#less vacant because he is more vacant as an escape from his being

[wingsmadeforflying]

Guys I'm beyond close to drawing Rosekiller. The only thing really stopping me is my tablet is packed- I could draw without it but I also. Need to finish packing-

I'm steadily becoming more obsessed with the Absolute Freaks.

Side Note: I find the one post mentioning how Rosekiller was just waiting. For Reg to make their relationship into a trio then James Fucking Potter so fucking funny still and I think about it daily. Thank you whoever posted that.

[artytaeh]

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

THEODORE NOTT— a popular slytherin, an introvert at heart, despite his reputation as a womanizer. theodore nott, who has a big, terrible communication problem.

with the pure terror of displaying his vulnerable emotions, theodore smokes cigarettes to force his emotions to disappear with the wind; bites his inner lip and cheek until his mouth bleeds, so no tears threaten to make way to his eyes.

when theodore nott cries, he stares blankly into the wall. he doesn't sob— sobbing would make him even weaker, more vulnerable, less capable and definitely useless, in his father's eyes.

silent tears are the epitome of theodore's sadness, because other than that, his sadness, stress and troubled thoughts are never known. hidden by a mask of stoic expressions.

theodore nott is 'stupid' smart. if he wasn't a slytherin at heart and soul, then he'd be a ravenclaw, or at least that's what the professors comment amongst them. theo enjoys reading, and would easily spend his afternoon on a silent, vacant corner of the castle, devouring a book in few hours.

he lies, saying that it's simply because knowledge is a good weapon. he'd be saying the truth, if theodore confesses that he reads this much, because whether be it fiction or not, he can escape his thoughts to fully concentrate on the book's contents.

theodore nott is knowledgeable, theodore nott is a good, straight-A's student. theodore nott is quick-witted; you wouldn't want to banter with him, because usually, he gets the last word with a victorious, cheeky smile— an insufferable cocky grin.

and yet, shamefully, theodore nott has no idea how to verbalize his feelings.

every good liar is like this, he'd argue. in exchange of spilling the most atrocious lies with a straight face and nonchalant tone, theodore finds it awfully hard to tell the truth.

ask him what's wrong— you can do that, sure. now, if theodore will answer you, that's another story. and to give you a genuine answer, if he doesn't snap? then an angel must have fallen down its altar.

then, if he can't verbalize or trust anyone, not even mattheo riddle or lorenzo berkshire on a good day— what does theodore nott do, to deal with his full mind and empty heart?

theodore nott destroys.

he destroys other living beings,

being the first one to join mattheo riddle, with a smile on his face, when his best friend snaps at the smallest hint of disrespect. throwing a (not really) deserved punch at a guy that honestly, if you ask him afterwards, theodore has no idea what he done wrong.

when lorenzo scolds mattheo for starting a fight and reprimands theodore for indulging it, the slytherin simply shrugs. he's "looking out for his bro", he says. that's only partially true, as much as he deeply cares for mattheo.

everytime that he starts fights, like a rabid dog. theodore doesn't really know when he stopped being il dolce ragazzo of his madre. when he became a dog that bites without thinking about barking first. "so much for claiming to be the logical one," — lorenzo muses.

... he destroys himself.

which would explain the concerning amount of muggle, wizarding, flavored, all shaped packs of cigarettes he owns. there isn't a brand that he didn't try, at least once— the more harmful, the better.

smoking until his lungs become as black as his heart, as his dark thoughts. smoking, until he drops dead with his worries. smoking, until theodore nott becomes a better man (something that he doubts he could do, for he was born a broken man— born from a couple that should have never crossed paths with each other).

consequently, damaging his hands. skin that becomes calloused and slightly scarred from the cigarettes. knuckles constantly bruised from throwing punches at gryffindors or smartass ravenclaws.

so, theodore nott starts believing that he's unlovable. that loving him— oh, that would be torture. pure masochism, that he wouldn't wish to anyone, not even the witch he dislikes or rolls his eyes at the most.

and that becomes a creeping fear of his. oh, theodore is terrified, when the thought of becoming like his father plagues his mind.

to think that he'd become such a disgusting man, the man who brought so much pain to his mother, that killed the only person who truly loved him.

what would his mother say, if she saw him like this?

would she be disappointed, would she be ashamed to even spare a look at him? would her beautiful porcelain face become a frown, would she walk away, disgusted?

theodore consumes three more cigarettes on that thought alone.

... or would she give him a sympathetic look, gazing at her dolce, bravo ragazzo with those tender eyes of hers? a shade of blue, that theodore was fortunate to inherit.

a sad smile makes its way to his lips. because now, even for a brief moment, theo is himself again. he's not a casanova slytherin, he's not the heir of the nott family. theodore nott is simply his mother's little boy, her teddy.

in honor of such bittersweet memories, theo drops his cigarette and doesn't smoke for at least 24 hours.

theo doesn't know how to deal with comfort. genuinely tender touches, fingertips grazing his skin so lightly—

of desperately needy, lustful touches, he knows. he knows them very well, from all those times he slept with a woman, ruined her for the next guy. from the times a slytherin girl gripped and pushed his hair, needing, begging more of his mouth on her; or when a gryffindor got so lost in pleasure that she left the mark of her nails on his back; when a hufflepuff senior clenched her fingers on his torso, hips and shoulders, screaming for more, deeper, faster; that time when he found a way to shut up a particularly insufferable ravenclaw know-it-all by fucking her mouth, and when he felt the back of her throat on him, the stubborn ravenclaw gripped, scratched, protested on his thighs.

of harsh, violent, cruel, merciless touches, everytime mr. nott decided that a disgusted, disappointed gaze wasn't enough to educate his son. when those knuckles adorned with rings curled into a fist, and theodore was beaten into discipline. all those times he started fights and consequently got hit by a punch or two, even though theodore is a good fighter, and makes sure that even if he does get hurt, the receiving end is in worse state, in need of more than one night in the infirmary wing.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

... but comforting, meant to soothe, gentle touches? oh, theo is terrified of them. rather than flinching away from a fist coming his way, theo looks like a scaredy cat when fingers come to brush his hair away from his face, with all the love and care of the world.

theo doesn't know those touches. to be fair, yes, he was acquainted with them once— but that was long, long ago, when his mother was still alive. a life ago, really, because sometimes theodore wonders if he's the same teddy he once was, under the protective but loving arms of his mother.

so at first, theo panics when you hug him, when you physically bring comfort to his broken, damaged heart.

but then?

then, after he gets a taste of how heavenly it feels to be held by someone he loves? then, theo embraces the fact that he is indeed a touch starved man. then, theo completely and shamelessly melts under your touch, relaxing in your embrace, wishing to never leave this safe haven.

( or maybe he does. a little voice on the back of his mind, menacingly suggesting that this safe haven, this loving harbor — you — might disappear into thin air by the cruel hands of his father, the same he did with his mother. )

but before his truly prodigious brain dares to overthink once again— your hands comb through his hair, brushing it back along with his worries, massaging the scalp and melting the troubled thoughts away. that's when theo closes his eyes. that's when he, finally, is in peace with himself.

and if you'd ask him; this is when and where theodore nott is the happiest. this is when theodore nott is teddy again.

౨ৎ these voices in my head screaming ♡ ͡

run now. i'm praying that they're human . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— my motivation? it's a silly little drabble, about my favorite slytherin. theodore nott deserves love, seriously.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[fae-that-rambles]

OMORI AND STORYTELLING THROUGH CHARACTER DESIGN

I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I think it’s a very fun detail to over analyze.

SPOILERS AHEAD‼️‼️‼️

HEADSPACE

Upon first meeting the headspace gang Omori and Basil stand out very sharply. Omori with his lack of color, and Basil with the unique color of his hair and eyes. The two are clear foils; Omori is silent and keeps himself as far from focus as possible- While Basil is the group glue and focus before and after his disappearance.

Through the character designs and personalities, we are primed to connect and focus on Basil rather than Omori. Basil is pastel colored, a pacifist and a lover. Omori’s vacant eyes and silent knife-wielding nature are less inviting. Very often with RPG horrors, silent protagonists are overlooked in favor of supporting cast. Omori actively uses this as an aspect of its story. We’re supposed to focus on Basil- Sunny is supposed to focus on Basil

THE HORROR

This all lends to our first bait and switch- and our first of Basil’s complex role in the narrative.

Basil is our first glimpse into the horror themes of Omori- and this actively betrays the players trust. Again- Basil was our lovable safe character- We are primed to trust him. Then everything goes wrong (Sounds familiar).

The red eyes are obviously unsettling- again, betraying our trust by subverting the innocence of Basil’s appearance.

Furthering this! With Basil’s disappearance arrives Stranger

A shadowed figure resembling Basil leaving bloody footprints- Basil’s design has been completely subverted into something known and comforting- to a Stranger.

Omori and Stranger are an inverse of Omori and Basil’s design foils. Omori is white with black accents and eyes. Stranger is a full black silhouette with glowing white eyes. And they are of course just as much personality foils. Omori is danger and escapism under an innocent mask. Stranger is a frightening and cryptic individual who only aims to help Sunny. The bloody footprints are foreboding and unsettling- But they’re guides helping Sunny.

Adding on to this, Stranger and Omori’s design’s aren’t foils in the way of being opposites- they’re foils in the way of being compliments. They’re reflections of black and white- two sides of the same coin.

REAL WORLD BASIL

The introduction of real world Basil once again subverts previous expectations- I think for both the audience and Sunny. Setup as foils- opposites throughout the entirety of headspace, the Real World Basil and Sunny could not be more similar design wise. Their outfits are near identical; and their pale frail physiques are the same- even down to the height.

Despite everything set up in Headspace- Basil is by far the character most similar to us in Faraway town. As much as Sunny tries to deny it in his mind- he and Basil were heavily shaped by their shared history. They’re not opposites. Both have become reclusive in the days since Mari’s death, they both lost connections with the group, and both are riddled with guilt, fear, and self loathing. Sunny tries so hard to sever his connections to Basil in his mind, they’re in the exact same position.

Through the final fight with Basil, all of Sunny and Basil’s parallels are put to light. Both in the same clothes, living with the same crippling fear of what they both went to together. Both of their Somethings heightening their fear and crippling any rationality. Basil’s weapon- garden shears are an easy parallel to Omori’s knife.

Their only major design difference is their eyes and hair. Sunny’s eyes still their empty black (or sharp red when stressed out) and Basil’s an eerie glowing blue. Even if they’ve developed in the same circumstances, the two have reacted very differently because of their personalities. Sunny avoidant and stoic, Basil desperate and erratic. Once again, the two are complimentary foils. No matter what form Basil takes, he and Sunny are tied together as reflections of one another, and the shared experiences that molded them.

BONUS- HIKKIKOMORI

In the Hikkikomori route you fight Stranger instead of Real life Basil. The Hikkikomori route illustrates a complete refusal from Sunny to acknowledge the truth of the incident, and this means erasing Basil as a person. Destroying every one of these parallels I’ve discussed.

Basil and Stranger lose their depth. Basil is resigned to the picnic basket with Mari and kept out of the way. He’s lost his right to focus and autonomy, rather staying a shallow memory vague enough to protect Sunny’s repression.

Stranger is treated as an enemy. He is solely Omori’s opponent and will be eliminated as such. All of Basil’s complexity wiped away with his death. Leaving that cardboard cutout- Headspace Basil.

Furthermore, the fight with Stranger (obviously) has direct parallels to the final fight with Basil. Basil and Sunny wear their identical clothes and fight as two parallels. Stranger and Omori are black and white enemies, as Omori refuses to acknowledge Basil’s connection and similarities to Sunny. He refuses the complexity Stranger represents.

[harryforvogue]

hello welcome back to me writing out some ideas that will never become actual full stories. this was super fun because i've never written the bodyguard trope. i won't be writing more for this, but isn't this so fun???? hope you like it! (if the French is wrong, that's on me) 2.5k idk

***

France, 1843.

The tavern will do for the night.

It’s inconspicuous, a perfect hiding spot. In fact, now that she’s been in her room for the past three hours, it’s safe to say that if anyone were to come looking for her, they’d be long gone by now. That’s why she changes into a fresh outfit (provided by the very nice hostess who got teary eyed by the story she made up.) She’s now in a simple dress, much better than the other outfit. After all, it would be weird to be traipsing around in a wedding dress.

Her family went all in for the dress too. She’s going to hold on to it, see how much money she can make from it.

She comes down the stairs quietly. At nearly sunset time, the bar is starting to get crowded. She can definitely get mixed into the wave of people, giving her more cover. She expected several people to come in around this time anyways. Despite it being 4 in the afternoon, the winter allows for the sun to retreat earlier. The visibility outside must be terrible, and with a snowstorm on top of that, the only people coming into the tavern will be loyal customers and those sheltering from the weather. 

Of course, her family is too highly opinionated to stop at a measly little tavern like this.

She skips off the last step and looks around. She's picked an excellent spot.

When she sits at the bar, it takes only a minute for the bartender to catch her eye. “Une bière.”

He retreats to pour her drink, and then slides it across the wooden bar.

She catches it and smiles sweetly at him. Then relaxes into her seat and listens to the music.

What a disaster of a day. The whole town will be talking about it tomorrow: the runaway bride. Well, maybe not this town. No, this place is smaller, and less wealthy. They care little for the problems of the rich folk.

The minutes pass by in silence and peace. That is, until the bartender comes by with another drink that she definitely did not ask for.

“Ça vient du monsieur,” the man says.

She looks over to where he's gesturing.

Sitting at the end of the bar is a man she’s all too familiar with. His curls aren’t wet with snow, nor are his clothes, which suggest he’s been here for a long time. Has he been waiting for her out? Did he follow her the moment she left the chapel, or was it that his guess was just correct? Pure luck maybe. Regardless of the how, what matters is that he knows where she is, and he answers her scowl with a smile of his own, lifting his glass in the air as if to toast her attempts at escaping him.

“Merci,” she grits to the bartender. She turns back to her drink, trying to come up with a plausible story before Harry makes his way over. The thirty seconds it takes Harry to show up, though, is simply not enough. 

He sits on the vacant seat beside her. He slides his mug over and lightly taps hers. “Fear not,” he says in English, grinning with his dimples on full display, “I’m here alone.”

Harry’s been her guard for several years. He’s young, barely 3 or 4 years older than her. He rarely speaks with her, but he’s always there when she goes out, even when she’s with her fiancé. He was posted with her years ago when her father gained some political opposition, out of fear she’d get in harm’s way. Thanks to Harry, that’s never happened.

Suffice to say, she’s less than happy to see him here.

Normally, he’s a nice face to look at. All handsome and diligent. He stands nearly half a foot taller than her, always dressed in nearly all black. He has women fainting over him. She, too, can admire his beauty. 

But she’s not going to tell him that.

“As if an army of my father’s men would frighten me,” she replies back.

“Aren’t you glad to see me? Out of all the guards that could have been here searching for the runaway bride, aren’t you happy that it’s me and not another?”

“I’d be more happy to see my fiancé.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Is he still your fiancé?”

“I mean, I still have the ring on my finger.”

“Would have figured you’d pawned it off by now.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you going to force me to go back? Because let me tell you, I’m going to put up a fight. I will scream bloody murder if you touch me.”

Harry looks amused now. He rests his chin on his palm.

“That is quite a plan. It’s easy to see how you could be so creative about running away too. Let’s talk about it because I do feel the need to give you kudos, mademoiselle. Not only did you persuade your father to have a winter wedding, but you also picked out the most expensive fabrics and gems for your big day. You convince your fiancé that you love him and then leave him in the church where everyone is supposed to witness a holy union. You thoroughly humiliated him. Excellent scheming.”

He actually does seem impressed.

She doesn’t say anything.

“And to answer your question,” he continues. “I don’t plan on forcing you to go back. In fact, I was actually anticipating this.”

“Anticipating this, how?” She doesn’t want to be on the defense, but he’s acting strange. Too comfortable. 

He rolls his head back and looks at her incredulously. “You may not see me at all times, but as your guard, I do keep my eyes on you. And it’s a wonder how other people didn’t notice. The way your smile dropped at the mere mention of him, the way you had to leave the room with a pitiful excuse every time he showed up. The way you refused to let him kiss you after he very kindly walked you home all the time. Almost difficult to watch.”

She feels her face burn. “You’re not supposed to spy on me.”

“That is my job. I get paid for it, so I might as well be thorough, no?” He’s smiling again.

“All those things mean nothing. It was a last minute decision to run away.” She tilts her head back and finishes her ale.

“Ah, that I know. It was the most surprising part when you didn’t show up. I knew you would pull something like this, make an excuse of some kind. I anticipated that – but I didn’t anticipate it happening on your wedding day.”

“I wasn’t going to wait for an annulment. Don’t know if that would even be possible. And who'd want to marry me after that anyways. Running away was my best option.”

“He’s absolutely distraught, by the way. He’d be very unhappy if he knew we were talking like this. We’ve become friends of some sort.”

“Why would he be upset about us speaking?”

The incredulous look comes back. “It pains me that you don’t know how jealous your little fiancé is. You have such little awareness.”

“Jealous?” She suddenly laughs. “Oh please. As if he has anything to be jealous about.”

Harry finishes his drink and then orders another round for them. As he does, she takes him in. He’s in his black vest, white long sleeved shirt, with an undone white cravat, his jacket tucked away somewhere in the bar. He taps his perfectly polished boots against the floor, pristine black trousers fitting nicely around his strong thighs. His trousers are always perfectly fitted, unlike the rest of her guards. Or maybe she’s just spent a lot of time looking at him.

“He has plenty to be jealous about, mademoiselle.”

“All my attention has been on wedding planning and such for weeks now. I haven’t had the chance to even talk to another man.”

He glances back at her when she’s looking down at his thighs. He’s silent for a moment, but then says quietly, “Not all jealousy has to come from interacting with a man. It could just be from the way you look at one.”

Her eyes jump back to his face. His eyes are narrowed as if trying to figure her out. “He has nothing to be jealous about,” she repeats.

“He doesn’t?”

“As horrible of a woman I am for leaving a man at his own wedding, I’m not the type of woman to betray him, even though I don’t feel any particular affection for him. I respect him and myself.”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with respect, mademoiselle. It’s about desire. After all, you should desire the man you’re marrying, is that not true?”

“Yes, and that’s why I’ve run away.”

“And if you were to desire someone else, it wouldn’t be betrayal, given you’re no longer his intended.”

He says it so casually, but she sees the way his eyes slip down to her mouth for a brief second. 

“I still have the ring.”

He glances at her hand. “Will you keep it?”

“Not planning on it.”

“And until then, you’ll stay faithful to a man you have no intention of marrying? Forgive me, I can’t seem to make sense of this logic.”

She thinks about how much she should tell him. He’s had it figured out, it seems. Maybe she wasn’t as good at hiding her true feelings about the union. Or maybe Harry’s just watched her too closely.

She says, “Are you really not going to take me back?”

Harry shakes his head. “What good would that do?”

“My father would appreciate it.”

“Your father has overlooked many things that I think have been worth appreciating over the span of my career as your dutiful guard, mademoiselle.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He simply watches her, as if she’ll understand him just from his expression. She doesn’t.

“Tell me,” she demands.

“I’ve done things that deserve recognition, that is all.”

“Like what?”

He narrows his eyes. “Like keeping you alive for the past four years, you ungrateful wench. With all the stupid decisions you make on a daily basis, I should actually be getting a fucking medal for managing to keep all your limbs in tact.”

The way he says it is so sudden and harsh, she can’t help but laugh. 

“Funny, is it?” he grumbles.

“Hilarious. So, what type of recognition would you even have liked for keeping me alive?”

“It doesn't matter now, I think. Surely I’ll lose my job for not getting to you in time and bringing you back.”

She sits up straighter. “If I were to be brought back, what do you think you’d deserve for it?”

He sighs. “I shouldn't say.”

“I want to know.”

“You’ll hate me.”

She smiles real wide. “So what?"

He contemplates it for a moment. Finishes his second drink and then drums his fingers on the bar top. His knee gently brushes against her skirts beneath the table. “Did you know that before your father picked him to marry you, he had one of the other guards draft a list of eligible men?”

Her expression sours. “There was a list? How disappointing.”

“Mhm. It wasn’t a very long one.”

“What does this have to do with my question?”

He looks at her, unblinking. “If I were to bring you back to your father, and you still had to marry, I would like to be considered on that list.”

Everything falls away. Her smile drops, and her heart beats hard in her ears. Harry doesn’t look away from her, watching every expression take over her face. Surprise, worry, and then…

“Oh.”

The corner of his mouth twists. “Right. And a part of me wishes I’d throw you over my shoulder and drag you back to him. Just to be considered, even for a mere moment. Long enough for there to be a mental image of you and I at the altar in your father’s head. I’d be pleased with even a mere thought if it’s the only time we'd ever be together. But that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“No.” Though the thought of being draped over that shoulder is more than enough to get her knee bouncing under the table. Her leg jostles his.

“And of course,” he says, smiling tightly, “you are loyal to your man because of that ring.”

They both look down at the gem. It gleams in the light. 

Harry’s eyes dart back up to hers. He watches her for several long seconds before he reaches out.

With slow movements, he takes her hand. “Unless…” he murmurs, resting her hand on top of his knee. He gently twists the ring off her finger and drops it into his pocket. She keeps her hand on his leg.

Could he be trying to get her to make a move? She’ll be truly guilty if she advances first, but he doesn’t seem to be pulling away either. She holds her breath.

What she ends up saying is, “You said that as my guard, you’ve always needed to keep your eyes on me.”

“Yes.” His gaze is heavy. Dark.

“Even when I didn’t need you to?”

“I always looked out for you. I always will. It’s become second nature to me.”

That makes her feel a certain way. A way she’s never felt in her life. Her breath catches. 

"You do deserve something for that," she says softly. She carefully squeezes his leg, right above his knee.

His jaw visibly tenses.

Harry leans in, and this is when she realizes he’s moving first. He takes a hold of her chin and tilts it up, eyebrows drawn together as if he’s really trying his best to stay away but can’t. He brings his head down. He whispers her name and her body caves, leaning into him.

For the first time in her life, she's excited about kissing a man. Her impatience suddenly surpasses the limit. She puts her other hand on his knee and pushes herself upwards to meet his kiss.

Just before his mouth touches hers, the bartender returns with a gruff, “Il est tout à fait inapproprié de le faire ici. Allez dans votre chambre.” 

Harry pulls away, just barely, and looks down at her through his eyelashes. He keeps a hold on her face. “Shall we?” he asks her, ignoring the bartender. 

She swallows roughly. His eyes are drenched with desire, her heart pounding away in her chest. She licks her lips, enjoying the way he follows the movement.

He whispers, “I’ll be nice, darling.”

Excitement spreads through her like wildfire. She balls her hands into fists and takes a deep breath. “Come.”

He smiles then, and it takes her aback. As he stands, he genuinely looks pleased. Relieved even. As if he’s been waiting for this chance. He takes her hand and tells her to lead him to her room. 

And when he presses her against her door, hands tangled in her hair, a searing kiss placed onto her mouth, she realizes this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

[pythonees]

✦┊ LIGHTLESS EYES — johnny slaughter

REQUESTED: “hiiii :D i was wondering if you could do a dom!Johnny x sub! reader where Johnny went to rough and the reader went into a subdrop/subspace because of it??” ~ anon

WARNINGS: 18+, subdrop, choking, rough sex, temporarily mute reader, tcm things, johnny being himself, my writing

A/N: never written (or read) anything like this before so I have no idea if it's any good or not. Kinda based it off my down episodes (aka I forgot to take my meds) and have a severe drop in my mood. Send me a favourite fic of urs that has subdrop in it (preferably with someone I've written for so I enjoy reading it lmao) so I can learn a bit more plzzzzz!

I truly believe that this would only happen if he's serious about you in a wife you up and continue the Slaughter legacy sort of way. Anything less than that and he would be so annoyed by you that he'd simply kill you and move on with his life…

The first time it happens, Johnny barely even notices that anything is wrong. At first.

You're used to him being rough with you, it's his default, the sweet and gentle only used when he's trying to apologize without having to say the words. Or the odd time he's in a good mood, or you've done something to impress him.

Today was a bad day for Johnny, to say the least. They had lured in a new group of people a few days ago, and some of them had managed to escape their restraints. None of them were able to get off the property, thank god, but it was a near thing.

Johnny had come back to his shack pissed off, a few stab wounds that will no doubt turn into scars to join the others that littered his body. He didn't bother dressing them when he had stormed in, dragging you away from cleaning the bathroom and forcing you face down onto the bed.

The brutal pace had you gasping for air around the tight grip he had on your throat, using your body to blow off the steam that killing didn't. Still, nothing new. But it was the way his hand had gripped around your neck, too tight to be pleasurable, vision swimming from the lack of oxygen, that had tears streaming down your face in pain and fear.

His other hand rubs fast and hard at your clit, for his own pleasure of feeling your walls clamp down around him then for you at the moment, and only then does he release his hold on your neck, bracing himself with both hands as he chases his high.

Through the high of your orgasm you're able to breathe again, but it doesn't feel like you're really taking in any air. Your heart feels like a vice in your chest, and despite the wetness of tears soaking the pillow your face is squished into, you make no sound.

Johnny goes about cleaning himself and then you as he usually does, the water bitterly cold but soothing against your abused cunt. You barely make a sound, not even pulling away. You just lay there, breathing choppy and mind blurringly empty.

Johnny chucks the washcloth into the hamper you had made him get (he stole it from someone's house) in an attempt to make the place seem more homely. When he lays beside you, a cold beer already in his hand, he realizes something isn't quite right.

Normally, you're all over him after sex, wrapped around him sleepy and blissed out while he complains about whatever it is that's pissed him off that day. Or the rare time he's gotten himself a good haul from whatever poor suckers get led into the Slaughters trap. Now, you're not even moving.

For a second he thinks you're dead, that's how still you are. But he can see the barely there movement of your back raising and falling with your breaths, and the sudden shock of fear that gripped him vanishes. Then he thinks you've just fallen asleep like that, so he moves the blanket out from under you so that you don't get up in the middle of the night and bitch about how cold you are.

That's when he sees your face, and he freezes. The second you're moved onto your side you start to curl in on yourself, eyes vacant as your breathing continues to come in shaky, short puffs. You don't even acknowledge him as he turns you on your back.

“The hells wrong with you, woman?” Johnnys voice is gruff as he forces your face towards his own, lips pulled back into a snarl as your glassy eyes seem to stare right through him. Your damp face isn't really new, the way he can fuck you into a stupor, but the way you don't respond to him as he jostles you around is.

Your head lolls to the side, and the dim light catches the already forming bruise around your throat. It's concerningly dark in such a short amount of time, the scratchiness in your breathing telling to just how rough he really was with you.

Despite his aggressiveness he's very much aware of how much you can take, always toeing the line off too much to watch you squirm. It's how he likes you best, struggling against his rough treatment despite enjoying it. The fight has his blood pumping and mouth watering.

Johnnys skin feels cold and prickly as he tries to get you to respond, to move or do anything, but you just lay there like a corpse. Panic starts to set in after a few pinches to the more tender areas of your body don't even cause you to flinch. He's pushing up to get out of bed to find Nancy or Sissy or even fuck Dryton to help him, but your hand shoots out to grab onto his arm before he can get one foot off the mattress.

“... Darlin’?” His voice is a bit shaky, and normally he'd be disgusted with himself for showing such emotions, but he's so out of his element he doesn't even notice it.

You aren't able to form any words, tugging on his arm until he comes back into the bed. He's completely lost, staring down at you for any sign at all. You don't do anything besides close your eyes, settling more into your pillow. Your uneven breathing is the only way he knows that you didn't just fall asleep or pass out, but the rest of you is still.

The first touch of his hand on top of your head has the fuzzy tv noise in your brain fading, an absent noise of happiness coming from the back of your throat that's barely even audible. His fingers twitch, accidentally smoothing over your hair and causing you to relax further.

Still lost as to what's actually wrong he lets his hand over your hair, watching as you very slowly but surely start to come back to yourself. When you move to wrap yourself around him like normal, he falls back into the old routine of talking about his day, though he keeps an eye on you to make sure you don't slip back into wherever it was you were moments ago.

After that it's pretty rare for you to fall into another sub drop like that. He's not stupid so he knows he pushes you too far even though he had no idea what was going on after. Any time you do he's also able to soothe you better. He's not very communicative so he probably won't ask you how to help you, so unless you tell him he'll just hold you until you don't look so vacant.

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

[casdeans-pie]

Falling (In Love)

Destiel Fanfiction 2,065 words Rated G

Tags: Aftermath Of A Case (we don't see the case, but we see what Situation Dean and Cas have ended up in because of it), Castiel Is A Fallen Angel, Dean Sees Cas's Wings, Near Death Experience, First Kiss.

Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures even if those measures are jumping out of the window on the seventieth floor with nothing but hope and mangled fallen angel wings to keep you in the air. Probably not the best time for a kiss... or is it?

------Read on AO3------

---------

In terms of ‘situations where escape seems impossible’ Dean would probably rank this at a solid two. He’s not entirely sure what keeps it from being number one, since there are currently a group of eight witches blocking the only doored exit to the room, and the only other way out would be through the floor-to-ceiling window behind him – seventy stories up from the ground. Dean lost his gun a few floors back, and Cas’s angel blade was stolen by the witches, so they’re also weapon-less. But he figures that while the spell book that he and Cas just stole is still in his hands the witches won’t risk damaging it, so at least they can stall for time while he thinks of some way to get them both out with the book. He’s escaped with impossible odds against him all the time.

It just feels a little more impossible than usual.

Dean glances over at Cas, hoping to see some kind of glint in his eyes that means he’s got a plan. But he’s not looking at Dean. His eyebrows are drawn together in indecision and worry and he’s staring straight ahead with a vacant expression that means he’s deep in his thoughts.

Hope flares in Dean’s chest.

He’s learned enough from Cas’s expressions over the years to know that he’s got something up his sleeve. Something risky, but hell, Dean’s not picky about that right now.

The witches all take a pace forwards as a unit and Cas tugs on Dean’s shirt sleeve to pull him back further towards the window, to keep their distance. Nothing but a desk separates them now.

The huge glass window is pressing cold and solid against their backs in a cruel reminder that freedom is a pane of glass away, but they’d never survive the fall.

“Just give us the book Winchester,” one of the witches snaps.

“Give us the book and we’ll let you both live,” another adds in a low, persuasive tone.

“Like hell you will,” Dean retorts with a snort, “you think I’m gonna trust a single damn thing that comes out of a witch’s mouth?”

A witch taller than the others takes another step closer to them both, her chin held high, and she examines her long, blood red nails as if bored by the whole situation. “Boys, boys, boys,” she says, with a shake of her head, “I grow tired of this. You’ve stolen my book, and I want it back. There is clearly nowhere for you to go, so I suggest that you hand it over, or I will regretfully have to kill you both and hope that my book survives.”

“This book contains angelic spells, and it belonged to the angels before it belonged to you. You’re the ones who stole it in the first place. You have no more claim to it than we do,” Cas says suddenly, his voice firm and full of defiance.

“Yeah, except Cas is an angel, so really, yknow, if it belongs to anyone it belongs to him,” Dean adds, tapping the front cover of the old book with his knuckles and scoping out the room again while he stalls for time, hoping to find any way out of this. Preferably without him and Cas becoming spell-practice for witches or bloody smears on the sidewalk below them.

The bold witch at the front laughs in a throaty cackle.

Dean smiles. “Wow, nice laugh you got there, Wicked Witch of the West, you about to tell me you’re gonna get me and my little dog too?”

“Mm, you are pretty I’ll give you that. But no, I’m just amused that you can call that an angel. I’ve been using those spells a long time, so I can see something of this… abomination’s true form, and trust me, Winchester, if you could see what I see you wouldn’t call it an angel.”

------Read the rest on AO3------

[unclewaynemunson]

Some more Clarkson content (I think it’s democratically decided that that’s their shipping name now) for all the 4.5 people going feral about them with me:

Wayne met Scott Clarke once or twice back when Eddie was in middle school. The man was always up for a chat, even if Wayne didn’t exactly excel at small talk - Mr. Clarke made up for that with an admirable ease. After Eddie moved on to high school, he would run into the man at the grocery store every now and then, and they’d always greet each other - Mr. Clarke with a smile, Wayne with something no one but Eddie can recognize as a smile - but they never really talked much.

Then, Wayne finds a body in his living room. Eddie goes missing, reporters are crowding his home, and the police is more than ready to accuse his nephew of the most horrific things imaginable. Wayne spends his days practically going out of his mind with worry, and on top of the all-encompassing fear about what happened to his nephew, he has to deal with dirty stares and whispered conversations behind hands wherever he goes. The man who raised a murderer. That’s all he has become to the general public of Hawkins.

So when Scott Clarke knocks on the door of the vacant trailer he’s been moved to because of that weird leak in his ceiling, he’s about ready to shout at the man and slam the door in his face. Three excruciating days have passed since he found that girl and the powerless fear is eating him alive, and he is more than done with all those sensation-seeking nitwits - he just wants to be left alone so he can come up with some kind of plan to help Eddie, even though he has no clue where his boy is or if he’s even alive.

But Scott Clarke isn’t looking at him like all the others - he’s holding a casserole in his hands and his smile is gentle and sympathetic.

‘I remember your nephew from when he was in middle school,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened. This whole situation must be terrible for you. Thought you could use a home-cooked meal and a listening ear - if you want to.’

And all his anger instantly melts away when he sees the genuine look in Scott’s eyes.

He opens the door further. ‘Why don’t you come in, Mr. Clarke?’

Scott looks around, takes in the bleak environment that is Wayne’s temporary home. But there’s no judgement in his eyes, no contempt, not even pity. He takes a seat and Wayne makes them some coffee, and he listens to what Wayne has to say in a way that no one has ever listened to him before: he gives him the time to think about his words, he nods and hums in agreement, he asks questions without being prying... And Wayne tells him all about Eddie; he finds the words he couldn’t find when that curly-haired reporter girl asked him about his nephew, when he couldn’t manage more than a grossly oversimplified “It just ain’t in his nature.” He tells him how Eddie always feeds the stray cats - and even an occasional raccoon - that wander around the trailer park; how he always makes Wayne fresh coffee when he goes to bed right before Wayne has to start his night shift; how he keeps an eye on the kids around Forest Hills whose home situations are less than ideal; how he came to Wayne broken and scared in escape of a father who used to beat him in attempts to make him less soft; how he cries at sentimental commercials and how loudly and unabashedly he shows his love for his friends.

Wayne hasn’t cried yet, not as long as there’s still hope. But when Scott looks at him all understanding and tells him he had a soft spot for Eddie ever since the boy set foot in his classroom, in his last year of middle school with a black eye and bruises on his arm, he finally breaks down. And the touch of Scott’s hand, covering Wayne’s with his own, while he sits quietly beside him, is the first comfort he has felt in a very long time.

[daintyduck99]

things you said with no space between us + OT3 of your choice

Julie didn't know a ghost could get so pale.

Maybe it's just shocking because she's used to seeing Reggie with a perpetual flush, which is probably the part that shouldn't be possible. It makes it easy to forget that he's dead when he usually looks and acts so…bright, so alive. 

Now he just looks wrong, still and small. 

And his eyes are dreadfully vacant. 

Luke grasps his shoulders, guitars forgotten, and frowns as another crack of thunder makes Reggie shudder. 

"Reg, you're okay, you're here with us—" 

Julie scurries over to Alex as Luke continues to murmur to Reggie. Alex is also watching concernedly, hovering beside his drum kit. She clutches his arm. 

"What's wrong, what can we do?" 

They grimace in sympathy as the wind begins to howl and Reggie starts to shake.

Alex blows out a breath. "Astraphobia. It's—we think the sounds overwhelm him with like, bad memories of being home." 

Julie lets out a distressed whine. She meets Luke's eyes and sees the same emotions that are churning in her gut. 

"And? Isn't there anything we can do?"

"We could pull out the couch bed," Luke suggests, "if we hold him, it usually helps."

She makes up her mind in an instant.

"Take him to my room. Mess up the bed if you have to, turn on all of the lights, I don't care. Do whatever might help." 

Luke poofs them away. She turns to Alex.

"Do you think you could take me?"

He swallows. "I mean, I can try—" 

"If you can't, that's okay. I just don't want…if I ran through the rain, it'd take me longer before…" 

"I get it," he says softly, and Julie wraps him in a grateful hug. "If it works, I'll poof you there and then I'll head out. Too many people might just overwhelm him and—" 

"And you want to keep looking for Willie."

He blows out another breath. "Yeah." 

She squeezes him tighter, burying a small smile in his hoodie as he does it back. 

"Okay. Just…be careful, Alex." 

"I will," he murmurs, and they hurtle through space in the blink of an eye, but he keeps her steady. "I promise."

Then he's gone, and she stumbles over to her bed, aided by the cozy lamplight.

She crawls under the covers, where Luke already has Reggie pressed to his chest. He speaks softly in his ear, running his hands up and down Reggie’s back. 

"It's okay, baby, you're safe, we're in Julie's room. Everything is gonna be alright." 

Did he just…? 

Okay, not that important right now. 

Julie bites her lip. "How should I…"

"You can wrap around him from behind—let me just—"

With a bit of wriggling and maneuvering, they get Reggie tucked between them. 

As she'd hoped, the storm is less loud than it'd been in the studio, and her curtains are closed, preserving the coziness of her room and muffling the sounds even more. 

"He's shaking much less," Julie murmurs, idly rubbing Reggie’s arm. "Is that good?"

"Yeah, but—" 

A particularly nasty clap of thunder makes Luke suck in a breath. 

"We need to keep talking. Singing, something. He should come out of it then."

CRACK.

They're plunged into total darkness, and Julie and Luke both make soothing sounds as Reggie lets out a little distressed noise.

"We've got you," she says softly, and it's probably too soft but it's what he needs. "Baby, come back, we'll keep you safe." 

Luke hums, and her heart skips. It's wanted to escape this whole time, but she's been forcing herself to breathe evenly and keep it calm for Reggie’s sake.

Luke doesn't push it either, though. 

He goes from humming to singing, and his voice thrums with the same gentle warmth it'd held when they sang this in the kitchen.

Your eyes, through the night, you and I 

Julie jumps in on the next line, singing through a smile, and she knows he is, too.

We will fight to shine together 

They make it through a verse and another chorus before Reggie jerks. Breathlessly, he asks them something about angels. 

"No," Luke says, then pauses. "Well—maybe one. Julie's here, after all." 

Julie just huffs, pressing her face between Reggie’s shoulder blades. "Are you okay?" 

Reggie's voice comes out clearer, but it's very small. She's sure they'd be squeezing him too hard if he actually needed to breathe, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Um. Would you—keep singing to me?"

"Of course," she and Luke chorus.

She wonders if he had to bite off baby, too.

Judging by the way he clears his throat...she wants to say that the answer is yes. 

[jonathankai]

Had a dream with interesting concept about Yi city peeps last night. The dream itself was very short, but they key idea was that both Xue Yang and a-Qing are Xiao Xingchen’s materialized fully independent tulpas**. It was a modern AU, a-Qing materialized first and it seems like she knew about Xue Yang, because at some point she came home, Xiao XIngchen was there (they lived in an apartment) and she could hear someone in the shower. At that point she must have realized what had happened, because she thought: “no, fuck no, not that one” and guess who came out of the shower? :DD

(**If you don't know and don't feel like googling, long story super-short: in mysticism "tulpa'' is a being created by the power of thought, who is believed to be able to develop consciousness and be more or less independent from their creator).

And that’s it, that was the dream. The thought about Xue Yang and a-Qin being Xiao Xingchen’s tulpas is already pretty curious to me, but what puts things into perspective is the tiny dream that I had right before this one.

It was a dream about Lan sect. They didn’t live in Cloud Recess and the surroundings looked like modern AU too. Lan sect had an evil spirit in captivity, who escaped and it was veeery bad news. Interesting detail: it was a spirit of a woman!

These two dreams seemed to be disconnected, but if I tried to make them into a sequence, this can become a pretty funny concept.

I know little to nothing about tulpas but let’s just play with the whole scenario.

Xiao Xingchen is trying to create a tulpa, which creates a “vacant space” in his psyche. The tulpa is not there, but the space they would occupy is. A-Qing is an evil spirit that escaped form Lan sect, she’s very weak at the moment and needs a place to stay while she can accumulate power. So she crashes at Xiao Xingchen’s mental space and pretends to be a tulpa. When she’s ready, she materializes.

But where does it put Xue Yang? Well, I see two options.

He’s another evil spirit with the similar story. While they were occupying Xiao Xingchen’s mind, they both grew fond of him and after restoring their physical form, both are determined to stay with Xiao Xingchen (I think they still pretend to be materialized tulpas (no idea how they explain it) at least for a little while). Two spirits are competing for space, resources and Xiao Xingchen’s attention and threatening each other with exposure.

A-Qing is an evil spirit, but Xue Yang is actually a tulpa, who piggyback’ed on a-Qing’s ability to attain a physical form. He’s feeling protective about Xiao Xingchen and don’t trust “outsider”, but Xiao Xingchen believes that they are both tulpas, and Xue Yang doesn’t correct him. Maybe it’s because he was never supposed to to get a full physical form, a body of his own and he’s afraid that Xiao Xingchen wouldn’t take it well if he knew about it. Meanwhile a-Qing befriends Xiao Xingchen and feels protective too. With an independent body, Xue Yang gets more power than a tulpa could, and, knowing him personally from their “head roommate” period, a-Qing believes he is a terrible person (she’s right) and he will harm Xiao Xingchen.

I think I prefer the second option, it has more nuance. The first one sounds like a good premise for a mystical sitcom :'D

[namedafteraprincess]

In The Stars - Eddie Munson x F!Reader

warnings: grief, heartbreak, ST S4 spoilers, if you need a good cry; this is for you

word count: 742

I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever Now you're in the stars and six feet's never felt so far Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers

You stood staring into your home, still wearing the black dress you were forced to put on, clutching a torn Metallica shirt in your hands. It was eerily quiet and somehow the house seemed bigger than you remember. Eddie would have hated this. All the fuss on his behalf. Wayne said it was healthy to say goodbye, but it wasn’t him you were saying goodbye to. It was a dark wooden box, with a band t-shirt inside. You refused to let them bury his leather jacket and guitar, and Steve wasn’t letting go of his signature denim vest. 

With a deep breath, you took a step inside the house you once shared with him for the first time since that night. Gently, you placed your hand on the doorframe that led to the living. You looked into the vacant space and heard his infectious laugh echo through your ears. It was here that Eddie had told you he loved you for the first time. It was during one of your dramatic retellings of The Hobbit, you were in the middle of a line and through his laughter he just said it. 

“... I have no time to blow smoke rings this morning!” You gruffed in your best Gandalf voice. “I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging” 

Eddie’s laugh boomed through the living room, “God I love you” He said like it was nothing, wrapping his arms around you and swinging you in a circle. 

A tear escaped your eye, as you kept moving through the house. Running your fingertips along the back of the sofa, remember how he would sit there for hours on end, just playing his guitar and singing to himself quietly. Or loudly, depending on his mood. That was always your favourite. Coming home and hearing his deep sultry voice singing one of your favourite songs as he learned it just for you. 

You planted both hands on the kitchen counter, hearing his voice drift through the empty hallways. The faint smell of burning from that time he tried to cook you dinner wafted into your nose like a memory stuck in the grain of your wood flooring. The vision of him drifted past you, as he apologized over and over again for ruining date night. The feeling of his lips still lingered on your skin, as he peppered your face with kisses and promised to make it up to you. You never minded though, he was so sweet, always trying to find ways to impress you. Not that he needed to. You loved him anyway. You always would. 

With a deep sigh, you moved back through the hallway, gripping the old t-shirt tighter as you pushed yourself up the stairs. Ghosts flashed before your eyes of Eddie pulling you down the hallway with that wicked smirk plastered on his lips. That time he pressed you against the wall because he just couldn’t wait to get his hands on you. 

As you walked through the visions, they disappeared around you, the numbness you had felt all day finally fading and the pain in your chest becoming more apparent. You never blamed him for anything. He did what he thought was right, and what was needed in that moment. But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less. 

You made it into your bedroom and tore off that stupid black dress, leaving it in a puddle on the floor. With shaking hands, you pulled the old shirt over your head and hugged your arms around yourself,  tightly gripping the fabric, as a loud sob escaped your lips. Collapsing onto your bed, you pulled Eddie’s pillow tightly into your body and finally let yourself go. Allowing the pain and hurt and sadness to take over. 

The past few days, you had tried to stay strong. For Dustin, mostly, but Steve too. Steve was being strong for everyone else, you needed to be strong for him. He was doing all he could to help you, but this wasn’t something he could just take away. 

Tonight though, tonight you needed this. To let yourself feel the weight of Eddie missing in your arms. In your life. Feeling the hurt of that Eddie sized hole in your heart and soul. 

He was gone. He left you. And no matter how much of a hero he was to you and how proud he made you every day. It still hurt.

[lightgriffinsect]

it's been so long (since last i saw the sun)

(Friday Night Funkin')

Words: 2824

Summary: It’s been about four weeks now since Agoti escaped. Just over a week since he found Tabi again (in the world’s most awkward reunion of all time, no less). A month since he was freed from his prison of silence and nothingness, since everything went back to normal. Only it didn’t.

Neither one of the two really remembers how to interact anymore.

Nothing is as it should be.

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

Agoti’s never liked the silence.

Even since before… the past year, it’s always been too awkward, too uncomfortable. And now, the quiet leaves him with nothing but his own thoughts to listen to. Now, he’s more aware of only his own voice inside his head to fill the void, the silence somehow deafening and noiseless at the same time.

Maybe that’s why he struggles to shut up once he starts talking. And why he’s so loud, in general. He hates the silence that comes after, the sense of nothingness that clouds the air.

“You’ve been quiet,” Tabi notes from where he stands a way off, and Agoti wants to laugh at the sheer irony of it all. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he searches for an appropriately snarky comeback, because sarcasm is like his thing, right? He’s the one with the smart-mouthed answers to everyone else’s crap.

“What, would you prefer a detailed novel documenting every single day of last year?” is the best he can come up with.

“Yes, actually, I would.” Tabi shoots him a sharp look.

Agoti doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s been isolated and silenced for so long, he isn’t used to keeping a conversation going. With anyone. Even the blue-haired freak (cyan-haired freak, a voice that sounds annoyingly like Aldryx corrects in his head) and the Dearest chick. But he tends to talk anyway, just to keep some sound in the air.

He doesn’t want to feel that sense of isolation ever again.

They’ve been here for a while now, watching the sunset. The way the sky and clouds blend and weave together, crimson and gold and velvety purple, is something Agoti has never been one to notice before. But that’s different now, just like everything else, though it’s only been just over a year. “Al and Sol both went out, okay?” True. “I was bored.” Only partially true.

The lock on the front door clicks shut, the last remnants of Aldryx’s “See you later, bro!” dissolving into the air.

Agoti’s the only one here now. He’s the only one, in this… huge vacant house, silence consuming the building. It’s too familiar. Way too familiar.

He’s locked inside a massive, empty, soundless space. And he’s alone.

…

Screw this, he needs to get out, he needs air, he needs color, he needs sound, he needs company. He has to leave.

He has to talk to someone, preferably one who gets it.

“Gone to hang with Tabs, back in a few,” reads the note resting on the kitchen counter. The lock on the front door clicks shut. He’ll only be out for a couple hours. Aldryx and Solazar aren’t going to kill him for this. Probably. Hopefully.

“Bored.”

“…Yeah, got a problem?” Agoti can’t help but raise his voice a notch.

Tabi seems to ignore him. “…What did happen, anyway? You barely told me any of it over the past week.”

That is true. Agoti hadn’t known how to begin.

He’d been minding his own business, walking down a dimly lit street in a sparsely populated part of the city, navigating his way home. He hadn’t cared to notice the dark alleyways lining either side. Hadn’t caught the shadows flitting like wasps along the sides of the illuminated buildings. Being knocked out and coming to in one of those alleys, face-to-face with Their Esteemed Jealous Majesties, The Dearest Rulers Of The Music Industry, had been a complete, unwelcome surprise. And they'd taunted him, mocked him, asking how his fanbase would save him. What lengths the fangirls would go to if only to find him. Other stupid, scornful questions. And then they'd tossed him through that wretched portal, listening to him scream as he fell before closing it. He'd fallen for who knows how long, past rocks and debris before he could finally reach out with a desperate tentacle and grab the side of one, pulling himself up to safety. To absorb the sea of black that faded into an eternal sky of white, nothing to be seen or heard or felt. That’s what he remembers most, the falling and the silence and the nothing, nothing, nothing. Forever.

But he has no clue how to break all that to his friend.

Agoti trusts Tabi. That's one of the few things that hasn't changed, thankfully. But he can barely make sense of what happened himself. He doesn't know how to explain it without letting it spiral into an incoherent tangle of words loosely strung together. It's like a nightmare, what happened. He remembers so vividly; how could he not? But he can't put his swirling, jumbled, convoluted memories and thoughts and feelings into eloquent enough words. The grim ideas that ran through his mind while he was trapped are ones he never wants to speculate about again.

Every night since his return, he hasn’t been able to sleep without sound. Music, rain sounds, whale sounds, anything to drown out the crushing silence. He doesn’t want the memories to surface and the old, dark thoughts to reemerge. So he falls asleep to lo-fi and recorded thunderstorms each night, stupidly childish as it sounds. Like a little kid who needs a nightlight like a crutch, who can’t handle being alone in the dark. Pathetic, but the music comforts him like a lifelong friend.

Tabi, of course, gets straight to the point, unlike Agoti with his habit of getting sidetracked and rambling about anything and everything. "After…this," he gestures to himself in obvious distaste, "I spent several months on the streets. I had no intention of returning for a long time; I didn't want them to come for me and finish what they started. Eventually, I ran into Aldryx. You wouldn't believe his reaction. He wanted me to stay with them, even after everything that happened. Even though I became this…this monster."

"Tabi—"

A low, harsh, bitter laugh. "I'm not human anymore. You barely recognized me."

“That’s not—” fine, it is true, not gonna lie. Meeting Tabi at the front door hadn’t gone exactly as Agoti had hoped, with the new face and… everything. But as soon as the hovering goat skull in the dark hoodie standing, shoulders hunched as if in shame, in front of him had spoken, he’d known it was him, that his friend was right in front of him, a cold shadow of what he’d once been. Agoti rethinks what he’s about to say. “That’s not the problem, man! I still—”

“Of course you don’t get it!” Tabi hurls at him, like he’s been waiting weeks for just this scenario, to hear Agoti’s words and counter them with this rebuttal. “You’ve never been human to begin with. You don’t understand, for all your pity and meaningless sympathy!”

Agoti can’t help himself; his frustration and mild hurt take over. “Dude!”

“No, I’m sorry,” Tabi mumbles, almost shrinking into himself and stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. “It’s just… your whole family cares enough about me to take me in, despite it not being me. I don’t— I don’t know who I am anymore.

“I encountered Aldryx a few months after… after all this. He cornered me in an alleyway, convinced me to stay with him and Sol. I was too wary to head home at the time, too ashamed and afraid that they would find me. It was a long time before I returned to my own house—” he says house like that’s all it’s become to him, just another building, “—and even then, it was never for more than an hour. All I wanted was to make sure the cats were okay.”

Ugh, the cats. Always the cats. But then Tabs says lowly, “They killed the one she and I owned. They didn’t even have to, they did it because they could. Because that family doesn’t care what happens to innocent creatures, much less people in the same industry,” and Agoti mentally kicks himself for thinking that.

“Even though we were… partially back together, it meant nothing when you were still gone. We held out hope. Especially Al. But it was faint, and it smoldered out quickly. And Sol.” Tabi looks up at him carefully. “There were nights when we found him still in his office. He never left, even to eat or sleep as far as we knew; he was that obsessed with finding you. He’d be slumped over his desk and we’d frantically check to make sure he was alive and okay.” Agoti’s head snaps towards him in stunned speechless, what-the-frick-do-i-say alarm. “Do you wanna talk…?”

Agoti attempts a scoff. “Heh, I always do.” Sol is immortal, has existed for like a hundred million years, of course he’s not gonna die at any point that’s impossible it’s gotta be he wouldn’t kill himself over Agoti, who’s never even been his favorite son. He’s back, they’re fine. They’re all fine, him and Sol and Al. “Did you know there’s a PS5? I can’t believe it’s finally out, I heard about it when I was like thirteen and then the whole world kinda forgot about it. And then Sony waits until I’m like totally out of commission to release it so the hype’s dead by the time I learn of it? Dude, that sucks. Now everyone’s gonna think I’m uncultured because I didn’t know about it, unless I told them why… which, yeah, let’s not. But like, I can’t believe it’s only been a year. Then, y’know, you could also look at it like, it’s been a whole year, I missed our summer cookouts, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas—” His voice cracks a little and he mentally runs through his full library of curses in all the languages he’s learned throughout his years of songwriting. “I know. I know it was just a year, but it felt like longer.” So much longer. “I legit expected you guys to have forgotten me, or to be cranky old guys playing golf in some nursing home, or maybe… maybe be…” He doesn’t wanna say it, because maybe it’s true. Maybe returning and finding the people he loves most again is all just some fever dream his mind has conjured up. Maybe his family is really gone, and he’s gone insane in the void and become trapped in his own head. He starts a new sentence before finishing the first, desperate to get out all his thoughts before waking up to find himself still in that horrible place. “Hell, I thought maybe you guys never… existed… and there was never anything but me, and the void. I mean, that wasn’t a normal thought, obviously—” even though at some point in the void it had become one, along with every other dark thought his brain had conjured up, “—but that place does stuff to you, dude. It felt like I’d been there forever; I think I lost track of time. Is— is it Wednesday or Thursday—?”

A hand comes to rest on his arm, yanking him out of his perpetually escalating thoughts, and he looks up suddenly at Tabi, at the emerald trees surrounding them, and at the ever-changing sunset beyond. The serenity of the sight, the newly blended indigo with the pale violet and faint hints of gold grounds him for a moment, the color and light giving him something to anchor onto and never let go.

“It’s Friday,” Tabi states with a familiar gentleness and concern. It’s the voice he used to use around young kids who wanted help tying their shoelaces, the big-brother voice that Agoti has known for years and knows, as he hears it now, that his old friend is still in there, underneath the bitterness and despair. “I get it,” Tabi continues. “According to Al, you were gone exactly one year, four weeks, and three days, or three hundred and ninety-six days. But the time just flowed as one long nightmare for him, and me. Though he tallied every day, every hour that we suffered, I think he lost track in a way too. He grew so dead, so obsessed with your disappearance. He contacted everyone I knew, just to find me. I think he still contacts my friend, Ayana, too, because she showed up with cookies once a couple months before he found me and that probably helped keep him from snapping. He was desperate to find me and you. He’s desperate now too, to believe we’re all together again and it’s not just a dream. So am I. So is Sol, probably.”

Agoti swallows the lump in his throat, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. “I wanted to meet you because I was alone, okay? I was lonely, and afraid, and there was like this stagnant well inside me. I can’t be alone yet, I missed you guys! I hate this mushiness so much, but I did! It’s— it’s stupid, and pathetic. I know.”

“I missed you too,” Tabi chuckles almost affectionately, like he knows it means a lot to hear Agoti’s not the only one who’s got issues with being alone. The sun is gone now, only a few scattered rays of orange piercing the sky like beacons amidst the deep blues and dark purple-grays. Agoti’s never been a fan of nature, until sight was ripped away from him along with all the other senses and experiences he’s taken for granted.

He can take time to breathe now. It’s over. He doesn’t have to present a detailed account of the past year this very minute, but he’ll talk about it, and everything, with his family, Tabs and Al and Sol.

When he and Tabi reach the mansion, the sky is dark, and the trees are camouflaged in the shadows. Only an eight-and-a-half-foot tower of cyan fire illuminates the porch and the almost-as-tall red digidevil leaning against the wall. Agoti suppresses a groan.

“Well, hello, good sir,” Solazar says pleasantly. “Nice evening for sneaking out, am I right? Pray tell, have you by any chance come across a mediocre dunce of a digidevil about yay tall, possibly with an almost-six-foot-tall friend he likely coerced into his foolproof plan that thoroughly considered every possibility, including his family reaching home before him? The friend is innocent, mind you. I practically raised him too.”

Tabi is shaking with silent laughter like the loyal friend he is. Al looks like he can’t decide whether to put Agoti in a headlock or hug him. And Agoti grumbles, “Yeah, hilarious, can we go inside? I’m tired.”

“Oh, you are? How fitting.” Sol claps his hands together once. “You’ll be able to get all the beauty rest you need, good sir, for you’ll be staying inside for the next five days. In your room, because you’re grounded.”

“I just got back!”

“It’s never too early to enforce household rules, is it, good sir?”

“Stop calling me that!”

Once inside, Aldryx pulls his brother aside. “What were you thinking?! I was only gonna be gone for half an hour!”

“That’s half an hour too long,” Agoti mutters before raising his voice. “I didn’t know that, now did I? You were busy, and I was bored. The way I see it, we all got what we wanted.”

“I would have gone with you, fool,” Aldryx retorts, wearing that god-what-is-your-problem-what-am-i-gonna-do-with-you expression. “You wanna know what it was like, looking Sol in the eye and telling him I had no clue when you’d gone or when you’d be back? It hasn’t been a month, for god’s sake!”

Tabi sighs, leaning against the wall as he pretends not to be watching. Agoti scowls. “Exactly! I can’t just hang out by myself, okay? I’ve been doing that forever and I’ve concluded that it sucks! And it screws with your brain!”

Some understanding dawns in Al’s face at that (ugh, thank god) and he exhales, making a face at the floor like it’s said something offensive. “I… I understand. But I freaked out when I found the house empty. Sol, of all people, was sure you’d turn up soon. But what if you didn’t?”

The question hits deeper than it probably should’ve. Agoti hadn’t taken that into account. He’d been more concerned with himself than accidentally triggering his brother’s memories. And he’s shocked to find himself genuinely sorry. “Fine, I get it. It’s not… it’s too soon for me to be alone. Maybe somewhere down the line. And I wanna hear everything, too. We gotta… we gotta talk. I don’t like putting crap off.”

Aldryx softens. “Yeah. Definitely. Of course.”

Tabi clears his throat. “If you’re done…” He’s probably smiling under that goat skull, Agoti notes with a mental glare at his friend. “There’s food. I’m hungry. I like food.”

Agoti snorts. “Same.” And as he and his family stroll in the general direction of the kitchen, he figures that maybe they might eventually heal. Maybe it can just be the three of them again, their clique of bickering idiots repaired and thriving, even with the cracks within. One day.

[tamagosandesu]

Title: Unusual Author's Notes: Heyo! So, this is another one shot supposedly for ssmonth 2022 that never made the final cut because I was never able to finish it. It's not exactly a teacher x student au but it's a university au at the very least. Nothing completely special, just an idea I had that I wanted to write. Enjoy!

_________________

Sakura walks to the classroom with a heavy heart, wholly expecting to enjoy a full hour of her lunch break when suddenly, her last professor thought it was a good idea to extend class and do an impromptu report on what they’ve learned so far, trying to summarize his not-so-clear discussions for the past week as best as they could.

When professor Danzo said that once you’re finished you can immediately get out. Sakura was somehow relieved. There’s hope, she thought at first. At that time, she wanted nothing more than to get out of that boring class and eat her lunch before sitting in yet another boring class.

Though her relief fell short when he said he’ll draw lots on who’ll go first. Sakura, seemingly hated by fate that time, was drawn 5th to the last, when there were more than 40 students present. Damn 40 students that wasted more time on looking at the wall, getting mind-blocked, stuttering, and joking about unnecessary things that dragged on the report.

Which, inevitably, resulted in a whopping 30-minute overtime and less than a 30-minute lunch break.

Sakura sighs at the memory.

What was worse is that it takes more than 10 minutes to get out of the room and down the building since the way students gathered hordes can practically be a physical definition of a rush-hour. Sakura does not know why students gathered in the hallway, but she thinks she was really being tested around those times.

So, instead of going out to buy a well-earned meal after being deprived of it for a few days now, she walks straight to her next subject with an aggressively growling stomach.

She silently promises to go all out with dinner later.

After arriving a few steps away from the door of the room, Sakura has half a mind to actually read the sign outside and confirm if she’s indeed in the right place or solely trust her hungry mind and tired feet for leading her here.

Though, since she cannot escape people’s natural nature of being literate, she subconsciously reads the letters and confirms that yes, she is in the right place and yes, she’s about to listen to a 3 hour talk about philosophy.

Somebody just kill me already.

Quickly, before her mind contradicts with her schedule and leads her out of there, she looks for a vacant seat around the room. She found one at the very back, thankfully, that was yet to be crowded with a row of sleeping students.

There was this stereotype around her university that, apparently, students that often sit on the very back row, are always those students that come to school for the sole purpose of sleeping there. There were instances that this was proven true since Sakura likes to sit at the very back herself. She will admit, she did fall asleep there more than once during her days.

Although she likes to believe that is not the main reason why she likes it there.

Sakura, she thinks, likes to see everyone’s head more than she likes everyone to see hers. Besides, she doesn’t want to be lumped with the so-called “star students” that typically sit at the very front.

Contrary to popular belief, the back row is actually a nice place. Since the rooms are built nicely the sound resonance wasn’t a problem, and that most teachers use a mic while speaking anyway, Sakura found that it was both comfortable and perfect for someone like her who prefers solitude during lectures more than chatting with someone. She was one of those lowkey star students, after all.

Speaking of teachers, when Sakura was slowly starting to become optimistic and accept that the day might not be that bad after all, she’s suddenly reminded that her professor for the day was Hatake Kakashi.

Damn.

It’s not that Professor Hatake was a bad, grumpy teacher. No, far from it. His method of teaching was actually one of the best that she’s experienced. He approaches things in the simplest ways that one can easily grasp. Even Naruto, who’s this hyperactive and dumb fella that Sakura managed to acknowledge as one of her closest friends, says that Prof Hatake’s teaching was understandable enough for him not to fail. And that definitely says something.

The problem with Prof Kakashi and Philosophy was all about the exams. Sure, Kakashi talks well, but in return, makes the exams crazy as fuck. Sakura has a pre-established hate-love notion towards philosophy. She hates it because of how Professor Hatake specifically wants to see his exact given examples during his lectures–word for word–and no other possible answer on the planet even if it’s plausible enough.

Sakura loves it, whenever she understands these complicated concepts and notions that philosophers seem to ponder about when they have way too much time on their hands. She loves it when these philosophical statements actually make sense in her life. She loves it when it gives her a hard punch on her face every time realization hits her and suddenly changes everything.

And she especially loves it whenever she can answer her husband when he decides to randomly quiz her in the middle of the day.

Ah, her husband.

Sakura Uchiha, despite only being in her third year in college, is married to her long-time boyfriend Sasuke Uchiha.

It was sort of arranged. Sort of. Before their parents decided to promise them to each other, Sasuke and Sakura already knew each other way back. They ran into the same circle of mutual friends, which eventually led to them being friends and becoming more-than-friends later on.

Sakura remembers that she was in first year of high school when she met second year university student Sasuke through a dinner party arranged by their parents. It was Christmas and deadass cold since she was forced to wear a dress rather than something more suitable for winter. And like how cliché love stories start, Sasuke did the gentlemanly gesture of offering his coat because he and his brother were also forced to wear suits for the night. She practically swooned at him.

She wasn’t informed that it was such a formal event, though. She thinks putting a few waiters and butlers or two could’ve made it a ball.

The backstory between their parent’s friendship seems to root during, as to what they like to call it, their “golden days”. Basically, when Kizashi and Fugaku believe that their youth should not be wasted in school alone but instead in bars getting shit-faced drunk like it’s the end of the world.

Seems rather unlikely to imagine the taciturn Fugaku Uchiha slurring his words and chugging shot after shot, but Kizashi insists that it’s very much true whenever he would tell Sakura. Thankfully, Fugaku grew out of his “phase”, settled down, and raised both Itachi and Sasuke to be well-disciplined sons.

Though Sakura would occasionally see Fugaku’s past rubbing on Sasuke whenever he would pull out a stick of cigarette when things get too hectic at work. Sakura doesn’t really forbid him but gets very concerned whenever he smokes. She opted to find a less harmful way, like buying him a vape, or practically offering to relieve his stress herself. In any way he wants. 

When Sakura saw his whole stash thrown away in the garbage bin, she seemed to deem her method more effective. So did Sasuke, apparently.

Anyways, their love story led to a lot of things until Sasuke and Sakura spent more time with each other than with their respective families. The time came when Sasuke overcame his action-speak-louder-than-words complex and asked Sakura out to be his girlfriend. It did take a long time though–Sasuke graduated while Sakura was about to enter University–but Sakura likes to think great things take some time.

Great things indeed, when Mebuki and Mikoto also thought it would be best to strengthen their families’ life-long friendship and have Sasuke married to Sakura. The idea came as a major surprise at first, but it seems Sasuke couldn’t be happier during that time at the dinner table and kissed Sakura in front of everyone. Mind you, their relationship was still hidden during those days.

Action speaks louder than words, so it seems.

And that was how the union between Sasuke Uchiha and Sakura Haruno happened.

“Good afternoon, class.”

Sakura, usually, pays no mind to greetings and rarely ever greets back, nor spares the teacher a glance. She does the diligent process of notetaking, in return, however.

But, when she hears that voice, that sweet, deep voice she’s grown so familiar with, her head instantly snaps at the direction of it before her mind can ever register what just happened.

And when her mind did realize, her eyes widened like saucers because she absolutely could not believe what she was seeing.

Or, a better term, who she was seeing.

There, at the very front of the whole class, stands her husband of two years in all his handsome glory looking right at her.

Sasuke smirks ever-so-subtly when he sees Sakura’s jaw agape, seemingly enjoying her state of shock. He knows, if his wife’s mouth wasn’t so open right now, she must be mouthing the most obvious question:

What are you doing here?

“Unfortunately, Professor Hatake couldn’t be here with you guys, so he asked me to fill in today,” everyone, not only Sakura, seems to be enamored by this new person they were seeing right in front of them that has yet to introduce himself. “My name is Sasuke Uchiha, and I’ll be teaching you philosophy today.”

When Sasuke says his name, no one seems to notice how Sakura’s last name is the same as his, thankfully.

It’s not that she was hiding her civil status. Far from it. Instead, Sakura doesn’t really hide the lone red ruby ring on her left hand, nor did she keep her maiden name even after the semester ended. In contrast, she informed every teacher that she was now Uchiha Sakura, no longer Haruno, clearly.

The reason why no one seemed to know her relation towards Sasuke was because she doesn’t bother to tell. Sakura thinks her business doesn’t really concern anyone, unless they would pry which she would happily tell. Besides, no one appeared to be interested neither in her nor her private life, which was alright since they all had the same mindset after all: Graduate.

Sakura doesn’t think she’s unapproachable. Her pink hair and green eyes look more jolly than cold on the outside. It’s just that the reason behind her lack of college friends is because she doesn’t try to make one. And who will she tell her little secret that she’s married if she’s lacking friends? No one.

Sure, she has Ino who knows everything happening in her life, and a handful of girl friends like Hinata, Temari and Ten Ten, but they’re all either studying a different course, or studying in different places. Sakura doesn’t need any more additions to her friends. She’s satisfied with her circle of friends, and she couldn’t ask for more, really.

The fact that she’s married isn’t really a secret, no one just really bothered to ask.

And, Sakura hopes, no one dares to ask as she sits this lecture through with her husband talking.

Sakura rarely sees instances like these where Sasuke’s nothing but professional. She’s seen him once or twice in a courtroom, out of nothing but curiosity, and he has been nothing but amazing. But right now, seeing him walk around and interact with a bunch of college students, she develops a newfound sense of admiration towards him. He’s always been amazing, Sakura knows that, but it always makes her love him more whenever he’s in his element.

She especially loves watching him talk, all day long, since Sakura’s been used to talking in their relationship and Sasuke mostly just listening. The way he walks around, the way his tone changes whenever the topic requires it to, how his hand creates gestures to emphasize, and the way his mouth moves…

Sakura gulps as her mind ventures to the inappropriate thoughts that his hand, his voice, and his mouth could do to her. She feels her face flush as the temperature rises all of a sudden.

She usually sits through a Philisophy lecture easily—usually when words enter her right ear and exit through the other—with Professor Hatake barely minding if his students actually pay attention.

But right now, Sakura wonders just when did a lecture dragged on for so long like this. And if she could ever focus. . . . . . When the lecture did finally end, Sakura tried to exit through the door as discreetly as she could. Sasuke seemed to be preoccupied with the other female students crowding in front of him, probably asking mundane things that have no relation to philosophy. Before Sakura fully packed up her things, she saw how Ami, the leader of this sort of girl group, immediately re-did her make-up and approached her husband as fast as she could, probably to flirt and flaunt her “assets”. Sakura has half a mind to be jealous, but she deemed that as pathetic since she thinks even Sasuke won’t even bat an eye to Ami. She was very insufferable.

So, instead of wasting her time and glaring at Ami for stealing her man and at Sasuke for entertaining her, Sakura opted to get out of there before Sasuke could tease her about how she was all spaced out dazed during the lecture.

Well, whose fault is it anyway? It was really hard for Sakura to stay attentive when Sasuke kept looking at her and giving her his smirk.

Honestly, why was she acting like a little teenager? She was married for goodness’ sake. She’s married for two years and yet she’s still reduced to a blushing mess whenever Sasuke gives her that look.

“Sakura,” she practically jumps. Damn, just when she was halfway out.

“Yes, Professor?” Sakura replies with a smile, one that can be translated as ‘what-do-you-want-I-wanna-go-home-already-hurry-up’.

“Professor, huh,” Sasuke whispers as he smirks. “Stay for a bit. I want to talk to you.”

Sakura looks hesitant, very hesitant, before Sasuke gives her a look that always makes her relent. She nods in defeat instead.

Ami, who has yet to leave the room. Looks between Sasuke and Sakura curiously, before glaring at Sakura who she might’ve considered her rival in love just now.  Sakura resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Miss Chiba, you can go now,” Sasuke says without looking at the girl.

“But–“ she fumbles, “I still have a questi–"

“Save it when Hatake comes back.”

With that, Ami leaves while stomping her feet.

When the door finally closed shut and footsteps completely faded, Sakura released the breath she didn’t remember holding and slumped.

“Why are you here?” she asks calmly, sensing that it’s okay to let her guard down.

“I’m teaching,” was her husband’s short answer.

“Last time I heard, you’re a lawyer, not a teacher.”

“Well, I wanted a change of pace. You didn’t seem to mind it earlier when you were so attentively listening to me,” with each word Sasuke adds emphasis and steps closer to Sakura, until she hits the wall. “Right, Mrs. Uchiha?”

Sakura gulps as heat blooms onto her face. Sasuke was too close to consider appropriate between a teacher and a student. If anyone sees them, surely they would think something isn't right. 

Yet at the same time, Sasuke was also far away. Too far away from where she wants him to be. 

She suddenly found it hard to breathe. 

“What are you doing?” Sakura asks. Whispers, actually, her gaze occasionally flickering from his eyes to his lips, merely a breath away from his. “Someone might see.”

“We’re married,” Sasuke replies.

“But right now, I’m a student and you’re a teacher.”

“I don’t care.”

Without preemptive, Sasuke swoops down to capture her lips in a searing kiss that reduces Sakura’s legs to jelly. She fumbles to hold onto something, scrambles to reach something while her mind short-circuits as Sasuke bites down her lower lip. 

Sakura thought she was completely going to lose her mind when Sasuke traced his tongue on her lips, seemingly asking for permission. Sakura allows him access as he deepens the kiss and snakes his hand on her waist while the other braces him on the wall. Immediately, Sakura wraps her arms around his neck and moans onto the kiss before her legs completely lose their balance. 

When she feels the need for oxygen, Sakura brings her hand down Sasuke's chest and taps him, a sign to stop before anything escalates any further. 

Sasuke releases her lips gently, complying to her request. He keeps his face levelled with hers, panting with his eyes still shut. 

A few moments have passed before Sasuke opens his eyes and looks at Sakura's flushed face, swollen lips and eyes clouded due to his ministrations. The sight stirs something within Sasuke, as he was about to swoop in again for another searing kiss, when all of a sudden they heard a growling sound. 

From Sakura's stomach. 

For a second they both freeze, Sakura's blush deepening to a deep scarlet and Sasuke trying hard to keep his chuckle. 

"You didn't eat lunch?"

Too embarrassed to trust her voice, Sakura only nods. 

Sasuke releases the chuckle he's been holding while both his hands snake around her waist, keeping her close before he touches his lips onto her forehead.

"Let's eat lunch then."

"Here?"

"Where else?" Sasuke asks, confused. 

"Here on campus?" Sakura repeats, hoping Sasuke can actually understand. 

"What's wrong with eating here? Is the food bad?" 

"No. But wouldn't it be inappropriate for us to eat together?" 

"Why?" 

"Because you're our professor?" 

Sasuke stares at Sakura whose head is tilted to the side, wondering seriously. 

"Sakura," he firmly says before looking her in the eye. "I'm just filling in for the day. I'll be gone tomorrow."

"Still…" she looks uncertain. 

Sasuke sighs. "Is it me, or are you trying to hide our relationship?" 

When Sakura hears this, she all but frowns and looks at Sasuke as if he said the most offensive thing she's ever heard. 

"Of course not! Most of my teachers know I'm married anyway. Why would I hide it?" 

"That settles it then," Sasuke says before taking his bag and walking out the room. When Sakura does not immediately follow, he looks back at her and raises an eyebrow. "You coming, tsuma?" 

This seems to snap Sakura back to reality as she blinks and comprehends the word. 

Tsuma. 

Sheepishly, she looks down at the floor and follows suit, heart fluttering violently and her face stained with a pink hue. . . . . .  When Sakura and Sasuke arrived at the cafeteria, she's thankful that there weren't that many people. After all, it wasn't really an ideal time for a meal when they went there. 

Save for Ami, though, and her horde of pretty girls otherwise known as her little minions. 

And as if she was waiting for them, her gaze immediately catches sight of Sasuke, hearts practically coming out of her eyes. 

She's heard stories about guys suddenly feeling a chill when they see Ami looking at them. Very unusual, but it seems to be true as Sakura internally shudders. Sasuke also did not escape the curse as his eyes narrowed and twitched. 

Apparently, it’s applicable to all genders. 

"What do you want to eat?" Sasuke asks Sakura as they walk towards the station where the food was, ignoring the constant chill they feel behind their backs. 

"Anything works right now," she answers, followed by another growl from her stomach. 

"Alright. Go sit, I'll take care of it."

Sakura nods and walks away, looking for the farthest but best seat possible. 

Just when she was about to sit and put down her bag, she heard a slam on the table and an irritated looking Ami glaring at her. 

Sakura only stares, contemplating if it's actually worth it to give her the time of the day. 

"Why are you with Professor Uchiha?" Ami asks. 

Sakura, once again, only stares and thinks if it's better to pretend she's deaf just to be left alone. 

"Answer me!" Ami's shriek almost destroyed her eardrums and inevitably made her jump.

Now that might actually make me deaf. 

"What's your problem?" Sakura calmly shoots back. 

Ami appears to take her response as an offense that deepened her anger. "How dare you! You're sticking to him like a leech!" 

"Really?" Sakura answers with a monotone as if she's bored out of her mind.

"Huh! You thought you were being subtle? You look like a little puppy in love following him around!" 

Sakura wonders if it was really her in Ami's mind as she speaks or Ami's actually stating a self-description. 

"What's wrong with walking to the cafeteria with my husband?" 

Ami freezes and comprehends what Sakura just said. 

Sakura counts to 10, until Ami actually breathes again and practically explodes. 

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Sakura thought about covering her ears, but realized that it might've already gone deaf from all the inhuman screeching. It’s no use now. "You're not only a leech but also a delusional bitch!" 

"I'm not delusional. Nothing of what I said was a lie."

"Husband? Husband?" Ami repeats in pure, utter disbelief like Sakura grew two heads. "How can Professor Uchiha possibly be your husband? How can you be married" 

"How can’t we be?" 

Ami turns around at the sudden voice that spoke behind, revealing Sasuke holding two trays of food. 

"P-Professor Uchiha!" 

"Why do you think it's impossible that me and Sakura are husband and wife?" 

"H-Huh...e-eh…" Ami stutters. "W-Well you n-never told us you were m-married…" 

"And I never told you I was single either." 

"B-But—" 

"Have you ever noticed that Sakura's last name was Uchiha? Also, didn't you see the ring?" 

To prove his point, he shows their wedding band and points at the ruby engagement ring on Sakura's finger. 

"I specifically bought that ring for her. I can ever tell you where and how much."

When Ami seems to have ran out of excuses, her face morphs to mortification as she quickly walks away. 

"Well that was annoying," Sakura comments as she begins to eat her food. 

"Is that girl always like that?" 

"Yup. I think no one genuinely likes her, that’s why."

"Huh." 

They both ate their foods peacefully, enjoying the silence engulfing the cafeteria. 

"By the way," Sakura slips in. "How do you know Professor Hatake?" 

"He's an acquaintance. Occasionally visits the firm."

"So he's also a lawyer."

"Occasionally." 

Despite the short replies, Sakura has never found it in herself to feel as if Sasuke's ignoring her whenever they talk. It's just how they were, how he always was, and how she is. 

Nothing unusual at all.

Seeing her dear husband sitting in front of her, eating in the university's cafeteria as if they were classmates.

Sakura suddenly remembers Sasuke’s joke from ages ago where he said he wished they met each other when they were in college. How ironic, seeing both of them eating together in a university cafeteria right now. It seems Sasuke’s joke was granted, just in a more complicated way.

Clearly dazed, Sasuke snaps his fingers in front of Sakura. “You okay?”

When Sakura is brought back to reality, she catches sight of her husband concerned, brows subtly raising.

As a response, Sakura shakes her head, releases a breathy chuckle, and smiles at him.

“Never better.” 

[msookyspooky]

Since the dynamic of the three is kinda very weird in this moment... how each of them would react if like they stopped to a gas station and someone would hit on one of them? How the other two would react?

Stu's reaction:

- If it's you? That asshole is looping an arm around you and acting like your boyfriend to scare whoever is flirting with you far, far away.

- If it's Billy, he's both jealous of Billy getting the attention and someone (especially another guy) flirting with him. He's more annoyed with it than angry though.

- Lies and tells whoever flirted with either one of you some off putting story. "Yeah, YN...She's mentally unstable, my man. She's sweet but she kind of went to the psychward and escaped. Like...Escaped right now...We're taking her back, she just doesn't know it. She tried to eat a guys face so uh...I'd avoid her if she starts to look hungry and gets a vacant stare, you know."

- "That guy you were flirting with? His names Billy and uh...I hate to break it to you but he um...He has a micropenis, one testicle and a tail. Yeeaahhhh...Poor guy."

- You and Billy would be confused as fuck at the strange looks the person gives you after they were just flirting with either one of you??? When Stu comes back happy as a lark; you both have a good suspicion as to why.

Billy's Reaction:

- He acts like he doesn't care. At first, he doesn't. But when he sees you blush and flirt back with whoever is flirting with you; envious rage flows through him. He'll give the person a death glare while your back is turned.

- If it's Stu, it's the same just not as possessive. You both are HIS idiots! No one else's even if he refuses to admit it.

- He's a grouch and one sided so he'd probably blame you in some way. You led the person on, you 'were throwing yourself on them', you wore the wrong outfit. Him and Stu are misogynistic 90s pigs after all.

- If it's Stu, he blames him too but a bit less. Those digs are more centered on Stu being attention seeking than what he was wearing or flirting back.

- Just being a vindictive lil man baby about it because he can't express his feelings about it other than being numb or getting defensively angry. He'll pout the whole ride with his arms folded and his legs facing away from you. He'll even snap at you asking what his deal was.

- "I'm fine! There's no deal so just shut up and let it go." Even though HE'S the one not dropping it.

Your Reaction:

- YN is you so that depends on you but I'm sure it would be confusing feelings considering you don't want to like them but here you are getting a bit jealous at that girl winking at Billy or that group of college kids chatting it up with Stu.

[letarasstuff]

Hold On

Summary: This is based on the song "Hold On" from Chord Overstreet. After weeks and months of arguments, hurtful words and pain Spencer's daughter is convinced that this is the only option for both's happiness.

Warnings: attempted suicide (not specified how), hospitals, angst, sad, hurtful words, mean Spencer in the beginning

Wordcount: 2k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________

Loving and fighting, accusing, denying I can't imagine a world with you gone

The last few weeks weren’t easy in the Reid household. There is not one day, where no loud screamed arguments are thrown through the entirety of the apartment.

“(Y/N), you have to see things from my point of view, too! My job is demanding and I can’t be there for every little competition you have”, Spencer tries to reason with his daughter.

“I have to see things from YOUR point?! Little competition?! DAD! This was the math olympics and, mind you and your busy schedule, it was not the ‘petty’ school round. I went against people from the WHOLE country! Just- I- Sometimes it would be nice to feel like I have a father caring for me for at least an hour. But I see, your job is more important than your child.”

Her father looks at her, speechless. He didn’t know how far she came in that competition. (Y/N) hasn’t said a thing, didn’t make a noise about it. How is he supposed to know all that then?

“Just because I’m a profiler doesn’t mean I’m able to read your mind. Just try and cut me some slack here, I- I need you to understand how important the things I do are. Can you try to be a little less ignorant, please?”

It feels like Spencer has punched her in the guts. For years (Y/N) backed down, knowing that her father’s work is in fact important. He is saving life for crying out loud, but is it really that selfish to ask for his attention every once in a while? Ever since she is basically able to be on her own it seems like he stopped caring for her.

“Ignorant? Oh Dad, you really are an amazing profiler”, the teenager says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “You know what? Try and profile that!” She begins to walk out of the living room, showing him the bird. Seconds later her door smashes into the lock.

The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of I'd be so lost if you left me alone

Is he really that bad of a father?

When (Y/N) was born, he swore to himself to be the opposite of his own. Spencer wanted to be there for his daughter any time she wanted him to. School dances, spelling competition, kindergarten graduation, the whole nine yards.

But when was the last time they did something as a family. From cooking and eating dinner together nearly every night they went to occasionally seeing the other at the breakfast table before heading out.

Spencer understands her now. He is not better than his father at the moment. He just missed a big event in his daughter’s life and blames it on her. He called her ignorant, even though he is the one that didn’t pay attention. The oh so amazing profiler forgot to show his child that he loves her. That she is more important to him than anything in his life. He needs her in order to function, her love is the only thing that motivates him to do anything.

He knows he has to talk to (Y/N) about it, he was wrong and mean. Spencer just wants to give her time to cool off.

Meanwhile the teenager sits on her bed, staring at the wall. He did it again. He said these hurtful words. Tears stream down her face, but she is numb to them.

Everytime he calls her something, (Y/N) memorizes it. She doesn’t have an eidetic one, but when it’s about mean things, everybody has an elephant’s memory.

Ignorant.

Selfish.

Egoistic.

Childish. And many more.

And her father is right. She is all of the above and so much more.

Maybe he is better off without her. Better off without having to act like he cares for her.

She is a burden, she knows that. Her mother knew that from the beginning, why else would she have left them? Left her? Nobody’s life wouldn’t be better, if she isn’t in it anymore.

(Y/N) thought long and hard about this. Tonight just confirms her thoughts and boostes her decision.

Quietly she makes her way over to the bathroom, locking the door without making a noise. Hidden under towels is her little box. The contents she complained about using for so long.

You locked yourself in the bathroom Lying on the floor when I break through I pull you in to feel your heartbeat Can you hear me screaming? Please don't leave me

Twenty minutes have passed since (Y/N) smashed her door. Spencer hopes it is enough time for a teenager to cool off. He knocks on her door, waiting for an answer.

Nothing.

He tries again.

Nothing.

“Sweetheart? May I come in?”

The silence is louder than any gunshot he heard.

“Sweetheart, I want to apologize. May I open the door?”

Still nothing.

Spencer enters the room, finding it vacant. Oh of course, the moment he wants to talk with her she is in the bathroom. The Reids always had a thing for timing.

He knocks at the bathroom door. “Sweetheart, are you in there? Of course you are. Dumb question. I- I want to apologize. What I said wasn’t right and it was hurtful. Can- can you come out? There are a few things I have to make right.”

To his bewilderment there is no answer. No noises. A whole lot of nothing. This scares Spencer. “(Y/N), please say something. I care. I do. I love you, please answer me”, he desperately says.

Still no answer.

Spencer feels like he doesn’t have a different choice. He takes a step back and a deep breath, remembering what Derek taught him. With a loud crash he kicks the door open.

There she lies. His child. His daughte. The one human he promised to protect no matter what.

Her body lifeless, a small box next to her. Spencer identifies the contents immediately. His heart drops faster than he thought it to be possible.

In an instant he kneels next to (Y/N), pulling her in. His hands are shaking as he tries to take her pulse. “No no no no. NO! (Y/N), baby please open your eyes. Don’t leave me, no! You can’t do that, I love you, I love you so much. Don’t leave me, I need you!”

Hold on, I still want you Come back, I still need you Let me take your hand, I'll make it right I swear to love you all my life Hold on, I still need you

(Y/N) is in and out of consciousness. The dark seconds are terrifying to her. She regrets her choice.

In the seconds she is conscient, she hears a warm voice. The teenager feels safe now that it is there. At first the voice is quiet and blurry, but she is still able to catch a few words.

“Don’t” “Me” “Love you” “Much” “Need”

As her body finally slips away, she feels at ease. These words, it feels like lotion on her wounds. Because she also loves the voice and its person. She needs them like they need her.

Long endless highway, you're silent beside me Driving a nightmare I can't escape from Helplessly praying, the light isn't fading Hiding the shock and the chill in my bones

Spencer acts quickly. He knows his daughter doesn’t have much time left. He picks her up, trying to grab as many important things on his way out as possible. The genius runs to his car, hoping and praying to all the gods above that it will work after months of not using the vehicle. The motor does turn on to his relief.

The drive to the hospital feels longer than any roadtrip Spencer ever went on. The seconds tickle down and just like that (Y/N)’s chances. Chances of a happy ever after with him in her life, hopefully.

Not once does she move, her body looking more like a doll than a human being. Spencer just prays that it won’t be like this for long. He needs her, the light of his life. She can’t fade, she is not allowed to. It will break him. Darken his own light.

He has to be strong now. The glass is half full, the hospital only a few minutes away. (Y/N) will make it. Spencer doesn’t have any other option than that.

They took you away on a table I pace back and forth as you lay still They pull you in to feel your heartbeat Can you hear me screaming? Please don't leave me

“I need a doctor! A nurse! Somebody! My daughter, she-” Spencer screams, entering the ER with her lifeless body in his arms. He can’t end the sentence. But it’s also not necessary. A whole team of people crowd around the young man, one of them pulling a stretcher behind him.

Reluctantly Spencer lowers (Y/N) on it, knowing that he can’t do anything more. His child’s fate lies in the hands of the medical staff now. He has to trust them with her. With his lifeline.

One doctor takes her arm, trying to take a pulse. He shouts something, but Spencer’s ears are deaf to his words. Everything goes silent as they pull her away. Away from him.

He falls to his knees as reality hits him. He may not be a father any longer. And it’s his fault and his fault only.

“Please don’t leave me”, Spencer whispers.

Hold on, I still want you Come back, I still need you Let me take your hand, I'll make it right I swear to love you all my life Hold on, I still need you

Lights flash her. They hurt her eyes. But there is a greater pain (Y/N) can’t locate where it’s coming from. Where is her father? She needs him. She has to apologize. There are so many things she wants to say to him. To reassure him that she knows her decision was wrong.

As people continue to scramble around her, the pain intensifies. It becomes nearly unbearable and stops suddenly. The last thing she hears after a shrill high pitched tone is the voice of her father.

“I love you.”

I don't wanna let go I know I'm not that strong I just wanna hear you Saying, "Baby, let's go home" Let's go home Yeah, I just wanna take you home

“Family of (Y/N) Reid?” A doctor asks into the waiting room, looking exhausted. Spencer looks up from the floor. He memorized every little bump while pacing back and forth. He hasn’t called anybody. He doesn’t want to alarm then, not now. The young doctor needs time to understand what’s happening.

“Is she breathing?” is his first question. The doctor's face takes a pitiful look. “We stabilized her. But (Y/N) is still not through. We can’t say if she makes it through the night. If she does, we are sure she will be on a good way to a full recovery. Tonight will be critical for that. But (Y/N) showed us she is a fighter, maybe the chances aren’t that bad.”

Spencer is led through several halls to her room. He sits down in an uncomfortable hospital chair next to his daughter’s bed. Her hand is cold against his warm one. His are still shaking as he brushes a strand of her hair out of her face.

The only thing that Spencer wants right now is for (Y/N) to open her eyes and ask him to go home. He wants to take her there so desperately. But he can’t. Because he is the ignorant one.

“Hold on, I still want you Come back, I still need you, Sweetheart”, Spencer says, pressing a kiss onto her knuckles.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962

@ellyhotchner

[poptod]

Will You? (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: Meeting Rami in the back alley behind an awards show.

Notes: ugh ive been having writers block for the first time in like two years so ive only been writing short stuff. i have a couple fics backpiled for various rami characters so thats coming up! gender neutral as usual WC: 1.5k

+

Ugh.

How quickly it all became too much. You wondered, clutching your aching head, why you even came here; large parties were never your scene, public events even less so. A world-wide broadcasted movie awards event was nothing near anything you'd done before. Earlier in the day, as you were dressing and readying yourself for the evening, you stared into the mirror and wondered then, as well, what you were doing.

Maybe––probably––it had to do with the fact that one of your favorite actors' presence was assured, and you rarely ever visited New York, making this the first time you'd been in the right place at the right time to have the opportunity to do this. You steeled yourself then and you steeled yourself now, digging into your clutch bag to pull out a carton of cigarettes.

You fumbled with the cigarette as you reached back in, searching for your lighter. A frustrated grumble grew in your mouth and came out as a curse. With a harsh sigh you yanked your hand out, throwing it up into the air, and sitting with a thud on a wooden box laying by the side of a large trash bin. You rubbed your face harshly, attempting to wipe away the irritation. To no avail––you had no lighter, and your nerves were itching, teeming with aggravation that crawled like bugs beneath your skin. You needed this and the world didn't like you.

The door you'd left the building from opened once more, swinging shut with a loud clanking sound that seemed to echo in the vacant alleyway. Drops of water fell into the puddles at your feet, still present from the earlier rain, and now filled with bits of trash. The very same water almost splashed onto you as a car passed by, its' wheels revving and spinning away through a massive puddle. It must've been midnight, but assholes were still awake as well, and the city lights showed no sign of stopping.

This was why you only visited New York City.

"Here," someone with a deep, rough voice spoke, and you looked up to find a vein-filled hand balancing a blue lighter between the second and third fingers.

There weren't any active lights in the alleyway, but the puddles reflected the street lights that stood a few meters away. That was enough to recognize him when you glanced to his face.

Rami fucking Malek.

He turned almost the second you looked up at him, meaning he didn't catch the sudden, stumbling recognition that flooded your expression. Thankfully, you had the time to calm yourself before he sat down across from you on a dirty (and probably wet) stool.

"Thank you," you said, lighting your cigarette and breathing in the sweet smoke before you said anything else. "You're a lifesaver."

"No, I just have a smoking problem," he said.

You both laughed, softly, and looked away.

You took another drag.

"You're Rami Malek, aren't you?" You said through the smoke that escaped you. It was rough on your throat, but you didn't especially care anymore. Somehow, you remembered a flask of water––just not the lighter.

"Yeah," he said with another soft, bashful, chuckle.

"I like your work. Or, your style," you mumbled as you tapped the ashy end away. He might've been a star of your dreams, and mere images of him might've taken your breath away, but you would treat him like a regular person. "It's.. unique, but familiar."

"Thank you," he said, nodding, a charming grin on his face. "May I ask your name?"

"(Y/N)." You shifted in your seat as you looked down. An ounce of humor came to you once you said, "you won't recognize the name."

"No, but I'm happy to recognize it in the future," he said, tilting his head in your direction.

You broke out in a laugh and a wide, blushing grin, shaking your head. God, he looked good in a suit––all black. Silver in his lapel. His neck revealed colored veins that led up to a jawline that would surely cut you. Why was he talking to you? Why was he being nice?

"You're a charmer," you finally said through your giggling, continuing with, "do you want some?" before he could say anything.

You handed the cigarette to him and he took it, pursing his lips and letting go with a puff of smoke. Even in the hot, humid air, those clouds coalesced and drifted away just as usual.

"You're not an actor," he stated, his eyes fixed on the cigarette as he tapped the ashes away. "Not here for that, so why are you here? Just out of curiosity."

"That's... a very good question," you said with an exasperated laugh. "I'm a teacher, I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Teacher?" He repeated. "My brother's one of those. What d'you teach?"

He handed the cigarette back to you.

"Third graders," you grumbled. He sucked in a sharp breath in a wince. "I usually do first graders, but not this year."

"That's rough, I've heard those are demonic years," he said, earning a laugh from you.

"Yeah, that's a good way of putting it," you said as you doted on the cigarette. "I guess this is just the first time I've visited New York when an awards show is happening."

"How do you like the big screen life so far?"

"Not very much, but I never thought I would," you said quietly, but he still chuckled. "I... I did think about being an actor, when I was a kid. I think a lot of kids do these days, though. Actors are.. like the new Gods. You know, in ancient times people would worship idols, and that's what people call you now..." you met his gaze and couldn't tear yourself from it, "... idols. Images of something to strive for."

He nodded, his brow creased in deep thought.

"After a while the world shows you what celebrity life is really like, and you read all sorts of things, see how people change... eventually you don't really want it anymore," you said, shrugging. "Or you decide you want it, or want part of it despite the other stuff."

He nodded again but had little to say despite being a celebrity himself.

"Which was it for you?"

"Hm?"

A spell broke over his eyes and he appeared to return to normal, having not heard or comprehended your words.

"Did you become an actor because you wanted all of it, with the bad parts, or you wanted a specific part and still became an actor despite all the other things?"

"... complex question," he said after a moment, rocking his balance back and forth awkwardly as you laughed. "I wanted to become other people, transform myself into characters. I was attracted to the job. Not the other things attached to it."

"Well I'm glad you became an actor anyway," you said, relighting the cigarette with a quick drag. "That way I could meet you."

"And I could meet you, as well," he said in that same, deep voice he used when he first spoke to you.

You could do nothing but chuckle and cast your eyes down, shaking your head.

"Yeah, I guess you could," you mumbled.

He reached forward, snagging the cigarette from between your fingers. That made you look up, drawing your attention back to the subtle lines marking his face, and the glow of fire that revealed cool, green eyes behind thick lashes.

A loud wave of cheering came from inside the building, and the both of you looked back at the steel door. Still unopened.

"I should probably get inside, the cameras might notice my seat's empty," he said in a similar mumble.

The cigarette, now nothing more than a filter, dropped from his lips and fell to the ground, squashed beneath his shiny, black shoe.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Have to be," you said as you stood. "Not wasting a fifty dollar ticket on my damn social anxiety."

He chuckled and said, "I'd invite you to sit with me, but there aren't any free spots. How about..." He'd been opening the door, but he paused, causing you to misstep and halt yourself only when your chest was an inch from his. Your eyes darted up to his. "Come see me after the show. I have a '97 bottle of Montalcino at home that I think you'd enjoy."

You nearly choked on your own spit, but fortunately for you, it only came out as a cough and a clearing of the throat. 'What', almost escaped your mouth in the most astounded tone before you bit it back.

Was he propositioning you? Was this a friendly invitation? Why was, again, Rami fucking Malek asking to spend anymore time with you than he had to?

You realized a silence had spanned between you when his eyes flickered down to your lips, at which point shock fully brought you back into your body.

"Will you?" He asked hopefully.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I'd like that."

[thefanficmonster]

Partner

Ethan Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Spoilers for Resident Evil 8:Village, Swearing, Mentions of injury

Genre: Angsty Fluff, Comfort

Summary: Following the final battle in the Dimitrescu Castle, Ethan is surprised to stumble upon a person who witnessed the whole debacle, offering him a safe place to patch up his wounds and rest for a little while.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request! So sorry you’ve had to wait so long but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

“That was...something else.“ Ethan Winters mutters to himself as he limps his way out of the Dimitrescu Castle which is now vacant in terms of residence - his doing. He killed Alcina Dimitrescu and her daughters, all arguably in self defense and with little guilt to follow. However, plenty of trauma’s definitely attached to him following the horrific events he had to go through and the things he had to see between the walls of those luxurious rooms hiding dark secrets of the vampires who took pleasure in torturing people, and wreaking havoc over the villagers who feared them.

“At least they won’t hurt anyone any longer.“ He tells himself, giving the monster of a structure one final look before he continues back towards the center of the village where he’s gonna rethink what he’s got to do next, gather his bearings, take a breath and keep going. He has no other option but to keep going, he won’t allow himself to quit no matter what danger he faces. In his mind, he’s convinced himself that he’s already seen the worst, it’s easier on him that way, it suppresses the fear he’d feel otherwise. The last thing he wants is to think what’s in store for him ahead, he’d rather focus on what’s up to him to do next.

“And we can’t thank you enough.“

The sudden presence of an unfamiliar voice startles him, causing him to whip out his gun and point it in the direction it came from. However, he quickly finds his deadly tight grip loosening ever so slightly because he realizes he’s pointing the barrel at a very human-looking and seemingly harmless person.

“Who are you? Who’s ‘we’?“ Ethan still refuses to let his guard down though, just cause it may not be a life or death situation, doesn’t mean this person won’t bring him trouble and Lord knows that’s the last thing he needs right now.

On instinct, the person takes a step back, “I speak on the behalf of all the remaining villagers. I mean, it was only a matter of time before we too became victims in the Dimitrescu Castle basement. I was next, actually, but the commotion you created allowed for me to escape. I owe you my life, foreigner.“ The speak hurriedly and in a hushed tone, as if the fear of their torturers overhearing them still lives within them despite the monsters being deceased.

“Glad I could help you.“ He nods curtly, remaining at the distance of seven feet between them, “My name’s Ethan Winters by the way.“

They give him the tiniest of smiles, “Y/N L/N, pleased to meet you.” Their gaze gives him a quick onceover, assessing the damage the horrors of the castle have inflicted on him. Their eyes widen in shock at the many bleeding wounds all over his body but what appears to rattle them most is the severe injury that’s causing his limp as well as the missing finger - a poorly wrapped would that has surprisingly not started getting infected yet. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I don’t trust you to take care of yourself either. I live in that windmill over there in the outskirts, come with me, I’ll help you with...well, with all that. You seem rather hopeless at medical care.”

While he could refuse their offer, he wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that they’re right - he knows the basics of first aid, but his injuries are far too gone for simple first aid, especially when taken into account that he doesn’t even have any supplies. How he’s not died from blood loss is a surprise to him as much as it is to them.

“What’s my guarantee you won’t turn on me?“ He finally asks after a decent amount of time contemplating it.

They shrug, “You have none. But, you have the guarantee that if I turn on you, you’ll be the one coming out of that altercation alive.” Their gaze sizes up the guns he’s got on him, emphasizing their point.

Suddenly, Ethan feels sorta ridiculous - after all, guns or no guns, he could probably take on them easily with just his knife. Regardless, no one can blame him for being cautious. “Fine.“ He mutters, “But please don’t turn on me, I’ve already had one hell of a day.“

Y/N nods, motioning for him to follow them, “I promise I won’t.”

                                                               *  *  *

“Wow, what a back-stabber! Some friends you have, Winters.“ Y/N comments as they set down a cup of tea on the small wooden table in front of the freshly patched up Ethan.

Turns out, he made the right move by trusting them - they used to be the village’s main nurse until it all went to hell and they went to hide in the shadows of their windmill where they, as evidenced, still are today. That being said, not only did they have all the necessary equipment to fix him up, but they also had the skills and knowledge needed to use that equipment.

“There are those friends who borrow money from you and never pay you back and there are those who shoot your wife randomly while you two are trying to have dinner. Two types of friends out there really.“ He sighs, his tired, a thousand yard stare following the path of the steam levitating from the cup that’s been placed in front of him. “I have no time to dwell on that right now though. My daughter is in grave danger and I have no idea where I should even start looking for her.“

Y/N sits down on a chair opposite his, “Well, you’ve already defeated one of the village Lords looking for Rose, process of elimination should reveal where she is - wherever she is, it has to be one of the Lords’ residence. Mother Miranda trusted Lady Dimitrescu most so it’s a wonder why she wasn’t there, but then again, Heisenberg’s factory is damn near impenetrable, one cannot enter unless he wants them to so she could have entrusted her precious cargo to him.”

“How do I get to that fucker?“ Ethan tightens his hand into a fist, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turn white. There’s so much within him, so much that’s happened to him, so much in such a short amount of time and he’s had no time to deal with any of it. He’s a volcano waiting to erupt, but he has to do so at the right time - in front of the right danger to show he’s not hopeless or weak as his opponent may think. “Where do I find him?“

“He’s in the outskirts too just on the other side of the village.“ They sigh, regretting every word they are saying since they know they are just feeding him information on how to get himself in the worst kind of danger he’s probably ever been in. “That key you have, it’s not complete to access his quarters yet. By the looks of it...“ they observe the key Ethan has placed on the table, “You can only get to Lord Donna Beneviento’s estate, and I wouldn’t suggest heading there before you heal at least a bit more. Her and her dolls are a real nightmare. Of course, I haven’t experienced it for myself, but the stories are enough to get an idea.“

“So you’re telling me I have to waste my time with the little fish before I can finally get to Rose? You know how long that’ll take? You know how long she’ll have to be at the mercy of a fucking lunatic until I can finally save her?!“ Ethan snaps, banging his fist against the table, bad idea considering his hand’s been just patched up. The impact sends a jolt of pain up his arm that makes him hiss.

“I get it, I understand, Ethan. But you are a lot less likely to get to your daughter if you’re dead, you know.“ Y/N cautiously explains, their eyes narrowing a bit as they wait for the pearl white bandages to soak crimson, sighing in relief when they don’t. “Speaking of how likely you may or may not be to get to her on time, I’d also have to mention your odds would be significantly higher if you were to receive help from someone else. You’d need someone to have your back throughout all the shit you’re about to go through, especially Heisenberg’s factory where two eyes are not enough to track each and every threat that might pounce at you.“

Calmer now, Ethan gives them a puzzled look, “What are you suggesting?“

“I’m suggesting - well, I’m offering you my partnership.“ They explain, watching his expression change to one of knowing and understanding. “Of course, you’d have to give up one of those guns and hand it down to me, but I think that’s a small price to pay in exchange for an extra pair of eyes and limbs to guard and help you.“

Ethan’s first instinct is to decline. He can’t afford to see another person dying around him or because of him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. But then again, just like he had no guarantee they wouldn’t turn on him, he has none that they’ll die. Of course, he’ll do everything in his power to keep them and himself alive and they don’t seem like they are in it to half-ass it either. Quite the contrary, they seem perfectly determined and ready to face the same shit he’s about to.

“What do you get in return?“ He asks, his gaze suspiciously measuring each line on their face to gauge their true intentions. He’s a complete stranger to them, they’d have no reason to be this selfless for him, it’s obvious they are aiming at something bigger.

Y/N scoffs, leaning back in their chair with a small bitter smile on their face, their gaze resting on the tabletop and avoiding his, “You really wanna know? I want my revenge - revenge for what they did to this village, to me, to so many people I cared about and to those I didn’t even know. But...” they trail off, pausing to sigh out a heavy sigh before continuing, “But I also wanna redeem myself. I knew I should’ve done all in my power to stop them when their havoc was still on the rise, I knew I should’ve done more, but I didn’t. And now I’ll die trying.”

“You won’t die.“ He says sharply, barely a second after the last word left their lips, “I won’t allow it.“ He adds, taking a bit of the edge off his voice.

Their eyes come up to meet his, searching for what he means, “Does that mean...“

“It sure does, partner.“ Within the blink of an eye, his pistol is on the table, fully loaded and free for their taking, “You just give a green light and we’re off.“

Y/N lets out a sound between a laugh and a gasp as their hands quickly wrap around the gun, looking at it in disbelief before whispering a quick ‘thank you’. Ethan allows them to marvel at it for a bit longer but they don’t wait another second. “Get your ass up, Winters. We have monsters to kill.”

He needn’t be told twice