#Not much to see in the the deep void of space or buried under the earth or at the bottom of the more boring part of the ocean

[tswwwit]

When bill sees thru an eye does he switch from one to another like channels or can he see thru all of them at once and pick on which one he wants to focus on?

He can see through multiple eyes at once, though probably not ALL of his eyes at once. There's simply too many around to spread himself that thin! And of the ones he's currently using, he'll only pick a few to really focus on.

[peargreen-jellybean]

too fuckin long, so sorry about that, but enjoy a 3k word count poolverine hurt/comfort ficlet from the prompt idea i posted

my writing skills suck a bit and i wrote this on my phone but i did my best. enjoy

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Logan’s woken up in alleyways, face down, with clothes torn from a brawl he instigated and the glass bottles he’d fallen onto. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he wakes up slumped over a table in the back of a bar because the owner was too afraid to tell him to leave.

Afraid of his claws or just his name.

The buzz of alcohol never stays long, even with high proof liquor, but the tiredness of a fucked up life still lingers for awhile more after several bottles of booze.

So waking up exhausted isn’t new. It's about the only way he’s woken up for a long time.

And that’s what Logan expects, slowly coming back to consciousness.

Exhaustion. Some hard surface. Hopefully most of his clothes intact.

One eye begrudgingly cracks open.

Yup, definitely a little fucked up. His joints ache deep into the bone and his head is cotton-y.

But… Nothing feels hard or sharp beneath him. In fact, he feels… comfortable.

Huh.

Turning just a bit, he finds his face buried in softness. It smells lived in; skin, spilled food, a hint of… gunpowder? And, after a moment, he hears the soft sound of music- too quiet to be bar music but not muffled enough to be from a building he isn’t inside of.

Huh.

“Mmm.” Using his forearms, Logan props himself up just enough to leave the softness and get a look around him.

Not an alley. Not a bar. Not even a cheap, seedy motel.

A house- er, an apartment more likely. And he’s sprawled, a moment ago face down, on top of an old couch with a blanket over him and pillow under him. Neither the couch nor the general space is all that large, he’s practically spilling off the furniture, but everything feels warm and lived in. Home-y, if a little messy.

There isn’t anyone else here- the living room, a good guess- but noises, once he registers them, coming from an adjacent room says he isn’t alone. The soft music seems to filter through from there as well.

Logan flips himself over, a bit too groggy to be elegant about it, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The feel of gritty grime on his face, more than he usually gets after a night drowning in alcohol, confuses him.

And then-

His head slumps back into the pillow and he groans. “Fucking hell.”

The TVA. The Time Ripper. The Void.

The red spandex-ed asshole who stole him from his timeline.

… Who, after everything, took him home, here, introduced him to his blind roommate- Althea, if he recalls- and offered him a place to stay and sleep for a while. And, vaguely remembering being too tired to shower, who also gave Logan some clothes to sleep in.

Groaning, only half heartedly after remembering the comforts offered and taken, Logan pulls back the blanket and, likey for the first time, actually checks to see what he’s wearing.

A gray, “I eat cement” T-shirt and blue, rubber duck shorts.

Yeah, that seems about right.

He huffs, but sits up to get his elbows onto his knees and scrub more of the sleep away from his face. Instant regret again. Both he and Wade- battle worn and disgusting- had forgone a shower in favor of just near instantly passing out. He is fucking gross; dirt, blood, and god knows what else covering him in a disgusting layer.

Logan feels a pang of shame for getting onto their couch with this much dirt and sweat coating him- maybe he can wash the blanket and pillowcase as an apology- but a clattering from the room with the music recatches his attention. The volume of whatever song is playing- a woman singing, pleasantly raspy- increases afterward.

Too interested to ignore whatever’s going on, Logan gets up to stand- with only a small groan, thank you- and, after a quick, satisfying stretch, slowly pads over to the doorway. Nothing outright sounds or feels dangerous, but from his experience and especially after the past few days, the need for caution can’t be shaken.

He must still not be fully awake, because the smell hits him only a few creeping steps from the doorway; pepper, eggs, something a bit burnt.

Food.

God, he didn’t realize how hungry he was until now. Even the burning smell is appetizing.

Popping his head in, the sight inside startles him awake completely.

With “I <3 hot dads” shorts, a red apron, and fucking crocs on his feet, Wade shifts around in front of the kitchen counter, swaying to the song he has playing from a radio somewhere. The place is a complete mess of egg shells and plates, but the table has a, rather large, plate of scrambled eggs, another plate of half burnt toast, and an assortment of other breakfast items. The smell of coffee also hangs in the air. And for the first time, maybe since knowing the man- and when he wasn’t unconscious- Wade is happily content not saying a word. He simply turns a toaster, with a fucking butter knife stuck into it, this way and that, and shakes it like he wants information from it.

It’s jarringly warm, and domestic.

Logan is again thrown for a moment.

When was the last time he woke up to clean clothes- even though he himself is gross as hell- the softness of a pillow, to the smell and sight of another person cooking breakfast in a kitchen?

Ever?

That sounds pathetically sad and incorrect, but in the doorway, watching it happen in real time, Logan feels lost and a bit raw.

Lucky for him though, Wade is still an annoying fuck and pulls him from his thoughts.

Like he sensed the presence of the other man half lingering in the doorway, Wade looks back at him and smiles wide. All bright teeth. No mask.

“Well, good morning Peanut! Did ya sleep well? I don't know about you but I think being torn apart and put back together finally got rid of the knot in my back. God, I slept like Al after she goes through waaay too many little baggies.” He motions over to the table with his chin. “I made some eggs and toast if you want. A true triumphant heroes’ breakfast! Hopefully you like them both a bit overdone. And there’s a pot of coffee over there.” He gestures to a machine on the counter now. “You can literally just drink from the pot if you want. Caffeine does not work on me, funnily enough. We don’t have creamer but there’s milk in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee maker…”

Wade goes on to babble about everything and nothing and, while Logan cannot count the number of times he’s wanted to stab the man for not shutting up, he can’t find the want to be actually irritated.

Not in the face of food, and coffee, and just… comfort.

Speaking of…

Logan clears the lump in his throat. “Thanks.” It’s all he can think to say, but he means it, even with the rough rumble of his morning voice.

Which Wade seems to find fascinating.

“Holy shit! How the fuck does your voice get even deeper? God, you would make a killing as a erotic audio book reader. Millions probably.” Wade flashes a flirtatious look before he turns back to the toaster and continues to mumble to himself, or perhaps the broken machine.

Logan huffs, but the call of coffee is stronger than his need for a comeback. The whole pot is grabbed per the offer, the sugar too, and now standing in front of the table he finds himself hesitating. No spots are occupied and nothing says ‘preferred seat’, but Logan can’t help but pause. ‘Make yourself at home’ feels like the unsaid, unfamiliar offer he can’t accept as easily as the coffee.

It feels too easy- another pathetic thought- and he can’t help but feel like he isn’t awake yet, and the reality of a cold, pavement bed will greet him if he gets too comfortable…

“Stupid fucking piece of metal crap!” Wade hisses, followed by the sound of the knife stabbing into the toaster.

Nope, probably not a dream. Logan is not a creative enough person to come up with something like this.

God, so just… sit, you fucking moron.

Picking a chair facing away from the toaster killer, Logan sets the coffee pot down- on a mat he also picked up, he isn’t an asshole- and settles in.

He feels awkward, like a kid at his first sleepover, but the eggs are there in front of him and his stomach is starting to growl. Awkwardness can wait until after a few bites, at least. There’s a lack of something important on the table though. After a quick glance around the plates and cups, and not finding anything, he looks over to Wade who seems to be completely brawling with the toaster now.

Wincing at the sight, and before he can rethink his decision, Logan clears the remaining sleep from his throat and uses that to draw the other man’s attention.

“Do uh, do you got a fork or somethin’?”

“Ah fuck, that’s what I forgot!” Wade sets, or slams really, the toaster down and moves over to a drawer, then rooting through it. “Didn’t run the dishwasher either and all the good forks are in it. Fuck…” He mumbles something else too, but lets out a triumphant ‘ha!’ when he pulls out two forks, one a little more bent than the other.

He skips, almost, over to Logan and presents the utensils. “Here you go Peanut, pick your favorite!”

Grabbing the more bent fork, Logan nods a silent thanks and begins slowly transferring eggs from the larger plate to one of the smaller, empty ones. Wade, satisfied with the choice, simply sets the other fork onto the table and goes back to the counter, and that damn toaster.

But before brawling again, he calls back, “Help yourself to as much as you want Babygirl! You deserve it for all your sexy hero work!”

Logan huffs again but grabs one of the toaster’s victims, once he’s gotten a fair amount of egg, and takes a bite of the slightly over cooked toast and just… enjoys.

The moment is pretty… nice.

Warm food. Morning sun from the window- god, he doesn’t even know that time it is. Wade isn’t quiet, hardly ever is, but he’s not overly inane or loud right now.

It’s all… good.

So… What does it?

An old memory, like deja vu, from another place and time with other people? The still lingering, ghostly sensation of his own body shredding and healing, just below his skin? Wade grumbling at the counter over the broken toaster, like a strange picture of domestic living?

It could be anything, everything.

But all he knows is that it’s twisting into something else. Something darker, and sharper, and cold.

Logan starts to tremble in his seat and the fork in his hand damn near snaps in his grip. The bite of food in his mouth tastes like blood- no, it is blood. He’s bitten into his tongue. His heart is racing, and something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. Crushing.

Air isn’t breathable. His lungs won’t let it in.

Whatever stupid song is playing now is muffled by a white hot pulsing between his ears.

… He knows this.

Panic.

This is panic.

Of all the times to break, after days of one problem after another, pain after pain, this is when it happens? Now? While he’s sitting in Wade fucking Wilson’s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and eating at his table and listening to some soft song on the radio?

Yes, it is.

Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

He can’t focus anywhere anymore- it’s too much, too overwhelming, too fucking stupid to reason with- and burning nausea is creeping up his throat.

He’s spiraling. He’s breaking. And he can’t find the fight to beat himself out of it.

Perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t hear the increasingly desperate ‘Logan?’s behind him or the quick footsteps moving towards the table.

He does startle, however, at a sudden touch to the side of his skull, making him gasp.

His claws gouge the surface of the table and knock over a half-filled water cup but, remarkably, they don’t thrust into the sudden presence pressing to his side.

It takes a good minute to process the situation, much slower than it usually takes him. But he feels the warmth of another person and the pressure of a hand on his head and his head is bent at an odd angle-

Wade, his mind breathes. This is his scent- gunpowder, spandex, and his own strange, unique smell. The touch to the back of his skull is his hand and the press to his cheek is the exposed skin below his shirt.

He’s cuddling him.

Uh-

And because it’s what he does best, Logan rages.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Logan snaps, and he yanks his head back from the other man’s grasp. Or, at least, he tries to.

“Eeeasy Peanut,” Wade hushes, not relinquishing Logan’s head. It's easy to forget the teasing, ridiculous man is incredibly strong. The battle lasts all of two seconds, and Wade’s stubbornness takes the victory. Logan’s cheek presses back to his hip and stays there under the weight of his hand.

“Easy, easy, easy…” Wade mumbles. He hesitates, only for a moment. “Vanessa did this… when shit got really bad.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. The meaning and weight of the softly spoken words are enough.

There’s a growl starting to rumble in his chest and while he wants to fight against Wade harder- he doesn’t need sentimental crap or, god forbid, pity- Logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in the moment, and let’s himself feel.

Wade’s hand is cradling his skull and his fingers are threaded through his hair. The weight of them is firm, but not crushing. No, they’re gentle. And they press his cheek and temple into Wade’s side, where the dip of his waist is. Even at the odd angle his neck is bent to, the shape of the dip fits to his face near perfectly and, if obliged to stay here, he would be comfortable. Wade’s body heat- much like his own, running high due to constant cellular regeneration- seeps into him. Into his skin, and then his flesh, and then his bones, settling deep into his chest.

All of it, it… helps.

The revelation startles Logan.

The weight and solidness of Wade is grounding; constant, steady pressure. His warmth slowly relaxes the painful tightness behind Logan’s ribs. Even his smell- showered now, likely before he started cooking, still strange but not unbearable- settles his mind just because it’s there.

Wade… is anchoring him.

Maybe he really should fight this harder, or be annoyed at the coddling, or pissed just because he’s being handled at all, but Logan can’t keep a grip on any of the feelings. He can’t stop the calm that pulls him in and brings him down. It’s so- He’s feels so-

…

… When was the last time he was held?

Not fucked by nameless faces, or hanging on to another person for dear life, or punch near through the stomach- Held.

Was it before- God does it hurt.

… Was it before, when he had his fellow mutant friends and family? Before that?

After?… Definitely not.

Warmth, gentleness, nothing of the kind was what he deserved afterwards. He could never reward himself with something he never showed, and no one offered it to him regardless.

Logan shudders, his breath likely teasing Wade’s skin but, if the other man feels it, he blissfully leaves the fact be.

Wade- warm, solid, annoying as hell Wade- who breaks his train of thought, unaware of it. “Better right? When Vanessa first did this, waaay back in the storyline, I fucking melted like a kid’s ice cream. It’s like the guilty, trauma victim’s morphine.” He pauses, and there’s a grin to his words now. “I also ate her out that first time, but we can wait to do that until the second mental breakdown session, Babygirl.”

Yup. There it is. Asshole.

But Logan just, non-committedly hums, although it's more of a grumble. Yeah, Wade will probably be insufferable after this, smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, he’s calming.

He’s- something Logan can’t quite name. Or at least, he’s unwilling to.

Call Logan weak, call him pathetic- because he truthfully is, just below the storm in his skin- and like hell does he actually deserve this, but he’s gonna savor it for as long as he possibly can.

Seconds pass, or maybe hours, and the gentle massage of Wade’s fingertips to his scalp continues during it before his hand slides away from Logan’s hair onto his shoulder.

The loss of that contact against his head is disappointing-a private thought- but when Wade shifts like he’s about to move away the disappointment quickly morphs into panic.

He isn’t ready to let go.

He isn’t ready for Wade to leave.

With pure, unthinking action, Logan latches onto the fabric of Wade’s shorts just below the hip he isn’t leaning against. He fists the material into a ball, like he’s afraid the other man will just disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

Like he really is going to wake up, and be alone again with only the memory of coffee and warmth.

Embarrassment quickly reddens his face once he understands what he’s done but, instead of releasing Wade, Logan turns his face into his hip to hide. Clenching his eyes shut for extra precaution.

Weak. Pathetic.

Wade is quiet, his hand hovering above Logan’s shoulder after it was started off but, just as Logan is about to relinquish his hold of the man- he can't bear the unnerving stillness of him- Wade surprises him again.

Quick but gentle, Wade cups the back of Logan’s head and neck, turns ever so slightly to the side, and presses Logan’s forehead to the cushion of his stomach. And just lets the other man stay against him, as he rubs his head and shoulders.

Logan cries a small sound he’s never heard himself make before- something wounded, and relieved, and ragged- but he can’t be bothered to care. Not right now. He releases his death hold on Wade’s shorts and wraps his arms around the other man’s thighs, as flush against him as he can be in their current positions. His hold might be too tight, edging on painful most likely, but Wade doesn’t complain. Doesn’t do anything except this… hold him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“Of course, big guy. Whatever you need.”

Ah, he said that out loud.

… He’ll care about that later. Logan will be pissed, and embarrassed, and in denial at some point, but it’ll all be later. When Wade isn’t cradling him or murmuring soft words. When he isn’t cooking warm food or listening to music on the radio.

When he isn’t making him feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’s allowed to have kindness.

Fucking… Wade.

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 1: Fire

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Prologue | Masterlist | Chapter 2 →

Word count: 4.4 k.

WARNING: N/A

Note: thank you for the likes, reblogs, and comments! I'm really happy you guys are enjoying this story! This chapter is based on the beginning of the manga "Disney Twisted Wonderland - Episode of Heartslaby

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You stand on the edge of a cliff. Below you, your boots leave deep impressions in the dark green grass, and the loose parts of your wet clothes dance with the violent wind.

A storm. It was supposed to be a thunderstorm, but somehow it turned into a powerful hurricane.

You can't see what's in front of you, just three silhouettes — on the opposite sides of you are two people you believe to be male. They're screaming, but not a sound is coming out of their mouths.

But there's a third figure in front of you, a terrifying gigantic creature emerging from a whirlpool created by the pale blue sea.

Elongated limbs with claw-like fingers extend into oblivion, a set of pointy teeth form a psychotic smile that opens and closes as if it is laughing or talking, and sharp spikes sprout from its head, forming a crooked crown. But what scares you the most are its empty, void-like eyes. Even though the creature is shrouded in darkness, you can feel it staring at you. Not with anger or hunger, but… with curiosity.

“Kneel, for before you rises the king of gods!”

The gray light in front of you casts a shadow on the monster, making it appear ethereal, even though its form is that of what you would find in your worst nightmares.

“Thine presence in this world…”

Before the voice can finish its sentence, you awaken.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Everything around you is silent. Small particles of dust dance around your body, landing softly on your hair, eyelids, and chest. You feel dizzy as your eyes open and confusion sets in as you find yourself surrounded by a terrifying darkness. It's so dark that you can only see your own hands and shoes and nothing beyond.

The piercing headache from earlier has now subsided to a mild throbbing, a reminder of the voices that once plagued your thoughts, begging you to reveal your hidden desires. Under your hands you feel a velvety surface, like that of felt, gently scratching against your palms. Your back feels warm, but the rest of your body is strangely cold.

"Where am I?" you whisper weakly, raising a hand to reach into the void, only to come in contact with an icy, solid surface a few inches away from your body. Moving the rest of your limbs, you try to measure how much space you have, only to find yourself constantly bumping into a steel-like material.

You feel enclosed, as if you have been placed inside a box. And suddenly, a flood of memories comes back, the scenes flash like a movie as you remember the horses, the missing people, the hearse carrying three coffins... wait a minute.

"Am I... dead?"

No way! You can still feel temperatures and sensations, so you must still be alive. But just in case, you decide to double-check, as your hand immediately flies to your neck and quickly finds your carotid artery. You breathe a small sigh of relief as you feel the pulse of your heart beating against your fingers, but your stomach drops as you reach a secondary and more terrifying conclusion.

You are going to be buried alive!?

Panic runs through your veins as your hands fly over to the object on top of your body, and you begin to push with all your might. Damn it! You don't want to die like this, you thought your death would at least be peaceful and in your sleep, surrounded by your loved ones or your precious and extremely expensive figurines. Instead, you probably got run over by a horse and are now being buried alive by accident or worse, on purpose!

There’s something strange though, as you don’t feel any pain. You were most likely crushed beneath an animal that on average weighs around 900 to a thousand pounds, followed then by a vehicle that’s carrying three coffins. Yet you feel completely normal, minus the small headache. No body pain, no broken bones, not even a single scratch. Just what is going on!?

But your thoughts come to a screeching halt as you feel your hands push the lid open with surprising ease. After applying a little more force, the lid slams against something, the loud sound making you cringe. Light finally pours into the small, darkened space and your eyes squint, taking a while to adjust to the brightness. 

"Holy shit! Someone else managed to open the 'door' by themselves!" you hear hushed and surprised whispers outside your box, eerily reminiscent of the voices that plagued your mind earlier, but thankfully not coming from inside your head. ‘Okay, time to find out who the hell wanted to bury me alive.’

You stumble out of the space, your bag smacking the side of your thigh as you accidentally miscalculated the distance between the floor and where you're standing, but fortunately, you don't fall. The whispering grows even louder, as if your appearance stirs something in the room. The slightly warm air from the room brushes against your cold skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you open your eyes to examine your surroundings. 

An enormous glass chandelier hangs over your head, its warm light reflecting off the huge mirror that strangely floats below. Elegant curtains are placed in front of the tall windows with intricate designs showing the stars that decorate the dark sky, and in their reflection, you can see the flames of the small candles softly dancing.

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the hundreds of coffins floating softly around the mirror, the lid in yours fully open revealing a burgundy-colored interior. Were you drugged? No, maybe you're still dreaming! Nothing like this is physically possible unless you have landed in some sort of simulation, or perhaps you somehow ended up inside an elaborate theme park.

As you turn your head around to see the source of the whispering, you can feel the color drain from your face as your mouth hangs open in pure shock and your stomach lurches. Sitting in rows of pews there’s a sea of people in front of you, wearing elaborate black and purple cloaks that obscure their features. “Is this a cult!?” you can’t help but shout at the scene in front of you, quickly backing away from them as if they were a group of predators. Your outburst causes some figures in the crowd to snicker and snort at your comment, others taking out their phones or using their figures to point at you.

“Honestly, you children are very impatient! Coming through the door of your own accord is practically unheard of”, a voice speaks in an exasperated tone, as you hear the sound of a cane approaching. Instinctively, you turn in the direction of the voice and laugh almost sarcastically when you see the person standing in front of you. You're too tired and confused to even question what's going on.

What the hell is that man wearing? Two glowing orbs are staring right at you from behind a crow mask, the over-the-top feather coat completely ruining the rest of his expensive-looking outfit. You wonder how long it takes this man to get dressed and undressed, given the amount of accessories he carries.

"Hello? Are you listening, young-", out of the corner of your eye, the crow man slowly approaches, golden claw rings shining in the warm light of the chandelier as a hand reaches out to you. Out of instinct to get away from this man, your hand quickly reaches into your pocket before coming in contact with a small rectangular object. 

Driven by pure adrenaline and desperation to get out of this place, you pull out said object and point it at the man, who recoils in shock. Wasting no time, you turn the device on and press the button, a flash of light followed by a crackling sound has the man emitting a short shriek. "One more step and you'll be eating 50,000 volts of pure electricity, my friend."

"What is wrong with you two!? First, you break the door and get out before being called, and now you two are threatening me with weapons!" Two? Who else is he talking about? The man steps aside, revealing the other person he was referring to, a young man holding a large covered object while pointing it at the crow man.

Your breath catches as you instantly recognize the undercut haircut and piercing eyes. You briefly recall his grandmother's screams and the CCTV footage of him exiting the gym before it cuts to black still very fresh in your mind.

"Yuuken Enma?" you whisper his name in disbelief, it feels unreal to see him in the flesh after spending so much time discussing his disappearance. 

Hearing his name, the Kendo student turns in your direction, his eyes widening in surprise, and he opens his mouth to speak, but he resumes his defensive position as soon as the crow man moves again.

"Please, both of you, calm down, I mean no harm!" he raises his hands in surrender, and you loosen the grip on your taser slightly. You have tons of questions that desperately need to be answered, and it doesn't look like the crow man has any intention of harming you.

To be honest, he looks even paler than when you first saw him, so it's best to interrogate him before he shuts down and refuses to answer any questions. 

"No offense, dude, but you're suspicious as hell," you suddenly find Yuuken standing at your side, still holding what you assume to be his Kendo sword. When did he get here? You weren't the only one who didn't notice the sudden movement, as the crow man stares back and forth from where the Kendo student once stood to you.

Anyway, you don't have time for this, you want to get out of this bizarre place as soon as possible. "Where are we?" you begin, getting straight to the point. At your question, the crow man relaxes, his shoulders straightening as he clears his throat. "I see, you two aren't quite lucid yet. Ah! Must be the effects of transportation fogging your brains," he whispers the last part, a pointy finger scratching his chin. 

You and Yuuken exchange a confused look. With a sigh, the crow closes his eyes before continuing. "Very well, let me explain. You're currently at Night Raven College, a magic school in Twisted Wonderland. Here, students with exceptional magic gather and are trained to become the best magicians in the world," he explains, proudly puffing out his chest like a bird as he finishes his explanation.

On the contrary, you and Yuuken are completely lost, the explanation making no sense to any of you. "Ma... gic... As in the type you see in an anime or a movie?" the black-haired boy asks innocently, his eyes widening in shock. You can hear the previously silent "students" now laughing softly at the two of you, mockery evident in their voices as they whisper between each other. Fuck this, you're so over this sick joke! 

"I don't know what kind of crazy cult you're running here, but we want nothing to do with it!" you yell, this time tightening your grip on the taser. Even though you're speaking on behalf of Yuuken, you can guarantee that he's also incredibly disturbed by what's going on here.

"Well, you're here because the Mirror of Darkness" — the crow-man points to the giant floating mirror in the middle of the room — "has recognized your magical abilities. You were picked up by a carriage, weren't you?" you instantly remember the panic that ran through you as you watched the horses run towards you. That thing going so fast was supposed to pick you up? 

You slowly nod. "I see! Now that we're done clearing up any questions, it's time for the entrance ceremony to begin!" his tone suddenly changes to a more cheerful one and the crow man begins to walk away with a slight bounce in his step. Millions of questions run through your mind, but his nonchalant reaction makes you even more angry.

"Wait a damn minute! We were never even informed of this decision! Our families must be so worried, we suddenly just disappeared out of the blue!" you yell angrily, while Yuuken nods fervently at your side. "Yes! Besides, the two of us can't even use magic!" This sentence seems to silence the entire room. Suddenly, the student's eyes feel like bullets as they dig into your back and neck, staring at you with scrutiny or surprise.

"What did you say?" the crow man stops and turns to look at you with a puzzled expression on his face. Is this man on drugs? No one can use magic!

Fortunately, Yuuken has grown tired of the conversation and prepares to leave, swinging his Kendo sword over his right shoulder and grabbing the strap of his gym bag with his free hand. "This is pointless! Pembroke and I have important things to do, and our families must be worried. So excuse us," you're surprised he knows your last name since the two of you never really interacted.

But you don't pay much attention to it, giving the crow man a nod before turning off your taser and stowing it in your bag as you follow Yuuken down the large corridor. The whispers of the "students" now turn into full conversations, expressing their disbelief that the two of you would just walk away from a "once in a lifetime opportunity", as one of them put it.

Yeah, right... being kidnapped from your hometown to suddenly wake up in a coffin with bizarre special effects decorating a gothic-looking room, and having a cult leader with furry tendencies dressed like a crow tell you that you're in a school where they can teach you magic. Ha! ‘A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, my ass.’

Behind you, you hear a gasp before a pair of footsteps quickly approach the two of you.“W-wait just a moment! Let’s all calm down and–”

BAM!

The sound of breaking glass frightens everyone in the room, shocked gasps and quiet screams can be heard as everyone turns to face the source of the sound. The window behind the mirror now has a huge hole in the middle of it. Shards of crystal fall at your feet, but what scares you most is the creature that has caused such a scene. 

A rather large gray cat with blue flames sprouting from its ears and a tattered black and white ribbon tied around its neck stands proudly on its hind legs. Its right paw reaches to the sky, showing a row of sharp claws before it points them at you and Yuuken. "I've been listening to ya!" it, no, he shouts proudly. "Do ya know how many people would kill for a chance to get into this school?"

The little guy walks awkwardly towards you, and you can't help but freak out as you stare at whatever this creature is. "So, tell ya what? If you don't want it, let me enroll in your place!" the cat exclaims happily, a grin spreading across his face. You can hear the crow man complaining about something, but you're too busy trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

"Pembroke," Yuuken's soft voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you turn to face the young man. A look of pure disbelief is on his face as he points a finger at the creature. "Why is the raccoon talking?" the creature's face contorts into an expression of annoyance, the flames on its ears growing larger in pure rage. "HUH!? I AM NOT A RACCOON! I am the Great Grim, who’s going to become the greatest wizard of all time!"

You’re going to pass out. Laughter can be heard across the room as the "students" criticize and mock the cat's sentences. This angers the creature even more. "Yeah right! A monster becoming a wizard? As if!" a certain row of students to your left roars in laughter at the thought, but you are more concerned with the next words "Grim" says.

“OH YEAH!? I just have to show ya, what I’m made of!” the creature spits a small ball of flames as a test try, before inhaling a large gulp of air and–

FWOOSH!

He’s setting the students on fire!

In a matter of seconds, the entire room is engulfed in blue fire and chaos. The beautiful linen curtains burn quickly, you hear how the chandeliers fall and the metal twists in the flames, and you feel Yuuken take your wrist as he guides you through the sea of ​​people trying to escape the room. 

The students scream in panic, and you end up helping several of them extinguish their cloaks that have caught fire. As one boy thanks you under his breath for the help and promptly heads for the door, another guy accidentally runs into you while screaming at the top of his lungs, the tail of his cloak slowly burning.

You don't waste a second before stomping on the fabric, quickly extinguishing the fire as the boy breathes a sigh of relief. "Thanks for the help!" he replies in a cheerful tone, surprising given the situation, short white hair peeking out from under the hood as his red eyes stare up at you. He's quickly led away by another man who carries him to safety.

Your head swivels again as you hear more cries for help, but out of the corner of your eye, you see a strange movement in the background.

One of the coffins floating near the ceiling begins to move violently from side to side. You don't know if it's the heat waves or the smoke that's making you cough and sneeze, but you swear you can see the lid starting to open. You are still unable to move, a blockade has now formed at the entrance of the room, and the students are shouting in panic for those at the front to move.

"I'm not done yet!" Grim continues to spit small balls of fire, not aiming at anything, just showing off the amount of chaos he can cause. Your eyes briefly focus on the creature jumping happily in the middle of the room- ‘That thing's a tiny psychopath!’ -but your attention is quickly diverted as you hear a loud banging noise.

Your eyes focus on the previously moving coffin, the lid now open and whoever was inside is lying on his side on the floor, completely still. The flames continue to spread and you soon realize that the most likely unconscious person is incredibly close to a curtain that is about to be completely consumed by the fire. 

"Enma! I’m going over there! Another person has escaped from the coffin! You get out!" you free your wrist from Yuuken's grip and move skillfully through the crowd, slowly approaching the person.

‘Move! Move! Someone is about to be burned alive!’

Yuuken shouts for you to wait for him, but you don't pay attention, as you manage to get out of the crowd and can move more freely. The person is already a few meters away from you, curling himself into a fetal position, the fall of the coffin has possibly knocked the air out of him, or worse, a rib may have been broken. ‘Shit! Hopefully, the injury isn’t too bad!’

You're stopped in your tracks, however, when a red-haired young man crosses your path and begins to make his way to Grim with full determination. "First people refuse to enroll, and now a monster breaks in? How dare you sully our initiation ceremony!" the young man points what looks like a pen at the creature, who glares back at him with a frown.

"You... REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THIS SCHOOL IMMEDIATELY!" his scream projects throughout the room, causing some of the students who were previously panicking to stop dead in their tracks. You, on the other hand, are completely taken aback by the display in front of you. What is this kid thinking? Does he have a death wish!? Grim, however, takes his command as a challenge, as you can see the hairs on his back stand up, and this time he stands on all four paws.

"Get out of my WAY!" the small creature screams, spewing a huge ball of blue fire straight at the boy. Even from where you stand, you can feel the heat of the fire warming your skin. The boy does not even attempt to move out of the path of the threat, much less impressed at the magnitude of the attack.

You turn your head to look at the crowd behind you, staring intently at the scene. "HEY! ALL OF YOU, GET ON THE GROUND, NOW!" you yell, snapping some students out of their stupor.

Instinctively, as if you were a puppet, your legs move on their own as you run toward the redheaded boy, the projectile growing larger and larger. Your right arm quickly hooks around the young man's waist, and you pull him hard against your chest, he gasps in surprise as his hands clench into fists and grab a hold of your shirt. You pay no attention to it, more preoccupied with the threat in front of you, so you quickly maneuver your two bodies away from the path of the fireball.

You turn your head to look at the students, who fortunately heard your command, as they lie flat on the floor, the fire quickly leaving the building through the open doors and exploding in the air outside. Some students scream at the sound, hands flying to their ears; from the corner of your eye, you see Yuuken covering the heads of some boys, shielding them from the debris.

You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that nobody got hurt. But the momentary calmness is gone when you hear someone grunting in anger. "You... JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" the pair of hands that were clinging to your shirt now lie flat on your shoulders, and he shoves you, hard, your back hitting the side of a nearby pew, the air momentarily leaving your lungs. 

You stare owlishly at the red-haired boy, who doesn't even spare you a glance as he points his pen at Grim. ‘How the hell does such a tiny person have so much power?’

Your lungs feel like they're on fire, the room spinning as the throbbing of your headache seems to rear its ugly head around the corner. You feel two pairs of hands grab your forearms tightly, lifting you off the ground with ease, and you come face to face with Yuuken, whose expression is one of concern.

"Pembroke, are you okay?" the tone of his voice is soft, you can hear it despite the screams and relaxation in the background. You nod slightly, the adrenaline coursing through your veins a few minutes ago now replaced by exhaustion. "The guy... the one who fell out of the coffins," you remember the poor man writhing on the ground in pain and Yuuken takes his eyes off your face for a moment to observe where the boy is. 

"I'll go get him, you get out of here, and we'll meet again outside. Can you walk?" the Kendo student studies your appearance with complete determination, and you nod quickly, praying that nothing has happened to the boy. You feel a tad intimidated underneath his watchful eyes.

After a few seconds of staring, the two of you separate, Yuuken swing his gym bag on his free shoulder, sprinting towards the figure at full speed while you make your way to the entrance, helping various students up from the floor and pushing them to get out of the boiling hot room.

"SILENCE!" the redheaded boy yells behind you, but you ignore him, still pushing through the crowd. "Get ready!" someone steps hard on your foot, and you're pushed, your body turning to the opposite side. Yuuken grabs the injured man's arm and swings it over his shoulder, helping him to stand.

"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!" your eyes shift to the redhead, watching the tip of the pen lights up before it shoots a bright light. Dust-like particles, twinkling like stars, surround the creature's neck before a heart-shaped collar magically appears on the creature, who screams in disbelief.

‘… No way… there’s no way…’

"What is this thing? Get this shit off me!" Grim uses his small paws to pull at the collar, then his hind legs to kick at it, but the object doesn't even move. His head whips around to look at the redhead with fury, and he sucks in air again to launch another attack. But this time, not even a tiny flame comes out of its mouth. "HA!? My magic! What have you done to the Great Grim?"

The red-haired boy sneers, and even from where you're standing, you can feel the shit-eating grin he's giving the monster. "I used my magic to seal yours," the Grim's eyes widen in shock as he continues to kick at the collar, unintelligible complaints and colorful words coming out of his mouth.

Soon, several cloaked figures begin to use their "magic" to put out the fire, spraying water on the flames that are eating away at the curtains and carpet. Another group focuses on calming the students, getting them back into the room, and checking for injuries; fortunately, it doesn't appear that anyone has been badly burned beyond their clothing.

Suddenly, the crow man, who you strangely didn't see during all the chaos, reappears from the shadows and proudly claps as he heads towards the red-head. "As expected from the Heartslabyul house warden! Great catch, Mr. Riddle Rosehearts!"

Suddenly, the crow man, who you strangely didn't see during all the chaos, reappears from the shadows and proudly claps as he heads toward the redhead. "As expected from the Heartslabyul house warden! Great catch, Mr. Riddle Rosehearts!"

The boy named Riddle is showered with compliments, however, he ignores them, more concerned with cleaning the dust and debris that have soiled his cloak. But, between the celebrations and gasps of relief, you and Yuuken stare at each other with pale complexions and worried looks.  It's clear you're both thinking the same thing.

The monster, the magic fire, the heart-shaped collar and the pen... where exactly are you right now? How far away from home are you?

Honestly, fuck this place.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tag list:

@rotknox @agaygothicmushroom @sherryclover @mielle-estelar

[vitchimage]

—;Atlantic

—Summary; The feeling of wanting to cease to exist, the waves drown you down and you feel everything move while you are stuck here in one place, sinking. Luckily someone is here to pull you out of the ocean.

Pairing: Any characters you want x reader

Type: One-shot/fic

Theme: hurt/comfort

Warnings: talk of mental health spiralling, suicidal thoughts and idealisation, self-isolation, self loathing and doubt, etc.

A/N: Feeling down and needed some comfort so I wrote this aha, this can be any characters you want but I technically had the nameless ghouls and Simon Riley in mind

I lay in the dark-lit room. Exhaustion wasn’t even the perfect way to describe this empty-handed feeling. It was something far worse. It was a question of my existence, how much more could I take?

I thought I hit the rock bottom, but I didn’t. Instead, I kept falling into this deep void of agony and misery. It’s heavy, and I feel like choking — drowning as more waves crash through every time I managed to breathe.

A yearning to cry to shout out goes deafening under the water, never coming out at all.

I tried reaching out, days ago sending a message.

—> “Hey, can I talk to you?”

Hours and the phone buzzed.

–> “Sorry for the late reply, I am a little bit busy, but we can talk later?”

—> “Oh, no need. It’s all good so don’t worry about it.”

And thus I turned off the phone, ignoring all the small buzzes my phone made that day. And ever since, everything went silent.

Days in this room, doing nothing and just laying in bed, occasionally going out to the bathroom or grabbing some food. But even that seemed heavy and I would quickly retreat to my bedroom as fast as I could.

Endlessly scrolling through my phone, I was quick to shut it off again as I let the tiredness take a hold of me.

No messages, no calls after that day. It hurts but I was the one who said it was all fine and dandy, to not worry about it.

It’s my fault really, but why did it ache so bad?

Did I dare to hope that they could see past the facade and reach out? Was I testing the waters of them caring about me?

Would they even notice if I were to disappear? If I ran away or drowned in a lake? If I ceased to exist..

Everything was telling me no, no they wouldn’t.

And it makes me crawl further into a ball. I couldn’t help but imagine them with someone else, how much happier they are without me.

That aches, that hurts.

I closed my eyes, letting sleep drift over me once more like it always has.

It felt short-lived as there was a soft knock on my door.

My eyes groggily open, hearing a soft voice.

“Love? May I come in?”

There was no reply from my end, to be franked it was due to mixed feelings. I wanted them to come in, but at the same time, I wanted to be alone.

A second and they open the door slowly, head peaking in to look at me. But I turn my head away and let it sink into the pillow.

“Hey…” Gentle, I hear their footsteps approaching me when the door softly closes.

The bed dip and I could sense their hesitation, but they went along with it anyways and stroked my back, comforting.

“I’m sorry, I’ve should’ve come much sooner..”

“It’s fine,” Was all I managed to say, my voice creaking almost.

“May I?”

I didn’t reply, just shifting to make enough space for them.

Strong arms wrap around me as they lay down, and instinctively I turn around, burying my face in their chest.

My eyes shut, and my lips are quivering. Strong emotions flood me all at once and I could feel tears building up. A strong storm of wanting to let it all out, something I haven’t felt in what felt like ages.

“It’s ok..” they stroked a small circle from my back to my shoulder and the back of my ears, holding me tightly,

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

I shake my head, and they whisper in agreement and understanding. Not wanting to push it.

Eventually, they rest their head on top of mine, humming a small tune as they kiss my temple, letting me bury in their chest once more.

“I’m here.” A soft and gentle tone from them. A reminder as I lay in their embrace for hours till the end.

M.list

[thatcrazycrowgirl]

Hiii! Ty for doing this! Could you pls write the soft kissing prompt number 11 with a female reader? Tyvm!

Hello, nonnie! I am truly sorry for not finishing this sooner, but I was finally able to rescue it from the draft purgatory, and here is it for you! I do hope you like it! ^_^

 11. Sharing a kiss while lying in bed - Arno Dorian

It had been an overall quiet day for you, void of much stress or worry. Business at the Café Théâtre had been slow, which gave you time to take care of some early spring cleaning in the attic space.

Some may have found it dull, but when you were the wife of a man who was secretly an Assassin, the aura of calm monotony was always a welcome thing.

Granted, some anxiety did eventually begin to bubble up when nearly an entire day passed and your husband, Arno - whom you knew had some quick Assassin business in the early morning, but nothing else, as far as you were aware - hadn’t come back yet.

As you now sat in bed, reading as you waited for supper that was currently being prepared downstairs, you tried not to harbor any discomforting thoughts regarding your spouse’s fate.

Your few fears were finally put to rest, though, when you heard the sound of heavy boots ringing through the hall outside of the bedroom door, rhythmically occurring with Arno’s usual gait. Although, if you had paid more attention, you would’ve noticed that the footsteps were heavier than usual - almost as if they were driven by anger or annoyance.

However, you were still too caught up in your book.

It wasn’t until you heard the irritated mumblings and the door being closed slightly harder than usual, that you finally caught on to the now-obvious fact that something wasn’t quite normal.

You jumped slightly at the noise and looked up to see Arno had indeed returned, and was indeed, quite put off.

“‘He solves ‘em, you get the credit’,” he muttered in a light-toned, mocking way to himself, seemingly not noticing you were in the room. His voice then switched to a lower, more gravely pitch, as he added, “‘Meanwhile, I have more important things to do’.”

Turning your entire attention to him now, you rested your book on your lap and watched as he removed his gloves and locked the door behind him.

“The things I get myself into,” he grumbled, still talking to himself, once again in his normal tone of voice.

When he turned around and finally saw you staring, he only paused in his movement for a moment or two, before tossing his gloves aside and trudging his way over to the bed.

“Uh...good evening?” you chanced, a little unsure of how he was going to reply.

He only harrumphed in response, his eyes not quite meeting yours. Not bothering to remove his Assassin’s robe or his gear, he flopped down, belly-first, onto the bed and buried his face under his pillow like a petulant teenager.

A blink in confusion was your initial reaction. “Problem?” you prodded gently afterwards, though you couldn’t stop your eyebrow from raising.

“Sometimes I wonder why I bother with people,” came the muffled response.

You smiled, in spite of his attitude. “Because as much as you try to put on a standoffish front, deep down, you actually care,” you pointed out, as you tossed your book towards the end of the bed and turned your entire attention to the man.

He groaned in response.

A sympathetic look appearing on your face that you knew he couldn’t see, you reached out and began to rub his back - a silent way of letting him know you were listening.

However, there was only silence, save for the occasional sigh, as his tense back relaxed into your welcomed touch.

“Arno? Arnoooo...” you cooed to him in a sing-song tone, trying to get his attention.

“What?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you prompted in a gentle voice, undeterred by his grouchy response. Your hands smoothed over his back and down his sides to rub them, as well.

There was a soft moan in response to your touch, and he finally removed the pillow from his face. Putting it behind his head, he rolled onto his back to look at you. Almost immediately, you could see in his eyes how fatigued he was, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Talk to me, Arno. Tell me what’s on your mind,” you entreated. You lay down next to him, molding your body into his side, and rested your head upon his shoulder.

He glanced down at you and seeing you looking up at him, he took a deep breath. Leaning his head back on the pillow more, he stared up at the ceiling as he began to recount. “I was over in the Ile de la Cité district earlier. When I was passing by a spot, I heard some commotion...and my curiosity got the better of me, so I went inside to investigate...”

“Mmm-hmm? Go on...” you prompted, before giving his jaw a few encouraging, affectionate pecks. Your hand rested upon his chest.

“And there was this...this Police Minister...if you could call him that...he does nothing but sleep, apparently...” he added, his speech peppered with a few pauses as his body started reacting to your kisses. His arm wrapped around your waist and rested upon your back, mirroring your earlier action of tenderly rubbing it. “...and there also was some thief named Vidocq...”

“Yes...?” After a couple kisses to his neck, those lips of yours trailed up to his earlobe, where they soon attached themselves, nipping and sucking one of the spots you knew Arno liked best.

“And...and...” Closing his eyes, his voice hushed down to a deep, long sigh as his senses finally caught up with him. It was as if all the stress and frustration had left his body at that moment along with the sound.

“You were saying?” you prompted, wanting him to know you were still listening. But nevertheless, you couldn’t help stop the secret smile that appeared on your lips, pleased at his reaction.

His eyes flew open. “Hmm? Right...! Well, somehow they ended up enlisting me to solve some murders that had nearly turned cold. So, add that to my constantly-filling plate, I suppose,” he lamented.

“And you will soon clear that plate with ease, I’m sure of it,” you told him as you nuzzled his neck.

His hand now in your hair, he pulled back a little to look at you, a question in his eyes. “Do you really think so?” he asked softly, displaying the rare look of uncertainty he was always so good at masking with sarcasm or mirth.

You nodded a little, reflecting a look of love back into his eyes. “I do.”

After regarding you and your words for a moment or two, a small smile finally appeared on his lips as he took your encouragement to heart.

“Then, hang it,” he said. before unexpectedly rolling over on top of you to give you a full-on, proper kiss. “I’m not going to let some lazy Police Minister and a petty thief ruin my evening.” He tenderly stroked your cheek. “Not when I have better things to spend what little energy I have left on.”

“Wise decision, dear husband,” you praised, before pulling him in for another kiss.

“I do come up with those sometimes, you know,” he lightly quipped in return.

Seeing his normal, semi-sarcastic humor on the rebound, your heart lifted and your grin only grew. “A good heart and a wise mind, it’s no wonder why I love you.”

He lightly rested his forehead against yours, looking deeply into your eyes. “And I, you,” came a husky murmur before he kissed you again. Something in his voice seemed to change the mood right then and there, and a tiny moan unexpectedly slipped from your mouth into his. (Though perhaps, feeling his hand slip under your petticoats and run up the outside of your leg could’ve also had something to do with it.)

“Thanks for listening,” he whispered between kisses. “I sometimes wonder what I’d do without you.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied simply, knowing no other words needed to be said. You merely wrapped your arms around his neck and shifted your body closer to his as your lips met again and again. You could feel his fervor increasing, but as welcome as it was after his previously somber mood, you needed air - so you reluctantly broke the kiss.

“By the way...speaking of filling one’s plate...supper should be ready soon...” you murmured, panting ever so slightly. Gazing up at him with a sweet look in your eyes, you combed your fingers through his ponytail, certain that information would please him. After all, you knew a good meal typically improved his mood after a long, tiring day. Do to his exhausting work, it seemed like there were times he could never properly enjoy one. Certain that he was probably aching as well, you made a mental note to consider suggesting a post-supper bath to him, as well.

Hearing your words, a hungry half-smirk appeared on his lips. Though, when he gently gripped your thigh and pressed it against his hip, your suspicions of just what exactly he was hungry for increased. They were soon confirmed when he purred, “As much as I’m glad to hear that, I think we may have a little time to spare for ourselves before then.”

[werdlewrites]

Season of The Witch (Steve Harrington x OC?)

Chapter Four: Reaching Out

masterlist-about-patreon-ao3

UPDATED 7/21/24

Summary: She can feel the air of her room - and breath on her neck. A guttural rumbling has her eyes open, a familiar clicking leaving her heart to drop into the pit of her stomach with a presence looming somewhere behind her. There’s a sudden intake of breath, the frightening noise silent for only a second before a shrill scream fills the space. Warnings: Witchcraft, Jonathan friendship(is that a warning?) Lil bit of a spook. Word Count: 1,769

When the day had died and the buzz of life now simmered into hushed talks in private or gentle snores, Autumn was left exhausted and drained. Hours spent at the library with Jonathan had resulted in painful wrists from aggressive note-taking and plentiful warnings from the employees when the two started to bicker or laugh a little too loudly. The two had everything they needed after reading countless books, growing tired, and abandoning their studies for a restful night.

The pair found themselves with a large pizza in her room, talking about little things like if Jonathan had his eyes on anyone, which he always narrowly avoided, much to her displeasure. “There’s no one in particular,” he would chuckle, his chin resting in his palm before taking another bite of the crust. But Autumn knew him a tad too well, watching his wandering eye at school but never pressing him for answers.

They would then move on to discuss a much bigger picture, like their future and where they wanted to be. Autumn would get caught reading his palm, searching for the path he needed more clarity on, and while her father gave her this ever-knowing look, she could only glare back at him until he shut the door to leave them in peace.

Hours would pass, and Jonathan was sleeping soundly on the floor. A pile of blankets and spare pillows for his comfort while he left his friend alone, tormented by the earlier conversation between father and daughter.

"Find them," he said.

It was a terrifying thought, seeking out the mysterious invaders in her mind. But she longed for rest, her eyes heavy and her body weak; any effect from this morning's coffee was long gone.

Within seconds, she had shuffled over to the table on her knees, eyeing the many books, trinkets, and crystals that decorated it. She’s done this before; she sought someone out. It was never her favorite activity—chasing after a message in the darkness or searching for a lost loved one at the request of the few people who took an interest in her “talents.” She had tried to find the smiling woman who tormented her dreams on many nights but was left empty-handed and with more questions. It was a tiring journey without the closure she needed.

Autumn lights the incense, checking on Jonathan for any signs of disturbance before continuing. Ahead of her, particular stones and crystals are placed, her hands laid out flat against the surface of the table, with deep breaths filling her lungs. Slow and with purpose. The smell of lotus was strong and consumed everything around the girl, easing her into a sense of calm as the seconds ticked on.

“Be with me,” she says, buried within a whisper. “Give me strength; guide me on my path. Keep me safe,” she adds with a long, drawn-out breath, eyes slipping shut to first focus on meditation, sinking deeper into herself until she could feel nothingness. When the ache in her knees began to fade, the gentle hums of a sleeping friend just feet from her dissipated into the air. When she felt as though she were seconds away from collapsing from sleep deprivation, she reached out into the void of uncertainty.

Eyes now open, all she sees is the vast emptiness of all too familiar nightmares. There was no air to taste, if there had been any, to begin with. There was no breeze to be felt or seen as strands of hair flowed with ease, no pressure under her bare feet, and no spark of light to give her any sense of direction. A desert of black.

It’s only seconds after stepping inside this space that Autumn is struck with a recognizable sensation: breath getting caught in her throat as nerves in her skull seem to tighten, squeezing all around and threatening to lose focus as the pain builds into a roaring fire. Embers danced outward to kiss just behind her eyes, striking the girl with surprise.

Autumn is on her knees, hands pressed into the surface beneath her, fighting for stability. She can feel the air filling her lungs with intent, but not here, not in this place. It was out there, where her body sat in an unconscious state.

As more control is gained and the pain lessens, Autumn can pry open her eyes with focus locked on palms laid out in the nothingness. She can see shadows against her skin and small ridges—an impact of the world she cannot truly understand. Pressed into her palm are tiny pieces of rock—rubble. Dark as coal, but leave no stains in their wake. The rough edges cannot be felt as she rolls them back and forth, letting it all spill over, but she can see the indent they’ve left behind until circulation flows with ease, filling the space.

Where had she gone?

The girl is on her feet again, knees weak but holding strong as she casts her gaze out into the desolate space. She doesn’t move forward, uncertain of where the vast plain would end, if at all, either falling deeper into a nightmare or aimlessly roaming. Lost and alone. She won’t call out, mostly out of fear but also due to feeling unsure if there was anything to call out to. But her arrival in this place acts like a beacon—another something just out of place to guide in wandering eyes.

Something else was out there, watching from a greater distance, calling out to her instead from the shadows. The ground beneath her shook gently. A low hum moved through the rocks and into her soles, dancing up her calves and tickling at fingertips wound up into fists. The small earthquake fades with the passing seconds, with loose pebbles falling onto her feet as if to bury her.

And then, light.

Not the brilliant light they describe when you die, following it all of the way into the afterlife, or a simple glow to lead you down the path on a lonely sidewalk. Instead, a shocking strike of yellow lighting illuminated the sky for only a moment, revealing its dark clouds and seemingly putrid, toxic air. Autumn knew better, but seeing the heavy fog in the far distance and the small pieces of what appeared to be ash floating just inches from her face, she could have sworn she would have died within minutes if this had all been real.

Her heart is racing at the sight of it all, finding no comfort as it dissipates into a familiar darkness. She doesn’t want to search anymore. Whatever lingers in her nightmares can stay there and haunt her; the feeling of regret is already building from even considering following after it.

She allows her eyes to fall shut, pushing forward a sense of calm in an act of desperation to break the connection. She's reaching out to her frigid body, pulling it in close, and letting the threads of reality wrap and tangle until she’s consumed by them. Slowly, that world comes creeping in.

There’s something unsettling in the pit of her stomach—an ache from too much pizza—and it leaves her feeling warm. Autumn can feel the pressure in her throat as her pulse goes wild. Somewhere, in it all, she might have even heard her name. She can feel the air in her room and a breath on her neck. A guttural rumbling forces her eyes to open, a familiar clicking leaving her heart to drop as a presence loomed somewhere at her back. There’s a sudden intake of breath, and the frightening noise is silent for only a second before a shrill scream fills the space.

A sharp pain fills her chest as a rush of air comes crashing in. Light, though dim from her room, comes flooding into her vision, blinding her for only a second. Knees are slammed into the table, sending every object so neatly placed to come crumbling down from the sudden quake. She can hear them rattling beneath the echo of the scream, gradually fading away.

Autumn is choking on the spit she’s inhaled, coughing violently, and leaning into strong hands that have a hold of her shoulders. He’s speaking to her—more like yelling in a panic that quickly shifts to frustration as she waves him away. Dodging his questions as she tries to settle,

“What the hell was that?”

“Nothing,” she coughs out—not a moment of hesitation. “It was nothing.”

Immediately, Jonathan’s shoulders are slumped, though he is still keeping a firm grip on her until her body no longer sways. “Yeah, it sure looked like nothing.”

She doesn’t respond to him, letting them fall into an uncomfortable silence before slipping out of his hold to begin fixing her table, each placement memorized perfectly. “I was just practicing, that’s all.” Jonathan can only stare in pure uncertainty, unsure if he should leave the girl be or push her into an argument at one in the morning. “You’ve never done it,” she starts up, casting a look at him, a smile finally etching its way onto her features, which he can only return, still seemingly suspicious.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“It can get weird in there. Spooky, one would say.”

“Spooky?” He muses, a light chuckle dancing in the air.

“You probably couldn’t handle it,” His friend retorts, a feigned confidence now shining despite the twisting sickness she felt in her gut as she stood, dusting away the ash from the now scattered incense. She steps past him, pressing her palm against his forehead to give him a gentle shove down into the mess of blankets. The small nest he had made. “Go back t’bed,” she says, falling into her own comforts up above him.

As Autumn reaches for the light, she catches his gaze on her, still filled with concern, with thumbs twiddling back and forth, visibly anxious. “You sure you’re okay?”

Her heart swells, touched by his genuine concern. It makes it harder to lie. “I’m sure. Goodnight.”

He nods along in acknowledgment, settling back into a more comfortable position. “Night.”

They ease into the night together, but Autumn remains unwilling to welcome sleep so easily. Just behind her eyes, the dark awaits. In her room, the moon holds a gentle glow that keeps her gaze focused. The way it kisses the many leaves of her plants in her window or dances along the floor with grace. She lets out a small sigh. The gentle gusts of wind just beyond the glass were unable to distract her from the gut-wrenching scream that played on a loop.

[yaminerua]

Been simultaneously looking forward to and dreading getting to this prompt all week but it's finally here and finally done;;;

Day 9's prompt was Confession and I decided to go with a scenario I imagined a while back for this one;;;

Prompts by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

In the disorientating, isolating midst of the M-Corp fiasco, Lister realises he's a coward and decides to use the fact he can't currently see or hear Rimmer to do what he should have done a long time ago.

Words: 4652

****

Red Dwarf was quiet. It was always quiet these days, certainly compared with the hustle and bustle it had once had over three million years ago when it had still had a full crew, but lately it had taken on a much more deeply unsettling kind of quiet. Where previously there had been some small signs of life about the old place, be they in the form of the Cat’s yowling or Kryten going about his daily cleaning duties or Rimmer complaining about the general pathetic state of Lister’s entire existence, now there was absolutely nothing at all. The ship felt well and truly empty. Dead.

It wasn’t actually empty, though. Rimmer and Cat and Kryten were still there, still around. The problem was that to Lister it was as though they weren’t. He couldn’t see them. He couldn’t hear them. The only indication to him at all that he wasn’t completely alone in the merciless, empty nothingness of deep space was the occasional sensation of something invisible – presumably the Cat – snatching food out of his hands, or the little tell-tale vibration that Lister felt run through the bunk as something that could only be Rimmer settled into the one below.

It was something akin to torture, knowing that the others were there, still living their lives around him, but that he couldn’t interact with them in any meaningful way, couldn’t even tell if they were in the same room as him at all or if he really was well and truly alone. It dredged up a deeply buried fear, a haunting sense of isolation. It reminded him that generally speaking he was the last known living human in the entire universe and without someone to talk to, someone to distract him, the cold, unforgiving reality of it all threatened to crush him under the weight of how depressing it all was.

He tried not to let it get to him too much. Even though he spent much of his days in this isolated state drinking from cans and bottles he couldn’t even see and staring idly at nothing, his brain growing numb with boredom, he hoped that around him the others were simply busy trying to find a solution to this mess, trying to find a way to undo the effects of the Perception Filter Software that had hacked his brain, courtesy of the malignant corporate entity known as M-Corp. He hoped there even was a way to fix it…

Shifting restlessly on the top bunk in the suffocating silence of the bunk room, he strained his ears desperately for even the slightest sign that there was anyone else in there with him, for a sign of life however small it might be.

He hated it when the bunk room was this quiet. It reminded him of how it had been years ago in the aftermath of recovering Red Dwarf and saving it from corroding away to nothing, when he’d finally gained access to his old sleeping quarters again after a long time spent on Starbug and then trapped in the brig.

When the dust had settled after the whole nanobots fiasco and every last resurrected face was gone and the ship had once again fallen back into silence and stillness there had been an aching void left that had become more gaping and impossible to ignore than it had been before, the vacant, empty bunk below an unpleasant reminder that a certain loud and obnoxious but undeniably necessary part of his life was still gone and at that point had seemed unlikely to ever return.

Lister had largely suppressed the memory of how lonely that had felt, the tremendous ache that had filled his chest every time he’d wanted to open his mouth to speak down to a Rimmer that was no longer there.

He had been forced, then, to acknowledge just how much he missed him, how much of an unexpected comfort his presence had become quite without him even realising it at the time, safe in the mundane familiarity of bickering in the morning and bickering in the evening.

In spite of how much else on Red Dwarf had changed, the one enduring, unrelenting constant in his world had remained Rimmer, keeping him sane by way of driving him mad, maintaining a sense of normalcy held over from a time before the accident, before everything had been changed forever.

Out loud he would always have said he couldn’t stand the smegger, that he’d have rather had literally anyone else chosen to be the hologram resurrected to keep him company, but that wasn’t really true. It hadn’t been true for quite some time.

But then, of course, he had gone away, recruited by another version of himself to traverse the multiverse and try to become a hero, and Lister had let him go – encouraged him to, even – and it had been in the sobering quiet that he’d left behind that Lister had realised he’d made a big mistake.

They say you don’t realise what you have until it’s gone and there’s some truth to that statement. It had certainly been true for Lister who had, as the weeks had turned into months and threatened to turn into years, become plagued by strange dreams filled with longing, visions of Rimmer, resplendent in his silver flight suit, giving up the glory and thrill of adventure to come back to the old crew, to come back to him.

They had alarmed him then, horrified him with the emotional vulnerability on display, the open yearning and impassioned pleas for Rimmer to stick around this time, to never leave them – to never leave him – again, but that had not been in and of itself the real reason that they had disturbed him. There had, of course, been one other stubbornly persistent little feature of these dreams that had given him real cause for concern, had had him running to Kryten for help, grappling to find some sort of excuse or explanation for it that didn’t suggest the implication he was dreading the most, that it wasn’t the inescapable, undeniable manifestation of something that had been secretly smouldering away unchecked in his chest far longer than he would dare to admit.

That had been years ago now and though the dreams still resurfaced from time to time they didn’t bother him nearly as much as they once had. Instead, they had just become something he had begrudgingly come to accept, a sign of a reality he couldn’t outrun, of a truth he had been forced to look directly at in the cold, harsh light of day and reluctantly acknowledge for what it was.

A small vibration ran through the metal frame of the bunk and Lister’s attention snapped to it, clung to it like a lifeline, his ears straining for even the slightest hint of any other sounds. It had felt like the vibration of someone sitting down on the bunk below and judging by the time and the dimmed ambience of the bunk room’s lighting he reasoned there was only one person it could possibly be at this hour. Rimmer was going to bed.

He waited a few moments longer, listening closely and mourning the lack of any other identifiable sounds. Even the simulated sounds of breath as Rimmer’s hologramatic form continued to convincingly pretend to be a living, breathing human being would have been enough. It was too quiet, too empty. He was right there below him and yet he felt miles away, out of reach, as though he simply wasn’t there at all.

Huffing an aggravated breath, he scowled at the wall of his bunk, at the blank spaces where photographs and faces ought to be, the ache in his chest feeling as though it might crush him at any moment. This was driving him crazy.

What he wouldn’t give to hear Rimmer complaining about something – anything – right about now, to see the way the features of his face crumpled with disdain, the way his nostrils flared as he scrunched up his nose and the way the deep creases in his brow carved themselves ever deeper as his eyebrows knitted themselves furiously together. He missed the sight of it fervently, missed the way Rimmer’s expression would only contort further whenever he shot him a wicked, impish grin back in return. He missed the way his lips pursed tightly together and the traitorous little thought that always entered his mind at the sight of them that made him wonder not for the first time and certainly not for the last exactly how they would feel against his own, whether a kiss from a hologram felt as real as he hoped it would.

God, this was excruciating. For whatever reason his brain had been supplying more and more of those kinds of thoughts lately, perhaps to fill the void with something interesting to stimulate his bored mind. Stimulation of a different kind aside, it felt dangerous knowing that Rimmer could be nearby, could be in the room with him while he daydreamed about things that would likely horrify him. There wasn’t the same bittersweet safety of being able to indulge in an unattainable fantasy without running the risk of ever being found out. That particular Pandora’s Box of feelings had been opened long ago during Rimmer’s absence, had been well and truly explored, and was now entirely impossible to lock back up again.

He dreaded the day Rimmer finally found out about it, the day something finally slipped out and gave the game away, exposed the deeper fondness that he’d been doing his level best to keep securely under wraps in the years since he had come back. Rimmer surely wouldn’t accept it. He would stare at him, utterly horrified, and Lister would have to watch him do it, would have to listen to whatever furious onslaught of ridicule and rejection would follow and face the consequences for his own stupid, utterly hopeless feelings.

But you wouldn’t have to right now, a reckless, foolishly impulsive part of him said quietly, temptingly, in the depths of his mind. You can’t see his face. You can’t hear him. What better time will you ever have than now?

Lister tried to shake the tantalising thought from his head, tried not to even remotely give it a chance to take root but it was already far too late for that. That troublesome little voice was right. There were no immediate consequences here, no instantaneous repercussions. He wouldn’t have to face the worst of it. He could just get it out, speak those dangerous little words aloud into the air and be done with it, leave them to settle however unpleasantly into Rimmer’s mind and that would be that. By the time this whole M-Corp business was finally resolved, he’d surely have had enough time to process the information, to deliver a more controlled, restrained rejection or simply pretend he had never heard it in the first place. Either way they could just get on with their lives and Lister at the very least wouldn’t be carrying such a heavy burdensome secret in his chest any longer and Rimmer… well, at least he’d know the truth at last. There was no downside.

Of course there was a downside but in the moment as it was right now that paled in comparison to the alternative. Maybe it was a cowardly approach, maybe he was making a big mistake but it was either that or go slowly mad never ever getting it out, never knowing for sure what might have happened if he’d just gone for it. Maybe Rimmer might surprise him.

Sucking in a shaky, apprehensive breath, he rolled onto his back, flexed his fingers anxiously by his sides and swallowed hard around the sudden lump of tension that had formed in his throat. “Rimmer?” he said out loud, tentatively, cursing the strained, half-croaked way his voice came out. “You there, man?”

There was no response, but by now Lister was anticipating that. He knew Rimmer was there, he had felt the reverberations that had told him as much. His words had been less about verifying that fact and more about attempting to get his attention, to make sure he was listening.

He could picture him in his mind, glowering up with mildly inconvenienced disinterest, impatiently waiting for him to get to the point.

He swallowed thickly, his tongue suddenly dry and heavy in his mouth. “Listen, Rimmer,” he began, desperately willing the tremor to leave his voice. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

He paused, waiting again for a response that would never come and readied himself to continue. “I know what you’re gonna say, and yeah, maybe I am a coward going about it this way but,” – he inhaled shakily, unsteadily, clenching his fists tightly by his side – “if I don’t get it out now I’m never gonna.”

There was a long protracted silence that followed this during which the only perceptible sound to Lister’s ears was the constant, never-ending humming and groaning of the ship all around him and the violent, pounding thump of his own heartbeat in his chest, hammering away so hard it might somehow manage to bruise him from the inside. He contemplated then just calling it off, debated remaining silent on this topic forever and saving himself the humiliation and the pain that would be future Lister’s problem to deal with if he followed through. He contemplated the alternative, and sighed in aggravated frustration at how little he liked the prospect of that too.

He wondered if Rimmer was getting irritated waiting for him to continue, if he was snapping up at him angrily, demanding him to hurry up already. He couldn’t back out now. He’d already started. The only thing he could do now was to push on.

“When you were gone, when you were away,” Lister began, clenching his eyes shut, breathing in deep and holding the tension in his chest for a prolonged moment, steeling his resolve, before releasing it all in a rush, letting his words be carried out of him on the exhale, tired and defeated and achingly honest: “I missed you, man. I really, really missed you.”

With that little admission, half the battle was already over and Lister felt immediately as though a great weight had been sloughed off him at just that one tiny little revelation. It was something he had never quite found a way to admit in all the years since Rimmer had come back, something that he had always meant to get around to telling him just in case he ever happened to get any funny ideas about gallivanting off again. The relief he felt at finally getting it out into the open air was so immense it was almost overwhelming and he let it wash over him for a few moments, feeling the tightly wound knot of apprehension in his gut begin to give way to a rush of adrenaline. It was a good start, but he couldn’t let it stop there. He had to keep going.

“I know you probably don’t believe me,” he went on, finding that now that the first hurdle had been overcome the rest was coming out a lot more easily. “But it’s true, and you can even ask Kryten or the Cat. They thought I was going mad.”

He laughed in spite of himself, a small nervous sound that sounded too hollow, too loud, in the otherwise still silence of the room. “I thought I wasfor a while too…” he admitted quietly, gaze fixed on the ceiling as he thought back to those days back on Starbug when his thoughts had constantly been drifting back to fixate on one person when he should have been thinking of just about anything else.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said after a moment, picturing the disbelieving look on Rimmer’s face, the dubious, unconvinced quirk of an eyebrow. “You’re probably thinkin’ ‘If that’s the case why did you act like you didn’t give a smeg when I came back?’ But, I mean, you wouldn’t have stuck around if I’d acted any different, would you? Probably would’ve thought you’d got the wrong universe…”

He knew Rimmer probably would agree with that. Anything other than a long-suffering roll of the eyes and a begrudging “Welcome back, smeghead,” would have seemed out of place, unexpected.

It was true that that thought had crossed Lister’s mind at the time, when Rimmer – his Rimmer, not some other Ace that had gone on to replace him – had stepped out of the Wildfire that fateful day and swept his searching gaze across all of their faces, trying to gauge whether this reality was his or just one very similar to it, but it was only part of the whole truth. The other half was simply that being too openly honest about how immensely relieved he had been to see him again had felt too vulnerable, too raw. They weren’t usually like that with each other, that kind of emotionally honest – not without alcohol involved at least, or some other perilous situation forcing them into it. Most days it felt like an insurmountable wall, something they were both quite content to sit either side of for the rest of eternity and never dare to try to cross but Lister had spent far too long pretending he didn’t want to cross it, pretending he didn’t want something to change for the better between them after so long stuck looping through the familiar cycles of the status quo. If he had to take a bazookoid to those barricades and blast them down brick by brick in the hopes that maybe it could lead to progress then so be it.

The first step in making human connection is admitting that you want it and God he wanted it badly but this was Rimmer he was talking to. It was Rimmer he was trying to reach out to, and their shared history together with all its little betrayals of trust and every bad word that had passed between them made that incredibly complicated. It made trying to navigate this next admission feel like an impossible task.

“Look, I know I’ve said a lot of smeg over the years and I know you have no reason to believe me but just…” He trailed off, unsure of how to proceed, well aware of just how much doubt and distrust stood in the way of his words being taken seriously. He sighed heavily, resignedly, and shook his head in defeated frustration, finding nothing good enough to say that would possibly be able to undo all of that at once.

“A lot changed after you went away, let’s just say that,” he opted for in the end, hating how feeble a plea it was for Rimmer to listen to him.

That wasn’t going to be enough, he knew that much, but didn’t know what more he could say given the circumstances. It was true that much had changed between the day Rimmer had left and the day he’d returned. Lister had aged, he had grown. He’d figured some things out that he’d simply never have been able to without the benefit of that distance giving him room to think, to feel. There were things that he had done in the past which would have gone differently if they were to happen now, things he would have meant more sincerely, would have maybe even had the guts to stand by instead of taking them back like a coward.

But then again, maybe not. After all, he’d taken forever just to get to this point.

He’d left it so long, wasted so much time fretting about how much would change and in which direction it would change. He was getting older now. He didn’t have as many years ahead of him as he had behind him, which only really meant he was running out of time to say what needed said, to do what needed to be done.

Time waits for no-one, not even the last man in existence.

Maybe he could have left it, could have carried the secret to his grave and never uttered a word but where was the romance in that? He was the last human being alive, maybe the last in the entire universe. If he didn’t take that leap, didn’t maintain the time-honoured human tradition of ill-conceived, clumsily delivered confessions, who would?

“Look, man,” he said, feeling the tension grip his throat, threatening to choke him, to keep the words from making it out. “There’s no easy way to say this, and I know maybe it’s pointless and stupid to even try, and you’ll just think I’m crazy – and maybe I am, who knows? But…”

He gestured helplessly to the air, wishing fervently that he could roll back this whole one-sided conversation and stop himself from starting it, to step back from the precipice he was now standing at the edge of with no way forward than to jump.

He dropped his hands to his sides, palms facing up, pleading to the heavens, anxiety thrumming through every vein in his body like static electricity, the frenzied rush of blood roaring like waves crashing in his ears. Resigned to his fate, a prisoner to the truth of his own stupid, frantically beating heart, he closed his eyes and stepped out into the terrifying nothingness of the unknown.

“I love you,” he said, out loud, at last, to a room that couldn’t answer back.

The silence that followed was excruciating, suffocating in its heaviness. It made Lister feel restless, twitchy, equal parts relieved that he didn’t have to see or hear Rimmer’s reaction and desperate to know what it was.

The room was distressingly still, agonisingly quiet. If Lister hadn’t known better, hadn’t been absolutely certain that Rimmer was there, likely listening in muted horror, he could have almost convinced himself he was simply speaking aloud to an empty room, to no-one but himself. And maybe that might have been better.

There was movement, suddenly, beneath him, startling in its unexpectedness, the slightest sensation of something shifting in the bunk below signalling to Lister that Rimmer was moving, that he was awake and that he had most definitely heard everything he’d just said.

Lister held his breath and waited, but what he was waiting for exactly he didn’t know. It wasn’t like Rimmer was magically going to appear before him, fully visible again. He could be shouting at him for all he knew right now. He might even have left the room. There was no way of knowing. He wasn’t sure if that was more of a blessing or a curse.

Turning his head to the side, he stared out mournfully, beseechingly, out into the dim emptiness of the bunk room, searching it desperately for something he couldn’t see. “Rimmer?” he called out, uncertain, into the silence and when no response came – because of course it wouldn’t – he grimaced and brought his palms up over his face, digging the heels into his eye sockets until they burned with the pressure and letting out a low, aggravated, tortured groan. He’d thought he’d feel better getting it off his chest, getting it out into the open after so many years keeping it locked away, but instead of relief he just felt an immense wave of dread and regret at whatever he was going to have to eventually face as a result of this.

He’d bared his heart to someone who had all the power in the universe to take it and shatter it to pieces and there was nothing he could do to roll it back now.

“Smeggin’ hell…” Lister moaned, dolefully, rolling onto his side to face the wall, folding his legs up towards his chest and curling himself into a miserable, anxious little lump.

Inches away, standing rigidly by the side of the bunk, fixing Lister with a wide-eyed, utterly incredulous stare, Rimmer didn’t know what to do.

His face was an open mask of astonished disbelief, his eyebrows raised so high on his forehead they threatened to disappear up into his receding hairline, his usually pallid complexion tinged now with an undeniable rosy pink hue which spread from ear to ear and threatened to expand down onto his neck.

If Lister could have heard him, he was almost certain he’d have been able to hear the rapid, frenzied beating of his own artificially simulated heartbeat but as it happened Lister had no idea, was completely oblivious to the fact that Rimmer was still even there, still in the room, battling to comprehend this revelatory emotional bombshell that he had just spontaneously dropped upon him with no means to even hear what he had to say about it. The absolute nerve, the cowardly audacity! Didn’t he want to know how Rimmer felt?

Actually, right now in the moment, even if Lister had been able to see him he wouldn’t have been able to give him answer. He didn’t know how he felt. Not for certain.

He was angry, sure, and with good reason. What kind of coward confesses while hiding behind the convenience of not being able to hear the response? But he was also… confused, mostly – baffled by this sudden admission that, try as he might to interpret it as just another weird prank or unfunny joke, had sounded so genuinely, achingly sincere that the raw, naked honesty of it all left Rimmer feeling decidedly unsteady.

Maybe it was just as well that Lister couldn’t perceive him right now. He wasn’t in any condition to be perceived.

He had no answer. Too many confusing, conflicting emotions were presently swirling wildly inside his head for him to think clearly, and there was a strange fluttery nervousness roiling in his gut and an oddly unfamiliar buzzing warmth radiating out from his chest that was making it even harder to concentrate. He felt giddy, he felt terrified, he felt furious, he felt… full, in a way he couldn’t really recall ever feeling before.

The fingers of his hands twitched restlessly at his side and he lifted a tentative arm, extended it out as though to reach for Lister and then stopped just shy of touching his shoulder, hovering there uncertainly for a moment before reluctantly receding.  

He scowled down at himself, enraged by his own flustered, involuntary responses and the useless futility of this whole situation. What good would reaching out do right now when the two of them couldn’t even sit down and talk about any of this properly? Rimmer had questions, so many questions, like ‘What the smeg was Lister talking about?’ and ‘Are you being serious about this?’ and ‘How long…?’ and absolutely none of them were going to be answered if things continued the way they were. This infuriating M-Corp situation was being nothing but a nuisance. It needed sorted.

Rocking anxiously on the balls of his feet, Rimmer drew himself up tall and tried to suppress the nervous churning in his stomach and the frantic hammering of his heart, tried to quell the heat rising to his cheeks and radiating from his ears.

Turning on his heel, he strode stiffly but with purpose towards the exit, sights set on the medical bay where Kryten had been busy trying to come up with a workable solution to their current dilemma. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep now so he might as well occupy himself trying to get this situation resolved.

And maybe while he was at it, he’d be able to sort through his own mess of emotions and figure out just what that cosy warm glow that was beginning to nestle itself comfortably in his chest was and what it meant. And maybe then he’d finally have an answer to give.

[braindeadcharlotte]

A collection of grimy Transgender poems

cracking dollar store razors in the shower

hands splayed in ecstasy 

while mother is immolated 

and screaming

us against the world and so on

everything feels like plastic razors cracked open these days

all days 

smoke and vapor and ash

a pest rotting in a chrysalis 

a slimy memory in the heads of those who would like to forget

or remember

the hardened chitinous slough that surrounds me wonders which is worse

i don’t

a voice dripping honey whispers to me 

why do you miss hating yourself so much

a dying colony of insects inside my lungs writhe

for a moment my eyes go black

and i am back

in the bathrooms

a choir ive wanted to know spills venom from above

asking why i still want razors

why I’m so fond of a memory

when my arms opened up like zippers 

and revealed secrets to me i still don’t understand

if ive seen God it was then

in holy lacerations 

if i had the guts i would vivisect myself 

and see all of God’s glory before falling from Her prison

i so badly want to know if I’m pretty on the inside

still 

once a smoker always a smoker

she says it’s stupid

but i think about the shower floor all the time

and the school bus in 5th grade

bleeding on a friend’s lunch tray who never liked me anyway

and crying louder than i would’ve like to when I was ready

It is vile how much easier it is to be alone with your hatred

than with a partner cutting it away 

we feel murdered 

we feel more hatred than we ever have

it is seeing red 

while he is seeing nothing at all 

buried deep under the earth, into the pits that fall below

a special level of hell for adults aborted 

if i am to be forcibly cut out

and cleansed of blood and piss and semen

and made real

i hope i come out beautiful

 gut lining

i have memories of lying awake beside a ghost, terrified at her closed eyes and the future

i looked at yours while we blossomed from garbage and carrion 

and my guts lined with

Rage&Nicotine&Vomit&

Disgust&Hatred&Memories&

Regret&Bile&Bathrooms&

Loss&Stares&Betrayal&Hell&

Fathers&Ghosts&Failure&

Mold&Beer&Running&Razors

leave me alone

for a moment

while a new fear grips my stomach and the meat between my ribs

of all the things i deserve, it isn’t this

i don’t deserve meat i deserve more razors

skin sloughs off me like pages

it was never mine to begin with

I’m a spotlight in a home infested with bed bugs and flies

i am filthier than they are in their wettest dreams

they start to feed on scraps of long rotten cuts and its funny!

it is charming and it is growth, it is life and birthday parties and blood

i cannot stand it, it is hard to stand one more moment

one more blistering second of razor sharp memories of a young man in a bedroom, a park,

a shower

brown rot fungi threatens my home

i bathe in boracare and concrobium 

it likes being bleached and shiny and pure

it wants to drink it like an old friend

it wants my insides to be clean 

like all good girls do

sometimes i feel intoxicating 

its not often

I’m learning to be an egotist again

it takes time

to hate oneself for being better than other vermin

submit and break into such tiny pieces inertia has no choice but to intervene

where do you go from here

britney spears is my christ 

and there will be no resurrection

but i hope she takes my eyes and my hair when she falls to the pits

my tribute to a silent shepherd, undeserving of idolization 

razors are still lining my guts

but their stings are loving tonight

i can tell

For her, miss Charlotte

colors i so love elude me

i am transparent

i was the void

and i held adoration in my chest

it bore holes like scabies under the skin

it was hot to bleed the ocean of space

all over everyone i loved

my thoughts can’t shut the fuck up anymore

when my lover sleeps there is nothing to stop them from re-burning 

those familiar circles 

how am i supposed to live like this

a wanderer of memories that feel like an others’

warped scenes of a childhood that couldn’t be mine

shouldn’t be mine

when did i lose the color of a house on fire

is it really better to be the smoke of a gender reveal party before it sets a forest ablaze?

a demon within me says yes

another is waiting for the same black smoke it has always known

i don’t phlebotomize it out under searing water any longer

i beg for it to stop screaming

for it is only screaming into a new void

where nobody that exists can hear

Charlotte isn’t living or dead

she is an idea in a mind that is tired of hating itself

and everything around it

she’s swirling in a toilet bowl

clawing desperately at the edges to keep from being flushed

please, I’m begging, she only looks like shit

i promise you’ll like her if you give her a chance 

she’s sweet and caring

she thinks about what she says, so she doesn’t hurt anyone

she is full of love and fire, she is tall and confident

her lungs are pink and her brain isn’t quite as dead as it feels

nothing is below her

she is the burned remains of a slaughterhouse and the mushrooms are just now moving in

she is a Goddess in her own right, on the precipice of life and death

growing out of a body that has been rotting for 20 years

i want to love her more than i want to cut myself open

she is allowed to grow out of me lethargically 

my bisection is nearly sedate 

for her, miss Charlotte

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you have any input at all PLEASE comment, I would love to hear thoughts from fellow transgender people in particular!! Ive never written anything this vulnerable but I still want to share it, something about it makes me feel the need to

tysm for reading!! <3

[theicyfresh]

I think... I want to be a comet kind of love. Or wanted. I can’t decide. I want to be a love that just burns brightly the moment it’s introduced to your atmosphere. To light up your sky and turn your eyes upward and be recorded as something so beautiful and so special to have even swung by even though your gravity made it as inevitable as entropy. I think, though, that I want this because I’m still scared of meaning more. I think that I’m afraid of love, deep down. I think it makes up such a ridiculous portion of my body and yet I’m scared because I’ve seen what it’s done to the rest, to itself.  Because if you’re a comet kind of love then people don’t depend on you. If you’re a comet kind of love then you are a bonus, a treat, extra. You aren’t the rock of someone’s world you aren’t the oxygen that feeds them you are Inspiration to be better you are Reason to look up. But the thing is is that comets spend a hell of a lot of time just hurtling through the space between stars. Comets leave atmospheres as quickly as they entered and My Gods do I Want This To Not Hurt So Bad but it’s Inevitable. People are going to leave even if they don’t want to. Every single love has a timer and for some it’s tied to their situations and others it’s tied to their emotions and for a Rare few it’s tied to their lifespan. But all of them have timers. ‘What is grief, but love persevering.’ Gods, the resonance in that. The fact that every single person who ever dreamt of lost lovers lips felt that in their soul. The grief I feel could bury me or burn me alive and I don’t know how to stop it. Because see I wanted the cold lack of oxygen to smother this comet flame but it just doesn’t stop the embers. It burns under my skin and finds me in my dreams and mugs me with soft embraces and lips to my forehead. I am desperately trying to keep myself sufficient without others and yet I continue to feel like chunks are missing from me. I am so scared and paranoid of giving bits of me away especially in any sort of meaningful way because I have seen what happens when those timers run out and I am so tired of being in the void. That’s another reason I thought myself a comet, because if I never land then I’ll never break apart to be a part of your world. When eventually I must form myself again instead of taking glancing portions of your sky and atmosphere I will need pieces that were so inexorably tied to you. It means less hurting if I can just be a pretty far away thing. But it means more hurting because I’m some pretty far away thing. You hurt either way, honestly. And I have mentally reduced myself to a comet but what if i was my own planet? What if I hung in the sky for astronomers to observe and astrologers to make weird societal observations on. I have made myself self sufficient, but like the rocking of the waves from the moon or the growing of crops from the sun I can have an impact simply being a celestial body in your universe. It’s so much Distance, again. This metaphor breaks down because celestial bodies shouldn’t collide. This metaphor breaks down because comets aren’t hot they’re literally frozen chunks of Stuff hurtling through the air. This metaphor breaks down because people aren’t just one thing. Once again language is just not enough to describe love, or people. I think I want to be a comet, I’m comfortable as a comet. But I’m not always going to want to be a comet, and maybe I don’t want to be a comet for certain people. Maybe being a comet was just what I needed to be while healing. And I know I’ve been healing for a long time and I’m going to be healing for a long time. But that doesn’t mean I’m only worth being a comet. I can be someone worth a whole planet, even. -I’m just a comet

[reciprocityfic]

Aww I want them all! But okay, let's start with 1. A conversation you wish had happened in canon. For AmyxLaurie

1. a conversation you wish had happened in canon.

“I’m not marrying Fred.”

She tries to say it nonchalantly, void of emotion so as to not reveal the anxiety churning in her gut, but she’s afraid that the slight tremble in her voice betrays her. She tries to take a breath to ground herself, but the air that leaves her lungs comes out unsteadily.

She waits for him to answer - to say something, but he doesn’t respond right away. She wonders if he’s finding out for the first time. She meant to write him after she turned down the proposal, but hadn’t yet; everything seemed to be happening so fast, and she hadn’t yet had the chance to gather up the nerve.

But it’s possible he found out still, she supposes. She heard Fred left for London soon after she turned him down, and he and Laurie run in the same social circle, the kind that thrives on any piece of gossip. Someone could’ve very well told him.

But he keeps his mouth shut, and even though she knows it’s only been a few moments since she spoke, his silence seems to stretch on and on. It allows enough time for her thoughts to swirl around in her brain, for her heart to twist itself into knots.

Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe time away from you cleared his head, made him realize that you were simply a substitute for Jo.

She feels the need to clarify suddenly; she doesn’t want to force him into anything, make him do something he’ll regret just to spare her feelings.

“I heard about that,” he says carefully, and she hears him somewhere in the back of her mind. But she’s already turned towards him, words pushing at her lips.

“And you are under no obligation to say anything, or do anything,” she assures him, trying to insert some sort of confidence behind her words, but she can’t quite muster it as she stares at her feet.

She takes another deep breath, exhaling audibly. She can’t do this without being honest, she realizes, without laying her heart bare to him. She suddenly thinks of how hard it must have been for him, to propose to Jo, to reveal his affection for her in the garden those weeks ago.

“I just didn’t love him as I should.”

Not as I love you, she almost tells him, but she bites her tongue. She’s trying, but she’s not quite brave enough to say it plainly like that. Not now, when everything is still so uncertain.

Again, he doesn’t say anything, and oh, he has changed his mind, hasn’t he? Surely he would’ve interrupted her by now if he still wanted her, given her some sort of response. She can feel his eyes on her even though she continues to look away from him. He’s probably trying to figure out a way to tell her no, she decides, and scrambles to save face, letting out another breath.

“So we don’t need to talk about it, we don’t need to say anything -”

He kisses her.

He kisses her, hard, and she can’t process it for a moment. She feels his mouth against hers, his hand cradling her face, the warmth of his body against her own, but she can’t put it all together. Can’t comprehend what’s happening to her.

But then, oh, he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth, moves his head upward slightly and tugs on it, and she’s aware of everything - the press of his nose against hers, each of his fingers against her cheek, burning their pattern into her skin. He’s everywhere, all over her, and she softens, melts into him as she kisses him back.

His free arm wraps around her waist, pulls her more closely against him, lifting her onto her tiptoes as she searches for his mouth. She wishes they could stay in this moment forever. That she could live here, wrapped in his arms, warm from head to toe as his lips move in time with hers. But that’s not practical, she supposes, and after a few moments more they separate, both of them out of breath in the most wonderful way.

“Amy,” he murmurs.

Her eyes are closed, but the corners of her lips turn up when she hears him say her name.

“Amy,” he beckons again, and she opens her eyes, finds him staring back at her with an expression so tender and loving that tears well in her eyes. “Are you listening?”

She nods, and he crouches down just slightly, so he can look more directly into her eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her. “You have to know that. You must know that I love you. With my entire heart and soul, I love you.”

“You do?” she asks, her breath catching in her throat. A part of her still can’t believe it, despite his proposal and the kiss they just shared. The part of her that had resigned itself to only being able to love him from afar, that had become so used to him always looking at Jo whenever she was looking at him.

“Yes,” he says, a breathless laugh leaving him as the arm around her waist tightens and his other arm moves from her face to circle her shoulders as he pulls her into a firm hug. “Yes. I love everything about you - your laugh and your eyes, your voice. The way your brow furrows and lips purse when you paint or sketch, and then the way you step back and smile when you’ve done something you think is good. How your eyes light up when you look at the art in museums. I love how much you love your family. I love the woman you’ve become, but I also love how I can still see that same Amy I’ve always known peek out sometimes, especially when you’re happy or excited.”

She presses her face into the crook of his neck, inhales him, and can’t help the tears that spill over as she listens to him speak.

“I love the way you inspire me and make me want to be more, for both myself and for others. I love spending time with you - just being beside you is the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known. I love you, Amy March, your heart and your spirit and your mind and your soul. Everything you are, everything that you’ve become and will become. I love you.”

He lets her go and takes a small step back, grabs one of her hands in his and uses the other to wipe away the dampness that’s collected on her face.

“I love you, too” she whispers to him, turning into his palm and speaking into his skin.

“You’re not...you’re not a replacement for Jo,” he declares ardently, holding her gaze. “And you’re not second - not when it comes to me. Not to anything or anyone, but especially not to her. I’ve loved Jo - I’ll always love Jo - but what I felt for her is not the same as this. This is better, and it’s stronger, and it’s more - so much more. And I never want it to end. I want to spend the rest of my life with it.”

He closes the space between them once again, kisses her forehead and then her cheek.

“Amy,” he says, and then he bends down, gets on one knee in the green grass at her feet. He takes both of her hands.

“I know so, so much has happened, and there’s been so much pain and heartbreak, but nothing would make me happier than knowing that I get to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. And I don’t have any kind of plan or a ring, but I do have myself and my heart and my love, and I’m willing to give them all to you, if you’ll have them. They’re already yours. So, Amy March - Amy Curtis March - will you marry me?”

And it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. She can’t keep the smile off her face, and he smiles back at her when he realizes - the most brilliant smile she’s ever seen on him. He’s so beautiful that she could cry again, if she let herself.

He stands up at the same time that she reaches down and pulls at him. She kisses him first this time, and his hands wander over her body, moving across her shoulders and down her back before looping back up. He curls his palm around the back of her neck, buries the other one in her neatly pinned-up hair. They separate when they need to breathe, but they don’t go far, their mouths still resting together, smiles turning up their lips.

And she whispers against him, “Yes.”

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

[hyunjilicious]

size [henry cavill]

A/n: this is reuploaded from one of my side blogs which I will no longer use. I’m posting it again over here because I really like it and I think it would be a shame to let it get lost in the void.

Summary: there isn’t too much plot. just 1.2k of mostly size kink (+ some daddy kink bc I’m a hoe) 

“...of molecules. And even then, if we zoom in, we’ll see that a molecule is made out of atoms. But it doesn’t stop there either, an atom, which is mostly empty space, is made up out of electrons, which in turn…”

“Y/n!” Henry’s slightly amused tone reached your ears, making your head snap in his direction, abandoning the TV screen.

“Yeah?”

“What do you mean, ‘yeah’?” he laughed out loud.

Only then did you register the full picture. Legs bare above the fluffy socks you bought for him, Henry stood before you, a black mug in tow. He was wearing an old pair of worn out sweatpants and a T-shirt which was probably big enough to fit the both of you. The epitome of cuteness.

“Sorry” you shook your head, and pointed to the TV, “I didn’t hear what you said”

Taking a deep breath, Henry closed his eyes in defeat, before using his left foot to nudge you against your thigh, “Move”

“Why?”

“Been wanting to watch this for hours!”

“Then sit on the couch” you taunted, pointing to the side as you cuddled deeper into the armchair - his armchair. The one you just claimed for the day.

“Are you serious?” he asked, head falling to the side, already anticipating the answer you were going to give him.

“Yes!”

“Fine, then” 

With a determined shake of his head, Henry placed his mug on the coffee table, and turned to you, the look in his eyes signaling it was your last chance. Determined to stand your ground you shrugged, and averted your gaze, returning to the documentary.

“...energy in the form of strings…”

“If you wanna be like that-” Henry puffed, shamelessly lodging his arms under your frame.

“What are you-”

As if feather light in his hold, he picked you up, and crawled behind you, slumping down into his favorite chair, with you now in his lap. With his arms still around you, you allowed yourself to sink into his chest, his broad shoulders towering above you.

“In my defense-” you laughed, “I thought you were going to make me sit on the couch”

“Unlike you, my love” Henry taunted, speaking lewdly into your ear, “I actually like cuddling you”

“Oh, shut up” you scoffed, making yourself more comfortable.

He gently parted his legs, his massive thighs framing yours perfectly. It seemed as though you were both finally paying attention to the documentary, but when Henry placed his right hand in your lap, your eyes snapped downwards. Completely dismissing the intricate explanation of the newest discovery regarding string theory, you intertwined your fingers with his.

A deep grumble erupted from Henry’s chest, as his chuckle shook your whole frame. He turned his hand upside down, your palm now laying on top of his’.

“I fucking love how tiny your hands can be” he laughed, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Giggling as his stubble tickled your skin, you turned to look at him over your shoulder, “Why?”

“Makes my cock look bigger” he joked, kissing the spot behind your ear that made all the hairs on your body stand up.

“As if you need anything to make it look bigger”

“You love daddy’s massive cock, don’t you, baby girl?” Henry grinned, tilting your chin so his eyes could meet yours.

“Maybe”

“Oh” he exclaimed, “Maybe, she said”

With your cheeks burning from the inside, you gathered your legs in front of your chest, hiding your face against your knees. Not that you weren’t fully on board with the topic of conversation, but even after all this time, he still managed to bring alive the butterflies in your stomach. You were weak for him no matter what he did, but when he was completely wrapped around you, grinning down at you as you sank into his hold, your mind fully betrayed you.

“The way you fit perfectly into my lap drives my wild, baby girl”

“I fit into everyone’s lap” you laughed, referencing all the times Henry made fun of just how small you were compared to him.

“Fuck everyone else” he shook his head, “It’s only daddy’s lap for you”

Mid-giggle, you pushed yourself up and cupped his cheek, kissing his lips over your shoulder.

You knew just what it did to him. Now you were in a mood.

Just when he was about to get things to go further, the teasing side of you awoke, and you placed your hand on his cheek, turning his head back to the TV. “We’re missing the best part”

“Best part!?” Henry exclaimed, playfully enraged, “I don’t even know what we’re watching!”

“Educate yourself” you joked, slapping his thigh as you stood up.

“Where are you going?” he whined, his arms flying after you.

“Just getting my phone”

“No” Henry said sternly, “Get back here, kitten”

For a second, you actually thought about it, “Nope”

“Kitten…” he said in such a menacing tone, you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

You watched his frown, and when he tilted his head to the side, his gaze begging the question, you sent him the sweetest smile you could muster, before bolting.

As you rushed out of the living room, you heard the arm chair creak, and Henry’s heavy footsteps, hot on your trail. You barely got a chance to pass the threshold of your bedroom before he reached up to you, his frame colliding against yours.

It threw you off balance, but he managed to secure an arm around your waist and keep you from falling, despite being literally inches away from the bed.

“Oh, how I love it when you ask for it, angel” his grin said everything.

With your breath cut short, you looked up at him, his hungry stare fueling the pain between your legs. Without another word, Henry wrapped his arm around your hips, and threw you on the bed, before climbing on top of you.

Forcing some of his weight on top of you, Henry had you pinned into the mattress, with no way of escaping. His satisfaction was readable on his lips, and your heart ached for the way he was looking down at you.

“What are you gonna do now, hm?” he taunted, his tone reflecting the pride he felt when he had you completely vulnerable in front of him, “cause I’m not letting you go”

Gathering your lips between your teeth, you nodded your head no, unable to hide the excitement you had running through your veins.

If he suspected it until now, this was as good of a confirmation as any. “You like it, don’t you, baby girl?” Henry smirked, moving to tease an answer out of you by kissing down your neck, “Having no power?”

Following his question, he gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head to the side, further moving on to kiss across unexplored skin.

“When I’m in control?”

You nodded a shy yes, hooking your arms around his shoulders. He hovered above you, his immense thighs forcing your legs open and blocking any way for you to try and release some of the pressure that was torturing your core. 

Arching your back from the pure pleasure his lips inflicted upon you, you tried to sneak one of your hands between your bodies, but he was quick to object.

“No, kitten” Henry grunted, pinning your arms above your head, “You do as I say. Don’t try anything, you know you have no choice. Be a good little girl for daddy, ok. Now you’re mine to do as I please”

[noaltbruh]

I hope this follows the rules! But is it okay if I request a scenario where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and S/O comforts him when he wakes up?

My first request in so long, what an honor!

You're surely a fan of this scenario, I've seen you requesting it quite a lot of times.

Either way, let's get into it!

Esci dalla mia testa

06/04/2004

Midnight had just struck, it had already been three years.

Three years since Giovanna had become the new Don of Passione, and since the former had been punished for his actions.

But in reality, time had lost meaning to the young boy years ago. Everything he did, it felt so...Mechanic, so frivolous, simply keeping track of the days in order not to forget an important reunion.

He buried himself under thousands of piles of work, which only seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every day that passed. This was supposed to be his dream, his greatest goal, and he had reached it at such a young age.

But then...Why did he feel so empty?

He was supposed to be happy, after all the sacrifices that had been made to arrive so far, he had to be grateful for everything that's been given to him.

But he couldn't be, because those sacrifices were not his own, because innocent lives had been taken away, because he had come.

He truly was no different than the man whom he had condemned to suffer for all eternity. But he had to clinch his teeth, and keep on going with his head high, for the few people that were still by his side. Most importantly, for his partner.

As everyone around him had found a significant other, pressured by his best friend, he had decided to reluctantly indulge in this so called 'romance'.

And when you two finally met, he felt like a tiny fickle of faith had risen inside of his heart again.

You listened to him, to his struggles, to his doubts, to each one of his complaints like the were the only worries in the world. He failed to express how much you meant to him, after those...'Accidents', he had become even more close-up about his feelings.

You were very well aware of his workaholic tendencies, as most nights, you were the one to ask him to put down all the documents and get some rest

And this...Was one of those.

As you rapidly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from your own day, you felt a soft hand gently caressing your forehead. You were so warm and comforting, like a puppy, the only one able to give him hope in this twisted world.

But sadly, your presence could not magically make all his guilt and insecurities go away, and he had accepted that.

After contemplating your dreaming figure for a minute, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing to escape, just for a short while, from all those crushing responsibilities and expectations.

His consciousness started to slip away, he felt ready to conclude another day. Until, he heard whispering. Weak, confused, peculiar sounds, he could not understand a word of what those voices were trying to tell him, they were too far from the boy.

But they wouldn't stop. Delicate, constant and unbearable like the sound of a drip of water falling into a sink. They were playing with the Don's patience, a sleeping lion that should not disturbed, unless you wanted to be torn to pieces.

His mind immediately connected the situation to a possible Stand attack, nothing out of his normality, per se, but he was not concerned for himself. You were still peacefully resting, clinging to your sheets, it was a quite cold night. He wouldn't have let a single soul cause any harm to his darling, she was his only true happiness, his sunshine.

In the moment he stepped outside of the bedroom, what he was faced with sent a frozen shiver down his spine, as he brought his hand to his chest, to control his heartbeat.

There were four doors, floating in absolute darkness. A weak stream of light, that seemed to be originated from nothingness, illuminated each one of them singularly.

The whispering got louder and louder, faint giggles could occasionally be heard. The young one turned around to look at the entrance of this cursed place, the one he had just walked through.

But there was nothing there.

And so, like a captured prey that had nothing left to lose, he ventured himself into the first door, only to be met with a monochromatic version of Fugo. He was breathing heavily, desperately sobbing and all curled up on himself, on the shore of the same place where the rest of the gang had decided to betray Passione.

Giorno was standing on top of the water, unable to move a single inch of his body.

"Look at what you did"

A deep voice murmured in his ear. One he hadn't heard in a long time, one he wished he could have erased from his memories, that infected his mind and was more deadly than the sobbing boy's stand.

Diavolo.

"Me? Fugo chose not to leave, it was his own fault if-"

"If he was abandoned by everyone he loved? Do you have any idea of how selfish it sounds?"

The boy hesitated for a brief moment, staring at those warm tears falling into the canal.

"It was just...A temporary matter, he rejoined Passione, he's doing better now"

"My, it must have surely been fun to prove your loyalty to someone who caused the death of half of the people you cared about, after refusing to participate in his little suicide mission"

The blond's legs started to tremble, mantainig his composure was starting to look impossible.

"They...They didn't die because of me, they sacrificed themselves for a noble cause, for making Italy a better place, they wished it as much as I did"

The man contained his laughter, then he continued.

"Is that so? Why don't say that in their faces then?"

The image of the lonely boy disappeared, together with everything in the room. Giorno was back to that black space, but the door was now missing.

And the next one...Had nothing better reserved for him.

He found himself in the island of Sardegna, the only sound that could be heard were the small waves that met with the coast.

He knew perfectly why he was here. He took a closer look at the seaside, there were some footsteps printed on it. He felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of where they would have brought him.

Abbacchio's lifeless body was laying on top of a rock, surrounded by dead flowers. His entire torso had been torn apart, and yet... His corpse was smiling. A tiny, melancholic smile on his purple lips.

"Do you still have the courage to repeat what you said?"

Diavolo began, in a mocking tone.

"When he became part of the Organization, he was at his lowest, he had nowhere else to go, every path he took brought him nothing but sorrow and disappointment. The only thing that gave him comfort was following Bucciarati...And so, with that excuse, I transformed him in one of minions"

The thought of calling out Gold Experience hit Giorno's mind, but he knew that there was no point of lying to himself. The albino was gone, his soul had left his body long ago.

"I don't need you to tell me just how disgusting you are"

He said, his voice was filled with a suffocated rage, as he knelt over to look closer at his former companion.

"Abbacchio couldn't have cared less about killing me, he came with you because Bucciarati did, because he so desperately wanted to follow him, he felt like scum at the thought of no longer having him in his life"

The boy with emerald eyes felt an hand touching him on his shoulder, but there was no one there, except for himself.

"You exploited his dependence from the man, and used at your advantage, just as I did"

He stopped for a brief moment, enjoying the desperation in the other's eyes.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance

And with that, the second room disappeared as well. The boy contemplated whether to remain in that hellish void or to move forward, the image of what was waiting on the other side hurt way too much, his juvenile soul was starting to crush.

But he couldn't remain there, it would have meant giving up to Diavolo's twisted games, seeing him break down was exactly what he was waiting for.

He turned the doorknob, when he felt something humid staining his clothes: there was fresh blood streaming from his lady bug pins. The trail that it formed on the ground invited him to follow its path. He knew he couldn't decline, none of what he wanted seemed to matter in this place.

A metallic railing stood in front of him, his entire pins bled so much to the point of consuming themselves. An horrific scream coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time echoed through the room, as he directed his gaze to the top of the grey construction.

"What a shame...Oh well, he was the most disposable member of the team anyway"

Narancia's corpse was resting among dozens of spikes, his faded orange bandage slipped from his dark hair, landing right next to Giorno's feet.

"Oh Narancia...So young, so naive, just another victim of this unfair world. That's what you're thinking, isn't that right, Giovanna?"

"This is why people like him should not be involved in this business..."

"Mh? And why is that? Childish minds are the easiest to manipulate"

Ignoring his last statement, the other leaned down to pick up the bandage, but his hand went through it. His body was starting to feel dizzy, like it belonged to somebody else.

"Not answering won't make me go away, the damage has already been done, after all"

"Narancia should have NEVER joined Passione in the first place. He could have gone to school...Have a normal life, but-"

"But he died for your cause before he could. What he said before I activated King Crimson melted my heart a little, how cute...He really trusted you that much to the point of thinking that he would have come out of it alive"

The railing emanated a cracking sound. For a second, he was afraid it would have fallen off, causing him to get impaled as well.

"I took away his chance of living an happy, standard life when he decided to work for me, and you did the same, allowing him to come along with the rest of your team"

The small boy suddenly faded away, together with the rest.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance"

At last, there it was: only one room left. Despite how deeply he cared about each one of his former team members, the premonition of what would have come next was more painful than everything he's seen so far altogether.

He sat down, staring at the door from a distance, his eyes emptier than the ones of his old allies. They say that eyes are the window of the soul, and nothing else could have been used to describe his inner turmoil. Nothing but a faded, dull green, testimony of all his battle scars and the survivor guilt that he tried so much to repress.

Perhaps his eternal punishment had arrived: having the chance to confront his inner demons, to move on, to show how fearless he was.

...But never truly grasping the idea of freedom, never facing and accepting what really happened, he was never given the time to. So much had oppressed him all at once, he couldn't keep up with it.

He was a child, a child that had to grow too fast.

But then, someone came out of the door. A bittersweet figment of his imagination, that made his heart stop beating for a second.

The one he hadn't seen in years, the one he had tried to subdue the most, the one that showed him for the first time in his life what love was, stood in front of him. There was no hole in his chest, no sign of blood or wounds, a reassuring smile accompanied his face, as he held out his hand to the grieving kid.

"What are you doing all alone in here? The others are worried for you. Let's not make them wait any longer, shall we?"

Giorno ignored his help, his gaze was stuck on that endless floor. He didn't have the courage to look at the other, his presence alone felt like a sadistic joke.

He didn't look sad, depressed, miserable... He was just...Tired.

He wanted to cry those tears that he had denied in the last three years, he wanted to yell at that illusion to leave him alone, that wasn't the real Bruno, it couldn't be.

But, as he impeded any of this from coming out, something he didn't think he would have felt in a thousand of years struck him.

Bucciarati hugged him.

A tight, comforting hug like one of a mother, that he was waiting for his child to reciprocate. The latter's breathing became heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, as weak laments rapidly turned into audible sobs.

"There's no reason to be sad now, I'm real, you can feel it, can't you?"

"Y-You...You're here...But h-how is it p-possible?"

The brunette chuckled, the sound of his laughter was more comforting than an angel's voice.

"It isn't"

Giovanna's stand penetrated the man's torso, but its arm...It was not Gold Experience's. It had a checkered red and white pattern that extended in its entirety, and it possessed an amount of physical strength which was out of any possible expectations for the creature able to give life.

"Foolish child, I thought you were better than this, I'd lie if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed"

The sound of Bruno's corpse falling to the ground resonated through that empty space, as the last door vanished. A puddle of blood originated from his horrible injury, it was big enough for the boy to see his reflection in.

"You are no better than me under any point of view. We took advantage of his kindness, we used him as a simple pawn for our own gain. The only difference between us, is that I was not manipulating enough to convince him to join my side voluntarily. He was a tool to the both of us, but you were the one who caused his demise"

The mirror that had been created showed two people, but the transparent figure of Diavolo immediately ceased to be visible. The only one left was Giorno, though his reflection seemed to mutate with every second that passed.

His blond curls started to change shape, turning into a fuchsia mess, with dirty green stains on it. His eyes had a killer, maniacal look inside of them, his pupils got smaller in horror. His entire body structure was different. He looked older, more muscular, his clothes, too, were no longer his own.

"Mista loved him, and you killed him"

"Fugo loved him, and you killed him"

"Trish loved him, and you killed him"

"Narancia loved him, and you killed him"

"Abbacchio loved him, and you killed him"

"You loved him, and you killed him"

...

"Giorno? Giorno please, wake up!"

You screamed, your sleep was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend hyperventilating, as he desperately held you to himself, still trapped in that horrible dream.

You sighed in relief when he abruptly opened his eyes, so swollen and red from all the tears he's shed.

"Another nightmare, uh?"

You asked, gently caressing his back to try and calm him down, he was as vulnerable as a baby that runs to his parents after having a bad dream. Waking up in the middle of the night to comfort him is something you had grown accustomed to, but you had never seen him this shaken up.

He slightly nodded in response, grabbing the top of your pajamas. You put an hand behind his head, making him rest on your chest, and kissed him softly on his forehead.

You could hear him murmuring something, you couldn't tell wherever he was talking to you, or to himself.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm s-so sorry..."

He repeated like a broken record, you could barely make out what he was trying to say.

"Tesoro, you've done nothing wrong, there's no one you owe your apologizes to"

The boy raised his head slightly, intertwining your fingers with his, he needed to feel sure that this was not another tremendous trick of his mind.

"See? I'm here, you don't have to be afraid. I know that you feel unworthy of my feelings, but there is no one out there that deserves love more than you do. Nobody is perfect, Giorno, you did everything that was in your power to help them"

"But I...I was the one w-who put them in danger in the first place"

"No, you were not. You all shared the same ideals, you saved them from the oppression they were put in"

As you swept those remaining drops away from his face, you could still feel his entire body shaking like a dried leaf in a windy day of autumn.

"N-None of this would have happened if I didn't come along..."

"Exactly, none of them would have known what it meant to be free. I...Understand that the sacrifices that were made are not easy to forget, but blaming yourself like this...Do you really think that's what they would have wanted?"

Not receiving an answer, you laid down once again, still holding him in your arms. You forced a tiny smile, kissing him delicately on his lips, and whispered in his ear that everything would have been okay.

But, in reality...You felt you were trying to reassure yourself as well. This was not something you could have solely resolved through staying by his side, healing from this would have taken a lot of time, but...At least, you could offer some temporary safety, and it seemed to be enough for the time being.

In fact, after some minutes, everything seemed to cease. The boy fell asleep once again, this time with the knowledge that you were there to protect him.

You sighed, praying for your darling to finally find some peace.

[ayamturd]

here│tommyinnit

summary: reunited once again, y/n comforts their brother when he needs them the most

warnings: angst to fluff, death, slight spoiler to dsmp

pairing: in-game platonic!tommy 

a/n: sad tommy lore that i was able to tie into ‘safe’ (first pt)

edit: i’m honestly wondering if i should try doing another part to finish off the recent lore with tommy 👀 - send asks if should :3

wc: (1.3k) - m.list

safe - pt one

Everything hurt until it suddenly didn’t. 

As if a wave of relief consumed his entirety, the pain became numb and every ache slowly washed away. He was floating, his body weightless and drifting in the endless void of darkness. The silence was soft, sound almost nonexistent while evading an empty ringing. When did I fall asleep? 

At the sudden realization, the memories over came him. Tommy panicked at the thought, remembering the last things that had happened to him. He opened his eyes but couldn’t see, fear overtaking him as he tried to yell or move but he could do anything. Nothing. 

Suddenly, he was falling. The feeling of a force dragging him down, gripping him till he couldn’t breathe set fear into him; he felt trapped like in the prison again for it was too dark, no one could hear him scream his heart out in his desperate cries for help, and despite the seemingly endless space, he was enclosed with no where to run. 

As the air picked up and he felt crushed under the heavy pressure above, Tommy anticipated the impact below and shrink into himself before striking the invisible ground. 

A light overwhelmed him and forced his eyes open. Blinking harshly to the immense brightness surrounding him, Tommy opened his eyes to the vast abyss as if he had just woken up. He glanced around him, confused, until a familiar voice spoke up.

“Oh Tommy.”

He froze, turning sharply to the sound. Standing across him was his older sibling, a sad smile adorning their face. They looked idyllic in the reflective white surrounding, standing, breathing, in front of him with their hands to their side. He noticed they were wearing the last thing he saw them, save for the blood, in during the war. Before their death. Scared and disoriented, Tommy started to tear up from the sight of them. 

“You’re not supposed to be here so soon.”

He let out a sob at that, loosing all sense in pride as he bounded forward to embrace them. Y/n anticipated it and wrapped their arms around him tight, pulling the boy’s head into their chest while he whimpered broken cries.

“It’s okay, it’s okay let it out.” He clung onto them firmly, refusing to break his grip like he was afraid they would disappear again. He wept and he wailed, for all the burden stacked against him had finally come undone, the build of expectations to save everyone and everything crashing all down at once. 

Y/n stroked the boy’s hair, Tommy bent down awkwardly to fit within their arms. They both couldn’t care for his height though as y/n held him securely, murmuring small words of reassurances until his cries slowly died down.

“I was all alone,” Tommy whispered, “I was trapped alone with him for so long.” His voiced cracked at the recollection, and Y/n gently hushed him.

“Shhh. I know, I know.”

“H—he… he said everyone left me. That no body cared or would come. He was right…” Y/n’s heart broke from Tommy’s words. He used to be so lively and eccentric, yet the years had worn him down despite being so young to the harshness of the world and the corrupt natures of greed and the evil. Y/n could do nothing but clutch him harder.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you then, but I’m here to hold you now. I’m here, Tommy. I’m here.” Their words only brought more tears, and Tommy continued to cry with deep, shuddered breathes between.

Eventually, he calmed himself to an extent, still clinging to their shirt like a small child hiding from the monsters that live in reality. Tommy buried himself deeper into the safety of y/n’s hold, now taking in their warmth for the fact that he could again. He sighed with content and relief, prompting y/n to feel they could speak their current thought. “You were so brave throughout it all, and you’ve made us so proud.”

Clearing his throat while sniffing slightly, Tommy couldn’t help asking the question and pulled away. “Who’s ‘us’?” 

Y/n chuckled in response and looked past Tommy.

“You didn’t think we’d leave you all on your own now, did you?” For the second time that day, Tommy’s eyes widened and he shifted to look behind him.

“Wilbur?”

There he stood, grinning slightly, puffy hair and all. His eyes were kind and held an old piece of himself again, a piece thought lost to the insanity of man with nothing to gain. “Hello Tommy.”

Unlike with y/n, Tommy couldn’t move, still gaping from the idea his brother was also truly there. His brother as himself nonetheless. Wilbur noted this and chose to walk forwards, positioning himself next to y/n’s side. 

“Wasn’t expecting you here early.” He yelped as y/n glared and smacked his right arm. Wilbur rubbed his side from the strike and whined about his feelings being hurt, however, his smile said otherwise.

“Oh you know I was only joking.” 

Turning back to address Tommy, Wilbur didn’t hesitate to pull the boy in a strong hug. He held his brother’s head into his shoulder crook, with an arm reaching around to steadily lock the boy in place. Tommy lifted his arms to reciprocate the gesture, yet paused with his arms hovering over Wilbur’s shoulders, still in shock. It was only until Wilbur briefly squeezed him that he came to his senses and embraced the tall man. 

They rocked so delicately from side to side, and Tommy almost teared up again at the nostalgic  emotions that overcame him. It had been too long since Tommy was last embraced to feel small and had experienced any physical affection from his older brothers at all. Breathing in while breathing out, Wilbur smelt clean yet with a hint of ash, the scent from his old trench coat reminding Tommy of a past that still remained despite residing in the empty limbo. 

“Didn’t know this is what you meant when saying ‘see you soon’,” Wilbur said, his slight humor muffled against the fabric of Tommy’s shirt. Tommy took a moment before answering.

“Neither did I.” Sensing his internal distraught, Wilbur stepped back to closely observe him. It was there that Wilbur finally noticed the slight bags beneath his eyes and the cloudy film over his pupils, Tommy almost unaware that Wilbur was assessing him as he continued to stare downwards. His brother looked ragged and awful, Wilbur noted, but the most scaring visible factor was how scared Tommy seemed. Even emotionally and physically tired, Wilbur saw how unconsciously tense he was once let go of.

“Tommy.” Tommy faintly nodded, yet his gaze remained fixed. Wilbur shook his shoulders, trying to break him of his trance.

“Tommy, look at me.” The commanding tone in Wilbur’s voice spooked him, and Tommy’s eyes moved around, frightened at the demand. Y/n, who had been standing mere steps away to give them some privacy, rushed towards the pair upon seeing Tommy’s panic. They rested a hand to Wilbur’s shoulder with the other against Tommy’s cheek. Immediately, he relaxed at the touch and bowed his head, eyes closed. 

“You’re alright now, okay? You’re safe.” Without looking at them, Tommy nodded regardless. As Wilbur laid a hand to Tommy’s closets arm, Tommy raised his own hands to grip each of his siblings’ wrists on him, taking in the contact between them. 

“I missed you,” he quietly admitted. “I’ve missed you both so much.” 

Wilbur and Y/n both looked to each other before focusing on Tommy again. 

“There was no need to, Toms, we were always there.” Tommy peered up at the words, slightly lost to their meaning. 

“I made a promise didn’t I? No matter if you couldn’t see us, I said I would be there for you, and we always were until the very end.”

[yandere-wishes]

MONSTERS

👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...

👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse

👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !

👹 Wordcount: 2,480

👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.

👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Monsters were made. 

Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories. 

Monsters were made

whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner. 

If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,

He would simply answer, "Never".

Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.

Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.

He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected. 

Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.

There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak. 

Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions. 

Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home. 

Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air. 

Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him. 

You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born. 

You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed. 

Yet...

Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness. 

The void in all its glory.

that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world. 

There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.

Things that are just empty.

So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness. 

His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.

a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies. 

With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.

There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control. 

It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village. 

You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains. 

Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond. 

You were a thrown away doll,

A living dead,

A dying star,

You were the daughter of the number zero,

The monster that had no maker nor mother. 

Something not born nor created. 

Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow. 

There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well. 

Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders. 

And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.

You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips. 

You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.

You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been. 

 Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe. 

The space after the end, that's what you were.

Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.

You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth. 

That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.

You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a  pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.

 It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise. 

But...

For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like. 

For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.

///

Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death. 

Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure. 

But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all. 

It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest. 

The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava. 

Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste. 

"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise. 

You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights. 

 However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway? 

Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life. 

A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive. 

///

Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure? 

It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood. 

Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers. 

"S-sukun-a..." 

He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion. 

What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names. 

His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing. 

"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."

His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him. 

"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell." 

The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything. 

The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...

Monsters never die. 

How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?

[flightlessangelwings]

Grant a Name to a Buried and a Burning Flame ~ Chapter 1

Hades!Din Djarin x Persephone!Reader (gender neutral, no y/n)

Chapter 1/3

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Hades/Persephone retelling, historical setting, hints of soulmate AU, arranged marriage, slight angst, some fluff, mutual pining 

Thank you to @ollypopp​ for letting me bounce ideas and talk my thoughts out and thank you to my wonderful partner @we-can-be-himbos​ for beta reading for me! 

Moodboard made by me

~

“Persephone!”

You turned your head toward the voice that called your name. It wasn’t your birth name, but once you became of age you were assigned the name and your real name was never used in public anymore. No one remembered how or why it started, but it became tradition for every royal to assume the name of an Old God as a title and signifier of their status. Most took to it and even forgot their birth names, but you made sure that you used your real name when you were alone with yourself. 

Some maybe wanted to forget and embrace their role in life, but you didn’t want to forget. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t even want this role. But, you were born into it and as soon as you were old enough, you were prepared for the day you would lead your kingdom. You were good at it for sure, and leading came naturally to you, but you didn’t feel like this was your calling. You didn’t even feel like this was truly a home to you, even as beautiful as the land was.

The voice belonged to your mother, Demeter, who found you in the garden again. It’s where she usually found you: alone in the peace and quiet, surrounded by your favorite flowers. Flowers always lined your chiton and served as decorative accents to the long robe you typically wore. Sometimes, you even tucked one behind your ear as well. The beauty of the harvest and forests were one of the only comforts to your kingdom. Otherwise, it all just felt lonely to you, and like you didn’t truly belong there.

“Yes mother?” you rolled your eyes before you turned to face her. You already knew what she came to see you about and you dreaded it. 

“Persephone you know you can’t spend all your time out here. You have responsibilities,” she always pushed your royal duties on you and then some, and you hated it. She always seemed more concerned for what you could offer her than what you were as a person, and it got under your skin more than you liked to admit.

You felt trapped in your role, in your kingdom. With a defeated sigh, you decided not to argue with her this time, “Yes mother.”

It was another several days before you could sneak out to your garden again, and you felt smothered every minute you stayed within the walls of the palace. It was lavish and beautiful, and the sun always shone through the windows, but you still felt suffocated. With a deep breath, you took in the fresh air and plucked your favorite flower from a nearby bush. As you exhaled you whispered your name, a habit you got yourself into so that you would never forget it. At times, your mother had trouble remembering her birth name, and you didn’t want that for yourself.

As you gazed down the horizon, you suddenly felt a pull to run past the gate that separated your palace and garden from the rest of the kingdom. It was as if a voice inside your head screamed at you to get out, to leave and never look back. You had heard that voice before, and you almost gave in several times. But you always stopped yourself just before you stepped over the threshold. Before you even realized your movements, you moved forward until your body lined up with the border.

Beyond the lush of your own kingdom lay a more barren land, and you could see the darkness shadow in the distance. It should have scared you, you should have wanted to stay away from it. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel a pull towards it instead. The kingdom in the distance was the complete opposite of yours: where yours was sunny and colorful, the other land was dark and dull. It looked as if the land was lifeless, though you knew it had a daily large population.

You looked back over your shoulder, and when you didn’t see anyone, you finally took the next step.

Once you started, you couldn’t stop and you ran as fast as you could. For the first time in your adult life, you felt free. Some of your flowers fell off in your haste, but plenty more still decorated your figure. The one that you had tucked behind your ear stayed somehow, and since it was your favorite you were grateful for that little comfort. The weight of your royal title felt far away, and you could just be you. Even as the darkness and emptiness of the land surrounded you more and more, you embraced it. 

It was a quiet land, and you stayed in the forests and away from any villages to stay hidden. The trees were so dark they were almost black, and hardly any vegetation grew on them. You became more aware of how much you stood out here; a lone flower among the dirt, a lone light in the darkness. Nevertheless, you kept on the move.

Suddenly, you heard the sound of footsteps behind you, and you spun around to find that you were no longer alone in the dark forest. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, and though it didn’t seem to move quickly, it still somehow ended up in your space before you realized it. You let out a gasp as the figure reached out and grabbed your arm, and even this close, you couldn’t see a face. The flower that was securely tucked behind your ear fell to the ground from your sudden harsh movement.

“What are you doing here?” the hooded figure asked. His voice was deep and gruff, yet void of any malice. His hood completely covered his face, and from this close you could see that he also donned a mask for added anonymity. On his belt, he carried several weapons, and the deep black sword especially stood out. You could also see the armor he wore over his robes glisten in the low light. This was obviously someone you did not want to mess with.

“I…” you were at a loss for words. What could you say? It wasn’t like you wanted to divulge who you were or that you ran away from your kingdom. But you also didn’t want to seem like someone who had gotten lost in the woods either.

“Aren’t you a long way from home… Persephone?” you heard the slight smirk in his voice. He kept a grip on your arm, but it didn’t feel like a threat for some reason.

Your eyes went wide; how did he know who you were? Maybe you should have grabbed a cloak or something so that your features were hidden, but it was too late for that now. Strangely, you didn’t feel as scared as you should have been around him. It almost felt as if the voice in your head that pulled you forward led you right to him. Was that how he found you too? Was there a voice that pulled him as well?

In the distance, you could hear the howls of wolves: the Cerberus. Legend had it that a pack of black-fured wolves guarded the border to the kingdom. Some would even say that it wasn’t even an entire wolf pack, but just three unusually large dogs. Those who have glimpsed it say that they move as one, appearing as if they were one large beast with three heads.

The hooded stranger took your silence as an answer on its own and ushered you through the forest and away from the howls, “Come with me,” he spoke in a low tone. He left it unsaid, but he felt an immediate need to protect you and keep you safe, and that started with getting you out of the darkened woods.

It felt like a whirlwind, and you couldn’t even react as he led you to an unknown destination. As the outline of a dark castle came into view, realization dawned on you and you figured out who had found you, “Hades…” you breathed out.

He let out a single sharp laugh, “You’re smarter than you look,” he replied.

Hades was both well known and a complete mystery to everyone, even other royals. His kingdom was shrouded in shadow, the night to the day that was your own kingdom. He had a reputation for being a loner, and he was ruthless to any enemy who stood in his way. And no one had ever seen his face. You wondered if he even remembered his real name or if he was among those who had forgotten it.

Rumor was that he belonged to an ancient sect, the Mandalorians if you remembered correctly, and it was part of their teachings to never show their faces, but no one knew for sure. For the most part, Hades’ kingdom, the Underworld as it was nicknamed, was left alone. And that was how everyone preferred it.

You tried to struggle, but his grip was too strong, and though he did not hold you hard enough to hurt, you still failed to break yourself free. How did you find yourself so easily taken by Hades? Technically you did run away and into his territory, so were you really his prisoner? He did not seem interested in harming you, but he did not seem to want to release you so easily either.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he seemed to sense your hesitation and in his words he spoke the truth. He would never hurt you, not when he just found you. 

His words took you off guard and you looked into the blackness of his hood, “Then why don’t you let me go?” you offered back in as confident a voice as you could muster.

At that, he said nothing. You let out a dramatic sigh as you decided not to struggle for the time being. As your eyes darted around, you became increasingly aware of how much you contrasted your new surroundings. Everything was dark and plain compared to the robe adorned with flowers you wore. And yet, something about Hades’ palace was almost comforting in a strange way. Maybe it was because nothing about the castle was exactly lavish. It seemed to exist only for utility and not for show like your own palace was. It was much smaller than your own as well.

“Stay here,” he broke the silence as he left you in a small room and disappeared through the doorway.

There wasn’t much to the room, just a table with a bowl of fruits on it and a couple of chairs. As you eyed the bowl, your stomach started to growl and it dawned on you that you hadn’t eaten in some time. You looked around as you wondered if you should eat some of the food on the table. He had left you in a room with the bowl, which had to be on purpose, and he didn’t explicitly say that you couldn’t. 

With a shrug, you decided that a little snack couldn’t hurt anybody. Besides, who knew how long you would be here? You grabbed the brightest thing on the table: a handful of pomegranate seeds. They were surprisingly tasty, and you wondered how something this luscious grew in such an unforgiving land.

You had no idea how long you stayed in that little room. It was hard to tell the difference between night and day in this kingdom, but eventually you relaxed into one of the chairs and drifted off.

When you woke up again, you were in a different room and laid out in a soft bed. You furrowed your brown in confusion before you shot up to stand. The room was small; there was only space for a bed and a dresser with a small bathroom attached. One thing that did catch your eye, however, was there was a single flower laid out on the dresser. Upon closer inspection, you noticed that it was your favorite: similar to the one you had tucked behind your ear when you first encountered Hades. But, you could tell it was not the same one.

“What…?” you whispered to yourself as you picked up the flower and rolled it gently in your hands. 

Your thoughts were interrupted, however, when the door to the room suddenly burst open and Hades’ hooded figure stepped into the room. The two of you just stared at each other in silence for several long minutes. Your mind went in a thousand directions as you looked into the abyss of his face and you wondered what was going through his mind. Faintly, you also realized that the pull you had felt for so long as stopped now that he was in front of you.

“You like the flower?” he finally asked in a raspy voice.

“I… Yes,” you fiddled with it as you stuttered, surprised that the gift was from him.

He let out a soft laugh that you wouldn’t have heard had the room not been so quiet. It was a nice laugh, and it made you wonder if the rumors about him were all wrong. Sure he was an intimidating figure when you first met, but he seemed to be nothing but kind to you, even if he was your captor. Is that what he was? Ever since you left home, everything felt so strange and so upside down that you weren’t even sure about your current predicament. And yet, you didn’t feel afraid. This man was armed head to toe, and yet you felt completely safe with him.

“Follow me,” he broke the silence again as he stepped just outside the door.

You blinked a few times before you set the flower down and did as you were told, “How long was I asleep?” you asked as you fell into line a few steps behind him.

“All night,” he replied shortly. Both of you were silent after that. 

He led you down a hallway into a larger chamber that was beautifully lit with candles. Your mouth hung open at the sight, and the light was a welcome warmth after all the darkness that engulfed you since you were brought here. A man in a white robe stood at an altar at the end of the room and it took you a moment to recognize that your mother and father stood nearby. Demeter had a sullen look on her face while your father remained stoic.

“What is going on?” you asked, since no one wanted to break the tense silence in the room.

“We’re getting married,” Hades replied matter-of-factly. When you just stared at him, he continued, “Your father arranged it so that we can unite our kingdoms in peace.”

You were too dumbfounded to say anything and the ceremony went by in a blur. It was mostly a formality, nothing special or extravagant. It wasn’t that you were opposed to marriage, but you certainly did not think you would end up married like this. Sure it happened at times to unite kingdoms or bring peace to warring lands, but you had been groomed since childhood to take over the throne yourself, not get married off.

“Why did you have to do this, Persephone?” Demeter shook your shoulders once the vows were exchanged, “Why couldn’t you just listen to me and do your duty? Why did you have to eat the seeds?” she berated you with questions and you wanted nothing more than to run away again.

Truthfully, you didn’t even think of the consequences when you ate the pomegranate seeds, but Hades had argued that since you ate food from his kingdom and accepted his gift of the flower that you were bound to his land now. But, he struck a deal with your father that you could return home for half of the year if you ruled the Underworld at his side.

Rage burned within you as your mind caught up to your body. You felt used and tricked, which you expected from your parents, but not from your newly found companion. Why did you hold him in a higher regard than them? You didn’t think too much about it and shook the thought from your head. You ran away to escape the life that was expected of you, not to fall further into it. With a huff, you stormed out of the chamber and back into the room that you had woken up in.

You slammed the door shut behind you and leaned back against it with your eyes closed as tears of anger slowly fell down your cheeks. With a few deep breaths to calm yourself, you opened your eyes again and almost immediately they landed on the flower. What was once a beautiful gift now became an ugly reminder of your situation. You stomped over and grabbed the flower harshly and opened the window to throw it out.

Just as you were about to swing your arm, however, you froze. For some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You tightened your grip on the flower as you tried again to throw it out, and again you couldn’t do it. With a defeated huff, you tossed it onto the dresser instead and collapsed onto your bed. 

Your bed?

You closed your eyes as you thought about what would happen next. A thousand questions ran through your mind. You could run away again, but where would you go? Was this any better than what you came from? Was it worse? Why did this Hades marry you so quickly after meeting once? Why were you more angry about not being consulted about this than being married to him? Why did you feel this pull to him? Did he feel that pull towards you?

Eventually your mind was able to quiet itself and you drifted off to sleep. Between your emotions and the way your mind raced, you found yourself exhausted already. And you just wanted to escape this realm for a little while and just dream. When you dreamed, you dreamed about him. 

What you didn’t know, however, was that everything you had felt was reflected in the blank stare of Hades’ hood. He found you in the forest because he felt a pull towards you; a pull he had felt every time he looked in the direction of your kingdom. To finally see you in person was more than he could have asked for, and he was captivated by you immediately. You couldn’t see it, but underneath the hood, he had a look of pure adoration for you. And more nights than not, he dreamed of you. In those dreams too, you always used his real name: Din Djarin. 

~

Notes: I hope y’all like what I came up with for this AU. I didn’t want to do a strait retelling and I took some creative liberties with this to make it unique. Chapters 2 and 3 are drafted and I’ll be updating this on Mondays so there won’t be a long wait for chapter 2. And I normally wouldn’t be specific about the pomegranates since not everyone likes them but since that’s a big part of the myth, I had to put it in here lol.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : sweeter than candy

— word count : 3k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : daryl is good at keeping things buried, but when the thought of words left unsaid do you both realise you have both been thinking the same thing about the other. 

— warnings : mentions injuries, mentions of death

“ hi!! OMGG I came across your account and I’m obsessed with your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a Daryl Dixon x Reader following candy coated promises. Where Daryl has developed feelings for reader and following an errand run she gets injured and has to stay in bed. And Daryl find out! If that makes sense! Thank you!!! “

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A deep desperation of yearning to be useful has led you to forget the risks involved in the interminable list of things that wish to cause you harm and are able to on such an intense scale. Luck had been on your side for so long, the illusion of life’s greatest ally refusing eluding your group for this long has proved itself to be just that — nothing more than an illusion. Once the burning of fear had dulled to nothing more than a dim ache, all you now feel is the one wound that does not run red yet pours into your veins as if it does. Stupidity. You’d volunteered yourself to go on a run with a small group, you’d spent enough time before the barbed wire fences, that you felt yourself becoming trapped.

A deep regret that would follow you even in death would be if any of your group would, too, meet their chapter’s end too soon by an immense error made on your part.

One thing that lays dormant in your mind, yet unable to completely fade is the fear of becoming too settled in safety. Spending too much time wrapped in a blanket of comfort that provides refuge from the grit the outside world revels in only hands you a vulnerability unsuitable for a reality submerged in death that roams freely. You don’t want to forget how to survive, you’ve come too far for that.

Part of that is how you have ended up being put to bedrest.

Your brain is yet to sort through and file the fleeting images that blend together into one disorientating image instead of a folder of what had occurred picture by picture. In one instance the group and yourself had been rummaging through the shelves that still contained some stock and the next, you’re rushing Maggie out of the way and pushing over shelves onto a growing horde of walkers. Though in the next second, your heart fell a thousand feet below as you lost your balance from the liquid coating the floor from where they’d tumbled and smashed to the floor, with the shards of glass forming a bewitching hazard.

“ your ankle still givin’ you trouble? “

The voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your sight settling on Maggie.

“ I don’t know if that hurts more or if these scratches do. “ You complain, your fingers lightly tug at the bandages that cover the fresh wounds that coat both of your palms, you take note of a number of loose fibres from the material.

“ Glass’ll do that to ‘ya. “ She chuckles, slowly moving into the room. She grabs a chair from the metal desk on the side and moves it next to your bed. “ I never got a chance to say thanks. “

“ You don’t have to worry about it. “ you refuse, shaking your head in turn.

“ I feel it’s my fault you’re like this. “

“ If we’re going to blame anyone, let’s blame my eyesight. I should have seen that wet patch. I should have been more careful. “ Frustration that burns bright in your reply as you turn away from her. Perhaps you’d spent too much time concealed from the harsh reality that constantly claws at you all as it takes refuge in a thick coat of a hauntingly isolating fog as it waits to drag you down with it further into the depths.

Mistakes are synonymous with fatalities now, one moment you’re on top of the world and in the next you can be in a free fall clutching the thin air as if it should be your saviour. Never have moments been promised, and this fact has never shone clearer than when the dead claimed the Earth for itself in an effort to void it of life wholly.

“ Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. “ Maggie brings a hand forward to squeeze your shoulder momentarily, a comforting smile packaged with it easing some of the self loathing you could feel weaving itself into your being.

“ I don’t have much to do in here by myself, I have to keep myself entertained somehow. “

“ Well, I got an idea.. “ She trails off, a mischievous grin lifting her lips.

“ Maggie.. “ You utter a strict warning, already knowing where the conversation is about to lead.

She pauses for a second, laughter bouncing from grimy wall to grimy wall as she reacts to your cautionary tone, the light in her eyes bursting with the power of a thousand stars as it illuminates her features. Gratitude for the fleeting moments of rare normalcy that reflects a past occurrence in the old world runs deep, for a fraction of a second you can pretend you’re simply two friends joking about something goofy and foolish. For a minute, you’re not sheltering in a decrepit prison as you run from walkers, it’s a perfectly average afternoon.

“ You can’t tell me you don’t realise the way he looks your way now? I know you’ve been lookin’.. “

“ Okay, I think I'm tired now. “ You huff, shifting your body as to your ability with your injured ankle to face the wall that has an array of stains permanently painted into its surface.

Maggie only laughs in response, the sounds of steps dulling into nothing more than a ghost of an echo that informs you of her departure. Her words have pulled a string you’d not wished to pay attention to until it would be absolutely necessary. Needless to say that as much as you’d tried to bury the budding seeds of affection into the dirt, they’d only bloomed in force into a sea of colour with the evidence left to coat your fingertips for everyone to see.

Never had it been your intention to entertain this idea, when anything positive you’ve managed to seize with both hands can be ripped away so unexpectedly that you are left to nurse the empty space left behind of what once had been, grieving the idea of what could have been. However, there’s a dim curiosity that softly grows in size that envelopes around you, compelling a desire to reacquaint yourself with a human intimacy that fell to the back of the queue as the instinct to survive overwhelmed it. You don’t want to fear living, you don’t want to fear connecting to others on a deeper level, but you can’t help but simply.. be afraid.

Had you been in a different reality where the world continued on as normal, you would have probably fallen under his spell sooner.

Only after that one night you’d spent on watch together after he’d gone out of his way to bring you such a simple gift illuminated him in a way that your sight would often lean towards him. Many times you would find yourself analysing his actions on a deeper level, a coy warmth burying itself in the pit of your stomach when realising he’d included you in his thought process. From the chocolate bar, to you being the first person he’d check on if you needed anything before heading out on a run, to even the simple act of being there just to talk when life felt rough. A shape of one Daryl Dixon had been carved out by the man before either of you had realised.

A thunderous groan erupts from your lips as you turn onto your back to stare at the bunk on top with the realisation hitting you like a train threatening not to stop. You completely adore the Dixon.

About an hour away from the Prison Daryl secures the last of the rabbits caught, they swing side to side with each of his calculated movements. All Daryl finds himself wanting to do is to get back to the Prison, unable to push down the inclination of being back to the comfort the life behind those metal fences bring. It’s been a long day and all he’s interested in is getting back to those he holds dear.

That thought is when a fleeting frame of your face crosses his mind. Though he speaks not of which he truly wishes to share, the time you do spend together is something he cherishes more than a billionaire would with all of the money and rubies in the world if they had them in the palm of their hands. The darker side of him, the side that would always listen to those who preferred to taint his waters with their gloom, doesn’t allow the emotions constantly swirling within him to be touched by the burning sun rays as they are laid bare.

Heavy breaths fall without grace from his chest as he’s let through the gates, the stony expressions etched deeply into Carol’s features. No words need to be uttered to know it’s to do with you, Daryl doesn’t even allow a thought before he’s making his way on a path he has walked a thousand times and will walk a thousand times more. Creaks that echo in the darkening corridors that are not lit by the comforting flames of candles, the prison sounding as if it’s more in pain than it appears — still, he pays no care. His only goal is to check on you, he’d be unable to forgive himself if anything were to happen to you and he’d never be able to see you one last time. His brain conjures a number of horrific scenarios and tainted pictures to accompany them as it runs wild in a sea of dread.

The crossbow that had been secured in Daryl’s grip is lowered gently to the ground as he scans your form, a grateful sigh when he sees the slow movement of breathing.

He lowers himself into the chair next to your bed, trying to pinpoint the moment he’d stopped gazing upon your form as a friend to replace it with an aura of starlight — no longer did he see the colour of your eyes, but galaxies full of life and wonderment. Daryl allows himself a few seconds to chase each other by as he considers his next action, though deep down he’s aware his decision had already been chosen, as he threads his fingertips into yours to allow your warmth to comfort the panic that had been raging at the thought of your demise. His thumb traces a circle that is light enough to keep you tucked away in a slumber and as a comfort technique for him, where his mind allows him the time to placate himself.

Before he’s aware of it, the sky blends into itself once more as the pastel hues paint it with dashes of gold from the sun as dawn breaks and he’s hunched over with your hands still connected as one — the position held the entire night. Nothing can be heard in the confined space except a symphony of soft breathing from you both, the serenity only the early hours in which no one is awake brings comfort to the sleeping forms of you and Daryl.

A lengthy yawn escapes your lips as your eyes fight to open as they blink heavily to adjust to the light that invades as much as it can. The weight of something lying comfortably in your hands confuses you, as you distinctly remember there had been no pressure previously, the image before you washes your entire body with the icy grip of shock as you scan the trail leading from the hand within yours to the person it belongs to. Teeth grip your bottom lip as you bite it, attempting to battle away a smile that wishes to break free, you can’t believe the sense of humour that the universe has. Not an inch is moved by any part of your body, you seek to savour the intensity that such a simple action bears, your eyes positively glowing in adoration as a softer side to the man is revealed. Moments like these are few and far between, it leaves you wanting to bottle it up and pocket it forever.

A squeak of displeasure cuts through the serenity the early hours have worked so hard to cultivate as you inch your injured ankle to the side, clearly different positions prove to be the opposite of beneficial. The noise is enough to wake Daryl, his sudden alertness makes you doubt whether he’d truly been in a deep rest, but it’s the least of your worries as he realises he spent the night with his grip connected to yours. The warmth that brought a grounding comfort to your being now is a phantom touch you crave again once an eerily coolness now surrounds your empty palm.

“ ‘M sorry ‘bout that. “

“ There’s nothing to apologise for, Daryl. It was nice. “ You confess, your volume touches the air with a softness of a feather that descends to below in an elegant waltz.

“ Mhm. “ He turns his gaze to the floor, a thumb is chewed upon lightly as he’s wondering what he should say next. “ ‘Was worried about ‘ya as soon as I got back. “

“ Yeah, things just kinda happened. “

“ ‘Ya gotta watch y’self more out there. “ He scolds you with a light scorch of misplaced anger that almost lays eternally with him, a wave of anxiety at the thought of losing you are twins in a realm of horror he never wants to bear witness to.

“ I know, Daryl. “

Poisonous words full of fire and fury born out of dread of your existence in his life being cut short itch to burn your indifference to the situation. As he settles his gaze upon you, all he can see are the stolen moments you both have shared away from the group, where the person he’d created in his head built without even speaking to had been smashed into shards the more he got to know — you’re a fresh breath of peace in an unstable world that thrives on chaos. Quiet moments where all he can hear are the flickering embers of the fire are the memories he finds himself kicking for, all that lost time to never be recovered due to his preconceived notions.

“ Do ‘ya? “ Daryl shakes his head in frustration, his soul a pot of swirling emotions and thoughts blinding him to the point he can’t see straight. “ I can’t lose ‘ya. “

His voice is so low you barely hear it, your brows thread together in the slightest form as they’re unused to the window of Daryl’s vulnerability being so widely open.

“ You won’t. “ A faint twitch of your lips means well, you try to comfort the man. Your touch is delicate as your palm overlaps his with warmth.

“ Y’can’t promise that. “

“ But I can try! “ You argue lightly, a bounce in your response.

“ Forget it. “ Daryl sighs harshly, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts that run circles around his mind.

“ Daryl! Wait. “ Your voice falls on deaf ears as he’s already halfway towards the exit of the room, for a moment you forget your injury and a burning sensation flies with boundless wings up your protesting muscles and you land in a heap on the floor. The bandages do nothing to cushion your fall, you cry out in pain from the intensity of the throbbing plaguing your body.

“ Why can’t ‘ya be careful!? Damn it. “

Before you know it, Daryl is level with you as you feel his touch grazing your skin — ensuring you’d not injured yourself further. Guilt pools in his stomach at the thought of your current suffering being his fault, his ire now directs itself brightly towards him.

“ Dar — what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? “ You quiz as your expression contorts into a grimace. You’d not seen him behave like this for what feels like a long century, even more so when directed towards you.

“ Like what?! Huh? “

“ You’re being crazy! “ You state, your finger jabs into his chest.

“ Ain’t it obvious? “ Daryl asks suddenly.

Your head shakes, confusion clouds your features as if it’s an angry storm that has waited long enough for the calm — nothing can be seen through the darkened skies. All you want is for the sunny rays of truth to shed light upon this mess.

“ ‘Ya mean more to me than you should. “

“ Daryl? Do.. do you — ? “

He nods suddenly, unable to hear the words out loud no matter how true they ring, because as real as it is. There would be no taking it back then. Your lips purse as a sad smile lifts itself with no help from you, your heart hurting as you realise this could have been avoided entirely since you both appear to be on the same page. You acknowledge the fact that actions would speak louder than words in this scenario, your fingertips brush through darkened strands of hair as if they play a sheet of music with the aging competence of a commanding pianist. This is one of many songs your mind finds itself conjuring, a burning hope of this forging something more between you. It’s not long before your arms are wrapped around his neck, with Daryl unable to believe the scene in which he finds himself in, you’re a sky full of stars that he finds himself wanting to get lost in.

“ We can take this one step at a time, yeah? “ You question softly, not wanting to be witness to the fleeting images of a set of angel wings.

He agrees silently, a warmth spreads outwards from your cheeks and treks outwards to cover your completely. The moment is sweet, as it concludes with a honeyed kiss on his tanned cheek. In one frame you both are thinking the same thing, just how lucky you are to have fought through your fears of living and given in to taking the plunge into unchartered waters that Maggie and Glenn have already found themselves navigating.

In a world full of the dead, you both agree that to love shouldn’t be a reason to cower and hide.