#ONCE AGAIN THE LIGHTING WAS HORRIBLE I TRIED TO FIX AS MUCH AS I COULD IM SORRY

[joonie]

Us, Ourselves and BTS

[moonlitstoriess]

Passionate Storms- Ruhn Danaan x Reader (1/2)

A/n: Hey guys! So I decided to make this small 2 part series for my Ruhn girlies, hope you enjoy<3

Warnings: angst and yeah that’s pretty much it😔

She was tired. Absolutely wrecked. The whole day has been horrible from start to finish. First, she was late for work at the Crescent City Art Museum, causing her boss to give her an extra three hour shift into the night. Y/n thought she could deal with it only to realize how wrong she was when her day went from bad to worse.

Spilling her coffe onto one of the workers by accident, recording the wrong date for the official visit by some professional artists, dealing with snobbish, rich and rude visitors who lashed out on her when she said that they can't get too close to the paintings, one of them even calling her 'a lowlife who has no right to talk to them'.

You could say that by the end of it all, y/n was absolutely drained. The worst part was when one of her close co-workers rudely told her off for 'speaking too much' during their break. Well, it's not like y/n could do anything about that. She has always been very bubbly and talkative towards those whom she trusts. Including, her mate, Ruhn Danaan. He loved her bubbly personality, always tellin\ her how that was one of the most attractive things about her and how she should never apologize for it.

So y/n thought that maybe a quick call to her boyfriend would fix everything....wrong. Ruhn never picked any of her calls up, always sending her to voicemail. And just after her 15th unanswered call, when y/n was about to say 'screw it' and head to find her mate, she received a text.

Ruhn✨🖤

Busy. Don’t call.

Strange, usually he would pick up her call at minimum the third ring or inform her beforehand that he would be busy. Whatever, she didn't dwell on it much because maybe he just forgot? Maybe he also had a packed day like her? Whatever the case is, she was sure that once home, they would both catch up with each other before going to sleep in each other's arms.

Y/n's mood improved greatly at the thought of that as she prepared to leave the museum late into the the night. She got into her car and began driving when all of a sudden, in the middle of a dark road, the car's engine stopped.

No, no, no! Not this too, please!

Her multiple tries to restart the engine were all fruitless as the car clearly wouldn't budge. Because this road wasn't the main one, but rather a side road, there were no other cars here and the streetlamps were flickering non stop. Helpless, y/n tried calling her mate once again only to be sent to voicemail.

Great. What now?

All the car repair places would be closed, her only option being to leave the car here and then call the car technicians tomorrow to come pick it up. She spent the next fifteen minutes pushing the vehicle into the side of the road and sending a prayer up to the Gods for it to still be here when the mechanics arrive tomorrow.

Once the car was in a good place, she sighed and picked her important stuff out of her car and into her bag before turning around and walking all the way home, hoping to find a taxi on the way.

Forty-five minutes later, body drenched in sweat, legs sore and shaking from walking so much and chest heaving up and down, y/n finally opened the door to her and Ruhn's apartment only to be met with darkness.

Was Ruhn still not home? Where was he? Maybe he was asleep? But he never goes to sleep without her beside him.

She dragged her feet towards their shared bedroom, turning on the lights to see an empty bed.

Hmmm he hasn't arrived yet, then. Whatever's holding him back, must really be important.

With a sigh, y/n headed towards the bathroom, taking her clothes off and then turning the shower on before entering it and relaxing in the serenity of a nice hot shower after a long and brutal day.

Once out, she felt her stomach grumble as she realized how she hasn't eaten anything yet, deciding to make herself and Ruhn something because knowing Ruhn, he probably hasn't eaten anything either.

Humming to herself, y/n began taking out her ingredients for Ruhn''s favorite dish of hers, pasta. She hummed and hummed as her hands kept working on preparing her beloved's favorite meal, lips lifting up in a smile at the thought of his surprise when he sees this meal.

An hour later, she had the pasta ready and served into two plates. Y/n was busy with pouring the wine into the two glass cups when the door opened and in came her beloved, looking all frustrated and annoyed.

Y/n smiled brightly at the sight of him as she put the now filled glasses down and came towards him, opening her arms wide. "Ruhn, my love, how are you?" She said while hugging him, only to not recieve a hug back as he shook her off and bent down to undo his boots.

"Fine."

Okay....something was wrong but- "I am sure once you eat this warm meal, all the stress from your day will go away. And look, it's your favorite!"

But, for the first time during the duration of their year long relationship, Ruhn refused to eat her meal, saying, "Not hungry."

Something was definitely wrong. Ruhn never refuses her meals.

And so, as her mate turned around and headed towards their room, y/n trailed after him, wishing to let him know that she is here for him.

"Love, you know that I am here for you, right? If something happened, you can always talk to me, I will always listen to whatever-"

"Oh for Urd's sake, y/n! Can't you just shut up even for once? Always talking nonstop! I can see why Nixie called you a chattering monkey today, you just won't shut up! And why were you calling me nonstop? It's not like you have anything important going on except talking about useless things so just leave me alone right now!"

Her heart shattered into a million pieces. This was the final nail in the coffin, the cherry on top of her horrendous day.

Her voice shook as she said, "N-nixie? As- as in my ex-best friend? W-where did you see her?"

Ruhn sighed, "At the bar."

"You were at the bar with Nixie?!"

"And what if I was?!"

"W-what?"

"What. If. I. Was?!"

Y/n's lips wobbled as she only managed to whisper a small "I can't believe you."

He just shook his head and said, "I can't do this right now." Before pushing past her and heading towards the door. "I hope that once I am back, you will finally learn to give me my deserved space." He took his coat and shut the door behind him.

She was in shock. Nothing can excuse this behavior. What is this? How could he? Did he always find her annoying? Did he always think this way about her? Maybe- maybe he had a rough day but no, she had a rough day too and you don't see her going around cursing everyone.

With tears that began to fall the second he left the apartment, y/n darted towards their room, taking out a bag and throwing in whatever she found, cursing him through it all.

Finally, once done, she took out a small piece of paper and wrote down something before heading towards the door.

He wanted space? She would give him his space.

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

[eeunoia]

I really like your works!! Yandere Jungwon ex plsss? ❤️❤️❤️

pairings: yang jungwon x reader

synopsis: ex boyfriend jungwon surprised you after being away from each other for over a year.

warnings: yandere themes, violence, knife being mentioned. (let me know if i missed some)

note: this is just a short fic. enjoy!

your eyes felt heavy while trying to punch in the pincode to your apartment. the hallway was quiet since it was already late. the lock emits a familiar sound and you turned the knob, pushing it open.

a yawn escapes your mouth after putting away your shoes. the whole apartment was oddly dark. your boyfriend sunoo usually leaves at least one lights on whenever he sleeps first. your brows furrowed right away, starting to feel anxious.

it may be just nothing. sunoo may have just forgotten that you'll be home late and was too tired to even leave a light for you. or maybe he's out? nah. he always tells you ahead if he's going out but as far as you remember you receive no text from your boyfriend.

“sun?” you softly calls out. the steps you made were light, trying so hard not to make any sound. the surroundings are too quiet.

surely its just normal for a time like this, but something's not right. it felt heavy. the house feels odd. like somebody else was here.

“sunoo?” you once again tried calling your boyfriend. “baby?”

when you finally made it to the living room, your heart almost dropped at the silhouette of a person sitting at the sofa. the person got his back turn against you since they're facing the television, but you can definitely tell it's sunoo.

the way his body was leaning back indicates that he might fell asleep or something. a small smile creeps over your lips, thinking that he fell asleep while waiting for you.

with gentle steps, you strut closer and dropped a kiss at his cheek from behind.

you got stoned at your position.

cold.

sunoo's skin felt so cold.

your heart starts thumping so hard inside your chest. your throat lumped at fear and worry for all the things that instantly played inside your mind.

“s-sunoo?” and carefully you walked around the sofa so you can be in front of him.

and your knees weakened at the sight of your boyfriend showering with his own blood. his white shirt almost turned red because of too much blood. you wanted to scream, but the shock got you dumbfounded. tears pooled your eyes as you kept your stares fixed.

“did you like my surprise?” you jolted and abruptly turned to face the person just by the hallway towards your bedroom.

half of him are hidden through the shadow of the wall. chills run through your spine and your lips hanged open, body plopping down the floor. your knees gave out fully.

in front of you was your ex boyfriend.

no. this is not happening. you already left him and made sure he won't be able to find you again. you did everything you could. went far away from him, changed name and even profession. how..?

the sinister smirk painted over his handsome face sends you back to your own hell hole. terrible memories and past traumas you experienced with him came flushing down unto you like a strong wave from the ocean.

“you really think you can get away from me?” the emotion from his face drained and he tilts his head.

“you should've seen how he tries to act tough when i showed up here hours ago.” his eyes glanced at your boyfriend and your heart tightens over guilt and regret.

“it was satisfying, honestly.” he started walking closer and you tried moving away. tears streaming down your face.

“the way his hot blood splashes the moment i stabbed him multiple times. his cries and plea for me to have mercy.” jungwon scoffs, his eyes dark. “mercy?”

you shake your head and shut your eyes, trying not to imagine the things he's narrating for you. it was horrible and you cannot take it.

“how can i show him mercy when he stole you from me?”

your back hit the wall, leaving you nowhere else to go. a lot of thoughts came into your mind. all the efforts you did just to get away from him, just to start a new life, new beginning... it all went to the drain.

because no matter what you do, no matter where you go, you will never escape from him. yang jungwon will always manage to find you.

he crouched beside you, making your eyes met. it snapped you back to reality.

he smiled softly, his deep dimples showing. he raised his hands and pointed the edge of his knife touching your cheeks. he tilts his head then roam his eyes all over your face.

jungwon can't put to words how happy and excited he is now that he finally see you again. he's been in the dark for the past year because you are nowhere near him. he almost lose it. thank god, he found you.

“aw, my baby must've been so scared while i'm not beside her.” he says, totally delusional.

you kept your mouth shut, deciding not to talk back because you know exactly well how it will end.

tears kept streaming down your face. jungwon's eyes follows it before his other free hand came to wipe it off gently.

“it's okay now, my love. i'm already here to save you.” without warning, he carried you bridal style walking down the hallway to your bedroom.

you felt disgusted and scared being this close to him, but you have no choice. its either to go along with his craziness for a while and think of another escape plan, or be stabbed to death.

“nobody's going to take you away from me again. ever.” and he dropped a hot kiss at your forehead, placing you gently at the bed before he climbs, joining you. his arms wrapped around you as he rests his head over your chest, enjoying the sound of your rapid heart. it was beating so damn fast that anyone could tell that you are terrified, but for jungwon it was beating fast because of happiness that you see him, your lover.

eeunoia 2024 © all rights reserved.

[biblio-smia]

Ethan finding the reader after she'd been hurt by ghostface but she panics and tries to hit and run away from him in fear of thinking he's the killer and then he grabs her face, making her look at him and he stares deeply in her eyes and says: "i would never hurt you. I would never hurt you." suspiciously not debunking the ghostface allegations but just telling her he wouldn't? 🥺♥︎

spoilers for scream 6!

read part 2 here!

more than a feeling [ethan landry x reader]

Dim lights and a bright TV illuminating your face as it played your favorite horror movie, snacks popped into your mouth every once in a while. Your heart beat faster and the movie tensed just like you did, and then — a creak. Not from the movie.

You paused the movie quickly. Perhaps your paranoia was heightened from the scenes you had just watched but the sound was too close for comfort, a careful ear listening for any other sounds that could follow.

None did. You relaxed, picking up the remote to resume. Then you heard it — another creak, much clearer this time.

You shot up from your place, snacks spilling over. Your TV shut off as did your lights, flooding you in darkness. There was a tension in the air and a movement and there he was — the masked figure in the black robe, knife glinting in the moonlight that leaked in.

There was a horrible scream and you ran, into your apartment's tiny bedroom. You heard the footsteps thundering behind you, following you, slamming into the door just as you'd shut it. You reached for the handle and realized you'd never gotten around to fixing the goddamn lock.

You pressed your body weight against the door and the air went silent. Footsteps sounded and fists pounded at the door. The doorknob twisted and the door became a power struggle you couldn't win. You screamed as the door behind you was forced open, real-life horror paralyzing your body. You were helpless against your attacker.

Ethan entered the bathroom and you screamed again, your instincts pushing him away from you and picking up a lamp to defend yourself. Your chest was heaving with heavy breaths, tears welling in your eyes at the fear you felt seeing Ethan.

"Hey, hey, it's me," Ethan pleaded, taking a few steps closer.

You backed up, adrenaline pumping as you realized you were right against the wall. The fear in your eyes didn't let up yet despite your trembling, you didn't waver. You shut your eyes and turned away. If you were going to die, you did not want to see Ethan be the one to do it.

"Hey..." Ethan whispered softly, forcefully lowering your arms. "Look at me."

"Don't touch me," you gritted out tearfully, squeezing your eyes even harder.

You felt Ethan's face on your hand and your eyes opened at the shock, your vision blurry with tears as it was forcefully focused on Ethan's face. His eyes gleamed with sadness and determination, too.

"I would never hurt you," Ethan's lips quivered but his voice did not. "I would never hurt you." His stare into your eyes was unrelenting, brown eyes filled with sincerity.

A part of you screamed at you to run. But another part, the part that believed in Ethan more than it believed in you, screamed back louder.

You dropped your makeshift weapon and fell into Ethan's arms with a sob. Your shoulders shook as you dampened Ethan's shirt, his strong arms the only thing keeping you upright. You leaned on him to hold you up and tell you everything was going to be okay, even if it was a lie.

"I was so scared," you sputtered out once you were able to speak; the sudden realization that you did not want to die mixing with the realization that you very well could've.

"I know," Ethan replied, all too well. He placed kisses on your shoulder as you cried, large hands rubbing your back. "I'm sorry. I'll keep you safe," Ethan promised, only because he knew he could keep it.

You shuddered as the tears came to a stop. The fight had left you long ago but the adrenaline was only now starting to fade, leaving you feeling useless and tired.

You no longer wanted to think about the suspicious timing of Ethan's arrival. You refused to believe Ethan's shoes were the same ones the masked killer was wearing. It was dark and you were tired. And when you looked into Ethan's eyes, you could see nothing but love for you flowing out of them. He said he would not hurt you, yet you believed he could not hurt anyone.

You pulled Ethan's face down to press a kiss to his lips. You were not strong. You could not refuse him even if you didn't have faith in him.

"Please don't leave me," you begged, voice cracking once more.

"I won't," Ethan shook his head, hands tightly grasping your hips. "I promise."

He wondered if your request would stay the same once you knew what he had done. He had confidently believed your love for him would not waver if you knew, that it was as strong as his. He was realizing now that he could only pick one or the other, not both.

The answer was clear. You were not going to find out.

[dustofthedailylife]

That Which Is Forbidden

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Alhaitham x (gn!) Reader

Summary: Forbidden knowledge forever alters the memory and personality of a person and drives them insane. Everyone in Sumeru knew as much. Yet you conducted research on it anyway.

Tags: Angst, no comfort, hints at lore theories (see end note), depiction of psychosis due to the contact with forbidden knowledge

A/N: Help... this was just supposed to be a short drabble once again... but here we are sjdksdjl. Anyway, I just had this brainrot and it ate me up then had a writing frenzy and this is the result. Enjoy reading, haha!

You had been absent from the Akademiya for the last couple of days. At first, Alhaitham thought it was just you being neck-deep in some research again, as that wasn't an unusual occurrence. But after more than a week had passed without a single word from you, he was beginning to worry.

Sure, you were ambitious, but you were also a really affectionate person who usually took time out of their day to stop by to bring him some pastries from Puspa Café or just to visit him every now and then. And he would lie if he said he wouldn't enjoy your presence.

He decided to stop by your home after work one day. He knocked on your door once. Twice. But no one answered.

Looking through your window revealed nothing but an empty and all-engulfing darkness inside as well. No lights were on and it looked downright abandoned.

He tried to turn the doorknob of your front door and, to his surprise, it wasn't locked. He peeked inside and was immediately overcome with a bad feeling that made his stomach churn and the hair on his neck stand on end.

Paper was scattered all across the floor, the tap in your kitchen was running and letters that had been thrown through the mail slot piled up behind your door as well. Just, what happened here?

He crossed the living room, went to turn off the tap, and looked for any trace of you. That was when he heard a barely audible whimper come from the direction of your bedroom.

He immediately darted to the door and flung it open. But what he found made his heart shatter into a million pieces.

"No, no, no." he repeated like a quiet mantra of denial.

The walls were covered in cryptic words you had written on there with chalk. You were cowering in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth with red, glowing eyes as you held your head between your hands. Tears continued to stream down your face that was contorted into a pained grimace while whispering one sentence over and over: "The world is a lie."

He took a glance at your disorganized desk and spotted a document titled The Origins Of The World We Know.

He had seen this many times before. It was one of the most common fields of forbidden research people tried to conduct. Each and every one of them thought it wouldn't drive them to madness and they all ultimately failed. Driven to insanity by their ambitions and hubris. Gaining knowledge on things they shouldn't.

He walked over to you, pleadingly called out your name, and tried to grab your hand in an attempt to get through to you. In order to convince himself there was still something of you left in the husk of the person he perceived in this dark room.

"Hey, look at me! I know you can hear me. It'll be alright. We can fix this. I can fix this... please..." he pleaded.

But he knew it was a lie. A futile attempt to convince himself he could get you back. To make the heart in his chest hurt less. To prevent the tears from falling that he was dangerously close to spilling.

"You idiot. Why did you do this?", he quietly sobbed.

He knew would never get you back. Never would he see your smile, hear your horrible jokes or experience your enthusiasm for your projects again. He had to call the Matra, he knew he needed to, but it was as if his feet were cemented to the ground. And all he managed to do was stare at you in disbelief with a vision blurred by tears.

You were gone. Gone to where he couldn't follow. And he had to come to terms with it.

It was at that moment he realized that this was what it felt like to grieve for someone who was still alive.

End note: The sentence "The world is lie" that Reader says here is a reference to the lore theory that Teyvat is nothing but a "simulation". An artificially created world by some entity. Some things that could undermine this theory are for example that it is always a full moon at night or Scaramouche claiming the "sky is nothing but a gigantic hoax" in an event very early on in the game. Basically some "Trumanshow" type of stuff.

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[captain-mj]

Superhero au

Part 1

I really liked this idea so I'm making more of it! Sorry to disappoint

Ghost tried to get up and blood slipped through the shadows, spilling on the floor. His face had turned extremely pale and his lips had even gained a blue tint. 

Soap quickly pushed him back down, not missing the groan it got out of Ghost. “No. No. Stay.” He felt the flesh under his hands and it felt… strangely human. 

Soap had been born from a test tube and was then given to a nice family that they thought could raise him with the right morals. They succeeded. But Soap wasn’t human. Not at all. 

Ghost was. He could tell when they touched. Warmth and blood and his heartbeat filled Soap’s sense and he yanked away. 

“You’re human? Just a human? You do all of this. Fight all of these people, me and my team included and you’re just human?”

Ghost stared at him blankly. “You’re not?”

“No! Of fucking course not! I was made to fight off the fucking robots and aliens and weird shit that comes to butcher humanity and you’re telling me you’re just some guy?”

“Fucking hell. Yeah. I’m just human with basically a pet of shadows. That upset about it?”

Soap gaped at him for a minute before shaking his head. “You know Gaz? In my league?? He’s half human and therefore he gets priority over everything! We protect him first because he’s potentially fucking mortal. What your mother think if she knew you were out here killing yourself?”

“My mom’s dead.”

“...Dad?”

“Dead…”

“Any siblings?”

Ghost slumped into the couch and his head was hanging oddly since he couldn’t be bothered holding it up. “Johnny, I wasn’t lying when I said you were the only person I could go to… A bit pathetic, isn’t it? You guys think I’m some monster skulking in the shadows, huh?” His eyes were fluttering and Soap could actually hear Ghost’s heartbeat slowing. 

Soap rushed into action, quickly getting him…

What could he get him? He didn’t keep medical supplies on hand!

Soap used a tiny bit of reality bending powers to zap to a store and zap back. He pulled Ghost up, feeling how deadweight he was and feeling slightly panicked about it. Even the shadows were tugging and pulling at Ghost to try to wake him up. 

Honestly, they were… kinda cute. Just little guys that swarmed around Ghost to try to get attention. Soap managed to bandage the large slash across Ghost’s stomach and he fixed him so he was more comfortable on his couch. 

He understood enough about human biology to know what to do from here, but the waiting was horrible. 

After a while, he started cooking soup. It was just a simple vegetable soup. Tasted pretty bland but he was worried of putting too much spice into it. What if it killed him? Aren’t British people sensitive to seasoning?

Ghost’s breathing hitched for just a moment and Soap was by his side, watching him. He groaned when he saw him. “Too bright. Turn the lights down.” 

Soap dimmed himself considerably. “Sorry. I’ve made you food.” 

Ghost looked distrustful before relaxing again. He supposed he didn’t kill him in his sleep and that was enough. His mask was only lifted a little though so he could eat the soup. 

Soap noticed his hands shaking and he fought the urge to help him. Ghost ate like a starved man, wiping his face once it was done. “That was really good.” He swallowed it down and  Soap found himself fascinated by the bounce of his adam’s apple 

Soap dragged his gaze away. He knew his… quickness to get obsessed was rather creepy. His family tried hard to break him of it, but he just… couldn’t help it. A nasty habit. Even worse when it included people. 

Ghost put the bowl down and laid back. He didn’t fix his mask and his head lolled back, leaving tons of skin exposed. The shadows wrapped around Ghost and they… eyed Soap, clearly judging him. 

Soap quickly looked away, embarrassed. “You can stay as long as you need.”

“I won’t be long.”

“As long as you want then.” 

“I’ll be here even less.” Ghost smiled but he was already looking tired again. All the blood loss seemed to get to him. Soap slowly pulled him down to lay down the couch, surprised by how… pliable Ghost felt. He went to pull the blanket up for him but the shadows stopped him. Their grip was impossibly strong, to the point that Soap couldn’t fight against them at all. He frowned and yanked himself back but they didn’t budge. Only when Ghost opened his eyes did they retreat. “Why do you keep standing over me?”

Soap wasn’t sure how he could explain what just happened so he simply backed up quickly. “Goodnight!” He turned tail and retreated. 

Ghost was gone in the morning. Soap checked on him and found him laying in his bath at home, clearly trying to deal with his own wounds. He felt a rush of irritation but let it go. 

Gaz had sent him a few messages, one of them explaining that something had happened with Ghost and The Russian last night. Apparently the fight caused a lot of damage to other people. It seemed he had been asking for help with the situation before eventually texting him back that they have it under control but to talk to Price ASAP. Chances are the old man was mad at him for being so unreachable, but he didn’t really care at the moment. He had been busy with something more important. 

[yepmadness]

Yeah so. I gave into the urges. I’ve never felt the need to write fanfic. Ever. But here I am I guess.

I wrote this at midnight soooo, who knows how this is. Just wanted to write John thoughts because he’s my guy—so have this short little piece that I hope other people can enjoy too :)

Fic under the cut: 1.8k words.

The memory of Arthur’s silence will remain more prettifying than his agony, but that doesn’t mean that his pain … his terror as the light and awareness left his eyes—their eyes—is what John was hoping to hear.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for. Relief? A gasping thank you? Pride in saving him? Would it be foolish to wish that the talisman fixed everything? That he would just be okay? Perhaps it is. He thinks it is. He was never going to have that. It would be unreasonable to think he would get any of that, but any joy of him living, of John fixing this, was ripped away when Arthur opened his mouth. All John wanted was a sound. A single noise, a response, any response to prove the talisman worked. He got that. He should be happy that he got that.

But he isn’t.

And Arthur is silent again.

And the world is dark—but not as dark as it could be.

John does not know what to consider if Arthur didn’t end up in the dark world … when he died. That place was the last thing he wanted for Arthur, and yet, it was always treated as a last resort. Of a sort. Between them, spoken only aloud by Arthur, so long ago now. A place they would end up together in—if they failed. It was not a future he ever wanted, but it was a possibility, even if it was one he despised the thought of. But now he knows that if Arthur dies he does not follow, instead he is left here to deal with the repercussions. To play the marker for lifeless remains, having to have witnessed, and experienced death without a choice. What if there is no place meant for them? Past all of this. He can’t exactly bury Arthur himself, if it came to it, he wouldn’t let him stay dead after all. Graves are a place of permanency, one they do not deserve, because they can be forgotten. Especially here. But John would never forget. He would never abandon him like that.

He would find a way, like today. They are stuck in this together. They both have to make their own path through this, together.

Except his body is no longer a weighted grave for them both, a tomb he would never dare leave, it is breathing. Arthur is alive—and so they are both alive, whatever that may entail. He is tentatively okay. Arthur, is okay. As okay as he can be, as they both can be. What matters is that he is alive—what matters now is keeping him alive.

John has almost lost Arthur more than once, twice, more than three times, and he wasn’t always there to fix it but he has tried to be. He often was. Every moment where Arthur falls, where he becomes immobile and lost to John, he feels himself succumb to a fragility accustomed to human bodies. Accustom to loss and fear. It’s horribly quiet without him. Even so, he saves him, he saves them both—because Arthur trusts him, and he trusts Arthur. He loves Arthur, and he is going to tell him that. He has to tell him that. Even if they both know it, to an extent. This can’t happen again without John making sure he knows it.

But this is never going to happen again.

Because Arthur died this time, and he almost lost everything. John felt the cold stone visage that he left in his absence. There was nothing here without Arthur, more so than just the lack of connection to their body, but the emptiness was staggering. He was alone. Completely and wholly alone in a space meant for two.

He hadn't felt terror like that since Arthur slit his throat before the King—but this was worse. They’ve grown … so much—and John wasn’t there to see the aftermath of his actions back then. This, he was aware of, in every aching moment of uncertainty. This could have been prevented, couldn’t it? They didn't need to go after the talisman, but they did, and John didn’t see her—not until it was too late. It was his words that made her kill him—an appeal made to the wrong person. Arthur wouldn’t have died if made the right decisions. But he always seems to make the wrong ones, no matter how hard he tries, that he and Arthur have in common.

But Arthur is alive again, so why does it still feel like he is grieving?

Arthur wouldn’t have gotten hurt, wouldn’t have died, if John wasn’t here. But John wouldn’t be here, who he is now, without Arthur. Perhaps that would be more demoralizing if Arthur hasn’t so vehemently stated that he doesn’t want to be rid of John, that they are in this together, until they both get what they want … no matter what that may be. Perhaps that is just happiness, in the end, no matter what it looks like. From one harrowing experience to the next, until they may finally rest. Arthur wants him here, in spite of all the pain it causes, and will continue to cause. Because Arthur is his friend, and more than that, but he is his friend.

Arthur might even be … pleased with his actions. That he has found himself, both with him, and all that he has learned for himself. That he knows who he is, in truth, after everything.

Even if he knows who he is now, who he wants to be, who he will always be—he knows he will want Arthur there too. Arthur who has been there for all his mistakes, his achievements, their joy and sorrow. Arthur deserved to be here for this too, but he wasn’t, and maybe that was the push he needed. He used to defend so much of himself to Arthur, expectation after expectation, misstep after misstep. But Arthur also gave him hope, the sanctity of trust, showed him love and sacrifice, and remained alongside him even when that trust was broken. Even if some mistakes can’t be forgiven … They let them rest. Arthur lets it rest, so they can move on, so they can grow.

Is it so wrong to become … whole without him there to witness it? Or is that how it was always meant to be. To be entirely his own, must he first be alone?

He hopes not, it is a terribly bleak thought, besides it can’t be. Not in every single world, even if Kayne said he … doesn’t change much. There must be some place where there is more joy to be held in his ownership of self. A better circumstance that does not lace his pride in one of their darkest moments. In his choosing of hope. In his choosing of Arthur. One that doesn’t extend off of a devastating fear, off of death. He doesn’t know if he would wish to change this, he would have—if Arthur was truly gone—but he isn’t, so he will just have to see how this plays out.

He is going to share everything he said—everything he did, with Arthur. Because he deserves to be a part of it. Because they do this, all of this, together. Because he wouldn’t be here without him. Because together they are whole of two, just like he said, just like he will say.

It’s not as if he will ever fit into the messy expectations of what it means to be human, per say, but he doesn’t need to. All he needs is to perceive himself as what he wants to be—and Arthur’s perception helps to, even if he doesn’t always meet that. Humanity will be whatever he wants it to be. However he defines it to be. A neutral point, in it all. For he is not a piece to be slotted away, but a piece to be shelved along the masses, every individual part given a space of its own, and it is a space he deserves. A space he had long since earned.

A space they both deserve, to play their own key.

Because Arthur is alive—and so is he, in every sense of the word.

He’d panicked, when Arthur lost consciousness again, for a second he thought he had lost him once more. John had been so ready to reach for the talisman for a second time—for he wasn’t going to allow Arthur to leave, not yet, not ever. But he was breathing, albeit raggedly, but he was. John was going to keep his promises, he had to. He was going to take care of this, of him, and they were both going to be okay. Just like the times before this, and everytime that may come after, because Arthur isn’t going to die.

They’re going to get their happy ending, despite what she said, one where Arthur does not end up as a corpse.

An ending where they both know want they want, what they deserve, who they are.

Moving Arthur to the witch’s bed was difficult, to say the least, without exasperating the wound and the subpar stitching ... even if it has improved. John won’t allow it to get any worse—and Yorrick keeps telling him it’s survivable, or that he is more likely to survive anyway. Even so, John periodically checks to make sure Arthur is still breathing, that his heart is still beating.

Arthur is alive. He will stay alive.

He should stop worrying, Yorrick keeps spouting that he is arguably fine. He should stop.

But the reality is that he can’t, and he doubts will for a long while to come.

He is intimately aware of every minuscule movement Arthur makes, of every second of awareness he gains, and he coaxes him back to the present through all of it. A melody of promises, of reaffirming how he feels, telling Arthur everything over and over and over. It doesn’t matter if he is aware of what he says, if he hears him at all, John will repeat his words for as long as they are needed.

John never lets him arrive to the dread of waking up alone, speaking as soon as he stirs and recognition strike, each and every time. They are never going to be alone again, severed or separated, and John tells him that. Because they are whole together.

And eventually, when Arthur finds his speech, a gentle—hoarse voice long since worn by constant yelling born from the suffering of the waking. He repeats back everything John has been telling him through the suffering of uncertainty, of recovery and knowing and fear.

Arthur moves, ever so slightly, before John can protest—and he brushes his hand, John’s hand. It is a little thing, but it is such a stark constant to the stillness he had before. After the pain of it all, this is a relief, a reprieve. Arthur is alive and John can tell he’s weakly smiling, even if that is not something he can see, when he speaks up for the first time in hours.

John isn’t surprised by what he hears, he already knew, after all. They’ve both said it before. But John it is nice to hear regardless, because together, they are whole. A comfort to both him and Arthur both. He does not want to live, to experience life as it was shown to him, without him. He wouldn’t have gotten here without him. Together they are whole. Both their own wills, colliding, and depending on each other. Made by each other.

Arthur is alive.

Arthur is alive and he breaks the one sided silence by saying, “I love you too.”

Perhaps that, for now, is enough.

[danibee33]

Ending 2023 with thoughts of bodyguard!Simon x Reader

🩶🩶🩶

*4k+ words

+++

“Absolutely not.”

Dark eyes bore into yours through the mirror’s reflection, followed by a dismissive roll when you poke your bottom lip out, doing your very best to give the horribly broody man a believable pout,

”Pleeease?” You beg, turning to face him, “For one hour, just to see the ball drop- come on, I’ve never seen new year’s in Times Square!”

“No.”

Your pout turns downright petulant at his immutable tone, his eyes still fixed away from you- which, for whatever reason, makes you all the more upset. But the better question is, are you really still surprised?

Simon Riley had been your bodyguard for two years now, at the behest of your father, no matter how many times you tried to refuse or how many you fired, another one would just show up the next day. And never once had he been soft on you, never once had he actually entertained your spoiled demands-

But, in his defense, none of your previous bodyguards lasted for long, none of them had balls enough to actually handle you, but that was until you met Simon.

From your first meeting with him, you knew he wasn’t going to be an easy target. For the first few days he had been more like a shadow than anything, silently following you, only ever communicating through gruff, monosyllabic commands even when you goaded him relentlessly. He never took the bait, not once. That was almost reason enough to fire him in your mind, if you had to live with the man, he might as well be somewhat entertaining.

But again, maybe two months into your arrangement, he managed to surprise you-

Ok, you’ll admit, you were being particularly insufferable that day. You had to be moved again, taken to some off the grid, stupid safe house again, because there had been chatter of an attempt on your father’s life, and yours. Again.

”This is ridiculous.” You grumble, throwing your duffle bag on the ground, “The last thing I want on New Year’s fucking Eve, is to be playing Little House on the Prairie with you-” – you huff out a sigh when he breezes past you and your incessant complaining– “Does this shithole even have electricity?”

You’re promptly cut off by the kitchen light flickering to life, illuminating the cozy space around you- not that you would ever admit you think it’s cozy-

“Shocking.”

Again, he steps around you, not close enough to touch you - no, never - but close enough so that the air fills with his scent. It’s not necessarily a warm smell, you think it’s more spicy– wait, what are you saying? Ew, stop. –

He’s annoying and frustrating and the way he towers over you is also mildly a nuisance in its own right, because he just takes up so much fucking space you feel like you can’t breathe.

“Phone.” He grunts, looking down at you, only proving your point.

“Excuse me?”

“I know you have a second one. Hand it over.”

Oh.. the audacity. You cross your arms, squaring up to him- it didn’t matter that he could probably, definitely, break you in half, you really weren’t scared of him. Why would you be when you’ve seen way worse than some overgrown goth guy in a skull print balaclava? Real mature..

“Ya know..” You give him a dazzling smile, stepping just a bit closer, “If you say ‘please’, I might give it to you.”

Simon says your name, curt and gruff as always, a low warning in voice you’ve never heard before-

“Don’t.. Call me that.”

You didn’t like your name, because it reminded you of your deadbeat mother. What kind of asshole names her daughter after herself and then leaves anyway?

You’ve reiterated this time and time again, and still, time and time again, he uses it- almost like a little jab of his own, payback for all the silly names you’ve tried to get him to answer to.

“Phone.” He says again, his eyes flicking up to study the wall behind your head.

Reaching into your coat pocket, you pull out your burner, waiting for him to reach for it before jerking it away, “Ask nicely..”

This time he steps forward, his body crowding yours- he’s unnaturally warm, the expanse of his chest stretching the black long-sleeve with every calculated breath. And when he leans down, craning his neck to be at eye level, you no longer see the dismissive, unwavering indifference in his eyes as before. They’re burning, dark and bright at the same time, copper flecks glinting back at you,

“You think this is a game, Gemini?”

“I think it’s a paycheck for you, Ghost.”

You spit his old callsign with the same dripping disdain as he had said your longtime nickname, though, it’s hard to deny that you like the way it sounds in his brassy accent- Mancunian through and through.

But more than that, you think at this moment you’ve never seen so much emotion be conveyed just through another person’s eyes. They widen, his pupils constricting harshly before dilating again, a soft puff of air tickling across your face as his calm, cool facade momentarily cracks. You clench your jaw, unwilling to break eye contact first, instead watching as he collects himself, his eyelids settling lazily and the bright amber of his irises dulling-

“Yes, you are a paycheck. Is that what you want to hear?”, he’s still so close to you, his warmth becoming unbearable the longer his words burn into you, branding themselves on your skin, “You’re an entitled goddamned brat that’s gotten everything served to her on a silver platter, did you want to hear that, too? Or are you the only who gets to run your-”

Before your brain can catch up to what your body is doing, he’s already caught your wrist mid swing.

Fucking christ, were you actually going to slap him?! What’s wrong with you?

Simon’s giant hand wraps all the way around your arm, entirely unfazed by your lame attempt to retaliate. The man didn’t even flinch, didn’t have to look away from you- and for a fleeting moment, you swear you see amusement shining through his eyes,

“Careful, Gem..”, he’s almost whispering now, reaching down to pull the phone from between your fingers with his free hand, “Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.”

You come back to the present with a smirk on your lips, thinking about how your relationship with Simon changed after the safe house. He challenged you in a way no one had dared to before, and there was something about him putting you in your place that also changed the way you saw him.

He wasn’t so much your skulking shadow now as he was an extension of you- you stopped ignoring him, stopped arguing against everything he said (ok, maybe not everything, you couldn’t make his life too easy..)

Instead, you started wanting to include him in your life, and with every firm decline from him, it drove you all the more to do exactly that. His presence comforted you, and as time went on, you noticed the imperceptible shifts in his own demeanor towards you. Now he walked closer, opting to guide you through a crowd with his hand hovering at your lower back, or if he deemed someone too close, he would gently maneuver you to his side with a wide palm on your waist-

Eventually, he even got comfortable enough to exchange in your banter, more than willing to give as good as he got.

And you know it’s silly, god, it's outrageous and horrifically cliche, but you found yourself thinking about him more and more; more often you would just watch him. Sometimes sparing a glance to see his eyes already on you, notice how they always only linger long enough to make you wonder before moving on, turning his attention to something else.

It drives you mad. But, that’s just Simon.. You might be more than a few years younger than him, but you weren’t naive. You couldn’t fool yourself into thinking he might see you romantically. That’s actually absurd-

You storm into the oversized hotel closet, pulling the doors closed with a huff when he doesn’t even blink in your direction- always so focused.

Hm.. Fine. You’ve pushed him before, might as well try your luck again.

A smile pulls at your lips at the thought. So maybe you weren’t naive, and you didn’t hate your bodyguard anymore, but you never claimed or promised to have changed your bratty ways-

—---

When you step back out into the room, you don’t see Simon right away, but you hear his voice from the next room in the suite- probably on the phone. But, that’s good, gives you time to apply your favorite lip stain, a rich wine color that compliments your skin tone beautifully, before you see him round the corner.

And for the second time in your tenure with him, you watch his eyes widen at the sight of you. Your body hugged in soft velvet, the all black mini-dress fitting more like a second skin, accentuating every single dip and curve, and the way you left it unzipped in the back gives him the most tantalizing view of your figure underneath,

“Would you mind helping me?” You ask, giving him a wide-eyed look in the mirror, “Please?”

“I told ya, we’re not goin’.”

You shrug your shoulders, straightening the diamond-studded choker that decorates your neck so prettily, “Are you going to stop me, Simon?”

He moves with steady, slow strides and you have a hard time not gawking as he closes the distance, his frame dwarfing yours in the reflection, “‘M not doin’ this with you again, Gem.”

A quiet gasp parts your lips when you feel his fingertips on your lower back, the calloused skin causing a ripple effect of hot chills to rush through you as he pulls at the zipper, “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

The intensity behind his gaze feels tangible, the way you watch him follow the line of the dress, eyes dancing over your bare shoulder and neck, “Don’t be daft, sweetheart.. It doesn’t suit you.”

Another, breathier, sound escapes you when you feel those same fingers higher now, grazing over the smooth skin there to pull your hair out of the way. And maybe, you could convince yourself he’s just being thorough, maybe even believe that he doesn’t enjoy the goosebumps that breakout under his touch, or how the way he watches you so intently is only because you look ridiculous, staring back at him with an embarrassing mix of shock and lust and confusion-

He finishes the task, but when he doesn’t move away, and doesn’t take his eyes off you, you’re reminded so much of that night in the safe house. Locked in another agonizingly silent tug of war, both of you pushing and pulling to see who would back down first. Testing all the limits, every boundary.

“Thank you.” You hum, smoothing your hands over the rich fabric, needing to do something to break the tension without outright losing, “What do you think?”

“Wear whatever you want, Gem..” Simon shakes his head, stepping away from you like he only just realized how close he still was, “Still not goin’.”

Without missing a beat, you fluff your hair one more time, refusing to let him see the way your eyes slip shut at the lingering smell of his cologne before sauntering to the next room where your coat is hung.

“Gem.”

There it is.. You smile at the unquestionable authority in his voice, your name spoken as a warning. Maybe you should tell him how much you like it when he gets like this- no, right now, you just need to focus on grabbing your clutch and room key. Stealing glances here and there to see him holding the newest paperback novel in his hands. But, you also know he’s not reading.

So, he wants to play, too.. How perfect.

Without a word, you head straight for the door, only just getting it cracked open before it’s slammed shut, Simon’s hand splayed out over the dark wood,

“I’m not in the mood.” He grits out, refusing to meet your eyes.

“Get out of my way.”

A sinful chuckle tumbles from behind his mask, a sound that simultaneously has you clenching your thighs and seething with anger in one fell swoop,

“Or what?”

You turn to look up at him, the height difference between you still overwhelming, no matter how high your heels are-

“Or you can find another paycheck. You’re my bodyguard, Simon, you’re not in charge here and I want to go out. So, you can either do your job and keep me safe, or leave.”

His arm is still propped against the door over your head, the very corners of his eyes crinkling and the black fabric over his mouth twitching. HE’S SMILING? All right, maybe you do still hate him, or at least you can hate him right now. With both hands on his chest, you attempt to shove him back, to move him, to do something, anything. But you might as well be trying to move a brick wall for all the results your struggling gets you.

“Let. ME. OUT.”

On the last word, he moves with frightening speed to hold both of your wrists in one hand, the other wrapping around the nape of your neck, “Enough.”

Suddenly, you’re looking up at him, his fingers firmly cradling the back of your head, your chest pressed tight against his. It causes you to blank, every ounce of fight draining out of you as you grow docile in his hold,

“Why do you have to make this so fuckin’ difficult, Gemini?”

—-

Simon’s practically panting above you, his self-control teetering on the very precipice, your proximity doing absolutely nothing to quell the insatiable feelings he’s had for you.

He’s done so well, never once letting himself slip after the safe house. He always, always maintained the self-imposed professional boundaries, if anything, he’s prided himself on his unfailing dedication.

Be it in the military, or now in his retired life, where he had the most unfortunate fate of being hired by your father. He remained unshakable.

Until you.

You had tested every single limit he ever knew he had, and then some. And when he pushed back, you relented, though you never truly gave him a moment of peace. No, of course not, why on earth would you possibly make his job easy?

But then, months turned into a year, and that turned into two, and slowly, everyday, he felt parts of himself he hadn’t thought existed anymore coming back to life. Parts that he thought died with every person he loved and lost, and it scared him to experience those feelings again. And as if that weren’t bad enough, he had somehow fucked around and fallen for the one fucking person he most definitely should not have.

But, in longer than he can remember, he’s smiled again, and laughed, and the world didn’t look so gray anymore with you in it. You were a pain in his arse, you complained and griped so fucking much, and yet, he’s never met another person apart from Johnny who actively chooses to see the best in humanity. And he’s loathed himself for hoping to introduce the two of you one day-

You’re still looking up at him, with those same eyes he’s dreamed of a thousand times, and those lips so sweetly parted, fuck.. You would look so beautiful underneath him-

“Simon..”

His eyes flutter closed at the sound of his name, tongue darting out to wet his lip, the tip greeted with the thin fabric of his mask instead. He forces himself to breathe, inhale - exhale - inhale -

Fuck it.

In one smooth sequence, he releases your wrists, using the now free hand to tug the balaclava off his head entirely. And as much as you would like to fully study every feature of his face, a face you’d never seen- it’s hard to think of anything when he sweeps you into a kiss so hot and bright it steals the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, but you think you feel his doing the same- his arm circling your waist, pulling you closer, your bodies molding together like they were always meant to be that way.

“Does this mean we still can’t go?” You smile against his lips, teeth clacking when you feel him do the same, only his laugh is full of reverence and exasperation,

“Fuckin’ hell, Gem.. shut up.”

Simon leans down, wrapping his big hands under your thighs and hoists you up without so much as a heavy sigh- it’s enthralling, and something you’ve never experienced; to have a man willing and able to lift you like it’s nothing. But he does it without ever breaking your kiss, walking you blindly toward the main bedroom and savoring every moment he gets in between.

Finally, you’re forced apart when he lays you on the fluffy, white comforter- getting his wish of seeing you lying beneath him, your hair fanned out around your head, your lips kiss-swollen and your cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink. It’s better than his dreams and wishes and fantasies, so much more perfect than anything his broken mind could possibly conjure up.

“You’re so bloody beautiful..”

The admission seems to shock him as much as it does you, looking up at him from this angle. And for the briefest moment, it sends a wave of insecurity washing through- having him studying you so intently. But just as quick as it comes, it’s gone.

How could you ever doubt yourself when he’s looking at you like that, deep brown eyes raking over you slowly, thoroughly, the angular jaw you’ve only seen in glimpses clenching and relaxing over and over-

You sit up, scooting to the edge of the bed so you could let your hands roam languidly up the breadth of his torso, eyes following the path until they meet his again, “Please kiss me..”

That’s all he needed to push you back down into the mattress, this time nestling his hips right between your legs, his cock straining against the dark dress pants, his body desperate for stimulation, desperate to feel you-

“I’ve thought about you like this..” He coos, planting kisses over the corner of your lips, moving down your jaw and neck, “Thought about how fuckin’ gorgeous you would look under me.”

His words alone cause you to whine, biting your lip the lower he goes, “But.. you never said anything-”

You gasp when he bites the fleshy swell of your breast, laving at the tender spot until there’s an angry purple mark left behind,

“Couldn’t.”, he lifts up again, hiking the thick material of your dress up to sit around your waist, “You were just s’posed to be a job, a paycheck,” the sound of your tights ripping fills your ears, his voice growing huskier at seeing the dark spot already soaking through your underwear, “Fuck-”

A lewd moan is ripped out of you as he too quickly repositions himself, kneeling beside the bed in order to pull you right to edge, burying his nose and mouth against your cunt- tonguing at the growing wet spot like it might be the last thing he ever does.

“Mm..” He growls, looking up at you, “Can I take these off, love?”

Could you actually be dreaming? Because it sure as fuck feels too good to be true, having a gorgeous man’s face settled so perfectly between your thighs, so close to getting exactly what he wants, but he’s looking at you with those stormy, pleading eyes,

“Please?”

Your head lolls back into the blanket, “Yes! Holy fuck, Simon- yes- ah-”

Needing no more prompting from you, he has your underwear off and his mouth on your pussy with terrifying efficiency, lapping at you with deep, resonating groans- fingers digging into the fatty parts of your thighs just hard enough to feel good, just painful enough to elicit more shrill moans and whimpers from you.

“You taste like heaven, babygirl..”, he croons, slipping two thick fingers inside you with ease, “Already so wet f’me, hm? Thought about me like this a time or two, have ya?”

You nod, your hips bucking as he slowly thrusts his digits a bit deeper every time, the tip of his tongue working your clit,

“C’mon. Use your words, Gem.”

And you really want to use your words, because you have so many, very choice, words for him, though you don’t imagine any of them are what a respectable young woman should be saying- but you also never claimed to be ‘respectable’ exactly. So instead, you tangle your fingers through his honey blonde waves, tugging and pushing to get him back to that sweet spot,

“Yes.. God- yes..”

He adds a third finger, and the sting of him stretching you makes your eyes water, but the pleasure it brings afterward has the unbearable coil deep in your belly ready to snap, “Simon..”

Fucking hell. He could come for you just like this if he’s not careful..

He’s better than that though, pushing his own feverish desire aside so he could have the privilege of you coming on his face- “That’s it, baby..”, he suckles at your bundle of nerves, eyes trained on your heaving chest, lost in the way you sound, in the way you taste, the way you smell-

When you finally fall over the edge, it’s violent and drawn out, your jaw falling slack and your muscles contracting- thighs struggling to clench shut around his head until they fall limply to the side, your brain lost in a beautiful, blissful haze. Only forced back to the moment when he flattens his tongue, cleaning you up with one slow, long stripe.

He raises up, crawling over you once again, his stubbled cheeks glistening, the sight of his dimpled smile etching itself into your memory- and you can’t help it, you reach up to cup his cheek, grinning back at him,

“You’re so pretty, Si..”

The half slurred compliment makes him laugh, but it’s not a mean or condescending sound, no, it’s sweet and wonderful, and you think you’ll always crave the sound of it; crave his touch, crave him looking at you like this.

“That right?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together as he lifts you so gently, unzipping your dress so he can pull it off completely.

You tug at his belt, your senses coming back to you and your body already begging for more, “Mhmm..”, you hum, watching him unbutton his shirt to reveal a sight worthy of being put on display at a museum. He’s impeccably built, just as you always imagined, bulging muscles defined by soft lines and mouth watering swells and dips, his body carved by years of hard work, littered with scars, silvered and puffy- each one telling a different story.

And for a moment, he allows you to trace your fingers over them, over all the parts of himself he’s deemed ugly and unfit long ago- but seeing the adoration in your eyes could almost make him believe otherwise. Make him believe he wasn’t this Frankenstein’s monster of sorts, torn apart and put back together with pieces that just never seem to look quite right.

He stands only long enough to push his pants and boxer briefs down, but when he settles over you again, you see the hesitation in his eyes, see an uncertainty behind them that seems so out of place for him. Because you’ve never seen your bodyguard hesitate even for a second, his every move, every decision, has always been without question - exuding confidence and prowess unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed.

But for you, in this moment.. He waits. For you, he’s cautious and tender, allowing you full control-

“Simon..” You frame his face in your hands, pulling him down for a long, languid kiss, “I want you.. Please.”

—---

You watch Simon’s fingers intertwine with yours, moving slowly above you as you stay nestled against his side. It’s an idle movement, just him studying the way his hand moves with yours, comparing the size of them, his heart beat solid and strong in your ear-

“Shit-” He exclaims, leaning over to grab his phone from the nightstand, “Come on.”

Too suddenly, you lose his immense warmth- watching in confusion as he clambers out of bed, tugging on his pants,

“What?” You look around the room like you’ve maybe missed something, his hand grabbing yours again, “Simon- what’s going on?”

“Get dressed-”

“Why?!”

He leans down, capturing your lips with a smirk, “You wanted to go out, right?”

——

A small, very shallow, part of you is only slightly angry at the fact that your gorgeous dress is still laid in a heap on the hotel room floor as Simon guides you through the crowd- but, it’s quickly swept away by the feel of his arm around you, the warmth of his jacket draped over your shoulders shielding you from the chilly New York air.

You watch the towering digital clock countdown as you go, your eyes bright and your smile wide, New Year’s Eve in Times Square-

It’s just as otherworldly as you imagined, the energy of the crowd infectious, the lights and sounds, the music, the people, it’s spectacular.

Simon stops, pulling you to stand right in front of him, his arms caging you in protectively, lovingly, holding you against him as the faceted ball begins to drop. And for a split second, it’s like the world goes silent, and all there is the feel of his embrace, his scent, his voice. Him.

And you won’t know this, he won’t tell you for years to come, but he doesn’t watch the ball for a second- he doesn’t notice the people, or the lights, the music, all of it fades away when he looks down at you. No, there would never be a more glorious sight than you, your smile, your skin flushed and glowing- nothing could feel as good as your hands holding him, nothing could possibly be better than the way you look up at him as the clock strikes midnight.

Nothing will ever compare to the feeling of your lips on his, the taste of your smile, the deafening roar of the crowd, the confetti and snowflakes that catch in your hair-

“Happy New Year, Simon..”

[what-gs-watching]

“Breathe it in baby, because I am EXUDING and I am one of a kind.”

Okay so, I fell behind in Doctor Who because I’ve been job searching for like seven fucking months and a few weeks ago one came up that could be a good fit so I was trying to super focus on doing well through the interview loop even though I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to amount to anything because I’d gone through a ton of interview loops by that point but 

Y’ALL, I GOT THAT JOB! My horrible, soul-sucking ordeal is finally over, the paperwork is signed and I have a start date and everything has settled. Which means, I can finally catch up on 15 and my girl Ruby. 

Let’s gooooo!

73 Yards

Alright, I know there was upset around this episode because everyone is like ‘what the eff does it mean?’ but ooooh, I really enjoyed it. It was creepy as HELL and it just never stopped.

Wherein, Ruby and the Doctor pop over to Wales (this mofo really spends much too much time in Wales) and while on a cliffside, he steps on something AGAIN!!!!! and everything goes wrong.

Baby boy, did you not learn anything from the mine? Do you not take a scan around when you land somewhere, or are you just too excited about being adorable in your little yellow jacket and the hat and the stripes? You look fantastic, I get it, but peep down at those cute ass boots once in a while. 

I have to say, I’m impressed by Millie Gibson in this episode. It’s a lot of pressure to put on her to carry the entire thing, and she did it really well. How devastating is it to have your best friend disappear, realize you’re being followed by some crazy apparition that literally scares anyone and everyone away from you? 

Without any explanation. That’s the part that gets me. She becomes a piranha with this horrific THING attached to her and everyone she begs for help leaves her. Eve her MOTHER! It’s a mind fuck.

And I really wasn't sure where the episode was going, so I was excited for Kate Lethbridge-Stewart to show up, I was like ‘yeah let’s get UNIT into this mess’ and then she’s affected too and oh hell, that’s like, the last line of defense. 

Ruby, completely and utterly alone. And they just make her live out her entire life like that. And she tries to fix it, of course, the whole thing with the Welsh politician was a really good attempt babe, I would have done the same thing but then that doesn’t even work?!

And so everyone is all ruffled because, what was the point of it, really? What was the message, what was the meaning??!

Was she actually the apparition? If not, who was she? And then, it just ends and none of it ever really happened at all and there’s absolutely no resolution. 

Why do we love making companions live these horrible alternate timelines? How many times did we make Amy live different lives? I feel like she at least remembered most of them. But with Ruby in this one, there’s no lesson. She learns nothing, neither of them do.

But still, I loved the creeping sense of unease, so I guess I don’t really need all the details.

Dot and Bubble

I’m simultaneously annoyed and intrigued by shows that keep telling me allegories about the dangers of technology and how dependent we are on it. So far, it’s mostly been annoyed, but oh my god y’all really hit the nail on the head with this one.

Wherein, a bunch of privileged youths are existing in a perfect society that enables them to basically LIVE social media, literally surrounded by a bubble that feeds them other people’s inanity all day long. 

One thing I have to say about this episode is that the angles are something else. Lindy, the girl we’re seeing everything through is alternately absolutely beautiful, and kind of weird looking? She’s got perfect social media face. Is that a weird thing to say? I stand by it. It’s like she’s covered in the perfect ring light. It was distracting. And probably part of the point. 

Basically, this girl has no idea that there are monsters in her fake ass society that are eating her friends, and she is very not into the Doctor and Ruby trying to help her. Like, they’re trying to get her out of danger, only to find out that she doesn’t have any idea how to walk without wearing her ‘bubble’ is so deeply disturbing. Watching this girl say “forward” to convince herself to move is amazing and upsetting on a lot of different levels. 

And then out of nowhere, media star Ricky September shows up and he literally starts giving her directions like the bubble would do and I’m like ‘okay that’s interesting’, we’re subverting the idea that this incredibly popular personality is a vapid idiot because it turns out he READS and he’s taking pity on this girl that is literally a shell of a person without the aid of technology. And it was so sweet. 

Basically, this episode is infuriating because at one point Lindy hugs Ricky and tells him she’s never been hugged before (even though we know she at least has a mother) but THEN later, when the Doctor tells her everyone is being killed in alphabetical order and Ricky is trying to fight off the dot that is literally trying to murder her, she RATS HIM OUT. His real last name starts with C, he should be dead already. 

Confusingly innocent and absolutely cut throat at the same time? I guess if you live your entire life exclusively online you don’t go through things that would actually cultivate compassion? Which honestly, is not an unfounded idea. That should make y’all feel queasy. 

And to make it all exponentially worse, they flat out tell the Doctor they can’t accept his help because he’s not “one of us”. Just straight up, really gross, really overt racism. 

15, honey, I get it, but please  don’t beg racists to let them save you. You’re too good for this world, babes. That gut wrenching shout though? Absolute perfection. And the tears. You marvelous thing. 

TL;DR Humanity is disgusting and technology will continue to feed our uglier tendencies. I felt that one deep in my damn bones.

Rogue

Okay hear me out. This episode is EVERYTHING. 

Y’all know I have a thing for boys in love. And I also have a thing for the Doctor flirting with basically anyone. I don’t particularly have a thing for the regency era necessarily, but I AM about incredible costumes and ridiculous plots. 

I was honest to god squealing this entire episode.

Wherein, 15 and Ruby show up to a ball in 1813 so they can pretend they’re in Bridgerton, meet a handsome young bounty hunting rake, talk a LOT about cosplaying, and deal with bird???! aliens???

There are a million details I loved in this one. The orchestra playing an instrumental version of “Bad Guy” and then later “Pokerface”. The absolutely incredible suit they put on 15. 

Not to mention: JONATHAN GROFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Loved him in Mindhunter, loved him in Glee (before it got absolutely ridiculous and when I didn’t know any better) but holy shiiiiiit I would watch him as Rogue every. damn. day. 

River Song will always and forever be my number one love for the Doctor, but I was absolutely immediately charmed by Rogue. I’m not sure why, and it doesn’t really matter. 

How absolutely adorable was the psychic paper displaying “you’re hot”? Or the bit where the Doctor figures out Rogue’s ship is wired for sound and the system blares “Can’t Get Your Outta My Head” and he lip syncs along while Rogue dies of embarrassment? 

The entire episode was just two dorks flirting and my heart was so happy. I don’t know why, but when 15 started singing “Pure Imagination” while showing Rogue around the Tardis, I thought I was going to die. 

I love that he can be so carefree and fun and adorable, but also extremely emotional and unafraid to show it. We’ve seen so many different facets of 15 already, and his obvious and silly flirty self is definitely my favorite part so far. 

Also, the fact that the Chuldur (again, bird aliens I guess? Sure) were basically just a race that went around cosplaying other people was so camp. I’ve seen a lot of posts about how the newest theory is that 15 and Ruby are somehow in some weird sort of tv show universe this season, and this episode definitely fuels that a little bit. 

And maybe y’all are onto something with that, but I honestly don’t care to figure out what’s going on, I just want to be along for the ride.

Of course though, we can’t have an episode that’s all fun and games. The Doctor went all in on shooting his shot with Rogue and it distracted him and it put Ruby in trouble, because of course. Maybe we should stop promising random mothers that their kids are gonna be safe? Doctor, baby, you know that they aren’t always going to be safe. 

But if you weren’t charmed by Rogue before that point, you had to jump on his bandwagon when he pushes Ruby out of the transport trap and just says “Find me” before he’s blasted away with the stupid birds to some far off dimension. 

BALLER MOVE, baby boy. Baller ass move. Because ya know what? 15 is not going to be able to resist that. And you know how I know? Because that boy put your ring on his finger and I will ship the fuck out of you two forever and ever because of that. 

The doctor has definitely been known to  kiss people he’s only just met, but this time might be in the top 3. I thought Madame de Pompadour was good? Nah girl, ya bumped down. This kiss was better. Just me sat on the couch with heart eyes for days.

So yeah, I think I’ve decided I like letting a few stack up so I can watch them in a row. Watching them boomerang between crazy scenarios and thinking about all of that at the same time is more fun. 

I’m loving this season. It’s ridiculous, it’s different, it’s a bunch of things I didn’t even realize I wanted. Gimme more pleaaaaase.

[jahayla-parker]

Note/confession: this was an unplanned fic that I’ve written to shamelessly offer myself some semblance of comfort (or as I told @ell0ra-br3kk3r , remedying me needing my Freddy fix after the events of my trip; which you’ll more or less read about below- except unlike y/n I don’t actually have Freddy to comfort me 😭)

Bite Me : Freddy Carter x Reader

Description: 2.3k wc, y/n is fortunate enough to be looked after by her wonderfully caring husband Freddy after her recent vacation took an unexpected turn. Fluff, hurt/sick comfort.

Warnings: not proofread yet, one curse right at the start, mentions of bug bites and bugs, mentions of bug bite symptoms and treatment (including prescriptions and other medical settings & topics), minor mentions of a small amount of blood (from scratching too hard).

“Fuck me,” y/n whimpered, her body feeling truly miserable. She had been on a trip with friends to several beaches over the last week and now she was covered in bites. Prior to being bitten by them, she’d never even heard of no see ums. But, that didn’t stop them from aggressively attacking all areas of y/n’s body.

Freddy frowned as he watched y/n twitch as she tried to restrain herself from scratching at the inflamed, red, aggravated bites. He’d been bitten by the particular bug only once before and only a handful of marks formed that time, but he still knew how terribly itchy the welts could be. He even recalled having wished to have been bitten by mosquitoes instead as no see ums are far worse. As such, Freddy felt horrible for his wife.

“We’re almost there, darling,” Freddy encouraged softly. He reached across the console to grab Y/N’s hand, his thumb cautiously rubbing the back of it while avoiding the multiple bites present there. When y/n hummed begrudgingly in response, Freddy gazed over at her and his eyes once again tried to scan just how many bites she was covered in. He’d tried to count them upon her return home, but she just wanted to sleep as she’d gotten in at the early hours of the morning today. Unfortunately, as Freddy suspected, y/n had only been able to get a couple hours of sleep before waking up due to the pain and discomfort. Therefore, he was now driving her to the urgent care clinic nearby to be seen.

Y/n had initially been against Freddy’s idea, feeling like she was utilizing resources that would be better used by others. But, after Freddy had made it a point to authentically count out each of the bumps on her right lower leg, she quickly changed her mind. Freddy had only counted the bites on the area between the base of her right knee and the top of her right ankle. Yet, his counting was cut off by y/n when he’d reached 146 bites in that area alone.

It wasn’t uncommon for no see ums to bite in bunches with multiple bites on an area. But, Freddy hadn’t seen anything like this before. He could only imagine the amount of bugs that had ventured onto her legs as they decided to make a meal of her. Especially when he realized it wasn’t just her lower right leg that was bitten countless times. Instead, Freddy quickly realized the bites also more than covered y/n’s upper right leg, all the way to her bum. His despair over her predicament increased when he’d seen that the red itchy bites had mapped all over both legs in the same manner, the fronts and backs of her arms from her hands to her shoulders, her neck, chest, and entire upper and middle back areas as well. As ridiculous and impossible as it was, Freddy wished he could’ve protected his lovely wife from such an awful occurrence.

Freddy knew he couldn’t reasonably expect to count every single bite, much less when driving. But, the simple fact that when he’d looked over to do so he’d seen her agony broke his heart. Freddy sighed as she clutched her hands tightly together to keep from scratching futilely at the marks. After stopping at the next light, he leaned over and pressed a sympathetic kiss to her forehead. “I know you’re miserable, but you’re doing so well, love,” Freddy encouraged.

Freddy prepared himself to try and convince y/n to take the vile-tasting liquid medication the doctor had passed her way. Only, before he could even open his mouth, she’d confirmed with the doctor the appropriate process and then promptly downed the cup in one go. In fact, Freddy’s suspicions of the severity of her condition were confirmed when she went for a second toss of the contents in the cup to be sure to not miss a single drop of the remedy. He brushed some hair from her face and handed her a glass of water to wash down the aftertaste, hating that was all he could do for her.

Freddy listened to the doctor’s advice very carefully, asking plenty of follow-up questions to ensure he knew how to best help his wife. He’d easily memorized that in addition to the liquid steroid medication she’d just taken, the doctor was prescribing y/n some very strong prescription antihistamines to take twice a day at home. Freddy had discussed bathing and showering restrictions with the provider, making mental note to not let her take anything other than a cold water bath or shower until the welts were resolved. He had to come to terms with the notion that y/n’s severe discomfort might not be fully remedied for over two weeks even with the treatment offered. Freddy hated that idea and wanted to cry when he saw y/n holding back tears over the thought of this lasting that long.

“Oohhh,” y/n whined, a sarcastic laugh exiting her lips after. “Gaaahhh, Freddyyyyyy,” she cried out. She shifted around in her husband’s passenger seat unable to get comfortable. “It, it iiiitttcchhesss”.

Freddy’s eyes flickered from the road briefly to look at y/n. He sighed deeply with a frown. “I know,” he replied solemnly. “But-, no darling, no scratching,” Freddy directed, pulling her arm away from her thigh.

“But,” y/n croaked, tears in her eyes. She couldn’t believe how insanely itchy her entire body was. Not to mention, there was also this simultaneous burning sensation from the bites and she was exhausted from not sleeping. Y/n genuinely didn’t think she’d been that uncomfortable before without being in excruciating pain. “It itches so badly,” y/n pointed out weakly.

With his eyes turned back onto the road, Freddy took the hand of Y/N’s he’d grabbed moments before and brought it to his lips. He placed a loving kiss on the backside of her hand. “I’m truly sorry, darling,” he acknowledged, “but scratching, well, it’ll only make it worse”.

“Oh bite me,” y/n exclaimed, using her other hand to scratch her ankle aggressively.

Freddy sighed and shook his head. He understood her desire (to the extent he was capable of that is since her situation was far worse than anything similar that he’d ever had). But, he still despised the idea that she could be harming herself by doing so. As such, he tapped one of the few clear spots on her leg and lightly shook his head at her. “Besides,” Freddy murmured, opting for another approach to his response. “I’m afraid things biting you is what got you into this situation, no?” He teased playfully, earning an unamused glare from y/n despite her small whimperish laugh.

Y/n grimaced as the itchy sensation once again fluttered through her body from head to toe and back. She began rubbing her legs against each other in hopes of having the friction ease the desire to actually scratch the bites. Y/n knew it still wasn’t likely an ideal solution, but something had to give, and at least this way she wasn’t risking opening the welts.

“Darling, it’s time,” Freddy said as he entered their living room. He quickly passed y/n her favorite water bottle and one of her newly prescribed antihistamines. They both sighed in minimal relief as she visibly swallowed the pill. It was obvious they were both hoping the pill would start to help her discomfort soon.

“Thank you,” y/n said quietly. She set the water bottle down, a small smile forming as she realized her husband had explicitly cleaned her emotional support water bottle for her to use. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, noticing the confusion the sentiment made form on Freddy’s face. “I’m being difficult and whiny,” y/n admitted, “I know I am, but-“.

“Y/n, love,” Freddy coed warmly. He cupped her face; partially choosing that contact option because it was the only part of her body he could touch without further igniting the itching feeling constantly inside of her. “You can whine and complain all you want,” he said tenderly. “You’re in an absurdly unpleasant and downright desolate state,” Freddy frowned in sympathy. “You’re not being difficult by wanting to, or actually scratching, you are fighting the urge the best you can. I know that.” “Why don’t we watch something on the telly to distract you a bit?” Freddy suggested considerately.

“I am freaking miserable,” y/n said in a singsong voice. She laughed humorously as she slid her shorts back on over her irritated skin, restraining from scratching the bites. She heard Freddy’s sympathetic sigh over the faint sound of his footsteps as he made his way to their bathroom. Y/n turned on the sink faucet, groaning as she prepared to wash her hands with warm water for sanitary purposes despite knowing how much worse her symptoms would be as a result.

Just as the water trickled onto Y/N’s hand, she noticed a small bug on her left at the edge of the vanity corner. It was some small black bug, but that’s all she could tell from that angle. As such, she reached over and moved the decorative item that was blocking her eyes from determining what kind of bug it was that had broken into her home. Y/n quickly realized it was a tiny spider as it began dangling from a thin web against the wall.

Without hesitating or even thinking, Y/N smacked her bare palm against the bug. The realization of what she’d just done hit her instantaneously as she pulled her hand back and saw the squished black mark on the white bathroom wall. “I don’t fuck around with bugs anymore,” she declared thoughtlessly. Y/n didn’t realize how unhinged her behavior or remark were until she heard the way Freddy’s chuckles reverberated around their restroom.

Y/n swallowed thickly as she hurriedly washed her hands. She tried to hide her bashful expression as she spun to where Freddy was in order to dry her hands. Only, it seemed he’d noticed and it only fueled his laughter further. Y/n shot him a fake glare that quickly shifted as she burst into genuine laughter of her own over her actions.

“Bloody hell,” Freddy laughed. He snaked his arms around y/n’s lower back to avoid most of her bites. “I am absolutely enamored by you, y/n/n,” he confessed with an amused grin. “And, quite impressed, you not only didn’t ask me to kill the spider for you, but you used your bare palm to do so on your own and then trash talked it,” Freddy said as he shook his head.

Y/n giggled and cautiously rested her head against Freddy’s shoulder. She made sure she was positioned so that none of the areas of her skin that were covered in bites touched her husband. Not because they were contagious, as they weren’t, but rather to keep her symptoms from increasing. “Let’s not talk about that again,” y/n hummed bashfully.

“Oh, but, darling, we have to talk about that all again still,” Freddy argued playfully. He laughed lightheartedly at y/n’s exaggerated groan, knowing the giggles that followed it showed her true feelings over the situation.

Freddy gasped whisperingly as he entered the bedroom. He figured it was taking y/n too long to change into her pajamas, so he’d wandered that way to check on her and possibly offer some help. Only, it seemed her discomfort had intensified to the point she’d caved into the burning desire to scratch at the inflamed bites. For, Freddy had entered the bedroom to find y/n rapidly scratching any and all areas of her body she could get her hands on; her hands flying around as they moved between areas with aggressively intense speed and force. Yet, it was the already visible result of such actions that made Freddy uncontrollably gasp.

“Oh love,” Freddy whined quietly. He could only imagine how bad her body was feeling if she had resorted to painfully dragging her nails all over her skin in hopes of even temporary relief. Especially as she’d done so to the extent that several of the once red-from-inflammation welts were now red from the trace amount of blood that had begun to leave the now open bites.

Instead of scolding y/n for something he knew was a last resort effort for her, Freddy exited the bedroom and quickly returned with a wet towel. “Let’s clean these off with a cold cloth, yeah?” He suggested as he knelt down before her seated position at the edge of their bed. “Place your hands on my shoulders please, darling,” Freddy requested, planning on using that as a way to keep her from continuing to violently scratch at her body. “Perfect, thank you,” he hummed as he slowly brought the cold cloth to her bare skin.

Freddy took his time cleaning the blood from y/n’s skin. He had intentionally taken longer than was necessary because he recalled how the doctor mentioned a cold compress could help ease the inflammation and therefore hopefully the itching. It was only once Freddy had felt the cloth reach room temperature that he fully removed it from her skin.

When he heard y/n sigh quietly in slight disappointment, Freddy realized instead of ending the round of treatment, he should step up his game. As such, he held onto Y/N’s hands as they remained on his shoulders and lowered them to his chest as he stood. “Darling,” Freddy spoke softly before he kissed her forehead. “I’m going to draw you a cold bath, we’ll give that a try”.

Unfortunately, this went on for quite some time. But, Freddy never gave up on his efforts to ease y/n’s misery. And, no matter how bad it got, y/n was never able to feel truly desolate because she knew her husband would do whatever he could to help her. Eventually, things resolved and Freddy attested that he was going to be sure to remind her to pack & use bug spray for all of her travels even if he wasn’t there to apply it to her skin himself.

Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @missdreamofendless @nikfigueiredo @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @alex-kazbrekkersimp @opheliaofficial07 @historynerd77 @el-de-phi

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[writersmilex]

Addressing The Wound

James Sunderland X Fem | Reader

Summary: James' other companion, (Y/n) is so attentive and supportive to him it grants him a newfound pinch of hope. That hope grows when she saves his life...

Attention!: Mentions of Blood/Injury, Suicidal Idioligy. Read at your own risk ____________________________________

It was that bloody postcard that brought (Y/n) here.

And she had never imagined she would ever patch an injury for a mentally unstable man that she had just met while defending herself from horrible monsters out to get her, or at least to hinder her from getting to her goal. Joining up with James was never the official plan. However, being along with all those monsters is not ideal either.

James doesn't react when (Y/n) cleans the gash on his arm with rubbing alcohol, he is merely lost in his mind, staring blankly into the furthest corner of the dimly lit infirmary.

" you should watch yourself, James." (Y/n) scolds quietly while dressing the wound with bandages, she was lucky to have found some on the desk in this medical room.

"You don't have to do this…" he tries to dismiss his well-being again, which doesn't sit very right with her. "But I want to do this. You took a hit for me, it's customary that I return the favour." She replies with an almost stubborn tone.

The injury is now neatly dressed and (Y/n) whipped James' blood on her trousers, shuffling over to sit next to him. James gingerly pushes his sleeve back down, covering the bandages but there is now a hole in his jacket and shirt.

(Y/n) notices and pulls at a loose string of the torn jacket, "I could fix that for you later." She comments and leans back into the sofa to relax a little. Leaning her head against the back of the sofa and closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. “You’d do that for me?” James’s voice causes (Y/n) to lift her head and glance at him, offering him a curt grin. “Sure, It’s the least I can do,” she says, It wasn’t a big deal for her, after surviving this nightmare place with this guy she met, watching her back while fighting off those monsters, she is more than happy to help him in the end. “Thanks…” He mutters, looking a little flustered as he looks away. The duo remain in a comfortable silence for a moment. Gathering their thoughts, Then after what felt like a good minute or two, (Y/n) put her hands on her knees and stood up with a huff, stretching her body out once she was on her feet. “Say, I’m not planning to stay here for any longer than I have to. And I think neither do you, Let’s get going.” (Y/n) looks over at the blonde man and reaches her hand out for him to take. James looks up slowly, inspecting her hand like it’s a foreign object, then lifts his uninjured arm and places his hand in hers, allowing her to pull him up and smile at him once he is on his feet. Despite looking so defeated and exhausted, James does his best to smile back.

~~~~

Exiting the infirmary, the two are back in the dark and rotting hallway of this psychiatric prison. There is not much light, even with James’ torch and (Y/n)’s torch from her digital camera. “What do we do now?” (Y/n) questions while looking around the hall, the lack of light makes her nervous. “Well, we came from there. Might as well look the other way.” James suggests, and (Y/n) nods in agreement, the duo nearly glued to each other's sides while traversing the darkness, looking for a door that felt the safest to try. Most of the doors are locked, and it feels like the prison itself wants the two to go to a specific place. “Do you still have ammunition, James?” (Y/n) asks, desperately looking for something to break the silence that’s almost eating her alive. “I’ve got enough. I’m trying to save it for when I really need it.” James agrees that the silence is too loud, he turns to pull on another doorknob, finding it locked. “And you?” He adds. (Y/n) shrugs, “My bullets are plentiful… But just like you, I’m saving them.” she replies, also trying a door and much to her luck, this one opens.

The two enter a room with half of the floor missing. There is only a thin path that leads to the other side of the room, on the other side is another door. “Looks unstable…” (Y/n) comments nervously.

“It should be fine when we’re careful…” James says, moving to step inside the room, (Y/n) eyes James incredulously, “Are you sure?” She asks bewildered. There is no way that both of them are going to make it over that unstable floor. (Y/n) peeks over the edge, deep down below, there is nothing but blackness. (Y/n) swallows the bile that forms in her throat. “Only one way to find out…” She finally agrees to try, James reaches over and gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll go first,” He insists, sliding his shoes over what remains of the floor, “Careful James.” (Y/n) warns as she can see the floor wobble in discomfort as James carefully steps over it, slow and well-balanced steps. A dangerous and painful sounding crack makes him flinch and he speeds his shuffling process up. Loose pieces give in, breaking away and falling into the dark pit of nothingness. “James!” (Y/n) panics, watching in horror as the floor starts to crumble. James can manoeuvre around the falling floor and make it to the other side without a scratch. The gaping blackness swallowed the rest of the remaining floor, and James and (Y/n) got separated. “Are you okay!?” (Y/n) yells with worry. “Yes, I’m fine!” James is quick to reply. The Two are now separated by an endless dark pit, there is no way they could rejoin like this. “Yo-you keep going, I’ll find another way around.” (Y/n)’s voice weavers, she doesn’t like the idea of being alone right now, in a place like this. James looks like he wants to say something, but ultimately agrees with the terms, “Okay, Take care, (Y/n).” He says and reluctantly turns around to leave the room. His exhausted features saddened, feeling like he is leaving her behind to die. “Yeah, you too. I’ll see you soon!” She tries to smile, giving a little wave and turning around to find another way by herself.

~~Hours Later~~

(Y/n) feels uneasy, the halls seem to go on endlessly. Deeper and deeper into this claustrophobic and seemingly perfect hell. Tormenting (Y/n) with vision of the nasty fights her parents would have, and how it felt like it was her fault. Her father even said it.

There is a tranquil nothing for a moment, Despite it being dark, it’s quiet. That’s better than the monsters that remind her of her father’s aggression towards her mother.

She takes a deep breath, a feeling deep in her gut calms her down, but she knows this is not the end just yet. Many doors are locked, guiding (Y/n) to the place where she needs to go. Opening the correct door, she is greeted with a sight that nearly makes her heart stop.

James grips the rope of the noose with two hands, and slowly pulls it downwards.

The old rope cracks and groans in resistance, sending a shiver down his spine. The horrible sound numbs his mind, he can't hear the subtle click of something unlocking.

His vision blurs, and all he can see is the vague outline of the noose, Clenching his fists in the rough rope, it almost calls to him.

The permanent solution to a temporary problem…

(Y/n) grows scared the longer she sees James hold on to the noose, it causes her heart to start racing harder than before. She almost doesn't think when walking towards James and gently wraps a hand around his wrist to hopefully take his attention away from the old rope.

James' vision returns when he feels pressure on his wrist. Tender but firm, his gaze turns towards the feeling. There he makes eye contact with (Y/n), everything is still blurry, except for her face, looking upon him with great worry. A new pressure joins his other wrist, semi-forcefully taking his hands away from the most suffocating method of execution.

"James, come on." comes a soft voice. He blinks a few times, both his vision and hearing returning to him. That's when he sees (Y/n), standing right in front of him, holding his wrists firmly. “(Y/n)...” He utters, finally letting go of the rope. (Y/n)’s grip remains on his arms, keeping eye contact with him, grounding him back to this nightmarish reality. “It’s me, James. I found you.” She says hopeful. James almost couldn’t believe it, wringing one of his wrists out of her grasp, lifting his hand to pinch a strand of her hair between his fingers. Yeah, she is real.

James lets go and without thinking, wraps his arms around (Y/n) to hold her close, his face pressed into the fabric of her jacket. (Y/n) does not hesitate to return the embrace, hands rubbing over his back. He could nearly break down completely within the safety of her arms. 

Together at least…

_____________________________________

Probably the darkest thing I have written ever. But It’s Silent Hill, so...

 I didn’t try to dwell on it too much. But there is a good ending to it.

Thanks for reading.

-Smilex

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 8

pairing ; childe x gender neutral! reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; none

notes ; listen guys. i can explain. rly tho, i’ve been horribly busy with school stuff and for a long time i wasn’t rly inspired to write but i got SOME free time now and managed to finish this bad boy up!

sadly, kind of a boring chapter imo, just a LOT of continuing childe’s story quest. i’ve mentioned a bunch of times before how i hate writing by the quest dialogue and how tedious it is and i believe that’s partially why i couldn’t continue writing for a bit. anyway, i promise i’ll try to get the next chapter out sooner as next chapter WILL have some things i’m looking forward to writing LOL

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the bright high noon sun shines against the blades of grass in the hills of qingxu pool, making the greenery seem like shards of vibrant emerald. the very same sun, unfortunately, nearly causes you to melt right then and there- with impossible steep peaks to cross and a whole child in your arms to carry. teucer had fallen asleep in your arms somewhere along the trip and he still snores soundly as you round up to the location childe had referred to earlier and where you immediately spot him, as well as some other men.

“found him! there’s childe!” paimon exclaims as she floats on ahead, effectively waking up teucer at the mention. he tries to move around and gather in his surroundings within your hold, sleepy eyes adjusting to the light once more.

as you get closer to the group, you find that the men childe is speaking to are… treasure hoarders. and it certainly didn’t look like the friendliest of exchanges, some kind debt collecting that lunatic does. you hear half of a taunt coming from childe when you approach earshot.

“…i suppose i should forgive you country bumpkins for your ignorance, for i am-“

“brother!” teucer yells excitedly and the harbinger freezes in his tracks the next second.

“you’re selling them toys, aren’t you, brother? that’s so cool, i’ve always wanted to watch you work!”

childe stammers. “w-why yes, of course! for i am, uh…

…the greatest toy salesman in snezhnaya!”

oh, for the tsaritsa’s sake. this time, you truly cannot fight the involuntary reaction within your muscles to facepalm at his half-assed save, if you can even call it that. though, what makes it worse is when he raises his fists triumphantly, clapping as if there was nothing wrong with what he said.

“so cool!”

“…huh?” says one of the treasure hoarders.

“you playin’ games, pretty boy?” goes another and you snort at the nickname.

“so, will you buy, or not? the toys that snezhnaya produced three months ago will run you.. yes, six hundred thousand mora- to be paid in full.”

another treasure hoarder chokes on his breath. “t-toys..? a-and how much mora…?”

“wow, is that what it’s gonna cost to fix that head of yours?”

the three hoarders bark out in mocking laughter. childe doesn’t seem to be dissuaded in the slightest, in fact his eyes drop into a lethally serious glare.

“i’ll say it again- toys from snezhnaya. three months prior. six hundred thousand mora. paid in full.”

“yeah… no, sorry, salesboy. the same joke isn’t funny twice. or were you always cruisin’ for a bruisin’?”

the harbinger sighs. “alright then, i’ll make things a little easier for you- i’ll join the treasure hoarders. perhaps you’ll be more willing to pay when we’re brothers-in-arms?”

you frown, slightly skeptical of childe’s methods of negotiation. however, you know better than anyone that childe, for all that he seems, is not an idiot. he’s just as aware of the means as he is of the ends and he wouldn’t be making statements like those with such certainty for nothing.

“hah- would you listen t’yourself?! you think we just let any old person into the treasure hoarders? i’m not so sure you could hack it…”

“heh, well then, why don’t you put me to the test, dear seniors? i like to think of myself as quite talented in the field of treasure hunting.”

“hmm.. looks like you’re not gonna pack it up until someone packs you in. alright then, show us what you got.”

the leading treasure hoarder proceeds with the proposition of a challenge where childe would have to collect some loot on a nearby hill within a time limit set by them. while you could see the hill from where you were, it was impossibly far to reach on foot in such a short amount of time. a tinge of worry creeps into the back of your neck and you shoot childe a concerned look, which he receives like he’s perfectly understood your silent doubts.

in return, he only cheekily winks to you and takes off.

he expertly uses the powerful gusts of wind shooting nearby to cut the path toward the hill in short and before you can even think of keeping track of his movements, he’s back with a small chest in hand- nonchalantly brushing dust off his uniform.

“well, i have the goods, here you go. so how’d i do? pretty well, i’d say.” childe smirks.

one of the other treasure hoarders starts sweating and whispers worryingly over to his fellow bandit. the leader turns back to childe, somewhat containing his shock.

“please… hold on a moment, sir. we need to discuss something amongst ourselves.”

the three turn to a small circle, where they mutter back and forth to each other, unintelligibly to you. periodically, one of the hoarders throws childe a quick, fearful look to ensure that he’s not becoming impatient- lest something freakier than his show of inhuman speed happens. finally, the leader turns back.

“so, mister.. salesman. my apologies but we can’t have you joining us.”

“oh? i didn’t pass? i must say i never imagined that the treasure hoarders would have such strict entry requirements…” childe replies unimpressed.

“no, i-it’s not that- ..what we mean is you’re too big a fish for our little pond. but we fully understand the situation with the uh… toys, sir. we’ll fetch that six hundred thousand mora for you right away.”

you scoff, shaking your head incredulously at how… somehow childe managed to get his way with such a ridiculous front to impress his brother. teucer, on the other hand, could not be happier with the outcome.

“that’s my brother for you! toy sellers are so cool!”

some rustling of grass from behind you grabs your attention and you instinctively tense your shoulders, hand ready and reaching out towards teucer if you had to protect him from an unexpected ambush by the sour treasure hoarders. fortunately, the arriving individual turns out to be a familiar fatui employee, felix. he recognizes your presence with a curt bow-like gesture before directing himself towards the harbinger.

“ah, master childe, you’re here. a new batch of fresh recruits have just-“

“hey now, keep your voice down. can’t you see i’m entertaining some clients over here?”

“clients? well uh… the motherland has dispatched a new batch of recruits to liyue. they’ve just arrived and i’m afraid we must ask you to speak to them.”

“ugh, do i have to? now is hardly the best time…”

you decide to interject with a suggestion. “couldn’t signora give them the initiation? she’s also an acting superior here in liyue.”

felix shakes his head. “i’m afraid the fair lady has already returned to the palace to attend to other affairs.”

dammit, you really couldn’t keep track of that woman. both you and childe seem to simultaneously deflate slightly at the news, as if you’d both imagined at the same time how hard it’d be to keep teucer satisfied and ignorant towards the truth with so many predicaments.

“i truly must apologize for troubling you, master childe, but they are already waiting for you south of lingju pass. every new batch of recruits must be baptized by the tsaritsa’s will through the words of her harbingers. this has always been our rule.”

childe groans and rolls his eyes petulantly.

“well, alright then, i’ll go. just give me a moment to catch up with my brother and i’ll be right with you.”

“do you have to keep working?” teucer finally speaks up, with his saddened tone from earlier returning.

“yes teucer, we have a group of new toy sellers fresh from the motherland and i need to go teach them the ropes.”

“that’s great! when i grow up, i wanna be a toy seller too. can i go listen?”

you stammer to answer quickly. “ah- maybe not now, teuce’. you’re still a little too young for that, bud.”

childe nods in agreement. “besides, most of it is rather boring. why don’t you go play with y/n and the traveler instead? sound good?”

teucer shoots out the most impossibly heart wrenching combo of big eyes and a pout towards his brother. “b-but.. but…”

“i really do have to go, teucer. a lot of people are waiting to see me. i’ll see you around, alright?”

the boy sighs melancholically and for a moment you do understand his side of the situation, but again you’re reminded of the harsh reality of the fatui and how hard it must be, no- how hard it has been to keep such a young, adventurous kid oblivious to all of it. it truly has not been easy for childe for his little brother to show up so absurdly unannounced.

the traveler and paimon are a few feet away, whispering to each other while teucer still sulks, and you catch a bit of their conversation.

“to think he’d go this far just to prevent his family from seeing his… dark side.”

“i wonder how much longer he can hide it from teucer…” the traveler responds.

“paimon wonders too. but hey, let’s at least help him

out while we’re out in liyue…

wait- where’s teucer?”

panic shoots up your spine chillingly and you turn around to where he just was, to find nothing. the few seconds you’d kept your eye off him he disappears. you scan the grasslands for teucer almost involuntarily, but no sign of him at all.

“ugh.. we were too busy chatting! where’d he go?”

you sigh frustratedly and stomp down the hill, eyes still vigilant. “dammit, i shouldn’t have taken my eyes off of him while he was still upset. not even for one second… of course he’s going after childe.”

—

“…from this day forward, you will honor the oaths you have made to her majesty the tsaritsa and you will stop at nothing to bring snezhnaya victory.”

you can still taste the very same oath you swore years ago on your tongue. you still remember how tense your shoulders stayed and shaky the fist held to your heart was, how harsh and vile the words of the fatui initiation sounded coming out of dottore’s mouth. and now, they sound just as sharp coming from childe- you find that it gives you an unpleasant feeling in your chest.

teucer and childe, and consequently the new recruits, were not at all hard to find. you approach the gathering to see teucer propped up on a nearby rock, head held in his hands as he attentively watched the ceremony. you truly wish you’d kept your eye on teucer before and stopped him from coming here. it’s hard to be reminded of childe’s cold and devoted demeanor when it came to the tsaritsa- though, cold and devoted is what you could call any of her followers.

for some reason, the occasion causes you to pause and watch a bit of the procedure yourself, but you don’t focus on how intense the harbinger’s words are, nor on how the recruits react to it. no, instead you focus on childe’s scars.

they’re so evenly distributed throughout his body, or at least what you can see of it, that it almost seems intentional. at any other time, you would’ve thought them to be artistic and beautif- but err, uhm… but now they only look like glaring reminders of childe’s nature as the tsaritsa’s weapon of war. you’ve always thought that was a baffling title to have.

you notice teucer stand up to wave to his brother in the distance.

“…for the trials that we face are harsh, and the enemies are like- ..ehm,”

childe also looks over to where you were at that very second, catching onto teucer’s excited movements. his eyes asses your group, then they trail over to you and the seconds where your eyes meet seems to last longer than it should- there’s a shocked shift in his gaze and it’s then that you realize you’d been frowning this whole time. the harbinger then regards his brother’s presence and he stutters on his sentence.

“a-ahem, like… kites a-and rattle drums.. who shall become redoubtable foes of mr. cyclops in the marketplaces of liyue..!”

you hear teucer approve of his message right next to you, although the recruits don’t seem entirely sold.

“this is, of course, an analogy. as they say, ‘the marketplace, too, is a battlefield.’”

nobody says that.

“so, as your… sales manager here in liyue, i demand that you obey my every order! a refusal shall be considered a betrayal, and the price for betrayal is to be dishonorably discharged from.. a-ahem, the institute of toy research.”

this time, he can’t stupidly get away with this, as both teucer and the recruits seem queasy about the statement- much to childe’s dismay. he looks down for a moment as if to consider his options and shoots up again.

“eh.. uh… forget it! perhaps a round of hands-on training will suit us better!”

just how in teyvat is this guy your superior?

as if everything could not become any more absurd, childe’s proposal seemed to utterly please the new recruits- they whisper and rave to each other about the huge honor that it would be to fight with the eleventh harbinger. you could see the duels’ ends before they even began, with all of these poor newbies licking the dirt as they’re kicked into ground by childe with minimal effort.

just as expected, it’s over rather quickly- though the recruits do hold up their own for longer than you anticipated against someone like childe.

“well then, do you all understand what i said earlier?” childe interrogates with nonchalant confidence, as if he wasn’t slipping up and stumbling on his own words earlier.

“yes, sir!” the recruits heave out exhaustedly.

“excellent, and you all almost managed to get me limbered up. in other words, you’ve done well- for new recruits.”

“thank you, lord harbinger!”

childe gives the recruits some more encouragement before dismissing them as soon as possible. once they take off, teucer takes the opportunity to run up and tell his brother how amazing he was just then.

“teucer- what in the world are you doing here? there i was thinking that these three had taken you to play at wangshu inn, aha!” childe says, the latter sentence is pointed, much like his subtle glare up at the three of you.

“you really did get stronger.” the traveler admits with dignity and childe’s ego, as if it hadn’t been inflated enough by the drooling recruits just now, seems to swell.

“hah, i told you, didn’t it? i never pass on an opportunity to improve my strength. i’m not the

man i was when we first met.”

“you didn’t go all out, though.” she teases.

“by that, i assume you mean i didn’t use foul legacy transformation, yes?”

“it puts a great strain on my body, so it’s best saved for crucial moments.”

your eyes lower into a warning glare, thought playful one. “as if i’d ever let you use it in a situation like this.”

childe laughs with his full chest, amused at your quip.

“ahaha! yes, that much is true. if it hadn’t been for y/n’s medical prowess, i’d still be ways in recovery from the injuries i sustained back at the golden house. and they wouldn’t be a very good medic if they just let me slow down my own healing process, now, would they?”

you two share a knowing look and you give him an approving nod- and as everyone follows suit to look over to you, you fold your arms and pose out proudly, fully drinking up the praise towards your skill.

“anyway, i’m no signora. i don’t use lethal force against recruits, come on now…”

teucer scratches his chin in confusion. “the foul legacy transformation? does it make you stronger than mr. cyclops?”

“ahah… you could say that.” paimon laughs awkwardly.

“i wanna learn how to fight too! i wanna be cool like you!”

“now teucer, fighting isn’t about looking cool. you can only continue to get stronger if you know the reason why you’re fighting.” childe gestures to his younger brother in a lecturing manner.

“i can teach you. but think carefully first- why do you want to fight?”

“i…”

“hm?”

“..i want to protect sister tonia.”

the breath is taken from your chest for a moment. you don’t know what exactly you were expecting teucer’s answer to be but it was certainly not that. it’s so noble and honest and so… ajax, in a sense. you can’t describe what it is, but it sends you back to the times where you and ajax would have late-night deep talks inside pillow forts, whenever he slept over at your house. you’d deliberate about your lives and ambitions and you’d hear ajax express how much he aspired to become like the heroes in his father’s tales. courageous and selfless, so he could brace his fears and protect his loved ones. it’s uncertain if childe recalls the same memory as you, but he’s just as visibly pleased with teucer’s answer.

he pats the younger boy on the top of his head tenderly. “that’s a good answer teucer. when i return to snezhnaya, i will start teaching you fighting techniques.

then, you’ll have to protect tonia for me- how does that sound?”

“hehe, leave it to me!”

“you’ve had a nice long time here in liyue, haven’t you? isn’t it about time you took the boat back home?”

teucer pouts. “but, but… but you’ve been so busy, and we didn’t get any time to play together yet..”

“teucer, you know i’m very busy at work.. and hasn’t it been fun traveling all over the place with y/n and two proper travelers?”

you can tell childe feels like he hasn’t spent enough time with his brother either, but his worry about keeping up the toy seller appearance to protect teucer overcomes him. today has been nothing but close calls for him.

“w-well, how ‘bout this? if you just do one little thing for me, i’ll be a good boy and go back home!”

“oh dear, who taught this little devil to bargain.. alright, what’ll it be?” childe chuckles.

“take me to visit the institute of toy research!”

what? surely he doesn’t mean the research lab… once again, childe seems to have the same thought as you and you take the opportunity to throw him an incredulous, threatening look- as if to tell him ‘this might be your most gods awful idea yet if you take him there..’, but seemingly to no avail.

“done deal. after all, you’ve come all this way for me, teucer…”

childe persuades the traveler and paimon into taking teucer back to the facility at lingju pass and they take off soon after. you decide to stay behind and hopefully steer the harbinger away from the idea and he only faces you in waiting, like he already expects you to reprimand him. you cross your arms disappointedly and sigh.

“you know what i’m about to say to you, right?”

“hm, i might have an idea or two but just-“

“childe, that’s not just some abandoned facility for tourists to frolic inside- it’s dottore’s research lab and it’s active! if the machines inside that place don’t crush us all the second we walk inside, then surely my boss will do worse to us if we put anything out of place. i mean, this whole ordeal started because i had to go regulate the lab, then we found teucer and had to take him elsewhere so nothing bad would happen, who in their right mind-“

two strong, gloved hands come up to hold either side of your face.

the touch is somehow firm enough to effectively shut you up and hold up your head as to fully face childe, but still gentle enough as to not hurt or startle you. the committer of the act stares you right in the eyes, a doting look is apparent on his own azure gaze.

“y/n. answer this simply, do you trust me?”

there’s a pause as you process the development of the literal last 3 seconds and think of an answer- though the distracting, fluttering sensation in your chest also factors in the time you take to actually speak.

“w-well, it’s- it’s not about trusting you or-“

“do. you. trust. me?”

another pause. you look into his eyes as deep as you can and search for anything that says that maybe there’s an off-chance you shouldn’t trust him, but there’s nothing. he’s shown himself more than capable of steering situations back in his control today and it doesn’t need to be spoken how serious he is about protecting his family, even a scratch on teucer’s cheek would be a last case scenario to him. you sigh.

“i trust you, ajax.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

[lilcatdraws]

Crack A Smile and Cut Your Mouth

Ledger!Joker Origin Story

Chapter Ten - Nothing Is The Same

Warnings: Trauma responses, a bit of gore at the beginning

Chapter Summary: Still getting used to his new life, Jack wakes up from an awful nightmare and goes for a run.

Author’s Note: This took me forever sorry guys 😭 I wanted to get this posted days ago but oh well. I think it worked out better this way anyway. Side note! Jack's hair is back :D

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @furisodespirit

If you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know! <3

The deafening sound of a Black Hawk circling overhead and explosions all around roared in Jack’s ears, making it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t aim his rifle. He couldn’t focus. It was like he lost control of his own body. 

All Jack could do was helplessly watch the destruction around him. He tried to look away but when he looked down there were bits and pieces of maimed soldiers scattered about. Someone who had just been shot in the chest bled out at his feet. Their deadened eyes bored into his.

Jack screamed as he attempted to get away. He couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. He was drawn to it by an unknown force. The scene played over and over again in a loop. The Black Hawk flying up above, the explosions, the corpses… 

The loop broke when a stray bullet hit him in the face and ripped open the flesh on his cheek, creating an oozing, gaping wound. Blood pooled in his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. The drowning sensation took over his body as he writhed on the ground. 

Jack gasped and jolted awake. He sat up in bed, panting. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair as he tried to catch his breath. His biceps, also glistening with sweat, shone as the moonlight peeking in through the curtains reflected on them.

This had to be his strangest nightmare yet. He didn’t have them as frequently as he did that week he was discharged but they were much worse this time. He didn’t know what was better, a nightmare every night or a few a week that were horrible and would rattle him for days.

Jack glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was almost 4 am. He decided that now would be a good time to go for his nightly run. He completely forgot about it and fell asleep earlier than usual because he was so tired from the lack of sleep.

After stretching his tense muscles, Jack swung his legs over the bed and grabbed his pants and black hoodie from the floor, throwing them on half heartedly. He stuffed his keys into his pants pocket and slid on his shoes before quietly slipping out of the apartment. Instead of taking the elevator, he took the stairs since they were less noisy.

Once he was down at the lobby, Jack pushed the double doors open and walked out into the street, a gust of cold air hitting his face. Pulling his hood over his head, he took off to the left and sprinted down the sidewalk. 

Ever since he moved to Gotham a few months ago, he ran almost every night. Normally he would stay out for at least 20 to 30 minutes. He found running therapeutic and a way to clear his head. The adrenaline was like a drug. A temporary fix to help him escape his problems. 

This time Jack took a different route than he usually did. He liked to switch things up every once in a while. The dim street lights provided just enough light for him to see and illuminated his profile as he moved under them, giving his jagged scar a grisly effect. To a passerby the brief glimpse probably looked horrifying. That was partly why he wore a hood over his head. 

In the end he made it all the way to Gotham River, which flowed north of Downtown. As soon as the water was in sight, he stopped and approached the nearby bridge, wiping the sweat from his brow. He dug out his lighter and a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it and inhaled the first drag, closing his eyes and reveling in the crisp scent. Leaning over the railing, he looked out over the shimmering water and exhaled the smoke, the vapor curling in different directions.

The water was oddly calming, and combined with the smoke helped to settle his nerves, which were still shot from the nightmare. A gust of wind ruffled his hair and made him shiver a little, his skin prickling at the cold. 

These days Jack didn’t know what to feel. Day and night the war stayed with him. He thought he would eventually get over this, but apparently it was still lingering around, looming in the back of his mind. He couldn’t settle back into society properly. He could barely sleep. He couldn’t go a single day without being reminded of the war in some way. His scar was no help with that. 

With a tired sigh, Jack finished his cigarette and headed back, tossing the butt into a trash can close by. As he got closer to his apartment building, he slowed his pace. He entered through the double doors just as quietly as he exited earlier. His eye was struck by a light that emitted from the office and streaked through the lobby.

Vernon is up pretty early. Jack thought as he started up the stairs.

He reached the 3rd floor and scanned the hallway for 307. Finding it, he fished out his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and shut the door, tossing his keys onto the countertop. He went to his bedroom and flopped down on his bed with a loud exhale. 

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. It was already morning, although very early, and now that Jack was up, he would stay up. He checked the clock beside him. It was close to 5 am. He sat up with a grunt and got down on the floor to begin his usual morning workout. 

The first thing was sit ups. He could do 250 in ten minutes. Next was push ups. He could do about 150 of those. Then to finish it off he held a plank for as long as he could. His muscles were on fire by the time he was done but it didn’t bother him. It was ingrained in his head to stay in shape. He also found himself taking pleasure in the pain. It was difficult to explain.

Jack sat up and rested for a minute, catching his breath. The running and the exercises made him pretty sweaty. A shower was looking very appealing right then. So he trudged into his bathroom and slid off his clothes. Then he turned on the water and as he waited for it to heat up, gazed into the mirror at himself. 

It was a pitiful sight. His eyes were heavy and sunken in with dark circles that rimmed the bottom of them. His face was gaunt and weary. Trying to be positive, he noticed his hair was growing back. It went past his ears now. He wasn’t sure or not if he wanted to grow it all the way out like how he used to have it. He would probably settle halfway, somewhere at his shoulders.

The water had warmed up so Jack stepped in the tub and stood under the shower head. He wet his hair first and lathered it with soap. Tilting his head back, he ran his fingers through his brown locks and rinsed. He was kind of ashamed to say he hadn’t properly washed his hair in almost a week. But it wasn’t like he had to impress anyone. He rarely went out and he lived alone. He could care less.

After he was done washing himself, Jack just stood motionless under the water and took in the warmth. Resting his head on the wall, he breathed in and out rhythmically and listened to the water pitter patter into the tub. As the steam rose and wisped past his face, he felt a sense of clarity that brought him out of his sleepy haze. 

Jack shut off the water and pulled the shower curtain aside, stepping out of the tub and onto the fluffy blue mat on the floor. He grabbed a towel from the cabinet under the sink and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist. 

Back in his room he threw on a loose navy colored tee and black sweatpants. He felt his stomach growl and plead with him for food as he walked out into the main area of the apartment. All the exercise must have worked up his appetite. He relented and went to his pantry to hunt for food. He didn’t feel like spending the time to cook anything so it needed to be something simple.

Jack settled on a pack of blueberry Pop-Tarts and slid them into the toaster slots. While he waited he poured himself a glass of orange juice and placed it on the table. Once the Pop-Tarts were ready, he put them on a napkin and sat down. He ate the pastries tentatively since they were still hot and sipped on the juice.

He made a guttural sound of annoyance and moved his tongue across the inside of his cheek where the scar was. Food, especially the sticky kind, had a tendency to get stuck there. He noticed a few days ago that he was developing a habit of messing with the inside of his mouth with his tongue and licking his bottom lip where it had a small forked crack in it. He didn’t know why. The best way he could describe it to someone else was having a sore in your mouth that you compulsively need to mess with. 

It was a gruesome, repulsive habit but Jack didn’t try to stop himself. He knew it would be hard to quit since he was going to have this scar for a long time. He just hoped nobody out in public would notice. Bearing the scar was bad enough. People already stared at him. He didn’t need to give them another reason to.

Jack sighed as he realized his life would never be the same as it once was. He had to come to terms with living with this trauma, the scar, this new environment, and the fact that he was alone. His mother was gone, his father didn’t give two shits about him, and he didn’t know a single soul in Gotham. Being a loner never bothered him before but back then he had a choice. It hurt worse when he was forced into it. 

He was already alienated from the rest of society by being in the army and having to adjust back to civilian life. The scar pushed him even farther out of the norm. He hated when he was at the store and his military ID (that he kept putting off to take out of his wallet) flashed when he was pulling out money and people, noticing the card and his scar, would always say the customary, “thank you for your service.” 

It infuriated him to no end. He could read their eyes. They pitied him. He didn’t want them to. They didn’t even mean what they said. Everyone said it because it was “respectful” or “polite.” He didn’t feel bad in the slightest for thinking like that. He took solace in knowing he wasn’t the only vet that felt this way.

Jack cleared out the negative emotions beginning to swirl within him and finished up his breakfast. He refused to have another bad day today. Yawning, he stood up from the table, gently tossed his glass into the kitchen sink, and threw his trash away. He plopped down on the couch in the living room and switched on the TV. Right now he really needed a laugh so he turned on some cartoons to pass the morning by.

[mellowwhumps]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 12: Building collapse | Trapped under rubble | “I can’t move my legs.”

OCs: Haley, Halcyon, Ria

CW: nothing major, i think

@whumperless-whump-event

It was supposed to be a safe trip. He was supposed to leave her near a less-dilapidated building, then head to the more affected areas to assess the damage that needed to be fixed. She wasn’t meant to come. She wasn’t meant to warn him or happen upon a poorly-adjusted foundation. 

He took the brunt of the damage for her.

Haley groaned, every part of his body aching. He could not see the extent of her injuries without a source of brightness, but she could at least position herself to be more comfortable and talk normally. He, on the other hand, was quite trapped.

He took a deep breath, spending a moment to check over his ability to move. It wasn’t the worst injury he ever had. His legs weren’t even crushed, just lodged in a tight space. At a single glance, he could tell those rocks were the only thing supporting the rubble from crashing down on them.

“Ria. I am…unable to move my legs, so you need to escape and get help first.”

“How? How do I…you…” Ah. She’s breathing heavily. If it continued, they would easily run out of oxygen and perish. Not the best way to go, nor heroic either. Not fitting for her.

“Breathe. The building was small enough, and it was a single part of it that crumbled. There will be an exit.” A little lie wouldn’t hurt right now. He squinted, examining the wreckage. A crack of light shines, though miniscule, but it was more than enough for him. “Behind you. Dig there. Be careful not to get hurt.”

Her hands were trembling. Was it nervousness or his blood loss? Still, she finds the location and gently lifts each rock, placing it by the side and repeating the action. It’s a long process, one that was much too worrying. 

After what felt like forever, it was small enough to squeeze through. She crawled out, sprinted off, and was gone. 

She’s safe. Nothing mattered more than that.

Something heavy makes contact with his skull. He kept his eyes open for her until exhaustion overwhelmed his senses, dragging him back into darkness.

—————

Ria was a coward. Put on a brave face, but when it came to life or death, she’d run away any minute. She never even asked if he was unhurt, or tried to get him out. She had to get help. The rest of the building could have collapsed right down on him, right now, and once again she would be powerless to do anything herself. 

She needed to get help first. That’s what he instructed her to do. If none of the eyes around her even bothered to come out and help, then she would find someone who would.

She runs. But she isn’t running away.

She meets the stranger once more, clad in armor and with that horrible concerned expression on her face. The stranger told her she was crying. She hadn’t even noticed. A sign of weakness, now? No, she had to be stronger.

“…Where is your caretaker?” The knight asks. She helped her before, ever the kind person in a world of people who wouldn’t see what she saw. The only good adult she knew. Ria takes her hand, even if her palm was merely half that size, and leads her forward, striding the streets. 

The knight calls for more assistance not a second after turning the corner.

She never looked back just now, never checked just how much damage there was. The building in front of her was nothing but dust and rubble. He never told the truth to her, and sounded so confident in her as well. 

She was scrabbling at the rocks before anyone else even came close to stopping her, calling his name until her voice became hoarse. The hole she made had disappeared. No response. The woman squats beside her and starts lifting the heavier rocks, gesturing for others to help.

Ria sees the blood before the colour of his scarf, running in rivulets down his forehead. His arm twists unnaturally; the arm he must have used to try and shield her. There are so many things wrong with the situation she doesn’t even know which part to start panicking about.

Her gaze shifts to his chest, rising and falling unsteadily. He’s breathing, he’s going to be alright. The woman beside her mutters absently that it might as well be a miracle, even as her attempts to garner reaction from him don’t make him shift in the slightest. 

Miracle. She doesn’t even know what that word means. She would have pestered Haley to ask about it, the stupid, stupid man who was so smart and strong, who could fight easier than breathing, who knew how to get her out before she met the same fate as him; near-dead and gut-wrenchingly helpless to his own plight. 

If this was what ‘protecting’ was, she realises, then, that she’d have done the same in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t have wanted that, but even so, she always had that same kind of stubbornness in her.

[banisheed]

TIMING: May 26th, 2024 LOCATION: Ireland PARTIES: Metzli (@muertarte), Anita (@gossipsnake), Xóchitl (@vanishingreyes) & Siobhan (@banisheed) CONTENT: Self-harm tw SUMMARY: Receiving a devastating admonishment from "Cass" while in Ireland, Metzli spirals, concerning their friends.

The darkness trembled, the air damp and the grass soft. It sank with every movement from the monster laying deep within, blood staining a nearby trunk. Its head pounded and they whispered to no one at all, pleading for a different outcome as they refreshed a page repeatedly. A whimper tumbled out with each failed attempt, and were it not for the familiarity, the creature would’ve surely thought its body was covered in ants. 

“Please. Please.” It said to no one, “I did not leave. I am here. What did I do? What did I—” It turned into a choke, body melting to the ground completely as panic tightened their chest once again. The monster screamed, emotions too scrambled to process. It beckoned its mind to comprehend. 

THUD! White flashed across its vision. THUD! Its head throbbed but still no understanding washed through. THUD! Once again, white flashed across, but it remained, and it grew stronger as distance lessened with each step the monster heard. It continued its rampage for understanding when the white sheet of light uncovered what lay within the darkness; Metzli. 

Anita had lived alongside Metzli for enough time to know what to do when things were bad. She was not naive enough to think she could fix things, but she knew how to respond. To minimize as best she could. When she got the ominous help me message, followed by screen shots of the messages that Cass had sent them, she knew this was not a fixable circumstance. Not while they were in Ireland. Rushing out of the cabin she partially shifted to listen for her hermane.  The echoing thuds knotted up her stomach, but sent her on what was undoubtedly the right path. 

When Anita finally reached Metzli, her heart tightened. While she felt a deep pain in seeing them experiencing so much pain, Anita also felt a deep rage towards Cass. She was mad that Metzli had taken a few weeks to go to Ireland? So mad that she would cut contact? Say those things? There would be time for that anger later. “It’s Anita. I’m here. I’m going to touch you, okay? Just going to pull you away from this tree.” She gave warning before crouching down and wrapping her arms around them, pulling them towards her and away from the tree, whose bark was spattered with deep red specks of their blood. 

“We don’t need to be in Ireland anymore. We helped Siobhan. We were good friends. Let’s go back home, yeah?”

They tried to recall the last time they had an outburst like that. Their head throbbed while Anita led them away from the tree, and they all but sunk into her embrace. Metzli’s hand searched for something to cling to, tremors ravaging through. Fingers found purchase in their hand and they tugged. “What do I do? What-what-what…!” 

There was no answer, was there? At least, not one that Metzli felt was correct. Or one that Cass would find suitable in her current mindset. As far as she was concerned, they had left her, which wasn’t their intention at all. Friends helped each other, didn’t they? Metzli wondered if by visiting Ireland, they accidentally pushed their responsibilities as a surrogate parent. It felt wrong for that to be the case, but what would they know anyway? They were no parent, and they didn’t know how to be. With no examples of their own to follow, Metzli was lost in their horrible attempt at being something they could never be. Maybe they were doomed to fail from the start. 

But maybe they could still try.

“Home.” It sounded like a desperate plea. “Home! Home! Home!” They wailed, tugging and rocking in Anita’s arms. She was the one thing keeping Metzli from becoming completely undone. Had it been anyone else, the spiral would’ve been far worse, and they didn’t know if they would have been able to keep themself from hurting someone who didn’t know how to approach them and what pressure to apply. Only one other person could do what Anita had done, but she wasn’t in Ireland. 

They continued to tug. 

As strange, and chaotic, and at times quite fun as this entire experience had been - seeing Metzli unravel in this way made it clear to Anita that they simply could not be away from Wicked’s Rest any longer. Whatever was going on back there, whatever was going on with Cass, things were spiraling. It hurt, a deep guttural hurt, to see Metzli in this state. Anita just kept herself focused on the fact that there seemed to be a clear path towards helping them out of this pain they were feeling - getting them back home. Things had been so strange this entire trip, maybe it would be best for everyone if they left Ireland. And to add insult to injury - Anita hadn’t even seen any breasts the entire trip. 

Leading Metzli up and away from the tree, Anita followed the path she came down back towards Siobhan’s cabin they had been staying at. One arm wrapped around their shoulder, tugging their tall frame town towards her petit stature. It seemed, slowly, that they were beginning to calm as they walked back. Maybe it was the crisp Irish air or the simple promise of returning home. 

The house came into view and Anita let out a deep breath that she didn’t even realize she had been holding in. As they approached the door, while she wasn’t sure if this was the right time to mention it, she figured it was obvious enough, “We’ll have to get on another plane to get home. I’ll look when we get back, I’ll find the one that will get us home the fastest.” Pushing the door open, she was already starting to make a mental list of what they needed to get packed up. 

Siobhan wasn’t talking to Xóchitl: she could’ve apologized, she should’ve apologized, but she was more concerned with avoiding the human altogether. She hadn’t yet figured out if she’d been wrong, anyway. If it wasn’t crass to borrow a legal term: the jury was still out to her. Thankfully, she was saved from being stuck with the human for a moment longer by the door banging open. Siobhan stood, setting her book aside. First, there was Anita. Then, there was Metzli, helped in by the lamia. All of Siobhan’s attempted prickliness dissolved. “What happened?” she asked, approaching them. “What’s going on?” She looked at Xóchitl, then back at the other two. “How can I help? What’s happening? Níl cuma sláintiúil ort, mo chara.” 

Xóchitl wasn’t talking to Siobhan. Part of her wondered if the other woman would even bother giving her the time of day if she did talk to her. Her stomach was still done up in knots, she’d returned to sleeping with nightmares every night, ones with Mackenzie, each one increasingly more graphic, increasingly more terrible. Now Metzli was struggling, and she cursed herself for not being able to be there for them with her fullest self.

Still, she shot up from where she was sitting when the door opened. “What is the matter?” With a small glare at Siobhan, she added, this time in Spanish, “What happened? What is going on? What can I do?” She steadied herself, because if she was out of it, she wouldn’t be able to do anything, and helping Metzli mattered more than any anger or pain she felt at Siobhan. They were important. Far more important. Xóchitl tried her best to offer Anita and Metzli a calm smile. 

“Home,” Metzli exhaled desperately, barely hanging onto the doorframe. A fire bellowed in their chest, burning the tips of their fingers and the edges of their skin. There was an inherent wrongness in the way they felt. Where was the root of the pain? How could something so internal flair with a powerful sweep of physical pain? Metzli struggled to understand it, letting out a sob as a heinous atrocity cloaked their every sense. 

“Home!” The pain needed a source to be physical, but they still could find none. It was a cruel puzzle they could not complete, and without hesitation, slammed their head into the doorframe. Metzli wanted to will the source to bloom into reality, but the pain continued to spread in parts that had no sense. “Home.” It wasn’t a yell that time, their voice becoming nothing more than a pitiful whimper. 

“Home.” They looked to Xochitl, and then to Siobhan. When had they gotten there? Was their body even theirs anymore? White flashed across their vision and they heard a thud, but none of it felt real. Metzli was afraid it never would again, and they heard another thud, the sound growing distant as they let the pins of pain consume them completely. Each point sank further and further down into their flesh, reaching its crescendo as specks of black littered their vision. Until everyone in the room disappeared.

In the walk from the woods to the cabin, Anita had almost forgotten that they were not the only two on this trip. The immediate questions as they pushed through the doors was not what she had been expecting and, whether it was fair to the other two women or not, were not things that she really cared to deal with at that moment. She knew what was going on and she knew what needed to happen to help, it felt like a waste of time to explain it all. But for some reason she did. “Something is going on with one of their friends back home. I don’t know what. She’s cut off contact.” 

Okay, maybe Anita didn’t explain it all, but she gave enough rough context. But then Metzli had found another wooden surface and the thudding noises had begun again, harrowing echoes that followed their whimpered cries for home. In that moment, Anita felt frozen. Like everything about the past few weeks had just come to a head and she couldn’t fight it anymore. She just stood there, looking around the room as it became blurry. Why was it blurry? She blinked a few times and the blurr cleared, flowing away as soft streams of tears down her cheeks. Turning away from Xóchitl and Siobhan quickly, Anita began to gather and zip up hers and Metzi’s suitcases. “So, yeah, they need to go find their friend. So we’re going home. Tonight.” 

Seeing Metzli in such a state was alarming as though she’d swallowed an ever present ringing bell. Her mind dissolved into a paste— Metzli sad, help now, friend, love—but other than the initial movements and gestures, Siobhan didn’t stir. “Which friend?” Siobhan asked, swallowing her jealousy and embarrassment like a pebble; didn’t she need Metzli? (What for?) Didn't she want them to stay? (Why?) “Who needs help? How can I…” What would she do? Wasn’t she Siobhan the incorrigible, the untamed, unpredictable, fae killer, cursed vestigial limb of her mother? “You should go,” she said, suddenly completely sure of herself. There was Anita crying, there was Metzli losing control of themselves (Stop, stop, she wanted to tell them, and yet simply stood there). “All of you.” She glanced back at Xóchitl, roping her into the plan. “Go home.” 

She broke off from the group and tore off into the one bedroom, with its own bed, and pulled their luggage out (not her own, not yet, she wasn’t ready), starting on the process without argument. “If it’s serious; you go. If you need to be home; you go. That’s how it works with home: you go back.” And always, it would beckon a child back. She had no real reason to keep them here but her own selfishness, which thrummed with frail thoughts such as: of course they want to leave, they don’t care, no one cares, no one loves you. Which for the moment were easily trampled; later, when it suited her, she might revive their meaning. As was her want, her nature, she could predict nothing and had no desire to. All she really cared about was Metzli and Anita and Xóchitl, who seemed to her in need of a friend the likes of which she could not provide—particularly on account of not wanting to talk.

Regardless, Metzli was in pain and that was enough. 

She didn’t want to talk to Siobhan. So instead, Xóchitl just focused on herself, and then, when Metzli and Anita returned, on them. It was easier to do that than to focus on the desperate, drowning amounts of anxiety that she felt. Except Siobhan was being kind, or something close to it now, but Xóchitl still didn’t trust her. It still all felt far too faked. But she wouldn’t give Siobhan the satisfaction of breaking down again. Or getting into a fight in front of their friends because it wasn’t worth it.

That and Xóchitl wasn’t keen to discover that they’d side with Siobhan, not when she had to spend an ungodly amount of time in an airplane with them.

“Okay.” She kept her gaze trained on Metzli, on Anita, on the wall of the house. Anywhere but Siobhan, and maybe Xóchitl should’ve felt guilty about that, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but grief and confusion and a twinge of anger. “We’ll go.”

Anita was relieved that there was no resistance to the announcement they were leaving. Had she not been so preoccupied trying to regain control, trying to stabilize herself and her emotions that were clearly betraying her at the moment, she may have noted the tension between Xó and Siobhan. She may have even made more note of the momentary hesitation where Siobhan almost offered to help. 

Packing for Metzli was easy, they traveled lighter than she had, and as Anita threw items in bags she hoped that there was nothing that she was leaving behind. Then she looked up and managed to see beyond herself for a moment as her eyes caught  Siobhan, whose face was stunning as ever but painted with a very subtle expression that Anita recognized all too well. After zipping up what she believed to be the last of their luggage, she looked over at Xóchitl, “Call a car to take us to the airport?”

Taking a few steps over towards where Siobhan had positioned herself, as distanced as she could be from the others in this cottage, Anita felt a strange desire to reach out, to hold her. Did she think there would be comfort in that? But then she recalled Siobhan telling her she was getting soft, and Anita decided against moving any closer. “If we forgot anything you can bring it back when you decide to come home. To Wicked’s Rest.”

 A parallel of their arrival, Siobhan watched the three leave up the windy, winding hill of the old farm, against the long, dancing grass and the gray horizon. Again, she was alone. Something more important than her existed, as something always would. The selfish pit of wanting hardened in her chest. As she’d told them, if they needed to go home, they ought to. Home was—by its nature, Siobhan guessed—a place one returned to; a place one could return to, a place that occasionally tugged on its tether and reeled someone back. A place to go. A place to be needed. A place one must be. 

The hut, her home, was empty again. Siobhan watched the space the three left, as though they might materialize over the horizon again, as though the days would rewind and again, she would be greeting them and apologizing. She hadn’t done it right back then; would they let her try again? She turned and took a seat at the broken kitchen table. It would be nice, she thought, to go home. 

[thaly-does]

Sooo I came [back] to the SPN fandom after many many years of being completely out and [thanks to my dearest] this time I'm going to fully dedicate myself to wincest.

Naturally, I'm a multishipper. I don't care much how many other pairings with my fav chars exist / usually I ship more than one thing per fandom or per character.

But them. Oh, them.

The Winchesters. Sam and Dean. Dean and Sam. I hear how their names merge in my head into something entwisted so much it'll never get unraveled again.

They. Have. Everything.

In my usual little doll plays with the characters I prefer to go rather dark. Rather sick. Sometimes, rather dirty. Not for the sake of general evilness, naturally and inevitably inherent to being an artist, but for the sake of feelings.

The contrast is better where it's darker. The light is brighter. The love is sweeter when there's pain, the hope is luminous when there's despair. The contrast enhances the emotional impact.

But Dean and Sam? Sam and Dean?

They already have it. They have everything and anything. The pitch black and the beam light. It's been made canon, probably, years ago.

Then I thought: what had ever made my brain go full-time crazy mod? What had ever squeezed my heart so tight I couldn't breathe?

Here are some of the best [imo] moment of my other fandom's biggest OTPs. Some ships are canon, some are not. But all of the moments DID canonically happens. [I'm using X & Y so it's more descriptive]

X & Y are constantly being forced to fight each other despite their genuine connection. the forcing power massively prevails their own. that's how their relationship starts... and how it ends, with X finally forced to kill Y. then X has to restart the whole world so they could be together again.

X & Y met when both were mentally down and then spent a horrible amount of time being tortured in the cruelest way alongside each other. later, they could let go of their twisted connection. but they don't.

X silently begs Y to kill him after committing the Literally Worst Crimes Possible for which he'll never forgive himself. Y complies. Y never stops thinking about X.

X spends his whole life protecting Y with growing understanding that Y will never accept his nature.

X sacrifices himself sexually, mentally and physically at once to the person he despises the most - simply in order for Y to get away from that monster.

X (who's kind of been a psycho murderer) went through a terrible experience where half his personality got destroyed. Y takes care of him despite the previous attempt of X to kill Y in cold blood. They end up fixing it (in a way).

X is obsessed with Y to a weird, absolutely not redeemable level. Body dismemberment included.

X is successfuly fighting the massive-level brainwashing so he doesn't hurt Y, although everyone they both knew and loved die around them.

X goes so mental after Y dies that he is committing a terrorist attack suicide so the world could feel their pain.

X goes full on self-sacrifice during a rescue attempt for Y [okay that's way more than one thing but it gets me every time!]

X says "Hey Y, we die together or no way at all". and so they do.

X never recovers after betraying Y and later goes through big torture time with the thought it was deserved for that betrayal.

X & Y [& a kid] slash through an endless amount of enemies so they could be a family together

X & Y are destined to be together but they go "fuck destiny"... and stay together for who they are.

X & Y fight together against a clearly overpowered villain. and win.

X & Y seem to desperately want to finish each other off but never act upon it when there's an opportunity. they're so different that they're the same.

X dies in a stupid accident. Y tries to save his life, and, when it's not possible anymore, dies alongside, refusing to live in a world without him.

X dies and Y can't let go of the corpse. Even when the rotting visibly starts.

X has memory issues but he's done some terrible things (child murder, massacre). There is solid proof. Y does not believe that for a second, because Y knows X to the core.

None, I mean it, none of these is wincest.

But, looking back... How many of them fit to be? How many of them could fit with the right situation? How many of literally (imo) most heart-moving tropes seem to be made for this pairing of brothers whose love trascends any normal limits?

So, yeah... I'm really gonna dedicate myself to wincest these days.