#based on a source memory(-based nightmare)

[kromazque]

nightmare

[these little ~30min sketches really help me uncover memories for some reason - 💜]

[seriiousgiirl]

𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. Three years after the harrowing events in Silent Hill, James Sunderland has survived the haunting memories of his past but carries the heavy burden of grief and guilt. Adopting Laura, James strives to create a normal life for them both, but the echoes of his former life linger, haunting him in moments of solitude.

As he navigates the challenges of fatherhood and a corporate job, James grapples with PTSD and the lingering shadows of his late wife, Mary. His daily interactions are fraught with anxiety, especially when it comes to Laura's teacher, Y/n. Young, vibrant, and filled with warmth. But as Y/n becomes an unexpected source of comfort and tension in James's life. He is drawn to her kindness and beauty, yet he feels undeserving of her attention, burdened by the ghosts of his past.

When Y/n reaches out with genuine concern for James's well-being, he wrestles with feelings of guilt, lust and longing, torn between the desire for connection and the fear of betraying Mary's memory. As James's pent-up frustrations bubble to the surface, he finds himself navigating a complicated emotional landscape where love, loss, and redemption intertwine.

❛ Part 2 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello everyone! After years of being more or less in the Silent Hill fandom, the remake rather inspired me... :') After seeing how cute James is in it, I felt like I was rediscovering his character. The story is a bit different from what we usually see, but I hope it will appeal to the (few, I don't think many would be interested in a silent hill fanfic) people who read it.

➜ ┊: chapter 1/?.

James woke up again, his body snapping upright in bed, his breath ragged and uneven as if he had just surfaced from drowning. His chest rose and fell with frantic breaths that refused to calm, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a prisoner desperate to escape. The room around him was silent, still, and blanketed in shadows, the faintest silver glow of the moon seeping through the thin, worn curtains. It painted his surroundings in an eerie light, enough to make out the vague shapes of his furniture but not enough to chase away the weight of the darkness.

He knew it was early—much too early. The alarm on his nightstand wouldn’t go off for hours, not until the unforgiving numbers clicked over to 7 a.m. He set it religiously, every night, clinging to the hope that one day he’d wake naturally to the sound, as if that simple act could restore some semblance of normalcy to his broken life. 

But that never happened.

James never woke peacefully anymore. His body, his mind, refused to grant him that mercy. Instead, he jolted awake in a cold sweat, his body rigid, his pulse racing. Each time, it felt as though he was being pulled from some unseen nightmare—ripped out of a hellish dreamscape that he couldn’t remember clearly but always left its mark. The fear, the panic, the suffocating sense of dread stayed with him, lingering like smoke in the air long after his eyes had adjusted to the dim glow of his bedroom.

He pressed his palm against his face, wiping away the sheen of sweat that clung to his skin. His body felt tense, coiled like a spring that had been wound too tightly. His muscles ached from the constant strain, from the battles he fought every night within the confines of his mind. The nightmares weren’t just dreams. They were fragments of a past that refused to stay buried, haunting him in the dead of night when the world outside was quiet and his mind had no distractions to keep the demons at bay.

The medication bottles on his bedside table gleamed faintly in the moonlight, their labels worn from use. He reached for them out of habit, his fingers brushing the cool surface, but he didn’t open them. No matter how many pills he swallowed, how many prescriptions doctors wrote, nothing ever worked. Sleep was supposed to be a sanctuary, a refuge from the waking world, but for James, it had become another battleground.

He let his hand drop back to his lap, staring down at his shaking fingers. He could feel the tension still coursing through him, the residue of whatever nightmare had dragged him awake. His body hadn’t yet realised he was safe, that it was just a dream, and the adrenaline still pumped through his veins. Every night, it was the same—this restless terror that clung to him, trapping him in a cycle he couldn’t escape. He longed for sleep, yet feared it in equal measure, knowing that the darkness of his subconscious held more horrors than the light of day ever could.

For a moment, he considered lying back down, closing his eyes, and trying again. 

But the thought alone made his stomach twist.

With a sigh, James decided to give up on sleep altogether. There was no use lying there, waiting for his heart to calm down or for the remnants of his nightmare to fade. His legs still trembled as he swung them over the side of the bed, the cool floor beneath him grounding him just enough to pull himself up. The shadows in the room seemed to shift as he stood, though he knew it was his mind playing tricks again. He had long stopped trusting the darkness.

He moved carefully, trying to stay silent as he made his way to the door, not wanting to wake Laura. She was the only constant in his life now, the only reason he hadn’t completely unravelled. But even the thought of her, sleeping peacefully down the hall, wasn’t enough to ease the tremor in his hands. As he stepped out of the bedroom, the familiar creak of the floorboards echoed too loud in the silence of the house, and for a fleeting moment, his breath hitched.

Sometimes, in these quiet hours, he could swear he heard them—the monsters. That same sickening creaking sound they made, their grotesque forms dragging across the cold. Or worse, the heavy, slow scrap of metal—a blade being dragged along the ground. His body tensed, instinctively waiting for the ominous presence of that thing— he came to call Pyramid Head. He hadn’t seen it in three years, but its presence still lingered, like a ghost lurking in the corners of his mind. His chest tightened as he imagined that scraping sound growing closer, louder, but he knew… or at least, he tried to convince himself it wasn’t real. Not anymore.

On the worst days, though, it wasn’t just the monsters. 

Sometimes, he would hear her—Mary. Her voice, soft and sweet, like the Mary he remembered before everything went wrong, calling out to him. It always started the same way, a gentle whisper at first, like she was in the next room, waiting for him. And each time, it grew louder, more urgent, until it was a siren’s call, relentless and cruel. It was enough to make his heart stop, to make him question everything, and then he’d remember—he knew where that call would lead. Straight into oblivion. Straight into the abyss of his own guilt.

On other nights, he could swear he felt Maria—her warmth next to him in bed, the way her body would press against his. It was so vivid, so painfully real, as though she hadn’t died in his arms multiple times, as though Silent Hill hadn’t swallowed her whole. She had been a ghost, a reflection of everything he had lost, and yet… sometimes she felt alive in those moments. His doctors told him it was all hallucinations, the remnants of trauma deeply embedded in his mind. Certified and explained away in clinical terms, but knowing that didn’t change how real it felt in those fleeting, terrifying seconds.

Even now, as he stood in the hallway, his breath uneven, James couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere—beneath the layers of his fragile reality—the horrors were still there, watching, waiting.

James padded quietly into the kitchen, his bare feet brushing against the cool tiles as he reached for a glass. The water flowed smoothly from the tap, cool and refreshing, and he drank it straight, the crispness washing over him. It helped clear his mind, if only for a moment, pushing back the lingering echoes of the night’s terrors. 

After finishing the glass, he flicked on the small lamp in the living room, its soft glow spilling light across the space, chasing away the oppressive darkness. He made his way to the couch, settling himself in front of the window, where the city still lay shrouded in early morning silence. Outside, the world was just beginning to stir, but here in this moment, everything felt suspended in time.

They had moved far away from Silent Hill, away from Maine altogether, as if he was still trying to escape the town’s haunting pull. When Laura had expressed her desire for a place near the coast, saying she wanted to feel the warmth of the sun and breathe in the salty scent of the ocean, he had obliged her wishes. It was the least he could do for the little girl who had become his lifeline, the one bright spot in his otherwise dark world. It had taken time, but he had learned to appreciate the small things—like the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the way the sunlight danced on the water’s surface.

He pulled his journal from the side table, the worn leather cover familiar against his fingers. The pages were filled with thoughts, memories, and an ongoing dialogue with himself—one that his doctor had encouraged. Writing was meant to help him sort through his feelings, to separate reality from the nightmares that still clung to him like shadows. It was a way to document the moments that felt tangible, grounding him in the present.

With the pen poised above the page, he took a deep breath, letting the silence of the morning wrap around him. 

Date: [XX/10/1993]

Another night of waking up in a cold sweat. The dreams feel heavier lately, more vivid. I can still hear Mary’s voice sometimes, like she’s calling out to me. I know it’s not real, but the longing… It’s hard to escape. I need to remember that I’m here now. That I have Laura. She needs me to be present. I need to plan my day—take her to the beach, show her the tide pools, maybe? She deserves to explore, to laugh, to feel alive. Maybe it will help me too.

James paused, staring at the words he’d just written. The ink was still wet, and he felt the weight of each line pressing against his chest, a mixture of hope and dread swirling within him. 

He continued, allowing his thoughts to flow onto the page.

I’ve been thinking about the way the ocean looks at dawn. It’s a beautiful sight, the horizon slowly illuminated by the first light of day. I want to share that with Laura. She deserves to see the world as it is. Maybe if I can show her that, it’ll help me remember what it feels like to be alive, too.

He turned the page, feeling the familiar texture beneath his fingertips, grounding him in a moment that felt too fragile. The nightmares are starting to blur again. It’s like I’m drifting between memories and dreams. I know I should talk to Dr. Fischer about it, but I hate feeling so exposed. Every time I sit across from him, it’s like peeling back layers of skin. I don’t want to keep reliving the past, but I also know I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s a part of me now—part of what makes me who I am.

But sometimes, I wonder if I’m doing enough. If I’m enough. Laura is so full of life—she deserves happiness, yet I feel like a ghost in my own home. The laughter that fills this place is often followed by a silence that weighs heavily on me, as if I’m a spectator in my own life, watching a play where I don’t belong. 

He paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, fighting against the swell of loneliness that threatened to overwhelm him. 

Some days, I can still hear Mary’s laughter, the way it used to light up the room, but now it’s a whisper in the wind. I wish I could reach out to her, ask her for forgiveness, tell her how much I miss her. But she’s gone, and I’m left with nothing but my guilt and the memories that won’t let me go. It’s a bitter irony—I have another chance at life with Laura, yet I feel more alone than ever.

I thought time would heal me, that the scars would fade, but each day feels like a new reminder of what I’ve lost. I watch Laura play, her laughter cutting through the silence, and it fills me with joy and pain all at once. I want to protect her, to shield her from the darkness I carry. But how can I do that when I’m still fighting my own battles?

Anyway, plan for today: Take Laura to the beach, explore the tide pools, and have a picnic.

As he continued to write, the rhythm of his thoughts began to settle, the initial chaos giving way to clarity. He documented everything he hoped to achieve that day, the things that could distract him. 

After some time, the soft patter of small feet echoed in the hallway, and Laura emerged from her room, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She settled next to James on the couch, curling her legs beneath her as she leaned against his shoulder, still waking up. 

“Did you even sleep at all?” she mumbled, her voice thick with the remnants of slumber. 

James chuckled softly, the sound warm and gentle. “Just a little. You know how it is,” he replied, glancing down at her. The early morning light filtered through the window, illuminating her features and casting a soft glow around them. 

“Not again,” Laura sighed, shaking her head in mock exasperation. “You should really take better care of yourself, you know.”

James smiled, closing his journal and setting it aside, feeling the comforting weight of their shared silence. His relationship with Laura had evolved significantly since that first day they met. In the beginning, there was an undeniable tension, a wall between them built from grief and uncertainty. Laura had been sharp-tongued and defiant, often testing his patience with her stubbornness. But over time, that wall had crumbled, brick by brick, revealing a bond that had become more profound and genuine. 

“Maybe I just like the quiet,” he teased, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. “It gives me time to think.”

Laura rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, right. More like you spend it worrying about everything,” she shot back, her familiar sass coming through. But he could sense the softness in her demeanour, the way she had begun to let him in, and it filled him with gratitude.

There were still moments when she wouldn’t call him “Dad”—it felt too heavy, too final—but there had been instances where the word slipped out, once or twice. The first time he had felt a rush of warmth and something almost like fear at her words. It had caught him off guard, pulling at his heartstrings in a way he hadn’t expected. It was one night after a particularly rough day at school. 

The kids had been relentless, and when she had come home, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She had cried so much that night, seeking solace in his arms, and in that moment of vulnerability, she had whispered it—Dad—like it was a fragile promise, something she wanted to believe in.

He had held her tightly, whispering reassurances as she poured out her heart. It was one of the hardest days for both of them, but that single word had changed everything, reinforcing their bond in ways he never thought possible. 

The shrill sound of James’s alarm cut through the quiet morning, signalling that it was finally 7 a.m. He groaned softly, the sudden noise pulling him from the lingering remnants of his thoughts. “Time to get moving,” he muttered to himself before swinging his legs off the couch and standing up.

“Laura,” he called out gently, “you need to get ready for school.” 

Laura groaned but slowly pushed herself upright, her hair sticking up in tousled spikes. “Do I have to?” she whined, rubbing her eyes.

“Yes, you do,” James replied with a chuckle, heading into the kitchen to start breakfast. He could already hear her muttering under her breath as she dragged herself away from the comfort of the couch, but he couldn’t help but smile at her antics. As he prepared breakfast, the scent of eggs and toast filled the air, mixing with the cool October breeze that slipped in through the slightly ajar window. 

He could hear the soft shuffle of Laura getting ready in the background, her footsteps echoing through the hallway.

When breakfast was ready, he set the table, placing a plate in front of her just as she joined him. They ate together in comfortable silence, the clinking of forks the only sound between them for a few moments. 

“So, there’s this kid in class…” Laura began, her voice a mix of enthusiasm and worry. As she recounted her stories, James listened attentively, nodding along as she shared her concerns about a class project and the kids who were teasing her again. She spoke with an earnestness that made him proud, she was a smart little girl.

“...and I do think the teacher likes me a lot,” she finished, her voice dropping slightly, smiling shyly.

James reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on hers. “You’re doing great, Laura. I’m so proud of you,” he encouraged, hoping to convey his support. 

Once they finished breakfast, he cleared the table while she dashed back to her room to grab her backpack. The familiar morning routine helped ground him, a stark contrast to the chaos that often filled his mind.

Then, James returned to his room, feeling the familiar weight of his thoughts returning. He turned on the water for a shower, the warm spray washing over him, almost as if he were trying to cleanse himself of his sins and guilt. Each droplet felt like it could wash away a little more of his guilt, his pain, and his memories.

After his shower, he stood in front of the mirror, towel drying his ash-blond hair and tidying it up, shaving his stubble. The cold air from outside seeped through the window, sending a shiver down his spine as he dressed for the day. He pulled on a simple shirt and jeans. 

But as James stood in front of his closet, the morning light filtering through the curtains, his gaze fell upon his signature khaki jacket hanging quietly amidst his other clothes. For a moment, he hesitated, his heart tightening.

The jacket felt heavy with the weight of the past. He recalled the feel of it against his skin as he navigated the fog-laden streets, the chill of the air contrasting sharply with the warmth it provided. It had shielded him from the elements, yes, but it had also cloaked him in the pain of his choices, the guilt that clung to him like a second skin. 

James swallowed hard, staring at the jacket, the muted fabric whispering secrets of the past. He could almost hear the echoes of Mary’s voice, feel the pang of loss that accompanied every memory. It was as if the jacket was tainted, infused with the blood and tears of that time—but also her scent, her warmth and gentle touch.

Perhaps… Today, he could indulge himself.

He took a deep breath, fighting against the swell of anxiety that rose within him. This jacket is just a piece of clothing, James, he reminded himself, yet it felt like so much more. With a decisive moment, he pulled it from the hanger and slipped it on, the familiar weight settling comfortably on his shoulders. 

James looked at himself in the mirror, the reflection staring back at him was a man still fighting battles. With a shameful sigh, he adjusted the collar, feeling the jacket’s fabric against his skin. When he stepped outside, the brisk October wind greeted him, a sharp contrast to the warmth inside. 

Laura stood at the door, a look of surprise mixed with concern crossing her face.

“Why are you still wearing that jacket?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gestured to the fabric. “You know… after everything that happened in...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name of the haunting town.

James shrugged, a faint smile creeping onto his face. “I still like it. It’s comfortable.” 

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. “You’re so weird, James,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder as they made their way down the path toward the car.

“Weird or not, let’s get you to school on time little girl,” he said, his tone quite firm. Together, they stepped into the brisk morning air, ready to face whatever the day had in store.

‧───────────────

Dropping Laura off at school had become a routine, but for James, it was anything but simple. As they approached the bustling entrance, he felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a sense of dread creeping over him like a heavy fog. It wasn’t the school itself or the noise of children chattering and laughing; it was the attention he attracted.

In a small town where traditional family structures were the norm, a single father with a daughter who didn’t even remotely resemble him stood out like a sore thumb. James had chosen to keep his past private, and he was grateful that Laura’s adoption remained a secret. He avoided any conversations that might lead to questions about their relationship or as to why he was alone, fearing the scrutiny that came with revealing the truth. After all, in the eyes of the world, he was just a man dropping off his daughter, and that was how he wanted it to stay.

As they parked and stepped out of the car, the sun shone brightly, but it felt cold against his skin. He could already sense the gazes of the mothers lingering on him as he helped Laura with her backpack. Their eyes were sharp, curious, sizing him up like sharks circling prey, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of vulnerability. James kept his head down, focusing on Laura as she adjusted her straps and prepared to head inside.

“Have a good day, okay?” he said, forcing a smile as she turned to him, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she waved goodbye.

“Bye, James!” she called, her voice full of cheer as she dashed toward the school gates, her ponytail swinging behind her. 

With her back turned, James felt the full weight of the mothers’ stares. He could almost hear the whispers beneath their breath, speculating about him—why he was alone, where Laura’s mother was, and why they didn’t look alike. It was all too easy to imagine the conclusions they would jump to, and he wanted no part of it. 

Every step he took toward his car felt like walking through a minefield. He avoided eye contact at all costs, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground as he navigated through the throngs of parents and children. Conversations buzzed around him, but he focused solely on his breathing, trying to ignore the anxiety tightening around his chest.

As he passed a small group of mothers standing near the entrance, he couldn’t help but catch snippets of their conversations, even as he tried to block them out.

“Did you see him? He looks so sad,” one of them whispered, her voice dripping with faux concern. “Who could leave such a handsome man alone?”

James felt a familiar flush creep up his neck, a mix of embarrassment and irritation. He quickened his pace, but their comments followed him like shadows.

“I know, right? A single father is so sexy,” another chimed in. “I wish my husband was as committed to our son’s school life.”

He clenched his jaw, biting back a retort. The last thing he wanted was to be part of their gossip, yet he was helpless against the words that floated through the air like smoke. Each compliment felt like a reminder of everything he wanted to avoid—attention, scrutiny, and the inevitable questions.

As he reached the edge of the parking lot, he heard another mother say, “I heard there’s a parents-teacher meeting tonight. Can you imagine? He’ll probably be all alone again. It’s such a shame.”

The words hit him like a cold slap, and he paused, taking a moment to gather himself. The thought of attending the meeting, sent a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over him. Why did they have to bring that up now?

He finally reached his car, fumbling for his keys in his pocket as he tried to push the whispers from his mind. The weight of judgement lingered in the air, but he didn’t look back. He slipped into the driver’s seat, exhaling slowly as he gripped the steering wheel. “Just another day,” he murmured to himself, willing his heart to calm. 

James had avoided women religiously since he came back, erecting barriers around himself that felt both protective and suffocating. The loss of Mary had left a gaping hole in his heart, one that he couldn’t bear to fill with anyone else. Allowing himself to indulge in the warmth of another felt like an insult to her memory.

In the years following her death, he had retreated into himself, building walls high enough to keep the world—and the painful reminders of his past—at bay. He threw himself into fatherhood, pouring all his energy into raising Laura and ensuring she felt loved and secure. She was his anchor, the one bright spot in the dark fog of his grief. Yet, in avoiding connections with women, he had inadvertently created a deep well of pent-up frustrations within himself—frustrations that simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

Every time he caught himself looking at a woman, whether it was a fleeting glance at a passerby or—especially a longer gaze at Laura’s teacher during a school event, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. What am I doing? He would ask himself, immediately diverting his eyes, as if the very act of looking was a betrayal of the love he once held dear. He had convinced himself that he wasn’t ready to move forward, but in truth, he was terrified of what that would mean. 

In the quiet moments, when he was alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the weight of his solitude. The nights grew long and lonely, and sometimes he found himself longing for the comfort of another person—a hand to hold, a voice to soothe him. 

But the thought of crossing that line felt insurmountable, like stepping onto a precipice with no way back. He often wondered if this self-imposed exile was healthy or just a way of avoiding the inevitable. Deep down, he knew that if he ever did let someone in, it would come with a torrent of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face—the guilt, the grief, and the fear of moving on without forgetting.

Sometimes, when the darkness of the night enveloped him and the oppressive solitude weighed heavily upon his chest, James found himself struggling to resist his deepest, most shameful urges. Alone in the dim light of his bedroom, the air thick with silence, he would reach for the only source of warmth he had left—his own body.

But every time he started to jerk himself, trying to think about anyone other than Mary, he would falter. His thoughts would slip, no matter how hard he tried to redirect them. The moment he ventured into the realm of fantasy, attempting to conjure images of the warmth he longed for, his mind would betray him. Instead of the embrace of another, he would see Mary’s face—her soft smile, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, the lightness in her laughter that had once filled their home. The memory of her enveloped him, suffocating and punishing him in its intensity, and he would feel a deep-seated shame clawing at his insides.

But jerking off while thinking about his dead wife, the one he had killed, felt utterly wrong. 

With a trembling hand, he'd stroke his hardening cock, trying to drown out the memories that haunted him. But no matter how hard he tried to push them away, they always crept back in, taking over his mind and filling him with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Images of Mary would flood his vision, her soft smile and sparkling eyes etched into his mind, along with the lightness of her laughter that once filled their home.

As he stroked faster, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, he could feel the pressure building inside him. But just as he was about to reach the edge of ecstasy, he would see her face again, and the guilt would consume him. How could he possibly find pleasure in this, knowing what he had done to her? 

The guilt was overwhelming, flooding his senses as he would try to push it all away, but it clung to him like a shadow. Tears would fill his eyes, hot and stinging, blurring his vision as the shame washed over him. He would cry, feeling pathetic and broken, as if indulging in his own body was another betrayal on a long list he had made in his mind. How could I even think of anyone else? He would chastise himself, the guilt wrapping around his heart like a vice, squeezing tighter until it became unbearable.

Knowing that he could never truly find solace in this act, James would eventually release his warm cum spilling onto his hand and stomach. But even in the aftermath of his orgasm, the guilt remained, and he would lie there, spent and broken, wondering how he could ever redeem himself.

It was a cycle of longing and despair that left him feeling more isolated than before. He would swipe at his tears, but they would keep coming, relentless and unyielding. The echoes of his cries seemed to linger in the air, a haunting reminder that he was still trapped in a cycle of grief that he could never escape…

‧───────────────

The day had finally drawn to a close, and the muted hum of office chatter began to fade as the fluorescent lights overhead flickered in their final moments. James gathered his belongings, the familiar weight of his briefcase resting heavily in his hand. The corporate world had wrapped around him like a well-worn coat, the same job he had held before, one that felt both calming and predictable. 

It paid well enough to keep the bills at bay and provided a stable life for him and Laura, allowing him to indulge her little whims—the occasional treat, a new book or doll, or even a day out at the beach. 

As he waved goodbye to his coworkers, offering polite smiles and half-hearted chuckles, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of isolation. Their lives seemed so vibrant, filled with laughter and casual conversations about weekend plans, while he felt like an outsider peering in. Part of him wished he could simply slip away unnoticed, disappearing into the anonymity of the evening. But the thought of the upcoming parent-teacher meeting loomed over him like a dark cloud, the spectre of his insecurities rising to the surface. 

What if Laura’s teacher had concerns about her progress? What if she brought up issues he was completely unaware of? The prospect of engaging in a discussion that could highlight his shortcomings as a parent filled him with an unfamiliar anxiety. He recalled how he had struggled to help her with her homework due to his absent mind, the frustration evident in both their faces as they would argue over James’ implications. Laura would always end up saying that she wished she had a better family…

As he walked through the now empty parking lot, James’s mind drifted to the scenario of the meeting. Maybe it was a bit late, and he secretly hoped Laura’s teacher wouldn’t want to linger past the working usual hour to talk with him. He envisioned himself slipping away, feigning an urgent call or an unforeseen obligation, but guilt gnawed at him, tugging at his conscience. 

He couldn’t let Laura down; she had come to rely on him, and he owed it to her to at least try.

“Just get through it,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as if to clear the impending doubts swirling in his mind. The crisp October air washed over him like a cleansing wave, invigorating him for just a moment. Inhaling deeply, he felt the coolness slice through the tension that had built up in his chest throughout the day, if only temporarily.

Sliding into the driver’s seat of his ageing car, he turned the key in the ignition, the familiar rumble reassuring him, if only slightly. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard; he still had a little time before he needed to pick Laura up from school. As he drove toward the school, the streets blurred by in a rush of colors, and he allowed himself to mentally prepare for the meeting. 

Maybe he could muster enough courage by the time he arrived, but deep down, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this meeting would push him closer to confronting the ghosts of his past—something he had been desperately trying to avoid.

Thoughts of Mary flitted through his mind, uninvited yet persistent. What would she think of him now? Would she be proud of how he was trying to raise Laura, or would she shake her head in disappointment? These questions haunted him as he navigated the familiar streets. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions roiling within him. 

The school building came into view, and he parked in a spot near the entrance. As he sat there for a moment, staring at the looming structure that housed his daughter’s daily adventures. With a deep breath, he pushed open the car door, stepping out into the cool evening air. 

As he approached the entrance, he reminded himself that this was part of the job of being a parent—a role he was still desperately trying to fully embrace. After all, it was true she deserved more than a father lost in his own grief.

As he approached the school gate, he spotted her standing there, the last child waiting to be picked up. His heart sank at the sight; he had hoped to arrive earlier, to be there for her when the final bell rang. A wave of guilt washed over him, but when Laura turned and her face lit up with a smile, that guilt was momentarily pushed aside.

At least she wasn’t angry. 

“James!” she called out, her voice bright and cheerful, as she stretched out her hand toward him. He could see a small backpack slung over her shoulder, and his heart swelled at how she looked—so much like a little girl embracing the world, unbothered by the worries that often plagued him.

“Hey,” he replied, kneeling slightly to take her small hand in his. 

As he thanked the school attendant, a friendly woman with kind eyes who had watched over Laura, he glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her teacher. He didn’t see anyone lingering by the entrance, and a relieved sigh escaped him. Perhaps she had decided to leave, not waiting for him to discuss whatever concerns she may have had about Laura. That was one less thing for him to handle, and he felt a slight weight lift off his shoulders.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” he suggested, his tone light as he turned to lead Laura away. The sight of her eager nod and bright smile made his heart feel lighter, even if just for a moment. He began to walk toward the car, feeling a sense of normalcy return to him—until a soft voice called out behind him.

“Mr. Sunderland!” 

Here’s an expansion on James' perception of you:

James turned, the sound of your voice pulling him back from his thoughts. You were striding toward him, your expression a mix of determination and urgency, the late afternoon light catching in your soft hair. 

There was something striking about your presence that always made his heart race, even amidst the rising anxiety he felt at these interactions. It was as if you carried a warmth with you, an energy that seemed to radiate in the space around you, igniting a flicker of something long dormant within him.

“I was just about to leave,” you said, a hint of breathlessness in your tone as you approached. “I wanted to talk to you before you went. Is this a good time?” You looked unsure.

James glanced at Laura, who was watching the exchange with curious eyes. He felt the familiar knot of anxiety twist in his stomach but nodded, trying to mask his apprehension with a calm demeanour. “Sure, I have a moment.”

“Laura’s been doing really well, by the way,” you continued, your voice lightening as you spoke about his daughter. “She’s incredibly bright and has made some good friends this semester. I’m really proud of her progress.”

James felt a flicker of warmth at your praise. He was grateful to see Laura thriving, especially after the rough patches they had navigated together. “Thank you. I know she’s been working hard,” he replied, glancing down at her, who was beaming at your words.

“But…” you paused, your tone shifting slightly. “There are some areas where she might need a bit more support. I think if we work together, we can help her really shine.”

James felt a wave of gratitude and unease wash over him. While he wanted to support Laura, the idea of deeper involvement with her teaching felt daunting. “What do you suggest?”

Your eyes met his, and he felt a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability in that gaze. You began outlining a few ideas, your passion for teaching evident in your animated gestures. He found himself hanging on your words, drawn in by the way you spoke.

As you began to speak about Laura’s progress, he couldn't help but take in the little details—the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about the kids, the way your hands moved animatedly as you explained your thoughts, and the curve of your soft pink lips. It struck him how youthful and beautiful you looked, filled with a vibrancy that he found both comforting and terrifying. 

He had known you for years since Laura started school, but he had always kept his distance, avoiding lingering too long in your presence. Every encounter felt like a double-edged sword; he wanted to connect, to know you better, but the fear of what that meant held him back. Your passion for teaching shone through, and it was evident that you genuinely cared for each child, especially his daughter. 

Yet, for James, that made you all the more dangerous.  It was a kind of warmth that he couldn’t dare to approach or touch, as if it would burn his skin. Your laughter and bright smiles were like sunlight piercing through the clouds, illuminating the shadows that loomed over his heart. 

But it also reminded him of how far removed he was from that happiness. 

The innocence and light you carried felt worlds away from the darkness he had endured. It made him question if he was even deserving of your kindness, let alone your attention—even if it was strictly professional. You had a purity about you that felt both inviting and forbidding. It was the kind of innocence that reminded him of everything he had hoped for once—everything he felt unworthy of now. How could someone like you, who radiated joy and hope, ever understand the darkness that clung to him? The guilt and despair that wrapped around his heart like a vice? 

Yet, as you continued, he realised that part of him didn’t want this moment to end. Just a short while ago, he had dreaded this conversation, but now he found himself wishing to listen to your soft voice all night long.

As you concluded your thoughts about Laura, your smile remained bright, and for a moment, James caught himself wishing he could linger just a bit longer in your presence, absorbing the warmth you exuded. But the instinct to retreat kicked in, a familiar defence mechanism rising to shield him from the vulnerability he felt around you. 

“Thanks for the feedback,” he said, forcing a smile as he tried to mask the storm of emotions brewing inside him. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

You smiled back, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—curiosity, concern? 

He couldn’t quite decipher it. 

As you stood there, a moment of silence stretched between you, and James noticed a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. You looked shy, as if you were unsure whether you were crossing a line by speaking up. 

“Mr. Sunderland,” you began, your voice soft, “are you okay? I’ve noticed you’ve looked... a bit tired lately.” 

The question caught him off guard, and for a fleeting moment, he found himself wondering if it was painfully oblivious or truly observant of the details that everyone else seemed to overlook. But quickly, he concluded that he must have been projecting his exhaustion more than he realised, and he must definitely look tired. 

The question wasn’t intimate.

He forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of your concern. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied too quickly, dismissing your worry as he nodded almost vigorously. “Just, you know, work and everything.” 

For a heartbeat, you searched his face, perhaps hoping to see something more, a glimpse of the truth that lay beneath his carefully crafted exterior. But after a moment of hesitation, you seemed to accept his response. You nodded, though there was still a hint of worry shadowing your features. 

“If you or Laura need anything, please let me know,” you insisted gently. “I’d be more than happy to help.” 

The kindness in your offer made his chest tighten, his heart pounding with a mix of gratitude and desire. He appreciated it, truly, but it also fueled the raging fire of lust that had consumed him. Here you were, simply trying to be helpful, and yet he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have you all to himself, to explore every inch of your body and lose himself in your embrace.

His mind raced with vivid, graphic images of you—unbuttoning your shirt, revealing your tantalising curves; running his hands over your smooth skin; kissing and licking your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He could almost taste the sweet moan that would escape your parted lips, the moan of a woman ready to surrender to his sinful, wanton needs. The very idea of it made his breath catch in his throat and his cock twitch in his pants.

He felt like a beast, a predator stalking its prey, as he watched you. Every move you made was a tease, every word you spoke a seductive whisper that echoed in his mind and stoked the flames of his desire. You were a forbidden, irresistible delight that he craved with every fibre of his being.

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper and his voice painfully strained. “That means a lot.” He managed to nod, hoping to convey his gratitude without revealing the turmoil churning inside him.

James' lips curled into a polite smile, but his dark thoughts raged like wildfire beneath the surface. He tried to ignore the forced gentleness of his own tone, reminding himself that he was only being polite. Yet, every word he uttered was weighed down by heavy lust for you, and the knowledge that he should never let these desires surface again.

As you stood there, a mixture of warmth and uncertainty radiating from your presence, he felt a pang of regret. You were offering him a lifeline, yet he felt as though he was dragging you into a murky depth he didn’t know how to escape. The moment hung between you, a fragile thread of connection that he wanted to reach for, yet feared would only end in disappointment. In your eyes, he saw kindness, concern, and a spark of something he dared not acknowledge. But with every passing second, he also felt the walls he had built around himself begin to tremble, as if you might be the catalyst for change he had been both longing for and dreading.

“I should go,” you said, breaking the silence, and James felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment wash over him.

“Right,” he replied, forcing his mind to focus on the present. “Thank you Miss, and have a good night.”

You offered him one last warm smile before turning to leave, and he watched you go, feeling the weight of what had happened. The kindness you had shown him stirred something deep within—a longing he couldn’t quite satisfy.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Timeline Plot Twists

A stranger enters the story, informing the characters that they've all done this before. 

It's all a dream. 

It's all a memory. 

It's all a nightmare. 

The antagonist is actually the protagonist's past self.

The antagonist is revealed to be the protagonist's alternate reality self.

The antagonist is revealed to be the protagonist's future self.

The beginning is revealed to be the ending.

The ending is revealed to be the beginning.

The love interest is a bodyguard sent from the future to protect them. 

The protagonist is revealed to be from another dimension or timeline.

The protagonist is revealed to be from the future.

The protagonist is revealed to be from the past.

What we believe to be set in the future is actually set in an alternate reality. 

What we believe to be set in the past is actually set in the present.

What we believe to be set in the present is actually set in the future.

Your story based on or around true events is an alternate reality with a different ending.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[43501]

Opened my copy of Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases for the first time in a decade and man, I forgot this is a goldmine of info and Mello characterization. It lets us know what kind of person Mello is almost more than the source material. Every time he's on panel/screen he's always so intense, it's fascinating to see him write and kind of get this feeling of "oh, he is also a normal guy outside of those situations".

He says he had one extensive in-person meeting with L, which is backed up by this other post of mine where I point out that, in the anime at least, Mello references having spoken to L personally. If we take it as canon it means L and Mello met at some point between Kira emerging and L leaving England for Japan.

He expresses a strong sense he might die. I've seen people say that he's "narrating from beyond (heh) the grave" and it's nonsensical, but that's not what's happening here. He's just writing while anticipating his death and writing as if these notes may be discovered posthumously.

He thinks that, in the event he dies, Near is the one who will discover his writings. This is interesting to me because it suggests Mello either knows Near knows his whereabouts, or would figure it out and recover his belongings. I actually think this is outright supported by canon - we see Near eating Mello's chocolate in the manga's epilogue. I don't think he instructed his staff to go out and buy that same chocolate, I think that's straight up Mello's stash.

At some point he started identifying less with the "Mello" alias and calling himself Mihael.

He's so sentimental... ending the prologue simply with "Good memories and nightmares". Bro.

"Imagine you were going to kill someone. What do you think would be the most difficult part? .... The correct answer: killing someone." Damn, I love you Mello lol. Also fascinating when you remember that he achieved his status in the mafia by beheading someone. Yes, he would know how hard it is to kill a person.

Mello states that he and Near belong to the "fourth generation" of Wammy's House kids.

He expresses open sympathy for Beyond and his state, twice... based on his own narration and how he portrays B in the course of the story, he definitely relates to B's emotions.

"Perhaps these gods actually wanted a blood soaked world of betrayal and false accusation. Perhaps the entire episode exists as a lesson to teach us the difference between the Almighty and the shinigami." I can't entirely make sense of this, and I don't want to get ahead of myself, but is "Almighty" capitalized here to definitely refer to the divine? Like, the Christian God but in a bit of a sidestepped, roundabout way? Wish I could see the original Japanese text for this line. If anyone has essays/posts about it, please show me.

And on a meta-textual level, the ambiguity of our role/perspective as the reader of these notes is also interesting. We're probably just an omniscient, unmoored observer being told about this set of notes Mello wrote and his line to the effect of "if it happens to turn into [a book]" is tongue-in-cheek. I know there's a slight, hanging implication that Near did in fact publish his notes, but I think that's unlikely since they contain so much sensitive/classified information.

[memememaybe]

✨  *  ―  𝙀𝙓𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙑𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘽𝙄𝙊𝙂𝙍𝘼𝙋𝙃𝙔 / 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘾𝙎 𝙏𝙀𝙈𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 !

The Character Development Template is a comprehensive tool for creating detailed and well-rounded character profiles, ideal for writers, roleplayers, or anyone exploring character creation. It covers essential details like identity, personality traits, relationships, and background while diving deeper into habits, quirks, and beliefs. Additional sections include alternate universes, scenario-based questions, and a variety of fun, introspective prompts to uncover hidden aspects of your character. The template also provides space to list inspirations from media, historical figures, and quotes, making it a versatile resource for building dynamic, multidimensional characters.

I. BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name:

Nickname(s):

Pronunciation:

Reason/Meaning of Name:

Preferred Name(s):

Titles:

Date of Birth: (Month, Year)

Place of Birth:

Age: (e.g., 20s, 30s)

Zodiac Sign:

Gender Identity:

Pronouns:

Sexual Orientation:

Romantic Orientation:

Species:

Ethnicity:

Nationality:

Living Arrangements:

Occupation:

Primary Source of Income:

Secondary Source of Income:

Education Level:

Religion:

Political Affiliation:

Social Class:

Dialogue Style:

II. PERSONALITY

Positive Traits:

Neutral Traits:

Negative Traits:

Primary Vice:

Primary Virtue:

Greatest Fear:

Greatest Desire:

Motivations:

Core Values:

Sense of Humor:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Quirks:

Pet Peeves:

Life Philosophy:

Jung Type:

MBTI Personality:

Enneagram Type:

Temperament:

Moral Alignment:

Hogwarts House:

III. RELATIONSHIPS

Mother:

Father:

Siblings:

Children:

Significant Other(s):

Best Friend(s):

Rival(s):

Enemies:

Pets:

Other Important Relationships:

IV. BACKGROUND

CHILDHOOD

Place of Birth:

Hometown:

Socioeconomic Status:

Parents' Occupations:

Type of Childhood:

TEENAGE YEARS

Key Relationships:

Education Level:

Significant Events:

ADULTHOOD

Current Residence:

Notable Life Events:

V. HABITS & QUIRKS

Daily Routine:

Nervous Tics:

Unhealthy Habits:

Peculiarities:

VI. ALTERNATE VERSES/THEMES

Verse 1 (Description):

Verse 2 (Description):

Verse 3 (Description):

VII. ADDITIONAL CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

PERSONAL INSIGHTS

What would they say is their biggest flaw?

What is actually their biggest flaw?

What is their biggest blind spot?

What is their guilty pleasure?

How do they act out when stressed?

What makes them envious?

What is one thing they wouldn’t want someone to know about them?

What is their biggest nightmare?

What was their worst subject in school?

What makes them feel insecure?

What are two things that make them uncomfortable in conversation?

SCENARIO QUESTIONS

What would they do if they knew they couldn’t fail?

Name three things they are grateful for.

When was the last time they did something for the first time?

What is something they wish they could redo from the past?

Describe a memory that makes them feel proud.

What’s in their bag/pockets?

Are they proud of who they are? Name an achievement they value.

What do they notice first about someone?

Do they value creativity or practicality more?

Describe a time they did something despite being scared.

What is their favorite gift they’ve received?

How old do they feel on the inside, and why?

Do they feel they’ve missed opportunities they regret? Describe one.

VIII. BELIEFS & OPINIONS

What is their idea of perfect happiness?

What is their greatest fear?

Which trait do they most deplore in themselves?

Which trait do they most deplore in others?

Which living person do they most admire?

What is their greatest extravagance?

What is their current state of mind?

What do they consider the most overrated virtue?

On what occasion do they lie?

Which living person do they most despise?

When and where were they happiest?

Which talent would they most like to have?

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

What do they consider their greatest achievement?

Where would they most like to live?

What is their most treasured possession?

What do they regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Who is their hero of fiction?

Who are their heroes in real life?

What do they most value in their friends?

What is their motto?

IX. MISCELLANEOUS QUESTIONS

What is their favorite word?

What is their least favorite word?

What sound or noise do they love?

What sound or noise do they hate?

What is their favorite curse word?

If they were reincarnated as a plant or animal, what would it be?

If Heaven exists, what would they like to hear God say when they arrive?

What profession would they most like to attempt?

What profession would they not like to do?

X. INSPIRATION

TV Character(s):

Movie Character(s):

Book Character(s):

Song(s):

Historical Figures:

Quotes/Poetry:

Other Media Inspirations:

[moonlight-prose]

hi!! hope you're doing well & taking care of yourself < 3

i'd love to read your take on this one from the prompt list:

8) blue-hued bruises

w old man logan maybe?

this wasn't supposed to start off so sad. i swear i wanted it to be comforting and it sorta is. but i really really had to lean into it just being brutal first. especially since i haven't really leaned heavily into the angst with old man logan to this extent. but anyways....enjoy!

warnings: explicit so 18+ only!!, angst cause it's me, logan is a masochist, blood, bruises, needles + stitching up wounds.

He can feel it when he's asleep. Those festering wounds stitching themselves back together. Seaming up into a neat and faded scar he'd wear with shame - with the knowledge that his body offered nothing more than betrayal.

He couldn't heal. Not like he once did.

His bones were wrapped in metal as poison leaked into his veins - the source of all he was and all he'd ever be. A fucked up hero who lost his chance to be the good guy; the savior of a home he thought would stick this time around. A family that should have outlived him.

Their death remained a nightmare he'd never escape, a reminder of the man he'd become. As a child his mother taught him how to pray - to beg for the forgiveness of someone he could no longer believe in. She made false promises - lied through her teeth to see him smile - but with each year that passed his mind distorted the once clear memory of a mother he knew once existed.

Seeing the purple mark along his weathered skin might have surprised him at one point. Left him searching for Charles to find a solution for an otherwise easily fixable issue.

Now he pressed his fingers into them and hissed at the pain. He watched the violence leave reminders on ruined patches of what was once an indestructible body.

Scars lingered, stitches became a routine he wasn't used to - needle and thread to skin in the hopes of putting back together a man with one foot in a shallow grave. He ignored the sting of alcohol on his open wound, sucking down the whiskey like it was crystal clear water. And you smiled in the hopes of easing his mind.

"That one looks nasty," you hummed, thumb dragging along purple and blue blooms. They resembled the flowers you tried to grow for Charles two months ago. "How'd it happen?"

His grunt sufficed as an answer to your question. "Barely know it's there."

"Oh it's there."

"That right?"

On a whim you pressed your lips to the marred shoulder, feeling warmth beneath the skin tinged with pulsing veins and flesh that stitched itself together. Near a decade ago Logan used to run circles around you. Matching the roar of energy that hummed a saccharine tune beneath limbs practically wrapped around him at any given moment. A man who slipped into love with an ease that surprised him.

You were easy to love, simple to obsess over until his heart was twisting and clenching at the mere sight of you. His stomach jumping at the slightest bit of attention you graced him with.

Now he found it difficult to fuck you into the mattress. His bones aching, body cracking a whip labeled death - dragging scar after scar along a back rippling with muscles that screamed. That didn't stop him from trying. His teeth bared, knees planted into an old bed, cock upright and leaking as if he hadn't aged a day since he met you.

He didn't mind the bruises you formed from nails that dug a bit too deep. Fingers which gripped his skin, clamping down on his lower back, his ass as he grinded up into you with stunted growls.

An animal who couldn't discern whether the hot feel of your walls was about to make him cum like a fucking teenager or the splintering pain in his thighs.

"They look different on your body," you said, breath warm on his skin. Logan felt his cock twitch in interest; he swallowed the groan bubbling at the base of his throat, exhaustion lining each and every limb.

"'S cause they heal faster." Another gulp of his whiskey and he felt his pants grow tight beneath your soft nimble touch.

"I'll miss them. Is that weird?"

He shrugged. "You could tell me you wanna make new ones and I'd let you."

The slip of your fingers along his wound didn't go unnoticed by him, a familiar heady scent of your arousal wafting thick in the air. He smirked, downing the remainder of the bottle pinched between two fingers. You liked that idea. The race of your heart told him enough, a thrum along the inside of your thighs where his free hand slipped - kneading the flesh with a soft sigh.

"How about it baby?"

"Logan..." you warned. "I'm digging a needle into your skin. Behave."

"That's askin' alot of me."

"Yeah well try."

He thumbed at the waistband of your sweats - the pitched gasp solidifying what he already knew to be true: he had you right where he wanted.

"I'm-" The melting sigh sounded like chocolate along hot asphalt, syrupy sweet and thick along his tongue. "I c-could hurt you."

"That's fine by me." His fingers found a wet pool of slick soaking the thin fabric of your panties. He could practically taste you in the air - his body humming with voracious need. "Hurt me all you have to baby. I want some new bruises."

[kaikoikei]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝕮𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐘 𝕿𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐘

(⠀free gdoc template⠀)

⠀⠀another⠀BLACK BUTLER THEMED⠀single-muse template — minimal palette of black & white. six pages accompanied with visuals belonging to the manga; misery of a debt unpaid and the sort of thing from your nightmares. people back from the dead to haunt you and stir your guilt like a pot of honey, the sweetness overwhelms you. easy to use — can fit 3000~ words ( 22200~ characters ). ⠀⠀MEMORIES⠀are easily forgotten⠀. . .⠀based on the past and encouraged by the future.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !

⠀﹙ ✦ ﹚⠀any image featuring a gradient is a drawing, which you can customise to your liking by replacing the backing image with whatever visual you like ! ⠀﹙ ✦ ﹚⠀careful with how much you type as the foundation of most of the sections for writing are tables, so forewarning before you go experimenting how much you can put into it. ⠀﹙ ✦ ﹚⠀some main images are beneath text meaning you can't select them if you click on a table above it, try right-clicking above the image and selecting it on the pop-up—most, if not all, pngs are above text.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 !

⠀⠀DO NOT REMOVE CREDIT⠀the main credit source is a small four-pointed star ( ✦ ) either in the header of footer of the first page of my docs. ⠀⠀TO COPY⠀—⠀file > make a copy ⠀⠀TO COPYLOCK⠀—⠀share > settings icon ( ��� ) > uncheck "Viewers and commenters can see the option to download, print, and copy"

﹙ ! ﹚⠀all the art⠀used in the doc belongs to yana toboso's Black Butler. ﹙ ❤ ﹚⠀feel free to like & or reblog

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | When You Call My Name

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Decades after the events of 1973, Logan finds himself drowning yet again at the bottom of the Potomac River. Luckily, you're there to help pull him out of his nightmare.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: depictions of drowning, mentions of death, discussion of nightmares, Logan's claws make an appearance, mentions of religious trauma and biblical imagery, mentions of abuse (it's on sight when I see you, William Stryker), mentions of self-deprecating thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, not really a warning but set after the events of Days of Future Past, loosely based on "Like a Prayer" by Madonna, Logan's POV, gender-neutral reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Author’s Note: So this one got away from me and my own religious trauma may have taken over a tad bit — sorry in advance (If you find comfort and solace in religion, more power to you. This is simply written from my own perspective and lived experience.) This came to me while listening to "Like a Prayer" by Madonna for the thousandth time since seeing Deadpool and Wolverine. Intended this to be shorter, but then I got possessed by some fanfic phantom and this was created. Super proud of the finished product though — hope you all enjoy.

As Logan’s eyes shoot open, he’s only got one thought running through his mind: his lungs are on fire. He attempts to move but is met with a sudden searing white pain shooting through his veins. His eyes, still adjusting to the eerie darkness surrounding him, search for the source of his injury. Panic rises in Logan’s chest as his gaze follows the metallic glint of rebar weaving through his body. He attempts to draw in a shaky breath, and his chest burns as water fills his lungs. 

No. 

It can’t be.

He’s drowning at the bottom of the Potomac River.

Logan wants to scream out of frustration, but it’s impossible. He has no more air left in his lungs, and he has no hope of reaching the surface to take a much-needed deep breath. Even if he could endure the agony caused by his body’s movements, the weight of the rebar Erik impaled him with is pinning him to the riverbed. He’s going to die here. 

Cold. Alone. Suffering.

And yet, a sudden tranquility washes over his body and mind as he realizes that maybe he can finally rest in peace. He knows he placed his trust in the right people — somehow, Charles and Hank will find a way to stop Erik, and finally, the world will see that not all mutants need to be feared. He did his part — he brought everyone back together against all odds.

Logan knew the risks before Kitty sent him back in time, but there was no other choice. Because he also knew what the future would hold if he did nothing — he’d watch the sentinels eviscerate the last of his friends until he was the only one left. And that’s not a future he can live with. But what he can live with is no one remembering his life before 1973 as long as they’re safe — as long as you’re safe.

His body relaxes at the thought. He may not have a future with you in this new timeline, but knowing you’ll have the life you’ve always dreamed of puts Logan’s mind at ease. You’ll finally be able to live a peaceful life teaching at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters instead of being forced to play the part of a loyal soldier. Although Logan is deeply saddened by the fact he won’t be a part of this new life, he has more than enough memories of you from his timeline to keep him content in the afterlife.

Logan’s eyes flutter closed as he begins to feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. His regenerative abilities may be able to keep the rebar from killing him, but it cannot save him from asphyxiation. But before he can completely drift off, something grabs his body, pulling him towards the surface. Once free from the river’s grasp, he begins coughing up water. His body desperately gasps for air, and it feels like his lungs cannot get enough oxygen. 

Logan finds the strength to open his eyes and takes in his surroundings. It’s bright — too bright. He blinks several times to adjust his vision to this sudden change. His attention gets drawn to the sound of several men talking in hushed voices. And as he looks up at his rescuers, the panic in his chest starts growing like a wildfire through his body. Logan might have let out a dry laugh at the sight if he wasn't in excruciating pain. Because instead of being met with any type of salvation, Logan seems to have been cursed with eternal damnation, no matter the timeline,  in the form of William Stryker. Some things never change.

He’s younger than when Logan met him in his timeline, but as Stryker smiles down at him, Logan knows this is the same man — the same sick, twisted man he knows all too well. Panic turns into terror as he realizes what he’s about to endure. Agonizing years of torture and torment that he’ll be burdened to forget. He can’t do this again. Not after knowing a life full of not only hardship and loss but also friendship, laughter, and love. He can’t let Stryker take that from him — all those years of happiness. He can’t let him take you.

Stryker opens his mouth to speak, but instead of his condescending tone, Logan hears your voice call his name. Logan’s brow furrows at the sound. Maybe his extended lack of oxygen caused some sort of brain damage. But then he hears it again — a voice he’d recognize in any timeline. Your voice.

And suddenly, it hits him. This isn’t happening. There’s no river, no pain, no Stryker. This is a memory — a nightmare. 

His eyes snap open, and his body jolts forward until he’s sitting up. He coughs hoarsely, as if his body is still trying to expel imaginary water, as he attempts to catch his breath. A layer of sweat has formed over his toned body, and his muscles flex as he rolls his shoulders back. He shakes his head roughly, trying to get a grip on reality.

And then you say his name again. 

His head snaps up, and he looks at you with wild eyes. You’re standing across the room — arms wrapped around yourself tightly as you watch him worriedly. You take a hesitant step toward him. Logan’s brow furrows at your unsureness, concerned about what he might have done in his sleep. But then he follows your gaze to his extended metal claws, and your hesitancy becomes understandable. This isn’t the first time Logan’s claws have come out in the middle of the night. His eyes nervously scan over your body for any injuries he may have inflicted as he retracts his claws. 

“Did I hurt you?”

You immediately cross the room as he speaks. Logan watches as you climb onto the bed and sit crisscross before him between his legs. You gently take both of his hands in yours and pull them onto your lap — the hesitancy long gone in your actions. 

“No, Logan. I’m okay.”

He lets out a relieved sigh as he leans forward until his forehead meets yours. He takes a moment to simply relish in the warmth of your touch. Logan relaxes his tense shoulders and melts further into you as you draw lazy circles into the palm of his hand. 

“Where’d you go?”

You pull away slightly to meet his eyes, and his breath hitches. Regardless of how many lifetimes he spends by your side, he’ll never get used to the fondness in your gaze as you look up at him. He remembers waking up in this timeline, thinking he actually did drown at the bottom of the Potomac River. Because this had to be heaven: having you tucked neatly into his chest, legs tangled up with his, steady breaths fanning across his neck. But as he felt you stir in your sleep, arms tightening slightly around his waist, he realized that this was real. He’d come to terms with his own death because at least his two hundred years spent suffering on this earth would mean something. But then he woke up from that nightmare, and he’s spent every day since then wondering when he’d inevitably be pulled out of this dream — waiting for history to repeat itself yet again. But he’s still here — and so are you.

“D.C., 1973.” 

You hum quietly before bringing his hand up to your mouth and placing a tender kiss to his palm. Logan waits for you to ask another question about his nightmare, but you silently return to tracing circles into the palm you just kissed. He shouldn’t be surprised; you know him better than anyone by now — better than he knows himself. You know not to push him. And he appreciates it more than you’ll ever know. After years of having his autonomy stripped away, you wait for him to come to you — allow him to open up at his own pace. Soothe him whenever he feels that he is sliding backward instead of moving forward. Healing isn’t linear. This has become your mantra for him on the nights when he’s sure that he’s slipping back into the past — when he longs for the familiarity of his vices and self-destructive tendencies. And you sit next to him with relentless patience through the highs and lows as he continues to navigate and grieve the fifty years he lost.

He’s come a long way since he first woke up. And he still has a ways to go before he can say that he’s processed everything he’s lost. Truth be told, he’s not sure he’ll ever truly heal entirely from his past. But you tell Logan that it doesn’t matter. Every time he begins to think that he’s too damaged — too broken — you reassure him that you love him as is. But he still tries to piece himself back together, for your sake. Tries to open up — to show you that he trusts you more than anyone he’s known during his two hundred years across two separate timelines. And so he continues, letting you into the depths of his tortured mind.

“I was drowning. Again. And it all felt so real. I couldn’t breathe, and I was sure I was slipping into the darkness, but then Stryker was there…”

As Logan trails off, he notices how your body tenses at the mention of Stryker’s name. Your hands tighten ever so slightly around his, and Logan lovingly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles. He knows that name holds as much weight to you as it does to him. He knows about the years of abuse you endured at the hands of William Stryker. He vividly remembers when you confided in him. After months of running into each other in the middle of the night, Logan found you silently crying with your back pressed against the railing of your favorite balcony in the mansion. Without a second thought, he slid down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He didn’t know you — not like he does now. You’d recounted how you first met on Three Mile Island when Scott and Jean brought him to the mansion. And he was thankful for the small piece of his past that you gave back to him. But under the dim light of the night sky, you revealed precisely what you endured during your years of captivity at Stryker’s facility. And that night, Logan made it his life’s mission to get revenge against the man. Not for his sake. No — for you. He would tear Stryker apart limb from limb for what he had done to you. 

“You aren’t there. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Although the words are directed towards him, he knows you’re equally trying to convince yourself of that fact. He knows that even though William Stryker is long dead — after Logan made good on his promise to you — he still haunts you. Unlike Logan, your trauma does manifest in the form of nightmares but insomnia. He thinks maybe this is why the two of you work. After years of feeling alone in this world, Logan finally found someone who understands him and what he’s been through. Although your torment isn’t identical, the similarity in your stories bonded the two of you together. You help him piece together the shared fragments of your past as you heal alongside him. 

“I know, you pulled me out.”

Your brow furrows at his confession. He lets go of your hands and gently holds your face. Your face flushes as he openly admires you. The faint light of the single side table lamp that Logan had left on softens your features, making you look damn near angelic. Logan isn’t a religious man, but his mother was. He was a sickly child before his mutation restored his body. His mother would often sit by his bedside with a bible in hand. And on the nights when he wasn’t delirious from his fever, he would listen to his mother read to him. One verse always stood out to him: “God is faithful, and He will not let you be tested beyond your strength but with your testing He will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” She meant for the words to comfort him, but the words only angered him. 

He remembers finding himself down on his knees multiple times during his years as Stryker’s mindless, faithful soldier. Praying to that same God that his mother once trusted to save her baby boy from the illness slowly degrading his frail body. He begged Him for salvation — to be given the way out that was promised in the bible verse his mother once recited. But instead of an answer, Logan was met with silence. So if the years of physical and psychological abuse he endured were nothing but a test from the Lord above to prove his faithfulness, then that’s no God worth following. 

“I heard you call my name, and it brought me back home.”

God never did anything for him. He didn’t bother protecting the innocence of a broken, misguided child. He refused to provide respite from the harshness of humanity. He never offered him any form of help or guidance during his times of greatest need — but you did. Without even knowing, you came into his life like an answered prayer.

Seemingly at a loss for words due to the intensity of his gaze, you grab onto the front of Logan’s t-shirt and pull him into a tight embrace. Your hands slide under the white fabric and slide across the contours of his back. He melts into your touch — finding relief in the direct contact of your skin on his. He’s never considered himself desirable, but you hold him like he’s something to be coveted. And then you murmur his name again. It’s barely a whisper, but the sound rings in his ears because your voice is heaven-sent.

“You’re a goddamn saint, you know that?”

A melodic laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head at his words. You pull away from him slightly and tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“I’m nothing special, Logan.”

You don’t mean it in a self-deprecating way. Logan knows that — knows that you simply see yourself as ordinary. But you couldn’t be more wrong. Because you might not actually be a saint or an angel, but you are the only person in two hundred years who’s managed to restore his faith in what this world has to offer. 

“Well. You’re special to me, sweetheart.”

[p-taryn-dactyl]

dreams on fire: an introduction

a/n: hi guys! i thought this was a fun idea, which came to me after watching Black Widow and all of the X-men movies. in this one, you (reader) is based off of one of my mcu ocs BUT since i hate the whole 'giving reader a first name' thing, Y/N is used and not my ocs name. also, warning, idk if none of the timeline stuff makes sense bc this is fanfiction word count: 2.1k warning(s): descriptions of torture, experimentation, and abandonment | if you don't like charles xavier then you're not in luck here | Y/N is gay, you're gay, what a surprise | blood and blame | the world is my oyster | um please don't hate this pairing(s): yelena x sister!reader & (potentially) valentina x fem!reader

plot: Yelena and Natasha weren't the only daughters of Melina, weren't the first family assigned to her. You're her first daughter, the one Melina had allowed Dreykov to study the difference in your genes. Now, after seeing your 'sister' on TV, you reach out to show her the world is only going to get crazier and that for what's coming, her team and your school needs to be alligned.

Yelena remembers only flashes of the Red Room, flashes that plague her dreams and wake her up in cold sweat, the screams of her victims and pleas of her sisters echoing throughout the walls. Tonight was no different, her dreams quickly turning to nightmares. But, new memories soon resurfaced, faces she had long forgotten making a reappearance. 

This dream felt real, like she was back in the Void. 

The hallway was cold and metal, screams bouncing off the walls and crashing into Yelena, sending her stumbling backwards as she tried to walk forward. The screams echoed, overlaying and intensifying until Yelena fell to her knees, hands over her ears. 

“Bob? Bob, stop, please!” She cried out, mind reeling with the idea of Void returning. Only, nothing happened. Until the screams narrowed down into one voice, one terrified, painfilled screech. 

“This isn’t him,” a voice, too familiar yet too distant, sounded behind her. Yelena shot around, hands now reaching for weapons she didn’t have. Her eyes widened as she took in the woman sitting on the floor behind her, back against the wall as she stared at Yelena. 

Y/N Vostokova. The first daughter of Melina Vostokova, before Natasha, before Yelena, before her fake marriage to Alexei. 

“Привет, сестренка.” You spoke, your voice soft and strained, like the screams had been coming from your throat. Yelena’s mind reeled, her eyes blinking like you were a phantom and could disappear at any moment. You sent her a small smile before standing, raising an eyebrow at Yelena who flinched at your movement. 

“None of that now, I have something to show you.” 

You held out your hand, watching the blonde who looked at it like it was a bomb. Eventually, she took your hand, allowing you to pull her to her feet. You didn’t let go of her hand, your warmth seeping into Yelena, the realness of your form confusing her. Instead, you linked your arm with hers, like you were just two friends on a stroll, and started walking down the hallway with ease. The screams started again, yet this time, they didn’t push against Yelena. 

“The first time is always disorienting, though, you know what they say - you never forget your first.” Your teasing tone caused Yelena to stare at you, her expression incredulous. You shrugged, flinching slightly as the screams got louder, like you were approaching the source. 

“What is going on, Y/N? How are you-”

“Alive?” You finished her question, your grip on her arm almost becoming painful. You scoffed, shaking your head as you took a deep breath. 

“There are many things you don’t know, маленький паук, about the Red Room, about our world, about our mother.” Your voice broke on the last word, like it physically hurt you to remember her. Yelena jolted as you suddenly came to a stop, your eyes staring into a room, one that wasn’t there before. The doorway felt like it was both a few feet in front of Yelena but also a few miles. She felt her mind go hazy, the walls and the floors inverting on themselves. She stumbled against you, nausea building in her throat as she felt everything around her get brighter. Yelena felt warm, too warm, too real, hands cupping her face, pulling her focus back to you. 

“Someone is waking you up. We can talk again later, сестренка.” 

Your words were the last thing she heard before Yelena’s eyes shot open, arms flailing, fists attacking the figure shaking her shoulders. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Stop that!” Ava’s voice centered Yelena, bringing her back to reality. Her fists fell limp against her mattress, all the fight drained out of her as her friend brushed her hair off of her forehead in concern. 

��We could all hear you screaming, I phased through your door before one of the boys could break it down so you can thank me for that later,” Yelana laughed half-heartedly, swatting Ava’s hands away as she sat up. 

“I had a nightmare,” she paused, looking down at her hands, the warmth from yours still lingering, “of someone who died a long time ago.”

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

The next night, Yelena found herself slipping into a peaceful and deep slumber. Maybe it was the essential oils Bob had sprinkled over her pillows and room, maybe it was John’s reading Moby Dick out loud, or it could have been the white noise Ava projected over the speakers. Either way, she felt herself fall into sleep like one falls into a comforting hug. 

The bed under her shifted, the soft mattress changing into a firm cushion. Light flickered in from a window she swore she closed the curtains on. Yelena’s eyes blinked open, sleep heavy on her limbs as she rubbed her eyes, looking around in shock as she realized where she was. 

“Ah, the маленький паук awakens! Or, well, I should say, have fallen asleep since you’re technically sleeping right now.” Your voice alerted Yelena to your presence, her eyes finding you as you stirred coffee in a mug. You smiled at her, a real smile - not one weighed down by haunting screams. “I thought this may be a better location this time, since you don’t seem to have many places in your mind that give off comforting vibes.” 

Yelena just stared at you, mouth agape as you, oblivious to the circus happening in the blonde’s thoughts, looked around the house. 

“It is a nice house, even if it’s in Ohio. Very sturdy, very clean. Better than I ever had.” You sounded bitter towards the end, your smile growing strained as your eyes met with Yelena’s, the intensity causing her to move deeper into the couch. Rolling your eyes, you waved a hand in the air as if you were brushing off your memories. 

“Bygones or whatever. It wasn’t your fault what happened to me, even though sometimes I wish I got it easy like you.” 

The words, meant to hit Yelena hard, anger her, shot through Yelena like a bullet, causing her to leap off the couch, aimed to attack you. But you simply snapped your fingers and Yelena paused, mid-attack. Setting down your mug on a coaster, you took a seat in the leather recliner Alexei had bought, flicking your hand towards Yelena. The blonde, as if time was reversed, found herself back on the couch, her legs tucked under her and a cup of steaming tea in her hands. 

“You think I had it easy?” Yelena spoke through gritted teeth, all confusion from what was happening overshadowed by your words. You smirked before picking up your mug again, your eyes softening as you shook your head. 

“No. None of us did, I’m sorry. I’m working on the whole blaming others for my trauma thing, although it’s just so easy to do.” 

You took a large sip of your coffee, eyes widening as you pulled the mug back to look at the coffee inside. 

“Проклятие, this is good. Do you know how hard it is for me to get a good cup of coffee nowadays? It’s like British people are allergic to anything other than tea-”

“Y/N.” 

The trembling in Yelena’s interruption made you pause. 

“What is happening? How are you doing this? How are you alive? Melina, mama, mourned you - we all did, even if Natasha and I were mourning the time we never had with you.” 

You stared at her, something unreadable in your eyes. 

“You really don’t know?” Your question was soft, but sharp. It cut through Yelena, making her hands shake and slightly spill the hot tea. She jolted at the feeling, even more confused as to how this dream felt so real. You stood up, coffee gone - as if it was never cradled in your hands like a lifeline, your eyes a weight against Yelena’s chest as you stared at her. 

“Pigs weren’t her first test subject,” you started, hand clenching and unclenching into fists at your side, “But at least she was able to choose to experiment on them. Dreykov made her hold me down, take my blood, my tissue, my DNA, and play with the electrical response in my synapses. Chemical subjugation or mind control is so easy to discover when you obtain a mind so moldable.” The last sentence sounded like you were imitating Dreykov, the harsh accent rolling off your tongue like thorns caught on skin. Yelena blinked, shaking her head. 

“No, no - he only started everything after Natasha blew up his daughter and-”

“Сука, don’t tell me you really think that it all happened so fast? You really can’t be that dumb.” Gone was any warmth in your tone, any semblance of comfort had been seeped from the room. The walls now felt cold, the sun blocked out and the couch prickled under Yelena’s skin. Yelena’s breath started coming in bursts, realization solidifying into panic in her throat. She shook her head, standing up, raising her hands in the air. 

“What the hell is this? You appear in my dreams, seemingly controlling them, ALIVE, tell me that Dreykov had been planning the subjugation for years and what? What for? What the hell is happening, Y/N?” 

Your eyes widened and you bit the inside of your cheek, something flashing in your eyes as you looked at the woman in front of you, someone who in another life was your sister. You shook your head, drained from all the emotions. You collapsed back into the chair, crossing your arms like a protection. 

“I saw you on TV,” You started, the simple sentence making Yelena also return to her seat, “part of the ‘New Avengers’,” you spoke with air quotes, smirking as Yelena glared, “and realized there are things you needed to know about. Not about Dreykov or Melina or the Red Room. I’m sorry for even bringing it up, emotions are always heightened in the dreamscape.” You seemed to relax after Yelena nodded, accepting your apology. She was too confused to hold a grudge. Amusement flashed in your eyes and you sat up, holding your face in your hands as your elbows balanced on your knees. 

“By the way, who’s the woman who announced your team? I think I’ve seen her on the news but I was too focused on staring at her rather than learning her name.” You bit your lip, holding back a laugh as Yelena struggled to comprehend what you said, pure disgust painting her features. 

“Valentina?!” She exclaimed, looking at you like you had two heads. You snapped, pointing at her. 

“Yes! That’s it! Is she single?” 

Yelena choked on air, shaking her head while pretending to gag. Your face dropped slightly and you narrowed your eyes at her. 

“Are you homophobic? That would be crazy due to your haircut and your makeup and your general aesthetic-” 

“No! I’m not homophobic! I’m Valentina-phobic though.” 

You snorted, slapping your knee before once again looking serious. 

“Okay but is she single?” 

“Y/N! Gah, I think so? I don’t really care about her life that much.” 

You nodded to yourself, not to subtly fist pumping the air next to your hip. 

“This is great news, anyways, I think it’s time for you to wake up.” 

Yelena felt like the air had been grabbed from her lungs, reality hitting her. For a moment, she had imagined what life could have been like with you and Natasha as her sisters. Her heart grieved for the sister she lost and the one she never had. 

“What? No, it’s only been- it can’t have been longer than thirty minutes and you still haven’t explained everything.” 

Your smile was knowing and tired as you stood up, the air and room around you fading away. 

“I thought it would be easier if it felt like no time was passing. Sorry if it’s weird but you’ve definitely been asleep for a good eight hours,” your brow furrowed and you cocked your head to the side, “I think John Walker is making pancakes and Bob just asked for chocolate chips.” 

Yelena focused, only hearing faint words, like someone was speaking underwater. When she opened her eyes, you had left the spot you were standing. She turned around quickly, seeing you open the front door, the outside an endless light. You waved goodbye, your expression telling her this wouldn’t be the last time she’d see you. 

“Next time, we talk in person,” You promised, like it was written in the book of fate, “and maybe I’ll even find out for myself if Valentina is single.” Your laugh echoed as you left the room, influenced by Yelena exclamation of disgust. 

As the dream fell apart and Yelena found herself waking up to the smell of fresh pancakes and coffee, there was a pit in her stomach. 

Something was coming and you were the herald.

a/n: hi please don't hate this i have so many ideas. im also going back to my bestie!yelena Drabble/fic series bc i love it so much and thunderbolts has given my brain the kick it needed.

[thenottealtrashheap]

Forgotten Lifetimes

A non-canonical and headcanon/theory-based take on Sylus's perspective from the beginning to homecoming wings.

__________________________________________

You didn't remember. 

A nightmare he never thought would, could come to pass, never crossed his mind. He's had lifetimes with you, hunting you down each rebirth to slip into his rightful place at your side. This time you made it easy, he thought. Signature unmasked, on Earth, just in the past, not hidden away. He thought you were just enjoying playing the hero this time. The facts he uncovered about this life of yours past made that sensible. Cute even, that his little Dragon Li was fighting monsters, like the role you were groomed for in your first life.

But when he rescued you from the idiots who took you from The Nest, your eyes held no recognition. There was the faintest spark, the look of hunger in your eyes, before you cast it off.

There was nothing there, his sorceress absent, though his soul beat in your chest as yours did in his. 

He wanted to rage. 

And so he tried everything. Parallels of your first life at his side, resonating- oh how it burned that didn't work, everything, everything, everything. 

And then to learn you were disgusted by him, that the bastard life you led before him led you to view him as a monster. 

It hurt.

Slowly, bit by bit, he gave up. You would be reborn again, right? In a life not so cursed. He was a selfish creature, but he couldn’t hurt you, couldn’t force you to his side, when it was always your choice and his to love. 

But you stopped him. Angry and almost confused by yourself, you went to his ‘home’, and told him to stay. And you gave him hope, his little Dragon Li.

Not hope of you remembering, he was quick to realize just like your suppressed Evol, something else was afoot with that. He had his suspicions, what, with the fish, the prince, the seer, and the little dryad sniffing at your heels. The dryad was his top suspect though, the crazed desire in his soul cloying. 

But hope to build something here, fresh. 

And it was new and bright, and delicious. You were burdened by different things in this life, but the same while different. You trusted more easily, a blessing and curse, but you were still his wary Sorceress.

His.

You chose him again, and his heart couldn’t feel anything more beautiful than that. Even with the new suitors, which the more he learned about all of that, he grew more thankful he didn’t resign himself to finding you in the next cycle, that you stopped him.

He wanted to strangle a ‘god’.

Well. A few gods, but he digresses.

Even though your neighbor and work partner kept inserting himself into your life with dangerous eyes and a soft smile.

Even though your primary care doctor and childhood friend was always there, a subtle control with restraint barely kept.

Even though your secondary employer, how he wished you’d stop, kept using you as a ‘bodyguard’ to take you on things close to dates.

Even though your first love in this life was ‘dead’.

You chose him. A categorically foolish choice, without knowing the whole truth, but his heart would never stop preening at your choice. Of him. A criminal when you are still a respected member of society, without remembering your history at his side. He even gets to replay a scene from your first life together, the trip to the Lunar New Year market making something twist painfully good in his chest. A first repeated hurt a dull ache from the lack of memory, but you were so happy, and thus so was he. And... he can't help but remember that night. A dance danced in a thousand lifetimes, but a second first, your honey as sweet as it always was, intoxicating in the most heady syrup as he lapped from the source. Oh, he would tear down the sun to adorn you.

And then you visit Skyhaven, your trip not discussed beforehand, or he would have sat you down for a long conversation about the stupid lying dryad. Never before has he felt quite so impotent since his first lifetime. And so he pulls strings to get the seer in that cursed city, a friendly face and the least objectionable of your would-be-lovers. He knew his place, even if he kept coming back.

He is painfully relieved when you call him after a week of no-contact, voice trembling in a way he had never heard before and words quick.

Murder had never sounded so… needed, before.

Not just desired, that was easy, a constant companion when dealing in his work.

But the dryad had grown into a leshy without the concept of consent, and he would not stand for it.

When your sweet voice repeated to him in a hushed whisper over the phone how the creature easily said he would as much as hold your funeral and lock you away, Sylus was glad you couldn’t see him. Not when his control slipped and his horns came back, his form twisting, his claws growing. You only heard his voice grow darker and silkier as venom smoothed his thoughts into a single aim. Rend.

And then you were home again, where you belonged. He couldn’t bully you into living with him full time, but Mephisto was now your constant companion when he couldn’t be, and damn the ire of the boys that flocked around you, he drew you in closer to his circle. He would never control you, not like that fucking tree wanted to, but he would make sure that whatever you did, you were safe. 

And if he was planning some metaphorical glyphosphate applications, that was his business. He was sure a certain murdering fish would be willing to lend a hand to put down Ever's little twig.

[lendeah]

Happy Memories

Also on AO3

Summary: Based on this line from the epilogue- One night he tells you that these six months of happy memories are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader.

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags:  Fluff and Smut, 6 months post-finale, Lovemaking, Domestic Fluff, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Love Confessions, it's so soft really, Soft Astarion, they have just been through so much, Tooth-Rotting Fluff.

WARNING: +18, minors DNI

The past few months had been a trying time, both of you struggling to come to terms with the events that had transpired. The weight of it all hung heavy in the air, leaving you to navigate through nightmares and Astarion's bouts of dissociation. Yet, somehow, you were making progress. Together.

You had taken it upon yourself to find a cure for Astarion's condition, a challenging task made even more difficult by his returned aversion to sunlight. But it gave you both a purpose, something to look forward to - a brighter tomorrow. The greatest source of joy in your present life was the simple act of lying down next to him every night, enveloped in each other's arms with the comforting knowledge that tomorrow you would once again wake up without the constant fear of losing him.

Together, you had found solace in a serene cottage by Riverbend, settling into a comfortable routine. You delighted in gardening and cooking, while he took care of household chores and lovingly mended and sewed your clothes. On lazy afternoons, you would paint alongside him as he engrossed himself in endless books. It was pure bliss, and you were content with your perfectly imperfect life together.

As the two of you prepared for bed, Astarion wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. In the past, such an intimate gesture would have caught you off guard, but he has since learned to let his guard down and embrace moments of tenderness. Though he still struggles at times, he relishes in this display of affection.

"Everything alright, my love?" you asked, resting your head against his.

Astarion's arms tightened around you as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. "Alright would be an understatement," he murmured, his voice low and warm against your skin. "I am absolutely enchanted, my dear."

You turned around in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'm glad to hear that, because I am enchanted too," you said softly.

Astarion leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a delicate kiss. You hummed against his mouth, savoring the familiar feeling of his soft lips moving against yours. He pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours as he whispered, "I have something I want to show you."

Curiosity sparked within you, but you simply nodded and followed him as he led you outside. The moon was high in the sky, casting its soft glow over everything. Astarion took your hand and led you toward the nearby meadow. And that's when you see it: he has prepared the scenery around to look like the one from the first night you shared together, back at the Grove.

"What is this?" You say, with a huge grin decorating your face.

Astarion's crimson eyes shone with excitement as he turned to you. "This, my love, is a recreation of the night we first shared at the Grove," he said proudly.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you took in the scene before you. The soft grass beneath your feet, the gentle rustling of trees in the distance, and a small basket filled with wine and various snacks, right next to a small blanket.

"I thought we could relive that enchanted evening, but this time we'll make it truly unforgettable." His fingers caressed your cheek, gently wiping away a stray tear, as he added with a cheeky smile, "Because let's be honest, the first time was... underwhelming."

You smiled at him, grateful beyond words for his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, my love, this is incredible," you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Astarion's smile widened and he pulled you into a tight embrace. "Anything for you," he whispered into your ear.

You stayed wrapped in each other's arms for a while, just enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. Eventually, Astarion led you over to the basket and poured some wine for both of you. As the night went on, the two of you talked and laughed, reminiscing about your early days together and all the adventures you had been on since then. And with each passing moment, it felt as if the world had paused just for the two of you, as if all the events of the previous months were leading up to this one perfect moment.

As midnight approached, Astarion stood and held out his hand. "Shall we dance under the moonlight?" he asked with a playful glint in his eyes.

You raised a teasing eyebrow, "Has the spirit of Wyll possessed you?"

Astarion chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, my dear, you wound me! I assure you, this idea is entirely my own. Besides, who needs Wyll's spirit when I have enough charisma to ignite the heavens themselves?" He flourished a grand gesture, pretending to adjust an imaginary top hat atop his head.

You couldn't help but giggle at his theatrics. "How could I resist such an offer from the ever-enchanting Astarion?" you teased, accepting his outstretched hand.

He pulled you close, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back as he led you in a slow and graceful waltz beneath the soft glow of the moon. The world around you seemed to fade away as you slowly swayed in each other's arms.

"I don't remember this happening on our first night," you murmured against his ear, remembering how different that moment had been compared to this one.

A low, seductive chuckle escaped Astarion's lips as they brushed against your skin. "And pray tell, darling, what do you recall?"

"I remember you trying to seduce me and then almost draining me dry," you teased, a mischievous glint in your eye.

Astarion let out a dramatic gasp. "Such slander! I would never do such a thing!" He pressed his hand to his chest in mock offense.

You both laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet night. It was a stark contrast to the fake seducing words and lack of feelings of that first night. Now, he was completely at ease, his true self shining through without any pretense or hunger clouding his mind.

"But it was still special," Astarion whispered, stopping the dance to pull you closer to him. "It's what brought us to be here now, and I wouldn't trade that for anything."

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering at his words, as you leaned in to kiss him. It was a gentle and sweet kiss at first but soon turned more passionate as Astarion deepened it. His hands grabbed your thighs and picked you up to press you up against a nearby tree, lips trailing down your neck.

"This is bringing back memories," You say breathlessly.

You could feel him smirk against your skin "Do you really think so? Perhaps I should refresh them even more."

His declaration sent a wave of warmth through your body and you leaned in to kiss him again, eager to lose yourself in the moment. His hands were now unbuttoning your shirt and you gasped as they reached your bare skin. You looked at his hooded eyes, and with a playful smile, offered your neck to him.

However, Astarion pulled away slightly and looked into your eyes, with something like doubt swimming in them. "I want this to be real," he said earnestly. "Not like last time."

You nodded in understanding and smiled softly at him. "It already is," you reassured him, cupping his cheek with your hand.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned in to kiss you again, but this time it was slow and tender – an exchange of affection rather than something laced with hunger or deception. Astarion picked you up again and gently set you down on the soft blanket that he had laid out earlier. He leaned in to kiss you once more, his body hovering over yours.

As you entwined your fingers in his soft, white locks, you pulled him towards you, deepening the kiss. His hands explored every curve and dip of your body, sending pleasurable shivers down your spine with each touch.

As his lips trailed from yours, they left a tingling sensation in their wake. Your hands eagerly reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. Astarion's hungry gaze followed every movement as you unbuttoned your jeans and let them fall to the ground. With a grin, he helped you out of your remaining clothes before stepping back to fully appreciate your naked form glistening under the moonlight. His eyes traced every curve and dip of your body before meeting your gaze once again, a hunger evident in his expression.

"You are breathtaking," he murmured, and then pulled you into another passionate kiss. Your fingers traced the lines of his bare chest, feeling the softness of his skin. You tugged at his shirt, silently urging him to remove it, and he obliged with a sly smile. His pants soon followed, revealing the chiseled contours of his body. Your hands traced over every ridge and dip of his body, feeling the coolness of his skin against your fingertips.

"I want you to bite me," you whispered urgently.

Astarion leaned down to press his lips against the nape of your neck, making you gasp and arch into him as he traced his fangs along your pulse point. Your skin tingled with excitement as his hands eagerly explored your body before gripping your hips, sending shivers of desire through you.

"Tell me if it becomes too much," he whispered against your skin before sinking his teeth into your neck gently.

You gasped at the sensation – a mix of pleasure and pain that sent sparks flying through your body. Astarion's grip on your hips tightened as he drank from you, his other hand reaching up to cup one of your breasts. You moaned as he continued to drink from you, feeling the pleasure building up inside of you.

After a few minutes, Astarion pulled away and licked the wound on your neck before kissing it gently. His red eyes met yours and they were glowing with a mix of emotions – desire, love, and something else that you couldn't quite pinpoint.

"I'll never grow weary of that," he murmurs, before leaning in for another kiss. Astarion's lips trailed down your neck and onto your chest, leaving a trail of kisses as he made his way towards your breasts, taking a nipple between his lips. Every touch of his tongue sent sparks of pleasure through your body and you arched your back in response.

"Astarion..." you panted.

The sound of his name on your lips only spurred him on, and he began to suckle harder, moving to tease the other nipple with his fingers. His hand moved from your breast to between your legs, and you gasped as his fingers found your wetness. He slipped his fingers between your soaking folds, skillfully rubbing and circling your clit. The combination of his mouth and fingers sent waves of pleasure through you, making you whimper and writhe beneath him.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer.

Astarion smirked against your skin before moving down your body, his lips leaving a trail of kisses until he reached the apex of your thighs. He looked up at you with hunger in his eyes before diving in with his tongue, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

His tongue flicked against your clit, sending waves of ecstasy through your body. You tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him on as he continued to please you.

"Astarion...oh gods..." you cried out, your voice thick with need. His fingers thrusted into you relentlessly, syncing perfectly with the skilled movements of his tongue on your swollen clit. Your body arched and trembled with each wave of pleasure, every muscle tensed in anticipation.

"Inside...now..." you begged, unable to find the words to express the ache for him to fill you completely.

Astarion looked up at you from between your legs, his eyes filled with lust and desire, "Whatever you wish, dearest."

With a swift movement, he withdrew his fingers from your slick entrance and aligned himself at your dripping core. He pushed in slowly, savoring the tightness and heat engulfing him. A moan escaped your lips as you were filled to the hilt, waves of pleasure washing over you. Your bodies melted together, panting and trembling with pleasure. He then leaned in close, and gently rested his forehead against yours, breaths mingling as you held each other.

"I never envisioned discovering someone like you," Astarion said softly, "You have made these six months of happy memories counterweight two hundred years of misery."

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes at his words. The weight of his words, the realization that you have brought true joy to someone who has known nothing but misery, crushes you in the most beautiful way.

"I...I love you," you managed to choke out, your heart overflowing with emotion as you reached up to touch his face, tracing the lines of his cheekbone with trembling fingers. "More than anything."

Astarion's eyes softened at your words, a small smile tugging at his lips. He leaned down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, pouring all of his emotions into it. You both stayed like that for a few moments, just lost in each other.

"I love you more than my own existence," he whispered against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "You are my everything."

Without hesitation, he leaned down to capture your lips in a desperate kiss, and you savored the feeling of his lips against yours. Eventually, he starts slowly moving inside of you, each thrust calculated and precise as he intertwines his fingers with yours. You moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist, still lazily kissing him. Astarion continued to move inside of you with slow, deliberate strokes, making love to you in the most intimate way. Every movement is filled with intense desire and tenderness, eliciting uncontrollable moans of pleasure from your lips.

"You feel so good," he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with adoration.

Your legs wrapped around his toned waist, your fingers tightly gripping his as he moved inside you. Each thrust was met with a moan from your lips, the heat and friction between your bodies igniting a passionate fire within you. He held you close, his lips eagerly finding yours in between each deepening thrust. The intensity and intimacy of the moment had you lost in a sea of pleasure, feeling every inch of him as he poured his love into every movement. Your body trembled as you neared your climax, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation any longer. Sensing this, he shifted his hand between your bodies, his fingers finding their way to your clit once again.

"Oh gods," you cried out as the pleasure intensified. Your body trembled and your breath quickened as Astarion's fingers moved expertly over your skin. You dug your nails into his back, desperately trying to hold on as he brought you closer to the edge.

"I'm close," Astarion grunted, his own body trembling with need.

"I am too," you whimpered.

Astarion's movements became faster and more urgent, his own moans mixing with yours in the stillness of the night.

"Look at me when you come," he demanded, and you obeyed.

Your eyes locked with Astarion's, the intensity of his gaze sending chills down your spine. As you reached the peak of pleasure, your body trembled and your walls pulsed around him. You couldn't hold back any longer and cried out his name, drowning in waves of pure ecstasy, and Astarion followed suit with a guttural moan. As you both lay there, breathless and entwined, every cell in your body buzzed with contentment and fulfillment.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice raw with emotion.

"I love you too," Astarion replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead before rolling off of you and pulling you close to his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling content and complete in his arms.

You both lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking, until eventually, Astarion spoke up.

"Even if we don't find the cure, being here with you is enough," he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. He paused for a moment, his eyes on yours, searching for the right words. "This is all I ever wanted," he says softly, placing his hand on your cheek.

You looked up at him, a small smile on your lips as you traced your fingers along his chest.

"I feel the same way," you replied, resting your head back on his chest. "But we can't give up hope just yet."

Astarion nodded, his arms tightening around you. "We won't" Astarion replies. He pulls you in close to him, squeezing you tightly. "We'll find the cure. I know we will." A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "And I will spend the rest of eternity making it up to you."

[see-arcane]

Seeing the Nosferatu and Creature of The Black Lagoon remake summaries reminds me that heterosexual Monster movie summaries are like "The intense and tragic and erotic encounter between a Lagoon creature/vampire/demon/victorian zombie and a woman he is infatuated with." When will the monster be the woman.

Seriously. So fucking seriously. The most I can think of off the top of my head are one-off bogeywomen who never brush the mainstream.

First off, monster women. Not sexy waifu vampire girl with baby fangs meets Average Everyman and they do kissing about it. Real monster women. Who are decayed, or ugly, or inhuman, or outright horrifying. Even just a visibly cadaverous revenant babe ala Warm Bodies' R or Lisa Frankenstein's Creature. Where are they? Where the hell are the actually monstrous monster women?

I know The Ritual has Moder the Jotunn and her badass giant chimera god utterly non-human look. She does some killing, as one does. But we only actually learn she was female from outside sources, not in the film itself. When Moder is referred to as 'a god' the assumption is male, rather than just calling her 'a goddess.' Feels like a cheat.

There's Jenifer from Masters of Horror, based off the comic from Creepy by Bruce Jones and Bernie Wrightson. Her whole deal is being 1) Unavoidably uncannily grotesque and 2) Capable of some depraved shit via simple violence or using her psychic ability to orchestrate some very very unpleasant intimate interludes (and tragic demises).

I know the V/H/S movies have gotten a good handful in, some Medusas and body horror babes, but always in the form of those brief one-shot anthology bits. There and gone. They had an exception with Lilith (the type who starts as Pretty Girl and transforms into Something Else) who appears in the first movie with "Amateur Night" and got her own standalone movie with Siren, which I thought was a really well done sexual/amorous horror story--one in which the woman is the unambiguous predatory monster seeking and assaulting a man as her human crush-target. ...And is also barely known to the horror community.

There's the nightmare shit that happened to the protagonist of Bite. The full movie is here. Do not--Do NOT--watch if you have any phobias to do with insects, disease, reproduction or slow transformative body horror. This is the daughter of Cronenberg's The Fly and The Metamorphosis' pure misery. Good god.

And...that's it. That is the full roster of visibly monstrous females on film I have in my memory.

Second thing: Romance. Human Guy and Monster Lady.

Literally the only thing that comes to mind is 1) Corpse Bride with the Most Hourglassed and Beestung Pout Lipped Cadaver You Have Ever Seen and 2) Spring (2014). The latter I haven't seen yet, but the premise is very clearly Legit Monster Babe and Smitten Lover. Kudos.

Everything else I've come across is just Hot Chick has Fangs and the guy is a guy. No genderswapped Beauty and the Beast. No scaly hulking Ladycreature of the Lagoon pining for a young man taking a swim. No eldritch/demonic horror-woman forming a relationship with a male admirer who has heart eyes despite (or because of) her power and monstrosity.

There is no equivalent of Nosferatu with a female villain being gruesome yet intoxicating to her young man victim.

There is no equivalent of Lisa Frankenstein or otherwise romantic fairy tale between a scary bogeywoman and a handsome--dare we dream, pretty--gentleman.

It simply does not happen in the mainstream and rarely if ever in the niche indie efforts.

And I'd ask why, but like. We know why.

Who wants to see a frightening woman as the powerful villain?

Who wants to see a frightening woman as a romantic partner?

Who wants to see a frightening woman?

[but-wait-theres-vore]

I've had this story in my head for a long time, so until I finally decide to write it, I'll share it here!

Imagine a zombie apocalypse setting, where a magic user has been desperately trying to find a cure for this zombie plague, but eventually the zombies catch up to them. They're bitten, and make one final plea to please not let them hurt anyone, and then they black out.

A group of survivors find this zombie wandering, looking lost, but they still look somewhat human. They find it's able to speak, or at least try to speak, they may need to work on reteaching it English. They also find out that it has no memories of its life before being bitten.

It acts repulsed when they ask why it doesn't want their brains, but it's stomach still growls. They figure out that it can eat normal food, which just further cements that this thing isn't quite a zombie, but no matter how much it's physical hunger is met, it's still hungry.

One day, the 'zombie' tries to run away from the base camp in the middle of the night, but one of the survivors notices and goes after them. The zombie begs them in broken english to get away, but they don't listen, and in a flash, they're shrunken down and swallowed whole by the creature.

The zombie starts to panic, not wanting to hurt their friend, but their friend.. isn't hurt. They're pretty shaken up, but they're perfectly safe. Still, the zombie lets them out almost immediately and continues to run away, not stopping to realize that the gnawing pit in its stomach had went away just a little when they had someone tucked away safely inside of them.

Since the zombie still has to recover their memories, they don't realize that their last breath as a human, their undying wish to never hurt someone once they change, came true. They weren't able to get rid of their hunger for people, but they were able to make their stomach safe, and redirect that hunger so that it was calmed by having someone safely inside of them.

Eventually, the other survivors catch up to the zombie, who's still scared of what it had done, despite the fact that it was safe. The person who had been eaten walked forward and tried to calm their friend down, telling them it was okay, and they weren't scared of the zombie, despite what had happened.

The person that was eaten had initially been scared, but once they were let out (and subsequently brought back to their normal size), they started to think about what had happened. This 'zombie' didn't hurt them. It still hungered for people, yes, but it was somehow able to not only shrink people and eat them whole, but do so with no harm to the person whatsoever.

They start to try to get their new zombie friend to remember life before being bitten, hoping to get some answers, and maybe the starts of a cure.

Slowly, the zombie remembers small things, like pointing out which weeds can be harvested and used as an emergency food source, only to stop and wonder how or why they know that.

The zombie has nightmares, occasionally, where their last pleas are played on repeat in their head. Sometimes they get flashes of faces, people they tried to save but couldn't, snippets of spells and rituals that they once performed.

One day, they're walking through the woods with some of their friends, showing them which plants are edible after rations got low, when they come across something oddly familiar.

An overgrown cobble tower surrounded by lush gardens, filled with all types of herbs and plants, all ones that the zombie remembers.

"Rumor has it that a wizard used to live here back before the plague." One of the survivors told them. "If you ask me, it's a load of bunk." Another person in the group disagreed, saying that no one had been able to open the doors, as there was no handle, but instead a strange glyph engraved in the stone.

Sure enough, as the zombie walks over to the door, placing their hands on the familiar grooves of the carved sigil, it creaks open...

[lirational-misc]

Scrutiny

Yandere!Carlotta x Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, dub/non-con, stalking, public humiliation threat, inappropriate use of powers, yandere shenanigans. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, but I guess this is a little tamer than my usual shenanigans so DYING DOVE DO NOT EAT (?)

Smut under the cut - MINORS DNI.

—

You are being watched.

It took every ounce of concentration you could muster to answer the inquiries of the client in front of you, limited concentration allowing you to glean that he was someone important that must be treated with respect - which, to you, was more about ensuring you did nothing to tick him off. If anything, you were in luck, though he was a little haughty, he did not make ridiculous requests, memories of some important customers requesting the highest level of preferential treatment coming to mind even though they were nothing but a tiny goldfish in a pond of sharks.

“Your request have been approved, Sir. Please proceed to the designated area to receive your items,” you handed back the filled, signed form to his assistant. At the very least, he was too occupied with his time being wasted by unimportant due process to notice the slight shiver of your fingers, concentration struggling to hold yourself back from reacting.

Between your legs, there was a pink, blunted crystal, barely hidden from view under your desk and covered by your crossed legs. It jostled with the slightest movement, and sometimes, the object would shudder, commanded by the eyes locked onto you right at this moment. Even though there was no pinpointing the source, the feeling of being watched kept you on edge, your posture too straight on your desk like a ramrod was inserted in place of your spine.

As soon as the customer both left, you glanced at the nearby clock. There was still a few hours to go.

A few hours to tough out this punishment - perhaps less, if you could find a window of opportunity.

Earlier in the day, a small box was left on your dressing table, folded paper bearing the scent of perfume. Inside the box, there was a ring, a multi-toned stone resembling the eyes that haunted your nightmares set on a simple base, as if the ring itself was afraid of competing with the stone’s beauty, the ordinary box highlighting the colors that seem to combine and shift under the slightest change of the light.

You are under my protection. Keep it with you.

A simple message without a name, an order made without seeking your agreement, hiding layers of messages behind the entirety of the gesture. Deep down, you knew who was responsible, and on reflex, you slammed the box shut and threw it into a random drawer before your anger and mortification overtake all reasonable thought. The consequence of your hasty action was swift, as you were taken as soon as you arrived to the doorsteps of your workplace, back pressed to the wall of a secluded corner as the cause of your restless days pressed against your body, gaze intimidating despite her smaller stature.

“I believe you have forgotten something?”

Carlotta’s smile was cordial, projecting the illusion of a business relationship, yet if you had a choice, you would much prefer that she harbors disgust, as that would spare you from this persistent storm. A quick glance nearby revealed that the place was deserted, everyone avoiding the spot as if aware of an instinctual danger at the basest level of reason.

Now, a question was posed to test you.

“My apologies, Miss,” you started, doing your best to sound sheepish, acting like you were regretting the course of action you took, “You must understand, the opalite stone you set on your gift, as beautiful as it may be, is a fragile one. I’m afraid that, if I wear it to work, the stone might chip and scratch as I do my duties, and your gift would be wasted.”

Careful, calculated answer, one you rehearsed and decorated with a kernel of truth, all in an attempt to get through work undisturbed that day.

“Is that so?” Carlotta mused with a hum, dark glint of amusement in her gaze. Perhaps the answer was too rehearsed, or she saw an opportunity, but one thing was clear, such an attitude never meant anything good. “I will make sure to rectify that in the future. However, in the meantime…”

With lightning-quick movements, you were shoved to the wall with your back facing her, restrained from making another move as her hand slipped under your skirt, playing with your panties. Expert touches dispersed your reluctance in short order, your core dripping with desire soon after despite the shame that burned in your veins at the humiliating state you were gently lowered in, even though no one else was there - or perhaps, no one who dared to oppose the woman holding you captive. Two fingers slipped into your cunt, scissoring motions pressing and brushing against that sweet spot, daring you to make a peep.

On the edge of your peripheral vision, you could make out her confident smirk.

You could only pray that the humiliation would be over soon, that you would be allowed to come undone under her fingers and you could go and bring yourself back to a presentable state before forgetting the encounter, but even that was denied from you, as right before you would crash into a shameful release, you felt a shift in the air, a wrongness forcing its way into existence, the feeling of a hard object nestled against your folds.

Carlotta released her hold on you, and as you reach down, she spoke.

“Are you dissatisfied? This should rectify the problem of keeping such a fragile gift safe. See? All you need to do is tell me if there is a problem.” With a palpable tension in the air, you could feel the crystal shift and shudder. “Keep it in for the rest of your shift, and if someone notices, I believe someone with your ability can deal with them.”

She turned around, each clack of her heels against stone a countdown to your demise.

“I will be watching, dear.”

In the time it took for you to blink, she had made herself scarce, but the feeling of being watched never left, the back of your neck still feeling the primal fear of a small animal in the sights of a hunter. Shame had long since left, replaced by the understanding of a clear threat, and there was nothing to do but endure.

—

The combination of the object, and the eyes on you, made you far too keenly aware.

From the creak of the door as someone walked in, the sometimes too-loud clack of shoes against marbled floors, the noise of breathing, created a combination that made time stretch into eternity, each second etched into short-term memory, only to disperse as a sharp glance made the blunted crystal, held only by thin panties, vibrate in a distracting pace, fluctuating between speeds that only left you just enough faculties to function, to a barely distracting hum you could push to the back of your mind with a slightly more concerted effort than usual work duties.

In a way, Carlotta was far from subtle. Even if she remained out of sight, a distinct chill and a feeling of heightened hearing was a reliable enough tell of whenever her attention shifted towards you.

From the hours that had passed, one had to wonder how long she planned to keep this charade.

With that realization, noticing that you had left her sight was simply a matter of trusting instincts, right at the moment of relief that the constant chill had finally dispersed, allowing you the time to make a quick excuse of feeling under the weather. The crimson tinge of your cheeks and ears helped sell the claim, and with that, you were free.

Perhaps, free enough to collect yourself would be more accurate. You ducked into an isolated room to catch your breath, savoring the calm you had finally managed to attain—

“Still a few precious hours of light left. There is no need to be in such a rush.”

There it was again. You could have sworn the temperature of the room dropped several degrees from the reprimand alone, the hand touching the small of your back freezing you into absolute obedience. Her voice was too close, too close, a shiver going down your spine. It was almost preferable that she humiliated you right then and there with the damned gift of hers, the day’s torment already feeling as if it stretched the few hours into multiple eternities.

“Perhaps, if you were too preoccupied to manage a simple instruction, you would enjoy an exclusive invitation better? A few days just for you, where you can learn proper manners?”

She turned you around, your fear reflected in the blue of her eyes.

“See you, (Name).”

Sharp pain pierced the side of your neck, and then, darkness.

[theelfsongbard]

Astarion has a Nightmare Drabble (sfw + angst)

Cw: Cazador abuse

Summary: based on a prompt where Astarion slips into a proper sleep when Tav strokes his hair instead of going into an elven trance.

Astarion can feel the walls of brick closing in on him again. The air is sweet, rank, almost intoxicating and damp, so thick with moisture that he may as well be wading in the rotting breath of the house that has swallowed him. He has walked this path thousands of times before, knows it better than the tumblers on a lock that opens at his touch, and yet the way he feels his stomach drop in silent acceptance is still a familiar presence. Compulsion carries him where his feet do not wish to take him, whisking him obediently through the labyrinthine halls until he meets his master and is forced to his knees before him.

“Will you not even deign to greet your father when you see him, boy?” Cazador doesn’t even turn to face him, doesn’t need to when the authority in his voice is enough to make his household grovel for him.

The compulsion throbs behind his head, and he replies despondently. “Master.”

“Ah, so it seems you have not entirely forgotten your place,” turning around, he sneers down at his subject, the contempt clear as he notes his posture. Terrible. “And how many times have I told you to keep. Your. Back. Straight? You are a disappointment to my name. You should be grateful that you even have a home to come back to and a family to take you in, you worthless boy.”

Astarion keeps his eyes on the ground, taking note of the rivulets carved into the cold stone floor. His mind drifts to a place far from here and the noise that Cazador makes barely registers in his mind as he straightens up, waiting for the inevitable. But it's the *pain* that brings him back again. The pain and the loss of Cazador’s compulsion as his body threatens to crumple into the ground while the cursed knife he wields bites deep into his back, across his spine.

He is being tested. Punishments will be his undoing if he moves. But his mind fights against his better judgement and he twists himself, catching the knife between his hands just so he can make it stop.

||But there's a familiar voice in the din, echoing through the room, filled with sunlight and love and concern for him. He furrows his brows, tearing his concentration between stopping his master and trying to focus on the source of the voice. It feels so warm, so inviting… so different from the eternal cold that the chambers of Cazador’s palace are shrouded in.

“Astarion! Wake up!”

These stony floors, this master, this is no longer his reality, is it? Who is he? Where is he?

The voice returns with increasing urgency. “*Please!* I’m here for you.”

Suddenly he feels restrained, warmth envelopes him and he doesn’t know whether he should be afraid or give in to it. Instinctively, he lashes out against it, fear dominating his need to survive.

“ASTARION, you’re home, you’re safe. Please.” The voice breaks and there’s an overwhelming sadness that fills him, to hear them sound like that, as though they are a part of him that he doesn’t even know yet, dragging him up and out of his mind, breaching the bubble of subconsciousness until…

Gasping, he bolts upright sweat dripping and wracked with shivers. Looking down, he sees fresh linen. He’s on a clean bed, in a room that feels luxurious compared to what he once had. He has someone beside him, crying, long red lines etched across their arms.

What had he done?

The memories of the night before return, flooding him with realisation. He had been lying across their lap, their gentle hands running through his silvery curls. Their touch had been so inviting, so tempting. He had fallen asleep, slipping into the turbulent current of an uncontrolled dream. And now he had hurt the one person who had promised to stand by him through everything.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, closing his arms around them, his hands running over the welts he had created on their skin. “I… I was dreaming. That I was back with Cazador. There’s no excuse for this. I’m so sorry…”

Would you push him away now? Had he ruined the one good thing he had attained?

Dread filled the pit of his stomach as he waited for the inevitable. Yet it never came. Gentle hands swiped away at his tears, lingering on his cheeks with affection. Confusion clouded him and through the blurriness of tears, he could see them smiling.

“I’m just glad you’re home.”

What had he done to deserve this at all, he wondered.

[mirensiart]

https://www.tumblr.com/mirensiart/766516621742374913/i-have-to-ask-is-the-curse-in-the-pain-sharing?source=share

I'm usually the definition of a lurker but I'm leaving the safety of the void to ask about what you think the other curses would be for each of the Links. I thought up a few but I want to hear what you think they'd be!

Sky: No idea

Four: Forcing all the Links to split. So there's now 36 Links! I can only imagine the chaos :)

Time: De-aging/advanced-aging curse. So either everyone gets turned into kids or old men, or a mix of both. Or maybe a timeloop! Or maybe something to do with his masks? He has too many possibilities!

Legend: The Pain-Sharing AU

Hyrule: I want to say The Blood Curse gets shared, but none of them would even know unless the monsters started sacrificing them so... maybe everyone turns into fairies?

Twilight: Animal/Dark World Forms Curse.

Wind: Its a common headcannon that Wind can see spirits right? Maybe the spirit sense gets spread around? But that seems more like a benefit than a curse...

Warriors: Uhhhh...? No idea.

Wild: The only thing I can think of is giving the entire Chain amnesia and forcing them to recover their memories the same way Wild does.

Ooooh! OK so, when I made that post I was thinking specifically about legend and twilight cause like, they're already cursed/have a magic thing going on (legend has the soul bond and twi the dark curse) so the wizzrobe would have something to grab onto to base it's curse of

But the idea that the wizzrobe would base the curse on details of each link is pretty interesting ngl

Sky can be either a curse where everyone suffers from stamina issues or that everyone is aware of where everything is making it a sensory nightmare cause of his tracking homing abilities, lol

Four can be very fun, the wizzrobe curse can be either everyone splits into 4 making it the worst thing ever lmao or everyone is now minish sized, like imagine them trying to deal with the black blooded monsters as tiny lil things lol

Time can be the aging-deaging one but like by 7 years lol either some of them get older by 7 years or get younger by 7 years, for the younger ones getting 7 years younger would suck tbh like wind would be 6 lmao the masks ones are also good I feel, maybe wizzrobe casts the spell and the only one standing is Time surrounded by 8 masks of each of his bros 🙃

Hyrule's i'd love it if if where the fairy one, everyone is a fairy!!!! They can't wield a sword or use their items so it would suck ass lol

Wind would be funny if like, the wind waker abilities get spread around, like one of them moves their arms a lil and a cyclone happens lmao they move their arms up and down and now suddenly they're all being blown over by a strong gale, they do some hand motions and oh I can control one of you now, they move during battle making motions with their arms and now it's night time lmao

Warriors' can be constant era hopping cause of how there are so many portals between eras in his game, if the normal portals were annoying, then now every couple of minutes, a portal opens up, and they're in another time lol

Wild's giving them amnesia is so funny and idk why, I like this, everyone just standing there looking at each other like "who the fuck are you.....and who the fuck am I???"

And well, twilight's is the everyone is their dark world animal one and I love that one a lot too hehe

In a way, legend's pain sharing curse is one of the least awful ones lol