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eternallyordinary · 9 days ago

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“He Belongs to You” - Part 28

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series masterlist<3

Summary: Homelander loves you like a storm—violent, unrelenting, and impossible to escape.

Warnings: SMUT, violence, death, kidnapping, power imbalance, possessiveness, manipulation, emotional tension, stalking, implied violence, murder planning, toxic relationship dynamics, yandere

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The Next Morning

Homelander watches you sleep peacefully in his bed. Your breath rising in soft, steady waves, curled beneath the sheets like something delicate. Something untouchable. A quiet, undeniable proof that you’re here. That you’re alive.

He watches you like a man starved.

He’s worried you’ll disappear if he even blinks too long.

He traces a fading bruise on your shoulder, then another along your ribs—soft touches, barely there. Almost gone. Most of them, at least.

The Compound V worked fast. He gave you an injection the second he got you home. You’re already a supe, sure. But you were in pain. And that was enough.

He eyes a thin scar just beneath your collarbone, one he missed the night before.

Something twists in his chest.

How could he let this happen?

He presses a kiss to the edge of one—light, apologetic.

He pauses.

Wait.

What’s happening?

He used to hate this part.

The quiet. The vulnerability of it all.

The closeness.

He was never built for it. Never wired to want anything more than conquest.

Domination. Approval wrapped in obedience.

Women were always about control. Power. Getting off, cleaning up, and moving on.

But this—you—has made him soft in ways he doesn’t understand.

He says things like “baby”.

Jesus Christ.

He holds you like a goddamn porcelain doll.

And when you push him away, the pain is unbearable. An overwhelming feeling as if someone ripped out his spine, leaving him hollow.

Fuck.

What the fuck is happening?

His thoughts leave him momentarily as he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek.

Skin so warm it hurts to touch.

It’s like you were made to ruin him.

Like God—or Vought, or fate, or whatever cruel force is left in this world—crafted you to be the one thing he can’t rip apart. Can’t force. Can’t own.

He’s not used to earning anything.

He doesn’t do patience. Doesn’t do softness.

He doesn’t love.

He doesn’t need.

And yet here he is—afraid to move too fast, in case you disappear. And somewhere in his chest—somewhere deep and ugly and fragile—he thinks:

She’s going to destroy me.

He stares at your sleeping face a moment longer, then something in him buckles.

It’s too much.

Too quiet.

Too close.

Too real.

He shifts suddenly, sitting up straighter in bed, pulling his arm out from beneath you with a sharpness that jolts you slightly in your sleep. You stir, blinking up at him, still groggy.

“Homelander?” your voice is raspy. Confused. Fragile.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters, half to himself, as he rises to his feet. “Fuck. I can’t do this.”

You sit up slowly, pain still lingering in your body. The sheet falls to your waist. “What are you talking about?”

He paces now, hands running through his hair, his face twisting into something bitter.

“This isn’t me,” he spits. “Saying shit like baby and I love you and—what the fuck is wrong with me?!”

His voice is full of venom, making you flinch instinctively. But you know this isn’t really about you.

This is about him.

“You’re spiraling,” you say quietly.

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps, eyes flashing. “You think you know me now? You think you’ve got me figured out?”

He takes a step closer. You remain still.

“Is that what I am to you?” he snarls. “A project? You thought if you let me fuck you enough times, I’d turn into your sweet little boy scout? I’d fall for you?”

He laughs—sharp, poisonous, cruel.

“I don’t do redemption. I don’t want to be good. You think you make me better?” he says, quieter now. Darker. “No, sweetheart. You make me weak. And that’s a fucking problem.”

He stalks closer.

“I used to be untouchable. Unshakable. And now I lie awake at night thinking about you. Not able to breathe without you. Fuck, I nearly burned down the world just to find you.”

His voice drops.

“I hate you for making me feel.”

You swallow hard, forcing the tears to stay inside the surface. You can’t give him the satisfaction of breaking you.

But he’s not done.

“You’ve poisoned me. You’ve taken everything I am and twisted it around your finger. You’ve made me soft, needy, fucking desperate—”

He stops. Breathing hard.

Your heart drops, a reaction to his stillness. You swear the whole city can hear it pound deep in your chest. Something in the air shifts—sharp, electric, dark. Seconds later, his hand snaps up to your jaw—firm, shaking, but not enough to hurt.

Just enough to hold you still. To get your attention.

And you hate to admit he has it, undivided.

His eyes lock onto yours, feral and glassy. Not from lust. From fear. You know him well enough to see it.

“You looked at me like I was disgusting,” he growls, breath hot against your face. “Like I was no better than the men who hurt you. And now you’re in my bed. Wearing my clothes. You didn’t leave. You stayed. And I don’t know what the fuck that means. What any of this means.”

He leans in—forehead almost pressed to yours.

“Are you still afraid of me?” he whispers. “Tell me. Right now.”

You blink up at him again, the words stuck in the back of your throat. Your silence is answer enough.

He kisses you anyway.

His mouth crashing into yours like he wants to erase your past, like he wants to crawl inside your body and rewrite its history.

His hand slides around your waist possessively. Full of rage he doesn’t know where to put. He grinds against you and you gasp—your body betraying you in ways he’s always counted on.

“You want to feel it,” he breathes. “The part of me that terrifies you. The part you hate. That’s the one you dream about when you think I’m not looking.”

He yanks your shirt over your head.

“You’re mine. Even if you’re scared of me. Even if you should be.”

And when he takes you, it’s with a desperation that feels like a prayer—like if he touches you hard enough, if he kisses you deep enough, you’ll stop seeing the man who broke someone else.

The man who broke many. And yet, you can’t seem to leave his reach.

You know you never will.

He kisses you like it’s punishment. But not punishment for you. Punishment for him. Punishment for loving you this much.

You moan into his mouth, but it comes out broken—like a sob that forgot what it was supposed to be. His hand is around your throat before you even realize it, not squeezing, just holding—possessive, shaking.

“I scare you,” he says against your skin. “Don’t I?.”

You nod.

“And you’re still letting me touch you?”

You decide to reply with action instead of words. You grab onto his hand, placing it right on your center. Guiding his hand, helping him peel your panties to the side. A plethora of feelings—arousal, ecstasy. Sore bones and tender skin, reminders of the weeks you endured with Bellamy. But his touch heals you, a high you’ve never felt until now.

“I knew you missed me.”

His fingers sink inside you, your hips grinding against the pressure.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he mutters against your chest. “You don’t get to run. Ever. I won’t let you.”

“I won’t” you whisper info your a breathless moan. “I’m here.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m—here—“

“Say who you belong to.”

He stops pleasuring you—eyes dark, waiting for you to give in.

“…You,” you breathe. “I belong to you.”

He groans like the words physically do something to him. He starts to finger you again, his pace slowing just slightly—enough to feel every inch of your pussy, reveling in every gasp that slips from your mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, voice shaking. “Even if it fucking kills me. I love you. I do.”

You tilt your chin up, breath hitching.

“Show me how much,” you whisper—then you run your tongue across his bottom lip, slow and deliberate. He grabs onto your legs, spreading them wider, wiping his wet fingers on the inside of your thighs.

“Fuckkkkk. You want proof?” he rasps against your lips. “You want to know how much I love you baby?”

His hand grabs onto your hair—tilting your head just enough to make your breath stutter.

“I love you so much—so much that I’m going to ruin you,” he growls.

He kneels down, placing his head in between your legs. His tongue slides along the hinge between your hip and thigh. He reaches your clit, forcing you to suck in a breath.

You’re not as relaxed as you want to be—still trying to wrap your head around this.

Around him.

Still fighting the devil and angel who sit on your shoulders.

And surprise—you decide to give the devil the reins, letting yourself sink fully into the mattress. Lifting your hands to pull at your hair.

“You love this, don’t you?” he whispers as he eases his fingers in and out. He presses them up toward your belly, sending heat waves through you.

Your breath catches and you nod, “Yeah, it’s good—”

He looks up at you with that twisted smile. “Just… good?”

His tongue presses against your clit. He licks you slowly, mesmerized by the chaotic beauty unfolding in front of him.

His fingers curl deeper inside you, making you gasp, making you ache, and making you hate how much you still love him.

Fuck.

Soon, he discovers the exact combination that has you trembling, breathless—your moans giving way to confessions you can’t hold back.

He listens like a zealot at the altar, wide-eyed and still, drinking in every sound you make—and he doesn’t change a goddamn thing.

Your moans tumble out, uncontrollable—and each one draws the same from him, like your pleasure is wired to his, even without a single touch.

“You hear that?” he whispers, breath catching, eyes crawling over your face like you’ve got the cure to the sickness in his soul. “Every sound you make—fuck��it’s mine. It’s always been mine.”

You try to bite it back, try to hold on to the fury, the fear, the part of you that still hates what he did. But it’s useless. The moans fall from your lips like confessions, and every time they do, he shudders—like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him alive.

Your breath stutters, the words clawing their way up before you can stop them. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

His grin twitches—sharp, unhinged. “You love me. Even if you hate me right now. You’ll forgive me.”

And you want to scream, want to deny it—but you know he’s right.

Before the thought even settles, his mouth is on you again. His lips close over your clit and he sucks, spiking your pleasure even higher until you’re forced to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans.

You melt with a blissed-out whimper, lungs heaving, pulse thrumming wild beneath your skin.

“Homelander!” you choke out, ecstasy slamming through your system like a surge, lighting up every nerve ending.

After a moment, he presses a warm, wet kiss to your navel—then another over your ribs, your sternum, right above the frantic pounding of your heart.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he cups your breasts, peppering them with kisses.

He slides up further, until you can feel the hard, bare length of his cock poke against you—the slick head slippery against your clit.

His mouth covers you as his tongue glides against your own, tasting yourself on his lips.

Your gaze drops to his erection as his fingers wrap the thick length. He strokes his cock as he looks you over appreciatively. He sighs softly—the version of him you ache for rising to the surface. “You’re perfect.”

And when he says it like that, when he looks at you like that—it’s easy to believe.

You reach for him, hand curling behind his neck as you pull him down, using the grip to lift yourself just enough to meet him halfway—another searing kiss, pain flaring in your wrists where the chain left its mark, but you’d fight through worse for this.

He sits back, hands tracing slowly up your thighs. “Do you want this?” he asks—and there’s something raw in his voice, something real. He means it.

You look up at him with a smile—soft, fragile, and full of surrender. The kind that says you’re letting him back in. “I do,” you whisper.

He grabs a pillow from the head of the bed, then taps your hip—gentle, coaxing—asking you to lift up for him. He wedges the pillow beneath you, dragging his cock from your clit to your entrance. He watches the motion, letting out a shaky, aroused breath.

You take a moment to admire him—the sharp cut of muscle along his hips, the absurd curve of his ass, the way his back flexes and shifts with every movement.

You’d spent weeks thinking you’d never see him again. That he was gone. That this—being close enough to look, to feel—was lost forever. And even if you haven’t forgiven him, even if you’re still bleeding inside—your heart is finally piecing itself back together.

Your eyes prickle. You blink hard to clear the tears before they fall.

You inhale deeply through your nose—his cologne, your sweat—and exhale through parted lips, slow and shaky.

The head of his cock presses and sinks inside. You gasp as he fills you slowly, inch by inch. He draws out slightly when he’s about halfway in, then presses forward again until you’ve taken all of him.

Homelander squeezes his eyes shut, a quiet, reverent, “Fuck,” dropping from his lips.

You’re reaching for him—or maybe he’s reaching for you—you can’t tell. But when you meet, it’s like magnets snapping together, poles aligning, the universe tilting into place as tongues touch and fingers entwine.

“Baby,” he breathes into your mouth, and you moan, nod, spreading your thighs even wider so he somehow sinks deeper.

His brow presses into yours as he murmurs, “I’m about to—“

Please,” you whisper, because you need it, too—need him to move, to prove something. That you’re still in sync, still connected in the way that once felt unshakable. That he’s still in there somewhere, beneath the lies, beneath what he did to Becca. Beneath the way he hurt you, before even knowing you exist.

No masks. No walls. Just the raw, terrible truth of what you still are to each other.

His breath catches—sharp, broken. Like your words tore through him in a way nothing else could. His hand tightens at your hip, his body finally giving in.

You meet him with equal desperation, hips rising to meet his, fingers digging into his back like you’re afraid he’ll vanish again. You both move like it’s the only way to speak the things you can’t say out loud.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, and he doesn’t—won’t.

Your breath catches, his name leaving your mouth like a broken vow.

And then it hits—together. Like a fuse catching fire at both ends.

You cry out, body arching into his as he lets out a strangled groan, burying his face in your neck. You cling to each other as it crashes over you, raw and electric, the lines between your bodies disappearing.

Just you.

Just him.

Just this.

And for one suspended moment, it feels like maybe that’s enough.

The room falls into stillness, thick with heat and the echo of your shared breath. His weight is draped over you, grounding but not crushing, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

Neither of you speak.

The silence isn’t awkward—it’s necessary. A fragile kind of peace that exists only in this sliver of time, after the storm and before the consequences. His skin is damp against yours, your wrists still ache, and yet… you don’t move.

He doesn’t either.

You feel the flutter of his lashes against your shoulder, the soft exhale against your collarbone. One of his hands finds yours beneath the sheets, fingers threading between your own like it’s instinct.

For a moment, it’s like nothing ever shattered. No Becca. No chains. No cruelty.

Your eyes slip shut, not because you’re tired—but because you’re afraid if you look at him too long, you’ll see everything you’re trying to forget.

He shifts slightly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You don’t respond. But you don’t let go, either.

And in the silence, that says enough.

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tag list: @harlowedoktravelsthemultiverse @helreyy @naty-1001 @slytherinroyalty16 @raginginkedslut @emily048 @lilyalone

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tigerf00d · 6 months ago

Text

Words Inside a Shell

Chapter 2: And Telling Me Your Memories

Pairing: Spike x Reader

Other Characters: Buffy and Willow, Xander

(mentioned), minor original characters.

Tags: NSFW later in the series! No use of y/n.

Afab but gender neutral.

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: While trying to get over a crush on

a certain crispy-haired vampire, you end up

falling right back into his arms

Or, the one where a night out with the girls

goes wrong

<- Prev Next ->

Series masterlist

A/N: chapter 2 yippee! As a reminder this comes out a week early on ao3! That link should take you directly to the work! Next update has smut I promise. It was originally supposed to be in this chapter, to be completely honest, but I like to keep chapters around 1.5k just for pacing/so I don't post ginormous ones and super short ones in the same work.

The Bronze, as always, was loud. Both through the other patrons speaking, and the live performers, music echoing through the street outside. As usual, a delicate concoction of booze, sweat, smoke (fake) and smoke (real) filled the air, creating the familiar slightly dank aroma of the club. Sunnydale didn't offer many other avenues of nightlife, if that wasn't already obvious. Though with the Hellmouth happily causing havoc this was probably for the best.

Naturally, your interest in the Bronze shifted in and out of focus, and your visit today felt almost nostalgic, especially with your goal and the girls.

Now, under the admittedly dim lighting of the entryway, you could better see Buffy and Willow’s respective outfits.

Buffy wore her hair loosely styled, somehow smooth despite recently dealing with the undead, a pale blue scoop-necked halter top, dark (black maybe, it was hard to tell in this lighting) mini skirt, and the boots you’d come to think of as part of her signature.

Willow’s red hair had been straightened. Willow’s top had long, slightly flared, sleeves and a neckline that came to a slight v, highlighting her thin choker beautifully; as well as a longer skirt that swayed when she moved.

Willow suddenly froze and groaned, “We forgot to show Spike the necklace.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Will.” You reassured, “Besides, he always manages to turn up eventually.”

“That’s true…”

“Especially now that we have his favourite toy.” Buffy winked at you,

“I’m not Spike’s toy. He never plays with me. Not the way I want him to, anyway.”

“Ugh, too much information.” Willow wrinkled her nose.

“Hey, I’m not the one that brought him up after we agreed on no vampire talk.” You pointed it out.

“So, dancing or fuel first?” Buffy chirped.

"..."

“So, what can I get for you folks?” The bartender leaned in, a wide friendly smile on her face. The name tag (Hello Christine) hanging loosely off of her shirt glinted, drawing your eyes. Buffy leaned in in return, half-yelling over the music to order for the three of you.

“Two Shirley Temples and a virgin mojito, please.” The slayer passed the cash over the counter.

Christine nodded, “Coming right up,”

Shortly after, the drinks were sliding across the bar to the three of you, which you accepted with an easy grateful smile and looked to find a table, seeing your former usual spot unclaimed.

“Ok, temples for the two lovely ladies, and the mojito for me.” You placed each drink in their respective places.

“No Shirley for you, too?” Willow prompted.

“Yeah, I want the freshness tonight. Might come in handy later.” You laughed.

Buffy took a sip of her drink, then asked, “Is that our goal tonight? Be your most excellent Wing-women?”

“It's not that serious.” Waving a hand through the air to dismiss the thought, the other resting on the table, you continued, “I just… want a distraction. Being here with you two is enough.”

Buffy touched your hand, both girls smiling.

“Besides. We both know it's not that easy. What do you say we finish these up and then go dance? The music isn't half bad tonight.”

“I'm pretty sure the band has played here at least once before.” Willow mentioned happily.

“So have most bands that end up on that stage, it's the Bronze.” You laughed.

The three of you finished your drinks relatively quickly after that, ready to descend on the dance floor as a trio right as the music was beginning to get more upbeat.

Your bodies moved in time, a sea of undulating patrons. You raised your arms seductively, finding purchase in your hair before drawing them back down your body, and repeating the process. As you did this, you scanned the room for a stranger who held potential.

Buffy regained your attention with a nudge, nodding in the direction of a broad blond man. His hair was natural, longer than some of the other men in the club as you saw hairs curl slightly around his ears and flip out at the back of the neck, or at least it looked that way as you observed him while he was moving. A faded dark blue short-sleeve shirt was tight against his body, along with the black jeans. His outfit was simple but effective.

You smiled, pleased, ignoring the similarities between him and a certain vampire, and cast an appreciative glance towards Buffy and then started your efforts to gain the focus of the man.

You moved your position on the dance floor to be in his eye line, further away from the stage, but at least the music wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t think anymore. Finally, the man’s head turned towards you, and you caught his eye.

He tilted his head, eyeing you with a close-mouthed grin. You bit your lip playfully and crooked a finger towards him, enticing him to come closer to you, and he obeyed. When he reached you, you smiled openly as he leaned into your space.

“Hi.” You spoke into his ear, voice playful.

“Hey,” He responded, matching your tone. “Name’s Luke. And you?”

You offered your name, and he smiled easily.

“Come here often?”

You laughed, “Does that ever work?” you ask him, still dancing.

“Haven’t had the chance to find out,” Luke answered honestly, his bashful shrug breaking the nonchalant persona he had just been displaying.

“I used to, not so much anymore.”

His “How come?” was lost as the band on stage played a particularly loud transition between songs.

Unbeknownst to you, a familiar vampire circled you, hiding amongst the throng of bodies as you lost yourself to the music while you faced your new dance partner.

“Pardon?”

“I said, why’s that?”

“Oh, you know, work stuff. Not the most interesting.”

“Ah, I get it. I work out of town, near the college actually. So I don’t really get to go out often either.”

“Oh, where do you work?” You moved further away from the stage to better hear him, but closer to the centre of the dance floor so that Buffy and Willow could still keep eyes on you. Luke followed, hands hovering around your hips when the pair of you found a new spot.

He made a non-commital noise, “I don’t know if I can explain it.”

Your brows furrowed at that response, but not one to dry up the conversation immediately, you persevered.

“Try me.”

“No, really. I don’t think you’d even believe me.” He scrutinised your face before brushing the weirdness off, “What about you?”

“You know the magic shop in town?”

Luke’s lips thinned slightly, his smile becoming strained. You ignored it but noted the reaction in the back of your mind.

“Yeah, you work… there?”

You frowned openly now. “I do. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Luke acquiesced, raising his hands. “You must be entertained all day.”

You pulled away from him. “I guess.”

“All those freaks coming in–”

You cut him off quickly. “Sorry, did you forget the part where I work there? This is Sunnydale, Luke.”

“I’ve noticed.” He replied, a smile on his face but voice somewhat frustrated.

Your dancing slowed as you turned to walk away, but before you could make any distance, he grabbed your wrist.

Wrenching your wrist out of his control, you face him again. “Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t done talking to you.”

“Yeah, well, I was.” You say curtly.

“No, you came to me. I’m not done talking to you.”

From just beside you, a familiar voice interjected.

“They said they’re done talking to you, mate.”

“Spike.” You greeted, not needing to look back to identify the vamp.

“Hey, precious. This guy bothering you?”

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend, you bitch!” Luke shouted.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” “I’m not their boyfriend.”

The pair of you answered simultaneously.

“And besides, you should’ve left me alone when I asked regardless.” You added to the other man’s retreating back.

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #spike x reader #spike x you #spike btvs x reader #spike btvs x you

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thelampisaflashlight · 7 months ago

Text

Right Here, Right Now

[Aether meets a friend at the bar. Dewther.] Below the cut.

The bar is pleasantly warm when Aether shuffles inside, sniffling lightly as his nose dribbles slightly from the shift in temperature; It's a cold, dark, and shockingly dry November outside, but he'll gladly brave the frosty night air if it means he gets to hang out in a place like this for at least a little while.

"Oi, Aeth, over here!" a rough voice calls out from a booth in the corner, a pale, skinny arm shoots into the air, waving him over.

Aether smiles and makes his way over, weaving passed tables and chairs packed with other patrons, and plops himself down inside the booth with a soft "umph" as the seat gives more resistance than expected upon impact.

"Took you long enough." the other sniffs, not so much in an annoyed fashion but in more of a relieved way -Aether's known him for years, he should know by now what the difference is- and slides him over a glass of slowly warming beer, "Ice's already melted."

"It's fine, think I'll like it better warm with how cold it is out there." he sighs, slipping his coat off and setting it beside him on the bench, "Did I keep you waiting, Dew?"

The fire ghoul shrugs, stirring his own drink, something blood red and fruity, with his straw, "Ehn, not really, got here about fifteen minutes ago."

"It's funny," he adds, "how we can arrive here at different times despite leaving from the same location..."

Aether snorts.

"I had to make a stop along the way to grab a couple things..." he says, reaching into his coat pocket and revealing a small carboard box, which he flashes the label of to Dew before hiding it away again, "Forgive me?"

Dew shifts in his seat a little, "...I'll think about it."

"We don't have to-" Aether starts, but something in the way Dew meets his gaze makes him bite his tongue, "Tell me about your day."

And, just like that, the pair fall into a casual conversation, ranging from the wonderous bullshit that is having to do ministry paperwork, to tales of the younger, less seasoned ghouls getting up to shenanigans.

"-and then Aurora looked at me like I had two heads when I said I knew about the caves." Dew rolls his eyes, leaning backwards, his long red hair bobbing back and forth in the loose bun he's pulled it into, hands gesturing widely, "Like, it's the caves, Aeth, the caves."

"I remember when I first went there," Aether chuckles, "I thought it was super secluded, too, and then I found out-"

"-That the sauna is, like, right fucking there, yeah?" Dew finishes and Aether nods, grinning, "Ah, well, now she knows... Hahh..."

Aether sips his beer -his third overall- and sets the glass down with a heavy sigh, "It's been a while since we've gotten to hang out like this, ya know, one on one..."

"It has," Dew agrees, sitting back up so he can reach over and finish off his own drink, "us old timers don't get out that much, do we?"

"Ouch."

"What?"

"'Old timers'... You wound me, Dewdrop." Aether jokes, giving a yelp when Dew's foot collides with his ankle, "What was that for?"

"We're old, Aeth, nothin' wrong with admitting that." he ruffles slightly, "Just means we have more experience..."

Dew's foot brushes against Aether's leg again, but this time the movement is softer, more deliberate, as he slides it upwards, stopping about midcalf, "...Right?"

Aether lets out a little huff, "Cheeky as ever..."

"You like it." Dew hums, leaning forward, "How about you and me get out of here?"

"Your place or mine?"

"We'll just start walking and see where we end up first."

Dew laughs, hiding his face behind his hand when a handful of the other patrons look over.

"...I like the sound of that." he whispers, and Aether feels, more than he sees, his fear.

Dew pays their bill, and Aether makes himself a wall.

They walk back to the abbey, watching the lights of the town turn into distant sparks, moving at a leisurely pace until the sidewalk turns into grass and then finely compacted earth underfoot.

Dew's hand, which had been brushing against his the whole way, but never quite catching, finds its way into Aether's, and their fingers slip together easily.

Everything about what they're doing feels easier when it's dark, when no one can see it, when it feels safe.

Even still...

"I love you." he says, "You know that, right?"

I know. I love you, too." Dew gives his hand a squeeze, "It's just... People can be dicks when it comes to things they don't understand."

"Fuck 'em." Aether lifts his chin, giving a little grunt, before lowering his head and sighing, "I get it though... Better safe than sorry, even in a town like ours... I wish it was different, but I also know things aren't going to change overnight."

"Sorry for bringing the mood down-"

"No! I mean, no, it's good." Aether clarifies, turning towards Dew and holding his other hand, "It's... you're being logical. I just, when I'm with you, it's easy to... to forget."

"I'm just being paranoid-"

They both pause, taking a deep breath.

"...No more scary real world shit?" Dew sticks his pinkie out towards Aether, who hooks his around it, "Yeah?"

"You've got a deal, Sparks."

Dew unruffles a bit, releasing Aether's hands so he can stretch and soothe the tension in his, well, everything.

"Back on track." Aether says, reaching into his jacket pocket and withdrawing the package from earlier; A box of condoms that seems to have already been opened, although it's hard to tell in the dark.

"Right here??" Dew flusters, looking around, "Aether-"

"Wait, shit-" Aether digs deeper into his pocket, "-Not that one, not yet... Fuck, where did I-OH!"

Aether withdraws a smaller box from his breast pocket, "Forgot I put it there... Ha, ha..."

"Aether, what..."

The quint, opens the box and holds it out towards Dewdrop, easing himself down onto one knee.

"I was going to wait, surprise you with it later, but I..."

Dew practically bowls him over with the force of his hug.

"Right here?" Aether teases, and Dew gives a wet laugh.

"You wanna marry me?" Aether asks as Dew wraps his arms around him.

"Only if you wanna marry me." Dew replies and Aether snickers.

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to." he says, rubbing his back as the wobbly laughter turns into genuine crying, "Oh, love..."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just..." Dew deflates a bit, "Fuck, I'm just all over the place tonight..."

"You wanna talk about it?" Aether asks, feeling Dew pull away, "What's wrong?"

Dew digs into his pocket.

"I was trying to think of a good time to ask... I was stressing out about it all night and then you, and I, and..."

Aether looks at the gold band pinched between Dew's trembling fingers.

"You-"

The fire ghoul captures his lips.

"Right here." he gasps.

"Right here, right now."

"Aether, Dew, you're back-" Mountain greets as the pair stumbles into the common room, staring as he takes in their messed up hair and wrinkled clothing, "...Do I wanna know what happened?"

Dew wipes his nose on his shirt, which is covered in mud and... something Mountain decides not to acknowledge at the moment.

"...We're getting married?"

"You're what-"

"Married. Going to be." Aether supplies unhelpfully, then claps him on the shoulder, "Wanna be my best man?"

Mountain opens his mouth, then closes it, assessing the situation, and then sighs.

"You know what? Sure, but also, what the fuck-"

#lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #dewther #dewdrop x aether #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #mountain ghoul #this was originally gonna be dewmega content #writing is a journey #and I am ever racing towards the finish line

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ineffablelara · 6 months ago

Text

Loki's dysfunctional family

"I don’t want to hear your riddles and your vague excuses for him, I want the truth. Answer me!"

This is from wml, I consider the book to be its own canon but still, I think this sums up Loki's relationship with Frigga very well, he loves her and she loves him but her priority is always defending Odin, even if she has to lie to Loki to achieve that, she also created this persona where she is the wise, all-knowing queen who always knows better than everyone else, I love how it's the one thing that all the movies that feature her got right, she's probably the most consistent character from all the Thor movies bc she always behaves and speaks in the same way: "You're a little foolish child but I love you and I also know better than you'll ever know so just listen to me for I am you mother and I'm wiser than you"

Like, even in a deleted scene from the first Thor she displays this slightly narcissistic behavior (I didn't want to use the word narcissistic bc that migt be a bit extreme but rn I can't think of another word, please don't think I'm calling her a monster or something, I just think she displays a little arrogance in ways that can be considered funny, playful or harmless sometimes)

"Thor, just remember, you have something even the great Allfather never had" "What is that?" "Me for a mother, now don't keep you father waiting"

"Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself"

"You're no idiot, you're here aren't you? Seeking counsel from the wisest person in Asgard"

This is just from the movies, in the official tdw novelization she has a conversation with Jane that happens after the "don't let him hear you say that" scene that goes:

“I can’t remember the last time Thor brought a friend home to meet us,” Frigga said to Jane. “When a young man brings a young woman home to meet his parents…” Frigga began, implying a possible marriage between Thor and Jane. “Technically, I think we have only known each other for three days,” Jane said, surprised to be having this conversation so soon. “And if it were three million, would that change how you feel?”

This last one always makes laugh bc... girl I really don't know if my feelings for a man I met three days ago would remain the same after three million years, was that really supposed to sound wise and reasonable? lmao okayy

And the "Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself" one kinda makes me uncomfortable bc it sounds patronizing, this might just be my own traumas speaking but telling someone that they don't know how they feel but you do always strikes a nerve , it makes me so angry bc who are you to tell me that I'm wrong about my own feelings?

And also, is Loki really not perceptive about himself? Really? Is she going going full Thor with the "imagined slights" thing?

This is what bothers me the most about Loki's family dynamic, they NEVER take him or his complaints seriously, they always downplay his grievances to make him sound ungratefull or overly dramatic and this is one of the most hurtful things you can do to a person imo, Loki voices a discomfort he has with something about their family and they instantly try to silence him or make him feel bad for complaining, that's why I'm glad he started to stand his ground with her in the prison scene

I think he then understood how alone he truly was, Frigga didn't exactly wanted to hear what he had to say nor did she try to understand him and his motives for doing what he did, she just wanted him to accept that Odin was indeed his father, a great King who did no wrong and they were a perfect family

And this doesn't happen just with Frigga, Thor participates in that too and their behavior almost reads to me as gaslighting sometimes, there's a scene in wml that always stuck with me:

Thor let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what it is that I have done,” he said, his voice softer than usual. Loki snorted. “Oh, please.” “I’m trying to apologize.” “And yet you can’t even work out what for, so I don’t think it counts.” Thor stared at him, his hands working in and out of fists at his side. Loki braced himself, ready for Thor to strike something, possibly him, but instead he said, his tone soft with hurt, “You are so determined to despise me, aren’t you?” It would have been better to be struck. Loki flinched as though he had been. “I don’t—” But Thor held up a hand. “Spare me, brother. Whatever you hold against me, whatever I have done to wound you, I hope you know that I am not your enemy. I want to fight by your side, not against you.”

For those of you who haven't read the book here goes some context: (ohh and obviously this contains spoilers so be aware)

Loki and Thor were sent to a diplomatic mission in Alfheim and things got out of hand, Loki then came up with a scheme to turn things to their favor wich Thor promptly agreed, things obviously didn't turn well for them and they got caught, they were sent to Odin who demanded an explanation for their behavior, Thor then tossed all the blame on Loki, saying that it was all his idea and he had no choice but going along with it, Odin then scolded Thor and let him go and proceeded to HUMILATE Loki for his behavior and even insinuated that his son had a dark and evil nature and there was no point in trying to change that bc people can't change their hearts and who they really are deep down, Loki was really hurt after Odin's harsh words and Thor went to "apologize" to him, Loki was furious and said they could have at least shared the blame, but Thor said that he couldn't risk angering their father, Thor then says the first line of the dialogue I put here and well, I'm assuming you read the rest.

Like, I can't believe Thor's audacity in that book, he threw his own brother under the bus bc he was scared of angering Odin and then left Loki there, completely alone to face their terrifying father (they're both scared of him in the book, it's very clear), then he goes to his rooms with a half assed apology and expects Loki to just forgive him and his cowardice as if nothing happened and goes even further by saying that Loki just keeps trying to find reasons to despise him???

The worst part is: It works, Loki wishes that Thor had just striked him bc his words hurt more than a punch, nevermind that he was the one who just got betrayed, Thor finds a way to paint him as the bad guy and Loki buys it, istg they're so toxic, it's painful to read but at the same time I feel it's so accurate

Also, I'm not hating on Thor for behaving like that btw, yes it was fucked up and he was a coward but that's only a symptom of Odin's bad parentage, his influence destroyed any chance Loki and Thor had of being normal, loving siblings, they were so terrified of him that they were willing to do anything to stay on his good graces, even if that meant betraying each other

Ans my point is, Loki's family is used to turn his words and actions against him, even if they're not aware of what they're doing, they manipulate him to invalidate his feelings and that only alienates him further from them, he gets more and more alone bc no one ever tries to show him genuine understanding and compassion, they only ever have accusing words for him and make him feel like he's a monster for criticizing them and their crappy behavior, he knows that he can't count on the two people he loves the most (Thor and Frigga) to share his pain and suffering so what does he do? He drowns in his own sorrow and heartbreak and lets those negative feelings fester inside him bc he has no one willing to listen to him, willing to be a friend

That's part of his tragedy, stuck in a toxic family that makes him feel awful for daring to complain about their behavior and spending his whole life without ever making a real friend (I mean, OG Loki at least), always isolated, always misunderstood, vilanized by the very people who claimed to love him, and I mean, if his own family thought he was a monster how could he allow himself to show vulnerability to others? They would hate him even more right?

And just like that Loki stayed stuck in his toxic family for nearly his whole life, bc he was unable to let himself be seen by others, the irony I think, is if he left them he would see how fucked up they were and would surely break free from their toxicity but his fear of being misunderstood kept him chained with them forever basically, and the longer he stayed the worse his self esteem got, and the worse his self esteem got the longer he stayed.

Thanks for reading all this, I don't think I ever yapped that much about Loki but I really could spend a whole day talking about his dysfunctional family lol

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raikiriwolfwrites · 2 months ago

Text

Bitterness, Sweetened by Your Lips

Viago has news, Spite asks for help, and bonds are strengthened.

Enby RookxLucanis

Chapter 9 - Inner Demons

Read on AO3

“Rook. You’re here.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Viago and Teia sent word. They have information…about Illario. Whatever it is, they wish to speak away from Treviso. Away from anyone who might be listening. They won’t put more to paper. I need to meet with them. As soon as possible.”

-----

The Cobbled Swan is dim and silent, cleared out of staff and patrons, only the distant bustle of the streets outside disturbing the quiet. As they approach, two cloaked figures slip out of the shadows by the bar, lowering their hoods to greet them properly.

Rook could feel Lucanis coiled tight beside them so decided to take the lead with pleasantries for now. They glanced over the pair with a muted smile, pleased to see them, even though not under the best circumstances “Teia, Viago. Thank you for setting this up. You found something? About Illario?”

Were he not a trained professional he looks like he might have been shifting uncomfortably. There was a tightness to his expression that belied his ease to those looking close enough. “Possibly.”

Lucanis looks between them sharply. “What do you mean, ‘possibly’? You have something, or you don’t.”

Teia steps in smoothly, as straightforward as ever. “It’s Caterina.”

The tension in Lucanis frame winds impossibly tighter, Viago glances warily between him and Teia. “We don’t know that for certain.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve got my eyes on Villa Dellamorte. One of them brought back one of Caterina’s rings.”

“It had been thrown out with the trash. Illario would never do that. He’d at least pawn it somewhere.”

Rook quickly reads between the lines Teia and Viago are laying out, humming thoughtfully. “You think Caterina threw the ring away as a message that she’s inside the house.”

Teia turns to Lucanis, eyes bright. “Her opal ring, Lucanis, you know what that means!”

His eyes widen, scrutinising Teia’s face for any hint of a lie. Finding none, his head snaps to Rook. Their confusion must be written all over their face as he softens slightly and explains. “She gave that ring to my mother. It was a mark of her favour. House Velardo killed my parents and sent it back to Caterina to demand she surrender the seat of First Talon. She’s alive. Illario, you idiot.”

“We need more eyes in the Villa to say for certain.”

Lucanis starts pacing a short, agitated path, taking only a few steps before pivoting back the way he came. Rook can see him spiralling, getting tangled up in racing thoughts, and wants to reach out to him, but isn’t sure how welcome it would be right now. “Illario would tear the city apart searching, if he’d lost this. How could she be alive? What is he thinking? How am I supposed to deal with this?”

“We need to plan a rescue! The sooner we get Caterina out of there, the better.”

“It could be a trap. We have to deal with Illario first.”

“He could still kill her if we move against him. Maker knows what’s in his head.”

“Vi, you’re too pessimistic for your own good. Reason with him, Lucanis.”

“I thought I had a clear shot at my target! What if I go after him and get Caterina killed?”

Lucanis stopped suddenly, head jerking towards Rook; they eye him with concern, only to be met with the glowing violet eyes of Spite instead of his usual warm brown. Teia and Viago start to fade away in their peripheral vision as he speaks, the ambient noise of the Cobbled Swan and the city outside becoming muffled and distant.

“Help us.”

Rook wasn’t sure what they were expecting, but a distressed plea wasn’t it. They felt a frisson of unease creeping up their spine that something made Spite so desperate as to take control here.

“How? What do you need?”

“He’ll listen! He always listens to you. Come!”

Spite almost seemed to walk through them and they couldn’t help the full body shiver, scrunching their eyes shut from the strange feeling as they felt a shift in the world around them.

-----

They blinked their eyes open a second later to be greeted by somewhere horrifyingly familiar. Only the hint of magic in the air wasn’t the stale metallic tang of blood magic, but something more akin to the Fade. The reassurance that it wasn’t the real Ossuary didn’t detract from the bitter memories of the prison, the entryway they used to access it on their way to free Lucanis surrounded them, a slightly disjointed simulacrum of the real world as the Fade often was.

How did Spite pull them here? Why? They call out to the eerily silent air.

“What did you do? Is this the Fade? It seems…different.” They glance back down, muttering more to themself. “It isn’t like those fragments of Solas’ past in the Crossroads, either.”

They feel the tingle of Spite’s presence behind them, stronger than usual and turn to be faced with…Lucanis?

No.

That purple glow and magical energy is all Spite.

They reach out a tentative hand to his cheek and are shocked when it makes contact with skin, slightly cooler than Lucanis runs and a distinct magical tingle of the Fade beneath their fingers, but solid and real.

“Spite? You’re actually here?”

They cup his face in both hands and can’t help the fondness bubbling up in their chest as he nuzzles into their palm like a cat. He sniffs at Rook's palm and sighs softly.

”Lightning and salt. Like a storm at sea. Safe.”

The spark of warmth in their chest is swiftly drowned out by the tight, constricting worry banded around it.

“Are you all right? Where’s Lucanis?”

”Lucanis is here. Always. Behind locked doors. I can’t break through.”

His voice sounds different without Lucanis’ layered over the top, and it seems less strained here, not having to fight an unfamiliar corporeal form to shape the words. He grips one of Rook’s hands as he pulls away and tugs sharply, urging them forward. They acquiesce easily.

“All right, let’s go get him.”

Spite releases their palm as they drop down from the ledge, but stays close like a shadow as they make their way along the path further into the prison.

“Useless. All of this. Utterly useless.” Calivan’s voice echoes around them, sourceless and shifting, mocking and cruel. “I was supposed to have a useful demon, and instead I have a useless abomination. Wonderful.”

Spite snarls at the voice and Rook almost wishes they could kill him again as the memories of the horrors committed here are made fresh at the sight of barren cells and spattered blood stains. They turn to Spite as a distraction, hoping to glean more of an understanding of what’s actually going on.

“So this place is the Ossuary. The prison we freed you and Lucanis from.”

”‘Freed’? No. We’ve always been here.”

That’s a concerning thought. But maybe something better dealt with once they have Lucanis back.

“Right. It’s not the real Ossuary. But it doesn’t seem like a memory either. Lucanis is in here somewhere, right? He’s…what? Where they kept his blood?”

Spite nods sharply. “Yes. Go there. But. The locks. Everywhere. I can’t touch them.”

“How do I get past the locks? Turn myself into a mouse? Fight a bunch of giant spiders?”

“By getting past the guards. It’s a prison.”

They sigh and make a mental note to help Lucanis teach Spite about jokes when they’re free of this place.

“Right. What was I thinking?”

They step through the swirling Fade portal ahead, Spite hot on their heels.

-----

“Still fighting? How tiresome. There’s no point, you know. Nothing awaits you anymore. You’re long dead.”

Zara’s saccharine croon resounds from further down the corridor, it looks like the entrance to where they found Lucanis imprisoned the first time around. They increase their pace, worried at what they’ll find ahead, only to come to a stop in an empty space. It’s clearly meant to be his cell, the fractured icy crystal jutting from the corner so much like the one Lucanis broke free from a few short months ago. Card tables sit abandoned at the edges of the room. They glance around warily before turning to Spite.

“Nobody’s here.”

Spite cocks his head at Rook, confusion evident across his features.

“Of course not. Rook can’t be here.”

Well now it was Rook’s turn to be confused.

“Me? Why not?”

“Rook was the first. Who didn’t hurt. You open doors. You don’t close them.”

He said it like it was so obvious, simply a fact of the world, and warm affection curls around their heart. They cannot help but smile and reach out to give Spite’s arm a gentle squeeze.

“Well, let’s go open some more doors then.”

-----

The next Fade portal takes them deeper into the Ossuary. Where once they had cut down swathes of Venatori, now only echoes of their cruelty remained.

“Ah, yes, the Crow. You will learn to regret your crimes against the Venatori.”

“You should be grateful to give your life for the magister’s research. What an honour!”

Rook shook off their disgust at their sneering voices and looked around the room. Papers were scattered across tables around the room and they felt something drawing them towards the nearest one. A sound almost like faint whispers, something tugging them forward from a place deep behind their ribs. As they drew closer the whispers started to sound more like Lucanis, but the words were unclear.

Looking across the papers on the surface, some were unintelligible scribbles, others vague strings of words, like tangled thoughts put to paper. The note they felt the pull towards was written in Lucanis’ neat, sloping hand.

She gave that ring to my mother. It was the mark of her favour. House Velardo killed my parents and sent it back to Caterina…

As they read, the whispers solidified into Lucanis’ voice, but the ghost of it sounded smaller than Rook had ever heard it.

“So few of us left…”

The whisper tapered off, the source of the sound shifting, moving away towards another table. Rook followed the trail of his soft voice to find two similar notes, fragments of his thoughts and fears manifested before them.

…but were more like brothers. Caterina took us both in…

“All we had left.”

What if I go after him and get Caterina killed…

“All I have left…”

“Oh, Lucanis…” Rook whispers sadly.

They turn back to the room to find Spite glaring down at a shadowed mass near the exit. As they move closer the shadows coalesce into the stern figure of Caterina Dellamorte. She turns her disapproving gaze to them.

“Rook, did you forget our deal? You were to bring my grandson back to me.”

“I…did?”

“You brought me an abomination! Where is my grandson?”

Rook glances to their left as they hear a deep inhale from Spite beside them. “Tenderness and terror. Rage and relief. Old, stale fear of disappointment.”

“This is the Fade, so this Caterina is…a spirit? Something like that?”

“No. Lucanis is mine. They won’t dare. Thoughts live here. Ideas. Feelings.”

Understanding dawned. “She’s his idea of Caterina, then.” They face her again, shoulders squared and determined. “Caterina? Lucanis is trapped. But I think you’re part of his way out. He’s still the grandson you raised.” They held their tongue on what they really thought about how she raised him, this figment of Caterina hadn’t earned that ire, and Lucanis didn’t need that right now. “But he feels like he disappointed you, it weighs him down. You need to free him from that burden.”

“You want to free a demon?” She scoffs.

“You sent me to free him because you love your grandson. Lucanis is the furthest thing from a disappointment. You wouldn’t reject him now, when you know he’s not to blame for any of this, would you?”

Rook hopes that wherever Lucanis is, he can hear their words. That he can understand how true they are.

Caterina’s stern facade crumbles.

“My poor boy…”

Her voice fades away as her form dissipates, the shadows reforming into a glowing red barrier crystal.

Spite looks eagerly between Rook and the crystal. They take that as a cue to draw their blade, striking deep into the heart of it, shattering it into a scattered red mist.

“Promoted from flying vermin to malicious spirit. Whatever will you become next, I wonder?”

Zara’s mocking voice follows them as they step up to the portal forming in the doorway. Rook walks through without a backward glance.

-----

“Magister Zara was far more benevolent than you deserved, Crow.”

The pathway up to the Warden’s tower is littered with debris, papers are scattered here too. Rook inspects them as they pass, hearing that familiar whispering pull towards a small cluster of them.

I shouldn’t have let myself fall asleep. Thai was my mistake…

“Spite is here.”

If I cannot stay in control…

“Spite is waiting.”

You’d have to kill me…

“And Spite would die.”

Rook looks towards Spite as the last whisper of Lucanis’ voice fades away. He might be hard to read, but he wears Lucanis’ face, one Rook is very familiar with by now, and they can catch the sadness behind the determined cast of his features.

“Always here. Can’t. Leave.”

His voice is quiet. Rook closes the short distance between them and pulls him into a firm hug.

“Once we get Lucanis out, we’ll figure this all out, for both of you.”

A familiar voice from the open space at the end of the corridor startles them apart.

“Don’t worry, Rook. I’ve got my eye on the prisoner.”

“Harding?”

They walk closer to peer at the figure curiously. She stands there, bow at the ready, enchanted arrow nocked, face battle hardened and sure.

“You’ve conjured up a friendly face, Lucanis. But your real friends and allies need you, in the real world.”

She looks at them incredulously. “Rook, are you sure Spite isn’t tricking you? What if there’s no Lucanis - just the demon?”

“After a year in the Ossuary, you might believe that, but you’re no demon. I know you, and I know Spite, there’s absolutely no mistaking you for anything but the man that you are.”

“Look around. This isn’t the mind of a human being, let alone an Antivan Crow.”

“You’re the man you were, Lucanis, even buried in this pain. No demon would punish itself like this. We can’t always control our thoughts, fears, doubts… But they aren’t us. Your choices, your actions—that’s who you are.”

Harding looks unsure, but she lowers her bow to her side nonetheless.

“You really shouldn’t trust anything you find in the Fade.”

“I trust you, Luca, and I trust us to get you home. Let me.”

“You know that’s the kind of attitude that’s going to get you killed, right?”

Her voice is still uneasy but she’s returned the arrow to her quiver as she cocks her hip into a more relaxed stance. Rook can’t help but grin as they speak more to the air than Harding.

“I’ll risk it. I have a master assassin on my side. Don’t I?”

“Just…be careful.”

Like Caterina, her form dissipates and reforms into a barrier crystal. Rook shatters it without hesitation.

-----

The open space before them beckons them forward. Calivan’s voice echoes sourcelessly around the arena where they and Lucanis once defeated him.

“Couldn’t you simply die already? This experiment has gone on for far too long.”

The board at the back is new though, familiar, but out of place here. Rook walks over, peering closer at it. Lucanis’ scattered thoughts put to ink are pinned up on the board like evidence. Every page cuts deeper into Rook’s heart as it puzzles together more pieces of Lucanis’.

…there aren’t words enough to apologise…

“I cannot be this.”

I was distracted. That cannot happen again. I need to get my head on straight…

“I’m better than this.”

I didn’t want you to see that. Again…

“I’m not this. I cannot be this.”

The anguish in his voice reminds Rook of the fight against Illario beneath the chantry. He sounds so broken and helpless, Rook needs to reach him so they can take him out of this place and never let him go.

A familiar uneven gait approaches from behind. The distinctive alternating click of a boot heel and clink of metal heralding the arrival of Neve. She peers around Rook’s shoulder at the board curiously, before glancing up at them.

“Hey, Rook. Should you be here? Can’t say it’s the safest place in the world.”

“Strangeness and charm. Something familiar and foreign at the same time. With a little guilt.”

Rook leans away from the board to look past Neve at Spite, curious. “Somehow I thought Lucanis would think of Neve as being more…Tevinter?”

He cocks his head. “Tevinter? People come in three kinds. Family. Enemies. Contracts.”

“I hope that’s just you talking.” When they get him out, they’re going to make sure that he knows that he has friends too. Although a small part of Rook can’t help but selfishly hope that Lucanis considers them family. Shaking off that thought they face the next guard. “Neve, you need to let us pass.”

She fixes him with a look, knowing and laced with a trace of pity. “You know how he is. Even if you open the door, Lucanis won’t walk through it. This is where he wants to be.”

“If he just needs help to see that there’s another choice, then that’s why I’m here. However long that takes. I can handle the real you, Lucanis, and I will wait as long as you need.”

“You really think you can help him? You’re such a sap, Rook.”

Rook smiles at Neve’s teasing before their face settles into determination. “Only for him. I think it’s time you stood aside and let me try.”

She smiles faintly as she too dissipates, replaced with the blood red crystal that shatters swiftly under Rook’s fist.

-----

Rook’s skin crawls as the blood vault forms around them. The memory of walls of blood vials stacked up like wine in a cellar, the casual irreverence towards the lives of those the Venatori consider their lessers, sparks a long simmering hatred. The rot that eats away at the roots of their home from the shadows, something they had long fought against.

Illario’s echoing voice jolts them out of their thoughts.

“Caterina was First Talon. This is Crow business. We can handle it.”

Spite snarls at the sound of his voice and Rook feels their own mouth curling in distaste. Lucanis had said they were like brothers. And yet Illario could betray him so deeply for a title.

More of Lucanis scattered thoughts and memories littered the walkway and Rook trails fingers over the shifting ink softly.

What is he thinking? How am I supposed to deal with this…

“What have you done?”

She came after me. She came after Caterina. She will come for you, too…

“Cousin, what about you?”

Illario’s smug face greets them as they drop down the short ledge at the end of the corridor. He saunters forward from where he had been leaning casually against the bench behind him. The spot where Lucanis’ blood had been held, the leash by which the Venatori kept him ensnared, now replaced by his flesh and blood, the one who had set the trap.

“Rook… you’re too good to be wasting your time in a place like this. Forget about my cousin. You’ve got much more important things to worry about, don’t you? You’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Illario’s facade of ease and flattery hadn’t worked on Rook when they first met and sat even more bitterly on their tongue now. Spite looks like he wants to lash out at the facsimile of Illario, held back only by the knowledge that he can’t touch him no matter how hard he tries. And Rook has no doubt that he has tried. They place a placating hand on Spite’s shoulder.

“Save your anger for the real one. We’ll get a chance to make him pay soon enough.”

That seems to settle him enough, he shakes his head with a growl before zeroing in on Illario again, taking a deep inhale as he narrows his eyes at him.

“Sharp. Jagged edges. Hurt with every breath. Grief and relief. Hope and anger. Mixed.”

“Lucanis, you don’t owe Illario a second thought, much less a supporting role.”

“He. Put. Us. Here.”

“You’ve got to leave this be, Rook. You turn my cousin loose, it’s only going to cause more grief.”

“I think it will be Illario feeling that grief. Right, Lucanis?”

“You know that Caterina had five children? Eight grandchildren. All dead now, except for Lucanis and me. Last time the Crows fought a war of succession, House Dellamorte lost everything. Except the seat of First Talon. This time we fight ourselves. What will be left then? You think you’ll survive? Your friends? Your cause?”

“You know him, Lucanis. Even here, Illario just wants to save his own neck. You fight yourselves only because he drew the first blade, but was too cowardly to wield it against you himself.”

“A year he spent in this hole. In darkness. Dreaming of escape. Just to come home to kill his family for a job he never wanted. Do you really think he made a deal with a demon? He’s not even a mage! Or do you think, maybe, he just found the one there already? He’ll carry this prison with him forever, and he’ll fill it with corpses, given time.”

“We. Need. Out.”

“You’re an Antivan Crow, Lucanis. A professional. Trained to avoid collateral damage and go after the real enemy. I know the man that you are, how much you look after those you care about. You don’t need someone like Illario in your head spreading doubt.”

“You have no idea what the consequences will be.”

“Whatever they are, Lucanis, I’ll be there to help you. Our friends will be there. Illario only has his deranged cultists who will turn on him the second he stops being useful. If he wants to speak of consequences, he’d better be ready for his when we get out of here.”

Illario vanishes with a bitter sneer. A scrap of paper slipping off the table behind him in the shift of air from his departure.

We’re more like brothers. Caterina took us both in…

“We’re brothers.”

Rook reads Lucanis’ elegant script with a heavy heart.

“I’m sorry, Lucanis.”

One last fading whisper of Illario’s voice follows them out the doorway.

“If I were in charge, you wouldn’t have to do this anymore.”

-----

The large central chamber at the base of the tower looms ahead: tools, tables, and the carelessly scattered mess of old bones surround the main area, the remains of the brutality that took place here. Rook has seen many of the scars across Lucanis’ skin; they’ve yet to ask, but they can tell the difference between the slash or stab of a blade in battle and the precise cuts of methodical cruelty. Both litter his skin, and the thought of him strapped to one of these tables while Zara and her lackeys work makes them shudder.

They shake it off stubbornly. He’s physically free of this place, and Zara got what was coming to her. But now they need to free Lucanis from this place mentally, undo it stone by stone if they have to.

They glance around, scanning the space for any sign of their lost Crow. Spite sniffs the air and grips their hand, tugging sharply towards the far side of the chamber. As they draw closer a familiar raven head of hair comes into view over the edge of a table.

They rush around and drop to their knees in front of where he’s curled up, back pressed against the bench. Hands hover over him helplessly for a moment, unsure whether touch would be welcome but wanting to gather him close and know that he’s real and he’s safe.

“Luca?”

He raises his head from his knees at the soft question. His eyes are sharp and cautious as he takes in his surroundings. Bone deep weariness being replaced by open surprise when he sees Rook. He reaches out, slowly as if he thinks he might be hallucinating, just waiting for his hand to pass right through. When his palm meets warm skin he lights up. Rook takes that as all the permission they need to finally touch, pulling him up to his knees and into a crushing embrace.

Lucanis sinks into their hold, tension draining from his frame at the comforting touch. He buries his face in Rook’s neck, voice muffled where he speaks into their skin.

“What are you doing here, Rook?”

They press a kiss to the feather soft hair at the crown of his head, breathing in the familiar scent of his soaps and oils. The knotted mass of worry in their chest loosens slightly now that he’s back in their arms. “I had to find you. If anything happened to you… I can’t even think about it.”

They feel him start to tense up again, muscles bunching beneath his skin as he shifts and they reluctantly let him pull away, concern creasing his features.

“You should go. It’s better I stay here than risk losing you.”

Spite makes himself known, looming over the pair of them huddled on the floor. He jabs at Lucanis, frustrated and accusatory.

“You see? He breaks. Our agreement. His mind. Is still here. He wants. To stay here. So he keeps. Me here!”

Lucanis rises smoothly to his feet to meet Spite face to face and Rook rushes to follow as something clicks into place in their mind.

“Mierda! Why would I want to stay? Even in my head, this place is a nightmare!”

Rook places a hand on each of their chests, gently easing them further apart. They turn to Spite first.

“So this is what you meant when you wanted out? The Ossuary was still real to you here. I’m sorry I couldn’t understand and help you sooner.”

He nods jerkily, voice small. “Always. Here. Want out.”

They slide their hand down from Spite’s chest to take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly as they face Lucanis. The other hand they move to cup his jaw, stroking along the edge of his beard with their thumb.

“Lucanis…this place is a nightmare, but it’s one you’ve already defeated. I get it now. As bad as the Ossuary was for you, it was better than the alternative.”

He shakes his head in Rook’s palm, gesticulating wildly, frustration and exhaustion colouring his voice in equal measure. “What alternative?”

“The Ossuary, Zara—you could solve those problems with a blade. But healing again? Living as an abomination? There’s no simple answer there. And if you fail, you could hurt the ones you love.”

He backs away from them with a furrowed brow and they let their hand drop to their side in the now empty space, letting him pace out his anger.

“No! I…This is not…” he whirls back to face them. “Damn it, Rook.”

“Make. Him. Leave.”

“Our world is not like the Fade, Spite, and mortals aren’t like spirits. We can’t change ourselves as easily with a thought, it takes time, and work. He’s trying, but even though he left this prison, some of it stayed with him. But whether you like it or not you’re bound together now, and fighting him hurts you too.”

Spite growls in frustration, but it’s softer now, almost contrite. He shuffles closer towards Rook, still glaring at Lucanis but with none of the heat from before. Rook takes that as a success for now.

“If you want to get out of here, then we need to help him. That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it?”

Spite grumbles a reluctant affirmation, glaring down at the floor. Rook turns his attention back to Lucanis.

“Luca?”

He just looks tired now, face drawn and posture slumped. He steps haltingly back towards Rook, steps growing surer as he gets closer, like he doesn't have the energy to resist being pulled into their orbit any more. “Rook. You are right. There has to be a way through this. It’s just…so much. I cannot see how to begin”

His eyes are wide and glassy as he stares up at Rook, swirling with tumultuous emotions as he looks to them to anchor him in the storm. They take his hand and hold it tight, looking between man and demon; both wearing the same face and yet so different.

Settling on a course of action they speak, eyes flitting between the pair standing either side of them. “Start small, you and Spite. Figure out a goal you can both agree on, then make it happen.”

Spite perks up. “A contract?”

“Contracts are for clients. Call this…an alliance. But on what terms?”

“We need to stop Illario and save your grandmother, don’t we?”

“That’s true…”

“Fighting Crows?”

Spite’s eager now, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the thought of a battle. Rook can’t help but grin along with him.

Lucanis isn’t quite as eager as they are but nods an affirmative. “And anyone else that gets in our way.”

“Together. We will fight.”

“And punch that smug smirk off Illario’s face.”

Spite cackles gleefully. “Yes! Rook. Is. My. Favourite.”

Lucanis looks at them reproachfully, though not without a hint of fond amusement. “Illario…he’s a pain in the ass, Rook, but he’s still my family.”

“He. Put. Us. Here!”

Rook ignores Spite’s outburst to shrug unapologetically at Lucanis. “I never said, ‘Kill him.’ I just think he deserves at least a broken nose.” And worse. But that isn’t up to Rook, so they hold their tongue.

Lucanis rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face now, and a newfound steadiness to his countenance that he had looked smaller without. He holds a hand out to Spite. “So. Do we have a deal, then? We’ll work together, free Caterina, and stop Illario?”

Spite clasps his wrist with a feral grin, his voice merging into Lucanis’ as he pulls him closer by their joined arms.

“He. Will not. Escape us both.”

Agreement firmly in place, Lucanis and Spite become one, the faint purple sheen of Spite’s magic settling over Lucanis comfortably like an ethereal shroud. There’s a determined violet glint simmering at the edges of his deep brown eyes as he reaches up to pull Rook into a quick kiss before the world around them starts to fade out.

-----

Lucanis blinks dazedly as the Cobbled Swan comes into focus around him. Viago and Teia are looking at them with pinched brows and narrowed eyes. He looks across to Rook just in time to catch the shift as their face perks up from the blank stare it had been set into.

Teia’s eyes widen from the scrutiny she had fixed on Rook, their eyes sharpening and attention honing in on her as they come back to themself. “Rook, are you all right?”

“What’s the matter with the two of you?”

Lucanis has known the pair of them long enough to hear the underlying concern in their voices and wonders what their little sojourn into his psyche looked like from the outside.

Rook looks at him with a warm smile before turning the full force of their disarming cheer on Teia. “It’s okay. We needed a moment, but I’d say we’re ready for anything.” Their grin falters slightly. “How long were we standing here?”

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #datv #rookanis #lucanis dellamorte #rook x lucanis #Rook #shadow dragon rook #dragon age fanfic #fanfic #aerewyn mercar #spite #spite dellamorte #spite dragon age #inner demons #teia cantori #viago de riva

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drea-s-artblog · 7 months ago

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Mousetrap

“Another gullible soul you plan to catch here?" - Eve's voice was cold, towards the sour-faced suit sitting in front of her, yet her expression remained unchanged. "Don't you have better things to do than get those obviously ripoff contracts on my back?”

“Don't patronize me, missy. I pay you good money for each of my visits, so it's not like you're hurting for it” - the man hissed, slamming the payment down at a table. “Just keep me out of whatever those delinquents are under, and stay out of my business!” There was a moment of an uncomfortable pause as they looked at each other. It was just a moment, but it felt too long and uncomfortable to him under the soulless gaze of those pitch-black eyes.

“Whatever” - her voice broke the silence, as she took another puff of her cigarette, filling the space with the new wave of cherry scent. “I’m not interested in dealing with anything connected to experimental wing of Weno’s anyway”

“WHAT? How did Y-you?” - he jumped up from the sofa, caught by surprise with that statement, getting slightly worked up.

“No need in making a scene” - she wave her hand, gesturing for him to sit down, - “Yes, I know what your darling company does, it’s not much of a secret if you know where to dig. Selling untested mods to naive idiots, ripping them off while at it, and keeping an eye on how fast the new victim succumbs to psychosis. And as my club tunes down visitor’s sense of danger, you cleverly use it as a perfect spot to get another fool on in your scheme. Am I correct?” Her unpleasantly calm tone set all kinds of alarm bells in his head. But before he could say a word, his vision grew blurry and his body went limp, unable to move. “Don’t worry, Terence, I’m not gonna tell anyone. As I said before, I have no interest in being involved in your business.” - she snapped her fingers, summoning two waiters to get him up. “Boys, would you be so kind as to get our guest to….” Dark. Everything is so dark. Someone’s voice could be heard, but it was so faint, almost like an echo behind the wall

“Mind…. memories….. recording”

Terrence woke up in his office, disoriented and hungover as all hell. It was all just an alcohol dream. Best to go home and get a proper sleep. Getting up was a bit of a struggle with how heavy his head felt. But it was the hardest part of it. Now to get down to the lobby and get a ride home. Most are already off for the night. Just occasional cleaner bot running through the corridors. But something is off. He couldn’t put his mind to what exactly. But pausing to think about it was too much of a work for the alcohol clouded mind. That is until the dreadfully familiar alarm went off. “Containment breach”. Even hungover, Terence knew it was best to run and hope to not get spotted by a delirious, probably psycho victim of their tests. The man ran through the corridors, getting more and more confused as he kept making wrong turns and stumbling onto locked doors where there shouldn’t be any. Did his mind play tricks on him? Was he on the wrong floor? But he remembers the planning of the whole facility, how is that even possible? The more he tried to remember the right way - the more lost he got. Panic was setting in, slowly getting hold of his now sober mind, digging its cold fingers into his brain. There’s no way anyone from the security squad would be able to find him in time to evacuate. It’s a trap. He’s trapped in here with yet another mistake of their research team. He tried to hide, find a safe corner to hide, in hopes of not getting spotted, but it was too late. In the corner of his eye, he spotted the mangled figure, blindly wandering around. One wrong move and the figure was now staring at him. And then their eyes met. “Fa…ther? Why?” the trembling voice echoed in empty space “It… h-hurts… They… hurt… me”. That voice, that mangled, yet still familiar face. No, it couldn’t be happening. His son wasn’t supposed to be here. He tried to close his eyes and shake that image off like a trick of his blurred imagination. But it only got closer, making his skin crawl at the sight. He remembered the logs of that experiment. Pretty gruesome. Multiple mods to try out on one human. It wasn’t his client they had registered for it, so he wasn’t involved much. That only made this worse. He knew that the boy's clubbing habits were abysmal, but never expected it to end up like this. And then it all went to hell, when the delirious husk of his child launched forward, ready to kill him.

“His own son? Wow, you sure know how to make it extra gut-wrenching” - Richie muttered, watching the show with his arms crossed. “That’s what makes it so scary, don’t you agree?” - with a delighted smile, Eve checked the recording, giddy to start her work. “Just a few tweaks to the code, and whoever will run this gonna have the image replaced with one of someone they love. The raw emotion of this scene alone is gonna make us a bank. It’s perfect. The panic, the horror, the emotional turmoil, the guilt. Delicious piece for our clients to experience. Add to it the nice chunk of info on Weno’s shady business” “What will you do with it?” “Nothing.... for now. Anyways, be a darling and get the boys to dispose of garbage” “On it, ma’am”

#my oc stuff #eve scallion #richie #noodle doodles #my art #long text #tw body mutilation #cyberpunk au

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hopelessromanticx7 · 29 days ago

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Catalyst | B. Katsuki

A MHA OC Story

Chapter One Teaser

——//——//——//——//——//——//——//——//——//—

!TW! Suicidal ideation, smoking, mentions of violence

𖤐✰ Wishing on stars 𖤐✰

Noa’s quirk alerted her of an approaching presence. Hebi was a snake-like being, which provided them with faint heat-detecting abilities, so Noa, by proxy, had a built-in radar system. She could tell by the opposing temperatures that her brother had come to find her.

“Hey, Sho.” She muttered without looking up, removing an ear bud.

Shoto sat down on the roof next to her, crossing his legs. “It’s dangerous up here.”

“Yeah,” Noa sighed. “I know.”

He meant well, of course— but sometimes, when he cared too much, it could come off as just slightly patronizing. Occasionally, it was sort of endearing. Most of the time it made her feel like a child.

“But look,” Noa said, pointing at the sky. “It's so pretty.”

Shoto looked up, craning his neck. “The stars?”

Noa nodded.

“Hm.” Her brother’s head tilted to the side a bit, and he squinted at the clouds. “It is pretty, I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s just always there. There isn’t much to look at after you’ve seen them once.”

Noa looked over at him, his smooth, unchanging face, the red hair spilling over his scarred eye. A small smile made her purse her lips.

“I firmly disagree.” She said pleasantly. “I could never tire of them.”

Shoto glanced at her, and gave her a soft smile. The white side of his hair was ruffled by a gentle breeze. The unmarred grey eye twinkled underneath the moonlight.

It’d been ten years since she was adopted, and Noa still wasn't able to define their relationship. It was… less than siblings, but more than training partners. There was no denying that they were family, but the bond between them defied basic explanation.

There was an understanding, though. A deep, intrinsic knowledge that whatever one was going through, the other was very likely experiencing the exact same thing. Their pain was mutual. The excessive amount of training they endured together bound them in a way that nothing else could. They had an odd sense of respect for one another— they knew each other better than they knew themselves.

She didn't show it well, but Noa cared about her brother more than she cared about anything.

“Are you worried about school tomorrow?” Shoto asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

Noa frowned, caught. “How’d you know?”

“You’re on the roof again.” He said with a shrug. “You always come up here when you’re worried.”

She fought off a smile. The boy wasn't wrong, but of course he knew that.

“I come up here when I’m anything .” She corrected.

Shoto huffed through his nose. Her light sarcasm and little jokes often left him confused, but he’d gotten used to it over time. He’d even grown somewhat fond of it.

“There’s nothing to be anxious about, you know.” He said casually. Noa opened her mouth to object, but he beat her to it.

“The other students don't matter.” Shoto said. “Their opinions have nothing to do with our objective. As long as we focus, and keep our heads clear, we can achieve it.”

“And the objective is…” Noa trailed off boredly, used to her brother's tangents.

He turned, looking at her dumbfounded. “Heroes, remember? That’s the whole reason we’re going.”

“Well yeah,” Noa rolled her eyes playfully. “But that doesn’t mean the other people at the school don't matter.”

“Their opinions are irrelevant.” Shoto said, serious. “We shouldn't pay them any attention.”

“Okay,” Noa lifted her hands, palms facing out. “You’re right. Fuck ‘em all.”

The corners of Shoto’s mouth twitched, and he shook his head fondly. “I don't even know where you learn words like that.”

Noa smiled, crooked and teasing. “A dark, dark place, where only the most depraved people reside, saying the vilest things they can think of.” She said dramatically. “You wouldn't last a second.”

Shoto raised an eyebrow at her, but had a strong suspicion she was joking.

Noa wiggled her fingers at him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “The internet.”

He broke into a smile and pushed her hands away, laughing through his nose. Noa looked back at the sky, fighting off a smile. It was rare they had moments like these, where they could relax, actually enjoy each other's company instead of throwing punches. She tried her best to enjoy it while it lasted.

All jokes aside, both the siblings’ internet usage was restricted. Noa made due with what she had.

Something caught her eye, and she gasped quietly, sitting up and leaning on her hand. “Look.”

She pointed at the sky, and Shoto’s gaze followed its direction. A thin, distant line of silver had just finished streaking across the swath of stars.

“You’re supposed to make a wish.” Noa told him, breathless. The excitement made her eyes shine silver in the dim moonlight.

Seeing shooting stars was rare, but Noa hadn't ever been around someone else to show her enthusiasm for them. Her and Shoto shared one more glance before turning back to the sky, each of them uttering a silent plea with their thoughts.

It wasn't shocking what popped into Noa’s head. She was accustomed to seeing a hazy, blurred version of Aizawa, all those years ago, ruffling her hair. Almost every time she saw one of those combusting meteors, she would wish that she could go back to that day, do something- anything- to change the outcome. She’d wish that she’d gone with him instead.

That was all usual, as far as wishes went. The shock she felt was caused by what followed after— a vision of her when she had escaped, jumping out the window of the building.

Only instead of Hebi saving her in the nick of time, they were too late. She splattered on the pavement in a pile of bursting blood and shattering bones.

That’s what she wished. That she never made it out alive in the first place. Never been thrown in the hands of Endeavor, out of the frying pan and into the fire.

From her left, Shoto looked at her, breaking her from her thoughts. No more than a second had passed.

“What did you wish for?” He asked in that monotone, slightly curious voice he always seemed to have.

Noa blinked, shoving her mind away, and forced a small smile. “Don’t you know what everyone says about wishes? If you say them out loud, it won't come true.” She half-fibbed, shrugging casually. “Sorry. My lips are sealed.”

For a moment, Shoto’s eyes grew wide. He looked at Noa’s mouth with concern, and she smiled.

“Metaphorically, Sho.” She said with affection, patting him on the shoulder. “Metaphorically.”

“Oh.” He said, his face dropping.

Noa had to hold in her laugh. Having to explain her metaphors to him wasn’t uncommon, and she found it endearing. She reached over and rubbed her hand over the top of his head, a gesture she’d only learnt a few times. It was one of those rare occasions when they had physical contact outside of the training room at all.

Shoto smiled and dipped his head, shaking it to fix the mess she’d made. He glanced up at the moon, noticing it reaching up as far as it could go.

“It’s getting late.” He said. “I’m going to get some sleep. You should too.”

Noa nodded, but waved her hand in polite dismissal. “Go without me. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Shoto said, standing up. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.” She replied, smiling as he walked back to the other side of the roof, climbing down on the porch.

It dropped once he was out of sight, and Noa sighed deeply. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the interaction register.

When the sky came back into view, she shoved her hand in the pocket of her sweatpants, and pulled out an old, smushed carton of cardboard. Had Shoto known about her habit, she would have asked him to light the cigarette for her before he left. But he didn't know, and she didn't feel like being chastised.

She pulled out her lighter and flicked it, taking a shallow puff of the cigarette. There was only a slight inhale before she blew the smoke out, not letting too much excess get in her lung.

That’s the thing about smoking. Not only was it unhealthy, but having one lung made it more than twice as dangerous. It was nothing short of a death sentence.

She took another shallow puff and blew the smoke out. Her eyes closed as she let the dim buzz of nicotine form. The more she smoked, the more her mind wandered.

Noa loved Shoto. Really, she did— or at least, as much as she knew how to. He was her brother in the most complex sense of the definition. She loved all her family members, to an extent.

What she had a problem with was their situation, and Shoto would always be involved in that, no matter what. Even when pleasant, their interactions had the stain of their upbringing looming over the two of them like a gluttonous shadow.

The ‘situation’ in question started not soon after she’d been adopted. When Endeavor put her in his vehicle, strapped her in the car seat, and sped off toward his home, he had given her what he liked to call a ‘pep talk.’ It was clear, blunt and direct. Her instructions were to move into his house, finish healing, and begin learning how to train as soon as possible.

She was to accompany Shoto on his way to the top of the hero charts, and help him get there by whatever means necessary. She would get food and shelter in exchange— education, running water, everything a child would physically need.

But she was strictly allowed limited interaction with the other family members. Only when she and Shoto were absolutely needed would they see the other children. Visits with his wife would be rare, and scheduled. She was to obey his instructions, and under no circumstances should she do otherwise.

Noa had listened from the backseat, looking down at her hands. Her thumb scraped against the cuticle of her forefinger, and she pushed, trying to re-open the scab that had been there months ago.

When they got to the house, Endeavor helped Noa out of the car and dropped her hand as soon as she was standing. He headed briskly inside, ushering her ahead of him. Noa’s eyes were wide as she took in what little she could of the pristine home, but she didn’t see much before the door opened.

She hid behind his leg as he introduced her, giving a brief explanation to his family about why she was there. To help Shoto, he said simply.

The Todoroki’s had stared at her, most of them stunned into silence. Two of them, the oldest and youngest, had vacant expressions, but wide, blown eyes. One of them had two different hair colors split down the middle. The other had hair like snow, with one single red strand peeking up at the top.

It went like Endeavor said, mostly. She healed, started training immediately, and was put to work. She spent her afternoons in the sparring room with Shoto.

At night, though, when Endeavor went to sleep, some of the siblings learned to stay awake. Most times, it would be difficult for Noa to fall asleep, and they’d find her hiding somewhere. When she would wake up screaming from a nightmare, they would come in and sit with her until she fell back asleep.

The visits didn't happen often, but very slowly, she came to know the siblings. Fuyumi took a liking to her, happy to finally have a sister. Her and Touya grew close before he passed.

Endeavor found out once, but it never truly stopped them. They continued to sneak around despite his threats and warnings. After the loss of their eldest sibling, though, everyone stopped leaving their rooms once the sun set.

Not much changed from there. She grew up, Shoto grew up, everyone grew up. Endeavor’s prized duo fought and fought, and leaned on one another to better their skills. More time passed. Natsuo left, and Fuyumi stayed, homeschooled them, and Endeavor never really stopped trying to get his ridiculous goal accomplished.

That night, though, a change was underway. UA would start the next morning, and the process of becoming a hero would truly begin.

Noa resented it.

It was good that she was getting out of the house, sure. It was good that she would be learning from somebody other than Endeavor or Fuyumi. Sure.

That didn't mean being around that many people would go over well, for either of the siblings. Thanks to their father’s sheltering, they were utterly socially inept, and neither one of them were going for the right reasons.

Shoto was going partly because he wanted to be a hero, but mainly to prove that he could do it without Endeavor. Maybe the man was forcing them to go altogether, but his son refused to do it his way.

Noa didn't want to be a hero at all.

She didn't want to go to the school, didn't want to learn about villains and citizens and ridiculous things like rescuing victims. To her, heroes were overconfident policemen. There might’ve been a few good ones, rarely, but most of them were frauds. It was an overloaded and over-appreciated profession.

More importantly, she didn't want to be around strangers. That many adolescents in one place was bound to be more than unpredictable, and with it being UA, legitimately anything could happen. People looking at her, talking to her, being around her— she couldn't stand the thought of it. Knowing she would be perceived so much filled her with dread.

Thankfully, she would have Shoto to hide behind, but he wasn't the best with socialization either. He was likely worse at it than she was.

Tomorrow would be a disaster.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63941974/chapters/164382949#workskin

#writing #archive of our own #fanfic #bnha #fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #mha fanfiction #aesthetic

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thesubparwriter · 10 months ago

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I really, really need him to hurry with this potion. Demi is going to wonder where the hell I am, and I won’t be able to lie to that little witch.

“I must remind you, Serena, the creation and use of love potions is highly illegal and forbidden…”

“Ah, let me stop you right there, Gileroy. The creation of a love potion by a non-alchemist is highly illegal, and the use of a love potion on another is forbidden. Neither of those two things have happened, so you can save your breath and focus your energy on finishing that lovely vial of liquid love for me… thank you, darling.”

I don’t bother attempting to try to use my siren song to sway him. Alchemists are known to take power-blocking serums daily, so I can only pray he hurries up and stops lecturing me.

“I don’t understand…” he states as he continues brewing my only hope of everlasting peace. “If not to use on someone, what do you need it for?”

“For me, Mr Gileroy, if you must know.” I jump down from his counter and dance around him as he works. “This lovely, lovely potion is for me.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a moment, and I can tell he’s trying to find a way to make that forbidden too.

“Nah, ah, ah, I’ve already looked, and it’s not forbidden or illegal. It might be slightly morally wrong and unpredictable, but forbidden? Absolutely not!”

His shoulders sag in defeat. “Serena, you have no idea how unpredictable a love potion is when used on another. I can’t even begin to imagine the fate of someone using it on themselves…”

“It’ll only last 10 years regardless… if all goes to hell, I’ll only have 9 years and 364 days to deal with it. That’s nothing compared to the eternity I’m facing feeling this way…”

“Feeling what way?”

“I’ve said too much already, Gilly. Are you nearly done? I’m running on a tight schedule.”

“Almost… I just… one last thing…”

I roll my eyes.

“There are thousands of potions, little one, surely we can find a better solution than this.”

The use of my pet name disarms me slightly. I haven’t been called “little one” in a long while. A long, long while, actually… since my father died.

“There’s nothing in that vault of yours that can fix what’s broken,” I say, pointing to his head. “But maybe this can… and that’s because the idea came from this vault.” I point to my own head and force a smile.

I can see the defeat in his eyes, but as my father’s only surviving friend, he’ll do what I ask because he feels he owes it to me for whatever reason.

“You have to promise me that the moment something feels off, you’ll come back here immediately. Will you promise me that?”

He hands me the bright blue vial.

“Pinky promise you!” I say as I grab the potion from his hand. Two things hit me at once: the vial is warm and pulsating like a heartbeat, and the colour. Now, call it naivety, but I assumed a love potion would be pink or red. A lovely romantic colour…

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I squeal and jump into old Gilly’s arms.

He catches me and returns the hug, but the sadness radiating from him is palpable.

Nothing sucks more than feeling the sadness you are causing someone, especially when you’re not even trying to hurt them.

I half dance and half run back to the café, where I know I’ll find a love-struck Thomas and a panicked Demi. I didn’t tell her I was leaving, and I just assumed old Gilly would have a love potion in his stocks somewhere, but truthfully I should have known better. Gilly was a stickler for the law, even when I was a child. I never understood why he and my father maintained a friendship when my father was so… the opposite.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I walk through the door and see the place bustling with bodies. Our regulars all sat down at their favourite tables, and some new faces I hadn’t seen before. All a perfect distraction for me to slip upstairs unnoticed, and then she’ll never know how long I was really gone…”

“Demi, she’s back!” Felix shouted over the sound of our patrons.

Felix was Demi’s most devoted customer and, besides me, and now Thomas, I guess, a very close friend.

I turned to see him scowling down at me. His bushy eyebrows knitted together suspiciously.

“And where have you been?”

“And when did that become your business?” I poke him in his very large, very hairy werewolf chest.

“When I almost pulled a chunk of hair out worrying about you,” Demi said, slipping between us.

Felix obediently takes Demi’s place behind the counter and starts taking orders while Thomas tries his hardest to fulfil the large volume of orders.

“What’s that?” Demi said, looking directly into my hand, where the potion sat snug and hot.

“Nothing.”

“I can feel its energy, Serena. Don’t lie to me…” she looked confused, as if she could sense what it was.

“It’s a little elixir for my sore throat…”

“When did that start?”

“I don’t know, around the time when my business was just that.” I try to resist my normal sarcastic tone, but it’s not in my nature. “It’s just a little something old Gilly made me… now if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking some time…”

I begin to shuffle past, but she stops me, gripping my arm so tightly I know there’s something wrong.

Her eyes gloss over.

“A love potion?”

Dammit.

“Urm…”

She pulls me into the kitchen without another word.

I take my seat on the counter and cross my legs as I so love to do, and she leans against the kitchen island in front of me.

“You travelled all the way to another realm to see Mr Gileroy for a highly illegal love potion?”

“You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

“No, now tell me what’s going on?”

“No,” I say simply. I won’t do this. I won’t tell her. I can’t.

Her eyes soften. “You can…”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t!”

“You don’t need to.”

I could sing my siren song and dance upstairs, and she’d forget all about this whole conversation, but I’d never do that…

“Look, if you insist on knowing, I haven’t done anything illegal because I have no intention of using it on someone else… it’s for me.”

“For you?” Her eyes close for a moment, and I know her brilliant little witchy mind is trying to work it out.

“Let me make it easy for you. I’ve spent the last century trying to forget the loss of the love of my life, and yet there is a hole the size of the realm in my heart, and nothing and no one can seem to fully fill it,” I say as I jump down and pull her towards me by her arms. “You do an amazing job, but it’s not your responsibility to fill up my bottomless well of sadness…”

“Let me make you a cake… I can add a happiness spell to it… it might taste a bit off, but it’ll help… a little.”

“No, Demi, I just want to try this, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll eat all the cake in the world.”

Sadness clouds Demi’s eyes, and the fog of sadness seeps out of her every pore. I don’t want her to feel sad, but she asked for the truth, so I gave it to her.

There’s a pause, and I know, just like with Gilly, she’s trying to find a way to change my mind, but she knows there’s nothing she can do.

As if on cue, Thomas appears in the doorway of the kitchen, face red.

“There’s someone here looking for you.” His face is serious. He’s talking to me.

“Her?” Demi asks, as confused as me.

“Me?”

“Yes, and he said it’s urgent. I can’t lie, Felix nearly keeled over when he walked in, and a deathly silence fell over the room. I don’t know who he is, but he’s got everyone on edge.”

My heart rate picks up, and my skin prickles with heat. Gileroy wouldn’t tell on me, would he?

I lift my chin and walk out of the kitchen to face the man looking for me.

I barely make it through the door when the sight nearly knocks me off my feet.

Hate consumes me, and I find the closest thing to me and catapult it towards his head. A scream rips from my chest and almost paralyses everyone in front of me, almost everyone but of course not him. My gifts don’t work on a deity.

Demi is through the door behind me, ready to take on the unknown danger, and I see Thomas shield her with his mortal body. Felix is snapped out of his state and bares his teeth at the intruder.

“I told you to never come near me again,” I hiss at the tall man in front of me.

He calmly raises his hands as if to show he comes in peace. “You may come in peace, but you leave everything in pieces.”

“Serena, you need to calm down. What I am about to tell you is going to be a lot.”

Demi steps forward when he says my name.

“Serena, who is this man?”

“My name is Kaius, and there is someone who is desperate to see Serena…”

There couldn’t have even been a second passing before the door opens and a figure fills the doorway. My heart stops, and I mean *stops* in my chest, and the floor rushes to embrace me, but blackness beats it to it.

When I wake, Demi is huddled over with Kaius and the other man. When I remember, I almost pass out again. But I can’t. I must see if it’s real… It can’t be… he’s dead and he’s been dead for centuries… And now he’s just walking through my café door?

I push myself up.

“Felix, you’re supposed to be dead?” I say, my voice a little hoarse.

“Yes, I’ve come to ask about that…”

“You have to understand, the use of love potions is both morally gross and legally r-”, you interrupt the alchemist, and say the potion is meant for yourself.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing #demithewitch #felixtheundead #serenathesiren #kaiusthediety #thomasthemortal

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reigenkills · 2 years ago

Text

no Muerte x Reader? fine (thanos voice): i'll do it myself

ella enchanted + red riding hood reader, Death having a laugh

EDIT EDIT: AO3 CROSSPOST

EDIT EDIT EDIT: WHOEVER WANTS TO BE ON A TAGLIST FOR THIS PLS PUT IN THE REPLIES

"I'm surprised you actually tried it."

You wince, instantly holding yourself still in the pose of dropping a match into a bowl full of spell ingredients. There is a fire burning in said bowl in front of you, but your shadow stretches ahead, looming over you, the summoning circle, and the stolen grimoire.

"It wasn't supposed to work," you say.

"It wouldn't have," says the thing casting the physics-bending shadow. "But I'm curious why you did it anyway when you knew it was a dud."

You eye the grimoire with a grimace, pride twinging in sympathy for the witch you'd stolen it from. She was a big-name witch too, real infamous in her circles. Of course you knew she was bullshit the second she started talking about being able to undo your curse, but some of her work is legit; and she might have tried to turn you into a toad, but you're slightly offended on her behalf.

There's a sniff (what? who just does that?) and then the shadow tilts its head. "Something's wrong with you."

"Isn't there with everyone?"

The shadow ignores you, instead stooping down - and a shot of fear bolts down your spine at the sudden wash of cold that hangs close to your back. There's that sniff again, and then, a voice right beside you says: "Oh, you're cursed."

Great. Rule number one of being a mercenary, never let your enemies smell blood. Or fear. Or uh, your curse, but apparently this guy can sniff that out somehow.

Then again, you should have expected this when you got roped into catching fucking Death.

It'll be a quick job, they said. Twenty minutes tops after snatching the great Evil Witch's spellbook and finding the spell to trap Death. Nevermind the fact that every witch worth their broom calls themself an Evil Witch these days, of course, and you had to go through several hundred censuses to figure out which one was your mark.

And then there's the fact that you're supposed to be catching Death. Fucking hell.

"Curious," says Death. Honest-to-goodness Death. What the fuck. "If you knew it wasn't going to work, and if you're already headed my way with that curse, why go through with the spell?"

"Shouldn't you know?"

"I'm Death, not Knowledge," he says. "Trust me, you'd know the difference between me and that nerd any day."

To your mortification, you can't stop the godawful snicker that joke gets out of you. You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

Death snorts. "Tell me."

"I was ordered to trap you," you automatically say, and then clench your teeth in frustration, frowning. This damnable curse of yours.

"Oh?" Death moves, smoothly gliding from behind you to your side; the movement instantly draws your attention to him and - oh shit.

"What red eyes you have," you whisper, freezing under the brightness of his stare. With his hood pulled over his head, they're about the only thing you can see of his face, save for his snout, and the rows of large, sharp, teeth.

"The better to see you with, my dear." Death grins. "Was that your curse?"

"What was?" You swallow. "I'm just not used to meeting new people, I'm a nervous blabber."

"Tell me the truth."

"Yes, it was," you say, and then make a noise of frustration, clenching your fists.

"Look at that." If it were possible, Death's grin widens, effectively baring his teeth not even two inches away from your face in the process. "Isn't that interesting?"

"It's really not."

"Oh, but it is," he says. "How'd you get it? Parents not pay off their debts when it was due? Throw a rock at a bird and anger its patron? Or did you cut out the middleman and piss off fae?"

Spitefully, you keep your mouth shut, teeth grinding together in the effort. Death only snickers, narrowing his eyes in amusement.

"I could always just ask you to tell me," he says. "I don't have to be polite to someone who was trying to trap me."

"I knew it wouldn't work."

"You tried it anyway," he says. "And if you're gonna blame it on your curse, then let me understand exactly how this works."

Your gums are starting to hurt from how hard your jaw is clenched. Your glare up at him as pettily as you can manage, but the motherfucker doesn't look away, doesn't even blink while you glower at him.

Fucking eldritch entities.

You sigh.

"I was…cursed," you say, then, amend: "Gifted by fae when I was a baby. The gift of obedience."

"Because?"

"...cause she thought it would be a nice gift," you grumble. "Except - you know - that's nice when you're like, five or something, but not when…" You make a haphazard gesture with your hand.

Death eyes you up and down, though his gaze lingers over your shoulder and above your head, like he's seeing something only he can sense. You try your best not to shrink under the intensity of his gaze.

After a while, he says, "Pat your head."

Your hand automatically flies up to pat your head.

The piece of shit has the gall to laugh.

"Asshole!" You get to your feet, kicking the bowl of still-burning summoning ingredients at him. Who gives a shit if it's Death. The ass just laughed at you after telling you to pat your head like a chump. Sadly, he barely has to pay attention to dodge the metal bowl as it flies past him.

"You had to run around looking for that witch and nearly get turned into a worm," Death says, "Because of a gift of obedience?"

He breaks into another round of cackles at that, all seven feet or so of him doubling over in laughter. Your hands twitch for one of the guns in your holster, but no matter how irritating he is, it's probably not a good idea to shoot Death.

"Very funny," you seethe.

"It is," Death says, "It's hilarious."

"Yeah, well, let's see you laughing when someone figures out they can tell me to try and kill you or whatever," you grit out. "I can't control it, you know."

"Mm. I'd just tell you to not do that, after you tire yourself out. Way more fun that way," he says, snickering.

He turns to where the remnants of the ingredients bowl have scattered, still burning away - because the magic might have been wrong, but it's still magic, so the damn things haven't burnt to ashes yet - and inclines his head down towards it. The flames instantly snuff out.

"Stop trying to trap me," he says, and you instantly feel the command contradict your last directive, strain against it, and break it down. Your limbs loosen; you unclench your jaw. "You should probably move continents or something. Far Far Away still has mercenaries."

"You're not gonna kill me?"

"I don't kill," Death snorts. "I collect. The affairs of the living aren't my concern - until they are, at least. Some kid getting their curse used against them hardly concerns me."

The wording has you narrowing your eyes at him again. "And my…employers?"

He grins again, and you wisely back off at the sight of his teeth. "That's up to me to decide, isn't it?"

"I guess," you say. "You need addresses or anything?"

"Nah," he says. "I'm Death, kid. I'm everywhere."

This time, you snort, crouching to pick up the grimoire on the floor and tuck it under your arm. If you're gonna move continents to a place where nobody knows your curse, you're gonna need way more leverage than you usually do. "You just said you weren't Knowledge - "

You blink as you straighten, finding yourself alone in the barren, empty room. There's no looming figure, no overly bright red eyes. Just you.

You were visited by Death and he didn't kill you. Laughed at your plight, yes, but you're alive and kicking.

Probably best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or a wolf in the maw. Whatever. You should start packing and getting the hell out of here.

#puss in boots x reader #muerte x reader #puss in boots death x reader #fic #the most bizarre concept lmaoooooo #fanfiction

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darcyfangirlsfrequently · 2 years ago

Text

Kisses and Cocktails

For @snailsandpuppy-dogtails

Summary: "I accept kisses and cocktails."

Word count: 619

Can also be here on Ao3

Another case over, but not really over since they hadn’t found Sicarius, and Penelope was locking up.

“Hey,” came a voice from behind her.

She didn’t even register who it was. “Hey.” Penelope turned around and saw Luke standing right behind her. Her lips spread into an easy smile. “Oh! It’s you! What’s up?”

“So, uh, I was thinking… that lunch I owe you? Maybe we could turn into drinks instead?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Well, I seem to remember, quite a few years back, you said you accepted kisses and cocktails as way of thanks. I kissed you on your cheek back at your place, so,” he extended his arm to her, “cocktails?”

She looped her arms through his. “You certainly know how to treat a lady. Take me away.”

Tara and JJ watched as Luke and Penelope walked arm in arm into their elevator, neither of them seeming to have a care in the world to say goodnight to the rest of the team.

“It’s gotta happen soon,” Tara said. “Right?”

JJ shook her head. “I don’t even know anymore. It’s like they’re trying to ignore it.”

***

Penelope was just expecting Luke to take her to O’Keefes or some other bar, but he took her to a nice restaurant instead, claiming restaurant patrons were much better company than barflies. He wasn’t wrong, but he did have a secondary reason that remained a secret to her. He thought she was far too beautiful to be in with that kind of crowd at five in the evening on a Tuesday. She deserved to be shown off somewhere slightly more upscale and classy.

Cocktails were ordered and drunk, laughs were shared, and smiles were constant. Luke found himself falling in love with her all over again. As if he had ever really stopped.

At the end of the evening, Luke drove Penelope home and walked her up to her front door. It reminded him so much of that night three years ago. He had felt so hopeful then, like they had everything ahead of them. But then the world came crashing down. And so did they. But the world was picking back up again. And maybe so could they.

“Thank you, Luke,” she told him. “I had a really great time.”

“Me too. Have a good night, Penelope.” He didn’t kiss her the last time. He’d been too scared. He’d figured he’d have so many more chances. He didn’t kiss her this time either. After all, it wasn’t a date. So, he turned around and began to head back to his car.

“Wait, Luke?” Penelope called after him.

He turned back around. “Yeah?”

“When I said that… when I said I accept kisses and cocktails… kisses on the cheek weren’t exactly what I was talking about.”

For the first time in years, hope surged in his chest. “Oh?” He took a step towards her. “What were you talking about?” He was sure he knew, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“The real ones.”

He took another step towards her. They were very close now, and their voices were practically coming out in whispers. “So… I should correct my mistake, right?”

“Yes, I think you should.”

He gently took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up to him. His other arm went around her back, pulling her closer to him. He lightly stroked her cheek with his thumb, staring into her beautiful brown eyes, their faces inches from each other.

“Penelope,” he breathed. “I am completely in love with you. You need to know that.”

“I know,” was her whispered reply. “And I love you too. Now kiss me.”

And so he did.

#Garvez #Penelope Garcia #Luke Alvez #Garvez fic #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds fanfiction #Criminal Minds reboot #Criminal Minds Evolution #CME spoilers

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lightning-writes · 2 years ago

Text

good heart (faulty machine of a man) - 9/30

fic summary: bucky meets someone at therapy

chapter summary: where's rue? (alternatively, bucky fucks)

word count: 1532

tags: post endgame, pre tfatws, hurt/comfort, slow burn, canon divergent, canon compliant, au

warnings: sexual content, slightly cruel bucky

a/n: bucky's slightly savage in this one, but out of his inability to deal with his feelings yet.

AO3 MASTERLIST X

Bucky’s train is earlier than usual, so he walks up the block to the coffee shop, where he takes the pink note from his wallet and hands it to the barista. He wonders if Rue would still want it, in light of the cooler weather, but somehow, he knows she will.

(He orders his black coffee, too, just so it’s not awkward. He doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea, that he’d only gone to the cafe just for her… though it’s true.)

On his walk back to the building, he considers what he and Raynor might talk about this week. It’s a “government week” as Raynor has started calling it. In the past couple of weeks, the only thing Bucky has kept off limits is Steve. He’s opened up in small ways about his missions, his espionage, even his nightmares. He wonders if she’s going to push, again, for him to discuss grief.

He falters in the doorway of the therapy suite when he sees the receptionist’s desk. Rue’s coffee in his hand suddenly feels like the stupidest idea he’s ever had.

Behind the desk is Greta, with her usual tight blonde ponytail and sharp features. She’s putting on lip gloss when he comes into the room. The look she gives him is both patronizing and annoyed. She shuts her compact mirror with a loud snap.

“You’re not the first person today to look at me like that,” she says. She looks down at the computer. “James Barnes?”

“Yes.” His fingers bite into the plastic of the cup.

“A lot of other clients asked for her, too,” Greta continues as she enters something into the computer. Her slender fingers clack against keys. “Didn’t know Ruby was so popular.”

(Bucky has a sneaking suspicion that Greta is fully aware of how people perceive Ruby.)

“Just used to the routine,” he mumbles.

She gives him a smile that looks more like a grimace. “You’re all set, you can have a seat.”

“Um…” Bucky’s better judgment loses to his unchecked thoughts. He asks anyway, “Is she… is she alright?”

“Yes,” Greta sighs. He can tell she’s trying to play it off like they’re sharing a lighthearted joke. He can see how it grates at her. “She’s just out of town - it was a kind of last minute thing.”

He just nods and says he’s going to the bathroom before the session. He doesn’t wait for her response, knowing there probably won’t be one; he’s out of the therapy suite in a few strides.

(He feels many things at once. Annoyed that he’d been vulnerable enough to get her a coffee, but she wasn’t there to receive it. Confused that she hadn’t said anything about traveling when they’d shared that long car ride together. Jealous that other people have these similar connections with her - though he knew it wasn’t her fault.

She’s magnetic.)

Bucky dumps the coffee in the bathroom trash and leaves.

////

“Please, please, don’t –” The man trembles in terror as the Winter Soldier approaches. “Please, don’t - I have a wife and -”

The assassin doesn’t care about wives or husbands or children or anyone. He doesn’t discriminate against men and women or any race or religion.

This man was not his target, but he could not have witnesses.

His motions are precise and automatic. He pulls a knife from one of the bodies littering the floor. The target is shaking so violently that he cannot scramble to his feet in time, to even try to run away. He launches the knife into the man’s chest, throwing his body back against the wall, cracking the drywall.

The Winter Soldier is not sentimental, but the knife is his favorite, so he hauls it from the man’s chest cavity and wipes the blood on his leg before putting it back in its holster.

Bucky wakes, and he’s pissed. He rolls himself off the ground and walks into his untouched bedroom. He puts on a t-shirt, some jeans, and his jacket. He pulls his gloves from the pocket, tucks his hair into a cap, and leaves his apartment.

(These fucking nightmares will be the end of his sanity.)

He finds himself in a bar. This bartender seems to recognize him as a regular and nothing more. Bucky downs drink after drink, hoping for a black out rather than a buzz.

“Hi.”

He looks to his right. A woman, maybe in her early forties, makes eyes at him, a barstool over. She comes to sit next to him, taking his attention as an invitation. She has straight blonde hair, not unsimilar to Greta’s, with silvery strands catching the light. Her features are soft, more demure.

She rests her cheek into her palm. Her lip curls into a dramatic pout. “You look like you’re going through it, honey.”

His eyes scan over. She’s wearing tight jeans, a deep cut tank top under a bomber jacket, faux fur lining the hood. The cold night has her hard nipples visible beneath the thin top.

(She also has a wedding band tan.)

He bites, “Not a great night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she leans in, and he smells her thick floral perfume. Her lashes flutter at him. Voice low, she says, “Maybe buying me a drink will cheer you up.”

(Bucky has been good with women in the 1940s, a charmer and a flirt. He knew it’d been his youth and his bravado. The Winter Soldier, however, always got what he wanted without resistance. Whether it was the Serum or the singularity of his objective, the Winter Soldier was a successful philanderer.)

Bucky motions to the bartender, pointing to the woman’s drink, and indicates to bring two more. She grins, planting a hand on his thigh, leaning in close.

“How’s that feel?”

(Bucky takes a page out of the Winter Soldier’s book.)

“Better already.”

It takes him five more drinks, and her a drink and a half to find themselves in the single stall ladies’ room.

He lifts her onto the edge of the sink, careful not to let his metal hand linger for too long on her body. He braces it on the wall behind her and leans into their fervent kiss. His right hand fists her hair, gropes her breasts, grabs her ass. Her tongue is sloppy in his mouth, the taste of tequila filling his senses. His teeth graze her throat as her hands fumble with his belt. Her hands are cold as she strokes him, pants sagging down his hips. He pinches her nipple cruelly, eliciting a pained yelp. He stifles it with his mouth. She pulls away and hops down from the sink.

(When she’s on her knees, he focuses on the singularity of this moment. Need, need, need. Between the quickly burning alcohol and this, he tries to numb his mind, to override the nightmare. He feels her eyes on him, seeking his validation, but apathy and carnality flood his veins. He grabs her hair as he thrusts into her mouth. He drowns on the way her mouth feels and the helpless guttural sounds she makes.)

He comes, and she spits in the sink. He’s already buckling his pants.

(He got what he came for.)

She looks confused, and a lapse of guilt flickers in him. He goes in for another bruising kiss. He lets her take his hand to palm her through her own jeans. Her mouth is kissing down his jaw when he bites his glove off. He tries to slide his hand down the front of her jeans, but when his metal fingers graze her skin, she startles, immediately shoving him away.

(God, people are so predictable, he thinks.)

“What–” He shows her his prosthetic with a feigned frown. “Oh, you didn’t–”

“Didn’t what, tell you?” Bucky’s not sure if her shock is due to the prosthetic or that she’d figured out who he is. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No, but–”

(Even though he’d done it on purpose, even though he had no intention of giving her anything in return in the first place, the familiar panic in her eyes cuts through his post-coital haze. He feels like being cruel.)

“C’mon,” he mutters against the corner of her limp mouth, hooking her leg against his hip. “Let’s just–”

“No! No, wait, I…” She pushes him away again. “I’m sorry, I—” Unsteady hands reach into her pocket and produce a ring. “I’m married, this was all a mistake, I’m sorry, I have to go, I–”

(Oh now you’re married - you weren’t when you were deepthroating me? The thought almost spits out of his mouth, but she wasn’t even worth his pettiness.)

“Right, okay,” he allows a little anger through. He puts his hands up in defense, taking a step back, and he knows his metal hand catches the light by the way her eyes snap to it. “Let me at least buy you a cab.”

“No, no, I’m good, thanks.”

Her fingers tremble as she tries to unlock the door. His dream flashes behind his eyes. He walks over and unlocks it. She flinches.

“Sorry,” is the last thing she says before rushing out.

(He’s too numb to feel remorse.)

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reyeslonestar · 3 years ago

Text

no better version of me I could pretend to be tonight.

(Available on Ao3)

A few days after TK and Carlos break up, TK walks into a bar looking for a fight. In four different scenarios, he finds something else.

TK x Carlos, Mature, emotional hurt, post-breakup, references to alcohol, drugs and self-destructive behaviour.

1.7k words

Chapter 1: Oblivious

The clamour of the bar hits TK like a wall of sound as he slips through the door to the bar, nodding briefly at the bouncer on his way in. He pauses to adjust to the dim lighting and scans the room for the ideal target.

He’s been here before, he knows that before long he’ll be able to find someone pissed enough, or pissed off enough, to goad into a fight. He needs it, needs the flood of adrenaline and the rush of blood racing around his body to try and shake off the ache in his chest that's been settled there for the last few days. There’s something burning under his skin with the temptation to find a more synthetic solution, but he won’t let himself give into it. He can’t do that to himself, to his friends, to his parents, to Car-

Anyway. There are other solutions. Like bar brawls.

His eyes trail over the figures at the bar as the anticipation of a fight builds a wired energy in him, his fingers tapping against his leg to try and take the edge off. It’s relatively quiet at the bar tonight, with most of the place’s patrons spread further out around the room. There’s a small group of women in leather jackets clustered around one end, talking to the bartender as she makes their next round, then a couple of men in shabby suits talking furtively to one another, faces close and arms held up defensively so as to deter anyone from overhearing. A few other people are scattered across the bar stools, nursing various drinks, and finally, at the end of the bar, there’s a slumped figure, their face hidden in the pillow of their crossed arms on the top of the bar.

TK’s heart stutters in his chest.

He knows that figure. He knows those curls, the curve of those shoulders. He’s never seen them crumpled over a bar in the sketchier part of Austin, but he knows them too well to be wrong. Suddenly the wired energy drains out of him, replaced with a spiralling panic. He can’t see Carlos right now, that’s why he’s here, in a dodgy bar that a cop wouldn’t be caught dead in, looking for the chaos of a fight to drown the heartbreak in his chest.

He stares at the sprawled mess of his ex, and wonders. Why is Carlos here?

TK approaches the slumped figure slowly, placing a cautious hand on Carlos’ shoulder. There’s a terrifyingly empty bottle of rum in front of him, and a glass tumbler where the ice has long since melted. TK shakes his shoulder gently, stepping back when Carlos groans and lifts his head to try and give him some space when he notices TK standing next to him.

But when those gorgeous brown eyes settle on TK, they’re glassy with unfamiliarity, and a confused frown settles over Carlos’ brows as he sways slightly in his seat.

“What?” he asks, his voice gravelly and hoarse. “What do you want?”

Carlos is drunk. Really drunk. Drunk enough that he doesn’t even recognise him, and that realisation throws TK into a tailspin, fear and guilt clawing at his throat. He’s never seen Carlos like this - he’s hardly even seen him tipsy, as he’d never had more than one or two drinks at a time whilst they were dating. TK had told him more than once that it was okay, he didn’t care, and Carlos didn’t need to restrict himself on TK’s account. Carlos had only ever shrugged and said he didn’t like alcohol that much anyway.

TK can’t help but think it’s not the taste Carlos was pursuing tonight.

He doesn’t speak for several moments, too stunned to comprehend anything to think, let alone say, and Carlos loses interest and lays his head back on his arms. The defeated gesture spurs TK into action and he shakes Carlos’ shoulder a little more firmly.

“Come on,” he tells him. “Let’s get you home.”

He pulls out his phone and orders an Uber, then drops a few bills on the bar - Carlos’ drinks are probably paid for, but the untouched glass of water next to the rum bottle tells TK that the bartender probably at least tried to help the situation, and for that he’s grateful. He slides an arm across Carlos’ back, pulling his unresisting arm across his own shoulders and half-carries Carlos out of the bar.

When the Uber pulls up a few minutes later, he gets in too. He concentrates on how Carlos needs looking after, and he’s in no state to make it home by himself, pointedly squashing the guilty feeling that taunts him.

You just want to be close to him right now because he doesn’t know to push you away.

Carlos starts rambling in the Uber.

TK’s not sure what prompts it, whether it’s Carlos sobering up or just that the change of scenery has inspired Carlos to start talking, but whatever causes it, it’s agony. He’s talking about them, talking to the stranger that he thinks TK is, describing how much he loves his boyfriend, and he describes a mirage of their happiness so strong that TK feels as though he could almost reach out and touch it. Everything is suddenly so much, and Carlos is so close and so far away that TK is getting overwhelmed, and he can barely breathe-

TK is on the verge of asking the Uber driver to pull over and let him out, to let him escape the claustrophobia of listening to Carlos venerate everything that was good about them and to just breathe- when suddenly Carlos’ tone changes. His voice turns wistful, and there’s a hitch in his voice that makes TK reach out, almost involuntarily. He takes Carlos’ hand in his and brushes his thumb across the back of it, trying to convey some form of comfort without overstepping. He’s pretty sure he fails on that count, but he ignores that thought and concentrates on Carlos’ voice:

“I love him so much, but I don't get to- he’s not mine anymore, ‘cause we broke up, but I miss him so much you know? I still love him, and I don’t know what to do with that, ‘cause we couldn’t make it work.” Carlos pauses for a moment, blankly out the window. TK blinks rapidly against the blurriness in his eyes, failing to prevent the tears from falling when Carlos finishes: “I don't- I don’t know how to not love him.”

TK thought he left the pieces of his broken heart on their kitchen floor days ago. He didn’t know there was anything left to break.

He was wrong, and he gasps raggedly as sharp splinters of pain lance through his chest, even as Carlos falls quiet for the rest of the drive.

Carlos is still staggering when they get out of the Uber, so TK pulls his arm back over his shoulders and lets Carlos lean on him as he guides them both to the front door. Carlos clings to him, leaning heavily across him with his nose pressed against his neck. He mumbles when they pause at the front door for TK to fumble for the keys, and TK nudges him.

“What was that?” he asks, and Carlos sighs heavily.

“You smell like him,” he mumbles slightly louder against his neck, “I miss the way he smells. You know- the sheets don’t smell like him anymore.” He’s rambling again, and nausea twists in TK’s stomach. It feels wrong, invasive almost, to hear this, to be subject to the intensity of Carlos’ love that shouldn’t belong to him anymore.

The nausea hardly fades when he manages to open the door with the realisation he’s used his own keys. He stuffs the feeling deep down within him as the keys get shoved back in his pocket so he can help Carlos through the house with both hands, pointedly ignoring the painful reminders in the form of ornaments he’d bought for their mantlepiece, and furniture they’d chosen together and had playfully argued over putting together.

The stairs are a slow challenge, but at least Carlos’ fountain of heart wrenching rambling seems to have stopped up for a moment, and instead a concentrated silence falls between them.

In their bedroom-

In the bedroom, TK helps Carlos out of his clothes, hanging them on the stand in the corner, and opening the covers for Carlos to slip under in his underwear. He grabs a jug of water and a glass from the kitchen and gets Carlos to sit up in bed, so that he can drink a glass of water before TK refills it, leaving the jug, glass and some painkillers on the bedside table. Finally, Carlos settles down into the bed, resolutely lying on the right, and TK tries not to think about the implications of him avoiding the side of the bed that TK used to sleep on.

He turns to leave but hesitates, listening as Carlos’ breathing evens out into sleep. Before he can think about it for too long, he bends down, pressing a gentle kiss to Carlos’ forehead, and then drops one amongst the softness of Carlos’ curls. He wants to cradle his face between his hands, brush his thumb allow his cheekbones, savour this moment of closeness that he never thought he’d get to have again, but he catches himself and forces himself to his feet, his legs wooden as he walks himself out of the room and down the stairs.

Leaving again feels like a betrayal, but it’s not his place to stay anymore. He’s not worried about his physical state - other than a killer hangover, he’s pretty certain Carlos will be fine in the morning - and it’s not his place to be Carlos’ shoulder to lean on. Not anymore, even if heartbreak coils around his chest at that thought. The thought of staying is intoxicating; he’s lost by himself, and he has no idea how to be found again; to be known again, in the way that Carlos knew him, and loved him.

When he passes the counter in the kitchen on his way out, ignoring the traitorous sense of deja vu creeping through him, he pauses, weighing his keys in his hands. After a moment he drops them into the bowl they bought for both their keys, and slips out the door as quickly as he can, firmly locking himself out of their home, away from Carlos and any chance of going back.

[Chapt. 2] [Chapt. 3] [Chapt. 4]

#reyeslonestarw #my writing #tk x carlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #fic #tarlos fic #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #911lsfic #tuserjenny #userjillian #userkimmy #useramyj #tarlos #userbones #breakup arc #no better version fic

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chippedaxe · 4 years ago

Text

Hate Is A Strong Word

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Title: Hate Is A Strong Word

Warning(s): cursing, maybe a bit of angst? (Not a lot), fluff, arguing, fighting, ect..

Pronouns: They/Them

Synopsis: you and Karl hate each other (or at least you both thought) until it was leaked to the smp that he had feelings for you.

Pairing: c!Karl X gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Note: this is my first sfw fic 😍😍

- if this gets enough attention then I might do a part 2 with some nsfw.

* This is unedited and I didn’t rlly proof read it so if this story actually makes no sense at all than I’m rlly sorry 😭

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Your eyes narrowed and you furrowed your eyebrows as you noticed Karl in the distance, he looked as if he was moving towards you so you were wondering what business he was up to.

“Karl! What’re you doing?” You called out to him but he snubbed you and ignored your question “Fine, ignore me then asshole!” You scoffed and returned to what you were doing, you try to act nice and he doesn’t play along!

You went back to crafting, putting the sticks together and cursing yourself once you realized you didn’t have all the correct materials. You sighed and held onto your nose bridge in annoyance “I can’t believe I forgot to get the red stone!” You grumbled.

This meant more work for you today and you were already tired of it, you sat down and tried to think of a way to get out of doing more hard labor for the day. You got an idea and stood up, there’s got to be someone on the server with red stone right?

You exited your humble house and approached the first person you saw outside which happened to be Purpled “hey! I’m sure that you’ve probably got some on you so I was wondering if I could borrow some red stone? Or just take it from you..” you asked politely “oh I Uh- I actually ran out, I used the last of it on this build right here!” He stood back and presented the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen.

You nodded “oh alright then- thanks anyways” you passed him and walked down the trail, perhaps Eret had stolen some off of someone and could let you borrow a few? You walked up to him and smiled “greetings! Do you have any spare red stone that I could please use?” You bowed down slightly.

“Oh no, I’m afraid that I don’t have any! I know who does have a whole supply of red stone though!” Eret’s voice sounded condescending and almost patronizing “oh really? That’s great! Who is it?” You smiled excitedly “It’s Karl!” Eret replied.

Your face fell and you frowned, your happiness was wiped from your face and you gave Eret a deadpan look “why does it have to be him?” You groaned “oh I’m sure someone else will have some, you’ll just have to check around..” Eret then scattered away.

You knew that Eret is normally right, she won’t let anyone prove them wrong, so you knew that Karl was probably your best bet at retrieving some red stone. You wiped your face and made your way over to Karl’s whereabouts.

You knocked on the door of his house and waited for him to open the door, you watched as Karl peeked through the curtain and then quickly ran away to pretend that no one was home. You banged on his door angrily “Karl, open up! I just need some red stone!” You yelled out.

“No ones home!” He screamed back at you, you sighed and lowered your head “what a fucking idiot..” you thought out loud, Karl gasped and opened the door “that’s quite rude, don’t you think??” He crossed his arms and huffed. “Oh great- you’re home, can I have that red stone now??” You gave a fake smile “what makes you think I’m gonna give it up so willingly?” Karl rose an eyebrow. What a pretentious fuck.

“Because if you hand it over now then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day!” You had hoped that your plan would work “who says that I want to be left alone? Maybe I want to pester you all day!” Karl teased “oh come on! I just need the red stone, give it up!” You held your hands up in defense “oh nuh-uh! That belongs to me!” He blocked the doorway.

You pushed him gently and tried to steal his red stone but he tackled you to the floor, you kicked him off you and then stood back up to dust yourself off “listen here- if you do something for me than I’ll happily give it to you” Karl offered.

“Fine, asshat, what is it?” You had already expected him to send you doing something horrible or incredibly dangerous “I need you to just give this to Quackity, he said he needed it” Karl handed you a bag full of just dirt “he needs a bag of dirt? This seems like the most useless task ever!” You exclaimed.

“It’s not useless if you’re getting something out of it, come back here when you’re done” he shut the door on you and left you to go on your quest. You knew it’d be an easy task, so why did Karl send you to do it? Did he not think you could do it? Did he underestimate you?

You walked back to your house and equipped yourself with some leather boots, they should help your feet with the long walk. You got back up and got back onto the trail, you flung the bag over your shoulder and coughed as some of the dirt came out.

You arrived in Las Nevada’s pretty fast to be honest! Your eyes glanced over the beautiful sight, Las Nevadas is a wonderful place! If you weren’t a traveler than you’d like to settle somewhere like this.

“Quackity!” You came up to the building and called out for him, yelping and jumping back when a little green man appeared behind you “AH!” You screamed and dropped the bag “Oh! You have my dirt! Thank you, Mx. Jacobs!” He ducked down “what?! What did you call me??” You bent down.

He popped back out of the dirt “Mx. Jacobs, Karl Jacob’s partner!” He smiled cheerfully “I’m not dating Karl! And my name is Y/n!” You spat out “oh really, you’re not?? But I heard Karl talking about how much he loves you! I must’ve misunderstood, goodbye Y/n (not the partner of Karl Jacobs)!” He sunk back down but you pulled him back up.

“Hey- no! I wanna talk!” You desperately spoke “oh sure! I have time to kill anyways!” He stuck his tongue out “who are you?” You asked curiously “I’m Charlie slimecicle! You’re Y/n the traveler, Karl’s partner!” Charlie stated incorrectly.

“Hey- no. I hate Karl” you crossed your arms “really?? I was getting the impression that you liked him from the way that you stare at him lovingly from afar” Charlie shrugged “WHAT- HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT? I DONT DO THAT!!” You quickly tried to defend yourself.

“Don’t defend yourself, I already said that Karl likes you too!” Charlie was a chill guy “then why does he purposefully irritate me so much?!” You complained “I dunno! I’m gonna go with my bag of dirt now..” Charlie disappeared and this time you weren’t able to catch him.

You continued to sit there for a while, just thinking to yourself about things ‘does Karl really like me?’ You thought. You shook the feeling off “hold on- I don’t even like him! Charlie was talking non-sense!” The words coming out of your mouth did not match the way you were feeling.

Your heart was in your mouth, your chest was sore and your lungs were gasping for air as your hair was beating faster and faster “oh god- shit.. maybe I do like him! I mean.. those times that we don’t fight are really nice” you were conflicted. You decided that it’d be better to just confront your problems so you stood up and went back home.

You knocked on the door of Karl Macon’s house, he answered immediately and snickered “great, you made it back, thought you might die out there” he teased you. You rolled your eyes “cut the shit, Slime boy told me all about you” you accused “oh yeah? Told you what?” Karl backed up a bit “he told me that you had a little crush?” You leaned against the doorframe.

“Maybe I do, what about it?” Karl looked away and lowered his head a bit “well maybe I like you too. I don’t know, I still find you annoying and irritating!” You confessed “I wouldn’t like it any other way. Would you consider dating me?” Karl reached out and grabbed your hand gently “oh fuck-“ you cursed.

“If you’d of asked me any other day than my answer would be so clear! If you’d asked me yesterday than I’d say no but- maybe I like talking to you and arguing with you a little too much to just be your enemy.” You dropped your head and started to blush.

This was a very embarrassing situation for you and you didn’t know what to do “so you’re not sure if you like me or not?” Karl asked “correct. I mean- I’d stare at you from far away and blush but that doesn’t necessary mean that I like you, right?” You hesitated.

“Are you afraid that you might like me?” Karl walked closer towards you “maybe a bit. We’ve been enemies for so long, I’m afraid of what will happen between us if we stop” you answered “I’m sure we’ll still find things to fight about when we’re together” Karl smiled “well- than yes! I’ll go on one date with you” Karl squealed with joy.

“Yes! You’re making me the happiest man alive!” He hugged you “yeah, yeah, am I gonna get that red stone anytime soon?” You pestered him “sure thing! Can I pick you up later tonight?” Karl asked you “8’o clock and no time later than that” you replied before walking off with his red stone.

“Hey wait!- can I kiss you? Just this once?” Karl had started to annoy you with the way he was trying to explain why it’d be better to kiss him now instead of on your first date so you decided to shut him up. You grabbed him by the collar and pressed your lips against his.

This relationship of yours was gonna be a real hassle but you knew you’d make it out alive (not sure about Karl tho)

#mcyt x y/n #mcytumblr #mcyt #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #dsmp #dream smp x reader #dream smp #karl jacobs #karl jacobs x reader #c!karl

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killmebythebeach · 4 years ago

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A bunch of head cannons (Maybe too much). Also in talking about the characters.

I think Dream is that one design where his skin is just the static tv screen. He just constantly emits that fuzzy noise, Sam crafted him the smile mask that he can see through so he doesn't scare people.

George is just kind of the server itself. He's the same species as Hannah, but a mushroom and more powerful. If he stays awake too long, the server just kind of freezes. This is also a reason XD keeps him sleeping, it's his way of talking to George and he thinks the server is like his soap opera of mortals.

Callahan is sort of like the person who makes sure George doesn't get killed or dies while asleep, making sure he's surrounded by mushrooms and such. Deer hybrid <3

Alyssa joined the server because she knew all her friends were idiots and didn't want them to die immediately. But once the elections rolled around, she felt the pressure of choosing sides and ran away to the desert, only keeping contact with Ponk. She actually lives just a couple miles from Foolish's summer home. Her communicator actually died after a couple months and she had no way of charging it, so she lost contact with everyone.

Sapnap is a magma cube hybrid and can jump higher than most, his natural temperature runs hotter, and is fire proof. Bad found him in the nether when he was maybe 10-15 years old.

Sam was actually a normal creeper, but gained player like sentience from being struck by lightning. Instead of becoming charged, he gained intelligence and met the others on the server. Callahan taught him some Redstone, but from there he figured out a lot on his own. He's also a creeper centaur.

Ponk is actually a descendant of a fairy, a lemon tree. Their mask was also a gift from Sam because after the second or third time their tree was burnt, their immune system was weakened a considerable amount. Alyssa also wore her mask for them.

Bad is a size shifting demon from the nether, more specifically soul sand desert. He uses soul fire to gain strength, so because the egg died when near it, he was just a little weaker than normal. Because he's a demon he needs a tie to the overworld to stay there, he tied his soul and lives to Skeppy.

Tommy was grown in a lab to be a hero, project: THESEUS. The lab gave him small enhancements, like slightly stronger and just a bit more resilient, to make the Above Average Boy (TM). He then ran away to meet Wilbur. When Dream asked Wilbur if he wanted to come to the server, he asked if Tommy could go first to see what it was like. He also actually really likes gardening and making up funny songs to Wilbur playing guitar. He also made funny lyrics for his discs, but he's still a bit scared to take them out of his ender chest. Other than bringing attachment, Dream also exiled Tommy to see what his lab enhancements could do.

Tubbo is an adaptive hybrid! His hair was blond, shifting to brown when Wilbur found him, getting blue eyes from Tommy, growing small horns under Schlatt, parts of his skin being static when Dream was "helping" him with his presidency, and parts of his scars tinging black and green from Ranboo and Micheal. Tubbo also helped Wilbur write part of the anthem. He likes living in the snow because the Manberg flag had magma blocks on it, casting a heatwave over the country, and after L'Manburg blew up it got really hot from the exposed stone in direct sun.

Fundy can actually hold his breath for a very long time and swim very well because of Sally teaching him and his salmon genes. The yellow things on his hat are actually shells, and the stripes on his jacket are trans colors. Also with his dreams, he saw Eret was going to betray them but didn't think it was real, or didn't want to. He also saw Wilbur blow up L'Manburg but chose not to believe it, thinking his father could still be saved. He actually saw pretty much everything, but didn't quite understand what they were until after doomsday.

The necklace Punz wears is one of those picture lockets, but he lost the picture and can't remember what it was. The first time Dream paid him was when Dream asked for help and Punz made an off hand joke about getting money, and then Dream thought he was being serious. Him, Dream, and Sapnap were like brothers, and Punz got sadder every time he saw Dream pushing people away and diving deeper into darkness.

Purpled is an aliensent to see if the planet was colonizable, but then crashed and was stranded, all his communications down and his ship barely able to hover fifty feet off the ground. When Quackity blew it up, he essentially got rid of his chance of ever going home. Purpled's species can shapeshift, so he turned himself into the first person he saw, Punz. Eventually before trying to communicate with the native life forms, he edited his form a little so they weren't identical, keeping purple eyes and antennae, changing the colors slightly, and changing the voice up. When he moves away from the main SMP, Ponk makes sure to check up on him and that he has a way to check his communicator.

Wilbur came a month after sending Tommy. His father being a patron of life and his mother the goddess of death, he met in the middle being born as a human. The only reason Ghostbur was as active and present as he was was because he was so connected to both life and death. Since his corpse was decaying for as long as it was, Wilbur is now super weak, his flesh is thin and his eyes are rotted and gone. Much like Ghostbur, Wilbur in limbo saw what people said about him, and Ghostbur could hear that from the back of his head. Now Wilbur can hear what people say about Ghostbur and he hates it, not wanting to be connected to what he thinks like a shell of himself.

Schlatt is a ram (duh) and actually does the fainting goat thing. So when he died of a heart attack, no one knew at first if he was actually dead or not. His alcoholism stems from the revive book, as the possibility of tampering with death made him existential and scared, so to cope he drank. There are also a ton of other stuff other than revival in the book, but it's in galactic.

Skeppy was just a normal human, but after making the pact with Bad, Bad put a spell on him. Parts of him turned into diamond, protecting both his and Bad's lives. He however, is unaware of this. With the egg, he would just sit on it, the diamonds chipping away to make room for the vines.

Eret was cursed by the Wither Cult, giving them white eyes and a slowly deteriorating memory. Not sure what to do, Foolish dropped them off at the SMP. Sometimes they would dream about old memories from before the curse, but it was just glimpses so he could never tell what they meant. Once they were king, they made the Herobrine shrine subconsciously, not really sure what it was after. They also had a strange affinity of beacons and resurrection, some of their memories resurfacing when they tried to help Phil and Ghostbur revive Wilbur after doomsday. The reason people are more scared of their eyes than any other wierd eyes was because he generally looks like a normal human, but the wither along with their Herobrine origins creates an uncanny valley that people are shocked by.

Jack had red and blue irises before crawling out of hell, but after coming back the whites of his eyes also turned red and blue. He always wears 3d glasses so no one noticed, but he just thought no one cared enough to mention it. He also has a bunch of scars and burn marks that no one but him can see, therefore no one asks about them or thinks something is wrong, cementing the idea that no one cares about him.

Niki is a blaze hybrid (stole this from @/420technoblazeit) whose fire hair color changes based on strong emotion, something she bond with Tubbo for as a fellow shifter. A soft yellow in L'Manburg, brighter orange in Manburg, hot pink on Doomsday, a soul fire blue with the syndicate (which Techno hates), and a dead grey when she found out Wilbur was alive. She was also old child hood friends with Ranboo and Eret, leaving Ranboo for the SMP. Ranboo, unfortunatly, doesn't remember much more than her name. She also knows galactic from Ranboo, so she talks about her troubles to Shy the Enderman. She doesn't really know how to talk to Puffy anymore after Doomsday or finding out how she wants to protect Tommy.

Quackity can perfectly replicate someone's voice and, with a lot of effort, can completely change his form to another player. He also has very small yellow wings, too small to fly, so he almost always hides them. He used to constantly change his voice for jokes with Karl, Sapnap, and George, but he doesn't like doing it now in Las Nevadas, as he sees it as unprofessional. However, sometimes he uses when he visits Dream, changing his voice to people like George and Sapnap to make torture more effective.

In the In Between and Other Side, Karl actually looks like his old skin, or his natural state (the big purple one that inspired his sweater). But most of the time in the normal world, he looks human. With effort he can bring out the interdemential being thing, something only Quackity and Sapnap know about. The more he time travels, the easier it becomes to change, and he's even started defaulting to the other form.

HBomb is actually just a normal news reporter, sent to interview and record what's going on in the server, his first big story being the election. Upon Doomsday, the stress of seeing everyone alone, fighting, and disconnected, he ran away from the world, essentially becoming a cat lady. His undercover reporter persona is actually the cat maid. He eventually came back to the server to see how he could help after Doomsday, befriending Niki again and living with her in the underground city.

Techno is a piglin, so he's scared of soul fire. He forgot to tell Phil before he decorated the syndicate room, so he just suffers in silence. He also does better when around a lot of gold, like in the nether, and he feels drained and slightly weaker without it. Instead of just putting gold around the area (it would ruin his property value), he just hibernates. He has an emerald earing, like all of the syndicate, but his is a locket that unfolds into pictures of the syndicate.

Ant always wears a red hoodie, now ruined by the egg, that used to be Red's. On Red's death anniversary, him, Bad, Skeppy, and Sam would make cake and put flowers on his grave. He missed the last one because it was during the egg, but for a brief moment after Puffy killed him he saw Red. Red then promptly and bluntly told him to stop being a pussy (haha, cat) and that he shouldn't do all this just to get him back, one of Ant's motivators to make amends with the people he hurt while with the egg. Ant is also a shapeshifter, but can only turn into a cat.

Phil actually used to work under Foolish as a patron of life but then he had a son with the goddess of death, so his title was removed so he could be with her and he became an Angel of Death. Kristin noticed how sad he was after being released, so she gifted him wings. They were however, destroyed on November 16th. His chat also serves as messenger pigeons, which were used to send letters to Wilbur.

Connor is actually just a hedgehog who somehow befriended Schlatt. Even before the haunted mansion, Karl vented to him about his time travel troubles, not knowing he was a sentient player. As a hedgehog, no one really cares where he goes, so he goes outside the server limits to meet his friends from the haunted mansion.

Puffy is a distant relative of Schlatt, but instead of politics she went into piracy. With her mom, she went travelling the seas. One say, a storm came and wiped out her ship, her crew, her mom, everything but her. The reason she survived was because Foolish saw her and saved her. Unfortunately, Puffy hit hee head in the crash and doesn't remember anything.

Vikkstar is the equivalent of a big time celebrity, so of course his endorsement of POG2020 was a big deal.

Lazarbeam is literally just a ginger bread cookie.

Ranboo has actually met a lot of the smp before actually joining. He's met Niki, Fundy, Eret, Punz, and Dream at least. He also sees the inverted colors Enderman see. His suit was actually a gift from Eret before they forgot how to tailor. He got the crown from Techno after joining the syndicate, claiming he didn't want any syndicate members to look like trash.

Foolish came to the server most recently to check up on Eret, but he couldn't bring himself to leave again. When Puffy adopts him, he can't say no because he remembers saving her. His initial goal was to kill an ender dragon to claim the XD title and become a full god like DreamXD, but after realising someone already killed it he went into his totem if death phase. Upon meeting Eret, he got over it and they went on some silly adventures, Foolish now taking a more peaceful route.

Hannah is essentially a weaker George, as her power is tied to the plants themselves and not the entire server. She however has a lot more physical power because rose dryads like to fight because they have thorns. Since roses can be taken out a lot easier, she is essentially a glass canon. Also when around any plant, she can make it grow faster than normal.

Any guest on the server? Corpse, Pokimane, Lil Nas? They were all Slimecicle. That's how he knows where everyone is from, even outside of Las Nevadas. No one else knows this. He's also ancient, if he met Phil they would probably recognise eachother. There was an actual Charlie Slimecicle who was not a slime, but after being launched into orbit this Slimecicle decided to impersonate him.

Michael Mcchill is a sort of bounty hunter. He came to the server after hearing of all the crime, assuming there'd be a lot of bounties to collect. However, he soon learned that no one really cares if you commit a crime. He then took to reading news articles made by HBomb to see if there were any past open bounties. But after reading for a while about the server's wronguns, mostly Dream, he began to sympathise with them. And he's also a speedrunner, so maybe he could help with some bounties across other servers!

This was a very long post and i apologize, but it was so fun to finally write all these thoughts down! I hope you liked them! I can't even fit all the tags I want.

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