#napalm in the morning

[rastronomicals]

6:57 AM EST February 9, 2024:

Robert Duvall as Kilgore - "Napalm In The Morning" From the album Apocalypse Now OMPST (1979)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Smells like . . . Victory.

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

TA: hey tumblr wiizard2 can one of you teach me two ca2t fiireball 2o ii can kiill my bo22

GC: D1SSOLV3 SOM3 STYROFO4M 1N G4SOL1N3 1T M4K3S N4P4LM

CA: noww hold on, isnt that more science than magic or is there a lesson youre tryin to teach here about the twwo

GC: POT1ON OF 3XPLOD3 YOUR BOSS

[adamedits]

I love the smell of napalm in the morning.

[ellie--eille]

When all the notifications look like pornbots

[isa-ghost]

I have decided I am a little salty jse community people mass left Tumblr and never tried to come back after a while bc there's so little jse content on my dash but I'm still following all the same people

[cloud3francois]

Apocalypse Now: The French Plantation Analysis

[notsoterriblymisanthropic]

a cool thing about poppers is how if you sniff them enough they literally make your skin go red. that's how you know they're really good for you and god wants you to huff them more often.

[inlovewithaspiderguy]

I was working on an old fanfic that I can’t finish and just thought of an idea for a scene, something that my oc could do to themselves while in an impossible situation, something so self-destructive and dangerous that it could lead to their death or at least give them life-lasting injuries

And I’m making this face while thinking about it:

[updownlately]

i'm the definition of 'wreck' (if you look into my soul)

| leah williamson x reader | angst | 2.4k | inspo: time by nf / everywhere by niall horan | a/n: i tried to write angst, no idea how that went but here's what i got. technically since no names were named you can imagine any player from the arsenal wfc as 'her' but i wrote this with leah in mind bc well im a lw6 simp

~~~

It's been like this for weeks. This push and pull. The little things that work just a little harder each time to knock you over the edge. To be honest you don’t know how much of it you can take. And what’s worse is you know you’ve got nobody but yourself to blame. 

It’s when she’s leaving your shared bed early in the mornings, long before either of you need to be up. It’s the way she’d retire to bed later than she probably should, long after you’ve headed up, risking less sleep just to avoid contact. 

It shouldn’t be like this. Love shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn't be missed date nights, keys grabbed after every fight, doors slammed, sometimes more nights a week spent at hotels than your own bed.  Yet, it’s all you’ve ever known and the only thing you carry in your heart. This sad, broken, pathetic attempt at love is really all you have to offer.

In all honesty, you were shit at this relationship thing, though no one could blame you. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and yet you’ve begged and prayed that it would. And yeah you technically have control over your actions and should better yourself, but you’ve tried and failed over and over again. You’ve tried to improve, work on yourself, create a better version of you, but in the end, when everything’s burning and there’s napalm in the air and rubble all around you, all you’ll ever know is to grab your weapon, fire, and run. 

It’s left you alone, failed relationship after failed relationship. You swear you’ve tried. Tried to work on communicating, on breathing deep breaths before your anger builds up, on talking about your fucking feelings. Regardless, it’s never enough for yourself. You run, you hide, you lock yourself away until there’s nothing to find.

So when weeks and months pass and you see her each day with the light finally returning to her eyes you can’t help but be glad that she got rid of you. 

And when you feel so broken seeing her and her family after a game won at your home pitch, you quietly gather the shattered pieces of your heart and make your way toward the locker rooms with nobody but yourself to blame.

It's only as you pass the friends and family section that you can pick out her mother’s voice and your name being said in conversation, with a follow up question on how you’re doing, something you really don’t deserve after how you’ve treated her.

You’re very much aware that no matter how many times you fix your damaged heart and dull all the sharp edges, that you’ll still end up hurting those around you. So you speed up ever so slightly, shielding your already broken heart, cradling the pieces that had fallen ever so gently as they break further in your hands, careful not to cut anybody along the way. You swear you drop some pieces in your hurry, but with your rush you tell yourself you’d come back later to grab them (spoiler: you never do).

~

You end up showering and changing before anyone else has even made it back inside. Making a pit stop to confirm your departure and the following days’ schedules with your manager and coach, you check the time and head to your car.

It's late afternoon and while that helps expand your options for lunch, it also means you have one too many hours left in the day to survive before you can let yourself head to bed. Contemplating on how to spend the rest of your day, it’s your tiredness that makes the final decision. 

You grab a quick lunch, choosing to not head home and instead to the gym for a workout. It may not be one of your wiser decisions to have an extensive training session today, but with the free time on your hand and the voices in your head, there’s really no better option. 

Meeting up with your trainer, which by the way bless his heart for booking you at the last minute, you gather your gloves and handwrap and head towards the equipment. It’s as you run through your normal warm-up that you reflect on how pathetic your life’s become. 

For the past three months, you’ve damn near ceased to exist. Yeah your body’s still here, you’re waking up in the mornings, attending practices, playing in games, all the good stuff really, but you know you’re not there. A feeling you’re all too familiar with. The lack of care of what happens to your body, the way your slide tackles and play gets just a tad bit more dangerous each game, the way you keep training, choosing to ignore the idea of a recovery period, the way your car’s more comforting to you than the apartment you own. You’ve been here before and it wasn’t a good place then and it sure as hell isn’t now, but it's all you know and the only thing that’s never really left, so you’ll cherish it for as long as you can. You know that if anything and everything leaves, as they always seem to do, you’ll still have your companion in the darkness.

The sane part of you realizes how far gone you are, it tries, tries so helplessly hard to pull you back, remind you that you can be okay, but this time? This time you’re sure you’ve given up on trying to remember that. So you’ll do what you know best. Let it consume you. Let it destroy you. Pick you apart piece by piece. Let you slowly forget the feel of a sunny day and a good practice with the team. Rid you of the joy that comes with the pretty sunsets London Colney sometimes has to offer. And this time you’ll let it all happen with open arms, truly, honestly, finally exhausted.

An hour later when your trainer’s calling it a day and forcing you to take a break, you listen, if only to spare yourself a lecture. You grab your stuff, shower, change, and head out. You’ve still got a couple hours left to kill, and with your training bag and boots still in your car, it’s not a difficult decision of where to go. 

Opening your car door and entering, you can feel the day catch up to you, your body readily sinking into the driver's seat, almost protesting against your mind. You know you’ll be feeling these workouts tomorrow, but your mind’s not done racing yet. 

Lacing your boots a short while later, back at the training grounds, you grab your spare ball and warm-up once again, going through the motions. With how many hours you’ve spent at the grounds alone, you’ve developed a pretty consistent solo training session. It's the peace of being alone, a football at your feet, and a near-perfect grassy pitch at your disposal that your mind slowly begins to slow, finally tiring.

You thought you got lucky, a finally tired mind and the hour changing to one acceptable enough for sleep, but then your phone rings, an all too familiar caller ID flashing the screen.

Eight pm after a match in the afternoon is an odd time for your coach to be calling you and with curiosity getting the best of you, you scramble to answer the phone. Running through the pleasantries, you gently prod the reason for his call. 

The answer you get isn’t what you were expecting really, but then again, it was a miracle it had taken this long for it to be said.

“Your contract’s ending soon. wrapping up the third and headed into the final year. Any thoughts on your future?”

The tone in Jonas’ voice causes your heart to sink. This club had been home to you since you had left your own. Arsenal had accepted you with open arms from the start, being your saving grace when you had thought you were going to be subjected to living a broken life at a place that never felt like home. When they had renewed your initial two year contract into another four, you had been elated for your future. You had never felt more excited to be tied down to a place before. taking a silent deep breath, you push back the memories of that day and swallow your emotions effortlessly.

“Depends. What's my future at Arsenal looking like?”

“You tell me. You of all players know that chemistry in a team is what makes a team run, what makes a team successful.”

His response tells you everything you need to know. You know he wasn’t oblivious to what had happened. How your outgoing personality had slowly stopped being exactly that. The way that you had pulled away from your teammates, treating them like nothing more than colleagues rather than friends, treating your job as what it simply was, your job. But you never expected him to have let it impact your presence on the team. You knew what you were worth and what you brought to the table. You weren’t a goal scoring machine, or defensive unit, a tough protective wall. You were you. You played all your minutes like they were the last you’d ever play, heart left of the pitch (not that there was much left of it anyway). You were content with setting your teammates up, leading the league in assists. You were a decent tackler, winning more than two thirds of your face-offs on the regular. You knew your worth on the team, and your agent reminded you of it often enough too, mentioning the potential offers you could have from other clubs regardless of how many times you’d told him you didn’t plan to leave.

“Our on pitch chemistry hasn’t changed. My on pitch chemistry hasn’t changed. We’re still a unit on the field Jonas and you know it. You know I have the utmost respect for you and this club, don’t let me think any differently.”

“A handful of clubs have reached out. Their offers are tempting to say the least.”

As much as it hurt you to say the next few words, you knew that taking any other stance would leave you stuck, broken for the umpteenth time. “I trust you to make the best decision for the club. At the end of the day, I wish nothing but the best for Arsenal.” 

The ‘with or without me’ goes unsaid but from the few years that you’ve worked with him, you knew for a fact that he had heard the unspoken words. As Jonas lets you know that while a decision had to be made, there wasn’t an immediate rush, you know for a fact that you’ll likely not be calling London home again. And when you both agree to reconnect a week from now, you’ve already accepted your fate. 

It’s an unusually silent drive home for you. The brief break you had earlier from your mind is long gone as you make a mental note to get in touch with your agent first thing tomorrow morning.

~

The post goes up after your last match of the season. While Arsenal had qualified for the Champions League once again, the team had gotten knocked out in the semis for the tournament, ending their season a few days early. It’s between the break of club football and world cup prep that your departure is announced, with no real destination said. If you hadn’t known that London wasn’t home for you anymore, the lack of a response besides an occasional story about the post from a few of your teammates solidified it. 

It's when Bayern upload their new signing post with you holding up your new jersey that the final nail in the coffin is hammered in. The way your move suddenly becomes real. The comments being said online. Speculation on why Arsenal decided to let you go despite your importance to their success. Why Bayern was who you chose. Why there was no lengthy farewell. The people were digging for any crumbs, any notions on why you may have left, but it was only you and your teammates that really knew, and you all chose to keep mum. 

It’s with the acceptance that you’re leaving do you feel absolutely unwanted and lost. And while you’d felt lost in your life before, it had never been like this. Feeling lost was when you were younger and couldn’t find your mother while at the toy store and when you had gotten your first failing mark in school. Feeling lost was when you were asked to leave your childhood home after coming out, no idea where to go. It was when you still got night terrors from the fights that your parents used to have even when you thought you had healed. But being lost had never felt like this. It had never reminded you that you had lost the only good in your life. That the only family you had ever loved didn’t want you anymore. That you hurt all those around you, people you promised to protect and love. That you had a gaping hole in your chest from a gun that you had fired. 

So as the weeks pass and the world cup comes and goes and you notice yourself slipping just a little more each day, you let it play out. You don’t know what your breaking point is but at this point you just don’t care enough to not find out, especially since you’ve got nobody to blame but yourself.

When you leave your bed early in the mornings, long before you need to be up just because sleep wasn’t coming to you and retire to bed later than you should just to avoid having to lay in a bed alone, you blame yourself. When you come home to an empty apartment in a new city, the loneliness amplified by the darkness you choose to adorn your apartment with, you have no one to turn to but yourself. And when you interact with your new teammates solely for work in fear of hurting them too, you remind yourself that you’re broken, only able to spread your misery rather than feel joy.

It never was supposed to be like this. Existing wasn’t supposed to be like this. But now it’s all you know and all you have. So when you wish you yourself could leave your body and soul behind, it wasn't hard to understand why she left you.

At the end of the day, when everything's done and gone, you at your core were a mess you didn't know how to control, a wreck of a soul, barely alive.

[mcflymemes]

THE GREATEST MOVIE QUOTES OF ALL TIME *  assorted dialogue from famous films, adjust as necessary

[name], i think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

frankly, my dear, i don't give a damn.

i'll have what she's having.

i have a feeling we're not in kansas anymore.

i'm as mad as hell, and i'm not going to take this anymore!

you're gonna need a bigger boat.

nobody puts baby in a corner.

well. nobody's perfect.

you can't fight in here! this is the war room!

get away from her, you bitch!

houston, we have a problem.

when someone asks you if you're a god, you say yes!

i am no man!

i love the smell of napalm in the morning.

you had me at "hello."

i'm also just a girl standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.

don't call me shirley.

i feel the need... the need for speed!

i'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse.

i know it was you, [name]. you broke my heart.

just when i thought i was out, they pull me back in.

you can't handle the truth!

i can do this all day.

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

snakes. why did it have to be snakes?

clever girl.

what, like it's hard?

you shall not pass.

that's my secret, [name]. i'm always angry.

i wish i knew how to quit you.

get busy living, or get busy dying.

ugh, as if!

i'll be back.

there's no crying in baseball!

some men just want to watch the world burn.

take your stinking paws off me!

screws fall out all the time. the world's an imperfect place.

life moves pretty fast. you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

i'm sorry, [name]. i'm afraid i can't do that.

a strange game. the only winning move is not to play.

are you crazy? the fall will probably kill you!

i see dead people.

if you build it, he will come.

with great power comes great responsibility.

roads? where we're going, we don't need roads.

go ahead. make my day.

say hello to my little friend!

are you not entertained?

i'm not bad. i'm just drawn that way.

i've seen things you people wouldn't believe.

i have a bad feeling about this.

you talkin' to me?

what's in the box?

your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!

that rug really tied the room together, did it not?

you cut the turkey without me?

i'm not even supposed to be here today.

you'll shoot your eye out, kid.

boy, that escalated quickly.

you don't wanna get mixed up with a guy like me.

i know kung-fu.

now i have a machine gun.

what is your damage, [name]?

what we've got here is failure to communicate.

here's looking at you, kid.

fasten your seatbelts. it's going to be a bumpy night.

love means never having to say you're sorry.

there's no place like home.

why don't you come up sometime and see me?

i'm walkin' here!

i want to be alone.

round up the usual suspects.

you know how to whistle, don't you, [name]?

we rob banks.

we'll always have paris.

well, nobody's perfect.

a boy's best friend is his mother.

keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into.

what a dump?

[name], you're trying to seduce me. aren't you?

is it safe?

i have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

hello, gorgeous.

a martini. shaken, not stirred.

seize the day. make your lives extraordinary.

snap out of it!

[rastronomicals]

1:42 PM EDT July 2, 2023:

Dialogue - "Napalm In The Morning" From the Soundtrack album Apocalypse Now (1979)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

[sleepy-gee]

okay okay

so like I love zombies and I love tbosbas sooo tbosbas characters(I think you only do the guys right? 🤔if so, my fav dude is coryo) x reader in a zombie au :3

🔦 ocean eyes - snowjanus/gn!reader

burning cities and napalm skies one of dr gaul's latest creations– or monstrosities– has broken containment and caused a full blown apocalypse in the capitol. it's been chaos for the past few weeks.. but at least you had them.

trigger warnings: none that i can think of?? just lots of fear and anxiety.

a/n: you're getting the oneshot treatment because i fucking love this idea ( btw i write for everyone but mainly the boys because I am a giant fag). also sejanus is here because :3

it was storming. hard. rain battered down against the roof of the snow's penthouse– what you were now calling home base. the walk was tedious, but it provided safety in many ways.

coriolanus had run out to see if he could find any food.. anywhere. this wasn't his first rodeo, the war from a decade ago acting as a training session for him of some sorts.

you decided to try and get some amount of rest, exhausted by the whole ordeal. the outbreak started a month ago, and you had barely slept a wink since. how you were going was still a mystery.

sejanus wasn't anywhere to be found either, having run off to perform his own errand. being alone for this long caused anxiety to settle in your stomach, sprawling up your throat and squeezing your neck, nearly choking you.

you were curled up on coriolanus' bed, hugging the stuffed dog he had tightly to your chest. it smelled like him– roses and old books, oddly enough. each time the thunder would rip through the clouds above, you'd clutch it a little tighter.

after a good while of drifting in and out of sleep, the door to coriolanus' room opened. your head shot up, and you were met with the comforting sight of sejanus. "just me, babe. you can go back to sleep."

".. wasn't asleep in the first place." you said, laying your head back down. sejanus slipped off his rain soaked jacket and muddy boots before laying down beside you.

"when was the last time you got any sleep..?" you didn't answer, but it told him everything he needed to know. ".. c'mere." nearly effortlessly, he pulled you in closer, draping a leg over your own as he settled your head against his chest. "try. please."

you closed your eyes, pressing your cheek against his chest. the sound of his heartbeat– sturdy and slow– acted as a lullaby, allowing you to drift off.

coriolanus returned home after another hour or so, completely drenched in rain and sweat. what he wouldn't give for a shower. noticing his bedroom door was open, not closed as he had left it, he peaked his head into his room and found his two lovers laying on his bed, supposedly asleep.

as quietly as he could, he stepped into the room, stripping off his own soaked garments and throwing them into a pile on top of sejanus' own.

speak of the devil. "y'find anything?" sejanus asked, voice thick with sleep.

coriolanus shook his head no, pulling his drenched t-shirt off over his head. "not yet.. i'll go out again once the rain clears. how were things here?"

".. they're okay. finally got them to sleep, thank god.. i think this is really starting to get to them."

"it's getting to everyone." coriolanus grabbed a towel off of the back of a chair and began to dry his hair. ".. but i know what you're trying to say."

"just wish there was more i could do.. any news on that cure yet?"

"with dr. gaul having been killed this morning? no." coriolanus laughed sadly, placing the towel down and smoothing out his damp curls with a hand.

sejanus' eyebrows shot straight up. "killed-?"

"shh.." the blond sat down on the bed beside the two of you, leaving you sandwiched in the middle. "it's a long story.. i'll tell you later. why don't you try and get some sleep, too?"

"it's fine.."

"sej," coriolanus continued. "please. just.. a nap or something. for me?"

sejanus glanced at coriolanus before glancing down at you. he gave in, resting his head on his pillow again. coriolanus sighed in what felt like relief before laying down himself, staring up at the ceiling. sejanus reached a hand over you to grab coriolanus', giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"we're gonna make it through this." the brunette spoke.

".. we can only hope. the odds aren't exactly in our favor."

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER TEN: RABBIT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm, fatphobia, body dysmorphia

This is chronologically the tenth chapter in the series.

Read beneath the cut...

Napalm is the slow fire of waking from a terrible dream, blind, gasping, burnt. The pain, though delusive, is made actual by the action of nerves.

Only a hand at your shoulder, vigorous in its attentions, hauls you up from the putrescence of slumber into the light-dark of four in the morning. You find Hannibal's shape through lashes gummed with sleep's adhesive.

His face is as impassive as a star, but his hair, ever coiffed, is displaced from the friction of his pillow.

“You were screaming,” he says, as you sit, stunned, in his arms. “What were you dreaming about? Do you remember?”

“No,” you say, although the scenes remain briefly in your vision, doubling like silk screen prints upon the walls.

Hannibal fills up a glass with fresh water and bids you to drink, his eyes pensive, unconvinced.

Only the notion that he may suggest you share his bed or else intrude upon yours impels you to honesty.

“I dreamt that I was trapped in one of the Silicone Lover’s dolls. That he was trying to squeeze me inside, and I wouldn’t fit. He said, ‘You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you. I’d better do something about that.’

“Then he started cutting me up with kitchen scissors, and I couldn’t stop him.”

You pause, choking on a breath, a verbal stagger.

Dr Lecter offers you the water again, which you take in both hands and drain to its end.

“Take your time,” says Hannibal. “When you’re ready, go on.”

Lying will fail you before the all-seeing eye, so it is with a flat honesty that you say, “It wasn’t what the Lover did in my dream that scared me. It was what he said to me. Because he was right.”

You reach down to pull the quilt up across your stomach, which Hannibal, with a subtle gesture, prevents.

“To agree with such a statement there must be some basis of comparison for you,” he says. “You knew the person standing in as the Lover in your dream. Can you name him?”

Hannibal could guess it, from the little you’ve told him of your unclean past, but if memory conjures the name from the gully of silence he does not say so.

Instead, he comments, “I think it’s unwise for you to sleep again until your mind is settled. Perhaps we may take advantage of the hour to continue your therapy, in an informal fashion.”

He sits in a chair by your bed, producing a notepad and pen from a pocket of his dressing gown.

You see that he will not move.

"What if I don’t talk?” you ask, softly. “What if I say I'd rather take the punishment?"

Hannibal's slender lips upturn.

"I wouldn't be inclined to take such a claim seriously.”

In sullen defeat you flounce back against the pillows.

Dr Lecter takes his cue.

“I’m curious about the friendships you’ve formed throughout your life. Have there been any notable examples?”

“Not many,” you answer, looking at the raw edges of your fingernails. “I was kind of the weird kid. It was like looking through a dusty museum window at everybody passing by, not really knowing how to get out there and talk to people. Like I was too old and too young at the same time.

“I got bullied, kind of. Nothing worth talking about. Just dumb kid stuff.”

“Even persecution of a childish nature bears painful resonance in later life,” Hannibal comments. “Moreover, isolation from one's peers may disrupt development in those vital years.”

You think of dolorous hours patrolling a fallow playground alone, three hundred children staring through you with adult hostility.

“I did make one friend,” you say. “First year of high school. Amy Glass. She was a weird kid, too.”

Hannibal scratches deftly on his notepad.

"Describe how you met."

Closing your eyes, you find your way back through the forests of the past to a corridor whose tiled floor squeaks under your shoes. You smell textbook paper and saccharine body spray. The sweat of young bodies, and the stale cafeteria fare you’d never tasted throughout your time there.

“Between classes Amy would sit in a window listening to music, or reading,” you say. “Stephen King, usually. Sometimes Ann Rice. She seemed to be up there all the time. I don’t think she was getting shit from the other kids or anything; she just preferred hanging out on her own.

“I wished I was like that, not caring. I wished I was her, period.”

“In what way?” asks Dr Lecter, and in the hallway of your mind a slender figure appears, brown of skin and eyes, blue hair cut roughly to the chin, its roots seeping in atop it like a stain.

Amy.

“A lot of ways,” you say. “Before I really knew her, it was about how she looked. She had piercings— ears, lip, nose, eyebrow. Teachers would tell her to take them out, then the second she was out of their eye-line she’d put them right back in. And even back then she had these awful stick and poke tattoos of bats and crosses she covered up with band aids for classes.

“She did all of them herself with a safety pin. God knows how she didn’t get an infection or anything.

“Then there was the fact I knew we liked some of the same music because of the patches on her bag, and her t-shirts and stuff. Nothing you’d approve of,” you add, as interest touches the face of your listener. “Jesus, I can’t even imagine playing stuff like that in this house. Anyway, I didn’t want to just be like, ‘hey, you like that band, too’. It would have been too weird. Stalkery, maybe?”

“Music isn’t such a terrible way to form a connection,” says Hannibal, amused. “I was once approached in friendship through a shared taste in cheese.”

Picturing his restrained derision you cannot help but laugh.

“Oh, god,” you say. “What were they thinking?”

“It was a naive assumption of commonalities. Besides, my commitment to professionalism would never have allowed us to be as close as he would have hoped.”

You give a little start of affront.

“You’ve made friends with other clients.”

Dr Lecter’s smile remains.

“Only with those whom I feel my presence benefits.”

“Benefits you, you mean,” you say, pettishly. “Whoever it was, you just didn’t like him that much. That’s why you turned him down. Or maybe he was too like you.”

Without appearing offended, Hannibal turns a page in his notebook.

“I'm unconcerned with debating my personal relationships, little one. Let’s return to Amy. Who initiated the friendship between you?”

“Amy,” you say. “It was after this councillor was trying to get something out of me, and I didn’t want to talk. I walked out that room feeling so... heavy, and grimy, and embarrassed. Then there was Amy, heading to the same office I just walked out of. She looked at me, scrunched her face up, and said, ‘Wish me luck.’ Next time I saw her I made the same face back and asked, ‘how was it?’

“‘The worst, just like always,’ she said. ‘Where’d she get her certificate, anyway? Clown school?’

“I burst out laughing. ‘She’s so bad, right?’

“And that was it. Friends. We went everywhere together. Amy really liked me. I don’t know why. I think maybe she thought I was sort of mysterious and interesting rather than just depressed, probably because I didn’t want to talk about what was going on with me.

“She told me everything about her. How her dad didn’t believe in mental health issues even though he was just like she was, and how her mom just ignored everything, hoping it’d just... go away. But I didn’t tell Amy even one little thing about me, really. Not one.”

Guilt you’ve never truly confronted falls like a petal from a late summer bloom, cloying the dark with its flavour.

“Did Amy ever indicate that she’d recognised your particular illness?” prompts Hannibal, and you shrug glumly.

“A couple of times. I ignored every hint. Changed the subject. Acted like it wasn’t a thing when it obviously was. I knew that she knew. That was the dynamic. She was softer, around me. She got it. She got me.”

Suddenly your breath feels very high in your chest, catching on a rib.

“I can’t help but notice your use of the past tense,” says Dr Lecter. “Might I assume that you are no longer friends?”

“We grew apart after school,” you mutter. “I think she would have liked it if I stayed in touch, but then sometimes I wonder if that’s just wishful thinking, and maybe she didn’t care all that much when we drifted apart and stopping talking.

“I have her on Facebook. That’s all, really. She was never a social media person anyway, but still. I could have tried harder. I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Hannibal allows the silence between you to ferment before he speaks again.

“Looking back, what do you think prevented you from maintaining contact?”

“I felt like after school was over she’d find other friends, and I’d just end up being left behind. So I got out of there before I had to see it happen.”

"You abandoned a friendship on the basis of a prophecy that might never have come to fruition."

"It would have,” you insist. “All my life I've had senses about things. Like, if I get a feeling something will or won't happen, I'm always right. Like I was right about you."

Swanlike, Dr Lecter’s hands move across his notebook, tactfully punctuating a note.

"It's common for sufferers of complex post-traumatic stress disorder to misinterpret their hypervigilance as psychic premonition. A heightened awareness of your surroundings and the behaviours of people in your vicinity develops in order to predict danger before it occurs. Pattern recognition is more mathematical than clairvoyant."

"What about my dreams?" you ask, sharply. “Are they math, too?”

"You've had other nightmares?” asks Hannibal, and leans forward, poised to digest you answer.

Canny, you hoard the matter like a serpent its glittering lair.

Hannibal accepts his defeat with grace.

Gathering up his notebook and the empty glass, he says, "That's enough therapy for now, particularly so early in the morning. I'll make you some tea, and you may return to sleep. Peacefully, this time, I hope."

*

Later, there is a meal that sits, sinking in a bath of bronze on Dr Lecter’s dining table, so much of it that you’re gorged merely from the arithmetic of its makeup.

“Arroz de Cabidela,” says Hannibal, as he pulls out his own chair. “A Portuguese dish made with rice, chicken, or rabbit cooked in its own blood. Today I’ve chosen rabbit. Have you ever eaten it before?”

It occurs to you that he expects you to be disturbed by the notion, but you are not. Meat is meat, all of it equally cruel. That life must end for the furthering of your existence has driven you to veganism many a time.

Little chance of sustaining such a diet now that you sleep in the devil’s slaughterhouse.

“No,” you say. “I’ve never tried rabbit. I heard it’s really... gamey.”

Your palate is scarcely educated enough to comprehend the statement. Still, it is apparently accurate, for Hannibal makes a low hum of agreement.

“It has similarities to poultry, in flavour, though it’s rather lean and dry. The blood stew adds a richness you’ll find complimentary, however.”

The scent is certainly inviting, but you are so committed to rejecting whatever is served to you that you feel lightheaded, succumbing to the altitude of starving heights.

“Couldn’t you have given me a smaller portion?” you ask, piteously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s so... much.”

Hannibal glances from your plate to his own, his visage neutral.

“I’ve served you a great deal less than I’ve given myself,” he says. “That said, I’m sure we can settle our differences. I’m not unyielding, if I can see some effort is being made.”

You look him in the eye, hoping you appear more bold than frightened.

“Dr Lecter, you make me all these courses, and they’re crazy even for a normal person. I feel like you do it on purpose. And afterwards my stomach hurts.”

“That’s normal, after a period of fasting. Your body will adjust. Now, please eat.”

You don’t. The cut on your plate makes you think of the Lover’s dolls, how even at your slightest you wouldn’t have fit into such a shell. How, changed as you must be through Hannibal’s cooking, you would ooze over every edge.

“I could use the feeding tube, if you’re unwilling,” says Dr Lecter, rising from his chair to stand at your back. “It would be relatively easy for me to administer. But I’d hate to sour an otherwise pleasant meal with brute force.”

He cups your throat in his smooth hand, and you envision how lovingly he’d coil about you in restraint, guiding the pipe down through you as you choked and flinched in his grasp.

“I’ll eat a quarter,” you say. “That’s it. Then... then nothing else until tomorrow. I won’t sneak out of bed, and I won’t do anything that breaks the rules. Please, Dr Lecter. Uh... Daddy?”

Your confusion between roles endears you to him, as does your breathless, eager willingness to beg.

“Should I allow you to barter?” Hannibal muses, still caressing the wand of your stiff neck. “It’s a symptom of your illness, after all.”

“Just let me choose how much and I’ll try anything you offer me.”

Dr Lecter releases a small breath of laughter.

“I wouldn’t like you to eat your words, little one.”

Gnashing your teeth, you say, “I won’t. I can do it. Please let me. You’re supposed to dote on me, aren’t you?”

You feel Hannibal’s lips against your hair in a kiss of paternal indulgence.

“Always so spirited,” he says. “Very well. I cannot deny my little beauty her request.”

What beauty does he refer to? You’ve only recognised it in the mine shafts of furthest hunger, mistaking a shadow for some precious stone.

Yet clearly you are not so low quality as you believe if both men have fucked you so freely over other women, whom they could conceivably draw into the net of the house.

Then again, there is no accounting for the tastes of madmen, and mad they both are, even Hannibal in his gelid divinity.

From the topiary of his language and flippant games you are beginning to see that you interest him in your very opposition to his being. Were you to succumb completely you would not be so worthy: all men bow to Hannibal, after all, seduced and deceived until they’d lick his fingers like lambs for the milk of his approval.

You, like Will, resist and evade enough of his passes to set yourself apart from the flock.

You may yet throw a halter over the head of the horned man, if only in as much as he allows himself to be reigned.

Quartering your meal as neatly as you're able, you glance up at Dr Lecter, afraid that, by some caprice, he’ll break his code and force you to eat down to the bare plate. But he merely stands by, retaining his honour, and as you look at him you picture his mild hands breaking the neck of the rabbit to drain as though for a ritual of blood.

*

Frequently through your days with Hannibal he immerses himself in hobbies and work about the house, cultivating a necessary solitude after the long hours of ingesting others’ anxious thoughts.

He reads, or writes music, sketches, telephones his friends and past lovers—of whom there are many—or else sets his pen to journals, having seen you safe to your locked room, where he need not prepare for misdemeanour.

In this way your residence in Hannibal’s home does not impede upon his individual pursuits, but rather compliments them, an accent of his sempiturnal glamour.

You are, after all, but one of his many pastimes. It is indulgence, then, when he insists on attending your evening bath.

As he kneels beside the tub to dampen a washcloth his intentions surface, another infringement upon the flesh.

“I don’t need you to help me,” you mumble, arms taut across your chest. “I’m not your baby.”

“Your inner child wails for the tenderness your illness has long obstructed,” says Hannibal, calmly. “Your independence would have you die like an infant abandoned to the forest. Let me carry you, at least in this small act of service.”

You look at him with eyes as dull as old blades and picture the futility of your struggle, his lithe arms holding you, kicking and airless, beneath the foam.

“Don’t you have your own daughter you can do all this with?” you ask; you’ve not yet needled him on his familial relations, and feel yourself more than entitled to know.

Hannibal begins to work the flannel over your naked form, paying no heed to your twitching affront.

“Abigail would have served the role admirably,” he says. “But it wasn’t to be. As for my own children, I have none.”

The revelation passes you without surprise. It’s only possible to imagine him having elegant, adult offspring, absent of the soiling indignities of rearing an infant.

“So you took me away for you and Will to raise,” you say. “Guessing he doesn’t have kids, either.”

The washcloth folds beneath the water, and you gaze studiously at the opposite wall so as not to think about the hand behind the fabric, how it has touched you in other ways, pleasantly, horridly.

“Will is also childless,” says Dr Lecter. “He has never known family, as you have. His mother left him when he was only an infant, and his father was a distant figure, though present. Now it seems that they’re estranged from one another. One can only imagine the loneliness Will has known in his life. Perhaps, with your assistance, this will change.”

Cloth, skin, hands, touch. Gentle and beguiling their trap, to distract from the permanence of this suggested triptych as fingers play against you underwater.

Unsteadily, you ask, “Is Will your boyfriend?”

Hannibal turns you an indecipherable look.

“Do you perceive our relationship to be romantic?”

A strange question, considering the violation with which you were inducted to their company. But not once did either man kiss or grasp the other— a technicality, certainly, yet one, it seems, that holds weight.

“Yes,” you say. “For you, anyway. I don’t know about Will. I know he thinks highly of you. He just sees me as something that’s in the way.”

You kick a foot testily, splashing water over the rim of the bath.

“What are you in the way of?” asks Hannibal, as he begins to lather your hair.

“Not sure. Your friendship, I guess.”

“Do you believe him when he implies that you're only an obstacle to him?”

Water pours over your head, and you close your eyes, enduring the sensation.

“He told me I’m unwanted,” you say.

“When you attempted to kill him?”

Fear bowls over you with a black suddenness.

“He told you?”

“I came to my own conclusions. You weren't quiet, either of you, that night."

You look at Hannibal, at the stag man of your dreams, and taste something like dirt, something like blood, at the back of your mouth.

“Had you seriously injured him or succeeded in your bid to end his life I would have been forced to conclude our treatment,” he says. “But you did not. I’m thankful to have been provided with a truth I hadn’t yet drawn from you: I know that you are not a killer, at least not at this present moment.”

In a strengthless whisper, you ask, “What do you mean?”

Hannibal draws a comb through your hair, unmoved by the conversation.

“As time changes the continents, people come apart through circumstance into new being. That shift may one day lead to the birth of murder’s country.”

A thought stings you like the cold: Will and Hannibal want you to be capable of killing, if not of them, then someone of lesser consequence, the hereditary illness emerging in the child.

That is the secret under this house, the whisper in the walls, its present haunting.

“I hope that never happens,” you mumble. “Never. No matter what you do.

“And yet the whetting of your blood thirst didn’t begin with Will and I,” says Dr Lecter, mildly. “Until you admit your liking of its flavour you will remain unsatisfied, little one.”

You do not ask how he knows you’ve thought of killing, once before, which you yourself had forgotten; having been in your home, the chill sanctum of your childhood bedroom, he may have learned, of you, a myriad, his interrogation merely a practice in contextualising his findings.

“I’d rather starve,” you say, at last, and sink your chin beneath the water.

Dr Lecter takes a razor from a nearby cabinet and begins to shave you with slow precision. He does not ask if you wish for it, only glides the razor across your underarms, groin, and each leg until you run silken beneath his hands.

That done, Hannibal rises, brushing unseen dust from his knees.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes,” he says, and leaves the room, a ghost departing the stage.

You look at the razor, entrapped in its plastic guard on the rim of the bath.

Had you a pair of scissors you might have cut the metal free to make a weapon, or else an escape into realms unknown to the living. Though its edge is still wickedness manifest, it would take a great deal of pressure to pursue death by this angle, though it would not be impossible.

It is not death you want to meet, however, but another, nameless coward.

You take the blade to your arm, and the pain is like eating, a sin that sates the freak of misery.

The bathwater turns like a devil’s baptism, and though they are but shallow cuts you feel suddenly faint. Lying back, you lay your arm against the porcelain, thinking murky thoughts of your mistake.

Hannibal returns carrying a muted lilac dress and pale stockings, stilling at the sight of you, of the water, red as autumn mud.

He sets down the clothing and kneels beside you again.

“Let me see.”

You let him take your arm and touch the crude little gashes softly.

“Shower, quickly. Then I’ll treat your wounds. Fortunately, they aren’t so deep.”

How gentle he is with you, this beast dressed as a man in his pressed shirt and waistcoat, guiding your numb form about with a soothing authority. You’d once yearned to be handled like this, to be absolved and set free of any and all expectation. That it comes from him is like being spit in the eye by the Fates, one after the other.

Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos: what have you done to so offend them?

It’s only after having bandaged your forearm and settled you, dummy-like, upon his bed, that Hannibal speaks again.

“What motivated you to do this?”

“You know.”

“Elaborate.”

You lie, face down, in the pillows. The cotton smells like him.

“To feel better,” you say. “Amy said it helped her, sometimes. Cleared her head.”

The mattress tilts slightly as Dr Lecter sits down beside you.

“You mirror her pain to feel closer to love lost. Has it helped you?”

“No. I feel stupid. I feel—”

Restless, you turn onto your side and feel a tear, compelled by gravity, mark your jaw.

“I feel like a kid,” you say. “It’s humiliating. I hate that I always feel this way. Don’t make me live like this.”

Dr Lecter presses a tissue into your hand, as much to save his bedclothes as to comfort you.

“Fighting the expression of necessary emotions will only stunt them further, little one. Will and I would dearly like to see you flourish. Amy would surely wish that for you, too.”

Cradling your wounded arm to your chest, you flick the used tissue to the floor with the other.

“Screw you,” you say. “Both of you. That’s what Amy would tell me to say to you, Dad.”

Hannibal stares at the tissue, and you sense the inward twitch of his irritation as he bends to pick it up from the ground.

“Your parents called again, this afternoon,” he says, offhandedly. “I informed them that you were struggling with your treatment. I advised that we continue your residence here a month longer than previously agreed.”

He casts you a pitying look, and you’re reminded of the futility of going to war with Hannibal Lecter.

“It seems that I made the prudent choice,” he says. “Don’t you agree?”

[ace-cf-cups]

What's going on? I love the smell of napalm in the morning.

[childes-w1fe]

♫𝑮𝑶𝑹𝑮𝑬𝑶𝑼𝑺♫ | Childe x Fem! Reader

❝𝙊𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚, 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙚.❞ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

Attending a prestigious university near your hometown, you live alone in your mansion by the vacant, serene seaside. You spend your extra free time playing video games to distract the raging waves of your loneliness.

Your life hadn't been smooth sailing for the majority of your childhood, and now, you could finally thrive, peacefully.

However, when you arrived back home after another morning of classes, the normal comfort of your home was replaced with a cold-tense feeling that flagged every warning sign in your body.

So when a muscular arm held a cold-translucent spear up to your neck when you moved to exit, you slowly turned your head to look at your captor, ignoring the sting from where the water blade was beginning to draw blood.

A shiver ran down your spine when you caught a glimpse of bright ginger locks and ocean-blue eyes.

Now, you had a reason to be scared

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

❝Whisky on ice, Sunset and Vine— You've ruined my life, by not being mine.❞

𓇼𓍢ִִ-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬✎

✧.*Thank you for reading my Childe x Female reader! Update times aren't confirmed, as I run on a schedule of when I can update. Please keep in mind that I'm currently in high-school and have many classes a day. One could even say I spend more time at school than I do at home. I am very busy and that's not even including what I have to to outside of school. Not to mention if I get sick, or my mental health. (I do have depression.) Also—please don't ask for updates, in a rude way, of course. I don't mind if you only ask once, as I will give you an answer anyway. 

✧.*I do not own Childe, or any other Genshin Impact characters included in this story. They belong to Mihoyo. Any of the art used in this story isn't mine unless I specifically state otherwise.

✧.*Trigger warnings will be provided at the beginning of each chapter. Including lime. I'm not so sure if I'll be writing lemon yet, but we'll see.

✧.*The reader in this story is female, or what you would call afab, and uses the pronouns She/Her and They/Them. If this doesn't apply to you, I apologize. As a Demi-girl, I feel more comfortable writing a female protagonist.

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 

"Gorgeous," by Taylor Swift 

❝Whisky on ice, Sunset and Vine, You've ruined my life, by not being mine.❞

"Paper Rings," by Taylor Swift

❝I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings.❞

"Ocean Eyes," by Billie Eilish

❝Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes. Burning cities and napalm skies—Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes.❞

"Bust Your Knee Caps," by Pomplamoose

❝Jonny don't leave me, You said you'd love me forever. Honey, believe me—I'll have your heart on a platter-❞

"Somethin' Stupid," by Frank Sinatra 

❝The time is right, your perfume fills my head—The stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue, And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like, "I love you"-❞

"High School Sweethearts," by Melanie Martinez

❝Can we just be honest? These are the requirements—If you think you can be my one and only true love..❞

"Do I Wanna Know?" by Arctic Monkeys

❝'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat-❞

"I Wanna Be Yours," by Arctic Monkeys

❝At least as deep as the Pacific Ocean—Now I wanna be yours-❞

"Supermassive Black Hole," by Muse

❝I thought I was a fool for no one—Ooh baby, I'm a fool for you-❞

"Panic Station," by Muse

❝Oooh 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes—And this chaos, it defies imagination. Ooo 5, 6, 7, minus 9 lives—You've arrived at panic station.❞

"Teeth," by 5 Seconds of Summer

❝Call me in the morning to apologize—Every little lie gives me butterflies-❞

"Sucker For Pain," Imagine Dragons

❝Walk slow through the fire like, who gon' try us?—Take my hand through the flames—I'm a slave to your games—I'm just a sucker for pain-❞

"Him and I," by G-Easy

❝Cross my heart, hope to die—To my lover, I'd never lie-❞

"Animals," by Maroon 5

❝Baby, I'm preying on you tonight—Hunt you down eat you alive-❞

"Paralyzer," by Finger Eleven

❝Well, I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you. I wanna make you move because you're standin' still. If your body matches what your eyes can do.❞

"Dance Macabre," by Ghost

❝How could it end like this? There's a sting in the way you kiss me-❞

"Kiss The Go-Goat," by Ghost

❝It ain't always what it seems—When you cling onto a dream—it ain't always there to please you. But he's the guy you wanna do—And you know that it takes two, luckily he wants to do you too.❞

"The Death of A Bachelor," Panic! At The Disco 

❝The lace in your dress tingles my neck, how do I live? The death of a bachelor—Oh oh-❞

"Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time," Panic! At The Disco

❝Five thousand people with designer drugs—Don't think I'll ever get enough—Champagne, cocaine, gasoline, and most things in between-❞

"Miss Jackson," by Panic! At The Disco

❝A pretty picture but the scenery is so loud—A face like heaven catching lighting in your nightgown-But back away from the water babe, you might drown-❞

"Wolf in Sheep's Clothing," by Set It Off

❝Beware, beware, be skeptical—Of their smiles, their smiles of plated gold—Deceit, so natural, but a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning.❞

"Rasputin," by Boney M.

❝There lived a certain man in Russia long ago—He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow-❞

"Killshot," by Magdalena Bay

❝Something chronic—Bit demonic—Sin and tonic—Stupid promise—Can you make my heart stop? Hit me with your kill shot baby-❞

"Smooth Criminal," Micheal Jackson

❝You've been hit by—You've been hit by a smooth criminal.❞

"I Was Made For Lovin' You," by KISS

❝I was made for lovin' you, baby—You were made for lovin' me. And I can't get enough of you, baby—Can you get enough of me?❞

"Island In The Sun," by Weezer

❝When you're on a golden sea, you don't need no memory—Just a place to call your own—We'll run away together—We'll spend some time forever—We'll never feel bad anymore.❞

"You Give Love a Bad Name," Bon Jovi

❝Shot through the heart—And you're to blame. Darlin', you give love a bad name-❞

"Maneater," Nelly Furtado

❝Everybody look at me, me—I walk in the door, you start screaming-❞

"Partners In Crime," by Set It Off

❝You'll never takes us alive—We swore that death will do us part—They'll call our crimes a work of art.❞

"Rock Your Body," by Justin Timberlake

❝Don't be so quick to walk away—Dance with me—I wanna rock your body—Just wanna rock you girl.❞

"Criminal," by Brittney Spears

❝But mama I'm in love with a criminal—And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical-❞

"Dangerous," by Left Boy

❝Dangerous, ooh!, that sounds good yeah—Talk to me baby, like I'm your dude-❞

"Once More To See You," by Mitski

❝In the rearview mirror, I saw the setting sun on your neck—And felt the taste of you bubble up inside me, but with everybody watching us, our every move—We do have reputations—We keep it secret—If you would let me give you pinky promise kisses then I wouldn't have to scream your name atop of every roof in the city of my heart.❞

"There's Nothing Left For You," by Mitski

❝There's nothin' left for you—Nothin' in this room. Try and go outside—Nothin' waits for you. You had it once before—Not anymore—So go on to that sweetheart's door and find a new you.❞

"Recently," by Liana Flores

❝Hand in hand—The flowers understand that we're fine, you and I—Hands are tied. I don't mind—I'll make you be okay—And frequently I picture myself walking straight into the sea, laughing as the waves come rolling to my knees—What a place to be.❞

"Here With Me," by d4vd

❝I don't care how long it takes, as long as I'm with you I've got a smile on my face.❞

"Golden Hour," by JVKE

❝I was all alone with the love of my life. She's got glitter for skin—My radiant beam in the night.❞

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡... ⋙

1%

15%

45%

85%

100%

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

→𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : "Gorgeous," by Taylor Swift

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

❝You should think about the consequence Of your magnetic field being a little too strong❞

𓇼𓍢ִִ-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

Dust arose from the old book you opened, the pages were fragile from many years of wear and tear. 

You borrowed it from your family's overly large library, which looked like it belonged in a rustic castle, not a mansion located on a cliff near the sea.

Running your fingers over the decrepit pages, your eyes followed the faded words one by one.

"Το μέλλον," The title read. 

Despite only being 10, you were far more intelligent than most children your age.

You knew a few different languages and took multiple advanced classes in school. 

Though your family still didn't think you were good enough.

A frown spread across your face at the thought, the rainbow shimmer inside of your (e/c) irises, which your family also thought was odd, grew slightly cloudy.

Shaking your head to dismiss the looming sadness crowding your head, you looked at the title on the dusty book closer.

From what you could tell, the words read, "The Future," but in Greek.

Flipping through the pages, you skimmed over the sentences, seeing nothing interesting, until a certain tragedy plastered onto the top of a page caught your attention.

"The flood?"

Pressing the book harder onto the table, you leaned in closer, analyzing every word inked onto the paper.

Around 9 years ago, a disastrous flood wiped out a majority of the town you lived around 40 minutes away from.

Buildings were damaged, some almost beyond repair, and many families moved to get away from the aftermath. Others, however, weren't so lucky.

Nowadays, a town like yours, next to a large beach with white sands and crystal blue water, would be bursting at the seams with people and greedy contractors trying to sell out the locals. 

But the flood prevented that from happening.

And now, only locals remained in the now-rebuilt beach town, which looks almost brand new.

A major part of you was thankful for nature protecting your little slice of paradise from those who didn't belong.

The words on the pages described what happened during the flood in great detail, and the more you read, the more disturbed you became.

This book had to be multiple decades old, so why did it describe the tragedy so perfectly?

Lost in the rapid currents of your thoughts, the familiar sound of stilettos clicking against wooden floors startled you out of your daze.

You jumped and almost fell from the latter you were leaning against.

Jumping down from the latter, and almost twisting your ankle, you opened a random drawer at the bottom of the bookcase and shoved the book in it.

The large door to the library opened with a creak, as the sound of heels against the floor ceased.

"What are you up to?"

You turned around quickly, a guilty smile plastered on your face.

"Nothing Mother— I was just looking for a new book to read..." A worn-out sigh left your mouth, as your hands moved to brush the dust off of the expensive material of your dress.

She raised an eyebrow, a sour look overtaking her face. "Mhm. If only all that reading you've done would help with your studies." Your mother placed her hand on her hip, tapping her sleek-black stiletto against the wooden flooring.

You frown, feeling yourself lose patience. "Is there something you need?"

"It's Ma'am to you. And yes, there is. Your father is hosting a party with his colleagues and I don't need you looking trashy in front of business." She walks up to you as you back up into the bookshelf, cowering as you feel a manicured nail press against your shoulder.

"I've commissioned a designer dress for you, it's hanging in your room. All you have to do is to sit still and look pretty. Don't mess up."

Your frown deepens. "Yes Ma'am..."

She looks you up and down, the sour look remaining. "Good. Don't disappoint our family name."

Flipping her hair, your mother removed her nail from your shoulder, a crescent mark evidence of her anger, and walked away, not bothering to shut the door as her quieting footsteps furthered away. 

Sliding down onto the floor, you sighed, your silk dress draping around you and flowering onto the floor. 

"What I'd give for peace."

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

After some time on the floor to regain your bearings, you dragged yourself up, exiting the library and walking up a flight of stairs to your room.

Despite your parents' coldness toward you, your room was beautiful and made you feel at peace every time you were in it.

Your bed sat at the bottom of your room, and a spiral staircase led to a second floor where your vanity among other things was.

A dull murmur left your mouth, as you opened the door to your large walk-in closet and flipped the light on, your eyes landing on the dress that lay on your closet's island.

Stepping closer, light and almost unsure, you admired the dress, eyes twinkling at the pretty fabric.

Even if you felt bitter towards your parents, you couldn't deny their obvious talent in fashion. 

Against the light from your closet, the shimmery silver fabric or the gown sparkled, along with the light tint of (f/c) covering the material. The top of the dress fit a modest sweetheart neckline where the sparkly fabric was crossed over the other, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that draped off the shoulders from the excess material. A dark silver belt wrapped around the waist.

Smiling brightly, you picked up the dress and twirled around, an energetic giggle leaving your mouth.

"Maybe today won't be so bad after all."

Setting down the sparkling gown, you pulled the zipper down on the dress you were currently wearing and pulled it over your head, tossing it onto the floor to focus your attention on your new dress.

You patted down your petticoat and turned toward your attention to the gown lying on your island, carefully undoing the zipper.

With barely concealed excitement, you slipped the gown over your head, putting your arms through the sleeves and fixing the dress over your petticoat. 

Your breath halted as you slowly walked over to the large mirror at the end of your closet.

The dress fit you perfectly and shimmered every time the light hit it, resembling a diamond in the sunlight. 

A wide grin spread across your face as you clumsily stumbled out of your closet, leaving the door open and the lights on, and dangerously rushing up the spiral staircase in your room. 

You approached your vanity and plopped down in the chair in front of it, opening one of the drawers and grabbing a few makeup products out of it. 

A lopsided attempt at doing your makeup, you noticed, groaning and rubbing more eyeshadow onto your eyelid in an attempt to fix your mistakes. 

Though you were better at most of your age makeup, you still had a lot to learn.

A knock on your door startled you out of what you were doing, and you almost dropped the brush in your hand. 

Your eyes widened and you placed the brush back onto your vanity, almost falling out of your chair. "--Coming!"

Shifting came from behind the door as the knock increased in volume. "Ms. (Name)? Are you alright?" 

The voice coming from the hallway caused you to sigh in relief. 

Untangling your leg from the chair, (a result of not paying attention to your surroundings,) you walked over to your staircase and carefully, this time, walked down to your door. 

You grabbed the door handle and opened the door, coming face to face with your maid, Arabella.

"I'm fine Ari–what's with that face?" 

She stared at you with wide eyes, before her face twisted in a way that made her look like she was in pain. 

Covering her mouth with her palm, she averted her eyes, attempting to not laugh at your predicament. 

"Arabella?"

Arabella shook her head and calmed herself down, sighing and stepping toward you, placing a hand on your shoulder in sympathy. "Ms. (Name)...while I don't doubt your talents for a moment, I do believe you need some help with your makeup."

Now it was your turn to stand there fish-eyed. 

Bashfully, the floorboards seemed most interesting as you looked at the floor, nodding in embarrassment.

She smiled at you and grabbed your hand, leading you up the stairs and guiding you to sit in front of your vanity. 

"I'm guessing you favor a certain color, hm?"

Recovering from your embarrassment, you nodded, grabbing one of your many eyeshadow pallets and opening it to point at your favorite color. 

"What a wonderful choice. This color suits your complexion."

Arabella grabbed a makeup wipe and held your chin as she wiped your makeup off in a gentle manner. 

"Now–let's start fresh."

Grabbing a brush, Arabella began to lightly apply makeup to your face.

You hummed in pleasure at the soft motion, feeling yourself becoming sleepy. Who knew getting your makeup done could be so relaxing?

With a swift hand movement, Arabella applied a small amount of eyeliner over the shimmery eyeshadow you were wearing and then spun your chair around to face the mirror of your vanity.

"You can open your eyes now Ms. (Name)."

Peeking your eyes open, you grinned widely, beaming at the beautiful art on your face. 

Arabella noticed your silence and began to worry. "Do you like it? I can redo it if you don't–"

"I love it!"

You rushed and engulfed her in an energetic hug. 

She stumbled in shock before laughing and hugging your back, patting your head. "Now Ms. (Name). Let's not mess up your makeup just yet."

A huff left your mouth as you snickered, "Alright," you paused and let go of Arabella before smirking, "By the way, you can just call (Name)."

Arabella gaped before shaking her head. "Ma'am–"

"I see you as a friend. There's no need for formalities." 

She gave you a warm smile. "Alright then, (Name)." 

You giggled and she flicked you on the nose, rolling her eyes playfully. "It's almost time for you to greet your family's guests."

The calm expression on your face dampened and you frowned. 

Arabella noticed your discomfort and gave you a reassuring smile. "You'll do great, I know you will," Reaching into the pocket of her apron, she pulled out a necklace and placed it against your neck," If it helps, I found this on the floor of the library when I was looking for you. When I saw it I immediately thought of you."

You looked down at the necklace and gasped when you saw a beautiful white-gold ring, set with large ruby crystals in the center and adorned with a few navy crystals along the rim. Flipping the ring over, you looked at the band, which had a narwhal carved into the thick part of the back and the letter A carved into the thin part of the band. 

It sat perfectly on your collarbone, and the weight of the metal felt like it was meant to be there. Not to mention how the ring felt warm against your upper chest, and when you tried to remove it, frigidness would wash over you.

You smiled genuinely at your friend. "Thank you, Ari. For everything."

She pinched your cheek and lightly shoved you towards the door. 

"Don't mention it." Arabella brushes off your dress and tucks a wild strand of your hair behind your ear. "Break a leg."

The nervous smile on your face shifted into one of confusion. "What?"

"It's an expression. You'll do great anyway, I know it."

Before you could press her even further, she pushed you out of your room and shut the door behind you. 

A shaky sigh left your mouth and you made your way down the hallway, walking down two flights of stairs and reaching the entrance to the living room. 

You spotted your mother's authoritarian figure standing in front of the doorway, arm linked with your fathers, who was laughing proudly, raising a glass of whiskey to toast. 

Slinking quietly toward the entrance, you tried to slip inside to a corner where you wouldn't be noticed, but when your heels made a noise on the floor, your mother's sharp icy blue eyes turned towards you.

She gave you a look and you begrudgingly walked up to stand beside her.

A fierce whisper left her mouth. "You're late."

You gulped, cold sweat began to form as you could feel her free hand wrap around your wrist, her sharp nails threatening to break the skin. 

"But you didn't say when to—"

"That's enough. I don't want to hear your excuses. The only thing you can do to atone for your mistakes is sit still and look pretty. Got it?"

"Yes, mother.." You nod, tears threatening to ruin your makeup.

"Good."

She released your wrist, but the mark remained, already red and irritated.

Your father had finally finished his speech and looked toward where you were standing. He seemed surprised to see you there but frowned when he saw your watery eyes. 

He unlinked his arm with your mother and placed a hand on your shoulder, patting it softly. 

You smiled through your tear-blurry eyes.

Everything would be okay.

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

The party had ended after a few more hours after the tipsy stragglers left. 

With a renewed pep in your step, you gratefully left the living room, rushing up the stairs to the second floor to run back into the library.

Pushing the door open faster than you usually did, (and with the weight of the door, you'd be sore tomorrow,) you rushed toward the drawer you remember stashing the mysterious book in. 

Flinging open the drawer, you found the book just where you had left it,

A relieved sigh left your mouth. "Thank goodness."

You pick up the book and stuff it under your petticoat, making sure it won't fall out.

Shutting the drawer, you ran out of the open library, not bothering to look and see if someone was inside the hallway to witness your odd behavior.

Another flight of stairs later and a few confused maids, you had made it back to your room and locked the door.

You sat the book on your nightstand, deciding you'd read more of it after you got some rest.

Quickly taking of your dress along with your other items, you took your makeup off and lunged into your bed, snuggling into the silk covers as you drifted off to sleep.

But, what you didn't realize is that the book had fallen off your nightstand, hitting the floor and opening up to reveal a read and gold mask.

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

❝𝙊𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚, 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙚.❞

🐚 ྀ࿓(Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax x Female Reader)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @strawberrysunr1se 4/10/24

𓇼𓍢ִִ-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

[lunatic-pudge]

Postal Dad Headcanons

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Requested by Gojifan1962)

HAPPY POSTAL 2 DAY!!!!! Can't believe Dude is finally old enough to drink. Homie is going places and I'm proud of him!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Aight, so I'm turning this request to a pregnancy/dad headcanons cause why not. Kill two birds with one stone and might as well start from the beginning, breaking the news that you're pregnant

-Now, Dude doesn't seem one to want kids. But since these are my headcanons, too bad. I'm sure he's thought about it before, but never really took time to truly consider it, especially with his deteriorating mental health and a marriage that has lost it's meaning long ago

-He's always had Champ to look at as his baby. His spoiled little baby at that. But now that he isn't with his ex-wife anymore, and is now in a happier relationship (with you, dear reader) having a kid or two might be something for him to start considering, might

-The pregnancy was definitely unplanned. A little "oops" if I may. It was nervewracking to tell him. How would he react? Does he even like kids? Could he handle being a dad?

-So, after some pep talk, you finally tell him. It doesn't register at first. KInda goes in one ear and out the other. It takes a few seconds of him blankly staring at you for him to finally understand what you said. And, surprisingly, he's ecstatic! Pick you up, swing you around, give you some smooches. Maybe some tears even shed

-But then the hard part starts, the big thing is that there's gonna have to be some changes (the crack addiction). After years of doing it, it's gonna be hell to quit. But if he kicks it now, it won't be a problem later when the baby is born. So be ready to have a cranky Dude around. You're both gonna be taking care of each other during this time. He's gonna need a lot of support during this

-Once the rough part of withdrawls is over, and he starts feeling better, he'll be already coming up with ideas for the baby's room. I'd like to think that his trailer has two rooms, one the guys you sleep in, the other is probably where he keeps his weapons. So he's gonna have to find a new place to put all his weapons cause we can't have the new baby trying to use the Napalm Launcher... yet

-At some point, he's gonna question if staying in Paradise would be the best choice. He doesn't want his kid to get hurt or deal with the consequences of being his kid, so you guys might pack the trailer up and start anew somewhere else, let's just hope the chaos doesn't follow

-As the months go on, Dude will start to get anxious. He worries that he won't be a good dad for the little one. He never had a good relationship with his Father's, one's dead and the other he basically has no contact with. He knows you'd make an amazing parent, no doubt about it. But he will need a lot of reassuring that he'll make a good dad. Plz help him

-He's ready to deal with anything and everything you throw at him. Morning sickness, cravings, he will go out at 3am to get you whatever you're craving if it means making you happy. He'll let you lay around and do nothing while he takes care of the place. Hell, even Champ will be loving on you as well. Staying by your side during the whole pregnancy (Dude gets a little jealous)

-When it's baby time, he's in full panic mode. Speeding to the hospital and refusing to leave your side. He'd be ready to fight the doctors and nurses if they don't listen to you or are even slightly rude. By the time the baby is born, he's gonna have a broken hand by how hard you were gripping it and he almost got kicked out of the hospital three times

-So now baby is born and Dude now has a new best friend. He just met his kid and he's already planning all the fun chaos the two will have. He's so excited to finally be able to hold his baby. He already knew he was gonna spoil the fuck out of them

-He's a lot more of an active dad than you'd think he'd be. He's rather a night owl so he doesn't mind being the one who's getting up to take care of the baby, he wants you to get your rest.

-Is the type to get the baby onesies that say things like, "I can't fucking read". He thinks it's hilarious. And if you don't stop him, he'll be trying to teach the kid how to swear and flip people off.

-The type of dad you'll catch sitting at the tiny kids table with your kid, wearing a tiara and getting his nails done by your kid. Yes, he will wear a dress if his kid asks. How is he supposed to say no to such an adorable face?

-He can't help but spoil them. Again, he struggles to say no to them. He would kill for his kid. He would steal toys for them as well. He will shank a bitch for an American Girl doll, he doesn't care. His child NEEDS this doll, and he will stop at nothing to get them what they want

-He will teach his kid how to defend themselves. He doesn't trust people and he wants to make sure his kid is safe. He'll be gifting his kid weapons once they turn 13. The kid will have an alarming knowledge about different types of weapons

-He doesn't want his kid seeing him killing people. He knows how traumatizing it can be to see such a thing. He'd feel so horrible if he was the cause of his kid's trauma. But he sees his kid kill someone, he's helping with hiding the body. If they're killing someone, then clearly that person was in the wrong cause his kid can do no wrong

-He really do be a dad that is chill and you can tell everything to. If his kid is in deep trouble, they know they can call their dad to help. Very rarely will Dude ever be mad at his kid. They have to do something really horrible for him to be upset with them. He's also the type of dad who wouldn't care if his kid smokes and/or drinks. He'd smoke with his kid if it didn't make his schizophrenia worse

-So to finally end this long post, Dude would be a good dad. He wouldn't be perfect, but he's trying. He would want the best for them. He does get overprotective of them as well. He'd be a content man in life with his family. Ain't nothing gonna ruin it <3