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samthestrangerthingsfan · 2 months

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Out of The Woods

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: You're back in Hawkins, and the memories keep on coming.

chapter warnings: mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, brief description of injury (bloody nose)

a/n: chapter one! the ball is officially rolling! I'm so excited for you all to read and get to know these characters. Enjoy!

chapter one: I've Got Sunshine || series masterlist

Muscle memory is a funny thing.

The faded wheel of your ‘88 Ford Escort was being gripped so hard that your knuckles ached. You recalled shortcuts and one-ways with ease, moved through neighborhoods and back roads you hadn’t been down in nearly decade--seven years to be exact. They say home is where your heart is; if that was the case, Hawkins stopped being home a long time ago.

Still, part of you supposed it was normal.

Normal to remember this place so vividly, you could draw its map with your eyes closed. Normal to recall the smells and sounds and the stoplight that hasn’t worked properly since ‘79.

Normal to see the Plant, and Melvald’s—Joyce Byers’ car parked dutifully out front. You remembered everything, despite having tried to forget.

You never thought you'd be back here. After you got your diploma, after all the hell you'd been through--after what happened, you’d gone East. A scholarship earned you a full ride to Yale University.

Then life happened.

Maggie happened.

Once school was no longer an option, you looked for work. Doing job after job, sometimes three at a time to make the rent and keep food on the table for her.

As much as you tried to deny it, everything seemed like a sign from above that this place wasn’t meant to be. Rent went up, you’d been let go from your waitressing job, and then your car started to shit the bed.

Hey, when it rains it pours, am I right?

Then came the call that brought you back here to Hawkins in the first place.

Your Dad died.

Not that you’d ever been particularly close, especially not after your Mom died. You were just 14 at the time and it was hard. That's the age every girl needs her Mom, and without yours, you were left to navigate grief, high school, and becoming a good person all on your own.

Your Father was...an unfortunate side effect of her passing. Consumed by his own grief, you assumed. It turned into him not being able to stomach being around you. The fighting was constant, you could never do anything right in his eyes, and he could never replace your Mom in yours. You’d practically lived everywhere but home your entire high school career, and he was either working at the Plant, or too drunk to care.

That’s why when a lawyer called you up and told you you’d been left his house, you damn near fainted.

"You're sure you have the right person?" You asked, stretching the cord around your finger nervously.

The man repeated your name, date of birth, and 'relationship to the deceased'.

"The home has been paid off since, lemme see here," You heard the flip of a paper, "'Ah, '78. Taxes and such can be put into your name when you begin occupying the residence, but we do need a decision by--"

"I'll take it!" The words flew out of your mouth before your brain could stop you.

This was a sign, the last sign you needed. You took $300 out of your savings to fix your car, packed up everything that mattered, and the two of you started the 12 our road-trip home.

Now you were just two right turns away.

“Hey, Sunshine. You awake back there?” You ask, a smile in your tone.

Maggie stretched, adjusting the blanket on her lap. “I’m up, Mama.” She's smiling, clearly just beginning to wipe the sleep from her eyes. “Where are we?”

The question left your daughter’s mouth just as you turned into the driveway.

Slowly, you find the strength to put the car in park. Deep breaths, right? That's what you tell Mags to do when she's scared. So you take your own advice, and do one big deep breath. “Our new home.”

Maggie’s gasp startled you. “We get a whole house?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Yes, baby girl. A whole house, and guess what else?”

She clutched her worn, stuffed teddy bear tightly to her chest and watched you with bated breath.

“You get your own room!”

Your six-year-old squealed with delight, kicking her feet into the seat in front of her. “Mama I’m so excited! Can we go in? Please! Please!” She begged happily.

With shaking hands, you snatched the key from the ignition. “Absolutely.”

Maggie’s feet were taking her faster than the rest of her could follow. As she waited on the stoop of the familiar blue house, you bent down and lifted the 5th rock from the left that lined the path. The key was there, just as it always had been, though now it was aged with rust. You’d hidden it there after being unable to wake your Dad from his drunken stupor on more than one occasion.

The house—your house, was nothing grand, but the look on your daughter's face said otherwise.

“Mama, we get this whole place?”

You tussled her hair as she moved to wander the living room. “Sure do, baby girl.

The two of you had lived in a one bedroom for her entire life. In the six years since you'd had her, she’d never really had a space to call her own, and even though you’d given Maggie all you had, it killed you not to be able to give her what she deserved.

“So, I was thinking…Maggie?”

You walked the familiar hallway to find her in your old bedroom; it looked exactly like it did the day you left.

“Mama! Is this you?” She ran at you, holding an old Polaroid.

With tender hands, you grabbed it from her. “It sure is, Mags.”

Her smile grew as she spoke, “So pretty, Mama. Who’s the peoples with you?”

The grin on your face matched hers, “This right here? This is Robin, she’s the one who sends me all of those funny birthday cards.”

Robin didn’t know you were back, and you’re not exactly sure how to say, “Hey remember me? Your friend who disappeared? Well, I’m back for good and so is my daughter that you’ve never met.”

“Oh, who’s this boy?”

You chuckled, “That’s Steve. He’s a real cheese-ball, but you’d love him. I hope you get to meet him some day"

Maggie's giggles filled the room, and you could feel your cheeks aching from the size of your smile.

She deserves the world. I'm gonna make sure she gets it.

"Mama?"

You sit on the edge of your old desk, "Hm?"

"Who's this guy with the long hair?"

Your heart sank. Collapsing in on itself, and descending into your stomach. "That's uh, his...his name is Eddie."

Saying his name--speaking him into reality made you sick. It made your bones ache and your muscles twist with rage and grief.

Just then, your beautiful daughter, blissfully unaware and innocent, asks a follow up question.

"Is he your friend too, Mama?"

The lump in your throat was hard to swallow, but you do it for her. "He used to be." It's all you can manage.

She holds the photo in her little hand, analyzing the image with all of the brainpower her six year old mind could muster.

"His eyes kinda look like my eyes!"

7 little words, spoken in the sweetest, happiest tone, break you.

"They kinda do, don't they?" You ask, turning around to pretend to organize whatever random clutter you could find.

Maggie places the photo on the desk, and moved on to the next room.

"Wow, Mama! A bathtub! i can take bubble baths!" She echos off the tiles walls, and you crumble. Falling to you knees and silencing your sobs with you palm.

How are you gonna do this? How are you going to live here and avoid him? What will happen in he sees you? See's her?

Maggie is all that matters in this. Hawkins is big enough, right? Surely, you can avoid all of the old haunts you remember Eddie going too. Avoid the Hideout and Lover's Lake, and certainly avoid the Forest Hill's trailer park.

God, that place was your sanctuary for so long--both you and Eddie.

After every party, every fight with your Dad, you'd find comfort at the Munson home. Wayne demanding you stay as long as you wanted, and assuring you that this place is as much yours as it is Eddie's.

The trailer was where you cleaned Eddie up after every run in with Jason and the other douchebags at Hawkins High.

NOVEMBER 15th, 1985

Your fingertips turned crimson as you held the damp towel to Eddie’s nose. He winced the moment it made contact with the newly bruised flesh.

“Fucking…fuck.” Eddie barely managed to get it out.

You recoiled, but he protested. “Nope…no. Just, just get it over with.”

Slowly and as carefully as you could, you dabbed the blood from the already purple skin. “Jesus, Eds. You bruise like a peach.” It’s a small offer of a joke, a way to ease his pain and your guilt.

A hiss as you touch a particularly sensitive part on the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.” You’re the one wincing now.

“Still look tough though, right? Even if I got my ass kicked?” He smiled gently, a self-deprecating pull at the corner of his mouth.

The trailer was cold, it was just turning fall in Hawkins, and Wayne didn’t use the heat unless it was below freezing. A chill ran down your spine as your stomach flipped.

“You got a couple of good licks in, I just wish you didn’t—“

He cuts you off immediately. “It’s never a question, and you know that.”

A shaking sigh passes your lips as you turn your back to him. The warm water running from the sink rinses the blood out of the washcloth, and as swirls of red spin down the drain, you're fighting back tears. “Jason’s a prick who gets his rocks off watching people squirm. He knows I’m repulsed by him. He’s not worth it, Eddie.”

You hated seeing him like this because of you. Jason was being foul and vulgar and his typical jock-with-one-brain-cell self when he’d cornered you in the cafeteria.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t see Eddie walk in behind him.

Jason was describing exactly how he’d 'make you moan'—barf—when Eddie spun him around and decked him.

He was able to get three or four shots on him before the rest of Jason's caveman friends ganged up on Eddie, only stopping when Principal Higgins stepped in.

“He’s not, but you are. I don’t know how many times we gotta go over this, Bug. I’ll never let anyone hurt you--ever. Who cares if I get a little banged up in the process?”

Bug.

The nickname he's called you for the past 4 years. A way he shows you that it really is just you and him against the world.

"I care. You're all I've got Eddie Munson." You say it dramatically, in hope the seriousness of the moment wouldn't make things weird. Eddie's warm hand finds your cheek, the pad of his thumb swept over the soft skin.

"Forever, kid. You and me."

The memory made you shiver.

Get it together. You chastise yourself.

"Hey Mags?" You call, scrubbing the emotion from your face onto your palms.

She bounds down the hall, still in awe at the space. "Yeah, Mom? Did you know my room has a closet? I can fit all my toys inside!"

Your arms reach for her, and she jumps into your embrace instantly. After squeezing her, you pull back to take in the little person you'd made.

God, she really does look so much like him.

She's got your nose, and cheeks for sure. But those eyes? The smile? That's Eddie, through and through.

"You know I love you, right?" You kiss her forehead.

Maggie pushed your cheeks together, smushing you face in her palms. "I know, Mama. 'Nember what you always say?"

"What's that, Mags?" You ask, brushing the hair from her eyes.

"You and me, kid. Forever and ever."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #OoTW #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic

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deadbeat-motel · 3 months

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ᗪᗰ!ᗩᑎGEᒪᗪᑌᔕT ᒪOᖇE ᗩᑎᗪ TᖇIᐯIᗩ

Deadbeat Motel's Angel Dust Lore under the cut. (If you squint hard enough, you can see Vaggie and Charlie's rough design too.)

ᒪOᖇE

Angel Dust was never the best mafia member of his own family. He was too weak-hearted to deal with the types of people who made their home within the seedy world of crime. He was no good with taking a man's life nor was he any good with commanding the goons their family had, so his father had kept him trafficking drugs to be somewhat useful for the family. Angel Dust was happy about that, It was far from being in danger, and if he was careful enough, he would be able to have drugs from the stash he's supposed to be giving out to their clients.

One night, however, while high on PCP, a drug deal he and his brother were on had gone bad because their client finally got wise to Angel's stealing. A gunfight broke out killing men on both sides of the deal. AngelDust, while high on drugs, had killed someone in the middle of it, and he was still reeling from the shock of it when his high came down. His brother punched him in the face causing a black eye and told him how incredibly fucked they are because of what he's done. It was revealed that this drug deal was a way for their group to make peace with one another and killing those goons in that room had doomed the family to a Turf War they were not that prepared for. Going to his father to attempt to apologize had only gotten him killed in his father's rage.

AngelDust wakes up to Hell with a body he was surprised to like (despite his family being homophobic and possibly also misogynistic and transphobic). He's surprised to know how common and easy to find drugs are in this new place he's in but quickly finds out he's broke and unable to find a job because of how unused to his own body he is. His first few weeks in hell have been rough until he realizes he can utilize how this body works to his advantage. Many men and women lined up to want a piece of him and they paid good money too. Plus if they ever tried to hurt him, well this body showed him it's more than capable of keeping him safe. He actually did enjoy sex work more than his work as a former mafia member.

Everything went to shit when Valentino found him, he thought he was just another client who frequented him often and paid big money. When presented with a contract to work with him, he accepted since it looked as if the only thing he was asking for was to be his employee. However, as soon as he signed, hidden words started to reveal themselves on the paper. It turned out, he wanted more than what he was letting on. Val was a new Overlord and he's been slowly gaining the reputation that he has today and unfortunately Angel Dust had been duped by this demon. he just hadn't shown him his true colors back then to lower his guard around him.

Angel Dust has tried to fight Val before but nothing good came out of it. He wouldn't be able to do much about him if the contract was still in effect. He even lost the mandibles on his mouth because he had bitten Valentino reflexively one time. For 2-3 decades (might be subjected to change) he's had to deal with Val's abuse of him All optimism has dried out, and he's been living and coping with despair.

Angel Dust learns of the Motel and checks in mainly to get away from Val (He constantly moves places and doesn't feel safe in his previous apartment as Val has found him once again). He doesn't take the entire point of the motel seriously because he'll be gone within a month or two. After all, that's how often Val found him and sure enough, he did find him. Val starts talking like he owns the place, starts threatening everyone, and even attempts to control Valerie and Charlie when they confront him about what he's doing to Angel Dust. They of course are unaffected because of their angelic natures and Valerie absolutely thrashed the unliving shit out of Val. But before she can kill him, Val brings up the fact that if she kills him he will kill Angel Dust, taking him and the other hundred souls he has under his contract. With Angel Dust's and the other hundreds of souls' lives on the line, they had to concede and let him live, but not without warning him that if Angel Dust dies because of him, both women are going to make sure he begs for a second death.. This of course is not a big change for Angel Dust, but he's glad he can keep crashing at this motel knowing that Val won't dare come into this place if he wanted all his limbs attached to his body.

Angel Dust has become a permanent resident of the motel.

TᖇIᐯIᗩ:

Angel Dust frequented more LGBT-friendly speakeasies before he died (considering OG Angel Dust's family was homophobic iirc) and while he didn't participate in "pansy shows". He did want to join them.

Angel dust can produce webbing and uses it to slow down his pursuers. They've got a really strong grip on anything that touches it.

As a last resort, Angel Dust uses his webbing whips. They're non-lethal (At least I think so) since he mainly uses its sticky factor. They're good at disarming enemies who have guns from far away, especially since Angel Dust is creative with his uses of it.

Angel Dust used to have sharp teeth but had them forcibly flattened because Val was tired of the fact he's been nicked by those teeth of his multiple times.

The motel is actually the first place in a while he's stayed in for a year. Angel Dust has been able to make his room more comfortable for him and has his own stash of knick-knacks on display.

He is never seen front-facing. The view in front of Angel's face is treated like Phineas' front-facing view. Never allowed to be seen other than in smear frames.

A running joke for me is how everyone has no idea how a Spider's anatomy even works (I don't either).

Yeah, he'd still be shipped with Husk but I'm not having Husk call him a loser because my blood would boil, plus I'm changing their dynamic but I'll get into that when Husk is finished.

A big plot point for Angel Dust would be that he gets to kill Val with the aid of Valerie/Husk or the both of them and that while he'll be free of his abuser, it has screwed over his ticket out of hell in the eyes of heaven. However, it was able to spark a debate within Heaven's court... should the rules be so strict that they would punish a victim that finally fought back against his own abuser? (It's not that deep but it's a start at least rather than "You don't know what gets people into heaven?")

Currently unsure as to how Cherri Bomb would fit into his story but I might be able to figure it out later when I get to her redesign

I think that's all for now? This may be subjected to change at some point in time, but ask me anything about this version of AngelDust

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop critical #deadbeat motel rewrite #deadbeat motel redesign #deadbeat motel Angel Dust

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angelgoeslewd · 2 months

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only between us.

🔮 summary: finishing what you started in skirt with Raphael.

⚠️ warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI, very graphic mentions PIV sex, lots of spicy horny thoughts and scenes, a bit of religious sacrilege, Raphael being both emotionally and sexually constipated, AFAB! Reader.

Raphael has been alive for more than a millennium.

he’s young, compared to Simeon and Michael, but older than humans can ever even imagine. but all these years....

all these decades and he’s never been quite so taken with someone as much as he is with you.

you captivate his worst imagination; you, a little, unassuming human, a pea in the scope of the layers of the universe — you are the one to drag him into the eternal torment of blasphemy. his lustful thoughts, his unangelic desires to touch you, constantly tossing him closer and closer to falling.

prayers, interrupted by You. the constant turning at night in his own sanctuary, bidding his hardened length to leave him, shaky hands eventually succumbing to sin, sweating as he spills over into his hand and getting all worked up again wondering if you would lick it off for him. is it really a sin to think about how he would worship your body? how he would spend hours between your thighs, nipping and licking and sucking, covering his chin in spit and your slick, making you cum on his tongue until you cry, until his locks are taken into your hands and you beg for him to stop. how can it be such, when it feels so good?

he can practically hear your snarky remark the next day, wondering how he could sneak into the Celestial Realm when he behaves like such a demon in bed. he doesn’t retort. gives you a pointed look, then drops it to your shaking thighs, that you can barely brush together, lest the evidence of your coupling distract you once more.

while you and him shared some sort of… connection, one he couldn't possibly attempt to understand, Raphael wasn’t a mind reader. there was no possible way to know how far your feelings for him extended, you never crossed any lines that came with a loving ‘friendship.’ and while he desperately wanted to ruin it, to create something different, something deeper and more meaningful, he couldn’t bring himself to cross that line.

every moment you were by his side was too precious. he didn’t have any earthly belongings, anything he needed was bestowed or earned… but you. you gave your time, your patience, your kindness to him so freely, even when he knew he crossed the lines of pleasantries. he was utterly taken aback that a human could be so giving. as any angel, he was always taught humans took and took until no more could be given, then they would turn and find more to take. that they ruin and destroy as they did to the Fallen Ones. but here you were. handing him a set of new pens that he had off-handedly mentioned he liked the grip on. and suddenly, he wanted to be selfish too.

if he could just have you, platonically or otherwise, it was worth every second of keeping it status quo.

the most torturous part of the whole arraignment, however, is that you don’t even seem to realize the effect you have on him. you sit close to him, far too close, practically on his lap, teasing him with the slight distance, despite all his attempts to get you to actually do so, to play out his most shameful thoughts. you leave your scent on his arm, his shawl, his fucking papers.

he wants to burn them. he wants to bury his face in them and never forget your scent.

he tries so hard not to pay it any mind, but it is as close to home as he gets these days; his mind goes blank when he lifts it to his nose and smells you, vision blinding white in bliss and euphoria, your outline silhouetted every time he closes his eyes.

and those skirts. fucking hell, those short, perversion-inducing skirts. he’d damn them all to hell if he wasn’t currently living there already (physically and metaphorically). every time you wore one, Raphael lost his sense of reality. he’d live in a world of just you, him, and his bed. school and responsibilities be damned. they'd be less fucked than you would be. Raphael would keep you there, you’d have no reason to leave. he could conjure anything you needed with a snap of his fingers. the door to his room mysteriously vanishing from the Purgatory Hall, swallowed up by the void, along with your sweet, sinful moans. only he would hear how you would call for him, your pitiful cries for more of his touch. he would fuck you for every single time your skirt rode up and made him snap a pencil in his hand, your soaked little panties begging for him to push them aside and plunge deep in you. he would tell you to call his name when you came, make you forget about whoever else ever crossed your mind and replace it all with him.

the thought of you being such a little slut for anyone else made him crazy. he wanted to ruin everyone for you. he wanted to push his cum so deep in you that you could never even think of anyone but him doing so. how dare you swish your pleats like that? you even nearly made him break a pen in class once, when he watch you do a little twirl for Leviathan and Beelzebub. ink bubbled from the tip as you strutted back over like you didn’t just flirt with two demons in front of his face, asking with a pout if you could borrow his wrap because you were chilly.

— you, lying on your back on the classroom table, your cunt dripping wet stains onto the white fabric you ‘borrowed’ —

he couldn’t hold your eyes after such a thought. he handed it over to you and left in a hurry for the bathroom.

he would shamefully finish himself there, leaning his head against the peeling paint of the stall, pounding his fist into the metal as he came into his hand, yet again, reminding Raphael of how absolutely fucked he was.

the fact that all these ugly, human emotions came to head simply because of an article of clothing pisses him off. can he not control his mind over such an insignificant little thing?! how is he fit to be Michael’s secondhand!? he could never live up to Celestial realm's expectations if this continued. and it would be found out. he knew it would. they always find out.

he had to train himself. he had to be a better angel for you. you couldn’t have such an impure, deviant partner. he had watched you rebuff such demons, time and time again. and he was acting no better than they were. maybe… maybe if he could expose himself to you in little amounts, those thoughts would leave him… wouldn’t they?

but you. you were all-consuming. a total and complete aphrodisiac to his senses. and you never seem to stop fucking wearing that stupid skirt. did you know what it did to him? were you doing this to test his resolve? his thoughts tainted every time you searched him out wearing that flimsy piece of fabric. Raphael knew he was much stronger than you. he could just rip it off you, hold you up as you bounced on his cock. it didn’t matter where you two were. but whenever he made a decision to make a move, he would get up, meet your innocent, lovely face, and crumble like the walls of Jericho. he couldn’t defile you in such a way. not in this state.

pitifully, his only savior was the gardens. losing himself in something else, something so pure it almost felt like it cleansed him of his sins. or perhaps it just reminded him too much of the Celestial realm, touting its overwhelming, overbearing expectations of perfection and innocence. but it worked. at least it worked.

most of the time.

it seemed today was his absolutely unluckiest day. he was hounded by temptation. of course today was a day you were wearing that damned skirt. the old wives' tale of keeping you awake at night by dreaming about you didn't seem to be true. and of course, last night had to be a night with a dream that was so utterly debauched that Raphael feared the Devildom was eating his angelic nature alive. it seemed like every time he turned, there you were. over his shoulder, trying to “help” him with his assignments, the length of your skirt so short that the bottom just barely reached the top of the desk, even with your frame not being very much taller, making him sweat internally, trying to keep his hands from twitching, from doing something rash and unbecoming, but oh — how desperately he wanted to run his hand up your thigh and see just what your choice of panties were this day.

he wouldn’t necessarily call what he was doing running away or avoiding you. it was simply… just not an adequate environment to work in. that’s it. yes, he just couldn’t get past the fog of thoughts all related to you and what exactly you would do under him, to focus on absolutely anything else. not even his silent prayers were enough to hound them off anymore, and he found himself doing less and less of that and more of what sort of penance to he would pay on his knees to your beautiful— Raphael.

he was just in class with you, and even so, that brief window of opportunity was enough to do him in. he couldn’t stop. his grip on the book clenched, wrinkling precious papers, all because of your hold on him. you, this human who randomly showed up and captured seven demon lords, his former brothers, mind you, and him, in this nefarious web of lust and love and, my god, did he just want it to be over.

he tried to slow his heart beat, looking upwards to the darken sky in desperation to find some sort of relief. was this a test of his own willpower? did Father plan for this to happen? was it just him? was he broken? Raphael was at a loss. How was he ever going to fix this? He couldn’t keep on like this; losing sleep over you, messing up the simplest of assignments because every time he looked down he was reminded of your smooth, sweet legs, peeking out from that skirt.

the crunch of grass is enough to snap him back to reality. he quickly tries to look busy, and exactly not like an angel in utter turmoil, hoping his furrowed brow and tensed shoulders would be enough to drive off whomever came across his little bubble of paradise.

“Raph? There you are.”

Of course. Of fucking course. Smite him now. There was no escaping this eternal hell of sin. The sound of your voice seems to inspire a sort of natural reaction from him, his legs already stretching to get up, book snapped shut and pressed tightly under his shoulder.

“Really? You’re going to try and avoid me again?”

You were always so blunt. Raphael can say without a doubt that he was utterly in love with that, and he felt no shame in admitting that, at least. But now… now it just embarrassed him. He knew, subconsciously, that he wasn’t doing right by you. What kind of friend just avoids another? So many questions he had, and not enough experience to answer them. He supposes that’s why he felt so pushed to run from them. Very much like he would do up above. he can’t even bring himself to turn and look at you when he answers.

“I… I’m not avoiding you.” he cringes. great, now he’s a bad friend AND a liar. What else could go wrong.

“bullshit.” that’s not what he wanted to hear. Raphael slowly turns to face you, he doesn’t want to meet your eyes, but when he finally spins around… they’re right there. you’re search his own for answers, for clues, and he worries for a moment that you might find what he hopes to bury.

“So what do you call leaving every time I come into a room, then?”

“Trying to maintain my dignity,” he breaths out, finding that he’s unable to fib when he’s meeting your beautiful face head on like this. it doesn’t even register in his brain that he’s said it. when it does all click together he’s panicked, wondering how to get out of this, how to leave, how to explain, but your face contorts and twists into something that breaks him further. confusion. hurt. anger. it’s so gorgeously human that if he wasn’t hopeless in love with you that he would spend all day in awe of it.

it’s that thought that finally fits.

the piece he’s been missing, this whole time.

the part of the cog that has his whole body relaxing in utter relief, exhausted with his charade.

he’s been in love with you, this entire time. this lust is just a facade for how much he wants for something he’s not supposed to have. he’s so hopelessly devoted to you that there’s nothing that could come close. he’s never felt this way about the celestial realm, all these years, and all this time he has with you, he’s been doing nothing but thinking about how he can realign himself with them, when it’s obvious that no matter what, he can never think the same after meeting you. no matter what they say about this, about humans. and he’s more than willing to follow this spiral to the end. regardless of what waits at the finish line. there is no other path, no way of redefining or fixing his dedication, for Raphael. because there is only you.

he blinks. you blink. and finally, he’s done running.

he sighs, surrendering himself to the execution of your friendship, and figures he might as well sit down as he ruins everything. the bench is hard and cold under him, and he barely feels it. his fingers shake almost undetectably as he meekly flips through the book that will forever mark the end of this. of you two.

“When… you wear stuff like this,” he admits, shyly, dog-earing a page back and forth, “It makes me feel. A certain way.”

the silence is impregnable. it’s heavy and thick like the celestial realm before rainfall. it’s murky and undecided and so painful that Raphael wonders if being cast out would hurt less than this. he doesn’t look up. he refuses to. he hates to admit that he might actually cry if he does.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I...” the tips of your shoes tap each other.

why are you apologizing? he wonders. it’s me. i’m the one that’s ruining everything.

you’re shaking, he realizes, you’re shaking and it’s all because of me.

“I’m… just gonna go.” his hand reaches for you before you can even move an inch. he doesn’t know what’s happening, or what will happen, but you’re here now, right? and… and you didn’t outright laugh at him or say no, so that should mean something positive. a newly found courage in him has him shaking his head.

“No, no… you’re already here. And it wasn’t right of me not to tell you. It wasn’t fair. You should know,” he says, which is absolutely true. he was a terrible friend for hiding this from you. he wonders if you hear him when he adds quietly, “And I miss you.” he wants you back. he wants you here, with him, by his side, even if he can’t have you in the way he wants, he wants to be selfish and a little human too.

you take a place next to him on the bench, your skirt splaying around your full thighs like a crown of temptation, the thorns that festered this whole mess. yet… Raphael’s head has never felt clearer. he is mesmerized solely by the fact you still choose to sit so close to him that he can feel the warmth of your skin through his clothes.

“I missed you too. It’s why I was so upset. I thought you were angry at me or I did something wrong-”

“Nothing like that,” he cuts you off before you even slightly doubt his intentions. he wants nothing more than to protect you, don’t you see? his mind will be the downfall of you both. but… it seems by doing so, he prevented nothing but your light. your company. your closeness. in trying to circumvent his prophecy, he ran head first into it. he will do better by you this time.

but still. it does nothing to chill or put an end to the loathsome heat inside of his heart for you. the book is a prop in this play, in this act where you both try and pretend there is nothing that hangs between you two. where Raphael pretends that he isn’t still enchanted by your youness and he tries not to glance too long at the skirt you wear and what could blossom underneath, how much he wants to experience it all. and this play is coming to an end… or, perhaps, to its climax?

“Raphael…?” your saccharine voice is all he needs to be push over the edge. he has enough willpower not to immediately toss the object in his hands (that, and fearing what Satan might do if there’s any damage to it) but shuts it nicely and looks up at you.

your breath catches. he’s close enough to hear it and he can’t imagine what you see, but he hopes it’s good. he hopes you like it. and honestly? he’s done hoping now. he wants to do something.

your breath fans his face, lingering warm tendrils on cheeks that heat them to a rosy pink — or perhaps, he’s blushing. who can tell, when you’re both this close to each other. your whisper is lost to only him and the gardens:

“We don’t have to do—”

“I want to.”

his lips catch yours before you can say anything else, he can faintly feel the book slip out from him, dropping to the dew wet ground as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in. you squeak, but let yourself be trapped against him. he loves the feeling of your arms pressed against his chest, the way your fingers fiddle with the delicate gold ornaments and colored fabrics. he wants to feel them on his skin, he wants to feel your nails dig into him as he brings you to orgasm, he wants the catch of your finger pads on his shoulders when he lifts you up and thrusts his cock into your pussy. he leans into you, and you catch the hint, leaning back into his grasp, letting him slowly lower you until you feel the hard rock under your back, his arm still cradling the small of your back, albeit a bit uncomfortably. it’s the he pulls back, tracing the wet curve of your lips, now dripping with spit, sloppily, gasping for air and he combs over your flushed face.

he’s so utterly fucked.

[Continuation . . . COMING SOON.]

#obey me #angelic songs #🍩 of obey me #obey me smut #obey me raphael #obey me swd #raphael x you #raphael x reader #raphael x mc #bitch went full frodo in this fic

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heartpascal · 7 months

Note

Howdy I love you and your writing, I was wondering if you'd ever write tommy x platonic reader

be your armour

▹— tommy miller x platonic!seraphite!reader

▹— summary: you escape the seraphites, and find that the world is not what they described

▹— a/n: howdy yourself lovely anon! i love you! (see the extra a/n at the end!)

▹— warnings: reader was in a cult, religious themes, religious trauma, slight tlou pt 2 spoilers (though it’s set before!), canon-typical violence, death, murder, mention of reader being malnourished (but no mention of weight/size), minor character death, transporting a dead body, tommy’s PTSD and general mental health struggles, abrupt ending

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything!) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being

masterlist

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Tommy knows Maria has a good reason for disliking sending him on patrols. He realises it every single time he agrees to go on one.

As his wife, she’s seen every ugly and terrible side to him. Being in the apocalypse means that his best side isn’t really his best. But even so, Maria has loved him and looked out for him in far more ways than he usually knows. Like when she assigns him to construction and overseeing repairs, she’s sparing him of this.

Even now, nearing three decades since his time in the military, he experiences the effects. Except now, there are far more stakes. Now, when he loses sight of where he is, when the sounds become too loud and he’s back there, people’s lives are at stake. And so is his own.

Usually, being the soldier that he is, Tommy can keep himself together in terse situations. When chaos unfolds, Tommy is there, unmoving. But today, he was caught by surprise, much like his now most likely deceased companion, Julian.

The reason he had accepted this patrol with little complaint from Maria was because it was supposed to be quiet. It was well known for being free of raiders, with only a few Infected roaming around. So both he and Julian hadn’t expected to be shot at, to be surrounded by people with guns who were shouting conflicting orders to each other.

In all the sudden chaos, Tommy had momentarily been thrust back into 20-something years ago, when he had watched a fellow soldier die needlessly at his side, whilst he survived. It was like he could reach out, and the soldier would be at his fingertips, as if he could trace the surname Keller which was stained with blood at the man’s chest.

But when Tommy blinked, Julian’s motionless body was at his side, the man’s eyes unblinking and unseeing. There was blood on his chest, too, Tommy noticed distantly, despite the way he was squinting to see through the suddenly too bright sun. When the ringing in his ears faded, he was left with an aching jaw and a lightheaded feeling that made his chest hurt.

“Where’s the Scar? Hey! You listen to me, old man, where is the Scar?” One of the raiders yelled, her voice carrying over the faint ringing that still lingered in Tommy’s ears. He heard the sound of the safety on a gun being clicked off, and squinted past the sun in his eyes to see a woman glaring at him with bared teeth.

“The fuck scar ‘re you talking ‘bout?” Tommy asked, his words fumbling together the slightest bit as he spoke, his voice grating on his too-dry throat. He swallowed thickly, trying to piece his mind back together, trying to get his head back into gear, knowing he had to survive this. Maria would kill him, otherwise.

As he was counting the people in his sights, one of the men with a shotgun pointed towards him spoke up. “He’s lying! Where the hell is that damn Scar?” He spat, apparently disbelieving of him.

“What damn Scar?” Tommy yelled back, exasperated and frustrated, not to mention completely exhausted from whatever the hell was going on here.

“The kid, about yay-high,” The woman said, voice carrying over the sounds of the others grumbling, “Big ugly scars across their cheeks. That damn Scar.” She dragged a finger from the corner of her mouth up towards her eye, demonstrating the scar, before readjusting the grip on her gun to be more threatening.

One of the others took a step towards her, looking apprehensive as she took in the situation. “Kendra, I really don’t think he knows. Maybe we should get out of here.” The voice of reason said, her gun hanging limply at her side, whilst her hands were held out, gesturing towards where Tommy lay, still coming back to his senses.

Kendra shook her head, narrowing her brown eyes at him, and held a pale palm up to the woman who had approached, silencing her. “He knows something. We know the Scar headed out this way. I’m not giving up when we’ve come this far, Janet.”

Janet sighed, turning her head to look at Tommy almost with something close to pity.

But he was already forcing his head back into the soldier mindset, pushing down all of his lingering panic and the way he didn’t quite feel real in that moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do so, but it was the first time in a while. When was the last time? Two years ago? Three? Trust these people to prove Maria’s worries correct.

He was formulating a plan of action when it happened, when their attention was drawn away by the sound of something soaring through the air, cutting through any conversation. They all twisted around to face the direction the arrow came from when it landed in the trunk of a tree above Tommy’s head, and they paid him no mind.

“Come on out, Scar! Show yourself!” Kendra yelled, before firing aimlessly into the forest surrounding them. A whistle came from within, letting her know that she’d missed her target. She turned to the group around her, and nodded her head at two groups of two, pointing them in opposite directions. Obviously, she was sending them to flank whoever this Scar was.

It was clear to Tommy that this was his chance to get out of the situation without having to take down all of these people alone, but in the few moments it had taken him to grasp the gun hidden in Julian’s boot, they had caught the Scar.

He was ready to leave. Tommy was already at his feet, backing away towards the path to Jackson, but he was stopped when the two who had gone to the left emerged from the trees with you kicking and yelling at them. You, the Scar they had been talking about, were a kid. Hell, you couldn’t have been much older than Ellie was when she’d arrived at Jackson. Surely you couldn’t have been the one they were after? The one they had just killed Julian for?

“Damn Scar doesn’t even know how to use the thing.” One of the men spat out, throwing what must have been your bow to the ground in front of you. You simply bared your teeth at him, making the scars along both of your cheeks crease. Tommy wasn’t oblivious to how painful and tender they looked, as if they weren’t very old.

“But you knew how to use it when you killed my husband, didn’t you?” Kendra sneered, leering over you and pointing her gun towards your head. She pressed it to your forehead, not pulling the trigger even when you paused in your struggling. When she moved away slightly, a glare on her face, there was a dent the shape of her gun left in your skin. “We got what we came here for. Let’s go. Bring it with us.”

Janet’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? To do what?”

“To get justice for Daniel. Did you forget?” Kendra asked, her voice a leering drawl as she took a step towards Janet whilst you resumed your struggling, trying to get towards where they had dumped your arrows alongside your bow.

”I didn’t agree to—to torturing some kid, Kendra. We didn’t even see what happened.” Janet stammered, her eyes wide at what the leader of the group was seemingly suggesting.

“The kid is a Scar, Janet. That’s enough for me.” One of the men responded, glaring at you with a ferocity Tommy didn’t know someone could have towards a child. Even if you had done what they’d suggested, there was probably a damned good reason, in Tommy’s eyes.

You glared straight back at him, eyes narrowed. “May she guide you home,” You said, seemingly kind enough, though it seemed pretty… cultish, to Tommy.

He’d heard of cults even before the Outbreak. Heard of religious fanatics who indoctrinated people and held them in a sheltered world, hidden away from real life. But it seemed to have gotten more extreme since the Apocalypse occurred, with new religions popping up all over the place. FEDRA crushed most of them, but it wasn’t unheard of for them to survive, to spread, much like the Infection itself.

Clearly, at your age, you’d had to have either been born into whatever crazy world you’d come from, or brought into it. You certainly weren’t old enough to be facing a group of seven people, all on your own. Even if one of them didn’t seem inclined to make you suffer, it was clear that Janet was okay with killing you.

“You little—” The man stepped forward, going towards you, as if you had said something truly offensive. You openly glared at him, refusing to cower away, but he was interrupted by Kendra.

“That’s enough, Clive. Let’s take this little apostate back to the other Scars, make an example of them.” She said, turning to face you from where she had been looking at the man. At her words, you seemed to clam up, your skin starting to take on a sheen of sweat, your eyes visibly widening. The stretch of the scars along your cheeks gave away the way in which you ground your teeth together. “Ah, there it is. Your little cult kicked you out, huh?” She smiled at your responding gulp.

Before Tommy could think any better of it, he was throwing himself into the haphazard plan he’d cooked up in his head. It wasn’t much. Hell, it wasn’t really anything, but he couldn’t leave you. You would be safe in Jackson, just as he would. He might have lost Keller, but he wouldn’t lose you. You didn’t have to die.

The only warning the group got was the click of the safety turning off, before Tommy was opening fire into their midst.

It was almost like a trance. Like he was on autopilot. He knew what he was doing, but he didn’t really feeling like it was actually him doing it. Tommy could feel the tension of him pressing on the trigger, but it was like he was watching on from the outside.

This wasn’t the first time he had experienced such a thing. He’s pretty sure it’s what made him so effective, each time he was put into life threatening situations. It was as if he could simply remove himself and watch on, as if he was a spectator. It meant that he didn’t think twice before putting a bullet between Kendra and Clive’s eyes, or sending any of the rest of their group to an early death.

By the time he came back to himself, he was standing on the trail, surrounded by bodies. Janet’s eyes stared up at him, a trail of blood gushing from the wound on her throat. Perhaps, if he had been fully conscious at the time, he would’ve felt guilty. But Tommy was never quite himself until he could get out of the situation that made him this way.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, your skin splattered with the blood of the man who had been shot dead behind you. As soon as Tommy opened his mouth, however, you rushed for your bow and the cluster of arrows, clumsily grabbing them and raising the bow towards him with shaking fingers.

“Woah, it’s okay.” Tommy said, his voice sounding wrong to his own ears, before he was dropping the gun and holding his hands up in surrender. Not that it meant much, considering it was out of ammunition. And considering how easily you had been caught, he’s not sure how well you can use that bow in close contact.

“Stay away from me.” You responded, though your voice trembled as it left your throat. You pulled the bowstring further, as if to compensate.

Now that Tommy was looking at you, rather than those surrounding you, he was noticing things he hadn’t seen before. You looked exhausted. There were bags underneath your eyes, and your skin looked dewy, unhealthy. From the looks of it, and the sound of your growling stomach, you were malnourished.

“Alright, now let’s just calm down here.” Tommy spoke, keeping his hands raised and unmoving. Your expression didn’t change, and he could see your fingers loosening on the arrow you had notched. “I’m guessin’ your name ain’t Scar.” You shook your head, your jaw clenching. “My name’s Tommy. I—I live in a little town ‘bout forty minutes east.”

“Okay,” You said, face stony. “So go back there.”

Tommy sighed, weighing up his options. On one hand, it seemed like you were giving him a free pass, and he needed to get back to Maria, needed to get Julian home. On the other hand, Tommy’s not sure he could just leave you out here, all alone, especially when you appear to have a target on your back. “Are there more of them? Coming after you?” He asked, instead of outwardly suggesting you go back to Jackson with him.

You shrugged, though the darting of your eyes towards the bodies sprawled around you suggested that there probably was. Tommy was choosing to believe that whatever happened wasn’t your fault. Especially considering these people were willing to torture you, so they surely couldn’t have been good guys.

He could see your grip on your bow slackening, like your arm was growing tired.

“I can get you supplies, if you’d like.”

“Just like that? I can’t give you anything.” You responded, eyebrows furrowing and giving you a confused expression. He supposed it made sense, not many people were charitable in the apocalypse.

“Just like that,” Tommy confirmed, trying to look as earnest as possible. Part of him wants you to accept, to agree to come to where he knows it’s safe, but the other part of him is hoping to hell that you have more survival instincts than that. “You saved my life, ‘s the least I could do.”

“But you—you already did that, for me. You killed the wolves.” You said with increasing confusion. You didn’t understand how this man worked. Back at the Island, only the Elders got to allocate supplies, and he certainly didn’t look like an Elder.

Despite his curiosity, Tommy elected not to ask about the so-called wolves. “Listen, kid—”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Right, ‘course not. My apologies. I—I could use a hand in getting my friend here back to his family,” Tommy said, stumbling over his words the slightest bit. It was the first time he’d really realised that Julian was dead, that he would have to go to his family and explain he wasn’t coming home. If it weren’t for his concern for you, that might have just sent Tommy into another reality once more. “If you wouldn’t mind helpin’ me out, I could fetch you some supplies.”

You still looked unsure, but you lowered your bow the slightest amount, squinting at Tommy as if he was going to change his mind or alter the deal, somehow. Finally, you removed the arrow from the bow, slipping it into the quiver that was on the ground, before you tied it around your waist. “Okay. It seems fair.” You decided, mostly because you were desperate to get more supplies, and you had no idea where the wolves’ camp would be, or if there would be more of them waiting for you.

When you made your hasty exit from your fellow Seraphites, you hadn’t accounted for all the people you would anger along the way. Kendra’s husband was killed by accident, though you could see why they would suspect you. It was another Seraphite — Mary, you believe — who had shot at you, only to miss and send an arrow through the man’s throat. When they discovered him, your face had been covered in his blood, and your bow had been clutched in your hand. Unfortunately, the WLF were renowned for not listening to reason. After all, they had been the ones to kill the Prophet, despite no wrongdoing on her part.

It made sense that they’d do the same to you.

However, you hadn’t been expecting them to follow you so far. In fact, you had no idea where you were going to run in order to get away from your people, until the wolves started chasing you and you ran in the opposite direction. Since then, it had been a battle of staying one step ahead of them.

Your upbringing meant that you didn’t need to rely on things from the Old World, like they did, which meant you could traverse the terrain without having to stop at stores and towns for supplies. You’d been surviving on what you could forage from the land, which was a much harder task when it was overrun with demons and had no farms to harvest from.

Through the whole situation, you could only be glad that it was the wolves chasing after you, and not your people. Sure, it would have been nice for your family to want you to stay, but the likelihood would have been that another Seraphite would’ve caught you much sooner. And they would drag you back to the Island to make an example out of you, too, you were sure. A statement to convey what happens to apostates.

“You headed anywhere specific?” Tommy asked casually, as you grasped a hold of Julian’s limp arm and hefted him upwards with a surprising amount of strength. He did the same on Julian’s other side, and the two of you set off.

“No.” You answered, not sparing him a glance.

Tommy clicked his tongue, and let the silence linger for a little while longer. Soon enough, after almost ten minutes of dragging Julian’s body through the woods, the two of you arrived at a nearby town. “You know how to ride a horse?” He questioned, coming to a stop outside of a building with an open garage door, displaying two horses inside. You only nodded. “Alright, then. Let me note down that we’re headed back, and then we’ll get him up on my horse with me. Sound alright to you?”

He was still in a blurred state, but Tommy vaguely noticed himself writing down a very shortened version of what had happened. It was as thorough as he could make it for being two sentences, but it would have to do. He didn’t even fully understand the situation, himself, but he signed a -T at the end of his entry before turning back to find you surveying the room.

You seemed almost… fascinated by the things you were looking at. The water filter, the coffee machine, all regular items that you could find in almost any town or city. You looked at each of them like they were something to figure out, something to understand. He decided it was best not to comment, and turned back to the book for a few more moments to let you have your fill of exploring the room.

As soon as he thought you’d had long enough, or, as soon as how long he was spending at the book was getting suspicious, he was ushering you towards the horses. His horse, Sadie, was the bigger of the two, and with your help, the two of you managed to get Julian over the back of her.

The ride back to Jackson was about thirty minutes at a leisurely pace, but Tommy was about ready to get back to Maria. Especially since he had no idea if there were more of the people you’d referred to as wolves. The last thing he needed was another fight, just when he was coming back to himself. He’d take another year fixing up houses and porches before having to experience losing his senses again, before being thrust into a time he had no desire to remember.

Still, he had high hopes that you were worth it.

Even more so when he looked over at you, to see that you were looking far more comfortable on the horse than you had been on the walk over to them. You looked content, almost. As if out here, on that horse, you were in your element. But he did have to wonder if you were concealing some sort of injury, with how much you had been wincing on the walk over. He hoped it was just the exhaustion.

About three minutes away from Jackson, Tommy finally spoke up over the steady sound of hooves against the ground. “Now, listen, these people ain’t always the friendliest, but don’t go and take it personally. Everybody just wants to stay safe. When we get there, I’ll help get you set up with some food and a place to sleep, and we’ll see where we go from there, alright?”

“Al—Alright.” You stuttered out, sounding nervous once more, the creases returning to your expression. He noticed the way you gripped the reins tighter, but he didn’t say a word.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When the two of you rode through the open gates into Jackson, Tommy had expected the rush of people coming towards him.

He realises, a moment after the two of you are surrounded, that he probably should have warned you of what was going to happen. Sure, he’d warned you of the attitudes you were likely to be on the receiving end of, but he hadn’t told you about this. With the way he can see you physically stiffen, he knows he messed up.

“It’s okay,” He tried to reassure you, though he went mostly unheard through the gaggle of people around you, asking more questions than he could answer. “Let’s just have us some space, here, alright?” He told the people around him, to little avail. It was a buzz of worry and upset at the sight of Julian’s body, which he could understand, but Tommy wasn’t quite prepared to deal with that just yet.

Luckily for him, his wife came to his rescue soon enough.

“Everybody, move!” Maria yelled, her stern tone carrying over the mutterings and questions. People were more familiar with her than they were with Tommy, and she commanded a certain amount of respect that had the residents clearing out of her way. “You alright?” She murmured to Tommy, as soon as she was close enough, her hand steady and firm on his arm. Until that moment, he hadn’t even realised that he’d dismounted from his horse, that somebody had gotten Julian’s body down.

Tommy supplied her with a jerky nod, and she nodded in return, more understanding of what he was feeling than even he was himself.

“Let’s get these two to med. Somebody go and get Daniel, I’ll need to speak to him.” Maria said, two of the surrounding people immediately rushing off to go and get Daniel, who Tommy realised must be Julian’s next of kin. He decided not to think too much about it, just yet.

A man he knows from the stables approached him, reaching a hand out to hover in the air between them. “You okay, man? You need help getting to med?” Lincoln asked, brows creased in concern. His hands were dirty, probably from taking care of the horses in the stable during the early shift. Tommy was starting to think he looked far worse than he originally realised.

He saw somebody else approaching you, and watched as you took on a defensive stance, fingers tightening around your bow. “You need a hand?” They asked, kinder than Tommy had expected, and your face creased closer to confusion. He watched Maria approach, lay a hand on their shoulder and wave them off. Tommy dismissed Lincoln a moment later.

He walked over to the two of you, hands clenched into fists as he felt the tremors begin. Maria was explaining to you what was going to happen, her voice softened the slightest bit. “We’re going to get you to a doctor, just to check you’re okay, and then we’ll get you some food and whatever else you need. Sound alright?” She told you, waiting for your responding nod before gesturing for both you and Tommy to follow her. He didn’t miss the way you winced when you stepped forward on your right foot.

The walk was quiet, with most people throughout the town minding their own business, only the occasional person shouting to check everything was okay. Tommy sort of wished that you and Maria would chat, so the silence wasn’t so overwhelming. It was like he could still hear himself firing those bullets.

You kept to yourself through the walk to the medical building, only glancing around at the town when you believed nobody was looking. It was more concerning than anything, to Tommy. It was exactly as it had been in the building the horses were in, that same expression of wonder crossing your features, a curiosity that you tried to keep secret.

He was really trying to rein himself and his paternal feelings in, here, but it was a struggle. He was trying to reason with himself — Tommy had no idea why those people were after you. For all he knew, they could have been justified in having it out for you. It wouldn’t be the first time Tommy had heard about a kid being violent and what could be called evil. Especially in a world like this.

But Tommy had done awful things in his lifetime, before and after the world ended, so he had no right to judge you without knowing your life. You were a kid, and that was enough. You didn’t deserve to be hunted down like some kind of animal before being tortured and sent to slaughter. It wasn’t right. And sure, he hadn’t been right very much in his life, but Tommy had sworn to himself that he’d do right by Maria, so here he was, with you, trying to be better.

God, he was always trying to be better.

He hoped saving your life wouldn’t prove to be as futile as all his other attempts to be better, because it never seemed to stick when it came to Tommy Miller. He was always one step away from getting worse, always a bruised ego away from making a mistake, always a moment away from losing himself, just as Maria said he would. It was exhausting. It was a never-ending cycle that Tommy had been battling since he was a kid, and to think he had made so little progress by now, when he was old and decaying? It was disheartening. It made his survival feel futile. What good was surviving if he couldn’t let go of his past? If he couldn’t learn to live with what had happened, all those years ago? How much longer could he expect to survive if he couldn’t keep his head in the game when something unexpected happened?

“Tommy.” Maria said, pulling his mind away from his spiralling thoughts, which were quickly turning to self deprecation. She looked just as concerned as she had when he’d returned to Jackson, that familiar crease to her brow, the wrinkles beside her lips deepening into a frown. He hummed in response, taking in the fact that they had entered the medical building — not quite a hospital, but the closest thing they could have to one. “Let Henry take a look at you, alright? I’m taking them to Cassie.” She told him, watching him closely for any signs that he wouldn’t be okay without her, but he only nodded.

Henry was a good man. Almost a fully qualified doctor when the Outbreak happened, which meant he was the closest thing they had to a medical professional. And he was good at what he did, Tommy would give him that. He’d brought more than a dozen medical books back to Jackson for the man, who had a craving to learn more, to save more people. Henry had certainly fixed Tommy up on more than one occasion.

And it helped that Henry was familiar with certain… unspoken psychiatric conditions. He knew what Tommy was in for the moment that Maria escorted him to the man’s door. Henry knew exactly what had happened by the way Tommy’s hand shook and his forehead sheened with sweat. It made things easier for Tommy, to not have to explain himself.

Instead, Henry prescribed him a week’s worth of expired painkillers for the aches and pains that would come shortly, and he handed Tommy a glass to drink from. He stitched the wound on Tommy’s cheekbone and said nothing as he breathed through the pain, as he clenched his trembling fingers into a fist and kept his eyes on the poster that covered the opposite wall.

When Henry finished, Tommy gave him a brief thank you, before he was exiting the room with an inhale still rattling in his chest. It was a relief to let that breath out, to exhale and feel something akin to safety as he headed towards Cassie’s space. It wasn’t far, and Tommy was surprised he hadn’t heard the commotion whilst in Henry’s room.

He entered after a brief knock to see you curled up with your bow clutched in a fist, whilst Cassie and Maria stood on the opposite end of the room with placating hands held out towards you. Despite the exhaustion filling his very bones, Tommy’s brows furrowed in concern for you, that feeling of worry gnawing at his chest.

“Woah, hey, everythin’ alright in here?” He asked, paying Maria no mind as she gave him a stern but concerned glare. He chose to pay attention to you instead, to the way your face was crumpled defensively, the way you seemingly tried to shield yourself from Cassie and Maria. From him. If you’d have given him your name, he would’ve said it then, in an attempt to connect with you. But you hadn’t, and you’d reacted badly to him calling you kid, so he was at a bit of a loss.

You glared over at the two women who had been trying to help you, looking all the more like a cornered animal. “I didn’t agree to—to you using your old world things on me!” You spat out, recoiling as if they’d done something truly awful. Tommy didn’t really understand what you were talking about, but figured that maybe to you, they had.

“Okay, alright, let’s just take a deep breath here.” Tommy told you, a hand out towards Maria and Cassie as if he was mediating the situation. He supposed that Maria would just be glad that he wasn’t in too bad of a mindset. “You don’t have to do anythin’ you don’t wanna do, you hear? We’re just trying to help you, but we’ll go at your pace. Sound alright?”

You nodded after a moment of hesitation, without wavering in your expression.

“Okay.” Tommy said with an exhale, mostly of relief as you uncurled slightly. “How about that food and some sleep, then?” He offered, relaxing further when you perked up the slightest bit. He imagined that you were probably starving from whatever chase you had been involved in, and so Tommy was prepared to give you just about whatever food you could ask for. He was glad to see your grip loosen on the bow at the mention of food.

Maria stepped forwards, unwavering in the face of your tense expression, and placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, face softened. “The garage behind us is empty.” She said, an offer, if Tommy had ever heard one. He smiled at her, the gesture tight and tense after the day he’d had, but it was true nonetheless. “I can go to the canteen.” She added, nodding her head towards the door behind him.

“Sounds good to me,” Tommy said, his creased expression loosening at his wife’s support. “How’s about we go and get you settled, then? And Maria’ll bring along some food for you.”

“Sounds… good.” You settled on, almost reluctantly, as if you were copying Tommy’s language. He sure hoped you didn’t do that too much. He could remember how many times Joel would scold him, all those years ago, for teaching Sarah all of the bad words he knew of. He was well known for having the mouth of a sailor.

Tommy nodded, gesturing towards the door for you to go first. Before he left, he turned to Cassie, who had watched the whole situation in silence, and thanked her for her time. She smiled at him uncertainly, still not very confident in her abilities despite learning from Henry for close to two years. Tommy couldn’t imagine that you and your lack of cooperation would be helpful for those confidence issues, but no matter.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

There wasn’t really a grand tour to give you, Tommy had said, when letting you through a gate into what was apparently his garden. He seemed… sheepish, almost, but mostly, he seemed tired. You could certainly relate to that. When showing you to the place you’d be staying for the night, he had explained how the house on the other end of the garden was his and Maria’s own. Strangely, he had offered for you to come in should you need them, or need anything at all.

It all seemed strange to you.

People weren’t meant to be like, well, this.

Your whole life, you had been told how the world worked, how people worked, by your family, the Elders, everyone. And sure, it had been true for each of the wolves you had encountered, but Tommy seemed different, somehow. On the walk through his town you’d seen their gardens, which were reminiscent of the ones back on the island. Though you were pretty sure they could’ve been improved. Still, it was… odd. Your parents had always told you that people who didn’t seek the Prophet’s guidance were stuck in the past, but from what you’d seen? You weren’t sure what to believe.

Tommy had been violent when you met him. But he had also been… kind. If that was the correct word to describe it. He had also seemed haunted by his own violence, afterwards, which was almost reassuring to you.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t run the moment the man who had been holding you had fallen. Perhaps the haunted look in his eyes was the very reason you had lingered. What else could it have been? These people were supposed to be animalistic. They were supposed to be reliant on the Old World, on what nature had gone to drastic lengths to eradicate.

Sure, their ways of healing screamed of the Old World, so unlike the herbs and salves you were used to, but you were starting to think that some of these Old World things weren’t as terrible as you were led to believe. After the… ritual, the rainwater that had been used to ‘soothe’ the carvings on your face had done very little, and in the deepest parts of your mind, you had always secretly wondered if the Old World’s healing could’ve helped. Even now, the slowly scarring cuts along your cheeks wreaked discomfort across you.

Besides, out from underneath the watchful eye of the other Seraphites, you could admit to yourself that the Old World technology interested you. At the very least, you found yourself able to look at what surrounded you, at what people used to be so reliant upon. It was curiosity, eating away at you, that you were finally able to indulge now that you were alone.

Even in this small garage, you couldn’t help but be interested in the lamp that lit up the farthest side of the room, bathing it in a yellowish glow that slowly started to reach you. You were so used to the flickering light of fire that the steady glow this was giving off made you feel uneasy. It was all just so new, which was ironic, really, given that the Elders had dubbed it old.

Despite being kicked from the island, from the Seraphites, there was still the inherent feeling of wrongness about it all. You had only slept on an actual mattress a handful of times in your entire life, resigned to the bedding made of straw or whatever else your family scrounged up. It was too squishy, too bouncy, and you found yourself laying on the hard flooring rather than relax into something soft. Perhaps it would’ve helped the ache in your back from napping in trees and ditches, but you weren’t ready to find out. You still felt as if your parents would jump out from around the corner to scold you, to reinforce the way of the Seraphites, the way the Prophet had foretold.

You couldn’t remove the stillness of their expressions from your mind. The way they hadn’t even grimaced as the Elder cut into your skin, carved the flesh beneath his aging blade, until you were crying and flinching away from the hands which held you. It was chilling.

You had known, of course, that the ceremony was coming.

It always does for those who finally reach the age in which they can finally become a soldier. You had heard the screams of your neighbour when he had turned of age, had seen the reddened skin of his cheeks as they healed from the Elder’s blade. You had seen the change in him as soon as they turned from wounds to scars, the way he gained that same stillness that your parents retained.

The idea that that could be you was terrifying.

When your mind became quiet, you could feel the stillness creeping up on you, trying to leech into the depths of your mind. You feared becoming the kind of numb which would allow you to be the faithful soldier they had wanted. Wasn’t life the very thing the Prophet was seeking? How far would you be willing to go, in her name? If you had allowed the stillness to take over you, you feared you wouldn’t like the answer.

Even still, it was hard not to miss what had been your home for your whole life.

You missed the familiarity, the community. You missed knowing every inch of your home, missed being able to visualise every tree and building from your memory. You missed having a home. As nice as everyone here appeared, namely Tommy, you knew well enough that people were never as nice as they seemed.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, resting against the cold ground, and resigned yourself to leaving as soon as possible when you woke back up.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Tommy knew this moment was coming.

He knew that, no matter how much he prayed to a god he no longer believed in, he wouldn’t be able to get out of this. Of bearing his worst moments for Maria to see. Of being vulnerable with his wife, in a way he never thought he would be able to.

Maria looked after him. He knew that. Just as he looked after her. That’s what their marriage was. That’s what they had promised one another in an exchange of vows that Tommy was determined to never break. So, logically, he knew that she only asked because she needed to know, because she had to protect him and she knew he would keep it all bottled up if she didn’t ask.

But it was still hard to face her, to look at her concerned face, pinched eyebrows, and voice the fact that she was right. It was probably a matter of pride, Tommy thought. How could he admit to her that he had failed? That he thought he was capable and he wasn’t? He didn’t want her to coddle him, though he knew that Maria wasn’t exactly one for coddling. He wanted, more than anything, to be okay.

He wanted to be able to go out on a patrol without there being a risk of him losing his senses, losing his mind. He wanted Maria to be able to rely on him, to know that he could do whatever she asked of him. He wanted for Maria to not worry so much about him. He wanted to hear loud noises without his heart pounding and his palms sweating. He wanted to be the same man he was when he could take on ten men at once without blinking, without there being any risk of him losing.

Maria didn’t marry that man, but sometimes, Tommy wished she did.

“So, the kid?” She asked, breaking through the thoughts that were quickly spiralling. He blinked, not expecting that to be her question. Tommy was waiting for her to ask about Julian, the man that he had gotten killed. Not you, who was still asleep in the garage behind their house. “How’d that happen?”

Tommy cleared his throat. “I, uh— Me ‘n Julian got ambushed. They shot him dead before we could even grab our guns, and they were askin’ me about some Scar. As if I had any idea what the hell that meant.” He explained, voice gruff and sounding strange to his own ears. “They were gettin’ real agitated, probably a minute away from shootin’ me when the—the kid shot an arrow, got their attention. Didn’t take ‘em long to find them, and that was the Scar they were talking about.”

Maria’s brows furrowed, as if she was getting irritated herself. Tommy was wise enough to realise it wasn’t at him.

“They were goin’ to— fuck— torture and kill that goddamn kid, Maria. I just went into autopilot, and I killed them all. All of the ones there, at least. I don’t know if there’s more of ‘em, the kid wasn’t sure, but these people… they didn’t even know what happened.” Tommy said angrily, his words coming out with an aggression that Maria raised her eyebrows at. Tommy didn’t tend towards anger. Not really. He got upset and he got even, usually with a sort of passiveness about him. He was usually resigned to what he had to do, not so angry. The situation must’ve gotten to him more than Maria had realised.

“Okay,” Maria said, calm voice soothing Tommy’s frayed nerves, and she placed her hand on his and squeezed. “I’ll send out a patrol to the surrounding areas. And we’ll send a team to clear out the bodies. You got a number?”

He absentmindedly squeezed her hand in return as he replied, “Seven.”

She nodded, feeling her heart tighten at his expression.

Maria never liked sending him out on patrols, and especially without his older brother. Tommy always came back more himself when he went with Joel, rather than the shell that he became when patrolling with other people. It’s not that he wasn’t capable, Maria knew that he was, hell, she had seen that he was. But sometimes doing what you have to in order to survive just doesn’t get easier.

She can remember when she first pried the information of his time in the military from him. She can remember the way his eyes had looked far away, the way he became… distant. It wasn’t easy for him to talk to her about it, but he did it. He managed to explain to her what it had been like for him, all of these years.

Tommy fell into the role of soldier easily. It was being out of that role that he found difficult.

His time with the Fireflies certainly hadn’t helped. All of these battles and wars… for what? None of them had achieved much, and Tommy was all too aware of that. It was just bloodshed for the sake of bloodshed. Remembering, for Tommy, was the worst part. It left him with shaking hands and trembling lips, sweat-soaked shirts and a gaping feeling in his chest as if it was him who had been shot.

It was easy to love Tommy, for Maria. It was easy to look at him and see the man deserving of love and support. It was easy to trust him, to know he would do anything to survive, to come home. But it wasn’t easy for her to watch him battle himself, battle his past, his present. It wasn’t easy to send him on patrols, knowing how much he struggled because of them.

But Tommy, the stubborn Southern man that he was, refused not to go when they needed him. Even though he would be better off staying in Jackson, letting somebody else go, he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t who he was. He was a soldier, a survivor. He couldn’t handle people questioning that. So, she sent him, because she loved him, and that was easy.

“Jesus, Maria, what am I doing here?” He murmured, pressing their clasped hands to his forehead. “What the hell am I gonna do with some kid? As if we don’t have enough on our hands. As if you don’t.” Tommy continued, mostly muttering, shaking his head and heaving a deep sigh.

“Hey,” Maria said, interrupting him, and crouching so she could look up towards his bowed head. She held his hand tighter, pulling it away from his face. “You’re being my husband. And I love you,” She told him, squeezing his fingers tightly, smiling up towards him. “I would never want you to leave behind anybody who deserved a chance, especially this kid. You’ve given them a real chance here, and that’s not something to regret.”

Tommy sighed once more, but nodded, pressing his free hand to the side of Maria’s face to lean forward and kiss her forehead. He lingered for a moment, eyes closed, before squeezing her hand and pulling away. “The kid needs real help.” He admitted, watching his wife tilt her head from side to side before murmuring her agreement. “Not sure we got that kinda help here.”

“Well, we’ll do our best. If they can’t find it here, I don’t think they’ll find it anywhere.” She responded, standing up and cringing at the clicking of her knees. “Now, c’mon,” Maria said, pulling Tommy to his feet, “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

When you woke up, the sky was bright, sun shining behind clouds that covered the sky. Your back was still aching, your bones creaking as you stretched out, your whole body protesting at the idea of getting up.

But you knew you needed to get out of here, to get somewhere that provided some sense of safety, which you imagined would be far away. And you had a creeping worry in the back of your mind that your hosts would change their minds about your presence, so you definitely didn’t want to overstay your welcome. So, despite your eyes itching with exhaustion, and your entire skeleton screaming with aches and pains, you got to your feet.

Your things weren’t out of arms reach, so it took you no longer than a mere moment to gather them all. Your bow was comfortable in your hand, despite your slightly poor skills using it, and the weight of the quill at your shoulder was familiar. Your makeshift bag was far too light to be comfortable, reminding you of your lacking supplies, but it would be better to collect supplies on the way, than risk staying too long.

The moment you opened the door, you were squinting against the bright light of the sky, your eyes burning as you took in the surrounding area. Lights were on in Tommy and Maria’s house, which you could see through the window, and there was the faint sound of movement from a few streets over.

It was hard to face the journey ahead when you were exhausted down to your very bones and you had no destination. But what choice did you have? You were just planning to go the opposite way from where you had come from, and hope for the best. Though you weren’t sure what the best even could be, considering there were no other Seraphites you could go to. And though you weren’t welcome with them, you couldn’t shake the beliefs that were put into your head from your youth. Even with your raging curiousity, you weren’t sure you could adapt to such a drastic change.

“Hey,” Tommy called from the doorway of his house, one arm resting on the doorframe and the other holding the door open. “Not heading out already, are ya?” He asked, eyebrows raised as you squinted towards him, brows furrowing.

“Yes, I am.” You answered firmly, squeezing your bow in your hand.

Tommy sighed, sucking his teeth. “Well, just hang on there, alright? Let me get my boots on and I’ll get you those supplies I owe you.” He told you, not waiting for a response before he was heading into his house, the door banging shut behind him.

You considered, for more than a moment, just leaving while he was in there. But it didn’t seem like a good idea to piss of the man who had shot seven people dead in the span of a few minutes. Despite him saying he owed you supplies, you still couldn’t help but feel like you owed him. Surely him killing those who had been hunting you accrued more debt than you saving him from being shot by said people, and helping transport a dead body. That was seven lives in exchange for one. It didn’t make sense, the more you thought about it.

“Alright,” Tommy said, stepping down and heading towards you. “Shall we?” You nodded.

It was a little while before anybody spoke, the walk continuing in a suffocating sort of silence. Tommy, who was debating how best to go about broaching the subject of you staying without making it seem like you have to, was uncomfortably quiet, his mouth opening and closing more than once.

His gait was slow, slower than it had been when leaving the site of the WLF slaughter, at least, but it was better for your aching bones and weak joints. You didn’t mind the slow walk as much when you thought about the journey you had ahead of you. It was better to conserve energy now, rather than use it all up before you had even made any progress in getting away. Especially since you couldn’t quell the anxiety you had about any loitering wolves, looking for even more revenge.

“You should fix your gardens.” You said, as the two of you passed the greenhouses which housed most of the crops that the people of Jackson relied on. There were people in there now, tending to the various crops that had been planted, some being harvested for the evening already.

Tommy hummed, slowing further to look at the gardens you were talking about. He was surprised to see it was the greenhouses that you were talking about. He waited for you to elaborate, his brows raised.

“Your yield is down,” You stated, slowly, as if confused as to why Tommy was questioning you, to why he didn’t already know. He was actually confused about how you knew about this year’s poor harvest. “You needed to rotate your crops. And plant them further apart.” You told him, your tone telling him that what you were saying was obvious.

“Huh,” He said, hands resting on his hips as he drew to a stop. “We don’t got many experts on farming here in Jackson. Everybody does their best, pulls their weight, but none of us did this, back in the day.” Tommy explained, sounding a touch amused by the situation, like he was still in disbelief about what his life had come to.

This information didn’t surprise you. The prophet had said that people relied too much on their technology. It was why being independent from technology was so important to the Seraphites. You were taught from a young age how to survive by relying on the world around you. These people, clearly, were not. They were doing better than a lot of other places, though, from what you had seen. The WLFs, for example.

But that wasn’t to mean that this place was good enough, in Seraphites standards. Their use of electricity would have immediately caused the Elders string these people up to make examples of them. Electricity, more than anything else, was frowned upon. Though it often seemed unachievable. To you, anyway. You had never been taught how it worked, for good reason, the Elder’s had always said. It was forbidden. More so than anything else that came from the Old World.

Weapons were allowed, provided for the soldiers on the front lines to even the playing field with the Wolves, though that had always seemed hypocritical.

It was hard to shake such beliefs, no matter how hypocritical, even after leaving. After all, it’s not like you left because you stopped believing in the Prophet’s message. Perhaps, if she still lived, you would’ve stayed.

“We could use an expert.” Tommy mentioned, when you stayed quiet, not finding an appropriate response to his previous comment. “That could be you, if you wanted.”

“You said that you’d give me supplies, so that I—I can leave.” You said, voice accusatory as you spun around to face him, brows furrowed and hand itching to clench around your bow, splinters digging into your fingertips.

Tommy’s hands immediately went up, as if surrendering, and he quickly spoke. “And you can, ‘course you can. I just meant that, well, if you wanted, you could stay. We could take care of ‘ya, and you could help out around here like everyone else. ‘S all.”

Strangely, you found yourself wanting to stay.

Not because you trusted him, or anybody, but because you were already exhausted, sick of the running. Sick of fighting for your life simply because you wanted it to be your own. You didn’t want to be a soldier, not after you learned what soldiers did. You wanted to settle down, to sleep, more than anything.

It didn’t feel like an option for you. You didn’t feel like you had any options. Would you be running for your whole life? For whatever you had left of it? Would you ever feel safe again?

Somehow, you doubted it. Perhaps you had done something in a prior life to deserve this. To warrant this treatment, this life. Why else would this be happening to you? Everything that had happened to you had to have happened for a reason. It had to. You needed something to have justified all of this.

“No, I—I need to leave. Before more wolves come for me. Before the Seraphites…” You trailed off, voice shakier than you would’ve liked it. You didn’t need to justify yourself to him, did you?

Tommy stared at you for a long moment, before nodding his head. His arms hung by his sides, before one was scratching the scruff of hair on the side of his cheek. “If that’s what you want. ‘S your choice, kid.” He told you, mustering up the most reassuring smile he could manage. “Well, then, s‘pose we’d better grab you those supplies. You’re losin’ light.”

You followed him when he set off once more, a funny feeling blooming in your chest as you looked at the swirling clouds above you.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

▹— extra a/n: hello lovely people. so this is VERY different from the seraphite!reader fic i promised so long ago. but it’s here!! the abrupt ending is because i started struggling with it, and i didn’t want to drag it on when there’s so much of this part that i like :’) im really really considering doing a part two at LEAST with this fic, perhaps where the reader finds some sense of home?? but idk if yall want that. anyway. i dont know much about ptsd and the experience people have, so i am not saying this representation is accurate in any way!! but this is how i see tommy thinking and how he and maria juggle this struggle yk? i love tommy’s character almost as much as joel’s and i think he deserves to have some more… in-depth ??? writing about his struggles??? yeah. well. that’s that. hope you guys enjoyed regardless!!!

also for those of you on the pedro taglist, i tagged you in this bc it’s tlou and will likely include joel if i do a part 2, but if you don’t wanna be tagged in stuff like this just let me know! love yall!

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hazbinsillynight · 2 months

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Radiostatic week 2024

Day 7 (free day) Jealousy

They were fighting just like always when suddenly everything changed. Neither of them saw it coming, but at least Alastor's shadow got some quality time with their old nemesis. Alastor howerver looked pretty pissed for some reason

Static mixed with strange radio sound could be heard in the principal park of Pentagram City. Everyone had fled away from the fight scene which was reducing the place to a chaotic battlefield. Some screams of panic could be heard and there was some body of careless lesser demon who wanted to have a good show.

Vox and Alastor. The TV and the radio. The unending fight and rivalry that was tearing once again Hell apart. None of them refused to give the other any opportunity. Vox was obsessed with his rival since his departure of seven years, while Alastor only saw the other as a source of entertainment.

Vaudou and shadow magic were everywhere as well as the lightning and cables. All of this fight for a bit of teasing from the radio demon who knew Vox couldn’t resist.

“Victory is mine this time Old man!!” Vox exclaimed with Alastor trapped between his cables.

“Ah! You wish!” Alastor claimed with the biggest smile anyone has ever seen on the smiling demon.

Both of them loved these fights. For Vox they were an occasion to get rid of some stress and get attention from the red Overlord. While for Alastor it was a way to avoid boredom and seeing the media demon from whom he enjoyed the company so much. Their game of cat and mouse was on for what seemed forever and none of the two demons were able to say when it started.

Suddenly Vox got plunged into the ground, held and pushed by Alastor’s shadow. To the surprise of the two demons, it decided to jump on the TV demon and hold him under him against the ground.

While Vox tried to get free from the shadow’s hold, thinking it was an attack from his nemesis, Alastor looked at the situation a bit confused. He hadn’t ordered anything to his double, in fact, the shadow replica didn’t like to fight against Vox. Why he wasn’t sure but seeing it keeping his adversary to the ground somehow didn’t feel good.

Vox tried to electrocute the shadow being over him but in vain. Instead of shooing it away from him, it got the opposite effect. The dark shape was wrapping itself around the other demon's body, preventing him from moving. Vox growled a bit as he was now incapable of moving.

“A-Alastor!!” He suddenly chirped nervously when he felt the shadow touching him and passing a part of its body under his shirt. He could feel his face burning as he looked at his rival, mortified by the situation.

That got the radio demon off guard, just like his rival he could feel his face burning. Vox was lying down on the ground with his shadow lurking over him like a predator. The dark shape didn’t form any legs and chose instead to wrap the legs and torso of the media Overlord. Vox’s shirt and top clothes were a mess that the shadow took pleasure in playing with. Alastor was mortified, just what decadent kind of behavior was that?!

The radio demon hurried to the side of the other demon, ready to shoo his shadow away. But it didn't hear it that way and as soon as Alastor came closer it hissed at him, clinging onto Vox possessively.

“Alastor!!” Vox exclaimed when he saw the other stop in front of the protective and possessive shadow.

A chirp from the dark shape wrapped around the TV demon surprised them both. Alastor could feel his face becoming hotter. His shadow was a powerful being of his creation, capable of tearing demons apart easily. It wasn’t some kind of goey hugging and chirping partner for Vox.

“That's enough now! I think you clearly outpassed your liberties for today!” Alastor exclaimed, trying to make his replica come back to him.

The shadow started growling before hissing louder at its master. Vox was desperately trying to get free when suddenly the shadow turned back to him and started passing his hands softly on the edges of his screen. Before neither of the two Overlords could do anything, it kissed the media demon with passion causing him to glitch stronger than ever.

Alastor saw red this time. The images of Vox being possessively kissed by his shadow replica sent him in such a wave of anger. He just wanted nothing more than to prove his replica that the other demon wasn’t theirs to take. Vox was his rival, his source of entertainment, his everything! There were no negotiations possible! So, with angry and decided steps, the radio demon came closer to Vox that his shadow took away from him while he was stuck in his thoughts.

Vox blushed heavily when he saw Alastor coming to him. The shadow suddenly let him go, smiling and clearly amused by the situation. With his heart pacing ten times faster than it should be, the media Overlord tried to stay calm. He could still feel his screen glitching and electricity waving around him. He was voiceless. No thought was coming into his mind, the passionate kiss the shadow replica of his rival playing again and again in his head.

“A-Al...Alastor you-”

Nothing of what he tried to say made any sense. With the calm around them and their fight being over, more people and journalists came closer, impatient to hear and learn more about one of their legendary fights. Get your shit together Vox! There are cameras you can’t act like this right now! He tried to reassure himself and started to get up, putting a mask of confidence on his face.

“I guess I’ll let you win this time, Alastor!” He smirked, knowing the cameras were on both of them.

With his clothes in such a state, their wounds, and how out of breath he was it wouldn’t be difficult to let them believe that he lost the fight. Losing was still better than what could happen if the press learned about what happened.

“Oh shut up stupid TV.” Alastor said with a bitter tone, looking angry but not at him. There was something in his way to walk towards him that made the media Overlord both nervous and thirsty. For an ace in the hole, he could be so hot sometimes.

Before he could do anything Vox felt the other Overlord pull his shirt possessively and with a wilder behavior than his shadow replica he kissed him in front of the whole crowd of journalists. For the second time this day, Vox glitched and almost caused a blackout for the entire town.

“For anyone that wouldn’t know to whom you belong, Vox.” The deer demon whispered into his ears before biting him into the neck causing the whole crowd to gasp and Vox to reboot.

With a growl and his dear rival in his arms, Alastor growled at the journalist menacingly. A few seconds later they were alone but not before the flash of a dozen cameras, capturing the moment of intimity of the two demons. Surely Vox would have a lot of work to deal with once he woke up.

“Sleep well, my dear. It appears you’ll need all the rest you can find once you wake up.” Alastor said before gently kissing the screen of his rival and dearest demon.

#hazbin hotel #radiostatic #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x vox #vox x alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #alastor #radiostatic week 2024 #tumblr fic

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witch-and-her-witcher · 21 days

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eluzriel | E | essentially pwp but there's some espionage and getting together

There are secrets Elain's lovers have been keeping from the rest of the Night Court, but some truths Elain simply didn't disclose that come to light during her first intercontinental spy mission to Rask - such as reaching a decision about maintaining casual relationships separately, or perhaps committing to something bigger.

When both Azriel and Lucien are sent after Elain to ensure her safety, everything comes out in the open.

ao3 | chapters 1-3/16

For @polyacotarweek Day Three: Secrets. Thank you @popjunkie42 and @climbthemountain2020 for betaing!!! <3

preview under cut

“Good day, High Lady — gods, Feyre! You could have warned me!”

The High Lady of the Night Court rolls her eyes and doesn’t even falter in her ministrations. As if Lucien is the one being dramatic that he has just walked in on her naked from the waist up aside from a loose binding around her breasts — and more tape being wound around a gushing wound in her abdomen.

“Are you alright? Do you need a healer?” The heels of Lucien’s riding boots clip against the lovely, polished hardwood flooring as his training as a soldier kicks in and he crosses the distance between them.

Feyre waves him off. “The Dawn healing in my blood will take care of it, right now I just need to keep from staining the rug — or, well, anymore rugs …”

No one could snub their nose at Feyre’s taste in ornamental rugs or interior decorating in general, but her refined, expensive palette did come at the cost of fabrics too delicate to magically clean. Even if she had taken to hunting down treasures in thrift shops about the Courts, her furnishings were worth a small kingdom on their own.

An impracticality considering the warriors that tromp through the High Lady’s home regularly, herself counted in that number. Or the prince who seems as great a menace as his mother.

But Lucien appreciates her dedication to maintaining a beautiful, stylish home.

He frowns now, glancing around as if he may find some hidden threat. His hand goes to the hilt of the saber tied at his belt. “What happened? Did you call me in to handle whoever did this to you?”

Feyre bursts out with laughter.

Rude.

“No offense, emissary, but if I required someone to handle a foe for me, I don’t think I would need to call you out from your townhome to do so.” Her freckle dusted shoulders shake, beautiful and so uncommon for a fae. Glamouring replicas have become a fashion trend since the former human High Lady has come into herself, has come to be recognized for more than just that mud splattered Savior. “Besides, this was the doing of my son.”

“Nyx did this to you?” Lucien’s brows shoot to his hairline.

He decides to let her insult against his prowess as a fighter pass when her eyes are sparkling like a mountain fed stream.

Gods, she’s really grown over the last decade into her strength, her beauty, her regality. It’s impressive as hell. Never would Lucien have thought the scamp Tamlin had brought into his manor would blossom into this.

“Cassian did warn me to wear a vest if we were going to the mat.” Her mouth spreads into a vicious smile. “Once he’s sparring, he can get carried away, and he’s adopted some innovative fighting techniques to surprise his uncles. It’s so deeply embedded in them that wings aren’t to be touched or to touch with, Nyx likes to jab a talon to gain the upper hand.”

“Smart use of his stature,” he observes.

Feyre beams with pride.

A knot tightens in Lucien’s throat. His metal eye whirs.

That parental happiness. It shouldn’t be so painful to see, but …

He pulls himself from the temptation of that particular downward spiral because Feyre is still trying to apply enough pressure to get the tape to stop the bleeding in her side. He brushes her fingers away and takes over. Feyre doesn’t fight it, knowing his angle will make the wrapping more effective.

“Alright, you didn’t summon me to put your son in his place and likely not for my wound dressing either.” Lucien glances up to her face beneath the curtain of his hair that has fallen over his shoulder while he bends to finish tying the wrap. “What can I do for you, Feyre?”

“I thought seeing me half naked would be a fun memory to reminisce over?”

He presses a little harder than necessary on the wound. Feyre hisses.

“Okay, alright, not enough time has passed to joke about that. In truth, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Lucien whistles low while stepping back to appreciate his handy work. The bleed has stopped seeping through the white cloth.

“A favor? This should be interesting.”

Feyre lifts her top from the desk she’s had it resting on. She pulls it over her shoulders and begins buttoning it, pointedly not making eye contact with Lucien. A very interesting favor then, if it is enough to make the High Lady feel guilt.

“I need you to go to Rask and retrieve a special package… Your mate.”

#poly+acotarweek2024 #eluzriel #elain x azriel x lucien #no hate only smut #acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing

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good-omens-classic · 9 months

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I just watched all 6 episodes of season 2 in a row and I am having a very hard verbalizing the way I'm feeling.

I am speechless, and not in a good way.

For five and a half episodes, I was on board. I didn't expect to like this, but despite myself I found myself laughing and getting emotional and getting invested in the story, in a way I haven't been since first reading Good Omens and falling in love with it all those years ago. Nearly a decade ago at this point. I had problems with season 1 and the way the fandom changed, but that felt mostly natural and just like differences of opinion and interpretation.

The ending of season 2 feels actively malicious. Especially coming from someone who couldn't stop touting over and over on Twitter about what a nice queer love story this is.

Everything wasn't perfect--but it was...nice. It was something. It was engaging and I was starting to feel excited again, not like I'm going to start writing fanfiction again excited but at the very least I'm thinking, I can enjoy watching people enjoy this from the sidelines.

And then the second half of the last episode came. And Aziraphale wants to go back to Heaven to lead the angels. Not only is that a completely nonsensical thing for Metatron to invite him to do, but Aziraphale's entire character is that he's happy on Earth. He's happy on Earth with Crowley. OF COURSE CROWLEY REFUSED TO GO BACK TO HEAVEN. The entire fucking point is they belong ON EARTH, together, with the humans. Our own side, their own side, the humans' being neither good nor evil but full of potential and power and them learning they can be that way too.

That's the point. That's always been the point. NEIL GAIMAN KNOWS THAT'S THE POINT. Aziraphale was clearly very unhappy with this decision, and hesitant. The show made it VERY clear he was unhappy and unsure after Crowley gave him a reminder of what they were supposed to be about...and he just went anyway.

And he did this right as Crowley declares his love and FUCKING KISSES HIM. In this, supposedly the cutest best queer love story. Nobody can even say "Well they just don't have that kind of relationship, they don't need to say I love you or kiss or hold hands" anymore because THEY LITERALLY DID KISS. And then IMMEDIATELY said goodbye to each other.

Tragedy is not just about making the audience unhappy. Tragedy is making the audience ache because of something sad and unavoidable, of knowing the characters could be happy in a better world. Good omens has always been about building that world, to me. I thought maybe they were going to go in that direction, with Aziraphale and Crowley building a non-apocalypse, at peace world on Earth together, with Aziraphale's newfound authority to teach all the angels and demons the benefits of humanity. That is, in my mind, the culmination of the themes of the original story, and the one I thought season 1 mostly got right except for some stumbling blocks. But this... This feels like a slap in the face.

The tragedy here is not that Aziraphale and Crowley can't be together, but that the writers....that Neil Gaiman threw away everything in the original story, everything from season 1, Hell, everything from earlier in season 2, about Aziraphale's character development and the most important themes of the story. And for what? Who finds this ending narratively satisfying, let alone is happy with it?

I was enjoying this. Maybe it was just because so much time has passed since season 1 that I've been able to more effectively separate the versions and think of them as different stories, and just enjoy them for what they are separately, or maybe it's because there was no other version of this story for me to silently constantly compare it to, but I was enjoying this...a lot more than I enjoyed season 1. I thought it was cute, I thought Gabriel and Beelzebub deciding to basically do WHAT CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE SHOULD HAVE DONE and make a "third side" was a great extension of the themes of the story, and all the Aziraphale and Crowley flashbacks set it up so perfectly for Aziraphale to realize at the end: The problem IS systemic, and Heaven isn't the "good guys." and Aziraphale clearly realizes this! And yet he doesn't act on it. If the last half an hour had just been Aziraphale going "I don't want to lead Heaven actually, I belong here on Earth if you want to come to me on how to run things the Earth way," and then he skips off holding Crowley's hand. To me that would be not only the happiest AND most narratively neat, wrapped up conclusion for season 2, but also THE ENTIRE FUCKING POINT OF THE ENTIRE FRANCHISE. and ALL the character development s2 had been setting up in the first five fucking episodes.

It just all got thrown in the garbage.

I'm tired. This could have been such a good, good story, and I was prepared to be disappointed, but nothing could have prepared me for this. When the clip of Aziraphale and Crowley kissing got leaked, I was bracing myself for it to be some sort of like....joke, or dream sequence that didn't actually happen. I was not prepared for THIS.

Someone please convince me it wasn't this bad. Someone please spin it in a way I hadn't thought of before that makes it make sense. Someone please disagree with me and explain why.

#spoilers

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wordy-little-witch · 28 days

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Ficlet I had to get outta my head

TW: attempted noncon (thwarted), attempted drugging (partially effective but not really), allusion to traumas and mental illness never specified.

Ships: cross guild poly, pre-relationship but post-feelings lmao

Wild Cross Guild concept but a meeting with a prospective sponsor/partner who deals in smuggled goods and black market trade, where Buggy is Immediately on high alert because something about this woman is absolutely Not Right. He's never been able to explain it in a way that was understood, the ways people sounded and acted and spoke acting as beacons to his attention. He just called it a vibe or declared if he liked or disliked someone. He was rarely wrong, and Buggy was certain that he did not like this lady.

She made a show of pulling the inexperienced boss card, citing her late husband being the founder, the title and responsibilities falling to her in his wake. She brought gifts, armed with a sheepish and hopeful smile, a demure slip of a woman before what, to those on the Seas, were three power houses.

Buggy didn't buy it for a moment. For one, her hands were calloused in such a way that it spoke of weapons training. For another, the gifts were surface levels of striking fancies, but the specificity of them could easily be attributed to luck or simple price. Mihawk enjoyed a fine red wine, which just so happened to be on the more expensive side - aged red wine of a fine quality was never cheap. Crocodile was not prone to hiding his propensity for riches, wealth, jewelry, or his beloved reptiles. His bananawani specifically hailed from their habitats in Alabasta, so the jewelers there doubtlessly made more than a few specialty items with their shape in mind. Finding one worth its price and the mythical associations of the 'wanis could easily be seen as a well-read woman making an effort.

Buggy's gift had been what made him cement his notion.

He spent decades playing the fool and spreading a net woven with lies, misinformation and subterfuge. It was not paranoia if people were truly out to get you, and Buggy knew more than anyone else in the damned world - barring maybe one other - just how quickly the hounds of hell will close at the heels of the weakest links.

His gift had been a treasure chest. Ordinarily, that alone with not cause much sway. No, inside the chest was gold, berri, jewels in many colors barring one. Buggy never wore red jewels, not out of hatred but out of self consciousness, out of paranoia. He had taken that token and tweaked it in a few areas of his proverbial net, citing red as a color he typically abhorred in gems. Some called it conceit. Some called it pettiness, or pickyness, or spoiled brat behaviors. Buggy called it useful.

Within the chest gifted to him was a distinct lack of red gem stones. Within the chest was a three dimensional puzzle map - one of the kind he collected and adored, had been infatuated by since his earliest memory at the knee of the man who would be king.

These things were expensive, rare, and a smuggler would never give it as a gift.

She said the other men had helped her select their gifts.

Buggy gave the ensemble a cursory glance from his periphery, and he bit back the urge to curl his lip.

None of these people felt, sounded or smelled safe. Their Voices were discordant, anticipatory, and dripping with greed and... guilt? The mess was more than he felt equipped to handle, so he turned his attention back to the woman, doe like brown eyes framed by dark lashes as she happily chattered away to Crocodile, innocence exuding from her pores.

He didn't trust her.

Mihawk was as attuned to his surroundings as ever, gaze sharp and mouth flat, though his attention was more on the visible and energetic threats in their midsts. Buggy, secure in the swordsman's watch, let himself focus on the woman.

It was because he was focused so intently that he saw her rather impressive sleight of hand as she offered to pour Crocodile's drink. Into one glass fell a powder, pink tinted which rapidly vanished in the amber whiskey leaving naught a trace.

Buggy was moving before he could stop himself, a hand snatching the drink from his lietenamt with a faux casual grin. He tossed her a wink and took a sip, delighting as everything froze.

Mrs Stone blanched, eyes bulging. Hands flew to weapons, all of which stopped as Mihawk shifted, barely a movement, barely a breath, before all of the inconsequential blades, guns and otherwise fell to useless pieces at his feet.

Before Crocodile could even respond, the woman was rising, face angry, moving to slip the hidden daggers from her sleeves before being halted and strung up by shackles of sand.

"What was it," Buggy asked softly, "that you added to the drink, my dear lady? It was awfully sweet for my Croco-chan's tastes. More up my alley, I'd argue."

"It wasn't meant for you!"

"How mean~"

Crocodile tightened his hold with the sand, earning a grunt of pain from their assailant. "What was in it," he hissed with a glare as dark as death.

The woman gave a slow grin, chuckling softly. "Have you ever had Amorenatta root?"

The woman and her men are arrested, a notice sent to their contact regarding the situation in plain terms. Buggy, having had but a sip, was not in mortal danger, he assured his crew. Amorenatta was a highly potent aphrodisiac and intoxicant. Even concentrated into a powder as it had been, the amount he consumed wouldn't cause any fatal side effects. Once the substance kicked in, he'd likely just... be a little worked up, as he put it with a blush, possibly a bit more loose lipped than usual.

It was only the doctor's hesitant interjection that led to Buggy paling, realizing his error. It was an aphrodisiac in cisgender men. Buggy, with his non-miraculous and non-injectable transition methods, may have a biochemistry that could result in an adverse reaction. Add on to it the hormones the root can release being connected to the nervous system where his Devil Fruit lurked in his genome, it would be safest to have a partner or two with him during such a time frame to handle any... needs... that arise.

Mihawk and Crocodile both volunteer, to everyone's surprise.

They cite not caring one way or another what they'd need to do, offering what could almost count as remorse for having blown off Buggy's initial reservations about the whole thing. They did not listen. Buggy is now paying the price.

As it would turn out, the drug was not pure Amorenatta. It also included a synthetic fertility enhancement, and it is only from a deep discussion with Mrs Stone that the truth of the attack came to light. Her goal had been to drug Crocodile and bed him, having planned on imbibing the drug herself. The plan there had been essentially a baby trap wherein she thought carrying his child would make for a weakness to exploit further into the dealings, given his not-so-secret history of sparing children.

Had that not been viable, then claiming the conception to be less than consensual had also been an option which would have barred the Guild from making many other allies in the market she excelled in currently, leaving her and her own as their sole source, thus maximizing the trade deal payoff.

Buggy catching her had not been in the cards whatsoever.

As his luck would have it, Buggy was affected by the drug in a different way than anticipated. Instead of growing a bit dizzy, he instead began to spike a fever. His blood pressure rose. The dichotomy of the genetic information, reaction to hormones, and his own devil fruit attempting to chop-chop the chemical itself within lead to a reaction akin to an illness from bacteria or a virus.

Mihawk and Crocodile made good on their vows to assist, however, and the three men find themselves rather taken with the domesticity of it all.

Mihawk, never quite known for his tact, asked if Buggy had ever considered a family before being faced with this situation. Buggy, tired, feverish, comfortable in a way he rarely was, confesses that he had wanted it. He'd always wanted it. He'd also feared it with every fiber of his being. He'd love to have a family, a spouse and a child or two, but his heart and soul belonged to the very Sea which hated him. He would have loved to have a family, but he knew first hand the trials, tribulations and terrors of a pirate for a parent, had seen what horrors persist in the world and what atrocities occur at Sea.

"All that aside," Buggy admits softly, head resting against a pale shoulder, eyes lidded as he smiles wanely at the logia user across the table in the sitting room, "I'd never be a good parent. I know it. Everyone knows it. I'm... not okay." He sighs, eyes drifting shut. "I never have been..."

#buggy the clown #sir crocodie #dracule mihawk #cross guild #cross guild polycule #trans buggy #ficlets

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kasagia · 1 year

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My (and your) tears ricochet

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x reader Summary: You and Klaus have a difficult relationship. For 500 years, you bond, break up, and get back together, being both your worst nightmares and your longed-for dreams. But after Lucien bites you and you die in Klaus' arms, the true feelings of your "lover" come out. And you're as delighted as devastated. Warning(s): angst, de@th, mourn, mentions of depression/mental breakdown, vampire violence, a bit of comfort at the end Word count: 5k+ Inspired by: "My tears ricochet" - Taylor Swift

We gather here, we line up, weepin' in a sunlit room

I never thought this would be my end. Killed by one of Klaus' many enemies because I rushed to save the love of my life. An Y/N from 200 years ago would have laughed in my face for my own stupidity.

To die for Klaus Mikaelson - the enemy of my family, the bane of my existence, and the only one I ever truly desired.

It would have been as improbable to my past self as the entire Mikaelson family mourning me with my sister Katherine by their side.

Yet I was here. In the spirit world, watching the original vampires and Kath line up in front of my coffin, they silently watched the sunlight illuminate my gray, lifeless face.

Maybe Klaus was supposed to be my undoing after all.

At least Katerina put me in a nice dress.

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me?

Involuntarily, I began to reminisce about the events leading up to my unexpected death, as I was looking at Klaus' stone, emotionless face.

"What? I betrayed you?! I should've seen that coming. After everything I do and sacrifice for you, you still can't trust me, can you? I'll never be your precious Camille."

"Don't bring her to this! I'll ask you just once more and for your own good, love, tell me the truth. Did you tell Aurora about her?!"

"No Klaus. I didn't tell your psychopathic ex that you were fucking your therapist. You have to find someone else to blame for her death."

"I didn't fuck with her."

"And I don't care."

I turned away from him to leave his studio, but the man grabbed my arm in a strong, aching grip, effectively stopping me. I turned to meet his furious gaze again.

"We're not finished."

"YES, WE ARE! I'm so done with being a toy you can throw out and take back whenever you want! I deserve something more than a hybrid who has an existential problem with himself and thousands of enemies on his back. I'm done with you and whatever is between us. You're not worthy of my time, and I'm so dumb to believe that you can feel something more than anger or a desire for power. Mikael was right about you. You're just a scared boy who is pushing everyone away from you because you're too afraid of being betrayed."

I burst out, fed up with his sick attitude. From the moment I arrived at his call, he treated me with fucking hostility and distance. After everything we've been through together, I didn't deserve to be treated like a traitor.

At least that's what I told myself to keep from falling apart, seeing the complete lack of love for me in his captivating eyes, which I loved as much as the day we first met.

"Calm down. I've killed people for lesser slander. You're lucky you're still breathing, love." he whispered, placing his hand on my neck and squeezing it lightly to remind me that he could end my life at any moment. Good thing I was never afraid of him.

"And you're lucky to still have someone by your side after hurting your whole family again and again. This killing of everyone out of fear that someone would dare lay hand on you is pathetic. And as you can see, it doesn't quite work well." I snarled, yanking my arm out of his grip and walking away from the even angrier man than before.

After all, the one that wins will be the one that hits the hardest. This was always our guiding principle whenever we argued and broke up for a couple of decades.

'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

"Are you leaving so soon, sister? You just came." Katherine asked as I ran down the stairs towards the exit of the mansion.

"Well, apparently my presence is not needed here. In the house of the great Klaus Mikaelson, there is no place for vile traitors and untrustworthy whores."

"You can not fool me! I know what you really think and feel. And I sympathize with you with all my heart. You're making the right choice, little sister. He is not worthy of your love."

"I didn't ask for your opinion." I growled, unable to bear what she was saying and knowing that it was true.

"You still love him... after everything he has done, after he pretended to be with this bartander and broke your heart..."

"Once again. I didn't ask about your opinion, Katerina." I interrupted her to hurry out of the house. If I had known then that this would be one of our last conversations…

And you're the hero flying around, saving face

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! Lucien is running around trying to get to my loved ones at all costs, and you're taking bloody walks around New Orleans?!" Klaus was yelling at me after he pushed me against the wall of one of the alleys.

"You just answered yourself. Lucien is after your loved ones, and I am not one of them."

"Stupid woman, can't you see how much you mean to me?!"

"You've shown me this for the last fucking weeks by flirting with Aurora and playing Camille's damn boyfriend!"

"I did it to protect you!"

"Not telling me anything, keeping me like a prisoner in your house, and treating me worse than an enemy - this is what you call a fucking protection?!"

"How else was I supposed to keep you from participating in a war that wasn't yours and keep you safe at the same time?!"

"It would be too easy to let me know your plans, wouldn't it?"

"Can't you understand that I can't let anything happen to you?! That losing you too will be the final nail in my coffin!"

Suddenly, a strange, disturbing feeling came over me.

"Klaus."

"No. Let me finally end this and tell what's should be told 500 houndreds bloody years ago." Completely unable to focus on Klaus' words, I glanced over to see what was going on behind him. Lucien pointed the pistol at him with a smirk. Whatever was loaded into the gun, it couldn't end well. "Y/N, I love…"

The shot drowned out what he wanted to say. In an instant, I switched places with him, taking a shot at myself. I gasped as I felt my cool blood begin to ooze from the newly formed wound. My gaze, however, stayed hard on Klaus' terrified eyes.

Lucien's venom.

"Y/N!" his scream managed to cut through my dazed body before I collapsed limply on top of him, sinking into the enticing, blissful darkness.

We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring

"I don't see a bit of sense in what we're doing." Klaus whined as we walked along the lakeshore. Every now and then I would stop to pick up a nicer pebble and put it in one of our pouches.

"Don't be grumpy, old man. Had you never done this when you were a child?"

"We had other activities. Hunting, learning to fight, mother being one of the more ambitious decided to teach us to read and write - looking at Elijah, one of her worst ideas. We had all kinds of holidays, but we never did something as stupid as collecting useless stones."

"My God, you're worse than Katerina. Shouldn't you, as an artist, see beauty even in something as simple as stone? Besides, what if we happen to come across a diamond thrown away by some rich aristocrat's angry mistress? I'm about to waste my chance at finding a ridiculously expensive gem just because you're particularly cranky today." I asked indignantly, pulling him closer to me and smirking as I waited for his response.

"Your overactive imagination worries me sometimes. Also, I'm capable of giving you your own diamond if you want." he replied, unconvinced, staring at me with feigned concern. Sparks of amusement shone in his mesmerizingly beautiful eyes.

"As far as I remember, my imagination didn't bother you last night. You actually complimented it a lot."

"I won't answer that, just because, apparently, I'm the only one in our humble company who cares about a little tact."

"Well… you weren't last night." I kissed him briefly and run away from him laughing.

"Come here, you little tempting, irritating thing!" he shouted, chasing after me with his own smirk.

He grabbed me, pulling my back to his chest. I started laughing even more as he started placing small kisses down my neck.

"I can give you every little diamond ring you want. Just say a word." he whispered in my ear, nuzzling my jaw with his nose.

You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene

Consciousness slowly began to return to my body. I felt like I was in a sea of verbena. Every little muscle burned with hellish pain.

I must have been in hell.

"Not yet, love. I won't let you get away from me that easily. You must fight." his voice instantly brought me back.

I struggled to open my eyes, hissing at the blinding sunlight. The man sitting by my bed rushed to the windows, covering them, before immediately returning to sit by my side. I felt a sudden pressure on my skull. I angrily pushed his hand away, severing the connection between us.

"Get out of my mind." I wheezed, wincing as I heard my hoarse voice. The hybrid, undaunted by my condition, moved closer to me and handed me a glass of blood from the bedside table.

"Make me, love. I dare you." he whispered as he watched me greedily drink the red liquid.

He helped me hold the glass in my hand, embracing it and stroking it tenderly with his thumb. Had it not been for the knowledge that I would die in a few hours, I might have found the whole scene romantic.

"You know that even if you throw me a thousand challenges, you won't keep me for long. I'm gonna die, Klaus. Like Finn and Cami."

"NO. I will not let you. I'll go to Lucien and snatch this damned cure from his throat."

"Klaus, I'm already dead. There is no need…" he cut me off, tangling his hand in my hair to pull me into a desperate, demanding, needy kiss.

I let the warmth of his lips touch me one last time, letting a soft moan escape my throat as the emotions I felt became too much for me to hide any longer. He grabbed my waist, pulling me to him so that I was sitting on his lap. We broke apart. I leaned my head against his forehead, staring into his tear-filled eyes.

"You can't leave me. Not like that."

"I guess I don't have much choice." I whispered in a trembling voice, stroking his cheek tenderly, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Klaus? Earlier in this alley, before all this happened, You said you love me. I…" he didn't let me finish by pressing his lips against mine again.

"You can say you love me tomorrow. You won't die today, love." he kissed my forehead and left in such a hurry that I couldn't even try to talk him out of the stupid idea of chasing Lucien.

I could only hope he wouldn't do something stupid and share my fate.

You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me

The funeral was not extraordinary or grand. By Mikaelson's standards, it was quite modest and therefore more personal. It was good to know they'd miss my presence, but I couldn't focus on anyone but Klaus.

He was strangely calm. Emotionless, expressionless. Like a dead sculpture. My concern for the vampire only increased when I saw the necklace (which I gave him for his 1,000th birthday) with the pendant of a wolf howling at the moon hanging proudly from his neck, gleaming in the sunlight. His blue eyes stared blankly at my coffin, which they were hiding in the crypt.

Somewhere in the distance, I could hear Katerina and Rebekah crying.

However, the one person I cared about and worried about ever since I left the world of the living spent the entire funeral in astonishing silence.

It was at that moment that I knew he wouldn't accept my departure so easily.

I smiled as I saw Elijah come over to comfort him afterward. My smile faded as the hybrid growled aggressively at him, shoved his brother away, and ran to a place only known to him.

It must have been harder for him than he dared show anyone.

"Please, let one of his siblings be able to get to him. Despite his best efforts to keep them at a distance."

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

If I thought the funeral was hard for Klaus, then the wake must be his true hell.

Most of the originals have recovered by now, sitting in their living room sipping drinks, recalling all the funny, sad, and crazy things that had to do with me.

I thought it would somehow ease his pain.

Katerina seemed a little cheerier as she talked about all the compromising situations that WERE SUPPOSED to go with me to the grave. But I couldn't really blame her. I would probably do the same in the reverse situation.

It was Kol who unwittingly unleashed the storm.

"Remember when Nik tried to propose to her in the 19th century, here in New Orleans?" my heart and the whole world around me stopped for a moment. Propose?

"What?! How?" my sister's surprised exclamation perfectly reflected my current state. I had no idea that idea could ever enter his head.

"He has had hundreds of attempts over the centuries, but at this time most of us thought he'd finally made it." a single tear escaped my eye as I lamented the future that would never happen. "I even spent all of my money from the safe in Chicago because Nik had planned to…"

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room, silencing the original. Everyone's attention shifted to Klaus, who had shards of glass stuck in his hands. A trickle of blood began to form from his hand, staining the chair and the carpet beneath it.

"I have enough of this pathetic show." he snarled, brushing off the shards of glass as he walked away to his art studio. Rebekah and Elijah didn't give up so easily, catching up with him on the stairs.

"Is that how your life will look now? You'll growl at us every time we mention Y/…"

"DON'T EVEN DARE SAY HER NAME!" he burst out, running to his studio. Elijah gave his sister a knowing look and returned to the living room, letting her do her thing.

Rebekah and I followed the hybrid, finding him in the middle of the ruined room, weeping over one of my portraits that had miraculously survived the crash. The blonde kneeled, hugging her brother and combing his hair comfortingly.

"Oh, Nik. That pain will never go away if you don't accept…"

"I WILL NEVER ACCEPT THIS!" he wrenched himself free from her grip, wary of the painting. "And this damn witch knew it! She enchanted me the first time I saw her. She put a dark spell on me, so I never found any other woman even a little bit as attractive as her. She is my heart, my half soul, my happiness, my sadness, and my madness, and now… now she is gone. And will be my curse for the rest of my life, Rebekah. Nothing can change that, especially not passing time, because every second, every minute, every hour, and every day without her by my side is meaningless."

"But you two were apart before, and you never acted like that, Nik."

"It was easier to let her go knowing she was happy and safe rather than cold and dead in some bloody tomb."

"And what about Hope? Your daughter, remember? You must be strong for her."

"Maybe it would have been better if she had never known the wasted shell I became after SHE left."

The blast of air (and all that mess) was all he left behind. Rebekah hesitantly reached for my portrait, staring at it with tears in her eyes.

However, it may not be so easy to let me go for all of them.

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home

"You just beat yourself up more. By the way, he himself too." Cami's voice came from behind me. I turned to face her, leaving the hybrid alone with my crypt for a moment.

"I thought it was healthy to grieve a little over someone's death."

"Yes, but what you two are doing is obsessive and bordering on pre-depressive. You must let him go. And he you. Holding on to him will get you nowhere. If you don't want peace yet, you might as well travel to other places. You can go anywhere you want."

"Anywhere I want, just not home." I muttered bitterly, looking at the hybrid sitting across from my grave and sipping a bottle of bourbon.

"I don't think I can do anything here. Just remember you have a choice, okay?"

"You're going to find peace?"

"Yes, and don't make me wait there alone for long. Watching them won't help you. I'm so sorry, Y/N." she gave me one last comforting, sad smile and turned to leave.

"Good luck, Camille!" I called after her and turned on my way, approaching Klaus again.

"For you too. I hope you'll find your peace." I heard before the blonde was gone for good.

"I already did." I murmured, grabbing Klaus' hand, enjoying the slim chance of being close to him. At the very least, I could fool myself into thinking I was still with him.

Because the truth was that I would never find my peace without him.

And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones

Klaus had slept for a week and stayed only in my bedroom, occasionally popping up to visit my grave. With a heavy heart, I laid down next to him on my bed, watching him sleep peacefully, hugging my pillow, and inhaling my scent left on it.

Involuntarily, I remembered my last hours in this bed.

"I will kill anyone you thought was your friend. I will tear out their throats and hearts one by one and torture them until they feel half as much pain as I will feel. I'll make this whole bloody world go up in flames, and it'll never rise from its fall, and neither will I if you leave me."

"Were you always so dramatic, or did it just happen in your old age?" I taunted, taking a sip of water to cover up my earlier sudden coughing fit from him. But I doubt I'll be able to explain the blood on the mirror if he looks in the bathroom when he returns.

"I'm not joking, love. If you die before I find a cure, I'll follow you straight to hell and drag you back with me. No one and nothing can take you from me."

"I'd find it romantic if you didn't presume that I'm the spawn of the devil. What if I'm an angel in disguise?"

"Then they did a fantastic job of camouflaging you. I have to go now, love. You have one task: Don't die. Can you do it?"

"I'll try. Nik, I lo..." he hung up before I could finish. "I love you, Nik." I whispered to myself, trying my hardest to control the sudden dizziness.

Klaus, whatever you're doing, please do it faster.

And I still talk to you (When I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (You hear my stolen lullabies)

"I think you should go in the red one. This color has always suited you." I mumbled as I stood next to my sister and watched her look at herself in the mirror.

At one point, she sighed resignedly, falling onto the bed where Rebekah was sitting. The blonde pulled away from the phone, glancing at the doppelgänger.

"What's wrong with you this time? We went through all our wardrobes, and you didn't pick anything? You always look stunning, just go for something."

"Usually, it was Y/N who helped me choose a dress for a date."

The deafening silence that filled the room probably hurt me more than it hurt them. How I would love to be there with them.

"I'm… I'm sorry."

"You don't have to. How could you know? I just… really miss her."

"Yeah. Me too. All of us do."

"I'd probably borrow something from her if she was still here and if Klaus wasn't guarding her room like a vault."

"Speaking of him, I should probably check on him. If you can hear me in any way, take the little red one. Elijah will be delighted." I said getting out of bed and heading to my bedroom. I've probably spent more time in it as a ghost than a vampire.

I entered the room, neatly dodging the piles of books and clothes that Klaus had scattered around, looking for things that still smelled of me. I dreaded thinking what he would do when they were gone. Maybe he'll be in the mood to use my perfume instead and go outside? It was the best scenario.

I sighed, recognizing his curled form on the bed. He was wearing my favorite sweatpants and a (too big for me) sweatshirt. I was a little scared that he could easily fit into my clothes. Several bottles of alcohol and bags of blood were placed next to him. At least he was feeding. I sat next to him, running my hand through his hair (pretending to do so).

"I know it's hard for you and that you can't move on; come to terms with what happened. I'd probably be in much worse shape if I couldn't hear you, see your ridiculously handsome face. But you are stronger than me. Much stronger. You have to get out of this. For yourself, for your siblings, for Hope… for me." I began to cry, trying to somehow hug the also weeping hybrid. "I'm so sorry, Nik."

Suddenly, a very angry Hayley burst into the room with a nervous Elijah behind her.

"KLAUS! That's enough! You have to get yourself in order and get out of this hole. It will be best if you go for a walk with YOUR DAUGHTER. Do you still remember her? Hope misses you and has been restless for several weeks. I can't calm her down, so do your fatherly duty and move your ass, or I'll do it for you."

"Go away." he mumbled, not even looking up since they came in.

The brunette snorted, trying to take my blanket from him, which covered him. As soon as her hands were on the material, the hybrid growled, snatching it from her hands and pinning the woman by the neck to the wall.

"Touch her stuff again, and I'll make it the last thing you do in your miserable, meaningless life."

"Niklaus! Let her go!" I screamed along with Elijah. Klaus ignored his brother, only tightening his grip on the barely alive woman.

"Do you think Y/N would want you to kill your baby's mother?"

Luckily, this convinced the hybrid. He released Hayley from his grip and shoved them both out of the room, locking the door behind them. He threw himself heavily on the bed, inhaling my scent to calm himself down. After a while, tears started flowing from his eyes.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

The worst thing about this illness wasn't the debilitating pain. Loneliness was the worst.

Each of the Mikaelsons and Katerina were involved in obtaining the cure. They still had hope. But I resigned myself to my fate the moment Lucien's venom pierced my body with a wooden ball.

That didn't mean I wanted to die alone.

As if on cue, Katerina burst into my room and sat on the bed next to me. I could see her lips move, but I couldn't hear a sound in the world. It wasn't until she poured a glass of cold water over me that my complete consciousness returned to me.

"Are you crazy?!" I shouted. "If you want to get me to my grave faster, there are other ideas." Katerina stopped laughing and suddenly tensed up, glaring reproachfully at me.

"Don't even dare say that. You're not going to die, do you understand? Klaus is getting a cure right now. You will recover. I promise." she said, grabbing my hand and planting a kiss on my forehead, brushing sweaty, wet strands of hair out of my eyes.

"You may be the best liar that ever walked on this earth, but I always knew when you were lying."

"I'm glad I'm not doing it this time. You'll see, you'll be cruising around again in a few hours, avoiding Klaus' argument about obeying his orders."

"At least when I go to hell, I'll meet our father and kick his ass for separating you from Nadia. Maybe Mikael and Dahlia will be on my hit list too." I mumbled, giving in after several hours to the urge to close my eyes. Then I felt that I had been shivering with fever all this time.

"Y/N, open your eyes. You've got to open your eyes for me, just for a little while longer. Please, Y/N."

"We should saddle our horses today and take a ride to the lake. We haven't done that for a long time."

"We'll go to Bulgaria I promise, just open your eyes for me. Molya te, sestrichke otvori ochi."

"Obicham te Katerina." I whispered, feeling the last bloody tears fall from my eyes.

"Y/N! Wake up! Freya!" Katherine screamed in panic, trying to wake me up by shaking my shoulders.

The next few minutes were weightless as I waited to pass into the ghost world. With the remnants of my ebbing life, I felt the commotion around my bed. The bitter liquid was forced down my throat, and someone clenched my jaw to make sure I didn't spit out the horrible liquid. In the background, I could still hear Freya and Davina mumbling, Katerina and Rebekah crying, and Klaus screaming in rage before I was swallowed up in pain-relieving darkness for good.

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed You turned into your worst fears And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain Crossing out the good years And you're cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

It's been a month and a half since my death, and Klaus has made one small, significant progress. He didn't throw his fangs at anyone who so much as uttered my name. After the attack on Hayley, he had controlled his aggression and was not a relative danger to society. Well… at least not more than usual.

I, on the other hand, felt much better than a months ago. My vampire speed somehow reactivated, saving me from chasing the rushing original for half a day. Also, watching my loved ones brought me some relief. Only Klaus was still stuck in place, unable to let me go.

Hayley and Freya joined forces to talk some sense into him and set him on the right path. But even their best efforts could not change the stubborn hybrid's mind.

That's how I got here. At my grave, watching Klaus clean it and add new flowers, throwing out the ones that had faded since his visit yesterday. I got more flowers from him after I died than I've had in 500 goddamn years.

He usually worked in silence, occasionally humming some old song I made him sing ages ago when I was upset. He has always had a wonderful voice.

But today, after a particularly bad fight with Hayley, Elijah, and Freya, he sat on the bench in front of my tombs and did something he hadn't done before. He was talking to me (or rather, to a stone slab with my name on it, but still).

"I know you wouldn't approve of my behavior. I know you would yell at me and get angry. My gods, I never imagined that I would miss it so much. I really wish I could be there for Hope, but I can't. I can't let her see me like this. Even if she's so little now. I know she needs me, but... everyone I love is dying. And I can't let anyone else die again because of me. Especially not my daughter. I want her to live. I want her to grow up. I want her to love, even if it brings you pain and sadness. Be a strong and beautiful woman, as you and her mother. I don't know what to do, Y/N. And I really wish that you were here to tell me, my little vampire."

A fountain of tears spilled from both his and my eyes. For the first time today, I reached for him, pulling him to me in a poor imitation of a hug.

The hybrid jumped up from the bench in fear, staring shocked and suspiciously at the place he had recently occupied. My heart beat faster. Did he? No. It is impossible. Klaus has the same incredulous look as mine. But what if…

"Y/N?" for the first time in these long, cold months, I shed a wave of relief tears. I sat there in shock, staring at the uncertain hybrid with unimaginable happiness. He could feel me. Like I him. "Please, show me it's you, and I'm not delusional."

I rushed over to him, hugging him with all my might. The hybrid almost knocked us to the ground. He probably didn't hear my loud laugh because he would have looked a little more offended than full of disbelief and happiness.

"I'll recognize that smell anywhere. Cruel woman, if you really are just a figment of my imagination and I make a fool of myself by running to my siblings with this, then know that I will meet you soon in hell and will not let your soul depart from me again." I slapped his shoulder for saying such nonsense, and he just laughed, gropingly trying to pull me closer to his chest.

I allowed myself, for the first time in months, to sink into the blissful feel of his warm skin. We needed a moment to ourselves before he shared this discovery with Freya, and their next fight to retrieve me from death's clutches began. For now, I enjoyed Klaus' clinginess.

"Don't even think that I'll deprive you of your touch for a moment. I'm going to hold you until the end of the bloody world." he whispered, moving around me from memory to put his chin on top of my head after he kissed me there softly.

It sounded good. But I knew it wouldn't be enough for us for long.

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