#it was supposed to consume her from the inside out but somehow she consumed it. suffice to say she was already not normal

[goldpilot22]

a collection of doodles I've done lately.

clockwise from top left: me (technically my sona that works in a friend's sona's circus, but it's basically just me with a lil mask), my Pokemon Legends Arceus character, an attempt at capturing Rea's slightly-simplified-imitation-of-a-human uncanny vibes by making them look kinda lowpoly, and "Debbie Deadlight" an original eldritchverse/CoC character who is totally not just Deepcolor from Arknights I swear

[internetskiff]

The most powerful ability exclusive to humanity in the Half Life/Portal shared universe is our ability to just throw bullshit at the wall and see what sticks. Aperture "OSHA are the devil" Science have managed to create completely safe interconnected points in space. The same company that turns people's blood into gasoline and shoves lions and humans into the same enclosed space for the vague concept of "Science". Meanwhile Black Mesa still has to use Xen as a crossing and their teleportation device requires an entire reactor with a village's worth of staff constantly maintaining it, just to end up having most of said staff abducted by onion-headed aliens. Even the resistance hasn't managed to create completely stable teleporters with a compressed Xen relay, meanwhile Aperture just went "oh dude let's shove a black hole into a non-waterproof gun" and have just created a teleportation method that just removes Xen from the equation entirely. Doesn't change the fact they bullshat so bad they basically got themselves gassed to death, but still.

The Resistance are a good example of this too. The Combine seem to have a complete set-in-stone thought process and understanding of science which meant they didn't even begin to explore local teleportation via Xen, meanwhile a group of random human mechanics and scientists have managed to cobble together at least two semi-functional local teleporters out of scrap metal and stolen Combine tech, to the point the All-Consuming Interdimensional Empire had to straight up copy their homework. And that isn't even the only time they seem to be taking human shit to just copy the blueprints.

They 100% just yoinked the entire damn car out of that garage just to take a crack at reverse-engineering the Tau Cannon attached to it. Even Resistance weaponry somehow manages to rival or at least stand equal to Combine tech - and we're talking improvised crossbows that shoot superheated rods of rebar at the target compared to high-tech rifles that can discharge orbs of pure dark energy. The collapse of the entire Citadel is basically set into motion as a result of a cobbled together Rebel device placed into extremely capable hands.

The events of the Portal games are a case of extremely elaborate machinelike planning versus pure human improvisation, with Chell's entire escape in the first game involving her simply weaseling her way through small cracks that GLaDOS missed while setting up her ambushes, eventually turning her own rocket turret against her to destroy her.

I suppose you could argue this falls flat in Portal 2 with Wheatley, but it's important to remember he's designed to be an utter idiot, so it's safe to say he wouldn't obsess over the larger picture like GLaDOS to the point where he fails to see the cracks. Yes, he's the one that breaks Chell out of the test chambers again, and yes, he's the one that came up with the sabotage plot - but it's important to note while he knows what to target in the sabotage, when we actually get there he doesn't quite know how to sabotage it, leaving Chell to figure it out on her own. She botches the Turret Quality Control Line with some minor guidance, but it's basically completely up to her to figure out how to cut off the Neurotoxin Supply. It's through her improvisation that Wheatley even manages to get into GLaDOS' chamber, tumbling through her neurotoxin vent and shattering the glass cage she trapped Chell inside of. It's through Chell's improvisation that the Core Transfer even occurs in the first place.

The script is flipped specifically when Wheatley takes charge, because oops - turns out a mind capable of focusing on the bigger picture might be pretty important when it comes to running an entire facility powered by it's own Reactor. Wheatley just completely zeroes in on his own personal pleasure, hacking up test chambers and the objects within them to try and figure out the easiest way to get his solution euphoria as quick as possible.

Still, something that's pretty interesting is that only Wheatley has ever managed to create a trap that's impossible to foresee and avoid, something GLaDOS has repeatedly failed to do to the point she ends up commending him. I believe this is because his way of thinking is a lot closer to Chell's compared to GLaDOS'. He puts up way more of a fight as the two run through the facility trying to get to him, seemingly improvising on the spot just like Chell has been over the course of the two games. Even his lair would be impossible to survive if it weren't for a single Conversion Gel pipe he somehow failed to notice and remove.

Whether in a laboratory deep beneath the soil or an alien tower tall enough to split the clouds, the ingenuity of even a single person is enough to topple a tower or destroy a supercomputer 3 times over.

Marc Laidlaw put what I'm trying to say into a single sentence when writing for the BreenGrub twitter account:

"The superstructure is riddled with cracks."

[scremogirl]

✪⁂✫彡𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓✵✥☆ミ★ ???

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞-𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞

Yandere Student Council Pres x Nonchalant reader

I’m not sure if I should retitle this to Yandere! Childhood friend x reader or not. There’s not a lot of the fact he’s the SCP shown in the story. I felt like I went a little off track. I got so consumed in writing😭. I already have a post like that on my page so I didn’t want to make it confusing. I don’t know if I should’ve said unemotional reader either. Idk let me know what you think. Have fun reading!

He was at the top of the food chain. Good grades, teachers liked him, students feared him, rich, good looking, and most importantly; the student council president. With that being said, why wouldn’t he leave you alone?

Takenya was a stuck up priss in your opinion. Always lecturing you about things you could do in order of improvement. You weren’t popular but you weren’t one of those weird Naruto kids that sat in the back of the class and ate crayons either. You just existed. Someone so average at everything somehow attracted the most “perfect” guy in school. Your grades were fine; a straight A-B student with the occasional C here and there. Your attendance on the other hand… well maybe he’s not so wrong about that, but who actually wants to be at school anyways?

“I don’t understand why you don’t try harder? You could easily surpass most of our class,”

“You need to come to school. This behavior would never pass in the real world. What would your employer think of you just not showing up?”

“Chocolate for lunch…really? If you want to stay healthy you’ll need to-“

Why does he care so much anyways? Sure, you used to be friends in like what, fifth grade? You used to get bullied in school for being different. You just didn’t like the things that kids your age were supposed to like. But… it never bothered you. You weren’t emotionless per se, it’s just, why care what others have to think?

Mellisa Grey. The girliest of all girls. She used to have it out for you when you were younger. Calling you names and bumping your shoulder whenever you walked by. You put up with it until the end of the year; fifth grade graduation. That evening she and her crew thought it’d be funny to pour milk on the shy little nerdy boy in your class. Some spilled on your dress, that you didn’t mind, but the tears of the boy next to you made you. Something inside of you just snapped. You shot up from your seat grabbing a first full of her hair and slammed her head onto the wooden table. Not stopping until you saw the wire of her pink, sparkly braces fly out her mouth. Well, that was what you wanted to do; the teachers came too early for you to inflict any further damage. The most you got was a broken nose and a lawsuit. She transferred schools after that, and you got the whoopin of a lifetime. You didn’t care. You didn’t feel bad at all. If anything you felt elated seeing her in pain and the rage on her parents faces as the cussed child you out. You didn’t cry or yell when your parents picked you up. You weren’t phased by the belt or the palm of your mothers hand striking you. You didn’t feel anything. So why were you so upset on someone else's behalf anyways?

You knew this kid. I mean, how couldn’t you when he would follow you around 24/7.

“H-Hi… my names Takenya” you just blankly stared. His sheepish gaze barely meets yours from behind his big fat glasses.

“…Do I know you?”

“Well…no. But I know you!”

“Good for you I guess.” You continued to go back and forth on the swing, not acknowledging the boy's existence at all. The swing he sat on remained stationary, never once dropping his gaze from you.

“Uhm… I just wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Hm? What was he talking about? He saw the confusion in your face when you turned around to ask and beat you to the point.

“You probably don’t know me. We’re not in the same class,” Right. So why is he talking to you? Again, before you could ask he cut you off.

“The other day when recess started you helped me pick up all of my stuff after Carter pushed me down; remember? I-I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me” Ohhh, you do remember him now. He was that shy little rich kid that transferred here at the end of fourth grade. He didn’t have many friends, let alone any at all. Everyone had grown up with each other and formed friend groups at this poin. He was a little late to the party so he didn’t fit in. He wasn’t worried about the next episode of Ninjago and didn’t find humor in looking up the words penis and vagina in the dictionary at the school library when the teacher wasn’t looking. His hair long, tied back into a neat ponytail and not buzzed into a Mohawk like half the boys in your grade. He had glasses that almost covered the entirety of his upper face. He always ate his pb&js on whole wheat instead of white and preferred celery sticks over fruit snacks. So, just like you, he got bullied just because he was different.

“Oh yea. I remember you now. You’re welcome by the way,” he grinned. The first time you saw him smile ever since he came to your school.

That marked the day of a long friendship.

That was until you went to middle school. You think puberty had something to do with it. He grew into his face more and sized down those jellyfishing glasses. His scrawny figure gained slightly more bulk and dressed in a more modern fashion. His hair remained the same; a bit shorter than before but still longer than most guys. You’ve always liked his hair. He would let you braid it sometimes when he was too distracted playing on his DS. He didn’t get acne like many of the other kids your grade either, skin smooth and clear. All the girls found him to die for. Your nonchalant behavior rubbed off on him and he became more confident in himself. Not letting his elementary school self be reflected into now. He became a bit too obsessed with his studies for a middle schooler; pushing all his ways on you. He would always follow you around blabbing about not attending gym class. He even started hanging around the same snotty rich kids he would complain to you about. You became annoyed. So you cut him off. Just like that. Stopped talking to him, answering his texts, not sitting with him at lunch or in class. Even after all the rejection at his advances, he came running back to you. Not willing to let you go so easily.

The school bell rings signaling the end of 4th pd and beginning of lunch. You were planning to go off campus today and not come back. Keys in hand you make your way to the student parking lot. However, someone’s blocking the exit. He’s gotten taller, about 6’2-6’3; sleeper build accommodating his height. Glasses thinner and sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Hair as long as ever, tyed back with that same white ribbon you gave him years ago; revealing an undercut. He fixes the collar of his button up and readjusts his tie and vest.

“And exactly…just where do you think your going?”

“To lunch,”

“The cafeteria is that way,” he points with a slender finger, decorated by a diamond ring. It shimers under the lights above reflecting against his matching earrings.

“Off campus,” he raises his eyebrow, folding his arms.

“Knowing you, you won’t come back. You do realize your request for a half day schedule is still pending right? You also recognize that I’m the one who assists the principal in granting them as well?” You don’t answer him, already knowing we're going with this.

“As I said before, your attendance needs improving before I-… we can grant it,” what a pain in the ass this guy is. You try to walk past him but he stops you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t eat school lunch. I’ll be back after,” he gives you an unamused look. Hand gripping your shoulder a little tighter as you try to take another step.

“You know I can’t let you do that. Not unless you don’t want a new schedule,” he pauses.

“Not unless I come with you,” you look up.

“You’re paying?” His eyes widened slightly, shocked at your willingness. But he can’t be too surprised, he knows you don’t care about anything unless you get what you want.

“Of course I am. You need to spend your money on other priorities; like a new math textbook,” you ignore the subtle jab and walk to his car. No need to ask where as he parks next to you everyday to make sure he knows you’ve actually show up. Definitely not because your the first thing he wants to see in the morning.

“I don’t understand why you come to McDonald’s of all places,” he lets out a sigh, handing his card to the drive through worker. He drives up to the next window waiting for the food.

“It’s not healthy. You seriously should consider my offer in taking you to that new place down the street,”. He looks over when he doesn’t get a response; noticing the music blasting from your headphones as you look at the door. He sighs again before taking the food from the workers hand and grabbing your headphones. You turn your head to look at him but your gaze shifts to the bag in his hand. You reach over and grab a fry out of the bag and he s his eyes. Pulling into the parking lot, he silently watches you eat. This brings him so much nostalgia. He misses eating lunch with you everyday. Ranting while you just sit there and chew. He misses having someone listening to him about something that’s not related to school. After you stopped *attempted* talking to him in the beginning of 7th grade, his heart felt like it got ripped out of his chest.

He’s never felt anything his whole life. His father would tell him that one day he’ll find someone who makes him feel everything, makes life worth it. He’d seen the love shared between his parents everyday. He always wanted that. In the fourth grade all of that came true. He saw you getting off the bus making your way to school. He saw the way you helped up Michael Lemitzki, a dorky little boy, after Conner pushed him down. Shaggy hair, braces lining his teeth, comic books all on the floor. How pathetic. You weren’t scared of Conner at all. He was bigger than you and more popular than you, but you didn’t care. You kept a straight face as he threatened you and held your composure. No emotion showing whatsoever.

He thought you were beautiful. It was love at first sight. He was too busy staring at you to hear his father calling out to him. He followed his son's gaze to you. He looked back down at the small boy and gave a knowing smile. Takenya just stared at the other boy hugging you with tears down his face. Why is he touching you like that? Push him away already! That day he purposely made himself a target to the bullying of Melissa and Conner. Hoping that one day, you’ll save him the same way you did Jacob. He got bigger glasses, grew his hair out, and started dressing like the typical “nerd”. He would leave candies in your cubby, prized limited edition Pokémon cards in your backpack, brand new color pencils and markers showed up around you. He started to lose hope though. Why haven’t you noticed him yet!? Sure he’s never actually talked to you.. but still! Could you not see his effort?! Did you not care? He sat alone at recess that fateful day. He was randomly pushed down, papers and crayons flying out his small hands. He wasn’t in the mood for Connors teasing today. To caught up on the fact that the love of his life may never see him they way he’s dreamed of. Oh the dramatic mind of a fifth grader. He clutched the safety scissors that flew out of his pencil pouch watching the dick of an elementary schooler turn around. He was about to get up but stopped as he saw someone bend down beside him. It was you! You helped gather all his things and placed them into his arms. His heart pounded in his chest and the blush on his face spread like wildfire. Before he could say anything you walked away. Taking your place on the swing set. He hurriedly put all his things away before trying to build up the courage to come talk to you. He took to long, however, as the teacher soon yelled for everyone to make their way into the line back to their respective class.

As he reminisces on the past, an alarm rings. Telling him that it’s time to make his way back to school. You’ve already finished all your food and somehow managed to take your headphones back.

“What?” You say snapping him out of his trance. He didn’t even realize he was staring.

“Nothing,”

You make your way back to the school and go your separate ways. He walks you to class ensuring that you get there. Out the corner of his eye he sees someone wave to you. Lemitzki. His hairs more well kept, ditched the glasses for contacts showing of his green eyes. He’s taller and has more muscles now. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the jagged line that makes it’s way across his right cheek, interfering with his dimple as he smiles. It’s been awhile, the scar healed well. The once clutzy boy looks at the door and freezes, hand dropping and going pale. There’s a silent stare off between the two before the late bell rings. Takenya makes his way to class, a slight smile on his face at a sudden memory.

Watching him walk away, a fist tightens. Little does he know someone was planning on getting their revenge.

Hi loves! I hope you guys enjoyed. Take is an OC of mine I’ve had for a while just never had a name for him until now. Like his concept was in my head foreverrrr. He might be a reoccurring character. I really like him. But I did put one shot so I’m not sure. Lemme know what y’all want. Check out this post below for a little more context. Hope you enjoyed.

-Love, Sos❤️

[puckarchives]

strawberry wine: l. hughes

blurb: in which luke is teased for how he treats you, but he doesn’t mind. Not if all of it’s for you / word count: 1.3k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

You hadn’t meant to fall in love with him at first. When you first met Luke— right in the middle of your freshman year at UMich, where you were trying to balance the precarious work-social life balance— it wasn’t love at first sight. No, you were way too pessimistic for that. Instead, the love you had garnered for the curly haired boy was gratuitous— it was a simmering feeling you felt every time he turned his gaze on you, everytime he checked in with you via text or phone call when he was away, and the feeling of his heartbeat as he laid on your chest— the reminder that, above all, he had put you first.

Falling in love with Luke wasn’t an automatic fairy-godmother thing, but it was magic all the same — it was the feeling of coming up for air after being submerged underwater, the feeling of being in the sun after being inside for too long. It was a feeling you wanted to be embraced with all the time, really. 

Now, though, you were hearing the extent at which Luke loved you — in your sleep induced haze while your head laid on Luke’s chest, and your legs extended over his lap. The two of you had made your way to the Hughes Family lake house for the first few weeks of the summer, where you were joined by Quinn and Jack, as well as some of your and Luke’s mutual friends from UMich; all the people you cared about, all under one roof. 

As the summer grew, and the first week turned into the second, you could only feel how much your love had grown for the boy with the curls— the boy who had somehow made falling in love with an all-consuming feeling that you never wanted to let go of. 

Now, though, as you listened to the conversation around you, your almost-sleep was interrupted when you heard Jack call to Luke— saying something along the lines of something “being clear,” and picking up on some changes in Luke’s behavior. 

Now almost fully awake, you didn’t want to make yourself entirely known— not just yet. Luke and you had spoken about what to expect on the trip— the teasing and remarks that were sure to come from his brothers, the jokes that were sure to come out of Trevor or Duker at one point, and even the overprotectiveness for the only other woman in the house from Ellen. Now, through, you could tell the conversation was fully about you— and Luke. 

“I’m just saying, man,” you could hear Jack start. “We’ve never seen you this whipped before! It’s liek you’re an entirely new man, Moose,” he finished, to where you heard the rest of the boys add in their own agreements. You felt Luke pull you even closer when he said that, and could feel the hand on your calve resume its soft movements— mishappen shapes and letters that didn’t really mean anything, but that Luke had gotten into the habit of doing whenever you were around.

“Name one time where that’s happened,” Luke said. “I might be in love, but I haven’t changed,” he said, and oh god— he was in love with you! Even if you were still supposed to be asleep the sole notioon that he’d say it in front of the people whose opinions he cared about so deeply made your heart melt even more. The truth was, you were in love with Luke as much as he was in lovr with you — he was your rock, your safe place, and above all else, the person you looked for in anything; the one who had captured your heart and kept it as close as he could to his own. 

“C’mon, dude, you literally put your hand on the table corner when she dropped her cup the other day, just so she wouldn’t hit her head,” Quinn said from the opposite chair. “And, not to mention, you literally called Mom right after your first date with her, just to ask her how you did, and to see if she could help you see whatever signs Y/N was givign you” the boys laughed. While you had picked up on the things Luke did for you— including making sure you were always safe, that second thing wasn’t something you were aware of. Sure, you were both nervous wrecks on your first date, but you found him charming— especially when he had shown up at your dorm smartly dressed, and had brought flowers not only for you, but for your roommate too. 

“Plus, remember that time Coach made you do extra liners because you showed up to practice with a hickey on your neck?” Duker said. “Wasn’t that after your sixth-month anniversary, or something? When you rented that hotel room to, and I quote, “treat her how she deserves to be treated?” C’mon Hughes, you’re a sap!” he finished. 

Duke was right; you remembered that date almost vividly. Luke had spent so much on a grand hotel room, had taken you out to dinner at a nice restaurant, and, in the privacy of your own room, had danced with you for the entire night— had spun you around and around until the two of you ended up tangled in the white sheets, kisses being shared like secrets, and leaving them like brands on the entire expanse of his chest, his neck, and his mouth. The two of you had drank a third of a bottle of strawberry wine before you ended up on your tiptoes, Luke spinning you and leading you around the expanse of the entire room, before ultimately taking it further. 

That night, you had become his, and he had become yours in a way that you had never imagined possible; regardless of either of your past experiences, you had felt love strum between the two of you in, as cliche as it sounds — magical way. 

“So what, I care about her! Look at her, and tell me you wouldn’t give it all up” Luke said, but you could tell he wasn’t mad in the slightest. Sure, he was getting chirped at, but it was all in good fun, and he understood that; it must have been a strange thing, for both of his older brothers to see him so in love, and so ready to be tied down to you, that he didn’t even mind the teasing. 

Luke, for all his faults, loved you, and that much was entirely apparent every time he opened his mouth to talk about you— something he would do any chance he got, always finding a way to bring you up in his conversations. 

“We know, dude, you’ve just become such a sap,” Jack added. “‘S making the rest of us wanna settle down too,” he said, laughing. It was true, in a way. Seeing their little brother so in love — so much so that he had almost put his hockey career on pause just to be able to graduate with you, and looked like Cupid had whacked him in the ass with an arrow every time he looked at you — they could clearly see the adoration he had for you; the bone deep understanding that you were his, and he was yours. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, waving them away. Feeling like this was your cue to get up, however, now that the conversation had died down, you opened your eyes, and picked your head up slowly from his chest. Luke looked down at you immediately, his hand that was previously on your leg coming up to cup your chin. 

“You okay there, honey?” he asked. You could only try to shake away the remaining sleep from your head, and smile up at him. Here was your boy — the one who had taken your heart and ran with it, who held you close, and who planned to never let go; the man you wanted to spend the rest of your days with, and who was willing to endure every single comment about your relationship just to keep you. You couldn’t have asked for anyone better —— you couldn’t have asked for anyone other than your Luke.

“Never better, baby. Never better.”

[lingerina]

deserving // LISA MANOBAL 🔞

➛ sugar mommy!lisa x fem!reader ➛ pwp, smut, dom!lisa, use of toys, smacking with a ruler ➛ 797 words ➛ curiosity leads you to new discoveries.

One moment, you were staring at the two measly paragraphs that you spent over thirty minutes typing. Then the next, you were searching up local sugar mommies to fund the lifestyle you’ve always wished for because academics were frying your brains out.

Admittedly, you only lurked out of curiosity.

For shits and giggles.

In your head, there was no way a whole site dedicated to the wealthiest citizens looking for fun even existed.

But you were quickly proven wrong. It only took one search to find the biggest platform for them, most of them being older men.

There were a few women here and there who were just as old as the men, but infinitely more attractive and charming. You were inclined to select them all, until you came across a profile for a woman who could easily give goddesses a run for their money, and looked closer to your age.

Though you were envious that someone so young could acquire so much wealth while you were consuming cup ramen almost everyday to save for gas and rent, you followed the little voice in your head that encouraged you to appease your curiosity.

You just wanted to browse her profile.

Just look, and nothing more.

It’s now a weekly routine.

You sit on Lisa’s desk, legs parted just enough for the filthy rich woman to see how shamelessly you were dripping on the polished surface. How little it takes for you to get hot and bothered, and to beg for her to do something about it.

A smirk quirks the corner of her vamp red lips, the tip of her manicured pinky nail cinched between pearly white teeth upon watching you squirm, sigh ever so dramatically, and pout.

“What’s the matter, princess?,” she hums, her saccharine tone contrasting the sharp gaze piercing your soul.

She folds her arms over her chest, the slightest crease appearing in her blazer as she straightens up in her seat. “Why can’t you keep still for me?”

Lisa Manobal is not that much older than you, but she possesses the intellect, charisma, wisdom, and experience of someone twice her age. She is also not lenient on her employees slacking off and horsing around behind her back, and seeing her lash out once was enough for you to feel like you were put in your place.

She is just as intimidating now as she’s seated before you, unwavered by your pleas and pouts. You try spreading your legs wider and hiking your skirt up to show your naked pussy crying for her touch, the slight buzzing of the bullet vibrator in you less muffled without the obstruction.

It earns no more than a satisfied smile, and you drip even more the longer you’re at the mercy of the vibrating toy.

“You think,” she clicks her tongue as she rolls her chair over to you, “you deserve to be touched, don’t you?”

You nod vigorously, a pathetic whimper slipping at the same time your composure does.

Lisa reaches over your thigh, much to your disappointment, and retrieves a ruler from behind you. She holds it up, but you’re not sure if that’s supposed to mean something.

And then, it swings down on you.

You yelp at the sharpness on your tender inner thigh, but she lands another smack to the opposite side.

A series of swats make it difficult for your legs to stay parted. The ruler lands dangerously close to your slick folds, but Lisa never shows mercy. It’s not long until your pussy suffers the wrath of the wooden tool, each strike somehow making you drip and puddle onto the surface beneath you. The painfully pleasurable sensation can easily finish you, but you refuse to crumble that easily.

That is, until she stands up and towers over you. Her stature already makes you feel small but her presence looms over like a shadow. Trembling and gripping the edge of her desk, you meet eyes with her, not knowing that she would sink a long, dainty finger inside you, stuffing you alongside the vibrator still suctioned inside you.

You bite your lip as you adjust to the intrusion, but your mouth falls open as a second digit swiftly takes up space. Two fingers is ordinary, but two fingers and a vibrating toy?

“Aw, what’s the matter?,” she coos, faux concern etched on her brows as she curls her fingers. “Cat got your tongue?”

You merely answer with a breathy grunt and your eyes rolling back.

Did you need the money?

Obviously. You will always need the money. You will always be thankful for the money.

But you’re even more thankful that the direct source of your funds (for now) knows how to leave you craving for more and temporarily forget about the money..

[porcelainseashore]

The Lost Tapes (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

General Note: One-shots for my series Where We’ve Left Our Love. Encapsulated moments within the past and future lives of Leon x Reader in no particular order. Follows the Resident Evil Remake timeline.

Chapter Summary: It’s about time that you got over the loss of Leon for your own good. You’ve settled in Berlin, your dance career is on the rise and you’re looking forward to a nice dinner date, but something keeps pulling you back.

Content Warnings: Mild smut or suggestive themes, grief and mourning, suicidal thoughts, drinking, referenced drug use, and depending on how you see things, hurt/comfort or hurt no comfort.

Shoutout to RainyKennedy for suggesting the topic of Reader's grief for this one-shot!

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: All That Remains

“So, who’ve you been messaging with?” One of your co-dancers teased, as she suddenly appeared behind your back, tapping your shoulders playfully, startling you.

“Jeez!” You exclaimed, holding your mobile phone close to your chest in surprise. “Don't scare me like that!”

“Sorry,” she laughed, while shrugging indifferently. “But seriously though, who…?” She pressed on further, while circling to your front and plopping down onto a chair in front of you.

Blushing, you turned away from her prying gaze and shook your head.

“It’s that guy, isn’t it?” She squealed. “The one Silje introduced us to.”

You sighed, knowing you weren’t particularly good at keeping a poker face when it came to such matters. Nonetheless, you felt a pang of guilt rising from your stomach and blooming in your chest. It had been ages since you’d been on a date. The first few times you tried, it ended disastrously, with you excusing yourself to leave before it was even over. Despite it being years after the Raccoon City incident, things were somehow still too raw and no one you had dated so far could hold a candle to him.

Leon. He was all you could think about in times like these. What would he say to this? What would he have wanted you to do? To go on, you supposed. Live your own life. Yet, nothing could shake off the unbearable feeling that what you were doing was like an immense betrayal.

Everything reminded you of him. A flash of dirty blonde tresses when you crossed the street, but when the figure turned around, it was foreign. A waft of his favorite cologne in a crowded market, but it belonged to someone else. Blue - the only color you could describe in a thousand words. Deep blue, lightning blue, everything washed in shades of blue. Like when you were on holiday and stood at the edge of the ocean, feeling the warm breeze against your skin and tasting the salt in the air. You remember getting lost in those cerulean eyes of his, reflecting the surface between sea and sky. But now, the colors of the world you inhabited just appeared muted to you.

You couldn’t even bear to listen to music both of you loved anymore. Little things set you off. Silly phrases he had once said, endearing terms of affection he had called you. You probably should’ve seen a therapist at this rate, but you just kept plodding along. Like you always did. You’d go through a period of intense grief, coming out of it safe and sound, floating in the lull of a wave, and waiting for the next cycle to start again like a rollercoaster.

During the bad times, you’d try to drown out the memories in hedonistic parties with your new lot of friends and a cocktail of drugs. You were afraid of being alone, sitting in the dark in your empty apartment, consumed by your thoughts. On the outside, you were able to keep up your façade. Your career was on the rise and Silje had helped you to settle in. However, inside, you were breaking bit by bit. It was exhausting to keep feeling things, but some part of you didn’t want to forget. You couldn’t. 

Perhaps you were cursed. You wondered if it would always be like this. Being condemned to repeat the same course of events again and again, like Groundhog Day. Time heals all wounds, they said. You wanted to believe in that shabby scrap of reassurance. That was all you had to go on these days, so you latched onto it desperately, reciting it like a mantra in your head.

“Hello?” Your co-dancer called out with mild irritation. “Are you even listening?”

“Hm, what?” You replied apathetically, reluctant to drag yourself out of your ruminations and return to the conversation.

“Ugh, never mind!” She snapped, though she fell back to her spirited, carefree self once again. “When’s the date anyway?”

“Tonight.”

“You don’t sound so enthused,” she remarked, raising an eyebrow. Leaning forward, she whispered in your ear, “I heard he comes from old money.”

Your face twisted in disgust. “I couldn’t care less about that.”

She held her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just saying that he checks all the right boxes earlier, when you weren’t paying attention. This is just a bonus!”

“Some bonus indeed,” you scoffed.

Ignoring you, she continued, “I mean, he’s obviously quite the poet with those long, flowery messages he keeps sending you.” She motioned to your phone, as you rolled your eyes. “He’s also very handsome, polite, charming-”

“Alright, enough,” you interrupted, shifting in your seat uncomfortably. “You don’t have to keep convincing me.”

Grabbing your shoulders to catch your attention, she looked you dead in the eye with a knowing smile. “I’m just looking out for a friend here.” She rubbed the back of them supportively. “You said there was a guy back home you couldn’t let go of. But this is your life now - a new place, a new chapter. Don’t you think you deserve to move on?”

Did you? You weren’t sure how to answer that question.

“Maybe,” you mumbled, so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear yourself.

━━━━━━━━━━━

A lone, black satin dress hung in the corner of your wardrobe, which was as bare as your apartment. People might have mistaken you for a minimalist, but truth be told, you had been in a rush when you left your home country a few years ago, paired with a grubby rucksack which carried only the bare essentials and some memories you couldn’t let go of.

You never bothered to fill your flat up, preferring to live frugally in this respect instead. The few pieces of furniture you had were what you found in second-hand shops or from random strangers who had left their stuff on the streets ‘zu verschenken’ (to give away).

As you slipped the dress over your head, smoothening it out across your body, and applied the first touches of makeup to your face, you daydreamed about how you had even landed in this position in the first place. When Silje introduced her patron, Mikkel, to you and the rest of your co-dancers hanging around outside in the foyer after a show, he had gravitated towards you. Maybe because you were shy, or you were holding back, unlike the others, who had greeted him excitedly. Perhaps he found the sense of mysteriousness you gave off alluring. 

You remember him being well-mannered and kind, not too pushy, and you talked at length about the performance piece, its symbolism, art in relation to politics and capitalism, and the like. He was engaging, and you couldn’t find any fault with him, except he just wasn’t the boy you had fallen in love with. However, you figured it was stupid to keep putting Leon on a pedestal, where other men that came after had to be judged according to such an impossible standard. So after a few drinks, you accepted Mikkel’s request and gave him your number willingly. It wasn’t long before he asked you out for dinner.

The phone on your table vibrated. You were almost done with getting ready. You smudged the rouge tint along the edges of your lips to create a softer look, before glancing at the screen of your mobile.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?’

You smiled and shook your head. He was trying to be a gentleman as usual.

‘I’m all good, thanks for the offer though.’

‘Alright, I can’t wait to see you.’

Tucking your phone into your evening purse, you draped a light shawl over your shoulders and eased your battered feet into a pair of heels. A dancer’s feet are always ugly, you remarked, laughing ruefully to yourself.

Then, you heard a tiny voice from the back of your mind pipe up, No, they’re not. 

You could feel it again, that lingering pressure on the soles of your feet, as Leon’s hands worked through the knots skillfully each time you’d been so beat from rehearsals. You tipped your head back against the wall and relaxed, trying to stifle a moan.

Let it out, baby.

It was as if he were in the room with you. You shivered, running a hand over your mouth to your neck as you tried to get a hang of yourself. Shaking it off, you leaned against the cool, metallic door frame for a moment before shutting down the lights in your apartment and venturing out into the city night.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Taking a huge gulp of the white wine that Mikkel had ordered to start with, you fidgeted in your seat awkwardly. Like a fish out of water, this world was unfamiliar to you. Of course, he had chosen one of the most expensive restaurants in town, detailed with pristine white tablecloths, a mind-numbing set of cutlery you had to figure out how to use, and a menu adorned with mostly French words you didn’t quite understand. People were dressed to the nines, the service was impeccable and there was even a live pianist for entertainment. 

You gazed up at the grand, dazzling chandelier hanging in the middle of the room that blinded your vision. To be honest, you would have preferred a rustic, family-owned Italian restaurant. Something down-to-earth and homey, not lofty and pretentious where everyone was performing a part in this spectacle you were witnessing in front of you. Pretending to laugh at each other’s comments, clinking their glasses together, ordering wines which cost an eye-watering amount.

Leon wouldn’t have-, you stopped yourself. This wasn’t the time to bring the topic up again.

“Would you like some recommendations?” Mikkel asked, almost apologetically, as if he detected your discomfort.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you mumbled sheepishly, ducking your head behind the tall menu to avoid his eye contact.

Was he embarrassed by you? You were an outsider in every sense of the word. Your parents would have been pleased for you to get to know him. They would have considered him a real catch. But you weren’t them. And this wasn’t their life. You thumbed the end of the napkin resting in your lap nervously.

He stretched out his hand, placing it over yours. “I’m sorry.”

“Wh- What for?” You sputtered. “No, it’s fine. It’s beautiful here,” you tried to gush. “I mean, thank you for taking me to this place. Really.”

He gave you a side smile, appreciating your attempts at salvaging the situation, though he was well aware of the blunder on his part. “We could go somewhere else, if you want.”

The next thing you knew, you had been whisked off to a more modest restaurant nearby, where you instantly felt at ease. Mikkel mentioned it was no trouble at his expense, he just wanted you to enjoy yourself. It was all that mattered to him. You found him sweet and especially attractive, when he loosened up a little and the strands of his sleek black hair fell across his face.

Maybe this time you’d move on, you mused hopefully, ignoring the sinking feeling in your gut that told you otherwise.

Throughout the meal, your witty exchanges with Mikkel flowed. One drink led to another. You laughed at his jokes, rosy-cheeked and eyes glittering with amusement. The warm glow of the mood light cast shadows across the room, giving it a sultry vibe. Both of you ordered another round of drinks, and chatted merrily until it was closing time. It felt premature to end the night there and so, you allowed him to accompany you back to your place.

If you had an award for the most confusing point in time of your life so far, this would’ve taken the cake. As he kissed you against the door of your apartment, all at once you had the foreboding feeling of dread of what was to come, and yet pleasure, like you had been craving for someone’s touch for so long.

“Do you want to-”

“Mm hm.” You cut him off just like you disregarded the conflicting feelings and tepid apprehension bubbling to the surface. You weren’t going to risk giving yourself another chance to question your decision. 

You wanted this. You deserved it.

Scrambling for your keys, you slotted them into the lock and stumbled through the entrance, as he shut the door behind him. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, while you made your way to the bed, falling backwards onto it, as he continued planting kisses all over your body. You shuddered, as the memories came flooding back-

The times Leon had allayed your self-doubt and comforted you with soft words and kisses…

His calloused hands, worn from police academy training, absentmindedly stroking your bare skin…

The searing heat of the sun against your face as he sucked and nibbled at the sensitive spot on the base of your neck…

Every cry and gasp you ever uttered as you felt him inside you…

“So beautiful…” Who was saying that now? The waters had been muddied and it felt like you were caught between time and space, unable to separate fiction from reality.

When you came to, you found tears streaming down your face as you grasped onto Mikkel’s shoulders in a tight embrace, stark naked, with him on top of you, groaning your name as he came in you. You turned away from him as he pulled out, lying on your side, trying to conceal your crying, along with the absolute disgust and shame you felt welling up within you.

“Are you ok?” He asked gently, trailing his index finger along the curve of your spine. 

Your skin crawled, but you gritted your teeth in an effort to suppress the urge to rush to the bathroom to throw up, angry at yourself for what you had done. “Yes,” you lied. “It was amazing.” 

And this time, he believed you.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It took a while for you to doze off, but when you did, you were ushered into the throes of sleep. 

The cyclical nature of your breath synchronized with the rise and fall of your chest, enveloping you in a blanket of peace and tranquility despite the earlier events. Vague moving images weaved through the fabric of your consciousness, out of focus and delayed, like a grainy film.

Eventually, it settled on a still figure in bed beside you. You squinted, wondering if this was another dream or if you were wide awake in bed with Mikkel again. The flicker of a set of pale blue eyes reflecting iridescently in the moonlight suggested otherwise.

“Leon…” you whispered.

He shifted closer to you, acknowledging your presence, even though he didn’t say a word.

You swallowed a lump in your throat, realizing that you lay before him completely stripped and exposed. You couldn’t hide anything from him in this state, and definitely not what had recently transpired.

“Do you hate me now?” You asked, even though you were afraid of the answer.

Brushing your cheek with the tips of his fingers, he replied without hesitation, “I could never hate you.”

“God, I fucked up,” you choked. “I just- I just miss you so much.”

Your body jerked uncontrollably as you buried your face in your hands, letting out heart-wrenching sobs. How could you? The words spun round on repeat like a broken record in your head.

You felt a pair of arms wrap around you and his chin resting above your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured you.

“Do you still think of me?”

“Always,” you admitted openly, as you clung to the back of his neck, inhaling sharply and savoring his unmistakable scent.

He pressed his lips upon the crown of your head, kissing you tenderly. “You can leave this behind, you know?”

“I don’t want to,” you insisted.

Even if all that remained was a figment of your imagination, or an apparition that haunted you, you were stubborn. Nothing could make you give this up. So much so that you blurted out the following statement determinedly into his chest, “Take me with you.”

His breathing stilled all of a sudden, as he understood the implication behind that sentence. You were tempted to join him, wherever he was.

Pulling you up to face him on eye level, he reproached you sternly, “Baby, no.”

He gripped your chin firmly to reiterate his point. “I mean it.”

“Nothing’s helping,” you responded listlessly, as if you were begging him to reconsider.

“Time,” he offered, peering at you sympathetically, the shape of his pupils widening as he combed through your hair soothingly.

Closing your eyes, you sighed, allowing yourself to melt in his touch, despite your disbelief. “That’s what everyone says.”

“Remember when we were at Huntington Beach?”

You blinked, gazing at him curiously. “How could I forget it?” 

It was one of the most blissful days you had with Leon. A quick weekend getaway, before both you headed in separate directions to your respective colleges again. You could smell the crisp, briny sea so distinctly, as if it were only yesterday. 

He flashed that wide, boyish smile you adored. “We had so much fun, didn’t we?”

You couldn’t hold back a chuckle at the memory. “We did.”

Caressing your cheek and then your lips, he promised, “That feeling… it’ll come back again. It just takes time.”

It just takes time. The very same words you had used to comfort him back in high school, telling him to let his eyes adjust to the pitch black darkness.

Although it seemed entirely out of reach for the moment, you knew that the world would open up to you at some point. You just had a ton of shit days lined up in front of you, like an endless maze, and you were growing tired of mustering the strength to confront them.

An unwanted thought crossed your mind. How long would he stay? You started to panic.

“Leon,” you pleaded. “Please don’t go.” Your eyes glistened, as fat droplets spilled down onto the sheets.

He bit his lip, and you saw that his face too, mirrored yours, streaked and wet with tears.

“I’ll be right here.” He cupped his hand over your heart, as you felt his phantom touch for the final time, before he was gone.

━━━━━━━━━━━

When you awoke, it was the brightest time of the day, with the noon light streaming into the bedroom through the gaps in your curtains. The bed was empty, but Mikkel had left you a note. In it, he apologized for leaving early as he had an appointment to attend to which he couldn’t back out of. As you had slept like an angel, he didn’t want to wake you.

Upon checking your phone, you saw another message from him.

‘Last night was special. I would love to take you out again. How about next Friday?’

You paused, re-reading the text over and over until the words started to jump and blur. Your thumb hovered over the buttons of your mobile, as you pondered your next steps. You exhaled deeply, and with a swift tap, you pressed delete.

[crimsonedquill]

Hey! I'm in great need of angst right now. :) Would you like to write Sebastian x f!reader (not Mc) fic where reader is a friend with Seb and Ominis for years and has feelings for Sebastian as long but now is hurt/jealous of Mc being so close to him? Sad or happy ending up to you, thank you!

Lost Love (Sebastian Sallow x Jealous f!reader)

WARNING: Angst ahead

Did I stay up all night to write Sebby angst when I was supposed to be sleeping? Why yes, I did! Let's be real, since MC is basically a gaslighting bitch for most of Sebastian's questline, that angle was too good to pass up. Thanks for the prompt 🖤

“What do you think of them?” you asked your friends as you made your way back to the common room, your bellies deliciously filled with food from the start-of-term feast.

“The new fifth-year?” Ominis asked. “I can’t say I envy their position. Starting this late must be rather daunting, especially in a completely new environment.”

Sebastian chimed in, “I’m quite eager to get to know them, actually. Did you hear they got attacked by a dragon on their way here?”

“Somehow I find it hard to fathom that to be the only reason for your curiosity,” Ominis responded, the skepticism audible in his voice. “You probably couldn’t keep your eyes off her during the sorting ceremony.”

“My, the slander. Y/N, you didn’t see me looking, did you?” Sebastian turned to you with a grin.

Your eyes shot up, the question catching you a bit off guard. “Uh, no, I don’t think so –”

“See?” Sebastian said, turning to Ominis triumphantly. “Now, of course, were she to actually have caught my attention, I’d say you can’t blame a man for having good taste –”

The two continued bickering, but you didn't hear them. Something inside you stung, and you knew what it was. The truth was that you had seen Sebastian looking at the new fifth-year – in fact, you were pretty sure you’d witnessed him practically undressing them with his eyes. You wouldn’t put it like it bothered you… after all, you’d known the handsome Sallow boy to be a flirt ever since he was chasing girls back in Feldcroft – but still… it bothered you.

Entering the common room, the three of you stood in front of the fireplace. “Well,” Ominis yawned, “I’ll be taking my leave. I will see you two at breakfast, if you manage to be out of bed before then.”

“Sweet dreams,” Sebastian said with a chuckle, and he stretched his arms as Ominis disappeared off to the dormitory, causing an involuntary twitching in your stomach.

“I should probably be going as well. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” you nodded. You watched him walk to the archway, doubt scrambling your thoughts… then you suddenly opened your mouth: “Sebastian?”

He turned around to face you. “Yes?”

The words lingered on your lips. You had been planning to tell him, and now that you were, you suddenly didn’t know what to say. His gaze bore into you, causing you to blush.

“I –” you stammered, “it‘s good to be back, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” he smiled gently. “I’m glad to be here again, with you and Ominis. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded. “Yes. Eh, goodnight.”

The tension escaped you in a sigh after he left. This shouldn’t be so difficult. After all, the two of you had known each other for years; you had shared everything with each other, from tears and grief to dreams and laughter. Yet in some way, you figured this to be the exact problem – what if the things you wanted to tell him would change all of that forever?

As the days passed at Hogwarts, you found yourself consumed by doubt and disappointment. You had spent the entire summer psyching yourself up to confess your feelings to Sebastian, but now you were starting to wonder if it was worth the risk. Despite your attempts to focus on your studies, thoughts of him kept creeping into your mind – imagining his reaction, the way his eyes would light up if only you had the courage to speak up.

Finally, you decided to take the leap and walked up to him after Defence Against the Dark Arts. Shifting your books in your arms, you flashed him a smile and complimented him on his impressive duelling skills.

“Prewett must have thought I’d gotten rusty over summer break,” he scoffed, “I honestly wasn’t even trying.”

“Sure you weren’t,” you playfully nudged him. “So… uhm, I was thinking – perhaps we could go over our Potions homework this evening, someplace quiet?”

“Fine by me. Did you and Ominis already have some ideas?”

You noticed your throat getting dry, making it more difficult to speak. “Well, actually… I believe Ominis has been otherwise occupied, so I thought it could be just the two of us –”

“Ah, so it’s a date then,” he chuckled, not realising how your cheeks were turning red. “Well, count me in.”

“Great! So –”

“Oh, hang on, I’m being stupid.” He stopped in his tracks, facepalming himself. “I forgot I already have plans this evening. I promised the new student a little clandestine tour of the Restricted Section.”

“M-my, already spreading your bad influence, aren’t you?” you said, your smile masking the pain you felt in your chest.

“Force of habit, I’m afraid,” he shrugged. “It’s all rather exciting actually. I’m supposed to be helping them on some kind of quest – they haven’t exactly told me any details yet, but I’m convinced it’s something truly astonishing.”

“Well, keep us posted, will you?” You pretended to suddenly realise that you’d forgotten your quill in the classroom and told him to go on without you. The pain in your chest lingered throughout the day, like a relentless curse, refusing to release its grip even in the refuge of slumber.

— — —

At first, you tried convincing yourself that it wasn’t anything malicious. Sebastian had always been protective, mainly owing to his sister’s condition, and he was probably just putting in an effort to make the new fifth-year feel at home. Yet you couldn’t help but notice that they were spending more and more time together, to the point where even Ominis started taking notice. You ended up discussing the subject one day on your way to the Undercroft to practice some spells you’d recently learned.

“I suppose it’s a bit curious,” Ominis confessed, following the red glow at the tip of his wand down the stairs. “He’s been rather absent-minded lately – even more than usual, if that is what you mean to say.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” you agreed. “It’s like he’s forgotten all about us – all he cares about is spending time with that… girl.”

You noticed Ominis turning his head ever so slightly in your direction with a frown on his face. Shit, you hadn’t meant to put it like that –

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but you haven’t sounded quite like yourself either lately. Is everything all right?”

“Of course,” you hastily said as you turned the corner to where the entrance to the Undercroft was. You noticed the hidden door of the clock swinging open and were momentarily thankful for the interruption, but your gratitude was quickly evaporated when you saw the person stepping out. MC’s smile disappeared just as swiftly as they saw you. “Oh, er –”

To your own surprise, it wasn’t you who lashed out at them. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Ominis demanded.

Your heart sank when you saw Sebastian climbing out of the clock. He quickly jumped in front of MC, putting his hands up. “Ominis, it’s all right, she’s with me –”

Ominis cut him off, “You brought her here? What right could you possibly have had to do that without telling us?”

Sebastian's voice rose as well, “Oh come on, I would have told you eventually! You’re acting as if I couldn’t tell whether someone is trustworthy!”

“It’s not about trust, Sebastian. This is our special place. You should have consulted us before bringing someone else into the fold.”

“I think you’re a bit overreacting, to be honest.” Sebastian turned to you now, clearly looking for some help. Yet the only thing occupying your mind right now was the sight of MC behind him, their infuriatingly smug expression making your blood boil. You shook your head. “You should have told us, Sebastian.”

Sebastian's expression hardened. “Unbelievable. I expected more from you. Come on, MC."

He took her by her arm and pushed past you, leaving you and Ominis in a charged silence. Your heart felt heavy as you watched them disappear down the hallway, wondering when everything had started to change between the three of you.

— — —

Sebastian had been ignoring you for weeks since the incident at the Undercroft entrance. You had tried to reconcile with him, not because of your feelings, but because you hated the thought of losing your friend. Even though you eventually ended up making up more or less, it became painstakingly clear something was blossoming between him and MC. They were basically sitting together in class all the time now, and after some time he even took them to see Anne without telling either you or Ominis.

It left you feeling like something within you had shattered permanently. Worst of all was that you were utterly incapable of doing anything about it. Ominis was still looking out for you, but you were too embarrassed to talk about your feelings even with him. All that was left for you to do was to let the itchy pain of jealousy keep eating away at your insides.

Then, one day, you found Ominis in a quiet corner of the common room, pale as a ghost and on the verge of tears. After some effort, you managed to learn that he had been convinced by MC to take her and Sebastian to Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium, and it had demanded a terrible price. Initially, you were just shocked. Then a wave of hot anger washed over you, stifling all other thoughts. Fuck your feelings – this wasn’t just about you anymore.

You stormed out and didn’t stop until you had found MC. They seemed surprised to see you; even more when you backed them into a corner, looking ready to tear them apart. “Y/N, what –”

“What were you thinking?” you seethed. “How did you have the audacity to put Ominis through something like that?”

MC was lost for words. “I – it wasn’t my intention! Sebastian told me it would be perfectly safe –”

“But you don’t know him, do you? How could you, you’ve only been here for a few months! And is it true you cast the Cruciatus Curse on him?”

MC’s eyes widened. “He… he asked me to!”

You didn’t know what you were hearing. However, before you could give them the verbal punch in the face they were so obviously begging for, you heard a familiar voice say your name. You swerved around. Sebastian was standing behind you, but he might as well have been a completely different person; he was clutching his side and his eyes had an unrecognisable darkness in them. “Y/N, leave her alone.”

“Sebastian, you’re hurt –” you said, taking a step toward him, but he interrupted you, “I’m fine. No thanks to my dear friend. Can you honestly believe Ominis would actually have let us die down there? Thank Merlin MC was there –”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your attitude now a mix of indignation and anger. “He’s tearing himself apart in the common room because of what you put him through!”

“He’ll get over it,” Sebastian huffed, though you could see him shuffling his feet. “It was a necessary evil. I’ve never this been close to finding a way to cure Anne. Y/N, I can’t give up on pursuing this,”

Despite your anger, you couldn’t help but feel some compassion for the Sallow boy in that moment. Perhaps it was just your feelings talking, but you forced yourself to calm down, taking a deep breath before you looked him in the eye. “But Sebastian, is all of this really worth it? For Merlin’s sake, look at what it’s doing to you –”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, growing harsh again. “And in fact, I think it would be better if you stayed out of our way from now on.”

“But I could help you –”

“Oh yeah? Tell me, would you have casted Crucio on me if I’d asked you to?”

You fell silent, knowing you couldn't have ever put him through that kind of pain. “No,” you said softly.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Look, Y/N, I appreciate your concern, truly. But I know I can rely on MC here to do what’s necessary. It’d be best for you and Ominis to keep your distance until we’ve been able to figure this out. Do you understand?”

Doubt plagued your mind. Perhaps it would have been easier to believe him if he didn’t have that strange look in his eyes – that deep hunger of a predator which had smelled blood and would stop at nothing to reach it. But either out of love or some naive belief that you could save him if he got too close to the edge, you just nodded.

— — —

You told yourself that it wasn’t you. That it was just some wild goose chase, a hunch he was chasing after in the hope that it could finally be the miraculous means to save his sister. When he was done with her, he would simply cast her aside and come back to you. But you knew he wasn’t that cruel, and it also didn’t explain why it felt like he was slipping away from you as the days went by, to the point where you weren't even sure if you could call him your friend anymore.

Every now and then, you would hear about his escapades. Apparently, he had gotten into trouble with his uncle when he got caught using Dark magic, and he had been banished from seeing his sister after that. It broke your heart to see the handsome boy you used to harbour a secret crush on turn into a mere shadow of his former self, an obsessed mind constantly whispering to himself about revenge and “showing them”.

And then you reached the edge.

A few months had passed when Ominis came up to you, looking completely disheveled and out of breath. “Y/N – we need to get to Feldcroft, now.” he said urgently.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, feeling a foreboding sense of dread.

“Anne sent me a patronus. It’s Sebastian – he’s gone down into the tomb with MC and that infernal artifact. I fear he’s planning to use it.”

You wasted no time in summoning your broom and helping Ominis to mount it. The two of you flew to Feldcroft as fast as you could, fears about what you’d find there running through both of your minds. As soon as you landed in front of the tomb entrance, you both drew your wands and stepped into the darkness, determined to find Sebastian as soon as possible.

You were horrified to find a battalion of Inferni waiting for you down in the cavernous corridors. The two of you fought ferociously, and eventually you managed to battle your way into the final tomb chamber. You saw Sebastian standing in the middle, seemingly captivated by the artifact in his hands. MC was standing a few feet behind him. Upon seeing her, your vision went red around the edges.

“You!” you screamed, leaping forward. “You let him on! All of this is your fault!”

You disarmed them without much effort, all of the rage you’d been keeping inside bursting out in a loud roar. They had taken everything from you, and they would pay for it. You lifted your wand, prepared to cast a curse at them –

“No, leave her alone!” Sebastian yelled, and suddenly everything happened at once. The only thing you remembered was something striking you in your side and the world around you going dark.

The next thing you knew, you woke up in a bed, surrounded by an collection of pastel colours. You groaned and sat up against the pillow, causing a figure sitting next to the bed to turn his head towards you. “Y/N, are you awake?” the voice of Ominis asked.

“Just about,” you said through gritted teeth as you felt the pain radiating from the sore spot in your side. “How did I get here? Where’s Sebastian?”

Ominis took a deep breath. Clearly he had not been meaning to tell you all the details so soon, but to his credit, he wasn’t sparing you from them either. “It was all really chaotic. Sebastian hit you with a Blasting Curse, and you were knocked unconscious. Then the situation quickly spiralled out of control. His uncle arrived and attempted to take the artifact from him… he didn’t take that well. He… ended up casting the Killing Curse.”

Your head started to spin. That couldn’t be, right? Your best friend, the one you’d known all your life… a murderer?

“Where is he now?” you asked. “What happened to MC?”

“Don’t you worry, I warned her to keep her distance if she wanted to avoid incurring my wrath. As for Sebastian – Anne and I discussed what to do about him and… well, we decided not to report him. What he’s done is unforgivable, but the guilt alone will be enough suffering for him to bear.” He paused for a moment. “Of course, I couldn’t fault you for disagreeing.”

You stared up at the ceiling. Everything felt so surreal – it was like you were living a bad dream, struggling to wake up. In the end, all you could muster was a sigh. “Oh, Sebastian…”

Ominis put his hand on your bed. You shifted your own hand towards him, the tips of your fingers touching his. “You cared for him as more than a friend, didn’t you?” he asked.

“I think I still do,” you confessed. “Even after everything… I don’t know. I was going to tell him, that I’d had this crush on him for the longest time, and that I wanted us to be more than friends… it pains me now to think I might have been able to prevent all this.”

His grip on your hand was tight, and his voice was heavy with sympathy. “You couldn't have stopped him,” he said. “Don't blame yourself. He chose his own path, and nothing could have changed that.”

You turned to him, tears brimming in your eyes. “I know,” you whispered. “But it still hurts so damn much.”

He didn't say anything else, but he didn't have to. He leaned in and held you close, and you finally allowed yourself to break down. Your tears flowed, a mourning of not just lost love, but also a broken friendship.

[desultory-novice]

"Brighter Skies"

...Ended up drawing this while working on other sketches. Because my brain is just wired for wistful, emotional takes I guess XD

-

Arguably, White-Haired Noir, the Noir who lived, is the Noir who had the hardest journey learning to love not hate himself. Teenage Noir could have never imagined this kind of life for him, because his whole life, he'd just been waiting to die.

In Darkened Skies, when he makes a soft, restrained plea to Kirby for that blessed mercy kill, some part of him was relieved, calm even, that he'd finally survived to the point where he might at last be set free from the pain of living. An ironic wish...

It's a damn hard thing to learn: to live and live positively for yourself. To trust and move forward even though you're lost and confused and making constant dumb mistakes and there's no one around to reassure you, "Of course you're a good big brother!" (or whatever else one might be) when, hell, you don't FEEL good on the inside, but somehow you still NEED to hear it. And to hear it from someone else, because you've lost the ability to trust your own voice ages ago...

Kirby's "stop" is referring back to asking Dark Matter Swordsman to stop the invasion of Popstar (1) but in a general context can also be read as "I'm glad you learned to stop hurting yourself."

-

(1) Random Apologies AU AU Lore

As White-Haired Noir grew up, he became aware that he is only alive because he exists in a branch dimension. He was never supposed to survive. Adeleine was. His fate was always to become Dark Matter's Swordsman and be consumed, body and soul. You only have to live on Popstar for a while to pick up on the existence of alternate dimensions/timelines, and Adult Noir knows he is living in one. 

Kirby, through some mysterious power no one can explain, is also aware of this. Furthermore, on occasion, he expresses explicit, true knowledge of the main timeline, while Noir himself only has guesses about how a world without him would have played out.

(These sideways flashes mean that this Kirby does know about and misses playing with Adeleine, same as he would miss the absence of any of his friends, but Apologies AU AU Kirby cares equally about Noir. He could not trade one sibling/one friend for the other.) (2)

Even when he wasn't sure his existence was an anomaly, White-Haired Noir spent most of his later teenage years trying to find a way to "fix things," to either trade his life back for Adeleine's or to bring her back through some other means. It was following the Apologies AU Star Dream incident where Noir finally realized pursuing this path would only end up with him dead and no one happy. He began, at last, to accept his own reality not as an anomaly or a mistake but as something fragile, yes, something unprepared for, yes, but entirely and wholly for him and to start to cherish his own existence.

Now, if you were to wave a wish granting star or magic wand in front of Noir, he would solemnly decline it. And if you dropped a random AU Adeleine in his lap, he would do no more than give his alternate sister the warmest hug (she would be willing to accept XD) and tell her that, whether his words sound like utter nonsense or not, "Your older brother wishes you all the happiness in the world."

Then he'd send her back on her way.

-

(2)

This is ki~nd of meta-textual based on the fact that while Kirby isn't ever really like "Oh man, Meta Knight's not in this game!" we the players are aware of it and put our feelings into Kirby.

...Or something. I thought it was a fun idea at least?! ^^

[throneofsapphics]

Manorian x a depressed reader who thinks she's not enough and committed suicide

Like they're beside her bed for week and she's unconscious and they're asking themselves why?

mental prison

Manorian x Reader  

Summary: Manon and Dorian try and figure out why you attempted. 

Warnings: attempted suicide, mental health, blood, not proofread 

A/N: i changed committing for attempted, thank you for the request!

The feeling was overwhelming. Like your brain took over, and it was all-consuming, the only thing you could focus on no matter how much anyone would tell you it wasn’t real. It was real to you, and you found it guiding your actions. 

-

You were unconscious, and surrounded by blood when they found you. Dorian sprinted for a healer, Manon clutched your wrists, trying to stop the blood still flowing, and listening desperately for your heartbeat. It was so faint her immortal ears barely picked it up. Who the hell had done this? She couldn’t catch a whiff of anyone else's scent in the room and no traces of magic beside Dorians. It wasn’t possible, you wouldn’t have … but it was the only answer she could think of. Still, she pushed it out of her mind, she wouldn’t believe it - not unless you somehow survived and told her. 

-

Dorian had to pull Manon back to let the healers do their job, holding her as they worked. He thanked the Gods they at least had magical healers in Rifthold now. 

The healers told him what he knew was the truth, but exactly what he didn’t want to hear. Why would you do this to yourself? They showed you love at every corner, always listened to your doubts, and nothing made sense about this. He couldn’t find any reason or answer and it drove him crazy. He tried asking the healers, even asking a few of your trusted friends and they didn’t have any answers either. 

The thing that rang in his mind most was why wouldn’t you tell him you were feeling this way? He supposes you didn’t have to, but did he mess up enough you couldn’t trust him? The healers said you’d survive, and the only way he’d find out is asking yourself. 

-

Manon watched you with terrifying intensity for the week you were unconscious. They said you would live, but she always listened for your heartbeat, watched for your breathing, and held your hand when she could - cold and clammy, but not the kind that comes from the dead. Her thumb would frequently drift over the thin white line marring the inside of your wrist. It healed quickly, magic resorting your skin to almost how it was before. Underneath, she could still feel your pulse. Blood was still running through your veins, still pumping to your heart and mind, still keeping you alive despite your efforts. She wanted to hate you for doing this to yourself, hate you for being your own enemy but she couldn’t. 

-

You were awake, but your eyes were heavy with fatigue, sleep, and maybe some kind of drug. You felt the soft bed underneath you, a thumb running over the scar on your wrist. It didn’t work, then, you had survived. Dread filled you with the questions you would have to answer. They would want an explanation you weren’t certain you could give. How do you explain that your mind feels like a prison? That you can’t get rid of the feelings and thoughts circling it, that this felt like the only way to free them and yourself?

[jawritter]

Carry On

Chapter 22

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: This chapter is gonna be a little heavy right off the bat. VERY, VERY light smut warning. Nightmare. (We’re gonna be back in the barn for a hot second.) Multiple Viewpoints. Dream in in Italics. The reader also is starting to have some thoughts and insecurities.

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67​​​​ Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

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Dean’s POV: 

Dean’s body was vibrating and at the same time felt as if it were on fire; yet somehow not consumed. Everything was so amplified. Her fingers left burning trails down his chest as her warm breath fanned over the overheated skin of his neck. A deep, strangled groan passed through his kiss swollen lips as he sank himself inside her velvet heat; the dig of her nails in his back only spurred him on as he set a slow, cautious pace. Every drag of his swollen length drove him higher. He wasn’t going to last long at all, it had been so long, his body was tensing like a tightening rubber band; ready to let go at any moment, when it happened. 

White, hot pain shot from somewhere along his spine, and down his legs as his body locked into place; he screamed. The pain was excruciating, all he could do was roll off of her as panicked hands searched him, calling his name, trying to get his attention, desperate to find out what was wrong and help him.  When he forced his eyes open through he agony, as every breathe became labored and his lungs began to fill heavy and wet, he was drowning in his own blood again, able to taste the copper in his mouth; he wasn’t in his warm bed any longer with the woman he loved, he was naked, impaled to that fucking pole in that damn barn, he was dying, and Y/N couldn’t help him, no one could. 

“Dean! Dean!” Y/N’s voice called him back and he woke up scratching for air as the barn faded away, the safe, warm bed enveloped him.

His eyes frantically searched the room around them. Y/N’s worried face came back into view. He was home, he was safe. It was just a terrible dream. There were no horrible masks laughing at him as he desperately tried to hold onto every burning breath. He was clothed, he wasn’t in pain. It was all a really, really bad dream. 

Y/N’s face was draped in worry, her eyes shifted over him, watching him; attempting to assess if he was in any pain, or trying to figure out what exactly was happening to him as her hands brushed the sweat soaked strands of his hair away from his forehead. 

“They’re getting worse, aren’t they?” she questioned, and Dean shook his head as he brought a shaky hand up to pinch at his heavy eyelids, attempting to squash away the memory of his torment that lingered there. 

“No, that was the worst one since we’ve moved in here,” he assured her. “Probably because I was so fucking exhausted when I went to bed last night. I’ll be okay, it will pass.”

Y/N said nothing, but he could feel her staring at him still; he could damn near hear the wheels turning in her head as she worried over him. Only God knows what he was doing in his sleep to have woken her up, because it was clearly sometime in the middle of the night. It was still dark out, and the only light in the room came from the bathroom where he’d left the light on before he’d gone to bed; he was so tired when he staggered to bed, he must have forgotten to flip it off. 

“What time is it?” he questioned, and she turned slightly to look at the clock on the bed side table. 

“Just after one in the morning,” she answered him, her voice was still tight with stress, and he hated that he worried her so much. He wished things would be different, and she didn’t have to spend the majority of her time worrying over him. 

“You sounded like you were strangling or something, and then you just… screamed.”

Well, mystery solved; that would have scared the hell out of anyone awake, or not. No wonder she was still staring at him like he might laps into a seizure or something. 

“I’m fine sweetheart, I swear,” he voiced as he turned his head and forced his eyes open to stare back at her. He was almost afraid he’d open his eyes, and the barn would come back, but it didn’t. It was just Y/N there with him, so he desperately wished his racing heart would calm down, so that his breathing wouldn’t be so heavy. Maybe then, she’d relax next to him and at least one of them would get to fall back asleep. She had to be as exhausted as he was. She’d been working her ass off on this house, doing all she could to get it comfortable and make it into a home for the two of them, plus going to the shop every damn day with him. He saw it. Her efforts were far from unnoticed. 

He could tell that she didn’t believe him, but she did at least lay back down next to him, wrapping her arms around him as best as she could and laying her head on his shoulder, creating a warm, tight cocoon for him to hide in, that’s when his heart finally started to slow it’s eternal marathon. Now if only the dream that was still clinging to his skin would let go of him, that would be awesome. 

He needed to get a handle on this shit. He wasn’t a newbie to nightmares. That wasn’t the problem. The flashbacks, the nightmares, they were all just a prodigy of hunting. They were expected. He’d dealt with shit like that since he was a child and saw his first monster. But now, they were getting perverse, and incorporating sex in the midst of the shit, and not in the form of something pleasurable like a wet dream. They were twisted in with his nightmares and were doing a number on him mentally. 

He didn’t understand how he could be afriad of something as natural and simple as sex with the woman he loved more than anything. It should have been as simple as breathing. It wasn’t though. He was fucking terrified. This shouldn’t be. It was also becoming all he thought about; always lurking in the deepest, darkest, corner of his subconscious to jump up and attack him when he least expected it. Like when he was sleeping, or helping her do dishes, or watching her hang out some of the laundry. 

He felt like a goddamn perverted old man. 

Dean knew that really, there was only one way to combat this fear that had settled in him, and that was to face it head on. The problem was it had such a grip around his throat he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it. But he had too, he had to figure out how.  

He guessed that gave him something to think about for the rest of the night, seeing as there wouldn’t be sleep in his future. 

Y/N’s POV: 

When Y/N woke up for the second time, Dean had already gotten out of bed. She was alone, and not even Miracle had hung around to greet her this morning; meaning Dean was most likely downstairs already. 

It was a Saturday, so they didn’t have to be in the garage today. Everything they had, finally had its own place in their home, and Y/N had been working overtime to make sure everything was comfortable for Dean here. She really wanted him to be happy. To replace all the bad, painful memories that once resided here, and replace them with good memories. That’s why she was constantly chasing her tail, trying to do all the things, and somehow feeling like she was just beating air and getting nothing done; it was frustrating. 

Then, on nights like last night, when Dean had an extra bad nightmare, but wouldn’t share the details with her, but she could bet her left arm that it had everything to do with that barn, and that fucking piece of rebar, she got mad all over again at the situation Dean found himself in. Fighting monsters was easy. There was usually always a solution, even when one felt like there was none; in the end, there was always a solution. But how do you fight the mentality of this? There’s really no solution for this? This is no lore, there is nothing anyone could do to physically combat the monsters in his head, no matter how bad she wanted too. 

With a heavy sigh, and a deep seeded dread of what state she might find Dean in when she got downstairs, she swung her feet over the side of the bed just as the door opened, and Miracle came running to greet her. 

“There you are,” she said, wrapping her arms around her furry little best friend as she liked to call him. “Where’s daddy huh?”

“Coming,” Dean’s voice sounded just from the door, two cups of coffee in his hands. 

God she’d never get used to him walking around without a shirt on in the mornings, it was like a very hot jump scare and she’d never get over how stunning the man really was; even if he never saw himself that way. 

“You didn’t have to do that Dean,” she insisted as she reached to grab the cup of coffee from his hand; watching him carefully as he lowered himself down gingerly on his side of the bed in an attempt to not spill the coffee in his hand. 

“I wanted to,” he affirmed, positioning himself to throw his arm around her shoulders, and pull her into his side. 

This wasn’t really new behavior for Dean. She also knew this was as far as he was going to get; she was lucky that he wanted to cuddle at all. 

Before Dean got hurt, aside from acting as if she didn’t exist at all, she never saw him cuddling with anyone. Not even those cheap little whores he’d pick up at the local dive. It was no secret that he didn’t even really like to be touched all that much; she’d witnessed him yelling at Sam more than once for coming up behind him and putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder unexpectedly. She always figured it was some form of PTSD from being a hunter all of his life; not to mention one that literally spent the equivalent of 40 years in hell, and a year in Purgatory. 

Since his final hunt, that had changed, at least with her. He liked to have her close to him, tucked into his side. She knew better than to try and carry it any further than that. She knew just by accidentally touching him in a way he thought even insinuated deeper intimacy, he’d lock up and run. 

He’d told her before that he wanted and even craved more intimate moments, but he shunned them... Then, he’d grab her like he’d done after Sam had left and kiss her, leaving her dazed and confused to say the least; it gave her whiplash.

It was a constant mental battle with her, even though she’d never dare say it out loud. Dean had been through far more than her, but not getting the attention she thought came with being in an active relationship did hurt a little... She’d told him she wasn’t going to leave him no matter what. She loved him; she did. She just still felt, even though it was irrational to think so, that he was disgusted by her in some way, or didn’t really see her the way she saw him, and that’s why he wouldn’t even bother to make an attempt at being more than this. 

It hurt, whether she wanted to accept that it did or not. 

“You’re quiet this morning sweetheart,” Dean’s rough voice pierced the silence around them like a sharp knife, she jumped slightly but tried to cover it up by taking a sip of her coffee she’d yet to taste. 

“Just tired I guess,” she made an attempt to play it down. Hell, if he could do it, then she could too; Dean’s famous last words would forever and always be, ‘I’m fine’. 

“Well, we ain’t got shit to do today,” Dean informed her. “I think we’ve earned a day just to be lazy. We haven’t really done it since we’ve moved in.”

She desperately wanted to pass off the way she was feeling for stress, and just ‘being tired.’ Because he was right, they hadn’t really stopped and just took some time for themselves since they moved in. But she had a feeling that wasn’t it. She was just going to have to learn how to cope with the reality that this was it. This was their relationship. Period. Once the part of her that wanted something more with Dean died. She’d be okay.

“What are you planning on doing for the day?” Y/N questioned him, attempting to change the subject so that she could try and squash the sudden heaviness that settled deep down in her chest. 

“I don’t really have any plans one way or another,” Dean voiced. “I had a pretty rough night… I might set up Sam’s old room as an office, but I don’t even think I’m gonna fight with that today.”

Y/N sat up slightly, and he didn’t stop her, but he did grimace, which told her that he’d clearly said more than he’d intended too and was now regretting it by the gage of her action. Y/N on the other hand, was just surprised that he’d admitted to having a bad night in the first place. Still, she knew better than to push too fast or too hard. He’d lock up so fast she’d never get anything out of him again. That was just Dean. 

“Have you been in that room yet?” she quickly diverted, attempting to correct her face. She was afraid if he read too much into her reaction, it would turn into a day of silence. She didn’t think she could handle it if he stopped talking to her too. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, draining the rest of the coffee in his cup. “Been in there all morning. Just sitting on the floor, thinking. Not like I could sleep anyway. I didn’t want to wake you up tossing and turning.”

“Dean, you know you could have woken me up. I would have gladly sat up with you all night long if that’s what it takes.”

“It’s okay,” Dean interjected. “I kinda needed the time alone. I needed to think some things through.”

Just like that, a deep-seated fear took hold deep, deep down inside of her. Her subconscious told her that it was staying with her that he needed to work through alone so fast that if she was standing when he said it, she probably would have fallen on her ass. 

“Are you sure you are okay?” Dean questioned, turning his full attention to her. “You’re not yourself this morning.”

“It’s nothing, I swear I’m fine,” Y/N insisted, but Dean’s eyes only narrowed as he stared back at her. 

“That’s my line,” Dean said, completely unamused. 

After a brief pause in which she could literally feel his green orbs staring through her, attempting to figure out her deepest, darkest kept secrets. A look crossed his face that she didn’t quite recognize, but he masked it quickly. He was good at that. 

“Di—did I do something wrong?” he questioned earnestly, and fuck if she didn’t hate herself before, she hated herself now. 

“NO! Dean, of course you didn’t do anything wrong!” Y/N insisted, but there was something deep down inside of her that whispered in a taunting manner that he didn’t believe her, and that he could in fact see right through her. 

“It’s because of me isn't it?” Dean continued cautiously, as if he were dealing with a dangerous explosive, and while it wasn’t his intention to make her feel bad, it didn’t help her at that moment. In fact, it made her feel like her air supply had been cut off. “It’s because my body’s all fucked up and I don’t—”

“Dean, you stop that right there!” Y/N insisted, and he closed his mouth so fast she was sure she heard his teeth click together. “There isn’t a damn thing wrong with you! You definitely didn’t do anything wrong. Everything’s okay. I promise you. Everything is fine. I’m okay. Just a little stressed out because I’m tired. That’s it.”

Dean sat there silently picking at the comforter that he’d haphazardly thrown over his lap when he’d sat back in the bed. His jaw was tight, and if she listened hard enough, she could almost hear the wheels in his head turning. 

“I think… I think I’m gonna go grab a shower,” Dean said after a moment, offering her a soft smile. There was a distant look on his face; it scared her a little, until he took a deep breath and said… “Do you… do you wanna join me?”

“Seriously?” she questioned, unable to hide the obvious shock on her face, even though she might have. 

“Well, yeah… I mean… You’ve seen me naked before baby, it’s not like I’m shy or something—unless you don’t want me to se—you know what… forget it. I won’t take long. Then we can figure out breakfast.”

“Hey,” she said, grabbing his hand quickly as he turned his back to her. That dark colored circular scar in his back showed bright even in the dim light of the room, mocking the pair of them. It makes her stomach churn. The memory of just what he’d gone through. 

“I didn’t say no Dean. I’m just surprised you even wanted me too. You’ve been kinda distant here lately when it comes to things like that. I just figured you wanted your privacy.”

Dean didn’t turn around to face her, but he didn’t pull away from her either, just sat there looking at the floor with his feet hanging off of the side of the bed. 

“That’s because I make my own skin crawl most days, and I don’t want you to see just how fucked up I am and walk away like Sam did.”

He could have dropped a nuclear bomb in front of the house, and it wouldn’t have had as much of a devastating impact on her as what he’d just informed her had. 

Then there it was again, she felt like she’d failed him all over again. That he would even think that she’d walk away hurt her. But she guessed actions speak louder than words, and in comparison to what he was going through; what she had to deal with in her own insecurities didn’t even hold a candle to what he was dealing with. 

“You’re not disgusting Dean. We’ve been through this,” she insisted as she slowly crawled her way up behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face there.  “I told you the only way you’re gonna get rid of me is to kill me and bury me in the backyard… and then I’d probably haunt your ass because I’d be pissed off that you killed me.”

At least that earned a chuckle from him, and it released some of the tightness in her chest. 

“I’ll be sure to salt and burn your ass when the time comes then,” Dean attempted to tease, even though she could still hear some of the tenseness in his own voice. 

A long, deep silence fell through the room as he relaxed his body against hers, allowing her to hold onto him for the first time in a long time.

Finally, he wrapped his hand around her arms and unwound her grip from him before standing and pulling her with him. 

“Come on,” he said, this time with a lot more confidence than he’d had a moment ago. “Let’s go take that shower, there’s something I want to try.”

Forever:

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@ladysparks78

@sarahgracej​

[nirby-wirby]

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Adrienette (not much), mostly focused on non romantic relationships

What to expect: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, set post-s5 finale, Gabriel Agreste is dead

Summary: Now, laying on his bed with only the soft light of a bedside lamp illuminating the room, he felt guilt eating at him from inside his chest. His miraculous burned on his finger, a reminder of what he’d given up. Of what had somehow led to his father helping Ladybug and dying in the process. The guilt was suffocating, building more and more until he felt like all that was left of him was guilt.

Or: Adrien deals with the grief and guilt of losing his father with some help.

A/N: This was written for @justmagicalgirl for @mlsecretsanta. I hope you enjoy your gift!!

Adrien sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He was back in his room, the destruction of his house having been restored by the miraculous ladybug cure, or so he assumed. He couldn’t have really known exactly what happened, though Ladybug had assured him that his father had been a hero. He’d never thought his father was capable of giving up his life for the sake of Paris, but there was a lot he hadn’t known about the man.

Now, laying on his bed with only the soft light of a bedside lamp illuminating the room, his curtains drawn, he felt guilt eating at him from inside his chest. His miraculous burned on his finger, a reminder of what he’d given up. Of what had somehow led to his father helping Ladybug and dying in the process. The guilt was suffocating, building more and more until he felt like all that was left of him was guilt.

Chat Noir should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have let fear consume him. The visions of a ruined Paris shouldn’t have stopped him from doing his job. He was supposed to be a hero, stopping civilians from getting hurt. Instead, his incompetence allowed his father to die. It shouldn’t have been that way. It shouldn’t have been his father, just like it never should’ve been his mother. It should’ve been—

A knock on his bedroom door snapped him out of his thoughts. “Adrien?” Nathalie called from the other side of the door, “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he sat up, wiping the tears that had started to form in the corners of his eyes. He cleared his throat, “Yeah.”

“Hey,” Nathalie said softly, closing the door behind her, “how are you feeling?” She stood in front of him, a bit stiff and clearly unsure of how to go about this.

Adrien scooted over to give her some space to sit beside him if she wanted. “I’m fine,” he lied. The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

Nathalie hesitantly sat in the space he’d given her, clearly not convinced. “Are you sure? You can talk about it with me if you’d like.” Her hand hovered over his shoulder for a moment, only to drop back into her lap.

How could he even begin? Of course, it made sense for him to be upset. His father just died, leaving him as an orphan. But how could he explain the guilt he felt? How could he explain that his akumatized father had unknowingly left him with a nightmare that rendered him unable to do his job, later causing his death? It was almost impossible to explain without giving away his identity. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t possibly tell her that—

“I’m Chat Noir,” Adrien blurted, his heart thundering in his ears. Why’d he say that? He couldn’t even look at her; he couldn’t bear to see her reaction.

“What?” Nathalie asked weakly.

He took a deep breath, staring at his blankets. “I’m…Chat Noir,” he repeated, a little bit more slowly. He was shaking. He really shouldn’t have said that. It was too late to take it back now.

Tears sprung to his eyes as a heavy silence settled between the two of them. Nathalie wasn’t saying anything. Why wasn’t she saying anything? Did she blame him, too? Did she hate him now? For not doing his job? For not being there when Ladybug— when his father needed him? 

“Oh,” she breathed, pulling him into a hug, “oh, Adrien, I’m so sorry.” All it took was that simple gesture, the simple act of affection, and he broke, clutching sides of Nathalie’s blazer like a lifeline as he sobbed. 

————

Nathalie was in shock as she held a sobbing Adrien in her arms. This boy, who she considered a son, had been the very boy she’d fought for almost a year with Gabriel. She’d beaten him up — she’d hurt him — all while believing Adrien was safe somewhere. How had she never realized? Was she just as neglectful as his garbage excuse of a father? No, no, she couldn’t have been. Right?

“I-it’s all my fault,” Adrien hiccuped, her heart breaking at the broken words, “if-if I’d been there then—“

“No,” Nathalie said, vehemently shaking her head, “none of it is your fault, Adrien.”

The only person at fault was Gabriel. Nathalie felt anger bubbling inside her chest. That stupid, idiotic man who’d been driven mad by the miraculous. He left Adrien all alone, determined to be reunited with Emelie no matter what. In the time that Gabriel was blinded by his goals and his grief, Adrien grieved alone and moved on. In the time Gabriel left his poor son without a family, Adrien was in danger fighting something that only existed because of his own father. And now Adrien felt guilty? No, she couldn’t let him believe that he was ever at fault.

“But if I’d been there—“ he protested.

“Adrien,” Nathalie tried to keep the rage she felt for Gabriel at bay, making an effort to keep her voice gentle. “Your father is the only one at fault here. He shouldn’t have gotten involved with something so dangerous if he wasn’t prepared to be hurt,” she told him, careful of her wording. 

She couldn’t tell him the entire truth right now, not when he was already in so much pain. Someday, she would tell him everything. But the timing wasn’t right, at least not at the moment. How could she tell him how it all started when he was already blaming himself? 

Of course, none of it was his fault. Emelie and Gabriel knew there were risks to using a broken miraculous, they just hadn’t known the extent of it. Gabriel, however, had taken it too far when he’d tried to get his wife back. As much as Nathalie had missed Emelie, she knew Emelie would’ve never forgiven Gabriel for his actions. Seeing how his actions left Adrien only made Nathalie more sure of this fact.

“I just feel like if I’d been there, he’d still be alive,” Adrien mumbled, sniffling. He looked up at her, his eyes watery and red-rimmed. “I don’t want to be alone,” his voice was paper thin as a new wave of tears hit him. 

Nathalie felt her own eyes sting, but she continued to keep the tears at bay. “Adrien, look at me,” she told him gently. As always, he did as told. “You are not alone, and I won’t ever let you be alone.” Slowly, she took his shaking hands in hers, making sure to hold eye contact and let the words sink in. “You have me, you have your aunt Amelie, you have your cousin Felix, and you have all of your friends. I won’t ever take those people away from you, I promise.” 

Nathalie wouldn’t be like Gabriel and she would never be complicit in the ways Gabriel had treated this boy ever again. She’d make sure he wasn’t neglected or isolated or hidden away. She’d witnessed the effects of Gabriel’s terrible parenting and let them slide for too long. Adrien shouldn’t have gone through any of it, and she shouldn’t have just watched. She wanted to make a change, to help heal this broken child. 

Slowly, Adrien’s tears dried out and his sniffling died down, save for the occasional sniffle. He let go of Nathalie’s blazer, wringing his hands together instead. After a few beats of silence, she said, “I’ll let you have some rest, alright?” 

Adrien nodded as Nathalie got up to leave. As she opened his bedroom door, he called after her, “Nathalie?” She turned to look at him, “Thank you.” 

She smiled, “You’re welcome, and let me know if you ever need me.” As she closed the door behind her, Nathalie knew she needed to come up with a plan to help Adrien feel better. The only question was, how?

————

Marinette wanted to scream. Not for a good reason either. No, she wanted to scream because she felt like she was going to go insane as she paced back and forth in her room.

Gabriel Agreste was Hawk Moth/Shadow Moth/Monarch/whatever just as she’d once suspected way back in what felt like a whole lifetime ago. But no one knew. Except for her and Felix and possibly Kagami and probably whoever Mayura was. And she couldn’t tell anyone because his dying wish was that no one knew what a villain he was, especially Adrien. But she still knew. And it wasn’t even guaranteed that the people who knew still knew because she didn’t really know how the wish worked. Was it just that he ascended into some afterlife with Emelie or was it also that no one would know that he was the villain all along?

She’d complied because, well, it’s not like he could be put into prison or anything. There was no way for him to be held accountable because he was dead. The only person who would really be harmed by everyone knowing would be Adrien and Marinette never wanted to hurt Adrien. If everyone knew that Gabriel was the very person who’d terrorized Paris then the hate would be piled onto Adrien even though he didn’t do anything wrong. It wouldn’t be fair to him to have everyone hate him while he was grieving because he just became an orphan and if they found out he was a sentimons- sentibeing then—

Marinette’s phone rang, effectively stopping her downward spiral. She walked over to her desk and picked up the phone, surprised that Nathalie was calling her. “Hello?”

“Hello, Marinette,” Nathalie greeted on the other end of the phone. “I know you’re probably confused about this call, but Adrien wasn’t feeling well and I wanted to help him feel a little bit better. I figured you would be the person to call for help.” Maybe not the bestperson to call for help since the only reason his father was gone now was because he’d made the wish and the reason for that was she’d let her guard down and— “Hello? Are you there?”

Marinette let out a nervous laugh, forcing a smile even though Nathalie couldn’t see her. “Yeah, sorry about that, my, um, my service is bad. But I’d be happy to help, of course. I’ll call some of our friends and see what we can do.”

“Great. Thank you, Marinette.”

“No problem!” She lied. Nathalie promptly ended the call, leaving Marinette alone with her thoughts again.

Obviously, Marinette wanted to help Adrien feel better. She loved him very much and if she can take his mind off the fact that he’s an orphan for a couple hours and lift his mood, she’d gladly do so. But how was she supposed to face him knowing everything she knew? How was she supposed to face him knowing that his father wasn’t a hero and that he died because she’d lost? 

Marinette glanced over at the two silver rings she’d be given, glistening on her desk from the light that came through her window. She groaned, running a hand down her face. And how was she supposed to tell him that he was a sentim- a sentibeing? There was no way to do that without making everything worse. There was also no way to do that without him knowing that his mom must’ve had the peacock miraculous at a certain point. Which would easily lead to him questioning why his father never told him about that. Which would easily lead to him realizing that whoever Mayura was must’ve been someone his family knew. Which would easily lead to him wondering if his father knew Mayura. Which would easily lead to—

“Marinette!” Tikki was waving her arms in front of Marinette’s face. “Are you ok?”

Marinette waved away her thoughts. “Sorry, Tikki, I was just—“ She shook her head, “I’ll be ok.”

Focus, she had to focus. Nathalie asked her to help make Adrien feel better and she was going to help make Adrien feel better. She just had to figure out how. 

Marinette picked up her phone, dialing a number. “Hi, Nino!”

“Hey, dude,” Nino greeted from the other end of the phone. 

“I need your help…”

————

Adrien woke up from his restless nap when he heard a knock on the door. He rubbed at his eyes as he sat up in bed. “Come in,” he called, voice a bit raspy. His eyes brightened, his mood just a little bit lighter, when he saw Marinette hesitantly walk into the room with Nino and Alya following suit. He scrambled out of bed, running his hands through his hair in an effort to tidy it.

“He—“ Adrien could barely get out a sentence before Nino tackled him into a hug. He couldn’t help but crack a little smile at his friend’s enthusiasm.

“Hey, man, how are you feeling?” Nino asked. “Wait. That was kind of a stupid question.”

“No, no, it’s ok. I’m actually feeling a little bit better now that you guys are here.” It was true. Seeing his friends helped him even just a little bit.

“Awww,” Alya and Marinette said in unison.

It was then that Adrien noticed the bag in Marinette’s hands. “What’s that?”

She smiled, “Well, I thought you’d need a little something sweet to help you feel a little better, so I brought your favorite pastries and some extra for us to share.”

Adrien’s heart warmed at Marinette’s thoughtfulness. He really did have the best girlfriend in the world. “That’s really sweet of you, Marinette,” he murmured, hugging her.

“So, is everyone getting a hug except for me, or..?” Alya asked, causing them all to laugh as Alya and Nino joined the hug for one big group hug.

After separating, the four of them sat at Adrien’s couch, ready to enjoy the pastries Marinette brought. Just as Marinette reached into the bag of pastries, she paused, sniffing the air. “Do you guys smell that?”

Adrien sniffed the air. “Yeah…it smells like something’s burning.” Burning?

Alarmed, the four of them got up and rushed downstairs, following Adrien into the kitchen. There, they found Nathalie looking distraught as she coughed and waved at the smoke in the air, burnt pancakes on the stove which she’d just turned off. She turned to face them, a frown on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I was trying to make some pancakes but…” She trailed off as she gestured toward the burnt heap. Adrien grimaced at the sight. “I wanted to follow a recipe that would actually be good, unlike the ones Gabriel made,” she continued, nodding toward Marinette who knew just how bad his father’s pancakes were.

The only reason Adrien ate them was because he didn’t want to upset him. He was making an effort and he wanted to show gratitude. It wouldn’t have been right to say how he really felt about them. (Why didn’t it feel right?)

“I guess I’m just as bad at making pancakes as he is,” Nathalie concluded, shaking her head.

Adrien felt like there might have been more to that statement than what she’d said, but he wasn’t sure. He felt the urge to comfort her, but how? There was no way he could possibly eat those burnt pancakes and make her believe that he actually liked them. (He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to do that. Why did he ever feel the urge to eat the pancakes his father made him even if he hated them?)

“We can make a new batch,” Marinette offered with a smile. “I know how to make some and they’ll definitely be better than Mr. Agreste’s pancakes.” She glanced at Adrien, “Um, no offense.”

“Yeah,” Alya added, “it’ll be fun to make some pancakes together.”

“And we can save the pastries for later,” Nino supplied. They’d left the pastries in Adrien’s room and he’d almost forgotten about them.

They all looked at Adrien, waiting for his response. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea. His past experience with pancakes wasn’t great. But maybe it would be different this time. Maybe making the pancakes with his friends and Nathalie would be fun. Maybe they’d actually taste good. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make some pancakes together.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make new, better memories. Was it even right to say that? To use the word “better”? He should feel bad for that. He shouldn’t think of his father in a bad light. His father was a hero. A hero.)

“Adrien?” Marinette asked gently, suddenly appearing at his side. “What do you think?”

What did he think? Adrien made himself give a small smile, hoping it was believable enough, deciding he’d leave the thinking for later. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

“Awesome!” Nino exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. “I haven’t had pancakes in a while.”

So, the five of them got to work, looking for and gathering the ingredients Marinette needed and measuring the amounts necessary for each. Before long, they’d had flour all over their clothes, and the wonderful smell of fresh — not burnt — pancakes was in the air and laughter surrounded them. With so much going on around him, and so much joy in the air, Adrien almost, almost, forgot why they’d come over.

In the midst of all the chaos, Marinette pulled Adrien aside, her brows furrowed. “Hey,” she murmured, “I saw you pull your model smile earlier.” He opened his mouth to protest but a pointed look made him stop. “You know you didn’t have to make pancakes if you didn’t want to, right?”

Adrien sighed, “I know that, it’s just…” Just what?

“Just..?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint everyone. You all looked so excited to make pancakes.”

“Adrien…”

He looked down from her disappointed look, unable to look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why are you sorry?” Marinette gently took his face in her hands, guiding him to look at her. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do something if you don’t want to. Your father made you do too many things you didn’t like, and I don’t want to keep doing that to you.”

He shook his head, “I wasn’t just doing it because you guys wanted to. I think that maybe… Maybe making pancakes with you will be more fun than eating the pancakes my father made.” Why did he feel so guilty for thinking that? Why was he so conflicted?

“Is this what you want?”

When was the last time he’d heard that question? His father seemed to never ask him such a thing. It was never Adrien’s decision.

“Yes, it is.”

“Ok. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

He leaned down to kiss her forehead, “Thank you, Marinette.”

“Anytime,” she smiled warmly.

“The pancakes are ready!” Alya called from the kitchen.

Soon, they sat down with stacks of pancakes on their plates and toppings laid out in front of them. Adrien opted for some chocolate syrup and whipped cream on top of his pancakes. He’d never tried them like that before, but Nino assured him that it was a good combination.

As they ate and talked, Adrien found himself able to actually, genuinely crack a smile and let out a chuckle. Just for a moment, surrounded by the people he loved, Adrien felt like maybe he was going to be ok. It wasn’t going to happen overnight, but with people who cared about him by his side, he’d get there eventually.

[beneathashadytree]

Hiiiiii! I wanted to request an angsty fic, where reader is like Scarlet Witch in WandaVision who makes this alternate universe where Whitebeard is alive and like Ace is Vision and they both have kids. While all that's happening in the Hex, the Red Hair Pirates, remnants of the Whitebeard Pirates, and the Straw Hats try to stop her since she's taking over the New World. (The Marines are trying to kill her) I'll leave the angsty details to you since I suck at thinking🤣 THANK YOUUU, HAVE A GREAT DAY!

PICTURE PERFECT - PORTGAS D. ACE X READER

Warnings : Marineford spoilers, mentions of death, blood, gore, and the like, grief and delusions, this can be generally unsettling, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : angst (plus creepiness)

Word count : 1.0K words

Additional notes : Hi nonnie! So sorry for taking a ridiculously long time to get to this, but as you might know by now, I’ve been on hiatus after certain traumatic events in my life. I had to change up quite a few things in this because I haven’t watched anything from the Marvel Universe, so I know absolutely nothing about how this would work🫠 Also, I’ve had requests for ficlets (4K+ word-long pieces) turned off for over a year now, so I couldn’t get into too much detail anyways. And of course, as stated in my rules, unless the gender affects the plot, I write my readers as gender-neutral to be as inclusive as possible. However, I hope this could be somewhat satisfactory to you, with the general vibes I could manage🥹💗

Requests : Are closed for the time being.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This wasn’t how they’d planned out their future together.

They’d always expected a life on the run; they’d never imagined anything different. But still, the love between them was too intense to deny, and too unconditional to ever think for a moment that it would ever disappear. If they had no faith in anyone but themselves, they could, at the very least, believe in their love.

Wherever they would’ve gone, they’d still be just as smitten as they were the first day they met. No matter how their future played out, they were so sure that their love would have them dying in each other’s arms at a peaceful old age, their last breaths weaving in bed together. Wherever one went, the other would follow. That was how it was supposed to go.

It wasn’t supposed to end with them carrying Ace’s limp, ice-cold body in their arms. It wasn’t supposed to be the acrid smell of burnt flesh that suffocated them. It wasn’t supposed to be his blood that drenched their clothes and stained them unsalvageable.

They weren’t supposed to be gasping for air as their entire body shook violently, pure horror painting their features. Nor were they supposed to feel bile rising at the back of their throat and tears stinging their eyes at the terrible realization that his chest wasn’t moving, not one inch. As a matter of fact, nothing much remained of his mangled chest at all—if they could even recognize it as his chest anymore.

Their trembling only intensified, failing to register just how empty and mutilated he seemed in their lap. Vision swimming, they couldn’t help but let the ugly sobs rack their body, their tears falling freely down their cheeks. They hiccupped on their sobs, the sounds mingling with the moans of a deep, deep pain that threatened to swallow them whole.

Ace had left them. He’d left them behind. He’d left them behind in a world they no longer wanted nor cared for. He’d left them to look forward to nothing, to feel so empty and numb but somehow consumed by a sadness so immense it nearly ripped them apart.

Perhaps it was that moment, that moment when their entire world crumbled around them, that drove something to crumble inside of them. Something broke, and that odd, unfamiliar something awakened the deepest pit of their sorrow within them. Pandora’s box opened, and it shattered their very reality as they knew it. With Ace’s dead body in their arms, and their wailing piercing the stormy vortex of sudden bleak night, they were soon swallowed into it without even being the slightest bit aware.

The grief was blinding, and they’d lost all control. Where it took them, they didn’t care nor pay it any notice.

***

Having lost track of time, they hadn’t any idea how long it had been. In all cases, it didn’t matter. No, it truly didn’t matter what had happened on that day; after all, why would it? They still had Ace.

Yes, they still had Ace. And he was sitting right behind them on a small, tattered-but-well-loved couch. Strong arms cradled them close to his chest—a perfectly intact, moving chest, not even the slightest bit scarred. Would the universe demand a price from them, for the heinous crime they’d committed just to have this? Maybe. But this universe, at the very least, was one that handed everything to them on a silver platter.

“What’s on your mind?” he mumbled, lazily planting soft, open-mouthed kisses up their neck to their ear, and his teeth lightly tugging at their earlobe.

They hummed in delight, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “Nothing much. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Ace laughed a little. “You just called us “three snotty-nosed brats” an hour ago.”

“And? You know I’m right,” they teased him, before asking, “Speaking of, did the kids give you a hard time falling asleep?”

Yes; kids. Kids that kissed them goodnight, kids that clung to them whenever they went out, and kids that would get mud on their carpets but shoot them the sweetest smiles that got them out of trouble every single time. Kids that cried when they scraped their knees, and kids that ran into Pops’ arms whenever he demanded his favorite grandchildren visit him.

Kids that made the small house feel like a warm home, and kids that fit perfectly into that delusion of happiness they’d built, with a father and grandfather that were perfectly healthy and fine. Deceptively so.

Perhaps this sort of deception wasn’t as sinful as it sometimes whispered it was in their ear. Their Devil Fruit had never proved itself useful, and their lack of desire to use it had been the reason why they’d found themself stunned by the existence of this universe of their own creation. The grief that had nearly killed them of heartbreak had been the very same thing to offer some salvation to them, by granting them a second chance in a world where things were perfect, in an almost eerie way.

“—babe? Babe? Hey—“

“Yes, yes,” they sighed, momentarily snapping out of it. “Sorry, got lost in my thoughts for a second.”

“You’ve been doing that pretty often lately.” Ace’s handsome face contorted into a worried frown. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

They didn’t respond to that. Almost as though on autopilot, their feet carried them to the kids’ room. With stiff movements, they bent over to brush their hair back from their foreheads, hands subtly passing underneath their noses to check that they were breathing. Good. They were very much alive, and very much real. They were real. Not just figments of their imagination.

Ace still seemed confused as they turned to walk back to him. Peering into his beautiful dark eyes, they held their breath for a moment. Yes, yes. Good. His eyes were alive; they weren’t unblinking, nor were they unseeing.

And as they reached up with trembling hands, they could trace the freckles on his cheeks and feel him leaning into their touch. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the icy coldness that remained as a phantom touch in their memories.

They could live like this, forever and ever. No losses, no sorrows staining their flawless lives.

Plastering a smile on their face, they nodded. “Of course. Everything is picture perfect.”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro @livwritesfics

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

Was this a prompt? I honestly do not remember... but seeing as I am in yet another writing flunk (this time of year is not great for me, apparently) I figured it was about time I posted this! Set during 47 seconds, just a little ramble + a little non-canon memory thrown in for funsies. Enjoy! : )

Regret.

Richard Castle was filled with regret.

Like ice water in his veins: he could feel every painful drop of it as it coursed through his body, freezing him from the inside out.

Two years ago, when he invited her to his home in the Hamptons, he had been warned - by his mother, by the boys, by Beckett herself - to tread carefully, that this wasn't a smart decision, that someone was bound to get hurt. Like a fool, he didn't heed their warning. He doubled down: insisted his intentions were pure and, somehow, he had managed to convince Kate of that, too.

They'd been out of the city for mere hours before the façade fell, before they both stopped trying to convince themselves that this was a purely platonic weekend getaway, before they acknowledged that - like everyone else had already suspected - this was anything but innocent.

On night one they were already pushing boundaries, dangerously close to breaking the unspoken rules they had lived by for the past year.

By night two, they had created an impenetrable bubble where the rules and the complications of real life couldn't get to them. Within the walls of his Hampton home they had created a new life. A life where maybe they could be together, enjoy each other's company without guilt. A life where their touches didn't have to be restrained and the magnetic draw to one another didn't need to be ignored.

Night three and they felt like it had been this way forever: holding hands as they walked along the beach; occupying one another's space, talking and laughing as they cooked dinner together; snuggling up while watching TV or reading books... it felt like they had spent a lifetime doing these things.

What happened next had only felt right. It was tainted by the bittersweet knowledge that in the morning they would be returning to reality, that it would never be repeated, that it would never be spoken of again -- but still so right.

He didn't regret their one perfect weekend together. He never would. But that summer he found himself wondering if he should have pushed harder, if he should have asked her to give them a real chance.

He supposed he always knew, deep down, that they weren't ready back then. That is, after all, why he had turned to Gina and why (he assumed) Kate had turned to Josh.

Distractions. From what they both wanted, but weren't ready for.

Over the proceeding two years, that idea had only solidified in his mind. After that summer - when he returned to the precinct - it took them a beat to find their feet again, to find their balance with everything that had changed, everything that hadn't. They got there easily enough, considering.

He had let himself believe that it had been a sign that the universe was on his side... on their side. They slotted right into each other's lives so seamlessly, so effortlessly. Surely that had to been a sign that they were destined to figure this out, right?

And that, right there, was the cause of this all-consuming regret. His foolish belief in destiny.

In fate.

In them.

Maybe without that naivety watching the love of his life inadvertently confess to remembering her shooting, to remembering his tear-filled confession of love and to lying to him with such ease wouldn't be quite so painful.

Maybe without that naivety he never would have allowed himself to so recklessly fall for her - someone who never had and never would love him back - in the first place.

He wouldn't be standing in the observation room frozen, angry and regretting the day he had convinced himself that she was worth risking his heart.

[reyesstrand]

fic stats meme

thanks for the tag @rmd-writes & @chaotictarlos (edit: & @welcometololaland who’s tag i saw moments after posting ajdnsjd) <3

rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words. (i’m going to be excluding prompt collections here, and only doing lone star works! )

most hits: lit the spark (that set a fire) (tarlos)

It's Judd who explains it to them; that before the accident and before the station was rebuilt from the ground up, the 126 had a long-standing, friendly rivalry with Ladder 102. Their golden boy, Carlos Reyes, well—he kind of knocks TK off his feet.

second most kudos: wanna be still with you (tarlos)

He's too focused on keeping himself upright, feeling woozy from the exertion, that there's a sort of hazy quality to everything around him. TK hears his name being called, and he's—he's certain it's his mind playing tricks on him; he has to be in some dreamlike state where Carlos has found them. But then he feels hands on him—big, sturdy, warm hands he would recognize blindfolded—and he turns his head and sees worried brown eyes and he just about crumbles.

Thankfully, he has Carlos there to catch him.

third most comments: tried and true blue (owen & tk/tarlos)

"She knows," Owen says, his eyes almost too sincere for TK to handle. He clamps his molars together and just stares at his father, because if he lets himself think too hard about all the ways his mom is still here, somehow, he'll probably burst into tears. Owen gives him a sad smile. "She does, TK. She used to talk about when you'd get married all the time."

There's a pause, and TK curls his fingers tighter around his mug, letting everything simmer between them.

"When I got married," TK quietly repeats. "Not if?"

fourth most bookmarks: to be reborn (tarlos)

In a flurry of movement, TK wakes up. TK tells him, voice soft and rough around the edges: "Breathe." And at that moment, Carlos knows the rest can wait.

fifth most words: to which there is no reply (tarlos)

Everything about TK makes him forget. But then it all comes back to him slowly, not unlike a spark to kindling, leaving Carlos swallowing down his grief like the fire it is—trying to consume it all by himself so he’s the only one who feels the burn.

He glances out the half-open window, and sees the white dots of birds drifting on the low tide, and he wonders how he’s supposed to leave it all. The salty air, the pleasant sun, the way TK walks without a line of tension in his shoulders. He knows they’ve transcended all different sorts of honeymoon phases since they gave their relationship a real go a few years ago; he knows that they’ll still be them once Owen picks them up from Austin-Bergstrom and they go home to the loft and work and responsibilities and Lou II. But he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go back to a life without his father.

fic with the least words: hold on to me (nancy/marjan)

She tries to keep herself focused on tiny tasks as she prepares to go home; the shower had been blissful, but now she longs for her own bed. Cap had told them they’d be able to take a few days off to grieve, and so she grabs the dog-eared paperback Carlos leant her a week or two ago and her headphones from her bunk and stuffs it all into her bag, approaching the stairs as she goes. It’s then that Marjan hears it, tiny but distinctive in the quiet firehouse: a thud, followed by the sound of frustrated cries, all suspiciously coming from the ambulance bay.

Marjan moves quickly, maneuvering deftly around workbenches and supplies in the bay, biting on the inside of her cheek when she sees the source of the noise: Nancy, hunched over in front of Tim’s locker, staring down at the box of his belongings that’s tipped over onto its side.

no pressure tagging @paperstorm @theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses @rosedavid @heartstringsduet @beautifulhigh @marjansmarwani @terramous @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut and anybody else who’d like to try this out! <3

[blackjackkent]

what do you think wouldve happened in an alternate universe where hector let karlach become a mind flayer?

(A/N after writing this whole answer: whoops, this got out of hand, hope you're okay with an Unexpected Fic. XD Also maybe a smidge weird/dark at the end, although not a ton I hope? Certainly no more than the whole game is weird/dark. XD Anyway I hope you enjoy. <3 )

Ohhhhhhhhh.

Anon, I love you for asking me this question. <3 A very intriguing one!

And it is because I love you for asking me this question that I have braved looking up a video of Karlach actually becoming a mind flayer, which I had put off doing because I am a softheart and I knew it would hurt and also make Hector yell in my head. XD And when Hector yells in my head it's a whole thing because he does double Flurry of Blows against the inside of my skull for 140damage and it's rough enough in there already.

However! I have now watched it and done some thinks. (Hot damn, Lae'zel is MAD too, at least in the version of the scene I watched. The whole thing is very upsetting.)

Fundamentally it would be a tragedy, and not just for Karlach. Watching the way the scenes play out - there is just enough of Karlach in her speech that Hector would not want to disconnect from her. I think perhaps it touches on the same hope that kept him expecting a miracle for her heart right up until the end of the game - somehow, somehow we can make this work, somehow we will find a way...

But there is no way. This is who she is now, a creature of the Astral Sea with his love's voice and an empty place where her soul should be. And unlike the engine situation he can't even kiss her to make himself feel better because she looks like a squid.

-----

The one saving grace is, I suppose, she does seem happy enough. In the epilogue, she states that she has found a way to get brains to eat by consuming from terminally ill patients at a clinic in Baldur's Gate, people who have volunteered for the process because they are about to die anyway. And she talks about helping all of them live on by absorbing their memories and carrying them with her.

It's... sweet, in a way, Hector supposes.

He tries to keep busy. There's no battle in Avernus to occupy him in this timeline, so he primarily works with Jaheira and her kids on rebuilding. It's hard, physical work; it keeps his mind occupied. At first he sleeps at the Elfsong; later, after some nudging from Rion, Jaheira offers him lodging at her home, where he takes a hand in raising the latest crop of orphan children she is protecting. He sees Baldur's Gate start to bandage its wounds and begins to believe there was some purpose to all his struggle.

But his own wounds do not heal so easily.

He visits the clinic often. He and Karlach talk. Her voice is a slow near-monotone in her accent, unlike anything he ever heard from her before. Sometimes he can hear a twinge of her humor or a turn or phrase, and his heart leaps... but other times she speaks of things like destiny and infinite time in a way that reminds him more of the Emperor than the woman he loves.

She never laughs. She doesn't curse. There is never even the slightest mention of sex; though she still fully understands a double entendre when he makes one experimentally, she seems to take no interest in it. She seems to exist slightly beyond him, with a view of the world that is no longer of the Material Plane.

And yet... she does know him. She remembers everything - stories he told her of his childhood in the monastery, details of Selunite rituals she learned from him, quiet moments in camp he half-forgot himself. She still calls him Soldier, and sometimes Hec. She remembers her own parents; she remembers the city. There is just enough of her still in there... just enough for it to squeeze his heart.

----

One day she walks (well, floats) with him to the Singing Lute; she sits with him while he eats. They talk about the rebuilding; he points out from the balcony some of the new homes he has worked on. She is quiet for a long time. "It is good to see the place begin to live again," she says, in that strange cool slow voice that has replaced the old jocular drawl. "It's what it was all for."

He nods. "Do you regret it? Any of it?" Do you remember what we had? What we've lost?

"How could I, Soldier? The city still lives. You still live." A long pause. The old Karlach might have laughed sardonically, but there is no humor. "Even I still live, and I have grown beyond myself. What is there to regret?"

It sits like a rock in his stomach. If she is content, what more can he ask for? And yet it hurts... it hurts...

-----

Jaheira notices that he begins to withdraw back into himself, that he is quieter and more serious. She mentions it to Gale, on one of his visits to the city from Waterdeep.

"You're not wrong there," Gale agrees. "You weren't around yet, when we knew him fresh off the nautiloid. He was much more careful, then. Very controlled. The very picture of monastic stoicism - in between the panicked realization that we were all undergoing a supreme nightmare that never ended, of course. He lightened up, over the months - certainly by the time you knew him."

Jaheira purses her lips. "And this... he is returning to his old ways, you believe?"

"I don't think it would be unreasonable to assume," Gale says, with a sort of bleak humor, "that Karlach is no longer providing the same amount of compensatory levity that she used to."

-----

In the end, almost two years later, Lae'zel is the only one who speaks to him of it directly, and she is brutal - but effective.

"You have been hollowed out, she'lak," she says bluntly, on one of her rare visits from the Astral Plane. "It is a lessening of you. Do you still trail after your ghaik as if bound to her by a lead?"

"I have done much in the city since you left," Hector says, somewhat defensively.

"Chk. I do not speak of your body's business, k'chakhi. I speak of your mind. Your heart. You have lost yourself. You live only for others."

"As I was raised to do. As I have always done."

"Hector." She rarely speaks his name directly, but she does now, and it makes him jump. "You know of what I speak, and I will not have you ignore it. Your work in the city is admirable. You have cause for pride and contentment. Yet you pine after Karlach as if you hope to find her in the shell wearing her voice."

"She's still in there, Lae'zel."

"You mislead yourself," she spits. "Was it not you who taught me the strength to look beyond mindless devotion?"

That stings, and unconsciously he stands up a little straighter. "This is not mindless. It has been earned," he objects.

"Tas'ki. She is ghaik," Lae'zel says flatly. "What remains of her will dwindle, day by day. You know this as well as I." A pause. Then her eyes soften, and her voice with it. "You do not honor her sacrifice by this emptiness, Hector. Nor do you honor yourself."

He says nothing. His lips draw into a tight line. He hears her, and he does not want to.

"Think on what I tell you," she says - for all the world, now, as if she is the wise mentor and he the student in need of guidance. "You are no fool. You know I speak truth. Do not discount it."

-----

It takes a long time, but he does eventually start to come back to himself. Ten years. Twenty years. He grows old, though he loses none of his strength, his training too ingrained to allow him to weaken with age. The city reforms, stronger than ever, and he slowly begins to learn what life is, outside of both monastery and war.

He teaches self-defense to the children Jaheira rescues and others in the Lower City. He learns to (very badly) play a lute at Alfira's school. He tries his hand as a woodworker after so much carpentry work in the rebuilding of the Gate; one day, with some pride, he gifts Halsin a raggedly carved owl in return for the duck. He travels with Shadowheart several times to the House of the Moon in Waterdeep, reaffirming his faith in the light that has guided him through so much darkness.

And he reads voraciously. Everything he can get his hands on, from every library in the city. There is far more knowledge in the world, he comes to learn, than the particular cache with which he grew up.

He visits Karlach less, over time. And Lae'zel was right - there is less and less left of her each time he sees her. She is drifting away from him. And slowly he comes to terms with that - that what they had was a wonderful thing and a fleeting thing that will never come back to him. He learns to live for them both, for the life she would have had with him, had there been time.

He does not love again, though. He lived his whole life devoid of romance before he knew her, and he has little interest in trying to find it again in the years that remain to him.

For the most part, he moves on, and eventually finds himself relatively happy. But there is one last concession to sentimentality and to everything he has lost.

-----

On one bright, cold afternoon in mid-autumn, many years after the Netherbrain has faded into a bleak memory, he goes to the clinic. She is there, much as she always is; she has not seemed to age much in all these years, though the tentacles are slightly longer, a bit more nuanced in their movement.

He, though, is old; the grey dappling in his hair and beard has faded to white. His body acts as strong as ever, but time is implacable; he knows, as she once did, that he has very little left. It is a strange thing - a weakness of spirit rather than flesh, old age's deeper destruction that even the most disciplined monk cannot stave off forever. He is not dying, but he would be dead soon, likely within a few tendays.

"Hector," she says, flat and cool and almost unrecognizable, and inclines her head at him slightly. "You have settled everything?"

"Everything," he says quietly.

"You are still certain it is time?"

"Yes."

"Then we will begin." She gestures him to a secluded corner of the clinic, with a comfortable chair set up for the purpose. He settles himself there and looks up at the clinic's cracked stone ceiling and waits.

"It has been a good life," he comments, as much to himself as to her, as he waits for her to approach. "Lae'zel was right, that I had to move on. I have done much, seen much. I am proud of what we achieved - all of us."

There's a long, expectant silence. Then he leans his head back, closes his eyes. "I never stopped loving you, you know," he adds softly.

"I know," she answers, and her jaws sink into his skull.

[mirabai0821]

Blood and Honey WIP excerpt #(-b+-√b^2-4ac) / 2a

Pairings: Tav x Astarion Warnings: none Words: I actually have no idea, sorry. Summary: Astarion has found he's lost the battle for Tav's heart, but, somehow, has won the war anyway.

Astarion hunched over an uncorked but unsampled bottle of wine, overthinking, as Halsin cautioned him not to do, which, of course, made him want to do it more despite all the grief it gave him.

“Some things can be easy if you want them to be,” he groused to himself in his best impression of the druid. “What a load of bullshit.”

Bullshit that consumed him for the better part of a day. Just long enough for him to see Halsin walk out of Tav’s room wearing an unmistakable grin, like the bear that ate the beehive. 

He fell for it. He fell for that load of "we don't have to be enemies" crap and Halsin used it to make his move. The overwhelming feeling of loss scoured his insides to the bone though it was a wholly inappropriate emotion to feel. He wasn’t entitled to loss. Not for what his true designs were, and yet grief sank into flesh heavy as lead. He was surprised to find he could move, could speak.

“I’m too late aren’t I?” He said aloud, having somehow crossed the threshold of Tav’s door.

She startled from her papers. “Oh! Was I supposed to meet you somewhere? I’m sorry, Halsin was here and I lost track of time.”

Astarion chewed the inside of his lip to bleeding. I bet you did. 

“Don’t worry about it darling,” he answered blithely, strangely satisfied to make her feel bad for no reason. Another shining example why he had no claim to sadness. “I’m here now. All’s well.”

“Are you sure?”

“Naturally.”

Feeling a bit of his old, indifferent self return, he strode into her room, shutting the door and perched himself over her shoulder, hovering as close as a moth to lamplight.

“So…Halsin, I take it you two have patched things up?” He could smell the warmth of the druid on her. But try as he might to muster disgust, all he felt was contentment to be so near her again.

“He asked if he could join us, actually,” she said.

“Oh?” He feigned interest. “And what did you say?”

“I told him no at first.”

Astarion almost choked but recovered, smothering the gurgling sound with a giggle. “Why would you ever do that? Every group needs a strong back and a pretty face. It’s good for morale.”

Tav turned to glare at the vampire. “Really? I figured you’d be pleased. You two seem to always pick at each other.”

“Oh darling, that was only sport. Besides, that man would walk through the hells for you at the asking.”

He watched her nose, excited to see it wrinkle in blushing embarrassment but Tav looked almost pained to hear what anyone would want to hear about a lover.

Maybe…

“When did you last eat?” Tav asked, hoping to distract the vampire with food.

Astarion, sensing weakness, pounced. “Oh no you don’t missy, don’t change the subject. Besides, I’m not hungry.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Darling, I’ll have you know I spent a year locked in a coffin and turned out fine more or less,” he answered casually. “Now, just what did happen between you and that bear? Dish girl. Dish.”

“A year?” She asked quietly.

Astarion rolled his eyes, irritated both by the question and the fact he had no one to blame for its asking but himself.

“Yes. Sealed me starving inside a dusty tomb all on my own for an entire year.” He waved his hand to wave away the memory as if it were no great thing. “So half a tenday here or there really isn’t gonna do me in. Besides, I’ve barely noticed.”

“You’re lying. Your eyes are a duller red when you’re hungry.”

In 200 years, Astarion had never seen himself in a mirror –  one of the perks of being a member of the hungering undead. But he knew he possessed certain features. On more than one occasion bards had sang him sonnets of how beautiful he was in excruciating detail. So he knew about his silver hair, pouty lips, and sharp, hawkish features. One singer, apparently not one for exaggeration or self-preservation, had once put his crow’s feet in a verse.

But his eyes as a gauge for how full his belly was? That was new. He laughed genuinely, giddy with the knowledge.

“Are they now?” he said, voice still bubbling with laughter. After 200 years, someone had taught him something new. “Well, I suppose I shall have a drink then. After all, I can’t be seen with such dull red eyes. That won’t do. They must be glittering rubies at all times!”

He sang the last words, imitating those terrible, fawning bards. 

Tav shook her head, a small smile cracking on her face. “Glittering rubies?”

“But of course. The bards used to sing of them all the time. Why? What would you call them?”

Tav thought on this as she rolled up her sleeve offering him her wrist. “I don’t see a gemstone. Too cliche. I’d call them something of real value.”

Astarion casually inspected her wrist for a good place to bite, finding every bit of skin close to the vein littered with poorly or unhealed bite marks. He thumbed the wounds, suddenly ashamed.

“Let’s give your wrist a rest. Besides, I haven’t taken a draught from that delicious neck of yours in a while. Indulge me?”

Tav nodded and began fiddling with her stiff and fussy leather overshirt with a collar that stopped under her chin. She took her time, annoying him. The prospect of drinking from her neck made Astarion impatient.

“Let me,” He pushed her fingers aside to undo the laces himself. “Now go on, what could be more valuable than jewels?”

“Food. You can’t eat rubies. Your eyes are something cool and bitter but tasty. I dunno cranberries maybe? Though, I guess that wouldn’t sound so good in a song, huh?”

“It sounds beautiful to me,” he answered and said no more.

“I’d like to meet this Cazador of yours someday,” Tav said after a few moments of silence.

“Why in great gurgling Chionthar would you want to do that?”

“So I can kill him.”

Astarion’s fingers stilled, the last two laces still done up. “Really?”

“I think he’s more than earned it, don’t you?”

“Oh, very much so,” he croaked, forcing words out of his emotion-thickened throat. Whether or not he was “too late” didn’t matter anymore. She offered him the one thing he wanted. Freely. Without promise or payment. 

It was that easy.

And if that was so easy, as the druid had said, what else could be?