#remember when we planned a torture thread

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi I saw your Astarion x Tav HC recs are open and personally my Tav is a half elf Selûnite cleric.

I just think its a really sweet matchup- a vampire, a creature of the night, and a cleric that always preferred the night to the day. I’m forever mad that we don’t get to tell him that we prefer the moon to the sun when he apologizes for the fact that he’ll never be able to spend time in the sun with Tav.

Just my two cents I needed to share with someone haha

(can't stop thinking about Astarion praying to Selune. I don't think he will become a devoted selunite but he can find some faith within him)

The text of the prayer comes from Selûnite Prayer Book

Astarion x Cleric of Selûne! Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion is beaten and tortured.

His flesh wounds bleed and his bones are broken.

It's a neverneding hell he can't escape, because he is already dead.

Silently, Astarion prays.

His split lips whisper the words of prayer he once heard in a temple.

Dearest Selûne, our fair maiden, weave our hearts with threads of silver, guide us with the light of the moon, and quench us with the purest of tears.

Astarion doesn't have much hope.

Besides Selûne a human goddess, and Elven gods have long abandoned him.

But-

His prayers are heard this time.

A human woman suddenly feels the urge to go outside. There she meets a young elf - and spends a night with him.

She never asks his name and, in the morning, they part ways forever.

But the woman doesn't leave alone.

She carries a half-elf child in her belly.

Probably, the woman never wanted to have a child, maybe she doesn't want to have a mixed baby or she simply can't care about the newborn.

Or maybe she dies at childbirth like many women do.

Anyway, a little half-elf finds their family among the Clerics of Selûne.

You grow up, knowing no other family but your brothers and sisters in Selune.

With a very firm belief, you are born to serve Our Lady of Silver.

Eventually, you are sent to Baldur's Gate - to join the fight against the Shar adepts.

But you never manage to get to the city as the Mindflayers kidnap you.

Astarion lost all his faith years ago and he doesn't remember ever praying to Selûne, though seeing someone so devoted rubs him the wrong way.

Gods never heard him when he was tortured and abused. Why bother?

But you catch his attention. Maybe it's your willpower, your leadership skills. Maybe your looks. You kind nature.

At first, you are scared of Astarion. Selûne condemns the undead and necromancy - vampires are considered the pure evil who desecrate the world.

But-

No one objects that Cazador is a monster. But Astarion?

He is a thinking feeling creature! He didn't choose this "pure shit". What are you supposed to do him?

No. You know the answer, though some of your sisters would consider it heresy.

Astarion has a choice. If he chooses the path of evil, you will be his enemy. You are a Cleric. You know what is right.

But should he choose a good path, you will be on his side.

And you will do anything in your power to help him.

You give Astarion you blood. You give him your body. Your compassion, your kindness.

You mention him in your prayers.

Astarion doesn't say anything to you about your faith but you know he isn't fond of it.

"I prayed to all the gods, including the Moonmaiden. No one saved me."

You made a deal, as people of different religious views do. He respects your faith, you respect his right not to have one.

Post-game you keep being a Cleric planning on rising through the ranks in the church.

You are a half-elf - you inherited ambitions from your human ancestors.

Astarion is still hesitant - he doesn't want you to spend your life in shadows with him.

"Astarion, I am a Cleric of Selûne, not of Latander. I love night more than day and the Moon more than the Sun. I will be fine"

You will forever remember the shock on his face as he realizes Moon shines for the undead, too.

You travel, helping the Selûnites to restore their organization.

One day during your prayer you notice Astarion standing on his knees with his hands in a gesture of adoration repeating the words after you.

Shadows taunt us. Hear our prayer! Shadows stalk us. Hear our prayer! Shadows wound us. Hear our prayer!

He mostly does it because he knows you like it.

You like when he joins you in your rituals and prayers, when he visits temples with you.

It makes you happy seeing him praying and he does it more and more often.

But one day a weird idea comes to his mind.

He prayed to Selûne once. Many years ago. After one especially brutal torture.

What if-

What if she heard him?

What if she sent him his savior? Her servant, her cleric, her devoted Selûnite?

What if is this half-elf he loves so much, whose body he worships, whose blood is so divine - is the answer?

You wake up to him kissing you. His face is red with tears and he mutters the words of gratitude.

From that day, he changes a bit. It's not like he is a man of god - he is still too rebellious to be a part of the church.

But every cleric of Selûne knows that Astarion the Undead is the man any Selûnite can rely on.

There are many rituals he can't partake in but as they say - Moon shines for everyone.

Astarion starts wearing the Selûnite light armour which looks very beautiful on him. Together you go into the most dangerous places - because you have your own undead to save you.

And every time you go to sleep (even if before that you've had the wildest sex possible). You pray while holding each other in your arms.

Selûne, thou with radiam loom, mend our hearts with threads of silver, heal us with drops of morning dew, and sooth our souls with softest starglow.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[leeannsparksauthor]

How Could I Hurt You?

*SPOILERS FOR DARK URGE PLAY THROUGH*

This one right here is for all the people who wanted a little more angst with their dark urge character. Personally I loved the story for the dark urge but I wish there was more of a reaction from companions at the fact that you died! So here's a little angsty treat for my fellow gamers who've put in over 300 hours into this game.

“I have a gift for you child. You will use it to lacerate this world.” No, the only word that echoed in your mind. You will not accept any gift from your so-called god. There is good in this world and your free mind knows this now. It is evident in the companions you have picked up along this journey. In the love of a pale elf, the kindness of an archdruid and the determination of tieflings. You have felt it in every gentle hug, tender kiss and smile that did not come from the release of death. 

“No, no, for once I’m free! I have seen life, I’ve seen beauty! I have loved, I have been loved…and I am never giving that back!” Fuck your god, fuck destiny, fuck everything that came before. The autonomy of your body was suddenly stripped away as you were raised into the air by invisible claws. Back breaking under the force answered only by cruel laughter.

“Can we kill this little freak!” The vampire spawn was ready to rush forward and imbed his knife into the puppet pulling the strings. You knew that he would be killed if he so much as put a kink in the plans of the cruel god. 

“Karlach…keep him away!”

Your father laughed at the weakness you showed so openly. “What a disappointing spawn you’ve become, my most promising, possessed by pathetic emotions. I remember when the very act of murder reflected in your gaze, oh the terror you inspired, the horror.”

The words Astarion spoke to his former master echoed within your mind, giving you courage, determination. “I am so much more than what you made me.”

“You are nothing without me, child. What I have given freely and what you have rejected most unknowingly I will take back. I will give you back to the rotting earth you hold so dearly, nothing but a dead fool, food for the worms. Even below the ground you will still feel the blood I rain upon this world, the fire that will consume the forests you called home. Your blood is mine and I will see it returned.”

You could feel the very blood he spoke of fall from your eyes like scarlett tears, your breath trapped inside your lungs begging to escape. The taste of copper fills your mouth as it dribbles down your chin. You’ve never felt so cold before, even in the harshest of winters. Bones seemed to snap and then as if clutched in a grasp of fury your heart shattered within your chest a silent scream caught in your throat. It was instant death but somehow still prolonged beyond the mortal plane.

There was no more chanting within the Bhall temple, no foreign word. Yet the scent of blood still lingered, the screams of your name like an echo being absorbed into the walls. 

You watched events unfold outside of your body and wondered if this is what all of your victims experienced after their death. Or if this torture was designed just for you by the lord of murder himself. 

Astarion had rushed over as soon as your body fell to the cold stone below. His hands cradling your body with a fierce protectiveness you had never seen before. His hands searched for a pulse, something, any sign of life you would give him. “Karlach give me a bloody scroll!”

“Astarion it won’t work…” she was right, it won’t. She had seen first hand instant death at the hands of devils, like a thread cut with a pair of scissors. 

“You don’t fucking know that, we have to try! Halsin do something you useless druid! Darling, look at me, please, please. I promised, I promised it wouldn’t have you my love, please…” Oh what you would give to embrace him, comfort him.

Light illuminated the blood that stained your face, warmth from Halsin’s palm, the warmth of nature itself. It would do nothing for you now. “Oak Father, hear me, aid me, protect this child of Silvanus.” The light flickered, a soft breeze tussling the hair surrounding your body. You had never seen such sadness on Halsin’s face, not even when his grove was threatened or when all hope had seemed lost in the darkness of the shadow curse. His hand engulfed the one that rested limply by your body, “forgive me my heart.” He brought the hand to his lips, warmth against deadly cold skin. 

“Your god is as useless as the rest of them! Potions, Karlach in my bag, hurry please…” his words were cut short as the large tiefling cradled the back of your head. Her forehead came to rest against yours, horns knocking against the ones atop your head. Soft lips brushed across the place where lines and creases would form the most.

“Rest easy Soldier…I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Get away! Fuck you, fuck all of you, we have to help them, there must be something…” as if a candle had been extinguished so did his fight. “No, no…oh darling…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry my love, my light. Forgive me, please come back, I promise I’ll keep you safe please come back, don’t leave me, please.” They would tell stories about you, the hero who sacrificed everything to save Baulders Gate. Would they tell of the love you got to experience before it all ended? Would they speak of the friends you made? The adventures you had? 

Would they speak of the man who emerged from his crypt only to enter a temple and offer a choice?

The hardest choice you would ever have to make. Only it’s not a difficult one is it? After all it’s only one more battle until the rest of your life. Yours now, no one else's. You could close your eyes forever, spare yourself the view, the consequences. 

When the breath was returned to your lungs and the shattered pieces of your heart put back together one by one your body lurched forward with the first sight of your new life. 

Cool lips pressed against yours, fangs almost puncturing skin with the ferocity of a lover who held death in his arms. Words whispered against your mouth, “don’t you ever fucking do that to me again.”

A small, breathless laugh, ���how could I leave my little star behind?” How could you leave this behind?

[ofswordsandpens]

racked my brain and the only time i can remember percy worrying about physically hurting annabeth before this is when he blew up mt st helens—he says he wasn’t sure she “made it out of the volcano”, and she’s the first thing he asks hephaestus about on ogygia. it seems like regular worry to me, although i think you could read guilt between the lines, and he’s more overwhelmed when he learns how big the eruption he caused was. i don’t know if rr was particularly thinking about this at the time but it would make sense as a traumatic event that sparked this fear of not being in control of his powers/feeling guilt/self-loathing about the possibility he could hurt his friends, and then the events of hoo really making it an issue. (the thread between this + thinking he deserves to die because he lost control and tortured akhkys which scared annabeth + thinking “i will never forgive myself” because he lost control and potentially hurt annabeth… aaaagh.)

yes yes yes mt st helens is a great point and I completely agree with you, that I would almost qualify it more like a regular worry because I think the distinction between this moment and the moment in cotg for me is that Percy had specifically told Annabeth to leave and go to safety, and its not like he (or anyone) knew what he was going to accidentally do, but I felt there was an argument to be made that he knew it was going to get nasty (as both him and annabeth recognized on some level that he was likely going to die there)??? And the shocker was not just him losing control but the scale of him losing control and that scale of power is what endangered Annabeth, despite his warning for her to leave. Meanwhile, in cotg, Percy loses it and controls millions of metric tons of river water and Annabeth is just, chilling on a ledge that's close enough where he had regularly been remarking on her expressions and what she had been doing in the paragraphs prior. (Honestly, he's really lucky that nothing happened to her.) So I guess its the proximity of annabeth to Percy in these moments that makes them more distinct in my eyes, if that makes any sense at all. And as soon as Percy comes back to himself in cotg, he's immediately like "oh shit did I just kill annabeth?" and it's not even him overreacting, the scene reads like he really could have, which is absolutely WILD for RR to throw in there.

The other part in pjo that I was debating if you could qualify is the death of Michael Yew because Percy was the one inadvertently responsible for it. Despite how much the pjo wikia wants to gaslight me about Michael Yew's death, its literally a canon example of Percy accidentally killing a friend as a byproduct of his powers. But like, Percy didn't lose control or "snap" in that scene, using his powers had been very intentional, it was again, the scale and the fallout that had led to Michael's death. And then Percy never thinks about it again.

But literally yes, in a perfect world where Riordan was planning all of this out and actually connected these moments with intention, mt st helens being the traumatic event that sparked the fear of not being in control of powers make SO MUCH SENSE. And since Riordan does want to characterize percy as feeling guilty and worrying about the possibility of hurting his friends, I feel like guilt over Michael Yew's death is just, sitting right there for the taking

ugh I know im rambling but there's just so much for RR to purposefully connect but instead its as if he's treating these moments where Percy snaps/loses controls/hates himself/worries about hurting others as separate, unrelated incidents while we the readers are seeing how all these events would realistically be influenced by one another and are compounding/piling on top of Percy and getting worse. It IS all connected.

[theladyofbloodshed]

You're The Closest To Heaven I'll Ever Be - Chapter 11

Azriel this chapter

Warm sunlight found its way through the thin, white drapes. It highlighted the floating specks of dust in the cosy bedroom. Azriel tried to move, but pain lanced through his chest. His fingers sought out the wound that was packed with gauze. The ash arrow that had pierced him had nearly killed him. It would scar too. Another ugly memento of his life. There was little else to show for it.

He glanced about the room. It wasn’t his bedroom, but he knew it to be the town house – which meant they were back in Velaris. Hopefully, safe.

‘Finally awake,’ said Mor.

She leaned against the doorway, a relieved smile upon her face. There were shadows beneath her eyes, likely from sleepless nights.

‘How long have I been out?’

‘Four days, Az.’

Four days? Azriel remembered none of it. After being hit with the ash arrow, everything had gone blank. Wincing, he forced himself to sit up. The whole room spun from the effort.

‘We all got out?’

‘You owe Cass a drink,’ she replied, humour not quite making it to her voice. ‘He threw himself in front of you when the king launched his magic at us.’

Guilt wrenched his gut. ‘He’s alright?’

‘Wings are shredded. Madja is visiting him twice daily. He can’t fly yet, but she’s hopeful. He’s in the room next door, probably still sulking that you got the better bed.’

There was no time to lounge in bed. From Mor’s guarded expression, he knew there was more to it - more to everything – that he needed to uncover. Uneasily, Azriel threw one leg out of the bed to settle his bare foot on the soft carpet below. The whole motion racked him with pain.

‘Rhys? Feyre?’

Mor worried her lower lip. From her expression, he knew she wished she hadn’t come to his room. Azriel knew he was intense. He had always been that way. It had always unnerved her to be alone with him for long.

‘Feyre’s in Spring. Tamlin took her.’

‘What the fuck? Then we go now and we get her back.’

Her hands were splayed in a poor attempt at calming him. ‘Az, we can’t. Rhys is desperate to go, but we have to be diplomatic. We have to plan it carefully.’

‘He has taken Rhysand’s mate.’

‘Tamlin is working with Hybern. Hybern’s forces are already arriving on the border. We cannot go there yet.’

Azriel swore. His shadows were reluctant to come out around Mor; they knew she did not favour them. It meant he had to force himself onto his feet unaided and unsteady. The loose-fitting bottoms would have to do. Azriel yanked open one of the chestnut wooded drawers in search of a garment to throw on top. These were Rhys’ clothes but as long as they had slits for his wings, he didn’t care. When he lifted his arms up to pull the top on, there was an altogether different pain ripping through his body. It reminded him of a bang on glass that sent cracks slithering through it. Another hit and he’d crumble.

‘What is to stop Hybern from tearing down the Wall and sweeping into the mortal lands?’ His voice was hard and sharp, a whetted blade aching for blood. ‘Have we secured the mortal sisters?’

If they hadn’t, Azriel would go straight there and carry them back to Velaris whether they wanted to or not. He would not let them suffer at the hands of Hybern’s barbarians. The sort of torture they would endure would make even him sick.

Mor’s voice came out as a whisper. ‘You don’t remember anything.’

She took a step out of the room, discomfort making her grimace.

‘Mor.’

The tone of his voice made her flinch. Once, he might have apologised. Might have savoured the chance to be close and offer comfort. Azriel felt like a thread pulled too tight, the fibres threatening to snap at every moment. He could not be soft and kind, couldn’t be what Mor wanted him to be right now.

‘Hybern stole the sisters. The king had them put in the Cauldron.’

‘Dead?’

He tracked the bob of her throat as she swallowed.

‘They’re at the House of Wind.’

Too late, too late. Those words echoed in his mind as he staggered forwards into a blur of shadows. They whisked him away, high, high into the air before dropping him above the wards that cradled the House of Wind to prevent winnowing in. Azriel’s wings lurched open with a snap, but his reactions were delayed from his injury. The cold wind whipped at his face and he landed hard on the roof. Another bite of pain shot through his knees from the force.

Too late, too late.

He had vowed to protect them. Promised himself that he would keep them safe.

Without knowing why, he aimed straight for the bedroom on the lower floor, right at the end. His heart was calling him to it.

The door was locked. He shook the handle, tried to force it open over and over, then let out a noise of frustration when it wouldn’t bend to his unyielding will. His scarred knuckles played a frantic rhythm on the door.  

‘Please, open. I know you’re there.’ His voice was hoarse. It barely sounded like him. It was so raw and desperate like a fresh wound. ‘Nesta. Nesta, please.’

The surge of adrenaline that had carried him to the House of Wind faded. Azriel pressed his head to the wooden door and closed his eyes to stop his surroundings from spinning. The ache in chest was unbearable. He knew what it was. Should have known from that first moment in the mortal dining room when her lips had quirked at him and his heart was squeezed from it. Nesta Archeron was his mate. And he had failed her when it mattered most.

‘Az.’

Mor’s voice sounded from the corridor. She beckoned for him to follow, but he was too unsteady. She hooked an arm around him to guide him away to the lounge where he practically collapsed on the green crouch.

‘You’ve trapped them here.’

‘I’ve been coming as often as I can. You’ve both been unconscious. Rhys is wracked with worry and I’ve been trying to stop him from razing the Spring Court to the ground. Amren has been ruling in his stead. I’m exhausted, Azriel.’ Mor threw herself down in the chair beside him. ‘They won’t come out, won’t even speak to me. What am I supposed to do?’

Force open the fucking door, he thought.

‘Come on. I’ll winnow you back to the house.’

Azriel set his jaw. ‘I’m staying here.’

‘There is no point. They will not leave the room.’

‘How do you know they’re not fucking dead in there?’

Mor threw her arms up as she stood, a scowl on her lips. ‘You have no idea what these last few days have been like for me. You can be an insensitive prick sometimes.’

She was still muttering curses as she stalked back up the stairs. Once upon a time, Azriel would have got to his knees and begged her for forgiveness, but it wasn’t her forgiveness he needed to earn.

***

Loud. Everything was loud. The sound of her heart. The sound of Elain’s.

The eternal thrum of them made Nesta sick.

Nesta had tried to open the window, but the height had made her uneasy then the sounds of the city below were loud enough to be beside her.

Everything was too bright, too loud, too much.

Her limbs were too long, movements too quick.

Nesta pressed herself against the wall, sucking in breaths to calm her racing heart that sounded like a thunderclap in her head.

Each time that Azriel hammered on the door, it was akin to hammering against her temples. She’d wanted to scream at him for the noise, wanted to wrap a pillow over her head and rage until her throat bled. She could hear him arguing with Morrigan, every word crisp and clear, as if it was in the same room that she resided.

All Elain did was sleep. She slept now, despite the noise. Slept deeply as one enchanted. Day or night, she remained in the bed, sleeping, always sleeping.

The healer had seen them on their first night, when they were still wet and shaking from the Cauldron that had stolen their lives, and declared they were the healthiest they had ever been.

‘Nothing is wrong with them,’ she had said.

Everything was wrong. Everything was wrong.

Nothing would ever be right again.

***

After forcing food that tasted like ash down his throat, Azriel remained sat on the floor outside of their bedroom. Occasionally, he heard the soft step of Nesta’s feet. Heard her breathing. There were never any words exchanged between the sisters. Never an attempt to leave the bedroom. They were entombed in it. Two sisters trapped for an eternity as the things they hated.

It was growing dark when Rhys appeared a few feet from him. His own demons plagued him; Azriel knew it from the unkempt hair, the unshaven face, and shadowed eyes.

‘They won’t come out, Az. Not even for a pretty face like yours.’

‘Why aren’t they in the river house?’

Why have you hidden them away here like something rotten, something to be forgotten.

‘When Feyre became high fae, everything was loud, she said. They need to adjust to their heightened senses. It would be too much to put them in the river house. They’re safe here.’

Azriel shook his head in disagreement. The House of Wind was a prison to sisters without wings or the ability to winnow. Ten thousand steps were a punishment that would break even him.

‘You don't have to sit here and punish yourself. None of this is your fault, Az. You were hit. It was an ambush. We’re lucky you’re still with us.’

Azriel threw Rhys’ hand off of his shoulder. It was his fault. He was the one who provided the intel. The one who had watched the meticulous change of the guards each night, passed along every scrap of information that his spies had gleaned like a good, little spy.

‘I should have been at the house instead. I should have protected them.’

Rhys gave a slow shake of his head. ‘Then you’d be dead.’

‘I’d be a martyr rather than a failure.’

[theteasetwrites]

Ink

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 9/10 interim (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: none! ❧ Word Count: 3.2k

❧ Summary: Daryl hasn't been acting quite like himself recently. Perhaps it's a mid-life crisis, and perhaps he's got an itch to get some new ink.

❧ A/N: The story of how Daryl got his rabbit tattoo in The Beginning series! Once again, this is a oneshot that takes place in the canon of my Daryl x Reader series, The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning, so I recommend reading that too (if you want, it's really long so no pressure—you can still read this by itself and understand what's going on). Also, this does differ a bit from the canon of the actual show because I am pretty sure we don't see Daryl with his rabbit tattoo until late season 10, but I couldn't figure out a way to justify why Daryl got himself a tattoo literally in the middle of the battle with the Whisperers (lol, thanks for ruining the continuity of the show Norman) so I had him get the tattoo in the period between season 9 and season 10 when they aren't quite yet in the war with the Whisperers. Hope that makes sense! Enjoy.

Daryl had told you each and every story behind each and every tattoo adorning his body. When you met him, he’d had about six. They weren’t particularly big or flashy. Most of the time they were covered by his clothes, but you had the distinct privilege of knowing each one intimately, of tracing the lines of faded black ink embedded in his tanned, worn skin. 

The image of two demons taking flight on his back was your favorite. He apparently barely remembered getting it, as he was plastered drunk when he stumbled into some grungy, dimly-lit tattoo parlor in Atlanta when he was only twenty-five years old. 

“Did it hurt?” you had once asked him, in all your innocence. It must’ve been years ago, certainly before Robin was born.

“Nah,” he had said, though you didn’t believe him. How couldn’t it hurt? A sharp, tiny needle threading ink into your skin’s dermis for hours on end? Surely, it would’ve been torturous. “Only stings a little, then you get used to it till it’s over.”

“God, I could never,” you replied. “I would be crying.”

He had looked at you with that mischievous raised eyebrow, the kind of look he rarely gave anyone else. Everyone else usually either got a look of ambivalence, or a look of disdain—there was no in between.

“You’d look good with one on your back,” he said, eliciting a scoff from you. “One right above your ass.”

“Excuse me?” you laughed. “You mean a tramp stamp?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, a crooked smile tearing beautifully into his face. “You said it, not me.”

Now that Daryl was spending more time at home, as winter still had a faint, but potent, grasp on the outside world, allowing a slow and steady transition into spring, you’d found him often looking at the bare skin of his right forearm, as if longing for something other than the olive-toned, work-worn flesh of a forty-seven-year-old man. 

It wasn’t lost on you, either, that Daryl had begun experiencing what you liked to call his mid-life crisis, though he just liked to think he was more worried than usual—worried about the Whisperers, about the food situation, about fortifying Alexandria in case Alpha and her herd just decided to storm the gates on a whim. 

Just earlier that morning you had watched him rise from his slumber, sitting on the edge of the bed and lazily tracing his left index finger over that same spot on his right forearm, where you now wondered if he was planning something.

Despite the fact that the world as he and you had known it was gone, Daryl still clung to one part of his life from before that he just couldn’t shake: those little tattoos. 

He’d nearly perfected the art of stick-and-poke, having inked on the back of his right hand the doodle of a cartoon skull he’d once drawn on a yellow lined legal pad just about a year before Robin was born. You remembered watching in abject horror for the first few minutes he was jabbing himself with that little ink-drenched needle, how you couldn’t believe he had not even winced at the feeling. 

Ink fever hadn’t forsaken him after that, it had only stoked a fire. He tattooed a few little X’s between his knuckles, and even one near his collarbone. He filled his pores with black ink just under his right wrist with a stylized “50,” as if a reminder of almost how long he’d been walking around on this God-forsaken rock we call Earth. 

You didn’t mind these little etchings, so long as Daryl didn’t hurt himself in his midlife crisis-induced tattoo spree, and so far, he hadn’t. You figured it was a good way for him to express himself, and you could appreciate the artistic ability that went into those quirky little doodles he gave himself on occasion. Still, that blank space on his forearm worried you. 

The other tattoos he’d done on a whim, without much thought and with a whole lot of that famous Dixon impulse that could either get him killed or keep him alive. Either way, he was impulsive at times, reckless, even, but this time, that wasn’t what worried you: it was the way he pondered that untouched piece of skin, the way he had been studying the space for months now. 

It worried you because you couldn’t figure out what he was planning, and you knew from that look, that slight quirk of his lips, that deep furrow in his brow, that he was planning something, and when it came to tattoos, he had always been so spontaneous, so whatever it was, it had consumed him.

While five-year-old Robin busied herself by stomping around in a rain puddle, you pruned the dead buds off the rose bush in front of your home. All the while you were sure to cut the most beautiful specimens for your vase on the dining room table. It was a typical mid-March morning, giving way to afternoon as the sun routinely made an appearance whenever the fluffy grey rain clouds decided to let it shine before engulfing it once again.

Daryl had left early that morning. To where, you weren’t entirely sure. It wasn’t like him not to leave a note, but he hadn’t been completely acting like himself lately, mostly due to the stress of the lingering threat of the Whisperers, so you figured you’d cut him some slack just this once, though you were worried, as usual.

“It’s sprinkling!” cried Robin, who, when you turned to look at her, was facing the sky and hanging her tongue out to catch the tiny raindrops. 

Lightweight beads of water soon turned into globs that pelted the ground, and though Robin was dressed head-to-toe in her matching yellow raincoat, hat, and boots ensemble, you couldn’t help but cry out to her with motherly concern.

“Come on,” you said, making your way up the steps of the porch. “Inside before you catch a cold.”

“But Mommy—”

“No ‘but Mommy’s’,” you said sternly, holding your hand out to her. Surely, you weren’t always the pushover, lenient parent. That was usually Daryl, and even he was terrified of your precious child catching a cold in this weather. “Come on.”

She splashed through a few more puddles on her way to the porch, then reluctantly took your hand as you guided her short legs up the stairs. “Wait,” she said. “Where’s Dog?”

You both looked around, suddenly aware of the lack of the loyal family canine’s presence. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” you said. “He’ll come in the doggy door, chipmunk. Let’s get inside.”

Dog made himself known when his bark rang out amongst the harsh pitter patter of rain. Looking up from Robin’s hand in yours, you saw the black and brown animal bolting towards the house, and Daryl not too far behind, struggling to keep up with him.

“Hi, Daddy!” squeaked Robin eagerly. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he panted.

Under the porch, both Dog and Daryl shook out their shaggy, drenched hair in a strange kind of unison, stray explosions of water splashing you and Robin as you laughed. 

“You’re soaking,” you said, watching him trudge into the house, stumbling around as he took off his muddy boots all the while.

“‘M fine,” he huffed. 

“Mhm,” you mumbled sarcastically, closing the front door behind yourself, Robin, and Dog, whose fur was also soaking wet. You quickly retrieved a towel from the closet beneath the stairs, and rushed over to throw it over his head. 

“Goddamnit, woman.”

“Stop fussing,” you said. “I’m not having you ruin the wood floor.”

Robin followed suit, running with a spring in her step to the closet and pulling out another towel to dry off Dog. “I got Dog, Mommy,” she called out, and you giggled to yourself at her sense of responsibility, which she surely inherited from you. 

After massaging your hands over the towel on his head, sufficiently drying his hair, you lifted the fabric to reveal Daryl’s scrunched up face. At least it was clean, you supposed, not covered in dirt as it often was. 

“There,” you said, tucking chunks of his damp bangs behind his ears. “Now change your clothes. I’ll hang them up to dry.”

He scoffed as he headed up the stairs, though he couldn’t deny the sense of order you provided him in his life, even if you were a little bossy at times. He knew it was for his own good. “Yes, ma’am.”

For the remaining few hours of that rainy morning, Robin had decided to spend her time inside with Lydia, who had reluctantly agreed to play Barbies with her. You checked on them in her room just before crossing over to your own bedroom, where you found Daryl’s back facing the door, his shirt removed and his head hanging low as he seemed to be examining something.

You raised an eyebrow, since he hardly seemed to even notice your presence before you cleared your throat. It wasn’t like him at all to be so unobservant, so you were sure he was hiding something from you.

He looked your way before bending over to pick up his clean button-up shirt from the bed, his back still facing you. When he spoke, there was a quiver in his voice, though he tried to hide it with that deep, guttural grunting of his. “I, uh… Ahem, I jus’ left the wet clothes in the bathroom.”

You tilted your head, as if to get a look at whatever he kept looking at. “Everything all right?”

“Mhm,” he grunted with a nod of his head. “Jus’ fine.” He hurriedly began to put on his shirt, though he struggled with the sleeves as he tried to unbutton them in an attempt to let the fabric conceal his forearm. “Damnit.”

You laughed and shook your head as he fumbled with the tiny button between his thick, bulky fingers. “Let me help, honey.”

“N-no,” he said, stepping away from you. “I got it.”

You huffed in slight annoyance now. He always let you help him with his shirts, and suddenly he wasn’t? Something must’ve been really wrong. “What has gotten into you?”

He peeked his face over his shoulder to glance your way, a strange look of guilt in his eyes. He hated keeping things from you, even such comparatively little things like this. “‘M sorry,” he said, all the grit in his voice turning to mush underneath your gentle gaze. Indeed, you, too, couldn’t help but melt when he looked at you that way, when his voice broke and he let you see his more vulnerable side. He was always more like a rose than a thorn, you thought, even if others saw him differently.

“Don’t be sorry,” you sighed, stepping closer until you could rest your hand upon his shoulder. “Just talk to me, hon. I feel like you’ve been so… lost in your head lately. Is there something on your mind?”

For your part, you always had this lingering insecurity, this feeling that Daryl would leave you for another woman, or that he was already seeing someone else, but in the depths of your soul, where he’d planted that undying seed of loyalty in the fertile soil of your heart, you knew he’d never do such a thing. It wasn’t in his nature—he was too loyal to his loved ones, his family. Still, there was something on his mind. That much you knew.

He huffed and turned slowly to face you, his shirt hanging loosely unbuttoned over his torso. “Guess I can’t hide it from you for long,” he said. “Wanted to wait till it healed to show ya, but…”

He held out his right arm, revealing a large strip of sheer plastic wrap, covering his raw, reddened skin, and a new tattoo: a rabbit in mid hop, clear as day.

Your eyes widened, feeling somewhere between surprised and not surprised at all. While you had suspected he’d been thinking about another tattoo, you had no idea it would look like this. It was different from anything else he had given himself. In fact, you were sure he couldn’t have done this one himself, since it was much too detailed to have been a stick-and-poke, and much too neat to have been done with his non-dominant left hand. 

You found yourself entranced by the intricate shading, the attention to detail that made the rabbit so realistic, so lifelike. The style was unique, too, with a pattern of overlapping circles making up the lower half of the rabbit’s body, and one circle drawn around the creature’s head, almost akin to a halo. You became so fascinated by it that you took his hand in yours and stepped closer to study it.

“You mad?”

His words awoke you from your trance. “Um, no,” you said. “N-no, I’m just confused. How did you get this done?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Syd used to be a tattoo artist,” he said. “Been talkin’ about doin’ somethin’ there for a while. He finally got this tattoo gun workin’, wanted to try it out on me… Sorry, I shoulda told ya.”

You smiled and shook your head. “It’s fine,” you said. “He did a good job. It’s beautiful. I love these little details with the circles. But… Why a rabbit?”

He lowered his head bashfully, hoping to hide the slight blush on his cheeks as he thought about what the tattoo meant to him, about why he refused to tell Syd the meaning behind it, even if it was quite simple. It was still special to him, more special than anything else he had permanently painted on his body.

“Well, uh… Ya know, ‘cause… ‘Cause you and Robin like rabbits.”

You beamed at him, though he couldn’t see your smile as he still hung his head, looking at his new tattoo and studying it himself as he rambled on. “So I guess it’s like a, uh, I—I dunno. It’s sorta… for you and her. And neither of you ever eat my rabbits I bring home, and Robin’s got ‘er little white bunny she likes to sleep with. And you’re always talkin’ about that rabbit you used to have, how much you loved it. So it’s for you and Robin.”

If anyone could make you break out into a deliriously happy cry, it was Daryl. He could never quite wrap his head around the concept, but you had the art of the happy cry down to an exact science by now, and of course, this was the perfect occasion to break down in euphoric tears. 

No one had ever dedicated something so beautiful to you, no one had ever injected ink into their skin to immortalize you for as long as his heart pumped blood to that arm to keep the flesh alive, no one had ever shown how much they loved you with such a grand gesture.

“Oh, Daryl,” you laughed through your tears. His head lifted when he heard the shaking in your voice, and he immediately thumbed at your tears as they began to fall. He might’ve been immune to the pain of a needle embedding ink into his skin, but he certainly wasn’t strong enough to see you cry, no matter how happy you were. “You dedicated a tattoo to me?”

“Well, yeah,” he answered, as if it was obvious he would do such a thing. “You and Robin, you’re everything to me… My girls. I’d do anything for you. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you cried, gently wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him close to you. He carefully wrapped his left arm around your back, keeping his right arm outstretched so as not to disturb the sensitive, newly-tattooed flesh. You felt his lips on your neck, leaving a sweet kiss there. “And I love your tattoo. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

You pressed a firm kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at his arm once more, the redness and swelling slightly worrying you, even though you knew it was only normal. “Does it hurt?” you asked. “Do you need anything, sweetheart? Some aspirin or something? Or, um… ice? I still don’t know how tattoos work.”

He shook his head in amusement. “Nah, jus’ some Vaseline will be fine. I can put it on myself.” You tilted your head at that, narrowing your eyes at him as if to protest such a thing. “Or you can do it.”

That made the smile return to your face. “Good. Let me take care of you.”

Indeed, you did take care of him. Probably more than he needed, but the rain continued on for the rest of the day, shutting you all inside without much else to do but dote on Daryl, whose new tattoo quickly became the talk of the Dixon household. Robin begged once again for a real rabbit, despite Daryl’s insistence that his tattoo was about as close as your family would get to having a pet bunny, and Lydia asked a myriad of questions about the experience of being tattooed. Even Dog seemed to notice the change, sniffing Daryl’s forearm much more than he usually did.

When it was time for bed, you took a glob of Vaseline and rubbed it gently into his skin above the new ink, much to his amusement as he watched you nurse him. 

“What?” you asked, feeling his gaze on. 

“Nothin’,” he chuckled under his breath. “You’re jus’ real cute when you take care of me.”

“Well, I must always be cute then, since I’m always taking care of you, mister.” You turned to place the tub of Vaseline on the bedside table, and dimmed the lantern before tucking yourself into bed next to him.

“Mm, you are always cute.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tugging your body closer until you rested your head upon his chest, as was routine now. Nearly ten years of falling asleep to the steady beat of his heart, and it still never got old. You knew it never would. “Be cute with a tattoo above your ass, too. I’d take care of it for ya.”

You rolled your eyes and raised your hand to flick his nose, your way of playfully punishing his slightly lewd comment. “Oh, and Syd would do my tramp stamp, I’m assuming?”

A sudden wave of realization washed over him, and he instinctively clutched you tighter as his muscles strained at the thought of his neighbor getting his hands on your lower back. “Nah,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh, really?” you laughed. “And what exactly should I get on my lower back? Maybe a butterfly? Or a flower? Hm, maybe I’ll just get your name, huh? Daryl just above my butt in pretty cursive font.”

He smiled to himself, eyes closed as he sunk further into his pillow. “Sounds good to me. Or maybe you could get my name right here.” He traced his finger over the slope of your breast on the outside of your pajamas. 

You huffed and swatted his hand away. Playfully, of course. “Don’t push it.”

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Masterlist

[sealer-of-wenkamui]

Obligatory Danzou’s interlude post because it’s one of my favorite parts of fgo, they really made an interlude just for me, with a large focus on Limbo’s obsession with her (this is an abridged version of the full 70+ message discord thread I made lol)

The fic I always talk about actually has a section that takes place directly before this interlude, showing one of her daydreams which I really like…

Anyway, da Vinci’s comments about Danzou are interesting in that even a genius like her doesn’t exactly know how she works, so I’d imagine Limbo is the second most knowledgable after Kashin Koji themself and maybe the first Fumma too

This interlude also emphasizes that this Danzou knows nothing of Shimousa cause she’s PHH Danzou, so once again the fact that she has a fear of the dark sun stands out to me as Limbo hurting her to such a degree that this Servant version of her fears it despite not remembering him. And I wonder if the virus itself played a role too.

It’s not Limbo proper or even a shikigami but the virus still acts just like him, and it just makes me wish for a scene in Heian-kyo where he tortures Danzou, we could still save her cause as he says, he’s the type to give someone a long agonizing death not kill right away… and especially with his fixation. Also his threat to guda here resembles the materials book line a lot as he’s threatening to keep them beteeen life and death (though I imagine the overt rape threat was too much for the game’s rating)

I really want to see moonflower animated, or at least an illustration cause I love how it sounds… and she talks about it being a cruel technique she dislikes… love how both times she uses it it’s on Limbo

This part with Holmes having known the intention was to restore Danzou’s memory apparently gets taken out of context because even the preceding line here is him saying that it does not tell us why he did it. I find it insulting to her character to try and claim Limbo legitimately wanted to help when right after this he explains his motives and they’re the height of cruelty. With Shimousa backing him up that he means his words, not that he’s one to lie about such things. For the hundredth time, he let her get attached to her companions, forced her body to attempt to kill them, blew her up, and all while mocking her for thinking she had free will and telling her how he screwed with her mind. Also he didn’t even restore her full memory, just let her choose the most precious one to serve his own purpose of learning what it is she cares about most so he can take it from her.

Usually motherly characters don’t interest me much but there’s something about Danzou and Kotarou that’s so good…. A doll that thinks she’s just a machine to pass on the Fuuma arts and hates herself to the point she hides away from the sun, and the boy who treated her as a human and decided she was his mom now, and she was the one person he opened up to… also he too has his whole oni blood thing and in a my room line he’ll talk about how he’s a wretch… so them finding each other is so sweet… it’s good!!!

Best part is the final part though, and it demonstrates a lot of why I’m so obsessed with LimDan. The fact that he goes to so much effort to hunt down another version of the doll he found in Shimousa, give her a virus to restore a single memory so he knows how best to devastate her, then tell her to her face his plans to do so… that’s the sort of fixation I love!! And that he doesn’t seem to hate her necessarily, but he certainly doesn’t love her either, it’s just an obsessive desire to hurt cause he enjoys it, which ultimately stems from his hatred and envy of Seimei, who he can’t surpass, so he goes off mocking and hurting everyone else. And someone like her who reminds him of Seimei is especially pleasurable to hurt so he develops this sort of fixation on her and goes way out of his way to hurt her as much as possible! What the fuck I love it so much. Also I love how he switches entirely to calling her creepy pet names post-Shimousa.

This is a fantastic setup for Heian-kyo too, which makes it all the more frustrating that it completely fumbled everything it was given… the beginning of Heian-kyo has Sion stating that the only two Servants that will have no trouble rayshifting are Danzou and Kotarou. He’s following through on the threats he made here in her interlude… only for them to give some flimsy excuse for Kotarou not to make it and not even have Danzou talk to him much at all… Heian-kyo beginning is also fantastic and promises so much only for it to drop it all as you get to the middle and end… her killing Limbo is exactly how it should be but where was all their conversation leading up to it? It should have been a Danzou-centric chapter and I’ll stand by this, she’s the one most hurt by him.

[doctorharleenquinn]

new fan theory: batman always knew.. hence why the joker lived..

the only thing that I've seen that makes sense with alfred admitting to being the joker because this theory has struck a lot of conversation in the fandom with some believing it in some thinking alfred is lying for a cover-up from what I've seen.. some think that this is accurate and some think it's just a lie to cover up a bigger picture from what I've seen in fandom threads, however the one thing that stands out that just hit me is no matter how much evil the joker does batman never kills him. why is that? after everything he has done the joker lives and let us not forget that in batman versus superman bruce wayne as batman was actually seen killing people so batman does not 💯 follow his own code of morals that he has placed for himself.. so let's think you for a minute. why would he let the joker live after he's tortured his wards jason todd and tim drake, shot his wife Talia al ghul, bombed hospitals, murdered his friend rachel..not only have countless civilians been pray to the joker but numerous people who have been important people in bruce wayne's wife have died because of this one person yet so lets the joker live.. this right here showcases that batman has a theory in the back of his mind on who the joker's true identity really is.. the one person he would never murder because of how much he meant to him is alfred.. in the comics from what I remember batman was seen in the heat of the moment saying things to alfred and attacking him when he came out in the open with it however he did not kill alfred if I recall even with alfred admitting to the riddler being an old theater friends and many other staged instances including himself being the joker..after all of this being admitted from alfred's mouth and Bruce going over the edge he still did not kill alfred..this in theory shows that Batman and Bruce Wayne in the back of their brain always had a thoughts of it possibly being their most trusted friend, they're most trusted butler, they're most trusted authority figure who raised them when they had no other person to be there in that department..

new fan theory: batman is the real villain..

we all know batman is the greatest detective in the world.. so if we have a possibility of Batman knowing alfred could have been the joker in the back of his mind is it too much to say that he could have known that harvey dent would have turned out to be two face? we all know how much rachel meant to both bruce as well as dent however how much did rachel really mean to bruce? no matter what batman could not have saved both of them or could he have? the answer is POSSIBLY..if he knew in the back of his mind that alfred was the joker and he really wanted to play hero correctly he could have done the right thing and tool the joker down, if it really is alfred who is playing that role then it couldn't be too hard to figure out where rachel and dent would have been and execute a quick enough plan to save both.. because with batman knowing alfred all you would have to do is get inside alfred's head and think like him in a state of a joker sense.. classic psychology.. if this ended up being truthful and he did know then it would end up being resulting in a increased YES instead of a POSSIBILY..

regardless of his code to not kill.. where does the line between not killing and people being hurt constantly come in to play? by him not confronting the problem if there is a possibility he knew he led countless people not only to their death but to their demise to become these other villains (if the new canon plot turns out to be a ploy)

if Alfred did not stage any of these (see canon plot comment above) that in hypothetical theory would mean that Batman led the people he cared about to thier death and let the people who did kill the ones that he loved or more so said that he loved walk free instead of doing the right thing.. arkham and police can only hold them for so long.. batman not doing what is right and not breaking his code still led people to die.. is that code that he has really meaningful if people still die? no matter what there is going to be blood from what we have seen so why does he still maintain a code that is useless.. batman choosing a code of morals/coat of honor like that makes more body count and showcases how little he really cared about some of the people he said he cared about..

the world's greatest detective couldn't find Jason todd for that many years? yeah right.. in other words that would also give reason to alfred being the joker because when you're around the greatest detective in the world for so long you would pick up a thing or two on how to hide yourself as well as a hostage don't you think? same with tim drake being taken and turned into joker jr which in turn joker jr turned out to be the real hero in batman beyond.. for someone to be named the world's greatest detective and seeing how batman has been able to find the joker's hideouts so easily in games as well as movies and sometimes even comic books this is absurd to think that he could not find robin for this long.. if bat man did this to toughen tim and jason up he has an abusive way of training his wards.. all I will say is so many questions pop up as to why batman would even think of himself as a hero knowing countless have still died due to his morals, if not more thanks to them not being broken.. and his friends and family truly standing on where they belong in his heart?

many things point to batman being the villain in my eyes and even theories of batman's alter ego are spawned above explaining how he unintentionally and unawaringly helping the joker by unintentionally showing alfred how to hide in the shadows (with others..that could be hostages) batman's lifestyle could be inspiration on hiding jason and tim for years on end as joker..

[allaganexarch]

incoherent wednesday rant

god just NO thread in wednesday goes ANYWHERE and it’s so frustrating!!!!  like i know it was netflix’s latest lazy nonsense but my GOD lol

i was thinking this is one of those mediocre shows that would have been improved SO MUCH by having just a simple theme.  The one I was thinking would work so well with so little effort was something like “what makes a monster?” — and it almost felt like the show WANTED to go there but got caught up in its weird unearned plot twists or something?

it’s easy, and would tie so many weird threads together—gently imply that Wednesday is a monster for what she does in the beginning, even tho she’s just doing it to stick up for her brother, and then tie that into how she more and more gets caught up in her own version of events and certainty that she’s right, and actually let there be real consequences for her being wrong???  people get mad at her for using them to achieve her ends but then they stay mad for like???? a scene at most even tho wednesday doesn’t apologize or show any remorse, and it makes everything feel so unearned.

with the what makes a monster theme, the students of nevermore would be very understanding of wednesday at first bc they know what it is to be different/outcast, and gradually lose faith in wednesday as she uses them, until ultimately they recoil when she plans to torture what’s his face.  that would give that moment actual MEANING—up until that point, wednesday’s friends were like, we get it, she shows she cares in her own way, we do too, but no, this is a step too far, this is a monstrous act in our eyes.

Flip side of the coin with uhhhh plant lady?  thornhill!  the twist would be more satisfying if literally anyone cared about or trusted her or had any sort of opinion whatsoever—this could work in SO many ways; she seems genuinely kind but everyone mistrusts her, she seems genuinely kind and everyone trusts her except for wednesday, even wednesday comes to trust her, she seems overall nice but there’s just something kinda Off about her, possibilities virtually endless.  as it is the twist feels UNEARNED like everything else.

UGGGHHHHHHH AND WEEMS they almost went there with weems—she’s harsh, she’s calculating, she’s done some monstrous things, but ultimately she’s on the side of protecting the school and its students, a reveal we don’t even get to bask in for ONE GOT DAMN SECOND!!!!!!!!!  i’m so pissed her character was so underutilized lol as per usual writers accidentally made a character too cool for them and didn’t know what to do

god i cannot remember a single character’s NAME ENID okay, enid was done such a god DAMN disservice, she’s a fascinating character, she has great fodder for a personal story arc, there’s an easy tie-in to “what makes a monster” re: her getting her wolfy powers at exactly the right second (which btw, stupid—needed her to struggle more w feeling inadequate, going her own way, or preferably getting her wolfy powers at a very inconvenient time)

you know i do feel as usual a lot of this was ruined by heterosexuality lol, like they didn’t really do all that much w the love triangle and xavier feels extremely pointless, i don’t mind the twist with tyler except that i think it’s stupid he went all full serial killer at the end, i think i’d have preferred “unprocessed grief as an uncontrollable monster” metaphor but you know that’s just me.  and actually i think the show could have benefitted from playing with hinting that enid or even wednesday might actually be the monster.

also lol @ the worlds dumbest filler episode let me fix it for you—weems was in love w morticia and deeply resented gomez, weems witnessed morticia stab whatshisface and wanted to frame gomez for it, not realizing that gomez was perfectly happy to take the fall for morticia himself.  also this isn’t super related but i think it would have been neat if the reason weems and morticia fell out is bc weems once used her shapeshifting powers for nefarious reasons (nothing too bad, just trying to gently sabotage her relationship w gomez) and morticia caught her and was very hurt and betrayed.  what i’m trying to say is that episode bored me to death and justice for weems 2kforever.

okay this has been insane but my computer is in the shop so i’m unsupervised thanks for your time.

[seelestia]

i knew you'd have my back 😭 <3 no i totally understand i don't think i can ever get mad at zhongli either-

mutual respect for sure, and yeah i can see him being slightly annoyed but also at the same time slightly amused by the yashiro commissioner's..... more eccentric tendencies. lol

beauty is pain a lot of the times lsdjfklsjdlfkjsdf i am reminded of why i only occasionally use make up whenever i'm out today. sun was out and as soon as i stepped out from the flat i just. gushed sweat all over my face ;;;;;

cyno if you're proud of me come home now in 10 pulls pls n thank u- sounds like a good plan! tbh i would probably skip childe for ayato too if he does get a rerun... but for me it's just bc i like his playstyle better lol oh lia you are simping so hard and i love to see it- /lh

i feel like xiao would be secretly smug about it. first to be triple crowned and first to be fully built... he's basically carrying my whole team and i am so attached to him (+ zhongli ofc) lsdkjflsjdf

lmao yes his weekly boss voicelines and cutscene is burned permanently into my brain atp. the poor child is getting beat up every week.... gosh, raiden lskdjflksjdf that one boss is such a pain indeed ;w;

"we get to see alhaitham a lot" 👀 ohoho yesss that is good news 💗 LMAO that's adorable now i'm imagining you glaring at this tall muscular man with your hands on your hips and a scowl on your face like "aight buddy listen well, i only tolerate you bc my cousin loves you but i swear to the archons if you do anything sus i will- uh- hm- bite your hand!" (camera pans out to see ayato chuckling fondly as he watches you berate al haitham)

new voiceline unlocked: "osmanthus tea tastes the same as i remember.... yet i can only wish i have someone to share it with."

we'd probably talk about how our day went before zhongli launches into his storytelling mode, something about an olden tale lost in time.... and i'll be just sipping my tea as i stare at him dreamily like a lovesick fool (which i am), trying to not drift off from his calming voice- (spoiler: i probably failed)

and now i am curious of how ayalia spends their time in the rare occasion that ayato isn't swamped with work :D please enlighten me <3

zhongli fanarts you say 🤔 i would very much enjoy fine arts yes 🧐

trueee, i think zhongli has gained quite the skills when it comes to handling eccentric people (looks at childe and hu tao). rin jie, you're his last thread of sanity, do not let him down (but i think he'd find your enthusiasm less annoying than the others soft spot).

sweat (derogatory), my worst enemy. i hate sweating sm like it even has a place for itself on my carrd <//3 sweating itself is a torture on its own, but that on top of wearing makeup... noooo 🚶 this is why places with a chill breeze >>> everything. i'd love to go the highlands again 😭 wbu, rin jie?? will you ever go on another vacay some time in the future, maybe?? i hope you could because you deffo deserve it <3 except the jetlag, we hate jetlags here jfjekskdk

HELFPSJDK cyno, please come home to rin jie, you have 5 more days to do that 🙏 if you do get him, i give you all my luck because you'd be experiencing the scarabs horror stories first-hand (/j) but honestly tho! cyno's playstyle is kinda fun with the extendable elemental burst >:) tapping on the visual cues reminds me of rhythm games but less stressful LOLLL vv fun, hehe!

xiao being secretly smug and he doesn't even realize he is 😭 but with the knowledge that the lord he is indebted to is in the same team, the vigilant yaksha will stay beyond humble. his powers can never compare to rex lapis', xiao would state this very, very adamantly and zhongli is just shaking his head with an amused smile.

NOOO, YOU PREDICTED ME. there was one instance where i did say something along those lines out loud to alhaitham on the screen 🚶 instead, it was "i am not taking my eyes off this suspicious ass man. not even to blink." as i proceeded to blink LOLLL ayato would definitely get a kick out of my attempts to jab at alhaitham <//3 but that scribe isn't a man who is easily affected by such things, so he'd either roll his eyes at me or even pointedly ignore me 🤨 a great one to study, not much to interact with. (/lh)

I CAN SEE IT <3 it's a shame you fell asleep, that look of adoration on zhongli's face as he gazed at you would've melted even the coldest of hearts. the tales can wait another time, he'd rather cherish this precious moment first. (cue me cheering in the background somewhere)

you're not wrong about the rarity of those occasions — so much so that i stifle a laugh every time i look at the sheer hidden relief on his face after his work is finished; but if i do, he'd pinch my nose and call me a sadist, hehe. as for how we'd spend time when he is not swamped with work, relaxing walks are a default routine! walking side by side, my hand on the crook of his elbow, just casually chatting <3 maybe we'd take a few adorable dogs along with us too?? hehe. on the contrary, even when ayato does have work, i think i'd join in to chirp in my thoughts?? politics may not be my forté, but i like sharing my views with him and how we just bounce ideas off of each other like a friendly debate >:)

yes, zhongli fanarts are so beautiful and for what. (/lh) also, there is a 50% chance you've seen this fanart before but behold, this masterpiece by the artist that we know and love! hehehe <3

[thenightling]

Five Nights at Freddy's Movie review

I just saw Five Nights at Freddy's.

It was campy, cheesy, and predictable. And you know what? I loved it. It was strangely nostalgic. I know that the film is based on a relatively recent horror video game franchise but it's very much stylized to resemble a horror film of the 1980s. Not only was the pizza place and animatronics (modeled on Chuck. E. Cheese) nostalgic for the 1980s but there's a strategically limited use of technology in the movie, giving it a kind of timeless feel. The repeated use of The Romantics song "Talking in your Sleep." also helped. The music definitely helps give it an 80s feel. Spoilers below: The plot is this. A child predator killed a handful of children at the pizza restaurant. The bodies were never found. I'm sure it's not that big of a surprise to learn the children now possess the animatronics where their bodies were hidden. The main character, Mike, is battling for custody for his kid sister. An unpleasant Aunt Jane has gone through unscrupulous means to try to claim Abby (the kid sister). Needless to say Jane and those working for Jane fall victim to the possessed animatronics. Mike has PTSD because when he was twelve-years-old his kid brother was abducted (and his body was also never found). Needless to say the man who killed the children who now possess the animatronics turns out to be the man who killed Mike's kid brother and he was manipulating the ghosts of his victims who could not remember how they had died. As I said, it's cheesy good fun. There are a few jump scares (which used to annoy me as a kid). And there is that annoying strobe effect of flickering lights or faulty florescent lights but thankfully there weren't as many of those as I initially thought there would be. I have epileptic and photophobic friends who can't handle those sort of strobe effects so I was a little worried they would not be able to enjoy the film.

It's a very far-fetched movie and full of 80s horror tropes but that's not a bd thing. The combination of nostalgia, familiarity, and predictability made it oddly enjoyable to watch. If I wasn't already familiar with the video game franchise you'd think this was an 80s horror movie and that's actually a good thing. Even though the film is PG-13, there's enough death and creative film tricks where your imagination comes up with a lot of the horror. Though we now know who killed Mike's brother (and he obviously plans to haunt one of the animatronics in death) I can't help but feel that there are a few unresolved plot threads such as what happened to Mike's brother? Is he also haunting the restaurant? Is he the cupcake? I know the animatronics are supposed to resemble the ones from the video games, and they do. But I can't help but be bothered by how innately creepy they are. Animatronics can be creepy on their own. And if you know about how animatronics work you sit wondering "Are they skinned? Why do they have exposed joins and mechanisms? Doesn't that ruin the illusion that these are anthropomorphic animals?" I also love some of the cornier moments, such as how quickly Mike accepted "Okay, these robots are possessed by dead children..." It's a fun, cheesy, film. Blum House definitely knows what they're doing. They have brought back the type of horror films that were popular (and entertaining) from my childhood, even if they are shackled by the marketing demand for a PG-13 rating but I'm willing to argue that it doesn't need to be a higher rating than PG-13. I liked this movie the way I liked the 2022 Dracula movie, The Invitation. It was campy but good. It was refreshing to see the genre drifting away from Torture P0rn (not literal p0rn, just excessive gore that people seem overly happy to see). And I am pretty sure Spirit Halloween will be Happy to start carrying Five Nights at Freddy's merchandise the way they already do for Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, It, and Trick 'r Treat.

[richardsphere]

RWBY Catchup Slogblog: V8E6 ~ The one in which Cinder gets to finally have a backstory.

Even Arthur Watts got a backstory before this woman, and he’s only been in the story since V4. Hell Mercury got a backstory with the abusive dad half a season ago. Orphanage/Farm full of bullies. followed by a hotel of some sort? (what hotel would decorate its entrance hall with statues of Grimm?) Oh they are just doing the “cinderella, is a slave” thing. I was hoping something less generic. Like it could be a sympathetic backstory, And a generic shockcollar. And there are the words again. Well at least that confirms 100% that Cinder is planning to betray Salem eventually. Lets hope it works out for her. Oh she has a fatherfigure? And he noticed the slavery?  Fatherfigure is right that if she runs she’s got no place to go. He’s wrong to suggest that a life of monsterfighting is the only way out. He’s also wrong to suggest murdering slavers is wrong. I hate him already. Oh right, usual age for Huntsman Exam is 17. Is Fatherfigure really saying “stay in this slavery for seven additional years so i can save you seven years from now” Congrats you might be the worst parent in the show. JUST TAKE THE SHOCKCOLLAR AS EVIDENCE AND BRING HER TO THE AUTHORITIES YOU DIPSHIT. Weiss already demonstrated hunters have the legal authority to arrest people with her DAD. Congrats, the episode has made me care for Genshin-girl, if only by making me rage at the greatest buffoon to have ever become a huntsman (and that includes Dee & Dum from the train). I hope she kills everyone in the hotel. Statue of the LightDragon on the hotel mantle beneath the clock. Oh and now douchebag jones realises he has the authority to arrest criminals? When she rightfully defends herself from the slavers? Is that scar meant to explain why Cinder is constantly wearing long neck-pieces now? Im fairly certain that wouldnt add up with earlier seasons (i think i remember a neck-less dress at the ball but its been a while) ----- Mercury is here, and he’s trying to be the parental figure Emerald needs again, Em still isnt getting it. “something big is about to happen”. oh so are we introducing yet another thread to this already overcomplicated plot? Please learn to resolve a thread or two before spinning a new tapestry. ---- Ozpin and Oscar are talking, laying more groundwork for the story to have some of the “lesser” henchmen turn tail towards the good guys.  Hazel is right once again, I get trying to make our antagonists “reasonable” but can we stop making them outright right. And there’s the Ex-wife. ------ Watts has called in on the phone. The dog is here,  Cinder gets tortured and is starting to realise that maybe, just maybe she shouldnt have accepted the Shock-Collar Prosthesic arm. Oscar blurts out Salems true goal (I dont think Scorpio is going to care, but the rest might) ------ More of the AceOps, Also more earthquakes. (presumably yet another Kaiju-sized grimm?) Im sorry, is the grimm-goop moving inteligent and capable of movign against gravity now? Maybe the sentient grimm-river could use a little more explaining for such a plot vital ability for Salem to posess. I give this plottwist a 2/10. Visually interesting and creative use of borrowing-creatures, but comes out of nowhere and seemingly violates everything we know about the liquid-like nature of the grimm-goop as a substance.  Looks good but seems like it was pulled right out of a writers ass. Nonetheless, the episode managed to make me care for the OG Main villain as a character, which though late 8 seasons in, is a good thing overall. Overall i give the episode a 7/10.

[c-is-for-circinate]

So somebody reblogged the last 'yes I need to talk about Jrusar's Secret Government' post with thoughts/questions about the Tal'dorei council, and it made me want to get in here and actually write the damn holy shit Matthew Mercer your city is run entirely by a SECRET SHADOW GOVERNMENT WHAT THE FUCK post, so here we go.

(I wrote a whole essay, and somehow I didn't even get into the rampant corruption, because there's so much to say even outside of that, but: minor spoilers for general worldbuilding throughout C1, C2, and C3, extremely minor plot spoilers I think for C1 and maybe C3 before episode 3.09? Mostly this is about worldbuilding.)

The thing is that, right, "who's on the Tal'dorei council?" was a long-running joke during Campaign 2, but, aside from some suggestion during EXU that there may be secret council members (and EXU is canon, but that doesn't mean it's explored canon), the Tal'dorei council isn't actually a secret. The Mighty Nein don't know who they are, and have absolutely zero in-universe reason to know who they are, because it's like knowing the entire slate of cabinet members of a foreign country where you've never been and also TV and airplanes don't exist, and like, I don't know about you but I can't even remember the new Chancellor of Germany who literally just got elected a few months ago. This is why Matt keeps giving the players shit for asking. Not because nobody knows.

The Tal'dorei Republic is the sort of confused confederacy you get when you start building a fictional government in bits and pieces without a big overarching plan, because this is a D&D game you play with your friends over brunch. It's also the sort of confused confederacy you get when there was an empire, except its borders had sort of stopped expanding a while back more or less, and then the king stepped down and then five minutes later there were dragons, and everyone's still sort of trying to figure out exactly how politics work again. Politics, on that level, were never really the point of Campaign 1, and they didn't get a ton of focus. There are probably really interesting things to explore there, but thematically, politics really started being a thing in Campaign 2, and oh boy howdy did they.

Campaign 2 is about fascist nationalism. Like, it is! It just is! That's it, that's -- well, not the whole thing, but a pretty central piece of the thing. The Somnovem are the Somnovem (and actually, hmm, I want to think about how Cognouza's backstory relates to C2's political themes), and they were important at the end, but the entire campaign held the running thread of Dwendalian Empire and Cerberus Assembly, and their manufactured war against the Krynn.

And we see a lot of what fascist nationalism looks like, in C2. We see intense propaganda machines full of fear of the Other, particularly aimed at riling people up against this very convenient scary enemy of ~dark elves~ and their ~strange dark magic~ and ~oooh, monsters~. We see tight governmental control over even personal aspects of everyday life. Certain religions are banned. Magic is highly regulated. Government is present everywhere -- even small towns have magistrates and Starostas and Crownsguard, generally according to the same system throughout the empire.

There's a strong central government that's generally not split between factions. No, really! The Cobalt Soul is a respected institution, but they're not so much a faction of government as they are an independent body with a lot of weight and respect. King Dwendal is relatively ineffective, but he's managed by the Cerberus Assembly, not in opposition to them. The Assembly itself is full of politics and backbiting and infighting, but by and large, to the country itself the Assembly presents a united front, and that front is united behind the crown. The horrifying back-alley secret spy work, torture, and assassinations are all run by the same people who run the government at large, who everyone knows run the government at large, in service to furthering the power of the government at large (and therefore their own power, of course, because one thing feeds the other.)

It's a power struggle, but it's not a class struggle, not really. The average citizens of the Dwendalian empire generally do pretty well, when they're not being targeted or scapegoated by some machination of the government itself. It's easy to be middle-class in the Empire, or to convince yourself that you're middle-class, to be a farmer who never has trouble putting food on the table, to be a merchant or a blacksmith or a winemaker or an artisan. It's easy to enjoy a fine standard of living even if you're not one of the people with power. So long as none of the people in power decide you're more useful in misery.

Jrusar is different.

The government of Jrusar is secret. Nobody knows who runs the city. People take it on faith, generally, that somebody runs the city -- infrastructure is maintained, cops get paid, there's no open warfare in the streets most days -- but this city is fucked up in ways that sometimes mirror the Dwendalian Empire, and sometimes are entirely new.

When I call C3 a class warfare campaign, what I mean is that it's been showing us economic stratification everywhere we look since day one. We have seen, thus far, no middle class in this city. We've seen astonishingly rich people, but mostly we've seen working-class people just about scraping by. We see aging artisans, those people who would have been comfortably middle class in Emon or Zadash, trying to make ends meet by letting out their spare room or breaking a werewolf out of jail for a job recommendation. We see bartenders and performers who never appear to be making enough to support a family (unless that family is part of the trade and performing too). We see warehouse and factory workers who go to those bars and performances and bars and bars and bars at the end of their workdays, and drink their dinner and eat their Meals. (People drink a lot, in Jrusar. People drink a lot in CR in general, but then, our parties have always been on the move and staying in inns and taverns to begin with, and when they had a place to sit and settle they'd inevitably find neighbors who did all sorts of things with their evenings that weren't 'go down to the local and get blitzed'.)

Nobody seems to have a spouse, a family, children. There really don't seem to be a lot of children in Jrusar.

Which isn't to say that all of Jrusar is like this! There are several spires we've never even visited, and plenty of places throughout this very big city that could be a world of experience away. There are plenty of places in Tal'dorei and the Empire, likewise, that might function like this. But that's why it's a campaign theme, not just a locational one -- because the places we're looking in C3, the things we've actually seen, all fall into this same pattern. And some of that is absolutely down to the way the government here functions.

The thing we keep hearing, over and over again, from all sorts of different corners in Jrusar, is 'the city's going to shit'. Nobody ever follows it up with a 'since'. It's never 'since that guy took power', or 'since the Natural Disaster', or 'since that new policy went into place' -- it's just going, going, gone towards some unspecified "shit". A gradual worsening of general affairs. A diffused, maybe even imaginary, decline.

This isn't an accident, either on Matt's part or on the part of the people in charge of the city. The interesting thing about 'the city's gone to shit' as a muttered refrain is that nobody necessarily agrees on what that means. (Who here has heard 'this country's gone to hell in a handbasket' before? Which hell? Which handbasket?) What was it like before that was so good, that we've lost now? Do people even know, do they have concrete things to point to, or is it just a sort of pervasive discontentment? Fear and insecurity because of violence, because of poverty, because of working too hard? And the violence has always been there (but maybe not in your neighborhood), and the poverty's always been a problem (but everything just keeps getting more crowded), and work is work (but there are more jobs in mining than in making things, and look I'm not saying Marxist concept of alienation of labor, but I'm also not NOT saying that ok).

People are unhappy, and they don't really have anything concrete they can point to as the source of their unhappiness. Not on any unified, structured basis, not as a movement rather than a couple of dozen people hidden in an attic.

And this? This is great for the people in power in Jrusar. Sure, everybody's unhappy -- what of it? Unhappiness is always rampant. The important thing is that nobody's directly unhappy with them.

Nobody can strike up a petition to demand that Bobby Treshi step down from the Chandai Quorum if nobody knows Bobby Treshi is on the Chandai Quorum. Nobody can show up at Suzie Lumas's office and make her pay attention to anything if she doesn't have an office. Nobody can influence, petition, persuade, bother, or cancel anybody in the Quorum if nobody knows who they even are.

What's more, this seems to be related to a general lack of transparency in governance in Jrusar in general. There's another essay I want to write about Rule of Law in C3 (which I was going to include here but holy shit this post is already REAL LONG), but basically what it sums up to is, I have no idea exactly what's legal or illegal here, and my guess is that much of the people who actually live in this city agree. Is murder legal? Okay, but what if a bounty hunter does it? How do bounty hunters work, exactly? Who pays the cops' salaries?

One important aspect of the Tal'dorei council is the simple fact that, not only are the names of the council public, so are their respective positions. We know that there's a Master of Development whose job is civil infrastructure, and a Master of Commerce whose job is the budget, and a Master of Law who runs the courts. We know what the jobs even are. We know their duties and responsibilities. We know how the republic is run.

We know none of that, here in Jrusar. Not only do we not know who's in charge of civil infrastructure relating to public transit, we don't know if anybody is. Do the sewage maintenance projects just get sort of shoved off onto the desk of whoever in the Secret Cabinet Meetings doesn't nose-goes fast enough? Is there some young mid-level civil servant somewhere who's running the entire cable car system single-handedly because his boss can't get an audience with her boss outside of a thirty-minute appointment slot booked two weeks in advance, and even then she's only talking to the Official Mouthpiece of the Council rather than the councilor themself? How the fuck does anybody get anything done???

And like, many of these are basic logistical questions that can get kind of smoothed over in a fictional universe and a D&D game, because mid-level government bureaucracy isn't nearly as sexy as secret conspiracies and elaborate heists. But we also see the results of these things manifest in the campaign itself. We see the wild, rampant stratification between people who definitely go to dinner parties with whoever's in charge of the government (even if you're not sure who at this dinner party it is), and the people who don't even have a name to call out. We see the no-oversight corruption endemic in the police system, which definitely appears to be the only way most people in the city interface with their government at all. We see citizens who want specific, targeted change trying to do it via flyers and petitions that maybe nobody will even see.

We see the way basic infrastructure amenities like the cable cars could be improved -- and this was sort of a joke, last Thursday, except that it's not. It came up because the players themselves are feeling the nickle-and-dime ding of having to pay the same toll that working-class citizens in Jrusar have to pay every day, unless they can afford to live in the same nice spire where they work, unless they can't afford to move out of the same shitty one. And there's nobody to tell, nobody in charge who would even know it was an issue.

Jrusar is a mess. And it's a mess in the way that a city-state with a government this utterly un-transparent should and would be a mess.

[somnianyx]

Gender Neutral Reader || Soulmate Au || Yandere Reader

Red string of fate: A red thread is attached from your pinky to your soulmates - Deuce

It says the red string of fate, but not even a single mention of the red string is here... I couldn't fit it anywhere. Warning: Obsession, implied torture and cursing.

Everything was so lovely with your soulmate, Deuce. It's been everything you've dreamt of. A handsome and kind soulmate. A fated and romantic meeting.

Your relationship was progressing fast and if it continues this way without anyone interference then you'll get married as soon as you turned into an adult.

It'll be the perfect life. Everything was falling into place as fate destined it to be...

Until that wretched bitch tried to steal him from you.

You were watching Deuce as usual, admiring everything about him. His fluffy hair, the way he smiles, the way he walks and- Ahem! Focus.

The Ramshackle dorm prefect. You've heard of them. You knew they were friends with Deuce but you didn't know they were THAT close. Why are they touching his arm?! Why are they so close?! Is that bitch deaf that they need to be so close when talking to your Deuce?!

You didn't like that at all.

You spent the next few days trying to sabotage their relationship. Either talking bad about them or making it seems as if the prefect was bullying/hurting you. You even went as far as to ruin their good reputation.

If only Deuce reacted the way you wanted, you wouldn't need to take such drastic measures.

Sobbing in his chest with his arms wrapped around you, you explained the new injury that the prefect caused you that you planned but some things are better left unsaid

"Y/N," his stern voice caught you off guard. It was different from the other times he tried to comfort you. You looked up at him with big wet eyes, surprised to find his face stoic...like he didn't care. "Maybe you were just being careless. The prefect would never do that. They're a very kind person"

Oh...taking their side now, are we...

You looked down at your feet, not even bothering to continue with your sobbing. Something in you had snapped. It left you with a void. The familiar void that accompanied you all your life.

Deuce is now under their spell... He's under their spell because you didn't resort to that method. How dare they! When you've tried so hard to be civil and kind enough to restrain yourself from going mad. This is how they repay you!

Unforgivable

Unforgivable

Unforgivable

UNFORGIVABLE!!

A few weeks went by, the Ramshackle prefect had gone missing. Everyone was worried sick and searched for them day and night. It was as if they disappeared from the face of Twisted Wonderland. Never to be seen again.

You texted Deuce to meet up with you in the magic mirror chamber. You tell him that you had a surprise for him as your 4 month anniversary was coming up. You could tell he was planning on rejecting you but decided against it. He's so worried about that prefect it's adorable.

You know he hadn't slept well in a while so it came as no surprise when Deuce arrive dishevelled. His hair was messy, his tie crooked even his spade makeup was smudged. He looked...pathetic.

You mustered up your best smile. You don't need to worry about him looking like that after today. You're gonna take care of him after all.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" He asked, panting in between from running.

"Oh! No, it's fine really. Pft- why did you run here idiot. You could've just taken your time."

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I keep you waiting for too long?" Deuce smiled fondly at you, delighted to know that you're still yourself.

"For you, I would wait forever."

You exchanged a few laughs, wanting this moment to last forever before quickly remembering your objective.

"Shall we get going?" You held out your hand and he instinctively grabbed it. Walking towards the mirror.

"Yes, but where are we going?" Deuce asked, squeezing your hand a little. "Does Crowley know we're gonna use the magic mirror?"

"Of course, you needn't worry about that. I already planned everything out so all you have to do is follow me." You smiled warmly, looking at him with lovestruck eyes.

It calmed Deuce's nerves down a little. He trusts you. You wouldn't bring him somewhere dangerous after all...

Right?

"Magic mirror on the wall, bring me to Esmeralda's garden!"

'Esmeralda's garden? Why are we going there?'

But your destination looked completely different from the Esmeralda's garden he knew. Instead of rows of different flowers, he was met with a lovely cottage in the forest. Behind it was a beautiful waterfall lagoon, emitting rainbows from the crystal clear water.

Astonished, he unintentionally let go of your hand and begin exploring. You followed in his footsteps, making sure to watch his every move.

Kneeling beside the lagoon, he looked at his reflection. Seeing his unkempt hair, his hands went to fix the mess. You giggled softly at his gesture and he rolled his eyes, hiding a small smile from you.

You spent the rest of the day touring the place with him. He was surprised when you told him that this is where you'll live with him.

The cottage was big enough to fit you, him and maybe a few children. It was nicely furnished. The kitchen was fully stocked. Your bedroom's closet occupied some of your clothes and a lot of new clothes for him(which he found odd since he could just take his own). The house gave off a sense of comfort and it feels just like home. Deuce loved it.

"I can't wait to live here after we graduate!" He exclaimed, still in awe.

"Why wait until we graduate?" He looked at you, confused. You just smiled like usual but somehow it felt...off. Deuce suddenly realized the heavy and eerie atmosphere. His gut was telling him to run, run and never look back. He dismissed it, telling himself that he was just being paranoid but still suggested going back home.

"Oh? You don't want to see your present?" You questioned, tilting your head slightly to the side.

'There's another one?'

You lead him down to the basement hidden beside the refrigerator. Deuce was even more confused as he swear that it wasn't there before.

The basement was dark, it gives off a creepy vibe like those from horror movies. At this thought, Deuce let out a snicker which you gave him a look for. He waved it off and continued down the basement.

Before taking the last step down the stairs, he was hit with a metallic stench.

"What's that smell?" "Hm? Oh! That's a part of your present. Wait here while I turn on the light."

At your command, he stayed where you left him. That gut feeling of his returned, worse than before. He didn't like the smell wafting around the room and the darkness made it worst. He just wanna see this present and go home already.

The lights flicked on, Deuce froze in place. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his ears as colour drained from his face.

There Yuu was, sitting on a chair a few feet away from him. Surrounded by pools of blood that was obviously theirs. One of their eyes can be seen rolling around their feet with a few fingers and nails. Their body is covered with all sorts of cuts and bruises.

Deuce was horrified, forgetting that you were still there and was reminded with a hit on the head.

He fell with a thud, vision going blurry and the last thing he heard was your giggle and what you said before it all faded to black.

"Now we'll be together forever, Deucey~"

[ptergwen]

sensation

w/c: 4.6k

warnings: some swearing, suggestive tings, and a pretty bad ending

summary: it’s the last night of your world tour, and tom has the perfect way to celebrate

a/n: i know y’all have been waiting for this one! everyone really loved when worlds collide but i ran out of ideas for it lol sorry... anyways my solution was to turn it into a oneshot :D based off the au!! i’m honestly nervous about posting this cuz a lot of you asked for it and i don’t wanna disappoint but i tried my absolute hardest to make it special <3 please enjoy

-

“thank you so much! we love you!” you shout to the audience, laughing breathlessly when they shout back. one of your dancers pulls you into a side hug, you throwing your arm around his neck. “we’re so fucking lucky you chose us, that you came all the way here. i’ve seen some of you back at night one. wow.” your voice gets wobbly, thinking about how loyal your fans are.

the tour started in new york, and they’ve followed you here to london.

tonight is an emotional night for everyone. you’re about to wrap your last show before you continue again in the summer. touring the u.k. has been a dream, and you’re just as thrilled to travel the rest of the world after your break. it’s bittersweet because you’re going to miss the hell out of your crew and the millions of lovely faces you’ve sang to each week. but, you do get to spend your time off with a special someone.

he’s watching you from the sound booth, sending fond smiles and loud cheers your way. thanks to you, tom has been at every show you’ve played in england. he brought harry along this time because he’s also a fan and wanted to see you. well, tom is more than a fan at this point. you’d say he’s more of a boyfriend. you haven’t discussed labels just yet.

your dates have mainly been over facetime, since you live on opposite sides of the world with insane schedules. a heartthrob actor and international popstar is quite the combination. you’ve only seen each other in person a couple of times, the first being pretty recently.

zendaya brought tom along to hang out with you in los angeles. he happened to be there recording some lines for a movie. she saw your concert earlier that night and invited him to crash the dinner plans you’d made, resulting in the best surprise and most fun you’ve ever had. the other time you enjoyed each other’s company was one weekend in paris. that was... something.

besides those two miracles, everything between you and tom happens through a screen. you’ll down bottles of champagne or keep warm under blankets while talking about your days. it’s nice, having someone on the other end who listens and actually hears you. tom gets it. you both do.

finishing your tour in london is convenient because not only will you have tom to comfort you, but you get to stick around for a while. he’s invited you to stay at his place. you can’t wait to meet the other holland’s, his friends, and obviously tessa.

“fuck, i’m gonna cry. i’m already crying,” you announce to the crowd, though they can tell from the tears streaming down your face. more dancers huddle around you and turn your single hug into a group one. you’re laughing and sobbing and holding on tight to everyone. fans bawl their own eyes out, the fact that this is it starting to settle in. the onstage crew even gets choked up, seeing you like this.

tom pouts from where he’s watching. he wishes he could run up there and squeeze you tight, but he’ll have to save that for when you’re done.

“i love you all so much, literally every single one of you in this room,” you tell everyone for the nth time tonight, swiping a perfectly manicured finger under your eyes. “my lighting crew, sound crew, my band, my fearless fucking dancers-“ a hiccup cuts you off. people burst into fits of giggles, which is a much needed tension breaker. you adjust your headset so the mic doesn’t pick up any other bodily noises.

grinning, you rest your arm on a shorter dancer’s shoulder, then go on. “sorry, sorry. i just wanna say, like, three more thank you’s before i get out of here.” there’s a chorus of no’s and encouraging whistles at the mention of you leaving. you blink back more tears to delay the breakdown you’re going to have. “thank you to my friends who always show up for me.”

with a knowing smile, you glance over at tom. “and, thank you to my more than a friend.” he smiles back, both hands held over his heart. harry elbows him in congratulations. more screaming erupts from the crowd as they realize where you’re looking and who you’re looking at. this will be sure to spark some headlines. whatever, you’re used to trending on every possible social media platform by now.

“this is the big one,” you preface, taking in a breath while everyone quiets down again. “thank you to you guys. for trusting me, for caring about what i have to say in any way. i feel your love. i really do, and i hope you feel mine.” your fans yell that they love you back, dancers gently swaying you side to side, emotions on high. there’s one last song, and it’s over.

“this has been the sensation tour, and i’ve been your host. was i good?” you try to lighten the mood, earning a bunch of what sound like positive shrieks. the earpiece you have in makes it hard to tell. “y’all were even better.” exchanging looks with your dancers, you pull out of the hug so you can get to your mark for the finale. they follow your lead. music comes through the speakers.

“i’ll see you again soon, okay? i promise. here’s sensation,” you introduce the song, immediately bursting into more tears. it’s torture to say goodbye. thankfully, you have the most incredible fans on earth, so they sing along with you at the top of their lungs. that includes tom and harry, your ultimate stans.

when the show is over, you run right off stage and over to tom. he’s waiting on the side with actual heart eyes for you. you practically leap into his arms, a hand cradling the back of his head, both his arms draped low and tight around your body.

“you were so amazing up there! absolutely smashed it, darling,” tom breathes out. his face is smushed between your neck and mostly bare chest. “thanks, tom. seriously, thanks for being here tonight and every other.” you smile a tired smile and wind your other arm around his neck. he presses some light you’re welcome kisses to your skin. “mm, thanks for having me. how’s it feel to be done?”

you sigh, fingers running through his curls. “like the biggest relief, and also really sad.” you’re such a mess that you could cry again on the spot. tom senses it and lifts his head up to see if you’re alright. “super depressing,” you surprisingly reiterate without the waterworks. “i know the feeling. you’ll be back soon, though. you said it,” he murmurs, a grin on his lips as they brush against the corner of yours.

you’re about to kiss him properly, then one of your dancers comes up to you. you’d forgotten that there are still stage managers and security everywhere, too. you get completely lost in tom whenever you’re together.

“you killed, babe,” coco greets you, linking your arm in hers. tom takes the hint and lets go of you. he watches on with a smirk. “nah, you murdered,” you send the compliment back and bite your lower lip. “i dunno, i feel like someone murdered me!” there’s coco with her dramatics. she’s genuinely hilarious, your shared sense of humor playing a huge part in your friendship.

she brings your free hand to her heart. you gasp at how fast it’s going. “that shit is really beating, coco. are you, like, okay?” “probably not. it was the freestyle that got me.” coco went a lot harder than usual tonight, since it was her last big dance break for a while. she puffs air from her cheeks and nods to tom. “this your man?”

“yeah, you could say that. i’m tom,” he answers, holding out a hand for her. “coco.” she pulls it like you would in a handshake. you beam at them, one of your best friends and unofficial boyfriend finally meeting. “sounds promising. i approve,” coco mutters to you. bumping your hip into hers playfully, you take one of tom’s hands in both of yours.

“aw, we have your blessing or something? your permission?” you coo and get a push at your shoulder from coco in return. tom chuckles, his thumb running over the back of your hand. “no! i was gonna say you should bring him out back,” coco clarifies, like it was obvious. you’re not sure what she’s on about. “uh, what’s out back?” you question. “an axe?” tom teases.

coco gestures to the nearest exit. “we’re having a little goodbye party in the parking lot. fire pit, snacks. remember?” nope, you’d completely forgotten. the idea first sounded like the perfect way to end your night, so you agreed to go. that was before you were dripping sweat and mentally exhausted. now, all you want to do is unwind with tom and tom only.

the superstar life is one you’re happy to lead, just not at this exact moment.

“i do now.” you muster up your most apologetic smile for coco, tugging on tom’s hand. “i’m sorry, co. i think we’re gonna pass.” her jaw drops. you’re never one to skip these things. “aw, for real? it’s our last night!” tom threads his fingers through yours while you talk. “bro, we’ve been together for almost a whole year,” you laugh out, nuzzling your cheek into tom’s chest. “get sick of me.”

“never,” coco deadpans. she catches you gazing up at tom, relaxing as his arms hug your middle. she’s known you long enough to tell what’s a fling and what’s real love for you. this is something special, and she can’t get in the way of it. she’ll let you navigate this yourself. “ok, just for tonight. you’ll text me?” coco gives you a real smile, raising an eyebrow at tom. he gathers that’s a good thing. he’s in.

“mhm. maybe we can hang out tomorrow,” you agree and let your eyes flutter shut. all that’s keeping you up are tom’s strong arms. “tell everyone i love them.” “i think they know.” coco shakes her head lightheartedly. tom laughs at her. “be good,” she tells him and means it, rubbing your back on her way to the lot. that leaves you and tom alone at last.

custodians are cleaning up the arena, fans are piling out, and you’re clinging to tom while his steady heartbeat grounds you. this is the only after party you need.

“harry’s got the car when you’re ready,” tom mumbles, tucking a piece of damp hair behind your ear. you loop your arms around his torso with a hum. “i was kinda wondering where he went.” “yeah?” he gives you a small smile. “gotta ask what he thought... of the show.” yawns are creeping past your lips, tonight’s events catching up to you.

“i like feedback from the fans, or stans,” you elaborate in your sleepy state. tom uses his fingertips to tap your temple. “what about me? i’m your biggest.” “i’ll, um, follow up with you later.” your words are slurring. “right now, home.” warmth spreads throughout tom’s entire body, his house becoming yours for a bit. “your chariot awaits,” he affirms before helping you to your dressing room.

after collecting your things, you follow tom out to the car. harry is in the driver’s seat, and you two slip into the back. he exchanges a look with his brother through the mirror while you settle on his shoulder. you’re hugging his bicep, his lips pressing to the side of your head.

“thank you for driving,” you speak softly to harry. he starts to pull out of the spot with a nod. “no problem. get to say i was y/n y/l/n’s chauffeur.” tom clicks his tongue even though harry is joking. you snicker at his remark, joking back. “you want the job? better be a five star ride, then.” your banter brings yet another smile to tom’s face. his family is everything to him, so seeing you get along so well means the most.

“right, right. did you have a good time?” harry wonders, twisting to see behind him while he turns around. he also peeks at you snuggled up to tom before facing forward. “great, actually. did you?” you check, the grin clear in your voice. harry goes into full stan mode. “no shit! you were brilliant, y/n. god, every note was just like how you did it the studio.” he’s raving, which is much appreciated by you.

“good answer.” tom shoots his brother a wink. “‘s that what you wanted to hear?” he asks in reference to your conversation earlier. your response is a kiss to his shoulder. “yay. i’m happy you liked it, harry.” he buzzes with excitement, having his favorite artist care what he thinks.

not much is said for the rest of the drive. tom and harry make some hushed conversation about golfing this weekend while you struggle to stay awake. they’re obsessed with that damn sport. it’s honestly nice to see, that tom has something he likes to do when he isn’t shooting hollywood’s biggest movies. your free time will finally give you the chance to discover other hobbies.

you stumble out of the car upon arriving to the boys’ place, a backpack on your shoulders and tom’s hand held tight in yours. you’ve got only a few essentials with you for tonight. the rest is on the tour bus, so you’ll gather it after your hangout with coco. besides, everything you need at the moment is right here.

“home sweet home,” tom announces as harry unlocks the front door. his words bring a tired smile to your face. “finally,” you exhale, keeping your fingers laced with tom’s and following the two of them inside. “i could show you around a bit, give you the grand tour. or-“ tom stops talking, feeling your weight on him. harry huffs at how oblivious his brother is.

“mate, she’s falling over. save it,” he suggests and kicks the door shut lazily. you’re done in. you’ve been having to lean on tom since the show ended. “another time, then,” tom mumbles, securing his arm around your waist. “there is one thing i wanna see.” your voice is low, body curled into tom’s side. he raises an eyebrow. “and that is?” “your room.”

tom takes that in a suggestive way, like he does most things. “we’re getting right to it, are we?” he questions, harry gagging and you nudging his arm with your head. “not like that, dummy. ‘cuz i’m sleepy.” there’s a beat of silence. “ask me again in-“ “wow, look at the time!” harry interrupts so he doesn’t have to hear the details. he’s sure he’ll witness enough after it happens. “off to bed i go! goodnight.”

he rushes to get to his room, yelling out, “great show, y/n!” on the way. “thank you! night!” you call back, tom letting out a sigh. “div of the century,” he says under his breath. “must run in the family,” you playfully retort. that gets you a firm poke at your side. “where’s everyone else?” you glance up at him. there should be two other idiots and a lovely, furry lady running around.

“tuwaine’s gone to the pub, harrison’s filming late, and tess is at mum and dad’s,” tom fills you in, grabbing your arm and draping it around his middle. doing him one better, you hug him with both. you squint in confusion about the last part. “they watch her when i’m out,” tom answers your unspoken question. “ah,” you nod, then deflate ever so slightly. “i wanted to meet her, though. the other boys, too.”

tom smooths the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “you will, darling. it’s only for tonight.” he kisses the same spot reassuringly. “we’ve got loads of time.” “yeah, we do,” you agree, instantly cheering up and letting your head fall onto his chest. “now, where’s your room?” “just upstairs. you need some help getting in?” he’s only playing around, but you accept, tightening your arms around his neck.

“show me the way,” you beam at him. “happy to.” tom wiggles his eyebrows, you jumping up. your legs wrap around his waist, his arms holding you against him. with a satisfied hum, you squish your face into his insanely soft shirt. “what a diva,” tom sarcastically complains while taking you to the staircase. “doesn’t even say please. no manners from this one.”

“you try dancing in six inch heels for two hours,” you shoot back, patting the side of his neck. he moves one hand down to your thigh for a better grip. you’re nearing the top of the stairs. “think i’ll leave that to you,” he decides and squeezes your thigh. “look at me, carrying the whole music industry.” your face easily gets hot and your words turn to murmurs. “shut up. you should listen to other songs.”

you’re on the second floor now, tom going for the first door. he frowns at his rejected compliment. “no, i like yours. they’re my favorite.” “really?” your muffled laugh sounds from his chest. “what was the first thing i ever said to you?” he asks, a toothy grin on him even though you can’t see it. you recall the faithful night he slid into your dms while he carries you into his room.

he’d tripped over his words somehow, the fangirling fool. before that, he tweeted to the whole world that he wanted to see you in concert. it was a huge thing, and people were freaking out about it, even more so when your online interactions became routine. that’s nothing compared to where you are now.

you’re currently living with him and basically dating. possibly, in love. the base of it all really is your music.

“that you love me.” you pause for the ellipses. the corners of your lips turn up. “but, you really meant to say my work.” “both apply.” tom passes that off like it’s a side comment, carefully laying you down on his bed. you look up at him with a curious glint in your eyes. “what does that mean?” his cheeks flush, and he bites back the smile that’s growing. this was supposed to go... differently.

you sit up, breathing out a laugh at tom’s boyish behavior. he’s precious, truly. “you do love me?” those three words will change everything if he says yes. he takes both your hands in his and holds them between you two. you meet his doe eyes. “yeah, y/n/n. i do.” so, you were right. “i love you... and, that wasn’t how i planned on saying it.” signaling for him to elaborate, you tilt your head to the side.

tom sits down next to and faces you before continuing. “it was supposed to be romantic, right?” he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, annoyed he ruined this. “candlelit dinner, flowers, that sort of thing. seems more fitting for the occasion.” you shift closer to him until your knees are touching. your face is lit up, voice dropped to almost a whisper.

“since when do we do things the way we’re supposed to?” you point out and set your hands on his shoulders. “we’ve gone straight from online dating to me moving in. that’s usually not how it works.” tom chuckles lowly. his own hands find their place on your hips. you’re so good with words. then again, you are a singer. “guess you could say we’re, um, spontaneous,” he agrees, fingers drawing circles on you.

you and tom have explored some of each other’s most intimate places, yet you’ve never shared a moment quite like this. it’s like meeting him for the first time again. he’s too tongue tied to spit out what he wants. you somehow know, anyway. what you cherish most about your relationship is that you two completely and totally understand one another, on every level.

“tom?” you speak quietly, butterflies filling up your body. “hm?” he hums back. this is one of those moments where it all just clicks. “i love you. i really, really love you.” you giggle out of the pure happiness that consumes you, tom joining in your laughter. “i love you, too.” he sounds like he’s said it a million times and he’ll say it a million more. he leans over so his forehead rests on yours. “really, really love you.”

your warm breath hits his face, eyes darting from his own to his lips. “i want you to be more than...” you trail off, unsure of how to phrase it. “more than... more than a friend?” tom pokes fun at what you said during the show. there’s less and less space between you with every second. “you mean, like, a boyfriend?”

“exactly. be my boyfriend,” you all but demand. you’re half asleep and desperate to be able to call him yours already. “bossy, bossy, bossy,” tom chastises, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. how he goes from being shy and giddy to the cockiest person alive in minutes, you’ll never know. “please?” you throw in to sway him. your hand locks with his, slowly moving it off your face.

you run your tongue over your teeth. “at least kiss me.” “you don’t have to ask,” tom breathes, lips now ghosting over yours. “i was going to.” true to his words, he closes the microscopic gap between you, you pushing forward against him as you kiss back. your first kiss in love. his lips taste like the chapstick he always uses, and he moves them softly.

he places a hand on your knee, you opening your mouth so he can have access to it. instead, a yawn exits. tom pulls back with a breathy laugh. “you must be exhausted, yeah? let’s get you to bed.” he pecks your lips once more. “my girl needs her beauty rest.” that confirms your relationship. you scrunch your nose and grin wide. “and, she’s gonna get some with her boy.”

you’re reminded of how sweaty you are when you catch a whiff. “oof, wait. do you think i can take a shower first?” you grimace, fanning at the air for emphasis. tom uses the tip of his nose to nudge yours. “absolutely. need help in there, too?” he’s not asking in that way, only so nothing happens. the hospital wouldn’t be the most pleasant place to spend your break. plus, he doesn’t want to be without you too long.

“you know what? yeah.”

that’s how you end up intertwined under the hot water, letting it cascade down your back as tom hugs you close to him. you sigh in content and tangle your fingers in his fluffed over curls. you’ve learned that he’s super into having his hair played with. it’s endearing, how he instinctively leans into your touch, eyes closing as you tug on the roots.

he drops his head down to kiss your shoulder, dragging his lips to your collarbone in a way that tickles. they land on one of your breasts next. there isn’t anything sexual about it, only loving. just in case he gets too excited because it’s not uncommon he does, you gently put a finger to his lips. tom takes the hint and lets up. you continue combing through his wet hair while you step out of the water.

“do you ever sing in the shower?” he questions, drawing your naked body in closer to his. “sometimes, yeah. i honestly feel like i sound better there,” you admit and slide your hand down to the nape of his neck. tom’s tongue darts out to lick his lips. “not true. you sound beautiful everywhere, and don’t fight me on this one.” he smirks in satisfaction, you groaning at your loss.

“i really enjoy hearing your voice when it blares through an arena, though,” tom keeps buttering you up. you shake your head and settle both arms around his neck. “man, i just love you so much.” “i love you, sweetheart,” he murmurs back, you switching places so he can give his hair a final rinse. you watch him and his glowing body, admiring the sight.

“what a sensation you are,” you say mostly to yourself, which doesn’t stop him from hearing. “i see what you did there.” he eyes you while you do the same to him. your arms still around his neck pull him back to you. “tommy? do you sing in the shower?” you meant to ask him before, then he started throwing all those compliments at you.

tom scoffs, walking you back so you’re against the wall. “i don’t sing anywhere.” “what?” you gasp and put a hand on his chest. “you’re lying, you have to be. wasn’t billy elliot a musical?” he narrows his eyes at you as he tries to gage where you’re going with this. “that i did a decade ago, and way before puberty. couldn’t sing a word without cracking after that.”

your mouth is left hanging open in shock and disappointment. you bet he has a nice voice, and he’s downplaying it. “y/n,” tom begins, cupping your jaw with his palm. “since we’re living together now, there’s a lot you’re going the learn about me. good things, weird things.” he shrugs casually. “this is one of the weird things.”

“only because you make it weird! come on, let me hear you,” you request and wrap a leg around his waist. you’re giving him a hopeful smile. “god, no. you’ll hate it,” he almost laughs, a hand on your thigh. “i’m literally a singer. how could i hate something i love?” you refute, batting your lashes at him. “especially when someone i love is doing it.” “i love you, too. but, i’m not.” he’s quick to shut you down.

“drop a bar!” you try to coax him, which he already has a comeback for. “you first.” “i can’t. my throat is all scratchy from earlier,” you lie. tom presses his lips into a line, feigning pity. “aw, you know what’ll make you feel better? tea. i’ll go get you some.” he turns to shut the water off, so you grab his shoulders. “no, the steam is working. you can stay.”

“love,” tom addresses you in a warning tone that you can’t take seriously. he can’t either, a giggle escaping him. “my voice is shit. ask anyone, and they’ll tell you.” “i won’t believe them,” you hum, pushing back curls sticking to his forehead. “sounds like you just have stage fright. we can work on that, though.” “how?” he tightens his arm around your middle.

“i’ll bring you on for my next show. we’ll do a little duet.” you’re joking, though that would definitely be interesting to see unfold. “uh, never. what happened to you being tired?” tom cleverly deflects and digs his fingers into your side. you look down in defeat. “i forgot about that.” “yeah, yeah. no, seriously. we should really get to sleep, y/n/n.” he’s back to his sweet, attentive self. “‘s been a long night.”

giving in with a nod, you capture his lips in yet another kiss. tom never gets tired of them, and neither do you. you break it after a few seconds, lips lingering on his as they detach. “carry me?” you ask again, not caring how whiny you sound. tom presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “oh, you’re adorable. of course.”

well, you’ve found something to keep you occupied until the next leg of tour. you’re going to discover the many layers your intriguingly unusual boyfriend has.

[dr3amofagame]

i think that although the theories/aus of puffy's son dream and wil's brother dream are interesting to think about, especially the implications, the (probably) canon statement that he really has no family to me hits the hardest. because it's just dream, you know. his friends hate him, he has none (p relatable), but i can't really imagine,, both not having friends and not having a family. that's kind of what keeps a lot of us sane and okay ( - quill anon (same anon from the c!tubbo c!wil ask) )

ouch quill anon ,, this ask Hurt. it’s true - usually, it’s our family and friends that keep us going, that are the ones that we fight for and live for and love for. c!dream’s “family” was his reasoning behind ,, a lot of the stuff he did, good or bad, and even now you can hear his desperation in getting someone, anyone to visit sometimes, in wanting to know how people are doing outside the cell. 

at the same time, he’s a character very much defined by his solitude, by his isolation, by all of the time he has spent,, alone. by the alliances that had been broken, betrayed, forgotten. by how- at the end of the day - he sits for hours on end in an obsidian box with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. it’s awfully ,, sad, despite everything he’s done. through it all, he’s alone. he survives the horrors of the vault (until this current arc) alone. nobody’s there to hear his thoughts. nobody knows his mindset, or feelings, or wants, or anything that really makes him human. for someone so driven by people, he spends so much time completely isolated - and it’s. honestly really, really tragic. 

anyway, this is a sad little drabble set pre-roommates arc abt c!dream in the prison, alone, bc he makes me Sad. 

tw: mentioned torture, abuse, violence, broken bones, blood, injuries, mental deterioration, isolation, panic attacks, self-deprecation, trauma, memory loss, death, contemplations of death, dark content, dark imagery

The blank book in his hand stares at him stubbornly, the stark white of the untouched pages nearly burning his eyes, used to the dark walls and floor of the cell. Dream’s hand shakes around his quill, ink splotches marring the pages from where his too-unsteady hand had let the nib brush against the paper and left freckles of black spots behind. He pulls his thumb back from the bottom left corner, hissing slightly when it leaves a dull red fingerprint behind, a smudge of half-dried blood further dirtying the paper.

He’d pulled out one of the books for some reason, probably on a whim, letting his hands run over the leather spine and along the thread of the binding absentmindedly after Quackity left for the day. He hadn’t touched them in a while - he liked to save them, at the beginning, just in case visitors came and he wanted to thank them or if he needed to communicate (though he hadn’t gone silent since Sapnap left, ‘cause Sapnap wanted him to talk and he doesn’t know why he still clings to that visit when it’s been months and he still hasn’t come back, but he promised that if Dream behaved he’d visit again and - it’s stupid to hope, but Dream can’t give up, not yet) and then he kept them because he would need them for the revive book and the Warden would confiscate them, anyway, so it was better not to get attached. Regardless, he’d stubbornly ignored the chest of books for a long time, let the remain closed and the clasp go unlatched as he wasted his days away watching the walls drip bright purple and pretend he didn’t miss his clock.

Until now.

He runs his fingers along the surface of the paper again, ignoring the red and black smudges they leave in their wakes, ruining the previously unblemished pages. The paper is smooth, bearing a very slight grain, and smells clean and woody - this book must’ve been a newer one the Warden replaced into the chest. He’d counted the pages a few times, front and back - there are fifty sheets, so a hundred pages to use as he sees fit, completely empty and untouched. The quill shakes in his hand, the tip pressed against the paper, unmoving.

What is there to write?

He’s forgotten why he pulled out the book in the first place, already - his head keeps getting fuzzier, memory impossibly fragmented and seemingly worsening with every passing day. He knows he had a reason because he’d been very determined about it, had spent what must have been hours dragging himself along the obsidian floor with a broken shinbone jutting out of his right leg and a dislocated left shoulder that he’d taken an extra few minutes to jam back in place by pressing it against the floor. Something had come into his head, probably in the middle of Quackity’s daily session, and he’d found himself desperate to write it down before he forgot despite the throbbing of his head and the pain in his chest making it impossible to take a full breath.

(He must have talked back, or acted defiant, or something - he doesn’t remember much besides the look Quackity had given him after, dark and angry and tight with rage. There had been a hand tangled in his hair, a blade jammed right up against his throat, curses and screams in his ears dying into a singular ringing echo as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Quackity realized that he’d gone too deep and that Dream was choking on his own blood - his memories shatter, and there’s nothing but more screaming, red and black and blood everywhere, warm against his skin, the sweet-sour taste of glistening melon on his tongue, a healing pot desperately stitching his skin together and bringing him back from the darkness that he’d swelled in the corners of his vision - mostly, he remembers everything going cold and numb and he’d realized, halfway into the Void, that he would never leave the Vault alive.)

His hands tighten on the book as he breathes a shallow, harsh breath through his teeth, because - oh. Oh. He looks back at the trembling white plume in his hand, at his shaking fingers clenched tightly near the end, and he swallows the thick, heavy feeling in his throat. Quackity had- and he had- and then-

Right.

He forces air into his lungs steadily, counting the seconds off in his head. He’d learned how to stave off panic attacks on his own ages ago, and the knowledge had come to full use in the Vault - the struggle to stay calm seems harder with every passing day, but he can’t exactly risk himself passing out every three seconds when he’s inevitably set off by the smell of blood or a twinge of pain or any of the million other triggers crammed into this tiny box that’s been the source of all of his torment for months. He keeps up the slow, steady breathing for another few minutes, just enough time to pull back the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, and looks back down at the blank paper.

It stares back at him, almost judgmental of his hesitancy. You opened me up, it seems to challenge him, why aren’t you writing? The quill still shakes in his hand. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop shaking again.

Dear, he begins, almost in defiance, proof that he Is Going To Write Something, thank you very much, he isn’t just going to chicken out and leave it a blank book (like you have before?) but the quill tip digs into the paper as he grinds to a sudden halt, the empty space next to the first word nearly taunting. He feels his mouth dry, heat rising behind his eyes - the book, silent and blank as ever, stays imprinted in his vision even as he squeezes them shut.

Dear, what a stupid, sentimental way to start a letter. He can’t even fool himself into thinking of it as a business venture, turn it into an elaborate plan to escape and address it to either Techno or Wilbur (who would never receive his message anyway), not without admitting his regard for the two edged past his pretense of professional interested and owed favors. He can hardly write it to Ranboo, not without compromising their already fragile alliance (if it even exists, anymore. The enderman hybrid had yet to visit for months - and sure, it was probably for the best, who knows how Quackity would react if he found out about the nature of their relationship, but that didn’t make it sting any less.)

In the back of his minds, name rise from where he’d kept them carefully buried despite his best efforts. Punz. Bad. Puffy. Sapnap. George. He shakes his head, trying to wave away them from his thoughts, but the effort is as fruitless as it has always been - he stares at the first word angrily, like it has betrayed him, and receives no response. The words are messy, shaking, his script overly looping and rounded like a child’s. He hates it, hates how cheery it looks, even on the bloodstained page - it looks like the beginning of a birthday card, or a perhaps a particularly dedicated Halloween party invite. Like he’s some sort of lovesick teen, writing letters to crushes that would never pay him a second glance. He laughed a little, without any real humor - minus the romance, that description isn’t all that far off.

Because- well. His memories might be shot to all hell, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the hatred on Sapnap’s face, a loaded crossbow pointed between his eyes, George’s expression set in disinterested apathy - “George, you can give the word.” Bad’s face, twisted in pity and resignation, voice carefully measured as he looks away and gestures at the cell, “you did do some pretty bad stuff to get put in here though, Dream,” the hidden “you deserve it” that he’d heard, just as clearly behind the words. Punz - “you should’ve paid me more” - jaw set stiffly as people poured through the portal, watching, wordless, as Dream bled out twice on that blackstone floor. Puffy, poorly hidden disgust flickering over her face as she looks away from him being dragged away in chains, sword held steady in her hands. Sapnap, that same fiercely determined expression on his face so familiar that thinking of it aches, even now, “it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.” Months and months and months and months, alone.

Always, always, alone.

The page makes a quiet, complaining groan under his pen - he looks down to see it torn under the tip of his quill, the word completely unreadable under line after line of black ink scratched over it, each one deeper than the last. He stares blankly at it for a few minutes longer, the brief flash of anger that had seared through his body settling into numbness once more.

To whoever may find this: he scratches the words on the page slowly, keeping his print deliberately blocky and neat. The heavy feeling in his throat returns, stronger than ever, and he ignores it as he pushes on.

He pauses for a moment, wondering what more to write. Apologies? Accusations? He could detail every second that he remembers from Quackity’s visits, describe every inch of pain that had been pulled from his aching lungs, every line etched into his skin. He could apologize for every act of cruelty that had ever been caused by his hands, every bridge he’d ever torched to light the path to a better future. He could explain - everything, every tortured thought that had circled his head for hours on end and every night that had passed without any sleep and every time he’d pushed on without complaint or hesitancy because it would be worth it, even if he was the only one who saw it, it would be worth it because he’d sacrifice too much for it to be anything but. He could- he could, he could write and write until he’d filled every page of every book back and front, and would they even believe him? Would it even matter?

Goodbye, he writes at last. It feels strangely final. (He won’t be leaving this Vault alive. He knows this as surely as he knows that he will leave this world uncared for, unheard. As surely as he knows that he’ll always be alone.) With a quick snap of magic following the signing of his name, the book is preserved, shining slightly with a purple glow as he sets it back down in the chest. He looks around, the cell once again stiflingly quiet without the book to busy him, Dream once again completely alone as he’s been for - well.

(Pandas, eyebrows drawn in uncharacteristic seriousness from the usually painfully spirited eight-year-old, pinkie raised between the two of them, solemnity belied by the gap in his front teeth poking out between his lips.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered with the volume control you’d expect from a kid that age, which is to say that it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, but Dream, newly ten years old, remembers being particularly moved by the gesture anyway, moving to hesitantly hook his own pinkie in the other’s.

“And we’ll never be alone ever again,” he’d replied, voice faraway with a disbelieving sort of awe.”

“Never,” Pandas’ voice had been just as firm as his first statement, twisting his wrist to tighten the grip of their linked fingers further. “Best friends for ever and ever, right?”

“For ever and ever.”)

“For ever and ever,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps down against the floor, and only the lava bubbles in reply.

[simsadventures]

Panopticon: Chapter 27: War Path

Alpha Steve x Omega Reader

Summary: Steve is livid and tries to find you but somebody keeps putting obstacles in his way. You, on the other hand, get to meet the devils and learn some harsh truths.

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics, angst, abduction, slight mentions of torture, life in captivity, lying, swearing, mentions of violence against women, shitty people in general, loads of feels, I would hope, mentions of suicide, mentions of death

Word Count: 3800

A/N: Du dun… Who is ready for some angst? Many of you weren’t happy that we’re taking this route, but it needed to happen because the world is full of assholes who try to make people unhappy. Anyway, so excited about this one, and I can’t wait for you to tell me what you thought. Love you all!! xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist 

< Previous Chapter 

“That won’t help to find my Omega, so no!” Steve yelled across the whole room, and even the experienced Alpha fighters gathered in the room couldn’t help but shudder at Steve’s authoritative voice. They were trying to help, coming up with new ideas to try and bring the Circle down, or at least make somebody from the inside communicate with them to tell Steve and his team the location of his Omega. But no idea was good enough for Steve. 

It had been four days. Four days without his precious Omega, and Steve felt like he was slowly losing his mind. He desperately needed you next to him, just to feel your warm, soft skin pressed against his, or to see the light in your eyes whenever you looked at him. But he had nothing. 

He often saw broken Alphas after all that went down on Earth a few years ago, and while he couldn’t really imagine what they must have been feeling at that time, walking like dead men, some of them on the brink of death because they just couldn’t handle their lives without their loved ones, Steve understood it all now. 

He knew he had to concentrate because he felt you in his veins, felt that you were alright considering the circumstances and, most importantly, that you were still alive. That was the sole reason why he didn’t end it yet. But he was hanging on a thread because each day and night he had to spend without you, his mind was going just a little more insane. He was hearing your voice and this morning, he even saw you standing by the bed. He was elated, but when he blinked a few more times, he realised that it was his brain playing tricks on him and that none of what had happened was just a nightmare. 

Moreover, he had to orchestrate a funeral for Peter and Gamora. The sadness over their loss was embedded deep in Steve’s soul, and he knew he would never get over it, even if he got you back. When he got you back, he scolded himself every time he thought of it, but it was to no avail. The desperation and pain seeped deep into his bones, and the once positive Alpha, who used to be full of life was just a walking shell of numbness. 

Sam and Bucky tried to pick up the mood in the room now and then, but they knew all too well that there was nothing they could say or do to make the situation better. The only thing Steve really needed was to get you back, and they empathised with him. Moments after the realisation hit them that you were indeed gone, they rushed to their own huts to check on their own mates. Their bonds felt fine, but the fucked-up situation got into their heads, and they needed to see their loves for themselves. Both Meera and Tina were sitting comfortably in their houses, unaware of the terror going on just mere meters away from them. They all spent the afternoon scenting and crying, their hearts clenching for their friend who was lost in his thoughts and his pain. 

But Steve tried to come up with a solution. He knew Rumlow would take you somewhere far, but not far enough not to brag about it. The circle was almost a day drive so Steve would have bet Rumlow’s hiding place was somewhere between his own house and the hell house they called the Omega haven. But that was still too much land to cover just by foot or by car, since there were so many abandoned houses and warehouses, not even talking about all the hidden places deep in the forests. So, just going somewhere blindly was not an option. 

Then, he thought of using what was left of the functioning camera system between the city and his lands, trying to see if he could pinpoint at least the direction where Rumlow and his team went. But he came up with nothing since most of the cameras had been destroyed soon after the war had started. 

Steve even thought of taking some military dogs and making them sniff your clothes to find you, but that would mean hundreds of kilometres to search, and that was just impossible. Every single thing Steve came up with was a nonsense, and the longer he couldn’t figure out how to find you, the more desperate and angry he had become. His people knew it was nothing personal, but his yelling and blaming was sometimes too difficult to bear for any of them. Steve knew he was being a dick, and he apologised every time his nerves got the better of him, but it was like he couldn’t do anything about it. 

It was when Bucky spoke up with a guilty look that Steve finally got a good idea from somebody. Not that he particularly liked it, but it was something useful at last, and Steve was actually quite angry with himself for not thinking of it sooner. The idea was to call Peggy because she was always able to find Rumlow a little easier than the rest of the world. How that worked exactly Steve never asked, because Peggy was one of those who kept their work pretty shut, and she wouldn’t brag or even talk about it, so Steve had barely any idea of what Peggy really did. There used to be times when he minded when it drove him up the wall, but not anymore. He didn’t care how she did it, the only thing Steve needed was to get you back. 

He called her almost immediately, listening to her smooth voice as she assured him that she would devote a majority of her time to help him because, after all, she still cared for him very much. Steve thanked her from the bottom of his heart and resolved to wait for her to come back to him since there was literally nothing else to do for him but to wallow in his pain. 

Surprisingly, it only took a few hours for Peggy to reach out and tell Steve that she might have found him. His heart started beating like crazy as if feeling that he might be getting you in his arms sooner than he expected. Peggy told him that she got the memo that Rumlow was hiding in an old warehouse south of the manor, around 70 kms away, and Steve just growled, knowing he was kind of right in his assumptions. He quickly gathered his team, not really speaking much, but they all understood. This was a life or death mission because most of the team was sure Steve wouldn’t survive that if they didn’t find you. 

Steve pretty much jumped out of a moving car when they neared the building, and he got to work immediately, going into the commander mode, assigning roles and talking strategy for when they would come in contact with Rumlow’s team. Everything was meticulously planned, and Steve had a good feeling about that. The only issue was that he couldn’t smell you. But he simply thought that he was still far enough to be able to do that and that they were probably keeping you in some shutoff room.

The closer to the building they got, however, the weirder the whole situation felt. No men were standing outside on the lookout, there were no specific smells to tell the team that there were indeed people hiding inside, and when they finally got in, they found the place completely empty. 

They rummaged through all the rooms, even in the basement and on the roof, but the only thing they got was some cloth lightly smelling like Rumlow, but not enough to tell them how long ago he was at the warehouse. Steve screamed in frustration because there was no sign of you, not even a hint of your smell that he so helplessly craved. 

Bucky and Sam shared distressed looks before they each grabbed Steve from one side and brought him back to the car, hollering at the whole team that the mission was over and that they needed to come back home. Steve didn’t speak the entire ride back, just staring out of the window, thinking of all the times you two would take such rides to and from the city, always discussing new books or just sharing stories from your youths. Steve now found that he took these moments for granted. He enjoyed them, sure, but not enough. There was the nagging voice telling him that he should have done more, that he ought to have taken you with him to that fucking meeting, and none of this would have happened. 

“Stop it, punk. None of this is your fault so stop with the self-blaming and call Peggy to tell you what the fuck happened that her tip wasn’t true,” Bucky interjected Steve’s thoughts, and as many times before, Steve wondered whether Bucky could just read him like an open book or if he had a direct link to his brain. Steve shook his head and dialled the number. 

“So, happily ever after?” Peggy said smugly, and if she stood anywhere near Steve, he swore he would have hit her. 

“Nothing and nobody’s fucking happy, Peggy. Nobody was there except for some piece of cloth that was supposed to smell like Rumlow. Who the fuck gave you this tip? I need to find my Omega, and I don’t have the time to drive around the city and march into every single abandoned building just because you have a hunch. I need real information, Peggy, and if you can’t give that to me, then you’re just wasting my time,” Steve said more tiredly than anything else, but Peggy’s face contorted in annoyance on the other end of the line. 

“I never waste your time, Stevie, you remember that. Look, I thought the info was top-notch, but I’ll keep looking. How about I come to your place, and we can think of a plan together?” 

“Yeah, yeah whatever, it definitely can’t harm us. I’ll be expecting you,” Steve sighed and hung up, nodding at Sam who was watching him through the rearview mirror. 

“Peggy said she’d come and help from the mansion. I mean, I’d rather have the whole fucking team together looking for Y/N, but I can’t fly everyone here from god-knows-where, so anyone who wants to join in is welcomed.” 

Sam nodded but didn’t like it one bit. He understood that Steve was desperate, but Peggy was and had always been bad news, and Sam had a hard time trusting her even back in the days when they had to fight side to side. All the secrecy surrounding her just stank, and Sam was sure he’d keep an eye on her, just in case. He wanted everything to go over smoothly for Steve, and nobody needed a sneaky bitch who would throw them under a train the second she got a better deal from the opposing side. 

You let your hand slide on the ground underneath you. It was rough with what felt like small rocks that were cutting you in the palm. You were seated, and your whole body hurt since you have been in this position for hours. Nobody talked to you since they killed your friends and abducted you. They just blindfolded you and tied you up, changing positions every few hours probably to disorient you since you doubted anybody really cared how comfortable you were. All you could do was rely on your senses and learn as much about your surroundings as you could. You weren’t even sure why you cared, but your brain couldn’t take thinking about anything related to Steve, so you busied it by making sure you knew everything you could. 

You learned that there were three places they would keep you in. You presumed that they were all in one room, but they changed whether you were sitting or lying down. You weren’t even sure what time it was and slept when they put you laid you down. Nobody ever touched you inappropriately, and that’s how you assumed not one of those people was Rumlow. 

The first place they would let you sit in was in an old crinkly chair made of rough wood as you had a few splinters from rubbing your hands against the arm-holders. It had four metal legs, and from the sounds, it made every time you shifted, you thought it was a rather old and overused piece of furniture. 

The second place was where you were sitting now. It was by the wall, which was cold and smelt of moss, and you even though you sensed death a few times, you knew that was just your exhausted brain playing games with you. The ground was full of rocks and shards of glass, so it was your least favourite place to be of the three. The ground was colder than all the other areas, and every time they made you stand up, there was a wet patch where your ass touched the ground as the coldness accumulated against your hot body, making you wish you could just change. But your abductees would never answer to your pleas, so after what you assumed were a few days, you just gave up asking them altogether. 

The third place was a makeshift bed, created out of a few pieces of wood pushed together and an old and smelly mattress. You tried to ignore all that the smell evoked in you, but you sometimes choked on your own saliva as you shifted and changed position, getting another whiff of what smelt like a hundred of butts and sweat. But it was a mattress, and you could get a few hours of sleep, so you couldn’t dwell on the details. 

When you found out everything there was with your surroundings you tried to pay attention to your abductors. And while you couldn’t say precisely how many there were, you had a pretty good idea. As you were an Omega, blindfolded and cuffed, they always came alone, and you recognised each of the people by their steps. There were four of them, each of them having differences in their weight, the length of their steps and the carefulness with which they handled you. That’s how you came up with the number of four. 

Number two was by far your favourite. They (you assumed it was a he but you couldn’t be sure) would always leave you alone even when you needed to use the bathroom. You knew they were in the room, but they had the decency to at least not physically touch you, and, in your mind, you created this picture that the person even turned around to leave you to do your business. They would also give you the biggest amount of water, seeing how you were parched because number four was a complete asshole and would always allow only a gulp before he drastically took the cup away from your mouth. 

And that was your days, filled with diverting your brain from thinking about the graver questions, like where were you, would Steve ever find you, what did they want from you, etc. Every time any of those popped up in your head, you choked up, and had to start touching your surroundings or else you’d have gone insane by now. 

It was when number three was supposed to come and let you sleep that you heard it. It was faint, but your ears perked up at anything that wasn’t your own breath or the sound of boots of your abductors hitting the ground. And this was neither. These were human voices talking about something behind the door. Your heart-rate picked up immediately because, while you hated the routine of four guards and three positions, you also knew that routine was good. Anything that was out of the routine could possibly mean death to you, and you tried to do anything to avoid that. The voices grew nearer, and you shuddered involuntarily, bracing yourself. 

When the door opened, the cold air hit your face, and you hid it between your shoulder blades. 

“Well, well, well, here is the famous Omega the world is searching for. You look so pathetic, it’s actually quite funny,” you heard a female voice say, and your brows knitted together. You heard it before, you just couldn’t place the voice for the life of you. 

“Yeah, well, the sooner she stops pining for that pathetic excuse of an Alpha and becomes mine, she will look much better. I mean, not that anybody’s gonna see her since she is just an Omega pussy, but she is my Omega pussy, so,” the man trailed off, and you didn’t have to think to place this voice. This voice haunted your worst nightmares, so you were pretty familiar with it. 

Rumlow

“Whatever, Rumlow. All we need is to get rid of her mating mark, and we’ll be good. Steve called me and found the warehouse where I sent him empty, and I, as a devoted friend, told him I’d help him from the mansion so I’ll have easy access to him and I will divert him from here if need be. You just need to do what you must so that I can have him back,” the woman spat, and it was as if a light bulb switched on. God, you felt stupid for not suspecting she had her ugly fingers in this. Fucking Peggy who obviously wanted Steve back even when she visited him all those months ago. 

And while it was nice that Steve didn’t feel the same, this woman was clearly a maniac, and she wouldn’t stop at anything to get what she wanted. 

But, there was one more thing that caught your attention. They wanted to get rid of your mating mark, and the thought paralysed your whole body. There were only a few ways to do that to any mated couple, and none of them was humane or accepted by most people. You’ve heard of Omegas trying to sever their bonds as they didn’t like who chose them, and so they cut a clean line across their mark, but even then the bond couldn’t be severed completely. There was also the option of just biting an Omega hard enough where their mates’ mark was, and trying to beat mark with a mark. 

You also heard that true mates were inseparable, and while Bruce told you that you were true mates, you could never know for sure. The inseparableness of true mates could just as well be some old maid tales, it was one of the things your mother used to tell you, but you had no idea where the truth was. 

The only thing you did know was that however they wanted to do it, you would go through hell, both physically and mentally, and that there was a more than likely chance that you would die in the process. 

“You’re not afraid she’ll die on you?” Peggy asked more curious than concerned because, for her plan to work, your ties with Steve had to be cut. She would have preferred killing you since it was easier, quicker and with long-lasting results. But Rumlow had been obsessed with you ever since he lost the fight with Steve back at the Circle. When Peggy heard about it, she just scoffed and told him he was an idiot, because if he would have called her, she could have just snuck you out without anyone knowing and they wouldn’t have been in this mess. 

“I mean, there’s always the possibility, but I’m not letting her run around with his mark. I wouldn’t like pounding a pussy marked by somebody else. Besides, she’s stronger than she looks, isn’t it right, pussycat?” Rumlow asked, for the first time addressing you. But you knew better than to talk, so you just remained quiet, and from the low hum coming from his mouth, you assumed it was a good decision. 

“And what if that bullshit about true mates is real?” 

“Oh, please, not you too. Nothing like true mates exists, Peggy, I told you. Some just smell nicer to particular individuals than others, that’s it. I don’t even know why we’re losing time talking about this. Go and do whatever you want with Steve and his estate and I’ll just do what I want with this one,” Rumlow rumbled, and the next thing you heard was the clicking of high-heels against the hard floor, leaving you alone in the room with the devil. 

“Now, sweetheart, I think we should begin, hm?”

“Oh, Stevie, you don’t look good. Here, let me bring you to your bedroom so you can rest and the team and I will search for your mate in the meantime, hm?” Peggy suggested nicely, and Steve nodded, happy there was somebody who could possibly save you. But before she put her claws on his arm, Sam appeared out of nowhere and stopped her hand. She hissed like a cat and Sam gave her an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look. 

“I think it would be better if you stayed down here, Peggy, as you said, you are such a valuable asset to this team that I wouldn’t want to you to waste your time by going with Steve here. I will accompany him to his bedroom so that he can get some sleep, and, meanwhile, you can work with Bucky,” Sam smirked but didn’t wait for her response as he led Steve towards the staircase and up to his bedroom. There was no fucking way in hell Sam would let Peggy be with Steve alone. And since he shared his worries with Bucky, there were two of them looking out for their best friend, which left Peggy in a tough position. 

She watched Sam and Steve leave the room, and Bucky would laugh hadn’t it been such a delicate situation, because Peggy really looked like the Goddess of Revenge. That just further proved Sam’s theory about Peggy being fishy, to say the least, and Bucky was starting to question whether she didn’t have something to do with your disappearance. 

Peggy saw right through them, and she smirked to herself. If they wanted to play games with her, so be it. She would get Steve alone and inject the serum in him she had been making for so long, and they would finally live happily ever after. Just like they were supposed to. All she needed was to stay close to Steve for a couple of days, get him alone enough times, and he would be all hers. 

/ Next Chapter > 

Tags will be in reblogs xx