#garlic dread

[definetelynotavampire]

GUYS!!! GUESS WHAT... Tomorrow i'm gonna get so many cool rocks!!! AHHHHH I'M SO EXCITED :D some of them are red-ish hehehe AAAND some of them are really smooth~ also some of them are quarz but i'll have to haggle for them ._ . and i'll also get some cake but that is unrelated

[wabblebees]

.

[macangies]

the british museum would be a great name for a pet that steals things

[royalreef]

@nemxricultrix​ inquired: "You should take a break. May not know more of your kind, but I can tell tired huffing from large creatures easily." She's gentle, offering a spot nearby on the beach as she waits for a bite on a long fishing line

      “I am not tired. You may be quite surprised, my people are rather unique.” This is a lie in every aspect, long before Miranda even spoke the words, but all the same Miri walks by, whuffing contentedly as she takes the offered seat. She lays down, really, but the specifics matter less in this case, as she kicks her legs out to the side, chest touching the cool stone as she crosses her arms beneath her. It’s a contented lounging, best seen with the leonine, but one that fits equally as well with Miranda, with the squint in her eyes as the sun dances off the waves like so many roiling citrines.

       Really, she should dog-ear her guest about fishing, and about Merkingdom sovereignty, and the delicate path she has to tread forming treatises and navigating fishing rights, but she doesn’t particularly care in this instant. It’s one person, singular, and all she has is a line and a rod. Anyhow, Miri is here, and that’s basically the same thing as permission by any measure that really matters, so she settles down into contentedly waiting to see what, if anything, is drawn in.

       “Whatever is your hook baited with?” The question comes off-handed, not diverting from the conversation, but chasing the tail of a thought as it occurs. Miranda’s no expert, but she can speak of what works best for her, and one marine animal’s direct opinion is likely better than none. “How pungent is it? You will not get anything if it is not very pungent.”

[jokersymtrubble]

quick update. ion have a caesar cut anymore ! big natty dread

[cheshire-creeper]

today I’ve learned of tumblr’s many wonders, like the fact that there are various fan accounts just following a tumblr account, and there is apparently a fan account for one of those fan accounts

[a-b-riddle]

check tags for warnings

In the mood to write angst. Imagine you’re the conscientious observer who accidentally sees how your team talks about you behind your back.

Your morals were… complicated. You didn’t believe in killing anyone. Your faith told you that killing someone is wrong and even if it’s to save your life, handling a gun is something that doesn’t sit well with you. You’ve been to gun ranges. Mandatory for your position in the military that you have basic fire arm knowledge. But having something in your hands that could so easily take a life made you uneasy.

You were pescatarian, but tried to limit meat. Cried anytime you saw chickens in those trucks heading toward their demise. You fed stray cats around your house back home. You tried to be kind and cherished life in all most of its forms. The exception being garlic butter shrimp that was too good to give up and anytime of bug resembling a cock roach. And yes, palmetto bugs were still cock roaches.

And wasps.

Fuck wasps.

At the same time, you were pro-choice. Initially, you were pro-choice for other women, but you didn’t think you would have the strength to get an abortion. It wasn’t until you were holding your friend’s hand as she got her D&C that your views on your own body autonomy changed. It didn’t have to be medical to be necessary.

But you still refused to hold a weapon. Which is why even though you were a very talented medic, you were always judged for not carrying any sort of defense while in the field.

But no one on base would dare say anything to you about it. At least not to your face…

You got stuck instructing a training seminar when your phone continued to buzz in your back pocket. But even with the consistent messages, you didn’t falter by showing the newest members how to give basic first aid until health could arrive.

Nearly two hours later, you finally fish your phone out to see what’s going on.

Dozens of text messages in a group chat between you, Captain Price, Johnny, Kyle and Simon. You had gotten close to them over the last few months. You were halfway through your contract and were already dreading leaving knowing they were staying behind until the job is done.

You open it, your phone taking you to the first unread message.

Cpt.: Hows the arm healing up?

Soap: Fine. Hen did a good job of keeping the sutures nice and even. Should barely scar.

Gaz: Wouldn’t have a scar if she just fucking carried.

Soap: You think she honestly would even know what to do with a gun if you gave her one Garrick 😂

Ghost: Still think she’s a liability. Someone who won’t raise arms against an enemy isn’t meant to be on the team.

Cpt: Already tried. Laswell says we need the numbers. As long as she does her job there’s nothing I can do. We can’t be down a medic and it’s either her or nothing.

You shook as you continued reading the conversation.

Liability. Coward. It went on and on about how weak you were. Why couldn’t you just carry a small pistol instead of expecting everyone else to keep you safe.

It then switched to your personality. No one should be that happy. Annoying. A yapper. Couldn’t get a word in most of the time.

On and on they went until you realized they spoke so freely because they didn’t realize you were in this group chat. What did they say when you weren’t around?

You felt like a fool having extending more than just trying to be a civil coworker, but a friend. Taking on tasks that weren’t your responsibility simply to help them.

Getting a floral arrangement delivered for Johnny’s sister after she had given birth. Talking on the phone to the nursing home where Price’s mother resided trying to sort out her insurance. Taking priority Kyle when he was injured after falling out of a plane (both times) over your other patients. And always having the electric kettled going in the morning so Simon could have his tea without waiting too long.

You were helpful. Just because you had one boundary didn’t mean their words held any merit. But still you couldn’t help the deep feeling of just… betrayal? Rejection? You weren’t sure there was a word fitting enough to sum up how utterly stupid you felt.

Maybe they were right. This wasn’t a civilian setting. This wasn’t just life and death for your patients, but for you. You were out in the field with no form of protection except from others.

You weren’t abandoning your morals. You couldn’t. Not when every fiber of your being told you to remain steadfast. There was only one solution.

You didn’t have much to pack. Uniform was issued to you. Your stethoscope and some other tools came out of your own pocket. Your laptop, phone, charges. You packed all your lounging clothes and miraculously everything fit into a military duffle. Which wasn’t actually anything impressive given how big those things are.

You were confident in your decision even if it made you feel like a failure.

As you stood outside the office door you returned back to the group chat. One by one you proceeded to block all of them. You knew when you left the group they would know that the notification would pop up and they either wouldn’t give a shit that you finally knew what the actually thought of you or they tried messaging you to make amends to cover their asses. You weren’t sure which was worse.

Once you had blocked the last one, you left and knocked on the door that you had been idling in front of. A faint ‘come in’ was granted before you walked through.

“Hey, Kate.” You greeted. “Can we talk?”

[chained-sweater]

dallas, talking to himself: love is dead and never existed. all ya did was betray me. you're the definition of dread.

johnny: ...are you okay?

dallas: my cat stole my fucking garlic bread.

[sepublic]

Interesting that pop culture portrays Van Helsing as an experienced, seasoned vampire hunter, when it's pretty clear in the novel that this is his first go around with the whole thing, his first confirmation they actually exist, and in other words he's basically winging it and hasn't necessarily thrown a punch in his entire life (Which means he can’t just throw hands with Dracula, he needs research and backup to organize the perfect trap where they won’t be instantly killed). VH doesn’t always know what’s going on, he’s figuring things as he goes along; Like yeah he's HEARD of vampires, but it's never been anything prominent to him.

If anything, his past with vampires is probably similar to a lot of readers; Familiar with the concept, knows some of the details but not all of them, and definitely presumes them fake. He sees something going on with his patient and is like Haha damn that's just like a vampire, wouldn't it be crazy if... And then he slowly starts settling into conspiracy theory mode when more and more dots show up to conveniently connect, as he does the obligatory Protagonist Searching Stuff Up bit and realizes Mein Gott!!! It might be a vampire!!!

But then at the last second VH reminds himself, Now hold on, have I actually SEEN this vampire??? But it won't do anyone harm if I added some garlic flowers, right...? And then it just gradually escalates from there into full-on paranoia and dread that vampires exist and VH needs to desecrate the dead, and then he finally gets confirmation when he sees an Undead Lucy. What the fuck.

I think there's an argument to be made that Van Helsing was doubting himself just as much as Seward and the others initially did, if not more so, and he can’t even talk to anyone about it; So there’s an elation where you finally talk to others and realize it’s really happening, you’re not crazy.

This just ties into the theme of recording that which you did see, which is indisputable, because it’s evidence and proof. So you can be certain you aren't totally insane, and can distinguish facts from assumptions and theories if necessary; Especially when one needs to consider other explanations for the same symptoms. There’s a relief confirming what is and isn’t real to dispel self-doubt, like there was for Jonathan, who also suffered from Dracula’s gaslighting distorting his perception of reality.

I think all of this makes Van Helsing's actions and secrecy a lot more understandable when handling Lucy; If you hired a doctor and he suddenly started bringing up vampires, you might be inclined to think he's insane, doesn't know what he's talking about, and has read too many vampire stories and probably believes in 'alternative' medicine. Van Helsing still has an image and reputation to uphold here, and if it's gone, he can't actually be there to help Lucy if he turns out to be right.

That isn't to say he isn't without critique, especially in later portions of the novel, but you can kinda see where this underdog stance of "I'm right and the others around me are wrong" gets vindicated and thus develops into a bit of arrogance later down the line; Particularly, in presuming his disagreements with Mina to be no different than his secrecy with Seward and Mrs. Westenra.

In the end, VH could be described as a character who wonders if he's in the novel Dracula (compared to Jonathan who knows he's in a horror story of some kind but can't name the genre), but then has to remind himself this is reality... If this is a story, it’s probably just some medical drama. And when VH does accept he's in the novel Dracula, he assumes his character development and the lessons he learns are straightforward.

[see-arcane]

OH WOW I thought the "Dracula ran away because of Jonathan" was headcanon but no Van Helsing spells it out???

"Jonathan's so fierce knife put him in the danger that even he dread."

Dracula’s weaknesses: Crucifixes, garlic, wafers, Very Angry Solicitors with Knives

[fanby-fckry]

Husk: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.

Charlie: Are you ok???

Husk: Alastor stole my fucking garlic bread

[silverstonesainz]

mine, mine, mine

─── the one where you and carlos have that dreaded conversation frat!carlos x reader 5.4k words prompt: "wait, don’t go yet, please” + “you're all mine, you got that? i'm not sharing” + accidentally referencing them as my’ which led to the ‘what are we?’ question warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs, kind of suggestive, descriptions of a toxic relationship. 

d rambles. . . i combined a couple of prompts because i thought they would all work really well together, hope that’s okay!! anyways, i did what i always do and made this… well happy reading!!

come over tonight

you stare at the text on your screen, thumb swiping against the screen. a grey bubble pops up, three dots. he types, then it disappears. 

to study … or not.

you bite down on your bottom lip, placing your phone screen down on your chest as you stare up at the ceilings. there was an easy answer to his invitation, and it ends with your pride and ego intact. you won’t have to suffer through another round of self-doubt or the imminent heartache the boy always seems to leave you with.

but it also means no carlos. it would make today three weeks since you saw him last, three weeks since he was all over you, every inch of you. you shudder at the memory, the ghost of his touch against your skin. 

you inhale sharply, picking your phone back up as you type out a response. 

text you when im on the way

the closer you got to the fraternity house, the worse your gut feels. you have your hands slot between your arm and sides to keep them warm from the crisp autumn air. it’s uncharacteristically quiet on 5th street. no parties or kick backs, it’s pretty much a dead week for greek life. but even so, there were still cars lined up outside of the phi gamma theta house, some you’ve seen and others not. carlos’s blue ferrari is parked just a couple feet from the walkway to the door. you glide your hand along the glossy paint, the warmth seeping into the pad of your finger. he must’ve arrived not too long before you. 

the music is loud, loud enough that not even the walls could muffle the beats. the bass thumps against the door, shakes the knob as you reach out to twist it open. 

it’s almost embarrassing how unphased the brothers in the foyer are by your entrance. even more so at the way lando seems to have been expecting your arrival. 

“hey you!” the brit grins widely, arms outstretched to pull you into a hug. “haven’t seen you in a while. missed having you here at the house.” 

your arms go around him, hand rubbing his back as he squeezes you tightly in return. “been busy.” 

“you’re always busy,” lando pulls away, hands gripping your shoulders as he looks you up and down. “carlos is in the kitchen with max.”

you blush, nodding as you mutter a soft thanks. lando pats your back, walking past you and over to oscar who is nearly asleep on the couch. you wave and exchange subtle nods as you walk across the house and into the kitchen. it smells heavily of garlic, a little too much like garlic. you scrunch your nose, making your way over to the counter where carlos and max are leaning up against. 

max spots you first, smile wide as he waves. it closes their conversation, forces carlos to turn towards you. you try not to read into his reaction, the way he smiles or the bit of relief as he sighs. you try not to acknowledge that he might be happy to see you. 

it’s nothing. this is nothing. 

the dutch boy opens his right arm for you and you gladly walk into him. he gives you a squeeze, tight against his side as he calls you something in his mother tongue that you can’t quite place. the moment is short lived, releasing and allowing you to walk the two steps over to the man who invited you in the first place. 

“hi.” you say softly, head tilted up towards him with a shy smile. 

he smiles back, leaning in to press a kiss onto your lips. “hi.” 

your cheeks heat up, stepping over to carlos’s side as he and max pick up their conversation again. they exchange a couple of words about some event they’re throwing before the spaniard is patting his brother’s shoulder and the boy walking away with a soft see ya. 

carlos hums, pulls the strap of your backpack off your shoulder before slinging it onto his own. he holds his hand out, muttering a soft c’mon. you take his hand, slotting your smaller fingers between his own ad allow him to lead you out of the kitchen. the house is buzzing with conversation, competing with whatever mix is playing on the loud speaker. “was the drive over okay?” 

“yeah,” you breath, “yeah it was fine.” 

he let’s go of your hand at the base of the staircase, gesturing for you to step ahead of him and you oblige. several brothers say goodnight as the two of you make your way up, and you return a tight lipped smile and wave. the further up the stairs, the further down the hallway, the quieter the house becomes. most of the doors are left open, some a crack and others wide enough to see a mess that makes your skin crawl. you stop at a forest green door, waiting patiently for carlos who just smiles. 

“it’s unlocked.” 

you nod awkwardly, gripping the bronze knob and twisting the door open. contrary to the rest of the house, carlos’s room is neat. freakishly neat— like sheets tucked under the mattress and pillows stacked by size neat. it smells of cologne and weed. it smells like carlos.

you kick off your sneakers and placing them by the door before plopping yourself onto his bed. you watch as he moves about his space, setting your bag down next to your feet before he begins to fiddle with the himself. he pulls his sweatshirt off hangs it off the back of his chair before pulling his sneakers off his feet and pushing them into the bottom of his closet. then he turns, scratches the back of his head as he looks you up and down. you smile awkwardly, lips parted to break the tension but carlos beats you to it.

he takes long strides across the tiny room, right hand cupping your jaw as he presses his lips hard against your own. you yelp, surprised as you fall back onto the bed. carlos breaks his fall with his opposite hand, lips not missing a beat in your new position. you’re stunned only for a second before your fingers find their way into his hair as you kiss him back with just as much veracity. it’s messy, desperate, makes your heart beat so fucking hard you’re sure it’ll crack through your ribs, 

he digs his teeth into the soft flesh of your bottom lip gently, prodding a moan from the back of your throat. it’s soft, quiet as you try to keep up with carlos, but enough to have him smirking into the kiss. he pulls away, eyes wide as he scans your face. 

“missed you.” 

“did you?” you tease, pushing a strand of his hair backwards. 

“i always do.” 

butterflies. it flutters, sits in your gut as you try to bite back a smile. you tried to look unconvinced, rolling your eyes playfully as you push back on his chest and effectively off of you. he chuckles, leaning back onto his elbows as he watches you reach over his bed to pull your bag up. 

“you don’t believe me?”

you pull your computer out, “mmm, not really. i just think you’re horny.”

it’s carlos’s turn to roll his eyes. he pushes himself up, leaning over to you to kiss you again. “i can’t miss you and be horny too?” you snort, shaking your head as your fingers begin to click at the keys. you can see carlos tilt his head in your peripheral. “what are you doing?”

“studying”

his hand rests flat against the back of your laptop, shutting it in your lap and taking it away to place on his desk. you sigh his name, protest quietly as you let him drag you onto his lap, legs settled on either side of his hips. you whine when his hands sneak their way up your shirt and begin to palm your breast over your bra. 

“carlos.” “hm?”

his fingers slip beneath the padding, kneading harder. you inhale sharply, shakily, looking down at him. he pays no mind to the look you give him, jaw slightly offset as he watches the way his hands move beneath your top. 

“study.” “mmmm… no.” 

his hands pull away from your chest, coming down to the hem of your shirt so he can peel it off you. 

you let him.

“but you said-“ “later, bug. relax, let me show you how much i miss you.” 

studying happens an hour later, spent on your stomach on his bed while he’s at his desk scribbling away. the house has quieted down, the music no longer thumping against the door and the mixed chatter all but died in the night. it’s nearly eleven. 

you hum, shutting your computer and pushing yourself off your comfortable position. you begin to pack away your things, stuffing notebooks and highlighters away where they belong before picking up your clothes discarded on the floor. jeans and an old t-shirt, and the beige bra by the door. carlos drops his pencil, turns in his chair as he watches you pull his shirt off your frame.

“what are you doing?”

“it’s late.” you say matter of factly, folding the grey material before tossing it on his bed. you pull the straps of your bra onto your shoulders, reaching behind you to clasp the prongs together. “gotta get home.” 

“spend the night.” 

you snort, shaking your head, “i have an eight am tomorrow.” 

“so do i.” 

you jump into your jeans, buttoning them before leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, “can’t tonight carlos. but maybe tomorrow?”

“well i got a date party tomorrow, but…” 

you freeze, but only for a second. it’s brief, just a moment where you feel your spirit shake beneath your chest. just one second then you’re reaching down to swipe your shirt off the floor. you didn’t now of any date party, and you could feel a dull ache in your chest over the fact he didn’t invite you. he isn’t obligated to, he’s not obligated to do anything when it comes to you. but you just thought—

you shake it off. you thought. you thought. that means nothing. you have nothing left else to say, so you pick up the pace. you rush to pull your bag over your shoulders. 

“then, i’ll see you when i see you. three weeks from now maybe?” it’s a petty dig, a poor attempt to get the last word in as you force your heels into your beat up sneakers. 

“ai, don’t be that way.” 

“i’m not being any way.” you insist, hand clutching the knob. you’re about to pull it open but carlos is quick to lean his weight against it, left palm flat on the dark green wood. 

“it’s not my date party. i was invited, okay?” he tilts his head, cranes his neck so he meets your eyes even if you so desperately try to avoid his gaze. “lando is getting with the girl’s little and… i’m there for moral support. i’m there for him.” 

his thumb and index finger pinch your chin gently, force you to look up at him and his stupid stupid wide eyes. he doesn’t say anything else, just watches and waits to see what your next move is. 

you don’t want to show that you’re relieved, you’d hate for him to see what kind of effect he has on you even if you’re pretty sure he already has a clue. that’s why he explained himself, why he makes you look up at him while his stare remains so soft— so reassuring. but you are. you’re slightly relieved, reassured, and not as upset as you were working yourself up to be. 

but only just slightly.

“fine.” you mumble. “well. just text me when you have the time.”

it’s snarkier than you mean for it to be. you can tell by the way his expression falters for a second— just one second— before he pulls his weight off the door and allows you to open it. 

“i’ll walk you out. that okay?” 

you nod, hands clutching at the straps of your backpack before stepping out into the hallways. you walk several steps ahead of them, past shut bedroom doors and composite photos that dated back before your time. you hear carlos pad behind you, making no attempt to close the gap between you. 

it’s weird to see the house so quiet and with so many lights off. most of the men have retreated back into their rooms, only oscar and jack in the kitchen as they talk quietly with each other. both australians don’t notice you or carlos as you pass, too deep in whatever it is to care. carlos stops to push the door open, muttering something about finishing up and going to bed, before he continues to follow you to the front door. speakers are left set up, lando’s dj equipment left messily on the pong table. it’s a mess of wires and a poor attempt to make the foyer looks party ready. 

carlos pulls the front door open for you, shuts it behind you as he follows you to your car. and it’s only when you’re about to pull at the driver’s door does he finally pull at your wrist. he turns your body towards him, fingers gliding down to cup your hand in his larger one. 

“we’re gonna have a kickback here after the date party. come by.” 

“not sure my presence would be appreciated.” “well i don’t care. it’s not their house and you’re my—“ 

he stops himself. you’re my and then nothing. your heart stops in your chest, knocks the air out of your lungs. you wonder if you’ll ever hear the end of that line, if you’ll see the day he’ll say it. 

carlos exhales through his nose, smiling as he releases your hand to cup your cheek. “just come tomorrow. okay? and if anyone has an issue with it then they can fuck off.” you cough a laugh, a short ha ha that makes him smile wider. 

“i’ll text you.” 

“okay.” “okay.” 

quiet, comfortable silence. you ignore the way your stomach does backflips, let yourself instead settle in the bit of security his invitation provides. he wants you around. maybe this time it’s different. 

carlos leans in, pulls you to him as he kisses you for the last time that night. it’s firm, warm, soft. it fills your chest, makes it swell as you kiss him back. he pulls away for a moment before planting one last peck. 

“drive safe, okay? text when you get home.” 

what time will you be back at the house?

you were ready. embarrassingly enough, you were ready to head to the phi gam house and carlos had yet to text you when it was appropriate to arrive. and from the multiple instagram stories you just watched, the date party was likely still ongoing. 

your phone pings, and you unlock it in an instant. embarrassing. 

date thing just ended. come in 30? we still have to set up. new members didn’t do it right annoying

you grin at your screen. embarrassing. 

maybe older brothers should be setting a better example i’ll come around 10 then. need me to bring over to the house?

you push yourself off your bed, sit at your vanity as you stare at your make up for n-th time in the last hour. you press down on your smile lines, flatten any creasing, blend your blush. you do just about anything to make thirty-something minutes fly by quickly. your phone pings again, one with a reaction to your text and then another reply.

just bring yourself. see you soon bichito. 

you leave it at that. homework makes thirty minutes fly by quickly. a little too quickly. after submitting your discussion for the week, forty minutes have flown past you and you were scrambling out of the house. you say quick goodbyes to your roommates, who only give you a funny look when you take a pizza from the box on the counter and yell goodbye. you type a quick text to carlos to let him know you’re on the way before starting your car and driving towards 5th street. 

you see the purple led lights through the window, hear the soft thump of lando’s mix muffled by the walls of the phi gamma theta house. the closer to the door, the louder the crowd becomes. the door swings open, alex smiling down at a girl as he holds it for her. his eyes meet yours, wide with shock. but a happy sort of shock. 

“hey you, didn’t know you were coming tonight!” 

you ignore the way the girl looks you up and down. “yeah. hope that’s alright?” 

“of course. carlos is inside, bar i think.” 

you mumble a thanks, walking past him into the house before he closes the door. the kickback is a little bigger than you anticipated, with enough bodies in the room for it to feel stuffy. you smile at girls who smile your way, say hello to brothers who are excited by your arrival. and time and time again, you are directed in the direction of carlos. 

as alex said, he’s at the bar. he’s leant up against the bar in a grey long sleeve and black jeans, red cup already in his hand. leant up against the bar talking to charles, laughing at something he said. he looks glorious, leant up against the bar. 

god. 

carlos sees you before you get to him, smiling over at you as he raises his arm to make room for you to fit into his side. he presses a kiss to your temple when you’re close enough. “was wondering where you were.” 

you say hi to charles, and to yuki behind the bar. “sorry. got caught up on homework.” 

he hums, nods. yuki sets a red cup on the edge of the bar, flicking his chin. “vodka sprite?” 

you smile gratefully, saying thank you over the music as you lean across carlos to grab the cup. you ask how was the date party— mini golfing, if you want to get specific. it’s a simple question, one that sets charles off into a list of complaints and carlos into a fit of laughter. he’s such a fucking cheater! no charles, you just suck. 

“i saw him nudge the ball, i swear!” charles protests, handing his cup over to yuki who refills it immediately. 

“mate. what the fuck do you think we’re supposed to be doing in mini-golf?” carlos laughs. 

“not nudge the ball before it’s your turn.” 

you laugh, leaning back into carlos as he tightens his hold around you. “i dunno charlie, it sounds like you’re just a sore loser.” 

the monegasque scowls, eyes squinted and lips pursed. “you’re biased.”

“of course she is,” carlos answers, “she’s my girl, who else would she side with.” 

my girl. my girl, my girl, my girl. you smile, even if your heart is racing at a thousand miles an hour, even if your throat tightens and seems to run dry. you sip on your drink, watch as charles smirks and rolls his eyes. 

“whatever.” 

you try not read into it. try to go about the night not thinking of the way carlos called you his girl, how sure he sounded. but it’s hard, hard when it’s all you hear as the night carries on. that’s my girl is imprinted onto your skin when he says it after you sink a ball during a game of pong. my bug when you return from the bathroom. mine, when an unknowing brother has your attention for longer than carlos liked. 

“you're all mine,” he whispered when he finally pulls you from your conversation, “you got that? i'm not sharing"

my, mine. my, mine.

his. his. all his.

you’re attached to carlos until he is whisked away to help george with something. then you’re left alone, wandering around the house. you hop from conversation to conversation, play catch up with a few girls until you finally make your way to the dance floor. lando stand before the turntables, twisting knobs and pushing buttons as he smoothly transitions into the next mix. you dance some, alcohol loosening you at your joints and making it so much easier to move. you swing your hips left to right, jump up and down, do it all until your legs ache and you’re out of breath. 

you squeeze between bodies, eyes searching the crowd for carlos. but you see everyone else but him. he’s no where to be seen, but neither was george so you shrug it off and push yourself towards the clearing of the crowd. you walk around people, making your way up the makeshift platform and over to lando, who shoots you a toothy grin as he presses one last button and backs from his equipment. 

he hugs you into his side briefly, lips moving into your ear, “thought i saw you! where’s carlos?”

“with george!” you answer, eyes falling to the table. “how much longer you up here for?”

“ah, on my last song before we switch back to aux… wanna have a go?”

you shake your head, but he smiles and tries to convince you otherwise. he explains the basics, none of it sticking to your vodka-muddled brain. and just as another beat drop approaches, he points to a button lighting up blue. press on this when i say. he smiles cheekily, pushing levers and twisting knobs before nodding and calling out now. you do as you're told, bringing a semi-smooth transition into the last song of his set. you laugh, lando smiles. he holds his palm up for you, one you gladly slap enthusiastically while he praises you.

“now you can dj for us at our next party!” 

you giggle, shaking your head as you stand back, watching as lando begins to slowly transition out of his mix and plugging the aux line into his laptop to play a playlist made for nights like these. then he’s stepping off the platform, holding his hand out for you to help you down. you walk with him, around the house and past his drunk brothers and sorority women, all the way to the bar where oscar now stands. lando convinces you to a round of shots with him, and refills your drink halfway. your head is light, body floating. you were on cloud nine and all you need…

your head whips around, eyes scan the room. you look for a mop of dark hair, the broad shoulder, looks for just glimpse of him but once again, he’s nowhere to be found. 

“you know what carlos went to help george with?” you lean in towards lando, setting your cup down on the kitchen island. you watch him look around the room the same way you did just seconds earlier before shaking his head. 

his eyes are still across the room, but he leans in towards you so you can hear him over the music. “no clue, but george is over there talking to mick so… carlos is probably around here somewhere.” 

you try to hide the disappointment, the bit of anxiety that is starting to make its way through your bloodstream. you snatch your cup back up again, bringing it to your lips as you drink the remnants of your mix before tossing the red plastic in a bin. you let the brit know you’re gonna take a lap before making your way around the house. you’re pushing past people again, finding your way through every hallway and room, pathetically looking for a man who has seemingly ditched you at his own house. you’re walking in circles like a lost puppy. 

carlos walks back into the home through the front door. you catch him just as he shuts it behind him, with his hair in disarray and eyes glazed over. he’s confused, disoriented, trying to adjust to the stark contrast between the quiet outside and the chaos inside. you watch as he scans the room, acknowledging brothers who wave over at him with a flick of his chin and a half effort at a wave hello. he looks and looks, and finally he sees you. 

you’re about to walk over, to greet him and ask him where he’d been. but then the door opens and she walks in. you’ve never met the girl, never seen her in your life. but what you have seen is that glow. the shy smile she wears as she tucks her hair behind her ear and retreats to her sisters that wait excitedly for her. you recognize that look, and that’s when it clicks. the hair. the eyes. the disappearing for god knows how long. 

you feel sick. 

you want to run. you want to scream. your skin is on fire with rage. you turn on your heel before he takes his first step, storming into the living room area in search of your purse. brothers and their partners for the night are scattered around the room, and you try to ignore the multitude of making out and groping going on as you search for your purse. 

you hear him call your name behind you, but you ignore him. you pull at the pillows and he calls your name again. you move over to the next couch, and all of sudden you feel his hand on your wrist and you’re yanking yourself out of his hold. your eyes are wide, angry, with your index finger in his face as if to tell him to stop. 

“don’t you dare.”

“it’s not what you think.” 

you scoff, turning around and pull at the pillows again, finding your bag beneath the mess of throws. “it’s never what i think, always what you say. that’s what’s always right, right?” you sling the thin strap over your shoulder. you don’t bother to wait for his answer, pushing past him as you make your way towards the front door. 

he calls out your name again, a groan following after. “can you… just wait. don’t go yet, please.” 

you ignore him, ignore the looks you’re getting, ignore the whispers, everything. the door swings open as you twist the knob, but you never hear it slam shut because carlos is hot on your heels. 

“you’re mad over nothing!”

that makes you stop. it makes your blood boil, makes the anger grow, and it makes you stop. you inhale sharply— shakily. “nothing?” 

“there wasn’t anything going on, nothing was going on. you’re upset over nothing.” 

you turn on your heel to look at the man who stands three feet ahead of you. his brows are furrowed— annoyed— and his lips are parted as he breathes. 

“it’s always nothing. it’s always no big deal.” you scoff, “i’m always overreacting. right?” he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even bat an eye at the words that spill out of your mouth. “you are the most insufferable man i have ever met, carlos sainz. you drive me fucking crazy, and not in a good way.” you push your hair back roughly, pulling at the strands as your fingers glide down the length of it. 

“will you please come inside so we can talk?”

“no, i’m going home.” you turn again, pushing around your little purse for your car keys. 

“you’ve been drinking.” carlos reasons, to which you laugh.

“not enough!”

“for fucks sake, can we just-“ he tries to pull you back to him again, and you pull out of his grasp immediately. 

“no! we cannot just. i’m so…” your eyes begin to water, tears blurring your vision. god you hated every second of this moment. here are again, showing just how fucking weak you are for man who continues to play with you. for a man who has given you no good reason to stay and yet is also a man you always come back to. “we’re not talking about this. i’m so tired carlos. i really am.”

“come inside please. let’s just—“ 

“i’m not coming back inside!” you scream. “i’m not going to walk back in there and let you convince me to spend the night, because i will. i don’t want to lay in your bed while you try to convince me that i was just seeing things because… you will. and i’ll be stuck in this fucking cycle and i just can’t fucking do it anymore.”

carlos’s lips are clamped together, nostrils flared as he stares at you. he watches the tears that escape you, the tension weaved into every muscle of your face. you both stand there, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do. 

then he says your name, resigned. it sounds deflated, like smashing against the keys of a broken piano. “but this time, it wasn’t anything i swear. whatever you’re thinking, it didn’t happen.”

you look up, hoping to stop the tears from falling but it’s hopeless. you’re so fucking hopeless.

“so you didn’t fuck her?” you sniffle, looking at him with bloodshot eyes. he shakes his head and you stiffen up. “didn’t touch her?” he hesitates, but shakes his head anyways. and you scoff. “you touched her.” 

“i didn’t fuck her.” “but it doesn’t negate the fact!”

your shoulder slump, defeated. your heart aches in your chest, crumbles at you feet and onto the cold pavement of fifth street. “it doesn’t fucking make a difference carlos. it still fucking hurts. it’s still a fucking slap to my face.” 

the wind is cold, prickles at your skin like needles. your eyes fall shut, pushing tears from your eyes and onto your cheek. you feel the pad of his thumb against the skin of your cheek and you flinch. your body stiffens, but you allow the ounce of affection. you allow yourself to soak in the false sense of security for the briefest of moments, just to quell the ache that is burning in your chest. but then you open your eyes and you’re reminded that when you walk away— if you walk away— it will hurt a million times more. 

truly, you were sick of this cycle. of running back to him after he keeps you at an arms length away for weeks. you let yourself enjoy the little moments of security, knowing full well how it ends. you’ve been here before, you’ve walked this walk. but no matter how many times you go through this, the ache never dulls. 

carlos cups your cheek, the pad of his thumb rough against your skin. and you lean into his touch because it’s comfortable, because it’s the only thing that feels right in a moment filled with so much wrong. 

you open your eyes to look up at him, blink away the tears that obscure your vision. you inhale shakily. “what are we doing carlos?” a soft hm buzzes past his lips, and you sigh. your hand comes up to grip his, to pull it off your skin. but you keep it in yours, stare down at his rough palm that lays open in your hands before looking back up at him. “you say i’m yours. say you’re mine, mine, mine. and i just… what are we? what are we doing?” 

you release his hand, watch as he stares at his palm, flexing his fingers before letting it fall to his side. carlos bites down on his bottom lip, breathing steady, and his eyes stuck on the pavement. it’s a beat, and another, before his chest heaves as he draws a deep breath in. 

“you are so important—“ 

you shake your head, the tears come back and you make your way to the driver’s side of your car. important to me, he finishes as he follows behind you quickly. he chants your name like it’s meant to convince you to stay. like it will heal you of all the hurt he’s caused, like it makes his answer okay. 

and maybe it is. logically, it’s a perfectly acceptable answer. if you were a friend. and maybe you toed the line a bit, maybe to him you were just a friend. but to you, carlos is more than that. he’s more than some guy that you have a bit of fun with, but a guy you’ve slowly begun to fall for. and you fall and fall, brace yourself for impact because you know he’s not going to catch you. 

he calls your name, says please with so much desperation in his voice as you pull your door open. begs you to stop, and you do. you stop halfway into your car to look at him with the tears still pouring from your eyes. you smile sadly, pathetically, as you shrug. 

“important,” you say, “but not enough. right?” 

[incorrectkakagaiquotes]

Gai: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread. Kakashi: Are you okay??? Gai: My tortoise stole my fuckign garlic bread

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Second Chances

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: This is part 2 of Second Choices! Part 3 will be a shamelessly smutty epilogue so click here to be added to the taglist to be notified when that's live!

Warnings: Drinking, little bit of angst/alludes to a history of abuse

Rhysand returned from Windhaven just in time for dinner, rested and refreshed after a long weekend holed up in his mother’s cottage with the male he’d been casually seeing for the past few months. In addition to being pretty, Austris had a wicked tongue that kept Rhys thoroughly distracted. 

It was three days of pure bliss; of forgetting about his duties and giving into every whim and desire that struck him without thought. While he dreaded returning to work and his responsibilities, the thought of spending the evening catching up with his family put a little bounce in his step as he landed outside the House of Wind. 

The outdoor dining table was set, silver trays piled high with juicy, slow-cooked meats, a rainbow of roasted vegetables, and potatoes whose garlic-and-rosemary glaze wafted in the early evening breeze. Fae lights floated above, illuminating the feast in a soft glow. Behind it all, he saw his family sprawled out on the lounge chairs. Judging by the scattered bottles littering the ground around them, he had lots of catching up to do.  

He took one step and then Mor jumped up, waving her wine glass towards him. 

“Rhys is back!” She exclaimed, nearly tripping over her own feet as she rushed towards him. “Time to eat!” Her voice was suspiciously loud, though he supposed that happened when one drank too much on an empty stomach. 

He chuckled and accepted the one-armed hug she offered. 

“Good to see you too, cousin,” he said, guiding her towards the table. “You must be really hungry.” 

Amren stalked past, face pinched in a scowl. 

“You have no idea,” she grumbled as she plopped down in a chair. She reached for an unopened bottle of red wine and uncorked it with her teeth, filling her goblet to the brim. 

Rhys’ eyebrows skyrocketed towards his hairline, turning to throw a questioning look at Az and Cas as they made their way to the table. The Shadowsinger’s face was impenetrable, as usual, but in three centuries of friendship Rhys had never seen Cassian look so pitiful. His wings drooped dangerously close to brushing against the ground, and his hair was a loose, tangled mess that hung over his face. Beneath it, shadows lined bloodshot eyes that were cast downward, lacking their usual spark of mischief.  

Azriel shook his head as he passed; the movement was barely more than a twitch but Rhys got the meaning loud and clear. He took his seat and poured himself a hefty glass of wine; he had a feeling he was going to need it. 

Everyone settled at the table, refilling drinks and piling food onto their plates, yet there was a gaping hole between Mor and Cas where you should have been. 

“Where’s Y/N?” He asked, not thinking much of your absence although he was disappointed that he wouldn’t get to catch up with you before it was back to business as usual the next morning. 

Suddenly, everyone stilled with their forks and goblets held aloft. It was too quiet. Panic jolted his heart into a sprint as he took in the frozen faces of his Inner Circle looking like children caught sneaking sweets before supper. 

Finally, Amren spoke, glaring at Cas as she spat, “Ask Cassian.” 

The Lord of Bloodshed glared at her and pushed away from the table, chair clattering to the ground behind him. 

“I’m eating in my room,” he snarled, stabbing the fattest, rarest steak with his fork and plopping it on top of the vegetables piled on his plate. 

“Cauldron boil me, I leave you alone for three days,” Rhys muttered, downing his wine in one long gulp. 

—

Earlier that day, Amren had stopped by your room and offered to skip dinner with you, but you were looking forward to a quiet evening in the library. Alone. After storming out on Cassian, your two best (female) friends had spent the night in your room with you, drinking straight from the bottle of Illyrian moonshine you’d pilfered from Rhys’ secret stash until you passed out in a tangled mess of limbs and hair somewhere between midnight and dawn. 

They’d only agreed to leave when you threatened to show Rhys the memory of them breaking into his room using only a hairpin the night before. And even then, every two hours or so you’d get a knock and a quiet “Just checking in!” from one or the other. You suspected they drew up a schedule, and though you were grateful to have such caring friends, what you really needed was peace and quiet. 

It was hard to wrap your head around just how much things had changed within a span of twenty-four hours. But curled up amongst the stacks of old books in a plush armchair tucked away in a little alcove, you finally managed to admit to yourself that you could have handled things better. After all, you were the one that made this mess for yourself—you should have known better than to shit-talk Cassian’s girlfriend—and instead of apologizing, you’d fucked things up even further. 

With a sigh, you cracked open the stiff leather cover of your journal and flipped to a blank page, letting your pencil hover above it. Not one to pay too much attention to emotions and feelings, the little book hadn’t gotten much use in the nearly two centuries since Rhysand had gifted it to you. 

But when your brain was twisted into too many knots that not even a night of drinking with your friends could untangle, the only thing that seemed to help was spilling your guts onto paper. Seeing your thoughts laid out in graphite helped you make sense of them, so you pressed down the tip of your pencil and forced your hand to move. 

Cassian is my mate. He’s my mate and I fucked everything up and he probably wants nothing to do with me. 

I’ve been trying to ignore it, to push down these stupid feelings. I thought it was just the bond trying to force me into something more with someone who was supposed to be my best friend. Just a friend. 

But if I’m being completely honest, I think I’ve always been a little bit in love with him. After all, you don’t sleep with someone on and off for half a century if there isn’t at least some baseline of attraction. 

I don’t know, I guess I just always assumed that since my father didn’t want me and my mother only wanted me for the child support check, well, no one would ever want me. Not forever; not as a wife and definitely not as a mate. 

I’m too damaged for anyone. 

Too damaged for Cassian. 

Having him as a friend forever was more important than trying for more. It was too big of a risk, and I couldn’t lose him. Couldn’t lose my family, not when I finally got one that stuck around. 

I could sleep with him, though. It was transactional; a mutual itch-scratching made purposefully hazy by Mirthroot and alcohol. In those stolen moments, I could pretend I was someone else. Someone worth keeping. 

Mor thinks I’m insane for keeping the bond to myself for so long, but we were fucking regularly enough to take the edge off and, well. I learned to grit my teeth and take it on the chin before I got my first cycle. 

I’m good at pushing things down, at pretending to be okay. Even if he does want me, I don’t know if I can handle it. That deep, emotional intimacy without anywhere to hide. 

Your hand flew across the page as words poured out of the deepest, darkest parts of you. The things you kept hidden from everyone, including yourself. Tears swelled in the corners of your eyes which stung from the effort it took to keep them from falling. 

And then you felt a gentle knock against your mental shields. Rhys must be back. You peel them back just enough to let his voice in. 

Y/N? Can I come down and say hi to my favorite sister? 

I’m your only sister, motherfucker. I better be your favorite. 

He waited, a soft breath of a presence within your mind, swirling winds of calm smoothing out the edges of the turbulent waves crashing around in there. 

Even though, normally, you’d rather die than let anyone see you like this, you agreed. 

Fine. But only because I missed you, you stupid bat. 

Love you too, sis. 

You closed the journal and tucked it beneath one thigh, adjusting the blanket you’d brought down with you so it’s fully covering the little book. It didn’t take long before you heard his light footsteps descending the stairs. Using the back of your hand, you wiped away the lingering moisture in your eyes and then straightened in your seat. 

“Skipping my welcome home dinner?” He asked as he approached your little reading nook, a lazy grin and raised eyebrows painted on his face. 

You scoffed, careful to keep your journal hidden as you stood up to throw yourself into his open, waiting arms. His wings closed around the two of you and you’re grateful for the extra pressure against your back. 

“I missed you too,” he muttered into your hair, pulling your face tight to his chest. 

The two of you stood there for a long time; Rhys could always sense when you needed something steady to hold onto. He claims it started before he even knew he had a sister, that sometimes late at night he could hear muffled sobs echoing in the back of his mind. That a gaunt little girl trapped under the mountain haunted his dreams for years before he was allowed to visit.

His father made sure he stayed away. 

But as Rhys settled into his powers and got full control of them, he was able to establish a stable connection. It took a while before you trusted him; after all, you grew up with your mother telling you that the High Lord and his heir despised you. 

Your sire, as Mother called him, had thrown her under the Mountain as soon as he found out she was pregnant. Set her up with a place to stay and not much else; you had a new stepfather every few years, and each one was worse than the last. The Black Widow, they called her, as her husbands had a habit of dying in unfortunate accidents. 

As adults, you and Rhys were closer than most siblings, even those that grew up together. Unfortunately, that meant you had no choice but to get your shit together because running away was not an option. 

“Wanna tell me why my General looks like a kicked puppy?” Rhys murmured into your hair. You felt the bond clench, tugging on your heart, and groan against your brother’s chest. 

He ran a comforting hand up and down your back and you signed, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to keep what happened a secret for much longer, what with all the meddling busybodies you surrounded yourself with.

“We fought,” you muttered. “I’ve been avoiding him ever since.” 

“And what, pray tell, did you fight about?” 

You lifted your head, eyes glistening in the low candlelight as you blinked up at your brother. Heaving a sigh, you tell him everything that happened while he was gone. As soon as you opened your mouth, the words spilled out of you like they’d been waiting for the opportunity to escape. 

Rhys had to stifle a chuckle when you finished your story because he loved you, but Mother above, you could be so stupid sometimes. 

“Oh, Y/N,” he sighed, tugging you closer. He rested his chin on the top of your head and tugged on the ends of your hair with one hand. 

You batted it away, groaning again. 

“Listen, I’m not going to tell you what to do because I know you hate that,” he started, negating your protests before they had a chance to form. “But I think you need to talk to him. Unless you plan on avoiding him for the rest of your life, you’re going to need to work things out one way or another.” 

“I could defect to another Court, I hear Summer’s wonderful this time of year.” Rhys shoved you towards the front of the library, ruffling your hair. 

“Talk to him, you insufferable brat.” 

—

It was surprisingly easy to find Cassian. He nearly knocked you over with the force of his pacing as you rounded the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchen and dining room. 

“Oh, Y/N, hi,” he said, one arm bending to scratch the back of his neck. You could just barely make out a hint of red on the apples of his cheeks, though his tanned skin does a good job of trying to hide it. 

“Hey, Cassie,” you said. His name came out breathier than you intended. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.” Cas was quiet, clearly ready to let you say what you needed to say. He leaned against the wall, nodding at you to keep going. After a deep breath, you did. “I’m sorry for being so rude and dramatic. The bond snapped for me a while ago, and I let the pent-up jealousy and bitterness get to me. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’ll try to be better about keeping my thoughts to myself in the future. Just because we’re bonded doesn’t mean you’re obligated to be with me. Whatever you choose, I’ll respect your decision, I promise.” 

He smirked, pushed away from the wall, and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you standing there alone and confused. 

A minute later, he was back with a giant cookie clutched in one hand; your favorite. It was a little burnt around the edges, but smells perfect. He closed the distance between the two of you in three long strides, wrapping his free arm around your waist. 

“It’s you, it’s always been you, Y/N,” he breathed, leaning in until his lips hovered over yours for a few long, deliciously agonizing seconds before he pushed forward and captured them in a searing kiss.  

You respond, startled but thrilled, and get lost in each other. He pulls away and holds the cookie to your lips, and you almost bite into it before remembering where you are then take a step back with your cheeks oozing heat, pushing his hand down to his ease the temptation rising from your core, into your chest, and up your throat. After four years of lying dormant, the bond threatened to take control of your body. 

“We should probably go somewhere a bit more.. private,” you say, wrinkling your nose at the thought of someone, Mother forbid your brother, interrupting the frenzy. 

Cassian growled. Going to the cottage, he said to Rhys, melting his mental shields down just enough to let the message flow between their minds. 

Does this mean..? Rhys’s response is hesitant but hopeful.  

Yes, Cassian’s response is gruff. Keep everyone away. I reserve the right to tear any intruders limb from limb. 

He shut the connection, cutting Rhys off mid-cackle. His threat was genuine. Even just the idea of the frenzy has him boiling through his skin. 

Cas scooped you into his arms and took off running down the hallway. As soon as you burst through the back door, he pushed off and then you were soaring through the sky towards Windhaven. 

Towards your future with your mate.

Taglist: @esahintzkanen @loving-and-dreaming @lisanna2000 @jollyflowerkitty @graciepies @evergreenlark @Maewritez @aurorab99 @pescipiccanti @elissanatok @vanserrasimp @mich0731 @juniperberriesaries @sandramalikstyles @ivy-34 @thecraziestcrayon @pey2618

[dragonnnfly]

Snotlout: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread

Hiccup: Are you okay???

Snotlout: Hookfang stole my garlic bread

[overheardbyvarioustherapists]

Yuu: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread. Deuce: Deuce: Are you okay? Yuu: Grim stole my fucking garlic bread