#if anyone sees this then worry not for i am simply facing the horrors and all shall be well on the morrow

[rigels-nigels]

:p

[krakensdottir]

Also something really important I want to point out about Aziraphale's religious trauma.

It's often framed as him being directly abused by Heaven, generally emotionally. And while I don't doubt he's been belittled at points - probably not by Gabriel, the iconic exemplar of the Toxic Positivity boss, but we know how Michael and Uriel etc. can be - it also seems like he's received quite a lot of praise and has generally managed to pull off the appearance of being A Good Angel, or at least a satisfactory one. I don't think, and this is controversial, but I don't think Heaven was usually overtly hard on him.

Because that's not how this kind of cult mentality usually operates. Instead, it teaches you to abuse yourself. Your overseers don't have to directly hurt or insult you if you're so ingrained with fear of failure by the culture you were brought up in that you constantly question yourself as not good enough.

It's not as... satisfying, I guess? As an external abuser being the main issue. But it's a lot more real. At least to me, because I suffered so much anxiety over being 'good' when I was a kid, and it wasn't from direct abuse. It was absorbed from the culture I was surrounded by. I picked it up by osmosis from society at large, and it tormented me. I worried, I doubted, there was a time I literally feared going to Hell. And I wasn't raised strongly religious. My mother certainly treated me as a Good Kid, and never gave even the suggestion that I wasn't. But I felt that way anyway. And it tore me apart. Because internalizing that shit makes it so much harder to fight.

And to be clear at this point, I am not saying Heaven isn't abusive. I just think the nature of its abuse is more subtle and insidious than it's often given credit for. And - this is even harder to accept, but it's true, and it's important - it's not just abusive to Az. All the angels are victims of it. Yes, even Gabriel. The moment he, one of the most powerful forces in Heaven, steps out of line, we see that no one is exempt. Never even mind Muriel, who is literally on the lowest rung of the Heavenly ladder and has probably never been told they're worth anything beyond being, you know, an angel, so at least you're better than humans and demons.

It's a contrast with Crowley, who has long since accepted most (not all, there are definitely some deep issues remaining, but they're nothing like Aziraphale's) of his internal doubts and struggles. His fears are almost entirely external. He doesn't beat himself up if he fucks up. He doesn't have to. There are people happy to beat him up for him. So when things go really bad for him, his instinct is to run. To get out of the way of harm as much as possible.

The fact that Aziraphale is harder on himself than anyone else could be is a vital part of his character. He self-punishes. He self-criticizes. He feels awful every time he breaks the rules in the slightest, even though he isn't usually caught at it. Crowley can find some safety in solitude if he keeps his wits sharp and his head down. Aziraphale can't, because he carries Heaven's conditioning with him at all times. He doesn't need oversight, it doesn't take external threats to keep him in line. You don't need direct threats when literally everyone in your celestial workplace has seen firsthand the consequences of rebellion.

I don't know if I'm making sense here. Again, this is informed by personal experience and I can't claim to be unbiased. But I see so much internalization with Aziraphale. He literally can't even accept praise without being nervous as hell, and I don't think it's fear of punishment or ridicule that's his primary motivation. He simply cannot ever be good enough for himself.

That's how they get you.

Anyway, I think it's why his reaction to disaster is the opposite to Crowley's, why he feels he has to turn and face it and somehow avert the horror (or, alternatively, find some way to reconcile it in his head and accept it - because let's be real, that's often what happens) rather than get himself away. He's less afraid of failing his superiors than he is of failing himself. And God, who is, objectively, the biggest abuser in the entire story.

[tkthrilla-writes]

hii I hope you’re doing well!! i saw your requests were open and decided to ask! This is just a small idea i had, if you don’t want to do it you can ignore this!!

Could you write Alastor with a Fem reader who kind of dresses like Morticia or Elvira, but with like really long black hair that’s always in a ponytail, like long to the point it’s a few inches above the ground long. Alastor really loves her and also loves her hair, and if Angel or like anyone else try’s to touch it he just gets really protective.

Ask and you shall receive anon! It’s Saturday so let’s make it rain! Since it wasn’t specified, I am going to make this request in the form of headcanons hope that is ok with you. Just going to make slight adjustments as Y/n does not know the people of hell and only Alastor, who due to a ritual possesses and resides in Y/n’s body. But don’t worry I got chu.

“My my what is the occasion my dear?”

The second this demon sees your new hair style and new get up this man is tripping all over the floor.

Since when was your hair that long?

Since he is more used to the both of you getting up in the morning and trying to look presentable for the day, more often than not that hair is always up in a bun or ponytail, or if you are feeling up for a change, the rare and occasional braid. But wow, the second he sees that floor length black dress with that floor length black hair, his smile went past his ears with how deadly you look.

“It’s for Halloween, thought I’d dress up for the trick-or-treaters who stop by,” you said in full enthusiasm getting the candy ready.

“And who exactly are you dressed as? Surely not yourself,” this man tried to be smooth and seducing but all this got his was you looking this demon dead in the eye with the most blasphemous and shocked look on your face.

Bare with him, he died before he could know about the Adams family and the beauty that is Morticia Adams.

So you bombard him with quotes like, “The light,” “I am just like any other mother,” “But my dear you are not a mother? And what is wrong with the light? I thought you liked the sun for the Vitamin D as you call it” easy to say he does not get it and you make it a sheer point that before kids start coming over asking for candy you both sit down and watch the damn movie.

When it finishes it is very easy to assume which character he likes and what was his favourite part from the way his shadow parts from your body and his shadow form makes an eerily familiar black suit with thin red strips. Alastor loves his red.

“Begone with thee!” he exclaims as he fake attacks the sun through the windows; but his absolute favourite “My Dear, how long has it been since we last danced?”

“Hours,” and he proceeds to dance with you throughout the entire apartment.

Now timeskip a couple more hours into what is now the night, carrying on with the theme you decide to show him the more modern adaptation of the Adams family, and since you know that he might enjoy the horror aspect to it. “We’re going to watch Wednesday tonight!”

“THERE’S A SHOW ABOUT THE CHILD!” he’s excited. He does get mildly annoyed of having to pause it so frequently because of all the people who keep ringing, but he enjoys it none-the-less.

That is until a group of very, let’s say, particular people… come ringing at your door. There were some kids in what you could guess very early teens all decked up in their costumes who yell out “TRICK OR TREAT” but the people behind them are who really catch your attention.

The pervy dads

To put it simply they kept whistling at you while you gave out candy to the kids. One dad even started catcalling you.

It wasn’t until one of the dads actually tried to reach out to actually touch your hair, but before he could actually do that his arm snapped mid-air.

First a sickening SNAP resounded that made everyone stare and be silent, next came the deafening scream of the dad who just had his arm mysteriously snap. This just made everyone leave you alone immediately as they tried to see what was wrong… before realising it was completely broken and damn near flopping in the wind.

You simply took this as your cue to slowly close the door, and take a few steps back. “Al?” you asked knowing damn well how this demon, “Yes Cara mia?” he replied. “Hmm, thank you,” you said, “You are very welcome, another man should not be touching another’s spouse.” “Possessive much?” you ask coyly, “and since when were we married?”

“My dear we have been in this arrangement for many years, we might as well be,” Alastor’s shadowed figure reached down for your hand to place a gentle kiss on the knuckle.

“I don’t remember you proposing, so how can we be married.”

“Don’t tempt me my dear, because I promise you, you were mine the day you made this contract and arrangement. And I absolutely vow that nobody else will place their filthy hands on what is mine.”

[anqelically]

maid cafe | rin itoshi x gn!reader

word count: 0.8k

content: no manga spoilers, fluff(ish,) this is kinda just goofy tbh, not to mention probs ooc rin since this is my first time writing for him 😔

navi | bllk masterlist

convincing rin itoshi to do something he didn’t like was difficult. most people don’t do things they dislike, but some give in if they haven’t ever had the experience. however, he would absolutely not be caught walking into this place.

“rin,” you whined, “the food looks good and isn’t a bad price! can we please go?”

he refused, “absolutely not. i’m not going in there. if you want to go, go in by yourself.”

a pout formed on your face at his rejection, “aw, you're no fun.”

you poked at him before your eyes landed on the sign outside the cafe. as cute as it was, the only reason your boyfriend refused to go inside was because of how it was a maid cafe. if his teammates had ever caught him, he was sure he’d never hear the end of it.

the thought of it being a maid cafe bothered you a bit, but it was almost nothing compared to rin’s worry. you simply wanted the food, so who was serving it didn’t matter.

“but if you really don’t want to go,” you sigh, “then fine. i’ll come back in 30 minutes tops. bye bye~”

not looking back, you skipped into the maid cafe. you took a seat in the corner of the cafe, telling them you’d be ordering for two with a smile. a couple of minutes had passed when the bell attached to the entrance door jingled. you didn’t need to look up at who sat in the seat next to you to know who it was.

“you’re lucky that you’re adorable,” rin mumbled with the tips of his ears turning pink.

with a proud smile, you giggle, “that i am. so much for not getting caught in here, huh.”

“well i wasn’t going to leave you to eat here by yourself,” your boyfriend rolled his eyes. “i wasn’t going to let anyone have the chance to approach you either.”

“are you talking about the waitresses or the customers?”

“both.”

after ordering and receiving your food, you were quick to dig in. rin slowly ate his egg omelette, staring at the “i love rin-chan ♡” written in ketchup. he knew that letting you tell the waitress what to write was another bad idea.

“what’s so wrong about it?” you playfully smile at him.

he glanced at you, “she loudly gushed at me and told us how cute we were. not to mention, she called me out on...”

“on the fact you were blushing,” you lean closer to him, finishing his sentence. he furrowed his brows, but you only continued to grin at him. “come on, we’re a couple, aren’t we? i see nothing wrong with her gushing about it.”

“that’s because you love the attention.”

“… you’re not wrong.”

a few moments passed, silence ensuing between the two of you. the ends of your lips slowly turned straight as rin began to lean towards you. thinking he was going in for a kiss right there, which surprised you, you shut your eyes.

but your face scrunched up when you felt yourself kiss the fabric of his shirt. your eyes shot open to see him holding your phone, unlocking it as if it were his own.

“hey!” you whined with a frown. “you are such a tease, rin. you’d rather look at my phone than give me a kiss…”

he tapped a few things on your phone, “you thought i was leaning in for a kiss when i was getting your phone.”

you stared at him, but he didn’t bother to look back. once he finished whatever he was doing, he set down your phone.

“why did you need my phone anyway?” you asked.

rin answered, “i was deleting the picture.”

it took a moment, but you realized that rin had deleted the picture you took of him when the waitress was complimenting the two of you as a couple. you quickly grabbed your phone to see if it was true. to your horror, it was.

“you… you deleted it,” your jaw dramatically dropped. “i would’ve kept it to myself if you asked, you know. i’m sure your friends wouldn’t know you coming here if i didn’t post it.”

“but you were going to post it.”

“…you’re not wrong, again.”

the two of you eventually finished your meals, leaving with stomachs that were fuller compared to when you entered. rin was glad that the two of you were finally leaving to go to an ice cream shop. however, that relief was short-lived when you almost bumped into someone at the door.

“oh, i’m sor- bachira?”

you stared into the eyes of rin’s friend, looking behind him to see even more of them. all of them were equally surprised as you were to bump into each other. you looked at all of their faces before the realization hit both you and them.

“rin… you go to maid cafes?”

note: hoping i did rin well enough, ty for the request anon!! (sorry for the lateness like always). after I got the two quotes in, I had no clue where the drabble was heading so here we are 😭😭

reblogs are appreciated + join my taglist !

@nagicore @er0ses @spenzitz @chuuyrr @piichuu

[rubysunnday]

just keep breathing, darling

requested by anon: Hi bestie! I’m obsessed with your work. I was wondering if you could do a bridgerton sister!reader where it’s the readers debut and she’s at her first ball. Maybe the reader becomes overwhelmed with everything and begins to panic but her brothers are there to help her through and protect her. (I’m wary of saying she has a panic attack just in case you aren’t comfortable writing that which is totally fine!) Thank you for your amazing work! Xx

requested by @freyathehuntress: Heyyy so I just read your newest story about Colin and I loveeeee. The part about the queen being concern really caught my attention though I'm not sure why. Can you write a story maybe like similar to Edwina and the queen's relationship. Like I want to see a nice Queen Charlotte bonding scene.

requested by anon: can you please do another bridgerton sister with her brothers being protective because she feels ill at a ball or someone is making her uncomfortable at a ball?

summary: panic attacks are a bitch but are ever so slightly easier with two older brothers around

Y/N was terrified.

Ok, that might have been a slight exaggeration, but there was a knot of anxiety in her stomach and she felt as if she desperately needed to pee - despite having gone before she left her room.

Having her first ball be at Aubery Hall was perhaps the only thing keeping her anxiety from boiling over. She knew where she was and she knew where to go if she needed to run away.

A first ball is usually an exciting time for a young lady. But Y/N had seen how the men of the ton were eyeing her and she knew, that the moment she was left unchaperoned, she would become overwhelmed by them.

Even the candles were overwhelming her - their heat and the constant flickering irritating her beyond belief.

"Just breathe, dearest," Violet said, squeezing her daughter's hand reassuringly. "It will all be fine."

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath in. "I'm fine - a little nervous."

"Which is understandable, Y/N," Violet told her. "This is your first time at a ball - it would be overwhelming for anyone. All you need to do is remember what we practised and keep calm."

Y/N bit her lip and looked up at the ballroom, taking in the sights. Of course, she was excited - how could she not be? But this first ball would dictate how the rest of her season went - how the rest of her life went.

"Mr Clarke, it is a pleasure to see you," Violet said, nudging Y/N gently.

Y/N snapped to attention and curtsied to Mr Clarke, remembering what Daphne had told her. "Mr Clarke."

"Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton," Mr Clarke bowed to them both , "it is a delight to see you again."

"How is your mother?" Violet asked.

"She is doing better - wishes she could be here tonight, of course." Mr Clarke chuckled.

Violet smiled, nodding. "Of course. My daughter, Y/N, here would love a dance, Mr Clarke, if you are available, that is?"

Y/N's head turned sharply to face her mother, trying to disguise the horror on her face.

"I would be honoured," Mr Clarke said, nodding. He looked at Y/N. "Miss Bridgerton."

Y/N held out her dance card and let Mr Clarke scribble his name down next to the first dance. He then held out his hand to her and she gingerly took it, holding his fingers.

Mr Clarke guided her onto the dance floor, settling them in the middle of the room, amongst the rest of the dancers.

"Just relax, Miss Bridgerton," Mr Clarke said, chuckling. "It is one step back, two steps forward."

"I apologise if I step on your toes," Y/N muttered, placing her hands on his arms.

"Believe me, I am more than used to it, do not worry."

Mr Clarke was the perfect first dance partner. He didn't flinch whenever Y/N missed a step, stepped on his toes, or got tangled in her dress. He simply smiled and helped her adjust herself.

The first dance ended and Y/N curtsied to Mr Clarke, thanking him for being such a lovely partner. Y/N turned around, bidding him farewell, and took a surprised step back at the sight of a large group of men standing in her way, waiting for her.

Y/N swallowed, feeling her throat tightening as her anxiety returned. She looked around for her mother - for any sign of a friendly face - but saw none. The gentlemen began to approach her, all calling out her name, gathering around her in an unorganised - yet, strangely organised - way.

"Miss Bridgerton, may I have a dance?"

"Miss Bridgerton, would you like a drink?"

Miss Bridgerton -"

She could barely keep track of who was calling her name. Y/N turned her head frantically left to right, trying to work out how to deal with the mass of eager gentlemen in front of her.

"I apologise, gentlemen, please excuse me," Y/N said quickly, curtseying to them and then dashing away.

She practically ran out into the corridor, walking until she was far away from the ballroom. It wasn't until she was in the foyer did she feel safe. Y/N leant back against the wall, breathing hard. She put a hand on her chest, feeling her heart racing. Everything overwhelmed her, even the distant sound of the music from the ballroom.

Y/N took a gasping breath in through her mouth, trying to calm her heart and brain down. She felt as if she had run a mile and she could not catch her breath. Y/N closed her eyes, tilting her head back until it hit the wall.

"Sister?"

Her eyes flew open and she lifted her head up, looking down the corridor. Anthony and Benedict stood near the entrance to the ballroom, both looking at her with matched expressions of concern.

Y/N almost sobbed at the familiar sight of her brothers. Her shoulders began to shake as the tears took over and she slowly slid down the wall, falling to the floor, her knees bent against her chest.

Footsteps rushed towards her and Y/N could feel her brothers surround her, their trouser legs and suit jackets brushing against her. She blindly reached out, gripping onto someone's arm as her chest tightened. She bounced her leg up and down, trying to stop this awful feeling.

"Sister, I need you to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, ok?" Anthony said gently, putting a hand on her knee. "I know it feels impossible, but just try."

Y/N nodded. She took a deep breath in through her nose and then let it out in a gust through her mouth, unable to hold it in. Benedict squeezed her hand and Y/N realised it had been him she'd blindly reached out for.

"That's it, in and out," Anthony repeated, his tone calming.

It wasn't the first time Y/N had had a panic attack. It was something she had seemingly inherited from her eldest brother and it was often Anthony who would talk her down and sit with her until it passed.

The first time she remembered having one, she'd been sixteen and at the queen's garden party. Nothing, in particular, set her off - she had been absent-mindedly watching the fountain - when she found that everything was becoming too much and that her heart was racing.

Anthony, bless him, had turned around at a tap on his shoulder and come face to face with his sixteen-year-old sister who looked as if she was going to pass out. He'd guided her away from the crowds and caught her as her knees gave way and the panic truly began to set in.

He'd sat beside her until she'd calmed down and had explained to her how he too often experienced panic attacks and how he coped with them.

"That's it," Anthony said gently, reaching up and brushing the strands of hair back. "Come on, lie down for a moment."

He gently pushed Y/N down onto Benedict's lap, carefully tucking her legs together and untangling her dress. Anthony was used to this - he had found himself in this position many times too, listening to Benedict and Colin ramble on about something as he waited for his heart to calm down.

Benedict began threading this fingers through Y/N's hair, careful to not upset the pinned up pieces. Y/N snuggled into him, tucking one hand under her cheek.

"I'm sorry," Y/N mumbled, "this is ridiculous."

"It isn't," Anthony reassured, rubbing his thumb along her arm. "These things happen. Lady Danbury has calmed me down more times than I can remember. It's a natural reaction - it isn't a nice one - but it is normal."

"There were just so many people, all calling my name -"

"And there always will be, at least for the first few years," Anthony sat down next to her, straightening his legs out. "It's like putting a diamond in a room and setting a bunch of magpies on it - they all want the diamond."

"I am hardly a diamond," Y/N scoffed.

Benedict snorted. "More of an emerald, I dare say."

Anthony smiled. "But you can always say no, Y/N. If everything becomes too much, apologise and say no and walk away. Give yourself five minutes and then return - no one will know anything happened."

"Daphne never had to excuse herself."

"Oh, she did - many times. She just never let anyone see," Anthony said. "You have to be a bit like a swan if you want an analogy. Calm on the surface but frantic and chaotic underneath."

"That is just any water bird, Anthony," Y/N replied.

"My point still stands."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head slightly at her elder brother. She'd always been grateful for her siblings, especially growing up. But it was now, as they all grew older and moved apart, that she realised how grateful she truly was.

"I heard my emerald has made a great escape!"

The three Bridgerton's turned sharply to look down the corridor at whoever had stumbled upon them. The queen walked towards them, alone, smiling. Y/N almost rolled off Benedict's lap as she struggled to stand up.

"No, please, do not worry," the queen said, coming to a stop in front of them. "I merely wanted to make sure my emerald was alright. I too have experience panic attacks - the horrible things."

Y/N sat up, leaning back against the wall. "I do hate them."

"I am not surprised. They catch you by surprise at the most inconvenient times," the queen replied, smiling down at her. "I had one in the middle of my coronation, you know. But, alas, we must carry on. The world will not stop turning, unfortunately."

"No, unfortunately, it does not," Y/N repeated, nodding.

The Queen clasped her hands together. "Now, do you feel up to returning? I have someone I would like you to meet."

Y/N nodded eagerly. "Of course, your majesty."

Anthony and Benedict both helped her up. Benedict silently fixed her hair, straightening her tiara for her.

"Come along, my dear." The queen held out her gloved hand to Y/N who, after a moment's hesitation, took it. "He is a truly lovely person. His name is Henry and he is a duke from somewhere in Norfolk - I forget where."

Anthony chuckled to himself as he watched the queen walk Y/N back to the ballroom, holding her hand the entire time. The two had formed a weird bond ever since her debut a few days ago - much to their mother's delight.

But, if it meant one more person looking out for his sister, then he wasn't going to complain. Well, not too much, anyway.

[whorety-k]

Ebony Coasts [Part 5]

Batten down the hatches, my friends. This one is a L O N G one but it was so worth it.

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: Unloveable - The Smiths

“If I seem a little strange / well, that’s because I am /

But I know that you would like me /

If only you could see me / if only you could meet me /

I don’t have much in my life / but take it, it’s yours.”

Warnings: Ocean mentions / thalassophobia, culture shock and misunderstanding between species, hospital mention, blood / injury descriptions, AMERICAN HEALTHCARE, more horrors of a nine-to-five (Dolly Parton would have words), extreme weather, angst, hurt / comfort

Word Count: 3.9k (SORRY)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Driving on uneven roads is difficult enough on its own, and having only one hand while amped up on adrenaline and preoccupied about potentially having lost Corvus forever makes you downright reckless. A particularly hard thump! has you worried about your car’s alignment but you simply add it to the list of things wrong and continue down the road.

The emergency room sucks. You’re not even fully in reality by the time you finish checking in, clutching your still-bleeding hand in your lap with not more than a couple pads of gauze and a random towel you had laying around in the back of the car. It’s a miracle how a human can bleed for over two hours and still be fully coherent enough to lie to their nurses and doctors about a knife slipping while cutting twine.

They don’t believe you for a second, but they both aren’t paid enough and are over-worked enough not to care. Everyone lies in the ER.

A shot of lidocaine and eighteen stitches later, you’re sent on your way with opioid pain meds you won’t be taking and a deep appreciation that Corvus hadn’t scored your dominant hand. It’s still irritating when you get home and try to undress to shower, unable to flex your injured hand at all. You straight up decide against actually cooking, heating up a frozen meal in the microwave and sitting on the couch to overthink everything once more.

The look of complete dismay on Corvus’s face before he left haunted you. 

You had long accepted that the black betta mer wasn’t the most emotionally expressive individual. His carefully neutral countenance rarely gave way to more than a quirk of a brow or occasional lip-turn, so the twisted look of open terror on his pale face shook you to your core both now and then. Hell, in the moment you had even been able to forget about a two and a half inch long laceration in your palm from sheer worry for him. 

You never would have expected a creature so powerful to run.

Another cold spoonful goes down roughly at the thought, and, dissociated, you decide you’ve had enough sustenance. You crawl into bed, exhausted, and feel your limbs sink heavily into the mattress as a deep sigh leaves your lungs. A hollow feeling permeates your chest.

You can’t help the rush of emotions that suddenly overcomes you, choked sobs racking your body as you curl up into a miserable ball around your pillow. The action brings only scant comfort to the throbbing ache in your chest. You don’t remember falling asleep.

The beach is cold, but you don’t care. 

You felt stupid coming back to the shoreline the day after everything, so you waited. Your Monday rolls around and you try to go back to the coast before work, briskly searching high and low for a glimpse of black fins and a glittering night’s-sky of scales. The tides grant you no such favors, and two hours are wasted on nothing when you’re forced to leave. You deflect every question from your coworkers with lies about a kitchen accident.

The next day is scarcely different. You finish your shift in the office like a reanimated corpse, putting in the bare minimum to not have anyone look twice in your direction. You can’t even remember more than the gist of the report you had just read on illegal fishing activity a hour south of you, another damned case of foreign bodies trying to use nonexistent loopholes in the law to talk their way into overfishing protected areas. It was a Coast Guard issue and never should have crossed your desk to begin with, but here you are, tangled in another mess outside of your depth.

You slam the door of your Bronco shut before you stomp onto the dark shore, not bothering to take the cliff down to Corvus’s den this time because you know you don’t have the brain capacity to even think about scaling the rocks. The extra five minute trip down and around the cliffside riddles you with nausea that intensifies when the light of your flashlight finds the entrance to the cavern. 

Of course Corvus isn’t there; you weren’t expecting him to be, yet still it anguishes you. Three days without the merman in your life and you’re already starting to fall apart? It makes you feel pathetic for having grown attached to him so quickly. 

But Corvus had never made you feel that way. Never once had he made you feel like your presence had been a burden to him, eagerly listening to every word you had said to him. He always replied with a caring thoughtfulness to any query you gave him, firm with his boundaries yet forgiving to the innocent faults that had occurred. 

Corvus had a way of making you feel genuinely listened to, even when he didn’t always reply. It was weird to describe someone like him as warm, given his penchant for reserved silence and generally closed-off nature, but the sincere cordiality he had with you had never failed to stir emotions in your chest that you had felt far too anxious to put a label on at the time.

You realize just how taken care of you had always been with the merman. He offered to hunt for you, even if the incident with the ducklings had been an awkward misunderstanding. He made a place for you within his den that could never have any functional use for him as his size. Hell, he would stride along you in the sand instead of asking you to join him in the waves because it was easier for you. You’re wearing a piece of his hoard!

He cared about you.

Your hand gently grasps the raven head pendant, and you sit down in the rickety chair that Corvus has specially gotten for you. The luminescents on the walls seem dimmer than before, and you notice how wilted they’ve become in Corvus’s short absence. Pushing aside the thought that the mer had been putting in actual maintenance to accommodate for you, you brush your hand against the cerulean phosphorescent flora. 

Corvus had taken care of you when you hadn’t asked for it, so you were going to do the same. 

Searching the den for anything vaguely cup-like to transfer water with turns up nothing, so you resort to cupping your healthy hand in that small stream leading into the den. You punctiliously pour the brine over each of the parched plants until they’re saturated. By the time you’ve finished, you notice the vegetation you had started with has already begun to glow brighter. You glow brighter than the cave in that moment.

Wednesday still bears no sign of Corvus, but it does teach an important piece of information: this den had not been abandoned like the others.

You finally gather the courage to check inside of the decorated bed space at the back of the den for the first time since the giant’s disappearance, and you’re flooded with relief when you see the large cache of dazzling objects still lining the walls. Corvus hadn’t left, per se. He just hadn’t returned yet. 

In your jacket pocket is the trusty metal pen Corvus had fixated on so long ago, and in a moment of weakness, you leave it on the stone shelf at the center of the cavern. You had other pens. This one should be his… even if he can’t use it.

You keep coming back to maintain the cavern: wetting the algae and mushrooms, clearing the space of any excess sand the tides brought in, polishing the corroded metals in his collection— nothing escapes your watchful eye. You’ve even accidentally fallen asleep on the bed of furs and grasses, waking up in a flurry to see that you were late for work and needed to leave now, even if you dreaded doing so. 

You always leave a new trinket behind on the round stone ‘table’. Old jewelry, a piece of abalone shell, a tea ball you haven’t used in ages, rose quartz, an entire abalone shell (that you’ve now started to use to hold everything), cool brooches you found at another beach, an enamel pin in the shape of a flying crow, and many other items from around your apartment make their way into Corvus’s den. You rearrange the items into a nice display before you leave.

A week passes. Half of a month. An entire month. The gash on your hand has healed well, the stitches removed with strict instructions to keep the area clean. 

Each day, no matter the weather, you return to Corvus’s beach. The den is monotonous, and recently, you’ve begun to avoid going inside of it lest you have to face the untouched items on the rock shelf more often than necessary. The physical effort to place something in the pile is nothing by now, but mentally, it wears on you.

What if all of this had been for nothing? You had been forcing such doubtful thoughts out of your head for a month faithfully, always trying to look on the bright side. You’ve waited longer for a pay-off before, haven’t you? 

Why was this any different?

…because it hurts. No matter what pep talks you give yourself or happy memories you relive, coming back to the beach hurts.

You’ve been persistent to the point you’re starting to think that you’re nothing more than an annoyance instead of the oh-so-great protector of the coasts you had foolishly thought yourself to be. What a sick fantasy, you think, meddling in the life of something so obviously beyond you. The delusion that you could ever be a part of Corvus’s realm has poisoned you to the point of desperately coming back to the barren sands for even a hope that you’ll see more than the black apparition in the reveries of your mind.

The apartment is a mess. Unfolded laundry piles in the basket, dirty clothes along the floor. You’ve used the same towel to shower for long enough that it’s starting to smell of mildew, but just thinking about the effort of washing a load of towels makes you feel like lead. It took an infestation of ants for you to do the mountain of dishes that piled in your sink. Everyday tasks become chores, and chores feel impossible. 

Still, you drag yourself out to work again today. The weather is awful: torrential downpour with gusts of wind that nearly knock you off of your feet. No one is working in the field today lest OSHA get a taste of blood in the water (literal or metaphorical). You drum your fingertips across the wooden desk as you read a private request for development nearby a protected habitat, opposite hand fiddling with your necklace. You can’t bring yourself to take it off, even if it hurts to see in the mirror each day.

You’re in the middle of a paragraph about intended waste management when a heckling voice jogs you out of it. “I didn’t take you for the goth type,” it jeers, and you look up to see one of the environmental science team leads. A man twice your age. What was his name again?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you retort, audibly weary.

 “The necklace,” he gestures at your throat. Your coworker sits against your desk, uninvited, looking down at you with leery eyes. “Haven’t seen you in that number before.”

You simply shake your head and look back down at the paper, uninterested in the conversation. He doesn’t take the hint.

The lead continues, “You haven’t been as chipper recently. Where’s your spunk? Your fire?—” he follows the words with a ridiculous hand gesture— “Those bags under your eyes could be checked in at the airport.”

You’d laugh at his joke if you weren’t already in such a piss-poor mood. “I’m just tired,” you state, not turning your head to look at him, “I’ll be fine.”

A hand on your shoulder causes you to jolt. “Look, kid, we’ve all got our bad days, but I can tell when someone needs a break—”

You throw the offending hand off of you and stand up roughly, throwing your chair back into the wall in the process. You feel heated. “I told you, I’m fine!” Your words are laced with venom, scratchy and raw and bitter. 

The commotion causes the lead to recoil, distaste written on his face. Other people in the office are starting to stare, and you meet each of their gazes individually. Maybe that was a bit too far.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and head falling forward. Everything aches. “You’re right,” you admit, offering an apologetic look to what’s-his-name, “I’m not feeling well.”

It takes no more than a few minutes to submit your request to leave early. As soon as it’s approved, you rush out of the building. The torrent building inside of you has nothing on the rain around, and you high-tail it out of the parking lot. 

Truly, you didn’t mean to end up back here today. The ocean is too rough, the cliff perilous, the beach an utter mess. The thought of just how stupid your actions are does nothing to stop you, though. 

You run down the embankment to the dock, shoes getting soaked from the crashing waves as you search the water. 

Nothing.

You scramble to the den, slipping and falling down the rocky slope and barely catching yourself before you hit your head. 

Nothing. 

You claw your way through the sands— up soggy hills and over rocky ledges, around complex twists and turns in the sandstone, under and over jutting stones, looking anywhere for alabaster white. 

Nothing.

You’re back at the dock, watching the serpent of metal squirm and thrash in the storm. With unstable footing, you sloppily traverse the writhing mass of steel, barely able to hold yourself upright as you reach the end of it. The storm forces you to your knees, and you place your hands on the lip. Despondency grips you, tearing at your throat.

“I’m sorry!” you cry, voice drowned out by the thundering of rain. “I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry!” A black wave pummels into your small body, the force of an ocean threatening to knock you off of the dock. Still, you cling. You duck your head against the chilled metal, letting out a hissed breath before inhaling a mouthful of seawater. Blubbering, coughing, you rise back up and look out over the waves. They are cold and unflinching.

When the fury of the storm lulls, you force yourself to continue, hoarse. “I messed up and I just want to know how, okay? I don’t know what I did, I—” you choke off a sob, shaking your head, “I-I…” Muscles cry at you to stop, body begging you to return to the car for warmth. You persevere. You have for the last month. 

“I miss you, okay!” The wail carries across the ocean, echoing across the tides back at you like a taunt. Even in the calm of the storm, rain batters against you. The dock stops squirming so intensely, and you take the moment to catch your breath.

Even in your honesty, even in your raw vulnerability, screaming to the heavens for an answer, you receive nothing.

You turn away from the ocean and sink down onto yourself, defeated. The sobs you had been holding at bay spill out, and you hug your knees as you bawl into them. Your clothes are soaked, the wind is cold, and your chest feels miserable. 

Even with the storm beginning to pass by, you feel no better. You will away the tears eventually, wiping wet tears with a wet sleeve that feels like sandpaper, and ready yourself to leave.

The utterly shattered face of Corvus Corax looks at you, a few feet from the edge of the dock, just barely above the water. Eyes of onyx lay wide with guilt, grimacing.

You do not hesitate to throw yourself into the choppy water at him.

Corvus has no time to react to your actions before you wrap your arms around his neck clinging onto him as you gasp like a fish, clutching the coal-and-bone giant close to you like a lifeline. Right now, in the swell, he was.

Tentative arms snake around your midsection, slowly but surely pulling you closer to him. You feel the merman press his face into your soaked hair, taking in a deep breath of your scent before a rumble leaves him. “This is no place for you,” he whispers, and you can only feel him fly through the water like a bolt of lightning, unable to look up from his neck with how firmly he holds you. When you can finally move your head, Corvus already has the both of you on land, beelining it for the den with a look of conviction on his face. 

You didn’t even know you were trembling before you got inside, the surprising warmth of the cavern thawing the numbness in your arms and legs. The frantic betta strides right past the chair in the main room with you in his arms, heading straight for the bed space. It’s only when he gets to the ‘bed’ that he abruptly stops, looking down at you.

“You’ve rested here before.” It’s another half-question, half-statement, and once again it’s correct.

“I fell asleep after taking care of the algae, I’m sorry—”

Corvus cuts you off by hastily lying the both of you on the furs and feathers, the action causing you to let out an ‘oof’ as the air is forced from your lungs. The way he curls and desperately clings to you like a lost child has you feeling all sorts of complex emotions, but you do not fight it. When you open your mouth to speak, he gently shushes you with a shake of his head. You rest beneath his chin in silence.

For the first time in over a month, everything feels okay.

“I hurt you,” Corvus’s gentle voice breaks the silence, barely audible. It’s laced with sorrow so deep that it cuts into your heart. With a shaky hand, the giant mer peels you away from him, looking your entire form over. 

You show him your scabbed and scarring palm, the area pink but almost fully healed by now. You jump to reassure him, “The doctor said it was a clean cut. Easy to heal. I’m okay.”

Corvus shakes his head again, gently taking your injured hand in his. He holds it to his chest, over his beating hearts as he looks deep into your eyes. The downpour inside of him has yet to quell. 

“I hurt you, and I could not bear it,” he restarts, twin hearts pounding in his ribcage. A heavy pause follows as Corvus thinks, wanting to explain himself properly yet lacking the experience to do so. His ear fins twitch up and down as he debates how to continue. Eventually, he sighs, looking around the walls of the bed space. "In fleeing like a coward,” he laments, “I have only hurt you more.” 

The sentence causes the tension to snap inside of you like a wire. “I came back here every day looking for you. Every. Single. Day,” you admonish, tears welling in your eyes, “I took care of the plants. I swept out the sand. I even polished everything so I could keep myself busy!” You go on a total tirade about your activities, Corvus’s gaze not once leaving you as he takes the brunt of it all. Falter, your words catch in your throat as tears spill. “...because I was so afraid to lose you that I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.”

Corvus’s eyes soften with guilt, expression falling. He makes to respond, but you beat him to it.

“But I’m so glad you came back, because I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t.”

The merman’s mouth shuts, and his gaze returns to you. He does not hesitate to pull you close once more, gorgeous charcoal fins blanketing you. You run a hand over the appendage, unable to stop yourself, and Corvus lets out a blissful sigh. “I was afraid, so I fled without thinking of the consequences,” he explains. You do your best to sit back to watch him talk, but Corvus doesn’t allow you much room to move. He continues, “I am already… an anomaly amongst my kind. I was not created to have these sorts of simple domesticities, and I feared what would occur if I overstepped my bounds.” His words leave you with more questions than answers, but you know better than to prod the mer. Anomaly amongst his kind? He had mentioned brothers before his disappearance. You wonder what the others may be like.

Seeking to comfort the giant as he speaks (and partially out of scientific curiosity), you run a hand over his gill covers again. A soft gasp leaves the merman before he catches your hand in his, withdrawing just enough to look down at you. You give him a shy, cheeky smile.

“...as you are now,” he jests, raising a playful eyebrow.

“Sorry,” you say, not even remotely apologetic.

Corvus lets out a soft huff in response, when his eyes focus on the silver chain around your neck. He uses a talented claw to fish the raven pendant from underneath the neckline of your shirt, gazing upon it with the same fondness you had seen just before he fled. Before you can question the look, you’re shocked by the smile he gives you: a genuine grin, eyes crinkled at the outer corners and sharp teeth visible. For the first time, you see that he has fangs, the tips of canines poking into his lower lip. 

His eyes flick back up to yours, and his smile softens. Corvus croons, “I must apologize again for what I have taken from you.”

You’re confused by his statement, tilting your head at him. “What do you mean?”

The merman gently tips up your chin with a knuckle, keeping his claws away from the skin of your delicate neck as he leans forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. It’s unpracticed and clumsy, Corvus being so much larger than you, but the cold taste of the sea and ocean minerals has you addicted. A delicate hand cradles your face when you lean into him, and the moment ends all too soon.

“I am here, and I will not be pulling such an imprudent stunt ever again,” Corvus promises as he pulls away.

“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly, before nestling yourself into the crux of his neck and shoulder. 

The tender moment warms you, the shaking in your body finally coming to a stop. Your clothes may be soaked and salty, but the soft bed beneath and gentle embrace of the mer ease you. You let out a soft giggle that catches Corvus’s attention, and when the merman lets out a questioning hum, you remark, “If you ever do that again, I’m getting my boating license and hunting you down myself.”

Corvus hums from above you, knuckles tracing up and down your back. “From what I have learned, I should expect no less.”

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

HI PLEASE DON'T BE MAD AT ME FOR THE ENDING OF THE LAST FIC I PROMISED I WOULD FIX THINGS

This took far longer than expected I am so sorry but I hope everyone likes it!!

[yeahiamjustalittleguy]

Thanks!! Could u do a team rancher x dsmp reader where, during the hermitcraft and empires crossover, the reader somehow ends up in either empires or hermitcraft and sees Jimmy and Tango and remembers them from double life (the three of them were soulmates)

A little bit of angst/comfort where reader doesnt want to go back to the dsmp but they have to because dream has them on a wanted poster and he would travel through worlds and destroy them just to find reader and they dont want hermitcraft or empires getting destroyed because of them

CAN I JUST SAY OKAY.... Ranchers are the love of my life. I love them so deeply. I never watched jimmys pov of anything before double life. They got a grasp on me man..

Warnings: Angst, no happy ending and mentions of DSMP which is a horror in itself lol

____________________________________________

The last thing you remembered was the stinging sensation of withering, as you hid in a closed off room in a nether fortress, trying to not die. Then there was purple, and then nothing. It didn’t explain what was happening, but it wasn’t that long since you had entered a new SMP and you knew what that felt like, so you instinctively knew that when you awoke you were somewhere else. In a new world. Truth be told, the revelation came as a welcomed surprise. The DSMP was a hard place and it had never really suited you all that well. Your soul was too soft for it, many had told you. That’s why all your friends and family had been surprised when you had accepted the invitation to the double life server. Although it was more lighthearted than the DSMP, it was still known for violence and bloodshed. You’d never tell them, but you’d give anything to leave the DSMP. You didn’t care what server had invited you, it didn’t matter what double life was, you took the invite in a heartbeat. Turns out double life had been the best experience of your life too. You’d buried the feelings of why, never telling anyone on the DSMP that you’d fallen in love. The server didn’t allow for such weakness, so you buried it all.

You’re in some kind of cave when your mind comes to. It has a bunch of things you’re not entirely sure what are, and to your surprise it also has Grian. You’d known him for a long time, which was originally the reason you had been invited to double life. That’s when you knew where you were. If Grian was here it had to be the server he usually frequented, which was hermitcraft. He was just as surprised to see you as you were to see him. “How.. Am I here?” You had asked him, puzzled. This type of cross server travel was something you’d simply never heard of. The only way to usually go to any other server was through your communicator and only by getting an invite. He walked over to hug you, smiling. You tensed, not being used to positive physical contact. When he pulled away he still had a big smile on his face. “I can’t believe you’re somehow here! I thought the rift was just between hermitcraft and Empires.” He explained, and you raised an eyebrow at his lack of a real explanation. “The rift?” You enquired.

“I accidentally created a rift between servers. I don’t really know how, but I am glad you’re here. This is cool.” He was clearly excited about it, but you were worried. “How do I get back, Grian?” You knew your disappearance would not go over well in your own world. Both because your friends and family would miss you, but also because you knew the lengths Dream would go to just to make sure you stayed chained to your own world. Everyone had their part to play in his schemes, and you were sure your disappearance would somehow ruin his plans and make him go ballistic. Grian looked sad and dejected at the prospect of you not staying, but you had to go. You knew it would only cause trouble if you didn’t. “You can go back and forth through the rift, as long as it stays open. But hey, stay for just a little bit, won’t you? Just to see the server- I could show you so many things!” Once again he seemed excited at the prospect of you staying, just a little bit. 

Maybe a few hours wouldn’t hurt. There was no way that he would notice you gone until later. He wouldn’t even have to know that you’d left. You already knew it was a yes. The temptation of a couple hours of peace and happiness was all too much, and the question had never even been real. Of course you would stay. Grian didn’t even really need to convince you, nodding your head as he grabbed you once again and unfolded his large wings to carry you out of the apparent cave you were in. 

You had fun for a bit, examining Grians base with him. He was about to move on to show what his neighbor, Mumbo, had been working on when his communicator went off a couple of times. He excused himself for a second, checking it with wide eyes. “Wait here, I have to go do something.” He said, about to take flight when you grabbed his arm in panic, surprising both of you. Grian knew you were jumpy, but not this much. He was aware of the changes that the DSMP had done to you, and you had both discussed it in double life. It was hard to deny it with Grian, he had known you before you joined. He knew the person you were before that server changed you completely. He understood why the thought of him leaving you alone was so frightening to you. “I’ll drop you off with someone you know, I promise.” He settled on, and although you were uncomfortable with the idea, you didn’t want to burden him so you nodded, as he once again picked you up to take you somewhere. 

So when he dropped you off with the nearest person, who happened to be Scar, you were even less comfortable. You’d grown to like Scar over the season you had with him but you knew he was not a person equipped to babysit you. It was no surprise that as soon as Grian left Scar first dragged you around his park, but then when that ran out of interest for him you were getting dragged all over the server. Then, somewhere along the way you lost Scar. It was bound to happen with him flying around. He couldn’t carry you like Grian could. For a while you stood still, but it didn’t look like Scar was even looking for you or backtracking. So you decided to start walking, deeply on edge. Then you spotted a structure.

It stopped you in your tracks as you had to decide between trying to get help or finding your way back. After an inner battle, you decided to approach the building. It was black with blue and purple accents, and it was quite beautiful. Everything on this server had been so stunning. Coming from the DSMP it left you speechless sometimes. The only person on the DSMP who ever made anything this substantial was Foolish, and you’d never had the time to simply appreciate his builds. Walking so you were stood right in front of it, you tried to build up the courage to explore it to find help, but you just kept having that feeling in your stomach and the inability to make your legs move. 

But you didn’t need to, as voices started to approach behind you from the treeline. It was starting to get dark out, so it made sense that someone would be coming home at this point, but your brain didn’t register anything except the fact that there were people coming for you. And in a panic, you unsheathe the sword you had borrowed from Grian, turning around quickly in a stance ready to fight as the two people become visible to you, and you to them. And they both stop in their tracks, the cheerful chattering coming to a halt at seeing you. But it’s not fear or surprise on their face, it’s faces of recognition. And the same look comes to your face, as your panic fades completely and warmth crawls up your body and into your cheeks. 

They both shout your name, running towards you, Tango embracing you first and then Jimmy enclosing you both in his arms. “T-tango, J-jimmy.” You say their names shakily, somehow against your own will. It’s like a deep hidden need or urge to say them. The things you did together, the feelings both of them drew from you, it all comes back to you right then and there. Why couldn’t you have stayed in double life forever, with those two? It was cruel, but beautiful. Something in your mind couldn’t stop you from thinking it was fate, that maybe if you were lucky, you would continue to run into them like this. That maybe something would happen, and you could have this forever. But you were not that naive.

Jimmy pulled away, but left his hands on Tangos back. Tango didn’t completely pull away, but he did pull back to grab your face in one hand, tilting it up so he could look at you. His face had a beautiful smile painted on it, but you could see that his eyes were a little wet. Looking towards Jimmy, you almost burst out laughing, seeing him fully sobbing. "Hey! Don’t laugh at me.” He said, covering his face in embarrassment and then wiping his tears away. It was honestly just.. It was a lot, and keeping your tears in yourself had been hard so you couldn’t really pick on him too much. “It was a lot today, seeing both Tango and you for the first time in a while, okay!” He explained, as Tango continued to laugh deep from within his stomach. Feeling his body again, feeling the rumble of his voice leaving his chest, it was beyond any other feeling in the world. You missed it. You had missed it so, so much.

You somehow ended up on a couch after talking for hours, Tango on his stomach against you, both of you once again trapped inside Jimmys’ arms as he laid on his side next to you. He had the longest arms, you’d learned, and so he was always left on big spoon and outer layer cuddle-pile duty. It was hard to feel bad for him, as he looked so content. If you kept playing with his hair, you were convinced you could make him fall asleep. It was something you’d have to test, to be sure. Tango wouldn’t stop turning his head to look up at you, his goofy smile constantly glued to his face. It was perfect. You don’t know which god was playing with you. Giving you this taste of heaven, when you knew it could never last forever. all you would ever get was a little taste, you could never really have the full experience. It would just leave you with a craving that would never be satisfied.

And with Grian and Scar suddenly shouting your name from somewhere outside Tangos’ base, you knew it was time. Jimmy seemed to be pulled out of his half-asleep state, and Tango followed suit, sitting up. You heard Grian calling your name again, this time closer. There was a silence as you all looked between each other, Tango and Jimmy both knowing the look in your eyes. They both knew that look all too well. From when you all lost your first life to the last one, they’d seen it. The eyebrows that pulled upwards and the eyes that glossed over. You were saying ‘I’m sorry’ again. And they knew you were going to leave. 

Desperately, Jimmy latched onto your arms. “No, don’t leave us again. Stay. Just-you can stay! You can stay for as long as I can, right? Tango? They can stay-” You cut him off, knowing you would break if you let him ramble on for any longer and also for his own sake. You knew he would just keep spiraling. “I have to go, Jimmy. Everyone from your world is onboard with you being here but.. I can’t stay. The people from my server wouldn’t..” You stopped to choose your words carefully. You didn’t want Tango and Jimmy to know. You didn’t want them to worry. They didn’t need to know what the DSMP was actually like, it would only hurt them to know. 

“They wouldn’t get it. They would.. Miss me." It wasn’t entirely true, yet not entirely false either. You’re sure Dream would miss whatever plans he had for you, and you’re sure he would tear the entire universe apart to find you. That was more fun, anyways. You don’t know what his intentions are or what plans he has for you, but you’re sure tormenting you and bringing you back on your knees is more fun to him than making a new plan. And you don’t want to test him. You know what the man is capable of. Maybe if you let him take your last two lives, as he had taken the first, you could escape. But even in death Wilbur couldn’t, so you were not hopeful in that regard. You only feared to think what your purgatory would be like. No, instead you would return home. Keep going in the hopes of once again getting to hear Jimmy and Tango laugh.

Tango was taking it well, all things considered. You could tell he was sad, but he at least understood where you were coming from. Jimmy on the other hand was just looking between you and Tango, mad at you for letting yourself leave and mad at Tango for letting you leave. But he sighed, sinking back into the couch and away from you. He looked back up at you in defeat as you heard Grian and Scar call for Tango. You leaned in, putting an ascetic and fast kiss to Jimmys’ lips before taking Tangos’ hand and walking down stairs together. You and Tango both knew that Jimmy would not be able to let you go if he went with you, and Jimmy must have known too as he abstained from following you but simply sat there with tears starting to form in his eyes. 

“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay. It was getting dark and I was worried, I knew I shouldn’t have left you with Scar.” Grian rambled as he ran towards you and hugged you as soon as you and Tango came into his vision. You looked behind him, seeing a very relieved and apologetic Scar waving at you. “I definitely don’t plan on letting Scar babysit my kids.” You said, putting up a joking demeanor to block the pain that was building up inside you. Grian let go of you, stepping back. “I’m sorry it took so long, are you ready to go?” Grian asked, and you grabbed Tangos’ hand. His eyes were glossy and slightly red, but he wasn’t crying. He must have been holding it back well, just like you were. Putting the other hand on his cheek, he copied you and laid his hand on yours and you leaned up to give him a deep and final kiss, which was the goodbye between you two before you parted. 

Grian and Scar were looking at you in surprise as you separated, starting to walk away and when they regained their composure, they followed suit silently, ready to lead you back to the rift. To most, this had just been a fun little game with the idea of soulmates. But to you and your ranchers it had been real, it had meant everything. You just hoped it would not be the last time you ever got to see them.

[theyanderespecialist]

The Doctor's Patient (Headcanon/Scenario) Yandere SCP 049 X Sick Reader

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am so so so sorry that I have been doing very few updates, seasonal allergies and sickness got me fucked up. Anyway, this one is going to be Yandere SCP 049 X Sick Reader! Enjoy this!]

(Disclaimer: SCP 049 is not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!)

(Yandere Headcanons Wtih SCP 049 X Sick Reader)

.He would want to be the one to take care of you for sure.

.He had to be the one to take care of you.

.You are his darling patient and he knows what is best for you, not those damn researchers who do not even believe in her cure.

.He would somehow get you to be his patient and you can be sure he is doing it his way.

.You are so pink in the face from your fever, it is time for some leeches!

.He would also make all your meals from scratch.

.You cannot eat anything not made by him.

.So be ready for some bland-ass French stews.

.He also loves holding you while you are sick, he needs to feel you against him.

.Yes he can control his lethal touch somewhat and really normally touches people who have the pestilence

.Speaking of the pestilence, he will die before he lets you become one of the afflicted.

.His goal is to keep you by his side always.

.He loves how helpless you are when you are sick.

.Well somewhat.

.He hates how you are more at risk.

.But he loves that you have to depend on him.

.He would be gentle yet firm with you.

.There will be none of the nonsense of you not taking your medicine (Which is a mystery sludge he makes from scratch)

.He is very protective of you, anyone that tries to get to close to you.

.Well they will be killed with that lethal touch.

.If you had a partner, they were the first ones to face his lethal touch.

.He did not bother to cure them. They were unworthy of his cure. They were the ones to mist likely make you sick.

.He would make you like him, and you will never ever leave him.

.He is also easily jealous.

.He is the type of yandere with you so sick that he has to be glued to your side and make sure you are taken care of at all times.

.He is the type of yandere to hover for sure.

.If the leeches do not work he may be forced to use even less savory methods.

.If you lash out at him? Well, that may just be hysteria!

.And the perfect method for hysteria was to give his dear patient a little intimate physical~

.He promises that he will always be there for you in sickness and in health. For better or for worse, Even death will not make you part~

(Now Onto the Scenario~~~ Hope you enjoy this!)

(SCP 049) (Trust Me, Darling… I Am YOUR Doctor~)

(SCP 049's POV)

She was so sick, I could see how the fever was coursing through her as she interviewed me. I hate that I cannot just take her in my arms and take care of her. I was growing more agitated that I could not take care of her. She has another coughing fit into her elbow and that is when I had enough. I stood up and pulled her into my arms.

The guard stared in horror and told me to let go of her. I simply touched him and he died. She struggles in my arms and I click my tongue. She is being so stubborn.

"Enough, (Name)." I scold. "I am putting you to bed!"

I carry her to my bed, she is asking so many questions. "How! How are you able to touch me!?" She demands.

"I will explain, but right now in bed," I order and tuck her into my bed. I see that she is going to be stubborn so I pull out my medical bag. "Do not worry my dear. I will give you something to sleep."

"NO! LET ME GO!" She bellows the sickness must be going to her brain! I must act fast.

I grab out the vial and syringe. I straddled her chest. Her arms were pinned between her body and my legs.

I fill the syringe, she stares in horror at the black liquid in it. "Normally you would take this orally," I tell her. "But this needs to work much faster."

"SCP 049! Please Don't!" She begs squirming the best she can.

I hold her head still stroking her hair. "Do not worry, My Darling. You can Trust me, I am a doctor~ Your doctor~" I tell her and inject it into her neck.

She lets out a howl of pain. I coo to her and stroke her hair. Soon her eyes start to droop and I climb under the covers with her. Pulling her to my chest.

I will take care of her, I always will. She is, My Darling Patient~ ALL MINE~

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS FINALLY UPDATED SOMETHING!!! This is done, I hope that you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy all of my sexy muffins!]

[impossible-rat-babies]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

i got tagged by @lilas! ty friend! im gonna tag (sorry for possible double tagging): @thevikingwoman, @hythlodaes, @lavampira, @consulaaris, @gefiltefished, @scionshtola, @starrypawz and anyone else!

a lot of these are from unfinished wips w/o context, im so sorry

1. “Nay, I should have spoken my mind soon after arriving Slitherbough. Mistaken as you were to my nature upon us reuniting, I would not so easily cast aside that which you beheld.” They pause, a bitter smile coming to their lips. “A brilliant soul, I have been called before— nomenclature befitting Hydaelyn’s Chosen. And yet it is not Her light which eats away at me now.”

2. “I care in the loneliness that stood before me in the place beyond the stars. How it looked down at me and I wondered how I had not yet memorized its face. How it asked me if this would be the last time I would gaze upon its face, and if the ache between my ribs would leave me.”

3. Eyrie pauses, worrying their lip. “Pity—pity and sorrow ‘twas what I felt most keenly. Not truly alive, but never allowed to die. A most vile fate for a once great wyrm of the first brood.”

4. “Keeping yourself busy are you?” Alisiae asks, shutting the door behind her. They hold up the book idly, a sigh escaping their lips.

“T’was Krile’s idea. A measure put in place should my vision stagnate at this state, or deteriorate further.”

5. “I know, Alisaie.” They whisper softly, reaching out again to take her hands. Tinged with barely there warmth and stiff fingers as their hold her hands tight. “I know I am dying. I can feel it—beneath my chest, next to my heart. ‘Tis so very dark and cold there.”

“Then why?” She asks, voice tender in her throat. Fingers tensing in their gentle hold. “Why keep telling us it is going to be okay?”

“I would not have us give into grief.” They reply.

“Tis for the dead we grieve, not for the living. With the ache in my chest comes fear, but I would not give up hope. I would not see sorrow rob us of what time we have left. I would not see you mourn just yet.”

6. “Tis easy to peer from the outside in and question why your grandfather gave his life unto a people so fit to squabble and worry naught of any greater threat than that beyond their own borders. Your anger was not unfounded, Alisaie.”

“Still…I should have known better. What would grandfather have had to say?”

Eyrie grins, inclining their head towards her. “Oh something important I would imagine—he was oft given to providing sage advice…if asked or not.”

7. They look up at the sky stretching so far above—the distant twinkling of the stars.

“Ignorant I was to the horrors that would follow. All of my many long years in the wood had made me blind. To what one had to endure—what one would be asked to do; what I have done to my fellow man. There came a time when I stopped and looked back to see myself very far from the intentions that first compelled my feet to walk forward. And there would be no returning.”

8. “I can storm the tower, Y’shtola. ‘Tis simply…”

They rub their hands together, eyes narrowing.

“I do not trust my hands. Alphinaud tended to some of my hurts, but I was more afraid of his touch. Afraid of my own hands should he have found a bruise too tender or raw; what horrors a simple touch would invite into my head. If i had grabbed his wrist in my terror and broken it…how could I forgive myself for that? For hurting him?”

9. They pause, letting the words sink in as the boy deflates, working his lips in ill disguised frustration.

“Alphinaud.” They break the heavy silence looming above them. “I am not a sword to point at the enemies of Eorzea, or the Scions. I am not a soldier to be ordered about—told of my singular duty and thus committed to the cause without fear. Without despair or anxiety. Standing as a shield before the plight of a helpless world, begging for a hero to lead her to a new path. There is resentment there, Alphinaud—I will not lie. I love Eorzea.”

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

An fix on the average day in the office as a private eye for Spider Noir?

First of all, it's been over three months. I am so so sorry. BUT I hope my 5k oneshot that greatly spiralled away from your og prompt makes up for it haha :)

TW for a bit of body horror, VERY brief mentions of period-typical racism and also some brief Spider God-related ickiness

Light Up Your Insides (Not Today)

The little bell at the door chimed and Peter looked up from his lunch to see a woman entering. She was maybe middle-aged, had brown skin, dark hair and a look of deep worry on her face.

Peter sat up straighter behind his desk pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Are you--Peter Parker?" the woman asked.

Peter nodded. "That's me. Please take a seat. How can I help you?"

The woman breathed out in relief, but the worry didn't ease up yet. With only a moment's hesitation, she sat down on the chair opposite of him, but she didn't lean back.

"Mr Parker, I need your help. They say you're a good dick, and..."

She trailed off, but Peter could imagine the rest.

"My daughter, she's gone missing. The police wouldn't help me, and the--others I've asked said they were too busy, there's more important--"

Peter nodded. The woman didn't look like she could pay well, which would put others in his profession off. The coppers didn't really care, ever. And it likely wasn't helping that she was African American, either. The woman herself still looked like she was preparing for rejection--but luckily for her, Peter wasn't known for turning anyone away.

"Please tell me more about this case, Mrs...?"

"Johnson."

"Johnson. Do you want a tea? Coffee?"

Mrs Johnson shook her head. "No, thank you."

That was just as well. Peter wasn't sure if he even had tea around and he still wasn't a huge fan of sharing his coffee--not that she needed to know that.

Peter took up a pencil and a sheet of paper. "Then please tell me of your troubles, Mrs Johnson."

Mrs Johnson took in a deep, shaky breath. "It's--my daughter. Flora. She--she doesn't usually run off, she's never done it before, but--it's been two days..."

Against Peter's best attempts, he'd never quite been able to shake the images from that lab back on Ellis Island, even though it had been years. The apple had settled a lot, since then; the criminals weren't as bad anymore, not every last person with any kind of authority was corrupt and the Spider wasn't needed even nearly as much as back then. But he still couldn't help that very first thought when he heard of a black girl gone missing. New York was anything but safe, not really, especially for coloured people.

Peter did his best to keep his calm demeanour, if only because the last thing Mrs Johnson needed was even more stress. "Please tell me what exactly happened in as much detail as possible."

Mrs Johnson took another shaky breath, and Peter did his best to write along.

They had been on their way home along Lexington Avenue when Mrs Johnson had first lost sight of her daughter. First she thought Flora had simply seen something interesting and would return in a minute. But that hadn't happened.

Mrs Johnson had spent about half an hour searching the entire area before returning home in the hopes that maybe Flora had gone there on her own--to no avail. A few hours after Flora's disappearance, she had contacted the police, only to be turned away.

It had been a day by now, her husband and neighbours all aiding in her search, and Mrs Johnson had gone to the last place she had heard of for proper help: in other news, Peter.

Peter had seen lots of gruesome things in his life, and while very few of those involved children, they were the first thing to come to his mind. Especially Ellis Island. It had been a decade, by now, but...

Still, he put on his most serious yet calming expression.

"Lexington Avenue?" he asked.

Mrs Johnson nodded and sniffled. Peter handed her a tissue, but she waved him off and pulled out her own.

"I'll begin the search immediately. I will contact you if I have any more questions or when I find Flora."

Mrs Johnson nodded and swallowed. Then she set her jaw and stood up. "Thank you, Mr Parker."

"Don't thank me yet," Peter said with the slightest hint of a smile, despite the growing worry curling in his chest, and walked her to the door.

He only returned to get his coat and notepad before following right after--he had no time to lose.

-----

Lexington Avenue was bustling at this time of day. Peter looked around.

He was standing in the exact same place Mrs Johnson had described when she had noticed Flora missing.

There were no visible signs, of course not. How might a child go missing, though, and why?

Children were curious. She could have easily wandered off and gotten lost. And then what?

Peter should probably give the closest police station a visit before anything else. But since he was here, he might as well question some of the people who might have seen anything. Shop owners, the people at Pete's Tavern just a bit down the road--it was worth a shot, at least.

The shops all turned out to be failures. Peter pushed open the door to the bar--one last stop before he paid the coppers a visit.

There weren't many people inside at this time of day, but Peter could hear a few hushed conversations. Two men were at the bar, one sitting on a stool, the other wiping a glass down. They went silent the moment Peter entered, eyeing him closely.

Peter knew whom to ask first of all.

"Excuse me," Peter said, striding over to them with the most confidence he could put into his steps, stopping just a bit closer to them than would have been polite. "Where you here yesterday, too?"

"Why are you asking?" the man sitting at the bar demanded.

"Yeah," the man behind it said.

"I'm looking for a girl. About this tall, nine, African American, you seen her?"

The men exchanged a look. It was only for a second, but Peter saw it anyways.

"No," the sitting man said.

"Maybe," the bartender said.

Interesting. Most interesting.

Peter kept his face straight and stared at them.

Finally, the bartender sighed and extended his hand. "Pete Baines. I own the place."

Peter shook it. "Peter Parker."

Pete Baines grinned widely, his stance opening visibly, while the other man grumbled into his drink and half turned away.

"Ah, another Pete! Well then, perhaps I can help you. What did you want again?"

Either Pete Baines was very fond of people sharing his name, or he was a very good actor and dangerous, and be it only because he knew something he didn't want to tell.

Peter returned the smile, albeit slightly strained. "A black girl. Nine years, curly hair, yesterday around noon."

Pete Baines scratched his head. "Well, no, doesn't really ring a bell. Does it, Will?"

Will made a sound akin to a negative, without ever turning.

"Are you sure?" Peter needled. "Her mother was sure she'd seen her wander around here. Can I have a look around at least?"

Will snarled another incomprehensible thing. Pete Baines made it a show of thinking. "Well, no. We don't really get little girls here, now do we, Will? No, I'd have noticed. Sure I'll show a fellow Pete around though, eh?"

Wonderful. Now Peter just had to watch out which parts Pete Baines tried to keep him away from and go there.

Unfortunately, Pete Baines didn't try to keep Peter away from anywhere. Peter was allowed to freely sniff around the entire bar room, including behind the bar. He listened closely to his steps, but even with his enhanced hearing, nothing sounded hollow. They went to the backrooms, too. Will looked promisingly critical at this, but... nothing.

Nothing.

Peter firmly set his jaw and tried not to let his irritation show, even as the back office and several storage rooms turned out to be entirely clean, at least as far as Peter could tell. And he had gotten good at recognising these kinds of things.

And then. And then. Finally.

It was just a broom closet. It was cramped, but not as dusty as Peter would have expected. And, most importantly, Pete Baines moved into the way. It was the first room he entered before Peter, and he put himself right in front of a crate.

Wonderful. Now, should Peter let him know that he knew...?

Who was he kidding. He didn't have any time to dawdle. He needed to find Flora.

"Let me see that," he demanded.

Pete Baines furrowed his brows, but his smile didn't waver. "Yes, of course. Why?"

Peter ignored him and knelt down besides the crate. The lid was brandished with an odd symbol; Peter had the feeling that he'd seen it before somewhere.

The crate itself was empty, save for a thick layer of dust inside.

Dammit.

Dammit.

Peter breathed out slowly and quietly. Then he pulled out his camera and took a picture--just in case. It would take a while to develop these photos, but he could check the library for anything with that symbol later.

Then again, he didn't have time. In the case of missing people--especially children--he couldn't wait for even one second.

"Well, thank you," Peter said and straightened his coat.

Pete Baines sent him another smile, but it was thinner than before. "I hope you find what you're looking for, pally."

Peter just nodded. He strode right past Pete Baines and back outside; a goodbye was probably overrated by now.

Pete Baines said nothing. But when Peter passed through the actual bar again, Will glared at him well until he was gone--and apparently it was even enough to set off Peter's spider sense.

-----

Peter headed for the library next. Developing the film would take too long--longer than he was willing to wait, anyways. He had been too late too often. Way too often. Not this time, not again.

Once at the library, he... had a problem. Where to start looking?

He found a librarian and a pencil to sketch the symbol to the best of his abilities.

"This might have been an old sigil," she told him and led him down the rows of shelves. "If you find it, I'd love to hear--where did you come across it, anyway?"

Peter shrugged. "Just an old crate in a pub somewhere." He took the proffered book. "Thank you."

Then he found a quiet corner to read the brick of a book that was this lexicon of old gods and hoped that it wouldn't be a huge waste of time.

The book was old. And bulky. Even flipping through every page quickly, only glancing at the sigils, he was making very little progress. Of course, some sigils were close to his drawing and he couldn't rule them out, so he also had to properly read four greatly varying articles and copy the most important details into his notebook.

There was a child missing. He should be doing something, something--

Peter flipped another page and this was it.

This was the sigil from that crate.

Florecae. Goddess of flowers, growth and health.

He had heard that name before. He knew he'd heard that name before. But where...?

Of course. Of course. He was a damn twit. He could have known that where sigils and Gods were involved, the Legion of Darkness was his best bet.

And the chances were good that they still had their base in that building down at the docks...

Maybe it was time for Peter to get out the suit once again. Lack of time certainly called for more drastic measures like that.

If he was lucky (and hadn't entirely unlearned how to swing), he might even make it into his suit and to the docks within half an hour.

-----

The Legion of Darkness was, for lack of a better description, a joke.

Peter had run into them before, years ago, when the Spider was still needed. They were neither a lot of people, nor very threatening. Their intentions had always been on par with the name, though--and whether they did or did not succeed in raising an ancient God was irrelevant with a child's life in danger.

The rhythm of swinging past the buildings still came easy to Peter, even though he had changed a lot. He'd become a private dick, and gotten a cat, and let the Spider disappear, and even the Spider God left him alone most of the time. Even the nightmares had gotten fewer.

And yet, the moment that mask hid his face and his coat billowed in the wind as he rushed past the highest of buildings, so far above the street, it was as if all these years of living a relatively normal life didn't matter anymore. His movements were as fluid as back then, despite the age difference. His joints bent too far from one swing to the next, and the apple's smell was unusually sharp. This high up, hardly anything could harm him.

He was the Spider, and if anyone dared to touch that little girl, they were going to regret it.

Along with a slightly saltier, tangy scent in the air, the docks came into view. Peter returned to the solid rooftops, running and jumping too easily and too far for a human.

One of these buildings now must have been the one. No, this one. He was standing on it.

He set his hands down and crawled down the side of the building, but from the looks of it, none of the windows were open. Well, that was... not ideal.

Peter looked at the window below him. The room behind it was dark and seemingly empty. Ah, well, he already knew his spider-sense was still sharp.

He drew his arm back and smashed the glass. Without hesitation, he swung inside right after the shards and crouched down inside the room.

It was empty, as expected, but otherwise, too, entirely bare. No furniture, no proper floor, not even a single proper lamp.

That didn't matter. He was here to find out where the girl was being kept.

The door of the room stood open. The hallway past it was equally deserted and dark. The closer he came to said door, the stronger his spider-sense prickled in the back of his neck. There was no imminent, immediate danger, but something here was very, very wrong.

Peter laid one hand onto the handle of his gun and scanned the hallway in both directions, before turning left. His steps were silent, but his breath sounded louder for it.

He couldn't risk being noticed, not before he got what he came for.

All the rooms setting off from the hallway appeared silent even to Peter's enhanced senses. Had the Legion relocated...? No, they still had their name written on the front door, in fresh paint. (Peter honestly wasn't sure what they were trying to achieve with that, but he wasn't complaining. If it wasn't a trap--but he'd notice in time. Hopefully.)

Okay. He was still on the top floor. He'd check out the floors below and then search more thoroughly--that was probably the fastest option.

Peter had barely reached the first landing when he heard a commotion.

"No, no! I don't want to!" a girl shrieked.

"But Flora is such a pretty name. You'd be just perfect--"

Peter had no intentions of finding out who was talking or what the girl was perfect for. He jumped to the ceiling, where people wouldn't aim first of all when drilling and crawled after those voices. He didn't like not having his guns in hand, but he couldn't risk shooting before locating Flora.

"Come on," the adult voice coaxed, possibly a woman. "Be a good little girl and--"

The door wasn't locked, so Peter threw it open and fired his webs by instinct alone.

A split-second later, he could properly make out the scene: the room had been two rooms, the wall between them crudely brought down. Right in the middle, someone had drawn Florecae's sigil with white paint and in the centre of said sigil--

"Let go of me!" Flora cried out, tears spilling down her face, her kinky hair in wild disarray.

A woman stood half bent over her. She had greenish-white skin, bright hair and--

A sharp pang shot through Peter's skull and he dropped down onto the floor. He could still feel the bullet zipping past him but he turned mid-fall and threw webbing right back. Yelling started up and more guns were being fired.

Peter had to end this, fast, before Flora got hit by a stray bullet. It was too easy to get back into the flow of evading bullets based on instinct alone. It was maybe ten goons, likely members of the Legion of Darkness. Their aim hadn't gotten all that much better. Duck, run, jump--and with a kick to the jaw, the goon crumpled to the ground. Jump, run along the ceiling, shoot--another one down for the count. The energy of the fight was cursing through Peter's limbs, heightening his senses and the smell of gun powder. It had been a while since he'd been able to let loose, let his spidery side take over and ruthlessly beat a bunch of brunos to pulp, and it almost felt good. They were done for quickly.

Peter dropped back onto even ground and turned towards Flora and the woman.

Both were watching him. Flora was still crying, hugging herself.

The woman tilted her head. A smile, too wide for a human mouth, with too many needle-sharp teeth, greeted Peter. Her eyes were bright blue like the sky on an exceptionally clear day and sparkling almost as warmly as the sun. She had too many of them.

"See?" the woman asked with a voice that wasn't very loud anymore at all, but piercing right through Peter's head. "This is a totem. Does it look sad to you?"

Peter grit his teeth. The voice wasn't just piercing, it was literally inside his head--she hadn't spoken on a physical plane. And the woman wasn't even anything close to a woman. Not a human altered by queer magic--no, she was Florecae herself.

Don't listen to her, Peter tried to say, but his voice wouldn't carry, no sound crossing his lips. He couldn't move. He looked down, only to see colourful, blooming vines creeping up his legs. Why hadn't his spider-sense warned him? How hadn't he noticed--

Focus. He needed to focus.

Flora, listen to me. Your mother asked me to search for you. I'll get you out of here, I promise, just don't listen to her. Whatever she wants you to do, don't.

Peter's words stayed silent, but Flora suddenly looked up, directly at him, as if she'd heard him anyways.

"Don't bother," Florecae said, her eyes blazing until her features were unrecognisable beyond the light. It made his eyes water to look at her any longer. Was she getting stronger...?

The light travelled from her face down her torso, illuminating more and more of the room in what might have been sunlight, hadn't it been so damn bright. Florecae's feet lifted from the ground, thick vines and varieties of flowers spreading from where she had stood.

"You are too late, Spider," Florecae exclaimed and her voice came from everywhere around and echoed inside Peter's skull painfully. His entire body was on fire, whether because of her presence or his own spider-sense going nuts, he couldn't tell. "She will be my totem, my sacrifice to walk this plane once more. Surrender now, or be destroyed."

Peter crouched down and began to undo his laces, his coat falling just right to hide it from sight--though a goddess might see regardless. Who knew? His direct personal experience with gods was limited, and Florecae was nothing like the fever dream of getting his powers. They weren't very alike, neither in manner nor appearance. Regardless, Peter wouldn't let anyone else become a God's totem; nobody deserved to go through that hell, least of all a child.

He made eye-contact with the girl. "Run!" he yelled, and the feeling of his words rippling across a surreal, godly plane of existence instead of his physical world made him want to throw up.

Flora's eyes were wide with panic as she shook her head frantically. "If I leave the circle, I'll die!" she yelled back between sobs.

Was this really...?

Peter looked at the ground more closely. He had come inside the sigil without even noticing, and the flowers and plants were restricted to exactly that sigil. Florecae wasn't able to properly touch their physical world, not yet, not without a totem. That meant she could still be stopped. If Peter could just get Flora outside of that sigil without killing her...

A thousand glass shards were piercing through Peter's brain and he could hardly contain a scream as his vision went white. Fire raced down his limbs, more glass shards lining his lung with every half-aborted breath. He could feel his teeth shifting in his mouth, could feel the fangs he had sanded down years ago grow back, lined with venom. His head pulsated. Peter's fingers curled into claws.

When he opened his eyes, they weren't his own anymore. They weren't his human eyes at all, but eight eyes that weren't tangible on this plane, lent by the very thing that still let him wake up screaming regularly. The Spider God's terrifying presence pressed down on Peter's frail, human body, both from inside and out. It would tear him apart--and stitch him back together, mercilessly.

The God's eyes could see Florecae. They could see the blinding silhouette of the physical world and her true, mind-tearing form wherever it was that Gods resided. Peter's entire being ached to recoil, hide away in a dark corner, get away before the mere sight could burn him to ashes. His eyes were watering and his mask clung to his face like a second skin, and still the Spider God's presence tore through his organs. Some of the sigil glowed even around the Goddess's true form.

Flora didn't.

Peter gasped for a breath that wouldn't come and the Spider God's presence left him as suddenly as it had come.

He leapt forwards. His boots were still held firmly in place by vines and the like, but they slipped off his feet and he sprinted towards the Goddess, towards Flora. Flora opened her mouth to a silent scream and Peter reached her, reached for her torso and pressed her against his own body as he continued to run.

Flora was small and light. She clung to Peter's arm as he adjusted her in his arms to hold her properly.

A mind-splitting screech echoed through his ears until he thought his skull would dissolve into nothingness. One more leap and they would be outside of that huge sigil--but the air seemed to thicken, slowing Peter's movements, dragging them back in.

No. He wouldn't let it. He wouldn't let anything happen to the girl, he wouldn't let Florecae win, not this time, not ever.

Peter's free hand shot out and the web attached to the wall of the room. He yanked, and they were sent flying from that choke-hold.

Air flooded Peter's lungs. Flora was still held in his arms, head buried against his neck, sobbing, alive.

He didn't have any time to waste.

"Hold on tight," he muttered as he skidded into the hallway. From behind, he could hear the sound of shattering glass. Peter ran back up the stairs where he'd come from. Somewhere below he could hear yelling, quick steps, but they were just too far away to be a danger. He found the room he had entered through and crawled right back out, into the grey-ish, natural daylight of New York City.

One roof further, Peter dared to stop. He set Flora down carefully. She looked up at him with red eyes. She didn't seem to have any bruises or other external injuries, but he'd have to check again later. For now, he still had to make sure Florecae wouldn't come after them.

"Wait here," he told Flora, even as everything inside him protested that he couldn't leave her alone, not even for a second.

Thankfully, he didn't have to move far to see that whatever had happened in there had had... consequences. He and Flora hadn't left a second too early.

The second floor from the top was on fire. The flames were licking higher and higher, and Peter could hear faint screams from inside.

Good.

He knew the only people inside had to be willing members of the Legion of Darkness. They had kidnapped a child. They got what was coming for them. Whether they got out or burned to death--it was none of Peter's business.

He turned back to Flora. She was sniffling and hugging herself, but she was no longer actively crying.

"Who are you?" she asked very, very quietly.

Peter heard her perfectly well. He crouched down to meet her eye to eye. "They called me the Spider," he said.

"The Spider hasn't been seen for years, mum says."

He nodded. "That's because it hasn't been needed that much. Listen, Flora. I'll bring you back home, like I promised, but I need you to keep a secret. Can you do that?"

She swallowed, but nodded.

Peter hesitated. "Where I'll bring you first... I usually don't want anyone to know who I am. You can't ever tell anyone."

"I won't," she said, louder this time, apparently intrigued by such a well-kept mystery.

"Okay. I'll get you to my office the fastest way I can. Do you think you can hold on to me while I swing?"

Flora smiled, barely, and very carefully, but it was probably as close to enthusiasm as she could get after being kidnapped and almost becoming a totem. Peter had her climb onto his back and hold on tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, which wasn't great for him but at least secure for her. Carefully, he crawled a little along the side of the building they were on, but Flora held on tight, and he could deal with her weight--it was barely anything.

Peter swung back home slower than usual. But the child on his back thoroughly seemed to enjoy herself, shrieking as the wind rushed past them.

"We're so high!" she yelled right into Peter's ear at some point, and she still sounded a little scared, but most of all... she sounded excited.

She would recover. She would be able to go back to her life, eventually.

Peter ended it all in a back alley close to his office. He set his feet back on the ground and pulled off his mask, suddenly awfully aware that he had left his boots behind. They had been good boots. Really good boots. And damn expensive, too. Well, after that fire...

"Your hair is really fluffy," Flora said suddenly, still holding on tightly.

She was alright. She was alive. She was safe. That was worth a pair of boots.

Once back inside his office, Peter deposited Flora on his office chair behind the desk, which she immediately began exploring, and rang Mrs Johnson. The only response to his news was a choked sob and and the end of said call, but he had hadn't expected much else.

"You mum will be here in a moment," Peter said. "Remember, I'm just your friendly neighbourhood dick. Don't got no powers, just a good nose for conspiracies."

Flora nodded seriously. "The Spider found me and brought me here. And left."

Peter made himself smile a little. He was tired and sore. He hadn't been in a fight that bad in quite a while, and the Spider God's sudden appearance hadn't helped things.

"She said you're a totem," Flora said suddenly. "Does that mean someone gave you to a God?"

Peter couldn't help a small grimace. "It was... no, not really. A spider bit me, a venomous one. But instead of dying--"

He didn't want to think about it, all the vivid details that wouldn't ever stop haunting him as long as he lived.

"What's it like? Who's your god?"

Peter began sifting through some old papers, if only to have his hands moving. "The Spider God gave me my powers, but it also... well, it's... I've been able to help people. But it's not nice. If you can help it, stay far away from gods."

"No, I definitely want to see more of them now," Flora drawled in a surprising burst of sarcasm.

Peter chuckled. "Let me just get you some city juice and then we make sure you're not hurt, okay?"

Flora hesitated. "Don't leave."

"I won't."

-----

Mrs Johnson didn't even bother with knocking, and Peter couldn't fault her for it. She immediately rushed towards Flora and scooped her up into a tight hug. Flora buried her face in her mother's chest.

Mrs Johnson looked up again after a moment; only her eyes were a little shiny. She tried to smile at Peter. "How can I ever--"

"It's quite alright," Peter cut her off, "as long as you and your daughter are safe." He looked at them. "I don't need money, either," he decided on a whim. He could get by well enough already.

"If you ever need anything, Mr Parker, if it's within my power..."

He nodded. "The most you can do is stay safe, Mrs Johnson. Please."

She inclined her head. "You are a good man. Thank you."

Peter almost wanted to scoff, but he made himself smile instead.

"The Spider saved me!" Flora exclaimed suddenly, just as Mrs Johnson turned to leave.

"Oh? Did he?"

"Uh-huh. He wasn't so scary." The girl nodded and looked over her mother's shoulder right at Peter.

He winked and put a finger against his lips.

She almost giggled and returned the motion.

The girl was safe now.

But Peter would go out this night again, despite his tiredness, and hunt down whatever was left of the Legion of Darkness.

He may have gotten a little inactive, but whoever messed with children would still have to answer to him.

----------

I hope you enjoyed, even though some parts may have been a bit rushed! I did get it out within the same year you asked lmao. Thanks for the prompt, anon. I sincerely hope you see and enjoy this.

[vermillionbun]

A silent promise

    I apologize for taking so long, I hit a bit of a writers block -v-’’’ I also apologize to the people who commented about wanting to be added to the taglist. For whatever reason tumblr doesn’t let me comment on anyone's posts, including mine. Also, I’m open to requests if anyone is interested, but please, if you have a request write as an ask, so I can respond. Hope you enjoy! ^^

Warnings: brief mention of sex trafficking and fighting rings, I promise the end is fluff

<------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->

Going into your room, you expect to see a small black and green cat tangled in your sheets again, but to your surprise there’s a relatively young man with black hair and green at the tips covered with your sheets, but there were two things that stood out to you. The first were his eyes. Glowing amber eyes staring at you, a red eye-liner lining his eyelids. Eyes you most definitely couldn’t mistake. At first it would seem unbelievable, but your gut screamed that that was the kitten you saved. That was Xiao. And even if you didn’t listen to your gut, the cat ears on his head and tail popping out from under the sheets most definitely convinced you.

Both of you stood frozen still, staring at each other, an awkward silence enveloping you two. It was obvious neither of you expected for this to happen.

Gathering all the courage at the moment, you decide to confirm your suspicions. “Umm, Xiao? Is that you?...”. Hesitance was evident in your voice. It is quite a bold statement to assume the person laying in your bed is the cat you were nursing to health. And it seems he knew that too.

With a small and stiff nod, your assumptions were confirmed. Silence, again. Neither of you knew what to do. 

“I hope it doesn’t come off as rude, but what’s going on?”. His ears twitch at your voice and his gaze shifts to the side. He seemed… embarrassed? “Well, as you already know, you saved me from bleeding to death, to which I owe you my gratitude. It seems that the doctors you took me to didn’t figure out exactly what I am and assumed that I’m just a regular cat”. 

Curiosity taking over, you cut him off. “Wait, if not a cat then what are you?”. A look of annoyance flashes in his eyes, before resuming to talk. “I’m what you humans call a catboy. We can choose between a cat form and a more human form, albeit the cat ears and tail. We prefer to stay as cats for… safety precaution, to put it simply. It usually takes us years of building trust with a human to show them our more human form, but there are always exceptions such as these”. 

The “safety precaution” bit both confused and concerned you. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean by “safety precautions”?”. Xiao’s body tenses up, tail slowly curling around him and ears lowering as he gives you a panicked look. You also tense up at that. ‘Oh no, I said something wrong didn’t I’.

“I-it’s alright! You don’t need to.. an.. swer…”. Realization quickly dawned on you, a look of worry and horror crawling up your face. It has been circulating recently around the internet about underground sex trafficking and fighting rings with half human half animal creatures, with half dog and half cat being the most common. The police have been busting a lot of those rings, saving many of those like Xiao, but they can only do so much. It isn’t easy to find the rings in the first place. There’s a couple of shelters where volunteers help take care and find a home to the poor beings and you were planning to see if you could take one and give them a home, a place where they don’t have to fear for their lives or do… inappropriate activities to hopefully get fed and avoid further abuse. At least that was the plan, but it seems like fate decided to set you up with a catboy a bit earlier than expected.

“Achem, sooo… You were telling me how we ended up in this situation?”. Thankful to you not expanding on the previous topic, Xiao relaxes a bit. “Yes, as I was saying, the doctors failed to recognize what I am and in turn didn’t inform you. When catboys are in a frail state we remain in the last form we took, since we don’t have enough energy to switch. In my case I last turned into a cat and stayed as such until today. I was feeling better than previously, so I wanted to test out if I could transform if a need for it arose, but it seems I didn’t account for the time and you walked in on me like… this.” He pulled the covers towards him a bit more, tightening his grip on them.

“I see, but, why’re you wrapped in my blanket like burrito?”. Xiao’s face went beet red, stuttering over his words. “W-well, one downside when it comes to transforming is that the clothes I wear when I’m in half human form don’t, ummm…” He was throwing you side-glances, hoping you’d catch on to what he meant, which you did. “O-oh! I-umm, I can let you borrow a t-shirt and shorts if you’d like?”. An almost inaudible ‘yes please’ left his lips as he buried his face beneath the blanket.

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

You were now sitting in your living room, trying to calm yourself down from what transpired minutes ago. Your face was still warm, but at least it wasn’t overheating, so that’s good. Faint footsteps alerted you of Xiao entering the living room.

Looking up, you saw the catboy standing still next to the wall, tail moving slightly as he looked everywhere, but you. He was wearing a gray t-shirt and black shorts, both baggy on him, if the collar being lower than it should be and the elastic on the shorts being tied tighter than normal say anything. He also seemed a bit uncomfortable, probably due to his tail having to go over the back instead of there being a hole like the clothing made specifically for catboys you’ve seen.

“What now?”. That grabbed Xiao’s attention, his eyes shifting to look at you, a bit of panic showing in them if you looked at them carefully. “What do you mean?” Your eyebrows crease, small amounts of worry evident in your features. “Well, if you were just a cat I would’ve probably taken you to a local shelter, but you aren’t, so that’s out of the plan. Well, not really, there is a catboy shelter not that far from here-” The sound of a rip stopped your musings. Xiao’s hands were shaking, eye’s blown wide with fear swirling in them. His hands were gripping onto the pant of his shorts, his claws easily ripping through the fabric from too much pressure.

“Or you could stay with me, if you wish”. His head and ears snapped towards you, hope filling his now on the verge of tears eyes. “Really? I can? Are you sure I’m not gonna be too much of a burden-”. “Xiao.” He shuts up, nervously waiting for you to say something. And say something you did. “I’m more than sure. You aren’t and never will be a burden. I was going to look for a companion soon anyways”.

Xiao lunges at you, catching you by surprise. He buries his head in the crooks of your shoulder as a warm liquid starts trickling down your shoulder and soaking your shirt. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you”. Repeated whispers of ‘thank you’ came from Xiao, as his trembling hands clung to you.

You wrap your arms around him, engulfing him with warmth Xiao doesn’t remember feeling. He presses his body even closer to yours as he continues to cry, little hiccups appearing from time to time. Looking down at the catboy in your arms, a small smile creeps up your face as you begin to run your hand through his hair. ‘I promise you Xiao. I promise that you’ll never have to go through the horrendous experiences you’ve endured ever again. Not while you're with me’.

Laying in each others’s comforting embrace, you continue to pet his head as a silent promise was made and your smile grew at the thought of what the future holds.

<------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->

Taglist: @vault-of-reblogs @sweet-almonds @venyan @traumamakesmefunnier @nillajhayne @apyrose @crowbird @reisinnie

[americanwh0resstuff]

-Good Side In-

Blaine DeBeers

(Human) Blaine DeBeers x reader one shot

Word count: 1,191

Kinda fluff ☁️ smut ❤️‍🔥

little bit of Blaine lore! Half boyfriend Blaine is back!!! Some more fluffy smut of human Blaine not knowing how to be in a healthy relationship works, trying his best to be affectionate...

-Good side in-

'I put up a fight, it's a light hit

I turned my good side in'

It was 10pm on a Friday night and Blaine and I had already gotten back to my apartment, now laying in comfy pjs and eating icecream while watching crappy horror movies. Earlier tonight we went on a date night to the local pub, but we soon realised that the loud music and chattering was too much. I guess my party girls days are truly already over...

We left after one drink and decided to spend the rest of the evening at home.

———

Home was a weird word for Blaine, he had always felt that it was more than just a house with his stuff in it, it was a feeling, or a place, he just hadn't found it yet.

He never had the best home life, an absent father and a dead mother, the only person around was his relentless nanny, which was somehow worse than being alone.

He had a few vague good memories, memories of his mother taking him to the park, holding him when he couldn't sleep, comforting him after his dad's outbursts. He was only 6 when she died, her face now a blank slate, all he could remember was her voice, and even that was becoming quieter and quieter each day.

His father was never a coddler, he told Blaine right from the start that she took her own life, simply explaining that she was ashamed to have a son like him, and that he drove her too it.

Sadly Blaine believed him, until he was about 13 years old, when he realised that it was most likely his dads doing.

From then on he never really felt safe, not wanting to call anywhere home, constantly looking over his shoulder, not trusting anyone.

That is until (Y/n) came into his life, the way she looked at him, not passed him, the way she listened to every word he spoke, actually interested and not just using him for his money. But nothing compared to her smile, that was home.

Blaine looked down at (y/n) the way she lay her head on his chest, her hand wrapped around his, this was safety, not just for him, but the way she felt safe with him, gave him pride and warmth he had never felt before...

———

I looked up at Blaine, smiling at him, he was obviously deep in thought, the way his eyebrows furrowed every so often, and how his eyes looked passed the television, he looked gorgeous, although he didn't take well to my compliments, as cocky as he was.

I pushed myself up, turning to face him. Still in his trance, i leaned in and kissed him, instantly making him smile.

"Why don't we go take a shower and get into bed?" i asked while smirking softly.

That seemed to snap him out of it, an immediate smile on his face.

he nodded and i stood from his lap, pulling him up and leading him to my small bathroom, i turned the water on and began undressing myself as it heated up.

When i was down to my underwear i turned to see Blaine staring, still in his pjs, i bit my lip and walked towards him, pulling his shirt over his head, kissing his neck and chest softly as i moved to his pants, my hand ghosted over his clothed member before stripping him completely, then turning back around for him to unhook my bra.

I slipped out of my panties and pulled Blaine under the hot water with me. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting the water wash over me.

"You're awfully quiet tonight?" i opened my eyes to see him scanning my body, still slightly out of it.

He shook his head and smiled  "Oh sorry... don't worry gorgeous... just, how am i this lucky?" The smirk was back, the look that made me weak in the knees, the way his eyes traced over me, how his hands grasped my hips, it drove me wild.

"Don't get all cheesy on me now, Debeers..."

i giggled softly as i stood on my toes to kiss him.

His kissed back fiercely, backing me up into the cool glass wall, a hard contrast to his warm hands and lips.

i groaned into the kiss, his right hand reaching between my legs, fingers slipping between my folds as I lean impossibly closer into him, my legs already shaking in anticipation.

I reached up and tangled my hands in his wet hair, two fingers then entering me, making me gasp and pull away.

"That's it (y/n)... so needy"

His voice was deep and whispered, his lips ghosting my earlobe before attaching to my jaw, biting and sucking along the way.

He removed his fingers and tapped the underside of my thighs, signalling for me to wrap my legs around his waist.

He lifted me with ease, grinding his hips against mine before lining himself up with me, with a swift thrust he entered my tight cunt, throwing his head back with a soft groan.

He holds my face in one hand, watching me in awe as I choke out a moan.

I struggle to hold eye contact, feeling like prey under his gaze.

I turned my head and closed my eyes, mouth falling open as he started moving, my legs tightening around him with every thrust, nails scratching his shoulders.

Our moans echoed off the shower walls, drowning out the sound of the water trickling down Blaines back, the steam building more and more, making our already heavy breathing even harder.

If I wasn’t already choking on the hot air around me, it was made worse (or better) by Blaines hand wrapping around my throat.

My eyes were clouded over, legs shaking and body weak, I was struggling to hold on, feeling so far removed from my body, I felt on fire at the same time, I didn’t even have time to warn him before I was coming around his cock, practically screaming his name.

If I wasn’t so out of it I’d have sworn I heard his low groans turn to high pitched whimpers as he too climaxed while gripping me tightly, his body pressing mine harder against the steamed up glass.

His head rested on my shoulder, laying soft kisses on my skin as he pulled out and let my feet finally touch the ground, he then pulled me back under the hot water, still dazed as he ran his hands through my hair, washing it as I stared at him completely in awe, the way he can be so demanding, dominant and cold, yet here he is, lovingly washing my hair, pressing soft kisses on my skin.

He was hiding something, though not anything bad, he was hiding his soft side, and I’m determined to bring it out.

[eyeless-jeff666]

Midnight Ball

Last one I think but these song live in my head rent free Tsunagu's car breaks down and he enters a mysterious mansion to ask for help Slight Angst, fluff, happy ending, mysterious, surreal, short, based on a song Word Count: 631

Tsunagu felt cold and lost; he was tired already from a week of his job taking up all of his strength, and now his car had broken down in the middle of nowhere; quite the beautiful nowhere, somewhere in the mountains with a clear view of the deep sea despite the dark of the night. He didn’t have tools to fix it either and no phone connections to call anyone. His gaze wandered, to see if maybe he could spot other cars or people, but all he could see were the glistening lights of a mansion not far from where he stood.

‘Surely, someone can help me there.’

He thought to himself as he made his way over to it. It was a beautiful house, luxurious almost, and he certainly felt out of place as he knocked. A butler opened him, his gaze not quite meeting Tsunagu’s eyes; dull blue pupils and he figured that the man must have been blind. A myriad of voices sounded from inside, and with an overly polite gesture, he was invited to enter. A shiver ran down his spine as he followed the invitation. To say he was underdressed would be an understatement, his eyes widening as he looked around at all the people, in gorgeous dresses and suits and anything in between, sparkling in beautiful colors that made his heart beat higher. He could have only dreamed of making clothes this gorgeous, and as people began to chat with him and offer him champagne, he quickly forgot the reason he’d come.

Some of the guests seemed familiar, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but everyone was incredibly kind. He drank and danced, eventually catching his own gaze in a mirror; coming to a halt as he saw nobody but himself in it. And the shiver he’d felt earlier returned. Something told him that looking back at the guests would show him some nightmarish horror, but as he turned his head, nothing about them had changed. Despite the good time he’d had, he now wanted to leave.

Just as he was about to step back outside through the heavy doors, the butler stood in his way, and shook his head:

“Everyone may enter the midnight ball. But nobody may leave.”

He said, and a warm hand immediately calmed the cold fearful pit in Tsunagu’s stomach; he knew that feeling. Knew the way the person behind him was breathing. Knew the chuckle he heard.

“Shinya?”

His voice was nothing more than a whisper and he was almost too scared to turn around. But truly; before him stood none other than his husband who had passed away two years before. In a gorgeous suit, his hair done as always, half up the way he’d always worn in for formal events.

“Am I-“

The blonde started, but the other just took his hands and neither of them cared about the sound of the door falling shut:

“Yes. All of us are.”

Shinya said, his voice soft and calm as if it wasn’t anything to be worried about. And so Tsunagu chose not to be, and held his husband’s face instead, kissing him a million times to verify he wasn’t simply dreaming; the only tears shed on the pure joy of seeing him again.

“Let’s get you something fancier to wear, Tsu. I know you will just love the options you have.”

With that, the two disappeared back into the crowd filling the mansion, and he couldn’t help but wonder about everyone he was leaving behind in the realm of the living.

‘They will be fine without me.’

That was his last thought before his undivided attention and mind went back to Shinya, where it belonged and where it would stay until the end of time.

[finn-writes-stuff]

Hi!

Loving your blog! The Apex Legends one had me taking another look at the game - those characters have so much potential for endless fics!

May I request a TF2 short fic with Medic and the reader? Maybe where he’s totally clueless to the fact that she’s crushing on him and just when she’s given up on him he either has a lightbulb moment or the other mercs finally point it out? (Run on sentencing sorry) thanks for sharing your writing with the blogosphere!

Blind

I really enjoyed writing this, and it got me out of a bit of a slump. Thank you for the request!

Medic x Reader

Fandom: Team Fortress 2

Format: Oneshot (1207 words)

Warnings: N/A

Gender-neutral Reader

Fandom Masterlist Kofi Link

It was an undeniable fact that your Medic was incredibly intelligent. Creating scientific miracles and horrors alike, he could piece together a full set of functioning organs out of anything you left him with. He was terrifyingly smart, and the whole team knew it.

Of course, this did not stop him from being one of the densest men you knew. Impressive really, given the selection that you lived with.

You had been in love with him for years. Anyone else would have figured it out by now. Living in close quarters with the Mercs meant that it was hard to hide your feelings for him. You knew that the rest of the team were very aware of it, so how come he hadn’t noticed?

It’s not like you were subtle. Even during your last check up when your heart had been racing due to his proximity, he had simply chalked it up to a medical reason, more worried about your health than anything else.

It would’ve been sweet if you weren’t ready to keel over from frustration.

It was even worse the few times you had tried to make him see. A nice candlelit dinner, just the two of you? He thanked you profusely for making time for him as a friend. Telling him how much you admired him? Only served to bolster his medical arrogance, assuming it was purely about his intelligence, a respect rather than adoration. Saying to his face that you would date him? He laughed, and made a comment about the lack of real options at the base if he would be your first choice.

You would have assumed that he was trying to let you down easy if you didn’t know him so well. There was no recognition when you tried to tell him about your feelings, just his assumptions and misunderstandings. It was infuriating really.

And if third time hadn’t been the charm, then you were kind of done with trying. All that ever happened was you getting your hopes up and then dashed when he inevitably didn’t get it, no matter how blatant you were. At some point you supposed you had to cut your losses.

So here you were, getting wine drunk with Spy and insisting that you were turning a new leaf.

"No, no, listen, I am over it. It's fine. I'm moving on and I'm gonna find someone who actually hears what I'm saying." There was a hint of a slur in your voice already but you were sober enough to catch the way Spy rolled his eyes.

"Mhm? You are simply over our doctor? Just like that? Sure, we will pretend I believe you."

He ignored the way you stuck your tongue out at him and simply took a drag from his cigar before speaking up again.

"Although, I will not discourage you from finding someone else. Your adoration for him has always been a marker of questionable taste at best. I've still not forgiven him his last experiment."

"With the cyanide? I think that was more spite than scientific curiosity. He was grumbling about how you'd taken something from his lab."

"All I ever take is you, mon cher, if he has a problem with that then he should open his eyes, no?"

You waved him off, sipping your wine. "Doesn't matter. I'm moving on, new, uh, new leaf!"

"So if the doctor asked you to dinner right now, you would say no?"

"That's different, you know it is. I just, I can't keep pining when it gets me nowhere, you know?" You sighed into your glass. "It would be better to get over it because then we can continue being friends."

"But you cannot just turn off those feelings. Despite how you wish to."

"You could be helpful instead, you know that? Tonight was for getting drunk, not moping."

He looked scandalized but you could see the smile he was holding back. "Excusez moi, I provided the wine, did I not?"

You laughed at his dramatics, nearly spilling your drink as you let the warm haze of the alcohol settle over you. There was no reason to dwell on your problems right now, all it would do was disappoint you.

Easier said than done, especially when Spy's eyes flicked up past you and you turned to see Medic coming towards you.

"Ah! There you are. I have been looking for you."

He stopped by your chair, smiling so brightly at you, and in the back of your mind, you recognized just how hard it would be to get over him. All he needed to use to melt you was a smile.

"I had an experiment I was hoping you could help me with, do you have time for it?" He asked, already offering a hand to pull you up to your feet.

"Pardon, we were having a conversation," Spy chipped in, pulling your focus back. Once again, you could see the concealed amusement as he spoke.

"Yes well, I'm sure their time is better spent helping me with this rather than listening to your inanities." Spy had seemed to be the target of Medic's impatience more often than not lately, you mused. The doctor was prone to being snappy sometimes, but it seemed like Spy was on the other end of every time you'd seen it.

"You are both ridiculous and blind. Go do your science together." The heavy stare he leveled on you was trying to convey something, but with the way the wine had muddied your thoughts, you couldn't quite parse it.

You let Medic pull you out of your chair, and stumbled into his side, unprepared for the dizzy spell. He was so terribly warm, a furnace of a man. You were still sober enough to recognize it would be a bad idea to press your face into his chest, but couldn't stop the thought from crossing your mind. You almost missed Spy's scoff as he stood as well.

"I have watched this comedy for too long, I find. Doctor, they have been in love with you for an embarrassingly long time. You are blind and oblivious to this and yet you insist on getting mad at me every time I take their attention from you. Do something about this and buy me an expensive thank you gift afterward. Bon soir."

With that, he turned on his heel, picked up the bottle of wine, and strode off, leaving the two of you in shocked silence.

"Well, that was...informative. Was it true?" Medic was looking at you, his hand still on your arm and a slow smile pulling at his features.

"I, uh, well, yeah? I wasn't really hiding it."

"I couldn't bear to hope," He said, pulling you into his arms with a wide grin. "I have been completely taken with you, you have driven me to distraction, meine liebe, if I had let myself assume and had been wrong, I don't know what I would've done with myself.

"Have dinner with me? A date," He said. He was practically buzzing with excitement, an infectious sort of joy. Indulging yourself, you pressed your face into his coat to hide your own pleased smile.

"I would love nothing more."

[vanosslirious]

BBS Dialogue Prompts #211

BBS Dialogue Prompts & Sentence Starter: [ 8 ]

SMII7Y

Did you just jump through the fucking glass?

I didn't think it could get worse, but sure enough, it got worse.

I don't love it, where is he?

He jumped, he's over here somewhere.

Let's get the fuck out of here, get back in!

You wanna go fight that?

Get me a better angle!

Can you guys get the fuck in here.

Stop trying to throw up in my face, bro, I'm just trying to read.

Is that a dagger, is she going to stab us?

Get it out!

I don't like this, boys, this is really uncomfortable.

That's fucking great, thanks for telling me that.

Does anyone have any bananas? I need food.

I don't trust this, nobody touch that, it's cursed 100%.

Don't tell us we're going to fight him.

Where'd he go, did I miss it?

Parallel park that motherfucker.

We're all separated!

Drop your money right now!

JERICHO | TUCKER

You look like you're gonna break my knee-cap!

I mean, it looks better than you.

Can we get out of here, I'm stuck.

Got real there.

You can't make me…it was mom's dying wish.

What's this flashing light?

What'd we miss down here?

Get up on top of my head.

Why are you tryna jump?

Okay, I'll do it for you.

GRIZZY

That was so fucking stressful.

I know you missed me so much.

I almost banned his ass.

That's a valid reason, bro.

I'm going to fucking shoot them in the back of the fucking head.

Bro, I just got here.

Take my cards, I know you want them.

I had to close my eyes for a second.

Which one is the lung? I want to rip it out.

Leave the mustache alone!

FL0M

Butter me up, baby.

I'm interviewing you.

Ow, the trap does work on us…

Just slightly off center, do you like that?

Dude, I didn't even get to see it explode, you sick fuck!

Why are you like this?

He's rude.

Look at this guy's knife, he's fucking poor.

Boys, we're sleeping nice tonight.

Murder him.

BLARG

I'm not a fan, actually.

Are you sure you want to go?

I got pages of the whole Bible here, this shit long...

Actually, I kind of wanted those.

Ah, shit, that's the only one I don't have.

That's me, baby.

I don't think I made it to the end once.

No, I don't think so.

I am simply a bottom dweller.

Am I getting murdered, why?

ELILIKESRICE

Don't worry about it.

You breathing is a waste of time!

That's one person, that's all I need, I only need validation from one person.

We're getting shitted on.

This is a horror game.

I'm being shot through the fucking smoke, bro.

He's gonna catch up and you're gonna regret it.

Oh my God, so close, we can finally end this.

This is the last one.

Are your fish fingers edible?

KRYOZ

Are you gaslighting me?

We always get hackers on this map.

Well, I mean, smoke's not bulletproof, I don't know if you knew that.

I actually didn't know that happened.

Shut up, and burn in hell, both at the same time.

I think you're in a spot that doesn't matter.

I don't think I should.

Don't get greedy.

Why do you have to say it?

You should just let it be subtle, and let it happen.

BIGPUFFER

I'm stuck in the truck!

Oh, I did not want these.

I didn't say anything.

What happened to us?

That hurts my eyes.

Oh, you broke my spine.

I'm not making it, I don't think…

He's not here.

I'm afraid of what his fantasies could be.

Are you doing pull ups on the bridge, where are you?

[br4inr0tx]

Hello there. Hope you're in good spirits. I was hoping to send in a request if you're accepting them at the moment. It's more of a request/ask, but what would be your personal headcanons about the Wild Biker Boys? Just any headcanons in general that you've thought of about the boys at their worst.

yoo it’s been a hot minute since of got a request. glad to feed yall some wbb content though fr. I will note though, since this is a very obscure media without TOO MUCH to dive into, so if any of these seem ooc, are already established in canon, or I end up my repeating myself for a few headcanons I sincerely apologize. I try to read pela’s lore on there blog as much as I can I swear.

tw - drugs, alcoholism, bugs, body horror, toxic coping mechanisms, and coii being a simp for wbb dice

Dice/Pink…

• I feel like with these new drugs he’s taken, he’s a hell of a lot more jittery. Maybe even more so then Varai sometimes. Sure you could say it’s the type of drugs he taken but honestly? I feel like even if he did try to lay off a little he’d become more and more shaky and restless (like a caffeine rush.).

• Deep down, I don’t think Dice truly likes what happened to himself. Nor does he see himself in any good light, unlike he plays off.

• As for pink dice, that fucker is a nuisance.

• I like to think of him as an eager puppy, always urging Dice into random shit he honestly doesn’t want to do. (Liking buying more drugs, for example.)

• I like to think pink dice is really into the guro art form, and likes to preform the scenarios on anyone who grows close to Dice (which he kinda does, in his Yandere ending.)

• Dice and Pink go back and forth a lot. So much so I believe Dice becomes an insomniac. He definitely doesn’t sleep much with Pink being active. Hell, sometimes when Pink is deactivated he still can’t sleep..it’s just became a long lasting battle at this point.

• not a headcanon but I am so thirsty for wbb dice..he’s so yummy like drive over me with your bike a million times omg. (If you got any pink dice art or headcanons hmu 🤭🖤)

Jeff…

• My guy needs a hug so fucking bad man.. the first time I got his ending with the melted face I genuinely felt unnerved too like holy shit.

• In LBB I feel like Jeff is way more up beat. He’d probably listen to more light, poppy music. However with his shift he’s listening to things more depressing. He guesses it’s because hearing relatable lyrics help him calm down just a little bit.

• He’s way more temperamental then he ever was before. Almost no patience at all. Even if he doesn’t blow up, you can tell he’s still very petty and sarcastically mean.

• Goes on speed rides on his bike to calm him down. Most of the time blasting music. He never goes too far though, since he knows he still has to take care of Jatay.

• He drinks more often then he used to. He shows up at the bar almost every night and ends up coming home slammed to which Jatay consequently leaves him alone.

• Shits been hard..and Jeff simply can’t wait until he care tear Y/N apart in the most brutal way’s possible.

Varai…

• He’s gained new bug friends! All of them are named (for the most part). Sometimes he forgets someone’s name simply due to the fact that there’s so many of them that look so alike. If this happens, he starts going in a panic and feeling bad.

• His ainxety though, has slightly calmed down. He’s more of a walking corpse then he was before, so at this point there’s barely anything he needs to worry about aside from natural everyday worries.

• He’s definitely more clumsy then he ever was before. I guess it’s just because of the whole zombie thing..literally how is this guy alive?

• He hates seeing his boyfriend the way he is. It’s the biggest worry he has right now, and it worries him that they might eventually grow completely distant.

• Varai has the same relationship with Dice, although I think he’s really scared of Pink Dice so he stays away from talking about him as opposed to Jeff or even Jatay.

Jatay…

• Bro is in his own personal retirement home.

• Jeff is his caretaker, ofc

• Jatay often feels bad for Jeff, in a lowkey way. Obviously Jatay is an asshole, so he’d never really say anything outright, but those feelings are still there deep down.

• He feeds his stomach pet thing himself, making up meals for him since he can’t really eat that good. It gives him the joy knowing he can still cook for someone other then himself or Y/N.

• Jatay could give less of a fuck about the state of the world. At this point he’s going with the flow, with which ever way that might lead him.

• Talking to Jeff more has actually..calmed him down a little more. Obviously Jataybis not who he used to be, and with his shape I don’t think he’d want to anyway. Long story short, he appreciates Jeff’s company a lot.