#only thing i wish i had done differently was to handle him with more grace and compassion.

[heartoftheancientsea]

I’ve been journaling about the same thing for so many days in a row. I haven’t done this since I was anxious about being in college. It’s really weighing on my heart and writing is the only way I can seem to get it out of me. Idk why, whenever sad things happen I just bury myself in so much shame until I convince myself again and again and again that it wasn’t my fault.

[paraliveimaginesblog]

I've seen a lot of requests parents with only babies but not with older children?) so I was wondering if I could ask for hdcns on how they would deal with a teenager who is going through their rebellious stage where they want to be the complete opposite of their parents (like , he became emo, he listens to heavy metal, he came home with a lot of piercings and told them that "this is not a phase dad, it's my true self *metal pose*" XDD it's all~ for shogo, Allen, anne , kanata and yohei

Allen Sugasano:

Allen, while thrown off if his child suddenly developed a personality not at all similar to who he’s known them to be, doesn’t try to dampen their shine. He gets that everyone finds new passions and that they want to encompass them, to show off their reality and display the things they love, and he wouldn’t be the one to tell them how to act. You think his more laid-back approach to parenting is why he can deal with the teenage years so well, as he respected them as people with their own thoughts. He didn’t try to control them but if he saw them going down a chaotic path he’d try to use his own experience to lead them back to an area where they could safely make their own decisions.

Anne Faulkner:

Anne would be a little hurt if their rebellion was blatantly being the opposite of them, some feelings from the past rising up but they’re quick to push it back down. They could not, would not, be their own mother, and they didn’t find any other issue with their interests being different. They just want it to be what they want and not just a way for them to set themselves aside from their parents, Anne especially having doted over them since the day they were born. They just want it to be known that even if their child is pushing them away they plan on being there and loving them regardless, and there was nothing their child could do to stop them.

Kanata Yatonokami:

Kanata just rolled his eyes at the behavior, not really thrown off while simultaneously wishing this ‘rebellion’ would end so you could all be a normal family again. He never had this experience to deal with because he and Nayuta were abandoned, so he thought maybe his own kid should be more grateful to have what they do, but you thankfully cooled his head before he said something he might regret. Your logic still made him roll his eyes but you suggested he just be patient with your child, who had an extremely famous parent that they didn’t want to potentially live in the shadow of, and to give them the grace to find their own niche without it being forced on them.

Shogo Yamato:

Shogo gets it, he does, because he went through the same thing. Wanting to set yourself apart from your parent wasn’t an unusual thing for a teenager to go through, but he hoped he wasn’t being viewed the same way he saw his father. It makes him anxious but he held back his feelings on it to avoid potentially guilting them, though there are things that he considered too far that he’d have to put his foot down for. He just hoped it was a quick phase as he didn’t know how much his heart could handle.

Yohei Kanbayashi:

Yohei wanted to know what he did to get the most difficult kids on the planet to deal with in his life. As much as he loved them he can’t help but sigh over their behavior, wondering if it really was his fault and he had done something wrong while raising them to get this response. He knew he could be a ‘tough love’ sort but he’d rather they just tell him if he was pissing them off than have to dig through every interaction and memory to discover it himself. In the end, he tried to exercise some more patience with them as he remembered at one point he was young and confused about who he was too, so he’d just give them the time to figure that out.

[ronwestbreeze]

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY : PART TWO : CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

pairing: jake sully x fem!reader

summary: bury your old life, my friend

word count: 2.3k

warnings: a little nsfw toward the end but not explicit.

author's note: i am not a smut writer and this will probably be the only time i would write it lol. anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

AO3 | prev | next

Watching your former body be carried toward a grave in the most beautiful ceremony you had ever witnessed was morbid to say the least.

And as you walked in a line of Omatikaya people, few of which were carrying a larger leaf where your body lay, you couldn’t help but wish this was private. Something like this was meant to be grieved away from watchful eyes, closure meant for only you.

But you did not mind this at the end of the day. The last thing you wanted was to ever be alone again. You had spent far too much time in solitude. Rejecting those that tried to reach out for you and hold you in their grasp so that they would know you weren’t going anywhere. Now was the time to leave it all behind. In this new life you would do things differently. You would be different.

You trailed behind just a bit, eyes never straying from your former body. When you finally tore your eyes away, Jake, who was a few walks away, was already watching you when your gazes locked. He reached his hand out to you. And you smiled, albeit sadly, and took it without hesitation. You had to be further up front anyway with the Tsahik and the Olo’eyktan.

The ceremony had started late in the evening, as the sun was setting. Now by the time you all got to the burial place, the stars were in the sky. There was someone singing, their voice floating around the wind, in and out. When you got to the burial place, which was a tall old looking tree, all of you swarmed around it in a half circle. You ended up standing next to Mo’at who had pulled you to her side. Jake was nearby, along with Neytiri.

Before the ceremony, you had asked Jake if he had gone through with this with his former body.

You remember him giving you a knowing look before he nodded, “I did it after the transference. It was a small one, nothing too big.” He must’ve noticed something in your face and his face softened, “We don’t have to do this, you know. We can skip it, just bury the body and leave it.”

“No, no, I can do it.” You breathed out a sigh, trying to calm your nerves while tugging on your hair absentmindedly. Neytiri had done your hair recently and given you newer clothes to wear. Really you felt a bit exposed but you looked more Na’vi than dreamwalker for the first time. “Actually, I’m just trying not to think too much about it.”

Jake nodded, “I understand.”

For a moment you watched him. As he set down the pile of spears he had gotten from training with the warriors earlier that day. How he had a certain calmness about him. How he always seemed a lot more controlled than you were.

“I don’t get how you do it.” You chuckled, massaging your forehead. Jake, who had been knelt to the floor, looked up at you with a confused frown as you continued. “You always seemed better at handling moments like this. Even back then when Grace…I guess I’m a little envious.”

He was quiet for a moment. You continued tugging at your hair, deep in thought. Then Jake spoke again, “That day was easy, in a way. Making the transfer. I already knew where I belonged, who I wanted to be. If I had the decision to do it over again, I would without a doubt.”

You listened to this, already knowing what he meant. Hell, in a way you knew that this was the path he would take. You could see even back then when he was training to become one of The People. He yearned for this life. So, it was no surprise that he had chosen it permanently.

Jake had moved, you realized coming out of your thoughtful daze, to find him knelt down in front of you. Instantly, you grabbed his hands, guiding them to your face and allowing them to cup it as he spoke, “But I know one thing. One thing I am absolutely sure of. It was the best and worst day of my life. And the worst part? It was you not being there at my side when I woke.”

“Even when we weren’t even mates.” You frowned. “Even after everything. Even after five years, you still choose to love me?”

With a gentle smile, he pressed a kiss against your eyelashes and then the tip of your nose. His hand ran through your hair, his fingers gently massaging the back of your head. “I already chose you. Since the first time we met. I’ve always chosen you. “ He yanked you closer, pressing his lips against yours in a deep and long kiss. One that the both of you melted into so easily, one filled with yearning passion and desperation. The way his eyes burned when they locked with yours after you both pulled away, foreheads pressed together.

Even now, as you stood with Mo’at you felt his burning gaze on the back of your neck. Even with your eyes closed, listening to the words of the Tsahik, you could feel his presence despite him being a little ways behind you. A part of you couldn’t get what would’ve happened if you had kept going out of your mind while a sensible part of you was trying to focus on the ceremony in front of you.

Then they placed your body in the hole. That’s when Mo’at began speaking to Eywa. That’s when you began your silent goodbyes to your old life, to your old self. This person was now gone and you were finally allowed to leave her in the past for good. And when they buried you, when the last of the dirt hit the ground, your new life began.

You all stayed there, eyes still closed, repeating the words Mo’at says. It was like a prayer, you realized. That your body may be secure in the hands of Eywa, that you may be taken care of now that you have gone. You remember some of these words from the night Grace had died. There was one tear that night, during that entire ceremony.

When it was all over. Everyone moved on to their homes, to their hammocks to rest and prepare for another day. But you instead went to the Tree of Souls. With you, you carried Tsu’tey’s old necklace, the one he wore before briefly becoming the Olo’eyktan. You stood under the tree, connecting your queue to one of the stems. You spoke quietly, only for the spirits to hear as you put on Tsu’tey’s necklace.

“Thank you for bringing me home.” You smiled up at the tree, imagining Grace’s face in your mind as you spoke. “You didn’t have to but you did. And I thank you for this. I am forever grateful for you…” Your fingers grazed the necklace gently, “I hope the both of you are at peace. May you rest well with Eywa.”

For a little while longer, you stayed there. And it was quiet all around you, the forest asleep.

Your ears twitched when footsteps approached.

Glancing over your shoulder, a smile tugged at your lips when you saw Jake approaching. You unlink your queue from the stem, “I was just about finished.”

Jake nodded as he stopped next to you. “Here for Grace?” His eyes trailed down toward the necklace you wore, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “Or Tsu’tey?”

“Either.” You responded honestly, turning back to face the tree. “Really for whoever’s listening.”

His hand came up at the small of our back, running gently along your spine as he spoke, “Did you see her? When you were in your transference. Did she say anything to you?”

You thought back to your conversation with Grace. Frankly, you weren’t even entirely sure if it was actually Grace who you were talking to. Or perhaps a version of your consciousness. But you remembered it like it was only yesterday.

“She told me that she had a daughter.” The smile on your lips grew as you felt his face rest in the crook of your neck. “And that she would always be with me.” You shrugged a little. “If you believe in that sort of thing anyway.”

He hummed against your skin before pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder, “I’m starting to.”

You turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He pulled you closer to him, close to the point where your lips were a feather away from each other. Your hands found their way to his hair that had grown into thick dreads, nearly past his shoulders. You saw the same burning look in his eyes and yet at the same time a look as if he was stuck in a memory. And by the way his features subtly fall, just a little bit, you could tell just what he was thinking about.

It was you that leaned in, placing your mouth on his, drawing him out of his thoughts as he quickly responded to your touch. One hand sliding up your spine and the other squeezing your waist, desperately pulling you closer so that your skin touched.

The small sounds coming from his throat made your insides melt and your fingers trembling for more.

He broke away, just for a moment. And in that you noticed a tear trail down his cheek. Your thumb brushed against it as you rested your forehead against his, “Try not to think about before.” Of course the memory hadn’t left her. The last time the both of them were here, under the Tree of Souls was when she had said her goodbyes to him before going off to fight a battle of her own. Of course she remembered it. Of course. Of course. Of course.

Jake nodded, pulling you even closer if that was possible. “Are you here with me?” He asked you in a gentle whisper. “You’re here with me right now?”

You smiled. Remembering Neytiri’s words to you. She is meant to be a part of our family now. If she chooses to accept us. You realized you had never given her an answer until now.

“Forever, if you want.”

And there was the white crescent smile that you missed. And with that smile, it melted onto your lips, capturing you possessively. This time his hands wandered to sensitive areas and this time you let him.

The both of you had come close before, back at the tent earlier that day. But it wasn’t the right time. Now? Now all you can think of was his hands all over your body. Claiming you and his. And him as yours.

At some point the two of you slid to the ground. The ache between your legs wasn’t unfamiliar yet pleasurable. So was the way his length plunged into your walls with ease making your stomach tighten and swirl. Quiet mewls left your lips and tickled his ears as his hips thrusted int you, gently, almost as if you were the most fragile thing on Pandora. Jake had never seen you so beautiful. So perfect, almost as if you were stolen from his dreams and brought before him. Being able to finally hold you as he wished, having you touch him as much as he touched you.

You were real. You were real. You were real.

Finally.

The night ended with you lying in a hammock with both Jake and Neytiri. Neytiri lying in between the two of you, Jake on her other side. You remembered, before the two of them had fallen to sleep, connected all three of your queues together. It was a silent promise, you realized then. That you were all one. That this family, this heart, this soul, and this purpose…

Was yours just as much as it was theirs.

Your eyes had closed for only a few seconds. But it was enough time for you to be surrounded by fire. Alone. With no way out. There were screams all around you, though you couldn’t tell if it belonged to the dying or you. An overwhelming wave of emotions, of chaos, struck you from all sides. You saw Grace burning in the fire. You saw Tsu’tey dead at your feet. You saw the ship that you had crashed and your own body lying amongst the dead.

Then there was laughter. And then there was a face grinning at you.

“What is it, kid?” Quaritch sneered. “Ya look a little scared.”

And then you wake up.

Your back in the hammock. The dark sky had a visible hint of dawn just creeping in the corners. Your breathing was shaky and you realized, after taking in your surroundings, that you were sitting up.

It was a few seconds until you finally got a hold of your breathing control and managed to calm your growing anxiety.

Nightmares weren't anything new for you. Really, you should’ve been used to it at this point. But of course, as soon as you felt a moment of peace, they came and struck back. Pulling you further into your own despair.

And you would’ve fallen easily, given in easily like you used to. That is until something squeezed your arm, pulling you out of your rapid thoughts and toward whoever had brought you out of it.

Neytiri was staring up at you, a confused frown on her lips, “What is wrong? Why are you awake?”

You hesitated, really considering your words. As you did so, Jake shifted next to Neytiri, his eyes fluttering just a bit. Neytiri frowned, sitting up just a bit, “Tsmuke?”

At her words, Jake stirred and you shook your head, “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine. Go back to sleep. Just a bad dream is all.”

With that, you lied back down, turning your back to them. Your fingers massaged your forehead, trying your best not to think too much about the nightmare. And you didn’t, especially when you felt Jake’s hand on your waist, giving it a gentle squeeze

Eventually, you closed your eyes. This time you dreamed of nothing.

taglist: @luvvfromme @sully-stick-together @jakesullylvr @s-u-t @ssc7514 @cheari @tojigirl @nyotamalfoy @perfectprofessorloverapricot @naityelen @dumb-fawkin-bitch @raggedyoldwitch @nhemmingsf @biooiuygjjgfsrb @thatsenoughformelol @thotd-f1 @beaniebeensbaby201 @theoriginalwife000 @3leni @23victoria @lovesickollie @atxara @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @ladylovegood-69 @lovekeeho @lilithmoon14512 @n7cje @fyfy-world @cleverzonkwombatsludge @goddesslilithmoriarty @itszzmoon @eternallyvenus @bajadotcom @ducks118 @alexandra-001 @sweetllamaparadise @padfootsvixen @avatarmasterlistblog

[stevesbipanic]

Lavendar Haze

Cross posted on ao3

Part 1 of my Midnights Collection, more to come to subscribe for updates on ao3 or just check here regularly! :))

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

Meet me at midnight

Robin sees the familiar headlights pass behind her house, parking behind the big oak tree. She’s told Steve a hundred times that he could just come through the front door, but he says it’s more fun this way. She knew he was coming; he had called ahead, as he always does. Another nightmare, a year on from Starcourt and they can’t escape the horrors they witnessed there.

Steve climbs inside with the grace of a dork that’s done this before. He didn’t even change out of his sweatpants before coming over. Wordlessly, she lifts the blankets allowing him to slip in beside her, wrapping their arms around each other, relaxing in the knowledge that they were both safe.

Staring at the ceiling with you

Oh, you don't ever say too much

And you don't really read into

My melancholia

She knew Steve could tell she had had one too, he’s good at reading her these days. Neither of them wants to talk about it though, they’re awake and safe now. They’ve shared plenty of nights going over what happened, bringing it up doesn’t help anymore. Steve runs his fingers through her hair, soothing both of them. Comforting her without words is what he’s best at. He knows and that’s what matters.

I've been under scrutiny (yeah, oh yeah)

You handle it beautifully (yeah, oh yeah)

All this shit is new to me (yeah, oh yeah)

“I wish I could tell my parents what happened to us. I swear they look right through my mask some days, they know something is wrong and I’ll never be able to tell them.”

“I know Robbie, I guess that’s the one good thing about absent parents. Since 1983 all the people that have needed to know what happened to me were right beside me.”

Robin gives a sad smile at that, curling closer into Steve’s chest. She knew the Buckleys would adopt Steve if they could.

“We should talk about happier things, cheer ourselves up. How’s Eddie?” Robin said smirking at the now blushing boy.

“Eddie is fine, him and Wayne are all set up in the new house, we hung up his shiny new diploma this morning.”

“You two are so cute it’s gross, when are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know if I should Robs, all this liking boys stuff is new to me and I don’t want him to think he’s an experiment or something.”

I feel a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal, the 1950s shit they want from me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

Helping Steve with his sexuality crisis a few months ago had been an experience. Robin only knew about gays and lesbians, the two of them had had to go to a hole-in-the-wall bookshop in Indianapolis to find a zine that would explain what Steve had been feeling. Robin didn’t know you could like both, since she never had.

Life was different than what her parents had grown up in. The world was changing, and there were new words to help young people like Steve come to terms with their identities. It had taken some explaining to Eddie, showing him the zine and other things, they’d collected. He seemed to understand, but she could also see how it might bring up some old trauma with Eddie who had been an “experiment” before.

All they keep asking me (all they keep asking me)

Is if I'm gonna be your bride

“Mom still thinks you’re my boyfriend. She wants to know if we’re getting married now that I’ve graduated. Her and Dad got hitched right out of high school, so I think they want the same for me, which is gross.”

The only kind of girl they see (the only kind of girl they see)

Is a one night or a wife

“My parents did the same. When I graduated they told me if I wasn’t going to go to college I might as well be useful and marry into a good family. Said I need to stop being childish with all the girls around town and grow up. I hadn’t even been going on many dates, King Steve was the dating kind, not me.”

I find it dizzying (yeah, oh yeah)

They're bringing up my history (yeah, oh yeah)

But you aren't even listening (yeah, oh yeah)

It all felt so overwhelming the expectations of society and parents and the world. For a moment though it did feel good that their biggest problem was parents and not flesh-eating monsters. Steve was still talking but Robin’s mind had started forming a plan to solve both of their problems.

I feel a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal, the 1950s shit they want from me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze (ooh, ooh, whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa)

That lavender haze

“What if we get married?”

“What?”

“I love you, you love me. Let’s get married. No more stupid questions from my parents, you can say a big fuck you to yours since I doubt they see my family as a ‘good family’ and more importantly no more getting separated.”

It’s the one thing they hadn’t brought up since Spring. After carrying Eddie’s bleeding body out of the Upside Down and to the hospital, Steve had collapsed from blood loss. With no legal guardians or spouse around, no one was allowed to see him until he was stable, they weren’t even told what was going on. It had been the worst 24 hours of Robin’s life knowing nothing about what was happening with Steve, her best friend, her platonic soulmate.

“Fuck it, let’s get married.”

Talk your talk and go viral

I just need this love spiral

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk (get it off my desk)

Talk your talk and go viral

I just need this love spiral

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

They started with telling the Buckley’s, Steve had slipped out the next morning to steal a good enough ring from his mother, she wouldn’t miss it anyway. Robin’s parents were thrilled of course. Next was telling Eddie and Nancy, which was interesting.

“You’re getting what?”

“Married Eds.”

“Why?”

“Cause we love each other and society sucks so.”

“Fair point but you’re definitely not together right?”

“No Eds, still platonic with a capital P, I haven’t become a girl over night and Robs is still very much a lesbian.”

“Ok I guess I can get behind this then, need a date to the wedding?”

“Are you asking me to my own wedding?”

“Sure am.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Nancy had been similar, wanting to make sure this is what they wanted and weren’t just being stupid.

“Oh no we’re very stupid still, Nance.”

“Yeah, this is just low on our stupid scale. Want to be my maid of honour since dingus can’t be?”

The kids were ecstatic.

“I knew you were together!”

“Dustin, you know Robin is a lesbian.”

“Oh right. Well can I be your best man?”

“Of course, kid, wouldn’t want anyone other than my brother.”

Hopper and Joyce had been happy at the news, claiming it would give everyone something good to celebrate.

I feel (I feel) a lavender haze creeping up on me

So real, I'm damned if I do give a damn what people say

No deal (no deal), the 1950s shit they want from me

I just wanna stay in that lavender haze

(Ooh, ooh, whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa)

The wedding was small and perfect. They held it in the woods behind Hopper’s cabin, just their small group of friends who were more like family. Robin wore a dark brown suit which had used to be Jonathan’s and Steve worse a white button down and let the girls put flowers in his hair. The wedding was very them, dumb vows like “you’ll always be my dingus,” and “I want to be your schmuck forever.” A perfect day.

Get it off your chest

Get it off my desk

That lavender haze

I just wanna stay

Years later when it was legal for them to marry their romantic partners, Steve and Robin stayed married. Their partners understood, Robin and Steve were soulmates and should never be apart. Brought together in trauma and staying together through love; there would be no more days when they didn’t know if the other were ok. As the world kept growing there would be new words for them but they didn’t need more labels, they knew what they were to each other and that’s all that mattered.

I just wanna stay

In that lavender haze

[witchie-writings]

I love your blog sm❤️ I love your Halo hcs they are the best and You’re like one of the only blogs that has written for the bayverse Megatron and for that, I think you amazing🥹 Whenever you feel like it, do you think you could write more bayverse megatron x reader? Absolutely no pressure and take all the time you need❤️

YOU

Take my heart. Bayverse Megatron is one of my favorite versions, so it’s nice to see someone request more HCs for him! (Well, I guess I’m writing again lmfao) I will admit, my views on him have kind of changed, so these might be different from the first set of headcanons I wrote.

Trigger warning for abuse.

During the war, Megatron could only see the blinding promise of power. He craved it like it was the energon that flowed through his inner pipe-lines, but… admittedly, despite his never-ending rampage for his next fix for absolute control, he does have an inner weakness that he’d rather die than reveal to those that serve him: his S/O.

His S/O would struggle with this version of Megatron. He was undoubtedly ruthless, far more than any other version of Megatron, and this extends partially to them. He can be abusive, both physically and verbally, and depending on how his emotions festered within him that day dictates how bad it can get. It’s agonizing, oh painfully so. I would never blame S/O if they one day decide to abandon the cause, for any sliver of the Megatron they once knew was seemingly gone.

Oh but that wasn’t the case. Despite all the things he does, his spark mourns for the times before the war, before the Fallen had entered his processor and twisted his mind into shattered pieces. There will be times that his spark breaks through, temporarily silencing the raging thoughts that echoed inside his helm, and this is where he shows weakness. He knows all of the things he’s done and how he’s hurt his S/O, and so, his care is so tender, so genuine. His digits would grace over his S/O’s platings with the utmost care, even as they trembled violently - the emotions boiled within Megatron, oh Primus, what has he done to them? 

During these soft moments, he orders the other Cons that he and his S/O are not to be disturbed, any sign of disobedience will be immediately punished with a torturous death. 

His S/O would be pampered beyond belief while his spark shines through. He shows his love through acts of service, whatever they need him to do, Megatron would do it without any question or hesitation. The only thing he has slight reluctance to is cuddling. His body was mangled and mutilated into a twisted version of his previous self, sharpened blades and riddled with cracks of silver. It’ll take coaxing, but he’ll cave, and he’d melt if his S/O would give him words of affirmation - he needs it, he desperately does.

Whenever he falls back into his tyrannical mindset, it’s painfully hard to suddenly switch back to how it was before his spark broke control. He acts the same as how he was before, but it’s as though part of him has softened. Megatron’s processor despises this feeling and will take it to his late grave, but he feels strangely at peace, a sense of tranquility he never knew could feel so alluring amongst the calamity of war. It makes him feel weak, and he loathes it, wishing to rip apart his frame just to claw out this specific feeling. But he can’t, and now whenever he tries to be the ruthless tyrant towards his S/O, his inner workings shatter. He can’t reveal this weakness, no, he can’t, if he could barely handle himself causing pain to them, then how would he even handle the other Decepticons tormenting, torturing, or even killing his S/O?

No, he won’t let it happen. He would try his hardest to show how much he ‘hates’ his S/O, and that they were a fool to ever believe that things could go back the way it came. But he can feel the anguish brewing. How he so desperately wished things could go back to the way they were.

[jademickian]

oh man, haven't done tag games in a while, sorry friends 🥹 i've been passive the last few weeks because uni is really taking most of my time and energy, but i appreciate the tags and i love love reading your answers<3

ok enough blabbering, thank u @callivich, @lingy910y, and @mickeysgaymom for the totally optional, fun gallavich questions tag!

What’s a fic you’ve read more than once?

Stuck at Three for Days - delicious banter, laughed my ass off

another kiss is all it takes - so fuckin sweet, dude

Like Real People Do - just finished my reread last month:)) i needed the comfort

Cooperative Gameplay - currently rereading! i miss the feels

Sometimes I reread bits and pieces from ORFNSP and since we're alone because they changed my brain chemistry. I will eventually get around to actually rereading them.

2. What’s a gifset you always have to reblog?

You know the one... this legendary world heritage gifset

3. What’s a headcanon you can’t stop thinking about?

not sure if this is counted but i always like to think that once, ian got struck with grief about monica's death on her death anniversary. mickey asks him what's wrong and he opens up about it. ian will say it's stupid but mickey will truly handle it with grace and say nah man it's not. because yahknow, he gets it. and ian melts at it, because no one has acknowledged his grief like this before. mickey teases him about it a bit, sure, but deep down he held ian's mourning warmly, like petals on his palm. and they went together to the cemetery that day, simply sat in front of her grave and talked. the good things, the bad. and that despite it all "hey, tleast she popped out an alien lookin mfer i ended up marryin." they get pizza after.

4. What’s a fanart you love looking at?

Van kiss by @lingy910y

Prince Mononoke by @darthvaders-wife

Prison Boyfriends by @gallavichonly

Part of Our World by @steorie

It's Okay by WhatsaMattavich

This Kiss by @deathclassic

SO MANY others actually if i could fit them all here

5. What’s an idea you’d love to create if you had the time/inspiration?

i actually have a LIST lmao. one of those has something to do with art because i cannot take my mind away from human mickey and manananggal ian (manananggal is a Philippine myth creature with wings and can separate the upper half of its body from its lower half).

6. What’s something you’ve discovered since entering this fandom? A new trope you love? A different analysis of the show? Something else?

oh man. believe it or not, i was never into fics. i was in fandoms before, but i just couldn't get into fics within those fandoms (i tried). this is the only time i truly liked and LOVED reading fics. it really speaks volumes about the talent and dedication, and i'm glad i got to experience it.

it's also fun reading metas on the show and getting different perspectives, especially on characters. one of my favorites (just because i was so distressed about it the first time i watched it) are analyses on the city hall scene and ian's hesitation on marriage. after reading up others' thoughts on it explaining the why's, i totally felt some relief and was able to get some sleep. lol

7. What’s an underrated trope or concept you’d like to see more of?

apocalypse aus 👍

8. What’s your favourite season? And has this changed after multiple rewatches of the show?

The first five seasons are gems to me. but i truly love season 2 because it's so chill (at least compared to some of the heavier seasons after) and the gallaghers move as a unit. special mention for season 4 because it holds Emily and Lazarus.

9. What’s a plot hole you wish had been answered or resolved?

same qualms with @mickeysgaymom about mickey's mom. brain rotting over it.

10. What scene or moment do you feel isn’t discussed enough?

not gallavich related, and i'm sure people have already mentioned it, but sometimes it hits me how smart debbie is. like, i know she's smart, but people easily forget from all the chaos. at the heart of it, she's a fast learner and also would and have excelled academically.

11. What line/dialogue/description from something else (a poem, a book, a tv show, a movie, or something else) do you feel describes Ian and Mickey’s relationship?

aaaa @lingy910y beat me to it! it's totally "I'll take care of you. / It's rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it's you." but if i could pick another, maybe "I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

12. What do you think is next for Ian and Mickey post-finale?

they'll grow old together and be just as in love, no matter what happens in between.

tagging @mybrainismelted, @scurvgirl, and @lupeloto if u wanna join!! raahh

[wednesdayismyfunday]

Broken Pieces

Summary: Tommy helps his business partner feel better.

Pairings : Tommy SHelby X reader

Warnings : Fluff ? implied smut. Alcohol drinking.

The timing of it all seemed cosmic . Meeting Tommy during his most ruthless days was something he wish he could have taken back . Maybe then it wouldn’t have taken so long for yn to fall in love with him. She had seen him do things out of hurt . He said awful things to her so she never got close . It has been a year and Tommy falls more in love with her every single day . When they became business partners it was clear to both of them that they had different  views on how to handle employees. Yn was gentle and kind . She rewarded good work . Tommy was brutal and harsh . Both stubborn in their approach .  It took a few fights and bickering but they worked out their good cop / bad cop partnership well. Business had never been better .

“ Tommy , why did you yell at that kid. “ Yn asked with her hands on her hips.

“ He screwed up . What else would you like me to do . “ Tommy muttered in response. He took a big swig of his bourbon and placed it on his desk . Y/n sat down on the chair opposite him , grabbed his glass and finished off his bourbon. Tommy raised an eyebrow at his business partners odd behaviour. Y/n rarely drank .

“ I can pour you a glass if you like. “ Tommy said.

“ Tommy ,  do you like working with me?” Yn said .  Tommy sat up straighter and looked  yn in the eyes .

“ Do you want me to be kind or honest ?” Tommy replied .

“ Honest ?” Y/n responded.  Tommy stood up and grabbed another glass and the bottle of bourbon . He poured himself and yn a drink and sat down .

“ Sometimes you make me want to put my head through a wall . Most of the time I’m glad you’re here . You make the days seem less bleak. “ Tommy said. Y/n nodded and picked up her glass. She downed the whole drink and poured herself another one. Tommy was baffled , had he done something to upset her? Probably .

“ Y/n tell me what’s wrong . What is going on?” Tommy asked gently . Y/n stood up and straightened her trousers . She took his glass and motioned him to come to the sofa . They sat down next to each other knees touching . 

“ Sometimes I think I am un lovable. “ Y/n sighed. 

“ Y/n where is this coming from. What happened today? “ Tommy asked. He took the drink from her hand and put it on the table. Y/n let out a gentle sob. She was crying. Tommy moved closer and held her. Y/n cried on Tommy’s shoulder. They sat there until she stopped crying. 

“ Love, please tell me whats wrong. “ Tommy whispered. Y/n looked at Tommy. She new she loved him. She didn’t want to. 

“ Matthew broke up with me. He told me I am emotionless, that I will never find someone who will deal with me. “ y/n whispered. Tommy didn’t even know she was dating someone. He hated this guy immediately. Who would say that to her. Y/n is love in human form.

“ He is a moron. What kind of man would say that to you. Y/n darling. Never have I met someone as kind , funny, sweet and charming. You charmed me so much that I made you business partner. My dear y/n. You have no idea what you do to people.” Tommy said stroking her hair. Y/n looked at Tommy through her lashes. 

“ Tommy, I’m broken.” Y/n whispered. 

“We are all broken. Some of us are just better at masking it. “ Tommy said. He lay down and pulled Y/n on top of him. Y/n closed her eyes and relaxed at his touch. They lay there until they both fell asleep. Only waking when the winter air nipped at their skin. Tommy woke up first. It felt like it was the first rest he has had since Grace died. 

“Yn, I know its comfortable but we will freeze to death here. Let me start the fire, or we can go to my bedroom the maids would have lit the fire by now.” Tommy whispered loud enough to wake y/n but not loud enough to startled her. Y/n mumbled something incoherently. Tommy smiled and slowly moved y/n next to him so he could get off the sofa. Y/n opened her eyes and watched Tommy make a fire. He moved with so much grace. 

“ Tommy Shelby making a fire.” Y/n said as she sat up to take  sip of bourbon. Tommy smiled and finished making the fire, flexing more now that he knew she was watching. 

Y/n relaxed into the sofa enjoying the view. Tommy turned to look at yn. The fire bringing a gentle glow to the room. Yn looked at peace, maybe for the first time. 

“ I am in love with you.” Tommy blurted out. Y/n sat up straighter and smiled.

“ I am in love with you too.” Y/n laughed. Finally admitting to both Tommy and herself that she was head over heels in love. Neither made any effort to move. Both afraid it would break the spell. The fire crackled and flickered. The air was beginning to heat up. Tommy swore she would be able to hear his heart beating. It was as if it was forcing him to move closer. Yn stood up and walked towards Tommy.  

“ You sure you want this broken person.” Yn said putting her hand on his cheek.

“ Maybe my broken pieces will fit with yours and we can make a whole new person.” Tommy laughed. Yn smiled and leaned close enough to feel Tommys breath.

“ I warn you, once you kiss me there is no going back.”  Y/n smiled.

“ I hope that’s a promise.”  Tommy replied closing the gap. The kiss said thousand words. It promised love, it promised friendship . Tommy pulled yn to the floor , and lay on top of yn. There they broke all rules of being a business partner. Two broken pieces finding each other to make one whole human. 

“ I hope you haven’t done this with any of your other old business partners.” Tommy said while holding y/n in her arms . Y/n laughed , it was pure joy and happiness that seeped from her lips. A feeling of  content that she had never felt. 

“ Only the really rich ones.” Y/n joked. Tommy laughed and kissed her forhead. The fire was slowly going out, but the warmth in the room only seemed to grow. 

[bucket-barnes]

As you wish Homie

(Suggestion from @tiredflowercrown)

Anthony Tremaine- curl up and dye

Heads up: I did very minimal research before writing this fic and embellished a bit for dramatics, I cannot guarantee that any of this information is medically accurate so you may need to suspend your disbelief a bit if you know more than I do

The Isle of the lost wasn’t a safe place, that wasn’t new, but in the case of Anthony Tremaine…danger came in a different form, the salon

The Tremaine family business may not have been dangerous in a traditional sense, the most threatening thing that happened to them was when Harriet Hook came in after a day of dealing with her father’s drunkenness and brother’s hallucinations, but even then she never did any harm, what really did the harm was when Anthony went to dye the stress-grays out of her hair

The hair dye in curl up and dye wasn’t of the highest quality, after all, it was Auradon’s leftovers, Anthony had been working with these chemicals since he was tall enough to reach the sinks, his earliest childhood memories linked to the smells of old bleach and dyes, touching up his grandmother’s roots, covering his mother’s horrid gray strands, and even helping Dizzy with her colored streaks whenever he was in a good mood. The process was therapeutic in a way, giving life to the dull and dead, the moments of peace he would get when more or less frying people’s hair…along with unknowingly frying years off his lifespan with internal burns and respiratory damage

Anthony had a few trademarks that made him stand out, his always perfect hair, the way he made rags look expensive…and his cough. Anthony had been basically inhaling poison since birth (especially when they would have to substitute the bleach with actual poison if they ran out) his lungs were thoroughly ravaged, though it wouldn’t stop him from keeping up his image. He always carried a cornflower blue handkerchief with him in the event of one of his coughing fits, people didn’t tend to pay it mind, the sound of someone hacking their lungs out in the street was the isle’s equivalent to chirping birds. Anthony always handled these fits with grace, coughing into his handkerchief and then tucking it away into his shirt pocket with one hand while the other slyly clutched his ribs. The only part Anthony couldn’t control was the rasp in his voice that would come and go, but hey…some people are into that, no harm no foul

At the incessant begging of his cousin, Anthony came to Auradon, it was wonderful, clean air, fresh food, the most fashionable clothes Anthony’s ever seen…but he kept getting weird looks from people when he coughed, it wasn’t that bad, was it? They were small, quiet, a little uncomfortable sure but…not terrible…right?? Well, they were that bad, the isle and Auradon just had very different definitions of the word, it was while working with Evie that Anthony learned this difference

It was a few days before the royal wedding and Evie wanted to get her hair touched up before her best friend’s big day so she had gone to Anthony to get the job done. Sure, Auradon had amazing hair stylists, but Dizzy had suggested letting Anthony do Evie’s hair since he knew how to get the perfect shade of blue every time. Evie sat in the chair and made small talk with Anthony, though it was interrupted by a handful of coughing fits. She must have been in Auradon a long time because, Evie didn’t remember Anthony’s coughs sounding that bad. His breath sounded labored and painful, his coughs were strained and seemed to cause him physical pain, Anthony practically doubling over at one point while he groaned and clutched his ribs. Evie would ask if he was ok and needed a break, Anthony would always insist he was fine, the cough was normal and not that bad, though the more he insisted the more Evie would protest to him continuing, but he kept on with the job at hand, the fumes making his eyes slightly water…then again, could’ve been tears from all the coughing…

It happened in a flash. Anthony’s eyes had gone vacant and his breath became more of a labored wheeze than breathing, he started to tip and the next thing he knew he was making his way to the floor as his vision went dark and his hearing became nothing but ringing…

he woke up in…not Evie’s house, the walls were white, everything was blurry…and what was that noise? It was loud and obnoxious like a broken alarm clock that wouldn’t turn off. He turned to his left and saw Dizzy, was she crying? He also felt a weird poking in his arm, he turned to his right and saw a thin tube, no thicker than a sewing needle, going right into his arm carrying some strange, gold liquid…

“Wh…where am…I?”

Anthony tried to ask, though it came out more as incoherent mumbling than actual words. Dizzy looked at her cousin with a mixture of confusion and concern

“Um…somewhere called a hospital? You Passed out doing Evie’s hair and weren’t waking up, I panicked, I’m sorry!”

“…S’kay…ok”

Gods, he must have been tired, he could barely form a sentence, though that noise from earlier wasn’t going away, if anything it was getting louder, good gods someone make it stop!

“Wh…ts that?”

Anthony tried to ask another question, though once again it sounded more like mumbling. Dizzy tapped her chest with her finger and Anthony seemed to get the message…that noise was his heartbeat, and it was getting louder because he was confused and…admittedly a little scared…wow was he screwed

Hope this sufficed! Who knew hair dye was so toxic, huh? (Cue uncomfortable laughter because I bleached and dyed my hair at home for three years straight) got any more descendants characters you want to see me medically screw over? By all means tell me! I’m bored, I’ll do it!

[polyamorouspunk]

so i need advice- basically i slept with my on again off again boyfriend of a year for the first time when i saw him a couple weeks ago. it was his first time but not mine but still a big deal for me. i was sleeping over at his house, he said he broke up with his then long distance bf (who he can only talk to via letter bc said bf is in rehab rn and does not have his phone) and confessed to still having feelings for me. told he thinks i’m the love of his life and all that jazz. i am very dumb and obviously still love him so i spend the rest of the day flirting with him and fall asleep cuddling with each other and we slept together the next day. for abt a week everything was great and i thought we were getting back together until about few days ago when he pretty much stopped talking to me and said it was because he just didn’t have the energy (not out of character for him he has bpd and gets very suicidal from time to time). so i was like “okay just take whatever time you need to be okay i just miss my best friend”. anyway, today i heard from two different mutual friends that we went to school with last year that he has been telling them that i forced him into it. and now i don’t know what to do. i understand if he regrets it or wishes that he had said no or something, but he very much enthusiastically consented to the whole thing while we doing it and seemed good with it in the couple days afterward when i checked in with him abt it. and ik i’m not good at reading body language and that he’s been sa’d before so i definitely checked in a lot the whole time to make sure it was okay. he also verbally asked me to do certain things. so i don’t know why he’s telling people that but it hurts a lot and i don’t know what to do. in the past he’s gotten mad at me and told people some harmful, and done things that a lot of people would consider an overreaction, but i try to give him grace for it because i know he goes through a lot and struggles with handling his emotions. but this feels like it’s crossed a line of being something i can forgive him for saying. i don’t know. sorry for the long rant. i just can’t really talk to my friends about it because i don’t want to cause more drama or have anyone confront him about it.

I am so fucking sorry that sounds like a goddamn nightmare. I can understand that being unforgivable and I’m so sorry that happened to you. If you need to vent more about it feel free to DM me seriously.

[jonquildove]

theintendedone:

Not wanting to know and needing to know were two entirely different things. Roslin did not want to leave questions. She felt so guilty for the whole ordeal. Even Robb's guards, Dacey Mormont who hailed from Bear Island and wielded a sword as she lived in the forest and Patrek Mallister could not have foreseen the treachery or rescued him; they had died with him in the hall. There wasn’t much that could be done for it though. It was over and everyone who had died was already long since rotted. She wished more than anything that things could have been changed. The world was cruel though. Men were monsters but so were women. Roslin could only hope that things would change in the future. She knew that wasn’t the case though. People would always be cruel. She liked to think that Edmure and she would stay away from it. There was no interest in getting involved in the world’s pissing matches when they had a family and future ahead of them. Sometimes, when she was speaking to her son Robb, she spoke fairytales of her as a princess and the wolf king Robb, as she braided dreadlocks in her hair as she liked fashion. Edmure was plagued with nightmares oft, and they helped each other with their haunted state. “Exhausted. Babies can be but it’s all for a good cause. We’re adjusting but the nightmares plague us too. We want to just try and move forward from it all.” That would take time. They would never completely forget the horror but they would try their best just as Sansa would. They couldn’t go on like this forever. It wasn’t the sort of life his sister would have wanted for them or anyone else for that matter. Expressing the truth to her niece would hardly bother her. The girl could have been her sister in another life. She had an obligation to live up to here and she would.

“I do pray that you and Edmure get sufficient rest, your Grace.” It must be a lot to handle for Roslin, the knowledge of what had happened at the Red Wedding and her baby by Edmure. “…So, the baby’s born, now? Congratulations, my lady.” “We are fortunate to have not seen the actual event, or the nightmares might be worse." But I wish I could have done something, put a stop to the Red Wedding. If I’d known the Lannisters had planted the idea in Walder’s head, and gave him promises, I could have spoken to Cersei. She knew that it was not her fault, how could it be? Even the gods viewed this act as the worst offence that could ever be committed. But even so… She had additionally heard that hormones and emotions got heightened when one got pregnant, and she admired Roslin’s strength, to keep going. She would never forgive Roslin’s grandfather, Walder, though and would not wish to meet him, see that sadistic, twisted smile on his face. She missed her brother, mother and father so much, it physically ached her inside, she feeling quite depressed as she expresses her feelings, pulled at her heartstrings so hard that she was afraid they would shatter.

[kairakeiji]

the rain was unrelenting.

for the past few hours, it had done nothing but pour, the occasional thunder and lighting making its appearance. unfortunately for you, that meant sprinting from building to building, from class to class as you once again realize you left your umbrella in your dorm room. it was on days like this where you wish you weren’t so forgetful. it was often your demise considering you things seemed to slip your mind more often than not. like the cute boy’s name in your one literature class, he was nothing but kind to you, yet you couldn’t seem to remember his name.

the small bus stop became your saving grace on the way back to your dorm, the small cover shielding you from the rain. your hair was soaked, your clothes clung to your skin, and you were absolutely terrified that the things in your bag were completely drenched. after all, you’ve been running from building to building all day, it would be a miracle if you made it home without looking like you just came from the shower (and it kind of feels like you did). you’re making a mental note in your head, one that you probably will end up forgetting about, to keep an umbrella in your bag. if only you weren’t so forgetful, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“what are you doing?”

your gaze moves from your shoes to the person standing in front of you at the sound of the familiar voice.

it’s him.

“oh hey,” your eyes widen as you meet his gaze, almost feeling a bit intimidated by the intensity of his stare. you’re mentally kicking yourself in the shin because you couldn’t attach a name to his face. he was rather different from your other classmates, the dragon tattoo on the side of his head making him stand out.

“hey,” he nods before asking you again. “what are you doing here?”

you blink, “what do you mean?”

“you don’t normally wait for the bus,” he answers, his voice rather monotonous. “why are you at the bus stop?”

“oh,” you sheepishly smile, “i don’t have an umbrella so i’m waiting for the rain to die down.”

“it hasn’t stopped raining all day,” he deadpans.

“i know,” you sigh, a small shiver running down your spine. “i just don’t wanna end up absolutely drenched.

so he offers, “do you wanna share my umbrella?”

and all you can do is stare, “are you sure?”

he nods, “of course, i don’t think you wanna wait under that bus stop forever right?”

“right,” you mumble. “thanks...” your voice trails off at the end as you step towards him.

“ken,” he offers, “ryuguji ken.”

“right,” you answer. “thank you ken.” and he nods in response, “i’m yn, by the way.”

“i know,” he smiles.

of course, he does. you’ve only spoken with him what ten times before? there had to be an introduction somewhere in there, one that seemed to slip your mind.

“i swear i’ve introduced myself to you before,” he mumbles.

“oh no you probably have,” you answer. “i think i just forgot it, sorry.”

“it’s okay,” he gives you a small smile as you begin walking in the direction of your dorm. “besides, my friends don’t really call me that anyway.”

you quirk a brow, “what do they call you then?”

“draken,” he answers rather simply.

“oh,” you blink. “that’s an interesting nickname.”

and your answer makes him laugh, “yeah, it’s what kids called me when i was younger, and it just sort of stuck.”

“it’s kind of cute,” you hum before asking. “so what should i call you then?”

“whatever you want to call me,” he smiles.

and you’re certain you’ve never seen him this expressive before, even in the ten interactions you can recall with him.

“i’ll call you ken then,” you nod. “is that okay?”

“sounds good,” he answers. “just don’t forget it.”

and you pause for a second before giving him a kind smile, “i won’t i promise.”

you swear his face falters.

the rain continues to pour as you continue walking making you shuffle closer to the boy. yet he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, you can’t help but notice how his shoulder’s getting drenched while he keeps you covered. you push the umbrella handle closer to him in an attempt to cover him a bit more.

“what are you doing?”

“you’re getting wet,” you mumble. “and i’m completely dry here.”

“you’re not dry,” he answers, stealing a glance at your soaked hair. “besides, it’s fine, a little rain couldn’t hurt.”

“okay,” you mumble, a hint of regret beginning to sit in you. draken had been nothing but kind to you during classes, offering you a pen when you forgot one or letting you share his textbook when you left yours in your dorm. yet you never knew his name, let alone you didn’t really know anything about him.

“my dorm’s this way,” draken points out, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“oh,” you answer. “mine’s this way,” you add, pointing in the opposite direction.

he thinks for a second before meeting your gaze, “you can take the umbrella then.”

“wait hold on, no it’s your umbrella i couldn-”

“it’s fine,” he reassures, stepping out from under it and pushing it gently towards you. “you can just give it back to me tomorrow.”

“are you sure i could-”

“i’m sure,” he interrupts giving you another smile, one that made your heart race. “don’t forget!” he calls out before running towards his dorm building, leaving you alone in the rain once more, but this time with an umbrella over your head.

“i won’t,” you nod. “i promise, i won’t.” you couldn’t help but watch as he ran off, not missing how he turned around once to see if you were walking towards your building, and gesturing for you to do so once he saw that you weren’t. yet you stayed put, making sure he made it safely before you left.

ken.

ryuguji ken.

you finally had his name, and you weren’t going to forget.

after all, it would be quite hard to after an interaction like this.

@sakusins you ask i deliver, and i’m so sorry if his character’s off sob sob

thanks for reading! reblogs are incredibly appreciated <33

[humansofnewyork]

(1/2) “I found out I was pregnant the day before my senior year, and my parents took me to an adoption lawyer so that we could learn about the process. She showed us a box full of folders and pictures from families hoping to adopt. I spent months looking through family profiles, but nothing felt right. I don’t even know what I was looking for. Maybe I was looking for myself in ten years, someone who could raise my son like I wished I could. The one thing I knew was that I wanted an open adoption. I wanted to be part of my son’s life. But those arrangements weren’t common back then. Families would offer to send pictures, but not much more. And I don’t blame them for wanting to feel like their child belonged to them. But sometimes it felt like the focus was only on the baby. I was doing this huge number on myself emotionally, and I was expected to fall in line. But Kathy and Tom weren’t like that at all. When they came to our house, it was a completely different energy. Kathy kept saying: ‘Thank you so much for considering us. She explained that she’d miscarried many times. She didn’t try to negotiate. It was actually the opposite, she kept adding to my requests. When I asked if I’d be able to come over, she said: ‘I’d love for you to babysit.’ When I asked if I could see my son on his birthday, she said: ‘I was thinking family dinners.’ It was always: ‘Whatever makes you comfortable,’ and for the first time I felt seen. I called Kathy the next day and asked her if she’d adopt my baby. Over the next several weeks, we spent a lot of time together. We talked about the baby some, but it was mainly about me: my worries, my plans, my hopes. Aden arrived a month early, and Kathy handled the delivery with such grace. The entire time she was focused on my comfort level, and where I was emotionally. As soon as Aden was born, and they placed him on my chest, I said: ‘Please give him to his mom.’ Kathy let me buckle him in the car seat before they drove away. And I gave him a kiss, and it hurt so much. But I also felt so much relief. Then I felt immense guilt for feeling relief. Had I really done this for my child? Or had I done it to get myself off the hook?”

[ddarker-dreams]

Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications.  Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. “Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ” 

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” 

[merakiui]

Half-Off Love

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader art credit - kentasha1236 on twt cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, gold-digging, implied yandere!childe note - thank you so much for 600 followers! o(≧∇≦o) I’ll work hard!

It’s strange. There’s no other adjective to describe the situation you’ve found yourself in. 

The ring slides itself onto your steady finger and it’s a miracle your discomfort doesn’t show. Your eyes struggle to meet his, but when they do you’re searching for a reason—for a meaning behind such a generous gift. You’ve witnessed this scene plenty of times before, having scoffed at the couples who decide to take their relationship to the next level. Whether it be in Mondstadt or Liyue, you’ve watched your fair share of angelic proposals. Although this is far from a proposal—at least, you hope it’s not a proposal. You’d feel powerless to decline if Scaramouche put you in such a position, and you’re almost certain he’s aware of this. 

But the main thing—you now realize—that’s holding him back is your status and his relationship with you. It’s nothing special, just mere physical attraction rather than the emotional hindrances that come with real, heart-racing love. There’s nothing wholesome in the way you regard one another; it’s just sex. 

“Do you like it? I made sure to find only the highest quality gemstone for you.”

And yet when he performs this caring charade, it doesn’t feel like loveless copulation. 

Ew, you think, plastering a smile to your face. Since when was Scaramouche so concerned with materialistic signs of affection? He’s far from loving; he’s just pent-up, frustrated from his rigorous job as a Harbinger and so he decides to use you as a means of coping. He almost sounds like Childe with his ineffective flirting methods. You’ve received your fair share of spoils from him as well, and you’ve done everything you could to cull that relationship before it grew out of hand. But now you’re stuck with the lesser side of the coin: another troublesome Fatui Harbinger. 

If you didn’t know any better, you might think to chase after Signora or Dottore next. Maybe you’ll aim for the Tsaritsa Herself if you’re especially daring. After all, your life has been nothing but deceit and faux pleasures; there’s little value to a liar’s life. If the Archons wish for your swift end, you’re positive it’ll be a result of your insatiable greed.

“It’s lovely. The color matches my eyes.”

It doesn’t, but you lie about it anyways. And he looks pleased to hear your approval. 

“Then perhaps I should get you a bracelet as well? Or would you prefer something with a little more use, such as a pocket watch?”

Why don’t you just lock me up with a collar instead? you think bitterly, already keen on pawning the ring off once the initial luster fades. Since you’re so eager to buy these things for me in hopes that I’ll return. It’s annoying.

“This is more than enough. I don’t want you to spend a fortune on me.” There’s a sweet lilt in your voice as your hand cups his cheek, and he leans into your warm touch, starved of the affection like a stray mutt. ”I only need you per our agreement. You do remember what that is, right?”

He’d be caught dead bending to the desires of someone so insignificant, but he just can’t stay away. Not when your every word is intoxicating poison he’ll readily ingest. 

“I’m aware." There’s a sigh in his tone as he pulls away, almost as if he wants to simply sit there and indulge in playful conversation. As if he actually wants to familiarize himself with the real you. But that emotion doesn’t last for long and an irritated expression crawls onto his handsome face as he silently recalls something. 

You’re slipping your silks off with grace, curiously tracking his movements. “You look upset. Was it because of what I said?”

“Of course not. You could never upset me.”

Until you get bored of me.

When you cast your robes aside, reaching for Scaramouche’s elaborate outfit, you murmur, “Let me guess. It was that traveler again, wasn’t it? I’m not sure why you’re so hung up on them.” A whimper leaks into your voice and you fix him with a pout. “I’m sad you’d think of others when I’m right here. Aren’t I the only one you need?”

It’s ironic how quickly that line hooks him, dragging him up from the murkiest depths of love that has skewed into obsession. When you tried it out on Childe, he wasn’t so easily swayed. You find their differences to be invigorating. If the arrangement with Childe was still ongoing, you might’ve considered a threesome, if only to wring more glittering treasures out of the both of them. Mora and jewelry galore, it all goes towards your stockpiled savings. And it’s times like these when you’re lucky to have avoided economic business with the Fatui. Being free of Fatui debt has its perks, a bright miracle in your dark relationships. That’s one less tether to Scaramouche and one less reason to cling to him after you’ve had enough. 

He smirks at your forced envy, easily pushing you backwards onto the plush mattress once he’s fully undressed. For a brief moment, he pictures your pliant body sprawled across an office desk while he pounds into you from behind, putting on a lewd show for his leering underlings. There’s something arousing about your secret relationship that has strange ideas formulating within his head. He entertains a simple scheme, one in which he’d shed light on your connection; however, the other side of him wants to keep your existence for himself, where no one will disturb the two of you in your pleasurable endeavors.

Perhaps you would truly belong to him if he were to expose you for the fraud you really are. Oh, the joy of trapping an unsuspecting rat in a corner, with no way out but into his open arms. You’ll hardly have any semblance of a choice, but he knows you’ll choose the option that guarantees another chance at life.

Scaramouche thinks about that as he revels in soft, tantalizing foreplay. He knows you aren’t as dedicated to this relationship as he is and he’s almost certain you’ve got others waiting for you in different parts of Teyvat. He’s just another plaything you’ve picked up for the fun of it. And in these moments where you surrender to his touch, your back arching with avaricious thoughts, you seem to forget about the power he truly wields. The thought that he could suffocate you in this very bed with his love alone should have you taking precautions to cover your vulnerability, but you only have your eyes set on one thing—not exactly minding the outcome so long as it’s monetarily favorable.

And if playing into your covetous hands ensures your weekly arrival, he’ll gladly empty his pockets of spare change.

You don’t like this new side of him. Lately he’s been treating this as if the two of you are lovers: slow, sensual thrusts accompanied with the sweetest of promises. You’ve never really minded the filth he’d moan in your ear and now you wish he’d resort to that instead. Loveless words spoken through the veil of lust—that’s what you want to hear.  

He envelops you like a smothering fog, fitting himself snugly inside of your tight hole in an embrace that’s oh so familiar. You aren’t used to such gentle treatment and as he kisses along your collarbone you feel yourself going under, having fallen victim to a Harbinger who is normally so cold-hearted. Perhaps he’s more sensitive than you originally thought. Months ago, you wouldn’t have imagined your relationship would grow into something so uncertain, where emotionless love becomes packaged and bogged down with so much feeling.

His lips ghost over yours and there’s a slight pause in his actions. You turn your head to the side, denying his choking affection before it can drag you further into a spiraling abyss of regret. Annoyance swells in his hazy gaze, but he uses your new position to his advantage.

“It’s cute,” he says in a hushed voice, breath tickling your ear, “how you seem to rid yourself of my gifts as soon as they fall into your hands. I wonder where they’ve gone. Into the harbor? Traded off for food and shelter? Do tell me.”

When his grip on your hip tightens to a threatening degree, you resign yourself, opting to hold your tongue as his pace remains brutally slow. Rather than speaking out of line, you raise your hand to his face, and he clasps your wrist in a forceful hold. 

The look in his eyes is far from loving—it’s that same obsessed expression Childe wore. And even if he still searches for you for reasons other than sex, you’re aware there’s no luck where Scaramouche is concerned. You can run from Childe because he’ll allow it��because he adores the chase—but Scaramouche hardly finds delight in a game of cat and mouse. You should’ve expected this. After all, he is just as conniving as the rest, always inventing new ways to track down and eradicate that peculiar traveler. Of course he would know about how you handle his presents when he isn’t looking because there’s no denying the stern gazes that would pierce through your backside whenever you went to the market.

"I’d never throw them out like that...” you mumble through another soft moan, hoping he’ll just pick up the pace and be done with you. “Your gifts are priceless.”

And yet the price for your own love is so hefty. If he weren’t Fatui, it might be enough to throw him into lifelong debt.

“Is that so? You seem to put a price on them whenever you visit the marketplace.” His fingers grip your chin, forcing you into an inescapable eye contact. “If you enjoy putting prices on items that you claim are priceless, you won’t mind if I collect a refund for your dishonesty.”

“A...refund?” 

Your lustful thoughts evaporate once you realize his pace has become horribly slow, his dick stilling and creating an itch of barely noticeable ecstasy. You wiggle your hips to increase the friction, wanting to get yourself off before his words can sour the mood. Though it’s already spoiled when you recognize the carnal victory shining in his twisted smirk. Your unfortunate fate was sealed the moment you welcomed his company with foolish openness, and you’ve been indebted ever since he decided to spoil you with lavish foods and accessories. 

For love that is far from cheap, interest must be paid and your very being makes for the perfect bargain.

It’s weird when he kisses you on your lips rather than on the parts of your body that are normally obscured with delicate cloth. And it’s even weirder when that metaphorical collar binds your throat in a vice. It’s more harrowing than any sort of debt you might’ve garnered and it’s just as inconvenient as his boyish adoration.

Scaramouche doesn’t have to purchase your flimsy, half-off love when it’s already prepackaged and ready for the taking. 

“You heard me. A refund is hardly enough punishment for a lying brat, but it will have to suffice for now.”

For now.

Spurred on by his own insinuating threats, he seeks to bruise your very insides with thrusts that are filled with physical vexation rather than the emotional ministrations from before. And since you’re so accustomed to him, your greedy hole eagerly welcomes him. 

[voiceless-terror]

I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat. 

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks. 

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked. 

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it. 

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing. 

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up.  He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be. 

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn��t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant. 

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it. 

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is. 

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice.  He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him. 

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.  

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t. 

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

reblogs > likes

[angelguk]

what happens in this section is entirely a result of what guys voted please do not! come for my head in my inbox im begging. very sad in general like Angst with a capital A with a sprinkle of despair and pain. listen to mess it up by gracie abrams. roughly 2k.

(titled — out of line)

You thought Lucas would help, the warmth of his body a distraction from your aching heart, but he didn’t. Not the way you needed him to. He was sweet enough, made you giggle endlessly before finding his place between your thighs. But even with his tongue on your clit, your (now usually sober) mind still lingered on Jeongguk, his memory a stain on your soul. It didn’t help when you spotted him with a girl hanging off his arm, her bright eyes stuck on his face, soaking him in like the earth does the sun. You didn’t know her name – Chayoung took the liberty of whispering it to you after your biology lab. She was Hyeri, a sophomore with a delicate laugh and graceful disposition. That vile vindictive black thing that now inhabited your chest swelled, brain already comparing the differences between you and her. Your clumsiness suddenly felt like a curse, even though Jeongguk had countlessly said he loved you for it (or did he say that just to ease your worries?). Insecurities spring forth like weeds and you don’t have the capacity to keep the careful garden of your heart tended. 

They take over slowly, your eyes stinging whenever you see them huddled together in the quad. Bitter tears blinked back, your blinkered senses overlooking how Jeongguk’s quiet gaze followed your figure whenever you turned your back to him, even with Yoona yapping at his ears. 

Perhaps the despondency that clung to your bones is what led you here, face planted in the musky scent of Namjoon’s sheets, your heart throbbing funny. 

“Can you even breathe?” He questions. The timbre of his voice washes over you, familiar and somewhat reassuring. You twist upright to face him, eyes squeezing tight when the bright fluorescent lights in his room assaults your vision. 

“I was hoping my heart would give up if I held it in long enough.”

Namjoon stills, brown eyes flitting over you. He coughs like he’s working through various sets of words before he decides what’s most suitable. “And then what? I get framed for murder when they find your body here?”

You laugh, and it hurts. “Maybe. My body is very portable though, did you consider first burying me in the backyard?”

“Rookie mistake,” Namjoon returns. He rises to fetch the mugs of tea sitting idle on a stool he’d dragged from the corner of his room. “The sniffer dogs would fly straight to that location. Also, I’d have to dig a hole big enough to fit your head in.”

“And why would the dogs find me immediately?” You say, shuffling upright, palms ready to receive the tepid heat that will seep through the ceramic the moment the cup settles in your hand.

“Your perfume,” Namjoon says. He hands you the mug, heat fulfilling its chosen purpose, the scent of gentle jasmine wafting to your nose.

You pout then, glancing at him. “My perfume?”

“It’s distinct. Violet, right? Maybe vanilla too?” Namjoon says it easily, sinking beside you, utterly unaware of the ticking in your brain. Your gaze falters then, shifting to his broad shoulder and thick biceps. The ivy shirt he’s got on barely contains all that muscle in, fabric stretched thin. 

You take a sip of your tea, and despite the period Namjoon gave it to cool it still scalds your tongue. 

“Why do you know what fragrance I wear?” It comes out accusatory, but Namjoon handles it well, laughing low.

“You’ve had the same one since high-school, I think. And I remember you telling me.”

The fingers around your cup squeeze tight, your brain unlocking a moment you’d forgotten in the wake of brighter ones. A quiet afternoon at the back of your high-school, Namjoon towering over you, his nose trailing the hollow of your neck, a stray comment about how you smelled good washing over you. It was followed by a flustered younger version of you deflecting, heart pounding wild when Namjoon drew back to look at you as you rattled off the different sillages that made up your favourite perfume. He’d laughed, low like did just now, before calling you cute and pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Oh,” you finally murmur. “I remember now.”

You were actually going to change it after your break-up with him, but then Jeongguk had mentioned how much he’d liked it and the bottle had stayed.

Namjoon hums, his gaze slow as it shifts around the room. It’s a space that screams of him, light wood tones and plants breaking from the pristine white walls. Space carved for nature, a grounding sensation living within these four walls – something that seems to live inside of Namjoon too.

“How are you?” He suddenly asks, turning slowly to measure your features. 

You blink hard, only realising then that you’d been staring at his face for a second too long. “F-fine. I’m okay. Just busy, y’know. Finals coming up, planning events; the usual.”

“I know,” Namjoon says with a ginger smile. “But that’s not what I’m asking. How are you? With Jeongguk and everything.”

“Oh.” You can’t answer that, his unexpected brazenness shocking your system. The smile on his lips fades, a solemnness in the brown of his eyes. His next words are earnest, and they settle in the pit of your stomach.

“Y/N, I know you didn’t just come here to chat for no reason. We can talk about Jeongguk, that’s okay.”

“N-no, we don’t need it. We’re over. It’s been two months already. We’re seeing other people and I don’t really want to discuss one of my exes with another one. And maybe I did just come to see you,” you tack on an empty laugh at the end, hoping Namjoon doesn’t read right through you.

But he does. Like a part of you hoped he would.

“I’m your friend, you know. We had something but nothing like what you and Jeongguk have. Two months isn’t going to make a lifetime disappear. It’s okay if you still feel bad.”

That’s what cracks you, a well-aimed hammer knocking your walls right down. You bite your lip hard, fingertips pinching the ceramic in your grasp, and swallow the tears looming in your throat with a choked laugh. 

“I’m fine, Namjoon. I feel a little like shit but I’m working on it. And Lucas is a great guy–”

“But he’s not Jeongguk.” The sentence feels heavy as if it carries the weight of many hearts on it. But it’s also a line you were thinking about earlier, even with Lucas pressed against you.

“That’s not what I would say–”

“But it’s what you were thinking,” Namjoon cuts. Maybe there’s a peephole in your head that only Namjoon has access to. “And that’s fine. It sucks for Lucas, though. But you shouldn’t feel bad for thinking that way. Especially when you know how special Jeongguk is to you.”

Special. The word is bright, glimmering like Jeongguk’s eyes do. 

“I-I just–it just–I don’t know.” The tears you’d attempted to seal inside burst, slipping down your cheeks quiet. Namjoon pry's the mug from your hand, replaces its warmth with his own, and for a split second things feel bearable. 

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, a calloused palm on your damp cheek, his steadiness clearing away the gloomy skies in your head. But he doesn’t tell you to stop crying, doesn’t whisper that it’ll be okay. He just tugs you closer, rests your splinting head on his wide chest, and soaks up the tears on your face with his shirt. Like the earth does for the pouring heavens. 

You eventually hiccup the despair down, finding the words to explain to Namjoon what you were feeling in between the moments where breathing didn’t feel like a race. He takes the news of Jeongguk kissing somebody days after your break-up with wide eyes, his eyebrows drawing together. And then comes the second girl, you don’t even know her name but it still cleaves something out of you. And finally, Hyeri. Her name is a lament.

“And it sucks because he looks happy with her and I still want him to be happy because I still love him. I love him so much it hurts.”

Namjoon cocks his head then, his wide palm sliding down your back. “You think Jeongguk looks happy?”

“Yes?” But it’s a question, your upward gaze on his face imploring.

Namjoon shakes his head instead. You don’t hear it, the following words a deep muffled murmur, “Both of you are idiots.” But you see the twinkle in his eyes and it makes your back straighten.  

You want to pester but Namjoon pulls you closer, and you lose yourself in the feeling of him, before a question can register on your tongue. His arms are huge, like sturdy branches defying the blistering gales of your heart. He lets you cry for a little longer, listening intently to the continuing spew of words from your lips, until the storm quiets into a breeze. 

“Okay?” Namjoon asks.

You stick your head further into his chest, breathe him in deep. “Okay.”

When he shifts away your skin freezes, but then you realise he’s reaching for a blanket. He swathes it around you fondly, pulling you in for a swift hug before falling out of your reach once more. 

“Now, I think we both need a moment to process that.” He’s talking about but you’re not listening, your eyes on his face, gaze gently trailing the curve of his lips. “I also think we need food before we start unpacking the mess you’re in–”

You swallow the sentence with your lips, salt singeing the corners of your mouth. But your movements are not reciprocated, Namjoon’s mouth is still under yours. The soft hand on your neck guiding you away is what pulls you back, right out of that strange dark desperate ocean that held you. 

“Y/N–”

“Sorry, shit–shit, I shouldn’t have done that.” But there’s no use now, you can’t take it back. Namjoon is looking at you with those eyes, the ones that feel like pity. His sympathy suddenly makes you feel sick, and you wish the ceiling would give away and shatter your head. “I should go.” 

He tries to stop you, firm but gentle with his words and hands. But you’re a wild storm again and nothing can stop you from snatching your butterfly tote bag from the floor of his room and fleeing. The black thing that had been subdued for a moment reemergence with vengeance the second you hit the sidewalks, vision reeling. How could you do that? To Namjoon? To the stable friendship you'd created? But he felt too warm, too caring, too much of everything that you longing for and that Lucas could never give you.

Just a reminder of the swimmer's name as you skidding to a halt, the thump in your chest vicious. Maybe Jeongguk was right. Constantly painting yourself the victim while actively hurting the ones around you. Maybe you should have never let him kiss you again on that rooftop. Maybe you should have never tried to love him.

—

It’s silent in your head when you get back to your apartment. Sieun is home, finally back from her trip to her boyfriend’s parents place, so you’re not surprised to hear the soft hum of laughter filtering through the house. You don’t expect to find Chayoung there though. 

They’re huddling in the kitchen, drifting out cheery greetings when you trudge it, only to fall silent when you mumble back a hollow response. A gentle song floating from the radio fills the empty space, three bodies navigating something tense.  

“Were you with Lucas?” Sieun eventually pokes. She’s not a big fan of him. She’s not a big fan of the current break-up between you and Jeongguk either. She’s going to hate you for what you’re about to tell her.

“No,” you mumble. There are twenty notifications flashing across your phone screen, all from Namjoon. You feel sick, and you might cry again.

“Well? What’s with the long face?” Chayoung adds. 

You take a deep breath, gripping the marble counter tight before twisting around. Better to rip it off all at once right? And there’s no way you could hold this inside of you, not when there is barely any room for your broken heart.

“I kissed Namjoon.”

“WHAT?” Sieun’s jaw slams into the ground and Chayoung freezes beside her, like her joints have suddenly been welded together. They stare at you for long you might have grown a second head during it. And then the questions come, a torrent erupting. You blank for a second, and then the guilt crawls up your spine. It may only be thirteen past five in the afternoon but you definitely need a drink.