind me, pressing my hand over my mouth.

It opened slowly.

On the other side of the door was Toby.

My hand fell away as my mouth fell open in shock. He was there. He came back. He was telling me the truth.

"It's okay, it's just me," he held up his hands. "I'm here to get you out."

I furrowed my eyebrows.

He held out his hand. "Come on."

I stared at his hand. There were a million and one ideas going through my mind. I gave up on the idea of being saved a long time ago. I knew the pull that Hector had. I knew the position of power he was in and after so long being in that room... in that house... I just gave up on hoping.

What was I meant to do when someone was finally giving me a chance?

I couldn't get myself to move.

"We don't have much time," Toby said, walking over to me. "We need to hurry. I... I have a place for you. A safe one. We can get you some food and clothes and stuff. And then, we can go to the police and you can explain what happened. Then, the basement gets found and no one else gets hurt."

Wow. He had thought the whole thing through.

"Please... come with me," he pushed one last time, hand outstretched.

I took a deep breath before slowly placing my hand in his. He grinned and started pulling me to the door. I only stopped him long enough for me to pull on some shoes.

After that, Toby dragged me back down the stairs and outside of the house the same way that he had supposedly come in.

After making it through the house and the garden, Toby started running down the road.

I tried to keep up with him, but it had been a long time since I had needed to run any kind of distance. It was also the first time I had truly been outside in years. The cold air made my lungs burn and my legs felt as if they were going numb underneath me.

But then, I felt a smile forming. The first genuine smile I had experienced in so long that I had forgotten it had existed. Along with that smile came tears. Tears of relief as I felt myself finally becoming free again. It was like chains were falling off of my body with every step I took.

I don't know how long we had gone before Toby finally slowed down. I just knew that I didn't recognize anything in the world around me. I continued walking with him, looking around at all of the buildings surrounding me. I never thought about how much the world around me had changed while I wasn't looking. It was overwhelming.

"So, umm... we're gonna stay with my mom. Just until we track down your family," Toby explained. I found my steps slowing down as I watched him. "She... She'll be alright with it once I tell her what's going on."

I stopped completely. Toby was forced to stop when I did because he still had his hand in mine. He furrowed his eyebrows at me.

"What is it?"

I stopped, still unable to form the words that I needed.

"You're safe now. I promise. He's never gonna-"

Toby stopped talking when I stepped forward and hugged him. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, shutting my eyes as firmly as I could. I felt his arms wrapping around me. He kept mumbling that I was safe. That he was going to keep me safe.

"Hey," he muttered. He pulled back, hands touching my upper arms. "We should keep going."

I nodded, letting him reach down and grab my hand again.

We didn't have to sprint away again. Instead, we walked. We walked in a comforting silence.

I took a deep breath. The air was crisp. It was cold against my skin. I never knew how much I would miss a feeling like that until now.

The only part of me that didn't feel the cold of the world around me was my hand. It was warm, Toby's hold on it serving as a protective shield of sorts. There was something about his touch that brought me a sense of peace that I had never known. One that I may not know for a long time after that night when I went to the police.

But I could cherish it for the time being.

And I could love it for the time being.

And that felt like it was good enough for now.

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

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

#imagine #fanfiction #x reader #i came by imagine #i came by fanfiction #i came by x reader #toby nealey imagine #toby nealey fanfiction #toby nealey x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfiction #george mackay x reader

[popawritter12]

yandere high noon talon headcanons?

Yandere! High Noon Talon headcanons

Author's note: I like the initiative they all of you are taking, I never seriously thought about making headcanons for this skin &lt;;3.

Chances of your loved ones being killed

We are talking about a fucking DEMON who travels on a fucking train where they take souls collected from other people.

A solid 70%

Although let's talk about if they don't die for him, they die for any of his other demon friends.

First impressions

You were an inhabitant of a seedy town, you lived with your partner in a house somewhat far from the rest of the town. While they both lived comfortably, it was more than obvious that both of you dealt with demons or other dangerous creatures.

While neither of obth of them were demon hunters, they could manage to keep other creatures or humans at bay solely to maintain their survival. Mainly they knew about the powder train, and about the “horsemen of the Apocalypse,” so to speak.

Even with all the bad experiences you had with bad blood demons, you were looking for peace with one of these. You were not a pacifist, but if you could avoid a fight where you were disadvantaged, then you avoided it.

You loved your partner very much, but you couldn't spend much time together because of their job on the railways, so most of the time you spent it alone, with you and your animals alone, you were the “perfect prey” for any demon.

However, you had some tools to defend yourself. And although more than once you questioned to what extent you could defend your beloved home and your own life from those beings eager for some soul to take, in the end there was always only one conclusion; that damn train won't take you today, or tomorrow, or that damn year.

One night, you find Talon; you had heard your dogs barking constantly and annoyingly, and it wasn't until you went outside that you saw him on the outskirts of your field, injured and weak.

Against all odds you took him home, but to a secluded place, one where your partner couldn't find him.

When he was able to speak, he just thanked you. Although you wanted to treat him well, you knew demons well, and you especially knew that given the slightest opportunity he would murder you, and take your soul to that damned railroad.

You didn't talk much to him, limiting yourself to asking him how he had gotten to that place and what had hurt him so much. He hummed a vague answer about a bandit (Though the "bandit" was only begging for they soul to not be stolen), and while you wanted to ask him more, you only gave him the benefit of the doubt about his alibi.

You were too cautious when talking to him, and only healed him and gave him some hot food, also saying that he had permission to sleep in that place until dawn, but that he would not be welcomed in another room in your house.

He, although he had planned to kill you, didn't do it, not because he “was actually a good person”, it was because there was something that did not allow him to do so.

He always had the chance, he could sneak up behind you and put a blade through your chest, but something in his mind wouldn't let him. Something rooted in his heart still beating against all thoughts of his mind, justifying his actions, and all of that prompted a humble act of kindness on your part.

It wasn't until dawn came that, in his twisted head, there was only the thought of letting you live, even if it was to know more about you before taking you to the train, to the place you hated so much.

First murder or Yandere act.

Talon resorts to watching you from afar, hoping to learn why his mind refuses the idea of taking you with him, but the more he looked at you, the more he tried to get closer to you or learn basic things like what you like to eat, the more the idea of take you away from your lover resoned in his head, to finally give you closure rather than leave you to your fate against any horseman of the apocalypse or any other demon bold enough to take your soul and carry it as if it were his property. But something that was particularly like a stab in the heart was discovering that you were in a relationship.

He wasn't particularly zealous with humans, I mean, he basically doesn't care about humans, being that he could kill them whenever he wanted, and however he wanted.

But seeing how that person took you, caressed your skin or filled your ears with words of love while spreading kisses all over your body… It was like one of the worst tortures for him.

And he decides to take this person's life.

Your partner was just as kind as you, but exclusively with humans; any other creature would not enjoy the same respect that they gives to his peers.

However, he was more absent-minded than you; Working so many hours on the railroad led them to feel quite tired, more than a regular one; more so due to the fact that their boss was not particularly friendly or companionable to his employees. That gave Talon many more advantages than he already had.

In a particular day, when he saw them leaving work, he decided to act. And it didn't take long until your beloved partner arrived home; full of stab wounds, wounds to the chest and face, while they could barely breathe. The sensations he was going through were like a living hell for them. As soon as you managed to take them in your hands, you dragged him to a nearby chair, before going to look for medicine, the hope of being able to save him lay in your mind, over and over again.

But when you saw your beloved again, you had the misfortune to see him too.

A grimace of anger appeared on your face, as you yelled at him if he was the author of such an attack. The blonde didn't answer you, he just looked at the dying one: now that he thought about it clearly, it was the first time he felt a certain… satisfaction, a pleasure ran through his heart like a beautiful tingling that could only be compared against the feeling he had when he found you for the first time, when he had the good fortune to find a human who received him with such warmth.

And his hand approached the body of that person; the blood generating an aroma between intense and tense in the air. You immediately jumped on him, a cry of desperation as you tried to save your loved one. Your screams were just desperate questions about why he did this, why he made you suffer so much, but he didn't answer you.

With all the pain in his heart, he hurt you; pushing your body against the wall in a brutal and even savage manner, before taking the soul of the dying person in his hands; a soft plea coming from the wandering soul as the person looked at the demon, the only thing you managed to understand was that your loved wanted him to leave you alone, that he could take their soul if he wanted but not to harm you or make you suffer.

Relationship or kidnapping

It was very clear that he wouldn't listen to those words at all, right?

As soon as you managed to open your eyes, you saw the corpse of your loved one; dead, rotting while only subtly leaning back. In front of you was the demon you had previously received for a simple impulsive act of kindness.

And it's obvious that he takes you. but not to the train. In his mind, there was only the idea of how beautiful you were as a human; even with his certain disdain for that species, to him you looked so good like this; weak, sensitive and even submissive under him.

But he hides you in a place where not even the railroad demon could find you; No one knew about your whereabouts from the moment he took you away from everyone, and rest assured that it will be like this until the end of your days.

Coexistence

Very irritating for you.

The few times he is with you he seeks to pamper you, give you hugs and kisses, no matter how much you deny him, he will continue to seek that affection over and over again, believing that sooner or later you would give in and accept his love. And even though you knew that was very far from reality, he insisted, to a totally irritating point.

He doesn't usually punish you, he isn't attracted to the idea of hurting you, deciding better to only threaten you in a way that he knew could cause fear within your heart, however if you are too stubborn, then it can drive him to a pretty big point of anger.

Marriage and family

In case you're wondering, no, I don't see either of those things as possible.

I mean, in marriage I say we're talking about a fucking DEMON, and in terms of getting along with your family, well, let's just say that at this point in the story it's pretty obvious that he's no longer interested.

If possible, children?

Nah,

He knows the end is coming, but in his mind he only thinks about spending as much time as he can with you, without letting any other demon or human lay a finger on you. He already had enough trouble trying to convince you that he was okay with EVERYTHING he did, so it would be even harder for him to want to have a child with you.

Bad ending.

I HAVE BEEN THINKING THIS FROM THE BEGINNING

Suppose that, after the kidnapping, you are cornered by another demon or human, who takes you away from where he had hidden you, and when he notices it he loses his mind.

Like Zed, he is capable of moving HEAVEN AND EARTH to find you again, and when he does, he makes a decision… something that does disagree with the decision Zed makes.

He hugs you, fills you with affection and I even dare to say that he can sob; saying that he was so afraid that they would take you away from him.

His caresses are sweet, his words are soft as cotton, almost as if he's actually been afraid of you walking away from him. You could even hear his heartbeat; accelerated, almost as if it were about to explode from so much adrenaline.

You thought that maybe it wasn't so bad, that maybe he really wanted to defend you and love you purely, after all he looked for you even under the rocks just to find you and give you a hug and tell you that he loved you. But a blade in your abdomen interrupted you. It didn't take long before he gave you a soft kiss on your lips, his eyes overflowing with tears that run down his cheeks while his weapon pierces and opens your delicate skin like a hunter opening his first hunted animal.

He whispered regrets and apologies to you so many times that your ears grew tired of hearing it, as if they just wanted to stop hearing his broken voice, but he couldn't help but do so.

His heart sank in his chest, feeling pure regret for having subjected you to this level, yet it was the first time that everything surrounding this world had finally surpassed him.

And, the moment he took the hand of your wandering soul, he could only feel the hatred in your eyes, the contempt with which you looked at him; he took everything from you, your life, your reason for living, the person you loved most, the ability to see any way to escape, and now he claimed your soul as his own, dragging your existence onto that train from which you had escaped for so long.

He would not allow any other demon to claim that person's soul, and if he had to separate their soul from their body in order to ensure that fact, then he would do it a thousand times over.

Reasons to be a Yandere

-In the story “A Stranger on the Road” the same story tell us that he can feel regret about killing humans, even when it was something he forced himself to do. He is able to feel, and is able to know that his actions are wrong, so we can assume that he has feelings as basic as regret or love.

-He's not used to someone's kindness, especially in a time as complicated as it is, well, THE ENTIRE HIGH NOON UNIVERSE.

(This section is short since I don't know what to put to justify the space, I try to compensate in the data part)

Extra data:

-This version of Talon is the most affectionate towards you, and we can see that he is a little more emotional than the other versions.

-He is very curious about you; He may know everything about you but he would ask you what you like over and over again, until he hates everything about you from head to toe.

-He enjoys you caressing his hair, since he feels that being in your arms was the best feeling that he couldn't compare to anything.

-After the bad ending, he follows you throughout the train, even trying to prevent other souls or demons from touching you; It wasn't because of fear of being hurt, just because of jealousy.

-He usually takes care of EVERYTHING after he takes you to the train, wanting to lock you in a car exclusively for yourself, just to prevent anyone else from laying a hand on you.

-If you meet your former partner on the train and try to talk to them, Talon will react badly; he would take you away from that person, even if it included dragging you by the hand.

#yandere #obsessive love #poppa thoughs #yandere league of legends #yandere x you #league of legends #yandere headcanons #yandere male #lol #poppa things #Yandere Talon #Yandere Talon Du Couteau #Yandere league of legends x reader #league of legends x reader #Talon x reader #Yandere Talon x reader #High noon talon #yandere high noon talon #Talon #Talon league of legends #talon lol

[romanitas]

look at me go, it hasn't even been a month! we're back with (i think) the penultimate part of the spy au !! thanks to @perseannabeth who helped me figure out some plot points literally irl for the final stretch. there's always been a vague plan for the end, hopefully it lives up! also again available on ao3 if tumblr formatting screws up.

-

Annabeth hasn’t seen Percy for four and a half weeks. She’s been off the Jupiter Industries case for just as long, what with Luke Castellan’s involvement; they’re currently restructuring the plan forward. She’s not used to boredom, but she’s not sure she could consider it full boredom when her brain will not stop churning. She’s aware it’s usually a stomach churning, but no, in this case, her mind is on the go in a thousand different directions. She doesn’t feel nauseous or sick - just overwhelmed mentally, which as far as she’s concerned is one of the worst kinds. She’d rather be vomiting.

She’s back at her apartment - her real one. It’s nearly as empty as the fake one. She doesn’t keep a lot of things around, not wanting too many distractions on top of the fact that she feels like she spends very little time actually in it. The most personalization is an owl throw pillow with a matching blanket on the couch and a few architectural prints across her walls. It feels emptier than it ever has, and she cruelly imagines what it might be like if Percy came here. She really, really needs to stop thinking about him, but it feels impossible, because if she’s not thinking about him, she starts to think about Luke. And that’s worse.

She faceplants directly into the owl blanket with a groan and lays there, ignoring the wafting smell of her Korean BBQ takeout sitting on the countertop. This has been her life each day for the last week: different dishes but a very familiar static and face full of fluff, followed by dejectedly eating lukewarm food. And then she just gets mad at herself for being such a sad sack. She’s Annabeth fucking Chase. What the hell did Percy Jackson do to her?

Reyna checks in periodically. She sends minute updates, but not enough for Annabeth to start doing her own poking and prodding. Frank stops by a few times to make sure she’s eating, and she does welcome his company in an absent way. He brings some of the best takeout, but he knows all her favorites. He carries the conversation in directions that serve the best distractions.

“You should use this time to get out,” he says one day, dragging some naan through the rest of his curry. When Annabeth stares at him, he clarifies. “I mean, maybe think of it like a vacation? You never take a vacation. Do things you’ve always wanted to.”

She grumpily shoves her own naan into her mouth to avoid answering him. But maybe he has a point. Maybe she does need to leave the house more often, if only to refresh herself. To get back on her feet. It’s only a matter of time before they give her a new assignment, and she refuses to fall into distractions again next time.

She takes herself out. She ventures further than a ten block radius and tries a new Pho place she’s been wanting to check out. She looks up a current run of temporary exhibitions around the city, buys tickets for three of them. She makes a reservation for herself at one of the museum restaurants, uncaring that it’s definitely overpriced and she can get a burger down the block for half the cost. She is utterly determined to give herself a good, clean, solid break from her time with Percy, so she’s prepared for the next chapter. Whatever it brings.

Naturally, it’s at one of the exhibitions that she runs into Sally Jackson.

Annabeth isn’t sure she could have been caught more off guard by Luke. She turns the corner and nearly runs into the woman, but her instincts make her sidestep at the last second. She’s not fast enough to avoid eye contact, because Sally moves at the same time, an apology on her lips.

“I’m so sorry - Annabeth?”

Why is this her life? Annabeth freezes, and she can feel the guilt rain down on her like a tsunami. She’s very rarely caught off guard like this, but this warm, wonderful woman unnerves her in an unexpected way. She just assumed she would never see her again, another casualty of her break with Percy.

Despite it all, Sally offers her a small, tentative smile. “Hi,” she says, tone infused with that very same warmth Annabeth knows she doesn’t deserve.

She swallows. “Hi,” she replies, weakly.

Sally reaches out to give her arm a gentle squeeze, and Annabeth nearly combusts on the spot. But the older woman can sense her discomfort, because she pulls her hand away just as quickly and sighs. “Will you get a coffee with me?”

Every single part of her is telling her to say no; every rational, logical piece of her being knows this is a bad idea, but there’s a quiet desperation that wins out against her better judgment, and Annabeth nods mutely. Sally smiles again, then walks them both towards the museum cafe. She orders Annabeth’s coffee exactly the way she likes it and orders herself a chai latte. By the time they sit down at the table, Annabeth’s nerves are shot, so she just wraps her hands around the cup and takes a sip, burning her tongue immediately. She winces, and Sally offers her a napkin.

“Percy told me you broke up.”

Annabeth almost laughs, hollowly. There’s no way he would have told her anything - Percy might have been royally pissed at her, but he’s also not cruel, and she knows he wouldn’t jeopardize her by spilling all the beans to his mother. He also wouldn’t want to put his mom in danger. Instead, her shoulders sink, and all she can do is nod once.

“He didn’t really tell me why,” Sally continues, wringing her hands around her own cup. She gets a thoughtful wrinkle in her forehead that looks so much like her son Annabeth almost flinches. “He said it wasn’t his place to share your history, but he did tell me you lied about a lot.”

She doesn’t know if hearing that from Sally is worse than her whole exchange with Percy a month ago. She doesn’t say anything, but her lack of answer is its own confirmation.

“My son is everything to me,” she says, and Annabeth prepares to be reamed out. Why wouldn’t she be? She just broke this woman’s son’s heart, and they’re two of the kindest, best people she’s ever met. “And I have never seen him so miserable.”

It’s not yelling, but it might be worse for real this time. Which is why the next thing Sally says is the most surprising part of all.

“I think he misses you.”

Annabeth’s head whips up so fast, and she says the first thing since her awkward greeting, which isn’t much more articulate. “What?”

It’s Sally’s turn to be quiet, again looking thoughtful as she finally takes a sip of her own drink. “I’m only telling you this because I know he was happy with you. Happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. And I know what he’s like now. I’m not going to ask you what happened. I know you hurt him, deeply, and I know maybe it’s not my place to sit here with you and tell you all of this. I know maybe things have been damaged too greatly. I know it’s his life, not mine. But what I want to ask you anyway is if you want to fix it, and if you still love my son.”

Annabeth’s eyes well up. She can’t answer this one with a nod. It’s everything she’s been trying to push away, the impossibilities of Percy chasing her down more harshly than Luke in the alleyway. “I love him,” she admits, and saying it aloud to someone else nearly knocks the wind out of her. “But I don’t know if I can fix it. I really, really hurt him, and there are parts of it that feel too broken.”

She shouldn’t be sharing this with Percy Jackson’s mother, but there isn’t another person who’s spoken to her about Percy specifically like this. A person who prioritizes Percy the way he should be, no matter what her own stupid heart and head are doing. Frank worries about her, but she’s the one who needs to grovel, and Sally will always, always put her son first.

Sally takes another sip, watching her carefully over the brim. She’s never felt more scrutinized in her life, and she’s a goddamn spy. Annabeth’s been alone for a very long time, and those months with Percy and his friends and his family were the closest she felt like a real, normal person in a long time. But she isn’t normal. She can’t just slip into a real architect’s life and become a new Annabeth Chase.

“Are you willing to try?”

She’s taken aback by the question and the way it connects to her thoughts, and she’s sure the surprise is on her face. “I don’t think he wants me to. It should be his choice, not mine.”

Sally hums. “Will you give me your address?”

“He’s not going to come to my house.”

“It’s for me. Not him. I won’t give it to him.”

She hesitates. She’s unlisted for a reason, her residence deeply under wraps. She still gets mail, of course, and it’s not like she lives there most of the year. But then she stubbornly takes the receipt from the drinks, scribbles the P.O. box on the back before she can second guess herself, and slides it back over. “Can you memorize it and burn it?” she says teasingly, trying not to feel ashamed of joking about it.

Sally slides it into her pocket. “I’m giving you a chance now, because I love my son and I want his happiness more than anything else, but I can see you're in just as terrible a state as he is. I wanted to see for myself, after I realized it was you.” She lifts her drink again, and Annabeth’s not sure if the pause for dramatic effect is intentional or not. “This is not forgiveness. It’s not my place to give it. This is me having a conversation with you, because you’re a very smart, put together woman who has spent a significant amount of time with Percy.”

Annabeth doesn’t feel very put together at the moment, but she’s hardly going to interject.

“And above everything, Percy is my son.”

It’s not a threat, but it almost feels like one. In lieu of another response, Annabeth takes a cowardly sip of her coffee.

“Thank you, for having coffee with me,” Sally says, and it sounds like a goodbye. Like this might be the last thing they ever say to each other. They sit in silence for a few more minutes, finishing their drinks, and it’s Sally who leaves first. She climbs to her feet in a cool movement and adjusts her bag before giving Annabeth a nod, then walks away from the table.

Annabeth sits there for another thirty minutes, though what she spends it thinking about, she doesn’t really remember.

-

Three days later Annabeth receives a package in the mail, with Sally’s return address. She holds the box in her hands and doesn’t really know how to process it. She sets it on the kitchen island and stares at it, afraid of opening it for stupid reasons. Watching it out of the corner of her eye, she heats up a box of frozen mac and cheese, then reaches for a steak knife to slice open the packing tape as the microwave beeps.

Inside she finds a dozen chocolate chip cookies, wrapped up neatly in a transparent blue bag. Underneath them is an envelope, which she nervously lifts and carefully opens. There’s a note inside, and what looks like two tickets to - to an aquarium. Not just any aquarium, the one where she met Percy - or rather, where she orchestrated her meeting of Percy. Puzzled and sad all at once, she reads the note in Sally’s loopy writing.

Annabeth,

I bought these for you both a month ago. I’m giving them to you alone now as a final gift from me to you, and I hope you use them. Use the time to think about everything. Don’t try to return them.

Perhaps one day we’ll see each other again. Take care.

Sally

#percabeth #annabeth chase #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #i still don't know what the kids are using for tags anymore #it used to be just the first five would show up??? but i don't think it's like that anymore????? #tomato writes #spy auing

[wakkoroni]

✨Damian Wayne Headcanons✨

Because it’s his birthday and as a gift I will give him some headcanons but I realized I have a lot so I’ll probably split into parts cause I don’t want it to be this long ass post. There will be 3 parts total soooooo

He self isolates when upset or just on accident sometimes. He can live his life and then remember that people exist and start socializing again. 9 times out of 10 he does this on accident/unaware

Damian uses anger as a defense mechanism. It’s his way to not get hurt. If he is mean/angry/violent enough then nothing can hurt him. Once he gains trust he will be nicer

He doesn’t talk about the league not because he wants to avoid the feelings and emotions and trauma about it. It’s just every time he talks or mentions it everyone grows silent and it always ends with Bruce calling Talia and arguing so loudly Damian can hear them from his room late at night

So he has a journal where he can write down the good memories he had of the league and his mom. He doesn’t want to forget the good times

Whenever it’s his birthday he’s always surprised he made it this far. He is convinced that each year will be his last because of his past that he doesn’t keep track of the days. All he knows is that one day he will die young, he doesn’t even consider the fact he’ll turn 18 or even 21. His family makes plans and tells him “when you turn 21 we can-“ and Damian just nods stays silent. He already died at 10 and got revived, who says he won’t die again?

Damian always keeps his bedroom door open or at the very least cracked (unless he’s hiding an animal) but like anyone can walk into his room cause he doesn’t really care. Also the league never really had privacy so Damian although he’s a private person, his space is open to anyone. Sometimes Tim or Dick will just stroll in just to co-exist with him

Damian is very task oriented so he needs something to do or else he will simply just exist and not do anything and be stuck in wait mode. When he first arrived he would follow Bruce around like a little ducking and Bruce was so confused until he told him to do something and Damian would leave and complete the task and come back. Bruce is like oh so he gives Damian little tasks to keep him occupied and the tasks grow more and more vague like “draw something” or “make something” and yeah Damian slowly regains autonomy

Damian is Robin but he doesn’t stay Robin? Like as he grows older he quits Robin and doesn’t make another identity because honestly he’s tired of fighting. He’s always following orders either his mothers or his fathers and he’s tired. When his father taught him how to make his own decisions he didn’t think that not being Robin would be one of them. When Damian comes to this realization he doesn’t know what to do cause he thinks that if he isn’t Robin then he’ll be disowned or something so he makes this whole plan to buy a place under a fake name in another state to flee when Bruce tells him to get out and has a go-bag ready. When he tells Bruce that he doesn’t want to be Robin, all Bruce does is say okay and asks why in a very calm and understanding tone. This throws Damian for a loop and yeah. They talk it out, no one gets kicked out, and it’s a happy ending

Next

#the vibe speaks #vibe headcanons #damian wayne #batfam #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #batfam headcanons #damian wayne headcanon #damian al ghul #bruce wayne #batman and robin

[rainofaugustsith]

So it seems like the Jedi Wars are heating up again, sigh. I have fandom sheriffs blocked instantly here. I am leaving reblogs on this open but I am warning in advance that you do not want to come at me on this post because the response will be an immediate block with no engagement. So you should really save yourself the trouble of typing it out. But I feel like some of the essential points are being missed. Namely:

Nobody has to like the Jedi.

Nobody has to approve of the Jedi.

Fans really are entitled to think the Jedi are terrible and their tactics are terrible.

All of this is about a work of fiction.

People, again, are entitled to have opinions about the media they consume.

None of that, in any way, affects people who are Jedi fans/apologists unless they actively choose to make it their problem.

Most of the time those of us who don't dig the Jedi are in our corner and don't give a damn what you're doing as long as you don't bother us.

It would be really nice if some those who liked the Jedi would remember those basic principles - but they have to Fandom Sheriff things and to loudly and aggressively let everyone else know They're Wrong. They come storming into posts, even when the OP has warned they do not want discourse, to try to engage and argue to tell people They're Wrong. They accuse people who Are Wrong!! with having sympathies for real-world fascism and Nazis, which is offensive on more levels than I can even articulate. They insist that if you don't share their opinion you must have issues with "Eastern Religion" (which is a pretty damn vague way to consider not only multiple streams of Buddhism but the many MANY other religions practiced in the "East" that have a very wide range of beliefs. As well as a big damned stretch considering it was all written by a Protestant white man from the USA. As well as the fact that we are again talking about a piece of fictional media and not a real world long established religion). Their way is apparently the only way one can possibly believe about a piece of fiction and they will aggressively butt into your conversations and posts to tell you.

All of which, at the end of the day, is a lot like evangelism/fundamentalism.

If you like the Jedi, there are ways to actively avoid those of us who do not agree with you. Filter tags. Block. Cultivate your fandom experience to surround yourself with people who have similar views. Associate with people who are mature enough to realize a mutual can disagree with their interpretation of a work of fiction without accusing them of being a Nazi. Hell, that's what we all do to avoid you whenever possible.

But grow the hell up and realize that not everyone will share your opinions on your favorites in fictional media, people with differences of opinion are entitled to them, and they are also entitled to their own fandom experience without you yipping at their heels and squeaking indignantly in their conversations.

#fandom critical #anti Jedi #Jedi critical #seriously would you please grow up

[starssunsoftheinfinite]

Yandere!Loki x Cat!Male Reader Chapter 1

what happens when you want to make a catboy fic but also a more serious fic but dont want to write two fics? this is what happens. This was also a little test for me to see if I could find a way for catboys to be serious in some way.

warnings : blood (quick mention), themes of memory loss, mention of murder/death

Names used : Y/N, 'cat burgeler', 'little thing', 'little one', 'pet', 'sweet pet'

vaguely spicy, theres tension but no one is touched in that way.

Read over by me and corrected with the help of an app.

1,571 words

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You don't remember much of anything before your time as a thief really. You remember being a child but there is such a large gap in your memory. Like it had all just disappeared. Besides being young, all you know is that you were cold and alone and discovered rather quickly that the stars, as beautiful as they are, were not a kind place. So you found your own place among the dark, forging your own life when no one would lend a hand. You knew enough of your existence before your thieving began to create some sort of life before all this. You knew you were from Midgard, you knew you liked the music from that planet and you knew that killing came easy to you which probably meant something not so good but you didn't like to dwell.

None of that was important right now. What was important was that you had a job to do. Recently you had struck up a deal with an anonymous buyer to infiltrate the trophy hall of Odin and bring back a treasure. This statement was rather confusing, usually, people want something specific, but after some prying, you found out it was simply because the buyer wanted to gloat about having something from Odin's halls. This would be difficult. Difficult for someone who wasn't you, that is. You managed to slip your way into the castle easily enough and once at the doors to the hall there were no guards. Immediately something felt off and the hair on your neck stood upright and your fur bristled. Your ears folded back and pressed against your head but you pushed on, pressing your palm against the door, claws out and ready to strike. Standing there, just down the steps was Odin himself accompanied by the guards you presumed were intended originally to sit outside the door. "Oh for fucks sake" You huffed, rolling your eyes as the All-father stood calmly, staring. His lack of anger frightened you somewhat. "Did you not think we would see you," Odin spoke, voice echoing. Your tongue rolled over your sharp canines and you avoided the All-fathers gaze. "Well I knew it was a possibility but you didn't seem to at first.." you huffed before carrying on. You dragged your hands down your face, claws now retracted. "I should have seen this coming" You groaned and Odin hummed "Yes, you should have." You shot him a quick glare. "If you go without a fight we will discuss your sentence and perhaps give you more mercy. The only crime you have currently committed is breaking and entry and while you may have intended to steal you have yet to. " Odin stated and you thought about it for a moment. After a moment of silence you gave a wicked grin, baring your teeth like a snarl, your pupils thin slits and your claws out and sharp as ever. "Go big or go home I always say." You snap and rush toward the two guards. Quicker than they can blink your hand is wrapped around the wrist of the guard on the left, twisting and causing him to yelp and his hand to tense into a claw, dropping his spear which you gladly took. A little too focused on the first guard, you held the spear like an axe over your head but before you can swing it the second guard cleanly punches you in the face. You gasp, dropping the spear and hunching over, holding your face as bruises already begin to spring up along your cheek and blood begins to leak from your nostril.

"I think that's enough of that." The All-Father calls out and reaches out, gripping the scruff of your neck, leaving you to dangle helplessly while the guard you had previously attempted to fight pulled your hands from your face and put cuffs on your wrists. "We have no more empty cells, your liege. Where should we put him?" The second guard asked. Odin hummed. "Put him with Loki, give my son some company. I also fear anyone else may simply kill our cat burglar. " The guards both snickered at the comment and you rolled your eyes as you were ushered out of the hall.

You didn't speak a word as you were dragged to the dungeons, barely even looking up from your feet. Your mind did wander though, to this 'Loki' fellow. You had heard the name, obviously, he's a God, and from what you heard he wasn't half bad looking. You'd never say that to him of course.

When you finally came to the cell, you still didn't look at anything but the floor, not even a glimpse at your new roomie, far too embarrassed over the whole situation. "We are going to open this cell. If you try anything, your sentence will be doubled. Got it?" The guard to your left spoke. "Of course" Oh my. That was certainly a voice. Silky smooth and deep with the tiniest rasp on certain letters. Gorgeous. Your ears flicked up for just a moment but promptly folded back down to fain being uninterested. Loki chuckled and you had to swallow, hanging your head completely down with your mouth slightly agape. My God, if this was his voice what was his face like? You heard a 'shiing' and stumbled ever so slightly as you were guided into the cell, immediately whipping around to glare at the guard both out of anger and also to avoid looking at the man you'd be staying with for a little longer. You kept your eyes on the men as they left, slowly taking steps back from the yellow sheen of your cell's borders. You took another step, then another, then another- warmth pressed against your back and you tensed, practically growing an inch as you straightened out your back and turned, stumbling away from what you bumped into. Green eyes gazed down at you like daggers, beautiful, beautiful daggers. A small gasp escaped your lips and you took another step back. Loki's hands were folded behind his back and he took a step forward, leaning slightly closer. "And who might you be, little thing?" He hummed and you felt yourself melt. You blinked quickly, shaking your head and rubbing your face. "Stop that." You huffed and glared up at Loki with a stern expression. Loki tilted his head, eyes narrowing in confusion "Stop what? Asking for your name?" He hummed curiously and you rolled your eyes, swerving around him to move around your shared cell. He turned to follow you with his eyes. "No, I know about you. You're all magic and tricks and shit and clearly, you're trying to use one on me. " Loki raised an eyebrow "I believe you are simply paranoid. " He stated bluntly and you huffed. "Now, I asked you a question. " The God said and you finally answered, "You can call me Y/N." You stated, finding a place to sit in the corner of your cell, knees to your chest and tail curled around you. There was a moment of silence before you heard Loki's shoes tap against the smooth floor, coming closer to you. He crouched beside you, his legs slightly spread and arms resting over his thighs. "What?" You spoke. "Look at me," He said. You did not. Before you could protest he reached out and grabbed your jaw in his frigid hand, turning your head for you. You felt heat rise to your cheeks but if he saw he ignore it. "I've never seen something like you before." Your face may be held towards his but you kept your eyes away. "Eyes on me," Loki said, low and commanding, and for some reason, you couldn't help but do as you were told. The minute you held eye contact your pupils widened as if to take all of his beauty in they had to grow in size.

"Look at that" Loki whispered breathily, almost praising. "A minute ago they were thin as paper. " He commented before continuing. "You are a Midguardian but... you are more than that. What are you truly I wonder?" Loki muses before letting go of your face and sitting beside you as though nothing had happened. You turned your head to look at the floor in front of you and your pupils became slits once more. "Curious. " Loki hummed beside you and you groaned. "I'm not some pet to observe Loki. " You huffed and Loki let out another warm chuckle that caused warmth to burst throughout your chest once more. "I cannot help but observe, pet" Your cheeks flush at the nickname but you groan to fain annoyance.

"I see the flush of your cheeks, little one. " Loki hums and stares, you can see him doing so from the corner of your eye. You hum and shuffle, turning your back to the God. You gasp, tensing as you feel Loki's index finger run over your spine, starting low and rising. His hand found its place in your hair. You opened your mouth to protest but your words were silenced by fingers running through your hair, scratching at your scalp. Before long purrs rose from deep in your throat and you began to go limp. "That's it.." Loki cooed lowly, using his other hand to guide you from your curled position to instead lay your head in his lap.

"Sleep, sweet pet."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

check out my pinned post for some guidance on how to request one shots or story ideas <3

#loki #mcu loki #non canon compliant #loki x reader #loki x male reader #male reader #mcu x male reader #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #marvel x male reader #loki laufeyson #catboy reader #male catboy reader #x male reader #loki x y/n #loki x you

[meatballlady]

The Hidden Prophecy Hypothesis

Here I am throwing an idea into the mix for s2 theorizing. Maybe it has been mentioned before, lmk if there are related metas out there already!

(disclaimer to not tag Neil!!! I don't want this to be shot down if it's a real possibility)

Here's my proposition:

At its core, the idea is that there is an information disparity between A/C and the audience, based on some source of knowledge that was not directly mentioned in S2 (i.e. hidden from the audience).

Between the events of S1 and S2, A/C came into contact with some sort of information about the future/H&H's strategy(ies)/etc. I'm calling this the hidden prophecy, but it could really be anything at all! A copy of Hell's plans from Shax, human prophecies, thorough reading of past assignments, etc.*

Immediate interpretation of the prophecy: In order for the apocalypse to happen, Aziraphale and Crowley need to kickstart it together.

Another main point of the prophecy: The trigger for the prophecy's events will be that someone (some angel?) will show up alone unexpectedly and ask them for help.

Also included are some vague details/triggers for the prophecy (which end up happening in S2 but aren't clear until after they happen)

Obviously A/C are not fans of this idea. They have an ongoing disagreement about the interpretation above, in fact.

Aziraphale believes there is a deeper interpretation of the prophecy if they research it enough. i.e. that they can work together without accidentally starting the apocalypse

Crowley believes they shouldn't fuck with it - that they should avoid each other entirely once the triggers start happening, to completely avoid any risk of accidentally kickstarting the apocalypse by working/being together.

* my partner believes this has to do with the second Agnes Nutter book. There are still many many ways to get a prophecy to someone even if the pages were burnt.

Cue season 2.

Open questions this could provide answers for:

Do the characters have more information than the audience and if so, why does it still look like they're flailing? They don't know "what's actually going on", they just have different expectations/starting points than the audience.

Why Crowley reacted very poorly to Gabriel showing up, and why he was so angry about leaving "so. this is how you want to do it." He thinks Aziraphale has ruined it already by asking for his help; also he doesn't want to stop talking to Aziraphale yet (he never will ofc)

Why Aziraphale got so pissy when Crowley said he wouldn't help with Gabriel "but if you won't, you won't." He thinks they can work together on the Gabriel thing, so obviously they don't need to avoid each other yet!

The weirdness about the apology dance: There was additional context to it, even though it was, ultimately, about the Jimbriel thing. Crowley was apologizing for being wrong about needing to not work together, not for not wanting to take care of Gabriel

Why they continue to look for clues outside of the Jimbriel question. They are looking for other prophecy triggers/apocalypse triggers.

Why Aziraphale acts with urgency around the ball. He is suspicious that Crowley was right and this is his last chance to host something for him.

Why the Metatron wanted Aziraphale (and possibly Crowley) back in Heaven

The final fifteen. They finally realize that Gabriel wasn't the trigger; the Metatron was. Aziraphale is still desperately insistent on working together, despite "realizing" Crowley may be right that they shouldn't. Crowley wants to work together but thinks they can't. They're both conflicted - about being right or not, about what the prophecy actually meant, and about how they will move forward. Maybe they both now agree that they shouldn't work together (which in s3 we will find out is actually incorrect), but they also both don't want to stop.

Loose ends from s1, such as the second prophecy book, the lack of mention of A/C addressing "the really big one" (i.e. because they already have and just don't bring it up)

Why "they aren't talking" now, per Neil - they think that it would move the apocalypse along to do so.

Why I like this idea (so far):

It doesn't retcon the final fifteen (only provides additional context)

(the additional angst potential for the final fifteen)

It is easy to explain to an audience

It is an "elegant" solution, i.e. doesn't ask more questions than it answers

Understanding of S2 would not be required to understand S3 - it just provides additional flavor to s2.

Open questions this doesn't seem to provide (direct/immediate, at least) answers for:

Maggie

The flashbacks

The 25 Lazarii miracle

The Halo

What Crowley was doing in Heaven

The discontinuities

#gos2 #good omens spoilers #good omens #gos3 #aziraphale #crowley #good omens theory #good omens meta #oops I pressed post instead of edit #oh well #it's mostly put together #you get the gist

[bestworstcase]

This is just me noting two comparisons with Salem and Summer that would make their next meeting interesting.

Salem lost her daughters, partially her fault

Summer adopted Yang but was horrible at explaining the whole adoption but to her - compare to Salem emotionally adopting Cinder and also being horrible at explaining it to the adopted daughter. Just, Yang didn't have any reason to not see Summer as her mother.

No wonder Salem in a Summer as General scenario would understand that Yang and Ruby being kept alive was a priority.

to be fair, yang was five when summer left and (despite body of evidence suggesting it’s best to be open about adoption from day one) it’s a really quite common assumption that it’s better for the child to wait until they’re old enough to understand, plus the situation with raven leaving seems to have been very messy and not something summer or tai handled well. so less that summer fucked up explaining adoption than that she and tai may have been planning to sit her down and explain in a couple years (with maybe a bit of “hoping raven would come back” in the mix, because: messy), and then that… got derailed by summer going missing.

(it seems to be a pretty widespread assumption that summer and tai fully intended to keep raven a secret from yang forever, which… seems like a bit of a leap to me. yes, the inner circle is in the habit of keeping secrets—when those secrets pertain to salem. when yang makes the jab “so now we can talk about her?” tai answers that well, yang’s an adult now, implying that the reason he refused before had to do with yang being too young/too immature in his estimation. that would track with a plan to tell yang at some threshold of “old enough to understand” and tai kicking the can down the road after summer’s presumed death broke him. anyway,)

yeah. the framing in 6.4 makes it pretty unambiguous that salem blames herself—tbh i am not even convinced it’s “partially,” because it stands out to me that her songs rage on behalf of the people ozma deceives and manipulates now but don’t express even a vague shred of condemnation for killing the daughters, i think she fully blames herself and only herself for their deaths. (if they died that night.) (as always i have to side-eye their Disappearance from the scene the moment the fight began; ozma Does Not Know what happened to them. though granted i think the most likely case is they died and salem saw it happen, hence her self-blame.)

bare minimum, she knows how it feels as a mother to lose your children and to feel their blood on your hands—ergo she knows it would shatter summer’s loyalty to her if salem did not make a serious effort to avoid killing them. if she, on top of that, cares about summer to any degree the pragmatic reasoning is secondary to not wanting to inflict that pain on summer. given how salem is about cinder, her consistent choice to prioritize “leave ruby alive” over eliminating a threat to cinder’s safety suggests to me that either she does care for summer enough for that feeling to be in conflict with her care for cinder, or summer is a load-bearing pillar in her plans that cannot be removed, or both.

it’s probably both