#Hoping for plenty of angst

[dump-truck-ass]

Thinking about season 2 Arcane and I just know someone very dear is gonna die

[naffeclipse]

Argentate Bullet

Cryptid Hunter!Reader x Cryptid!Eclipse

Commission Info

I'm so excited to share this wonderful fic commissioned by @rosescarletful involving the cryptid hunter, cryptid Eclipse, and a night under the full moon. A monster lurks somewhere close! This is teeming with angst but such things make the hurt/comfort all the sweeter, I promise <3

Content Warning for angst, blood, body horror, and death.

———

In the dense woods outside of a small, rural town, you and your dear friend begin a hunt. A howl echoes and twigs crack. The silver light of the full moon mottles the forest floor as you follow Moon. His pale eyes flash red—he senses another human. The moment you step foot into a sparse clearing of half-dead meadow grass, your heart sinks.

A young man lies groaning in the darkness, curled up and cradling his chewed arm. Blood drips freely from mangled flesh and bitten sinew.

You should have been here sooner. The cryptid sighting suggested the violent nature of the monster as insatiable, senseless. A ceaseless need for bloodshed only spells ruin and grief for anyone caught in its path. You’ve handled werewolves before. They are perfect killers under the lustrous light of night. But they fall to silver.

Together, you and Moon help the young man to his feet. He babbles about a beast with fangs and yellow eyes. A horrible hunger growled within it. The monster snatched him from the road while he was peddling his bike at the late hour, and dragged him into the woods. Before it could finish him with a snap of its maw, it fled. He doesn’t know why. A sob escapes the young man.

You have no doubt the werewolf sensed the demonic cryptid using the animatronic as a vessel. Your dear friend has scared worse monsters.

You’re lucky you two arrived when you did, but you reassure him that he’s safe now. You set your gun loaded with an argentate bullet into the map pocket of your truck door. Leaning him against the driver’s seat, you quickly rummage for a basic first-aid kit—you curse yourself for not bringing more, but rarely do you find victims of cryptids alive after an encounter and you always endure long enough to reach your airstream.

“It’s going to be okay,” you promise. You hold yourself steady, hiding your fear at the blood seeping from the young man’s arm. He cradles it close to himself. “Can you tell me your name?”

Moon looms beside you, his eyes pale and flashing. He twitches. The end of his nightcap jerks slightly with the spasm of his faceplate.

“W-warren.” The young man swallows. His eyes shine wetly. The blood coating his ravaged arm gleams dark under the moonlight. “My wallet. I lost it by my bike. Please, I have pictures of my mom and dad in it. I need it.”

“Okay,” you soothe as you finally rip open a plastic red container. Bandages immediately roll to one side in your anxious search. “I’ll get it for you after we take you to the hospital. You’re bleeding badly.”

“Please, I need it now,” he gives a ragged gasp. He looks at you, desperation filling his shining gaze as his hands tremble, slick with blood.

Your heart squeezes within you at the familiarity of needing comfort in the height of terror. 

“Moon,” you say.

“It’s still out there,” Moon warns, his hand falling to your shoulder. His long silver and blue digits press into your collarbone. “It’s not safe.”

“I know, sweetie,” you face him. Though he stands much taller, you hold his wide, glowing gaze. “His bike can’t be far. Please, will you get it?”

He stares at you. A cool breeze blows before he releases your shoulder. 

“Be careful,” he warns, then slips around the truck and back onto the faded blacktop, disappearing around a bend following the forest’s edge.

You’ll thank him when he returns. Breathing a stabilizing sigh, you face Warren and ask for his arm. His eyes don’t meet yours for a moment. His attention follows the animatronic slipping into the darkness.

“It’s alright,” you say in a low, gentle voice. “Let me get you bandaged, and as soon as Moon returns, we’ll take you to get help.”

“W-who is that,” Warren asks shakily. His fingers writhe as you support his arm. 

“My friend,” you answer softly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of the scary thing. It won’t hurt you again.”

“Something isn’t right,” he whispers, terrified.

You lift your head. You fear he might pass out from the blood loss but you find his face turned towards the night sky. The moon hangs clearly in the black cosmos, big and looming like an omen.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” You hurry to tie up the bandage already soaking in crimson.

“No. It hurts.” Warren pushes you away and doubles over, clutching his face and shouting, “It hurts! Stop!”

You step back, hands up, stunned. What did you do? Why is he—

A sickening crack of bone echoes within Warren. You start, horrified, then your mind races.

No, it’s pop culture to believe a werewolf bite transforms another. There has been nothing legitimate within your research to conclude that a bite would be infectious, nor that it would trigger a transformation on the very same night. A human can’t become a cryptid.

He can’t.

Warren groans until his agonized sound slips into a high keen. A vicious growl overtakes him and rattles through your chest despite the distance. Your eyes dart to the Winchester gun stowed away in the map pocket of your truck door.

“Warren,” you say, holding out a hand and stepping closer, “It’s going to be okay—”

“Get away!” he snarls inhumanly. He swipes at you with his hand, now elongated. It bursts with a coat of fur and bears long, wicked claws. You leap out of his reach but stand weaponless.

No. It can’t be.

Warren crumples to the dirt ground. On his hands and knees, his cries of agony lift into a feral howl while the rest of his body bends and breaks. You watch, rooted in horror, as his clothes rip under the bulking strain of his new form while black fur overruns his flesh. Thick, rugged sinew cords his body. His face snaps as his jaw elongates into a muzzle. A flash of yellow eyes pierces you through the darkness. 

“Warren,” you utter. You start slowly stepping towards the bed of your truck, seeking cover—anything to put between you and the newborn werewolf. Your hands are held out. You glance again at your gun but the young man stops howling. 

He slowly lifts his head, sharp ears pinned back against his skull. Lips pull over fangs. A horrid growl stops your heart.

The werewolf hunches low and slowly pads forward. A glinting maw spills saliva. You stare at the poor young man, your pulse racing in your ears. He straightens, towering upon you with hunger glowing within inhuman eyes upon hound-like legs. The moonlight covers him in pale gray.

He lunges. You dive, throwing yourself behind your truck only to catch a wicked snap of teeth inches from your feet. A sharp inhale. Your veins burn with adrenaline. You twist back to find the werewolf rounding back, widening his jaw. He reaches a long limb forward and hooks his claws on the bummer of your truck. Vicious talons rip down the edge of it. You scramble, kicking your legs and crawling backward in your shock.

Swift footsteps cut through the darkness. The werewolf’s ears swivel before he turns a second too late. A flash of limbs, metallic and dripping black and red, knocks into the creature, sending it careening back towards the road until he rolls to a stop in a heap of furry limbs. 

You gasp in a flood of relief. Moon straightens. A wallet drops into the dirt. From out of his slim animatronic chassis, two arms, inky and clawed, spread out defensively over you.

“Moon,” you push yourself off the ground and onto your feet, “It’s Warren.”

“Get your gun.” Moon spares you a glance of bright red optics. “We shouldn’t have left you.”

There’s nothing you can say now. You breathlessly slip back behind your friend, rushing down the length of your truck. Moon’s many limbs writhe as he stares down the monster rising back to his paws with vicious growls.

Passing the claw marks carved into your bumper, you dart for your weapon. Behind you, a snarl rips across the road’s edge. Your heart leaps into your throat. You crash against the door and frantically pry out the Winchester from the map pocket.

The barrel gleams darkly in the moonlight. The smooth, carved handle holds intricate designs in the wood. You check with hands threatening to tremble that it’s still loaded. Hidden within is a shiny silver bullet.

You turn back to face the cryptid. In a powerful leap off his hind legs, the werewolf attacks. Moon lifts his four arms to catch the monster and hold it off, staggering back under the force. The snap of teeth nearly snags Moon’s nightcap and vicious claws swipe nearly slice through his chassis. You straighten, standing solid on your feet, and aim your gun. Your dear friend and the young man now cursed thrash together in a blend of demonic and lycanthropy. 

The werewolf towers over Moon who remains in his vessel, unable to spare a moment to escape the confines of it while fending off the vicious cryptid. You cry out a warning. 

In a heartbeat, the cryptid unbalances Moon, dropping him to the ground with a powerful blow of his large paw. The sharp clank of metal on the dirt freezes your blood. Red-dipped cryptid arms rake over the werewolf. Tufts of fur and flesh tear away but the monster gives no thought to the slashes as Moon unleashes an unearthly growl.

Your hands clench around the gun, pulse racing. The werewolf rears back under the moonlight, teeth exposed, jaws wide, and strikes for Moon’s spindly neck.

You squeeze the trigger. The echoing blast cuts through the night air, and a small hole within the werewolf bubbles blood, spilling down his chest. The werewolf slumps with a gurgle, then silence.

Moon grunts once before four limbs push the carcass off of him. With a meaty thump, the cryptid lies on the dirt, dead. 

You stare. Slowly lowering the gun, you stare unblinkingly. Tears brim your eyes. A haze of silver light and blood pooling underneath the furred cryptid overtakes you.

“Moon,” you say, your voice sounds strange, strained. “He wasn’t a cryptid. He was just bitten. He didn’t—He’s not—”

How can you shoot this monster when he’s just a person caught in very awful circumstances? All your other hunts were simple. They were only cryptids, not victims. 

You didn’t protect him.

You lower your hands. A hollowed coldness seeps into your chest cavity. The animatronic lies still as black ooze slips from crevices and cracks, accumulating into a lithe, towering figure with four limbs. Eclipse straightens slowly, watching you closely with red eyes glowing in the dark.

“Heart,” a deep rumble touches you, familiar and safe, but you shake. “You protected us.”

The demonic cryptid slips closer. His many hands reach for you, one trailing down your wrist before slipping the gun from your quaking grasp.

“He didn’t ask to become this,” your voice cracks.

“You didn’t know.” Two large, cool hands cup your face. Tilting your head up to meet their wide eyes, Eclipse softly growls, “It’s not your fault. If you didn’t stop him, he would have caused more harm. He would have joined the other monster in hurting people.”

Tears spill down your cheeks. You grasp his wrists, fingernails sinking into their dark red and deep blue being.

“I needed to—I should’ve—” you gasp a ragged sound, fighting a sob. “He didn’t deserve to die.”

“You did what was right, heart,” Eclipse’s wide jaw with razor-thin fangs lower to you. A crown of frills and horns tilt softly as they lightly flick a long, oily tongue to your cheek in comfort. “Please, don’t blame yourself. We shouldn’t have left your side. If we had stayed, we could have subdued him before he attacked.”

You cling tighter to their anchoring hold. A soft sound echoes as they set the gun on the truck seat before returning their lower arms to rest on your waist, gathering you close to cradle you against them. 

They bow over you. Four limbs, clawed and full of strength, keep you from falling. You press your cheek against their cool, slick chest. Weeping, you cave into their comfort while a young man lies dead in a form he never could have wanted for himself.

[throwaway-yandere]

Considering to the current 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 poll results, this is the first fic to be uploaded...

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙃𝙖𝙨 𝙉𝙤 𝘿𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 (Yandere!Neuvillette/Reader)

Unreliable Synopsis: "Your Honor, I would like to challenge Champion Duelist Clorinde to clear my charges." (The plot happens a month before the Fontaine AQ.)

Content Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort

Upload Date: December 7, 2023 (8PM Thursday, UTC+8)

Reply to this post if you wish to be in the 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 taglist!

[shu-box-puns]

Shell-Shocked

(Neteyam x Reader)

Previous Chapter <- Epilogue

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Summary: Find us in the future.

Word Count: 3,649

Metkayina Reader uses they/them pronouns.

Initially, you had hoped that when the pink inevitably faded from your life, it wouldn’t hit you as hard because you had chosen to discard it before it could do so.

In hindsight, the plan had been a stupid one, because you hadn’t really known Neteyam Sully. You had assumed your advances would never be reciprocated and had instead withdrawn to protect yourself. Which just showed that although you'd taken the time to know him as an individual - and had found that he was fun and quick with retorts - it didn’t really prove that you knew him. 

You wouldn’t have gotten a chance to really. Not before the shells. Not before everything happened.

But now, you had unwillingly begun to learn his tells and preferences whilst helping him recover. 

In truth, you hadn’t realised you were doing it. Not until you’d realised you could decipher his displeasure from a simple twitch of his nose, particularly when it came time to take his medicine. And although he pulled on his politest and most convincing smile, you could still tell. 

And again, when you could tell he was excited, simply by the aborted flick of his right ear because he was focusing too hard on suppressing the tug of a smile at his lips to realise he was doing it. 

And again, when you could tell he was trying to suppress his wince as you changed his bandages, because of the way his tail would slap against the floor once, before he subtly pressed a hand down over it to keep it from jumping. 

You now knew - unwillingly - how he preferred his ilu saddle to be stored after being firmly told off when you’d done so incorrectly the first time. You now knew the name of his ikran (you’d had to feed her), as well as the exact year he’d crafted his first bow, and that it had been wood scavenged from his clan’s first HomeTree. You now knew that he preferred to sleep closest to the hut opening when sharing a hammock, and that Tuk often went to him instead of his parents when she had a nightmare. 

You now knew how easy it was to get him to smile. You knew when to hug him and when to back off because he was brooding. You knew that he preferred iridescent sea snails to the blue ones because he found them ‘sweeter’. You knew that he missed home, but had found a home beside the sea. You knew that he was brave, and reckless - although he hid it better than Lo’ak. 

You also knew the face he pulled when he was trying not to cry. An expression similar to your own, as the pair of you packed up his hammock in preparation for the move. 

In the end, despite their best efforts, the Sully children had been fruitless in changing their parents’ minds. And as Jake had warned, they made good on their promise to leave as soon as Neteyam was strong enough. 

Which led you to now, dutifully helping Neteyam pack his few belongings away in a sturdy pack, hours away from losing him for good. Which meant you were merely a few hours away from discovering just how badly it would hurt to have the pink shells disappearing too.

Beyond the empty hut, the air was thick with condensation and humidity as a storm rolled in from the sea. Overhead, thick, darkly bruised clouds shrouded the skies, forcing the villagers to light the torches before noon - not that they remained lit for long with the unforgiving winds. 

At dawn, the Sullys’ ikran had already landed on the beach with Jake to greet them. Throughout the day, the mounts had been tacked up and loaded with bags. Only Neteyam and Kiri still had things strewn around the hut. The former, because he’d been too weak to do it on his own, and the latter, in silent rebellion against her parents. It had taken Neytiri threatening to leave it all behind and only take Kiri, for the girl to finally begin packing. 

It took great effort to keep your body language loose and pleasant as you worked alongside Neteyam, listening to Kiri muttering to herself in the corner. When you weren’t actively thinking of them, your ears kept drooping down, forcing you to focus on both your hands and microexpressions.

Across from you, gingerly rolling up his hammock, Neteyam wasn’t looking as well put together. His expression was resigned, his eyes foggy with unshed moisture he couldn’t hope to blink away, unless he wanted it to roll down his cheeks. His bandages were off, the scar tissue beneath still angry and raw, looking much better than it had before.

<”It won’t be forever.”> Neteyam finally said, abruptly startling you out of your head. You inhaled shakily and sat back on your hunches as you looked up at him, your eyes greedily absorbing every detail of him whilst you still could. He looked gorgeous, his freckles glowing softly in the dim light, a couple braids pulled over one shoulder. <”I’ll come back.”> He promised, trying for a smile. His courting necklace bobbed as he tightly swallowed. 

You struggled to make your smile reassuring. You both knew there was a chance he wouldn’t, although neither of you acknowledged it. <Only when it’s safe.”> You said firmly, leaving no room for argument, and ensuring to use ‘when’ rather than ‘if’. <”I don’t want you travelling back here if you’re just going to get shot again.”> He winced around a sad smile. <”Okay.”> <”Promise?”>

Neteyam shook his head, but he was smiling the way he usually does when he thought you’re being overly cautious. <”Promise.”> Something in your chest loosened. <”Okay. I’ll be waiting.”>

His tail dropped from its tense coil at your quiet promise. <”You will?”> 

<”Of course I will.”> And you would. Even if he never came back. Even if he returned to the forest and ignored the shells to find a mate amongst his old People. Even if he returned but had changed his mind. You would wait, because you were fairly certain Neteyam was it for you. That Eywa had promised correctly when she’d sent that first, significant shell during that very first swimming lesson.

Neteyam was across the pod and dragging you into his arms before you could even register he’d moved. Over his shoulder, you briefly registered Kiri slipping out of the pod with her arms weighed down with bags, but you discarded the observation as quickly as it came. Neteyam had tucked his head down beneath your chin and was holding onto you tightly. Remembering you had arms, you wrapped them around him and held on, your cheek squished into his braids as you blinked back tears.

There were no more words of comfort to offer, so all you could do was stare blankly at the wall whilst Neteyam shook in your arms. Absently, you carded a hand through his braids, feeling his tense body loosen under your repetitive touch.

By the time Jake appeared in the doorway, uttering sadly that it was time to go, Neteyam had gone almost completely boneless in your hold.

From there, it only took minutes to take everything down to the beach between the three of you. The other kids were already readying their ikran, ears lowered and expressions grim as Neytiri tried to urge them along with soft words. 

A few members of the clan watched the sad procession, but mostly, the people were continuing on with their chores. Tonowari stood silently at the head of the sandbank, a stark contrast to the day the Sullys had first arrived.

All too soon, there was nothing left to do, and Neteyam had tied down the last of his belongings. Not too far from where you stood, you could already hear Tsireya sniffling, whilst Lo’ak quietly calmed her, his voice struggling to come out as reassuring. 

With a sigh, Neteyam turned to you, his expression as blank as your own. You stared right back as his wet eyes met yours. His golden eyes briefly flickered across your face, committing the sight of you to memory as his lower lip quivered. You smiled tightly, raising a hand in silent question. 

His composure threatened to break as he hugged you again. Wrapping you up so tightly that even his tail joined in. You clung back just as fiercely, hating that now that you finally had this, it was being taken away from you. Hating that you wasted those early months being childish instead of communicating. Hating the humans for having the audacity to set foot on Pandora, before being grateful they did or you would’ve never met him in the first place. Hating that there just wasn’t enough time for everything you wanted to say and do. 

<”Kids.”> Jake prompted, which was enough for Neteyam’s hold to loosen on you. Gently, he set you back down, before pulling back. Reluctantly, you let him go, unsure whether the wetness on your cheeks were tears or the rain that had begun to fall. 

<”I’ll see you.”> <”Yeah.”> He offered half-heartedly, <”I’ll see you.”>

Within hours of the ikran disappearing over the horizon, the pink shells disappeared from your life. 

>_<

In those first few days after they had left, you’d foolishly tricked yourself into believing they would return in no time. That if you kept yourself busy, Neteyam would come strutting back into your life like he never left. That he would appear out of nowhere, and declare how much he missed you, before sweeping you up into another hug. 

But of course, that didn’t happen. And couldn’t happen until the Sky People had retreated. No news came from the forest clans after the Sky People moved away from the seas, focusing their hunt inland. But no news was good news, you tried to convince yourself and instead buried yourself in clan life.

Years passed. 

You passed your iknimaya and made a name for yourself amongst the hunters, earning your first tattoos. Closely followed by Aonung and Tsireya when they were ready. You grew into an adult, weathered by time but strong and reliable. A formidable foe should the Sky People return their attention to the sea clans.

In the meantime, Tonowari retired from his position as Olo’eyktan, allowing Aonung to step up despite not having found his own fated yet. Whilst Ronal remained Tsahik in the meantime.

Tsireya became a well respected healer, under her mother’s watch, but never quite lost that longing look in her eye. A look you knew was evident in your own gaze if you stayed still for too long.

You filled your time between patrols with teaching the younger kids how to swim and connect to their ilus. It was long tedious hours and hard work, but it kept you occupied. Not to mention, the children were more unpredictable than the open, empty oceans you ventured into during your patrols. 

<”Almost Otok,”> you repeated for the fourth time that afternoon, the sun hot and unforgiving against your back as you readjusted the boy’s grasp on his ilu harness. <”But remember, you have to go with her, not against her.”>

Ever the good student, Otok nodded that he understood as he had the last time, so you stepped back and watched him urge the ilu on. And as before, the pair dove, only for Otok to lose his grip and for his mount to continue swimming away. You sighed quietly to yourself, already wading towards where the kid was kicking to the surface.

<”Very good.”> You encouraged, allowing him to grab onto your arm whilst he flicked his braids out of his face. <”You stayed on for much longer that time.”> He hadn’t, but you’d learnt that the younger kids responded to encouragement better than criticism.

Otok grinned up at you, all big fangs in his too small mouth. You smiled back. <”Go on, call her back.”> He let go of you to call for his ilu, before you moved onto the next kid. 

That was when your eyes fell on it. Caught in the gentle current of a nearby swell. 

A single, pink shell.  

You felt your mouth unlatch at the sight of it. At how brightly pink it was. Where the ones in your childhood had been varying shades of pastel pink, this one was boldly, unapologetically pink. 

You were lunging for it before you could properly think. Your fingers greedily snatching up from the waves before bringing it up to eye level. It was as gorgeous as all the others had been. 

Overhead, twin ikran calls startled you and your students. Your head snapped skywards just in time to watch the two beasts pass overhead on their way to the village. 

Your brow furrowed at the sight. How strange. Only the forest clans were brave enough to tame the ikran, and no forest na’vi came this far out to sea, not since…

Your heart was in your throat as you watched the ikran circle. One a deep blue, the other a familiar light teal. You could not recognise the riders aboard from this distance, but there was no mistaking Lo’ak’s joyous whoop as he mount circled before smoothly landing on the same sandbank the Sully’s had all those years ago. 

Hope flared violently to life in your chest. Enough so that you almost abandoned your class without ending the lesson.

<”Class dismissed.”> You quickly barked, to the bewildered expressions of your students, whilst hastily shoving the shell into the pouch at your hip for safe keeping. <”I will see you all tomorrow.”> 

The kids glanced at one another before the older ones shrugged and began guiding their ilus in the direction of the ikran. Curious, the younger ones followed their lead. 

Your heart was pounding as you yipped for your tsurak who had been circling nearby, as he often did whilst you taught. He had barely slowed at your side before you were clambering on and urging him forward. With powerful beats of his tail, the great beast leapt from the waves, soaring over the heads of your students and continuing on. <”CHEATER!”> Some of them yelled at your back, to which you turned in the saddle and called them all a pack of sea slugs. Their laughter was quickly drowned out by the sounds of the gathering crowd.

Aonung was already greeting the visitors by the time your tsurak slowed in the water. Dressed in his Olo’eyktan attire, he clasped forearms with an older Lo’ak whilst Ronal waited off to the side. 

The younger Sully son had finally grown into his long limbs. WIth waist length braids pulled back into a neat ponytail and a gorgeous blue cummerbund wrapped around his torso, marking his entrance into adulthood. After an exchange of biting greetings, the pair parted, and Lo’ak stepped aside to greet Ronal, whilst Aonung turned his attention to Neteyam.

You sat high in the saddle, obscured by the crowd as your fated stepped forth to greet the new Olo’eyktan. Even with his back to you, you knew he was smiling. He was all broad back muscles now, and tall, almost taller than Aonung who rivalled Tonowari in height since his last growth spurt. You saw the power in him as he firmly clasped forearms with Aonung, his resulting laugh ringing out across the bay, causing something raw and homesick to awaken in your chest. 

You wanted to go to him. Your hand subconsciously fiddling with your worn courting gift still secured at your throat, but something held you back. Something like fear kept you crouched in the saddle upon your tsurak, hidden by the gathering crowd with the water lightly lapping at your toes.

Had you changed too much since he’d last seen you? Would he even recognise you? You’d grown into yourself, sure. You had several tattoos now, marks you were proud of. Marks that symbolised your victories, as well as your failures. Were they impressive enough? Would he be proud? Or would he recognise you and have to force himself to keep smiling?

A joyous screech startled you into looking back to the sandbar. Tsireya had broken through the crowd, her cheeks glistening with tears as she raced across the sand towards Lo’ak, who’s ears wiggled in excitement. His arms swept wide as Tsireya threw herself at him. The young man barely managed to stay on his feet as his arms grasped her thighs and her arms locked around his neck. They laughed together as they swayed, Tsireya only pulling back enough to pepper his brow with relieved kisses.

<”Come on!”> One of your students complained, suddenly appearing at your side with an impatient tug on your tail, startling your attention away from the pair. 

The rest of the class were close to catching up, whilst the older ones tried and failed to drag you towards the sandbar. The quiet ones went no closer than where your tsurak drifted, but you could tell from their curious glances that they were just waiting for your go ahead to show that the visitors were safe to approach. 

Inhaling a calming breath, you patted your tsurak and dismounted. The kids were quick to fall into step as you waded towards the sandbar. Someone grabbed onto the end of your tail as a younger Tsireya had whilst wandering the village, whilst another grabbed for your fingers, causing you to smile as they squeezed lightly. Your class remained close to your side until you set foot on dry sand, which prompted them to disburse in search of their parents and family members, leaving you to watch Neteyam from the safety of the crowd.

It hurts to see him after so many years. To have him standing so close but so out of reach. 

The bullet scar adorning his chest had faded with time. Blending in better with the rest of his complexion, but you knew where to look for it. A blatant reminder of the warnings you had failed to correctly interpret. 

A hand unexpectedly grabbed your forearm, dragging you out of your mind. Your gaze snapped down, finding Tsireya grinning back at you. Your eyes narrow as her grin turned into a mischievous smirk. Over her shoulder, you could see Lo’ak shaking his head, whereas Neteyam had his back to you, his head on a swivel as he scanned the crowd.

<”Don’t-”> 

She yanked you from the depths of the crowd before the threat could fall from your tongue. The People parted for you easily. Those you had grown up with, and remembered what had happened, gave you reassuring pats on the shoulders. Whereas a few shoved at you, yelling inaudibly about courage. 

You tripped and staggered your way to the front. Eyes wide in bewilderment as Tireya kept a firm grip on you. Her smirk turned into bright laughter as her grip alone kept you moving. Kept you from turning tail in shame and diving back into the sea.  

Then she let go, and retreated back to Lo’ak who welcomed her back with soft eyes and open arms.

Leaving you to stand alone in the middle of the sandbar, feeling stupidly exposed and small. Left to gawk at Neteyam like some lovesick fool. 

There was no false bravado to hide behind this time. No resting bitch face that could suppress the look of awe on your open features. No lesson to teach, in which to distract yourself or turn the attention off of you. 

There was just Neteyam. 

Gorgeous, kind Neteyam, who’s eyes had blown wide at the sight of you and your sudden appearance. Whose tail had pricked in interest. His ears fanned wide, and his hands half raised as if unsure whether he was allowed to reach for you. 

He still wore the necklace, you abruptly realised. It jumped and wiggled against his throat as he swallowed dryly. More worn and badly woven than you remembered, but undoubtedly there. Still there where he had put it all those years ago. 

Rolling his eyes, Lo’ak shoved at his brother’s shoulder.

Neteyam visibly collected himself and took a step forward. Then another.

His surprise melted away and it was as if the tension shattered. You caught a glimpse of that bright smile aimed your way and feeling finally returned to your legs.

Your tail was wagging, ears pricking comically as you took off at a dead sprint along the sandbar. The People cheered, your friends throwing in their own two cents as you kicked up sand. 

Neteyam laughed at your eagerness. Arms sweeping wide as you closed in. He started speaking, probably some cheesy line about not seeing you in years, but it was too late to slow down. In a painful clash of jewellery and bones, you knocked him straight off his feet.

He landed hard on his back, the wind getting punched out of him as his head hit the sand. You landed gracelessly on his chest, arms slamming into the sand on either side of his head. Neteyam stared up at you in awe, whilst your cheeks heated.

<”Told you I’d come back.”> He murmured, his hand rising to cup your cheeks, before he promptly dragged you down and onto him. Without warning, he was peppering kisses all over your face, against each of your glowing freckles, up the slope of your nose and then back down your temple. You wiggled and squirmed, everything else melting away as you basked in his attention, in the weight of him under you. 

You knew your ears were wiggling uncontrollably under his attention, that your tail was wagging and you were probably purring loudly enough for everyone to hear, but you couldn’t find it in you to give a shit. He was back. He had come back. Just like he promised. 

~ Fin ~

Previous Chapter <- Epilogue

[0kayblue]

Hiiiii! I'm typically a v happy n upbeat person but lately I've just been not feeling like myself. I'm always trying to make people laugh and it's always made me so happy when ppl even express that I light up a room :')) But I guess I feel like I haven't been that light for a bit, and I've just been in my head and I just feel like I've been burdening people or maybe I talk too much and it's just been making me really sad. And I feel bad for venting to people so I've just been handling everything on my own aaaaa. I was wondering if you could create an angst to fluff scenario with leon given the information I gave if possible :')? Happy ending ofcofc!! And if you are to write this ask, if you could include some kind of climax where the reader is breaking down (bc I'm a very emotional person n I'm v sensitive n cry super easily) Pls don't be shy to make it as long as you'd like! I love your work sm 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 and I hope you're doing well!

Light 

You are working on getting everything settled to move in with Leon when your parents pop by short notice things start to head south. They always had a knack for making things go from bad to worse.

Main Character Relations: Leon Kennedy x reader (romantic) 

Word Count: 3k (a little over)

Angst with comfort, borderline abusive behavior, complicated family relations, panic attack, happy ending 

A/N: Hey, anon! I hope you are doing better these days. Just know that you are loved and cared for. I appreciate you and I hope that whatever you are going through leaves you stronger than you were before. If you ever want to just vent, do not hesitate to message me. I may not be able to respond right away (or if you even want me too) or at all, but if you need to get it out. Get it out.  Please be easy on yourself and reach out to those you trust or authorities if it gets too bad. 

With that being said I thank you for your request and I hope that this suffices. I don’t think this is the best thing I've ever written, but it has its moments. Enjoy! 

You sat in the bathroom on the verge of tears with your face in your hands. Your tailbone starts to ache from sitting on the side of the tub, the harsh unforgiving acrylic leaving you with no support. You sniffed before finally standing up and moving in front of the mirror. Staring blankly at your reflection. 

Don’t. Cry. 

You scolded yourself as you looked in the mirror, your eyes slightly red and puffy. 

Stay. Strong. 

Taking a deep shaky breath you flushed the toilet before turning on the sink. Trying your best to pull it together as you splash some cool water on your face. 

You’re fine. You’re always fine. Now go back out there and be what you need to be. 

Your thoughts are harsh and cruel towards yourself as you turn off the faucet and dry your hands before you press on your cheeks, trying to wipe off the excess drops of water. This little worm of self doubt wiggling its way in your ear before you take a deep shaky breath. Plastering on a smile you leave the bathroom. 

You stop for a short moment before entering the living room, biting your inner lip, fixing your smile to something that felt more natural, and walking back to your former spot. Your ears perk as you pay attention, trying to place the room's conversation before sitting back down on your spot on the couch. 

“So, what do you do for work, Leon?” Your mom asks your boyfriend, a coldness to her words. 

“Sorry.” You murmur under your breath, “I told you, he’s head of security.” 

“I know what you’ve said,” your mother glared at you and you try not to wince under her gaze like you did as a child, “I just want him to explain it to me is all.” 

“What is there to explain exactly?” You're defensive, you're on edge, and Leon can more than just see it. His hand finds your thigh and his thumb ghosts over the denim fabric of your jeans. 

“There really isn’t much to explain.” He laughed trying to break the tension up, “I handle security for a warehouse up state. Make sure guards are properly trained, know how to deescalate a situation, stuff like that.”

“Interesting. How’d you fall into a job like that?” Your dad asks and Leon directs his attention back to your father.

Leon meeting your parents wasn’t your brilliant idea. You actually didn’t want him anywhere near them for a multitude of reasons, but your sibling let it slip to your mother that you were moving and it just snowballed from there. Your mother immediately jumped on your case and your father refused to look you in the eyes once he found out a romantic interest was involved. 

Of course none of this helped your current anxious state. The last few days have been more than just rough on you mentally and physically. With Leon being gone, packing, work, and your antidepressants losing their sparkle, you were in bad shape. 

“It just happened, I guess. The police academy didn’t want me and I had to go somewhere.” Leon laughed as he lied. He barely got through the front door before you were shoving a false backstory down his throat. It confused him and this wasn’t how he wanted to do this. He wanted to be honest and direct with your family about his life because someday he wanted to make your family his family. Things were more than just off to a bumpy start as your dad forced out a laugh.

“What made you guys want to drop by?” You ask, trying to relieve Leon of the hot seat. You felt bad for the current situation you put him in, if only he had run a little late. 

“We were out and about and wanted to see if you still were in the place, although I must say it looks better a little bare.” Your mom says as she flips open one of the boxes you had sitting on the coffee table, “You would think to tell your parents you were moving up state with a man you barely know.” Three months, you had told them that you had been dating Leon for only three months.

“I was going to tell you.” You got up, shutting the box and moving it away from her prying eyes. Leon’s concern for you doesn’t go unnoticed as his eyes remain glued to you; watching you bite your tongue in discomfort under the unrelenting gaze of your mother. 

“When?” Your dad asks. He didn’t seem mad, just heart broken. At a loss for words trying to figure out what moment you stopped confiding in him about your life. 

It was about middle school when it happened, when he told you that it was all in your head. That there wasn’t a thing wrong with you because you knew how to light up a room. You knew how to make people feel comfortable, you knew how to make them laugh; and no one who knew how to shine could suffer like the rest. 

“When I got settled. When I figured it out.” 

“When would that have been? When this fantasy of yours doesn’t work out and he leaves you?” Your mom spits before looking at Leon with little remorse, “I’m sorry son, no offense, but I don’t know you.” 

“Mom!” You yelled at her with your patience wearing incredibly thin, “You are not going to come here and start insulting my boyfriend.” 

“She’s just saying what we are all thinking,” your father defends her and it takes everything in you to not roll your eyes. “You’ve said you’ve only known him for three months, Christ, you’re probably lying. You’ve always kept secrets from us.” He was right, but you had your reasons. That didn’t make you feel any less bad about it, but still. You didn’t trust them for a reason and maintained a relationship with them out of guilt. 

“We just think it’s ridiculous that we are the last to know. We are your parents. We raised you. We took care of you; fed you, clothed you, kept a roof over your head. We deserve to know about your whereabouts with some man!” His voice rising and beginning to boom with anger; an anger you thought you had escaped. Your legs shake slightly as Leon stands up, shielding you from your fathers betrayed eyes. Seeing you in a flight or fight response triggering something in him. 

“We just want what’s best for you and I don’t think this is what’s best for you.” Your mom follows up causing your eyes to shift from your dad to your mom, tears welling in your eyes. 

“How do you know, huh? Not like you ever truly cared about anything I wanted.” 

“That is not true.”

“Not once have you called and asked me a damn thing with any true merit.”

“How could we? You are always hiding! Responding to everything with ‘fine’ or locking the damn door before we even knocked.” Your dad scolded you, wondering what happened to all those years he told you to stand your ground. Did those lessons fall on deaf ears or were you just up against something you couldn’t bring yourself to fight anymore?

“Because you don’t give a damn about anything serious in my life! God forbid you focus on how I feel instead of how you feel.”

“That is not-!” Leon raises a firm hand unable to stop himself. Unable to watch this unfold for much longer. He silenced the argument while your father was ready to push. It was an odd sight to see your father cower in his old age, knowing he didn’t stand a chance against Leon. Your heart pounds in your chest, afraid for Leon regardless of watching your dad back down. 

“I’m going to have to stop you, Sir. I think it’s best if you listen to your daughter and leave.” It wasn’t exactly a threat, more of a warning. 

“We need to have this conversation.” 

“I agree, but not today. Not now.” It took a lot for Leon to not call this the ambush that it was. He was still talking to your father, someone he still felt like he had to impress regardless of the current circumstances. 

“If we don’t talk about it today we aren’t bailing you out when this doesn’t work.” Leon’s hands ball into fist and you almost break but Leon beats you to the punch, “Sir, I am certain that if you utter another word like that I will see to it that she will never have to say another word to you again.”

Your parents look at you and you try to hold eye contact with them, but fail as you focus on the wood grain of the floor.  

Your father scoffs in disbelief, “That’s how it is? You’re letting someone else speak for you?” Your father asks in disbelief. He just shakes his head at your lack of a response and walks to and out the front door. 

“I hope you’re happy, you’ve broken his heart, (Y/N).” Your mother said, looking at you one last time with a familiar glare that made you feel guilty for just existing. 

You hear the door slam as you let out a heavy sigh, wiping the few tears that managed to escape away from your face. No one knew how to get to you like your parents did. Leon turns to you softening as he goes to reach for you, but you step back. 

“It’s okay. I’m fine. Let’s just get these boxes sorted.” Your voice flat as you turned back to the box your mother was once prying in. “Th-This one looks like a mix of t-shirts and coffee mugs.” You try not to stutter as you feel his hand on the small of your back. 

“Hey.” He soothes and where you find comfort in his touch you reject him as you pick up the box. You move quickly and set the box on the ground near the boxes you planned on taking to his place, soon to be your shared place, if you didn’t fuck it up. You took a deep breath as you tried to talk down that voice in your head that said your parents were right. 

“I’m- uh- going to check the bedroom for anything else. I’ll be right back.” You moved quickly, nearly sprinting down the hall. 

You felt terrible. You felt like a villain. 

Leon didn’t deserve a villian, he deserved rest. He had just gotten back from a mission to be greeted with this. A complete and utter wreck. He left one fight to come back to another and you felt absolutely responsible. 

Finally finding solace in your now empty room as you carefully shut the door behind you. You manage to walk to the center of the room on wobbly legs. Your chest aching as your fingers tangled themselves in your hair. Every single negative thought you had and every single self destructive feeling bubbles to the surface. Unable to contain it any longer. The air becomes thin as your pulse starts to race and a sharp gasp escapes through your dry lips. 

“(Y/N)?” Leon calls for you desperately, forgoing knocking on the door and just entering. Your eyes lock with his and you try to breathe; try to bring yourself to say something to keep him from overthinking the sight of you absolutely breaking in front of him. The words are lodged in your throat though as he looks at you with complete compassion. Your tears finally spill over as your knees give out and you start to fall to them. Taking in an ugly breath as your lungs tighten and Leon’s hands find your arms, guiding you carefully to the floor. 

You had failed. You had broken. You weren’t strong enough. 

You sobbed as you tried to hide behind your hands as the room felt like it was closing in. Leon was a mess as he scrambled for your attention, “Hey, (Y/N), look at me. I need you to look at me.” His hands firmly run up and down your arms as he tries to find your eyes. Trying to make you look at him, trying to tell you that you aren’t alone. 

You felt his warmth leave you and you squeezed your eyes shut as you brought your knees to your chest unable to place yourself in reality. All you knew was that his warmth was gone and you had convinced yourself he was gone. He wasn’t, he just moved his hands from your arms to your face; forcing you to look at him as you opened your eyes. “Breathe. I need you to breathe.” His words barely reach you, but they do as you nod. “With me, okay? In.” 

You take a deep breath in, following his instruction. 

“Out.” You let out and he repeats, “In.” You continue to follow as he coaches you through the process three more times. Your body is not shaking with as much intensity as your chest starts to relax. Your ribs are no longer burning as the air in the room is no longer thick, making it easy to swallow. Your chest rises and falls with your lungs as the tears slow, but continue to flow. 

“I-I’m sorry.” You get out as your hand finds his chest for support as you begin to unfold yourself. 

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for. Not a damn thing.” Leon says, fighting every urge in his body to pull you into his embrace. You sniff as he wipes tears from your red hot cheeks. “Where are you?” He asks, trying to distract you and get you grounded.

“My place.” You answer. 

“What do you taste?” 

“Salt.” 

“What do you see?” 

“You.” He can’t help but smile at your answer. One hand lets go of your face to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Can I hold you?” 

‘You still want to? I’m snotty.’ Was what entered your head and it was supposed to leave your lips with a smirk and you were supposed to let out a light laugh, but it’s not what came out. 

“Please.” A simple ‘please’ was all you could muster as your arms wrapped around his neck while he pulled you to his chest. Laying your head against his chest you could hear the beating of his heart. Gentle thumps that help you keep track of time as you start to register that you’re in control of your breathing. Leon takes a deep breath, his own worries settling as you relax against his chest. 

“My love.” He mutters into your hair while he rubs your back. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He’s been worried about you since he got back, the subtle things you did telling him you weren’t alright. How you distanced yourself in conversation and weren’t as quick witted as usual. He knew that this episode wasn’t all because of your parents, he knew you typically knew how to handle your own against them. 

Letting them roll off your back because it wasn’t worth fighting with them when they’d just make it all your fault anyway. 

“N-no.” Your breath hitching in your throat, unsure, “Give me a minute. Please.” Finally feeling your limbs ache from the stress as the stiffness in your form starts to ease. 

“Take your time, just stay with me. Breathe.” You closed your eyes and despite all of this, you smiled. His warmth enveloping you in comfort as you felt whole. You nodded, continuing to breathe. 

“I’m afraid I’ve lost it.” You joked and he just shook his head before placing a firm kiss on your temple. Sniffing you rubbed your nose on your sleeve as you settled into the calmness of your thoughts quieting. 

“No, you’re alright. I’ve got you.” He assures you as your heart breaks slightly. “You’ve just had a rough couple of days. You’ll be back on your feet in no time, you’re too stubborn to stay down.” You laughed slightly and his grip on you tightened. His heart burns at the sound of your laughter and his shoulders relax. He was scared there for a minute that he’d never hear your laughter again. 

“I love you.” It falls from your lips softly as you look at him. In times like these he was the light in the dark and he shined ten times brighter than you ever could. He’d argue with you a thousand times over about it though and tell you that you were crazy for even thinking he could outshine you. 

You found Leon in one of the darkest times of his life, he was an absolute wreck. He felt so much that he felt nothing at all. All his positive attributes drained from him slowly, as he started giving up on the world completely. He could’ve sworn he was a goner until one day in the darkness of a crummy bar he saw this light. He saw you mingling amongst strangers, making them laugh, making them comfortable. A lantern burning with a light that he would happily stay blinded by just as long as he could feel the warmth that radiated off of you. 

“I love you more.” His palm found the smoothness of your cheek as his thumb ghosted over your cheek bone. Examining your tired glassy eyes and the way your brows furrowed in exhaustion as he saw you try to place where he was. He sends you a warm smile before his lips find yours in a chaste safe kiss. Regretfully parting from you he speaks again, “What do you say we call it a day and head home? I’ll run you a bath and you can say as little or as much as you want. Deal?” You nod and as you go to push him away from you so you could stand he only holds you tighter. An arm resting under the bend of your knees while his other arm firmly holds you against him. You nearly squeal as he stands with no trouble as he savors the feeling of you clinging to his t-shirt. 

“I can walk, y’know.” 

“I know, but you don’t need to. I’d carry you everywhere if you let me.” You rolled your eyes while you laughed at this dork. A triumphant smile on his face, “Let’s get you home, light of mine.”

“I know, but you don’t need to. I’d carry you everywhere if you let me.” You rolled your eyes while you laughed at this dork. A triumphant smile on his face, “Let’s get you home, little light.”

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

lol bold of you to assume this took them 3 years

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

[excerpt from an upcoming Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

(Indulge me, if you will? Not sure if I'll be able to complete this story by Christmas, let alone the New Year ~ but the need to write this part is strong upon me, while my loves for Stephen and for Story compell me...)

genre: angst, catharsis, healing...and above all, love ❤️

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC); established relationship

word count: 1.2k-ish

...Beverly Strange had been a music teacher before she ever became a farmer's wife. And for most of her life--despite how stony her husband grew over the years, grimly implacable in the face of what he found to be frivolous--she had done her best to fill their household with music. It was no fluke that Stephen developed such a great love for music that his prodigious intellect maintained a mental catalog of music trivia encompassing multiple genres.

Beverly had given private piano lessons as much for fulfillment as for the extra money the family had needed in lean years on the farm. Until the birth of Stephen's younger brother Victor, she had volunteered as Choir Director at the community's small Lutheran church. Stephen could remember spending many an afternoon in the weeks leading up to Christmas and Easter in the choir loft, coloring quietly and humming along while Beverly conducted practice. Once her youngest child, Donna, had been old enough to sit in a church pew under Stephen's supervision (for their father rarely attended weekly services) Beverly had resumed a place in the choir and was often featured as a soloist during the holidays. Stephen had been damn proud watching his mother sing her favorite carol, 'Oh, Holy Night'; how straight she had stood, free of his father's angry shadow, and of how flawlessly (to him, anyway) her notes had risen--in his child's mind he had been sure they had reached Heaven itself.

Most of all, though, he had always been proud to see when some parishioner or another was moved to tears by the purity of her rendition. Decades later, he could easily recall that feeling if he allowed himself to remember, could hear her in his mind--but the pain of Donna's death and the toll it wreaked upon his mother usually precluded him from indulging in such sentimental recall. Beverly's music had fallen mute the day his sister had drowned; she had never sung in church again, nor had Stephen ever heard her sing in their own home in the too short years that followed before her grief prematurely aged her into an early grave.

Stephen himself had adopted a stoic mien in the wake of losing Donna, internalizing the blame he felt for failing to save her, and by extension, their mother. Nearly two decades later, it still hurt too damn much to remember the first--and very rare--people who had loved him unconditionally, as both had been lost to him well before their time. And as his most vibrant memories of them included Christmastimes, he had turned his back on all but the most superficial of holiday celebrations.

He kept his painful thoughts and memories buried deep and had only confessed them to Christine (whom he realized in retrospect was the third soul to have loved him unconditionally) one sloppy, drunken night two months after his accident. She had given him what solace she could, gently urging him to not be so hard on himself, reminding him that both Donna and Beverly would wish for him to seek some healing, and staying with him until he drifted into a dreamless sleep. When she returned to check on him the next day, he had closed himself off again, rejecting her concern as unnecessary. Brushing off the incident as impertinent to his current life and goals.

But now...oh now! A wee bit at a time, Hope--who loved him as unconditionally as his past dear ones--had been chipping away at that wall. Reintroducing Christmas into his life by osmosis, without a hint of pressure for him to embrace the season. As she'd promised four weeks ago, she'd gone about her Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother him. With each little Yuletide advance she had made in the Sanctum, he had found himself relaxing and accepting, smiling in concession, happy to play witness to her happiness in the season.

Christmas was still a week away, and Stephen had begun contemplating what sort of gift he might manage for his own Who-girl. He hoped to find a gift that spoke his heart clearly, but each idea that came to him fell flat soon after he thought it up.

Settled comfortably in his study this evening, he was delving into a freshly discovered manuscript that appeared to have been penned by The Ancient One when she had been apprenticed to Merlin, during his tenure as the Londinium Sanctum Master. Though it should have been a fascinating read, Stephen found himself distracted by the question of what to give Hope--and by the carols she was playing in the living room portion of his quarters. Celtic Woman, he told himself with no effort to recall the facts; released October 2006, peak chart position number one on Billboard for US Worldwide Albums. The trilling of the all female group was pleasant enough, but not at all conducive to the study he was attempting.

Meaning to simply ask Hope to lower the volume so he could concentrate, Stephen removed his reading glasses, leaving them to rest atop the open manuscript and then headed the short way to the main room of his suite. The fragrances of cranberry and evergreen greeted him as he drew near, for she'd made a substantial investment in candles for the season, and they were clearly alight as she wrapped presents. Hope was deep in her element and happy to be so.

The music paused between tracks, and when it resumed, it stopped Stephen in his. The opening strains of 'O, Holy Night' filled the air, and in a heartbeat they landed upon him, sending him back to his youth, well before he had known loss and heartbreak. To those crisp, cold Nebraska evenings when his heart had swelled with love and pride to see his mother sing. Unprepared as he was for those powerful images and sounds to fill his senses, Stephen backed away, his eyes prickling with tears of mixed grief and recollection. Tears he'd put off for far too long in his quest to avoid the pain. And yet he knew that just several feet around the corner was the very soul who had given him the exact comfort, love, and strength he'd needed to complete the dreadful journey he had undertaken to save this Universe from Thanos--and that she'd be only too glad to learn this part of his past and help him find healing.

By some remarkable coincidence, or as if she'd heard his thoughts, Hope's answer came unbidden, her voice blending in as though it had been meant to be a message for his ears alone.

'Sweet hymns of joy, in grateful chorus raise we..., ' she sang as his heart seemed to crack open in bittersweet relief. 'Fall on your knees, O hear the angels voices...' Stephen wrapped his arms across his chest while he wept to remember the love and warmth that had been his in the little church and in every moment spent in his mother's company. How had he made himself ignore such a miraculous gift? Surely the joy of it far outweighed the sorrow. How foolish to have gone so long without allowing himself such comfort.

The carol now drew swiftly to it's close, and still his Hope sang sweetly, following the notes faithfully, unaware that she had reawakened a dormant part of his heart. 'O night,' she crooned, in happy harmony with those recorded singers, 'O night divine!' He swiped his tears away with both his palms, deciding he must tell her this part of his story. His reasons for divorcing Christmas from his life. And that he understood at last that every day of this beautiful season, she'd been patiently showing him that love was stronger than even grief...

[to be completed - once I finish the beginning as well!]

tagging: @aeterna-auroral-avenger @strangelock221b @stewardofningishzida @icytrickster17 @ben-locked @lorelei-lee @mousedetective @darsynia @bakerstreethound @hithertoundreamtof23 @rmoonstoner @mckiwi @doctorstrangeaskblog

[kandicon]

*writes the same exact headcannons in slightly different scenarios over and over again*

[alarrytale]

⚽️ Terraced Dreams ⚽️

by @elleseekeepdriv (Tumblr)/Elleseekeepdriv (Twitter/X)

Chapters: 16/16

Words: 62K

Summary

Harry Styles is the son of Anne Cox, a self made billionaire who rules the furniture business in the whole of England with ACS. She created such an empire that both her kids are set for life, becoming millionaires by the time they turned eighteen. Harry Styles is, in Louis’ opinion, everything that is wrong with people who are born into money and have never had to struggle. He seems arrogant and self-centred and looks like he’s never worked a day in his life. Louis despises him and is very shocked to learn that the rumours are actually true. Harry's bought Louis' team, the Doncaster Rovers.

“Fuck,” Louis mutters. “I’m going to make his life a living hell.”

The rumours turn out to be true, Harry Styles just bought the Doncaster Rovers. Louis thinks he's a spoilt rich boy who is going to ruin it all. Only time will tell.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 11: "All the light's going dark and my hope's destroyed" + Animal Trap

Read on Ao3

- Legend & Hyrule

- Summary: When the sudden appearance of a portal sends Legend and Hyrule hurtling to an unknown destination, Legend attempts to save them both. But it all goes terribly wrong

CW for a character nearly drowning (it's not too descriptive, but just be careful), dehumanization, and drugging

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

He’s falling.

Legend only half-registers it. His stomach is in a knot, his body weightless, yet strangely heavy. His heart is in his throat. Wind rushes past his ears. But it’s not the plummet he fears. It’s the darkness he is headed towards.

He’s falling, Rulie is falling, and he hasn’t a clue where they'll land.

Dark magic warps around him, funneling him down, down, down. He reaches toward it with his own magic, trying to guide it, to nudge it in a safe direction.

Water. They need to land in water. Otherwise this will end very badly.

He solidifies an image in his head. A lake — big and beautiful and clear, waterfalls rushing down into it. There. That’s where he wants them to land. 

A hand grapples in the darkness. Fingers wrap around his own, familiar magic pouring through them to enhance his own. A slight smile lifts Legend’s lips.

Hyrule.

The image grows more clear and distinct. The smell of fresh water and dewy grass fills his nostrils. Legend steels himself and takes a deep breath. Any moment now…

Heart pounding in his throat, he tightens his hold on Hyrule’s hand. 

“Don’t let go,” he orders through the waves of their entwined magic. And Hyrule’s grip strengthens in reply.

Another moment slides by, a moment filled with utter darkness and the nauseating push and pull of gravity. Legend holds his breath, awaiting impact. 

It comes in a rush of magic and liquid, cold and heat, light and darkness. Legend catches a glimpse of blue sky and white clouds. Then his body breaks the surface with such force it knocks the air from his lungs.

Water floods the space it leaves and he chokes on it. Black dots dance before his eyes. Desperately, he fights to hang on — to consciousness, to the hand that now lies limp in his.

Come on. He grits his teeth, kicking his feet to try and surface. Change already!

As if in response, a sharp pain streaks through him. His two legs become a single, powerful tail; his fingernails grow into talons; iridescent scales climb up and down his body. And in the next moment he can breathe.

Legend wastes no time. Ensuring Hyrule’s hand is firmly in his own, he begins to climb toward the surface. The sun shines through it, beckoning him forth. 

Hope blossoms within him as he grows closer. He’s almost there. 

The net comes out of nowhere. He sees it briefly out of the corner of his eye – a dark, looming thing. But his mind doesn’t have time to process, nor his body to evade. And in the next moment, it surrounds him. 

Coarse ropes tangle in his fins, wrap around his tail. Panic coursing through him, Legend thrashes. With his free hand he claws at the net, attempting to shred it. He has to break free, he has to get Hyrule to the surface. 

But his efforts are fruitless. The ropes are too strong, too thick.

“I caught something!” A voice comes from up above. Any other time it would be muffled by the water that surrounds him. But now, in this form, Legend can hear it clearly, as if the man is standing right beside him. “It’s big! And it’s a fighter.”

“Hurry! It could be what we have been looking for!”

The net begins to move, dragging the heroes upward. And after a moment more of struggling, Legend lets it. It goes against every instinct he has, to allow their captors to haul them up onto the boat. But fighting back takes time, time Hyrule doesn’t have.

He pulls the traveler to his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around him. And in the next seconds they break through the surface and are pulled onto the floor of a small boat. 

Legend can make out blurred faces, leering and unfamiliar; a blue sky painted behind a layer of trees; water drifting as far as he can see. But he doesn’t allow himself to survey his surroundings beyond that. Almost immediately, his attention is back on the hero who lies limp in his arms.

“Rulie,” he gasps, through burning lungs. This form never fares well on the surface. But it will only be a short while before he reverts to his Hylian body. He can hold on until then.

Dragging in another wheezing attempt at a breath, he presses a hand to the traveler’s face. His skin is cool and pale, eyes still closed, chest still. Dread settles unpleasantly in Legend’s gut.

Maybe landing them in the water was not such a wonderful idea, after all. Maybe he should have let whatever was going to happen, happen. Maybe he should have focused his attention on crafting a shield around them instead.

He shakes his head, shoving the thoughts away. Gritting his teeth, he closes his eyes.

He doesn’t know how to weave the powerful healing spells that Hyrule does, but he is familiar with a few simpler ones. Spells that can take care of cuts and bruises, gashes that don’t travel too deep, even wounds that render you unconscious. And perhaps, they will be enough to drag the water from Hyrule’s lungs.

“Well, well, what have we here?” A voice croons from above him. 

Distantly, he registers the net lifting off and away, dragging at his tail as it does so. He does his best to ignore it. 

“A sea creature?”

“It’s called a mermaid.”

“Well, I’ve seen one of those before.”

“Isn’t this what you were looking for?”

“Indeed.”

Someone is leaning over him now. Legend can feel their hot breaths on his neck. 

“Look at him. What a magical being.”

A hand brushes over the length of his tail and Legend inhales sharply. The breath soon turns into a hacking cough as his body reminds him how little air he is gaining at the moment. 

Ignore it, he tells himself, even as every part of him screams to leap back into the water, where he can breathe, where the clammy hands of strangers won’t touch him. Focus on Rulie. 

“I wish to study him. Take him…and throw his friend back into the water.”

The words have barely registered in Legend’s mind before rough hands wrap around his waist and pull. His fingers slip from Hyrule and the spell dies upon them. 

“No!”

He thrashes, striking out with his claws, kicking as his tail splits and becomes legs. Someone cries out and another voice joins them. But they are a mere cacophony of unintelligible noise to Legend’s ears. All he can see is Hyrule being dragged toward the edge, all he can hear is the deafening silence left by the absence of his brother’s breaths.

This is all your fault. 

A fist connects with his jaw and he reels back, tasting the sharpness of iron. But seconds later he is struggling again, desperation allowing him to push through the pain, the fear, the way the world feels like it's closing in on him all over again, like the day his uncle died, the day the entire kingdom had turned its back on him without reason…

An arm comes into reach and he bites down, hard. That earns him a slap across the face.

“Stop fighting, damn it!”

He kicks outward, feet connecting with someone’s body. They hurl him down onto the unforgiving wood of the boat, so hard that he sees stars. For a moment it is all he can do to breathe.

“Little brat!”

“Is he even worth the trouble? Look at him! He changed back!”

“Calm yourselves. You are damaging the specimen.”

Legend drags his head upward just as a man squats down in front of him. With his graying hair and wizened face carved with smile lines, one could think him kind, even grandfatherly. But when he grips Legend’s chin and holds his gaze, there is no sympathy in those eyes. There is only cold, terrible, hunger.

Legend shoves himself up on his hands and knees, wrenching himself out of the man’s grip. He steels himself, hand already going toward the hilt of his sword. He will fight to the death if need be. They will not touch Hyrule.

But the man’s voice halts his movements.

“Remain still or your friend will go over the side.”

Legend glares at him. He can see no lie in that face. His hand falls back down to lie limply at his side.

“What do you want?” he grits out.

The man regards him calmly. “I have been interested in strange creatures for many years now. I have studied them quite extensively. One might even call me an expert. However, I have yet to examine a mer. So, you, my boy, are quite a fortunate find.”

He rises, still looking at Legend as though he wants to pin him to a board and stare at him for a while. Legend fights not to squirm beneath his gaze.

“You are fascinating. Not quite a mer and yet…not quite Hylian either. Oh, the discoveries that could be made from you.”

The man moves closer. Before he can stop himself, Legend backs up a step, bumping against the two men he hadn’t realized were standing behind him. He can’t breathe now. It’s as though he is dragging in surface air through his gills again, fighting to remain conscious. 

Focus. You don’t have time to panic.

“I would take you by force,” the man continues, calmly, as though carrying a conversation with a neighbor, “as my men have so clumsily attempted to do. But that would damage you beyond repair. And in order for my experiments to work, you must be in optimal condition. I must control for most variables. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yeah, I understand alright. You creep.”

Legend’s eyes flit around, taking in his surroundings, looking for a viable way out. His fingers flex and clench, itching for a weapon. But Hyrule is so close to the edge now. Too close. One wrong move and he will fall back into a watery grave. 

And the water…the water is the only chance of escape he has. But the cost would be great, too great for him to entertain.

He inhales a trembling breath and makes his decision.

“If you want me so badly, I’ll come with you. On one condition.” He looks back at Hyrule, ignoring the way his heart clenches at the sight of him.

You idiot. Letting yourself become attached again. Don’t you ever learn?

“Let me save him. Then, take him back to shore and leave him there.”

The man doesn’t answer at first. He looks between the two heroes, fist at his chin. Then, he nods.

“Very well.” He turns to his men. “Take us back to shore as quickly as possible. And bind and blindfold the boy.”

Legend watches, anger boiling within him, as they tie thick ropes around Hyrule’s wrists and a cloth around his head. No sooner have they stepped back than he rushes forward, skidding on his knees before him. The spell is already at his fingertips and in his mind, woven threads of his magic. And he reaches out, pressing a hand to Rulie’s arm as it pours forth.

“Watch him,” he hears someone say from far away. “He might try to pull something.”

“He won’t,” the man with hungry eyes answers. “He cares too much for his friend.”

Legend shakes his head, brushing off the oppressive truth of the statement.

“Come on, Rule,” he murmurs, “come on. Wake up.”

A moment passes and another and another, slipping by in slow succession. All the while the boat speeds toward the shore. If he looked up, Legend doesn’t doubt that he would see the bank fast approaching. But he doesn’t dare. He hardly allows himself to breathe.

Tears stream down his face and blur his vision. He doesn’t brush them away.

“Come on, traveler. You’re tougher than this. Don’t you dare die on me!”

Another series of seconds pass in which Hyrule doesn’t move. And then, abruptly, he draws in a gasping breath. He pitches sideways coughing up mouthfuls of water. Relief streaks dizzyingly through Legend as he reaches out, gripping his shoulder to support him.

“You’re okay, Rulie,” he says, both to himself and the hero trembling in his grasp. “You’re okay.”

Thank the goddesses.

The coughs subside and turn to haggard breaths. Hyrule raises his head, dazedly attempting to look around. 

“Ledge?” He croaks. He tries to move his hands up to his face, but the ropes prevent the motion. “Legend…what happened? Why can’t I…where are we?”

Legend is about to answer when the boat comes to a stop, bumping against a grassy shoreline. His heart climbs into his throat. 

“It’s okay,” he manages. “You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Hyrule turns toward the sound of his voice and Legend is glad that he cannot see the look in his eyes.

“But what about you?”

Strong hands grasp his arms and wrench him away from the traveler. He stumbles to his feet.

Men close in around Hyrule too, hauling him up and starting toward the shore. He struggles, though weakly, face still much too pale.

“Legend!”

Legend manages a shaky smile, more for his own sake than his brother’s.

“I’ll be fine too. Don’t waste your time worrying about me. Get free and get out of here, you hear! Don’t you dare try and come back for me!”

Hyrule gives another shout as he hits the damp ground, immediately trying to stumble up on bound feet. But Legend can hardly hear him now past the thundering of his heart and the distant sounds of water lapping at the boat as it drifts back into the depths.

Then, something cool and metallic pierces his neck and he knows no more.

[skyward-floored]

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF HYLIA. LET TIME LIVE

Hmmmmmmmm I shall consider it

[kanene-yaaay]

K e l

[aeons-domain]

Now I'm curious about something 🤔 Reblog this and put in the tags or comments what ideas or concepts did you scrap for your OC's lore/backstory.

I know an OC's background isn't always going to be consistent or concrete and that's fine! But do you ever have ideas that you either A) didn't have time to work on, B) found too complex to incorporate into their lore, or C) feel like it just didn't fit in based on the standards of whatever universe (canon or original) your OC is in? Or perhaps a secret fourth option, I dunno!

[pearlparty]

Did you ever finish writing part 2 for goodbye Angel?

hello darlin!! I am just now going through my inbox and realizing how many messages I’ve missed, and I’m truly sorry that yours is one. But I’m so glad to see that there’s so much love for Angel and Baby, and this warms my heart to have seen desire to see more of them.

I have something cooking up, but I really want to be intentional with their love story—I’d hate to rush their ending, especially after I was such a dick to them in the first part. Life’s been (annoyingly) busy and work/house repairs have been sucking my time BUT I’m sick rn so I’ve got a little downtime and will tag you in the finished product, if you’d like. I can’t promise when it’ll be done, but I’ll make more time for it in the coming weeks since I’ve got more time.

[cilogram]

A silly post of the records I bought today, but I'm so happy :')

When I saw Russell's photo from a few days ago, of Kimono My House being in Tower Vinyl, I thought 'damn I don't have that one in record form', so I went out to see if it was still there...

and it was(!)

It was funny... the cashier told me, 'Actually, Sparks were here in the shop! This past week, and took a photo with this one!' (holds up the record)

and I was too embarrassed to say 'ohoho that's why I'm here', so I just said, 'That's so cool!'

Almost died when I saw La Dolce Vita, too. One of my all-time favourite Sparks songs :')

(and I'm a Terminal Jive enjoyer so that went into my arms also)

[croissantconnoisseurdinosaur]

Soukoku Angst, ow, angst, ow

If there are any BSD fanfiction writers with no shortage of writing desire, but a shortage of ideas, don’t worry I gotchu, cuz I have the opposite.  

The thing with brain rot is everything becomes a fic idea and I can’t stop hurting my feelings with this one. 

TW: 

Loss of children

As always, feel free to steal my idea, but tag me so I can cry with you <3

Relationship: Soukoku, cis Chuuya, trans Dazai (can also be A/B/O if that’s the universe instead)

The two of them start seeing each other romantically about a year after they join the mafia (though to be clear this is Soukoku, so nothing is ever romantic per say, and that can lend it’s own layer of angst and miscommunication above everything else)

One night Dazai discovers he’s pregnant, and it is a shitshow.  His feelings go from completely numb, to furious rage and back again more times than he can count.  It’s not just that he doesn’t want this baby -- has never wanted a baby, will never want a baby in this life he’s barely interested in keeping for himself.  It’s not just that he’s young, it’s not even just that he’s cursed with a womb that shouldn’t have to bear the responsibility of his sex that his gender should never know... it’s that even if he did want this baby, he felt he didn’t have a choice. He knows he doesn’t have a choice.  That in itself is traumatic in its own way, even regardless of his feelings on the matter.  He doesn’t have a choice.

He decides to tell Chuuya anyway -- and while a part of him tells him as a last-ditch effort to feel not so fucking alone, a part of him does it out of pure vengeful spite for getting him into this mess in the first place.  Sadly, Chuuya reacts exactly how Dazai expected him to.  He’s happy.  He’s fucking happy.  He's already making plans for defecting from the mafia together and running away to hide somewhere Dazai knows can never, ever truly be safe. Dazai cuts him off and tells him he’s not keeping it and watches with a sick sense of justice as visible heartbreak leaves Chuuya broken all over -- even for just a moment -- before he’s yelling, arguing, angry right alongside Dazai but also at Dazai himself.  What does he mean he can’t keep it?  He doesn’t even want to try?  It becomes abundantly clear that Chuuya -- hurt, for many of the same reasons as Dazai -- is fighting just to fight.  That’s fine.  Dazai can fight.  He calls him stupid.  Tells him the only reason he wants to keep it is because he doesn't have to carry it.  He accuses Chuuya of only wanting to keep this baby in the hopes that it will be the one thing to finally make him feel human for once in his loveless life.  He accuses him of martyrdom, of thinking he’s better than Dazai for always taking in the strays.  Chuuya accuses Dazai of not having a heart.  They scream and yell and sob and plead until Dazai’s cold indifference and spite has grown tired and warm, and Chuuya’s red-hot rage has dulled to ice with helplessness.

“Chuuya,” Dazai begins, realizing there was nothing left to do once they had both screamed and cried themselves sick for three lifetimes, “do you really want to be responsible for when the mafia finds the three of us alive?”  Chuuya nearly throws up. 

So Dazai goes to the doctor, and the two of them carry on as if nothing ever happened.  Only now there’s hatred slowly seeping beneath their skin.  They continue to see each other as they had been, only now any love (in however many words) there once may have been just beginning to bloom between them in the midst of brand new feelings has been crushed to dust, and there is almost a repulsion alongside the attraction now -- the two of them hate-fucking whenever one got on the others nerves enough, any semblance of true care for one another long gone  alongside the trauma they both simply pushed out of sight, never to resolve. 

And it happens again.  And again.  And it keeps on happening, never any less clinical and cold than that very first time.  He tells Chuuya every time -- sometimes beforehand, sometimes after, just to let him know he’d been too late.  Sometimes he wants someone to share in his grief with, mostly he just to be cruel.  He resents Chuuya for doing this to him.  (He knows it’s not all Chuuya’s fault).   He wonders if he’s doing it on purpose -- waiting for that fateful day he puts a baby in him his cold heart is willing to keep.  (He knows he only wishes that were true, so it meant Chuuya would care about what was happening to him, over and over again).  Chuuya stops trying to convince him to run away with him after the third time, simply nodding numbly and grabbing him by the throat for a kiss they both pretended wasn’t salty with tears.  

Once day, upon hearing the news “it happened again”, Chuuya nods numbly -- but instead of paying Dazai any mind in return, eventually, he just... goes back to work.   

They’re too young for all of it.  

Dazai never stops threatening suicide, and even attempts are starting to be met with indifference, like nothing is shocking anymore.  Dazai absently wonders if Chuuya would care if he were gone completely. 

One day, he is, but not because he’s died.  The day Dazai leaves the port mafia, he sets a bomb under Chuuya’s car and leaves.  He doesn’t say a word.  He doesn’t reach out.  He does nothing.  He doesn’t doubt Chuuya has tried to find him.  He wonders if Chuuya thinks Dazai has finally done it -- decided to escape for a parasite that was supposed to grow up and love him.  He wonders if that would break Chuuya’s heart like he hopes it would.  He misses him.  He hopes the not knowing hurts worse for Chuuya than it does for him. 

Chuuya has never stopped grieving.  As much as he’s kept it to himself, every loss hurt him more than the last.  He knows it didn’t seem that way -- years of watching Dazai had lent him all of the examples he needed to create a perfectly crafted mask that hid his humanity the same way that demon seemed to always hide his.  Chuuya wonders if maybe he never had any to begin with.  Dazai leaving him nearly kills him, and he hoped Dazai rotted away wherever he was, no doubt waiting for Chuuya to look all over the city to find him.  He would never look.  He decided not to miss him. 

Years later Chuuya gets word that Dazai is alive, and in Yokohama.  He’s a part of a rival organization, no doubt, and to be brought in for execution.  Chuuya feels like he’s seeing a ghost as the executive waltzes down the stairs to meet face-to-face with the ex-executive.  He’s filled with such rage and betrayal he doesn’t even have the decency to pretend he hadn’t choked down his bile in favor of spitting in his face.  

As the two of them become partners again, they reconnect in more ways than one.  They talk, they process, they spend hours up for several hours into the early morning over glasses of wine and whiskey finally processing their trauma, together.  It’s not nearly enough, but it’s a start.

One night, in the familiarity of Chuuya’s apartment, resentment melts away enough to give way to the guarded heart of love underneath.  The two of them do just that: make love, in a way neither of them had ever experienced in their entire lives.  It’s beautiful, and confusing, and there is more left unsaid than there is said, but this time neither can resent the other for that. 

They do, though, when it happens again.  This time -- years older, with a safe, stable job, far enough from the mafia to never be used as a pawn in their games again, yet close enough to remain protected by both them and the ADA... Dazai decides his choice has changed.  He is living in the light, where it can be safe to make a different choice: fighting for the good guys, saving the orphans, and doing everything he’d promised Odasaku he would to be on the side that saves people.  But he also realizes that no matter what, this baby his half Chuuya, which means it’s still half mafia.  As much as things have changed since he was a teen, that still has not. 

He does tell Chuuya though.  It’s a different conversation than it used to be.  Chuuya still offers to run away together, but it’s softer now, like he knows what the answer will be.  Even amidst his shock that Dazai is finally keeping this one, he is not surprised to hear he is not allowed to.  This time, he cries.  Dazai cries with him.  They barely even realize what they’re really saying is goodbye.  Even if Chuuya stays far away from them, there is no denying that any mafia knowledge about this at all will result in tragedy once a hard card needs to be dealt.  

So, Dazai leaves once more.  He leaves Yokohama completely.  Only his closest friends know he hasn’t gone very far, but Chuuya is not among them.  For all Chuuya knows, Dazai has left for another country, once again leaving Chuuya with only the parade of little ghosts that have followed him around mafia halls ever since he was sixteen. 

Edit: optional happy ending borderline crack ending below the cut

This literally sounds like a totally separate fic (maybe a fluff sequel to the angst prequel) but I decided the second half of the fic could be Chuuya defects from the mafia and  goes on a mission to find Osamu.  

But this would be years later -- he and Akutagawa planned a coup, and successfully had Aku *almost* kill Mori, instead giving him the choice to be killed or step down.  Turns out Mori is a coward, who tf knew.  

Aku is the new Mafia boss, and he didn’t even have to kill to do it, keeping his promise to Atsushi even all these years later xx

Anyway, Chuuya spends months looking everywhere for Dazai, and it’s only when he and Aku are able to convince Atsushi that it is completely safe, that the weretiger helps him out.  He convinces Dazai to let Atsushi tell Chuuya where he is.  Chuuya is too happy to be embarrassed that he couldn’t find the mastermind on his own. 

Cue chapters and chapters of fluff of trying to win back not only Dazai’s affection, but that of a little toddler who was taught to never trust a stranger.  Adorable.  

Cue healing talks and Dazai apologizing for being so cruel, admitting he purposefully hurt Chuuya with the way he spoke to him back then, and how if he’s honest with himself he never even regretted it.  But he does now. 

Cue Chuuya telling Dazai he knew.  He knew it was all a cover for how hurt Dazai was feeling.  And he never let it cut him too deeply for too long because of that.  How he understands, how he understood, even then.  How it’s not right, and it’s not okay, but it is fine, now.    

Eventual happy family neither of them ever dreamed they would grow up to want, but now can’t imagine being without.  Cue hilarious comedy antics babysitting with Uncles Atsushi and Ryuu, or Ranpo and Ed, or the way more capable Kunikida, Gin, Higuchi, Yosano, or Kyouyou -- basically a big happy family in a world where the alliance between port mafia and ADA is unshakable, all because of a little child with red hair and their father’s eyes.

EDIT AGAIN: MAYBE ADD ANGST BACK INTO ACT III BY HAVING THE CHILD KIDNAPPED ANYWAY DESPITE LITERALLY EVERYBODY’S BEST EFFORTS???  HAVE AN AWESOME SHOWDOWN WITH LITERALLY EVERYBODY ON THIS KID’S SIDE AND THE ENEMY NEVER HAVING A CHANCE?? WITH A SAPPY ENDING??????