#it's a mixture of suffering and thriving

[nerevarswritingstuff]

Wonderful thing about these edits: I get to add in scenes I've been wanting to add, and also help the story flow so much nicer

Horrible thing about these edits: I have had to scrap so many other scenes that wouldn't make sense to the story anymore

The entire "Yingyue helps MK heal Nibby" scene had to be scrapped because it wouldn't make sense to keep and I'm SUFFERING

But it's fine because I get to show off how wonderful Mama Lihua is so it's worth it

#not writing #rambles #it's a mixture of suffering and thriving #i'm in the perfect middle #it's also why the edits for chapter 21 are taking LONGER #because that whole scene had to get scrapped and re-written #//dies

[kisses-for-you]

Blood - Vlad Tepes

Dracula X Fem!Reader

Summary: You hate being a vampire and you don't believe anyone can change your mind. But can Vlad do the impossible? Or will he fail?

Word Count: 1,134

Vlad slowly opens the door to your shared bedroom in his grand castle and his eyes stop on your small, frail body laying in the bed. Vlad observes your weakened state. He can't help but notice the sickly paleness of your skin and the fatigue in your eyes. His gaze now holds concern as he decides to address what's been bothering him lately.

"Why do you persist in these inefficient methods, my dear?" Vlad questions, his voice a velvet whisper. "You must drink blood to thrive, yet you deny yourself."

You almost physically recoil from the mere suggestion, fear etched across your face. Just the thought of consuming the blood of another human being sends shivers down your spine.

In the dimly lit room, Vlad approaches you, his presence commanding yet strangely gentle. "My love, you need to embrace your true nature," he urges, a hint of desperation in his voice. As he reaches out to caress your cheek, you can feel the familiar warmth of his touch, giving you a sense of comfort.

You meet his intense gaze, torn between your human morality and the undeniable reality of your weakening state. "I cannot, Vlad. I did not choose this fate, and I shall not inflict suffering upon others due to it," you protest, your voice wavering.

As Vlad contemplates your words, a conflicted expression crosses his immortal face. The tension in the room thickens, accentuated by the flickering candlelight. "I understand your moral quandary, my dear, but you are withering away before my very eyes," Vlad murmurs, his crimson eyes reflecting both love and worry.

After a moment of pure silence, you decide to speak up, your voice slowly getting quieter as a result of your lack of energy. "Why can't you see that this is not about morals? Vlad, I truly loathe what I have become. And if I must continue to live like this... then I harbor no desire to continue living."

Vlad's eyes darken with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. "You do not mean that," he mutters, unable to comprehend that his wife, the love of his life, would feel such a thing as this. You love him, despite the fact that he is a vampire, yet you despise yourself for the very same thing.

"I love you, Vlad. However, I do not wish to continue this conversation for any longer. I am far too fatigued and simply desire some rest," you say, hoping that he will finally stop talking about this. Yes, you hate yourself for being a vampire. You didn't choose this life so why should you make others suffer for it? Animals, humans - it isn't their fault that you are the way you are so you will not inflict harm upon them simply to sustain yourself.

With a deep sigh, Vlad reluctantly nods, his expression a mix of resignation and concern. He leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering, "Rest, my love. We shall revisit this discussion another day."

He gets up to leave but you reach out, grabbing his hand. "Can you stay with me?"

"Of course, my dear," he responds softly, settling beside you. You lay your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating. He wraps a protective arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his side.

As you drift into a troubled sleep, Vlad remains by your side, watching over you with a worried gaze. After some time goes by, Vlad carefully gets up, making sure not to wake you. He leaves the room and returns minutes later with a vial of blood in hand. Vlad carefully approaches your sleeping form and with a tinge of guilt, he administers you a small dose of blood, hoping it's enough to keep you alive until he can find some way for you to drink blood without harming others.

Silently, he curses you and your stupid morals; if it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be suffering like this. But he knows he can't change the way you are so all he can do is try to find a method to sustain you without resorting to the traditional vampiric ways.

He heads to a different part of a castle where he immerses himself in ancient scrolls and tomes, seeking a solution. Vlad can't bear to see you so weak for much longer. He knows that if he doesn't find a solution, the fate that awaits you is something he doesn't even want to consider a possibility. He can't fathom losing you.

The next morning, you wake up to find the room filled with an eerie silence. Vlad's absence is palpable, and a sense of foreboding settles over you. As you explore the castle in search of him, you suddenly feel very dizzy. You lean against the wall for support but it's not much help. After a couple of seconds, your vision goes black and you faint, your body falling to the floor.

Vlad hears the sound of your collapsing body and within seconds, he's by your side. He finds you unconscious on the floor, and panic grips his undead heart. His eyes are wide with worry, concern etched on his face. He gently lifts you, cradling you in his arms. The guilt gnaws at him; he wasn't able to help you in time, and now you're paying the price.

"I should have been faster," Vlad whispers to himself, regret coloring his words. He carries you back to the bedroom, placing you on the bed with utmost care. As Vlad lays you on the bed, a mixture of guilt and determination fills his crimson eyes. He gazes at your unconscious form, vowing silently to find a solution before it's too really too late.

With a heavy heart, Vlad continues his relentless search, the castle's ancient texts and hidden knowledge becoming his refuge. Days turn into nights, and Vlad's desperation intensifies.

But in the end, it just wasn't enough.

In your final moments, Vlad kneels by your lifeless body, grief-stricken. His crimson eyes, once vibrant with determination, now reflect the emptiness that consumes him. For the first time in years, he is truly alone. He clutches your lifeless hand, feeling the chill that has now replaced the warmth he once cherished.

As Vlad gazes at your lifeless form, a single tear slips from his eyes. "I'll love you forever, Y/N Tepes," he whispers, wishing you were actually here to hear his words. But you're not. And Vlad feels that it's all his fault. It's all his fault that the love of his life died. All his fault that you're no longer here. He wishes he could bring you back, but this isn't some romantic fantasy where you can just magically come back to life; this is reality.

#vlad tepes x reader #dracula x reader #vlad tepes #dracula #castlevania #imagine #vampire #netflix castlevania #castlevania dracula

[missmeinyourbones]

[ 9:43 AM ] - oikawa tooru

“Do I have to?”

Oikawa glares at the plum colored liquid sloshing around in the medicine cup you hold out to him. If looks could kill (and if the cough syrup in question had a heart), it’d be good as dead where it stands.

Your reply is stern, “Yes.” 

“But I don’t even like grape,” he pouts on command.

Your tone comes across as a light scold when you remind him, “Come on, it’s just for a second.” 

It’s going on ten minutes now that you’ve been trying to coax him into taking the medicine in hopes of ending his (and in return your own) suffering.

He makes no move to grab it, but you hold your breath when he nods and lets you raise the plastic cup to his pursed lips. Sticking his tongue out, he feels the syrupy liquid slide down his throat—followed by an overwhelmingly artificial grape flavor attempting to disguise the burn of the cold medicine slithering down into his chest. 

He clears his throat with a dramatic eughck! before generously slurping the cup of water you now hold to his lips. A celebratory good boy, thank you crawls up from your throat and his heart instantly swells at the praise.

While the taste in his mouth makes his toes curl, he can’t lie—he’s loving this special treatment from you. Holding his drinks for him, brushing the sweaty wisps of curls away from his eyes, pressing your lips to his forehead to check his temperature. He’s relishing in, thriving beneath your attention. Dare he say, he’s even been debating playing up his symptoms to keep your focus on him and nothing else.

He sighs deeply after chugging back the water. 

“This is kinda fun, right?” he sniffles behind a nasally tease, “You’re like, my own little sexy nurse.”

You place his cup back on the nightstand with a scoff. “Sorry I’m missing the uniform,” you dryly play along.

His teeth prod against his lower lip, “Don’t be, we can buy one later.” His eyebrows raise in pride at the sly comment, but the whine that falls from his lips when you smack his chest doesn't go unnoticed. 

He tries to take a sharp inhale through his nose, but he’s met with resistance and ends up harshly coughing into his elbow. It shakes his weak frame, involuntarily jolting his core upward as he curls into his arm wth every choke.

Eventually, he dramatically falls back onto the pillow with a pout, “Feels like I’m not even breathing.”

“You’re talking,” you point out, “talking requires breathing.” 

“Yeah,” he wistfully pouts, “but who knows for how much longer.”

You hum in agreement, “If only we were so lucky.”

His honey eyes grow twice in size at your quick retort, a mixture of disappointment and disbelief overwhelms his pretty features. An offended gasp leaves his moping lips.

“Rudeeeee,” he extends in a whine that sounds more like a yelp due to his stuffed-up nose. He continues on with his dramatics, “What if I died right now? What if I stopped breathing right here, in this bed, and those were the last words you ever said to your loving late boyfriend?”

You allow a hand to rub his clammy forehead and like a cat, he instantly nuzzles into the touch. 

You use your strictest tone to humbly remind him, “Tooru, you have the sniffles. You’re not dying.”

“I have a cold,” he corrects you, “had a fever and everything this morning.”

By a fever, he means that your thermometer read a degree above normal body temperature this morning. He’d woken you up with the device manically waving in front of your face and a frown etching across his own. 

You shake your head at this theatrics. “One degree hotter isn’t necessarily a fever,” you softly scold him, “that’s a normal fluctuation.”

His eyebrows raise in a victorious excitement, “So you do think I’m hot?”

His comment results in another smack to his chest, but regardless of his cold, his reflexes remain quick and instinctual. His hand catches yours and traps it on the heat of his bare chest.

“Sorry—ow, sorry! I think it’s the cold medicine kicking in, angel. It’s making me hallucinate, I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

Your lover grins from ear to ear when he hears your annoyed groan. 

“Oh please, you just swallowed it.”

#not edited and short but i got a gut feeling to finish this and post it tonight so here it is #love u tooru here's a half assed piece LOL #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa fic #oikawa tooru fic #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru fluff #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa imagine #oikawa x you

[burningtheroots]

Men always find ways to conceal & justify their abusive and predatory mentalities and behaviors, and convince everyone that the women who reject their "ideals" and begin to call out & look down on their literal oppressors are the "real problem".

For example, men masturbating to porn categories titled "women crying" is sexual freedom and what not, but women joking about drinking the tears of men who they simply told "No!" to or kicked from their high horses is evil.

Patriarchal brainwashing has achieved that men AND women alike defend and normalize this — and unfortunately, it prevents women who get wronged by men (on different levels) from recognizing it, and even if they recognize it, it still prevents them from unapologetically advocating for themselves in most cases.

Women make excuses for men to FEEL safer and better, perhaps even protected, and because they don’t want to believe that these men‘s evilness (e.g. porn consumption, older men looking out for young women, exploitation of women’s bodies and labour both in public and in private etc.) is REAL, and runs DEEP. Even if it only pops up on the surface, occasionally. The typical "accidentally sexist" comment or action.

Men make excuses for each other to BECOME more untouchable, less prone to getting held accountable and because they KNOW and WANT the atrocities they commit against women to remain powerful and prevalent. Because that‘s what they build their own fulfillment and accomplishments on.

Men benefit when women are aware of their suffering and the dangers imposed upon them, and they also benefit when women remain ignorant towards them. The mixture of both keeps patriarchy going. While women are fighting for their survival, men can continue to make it harder for us — but we get punished either way. Even when it seems like patriarchy "rewards" a woman for being complicit or too afraid to speak up, it only reinforces itself and manifests women‘s collective (& individual) abuse further.

Also, most people gloss over the fact that smaller injustices fuel larger ones. For example, the power imbalances men create in their relationships (which is one of the main reasons they love huge age differences, and society does the same because our male-centered society thrives when women are the butt of the joke) are one of the pillars of patriarchy, since patriarchy gets fueled when "the personal becomes political".

That‘s also why a woman disliking or joking about her oppressor class gets scrutinized, ridiculed & harassed whereas a man who jokes about women‘s brutalization and suffering, and non-chalantly embraces his privilege, is merely a victim and misunderstood, or "not a big deal". People extend this apologist mentality to rape jokes and worse, even.

A woman who speaks up about her oppression needs to be closely examined and checked for the privileges she may or may not have, while a man who oppresses (directly or indirectly), is seen as a misunderstood victim of his privileges who doesn’t know better or just needs some grace.

A woman being oppressed doesn’t matter to these people because she‘s not the perfect victim. She‘s merely entitled or whiny or vengeful.

And a man being oppressive doesn’t matter to these people because he‘s both the perfect perpetrator and the perfect victim at once, in their minds. He‘s merely trying.

That‘s why I‘m prioritizing women, and am unashamed of my criticism and skepticism of men, both as a class and as individuals.

#women deserve better #radfem #radblr #radical feminism #male violence #sex class consciousness #fight patriarchy #women for women #male socialization #female socialization

[espithewarlock]

Happy @1016week Day 1 - Monza!

Mild content warning for a vaguely consensual non-monogamous relationship...

（*゜ー゜*）

Monza is a magical track. There is something about the air, the energy, that fills his soul and clouds his head. Everyone’s potential at Monza is limitless and anything can happen.

Charles knew that was true of any track, of course, but he didn’t understand how special Monza was until he raced there in Formula One for the first time.

Things were different back then, during his rookie season. His race suit was different, a mixture of white and a darker red than he wanted. Even then he knew he would be trading that outfit for the bright red of Ferrari very soon, and the crowd loved him for it.

Pierre’s outfit also changed over the years. It started as a mixture of blues, then became white with navy, and this year was the first year he was in black with blue and pink accents.

That year, back in 2018, they were both racing at Monza in F1 for the first time and they didn’t understand the true magic of the track. They didn’t know how it worked. Neither scored any points, but that was almost expected of them in their junior teams.

They still fell into bed together that night, energy pulsing through their bodies with some unknown force that they had yet to harness and understand. It drew them together. They did not talk about it the next day. They were simply friends once again.

In 2019, they began to learn. Pierre was suffering, the tragic loss of their dear friend and his mid-season demotion still so fresh and painful, and he finished the race just out of the points. Charles stood on the top step for the second race in a row.

That night, when they came together, it was in celebration and in agony. It was perfect and wonderful and awful.

They did not talk about it the next day.

Monza was a track of balance. It would give and it would take. It would build them up and it would break them down. They learned that it would make one of them bleed for the other one to flourish and thrive.

2020 made that all the more obvious. His crash was horrible, but seeing Pierre on the top step made all of those negative feelings wash away.

Charles bled, and he tasted victory on Pierre’s tongue for the first time. It was one of the best things he had ever tasted in his life.

They did not talk about it the next day.

In 2021 they reversed yet again. Charles was only a couple of seconds off of the podium while Pierre got a DNF. Neither of them tasted like champagne that night. It didn’t matter.

Just being together, for that one night, was all he needed.

They did not talk about it the next day.

The race in 2022 was when it started to feel different. Charles had already bled for so many races that year. He didn’t have anything else to give. He had felt the championship slipping out of his grasp, despite standing on the second step of the podium.

Pierre also finished in the points, though much further down. Sadly, it was one of his best finishes of the season. Maybe Pierre was sacrificing his whole season for Charles’ success. Maybe Monza was making Charles bleed for Pierre.

Whatever the reason, that night was slower, softer than any of their previous nights together. It lingered in a way that sent chills up Charles’ spine. Not for the first time, he longed for more.

They did not talk about it the next day.

This year felt familiar. Expected. They left the track together, as they always did. Charles wasn’t thrilled with his fourth place finish, despite what he told the media. He knew that a podium had been possible for him. Pierre was never in the points.

Everybody knows about them. Their girlfriends, their families, their friends. Everybody knows and allows them to have this. Monza. The one night a year where they can be together as something more.

Pierre slides into the passenger seat of Charles’ Ferrari as he starts the engine. Neither of them speak as he drives. They never do.

As he drives, Charles keeps his free hand on Pierre’s thigh. He can feel the strong muscles beneath his palm and the disappointment rolling off of Pierre.

Charles pulls into the guest parking spot at Pierre’s apartment. Honestly, it might as well have his own name on it for this day every year. Today, the spot is his. Pierre is his.

As soon as the door is closed, Pierre pushes him up against the wall and connects their lips together. They both groan since it’s been a year since they’ve last tasted each other in the only way that matters.

Pierre says Charles’ name across his lips. It’s soft, reverent in a way they rarely get to experience. Charles says Pierre’s name right back, a plea, a whisper, desperate with desire. It doesn’t take them long to find their way into the bedroom.

For tonight, it’s not Pierre’s bedroom. It’s their bedroom. They can pretend.

Clothing is shed along the way and very quickly they are bare before each other. He feels Pierre pressing him into the mattress with his entire being. Charles lets Pierre’s fingers into his body, and then Pierre himself.

He is completely surrounded by the sensation that is Pierre. It consumes him, inside and out. He lives for this. He longs for this. Monza is the one day a year where he gets to experience this. To indulge in the fantasy that he can have this.

There are still no words between them. Gasps, moans, sighs, and whines fill the air as they move together. Sweet nothings are whispered, murmured against skin, hidden, concealed from their ears.

They find their release together, sweaty and stated and tangled up in each other. Pierre kisses every part of his skin that he can reach until they are both exhausted. Charles returns the kisses with equal fervor.

In the morning, they will wake up with their limbs still tangled together. Pierre will take him by the hand and lead them into the shower.

They will step under the spray together, noses brushing up against each other but lips not touching. As much as Charles wants them to, they won’t touch again for another year.

They will wash each other’s bodies in a way that is achingly familiar and completely out of their grasp. Pierre will not touch Charles in the way that he wants. In the way that he craves.

It will no longer be Monza and they will no longer belong only to each other.

They will dry off and make their way into Pierre’s kitchen. Pierre will make himself coffee and Charles will make himself tea. He will endure the inevitable teasing since he knows that Pierre buys a box specifically for him every year.

Conversation will be light and easy and friendly between them. They will talk about the race, the next one in Singapore, their girlfriends, their families, their plans for the upcoming week.

They will not talk about it the next day.

Before he leaves, Charles will make one concession. He will lean in close and press a kiss, sweet and lingering, to Pierre’s cheek.

Pierre will duck his head to try and hide his smile. Charles will see it anyway. Pierre will gently twine their fingers together and squeeze his hand as he says goodbye. Charles will wish that Pierre asks him to stay.

It will be another year before they are like this again. This season will end, the next season will begin, and Monza will still be on the calendar.

Maybe next year will be the year that they talk about it the next day.

#1016 week 2023 #1016week #Day 1 - Monza #piarles #10 x 16 #fanf1ction

[aifanfictions]

story about (y/n) losing her memory after getting a head injury in a fight at the arena so now Hisoka Morrow (her lover) has to take care of her and help her regain her memories

Amnesia's Twisted Waltz

In the heart of the bustling arena, where the air was thick with tension and anticipation, (Y/N) faced off against a formidable opponent. The battle was intense, a chaotic dance of skill and strategy. But in a cruel twist of fate, one swift, unexpected blow to the head left (Y/N) dazed and unconscious.

When she awoke, (Y/N) found herself in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the harsh, fluorescent lights of a hospital. Panic gripped her, as memories swirled like fragments of a shattered mirror. She couldn't recall her own name, let alone the fierce battles she had once thrived in.

As the fog of confusion lifted, a figure materialized by her bedside, a sly grin playing on his lips. Hisoka Morrow, a fellow fighter and a lover whose memory remained intact, leaned in close, his eyes a captivating mix of concern and curiosity.

"(Y/N)," he purred, "it seems you've had a little accident. How do you feel?"

"(Y/N)?" she repeated, her voice trembling. The name felt foreign on her tongue. "I...I don't remember. Who am I? What happened?"

Hisoka's grin widened. "You've suffered from amnesia, my dear. But don't worry. I'm here to help you remember."

With a mixture of fascination and amusement, Hisoka took on the role of (Y/N)'s personal guide through her fragmented memories. He was an enigmatic presence, an orchestrator of chaos, and yet, the one person (Y/N) found herself inexplicably drawn to.

Their journey to regain (Y/N)'s memories took them to the most peculiar places. Hisoka would stage elaborate scenes in an attempt to jog her memory. One day, they found themselves in a whimsical circus, where Hisoka performed daring feats and invited her to join him in a tightrope walk.

Another time, he whisked her away to a mysterious masquerade ball, where masked dancers twirled under a glittering chandelier. As they waltzed, Hisoka whispered secrets of their past, weaving stories that sounded like a fantastical dream.

And then there were the times when Hisoka would create chaos and turmoil, intentionally pushing (Y/N) into stressful situations, hoping to provoke a flash of recognition. It was a chaotic strategy, but he believed that in chaos, clarity might emerge.

Through these wild escapades, (Y/N) began to glimpse fragments of her old life—a fierce fighter, a lover of adrenaline, and a dancer in the arena of chaos. But the memories remained elusive, as if hidden behind a curtain of amnesia.

One evening, as they strolled through a moonlit carnival, Hisoka turned to (Y/N) with a gleam in his eye. "My dear, do you trust me?"

(Y/N) gazed into those captivating, enigmatic eyes and nodded. "I do."

With a mischievous chuckle, Hisoka led her to a colossal Ferris wheel. As they climbed higher into the night sky, he confessed, "This is where we first met, (Y/N)."

Her heart raced as the memory started to stir. "First met...? Tell me more."

With vivid detail, Hisoka recounted the story of their initial encounter, painting a picture of a fateful night when their eyes had locked, and a connection had sparked. As they reached the peak of the Ferris wheel, (Y/N) felt a strange sense of déjà vu, a fleeting yet powerful connection to her past.

But just as the memory began to solidify, a sudden jolt rocked the carriage. Panic flared in her eyes as she clutched onto Hisoka, her memories slipping away like grains of sand through her fingers.

"We're stuck," Hisoka announced nonchalantly, as if the situation amused him. "Don't worry, my dear. It's all part of the plan."

In the confined space of the Ferris wheel, (Y/N) and Hisoka found themselves drawn into an intimate embrace. Hisoka's laughter echoed through the night, a haunting melody of chaos and connection.

As the hours passed, (Y/N) clung to the present while feeling the echoes of her past slipping through her fingers. In the tangled web of chaos and affection, she yearned to unravel the mystery of her forgotten memories and the enigmatic figure before her.

Their journey was far from over, but in the midst of amnesia's twisted waltz, (Y/N) had discovered something unexpected—a connection with Hisoka that defied the boundaries of memory, and a determination to piece together the fragments of her past, no matter how chaotic the dance.

As days turned into weeks, the chaotic nature of (Y/N) and Hisoka's journey continued. They explored the forgotten corners of her memory, embracing both the enchanting and chaotic aspects of her past. At times, they ventured into the heart of the arena, hoping that the adrenaline and the scent of battle might rekindle her fighting spirit.

Yet, in the midst of chaos and uncertainty, moments of unexpected tenderness emerged. Hisoka's enigmatic facade began to crack, revealing a depth of affection and concern he had never shown before for anyone. He would surprise (Y/N) with her favorite flowers, rare and exotic blooms that few had ever seen. Hisoka reveled in the way her eyes would light up at the sight of them, and he couldn't help but smile when she'd say, "I might not remember these flowers, but they make me feel something beautiful."

One evening, as they strolled through a tranquil garden filled with fireflies, Hisoka began to teach (Y/N) the art of playing cards. He reveled in her curiosity and her eagerness to learn, watching as her hands deftly shuffled the deck. She might have lost her memory, but she was discovering new skills and talents, and Hisoka was there to guide her every step of the way.

But the most tender moments occurred during quiet nights at home. Hisoka would sit at the piano, a haunting melody flowing from his fingertips. (Y/N) would listen, her eyes closed, as if trying to grasp the elusive memories hidden within the music.

One night, she approached the piano and hesitantly placed her hands on the keys. With Hisoka's guidance, they began to play a duet, their hands moving in synchrony. As they played, it was as if the notes held the power to bridge the gap between her forgotten past and her uncertain present.

In these moments, (Y/N) began to see a different side of Hisoka—the side that cared for her deeply and was willing to do anything to help her regain her memories. It was a chaotic journey, but amidst the chaos, their bond had grown stronger.

But the road to recovery was not without its challenges. They encountered individuals from her past, each with their own stories and secrets. Some offered to help, while others seemed determined to keep her memories locked away.

In one particularly chaotic encounter, they crossed paths with a mysterious figure who claimed to know the key to unlocking (Y/N)'s lost memories. However, the price for this information was steep, and it led to a dangerous game of wits and intrigue.

As the days turned into months, (Y/N) and Hisoka's journey continued, and she slowly pieced together more fragments of her past. The chaos and the tenderness of their bond remained intertwined, a dance that defied expectations.

And in the midst of it all, as they faced the unknown together, (Y/N) and Hisoka found something far more precious than lost memories—they discovered a love that was as chaotic and unpredictable as the world they lived in. It was a love born from chaos, nurtured in tenderness, and destined to endure the tests of time.

Their journey was far from over, but with each step they took, (Y/N) felt closer to unlocking the secrets of her past and embracing the future, with Hisoka by her side. In the dance of amnesia's twisted waltz, they had found a love that defied memory and chaos, a love that was uniquely theirs.

And so, the story continued, with (Y/N) and Hisoka waltzing through the chaos, determined to uncover the mysteries of her past and the depths of their love.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

#x reader #reader insert #hisoka x reader #hisoka x you #hisoka x y/n #hisoka morow x y/n #hisoka morow x you #hisoka morow x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka #AmnesiaRomance #ChaosAndLove #MemoryRecovery #HisokaMorrow #LostAndFound #LoveJourney #MemoryJog #Fanfiction #TenderMoments #UnforgettableLove #AmnesiaStory #ChaosAdventure #JourneyOfDiscovery #UnexpectedLove #HisokaXReader

[teine-mallaichte]

Welcome to DADW!! For a prompt, how about Fenders with Mystery Illness 👀

Ok this... this got away from me a little... an idea occurred, I started writing, and now it is almost 3 hours later and I have over 6000 words... anyway... @dadrunkwriting fic which I turned into a sickfic of sorts...

As Hawke and his companions drew nearer to the village, a tangible tension thickened the air around them, shrouding the once bustling streets in an unsettling silence. Where once the vibrant thoroughfares echoed with the laughter of children and the chatter of villagers going about their daily lives, now only an eerie emptiness prevailed. The sombre silence only broken only by the occasional muffled cough that drifted through the stagnant air.

When Hawke had heard rumours about this mystery illness he hadn't been sure what to expect, stories of an entire of village of people displaying a dizzying aray of symptoms, whispers of the village been cused, how could he not investigate such a story?

As they ventured further into the heart of the settlement, they were greeted by a scene of utter chaos outside the small herbalist building. Makeshift cots dotted around, many occupied by  pale and trembling figures, some muttering to themselves others appearing to barely have the energy to move.

Hawke's heart sank at the sight before him. The once-thriving village now resembled a scene from a nightmare, with its inhabitants reduced to mere shadows of their former selves. He exchanged a grim glance with his companions, their expressions mirroring his own.

Anders approached one of the sick individuals, and  carefully knelt beside the cot.  The person's breathing was labored, their skin clammy and pale, and their eyes darted about in a frantic manner, as if haunted by unseen horrors.

Anders gently placed a hand on the sick person's forehead, his expression one of deep concern as he assessed their condition. Before he could offer any aid, the sound of footsteps drew everyone's attention toward the entrance of the herbalist's building.

As Anders examined the sick, Fenris stood nearby, his posture tense. Varric surveyed the scene with a grim expression, while Hawke moved closer to the line of cots, already trying to form a plan of action in his mind.

The elderly woman emerged, her face lined with worry and exhaustion, she approached the group her eyes lingering on Anders, a silent question in her eyes.

Anders rose to meet the herbalist's gaze, his expression grave yet determined. "We've come to offer whatever aid we can," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of compassion.

The herbalist nodded solemnly, her shoulders sagging with the burden of responsibility. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice tinged with weariness. "We've been overwhelmed by this... this affliction. We've tried every remedy, every poultice, but nothing seems to alleviate their suffering."

Hawke stepped forward, his jaw set with resolve. "Tell us everything you know about this illness," he urged, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

The herbalist sighed heavily, her gaze drifting to the sick and suffering around them. "It began with a few isolated cases," she explained, her voice tinged with sorrow. "But it spread like wildfire, consuming the entire village within days. The symptoms... the coughing, the confusion, the anxiety - they're unlike anything I've ever seen. And now..." She trailed off as she cast her gaze over her patients.

"Can you tell us anything about what's causing this?" Hawke asks as he gestures at the cots.

The herbalist shook her head, a mixture of frustration and despair evident in her expression. "We've searched for answers, but we're no closer to understanding the root of this affliction. Some whisper of a curse, others speak of foul magics at work..." She pauses, "The first cases were people who entered a cave north of here, just outside the village."

Hawke's brow furrowed at the mention of the cave. It seemed like a lead worth investigating, a potential source of the mysterious illness plaguing the village.

"We'll need to see this cave for ourselves," Hawke declared.

The companions nodded in agreement, as Anders turned to the herbalist with a reassuring smile. "We'll do everything in our power to help," he promised

The herbalist offered a weary smile in return, gratitude shining in her tired eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

---

As they neared the gaping maw of the cave, a suffocating atmosphere descended upon them, thick with the scent of decay and the weight of foreboding darkness that seemed to engulf their very thoughts.

"Well, this is cozy." Varric quipped as he looked around the dank surroundings.

"Stay alert, everyone," Hawke cautioned,  "We don't know what we'll find in here, but we can't afford to let our guard down."

As they ventured deeper into the cave, the oppressive darkness seemed to constrict around them, enveloping them in a suffocating embrace. The jagged walls of the cavern loomed ominously overhead, casting eerie shadows that danced and flickered with every flicker of their torchlight. The air grew thick and stagnant, heavy with the musty scent of damp and  decay.

The further into the cave they went, the colder the air seemed to grow, the darkness more palpable. The glow of Anders staff, and light of Hawkes torch, seemed to hardly penetrate the growing darkness.

As they walked Fenris found himself battling the urge to cough, his chest tightening with each breath. It started as a subtle tickle, but with each passing moment, the sensation intensified, becoming an insistent itch that refused to be ignored. The dampness of the cave air only seemed to exacerbate the irritation, clinging to his lungs and irritating his throat.

Anders cast a concerned glance in Fenris's direction, noting the subtle tremor in his hands and the pallor that had begun to settle over his features. Sensing something amiss, he moved closer to Fenris, his expression creased with worry.

"Are you alright?" Anders asked, his voice low with concern.

Fenris's gaze flickered briefly towards Anders before quickly averting, "I'm fine Anders," he muttered.

Anders's brow furrowed with concern, but dismissed it for now, it was likely just the lighting of the cave playing tricks on his mind.

Varric chuckles slightly, “I keep telling you not to bring elves into caves Hawke. Do you remember Daisy in the Deep Roads? I though she might actually spring into spontaneous dance when we finally got to the surface.”

Hawke frowns, “Are you trying to say that elves are… allergic to caves Varric?”

Varric gestures at Fenris, as if the elfs very existence is somehow proof of his point.

“Merrill was fine at Sundermount…” Hawke says slowly.

“Ah, but Sundermount is some magically elfy cave.” Varric counters.

Stopping for a few seconds Hawke turns to Anders, “Please tell me that Varric is talking nonsense.”

Anders glanced between Hawke and Varric, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the seriousness of their situation. "Well, I'm no expert on elven physiology, but I think Varric might be indulging in a bit of exaggeration."

Fenris shot Varric a pointed look, his expression a mixture of irritation and amusement. "I assure you, Varric, I am not allergic to caves," he retorted, his tone dry.

Varric made a dismissive sound, "you're no fun. If Riviani were here she'd  have backed me up."

Despite the groups casual banter, Fenris found himself unable to shake the discomfort gnawing at him. His eyes stung with an unexplained burning sensation, and the urge to cough grew stronger with each passing moment. A subtle tension began to throb at his temples, hinting at the onset of a headache. He glanced briefly at Anders, for a brief moment considering reaching out to the healer, but quickly pushed down that thought. He chided himself for even considering such a notion; a mere cough and headache were hardly worth troubling Anders over.

Hawke led the way, his senses alert for any sign of danger lurking in the shadows. Varric kept up a steady stream of commentary, his jokes and quips a welcome distraction from the suffocating tension that hung in the air.

As they ventured deeper into the labyrinthine passages of the cave, the air grew thicker, heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay. Fenris's chest tightened further, each breath a struggle against the invisible weight pressing down on his lungs.

Anders reached out a hand, resting it gently on Fenris's shoulder. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Fenris hesitated, his gaze flickering between Anders and the darkness looming ahead. "I'll manage," he replied gruffly, though the strain in his voice betrayed his true feelings.

Anders regarded Fenris with a mixture of concern and skepticism, but ultimately nodded, they had gotten closer recently, but what they had was still tenious, vulnerable, and Anders felt it possibly wasn't the time to push.

As they turned a corner, a faint glow caught their attention, beckoning them further into the depths of the cavern. The soft, eerie light emanated from clusters of dark blue fungi dotting the walls and floor, casting a surreal blue glow that danced and flickered with otherworldly beauty.

As they approached the source of the glow, the air seemed to grow heavier, thick with the pungent scent of the sorrowcap fungus. Hawke's brow furrowed in concern as he surveyed the cavern, taking note of the eerie bioluminescence that bathed everything in an otherworldly hue.

Fenris shifted uncomfortably at the rear of the group, a gnawing sensation clawing at his throat with increasing intensity. His eyes stung with an irritant he couldn't quite shake, and a dull ache throbbed relentlessly at the back of his head. His steps faltered, a sudden wave of dizziness engulfing him, and he reached out instinctively to steady himself against the cold stone of the cave wall. As the dizzy spell subsided, his heart raced with a mixture of panic and relief. He stole a quick glance around, thankful that his momentary weakness had gone unnoticed amidst his companions preoccupation with the strange, glowing mushrooms ahead.

Varric eyed the mushrooms warily. "I've got a bad feeling about this. Those things look like trouble."

As they approached the clusters of mushrooms, Anders's keen eyes widened with recognition. "Sorrowcap Fungus," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've only read about it in books before. It's incredibly rare."

Hawke's expression darkened as he listened to Anders's words. "Sorrowcap," he repeated, the name resonating with a sense of foreboding. "Could these be responsible for the illness in the village?"

Anders nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on the eerie glow of the fungi. "It's possible," he replied, his voice tinged with concern. "Sorrowcap spores are known to contain potent toxins and hallucinogens. Inhaling them could certainly explain the symptoms we've seen."

Varric scoffed, "Great. So not only are we dealing with a mysterious illness, but now we've got hallucinogenic fungi to contend with too?"

Fenris shifted uncomfortably, his hand still pressed against the cool stone wall for support. The burning sensation in his eyes had intensified, and a sharp pang of pain shot through his temples, as he struggled to suppress the need to cough.

Anders shifted his focus to Fenris, who seemed to be holding himself at a distance from the rest of the group. His posture was rigid, and his expression betrayed a discomfort that Anders couldn't ignore. "Fenris, you look unwell," he remarked, his voice gentle yet tinged with worry.

Fenris tensed at the attention, "I'm f-," but his words were cut short as a violent cough overtook him, each convulsion sending waves of pain rippling through his body. Struggling to regain his composure, he forced himself to continue, "It's just the dampness of the cave air."

Varric's brow furrowed with concern as he observed Fenris's plight. "That's a convincing argument for 'fine'," he remarked dryly, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Fenris fixed Varric with a glare, his eyes flashing with a mixture of irritation and defiance. "I'm fine," he reiterated, his tone sharper than intended.

Anders's concern for Fenris deepened as he observed the elf's obvious discomfort. Despite Fenris's insistence that he was fine, Anders couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

Hawke's voice broke through Anders's thoughts, drawing his attention back to the present. "Anders, how do we neutralise the spores?"

Anders pondered for a moment, quickly glancing back at Fenris,  before replying, "We need to destroy these mushrooms, but we need to do it carefully to avoid releasing more spores into the air." He looks around the chamber, "my fire magic should be able to do it, then we should check to make sure there aren't any more."

Hawke nodded in agreement with Anders's plan. "Alright, let's get to it then. Anders, you take care of these mushrooms. Varric and I will go further into the cave to make sure there aren't any more." He pauses, "Fenris... you stay with Anders."

Fenris hardly heard Hawkes words, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that weighed heavily upon him. He didn't notice Hawke and Varric leave, his head throbbed with a relentless ache, and his vision swam with disorienting waves of color. He leant against the rough stone of the cave wall to steady himself.

Anders glanced over at Fenris, concern etched into his features. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Fenris's response was barely a whisper, his words choked with emotion. "I... I don't know," he admitted, pushing down the urge to physically reach out to Anders.

Anders's expression softened with understanding as he approached Fenris, his hand hovering hesitantly in the air before finally coming to rest on the elf's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'm going to burn these mushrooms and then we can get out of  here."

Anders's touch sent a shiver of warmth through Fenris, a stark contrast to the icy chill that seemed to permeate his very bones. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, nodding in silent agreement as Anders moved to ignite the sorrowcap mushrooms with controlled bursts of flame.

As the flames consumed the fungi, Fenris's world seemed to blur and warp around him. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows that seemed to twist and contort into sinister shapes. His breath caught in his throat as he strained to make sense of the haunting whispers that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the cave. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating like a drum in the suffocating silence of the cavern.

As the fungi burnt a pungent odor filled the air, mingling with the dampness of the cave to create a suffocating miasma, burning the back of Anders throat slightly as he resisted the urge to cough.

Fenris's vision swam with an intensity that bordered on disorienting. The acrid scent of smoke mingled with the musty aroma of the cave, assaulting his senses with overwhelming intensity. A violent cough seized him, wracking his body with spasms of pain that threatened to engulf him. He doubled over, clutching at his chest in an attempt  to quell the rising tide of agony.

Ignoring the lingering smoke and the acrid taste of ash that coated the back of his throat, Anders rushed to Fenris's side, his hands gentle yet firm as he guided the elf to sit against the cavern wall.

"Fenris, breathe," Anders urged, focusing on keeping his voice calmer than he felt, "Focus on your breathing. In... and out."

Fenris obeyed, albeit shakily, his breaths ragged and uneven as he struggled to regain control over his trembling body. Anders's concern for Fenris only grew as he watched the elf struggle to regain his breath. It was more than obvious that Fernis was not "fine". But before he managed to voice his concern Fenris seemed to regain his composure, his breathing returning to normal as he slowly straightened his posture.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft yet laced with worry.

Fenris managed a weak nod, his gaze flickering briefly towards Anders before quickly averting. "I... I think so." he assured, his voice hoarse from the coughing fit. "Let's find the rest of these mushrooms so we can get out of here."

Anders regarded Fenris with a lingering gaze, his concern evident in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment, debating whether to press the issue further, but ultimately decided to focus on the task at hand for now.

"Alright," Anders replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of relief and determination. "Let's make sure make it quick though."

As they moved deeper into the cavern, Anders kept a watchful eye on Fenris, ready to offer assistance at a moment's notice. He watched as Fenris's steps faltered occasionally, how he kept pausing and staring at the darkness, his eyes betraying a hint of unease that Anders couldn't ignore.

the whispers swirled around Fenris, their insidious cadence penetrating the very depths of his consciousness, he could no longer deny the unsettling truth that something sinister lurked in the shadows. The tendrils of fear wrapped around his heart, tightening with each passing moment, fuelling his irrational desire to shield Anders from whatever malevolent presence awaited them.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Fenris scanned the cavern with a sense of urgency, his senses sharp and attuned to the slightest hint of danger. "We are not alone," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the eerie symphony of whispers that echoed through the chamber.

Anders stopped and looked around the chamber, focusing his senses trying to find anything amiss. But there was nothing… Frowning slightly he moved his staff, increasing the glow slightly to get a better look at Fernis.  The elf looked unsteady on his feet as his eyes darted around the cavern.

As Anders scanned the chamber, his senses sharp and alert, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Despite his best efforts, there was no sign of danger lurking in the shadows, no indication of any immediate threat. Frowning slightly, he adjusted the glow of his staff, illuminating the cavern with a soft, comforting light.

His attention was drawn to Fenris, who stood a few paces away, his form illuminated by the gentle glow of Anders's staff. The elf appeared unsteady on his feet, swaying ever so slightly as if struggling to maintain his balance. His eyes darted around the cavern, flickering with a mixture of confusion and unease.

Concern etched into every line of his face, Anders stepped closer to Fenris, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached out a hand, intending to offer reassurance to the elf, but Fenris flinched at the sudden contact, as if startled out of a trance.

"Fenris," Anders called softly, his voice a gentle murmur amidst the oppressive silence of the cave. "Are you alright?"

Dancing lights seemed to ove around the cavern, their ethereal glow cast a hypnotic spell upon him, drawing him in with an almost magnetic pull. Fernis couldn't shake the feeling that they held the key to unlocking the mystery of the cave, to deciphering the whispers that echoed through the darkness with haunting persistence. What troubled him most, however, was Anders's apparent obliviousness to the sinister phenomena that surrounded them.

Fenris glanced at Anders, his brow furrowed with concern as he struggled to comprehend why the healer remained unaffected by the oppressive atmosphere that weighed heavily upon them. A single thought kept repeating in his mind, Anders was in danger, he had to protect the healer from the danger that he seemed unable to see or hear.

"Anders," Fenris began, his voice low and urgent, "You... You can't see or  hear them, why?."

Anders glanced at Fenris, his brow furrowing in confusion at the elf's cryptic question. "See or hear what?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. Despite Fenris's insistence, Anders could detect no sign of there being anything but them in the cave.

Fenris's sense of urgency only intensified as he struggled to convey the gravity of the situation to Anders. "The whispers," he insisted, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and frustration. "The voices that echo through the darkness... Can't you hear them?"

"Fenris, I don't hear any voices," he admitted, his voice laced with worry.

 Fenris blinked, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of the shifting shapes and flickering lights that seemed to dance just beyond his reach. How could Anders be oblivious to the sinister whispers that seemed to permeate every corner of the cavern? he looked at the mage, his features seemed to twist and contort in his gaze, instinctively he stepped back from the disconcerting image, "you are not Anders ," he accused, his voice shaking more than he would have liked.

Anders's expression faltered, confusion clouding his features as he regarded Fenris with a mixture of concern and apprehension. "Fenris, it's me," he insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. "You're just... you're not yourself right now."

But Fenris remained unconvinced, his instincts screaming at him to keep his distance from the figure before him. "You're not Anders," he repeated, his voice growing more insistent with each repetition. "You're... something else."

Realization dawned on Anders as he connected the dots, the symptoms Fenris displayed aligning all too well with sorrowcap poisoning. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he considered the implications of the situation.

"Fenris," Anders began, his voice steady yet tinged with concern, "I think you've been affected by the sorrowcap spores. You're experiencing hallucinations, paranoia... it's all part of the poisoning."

Fenris's gaze flickered with a mixture of disbelief and desperation as he struggled to comprehend Anders's words. "No," he protested, his voice laced with defiance. "You're lying."

Anders's heart sank at Fenris's refusal to accept the truth, he knew that Fenris's mind was clouded by the effects of the Sorrowcap Fungus, but the accusation still stung with a sharpness that Anders couldn't ignore.

"Fenris, it's me," Anders insisted, his voice laced with desperation. "I'm right here, I promise." He reached out a hand, intending to offer reassurance, but Fenris recoiled at the gesture, his expression a mixture of fear and mistrust.

But Fenris recoiled, his gaze fixed upon Anders with a mixture of fear and mistrust. "No," he protested, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "You're not him.  Give him back."

"Fenris, I know this is confusing, but you have to trust me," Anders urged, his voice soft yet firm.

As Fake Anders moved closer to him, concern etched into every line of his face, Fenris recoiled instinctively, his muscles tensing with suspicion. The healer's intentions, once genuine and kind, now seemed shrouded in shadow, his every gesture laden with hidden meaning.  Fenris stumbled, his movements clumsy and erratic as he tried to put distance between himself and Imposter Anders. As he lost his footing, Fenris stumbled, his balance forsaking him as he teetered on the brink of collapse. With a gasp of alarm, he reached out for support, but found only empty air as his fingers grasped at nothingness.

Anders rushed to Fenris's side, his heart pounding in his chest as he knelt beside the fallen elf. "Fenris, can you hear me?" he called, his voice tinged with urgency as he reached out to check for any signs of injury.

Fenris groaned weakly, his head spinning with dizziness as he struggled to focus on Fake Anders's concerned face. "Please give Anders back," he mumbled.

Anders's heart ached at Fenris's plea, the raw desperation in his voice cutting through him like a knife. He reached out, gently cupping Fenris's cheek in his hand, his touch tender yet reassuring. "Fenris, it's me. I'm right here," he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of compassion and determination. "I won't leave you, I promise. But, we need to get you out of here," Anders urged.

"Anders doesn't like caves," Fenris muttered, seemingly to no one.

Anders's heart sank at Fenris's words, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. Fenris's confusion and distress were palpable, his mind ensnared by the hallucinations wrought by the toxic spores of the Sorrowcap Fungus. He sighed slightly, guilt knwing at him for what he was about to do, as much as he hated the idea of lying, of playing into the delusion he could see no other way to gain Fenris's trust through the hazy of hallucinations caused by the fungus.

"You're right, Anders doesn't like caves." Anders said softly, his voice tinged with sorrow as he gently squeezed the elf's hand.  "He's probably waiting for you outside."

As Fake Anders reached out to help him to his feet, Fenris hesitated, his muscles tense with apprehension. Everything felt confused, as if he were caught in the tangled web of a nightmare from which he couldn't wake. The only thought hat seemed to be clear was that Anders was in danger, a thought echoed by the whispers, Anders was in danger and this wasn't Anders.

He glanced at Fake Anders, his expression guarded yet tinged with a flicker of uncertainty.

Fake Anders's expression softened, his gaze filled with a silent plea for understanding. "Please, Fenris," he urged.

Fenris's resolve wavered as he met Fake Anders's gaze, the genuine concern shining in the imposter's eyes , eyes that looked so similar to Anders.

He reached out, accepting Fake Anders's hand in a silent gesture of surrender, his grip firm yet trembling with uncertainty.

Fake Anders offered Fenris a reassuring smile, his touch gentle as he helped the elf to his feet. "Come on," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let's get you out of here."

Their journey back through the cavern was painstakingly slow, much to Anders's frustration. In a more ideal scenario, he might have considered carrying someone who had succumbed to a toxin like the sorrowcap, but given Fenris's current state of erratic behavior and paranoid delusions, such a gesture would likely have been met with resistance, if not outright hostility.

As they neared the chamber where the remnants of the first Sorrowcap Fungus still smoldered, Fenris stumbled forward, his steps faltering as he struggled to maintain his balance. Anders moved to support him, his arm looping around the elf's waist to steady him.

Fenris could feel his body swaying with the effort of remaining upright. And an instinctual impulse urged him to pull away from the person next to him, yet the reason behind the impulse remained elusive, lost in the fog of his mind. He struggled to recall why they were in this place or where exactly "here" was. All he knew was that they were supposed to be leaving, and that he had to keep walking. And he had to find Anders, Anders was in danger, that was one thing he knew for certain.

He blinked, his vision swimming as he tried to focus on Fake Anders' face. The healer's words were a distant echo, lost in the haze of confusion that clouded his mind. He could feel an arm around him, offering support, he clung to the robes of the figure, who looked like Anders, desperate to anchor his thoughts and reassure himself that Anders was there.

Anders felt a pang of worry shoot through him as Fenris's grip tightened on his robes. He could sense the confusion and disorientation emanating from the usually stoic elf. They may have grown fat closer recently, something fragile and tentative that was yet to be named, but touch was still something that was complicated between them. For Fenris to now be practically clinging to him, even if only his robes, was a stark contrast to his usual behaviour.

With a gentle touch, Anders shifted his arm to further steady Fenris, his concern evident in his eyes. "I'm here," Anders whispered softly, his voice cutting through the fog of Fenris's confusion.

"Anders..." Fenris's voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, as he struggled to focus on Fake Anders, no, real Anders, face. "We need to leave. You are in danger."

Anders's brow furrowed with concern at Fenris's words. He wasn't sure why Fenris believed he was in danger, but the fact that the elf was addressing him as Anders rather than accusing him of being an imposter was a slight improvement from the previous delusion. It was a small victory amidst the chaos that threatened to consume them.

"Fenris, I promise you, I'm safe," Anders said softly, his voice infused with reassurance. "We are both safe, we just need to get out of this cave."

Fenris's brows furrowed in confusion, his grip on Anders's robes tightening slightly. "But... the whispers... the shadows," he mumbled.

"I know, Fenris," Anders murmured, his voice a soothing presence amidst the turmoil of Fenris's thoughts. "But they are not real, I promise."

Fenris blinked, trying to focus on Anders's face, his features swimming in and out of clarity amidst the haze of his mind.  "I trust you," Fenris murmured, leaning slightly more into Anders as he fought to stay upright.

Anders felt a surge of relief as Fenris expressed trust, even in the midst of his confusion. It was a small victory, but a significant one considering the circumstances.

He glanced down the tunnel that Hawke and Varric had gone down earlier, the priority was getting Fenris out of the cave before he deteriorated further. Getting away from the spores was by no means a cure, but it would slow the progression significantly and might lessen the cognitive effects slightly. But that didn't mean he could simply leave his friends down here either.

Nearing the tunnel he shouted out to Hawke and Varric, his voice echoed through the cavern, bouncing off the walls and reverberating into the darkness ahead. There was a tense moment of silence, broken only by the faint sound of dripping water.

After what felt like an eternity Hawke's voice rang out in response, the relief evident in his tone as he called back to them. "Anders! Fenris! Are you alright?"

Anders's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Hawke's voice, a wave of relief washing over him as he called back,

"We're alright, but Fenris is... affected by the spores. We need to get out of here."

Hawke's response was immediate, his voice laced with urgency as he called back, "Understood, head to the exit we will catch up."

As anders stole another worried glance at Fenris his heart sunk. The elf's usual demeanor was crumbling before his eyes, replaced by a frailty that sent a pang of fear through Anders's chest. "Fenris," he said softly as he shifted his grip slightly in an attempt to stabilise him more, "can you hear me?"

Fenris's response was barely audible, his voice strained and distant. "Yes Anders," he murmured, his words slurred and disjointed.

Anders's heart sank at Fenris's state, the elf's condition worsening with each passing moment. He knew they needed to get out of the cave and back to the village where, now armed with the knowledge of the illnesses cause, he and the herbalist could cure the affected. Anders hesitated, weighing the options before him. Carrying Fenris would undoubtedly be the fastest way to get him out of the cave and away from the toxic spores, but the massive sword would likely pose a challenge, if not an actual safety risk. Glancing back down the passage where Hawke and Varric should soon arrive he makes a decision. Carefully he moves to remove the sword, Hawke is sure to collect it on the way past.

With the weight of the sword now lifted from Fenris's side, Anders swiftly adjusted his hold, ensuring the elf's stability. He repositioned his grip on Fenris, carefully securing him with one arm wrapped around his waist, while the other hand slid beneath Fenris's knees, lifting him off the ground.

Anders felt Fenris's tension and hesitated, his grip tightening slightly in reassurance. "It's okay, Fenris," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing presence amidst the chaos that surrounded them. "I've got you."

Fenris's breath caught in his throat as he leaned into Anders's touch, the warmth of the healer's embrace offering a measure of comfort amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him. He closed his eyes briefly, willing away the dizzying sensation that washed over him, as he subconsciously tried to pull himself closer into Anders's embrace.

Anders couldn't help but chuckle slightly, "Who knew all it would take to make you more affectionate was a bit of poison?" he teased.

As Fenris leaned into Anders's embrace, he mumbled something in response, but Anders couldn't quite make out the words.

Anders didn't press Fenris for a response, he wasn't sure that Fenris was even lucid enough to understand what was happening. With careful steps, Anders began to carry Fenris out of the cave, his movements steady despite the weight of the sick elf in his arms.

As they emerged from the darkness of the cave into the blinding light of day, Anders felt a surge of relief wash over him. The fresh air was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the cave, cleansing his lungs of the acrid scent of smoke and decay.

The echoes of Hawke's voice reached his ears from behind. Anders's tense shoulders relaxed slightly at the sound, a wave of relief washing over him. He turned to see Varric and Hawke rushing towards him, Fenris's sword in Hawkes grasp.

As Hawke and Varric reached them, their concern evident in their expressions, Anders gave them a reassuring nod, indicating that Fenris was safe, albeit affected by the spores.

Hawke's brow furrowed with concern as he took in Fenris's condition, his gaze flickering between the elf and Anders. "Is he going to be alright?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Anders nodded,  "There is a potion that counters the effects of the spores, fortunately the ingredients are fairly common." his voice calm yet tinged with urgency. "We need to head back to the village, now we know it's sorrowcap that's causing this. We can help everyone who's been effected."

Upon reaching the village the streets were just as quiet and abadoned as they had been that morning,  Anders wasted no time as he made his way to the the herbalist's home, where he was greeted by the comforting scent of dried herbs and potions. The woman turned to look at Anders as he entered, her eyes instantly fixing on the unconscious elf in his arms.

"We found the source of the sickness," Anders began, his voice cutting through the solemn atmosphere of the herbalist's home. "It's a fungus called sorrowcap, growing deep in the caves near the village."

The herbalist's eyes widened with concern as she listened intently, her hands pausing in their movements. "Sorrowcap?" she repeated, her voice laced with worry. "That is incredibly rare," she walked over to a bookshelf at the back of the room and started to leaf through its pages.

Anders nodded, his expression serious. "Do you have the ingredients to make the antidote?" he asked, his voice edged with urgency.

The herbalist found the page in the book she had been looking for and nodded, her gaze shifting to the shelves lining the walls of her home. "Yes," she glanced around the room, "we will need a large batch." She gestured to one of the empty cots, inviting Anders to lay Fenris down. "I can help with the potion," Anders says as he moves to the cot.

The herbalist wasted no time in gathering the necessary ingredients from her shelves. Bottles of dried herbs and vials of liquid were swiftly collected and laid out on a nearby table, the herbalist's hands moving quickly and confidently.

As the potion brewed, tension hung thick in the air, mingling with the pungent aroma of herbs and alchemical ingredients. Anders kept a vigilant eye on Fenris, his worry for the elf evident in the furrow of his brow. Despite the urgency of the situation, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of guilt that tugged at his conscience.

Hawke paced restlessly nearby, his concern mirrored in his every movement. Varric leaned against a nearby table, his gaze flitting between Anders and the brewing potion, his mind undoubtedly racing with thoughts of their next move.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the herbalist stepped back from the cauldron, a look of satisfaction crossing her features. "It's ready," she announced.

With a sense of relief washing over him, Anders stepped forward, his attention fully on the potion simmering in the cauldron. He reached for a ladle, carefully scooping out a sample to inspect its consistency and color.

Hawke approached, his eyes fixed on the potion with a mix of hope and apprehension. "Will it work?" he asked, his voice betraying the weight of their situation.

Anders nodded, relief evident in his expression. "It should," he replied, his voice steady despite the lingering uncertainty.

The herbalist nodded, "It may take a few days for full recovery, but the potion should work on even the most seriously effected."

As Anders carefully poured the potion into vials, he couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment mixed with trepidation. The immediate crisis was averted, but the aftermath would require careful attention and monitoring.

Once the vials were filled, Anders turned to Hawke and Varric, holding out the potions for them to take. "We need to distribute these to the affected villagers as soon as possible," he said, his voice resolute. "Make sure they take it immediately."

Hawke nodded, his expression grim yet determined. "We'll handle it," he replied, taking the vials from Anders and motioning for Varric to follow.

Anders watched them go, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he turned his attention back to Fenris. The elf still lay unconscious on the cot, his breathing steady but shallow. Anders approached, checking Fenris's pulse and monitoring his condition closely.

As Anders tended to Fenris, the herbalist approached him, her expression thoughtful. "You seem troubled, healer," she remarked softly. "Your friend will recover, along with the villagers."

Anders offered a small, appreciative nod to the herbalist, though his troubled expression remained. "I know he will," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "It's just... been a difficult day."

The herbalist regarded Anders with a knowing look, her gaze filled with empathy. "Difficult indeed," she murmured, her voice soft yet comforting. "You and your friends saved many lives today, most people would not have cared enough to enter those caves."

Anders took in the herbalist's words, a mixture of gratitude and guilt swirling within him. "We couldn't stand by and do nothing," he said, his voice reflective. "Not when people were suffering."

The herbalist offered Anders a reassuring smile, her eyes reflecting understanding. "You have a good heart, healer. That much is clear," she said warmly. "But remember to take care of yourself as well. It's easy to lose sight of your own well-being when you're focused on helping others."

Anders nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. "Thank you," he said softly, appreciating her wisdom. "I'll keep that in mind."

With a gentle pat on Anders's shoulder, the herbalist turned to attend to her duties, leaving Anders to ponder her words.

Fun fact; as a person with schizoaffective disorder I may enjoy making characters experience some aspect of psychosis way too much...

#DADWC #fanfiction #dragon age #fenris #anders #da drunk writing circle #dragon age fanfiction

[roachymochi]

True Death, the Crucible, and how Marika fucked up big time

In a world were life essence is a finite resource, a True Death require two things : complete destruction of the Old, and transformation of the destroyed matter to make something truely new.

This is what a Crucible is used for : extreme heat allow breaking down of ore into their base components, who can then be treated and refined. Alchemicaly, this means the pure metals (gold, silver, copper) are separated from crude materials to express their full potential. So, to attain true purity, true corruption must first be accomplished. The Alchemist call this the Nigredo, or darker than black, also named the raven, rot, or the Shadow of the Philosopher stone.

In Elden Ring, this primordial Law of existence is fully contained in the Crucible. The Era of the Crucible was an era of chaos and violence, but also floroushing life and metalorphosis. It was both the Era of Birth and of Death. Marika, by sealing Death, also ended up stopping the flow of life, and of Birth.

The rune of Death is the prime comportement of the Crucible, because it is composed of it's two part, the breaking down of things, and the transformation of raw materials. This is fully illustrated by the state of the corpses of Ranni and Godwyn, who both suffered half of Death.

Ranni suffered the half the break things down. Or, in other word, the Flame. Her body is completely burned and empty. It is in noway a living being, but it vaguely kept its old shape because the half Death of Ranni had no transformation.

Godwyn suffered the half that transform raw materials. His soul was completely destroyed in the process, but his body is thriving, transformed into a completely new being. However, because his half Death didn't break down his components, I can't be free of his flesh and is stuck in the Nigredo : existing only as rot and corruption and Shadow, unable to transcend it.

By sealing the Principl of Death of the Crucible, Marika stopped all life from changing : the dead couldn't be freed by rot, and new being couldn't be born.

The Crucible, and it's ability to transform life into raw matter into new life, exist in all creatures, in the form of two organs : the stomach and the womb.

This means the seal of Marika on Death deprived all inhabitant of the Lands Between of these two organs.

For the womb : no one has been born for a long time. The turtleneck used to be eaten as an aphrodisiac, but no one care about this anymore. The bat women lament the loss of their ability to give birth.

For the stomach : everyone is malnourished. Humans and beasts alike are terrifyingly thin. A ravenous hunger animate them. Humans resort to cannibalism, and the dogs and raven turn monstrous from hunger.

No matter how much they eat, they can't be fed, because it has become impossible to assimilate another life. Souls are perpetually stuck in their body even After being digested. The golden excrements are warm and don't smell because there still is a human soul in it.

The Erdtree Roots are bloated with the corpses they couldn't assimilate. The mixture of ulcerated wood and mass of human flesh is rampaging, trying to end it's existence.

The only way to eat or reproduce is via the influence of an outer god, forbidden by the Golden order because they come from the Crucible. Rotten Radahn stay alive by eating corpses. Scarlet rot destroys all and gives birth to many children. The snakemen are all the Offspring of Rykard, who want to devour the Gods.

Marika knew the links between the belly and the Crucible, that is why so many of her non human citoyens, like the trolls,have been gutted. To be accepted in the golden order they had to get rid of all link to the old order.

But now the Land's between are completely rancid, and Marika couldn't do anything to changing because of the very Order she created. So she destroyed this Order, the Elden Ring, and conspired so it could only be reforged by bringing to it the rune of Death, so her mistake could be corrected.

#elden ring #elden ring theory #elden ring lore #queen marika the eternal #the crucible #Destined death

[crayonurchin]

So yesterday marked what I think might be a new chapter of self healing and growth in me, and with my inner child.

You hear it a lot- 'heal your inner child', and tbh I always just thought it was a nice sentiment about accepting hurt in your past.

Yesterday, I had a very severe mental health episode with my OCD, and I realised I couldn't handle it, and had to have an emergency session with my therapist. She guided me though the panic attack and helped me untangle the web of intrusive thoughts that had me trapped in a loop. I'm so fortunate to have such a brilliant longterm pyschotherapist working with me.

Anyway. She used a mixture of emotional guidance and science to finally show to me how the inner child is behaving when you're in a crisis. That kid is panicking, they're doing anything they can to survive, they're using the skills they had to learn to stay alive when they were being hurt.

And then there's you. The adult. You're also there, but, you're still letting this child look after you. And that is not fair to that poor little kid. They should never have had to suffer, struggle and survive the way they did.

Well, you're an adult now. For better or for worse, that kid is yours. And your job is to protect them. Validate them. Let them know that you will personally never let them be hurt the way they were again.

I was a victim of online grooming from ages 10-19. I was forcibly shown sexual content, made to be peoples therapists, forced to stay awake for literal DAYS just so a grown adult could have a power play with me. And the child in me adapted to make sure that never happened to her again.

And it won't. Because I will take care of her. She doesn't have to fight anymore, an adult is going to look after her.

My OCD is severe, but it is not impossible for me to thrive. All my intrusive thoughts and feelings are valid, my mistakes are okay, my worries aren't evil and my condition will not rule me. I accept it. I thank it for showing me I still have work to do. And I love my inner child, exactly as she is, trauma and all. We're gonna enjoy the little things she loved, and my job is to look after us both.

Yesterday I felt like a failure for reaching out for help. Today, I want to give yesterdays me a big kiss on the forehead and thank her. I'm nowhere in the clear but I'm ready to keep pushing on.

#mental health #therapy #ocd #obsessive compulsive disorder #recovery #mental health recover #ocd recover #inner child #tw pedophila mention #tw grooming #there's a buttload more my inner child had to deal with but like- that's a main one I'm working through #yeah guys the inner child stuff is genuine please listen to it #yesterday was a very intense day #today I exercised did some writing read an entire book and went out for a comfort meal #you really don't know what's about to happen at any point #IT'S REALLY SCARY #and it's also really great

[polkanight]

Can we talk about Soren? I want to talk about Soren.

(I may eventually talk about Claudia in another post but I’m not certain)

(also SPOILERS FROM TDP SEASON4)

-

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-

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So, I’m watching tdp from season 1 and knowing how things unfold, my stomach churns by seeing how Viren treats BOTH Soren and Claudia, but I want to focus on Soren bc he’s closer to my experience as the child of a narcissist parent.

Being the child of a NP (someone who’s emotionally immature and relies on their children to meet their needs), on your teen years, felt like walking on thin ice 24/7. I never knew what would trigger a critic, a snark comment about my body, my intelligence, my ability to compromise and to finish tasks, etc.

I was, more than once, called silly, dumb, aloof, to watch my weight, to watch how I dress, etc, etc. all of that coated with the premise of love, of “I’m teaching you how to do things”, of “I’m your tutor, your mentor, your only friend, your only safe harbor”, someone, the only one I could “rely on”.

This comes at the cost of the development of our sense of self-worth. As child of NP parents notice this, we’re taken by an anger, a strong desire to put up distance from NP and at the same time the utter panic of not being able to do it, being triggered when we get a message or a visit by NP. It's also very interesting to see how Soren and Claudia developed these issues in very distinct ways, but both triggered by being raised as someone who most likely is a NP.

(look at him defying the idea that magic- the very craft of Viren, the sole identity of Claudia - is something all-positive to be ever-cherished)

Growing up, we learn that our mood revolves around our NP, and no matter what we do, we know we’ll never get the approval or even the sympathy of the NP. They carry the room with them, their needs, ideas and wants must always be a priority, even if it means dragging the house down.

I’ll quote this:

“Until they have a need that’s being met.”

And here my Soren dam cracked in s4, and my heart races and my breath catches for a fictional little boy.

You should stop if you don’t want Spoilers of S4.

-

I had a really REALLY REALLY hard time when Soren finds Claudia and I anticipated that he would eventually find out Viren was alive, but I honestly wasn’t ready for his talk with Claudia, and I also have a few cents to spare.

Claudia tells Soren that “Humans understand suffering because it goes back over generations.”

And Soren is trying to his deep, beautiful, bright core to break this cycle of resentment, violence and remorse. (mygod he’s so precious god help me)

Then, Claudia comes in with the (involuntary/naturalized) family blackmail.

“Without magic you would be dead. Without dad’s magic.”

The guilty trip, being indebted, being trapped in the cycle, but we want out, and to hell with what we owe. We owe them nothing, because they took our sense of self and we build it from the entangled emotional mess that it is our heart.

I can see his face looking up at the image of his until-then deceased parent, I think I will carry this for a long while because I had no idea how it would affect me, but the fact is that more than once, a child of a NP parent will think of how things will be by the time the NP is “gone for good”.

I give zero fucks if people think this is ungrateful, spiteful, selfish, mean, cruel, but the fact is that being stripped of your self-steem and of the ability to grow to the things you love, to grow to life, is the spiteful, selfish and mean thing.

When he tells Claudia that they don’t have to do what Viren wants, he’s expressing a well-known mixture of pain, guilt and relief by thinking the NP is dead.

They aren’t around anymore, the weight of their impossible standards are over, we are free from their grasp, we can pursue our passions, we can thrive in our relationships with people from out of our blood relatives circle. If it seems exaggerated, it’s because these are all things that the NP meet with cynicism. There is “no life, no real friends, nothing can replace your family”. And I say that’s bullshit.

Whereas I have relatives that I truly love, I have friends who have provided growth, patience, love and support, we have learned from each other, we have fought and forgive, we give each other space when needed, we are not seen as an extension of their self, we can be a proper person.

Can you understand how much this means to Soren? How much he thrives by being around Callum, whom is endlessly curious about magic but at the same time wary of it, by finding purpose in protecting Ezran and by fighting alongside Rayla. Soren knows and feels how he changed, he’s more confident to trust in his sense with animals (this is so beautiful too, I can’t even), and he is smart, he has such wisdom, and this is shown since s1.

I never understood people who treat him as a dumb annoying comic relief. He is the very soul of the changes that need to happen in the conflict between Xadia and Katolis, and I only hope that Viren eats an entire humble pie so he proves he’s not actually a NP and that he acts the way he does out of pure desperation and hubris.

I truly hope Viren sees his lovely, smart and incredible boy for what he really is, and not as an extension of his hurt self.

#ugh my heart #soren #this turned out longer than i expected #my boy #my meow meow #writing this made me a bit sick #I just want to roll him in a blanket and tell him stories #please protect him #tdp spoilers #tdp season 4 spoilers #tdp #claudia #callum #rayla #viren #ezran #the dragon prince

[yes-i-would-like-to-be-stabbed]

The Haunting of Sheffield

In the remote village of Sheffield, nestled deep within the mist-covered woods, a woman named Elizabeth carried the weight of her family's ancient duty. For generations, her ancestors had safeguarded the villagers from a malevolent spirit that lurked in the shadows, preying on the unsuspecting.

Elizabeth's grandmother had been the guardian of the ritual, passing down its secrets and significance to her granddaughter. As the village's appointed protector, Elizabeth took up the mantle, knowing the perilous path she was about to tread.

The ritual, performed in the heart of the Whispering Grove, was a delicate tapestry of intricate steps and incantations. Elizabeth immersed herself in its teachings, committing each word and movement to memory. The villagers held their breath as the young woman embraced her destiny, their hopes resting on her shoulders.

However, fate can be a fickle companion. One evening, as Elizabeth engaged in the sacred rite, she found herself unintentionally exposed. Ben, a skeptical and envious resident, stumbled upon the scene, his eyes widened with disbelief and dread.

A mixture of fear and paranoia gripped Ben's heart, twisting his perception of reality. Driven by his own insecurities, he convinced himself that Elizabeth's actions were born of dark sorcery. Fueling the flames of suspicion, he spread malicious rumors throughout Sheffield, sowing the seeds of doubt and fear.

The once-close-knit community now regarded Elizabeth with suspicion, their trust waning under the weight of uncertainty. Whispers of witchcraft echoed through the streets, painting her as the malevolent force they sought to eradicate.

The villagers, blinded by their collective terror, turned to mob mentality as their guiding light. They set aflame the grand barn that Elizabeth and her family hid in, which stood proudly on the outskirts of Sheffield. The crackling flames illuminated the night sky, casting long shadows of destruction.

Elizabeth, caught in the midst of the chaos, found herself facing an unyielding judgment. Accused of witchcraft and orchestrating the village's suffering, she was stripped of her rights, her voice silenced by the clamor of fear. The solemn noose tightened around her slender neck, the weight of injustice suffocating her last desperate pleas for mercy.

As Elizabeth's life force slipped away, a chilling realization dawned upon the villagers. Their supposed protector had been innocent all along. But it was too late—the irreversible damage had been done.

Unbeknownst to them, the malevolent spirit that plagued Sheffield sensed Elizabeth's innocence. It witnessed the injustice of her demise and the shattered bonds of trust that once held the village together. In an ironic twist of fate, the spirit merged with her departing soul, granting her a chance at redemption and revenge.

Elizabeth's lifeless body was laid to rest in an unmarked grave, her spirit descending into the depths of the earth. But instead of finding solace in the embrace of death, she became a vessel, possessed by the very entity she had fought against.

Sheffield, now plagued by a darkness it could not comprehend, experienced a series of unexplainable phenomena. Shadows danced along the village streets, whispers of discontent filled the air, and the stench of despair clung to every corner. The once-thriving community transformed into a desolate wasteland, its heart now a breeding ground for vengeance.

Elizabeth, consumed by the spirit's malevolence, emerged from the depths of the earth—a ghostly apparition wreathed in ethereal mist. Her eyes, once brimming with compassion, now glowed with an otherworldly light, fueled by an insatiable hunger for revenge.

Sheffield's inhabitants soon discovered that their judgment and cruelty had only stoked the flames of Elizabeth's wrath. The villagers who had condemned her to a gruesome death now found themselves the targets of her vengeful spirit. Night after night, the once-innocent villagers were plagued by terrifying visions and unrelenting nightmares.

Sleep became a torment, as Elizabeth's spectral presence invaded their dreams. She whispered malevolent incantations into their subconscious, forcing them to relive their darkest fears and deepest regrets. No one was spared from her wrath.

The once-joyful laughter that had echoed through Sheffield's streets was replaced by the anguished screams of those tormented by their own guilt. Madness gripped the villagers as their minds unraveled under the relentless assault of Elizabeth's vengeance.

No longer a place of warmth and community, Sheffield turned into a ghost town, its remaining inhabitants too terrified to venture out. The homes that were once filled with life now stood as empty shells, haunted by the echoes of their former occupants.

The spirit of Elizabeth, now devoid of any semblance of humanity, grew stronger with each soul she claimed. Her ethereal form moved with unnatural swiftness, gliding through the abandoned streets, her presence marked only by the chilling gusts of wind and the flickering streetlights that cast eerie shadows.

Those who had witnessed her execution, plagued by guilt and remorse, hid in fear, knowing that their own demise was imminent. They tried to seek redemption, to make amends for their part in Elizabeth's tragic fate, but it was too late. The spirit showed no mercy, exacting her revenge with ruthless determination.

Rumors spread among the surrounding towns of Sheffield's cursed state. Travelers avoided the once-prosperous village, recognizing it as a place steeped in darkness and sorrow. It became a cautionary tale, whispered in hushed tones, a grim reminder of the consequences of blind judgment and collective hysteria.

Years turned into decades, and Sheffield remained a forsaken place, trapped in the clutches of Elizabeth's vengeful spirit. Nature reclaimed the abandoned structures, slowly erasing any trace of the village's former glory. The land itself seemed to bear the weight of the curse, forever scarred by the sins committed within its boundaries.

And so, the tale of Sheffield and its ill-fated residents faded into legend—a chilling reminder of the irreversible consequences of mob mentality and the destructive power of unfounded accusations. Elizabeth's spirit lingered in the shadows, her revenge complete, her existence forever tied to the tragic history of Sheffield.

To this day, those brave enough to venture near the desolate ruins of Sheffield claim to hear the faint whispers of the past carried on the wind—a haunting melody of regret and despair. The spirit of Elizabeth, forever trapped in her twisted quest for retribution, serves as a chilling reminder that in the face of darkness, it is not only the accused who suffer, but the accusers themselves who are consumed by their own fears and demons.

#slasher oc #my oc #oc #slashers #slasher #horror #supernatural #ghost #revenge #short #story #short story #original #content #original content #pls read #i worked hard on this

[celesteskiess]

(1) whispers of enchantment and shadows

pairing: hongjoong x reader/oc

fandom: ateez

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: when a pirate's arrival shatters trust, Lyra discovers a wounded boy on the forbidden shore, prompting a journey that challenges her kindness against past fears

a/n: hii im rain^^ this is my first ever fic on ateez so pls be nice hihi. decided to go with an oc as i felt like that fit in the most with the story i was trying to tell. feel free to imagine yourself in her position. as of right now the only warnings for this fic is mild violence. hope u guys enjoy ♡

ch1 under the streets of heaven

As the moonlight bathed the gathering in it silvery glow, Lyra’s words lingered in the air like the softest of melodies, a reminder of the delicate balance between magic and reality, and the importance of protecting the realms of the mystical from the world of humans. 

After the storytelling lesson, Lyra found herself sitting beside a glistening pond, its waters reflecting the moonlight like a thousand sparkling diamonds. Nearby, Selene, a water fairy with translucent wings, flitted gracefully among the water lilies. 

“Selene,” Lyra called softly, her voice carrying the weight of the tale she had just shared. Selene turned her head, her eyes holding a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Do you ever wonder about the humans? About the world they live in?”.

Selene alighted on a lily pad, her features pensive. “Sometimes, I do,” she replied. “I’ve heard tales of their cities, their inventions, and their vast landscapes. It’s hard not to be curious about a world so different from ours.”

Lyra sighed, her wings fluttering in a restless manner. “But you’ve also heard the stories of how they’ve altered their landscapes without thought for the consequences. How their desire for power and wealth has led to destruction and suffering.”

Selene nodded solemnly. “Yes, I have. It’s true that their actions often bring harm to the very world they inhabit. But not all humans are like that, Lyra. Some have kind hearts and seek to protect the beauty of nature.”

Lyra’s gaze was fixed on the moon’s reflection in the water, her thoughts deep and contemplative. “I know that’s true, Selene. I know that there are humans who would appreciate the enchantment of our world. But can we really trust that their influence won’t lead to chaos?”

Selene fluttered her wings and floated over to Lyra, her presence reassuring. “It’s a delicate balance, I admit. Our world is fragile, and the humans’ actions can have far-reaching consequences. But what if, just what if, there was a way for us to share the beauty of our world with them? To show them the magic that exists here, in the hopes that they might become our allies in preserving it?”

Lyra looked at Selene, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “That’s a beautiful thought, Selene. But it’s also a risky one. We’ve seen the damage that can come from human interference. How can we be sure that they won’t exploit our world for their own gain?”

Selene gently placed a dewdrop-covered hand on Lyra’s shoulder. “I don’t have all the answers, Lyra. But I believe in the power of friendship and understanding. If we could find a way to communicate with those humans who genuinely care about the environment, maybe we could work together to protect our world.”

Lyra considered Selene’s words, her heart torn between caution and the possibility of a better future. As the moon continued its slow journey across the sky, casting its silvery glow over the pond, the two friends sat together, their thoughts mingling like ripples on the water’s surface. In that moment, they were united by their love for their enchanted realm, their friendship, and the dream of a world where fairies and humans could coexist in harmony. 

-

In the heart of the Enchanted Woods, a vibrant community of fairies thrived, each with their own unique powers and abilities. Beyond Lyra and Selene, there were fairies like Carina, whose fiery spirit could conjure flames that danced in hues of crimson and gold. Shayla, the weather fairy, possessed the power to summon storms and gentle rains alike, nurturing the land with her ever-changing moods. 

These fairies, united by a shared bond with nature, lived together in harmony within the confines of the Luminous Glade. This magical realm was alive with the whispers of ancient trees, the songs of hidden brooks, and the shimmering dance of fireflies. In this ethereal world, diversity was cherished, and the fairies’ powers complemented each other in ways that brought balance to the delicate ecosystems they protected. 

At the heart of the Luminous Glade was the Fairy Court, a gathering of wise and respected fairies who helped govern the community and make important decisions. The Court was led by King Thalor, a regal figure whose aura radiated both wisdom and strength. Alongside him was his daughter, Princess Elvenia, a beacon of light whose gentle yet powerful presence reminded all fairies of their responsibility to protect and nurture their world. 

The fairies’ decision-making process was unique, guided by a deep respect for nature and the interconnectedness of all living things. In the middle of the Glade stood the Tree of Voices, an ancient oak whose branches shimmered with ethereal light. When important decisions were to be made, fairies would gather around the tree, allowing its magical energy to guide their discussions. The tree would resonate with the emotions and thoughts of each fairy, creating a harmonious exchange of ideas. 

One day, as whispers of change began to stir in the Glade, the fairies gathered beneath the Tree of Voices. King Thalor’s voice carried through the air as he addressed the assembly. “Dear fairies, our world is a sanctuary of magic and wonder, a realm woven from the threads of nature’s beauty. As our powers intertwine and our strengths combine, we must decide whether to extend a hand of friendship to those humans who seek to understand and protect our world.”

Lyra, Selene, Carina, and Shayla exchanged glances, each representing a different perspective on this delicate matter. As they spoke, their powers resonated with the Tree of Voices, weaving a tapestry of thoughts that reflected their shared concerns and aspirations. 

“We must remain cautious,” Lyra cautioned, her voice soft yet resolute. “The world of humans has brought both wonder and destruction. We should ensure that any interaction we have with them is carefully considered, with the utmost respect for the balance of our realm.”

Selene nodded in agreement. “I believe in the potential for harmony between our worlds. But we must approach this with open hearts and the wisdom to discern those who truly care from those who seek to exploit.”

Carina’s fiery spirit ignited as she spoke passionately. “Our powers are gifts that can inspire and protect. If we can teach humans to harness their abilities for good, we may pave a path to coexistence.”

Shayla’s voice echoed like a distant storm. “Nature’s rhythms are sacred. Let us remember that even as we share our world’s magic, we must always honour it’s delicate balance.”

As the fairies’ thoughts intertwined, their decision grew clearer. King Thalor nodded, his eyes filled with pride for the diverse voices that had come together in harmony. “Then let our actions be guided by both caution and hope. Let us seek those humans who hold reverence for the natural world and are willing to lear from our ancient wisdom.”

And so, the fairies of the Luminous Glade embarked on a journey to find allies among humans, guided by the lessons of their past and the dreams of a future where the realms of magic and reality could coexist in harmony. With each step, they carried the legacy of their world, the powers of their beings, and the enduring belief that through unity and understanding, even the most delicate of dreams could become reality. 

-

With the decision made to cautiously welcome humans into their realm, a sense of anticipation filled the air in the Luminous Glade. Fairies buzzed with a mix of hope and trepidation, while Lyra couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement for the unknown that lay ahead. 

The sun's rays filtered through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor as Lyra and her friends prepared to receive the human visitors. The air was charged with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity, and Lyra could see the reflection of her own feelings mirrored in the eyes of her fellow fairies. 

But as the hours stretched on, the anticipation turned to unease. The humans hadn't arrived as expected, and the sun began its descent towards the horizon. Just as uncertainty began to take hold, a rustling sound reached Lyra's ears, causing her to turn her attention towards the edge of the glade. 

Emerging from the shadows of the trees, a small band of pirates appeared, their clothing tattered and their eyes gleaming with greed. Lyra's heart sank as the truth became clear—the humans they'd hoped to meet were not the allies they had envisioned. These pirates had heard of the fairies' magic and sought to claim it for their own. 

The leader of the pirates, a rugged figure with a twisted grin, stepped forward. "So, these are the little magical creatures we've heard so much about, eh? Seems like we've stumbled upon quite the treasure." 

Lyra exchanged a quick glance with her friends, her eyes locking with Selene's. The tension in the air was palpable, and Lyra knew that they had to protect their realm from those who sought to exploit it. 

The pirates' intentions were crystal clear as they advanced, their eyes gleaming with malice. Without a word, Carina stepped forward, her fiery power ignited. Flames danced along her fingertips as she summoned her magic, her gaze unyielding. 

"You're not welcome here," Carina's voice was steady, a fierce determination burning in her eyes. 

But the pirates were undeterred, and the clash that followed was fierce and swift. Selene's watery tendrils lashed out, attempting to bind the pirates and quell their advances, while Shayla summoned winds that howled and raged. The forest itself seemed to rise in defence of its fairy guardians, as vines snaked out from the undergrowth to ensnare the pirates' feet. 

Amidst the chaos, Lyra's heart raced, her own power coursing through her veins as she leaped into the fray. Yet, despite their efforts, the pirates proved to be formidable foes, their weapons and cunning giving them an edge. 

In a desperate bid to protect her friends, Carina unleashed a torrent of flames, sending a wall of fire crashing towards the pirates. The searing heat and blinding light halted the pirates' advance, and they screamed in pain as they stumbled back. 

But victory was not to be theirs that day. The pirates managed to retreat into the depths of the forest, nursing their wounds and nursing their wrath. The fairies watched them disappear into the shadows, their eyes filled with a mixture of relief and resolve. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Luminous Glade, Lyra and her friends gathered to tend to their own wounds. Their realm had been tested, their trust shattered, and yet, their unity remained unbroken. The encounter had shown them the importance of their caution, the value of their bonds, and the need to protect their world from those who would seek to harm it. 

And as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Lyra gazed up with a sense of renewed determination, her heart filled with hope that even in the face of adversity, the magic of their realm would endure.

-

Years flowed like the gentle stream that wound its way through the Enchanted Woods, carrying with them a sense of wary watchfulness. The fairies of the Luminous Glade had grown more cautious, their once hopeful hearts now tempered by a deep-rooted fear of humans. Whispers of danger, fueled by the memory of the pirate encounter, had woven their way into the very fabric of their existence. 

Yet life continued in the depths of the forest, and on this particular day, a sense of tranquility hung in the air. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a mosaic of shadows on the forest floor. As Lyra walked along the familiar paths, she passed by friends who greeted her with nods and smiles, their wings shimmering in the dappled light. 

Selene was tending to a crystal-clear brook, the water tinkling softly as it flowed over polished stones. "Lyra," she greeted, her voice a gentle melody, "have you felt the breeze today? It carries a sense of calm." 

Lyra nodded in agreement, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. "Indeed, Selene. The breeze whispers secrets of the world beyond, reminding us of its beauty." 

Further along, she encountered Carina, her fiery aura a stark contrast to the cool shade of the trees. "Lyra," she called, her voice tinged with both warmth and determination, "remember to be cautious in these times. Our magic is precious, and we must protect it.”

"I know, Carina," Lyra replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "But I also remember a time when we thought humans could be allies. It's a difficult balance.”

As the day wore on, Lyra found myself drawn to a massive oak tree towards the outskirts of the glade. Its gnarled branches reached skyward, as if yearning to touch the heavens. Lyra settled beneath its sheltering branches, feeling the cool grass beneath her and the gentle pulse of the earth. 

Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, allowing the magic of the Enchanted Woods to flow through her. The soft rustling of leaves above her seemed like a chorus of whispers, each one carrying a message of the world's hidden wonders. The breeze wrapped around her, carrying the scent of blossoms and the promise of adventure. 

In that moment, Lyra felt a surge of power coursing through her veins. It was a connection to the ancient magic that bound us all, the very essence of the Enchanted Woods that flowed through every living thing. Her wings trembled with anticipation, and as she stretched them out, they glowed with a soft light that mirrored the energy that flowed within her. 

Amidst the whispers of leaves and the rustling of creatures, Lyra realised that while fear had seeped into the hearts of her fellow fairies, the magic of our realm remained steadfast. The Enchanted Woods were a realm of wonder, of delicate balance, and of unity with nature. As long as the fairies remained true to these principles, the magic would endure, waiting to be discovered by those who truly understood its significance. 

And so, Lyra sat beneath the ancient oak, her heart a mixture of caution and hope, knowing that even in the face of fear, the enchantment of their world persisted, waiting to be shared with those who could see its beauty beyond the shadows of doubt. 

#ateez #hongjoong #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #pirate #ateez fanfic #fanfic #whispers of enchantment and shadows

[burning-fcols]

Seviathan was rather looking forward to being done with his duties for the day. Quincy was no doubt going to show up and while he shouldn't be nearly as excited about that as he effectively is, he justifies it with wanting to see how attached the owlet is to him now that valentine's day has come around. His parents had been in discussion with another of the nobles' families for a contract for a few months already and while he did enjoy the girl's company for their similar tastes in entertainment, both of them knew actual romantic love was unlikely to blossom. Seviathan was perfectly fine with that, but today proved a fine occasion to implement more of his plans for the owlet. How would he look, holding whatever gifts he'd come to bear yet happily hopeful expression consumed with those big, beautiful tears he cried whenever something got too much for him. Yes, today was going to be a wonderful time~ || Seviathan to Quincy || he was looking forward to the attention but it was too wholesome so he made it awful instead and i can't wait to write all of it out— xD - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ᴡᴏʀʟᴅʟʏ-ᴅɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛʏ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 This is the first valentine's day in Quincy's life that has mattered... Every year, the holiday would come around to serve as a cruel reminder that he was unloved— as if he NEEDED any more of those —but truthfully, even that was of little consequence. Quincy so accustomed to the heaviness in his chest that it would feel odd to take a breath without it weighing him down. Watching as others engaged in new courtships, celebrated ones long-withstanding, or were arranged into beneficial agreements... It was but background noise to the insecurities already frolicking around in the owlet's mind. Tossing the mangled remains of wilted roses in celebration of a feeling that needed not a single day, but could be suffered ALL YEAR ROUND.

Today, however, is different. Today, Quincy is in love... Not only that, but he is loved in return. Why else would Seviathan direct so much time and energy at someone like him? Surely there are more worthy conquests. Yet QUINCY is the one being held in those unrelenting arms ( as if anyone else doing so would be a worse sin than any other committed in Hell ) , being gazed at by eyes so sharp Quincy can feel them cut with merely a glance. Dissecting him, pulling him apart to reveal whatever lies beneath... A vulnerability Quincy REVELS in, knowing it's not all pretty.

Most of it is likely very ugly... Yet Sev wants him to stay, regardless.

A mercy that unmatched deserves only the BEST gift on their first— and hopefully not last, foolish as Quincy feels at thinking into their future —Valentine's day. Cliché as he knows it is, there's a giddiness buzzing beneath his feathers as he approaches his boyfriend's lover's home. A mixture of nervousness and elation at the opportunity to feel this unique type of anxiety.

Forgetting in his eagerness that he could use magic to ease his burden and have his gift float beside him ( he may not be the strongest when it comes to spells, but levitation is hardly strenuous ) in his hold lies a large plant. Potted so it may continue to thrive— Quincy aghast at thought of gifting Sev with flora cut down in their prime —it had taken no shortage of effort to procure the rare and poisonous plant. One that he knows Sev has been lacking in his collection. Despite how much he neglects to ACT like it, Quincy comes from a family with its own fair share of pull. So procuring the specimen had been… difficult ( for him, specifically ) but doable.

Finally arriving at Sev's, it isn't until the other man is in sight that Quincy experiences a familiar sinking sensation in his stomach. Perfect present suddenly feeling like not nearly enough when in the presence of the man it is for. Swallowing his bout of nerves, Quincy flashes a sincere but shaky smile. The blush in his face pairing with the unease of his posture in a way only Seviathan can entice within him.

Peeking out from the side of the unwieldy plant, ❛ ear tufts ❜ sheepishly rest back against his head, ❝ H-Happy Valentine's day, Sev! I um, heh— I got you a gift... ❞ He lamely begins, face flushing brighter at stating the obvious. Clearing his throat, he nods his head to the plant in his hold, ❝ You have such an— impressive collection of plants and I wanted to help contribute. I noticed you didn't have this one yet and I thought you might... want to? Heheh... ❞

Please, please, PLEASE let Sev like his gift. 「 ☆ 」

#(( *vibrates in EXCITE* )) #(( tfw Quincy feels confident in his choice until he's actually Around His Boyfriend and then he's suddenly Craving Approval and— #—Second-Guessing everything )) #burning-fcols #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʟᴜᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ’ᴍ ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Quincy IC 」 #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ; ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴜᴘ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴜᴛꜱ ❞ ◌ ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ ᴀᴜ ¦ 「 Quincy 」 #worldly-diversity #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʀᴏꜱᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴏʀɴꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Seviathan 」 #♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪ'ᴍ ʙᴇɢɢɪɴ' ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛʟʏ; ɪ'ᴍ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴋɴᴇᴇꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Quincy and Seviathan 」 #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱʙᴇʜᴀᴠᴇ? ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」 #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ— ❞ ¦ 「 Queue 」

[chickensarentcheap]

In Too Deep- Chapter Three

Title: THREE MONTHS LATER

Warnings: a sprinkle of profanity, mentions of sociopathic behaviour, depression, anxiety, forced drug use, child abandonment.

Do not proceed if any of these things even remotely trigger you.  Read with caution.  This fic does -and will- contain dark and troubling themes.

Tagging:   @tragiclyhip, @youflickedtooharddamnit, @secretaryunpaid, @residentdormouse, @ninjasawakenedmystar, @presidentlokis-hornyhelmet, @starryeyes2000,  @munstysmind, @mostly-marvel-musings, @arrthurpendragon, @ocappreciationtag, @occommunity​

Tag list is: OPEN

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41822868/chapters/106769604

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, USA

The restaurant sits in the heart of the south side of the city; a quaint Italian place known for its homemade gelato and cannolis and award winning pasta dishes. And they opt to sit on the patio; a table for two tucked away from other diners. Things to discuss that don’t need to be overheard; personal struggles and mental health issues and the battles with the monsters that Spiderhead have left behind.

“It’s kind of all sinking in now, don’t you think?” Mark settles into the chair across from her, nodding his thanks to the waitress that lays cutlery, menus , and pitcher of ice water on the table and then quickly departs. “How real this all is. The fact that you actually have a human being inside of you.”

“A little too real if you ask me.”

Maizie’s mind wanders to that black and white photo that sits in her purse; a screenshot taken of the barely three month old fetus that continues to thrive and grow inside of her. Throughout the entire twenty minute exam, she’d only glanced at the screen once; curiosity getting the better of her when the technician pointed out the heart beat. It hadn’t been for lack of caring or interest; the life inside of her the only thing left to remember the last time she’d felt alive. But it’s the pain that accompanies the reality of her situation; a profound mixture of emotions that range from overwhelming grief to intense rage.

This isn’t the life she expected; a single mother ostracized from family and friends and mourning the loss of only the second man she’s ever loved. A love quite unlike the first she’d experienced; when she’d been a teenage girl smitten with her high school sweetheart and had truly believed he was her ‘be all and end all’. Marrying while they were still in college; young and inexperienced and not knowing a life that existed outside of each other. Ben had been a good man; beautiful and sweet and immensely talented and brilliant. Loyal and faithful and determined to be the best husband he could possibly be; longing to be an excellent provider and protector and to one day become father. Their story had been one of young love; both inexperienced in the ways of committed relationships and the hard work it took to keep things going. Neither ever having spent time with another lover; forming an intimate bond based solely on the knowledge of one another’s bodies and no experiences to draw comparisons on. It had been a comfortable love above all else; two people that had known each other since they were fourteen years old and had seen one another grow both physically and emotionally. Often seeming more like old friends as opposed to spouses and soul mates.

The second had been an intense and powerful love; one that routinely takes your breath away and has the capacity to bring you to your knees. So all encompassing and overwhelming that it lives up to the old adage of ‘love is blind’; a sexual and intellectual connection that os so strong it enables you to see past all of their faults. Desperately holding on to every good moment despite them being overshadowed by the bad; convinced you can somehow change them if you’re just given a little more time and they practice a little more patience and tolerance.

The entire thing had been toxic in so many ways. Two people suffering from tragic events in their past; abandonment issues that left them often fearful and distrusting of the outside world and unable to form healthy relationships or respect the boundaries of others. Quickly and easily becoming codependent; needing their ‘fix’ of one another in order to get themselves through another day. Possessing a lustful and desperate yearning unlike anything either have ever experienced; using one another’s bodies as forms of both pleasure and escape.

It had been dangerous love; turning a normally smart and cautious woman into a neurotic and possessive mess. Somehow able to see past his glaring narcissistic tendencies; becoming both complacent and complicit to his sociopathic behaviour and the clear disregard for the feelings and needs of others. She believed that he DID love her; in his own unique and unhealthy way. And she hated those nights when he’d shun her or turn her away; finding fault in something she’d said or done and needing to punish her for it. Let her ‘know her place’ for even thinking of challenging or questioning him. And she’d lie awake for hours ; wondering whether or not she was -or could ever be- enough for him.

Logically she’d known the entire thing was a disaster; he would -and could- never love, adore, and worship her in the way she wanted him to. He had expressed the desire to be that person for her; successfully weaning himself off the incredibly high doses of Luvactin and admitting to feeling ‘something’ without its influence. He couldn’t explain exactly what he was experiencing; not even with the help of Verbaluce. But he had assured her that he did feel those things for her, and he wanted to be with her; explore their chance at a future and even start a family IF he could ever be satisfied with putting his work second.

He’d been willing to do so; declaring that even if he couldn’t genuinely feel the depth of love she expected him to, he could learn how to express and ‘act’ the part. And while that admitting had left her feeling disheartened, she’d been unwilling to pull the plug; she could learn to accept him for who he was and not who she expected him to be. Isn’t that what love was about, after all? Accepting someone ‘as is’ and not forcing them to change and become an entirely different person? Surely others had and were going through the same thing; sharing a life with someone that was emotionally absent and couldn’t fulfil every single one of their needs. She could live with him loving in his own way; he could study the relationships of those around him and learn how to mimic their reactions and repeat their words. That could be enough. Couldn’t it?

It had all been so dark and troubling; the realization that she could ever fall in love and stay in love with someone like him. That she’d been so willing to sacrifice her morals and her own needs and desires just to have him in her life. Even when things started to unravel professionally speaking, she’d been unable to break away; Aiding and abetting his experiments on others and justifying it all with the promise that he’d given her the day he’d offered her the job. Enamoured by the chance at being part of something bigger and better and the possibility of having a hand in healing and changing the world. She’d been unable to leave; instead encouraging and enabling his behaviour and allowing it to not only continue, but thrive. She loved him after all; the first person to truly make her feel alive since her husband’s death. Someone who was willing to look past all of her faults and her painful past and give her the opportunity of a lifetime in many ways. A dream career while being made to feel beautiful and wanted and needed.

******

“The offer still stands, you know,” Mark says, as he fills their waiting glasses with water. “About Cam and I taking the baby. Just for a little while. Until you sort things out. In your head.”

“I don’t think there’s a reason to resort to anything that drastic.” She lifts her drink to her lips and then pauses before taking a sip; eyes narrow in suspicion. “Do YOU?”

“I know you’re having a tough time. Coming to terms with it. It’s not like it happened under the best of circumstances with the best person. No wonder it’s really thrown you for a loop. And you’ve been dealing with a lot. Having a harder time accepting things than I am.”

The fallout from Spiderhead had been immediate and enormous. Someone had to be held responsible and punished for the crimes committed, and they’d been the ones to completely bear the brunt in Steve’s absence. The moment the sordid details of what had transpired behind the penitentiary’s  closed doors surfaced, devastated family and friends had been quick to sever all ties. While it had been common societal knowledge that drug experiments were being performed on willing participants, no one had expected the often nightmarish results. To the outside looking in, Spiderhead had been a utopia; no bars or guards, inmates allowed to roam freely and socialize, activities provided to ward off boredom, and a menu that rivalled many a five star restaurant. Many times they’d heard that the prisoners were being treated TOO well; given luxuries and responsibilities that hard working FREE citizens didn’t get to partake in. But what went on inside had been another story all together; a twisted and wicked web of lies and manipulation all in the name of control.

But it had been real events surrounding Heather’s death that had been the ultimate nail in the coffin; their testimony under oath completely destroying Steve’s lies to her mother and siblings that it had been a suicide. And because they hadn’t come forward with the truth and instead -with silence- backed up his claims, they were named as co-conspirators; quickly shamed and villainized in both the media and the courts. In the end only escaping jail time of their own because Jeff and Lizzie had testified on their behalf; understanding that they'd been lured by free pretences and then acted purely under duress. They didn’t want them to be severely punished; not for someone else’s deceit and misdoings.

“Things turned out a little better for you,” Maizie reminds her friend. “You were allowed to go back to work. You got another job in your field. I don’t get my nursing licence back for FIVE YEARS, Mark. I think that would bum anyone out.”

“But it turned out okay, right? I mean, you’re not wanting for anything. You’ve been getting that money. Every month. If you hadn’t found out about that AND had your licence taken away…”

It began only a week after the shuttering of Spiderhead; starting with an email claiming to be the executor of Steve’s estate who had found her contact information when going through some of Steve’s personal effects. Her new address in Chicago then tracked down through her own attorney; a courier showing up just days later with a note from an offshore lawyer in charge of diving assets. As per Steve’s instructions, a sizeable chunk of money had already been donated to charitable organizations favouring children; the rest was to be disturbed to her. An initial payment of over a hundred grand followed by generous monthly deposits. She was to be taken care of, he had stressed; the one person who’d looked past his faults and eccentricities and had banished his loneliness. Perhaps he couldn’t love her the way she wanted him to, but he could show it in other ways; wanting her comfortable and secure in his absence.

“Money is good. Money is ALWAYS good. But believe me, I’d much rather be working than getting that money. Because if I was working…well…” Sighing, she drums her fingernails against the side of her water glass. The tears always seem to be there; every time she thinks of him or tries to speak of their time together. It had been far from a utopia, but it hadn’t been that horrible either; they’d shared a lot of quiet and affectionate moments and long, deep conversations behind closed doors. “...I can’t help but think of the alternative.”

“Look, I’m not going to pretend I understand why you’re still stuck in this deep, dark mourning process. Or who you’re stuck in it over. But…”

“A little harsh there, Mark. Don’t you think?”

“I think that it’s misguided and foolish and…”

“My life just didn’t fall apart professionally speaking. I lost someone. That I loved. That I STILL love.”

“I think if you really sat down and thought about what you felt for him, you’d realize that…”

“I know you were against it. Right from the start. When you figured out that something was going on between us. I know that you didn’t feel it was a good fit and that things were going to end up being a complete and utter disaster and…”

“And that’s exactly what happened. And it’s not that I was against it. I just felt you were jumping into things. That maybe you’d been lonely for so long that…”

“How many times are we going to have this conversation? You didn’t like us together. You thought it was a horrible decision; getting involved with Steve. And maybe you don’t understand why I felt…FEEL..the things I do, but they make sense to me.”

Mark arches an eyebrow. “They do?”

“You didn’t know Steve.”

“I didn’t know him? I worked with him…for him…for two years. I think I knew him pretty well. And you know what else I think? I think you don’t need to be reminded about just how screwed up he really was. Look what he was doing. At Spiderhead. Everything was for his own benefit. His own gain. It might have started out with somewhat rational expectations, but…”

“We went along with it, Mark. Even when things went right off the rails. It’s not like we fought back. We didn’t stand up for ourselves or for everyone else. We just let it go on. At some point you must have realized the whole ‘save the world’ bullshit was just that.”

“Not until it was too late. Not until…”

“We crossed a lot of lines. Way before Heather ever killed herself. We might not have played as big of a part in it all, but we stayed played a part. We had every opportunity to walk away. And we never did. For whatever reason.”

“There’s too few geniuses in the world. It was a dream job. Until it wasn’t anymore. Until it became a total nightmare. I wanted to work with someone like that. You wanted to sleep with them.”

“Oh please…” Giving a derisive snort, she sips at her ice water. “It’s not like I took the job because that was my primary motive. To sleep with the boss. And it was way more than that, okay? It wasn’t just sex. Far from it. Steve and I…”

“I just don’t get it. Of all the men in the world, why him? Why someone LIKE him? You could have anyone you want. Why did you pick him? Because he was the first person to show interest after Ben? Because he made you feel a little less lonely? Because he was rich and good looking and powerful and…”

“Those last three had nothing to do with it. Okay, maybe good looking WAS part of things…”

Mark smirks.

“But it wasn’t everything. Steve and I…I don’t know…I can’t explain it. I can’t sit here and tell you exactly when I felt it or WHAT I felt. I just knew that he was different. He was smart and well spoken and so calm and poised and…”

“Because he was always high on stuff. Because he was never acting like himself. His REAL self. You deserved better than that. Better than HIM.”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I do. But I DID love him,” she stresses. “I DO love him. And I don’t expect you to understand it. Or even sympathize. And you might have known ‘work Steve’ but I knew an entirely different side of him. One that he didn’t show too many people. Or ever got the chance to.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What side? What was different about it?”

“A lot of things. He was funny and sweet and he was always so gentle and patient with me. I brought my own messiness to things, and he never held it against me. When I got into a mood or I tried pushing him away, he didn’t take it personally. He knew what I was doing. And he wouldn’t let me do it. He didn’t just wash his hands of me and walk away. He made me feel like I was worth it. That I was worth fighting for . He was the first person that ever made me feel that way. And he was the first person after Ben to make me realize that I was still alive. That I may have lost a lot, but I still had a lot to give.”

“You want me to believe all that? This is Steve we’re talking about. He was unhinged and controlling and possessive and crazy as fuck. He was…”

“A sociopath. Yes, I know. I’m a nurse, Mark. I did rounds in the psych ward. I know what he was. But I also knew what he had the chance to be. And if we’d just had a little more time…”

“They don’t change, Maize. They don’t wake up one morning and they’re healed. It doesn’t work that way. He wasn’t going to get out of bed one day and be a totally different person. Yeah, you ARE a nurse. You know none of that is possible.”

“Nothing is ever impossible. If we’d just had more time and I’d been able to get through to him…”

“It wouldn’t have mattered how long you’d been together. It wouldn’t have mattered how long and how hard you loved him for. He wasn’t going to change. He was always going to be Steve. Maybe for a little while, he could fake it. He could be everything you wanted him to be. Say everything you wanted him to say. But it all would have been bullshit. And in the end he still would have been the same person and you would have gotten hurt and…”

“You don’t know that.”

“I DO know that. And deep down, so do you. And like I said, I don’t pretend to understand why you loved him or why you’re mourning the way you are. I will NEVER understand it. But you’re my friend. My BEST FRIEND. We got out of that place by sticking together. I’m not planning on going anywhere. So if you’re hoping to ditch me…”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of ditching you. I just…” Sighing, she chews pensively on her bottom lip. “...I just wish there’d been more time. Not more time for things at Spiderhead to continue. That was all way out of hand and it needed to stop and we did what we needed to do. But if we’d just had more time together…”

“While he was in jail? Because that’s where he would have ended up. If he’d survived. In jail.”

“But he didn’t.” She struggles to hold back the flood of threatening tears; hating the intensity of emotions that still haunt her. There’s never telling when they’ll tire of being held back; innocent moments and seemingly innocuous comments able to cause a breakdown. And she feels anxious and ashamed; aware of the other diners that intently watch her and whisper to their companions. “I know you don’t get it. Why I’m taking this all so hard. And part of me doesn’t understand it, either. But I lost someone, Mark. Someone I loved. And maybe that love didn’t make sense to you and maybe it would have turned out to be an epic disaster. But for a moment he was mine and I was his and everything seemed right.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Maize. I know it seems like I’m being harsh and…”

“Seems like it? You ARE being harsh. I know you have a huge hate on for Steve and you didn’t want us together, but man….”

“You were going to get hurt. Maybe it would have been okay for a month or two. Maybe it even would have been okay for a couple years. But eventually you would have gotten tired of living that way. Of never knowing if he was being genuine or not. He wasn’t capable of loving you. Not in the way you wanted him to. Or the way you deserved to be. Can you honestly tell me that would have been enough for you? That you could have taken him ‘as is’ and just dealt with it? For the rest of your life.”

“I would have learned how to. It would have been hard at first and I’m sure there would have been many times I wondered what the hell I was doing and why I was even doing it. It would have become familiar. Comfortable. It would have been our normal. It would have…”

“Normal?! What was normal about any of it? It wasn’t like he was just a bit odd and did some weird shit that you’ve had to learn how to look past. There was nothing normal. Steve wasn’t normal. Are you listening to yourself? Do you hear the things you’re saying?”

“I could have lived with it, Mark. I could have lived with HIM. He loved me. In his own way. And I would have learned how to deal with it and been accepting of it. But I didn’t get that chance, did I? I didn’t get a single second with him outside of Spiderhead. Aside from the occasional weekend on the mainland. You weren’t there. Behind closed doors. You didn’t know him like I did. You didn’t get to see those other parts of him.”

“Nothing could have made the bad side tolerable. You can’t tell me you would have been happy living like that. I know you think I’m overreacting. Or that I’m being way too harsh. But everything I’m saying is the truth. You deserved better than what he could ever give you. You deserved better than HIM.”

“Look, I appreciate you looking for me. Just like I appreciated it at Spiderhead. When we were there, you ALWAYS had my back and supported my decisions. And you always stuck by my side; even when I challenged Steve on things he was doing.”

“You know…” A grin tugs at the corners of Mark’s mouth. “...you were the only one who could ever do that. Stand up to him. At least successfully. A few times I thought for sure I’d come in the next day and you’d be gone. That you’d piss him off just enough to get the axe.”

“Steve never would have gotten rid of me. He liked having me around too much. He once said that he liked how I made think; maybe even a little too much at times. I think deep down he enjoyed it; a woman refusing to back down and not afraid to put him in his place.”

“You definitely could get away with things no one else could. Mind you, considering there’s a baby in you, it’s safe to say why he let you push the envelope. Must have been treating him pretty good. Behind closed doors.”

“I don’t think he had any complaints. At least not ones he brought up. When things were good, they were really, really, REALLY good. It was like nothing else existed outside the two of us; we could be exactly who we were meant to be. We could shut ourselves away from the outside world and just be Maizie and Steve. And he WAS different. He was thoughtful and sweet and was always trying to make me smile or laugh. He was attentive and patient and he was fun to be around. And maybe it was because he assumed that’s what men are like in relationships; he was merely giving me what he believed were realistic expectations. But it was good. It FELT good. It felt right.”

“And how would it have felt when it all came crashing down? When he got tired of playing a role? It wouldn’t have been pretty. And you know it.”

“I would have crossed that bridge when I got to it. Steve and I could have made things work. I KNOW we could have. But we never even got the opportunity. And now…”

Her voice once more trails off and her hands come to rest on either side of her stomach. She’d noticed it this morning; when she’d stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. A slight roundness that hadn’t been there before; the evidence of the life growing inside of her. And while easily hidden by her clothes, eventually it will be noticeable to everyone who glances her way; she’ll be unable to escape the congratulatory smiles and comments and the curious questions about when she’s due and what she’s having. And it’s all so bittersweet; having to go through the entire process alone and not having a partner to share the excitement and the nervousness with. And she’s both happy and terrified at the same time; excited at the prospect of being a mother, yet worried about the painful memories and loneliness and longing that her baby will bring about.

“Just remember, you’re not in this alone,” Mark reminds her; his tone transitioning from harsh and scolding to soft and reassuring. “Cam and I will be there. Every step of the way. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. And if you feel you’re not ready and you need us to take the baby for a bit…”

“I am not giving my baby away. Not even to you. Not even temporarily. I’ll be fine. I’ ve got six and a half months to go, and by the time they’re ready to be evicted, I’m sure I’ll feel a lot better about things. But right now? Right now it’s tough. REALLY tough. And I know you don’t understand why I’m so sad and why I miss him as much as I do, but at least give me the space to feel the things I do, okay? I have a right to feel them.”

“You do,” Mark agrees. “And I’m sorry; if I was too heavy handed. I just want you to realize you’re worth more than that. More than what he could give you. You deserved better. So much better. And one day, you’ll realize that too.”

“Maybe I will. But right now? Right now I miss him. A lot. And I wish he was here. I have his baby inside of me, Mark. I know you hate him. And you have every right to. But I AM carrying his child. And you talking about him like you are? It’s not making any of this any easier on me.”

Mark holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. But you know how much he gets to me; everything he put us through and everything he did to people. Once you start talking about him, it just sets me off. I don’t do it to upset you.”

“I know you don’t. But I am going through some real shit. I’m constantly nauseous and I’m not sleeping properly and I’m stressing out over everything under the sun. I’m hoping it’s just hormones. Some women just have a lot more than others and completely suffer from day one and keep suffering right until the bitter end . Others only go through hell the first trimester. I’m hoping I’m the latter.”

“I hope you’d take what I’m about to ask the wrong way, but…”

“Oh god, Mark. What now? How much more do I need to say? You’re not going to understand. Why I fell in love with Steve. Why I’m still in love with him. Why I can’t get over him. So…”

“No. It wasn’t anything like that. It was about the baby, actually.”

“Okay…”

“Do you think it’s hereditary? Sociopathy? It’s a mental illness, right? It’s something wrong in the brain. And I’ve looked into it a little bit and doctors are at odds at whether or not it can be passed down. Do you think it is? Do you think the baby could be the same way?”

“I can not believe you’d even ask me that. The baby isn’t even born yet. I have almost seven months to go. And you’re already worrying they’re going to be like their father? What the hell, Mark?”

“You have to admit that it’s concerning. That they could start showing signs of being that way. There’s well known cases; kids in grade school doing some pretty messed up shit and raising all kinds of alarms. You haven’t thought about that? That it could happen?”

“No. I haven’t. And you want to know why? Because I’ve been too busy worrying about whether my baby is going to be healthy or not. I just want to get them safely into the world. I can worry about anything else that might crop up AFTER they’re born. I can’t believe you’d even think about that, let alone say it.”

“I was just curious. How you would deal with it. If they DID turn out to be like him. It’s kind of sad, don’t you think? That it’s a possibility?”

“There’s also a possibility that they’ll end up being a genius. Hate him all you want, but he WAS a genius, Mark. He was insanely intelligent. And if that’s the part that my baby inherits from his father, I’ll be grateful. If it’s something else…I don’t know…” she shrugs. “...I’ll deal with it. Just like I dealt with Steve. But can I at least give birth first? Before you start condemning my kid? I know you hate their father, but…”

“I don’t hate him. I’ve never hated him. I felt sorry for him, if anything. Growing up like he did, being as troubled as he was. Is it any wonder he turned out like he did? Something had to go wrong while he was a little boy. For him to end up that way.”

“A lot of things can cause it. Maybe he was born that way. Maybe he inherited it from someone. Or maybe he was a product of his environment. His mother was only fifteen when she had him. His dad was almost twenty! That’s a little screwed up in itself. And when he was born his mom took off and his dad moved back in with his parents and they helped raise Steve. But they were old and could only help for so long and once their health started to decline, the dad started drinking and doing drugs…”

“I never knew any of this. And I worked with him a lot longer than you did.”

“He trusted me with things. In ways he didn’t trust anyone else. He had a lot of hurt inside of him. His mother never wanting him, never even making an attempt to meet him later on, his dad one day abandoning him at foster care. He grew up in the system; no one wanted the shy and awkward, insanely smart kid. And he was eight years old; he was looked over because people want babies or toddlers. I guess he never really got over it; in some ways he was still that hurt and lonely little boy desperate for someone to understand him. Love him.”

“And you gave him that.”

“I like to think so. I like to think he felt accepted and understood and loved. I hope he felt those things from me. Even if he felt them in his own way. And I know it sounds like I’m making excuses; coming up with ways to explain away the things he did and why he did them.”

Mark shakes his head. “Not excuses. Causes.”

“Can we not do this anymore?” Maizie hopefully inquires. “ Talk about him? Because it’s been really bad lately and if we keep talking about him like this, I’m going to have a complete meltdown. And it’s going to be crazy embarrassing. For both of us.”

Reaching across the table, Mark lays his head atop of hers; squeezing tightly as he flashes a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be okay. It’ll get better. A little bit each day.”

“But I’m always going to have a reminder. There’s always going to be part of Steve that lingers on. A little human being that’s going to make me think of their dad every time I look at them. And it just kind of sucks, you know? That he didn’t even get to know. Let alone get to be a part of things.”

“Do you think he would have wanted to be? A part of it?”

“I don’t know,” she admits with a shrug. “But I like to think so.”

****

An hour and a half later, they find themselves taking the long way back to Maizie’s apartment; sipping on iced chai lattes as they walk arm in arm. Chatting amicably and laughing at one another’s bad jokes and engaging in playful, lighthearted teasing. It’s comforting to have Mark around; the one person who knew exactly what kind of monsters were lingering in the dark corners of her mind. He often faces his own demons after all; the images of Heather’s bloody corpse lying at his feet and the guilt that eats away at him whenever he thinks of how willing and complacent he’d become to the experiments. All in the name of science and ‘saving the world’.

“I need to ask you a question,” he says, as he tosses his empty cup into the closest trash can. “About the money.”

“Whatever you need. Just give me an amount and I’ll make it happen.”

“No. Not that. I don’t need anything. It’s something else. That’s been bugging me since you got that letter. Something I can’t get out of my head.”

“We’re not going to launch into another episode of ‘let’s make Maizie feel like complete and utter shit for her life choices’ are we?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I think we’ve had enough of that today. And I’m not bringing this up to upset you. Like I said, it’s just sitting inside my brain. I’ve held off as long as I can and really need to just get rid of it.”

“Sounds mysterious. What’s it about?”

“Did you ever actually see this lawyer? The one that contacted you? About Steve’s estate?”

“You mean like a facetime or Zoom kind of thing? No. There never seemed to be a reason to.”

“You’ve never actually spoken to them? Even on the phone?”

“No need to speak to someone when email and text messaging exists. You know me, Mark. I HATE talking on the phone. I don’t even answer for the people I DO know. Everything that had to be taken care of and settled was done through different channels. That we both feel comfortable with.”

“Kind of strange, isn’t it? Not actually ever seeing the person.”

“He’s in Barbados. That’s where his practice is located. And it was all pretty cut and dry. It’s not like there was anyone to contest the will. It was just getting things handed out and calling it a day, really. Why? You find it weird?”

“Just a little. A will is pretty serious business. And that’s a lot of money that was handed over. It’s not just a couple hundred a month. Or even a couple grand. We’re talking into the tens of thousands. All that money and you just hand it over to some woman you’ve never met?”

“It was in Steve’s will. It was very particular and drawn out; what he wanted done with the money. All the lawyer had to do was follow it. Nothing complicated.”

“But don’t you find it weird that there even was a will? Maybe not a will itself, but the fact that you were in it? It’s not like you’d known Steve for that long. It’s not like you were living together or married or anything like that. If you had to put a number on it, how long would you say it was that things were considered serious? Between you guys?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’d been at Spiderhead for about a month before anything physical happened between us. And that was pretty innocent; just some kissing and making out. It never went past third base, as the kids would say. That took until about three months. Of knowing each other.”

“Which is pretty much when I figured out something was going on. And when was it you were together all the time? Where it was a nightly thing? Where you spent entire days together? OUTSIDE the lab?”

“Another two months after we first had sex.”

“So that’s three months. Out of eight. So things were only serious for about five?”

“I suppose so. We started talking about getting a place together on the mainland. Where we could run off to when we needed to get away from work. He brought up maybe getting married, having a family, giving a life together a shot.”

Mark arches a brow. “Steve brought that stuff up?”

“Like I told you, Mark. He loved me. In his own way. And maybe most of what he did and said was merely him doing what was expected., but there were times it felt more…real. I can’t explain it. But I felt it. When things were sincere.”

“You don’t find it a little bit weird that he’d put you in his will? After only five months of really being with you? Doesn’t that seem a little…hasty?”

“I guess it felt right to him. He was comfortable with me. He trusted me. And I guess he figured that if something ever happened, he at least knew that I’d be taken care of.”

“But that’s just the thing, Maize. It’s almost like he REALIZED that something was going to happen. Did he feel it somehow? That all hell was going to break loose? Did he ever talk about anything like that? Things going bad?”

She shakes her head. “We’d talk about how great it was going to be when all the drugs were a success and they finally hit the market. About how we’d change the world and make it a better place. And how the Nobel would be a shoe-in. There was never any doom and gloom. If there was one thing Steve was infinitely confident in, it was his work.”

“It just seems weird to me. That all of a sudden he went and changed his will. Right before everything went down. It’s almost like he knew he was on borrowed time.”

“I think you’re looking too deep into things. Steve was very detail oriented. Very organized. And having an up to date will? That’s a very Steve thing. He was always crossing every T and dotting every I. He was incredibly anal about making sure he had all his ducks in a row. So no; it’s not too far-fetched that he felt the need to re-do something as important as a will.”

“Something just doesn’t feel right about it. Something is just…off. The timing. It just seems like too much of a coincidence to be one.”

“I think you need to stop thinking so much.” Climbing onto the bottom step of the staircase that leads to her building’s front door, she turns to face her friend; hands coming to rest upon his shoulders. “Stop watching so many conspiracy videos on Youtube, okay? You keep devoting so much time to them, next thing you know you’ll be wearing a tin foil hat. And let’s not go all ‘tin foil hat crazy’, okay?”

“I’m being serious. Something ISN’T right. It just all seems too tidy. And the fact you’ve never actually seen this guy…this lawyer…”

“I’m not the first person to conduct legal business online. And I won't be the last. But here…” Rummaging through her purse, she snags her wallet and thumbs through it; finding a business card amidst the graveyard of receipts and forgotten grocery and task lists. “...take this. Look him up. Call him or email him. Do all the sleuthing you want. If it’s bothering you THIS bad…”

Plucking the card from her hand, he chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip as he studies the information. The pad of his thumb brushing across the raised, gold lettering before he tucks the item into the back pocket of his jeans. “Something just isn’t sitting right. It just seems too much of a coincidence to be one.”

“I think you need to lay off the caffeine. It’s always made you crazy paranoid. But if it would make you feel better, get in touch with the guy. Put your mind at ease. I know nothing I say will calm you down. Now…” Squeezing his shoulders, she leans down to peck his cheek. “...go home, Mark. Go home to that sexy man of yours. Crawl under the covers and have a cuddle. Or crawl under the covers and let him bang the shit out of you. Whatever you kids are into these days.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I usually do. Lie on the couch and feel sorry for myself while Maury Povich does paternity tests in the background. I don’t know…” She affectionately ruffles his hair. “...I think a nap sounds good. Not enough sleep in the world these days, it seems.”

“Growing a human being is tough, exhausting work. If you need anything…”

“I will call you,” she promises, and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for lunch. The bolognese was fabulous, but I could have done without the never ending stern talking to’s.”

“I’m just trying to help. Just trying to get you of this…funk…that you’re in. I mean, I get it. You’re in mourning. You lost someone that was important to you. But I think if you really sat back and reevaluated exactly who Steve was, you’d realize you didn’t lose that much. That you were never going to get what you wanted from him.”

“What I had was enough. I wanted HIM. And I had him. But not for long enough. I did love him, Mark. I DO love him. And it’s not for you to understand. Or to get on my ass about. It is what it is.”

“Just promise me you won’t shut yourself away. That you won’t give up on finding someone else. There’s a great guy out there somewhere, and you’ll never meet him if you don’t let go of the past and move on. And just so you know, I’d say that even if it wasn’t Steve we were talking about.”

“I’m not exactly the catch of the century. There’s a lot of damage. And it’s going to take a while to unpack it all and heal from it. If I ever do. And let’s face it, who is going to want to date a pregnant chick?”

“You’d be surprised. The right guy wouldn’t care.”

“It wouldn’t feel right. Dating while having someone else’s kid. And I’m going to get all fat and gross. Who wants that?”

“Hey, there’s a whole lot of people on the ‘net that are into that sort of thing. It’s a huge kink.”

“One I don’t want to feed into,” she laughs, then turns on her heel and heads up the stairs. Pausing briefly on the top landing when Mark calls to her; a hand brushing loose, red tresses from her eyes as she looks towards the street.

“Just remember you deserve better. And you WILL find it. You just have to be open to it. You’re going to have to let go, Maizie. Steve’s gone. And he’s never coming back.”

It still hurts to hear. And consider. That pang of loss that settles in your heart; bitter and angry and oh so lonely. There’s no rhyme or reason for it; falling in love with the worst possible person. And grief takes no prisoners; slowly eating away at you from the inside out.

*****

She’s exhausted by the time she gathers her mail from the assigned box in the lobby and takes the stairs to the second floor; bypassing a handful of tenants that have tried to get a little too close in the past. The trial had been well publicized; her face and name and even the smallest of l secrets and petty blemishes plastered throughout the media. In the court of public opinion, the verdict had been six one way, half a dozen the other. One side seeing her as a willing and equally malicious participant while the other viewed her as an innocent; an honest and hardworking woman from a good family sucked into a dark and tangled web and acting under duress.

The first couple of weeks in the building had been rough. Anonymous notes left taped to her door or stuck under the welcome mat; thinly veiled threats to ‘watch her step’ and declarations of hate and disgust. False accusations put into the leasing company; complaints about non-existent loud music and domestic disturbances. The handful of tenants who’d felt sorry for her and gone out of their way to welcome her had helped calm things down, and by the time the money from Steve’s will began flowing into the bank and she’d been able to purchase the unit outright, she started flying under the radar. More people started speaking to her in the elevator and lobby while others would simply make eye contact and nod at her in the laundry room. And male tenants began offering to do ‘odd jobs’ around the apartment; everything from changing light bulbs to painting walls to helping put furniture together. Naturally there wasn’t a shortage of those who wanted to take things further; viewing her as a vulnerable and lonely female that must be dying for some kind of physical contact and companionship. And those hopeful few were always left disappointed; unceremoniously kicked out of her place and warned to never show their faces again.

That’s when the ‘she’s a lesbian’ rumours began. And she vowed to let them continue; a small price to pay to live your life in relative peace.

She barely manages to slip her key into the lock when she hears movement from the apartment across the hall; the shuffling of feet followed by the rattling of the handle. The door squeaking partially open; warm, dark brown eyes observing her through the inch wide gap. Julianna is a common visitor at her place; all of nine years old and being raised by her wealthy, retired grandfather and much younger step-grandma. Desperate for attention and never knowing the gentle and loving touch of a doting mother or the companionship of a sibling.

“Miss Maizie! Miss Maizie!” The familiar voice excitedly calls out, and before she can react the little girl is rushing out into the hallway to greet her. A plastic container of baked goodies clasped tightly in one hand as both arms circle Maizie’s waist. “You’re finally home!”

“I just saw you a couple hours ago.” Taking Julianna’s face in her hands, she presses a kiss to the girl’s brow. “I wasn’t gone for THAT long.”

“It felt like forever. Marguerite and I made cookies. Your favourite! The ones with the white chocolate and the M and M’s in them!” It’s the closest she comes to having a maternal figure; the vapid and materialistic step-grandmother leaving the ‘paying attention’ to the housekeeper that comes four times a week.

“They ARE my favourite!” She gushes, smiling in appreciation as she takes the offered treats. “I thought it was Marguerite’s day off.”

“Dad and Hannah went out.” Julianna rolls her eyes. “As usual. She wanted to go shopping. How much expensive crap do you think she’ll come back with?”

“Depends. How much expensive yet tacky crap can one buy in Chicago?”

“A lot. Where’s Mark? He’s not coming to hang out today?”

“Not today. He’s got things to do at home. Unlike me, he has a social life. And friends.”

“I’m your friend,” the little girl reminds her. “And you had a friend stop by. While you were gone.”

“A friend? What friend? Was it Cam? Looking for Mark? Why…?”

“No. It wasn’t Cam. It was some other guy. I’ve never seen him before. But he was looking for you. He knocked on our door by accident. I guess he wasn’t sure where you lived. He said he wanted to send you flowers, but he was worried he didn’t have the right apartment number. Which he didn’t.”

“Flowers?”

“That’s what he said. He wanted to make sure you lived on this floor. I guess someone in the lobby said you did. I don’t know….” Julianna shrugs. “...I didn’t ask too many questions. And Marguerite doesn’t speak very good English, so…” She blows strands of hair out of her eyes. “You gotta boyfriend now?”

“No. No boyfriend. And not many friends. So that’s kind of weird. That someone would come by like that.”

“He seemed pretty nice. He had a really nice smile. And REALLY nice eyes.” She giggles. “ Marguerite called him a hottie after he left.”

“Was he a hottie?”

“I thought he was alright. I bet it’s some guy who has a crush on you and doesn’t know how to tell you. You know, you should start being nicer to guys. You shouldn’t be so mean to them. How are you ever going to get a boyfriend? Or a husband??”

“What makes you think I want either?”

“I mean, you like guys, right?”

“I do.”

“And you don’t want to be alone forever. No one wants that. I think you should give this guy a chance. He smelled really good. .”

Maizie laughs. “Other than smelling good, what was he like? What did he look like?”

“He was tall. Pretty big. Not fat, big. Just big like the guys that work out in the gym all the time. And he had a nice voice; it was really quiet and soft and friendly. Not scary or anything like that.”

“Anything else? What colour of hair did he have?”

“I dunno. He was wearing a baseball hat. He had sunglasses on, but he took them off when I answered the door. All polite and stuff. Do you know him?”

“No. I have no clue who that is.”

“You have a secret admirer,” the nine year old sing songs. “And he’s hot! You should totally hook up with him.”

“And you should totally not be calling a grown man hot. Stick to boys your own age, kiddo. Or better yet, avoid the male species all together. At least for a decade. But I’ll tell you what; if he’s as hot and as nice as you say he is AND he gets the guts to come around when I’m here, I’ll go out with him. Just for you.”

“Just go out with him? You should marry him. You’re no spring chicken, you know.”

“Hey!” Maizie chuckles, and playfully tugs on one of the girl’s pigtails. “I am not THAT old.”

“Old enough! And you want to have kids one day, right? It’s easier when you’re younger.”

“One day.” She manages a smile; hand subconsciously moving to her stomach.

“You’d be a really good mom. You have lots of love to give. And we always do really cool stuff together. Are we still on for tonight? To do our hair and nails and eat junk while we watch Netflix? Maybe I can stay over? I don’t think dad would mind.”

“If you clear it with him, we’ll camp out in the living room. Then we’ll go for breakfast in the morning. Maybe go and do a little shopping. Sound good?”

“Sounds awesome! I gotta go. We’re going to start making brownies! I’ll bring some over tonight.” Wrapping both arms around Maizie’s waist, she squeezes as tight as she can and then turns and scurries towards her apartment. “And I want to hear all about the hot guy! IF he comes around.”

“You’ll be the first to know if he does,” Maizie promises, and then waits for Julianna to disappear inside her apartment before letting herself into her own.

It’s her sanctuary; a once dated, dark, and ‘boxy’ dwelling turned into something bright and welcoming and refreshing. A lot of hard work and money put into making things exactly how she wanted them; hardwood flooring and intricate cove ceilings with creamy beige walls and pops of colour-courtesy of throws and pillows- paired with earth toned furniture. It had been the perfect project for those early days after Spiderhead; caught in the whirlwind of the aftermath and needing something to stave off the depression and loneliness. Helping with the pangs of regret and guilt; always in combat with the immense anger and the crippling grief that came with losing the man she loved.

Buying and renovating and then decorating the apartment had given her the escape she’d needed; until the quiet and stillness of nighttime arrived and she’d find herself teetering on the edge of self destruction. Moments where she’d stand in the shower and sob; mourning for not only those who had suffered at Spiderhead, but for the parts of herself that she’d lost somewhere during her months of employment. Chest heaving sobs that left her feeling nauseous and dizzy as she stood under the blistering hot water; a form of self inflicted punishment that she so richly deserved. Times where she’d cry for HIM; missing the comfort and the companionship that had accompanied their evenings and early mornings alone. When everything outside his quarters ceased to exist; leaving behind all ‘shop talk’ and recollections of the day in favour of much lighter conversation. There was a comfort and ease between them that neither had experienced before; indulging in a bottle of wine as they prepared dinner together and then enjoyed the meal in candlelight. The physical intimacy they’d later lose themselves in had always been intense; fuelled by attraction, hunger, and immense desperation.

Only once had she caved in and agreed to his use of Luvactin during sex; disproving of his usage and not fully accepting of his explanation as to exactly why he felt the need to indulged in his own product. And that one time had been like nothing she’d ever experienced before; not even with her long time sweetheart and eventual husband. It had been punishing and bruising; an aggression on Steve’s part that both scared her and heightened her need for him. Afterwards she’d be in physical discomfort; thighs aching, scalp burning where her hair had been forcibly yanked, and her sweat slicked body covered in bruises from his fingertips biting into her skin. And while he hadn’t been the most experienced lover she’d ever had, he’d been the most enthusiastic and willing; a patient and diligent student that took his time learning exactly what she needed and wanted and just how to give it to her.

But as enjoyable -drugged up or not- sex had been, their nights hadn’t always ended that way. Replaced by evenings of lounging on the couch and watching television in companionable silence; her head in his lap and his fingers continuously moving through her hair. He’d always loved her curls; the more wild and out of control the better, as far as he’d been concerned. And he’d find it fascinating to take strands of her and straighten them out; amused when -once released- they’d so easily and effortlessly spring back into place. There’d been a boyish charm and quality to him; as if he’d never fully matured in those formative years between being abandoned by his father and becoming a man. And she’d enjoyed his uniqueness; the little oddities and eccentricities that made Steve, STEVE.

Some nights, they’d drift off where they sat, and when she’d waken in the morning, she’d be in his bed with the sheets and comforter tucked tightly around her. He’d been an early riser; up at quarter to five to work out and to finish up any business from the day before. But most evenings, they fell asleep in the confines of his bed; their spent bodies wrapped up in a mess of naked limbs and tangled sheets. Stirring before the sun even began to peek over the horizon; sharing soft kisses and indulging in slow and sensuous love making and the sleepy conversation that occurred afterwards. Enjoying that time together; knowing that in less than three hours they’d be back at work and resuming their roles as boss and employee.

She hates how random these moments are; floods of memories that rush through her at any given time. And she attempts to push them -and him- out of her mind; dropping her keys and her cell phone in a dish on the table in the front hallway before kicking off her boots. Following her newly established afternoon routine, heading for the kitchen and making herself a slice of toast smeared with peanut butter and snagging a bottle of water and the prenatal vitamins kept above the kitchen sink. She takes two of the latter and then goes through the mail as she waits for her snack to be ready; putting any flyers and junk straight into the recycle and the bills into a plastic container next to the fridge. Always organized; needing the simple satisfaction that comes with having even the smallest of things in order.

Especially when everything around her seems to be burning to the ground.

Finishing the last bite of toast, she rinses the plate and leaves it in the sink; sipping at the bottle of water as she pads into the living room. Eyes riveted on the horizon as the once bright and beautiful weather begins to mirror her mood; gray and sullen as dark clouds begin slowly rolling in. The enormity of her situation sitting heavily on her chest; the prospect of being a single mother and the worry that she won’t be able to give her child everything they deserve. And the fear that somewhere down the road, they’ll begin to show troubling signs of an inherited mental disorder; the behaviours that will pay a chilling homage to the man who had fathered them.

It IS a possibility. Inheriting both the brilliance and the madness. And it’s something she’s thought about it often; ever since those two pink lines appeared on the home pregnancy test. Love couldn’t mask the reality of who and what Steve was; genius and sociopathy all rolled into one. But she wants to believe -even now- that somehow…against all odds…she could have fixed him. Given him a life and a love that would have made him ‘snap out’ of it; finding himself comfortable and content for the first time in his life. That happiness enough to bring out some long buried side of him; something compassionate and gentle and sweet that had gone into hiding during those nightmarish first days and weeks in foster care. When an impressionable eight year old boy came to realize that no one in the world loved him.

Sighing, she swallows the last of the water and prepares to turn towards the living room. Her back towards the couch when she hears it; the quiet, yet tell tale squeak of springs that haven’t been worn in yet. She senses his presence before even laying eyes on him; strong and silent as his familiar scent hangs in the air.

“I was starting to think you were never coming home.”

That voice. Low and smooth. Calm and comforting. Yet bearing a trace of simmering irritability and inexplicable rage. And her heart hammers in her chest and her legs threaten to give out from underneath as turns to face him; mere inches between them when they come face to face. She feels faint. Nauseous. The anxiety that comes when a situation seems unfathomable; when you’re not quite sure that you can believe your own eyes and your own brain. And when she finally speaks, her voice is a near whisper. Almost choking on that one, simple word.

"Steve?"

#Steve and Maizie #Steve Abnesti #Steve Abnesti fan fiction #Spiderhead fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #spiderhead #Steve Abnesti fan fic #Spiderhead fan fic #Steve Abnesti x OFC

[theelementalenclave]

"You know I feel like your really mad at me for shooting Junko in the face. But consider this, she still alive. Imagine if Freddy, trapper or someone else tried to drug me and escape! I wouldn't let them live! So come on she be fine she a big girl."

There was a solemn look on the elementals face. a mixture of anger and grief. He had his fists balled so tightly that the pressure could create gems.

"I can't imagine what it was like a girl like her to grow in a place like this. to know nothing but death, sorrow, and suffering. to become a weapon just to earn a mothers love. You compared her to the rest of your collection and to me that shows how you don't even see her as your child. A child that you kept here and hasn't even felt the warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, the cool waters, or the feeling of the earth. entity I don't agree with a lot of your life choices. these barbaric games are distasteful to say the least, but I don't blame you because you are simply trying to exist and thrive like every other living thing. This however is a step too far, no child should be damaged by their parent like this. They shouldn't have to fear them."

The elemental then turned his back and said these last words before walking away.

"i think we need some time a part. I'm very disapointed with you."

#Tim #wine aunt entity #One day #you'll hear what I’m saying #you might understand

[susannatipsandtricks]

Ajwain benefits for female

Ajwain benefits for female

Read about the Ajwain benefits for female, Ajwain called as carom seeds, is a popular spice in Indian cuisine. But did you know that it also has numerous health benefits for women? In this blog post, we'll explore the many benefits of ajwain for female health.

Promotes Digestive Health - Ajwain has been traditionally used in Ayurveda to aid digestion. It contains thymol, which helps to stimulate the digestive system and relieve digestive issues such as bloating, gas, and constipation.

Ajwain has anti-inflammatory properties,it also has a warming effect on the body, which can help to improve blood flow and reduce pain.

Reduces Inflammation - Ajwain has anti-inflammatory properties that can help to reduce inflammation throughout the body. This can be particularly beneficial for women who suffer from conditions such as arthritis or menstrual cramps.

Improves Respiratory Health - Ajwain has been traditionally used to treat respiratory issues such as coughs, colds, and asthma. It contains thymol, which has anti-inflammatory and anti-bacterial properties that can help to relieve respiratory symptoms.

Promotes Skin Health - Ajwain has anti-bacterial and anti-inflammatory properties that can help to improve skin health. It can be used topically to treat skin conditions such as acne, eczema, and psoriasis.

Reduces Stress - Ajwain has a calming effect on the nervous system and can help to reduce stress and anxiety. This can be particularly beneficial for women who suffer from stress-related conditions such as insomnia or depression.

Incorporating ajwain into your diet is easy - it can be added to a variety of dishes, from curries to soups to bread. You can also make ajwain water by boiling ajwain seeds in water and drinking the mixture. However, as with any natural remedy, it's important to consult with a healthcare provider before using ajwain for medicinal purposes.

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