mangledmuse

[biscuityskies]

a couple of knights on the road

"Who knows?" his brother says, cuffing Cody sharply on the shoulder once before heading back towards the castle. "Maybe married life will suit you." Cody? Commander of the Armies of the Krayt? Supposed to just settle down and call it quits as a soldier, cozy up into his new life as a married man to a spouse he never picked, let alone met even once? Yeah, right. As if.

this is perhaps my goofiest title. my most whimsical creation. what the heck happened here. anyways here's day three of @codywanweek, with prompts arranged marriage and there was only one bed

[capquinn]

Still The Same | Q. Hughes

summary: it’s the day after the canucks playoff elimination and quinn doesn’t want to think about it at all. based upon this quote from quinny's year-end interview :( pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes word count: 987 note: this came to me at 2am last night so its scattered and a lil wordy and doesn't have v much dialogue but nonetheless here it is. godspeed! <3 ↪ masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s still the same sun shining through the kitchen window.

It’s still the same hazy sky.

Still the same city with the same bustling streets and his same apartment with the same smells and the same comforts.

The world hasn’t ended.

There is still the same familiar embrace that comes from behind when he stands over the coffee machine bleary eyed and trying to keep his mind from wondering. The same squeeze around his middle and the same kiss to his shoulder.

“You OK?” You whisper, following his lead as he shuffles around and brings you close to his chest. Strong arms circle around you and hands rest splayed against the small of your back.

Still the same person he always wants and needs staring back at him. Still the same eyes and pouting lips. The same hands rubbing his back in the same circular motions. The same smell of vanilla body soap and floral laundry detergent that always reminds him of home.

The world hasn’t ended, he reminds himself. The other team were better and his team was eliminated but things could be worse and life goes on. At least the world hasn’t ended.

Everything is still here.

Quinn shakes his head and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. “Don’t even wanna think about it.”

And the same as always, you take care of him.

After breakfast, you’re both curled up in the same spot on the sofa watching the same comfort movie that you always let him pick just so he didn’t catch a glimpse of the news.

“I won’t fall asleep this time,” he promises, laying his head down in your lap.

You roll your eyes and give him a knowing look, and just as he always did, he smiles sheepishly because, yeah, even he knows it’s a lie.

But there’s the same anxious bouncing of his leg and the same pursed lips as he bites the inside of his cheek that lets you know he’s less than okay.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I love you.”

The world hasn’t ended, he tells himself and relaxes into your body again.

There are still the same fingers carding through his hair lulling him into oblivion and the same slow breaths when he finally falls asleep.

He’s not thinking about hockey so you let him sleep for as long as he needs. 

After he wakes, you beg him to teach you the same card game you are never able to comprehend because you know he is unable to resist a challenge and it ends the same way it always does.

“Baby,” he groans. Same bewildered blue eyes fixing you in a stare.

Your inability to grasp the concept frustrates him beyond belief, and it doesn’t help matters when you’re laughing every time he sighs and mumbles when you get the rules wrong each and every round which makes it difficult for him to stay mad with you. After all, he’s still the same lovesick man.

“How aren’t you getting this? Can you be serious for a second? You need to create groups of three of a kind—,”

“I don’t even know what that means,” you cut him short.

“Well if you stop interrupting me you’ll find out,” he tells you, exasperated. It’s still the same bickering.

The world hasn’t ended, and he bites back a smile.

Fuelled by sheer determination, he reiterates the same rules and is even kind enough to demonstrate it all again but when you repeat the rules back wrong for the hundredth time and interrupt the game with the same bout of laughter…

“You’re lucky I love you,” he tells you as he packs away the deck of cards, finally admitting defeat. But he hadn’t thought about hockey so it wasn’t all bad.

And it’s still the same agonising existential dread that keeps him up at night. The same bouncing leg that wakes you. The same tossing and turning. The same sighs and deep breaths. If you didn’t know any better, you would have believed he was doing it on purpose.

You mould your body around his and everything falls back into place. The hurt starts to leave the room.

The world hasn't ended.

Quinn wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, hand nestling in your hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wish you would,” you tell him, desperate to be there for him in any way that he needs.

When he doesn’t respond, you’re angling your body enough so you can search his eyes for a truth. Quinn pushes the hair out of your face and cups your cheek in his hand. A thumb brushes over your pouting bottom lip. He’s unwilling to say anything at all and he hopes you don’t ask him to either.

But you’re still the same woman with the same ginormous heart that worries about him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet,” he mumbles, and cranes his neck to kiss you with the same passion as always. And so the same butterflies flutter around in his stomach and the same hammering of his heart in his chest returns.

He’s kissing you slowly, pillowy lips savouring every moment. Cold hands wander over too hot skin as Quinn drags you closer and now you’re straddling his waist, clawing at the hem of the cotton that covers his body, and when your hands meet his bare shoulders, he finally pulls his lips away from yours. You muffle a moan and paw at his back, trying to pull him closer against you again. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and pecks your cheek until his head dips to place spongy kisses against your neck, tongue swirling against milky skin.

Your fingers curl around the hair at the base of his neck. “God,” you moan. “I love you.”

Having almost succumbed to despair, he’s reminded that the world hasn’t ended.

[angelus-scripturae]

Pls pls write anything for Astarion. Like maybe an imagine, idk. I would much prefer something fluff but literally anything else is fine.

I'm starved :(

Well baby I’m gonna feed you tonight. Can’t have my lovely followers starving now can i?

Astarion Ancunin

Nightmares

Summary: You comfort Astarion after you defeat Cazador (not ascended)

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, mentions of suicidal thoughts and abuse, gn! reader, no use of y/n, no specified pronouns, (shitty writing because this is my first time writing in 2 years)

Astarion couldn’t sleep. Not that he didn’t want to, but he physically couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, phantoms of his past plagued the skin behind his eyelids.

He should feel better. Cazador was dead. The ritual was stopped and his kin were saved. So why did he still feel trapped?

He shifted in his bedroll a few times before letting out a frustrated sigh and sitting up. Running a hand down his face and glancing around the dark tent you shared. The only light being the remaining embers of the fire outside.

Experimentally, Astarion attempted to close his eyes in a futile last attempt to rid himself of the visions. Only to flinch and open them again upon seeing those agonised faces and mutilated bodies.

Sensing the sudden lack of presence beside you, you begin to stir awake and feel the bedroll beside you only to feel it empty. Feeling a jolt of panic, you open your eyes fully only to find your companion sat barely a foot away from you.

Astarion’s head turns as you join him in sitting up. “Sorry if I woke you.” He mutters and runs a hand through his hair. The frown on his face highlighting his fine lines and blemishes.

You shake your head and yawn as you come into a comfortable sitting position. “Don’t apologise…” You shift closer to him but stop once he flinches slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Worry laces your voice as you reach out to touch Astarion’s hand. His hand twitches as if wanting to pull away before he lets it close around your soft skin.

“It’s nothing, darling.” He forces out a chuckle. An obvious attempt to brush the subject off. You’d known him too long to fall for that. You let out a small sigh and move to sit as close to him as you could.

“Star… You can’t lie to me.” You smile sadly at him. “Tell me what’s bothering you. You can trust me.”

Astarion hesitates. Even after months of adventuring with you and getting used to your heroism and kindness, he still struggled with the fact that he could trust you. It’s not that he didn’t want to. He trusted you with his life. But it was still new to him.

“I spent 200 years not trusting anyone…” He speaks quietly. “200 years… suffering at the hands of that maniac.” He swallows as if trying to gulp down a lump in his throat.

“I’m supposed to feel free… happy. I’m finally able to live without the fear of being used as a pawn in some sick plan…” He squeezes your hand ever so slightly, trying to find comfort in the warmth of your skin.

“But I don’t, that bastard is dead and yet I still feel him looming over me. As if gloating that his death was quick.” His voice cracks a bit before he clears his throat. “Do you know how many times I wished for that? Preyed? A quick death to save me from him and my torture?”

His words made your heart break into uncountable pieces. Your eyes softening as you shift to hold his other hand with your free one. “Star…” You start only for him to cut you off.

“You killed him though… I know that…” He clears his throat again. “It’s silly for me to still worry about him. And the people he made me hurt.”

You shake your head and move to get a glance at his face. “Astarion, it’s not silly.” You speak softly, letting go of one of his hands to cup his face and turn his face to yours. “You’ve gone through so much. More than I can even begin to fathom. What you did was not your fault. You were coerced and manipulated by a man who was selfish and ruinous.”

His eyes finally move to meet yours, instantly softening once he sees the kindness in your gaze.

“You’re a different man to who you were under his power. A better man. Even if you don’t believe it. I’ve seen it.” You smile softly and run a thumb along his cheekbone. “It’ll take time to move on from this. This has been your life for centuries. Those habits will be hard to break, but I’ll be right there. By your side. Because I love you.”

Astarion smiles as his eyes gloss over with emotion at your words. “You mean that?”

You nod and press a soft kiss to his nose. “With my whole heart.”

He leans into your touch. Moving closer until he’s able to press soft kisses to your lips. “I love you too.” He whispers against your lips before pulling away and lieing back down on his bedroll.

Your smile widens and you lay down with him. Your head resting on his arm and your body pressed against his in a comfortable silence. No other words needing to be said to explain the bond the both of you share.

Your eyes get heavy again quite quickly as your breathing steadies drifting into a state of rest. Astarion glances down at your sleeping face with a soft smile and moves some of your hair to give you a kiss on the forehead.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself to tackle his demons again. However, for the first time in days, closing his eyes didn’t bring visions of victims and abusers.

But visions of you.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

The Bet

Part one

Eddie is desperate to talk to you but will you ever be able to forgive and forget after learning your friendship was nothing more than a bet? Especially as you had fallen in love with him.

Do you still love him after all that anguish?

Part two.

Warnings: A lot of angst and you'll see..minors shoo! 18+

Don't copy, translate or repost my work.

❤️

A bet. That's all you'd ever been to Eddie, a bet to get one over on your now ex boyfriend, on Jason and the rest of the dark side as Eddie's friend had put it.

Had they spent this whole time laughing at you? Did Eddie get some kick out of stringing you along, stealing your heart piece by piece.

Was everything just a lie?

You had broken up with Bryan a week ago. Sick of his horrible nature and drawn to Eddie, head over heels for him. God you felt like such a fool.

The night you found out about the bet you cried yourself to sleep, walking to school on autopilot. Thank goodness for your friends because you struggled to get through the first day.

Mostly everyone was sympathetic but there was some people who sniggered when you walked past, whispered to their friends only it was so loud that you could hear.

I can't believe how gullible that idiot was

Imagine knowing the freak only got close to you for a bet

Serves that bitch and all the rest of Jason's idiots and the cheerleaders right for thinking they are so hot.

About time someone took them down a peg

Each thinly veiled barb cracked your already bleeding heart and you hurried to get away from the gossip.

It trickled out a couple days later, once the people had finished finding your pain hilarious, how anyone could find someone in pain to be funny was a mystery to you.

Whenever you saw Eddie you rushed away before he could speak to you, wouldn't look at his face because all you knew from him was lies.

Everything was a lie. He didn't love you, he never did. Your heart throbs with that realisation and you do your best to walk around school, head held up high and the heartbreak tucked up inside.

It was all an act but you were a great actor, you had to be to pretend like you weren't in agony on the inside.

...

It was the worst few weeks that Eddie could remember in a long long time, Dustin was disgusted with him and took a long time to talk to him.

His heart felt like it had been ripped in half and it was all his own fault, you wouldn't even look at him.

If he even attempted to try and speak to you it was to no avail.

The longest sentence you uttered was when he begged you to talk to him, even just one word.

All you said was ''goodbye Eddie" or that ''you didn't believe a word he said"

Steve picked you up from school with Robin every day, wouldn't even let Eddie go near you. Threatened to beat the shit out of him if he made you cry again.

He tried to speak to you again a few days later when Steve had eased up on guarding you, it was agonising weeks of you avoiding him.

You were coming out of cheer practice with Chrissy and another girl, Chrissy glared at him and the other girl looked like she wanted to kill him.

"Can we talk please, princess?'' he pleads and you ask your friends to give you a second and they do, very reluctantly still scowling at Eddie. He deserves that.

"I can't Eddie. I don't have anything to say to you" he swallows, his mind going a mile a minute, trying to think of what he can say to express how sorry he is.

''I messed up. I made a stupid mistake. The worst mistake, because I hurt you. I made a dumb bet to try and get back at assholes who bullied and made my friends and my life hell, it was mean and selfish and I wish I'd never done it" you listen to what he has to say and his heart aches when tears pool in your eyes.

"But you did do it, you couldn't even tell me the truth. You lied to me Eddie and all the time I was...I fell in love with you" he moves forward to cup your cheek, desperate for you to know that he loves you too.

"I love you, I fell in love with you and that's why I couldn't tell you. I couldn't lose you" you stare at him and don't speak for a few seconds, when you do the words split his heart in two.

"That's the thing, you lost me anyway" you walk away from him and he can't think of a single thing to say to stop you. Then he steels himself and runs to catch up with you.

"What Eddie?" you snap and he talks quickly, tripping over his words and anxious to get the words out.

"I hurt you badly, I fucked up and what I did was just fucking awful. I know that. I also know that I'm so in love with you, never thought I could feel this way for anyone but you snuck into my heart and it belongs only to you" you don't say anything but you don't rush away either, so Eddie says one more thing before you do decide to leave.

"I'll wait for you sweetheart, for however long it takes. I don't care how long I have to wait, you're worth every single second"

Tears pool in your eyes and you nod slightly. Ever so gently you squeeze his hand just a tiny bit then walk away, leaving Eddie determined as hell to win your trust again and maybe somewhere along the line your heart too.

💕

It took a while for you to even speak to Eddie for longer than five minutes, but he was nothing if not determined and patient, he's was not screwing this chance up.

At first, you didn't think Eddie was serious about waiting for you, but he was. Endlessly patient and sweet. Big brown eyes full of tenderness and joy when you spoke to him.

It was hard not to find him endearing, but he had hurt you badly and there was still a small part of you that held back, that was hesitant to get close, trying to protect your fragile heart that ached for you to give Eddie a chance.

It's Friday now and after an intense week of cheer practice, you can't wait to relax for the weekend.

Chrissy had been watching you looking at Eddie with longing, the exact same way Eddie looked at you for weeks now. To be honest it was beyond frustrating, the both of you loved one another, it was killing you both to be apart.

So that's why she was saying something to you today. More than anything she wanted you to be happy, if Eddie hurt you again just even a tiny bit then she would kick his ass.

That's before Steve go there first.

"Honey, what Eddie did was wrong and I'm mad as hell at him but anyone can see how sorry he is. He's so in love with you, maybe you could give him a second chance" Chrissy says to you as you sit down for lunch.

You rest your head on Chrissy's shoulder and let out a sigh. ''I want to, I want to so badly but I don't want to be heartbroken again''

Something tells Chrissy that Eddie wouldn't dare. That he would keep his promise to never hurt you so badly again.

She squeezes your hand reassuringly and it calms your anxiety down.

"Babe, he wouldn't dare. He's not stupid. Plus everyone might think I'm a sweetheart but I'll kick his ass if he did and Steve would too. Eddie won't lose you, not again"

The words play on your mind all day and when Eddie is hurrying to his truck at the end of Hellfire Club you pluck up your courage and go to speak to him.

"Eddie" the minute he sees you it's like his whole face lights up. A dimpled smile and brown eyes full of adoration greet you.

"Hey, sweetheart" longing fills the air, stifling you both and honestly you're pretty sick of it. So you take a leap, walk up to Eddie and take his hand.

"Would you mind if I asked you for a ride Eds?'' his hand tightens around yours and he grins, rushes to open the door to his truck and almost trips over his feet in the process. It's cute and you can't help but giggle.

He holds the door open for you. "Princess, your carriage awaits" you head inside.

The drive is short and sweet, Eddie once again being a gentleman as he opens the door for you to step out.

You thank him for the ride and before Eddie can head back into the truck, you kiss his cheek gently, then leave a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips.

The kiss leaves him looking dazed, he touches his cheek then his lips and there's that smile again, the one that melted your heart the first time you seen it.

"One more chance Eddie, if you hurt me again thats it. I mean it" he nods, his face serious as he takes in what you say.

"I swear you won't regret this princess, I love you and I'll spend every day proving that, do you... do you still love me?" he whimpers after a few seconds, his expression wide with worry and fear.

"I've never stopped" you answer back.

After your confession he practically does a little dance as he goes into his truck. Just before you open the door to your house, you hear his whoop of delight before he drives off.

The smile doesn't leave your face all night.

❤️

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

I just found your page and stalked all your writing lol, it’s absolutely amazing and I’m highly obsessed now!! from the prompt list for jily: “What are we?” + “I would like us to be more than friends.” (Head students era confession?)

oh you mean my favourite jily era??? my pleasure! ps uhhh pls don't count the words on this one

from this prompt list

James has thought about the moment at least once an hour, every day, for about two months now. Putting it into perspective like that makes him come face-to-face with the fact that he’s even more ridiculous than he’s usually comfortable admitting. 

And James has always known he’s ridiculous.

The conversation plays out a million different ways in his head, like a lucid dream he can only sort of control and only up until a certain point because it’s Lily, and he stopped trying to predict her next move long ago.

It’s why she always beats him at chess. He knows her—really knows her, not like he used to think he did—but he’ll never be able to anticipate what she’ll say or do. Full of surprises, she is.

Somehow, though—his brain, in the infinite possibilities it’s constructed, failed to think of even one situation in which she would be the one asking him.

“What are we?” she asks, sitting on the bench next to him outside Scrivenshaft’s, her thermos of tea warming her hands. She's wrapped in her Gryffindor scarf with a green knit cap pulled down over her ears, auburn curls spilling out and flying around with each heavy gust of the biting January wind. She's perfect and he just—

Stares at her.

“Okay,” she says, laughing, then takes a long sip of her tea, her gaze shifting to the empty street in front of them. It’s still early, so most of the Hogsmeade crowd is either having a lie-in or getting breakfast at the Three Broomsticks.

James and Lily got out of the castle as quickly as they could in order to make the most of their day. Day, not date, because they’re friends. Sort of. Most of the time. Except for when she flirts with him and he flirts back and that one time last week when he’s almost positive she was going to kiss him and that other time last week he is positive he was going to kiss her. And all the other moments that makes him absolutely lose his head.

“Never mind,” she says, and she’s bloody smiling. “I thought we…” Another slow, agonising sip. “Never mind.”

James feels the panic set in, just like when they play chess. It’s his move, he knows it’s his move, but which way can knights move, and how many spaces can bishops take, and—

“You’re freaking out,” she observes casually. He doesn’t know when she looked back at him.

“What?” he manages, the word sounding squeaky.

She might smile again, then. He can’t be sure, because she’s lifted the thermos back up to her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought you were ready.” She tilts her head, studying him. “I’ve been trying to pick a good moment, you know. To talk about this. But…” She shrugs. “Guess I was wrong.” She caps her thermos of tea and stands from the bench then, looking down at him. “Wanna go to Honeyduke’s?”

“Do I want to—” He shakes his head, blinking rapidly, then looks up at her, sharply. “Huh?”

Lily laughs softly. “It’s almost ten,” she says, like this was the root of his confusion. “We can be first to the Pick ‘N Mix for once.”

She’s talking about candy. She’s just asked him to define their entire complicated relationship and then—without waiting even a moment for him to catch his breath—started talking about candy.

“Can you…” He frowns, struggling to find his words. (Struggling to remember how to breathe.) “Sit down…please,” he finally manages.

Thankfully, she doesn’t argue, settling back down on the bench beside him. He certainly doesn’t have the wherewithal to match wits with her right now if she chooses to be stubborn.

“I need a…a minute.”

“Okay,” she says, and pops the lid back off her thermos, gracefully pouring herself another shallow cup of tea. “You know,” she says, conversationally, “this works loads better than a heating charm. Marlene says I’m mad for lugging it all about Hogsmeade, but how else can I secure an infinite amount of tea to get me through the day? We don’t have a spell for that yet, do we?”

“Are you—” He breaks off and turns toward her on the bench. “Are you enjoying this?”

Her lips twitch up into a small smile. “Perhaps a little.”

He shuts his eyes tight and groans.

“I intend to be your girlfriend by the time we graduate, Potter,” she says, and he doesn’t know when she’s leaned toward him, but he can smell the peppermint tea on her breath and feel it tickle the hair near his ears. The bench creaks as she moves back away from him, taking his heart with her. “We’ve got, oh—” A pause. “Six more months. I’m not in a hurry.”

Not in a hurry. What the hell is wrong with him? He’s been waiting for this for six years. Well, perhaps that’s a bit dramatic, but—this calls for being dramatic! She’s just admitted to wanting to be his girlfriend—his girlfriend!—and he’s fumbling the Quaffle so bad he’s about to be benched. 

He can’t let this moment pass by without saying something.

“Girlfriend!” he blurts out

“Is that—” Her grin grows, even as her cheeks flush pink. “Was that an offer, or are you auditioning for the role of a caveman in a play I didn’t know Hogwarts was putting on?”

James wants to pull his hair out of his head. He wants to pull it out of his head and make a nest, so he can hide forever, like those bald little baby eagles he saw with his parents on the coast last summer.

“No, I want to—let’s talk.”

She sets the thermos on the bench between them and lifts up her hands, counting her fingers one at a time as her lips move wordlessly. “Wow. Six words.”

“Lily, can—you…”

“Okay, okay,” she says, with a giggle. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop taking the piss, I swear. Let’s talk.” Folding her hands in her lap, she looks at him expectantly. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”

He gives her a significant look, making her laugh again, but she nods.

“Alright,” she begins, “well I don’t have much to say, really.” She shrugs, her legs dangling back and forth over the bench, just shy of touching the snowy ground. “I like spending time with you. I think you’re ridiculously fit. You’re a good person and—I really want to be able to kiss you without wondering if it’ll ruin everything.”

James has always found most Muggle swears to be rather lacking in oomph, but now—

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Oh,” he says.

“So, Potter,” she drawls, nudging his shin with her foot, “what are we?”

“I would—” he starts, then pauses, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “I would…like us to be more than friends.”

“Oh,” she echoes, her foot hooking behind his on the ground in front of them.

“Lily.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve had a—a whole speech ready. For weeks.” he confesses. “But right now, my brain is…cold, I think. So I don’t want you to take my lack of…words…as a lack of enthusiasm. I’m…very enthused.”

Lily looks at him, jade eyes blazing. “Will I get to hear the speech in the near future?”

“Do you…want to?”

“I want to hear anything you have to say, Potter,” she says simply.

“Are you sure because—”

“Yes,” she replies, moving closer. Her wind-chapped lips stop a breath away from his. “What are we, James?”

He inhales deeply and doesn’t think again before murmuring, “Everything,” and closing the gap between them.

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Want You Back | ateez x reader

Pairing: werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

Genre: fluff mostly, romance, poly, a little angst?

Warnings for this chapter: another mention of a sharp object

Word Count: 2073 words

a/n: there will be an epilogue. :) not gonna lie, I'm a little more nervous for this chapter. let me know your thoughts! happy (heh) reading!

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

Chapter 11

And when you thought about it, you didn’t think it would end up like this.

You had no clue where you were going. As much as you tried initiating your bond with Hongjoong, he did not respond to your calls. You were relying on your dazy memory of your dream and muscle power, and also a silent prayer in your mind to the Moon Goddess to protect Hongjoong and assist you in finding him.

Wandering around Seoul in your condition was the worst and in the back of your head, you could practically hear Seonghwa reprimanding and reproaching you for your decision. But you were not going to turn back, as much as you were unsure about Hongjoong as a mate at the moment, you feared your dream coming true. 

You were not going to let it happen.

Please show me the way. Like a mantra, you called on the Moon Goddess for assistance as you paced forward. Suddenly, effortlessly, you felt yourself being guided. You weren’t sure where you were going but you trusted the feeling inside you and continued down the path.

After a long trail, you found yourself outside an abandoned building. And abruptly you felt Hongjoong’s bond; he was inside. Without much thought, you raced inside despite every aching part of your body begging you to slow down. But you were resolute and had to find Hongjoong before it was too late.

Thankfully, Hongjoong was alone, hovering over a table.

“KIM HONGJOONG!” you bellowed.

Hongjoong thought he was hearing things but when he turned and saw you in the flesh, either he was finally losing it or it was really you in front of him. When you grabbed him and shook him around, then he realised it was really you.

“Y/N!? What- what are you doing here!? You were unconscious!? How are you -”

“I woke up and we need to leave now!” you stressed.

“What? No I can’t and you shouldn’t be here! You still need to recover!”

“Kim Hongjoong, we will deal with that later, right now we need to get somewhere safe.”

“Why? Wait, Y/N, I-” Hongjoong paused as he tried to pull himself together. 

Here you were in front of him, looking at him with concern and worry, and pulling him with you. He looked at you with tears in his eyes. 

Still, despite what he did, you cared.

“W-Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

“What?”

“After everything, why do you still care about me?”

You softened at Hongjoong’s broken look. The light that once shone so brightly in his eyes dimmed to flicker behind his tears and his expression resembled one like a wilting flower. Why did you care? You had more than enough good reasons not to. Loving him had hurt so much, and left you with a broken heart, that weighed so heavily when you thought about it, you could barely make yourself move, much less feel. If you could even feel anything, you felt the sadness and grief bleeding every time you thought about it. The intensity was agonising and the weight of the despair felt soul-crushing.

But seeing Hongjoong in your dream sent shockwaves throughout you. Despite the turmoil that swirled inside you, Hongjoong is your first love and you needed to save him. You will protect the leader of the strongest pack and your mate, no matter what it took.

“Because I love you,” you answered, “Because…despite all your stupidity and foolishness, I love you Hongjoong, I did then and I still do. And I don’t know what that makes me, a fool I guess, but that’s okay. Because you mean a lot to me no matter how much I might try to convince myself otherwise.”

Honjoong gazed at you tenderly as the tears stung like shards of glass. You were always going to be the best decision he ever made. Cautiously, he reached for your hand to hold in his, and traced along your knuckles in a silent confession. He loves you too. Your love story is a winding path with so many unexpected twists and turns but somehow, you always end up right back to one another. 

Gazing at Hongjoong, you decided to do something risky. You hesitated, your eyes flickered to lips before meeting his eyes. His eyes drooped to your linked hands, and so, drawing in silent and shaky breath, you used your free hand to lift Hongjoong’s face and tilted your head slightly as you connected your lips to his. His lips were still soft like you remembered.

Meanwhile, Hongjoong felt a spark of electricity travelling throughout his veins. His eyes widened but he dared not ruin the moment. He kissed you back with just as much tenderness and sweetness, cupping your face to pull you in closer. 

As the two of you parted, a flurry of emotions raced through each of you but before either of you could speak, the sound of a door being broken down interrupted you. It sent you right back to remembering your dream. Your heart began to pound furiously and each beat echoed the growing fear as each crash was a flashback to your dream. The fear felt unshakeable and magnified the panic that was beginning to take over you.

Hongjoong drew you near and wrapped his arms around your waist. His hand behind your back was a comforting attempt as he slowly rubbed soothing circles. He stood straight as his eyes flashed to his werewolf gold, ready to protect you. The similar feeling of uncertainty surfaced and you gripped Hongjoong’s shirt, signalling that you felt something wasn’t right. 

“Joong…”

“No matter what happens, you will always be the one, in this life and the next and forever.” he said.

And with that, he pulled you as close as he could to him, as everything exploded around you.

On the other side, the other boys were restless. Seonghwa gripped his hands in his hair furiously as he tried to process everything that was happening. Currently, they were with Chan and his soulmates, trying to decipher where you were. The hospital camera caught you leaving the premises, but where you headed after turning the corner was a mystery. 

When Yunho retold them everything Hongjoong had said, Seonghwa wanted to do nothing more than barge into the mansion and end Mrs Kim right then and there. But before he and the boys could even think about that, you snuck out and Hongjoong was somewhere in this big city. 

Chan had a bad feeling. He felt it the day he met you. It was a feeling that wouldn’t go away, and as he researched and studied, he realised someone was out to get you, someone wanted you gone and wanted to take away everything you had. You didn’t deserve that, he could see it in your stars, that you deserved a beautiful life of prosperity, love and success. But there was an evil eye that envied you and didn’t want you to live that life. Chan promised himself to protect you and he could tell the other boys also did so secretly. 

But Chan was only a wizard and could not control fate.

“Guys…” Jeongin called from the window.

As Chan approached, he was taken aback at the massive gang of rogues that stood outside. Seonghwa too was surprised - where did so many rogues even come from?

“What are we going to do?” Jongho asked.

“We can take them.” San said resolutely, “Then we will find Hongjoong and Y/N.”

Chan and Seonghwa looked at each other, both silently confirming to the other. They watched their respective soulmate groups, each member ready and prepared to take on whatever happened next.

Chan looked at Jisung who nodded in confirmation to Chan’s telepathic message to him

“Then,” Chan said, “We fight, we fight to the end if we have to because none of us will go to that woman as prisoners.”

“And no matter what happens,” Seonghwa continued, “Remember that we will always find our way back to each other.”

-

“They’re all gone.”

Mrs Kim stood in the middle of the foyer, a sickening smile plastered on her face as she tapped her fingers on her arm. She finally did it, and now, everything would go her way. She turned to her husband who was on his knees as her lover held a gun to his head.

“See? I always get what I want.” she laughed smugly. 

Mr Kim silently wept as he watched the broken picture frame a few metres away. It fell when a sudden gust of wind blew and shattered right by him. It was a picture of all of you, smiling and looking so happy. Mr Kim was bloodied and beaten but the pain was nothing to the profound emptiness that opened up inside of him, threatening to swallow him whole. His family was gone. Everything he worked so hard to build and the family he loved and adored was unfairly taken away from him by no one else but the woman he had married. A dark cloud of grief descended on him with a haunted and hollow look glazed over his eyes.

Lila stood in shock by what she just heard. You were all gone but instead of feeling like she won like Mrs Kim, she felt her spirit sinking like a stone in the water. She was appalled by the cruelty she was witnessing.

The pack that held the highest rank in the entire town no longer existed and was taken out by one of their own.

“Now where is my son?” Mrs Kim said gleefully.

The two rogues who brought the information glanced at each other cautiously.

“Well?”

“He’s gone too ma’am. He looked like he was going to protect the girl to the end. So, we decided to just blow up the building with them in it.”

Mrs Kim was dismayed by what she just heard. No… it was only supposed to be the eight of you, not her son. She blinked in confusion as realisation dawned on her. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“No…NO NO NO!” she shrieked, “You imbeciles. You were supposed to just take out the girl and the other boys. Not my son!” 

Mrs Kim was flabbergasted by the sudden turn of events. She needed Hongjoong here, he had to lead with her overlooking him. This wasn’t a part of the plan.

Mr Kim, with as much energy as he could muster, looked at the woman with disdain.

“You…” he growled viciously, “You have not won Estelle. You will pay, you will pay for all that you’ve done. My children will come back, they certainly will, and when they do, they will bring you down and drag you to hell right where you belong. You will just watch as you lose everything that never belonged to you in the first place.”

With the little strength he had, he grabbed the gun from Mrs Kim’s lover and shot him in the shoulders. As her lover retaliated, Mr Kim grabbed a glass shard that was close and sliced the man’s face leaving a scar that would never be forgotten. Mr Kim grabbed the picture of all of you and ran as fast he could, barely escaping the two rogues behind him.

Mrs Kim watched in fury and seethed in anger. She didn’t have another plan and it was only a matter of time before people found out.

“What now?” her lover groaned trying to stop the blood that oozed from his face, “He will pay for that.”

“Forget him for now, we need to leave now.”

“And where are we going to go?”

She looked at him sharply before answering, “The human realm.”

-

“THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!” 

As the angel wailed and was comforted by his friend, the Moon Goddess watched with folded arms and a stoic expression.

“Calm down Jungwon.” his friend pacified. 

“This can’t be the end for them, Goddess. Please, please don’t let that woman win.” the angel cried.

“It’s not,” the Goddess answered, “Every action has a consequence. The stories of the soulmate groups have not been completed yet. If we leave it, there will be an imbalance.”

“So,” the angel sniffed, “What are you going to do? It’s not the end right?”

Suddenly, a baby’s cry rang through the heavens. The Goddess smiled.

“It’s not the end my dear child, this is only just the beginning.”

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

Taglist:

@eastleighsblog @sehun096rainbow @greensnakeglobep @satsuri3su @zonked-times @sugarrush-blush @lomons @explorewithd @chatsgotmytongue @scarfac3 @popcatx0 @angrynightnight @sannieluvrr @idfkeddieishot @alicia-dpa @park-simphwa @puppyminnnie @mysticfire0435 @sundayysunshine @chngbnwf @dementedaly @thunderous-wolf @itsmeregan @cookiechristie @hyukssunflower @lelaleleb

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Daughter

The man who was not a man held the girl's limp head, kneeling on the fine marble floor. All the riches in the world meant nothing compared to that small, lean body splayed out on the floor. He would have given up everything he owned, everything he knew, everything he was, if only he could see her lopsided smile again.

“Andrea,” he murmured, begging, pleading, praying. “Andrea, Andrea, Andrea.”

She did not respond. He knew she would not. Knowing, with absolute certainty, was one of those things that came of being a not-man. From the second he had set his eyes on that fierce face, on those calloused hands, he had known this would end horribly.

He took a deep breath, ready to give a eulogy, ready to say goodbye, ready to close this chapter of his book. But the only thing he managed to close was his mouth.

No, he couldn't think of it, say it, do it. He wouldn't. It hurt, the way only foolishness could hurt. It hurt like bloody hell I dropped the cup again, like say what is that flower, like oi watch your tongue old bastard. It hurt beyond all the pretty words he so often used, in the lands where incoherent screams and broken silence lay.

He should never have taken her in, never have patched up that infected eye, never taught her letters and painting and all the beautiful things a runaway-child warrior had never known. It was a mistake. A horrible mistake that had fortunately rectified itself. A mistake that was over now, so he could return to his daily life and never acknowledge her existence again.

And yet- And yet- And yet- He could hear her gasps of wonder at his little knick-knacks, taste that awful pie she would make with her assorted gatherings, smell the wildflowers she left at his table every morning. He felt her fingers tugging at his robes, arms thrown about his neck in thanks, feet treading on his hooves. 

That eidetic memory of his had betrayed him, for once; not in weakness, but in its perfection, in that detailed reel of her malnourished stick-thin body shooting up and filling out, of that scraggly hair growing lush as the tallgrass, of their time together played over. And over. And. Over.

She named him, with the simplicity of a child's imagination. 'N', for the way his arms bent thrice, at the wrist, elbow, and that third joint he had no name for. She wove crowns of the freshest daisies every year to grace his head, and mad, and promised to defend him with her life, and made good on it too. She had given him so many gifts, and he had but one to give her.

Deep in the crevices of his mind, he remembered a word. He had no use for it, there being only one of his kind, but her used it anyway, then. 

“Daughter,” he named her, a fair exchange for that which she had given him. “My daughter, Andrea. I love you so much. I promised you a safe home, one where none would ever harm you again. I-”

Words failed him again. N cradled her body against him, keening as he did so, a long, agonised noise like a wolf's howl. He pulled her fingers to his chest and wept into them.

Alas, his duty extended beyond merely mourning. She deserved a proper farewell, like the little warrior she was.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I apologise. I apologise a thousand times over. I have failed you, my daughter.” He knew she would die, as all mortals did. He knew it would hurt. But how could a bloodless wound hurt so very much?

He would have wrenched open his chest to dig out his heart if he had one. He would have slit his throat if he could die from it. He would have done anything if it would undo his mistake.

No, that was a lie. He could undo his mistake. He knew how to bring her back. Knowledge, especially the forbidden sort, was his specialty. It would be so, so very simple. A city razed, blood pricked from an infant's heart, and a sacrifice of true love. That he could do in an instant, just to have his daughter back.

But for all his love and heartache, he was no man. He did not have man's selfishness, man's free will, man's ability to give up a thousand lives for just the one. He could not do it, not without giving up a part of his soul. So he did not.

The man who was not a man laid his daughter back down. He was not quite sure what to do with a corpse. He had never had one before, after all. 

Then again, he had never had a daughter before.

(in honour of my dad's birthday <3)

Taglist: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Flu Part 3

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You get the flu. But for someone with your immune system, the flu is never just the flu. Warnings: Flu Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

The morning light seeps through the high windows of the hospital wing, illuminating dust particles that float lazily in the still air. It's quiet, a stark contrast to the usual bustle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On any other day, you'd be out there with the rest of them, rushing to class or laughing in the Great Hall over breakfast. But today is different. Today, you lie immobile on a crisp white bed, your body heavy and unresponsive.

A dull throb pulses at your temples, matching the rhythm of your heart. Your skin burns hot against the cool sheets, while tremors run down your spine, leaving a trail of chills in their wake. You swallow hard, your throat raw and parched despite the glasses of water Madam Pomfrey insists you drink. The fever has its hold on you, refusing to let go, clinging with an intensity that tightens around you like a vice.

Madam Pomfrey hovers nearby, her face etched with concern as she consults another healer—a tall, stern-looking man who casts worried glances in your direction. Their voices blend into a low hum, words indistinguishable from the static buzz in your head. They speak about you, of that you're certain, but the meaning slips away before you can grasp it, lost amidst the fog clouding your mind.

Beside you, three figures sit huddled together—James, Sirius, and Remus. They've been there the whole time, taking turns keeping watch by your bedside. Their shoulders are tense, postures rigid, every so often casting anxious looks toward where you lie.

"Y/N...," James murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. It reaches you, distant and distorted, as if carried on the wind from miles away. "We need you to be okay."

Sirius' hand finds yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your palm. His touch is grounding, a beacon calling you back from the edge of consciousness.

"We're right here," he says, though his tone lacks its usual bravado, replaced instead with a quiet desperation. The reality of the situation hangs heavy in the air—the girl they care so deeply for reduced to this state, each breath drawing shallower than the last.

Remus watches, his knuckles white where they grip the armrest. It's not supposed to be like this—you're not supposed to be lying there, pale and motionless. He wants to do something, anything, but feels helpless in the face of your illness. A low growl rumbles in his chest, frustration mounting.

Madam Pomfrey moves with purpose, her steps echoing off the stone walls of the hospital wing. The stern-faced healer beside her follows closely, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. They've been at it since morning—concocting potions, casting spells—all in an attempt to break your fever, but nothing seems to work. Your body fights back, resistant to their efforts.

"Stay with us," James murmurs, his voice a soft mantra that circles the room, weaving through the silence that stretches between each agonising second. Sirius and Remus echo his sentiment, their own pleas adding to the symphony of worry that hangs heavy in the air.

Madam Pomfrey's hand hovers above your forehead, her touch light as she checks your temperature once more. Her expression hardens as she pulls away, confirming what they all fear—the fever hasn’t broken, and your condition is worsening.

She turns to the boys, her gaze meeting theirs with an unwavering intensity. "I need to speak with you three," she says, gesturing towards the far corner of the room. There’s a gravity to her tone that leaves no room for argument. With hesitant glances back at your still form, they rise from their seats, following her with heavy hearts.

Once out of earshot, Madam Pomfrey takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. "Y/N's fever isn’t going down," she begins, ignoring the way her voice wavers. She clears her throat, pushing forward despite the knot tightening in her stomach. "And the infection... it's spreading."

Sirius' grip tightens around the edge of the chair he's leaning against, knuckles whitening under the strain. Beside him, James swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he struggles to process the information. Remus remains silent, eyes fixed on the ground, every muscle in his body taut with tension.

"The problem is Y/N's immune system," Madam Pomfrey continues, her words measured and precise—a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within each of them. "It's too weak to fight off this kind of infection."

This isn't the first time you have been in such a state, and they’ve seen you confined to the hospital wing before, pale and shaking, after another bout with your chronic illness. But never like this.

"I've done everything I can here," Madam Pomfrey admits, her voice barely a whisper now. "But given the severity of Y/N's condition and her weakened immune system..." She trails off, the weight of her next words hanging heavily in the air.

"There’s only one option left." She meets their gazes again, her own reflecting a mixture of determination and regret. "We have to transfer Y/N to St Mungo’s."

"You can't mean that," Sirius says, his voice rough with disbelief and simmering anger. He looks ready to argue, to insist there must be another way, but even he knows that Madam Pomfrey wouldn't suggest such a drastic measure unless it was absolutely necessary.

Remus is quieter, his jaw tight and hands clenched in his lap. He knew this was a possibility—had feared it, even—but hearing it spoken aloud makes it all too real, the words slicing through the thin veil of hope they've been clinging to.

All three boys turn to look at you, lying so still on the hospital bed. A mix of fear and helplessness flickers in their eyes as they take in your pale complexion, the dark circles under your closed lids—a stark contrast to the vibrant, lively girl they know and love.

"Y/N," James whispers, as if saying your name could somehow anchor you to them, keep you safe within the castle walls. But there's no response from your motionless form, only the steady rise and fall of your chest offering any reassurance.

"St Mungo's?" Your voice is barely a whisper, the words slipping past your dry lips with effort. The thought of leaving Hogwarts—your home away from home—sends a pang through your chest, sharper than any physical pain you've experienced.

"I know it's not ideal," Madam Pomfrey says gently, her hand still resting on your forehead. "But we're running out of options here at Hogwarts."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes—not of fear, but frustration. You want to protest, to say there must be another way, but deep down, you understand the severity of your condition. And despite the swirling emotions threatening to consume you, one fact remains painfully clear: staying at Hogwarts could mean letting this illness take an even greater hold over you.

"Okay," you manage, though the word feels heavy and tastes bitter on your tongue.

Madam Pomfrey gives a small nod of approval, relief briefly flashing across her face before she resumes her professional demeanor. "Rest now," she instructs. "We'll make sure everything is ready for the transfer."

You want to argue, to tell her you're not tired—that sleep won't help. But that would be a lie. Every inch of your body aches; exhaustion seeps into your bones, pulling you further under its spell. Fighting off the infection has left you drained and weak, each breath more laborious than the last.

James watches as Madam Pomfrey walks away, a hollow feeling settling in his stomach. He glances back at you, lying so still on the hospital bed, your face pale and drawn. Despite the distance between you, he can see the subtle tremble of your hands, the slight furrow in your brow—a testament to the battle raging within you.

Sirius stands rigid beside him, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to ward off the chill creeping into the room—or perhaps the reality of your condition. His grey eyes, usually sparkling with mischief and confidence, are clouded with worry.

"This doesn't feel right," Sirius mutters, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of unease. "There has to be something else we can do."

"I'll arrange for the transfer within the hour," Madam Pomfrey declares, her tone leaving no room for argument. It's a sound you've grown accustomed to over the years—firm yet caring, always with your best interest at heart.

The next time you open your eyes, there's another figure standing by your bed—a healer from St Mungo's, dressed in lime green robes that seem too bright against the stark white of the hospital wing. They move with calm efficiency as they check your vitals and prepare you for transport.

You're barely conscious, hovering on the edge of awareness. The pain has dulled into something distant, but it lingers still, a constant reminder of the battle being fought within your body. Even so, you try to focus on the voices around you—the familiar cadence of James' worry, Sirius' attempts at levity, Remus' quiet strength.

"Y/N." The whisper comes from beside you, where James sits, his hand reaching out to grasp yours. His fingers are warm and slightly calloused from countless hours spent gripping a Quidditch broom handle. He doesn't say much else—what is there to say?—but his worried expression speaks volumes.

Across the room, Sirius paces, each step punctuating the silence like a metronome ticking away seconds. His brow furrows, lips pressed into a thin line as he runs a hand through his hair—an attempt, perhaps, to physically shake off the helplessness threatening to consume him. He stops mid-stride, glancing back at you, then quickly turns away again, unable to hide the concern etched onto his features.

Remus stands a little farther back, arms crossed tightly across his chest. His gaze never strays from you, watching every move the healer makes with a hawk-like intensity. If he's afraid, he hides it well behind the stoic mask he wears, but the tension radiating from him betrays his true feelings. This isn't how it's supposed to be—you're not supposed to be lying there, pale and weak while they stand helpless, waiting for news that could change everything.

"Stretcher," the healer commands, wand at the ready. A floating stretcher appears beside your bed, its surface shimmering slightly with protective charms. The boys watch as the healer carefully levitates you onto it, their eyes wide with apprehension.

"How long will she have to stay there?" James asks. His voice is steady, but his grip on the edge of your hospital bed betrays his worry.

"And can we visit her?" Sirius adds, arms crossed over his chest. He's trying to appear nonchalant, but the slight crease between his brows gives him away.

"What about treatments? What are they going to do exactly?" Remus questions, his tone quiet yet persistent.

The healer looks up from her task and takes a moment to address them. "It depends on how Y/N responds to the treatments our team provides," she explains patiently. "We'll be placing her in a specialised ward designed for those with compromised immune systems."

"Compromised—" James starts, but the word catches in his throat, leaving an unspoken question hanging in the air.

"Yes," the healer continues without missing a beat, understanding the gravity behind his unfinished question. "Given Y/N's current condition, stronger potions will be used—ones that aren't readily available here at Hogwarts. We'll monitor her closely, adjust the dosage if needed..."

She trails off, returning her focus to securing you onto the stretcher. Her movements are deliberate, each one serving a purpose—to ensure your safe transfer, to maintain your stability, to offer a sliver of hope amidst the uncertainty.

"We'll take good care of her," the healer reassures them, though whether it's out of professional duty or genuine empathy, they can't tell. All they know is that you're being taken away, beyond the stone walls of Hogwarts, into the unknown.

Despite the assurance, the words hover like smoke, thick and suffocating. They cling to every corner, seeping into the cracks, offering little comfort against the chill that has settled deep within their bones. Can this stranger truly understand what you mean to them—their girlfriend, their confidante, the girl who fits so seamlessly into their lives?

“She will be okay, boys," Madam Pomfrey reassures them softly. "St Mungo’s has the best healers in our world. I'll keep you updated on her condition."

You feel James's hand tighten around yours again—a lifeline amidst the storm that threatens to consume your thoughts. His voice breaks through the fog of fear and pain, a beacon guiding you back from the edge.

"We're here, Y/N," he whispers, his breath warm against your cool skin. He lifts your hand up gently, pressing it to his lips. His eyes are full of worry as they meet yours, but he forces a smile onto his face—a shield against the despair that looms over all of you. "We won't leave until they take you away."

Beside him, Sirius stands tall and resolute. His usually playful features are drawn into a serious expression—one that speaks volumes about the gravity of the situation.

"See you soon, baby," he murmurs, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back. Even now, with everything at stake, he manages to hold onto the hope that things will get better—that you will get better.

Remus is the last one to approach. Unlike the others, his goodbye isn't filled with empty promises or forced optimism—it's quiet and gentle, like the man himself.

"Just hang on a little longer, Y/N," he says, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. His touch is comforting, grounding, even though you can barely feel it through the numbness that has spread across your body. His eyes, a soft mix of concern and reassurance, never leave yours. "You have to fight this... for us."

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Burning Up

TW: Delirium, fever (symptoms described), mentioned pills (medicine, I swear)

What is this? It's the fluff snippet I promised my lovely nemesis @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 , and I really hope you enjoy this < 3 < 3

"Are you alright?"

The words seemed to snap the heroine abruptly out the void of her own muddled up thoughts, feeling as though her head were stuffed with cotton, everything an incoherent blur.

"Yes," she still answered back anyway, a trained response, one that stopped people from prying any further, from looking disappointed. It was the answer they really wanted to hear, even if it really disproved the question's validity.

Except the villain didn't smile, and he didn't leave the way he was supposed to. His brows were furrowed, and his arms were folded across his chest, and even though the hero didn't say anything, she just knew she didn't enjoy the sight.

She'd always hated it when he frowned, when he wasn't smiling, or wasn't even wearing the cocky smirk he always brought to their fights. She couldn’t tell what exactly in her response had warranted such a reaction from the criminal, but the guilt twisting knots at the pit of her stomach was very palpable.

As she stepped closer to him, pulling her rigid, aching muscles into a fighting stance; anything to distract him, the attempt hindered by her sluggish movements, all she'd managed to do was stumble towards him, losing her balance humiliatingly fast. It was only her luck that the villain's reflexes were still as razor-sharp as always, rapidly pulling her into his arms and steadying her with his weight.

And he was warm, and blissfully so, his grip firm but never unkind. As fervently as the crime-fighter wanted to lie down, the villain's embrace was comfortable, comfortable to the point that her train of thoughts, broken and destined to crash seemed to steady a bit, the world losing its edge of murkiness for just a moment.

Carefully, the villain pulled away and pressed his hand to her forehead, immediately retracting it away as if he'd been burnt. The guilt resurfaced again, an old, unwelcome demon resurrected, even more so as his frown deepened.

He let out a soft curse. "What were you thinking? Trying to fight when you're like this? You're burning up!" he interjected, his eyes wide, and a note of concern in his voice mixed in with the annoyance.

Except all her mind chose to focus on was the villain's choice of words to describe her state. 'Burning up', as he'd called it, didn't seem too far-fetched from the fire in her head, practically sizzling across her flushed skin, bile rising at the back of her irritated throat, her sore muscles burning with the pain, every movement agonising. Even if she couldn't see that she was burning, literally burning, it felt exactly as though she was.

"You're coming home with me, right now. Whatever ludicrous reason you might have for pulling this bloody stunt, I don't want to hear it," he stated, blunt as always, lifting the hero into a bridal carry almost as though it was second nature to him.

And in the midst of her delirious state, the hero hadn't memorised the route he'd taken home in his car, or how he'd accessed his lair, probably not being able to tell it was a lair as he carried her up into his actual residence. In a different state, the heroine's uncanny attention to detail would have engraved it all into her memory. She only registered the arms that were around her, and the pain that racked her body; her mind becoming too primitive to notice much beyond what she could physically feel.

Soon enough, she found herself being laid down on silk sheets. a thick blanket being drawn over her, and he took her temperature and he swore again, letting out a tired sigh. And just when the villain was about to leave the room. . ."D-don't g. . .go," she slurred, her fingers gripping onto his sleeve as firmly as she could manage.

"I'll just get a couple things for your fever. Won't take me long, I promise." Something in the villain's demeanour shifted, his gaze softening for a mere moment, except he doubted the heroine would take note of it.

There was no doubt about the fact that she would realise she wasn't holding onto his sleeve anymore as he left.

He came back with a cold compress, a glass of water and a bottle of pills, sitting himself at the edge of the bed. Carefully, with a gentleness she'd never known the villain to be capable of, he placed the compress on her forehead, the coolness heavenly against her burning, sweat-slick skin. "Okay, I just need you to sit up and swallow these," he said, and he knew full-well that if she was in a better state she wouldn't have taken the medication so willingly, ergo, she wouldn't have trusted him so willingly. He couldn't help it as a pang of guilt seemed to crawl across his skin, but he shook it off anyway, focusing his attention on steadying the heroine's shaking hands and making sure she swallowed those pills.

He realised he hated seeing the hero, his supposed nemesis, struggling to lift her head up and put it back down, every movement clearly agony for her. He'd imagined he'd revel in her weakness, but right now, nothing of the sort had happened.

The villain had found a washcloth in one of the drawers, using some of the remaining water in the glass to wet it and wipe the sweat off her face and neck, his fingers carding through her hair absently as he pushed himself inwards onto the bed, letting Hero huddle into his form for warmth.

"Y-you're. . .gorgeous," she rasped out, staring into the villain's eyes, taking in the features of his face, his figure, all of him, even in this clouded state.

"What?" he blurted out, completely taken aback, but still continuing to stroke through the heroine's hair.

"Haven't you seen yourself?" she questioned incredulously, as though it was the most obvious thing in existence.

The villain smirked in response, "Well, I guess I'm not narcissistic enough for your point to stick."

"Villain I. . .I'm in love with you," the hero admitted, and he'd never heard her voice so laden with conviction before, not when she'd promised to defeat him, and not any other time ever, her eyes locking with his own, her gaze unrelenting.

Sure, it still irked the villain that when the heroine had confessed her love to him, she'd been delirious, and that her strong emotion could possibly be a result of the aforementioned delirium, but that didn't mean these words held no weight or that the way the hero had regarded him - was still regarding him, had no effect on him.

So for once in his life, the villain sucked in a sharp breath and decided to risk it. "I'm in love with you too," he stage-whispered, carefully shifting the hero so that she was lying down on his lap and kissing her forehead gently.

Some locks are easy to pick, others not so much. That does not mean opening them is impossible, just that it may take a little longer to find the key. Most people aren't aware of what they are capable of feeling, of doing when their heart starts to beat for someone else. But they can never find out unless they have the courage to face the daunting possibility of taking the chance offered to them because love doesn't knock on the door; it walks in announced, and you get to choose what to do about it.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi@those-damn-snippets @whatiswhumpblog

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[works-of-fanfiction]

Empty Spaces || Lando Norris x ex!Reader

Summary: Lando and Y/N broke up a few months ago but can’t seem to stay away from each other. 

Song: affection - BETWEEN FRIENDS 

Warnings: Implied smut and mentions of sex. Swearing and a lil’ bit of angst. 

Word Count: 3.2k

a/n: I told y’all I’m in my Lando era! please listen to the above song if you have a minute; it really describes how I imagined the characters to feel during this oneshot. enjoy! 

"I love you." 

“No, you don’t.”  

Those three fateful words rolled off of Lando's tongue too easily. The flick of the L, the rounding of the O, teeth meeting at the V, it was like muscle memory for him. It was easy to say he loved her when she was lying naked in his bed, her chest rising and falling slowly, hair splayed across the pillow. It was like Groundhog Day for them. They’d fuck, followed by an awkward silence, followed by Y/N rushing to the bathroom then returning with her eyes glued to the floor. She’d lie on the very edge of the bed as far away from him as possible and try to catch her breath whilst she thought about every reason why she shouldn’t have let it happen again. 

The thing about sleeping with an ex is that it’s just too easy. It’s not simple, but so. damn. easy. You eliminate the trouble of meeting someone new and pretending to care about their family dog, or their little niece who just took her first steps. Instead, you’re able to climb on top of, or lie beneath probably one of the only people in the world who know exactly what you want and exactly how you want it. And in those few moments when it’s just two bodies messily colliding, the people within those bodies don’t need to think about the terrible decision they’re making. Lando had certainly never regretted a thing with Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist. 

She liked to call their little liaisons ‘accidents’. In her mind, showing up to his door with a bottle of wine in less than acceptable clothing was nothing more than a mishap. The temporary fun and the need for familiarity completely clouded her judgement, at least until the deed was done. Being beneath Lando delayed the agonising process of getting over him. Regrettable sex was somehow less painful than facing their reality and accepting that they were no longer meant for each other. How were the two supposed to let go of the person they’d once considered to be their soulmate? 

“You’re hogging the bottle again.” Y/N groaned, reaching over to snatch the wine from Lando’s grasp. 

“That just proves I need it more.” 

Drinking had become a great distraction for them. The sex was a distraction from the breakup, and the booze was a distraction from the sex, and they couldn’t have one without the other. 

Y/N laid on the floor whilst Lando sat propped against the wardrobe with one elbow resting on his knee. He plucked at the carpet absentmindedly, the friction reddening the tips of his fingers. His eyes wandered around the room and Y/N watched on, wondering what was going through his head. Was he overthinking everything just as much as she was? 

After four months of back and forth fighting, they’d fallen out of sync. No amount of love or history shared could protect them from the inevitable. They made each other miserable, and as much as they tried to fix and talk through it, it wasn’t enough. It was when Y/N failed to show up for the Spanish Grand Prix that Lando realised it was really over. Every time their schedules aligned, he’d bought her a plane ticket and tracked her flight until the very second she landed. Spain was no different, despite the condition their relationship was in. She’d gotten the email as usual, the PDF attached and a little ‘can’t wait to see you’ message from Lando. It was the first time the message had felt like a lie. He couldn’t possibly be excited to see her, and she knew seeing him would crush her completely. She had to change her phone wallpaper to one of the default landscapes to avoid staring at his face every time she got a text. 

Y/N grimaced as she sipped the wine, pulling the bottle back to read the label. After polishing off the petrol station’s finest Malbec, the best Lando could offer was a bottle of Pinot Grigio he found in the back of the cabinet, which was evidently not her favourite. Despite her distaste, she went back for another swig, swallowing hard so the liquid would barely graze her tongue. 

Silence fell between them, not awkward but filled with uncertainty. Lando’s head was littered with questions, but he found it almost impossible to focus with her sprawled out on his floor, legs bare and his t-shirt hardly covering her. He wanted to climb on top of her, crawl all over her and devour every inch until she was crying and begging him to take her back and love her all over again. Realistically, he knew it wouldn’t work and they’d never go back to how they used to be, but he didn’t know how to let go. A selfish part of him wanted to hold on and keep her around, despite just how much it was hurting them both. Every time he let those words slip out, they left a sour taste in his mouth, and a bruise on Y/N’s heart. She couldn’t stand hearing those words uttered when they had no weight behind them, but she’d much rather take those over no words at all.

The first time she’d showed up to his apartment after hours, it felt like he’d somehow wished her into existence. It had been a particularly hard weekend following tons of media appearances and unwelcome questions. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t do anything right by the media; even an improved performance in Austria wasn’t enough to get them off his back. Having a thousand people congratulate him felt great, but there were always people whispering in the background - it was a one-off. It was a fluke! McLaren can’t keep giving this kid so many chances. 

Arriving back in the UK ready for Silverstone was bittersweet, as his excitement was clouded by the pressure and prying eyes of fans, reporters, and everyone in between. He didn’t know who he could turn to as his feelings felt so trivial, and it crossed his mind just how easy it once was to talk to Y/N and offload everything that had been weighing him down. It was strange for her not to be there, so when the notification pinged on his phone that there had been movement detected by the Ring camera, he was surprised to see her standing on his doorstep. The image was blurry but it was unmistakably Y/N, as she rocked back and forth on her heels, one hand clutching a bottle, the other tucked into the pocket of her - Lando’s - hoodie. 

“…Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

“I uh, saw the result from Austria.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“You did great. Really uh… Fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing here.” 

“Neither do I.” 

Unsure what to say, she thrust the bottle into Lando’s chest and he felt forced to take it. “Thank you… I guess.” 

“Yeah.” She hesitated for a second, hands coming up as if she was ready to speak, but instead she turned and started to walk away. 

“Y/N.” 

“Yeah?” She spun quickly, looking back at the doors that once led into her home; looking back at the man she’d once considered to be her home. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. She wasn’t sure she really had one. Something in her told her that she needed to see him, and before she could think it through, she was already halfway down the motorway with the bottle of Rosé she’d been given on her last birthday rolling across the backseats. 

That night, he made the mistake of inviting her inside and popping open the bottle to pour them both a larger than average glass. He made the mistake of confiding in her, telling her everything about the Austrian Grand Prix and how it still welcomed unpleasant press despite his P4 result. He made the mistake of hugging her, sinking into her chest and inhaling the scent that once grounded him and reminded him he was safe. He didn’t mean to kiss her, and she didn’t mean to run her hands through his curls as she kissed him back. She wasn’t supposed to push his shorts down and climb on top of him on the sofa, and he never should have whispered how much he’d missed her as he came inside her.  

After his podium at Silverstone, Y/N had frequented his apartment a lot in the two weeks before he left for Hungary. The first time was to ‘congratulate’ him and he was more than happy to celebrate with her on her knees before him. They couldn’t stay away from each other after that. As long as they had alcohol in their systems, they couldn’t seem to control their urges. It was when the effects wore off that the regret started to seep in. 

They didn’t miss each other outside of the intimacy and affection. There was nothing left to mourn about their tumultuous relationship; the constant fights and distance keeping them apart. Y/N tried to attend as many races as possible, but a race weekend wasn’t exactly ideal for spending time with her boyfriend. He was far too busy on the track, and she was often left to mingle with strangers or keep herself occupied at the hospitality unit. The most quality time she got with him was being there when he passed out in their hotel room, leaving her to order room service and eat it quietly in the corner alone. 

“Lando.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you come here?” 

“Okay.” 

Gently taking the bottle from her hand, Lando placed it on the drawers before lying down beside her on the ground. The carpet rubbed harshly against his back as he wriggled to get comfortable. The two laid flat, staring up at the ceiling where a light bulb had recently gone out that Lando had meant to change. Y/N had joked about it creating mood lighting a couple weeks ago, and that one little remark had stopped him from taking the new bulb out of its box. 

Hesitantly, she walked her fingers along the carpet until they met his. The slight touch made heat rush through Lando’s hand and up his arm, and his chest tightened as she linked her little finger with his. She didn’t have it in her to hold his hand properly. She thought if she did, all the hurt and sadness would flood to the surface and she’d be a sobbing mess on the floor. As much as they craved each other’s touch, joining hands felt too intimate compared to having sex. The smaller, softer touches terrified them.  

“I think we should stop this.” Y/N thought out loud. 

“You think we should?”

“I think we need to.” She turned her head, Lando turning his at the same time. He tightened his grip on her finger, dreading the feeling of her letting go. This wasn’t the first time they’d tried to have this conversation, but the very same sick feeling still swirled around in his stomach. If they stopped this, they’d have to promise never to see one another again, and neither were sure they could do that.

“Okay.” 

“Okay? Is that all you’re going to say? Okay?” She propped herself up on her elbows and he followed, mirroring her. 

“What else do you want me to say? I can’t beg you to keep doing this.” 

But that was exactly what she wanted. She hated how disassociated they’d become, and how having sex had moulded into some fucked up routine they couldn’t get out of. She wanted to feel something, for it all to mean something but it didn’t. It really was just sex. Just seriously messed up sex between two exes that couldn’t face the facts and let the breakup be final. All the times he’d accidentally said he missed her or loved her had been exactly that - accidents. 

“I just… I don’t know what this is, what it means.” Her voice got stuck in her throat as if something was telling her to keep her feelings to herself. 

“I thought we agreed it meant nothing.” 

“Did we? Or did we just say that to make ourselves feel better?” 

She sat up, scooting to sit against the bed frame. Bringing her knees to her chest, she hugged herself tightly, begging herself not to get upset in front of Lando. He shuffled over, sitting opposite with his feet almost overlapping hers. “I can’t pretend this doesn’t hurt, because it does.”

“…I know.” He agreed quietly, looking down to fidget with his fingers. She stared at the top of his head, the mound of curls unruly from her touch.

It made her sad just to look at him. The memories would come flooding back like a tidal wave, and she didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to hit him, scream at him for breaking her heart and ruining what they had. She wished she could turn back time and never meet him or develop some kind of magic power to erase her own memory and make him disappear. At the same time, she longed to hold him, to tangle her body with his and never let go. Imagining her life without him in it made no sense. He had been a constant for two years, so how could she completely cut him off and forget about him?

“Nothing good can come of this.” She spoke, mostly to convince herself.

“I know.”

Y/N sighed in frustration, throwing her arms down to the ground. “You know? That’s all you can say?”

Lando didn’t know how to respond. Did she expect him to offer her advice? How could he comfort her when he was in the exact same position?

“Tell me what to do Lando, just tell me.” Tears began to well in her eyes, threatening to fall as she bit the inside of her cheeks. “I… I don’t think I can keep doing this, but I can’t… Fuck.” The first tear slid down her cheek, and she pawed at her face to wipe it away before he saw.

“Y/N…” He reached out to touch her, but she pulled her arm away. “Y/N, come on.”

“Don’t do that. Please don’t.” She closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing to try and stop the tears from flowing. “You broke my heart, Lando.” She whispered, saying the words aloud for the first time.

“And you broke mine.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. Her eyes stung as she looked at him, studying the anguish in his brow and the tightening of his lips. “I… I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Are you? Because you’re the one who showed up at my door and didn’t give me the chance to get over you.” Lando hissed, his tone far more aggressive than he intended. He saw how this upset her and immediately rose to his knees to inch closer to her. “Y/N, I didn’t – “

“No, you’re right. I should never have showed up and practically begged you to fuck me. This is all my fault, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” She seethed, anger mixing with her sadness to create a truly messed up cocktail of emotions.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant, right? If I’d never shown up here after Austria, none of this would’ve happened, we wouldn’t be in this mess, and you would have moved on.”

“How do you know that?” He asked, sinking back down to sit cross-legged. “Go on, tell me. How could you possibly know that? Do you really think I could move on that easily?”

“But you just - “ 

“Yes, I know what I said.” He sighed, holding his head in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I’m not blaming you. This is just as much my doing as yours.” 

Silence fell between them again, Y/N’s tears drying and Lando’s pounding heart slowing to its regular pace. How many times were they going to have the same conversation? What two people spent more time discussing their breakup than actually going through it? 

He moved towards her, seeking consent in her eyes before sitting down. She nodded, tucking her elbows in so he could comfortably sit next to her. Laying her hand on the ground, Lando placed his on top and slotted his fingers between hers. 

“This is shit.” She declared.

“This is shit.” He agreed. 

Once again, they turned their heads to look at each other simultaneously. The redness in her water line and the tears trapped in her eyelashes made Lando’s chest ache. He wished there was something he could do to take the pain away and make this easier for the both of them. He was yet to cry over the breakup as he mostly felt numb inside, but he knew it would come eventually. He feared it. He didn’t want to cry, especially not over something he could’ve prevented if he’d tried hard enough. 

Y/N analysed Lando’s blank expression, the dark bags beneath his eyes making his entire face appear duller. She hated seeing him like this, as he’d always been so unbelievably full of life and constantly smiling. She wondered how much sleep he’d been getting. Was he cradling his pillow to fill the empty space in his arms at night? Or was she the only one who needed the comfort of something to hold in order to drift off? 

With their faces so close, they could feel each other breathing. Instinctively, Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, her breaths becoming more shallow as Lando tilted his face closer. Curling his finger under her chin, he guided her towards him. “If we do this, it has to be the last time.” He whispered, his bottom lip grazing hers, eliciting a gasp from deep within her chest. 

“The last time.” She breathed, desperate for him to kiss her. He closed the gap between them, softly pressing his lips against hers. Quietly, she moaned into his mouth as he opened it just enough for her to slide her tongue past his lips. Tasting traces of the white wine on each other’s tongues, they laid back down on the carpet, Lando keeping a hand beneath her head for support.

She hooked her legs around his hips to pull him closer as she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. He groaned, reaching down to push his shorts past his knees. Y/N balanced on her back, lifting her ass in the air so he could undress her with ease.

Their night ended how it always did. They held each other close as Lando fucked her slowly, trying to delay the moment for as long as possible. Over and over they told each other it would be the last time, knowing that they were lying to themselves.

It wouldn’t be the last time. 

[hibiscusfairys]

♡ love risk ; draco malfoy

— you’d be surprised girl, soon they’ll mean nothing to you..

♪: in another time by sade 🌸

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

“Do you think you’re funny?” He asked her, tearing her love letter into paper snow.

“..No. I’m being serious. I love you, Draco.”

“Where did you even get the courage to ask me? Who even allowed you to think you’d be able to catch feelings for me, once?”

“I thought you liked me..” She replied, regret swarming the aura around them. “I sent you this note because I was relieved to tell you all of my feelings.”

“What a foolish assumption to make, you stupid girl.” He spat, while fiddling around with the chip of paper, scribbled with smudged ink. “I’d be looked at as a joke.”

She stood in front of him, body stunned with his heartbreaking words. She could feel the thumping of her heart turn into shards of pain, that became broken at the sound of an internal cry. She looked at him with a solemn expression, the memories of her and him only flooding her thoughts, the pain it caused her feeling like a violent beating. A punishment that the girl had dared to risk, and that she deserved for pursuing such a boy.

Her tears slid down her reddened cheeks as she brought her eyes to the stone cold floor, her own words echoing throughout the empty corridor even in faint whispers.

“Why are you saying this to me?..”

“Because I know it would get you to leave me alone.”

“Did you really enjoy the time we spent together? The time that you chose to be with me? Or did you lie?”

The boy could only look to the side, unable to face her. He felt himself conduct a large swallow, overwhelmed at how much time he had contributed to their friendship, remorse engulfing his soul.

“No. Not now.”

“Not now?” She asked him.

“I regret every moment with you.”

Her replies became slow, her emotion becoming more dazed by each word he said, and each cold look he presented her.

“What’s happened to you, Draco?”

“Don’t call me that, I’ve always hated it.”

“Is there a reason why you’re being so cruel, I know you were always a prick, but could you possibly have some decency, even here? Is it impossible for you, to be considerate, once?”

He edged closer to her, rage painted across his once conflicted face, towering over the girl. He hissed through his gritted teeth, which had once gave her a sweet smile, the one she had always daydreamed about when not beside him, when missing him.

“You are insane,” He said, his eyes widening with the more anger firing in his mind. “You must be an idiot, saying that to me with such bravery, with such a brash look on your face.”

“I may be an idiot! In fact, I’ve been a total idiot!” She says, wiping the stream away from her face. “The amount of time I’ve spent with you, gone to waste, because of my reckless decisions to send you that stupid letter. The letter that never meant anything to you. The letter that you just ripped.”

“I’m glad to know we are on mutual terms, then!” He glared at her cowered figure, her lips trembling with the suffering of her speech. The boy brought a cold palm to his face, covering his agonised expression, knowing that the girl he saw before him held a weight in his frigid heart, but that he had to do this to prevent her becoming involved in his dangerous acts. If he’d hurt her enough, she would avoid him, and be safe from him. Safe from the problems he causes.

“There must be a reason… for this..” She clenched her skirt, eager for a glimmer of hope, to retrieve him from the clasps of his decision. “I don’t care who you are, or what you do, or what happens to me when I’m with you, I love you, with my heart, my body, my soul. I go weak when I’m near you, I feel like my throat closes and I can’t speak. The feeling of just being a mere distance from you is electrifying. It’s all too much to put into words. I don’t want to frustrate you, but everytime I look at you my words spill. I can’t go on without you.”

“Soon, your tears about me won’t leave a trace.” His voice softened, but still laced with frustration and apprehension. “I can’t be with you. For reasons that I must not explain, or I’d be in deep trouble and I’d be messing with the strings of my fate, and yours… which is something I don’t want to bear responsibility for.”

“I don’t care who you are.”

“But I care about who I am.” He took hold of her distressed hand, shaking from his previous words. “And I don’t want you to be hurt. I was being so harsh, as I hoped you would cut me out of your life forever. So you’d run and find someone else to be happy with. You are an idiot for trusting me, believing in me. I am a much different person you see, and I know it would cause you too much pain that a girl like you could handle.”

“If you were by my side, I could handle anything. Just don’t try to push me away.”

His figure stepped closer to hers, leaning to level his face with hers, softly grazing his lips onto the ones before him. He held her cheek with his cold palm, his thumb brushing her wet face, while his other hand gripped her trembling one tighter. The kiss lasted for ages, but felt like only seconds of passion.

“I’m sorry.” He said, pulling away from her softly, admiring the unfortunate smile forming onto her lips. The smile that he needed, and the one that motivated him to stay, forever. He knows that he was making a severe mistake, one that could have cost him his life, but if it were to save hers, it was a risk he was willing to take.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

thank you for reading this — i’m not too much of an experienced writer, so i’m sorry if this sounds weird on any parts. i felt very inspired by the song ‘in another time’ by sade, it provoked some feelings into me to write some angst. the story itself isnt based off of the song too much, since i did want to add a little bit of redemption for draco lol, but tell me if you like it!

also there were some accidental mistakes with what person view i was writing in, i want to clarify this is third person and i decided to change it halfway through, ive tried to spot as many mistakes as i can so hopefully theyre all fixed!

[lychnobitten]

5 Horror shorts

I can’t stop shaking. There’s a metal bar embedded in the cell wall, and they cuffed one of my wrists to it before leaving me here. The rattling of the cuff is just arrhythmic enough that it never fades to white noise: it’s always present, always distracting. I try to make myself still, and fail again and again.

The cell is cold, but it’s not that. The cop didn’t say a word to me after the first spray of terse questions: I’ve no idea how fucked I am—but it’s not that, either. The horror which has me Jacob-Marley-ing my chains is just the knowledge that there’s someone’s blood soaked into my jeans, smudged on the heel of my hand, dried across my fingers. I tried to find a pulse in the wreck of a body under my car, just made a mess. His blood seemed to shine in the headlights.

My eyes sting.

Maybe it wasn’t my fault. I was tired, but I felt safe to drive. I was even alert enough that I saw the old man standing there in the dark on the side of the back road, balanced on the curb. I was the only car coming, so I didn’t slow down. He could have waited five seconds, and I’d have been past.

I didn’t expect him to just—step out. If that’s even what happened.

The door of the cell swings open, and the cop walks in. He’s carrying a metal box. He places it on the table before sitting opposite me.

“It was an accident!” I burst out. I know, I know. Don’t talk to police without a lawyer. I can’t seem to shut my mouth any more than I can stop shaking. “He was just there, and then there was this—flash of light, just, out of nowhere, and it was...its colour, or…” I trail off there, but not consciously. I’m trying to find words for the chaos of that brief flash of light, the alien colours coiling in its refulgence, the way it pinned my eyes wide and gulped down all clarity. “He must have jumped in front of the car.” I didn’t see it happen. Didn’t see anything but—that light.

“Of course,” says the cop. “Not your fault.”

“What?” I say.

“I guess the old guy just decided he’d had enough.” He shrugs. “He had a hard life. It happens every day: people just decide to...step into the dark. Stopping that is what we’re here for.”

He shifts, centring the metal box on the table.

“Oh,” I say. “So…”

“Or maybe the body wore out, and it needed a new one. It’s not your fault.” He smiles. It’s complacent. “But if you kill the previous vessel, you become the next.”

“What?”

He flips the lid of the box up.

The light crawls out, blazing, consuming, agonising.

I shut my eyes, but it’s already inside.

“It needs a host,” he says. “And we’re here to fight the dark.”

###

The other girl and I are almost identical. We’ve got the same rounded features, the same slender build, matching pastel dungarees. But I have Rorschach blot bruises smeared over my exposed skin, and she has an expression of raw hatred as she spreads them further with a series of short, sharp pinches.

“Thief,” she says as she works. “Thief. I’m gonna tell Mom.”

I try to squirm away, to swat her pinching hands off me, but they always return. “You’re not. She wouldn’t listen. And if she did, she’d know it was a lie.” Mom knows better than to listen to girls like her.

“You’re the liar!” Her sharp nails dig viciously into my cheek. I can feel a bead of blood roll down to my jaw.

I jerk away one last time. “Let’s go see her, then.” Then I run into the house. My twin is on my heels, but it’s me Mom reacts to as we enter the kitchen. She drops the dish sponge as she gasps, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Rose! What happened?”

My twin bobs on her toes. For a moment I think she’s going to shout out her confession, but she drops her chin and looks away, staying silent.

“I fell,” I say. “We were playing outside, and there was gravel, and rocks, and I just…” I mime landing face-first. “But it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Mom comes hurrying over to grab my chin and tilt it from side to side. “That’s...are you sure? When did this happen?”

“I guess an hour ago.”

“The marks have come up fast…”

“I was running, so I fell pretty hard.” I shrug.

“Liar,” whispers my twin. Mom doesn’t hear her, of course.

“Let’s put some cold packs on it,” Mom says. “My poor girl.”

I slip my arms around her waist and squeeze, my decorated cheek pressed against the cool cotton of her blouse.

“I hate you,” my twin whispers from behind us. We both ignore her.

Later that night, I wake from a warm dream to the feeling of a painful weight on my arm. I try to push up against it, and my arm rises, but the weight clings, refusing to be dislodged. The pain separates into into distinct patterns, running from shoulder to wrist: there’s just enough moonlight in the room to make out the letters my double has pressed into my skin.

N-O-T…

I laugh.

N-O-T R-O-S-E.

“Won’t work,” I tell her. “I can just wear a sweater.”

“I’ll keep hurting you, then,” Rose says. “Again and again. Until you give my body back.”

I laugh again. “You can, if you like. You’ve no idea. After feeling nothing for so long, even pain is worth experiencing.” I eye her floating, incorporeal form. “Well...You’ve no idea yet. You will, though.”

She screams. I’m the only one who can hear her, and I admit it hurts my ears.

But that’s just fine with me.

###

I wasn’t a runner before the end of the world. I wasn’t sedentary either: just...slow. I liked to absorb the view as I went along. I thought it was undignified to sweat in public.

It feels strange to even remember those times, as I enter what must be at least the fiftieth hour of this marathon. My shoes filled with blood more than a day ago, and the last of my toenails sloughed off before dawn this morning—I felt them go, and for a long time they were loose in my socks, biting my feet with every step. Not sure where they are now. Maybe embedded in the flesh somewhere. I can’t feel any individual pain down there any more: my whole existence is nothing but fire and razor-blades—but I can’t stop.

I look over my shoulder, a quick frantic glance to confirm They’re still behind. No, I can’t stop.

I hadn’t known, before everything changed, that there was a more potent engine for life than simply not wanting to die. That had been enough at the beginning, giving me strength when I needed it—and I had needed it, because living after the end of the world was just running, running, running. Nowhere was safe for long, and nowhere had enough food for everyone who wanted to stay. Keep moving, keep breathing.

But now something more is driving me. It’s not so much that I want to live. It’s just that I don’t want to die like this.

They clamour up the road behind me. Their heads are full of teeth. Their hands are full of teeth. They’re made from fear, not appetite, but they will still eat.

They’re catching up.

I run until I’m just raw momentum, airless, numb. And finally I stumble, just for a moment, just one hitch in my stride, a brief feeling like I’m going to fall—and I hear their screams of jubilation.

Keep going. Not like this.

I stay on my feet. I force myself back into rhythm. I can go faster. I can stay ahead.

It’s almost too much, so I do what I always do on the brink of failing: I look over my shoulder. Remind myself what my fate will be if I stop.

They’re still behind. Still pursuing. But...something else is wrong.

I throw a zigzag into the pattern, swerving to the edge of the road so that I can look past Them. I’ve never needed to before, but now—

There’s a body lying on the road. Familiar. Worn thin from constant effort. One shoe fallen off, revealing a red-brown sock.

She’s dead. Heart failure, maybe.

She's me.

I’m dead.

It didn’t even hurt.

And They—They haven’t stopped for the body. They’re showing it no interest at all. They’re still coming for me, spirit, figment, memory, momentum, whatever I am now, their heads and hands full of clacking teeth.

Not like this.

Maybe it’ll never end.

I run.

###

“This is not a prophet,” Rajeev said. “This smells like shit and corpse juice.”

Michaels was unmoved. “Just do your job.”

It took a while to set up the lighting to take photographs. Rajeev muttered to himself as he worked, and Michaels—watched him, blank, like he had no feelings whatsoever about the dead woman at their feet or the arcane scrawlings she’d painted onto the walls in her own blood.

“But seriously,” Rajeev said, depressing the shutter release. “Why would the boss want to scrape any of this for the Codex? It’s meaningless. Worse than that crap they pulled out of the underwater temple scrolls, going on about fecund tongues and...what was it, vengeful dust? Howling stars?”

“Not for us to judge,” said Michaels. He’d turned stony in the past year. Before that, he’d always agreed with Rajeev that Codexchat itself was a crazy project, some Madame Blavatsky bullshit for the new era, and pursuing it meant the boss was a few nodes short of a neural network.

That’s what you get for getting involved, Raheev told himself, and took the rest of his photographs. He’d just never expected this gig to have a body-count.

The woman was—had been—a regular user of Codexchat. Regular by both definitions. Nothing special. She’d asked it what to do with her life, how to feel less empty. Instead of the usual platitudes or abstracted prose-poetry, it gave her literal directions. Sent her here, to this cave in the middle of nowhere, to ‘find her purpose’. She’d come. She’d died, from who knew what, and now the boss wanted her ravings to feed into the scratch-built LLM with every other religious text they’d trained it on, which was all of them, no matter how esoteric or how recently pulled from newly discovered ocean temples.

“What do you think killed her?” Rajeev asked.

“Same as killed the others,” Michaels said, and wouldn’t elaborate or explain, even though Rajeev spent the entire trip home trying to pry answers out of him.

So maybe Rajeev wasn’t as in the know as he’d figured. That didn’t make him oblivious. When he got sent out again to record another body’s last testimony, then another, then another, he worked out he wasn’t the only one getting ordered on these clean-up trips. The corpses were piling up, and the LLM was swelling with their final words.

He didn’t believe in gods or spirits or demons. He didn’t even believe in true AI. But things were getting weird.

Then Michaels stepped off the office building’s roof, and the weird landed like—well. A ton of bricks, or a former friend who fell ten storeys.

Michaels didn’t leave a note. He didn’t need to. His blood, splattered all over the pavement, writhed into words by itself. higher purpose give thanks listen watching. fecund stars. howling tongues.

That night, four whiskeys deep into crisis, Rajeev used Codexchat for the first time. Prompted: Help us. Please.

Soon, was the only answer.

###

“I don’t need a lullaby,” I snapped, looking up into my mother’s thin, anxious face. “I’m almost eight!”

She pressed her hands together, fingers twisting around each other so tight that the skin on her knuckles pulled into thin folds. “I know you are, sweetie. I know you’re a big girl now. But honey, you were always so scared of—”

“I’m almost eight!” My voice squeaked with indignation. “I know it’s not real!”

“But—”

“It was never real, Mum!”

She was supposed to be an adult. She was supposed to know that.

She shut her eyes and sighed. “All right. All right, if you’re sure. But if you can’t get to sleep tonight…you’ll just have to deal with it, okay? No getting your dad or me up because you think you hear something… scary. Okay? Okay, Juliet?”

“Mum!”

I was still angry with her when I went to bed that night. I wasn’t a baby anymore. Did she always have to bring up the way I got scared when I was little? I hadn’t asked her for a lullaby in over a year: it was always her who wanted to do it.

Maybe soon I’d get rid of my little yellow nightlight too. Soon. But first I’d prove I was old enough to go to bed on my own.

I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek into the pillow. The cotton felt warm against my skin, uncomfortable, so I rolled. The bed creaked loudly underneath me. The sheets rustled as I resettled my limbs. My breathing seemed unbearably loud in the small box of my room, but not as loud as my thoughts. Why had I ever been scared? My room was just my room, plain, boring, the same as it had been for years and years. There was no space for anything dangerous in the dark. There was no such thing as monsters.

Not real.

From under my bed came a sound like pouring sand.

No. Nope. Not real.

A sound like scratching.

I was a big girl now.

A low whisper, deep and hoarse.

I should stop imagining things.

I tried to stop. Tried not to listen. But I just couldn’t sleep like that, not with the sound of something scraping up the headboard, getting higher and higher, closer and closer. I opened my eyes again, blinked through the tears. I might not have been able to make out the shape in the darkness if I hadn’t known what I was going to see—if I hadn’t remembered those long fingers, the pointed nails, the folds of milky skin peeling off the bone…

I didn’t scream. I was a big girl now. I knew better. And I knew what I needed to do.

The thing under the bed was wide awake.

I opened my mouth and began to sing, shaky, tremulous—its lullaby.

[hauntingcryptids]

Lie Down With Me

O x Reader (Dhawan!Master x Reader)

Summary - The Reader, an agent at MI6, is obsessing over their current mission and O helps them with their stress.

Based On This Request - Anonymous requested - “Hello there how are you? I hope that you’re doing well. If it’s okay I was wondering if I could request an O x Reader (Dhawan!Master) where the reader is a secret agent and after working hard on a mission they are tired but cannot sleep. So O offers to hypnotise the reader to make them sleep”

Warnings - the reader being stressed and overstimulated, The Master hypnotises the reader with their consent, but obviously the reader doesn’t know about The Master and his powers

Word Count - 2697

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. Requested by a lovely anon.

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

You were an excellent secret agent. Truly one of the best. The only flaw you would say that you had would be that you were too committed to your job. MI6 was worried for you, for your mental health in particular, but even your physical health. For as long as you were a secret agent at MI6, you spent every second of your day committed to whichever case you were scheduled to complete. Even though MI6 was proud of your work, they expected a level of relaxation after a big, often traumatic, case. But you never took time off. Ever.

MI6, specifically C, decided to step in. You required a new flat because your old base house was compromised. So, C assigned you to a new base house, and this time the organisation assigned you a roommate. 

You had seen O occasionally around MI6 headquarters. The two of you were assigned to different departments, so you never had any real opportunity to get to know each other. However, you always found O’s research to be incredibly valuable to your agency’s cause. C disagreed with your opinion constantly, but you would always stand up for O and his work.

There had been an incredible amount of alien interference in Human affairs since the early nineteen sixties, but since around 2005 sightings of aliens have nearly quadrupled. You couldn’t understand why so many of your fellow agents and C thought that O was a loon when he seemed to be ahead of the curve. Maybe your kindness towards the quiet agent was why he was chosen as your roommate. Or maybe it was because of his perseverance. To C, O might be the only person within MI6, or even the Universe, to actually get you to take a break.

So far, though, O was not successful. Since moving in together, you continued to work long hours, way into the night, and you rarely took longer than a normal weekend to recover from a case. O tried everything in his power to make you feel safe and calm around your flat and in the office, and it only seemed to bring the two of you closer. Which O loved, but that wasn’t what he was tasked to do. He wasn’t here to be your friend, he was here to protect you, and he was failing in that manner.

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

The current case you were working on was getting to you. More than any other case before. You didn’t know how to feel. Even though you had stressful cases before, none were like this. No case before was ever so agonising. For some reason, nothing seemed to be falling into place, clues weren’t lining up and leads were falling flat. Even C, who was usually more slow when reacting and responding to national and international threats, was getting stressed and hounding you to do better. C even went behind your back three days ago to berate O on the “lack of timeliness” regarding your mission.

You had been awake since O told you about his interaction with the head of MI6. You probably fell asleep at some point, but for no substantial amount of time. After hours of pacing around your room, agonising over the clues, you finally walked to the kitchen to get a caffeinated drink. It didn’t really matter what drink it was at this point; you just needed the energy in order to keep going. You couldn’t stop. You just couldn’t.

You decided to make something warm. Maybe the heat would also jolt you awake along with the caffeine. As you waited for the water to boil, you began pacing again. You even started muttering to yourself, just replaying the clues and the scenarios that could possibly be important to your end goal. You huffed in frustration when nothing, again, ended up connecting or resolving itself.

“Are you okay?” You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard O’s question. You really must be losing your mind because you didn’t even hear O enter the room. You were one of MI6’s best agents; you refused to lose your spot in the organisation just because of one case.

“Of course I’m okay. Are you okay, O?”

“I’m just a little worried.” O’s brows knitted together as he stared at you in your frantic state.

“Maybe you should take a nap or eat some food, maybe go for a walk.” You pondered out loud as you prepared your warm and heavily caffeinated beverage.

“Right … Yeah, I would, however, it is not myself that I am worried for.” O said this softly, tentatively, almost as if he was scared of your reaction, but you knew that O wasn’t scared of you. He saw you bundle home after a brutal case completely covered in blood and never treated you differently after the fact. So that must mean that O was worried for you and he was scared that you might be offended.

“What? Me? I’m perfectly fine! Don’t be ridiculous, O.” You turned around animatedly to O, trying to appear healthy and stable. All you needed was to complete this case and then everything would go back to normal. 

“Well, C said that you have the habit -”

“Who cared what C said?!” You screamed across the room. O’s face fell and his eyes widened in shock. You had never spoken to him like that before. Immediately, you regretted what you had done. You groaned and covered your face in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry! O, I didn’t mean that. I really didn’t. I guess the stress has been getting to me lately.” You admitted defeatedly. You had been trying to suppress your growing emotions for O since moving in together, but now you couldn’t deny them now. Seeing O’s shocked face after you yelled at him broke your heart.

“Y/n, you’re totally fine. I’m not mad. I just want to make sure that you are taking care of yourself.” O walked over to where you were now leaning against the kitchen counter and held your arms firmly in his hands.

“Please, let me help you.” O tried to look you in the eyes, but you continued to hide them from him.

“You don’t have to do that. I can just-”

“No. Okay, no. C asked me to watch over you and to make sure that you take care of yourself. And I have been trying to help, but I have not been doing that well enough. So, please, let me help you now.” You sighed. You really didn’t like feeling like a failure. It caused you to feel an all-consuming hatred for yourself. You collapsed into O’s shoulder, completely crestfallen.

“I don’t know how to be calm, O. I don’t know what to do if I’m not working. And now I can’t even do the one thing I am good at properly.” O wrapped his arms around you and began rubbing circles on your back.

“Well, you can just spend some time with me.”

“O … I don’t have time for friends or relationships. You know this.”

“Maybe having more than just a workplace relationship will be good for you.” You were going to respond, but O suddenly removed you from the hug and then pulled you out of the kitchen and into the hall.

“Where are we going?” You asked with exhaustion finally reaching your voice.

“Your room.”

“Why?”

“You need sleep.” You rolled your eyes but choose to not comment. You knew that you needed sleep, but you had been unable due to your anxiety over the case. You still thought that trying to sleep before completing your research was a lost cause, but maybe O could actually help you. He was an incredibly intelligent agent and person, and he was chosen to keep an eye on you, maybe an inch of trust could go a long way.

Once in your room, O let go of your hand before crawling onto your bed. He got comfortable horizontally against the head of your bed, sitting right up against your pillows. He then looked up at you with a smile and patted his lap as if to say that there was where you should be. You tentatively moved to the edge of your bed but stopped there before moving onto your soft and inviting mattress.

“O, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to help you sleep. Now come on up here.” O pushed the covers back and motioned you over again. 

“I don’t know O …”

“Trust me, Y/n, I’m soft and cuddly. You will absolutely get the rest you need with me. And if that is not enough convincing, I could tell you about all of the people I put to sleep with my lectures.” You laughed under your breath, still trying to stay strong to your convictions, but O’s warm and inviting smile won you over. You crawled into your bed tentatively and sat on your feet as you stared at O.

“What do you want me to do?” You asked. O stared back at you for a moment before a more playful smile crept on his face.

“Well, first you should lie down.” You stared at O for a long time, trying to deduce his motives, but, eventually, you did as O said and lied down on your bed beneath your blankets. You made sure to not touch O. You didn’t want to indeed his space or make him uncomfortable.

“It would be best if your head was on my lap.” You sighed, unsure of what O was planning, but you moved yourself up the bed and then laid your head on O’s lap.

“I don’t think I will be able to sleep, O. My brain is too anxious and loud. So, you don’t have to do anything.” You muttered in a rushed matter. You knew that you were in a bad state, and you were very appreciative of everything O had done and was continuing to do for you. You just didn’t think that anything would actually succeed in soothing you until you completed your case. You didn’t want O to waste his time with you when he could be doing something more important.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have to help you. You need this.” O said firmly while looking down at you.

“O … how?”

“I could always hypnotise you.”

“No, you can’t.” You chuckled in disbelief.

“I study alien tech and UFO visits to our planet; I absolutely can hypnotise you.” 

“Fine. Hypnotise me, O.” You still didn’t believe O, even though you could hear the intense conviction within his voice, but you let O help you. In your drained state, with O holding you, you finally realized that O was the only person you truly had in your life. Everyone else either left you or you left them. So, letting O help you and trusting him, just a little, sounded like the only option you had for connection. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t want to grow a connection with anyone other than O.

“You need to look into my eyes.” O leaned over you again, bringing you out of your mind. Slowly he moved to hold your face in his hands. You sucked in a breath when O’s soft yet slightly calloused hands touched your skin. You relished in the feeling of his fingers brushing along your temples as you prepared yourself to look into O’s eyes for a long time. You were familiar with some forms of Human hypnotise, even though you didn’t necessarily believe in its effects. You knew that hypnosis sessions could be very vulnerable. Your old ways of masking yourself plagued the back of your mind, but you pushed them away and reminded yourself that O was here to help you. He wouldn’t hurt you. You were safe being in a vulnerable state with O.

Finally, you looked into O’s eyes after preparing yourself. He smiled sweetly at you, reassuringly and rewardingly. You let out a sigh of relief. Opening up to O wasn’t as difficult as you thought it was. And now you got to see a part of O he rarely ever showed; you got to see O’s more vulnerable side as you continued to open up to him. 

O continued to look at you while brushing his hands along the curves of your face. He was being so attentive, so focused on you and your breathing and your state. You mostly focused on O’s eyes, though. O’s eyes were so beautiful. You had observed that his eyes were stunning before, but that was from far away. Up close, you could see that his eyes were a beautiful mix of amber, honey, chocolate, and dark coffee. They almost looked as if they had intricate galaxies or nebulas trapped within them, but that would be impossible. Either way, O was beautiful and alluring. You didn’t know if this hypnotise was working, but you, at least, were drawn into a calming state because of O.

“Now take some deep breaths with me.” O instructed in a whisper. You followed him in his directing of your breaths. For a couple of minutes, you and O proceeded to breathe as one all while looking each other in the eye. You definitely felt more relaxed than you had before. And, instead of mind-numbing exhaustion, you felt a wave of calm tiredness wash through you, almost as if you were being called to sleep. 

You began to feel O massaging your temples. His fingers dug into your skin in relaxing circles and occasionally he brushed his hands down your face before returning to your temples to massage them again. The headache that had been slowly growing throughout the day eased itself out of your brain. Finally, your eyes were starting to grow heavy and began to droop. You tried to keep them open out of latent stubbornness, but O quickly saw that, and he urged you to give into your body’s needs.

“Let your eyes close. You can tell that they want to close.” With your remaining energy, you rolled your eyes at O, and he chuckled at your drowsy yet stubborn state.

“O?”

“It’s fine. You’re safe. You’re safe with me. We will work through everything together once you rest first. No, go to sleep.” You looked at O one last time before letting your eyes finally close. You were close to sleep, but before you succumbed to the side effects of hypnosis you picture O right before you closed your eyes. His eyes were so soft and warm, and his fingers were so nimble while massaging your temples. He nodded reassuringly before you closed your eyes like he was confirming again that you were safe.

“Let yourself sleep, love.” You heard O say just before you drifted off into the world of calming sleep.

The Master petted your head and caressed your face even after you were completely asleep. You wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon thanks to his hypnotism. He made sure that, at the very least, you would receive a good eight hours of sound and deep sleep. Frankly, he should have done this days ago. The Master knew this, but his plans against The Doctor were now getting in the way of his goal of protecting you. He was upset that he let you get to this point. He reprimanded himself for not intervening sooner.

He was conflicted of course. The Doctor versus a Human. This was a scenario that The Master could never foresee happening, but it did and now you were here in his arms. You were really becoming an important part of The Master’s life. 

The Master stayed with you while you slept. He simply and easily could have sent a bit more hypnotic waves into your mind and moved you so he could work on his plan to destroy The Doctor, but you were more important. You really were more important, even though it was difficult for The Master to admit that to himself. He could deal with The Doctor later. Right now, The Master would just focus on you.

[skylarstark4826]

"How come you're always with Aonung and Tsireya? I thought the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik were pretty strict with the two of them." The topic came up as Neteyam and Rotxo hunted for fish to feast.

Aonung and Tsireya were out teaching Kiri and Lo'ak how to ride an ilu, leaving the two who volunteered to stay behind and get ready for dinner.

It's lately been a tradition for Jake and Tonowari's family to dine together as a bonding experience. The two got along well, and even Ronal and Neytiri managed to set aside their differences.

However, what puzzled Neteyam was Rotxo's frequent attendance despite not being related to any of them. He wasn't there all the time, but Tonowari would make sure he was by ordering Aonung or Tsireya to bring him over.

The Metkayina boy shrugged his shoulders, stabbing a fish with his spear and adding it to the pile. "I'm not quite sure, it's been a long time."

That was a half lie. While he couldn't remember every detail of his relationship with the royalty of Awa'atlu, he didn't exactly trust Neteyam enough to tell him the truth.

Neteyam frowned, noticing his hesitation through his lie. "It's okay, you can tell me. We're friends, aren't we?"

Rotxo smiled at that and decided to put the spear down. He sat on a rock and patted the space beside him, motioning for Neteyam to sit with him. With a deep breath, his eyes met the other's.

"Okay, I'll tell you."

———

Rotxo barely even knew what happened. He was 7 years old, young and naive. All he remembered was playing with Aonung and Tsireya before eventually hearing the clicking of ilus from far away.

His eyes lit up as he knew it was his mother's return. He let go of the seashells he was holding before running to his mother, Aonung pouting as he watched him leave. Tsireya giggled at his excitement.

"Mama! Mama!" He called out and tried to rush to her before a hand was placed on his chest, making him stop. Tonowari smiled at the young child's excitement.

"Your mother has had a long journey. Why don't you wait until she has finished resting, dear child?"

Tonowari and Ronal had always been close with Rotxo's parents, becoming great friends when his mother became Awa'atlu's greatest soldier. His father was a great maker of medicine, Ronal's right hand man. However, he died when Rotxo was still a baby, so he never knew who he was.

Rotxo nodded eagerly to the man, before a loud scream caught his attention.

"Ay'nat! She has been injured! Call the Tsahik!" One of the warriors yelled, carrying the injured woman in his arms. Rotxo recognized it as his mother and tried to run to her, only to be held back by Tonowari.

"Son, keep playing with Aonung and Tsireya. This is an adult matter."

"But my mom-!"

"Your mom will be safe, okay? Go, return to them."

Rotxo hesitated, but he knew he was powerless. He wanted to cry as he nodded, solemnly returning to the beach where Aonung and Tsireya continued to play with seashells and rocks.

When he sat with them, he didn't play. Tsireya tried asking him what's wrong and Aonung threatened to punch anyone if they bullied him, but Rotxo didn't respond. He may have been young, but he wasn't stupid.

His mother was hurt and he knew.

When nightfall came, Rotxo sat outside his mother's Marui that had been covered by a cloth as a makeshift curtain. Everytime he tried to come in or call for her name, he'd be held back by one of the warriors who kept guard.

He was too young to know what was happening but whenever she cried out, he knew that she was in pain. It gave him comfort, somehow. To know that she was still alive.

His eyes shut everytime she let out an agonising scream, one that will forever leave shivers down his spine. Tears escaped his eyes as he held on tight to one of the warriors who were tasked with comforting him.

His mother was all he had, he couldn't lose her.

"Shhh, child. Your mother will be okay." Even with the warrior's comforting words, Rotxo was old enough to know it was a lie.

When the screaming finally stopped, he got out of the man's arms and stood in front of the clothed pod. Just barely, he could see her lifeless silhouette through the shadows.

Rotxo lifted the cloth, coming face to face with Ronal and the others who tried to help her. His tear stained cheeks became glossy once again.

"She's gone, isn't she?"

Ronal sobbed and ran to him, hugging him tight as she said sorry every second. "I am so sorry, my child. I tried my best, but it was not enough. Will you ever forgive me?"

Rotxo wrapped his small arms around the woman's body, crying loud like a banshee. His hand reached for his mother, but she was out of reach.

One of the healers covered Ay'nat's face with a cloth, tears streaming down their cheeks. With Rotxo's cries, they couldn't contain their own.

All he could do was cry and watch as her body was taken away, probably to get her ready for a death ritual.

Rotxo was all alone.

On the day of the ceremony, he sobbed louder than anyone else, holding his mother's lifeless body in his small hands before they brought her down into the deep water.

His crying outsang the songs that were sung by the people of the tribe, screaming for her to come back. Even when he tried to quiet himself, the tears would only come back again. He was just a child, after all.

Eventually, it was finally time to say his last goodbyes. The funeral bearers took her body from him, bringing her to the depths of the ocean where she became one with Eywa.

Rotxo looked through the water, his salty tears mixing with the equally salty sea. After all those years, she was gone. That's it. He was alone.

At least that's what he thought.

There was a hand on his shoulder, bringing him up from the water. Tonowari. The man hugged him tight, letting the small child cry into his shoulder as Ronal, Aonung, and Tsireya joined.

"We will take care of you, son. It is what your mother wanted." Tonwari said, stroking his hair ever so slightly.

"My child… after my passing, he will have no one. Please, Ronal… take care of my son. Let him know he is not alone." Was the last thing Ay'nat said before her eyes lost it's shine, as did her body lose its life.

After the funeral, the first thing Ronal did was wipe his tears, planting a kiss on his forehead. "You are one of us now, my child."

He wasn't alone. He still had family.

———

Neteyam looked at him, shocked by the new discovery. Rotxo looked everywhere but at the other boy, embarrassed to have told him his entire backstory. The kids always teased him for not having a biological family, but Aonung always scared them off.

That's why he felt a connection with the newcomers despite making fun of them for their differences. In a way, they were just like him. Different.

"You've got a good family, Rotxo. I'm glad." Neteyam placed a hand of comfort on the back of his neck, taking the other boy off guard before eventually settling into the touch.

"Thanks, I'm glad too. I miss my parents, but… I wouldn't change a thing."

[can-of-w0rmz]

A thing popped up on my feed just now about everyone having bad days, there’s always a tomorrow, etc etc, and it kind of popped into my head in a way I’d never thought about it before – I haven’t had a “good day” in at least the past four months for sure, and maybe even the past few years if I could remember that well. I’ve felt relief or comfort occasionally (mostly if not entirely through escapism) and I’ve been emotional about that relief or comfort at various points, but I haven’t felt happiness or joy in at least half a year. And whatever small amounts of comfort or relief there were, they didn’t come remotely close to making the day that they happened in a “good day.”

It isn’t even like shit happens halfway through the day either, every day I wake up and immediately just feel intense dread with the consciousness that I’m awake, and it takes going about my day to try to relieve it a bit. It just never works that well. I’ve tried everything – I go outside and go for walks, I drink plenty of water, I make an attempt to eat better, I try to limit scrolling, I try to be productive, practicing drawing and reading and looking over stuff for school in September, looking after my siblings, talking to my family and having lighthearted conversations with them.

It just never works. All my art nowadays feels soulless and empty, I’m not proud of any of it and I’m dreading doing the subject for A-Level where I’ll just have to start churning out stuff I hate and which I dread forcing myself to make for a grade. I can’t get really passionate about any of my books anymore. I just look back on when I used to and feel embarrassed about it. It isn’t that they feel stale or anything either though, they do still feel familiar and vaguely comforting, just kind of dull and meaningless. I almost feel kind of bad about cutting my hair a bit again because it feels like any effort to do anything with myself is wasted on someone who doesn’t really care. Sure, I felt vaguely relieved enough to post about it – but I also kind of looked at myself in the mirror the same evening and thought, “what was even the point? I’ll be the same anyway and it’ll grow again.”

I can’t be like this when school starts and I have to be around people again. I’m sick of constantly coming into school being despondent and sick and all-round just coming off really ill-tempered, for lack of a better word, and I’ve only gotten far worse since then. The only problem is I don’t even know what I’m really supposed to be outside of this. And regardless, nothing I do to try and stop it is working. I can’t live in the real world constantly being unable to do anything, I can’t live like this, I can’t always be tired and always be sick and always just need “a little more time “. I can’t do school like this, I can’t make friends or have any kind of social life at all like this, I can’t even lie around my house like this without it being agonising. I can’t live my life waiting for options that might never pop up or by the time they do, have the damage be done. And nothing I do to make it better is working.

[darkbluescamvictim]

i meant to actually freak out more bout ur latest chapter but i think the handprint gepard had left on sampo got me so bad i went into a catatonic state or something. (which i am trying not to go Off bout like oh my god the handprint?? gepard's love for him and how much he cares for him and how he would push himself so far to protect him?? left a permanent mark on sampo??/ aueuugh) ANYWAYS sampo being so fuckign knowledgeable and explaining and also i love how u do the masked fools n what theyre about?? but also ALSO like the 'crimes' he did and how upset he was and how CERTAIN sampo was that gepard would despise him for it. like he truly had the idea of gepard as a noble absolute figure of honesty and lawfulness. and gepard saying he doesnt care??? because he cares about sampo MORE??? insane. it truly nailed one aspect of sampard i always puzzled on like of where gepard's limits/boundaries of his morals lie in if he is capable of bending his unwaivering ideals of justice in order to love and be with sampo.

also the whole handkerchiefs. loved that shit so much like the idea that sampo has a bunch of handkerchiefs on him randomly to pull off the occasional magic trick.

also also sorry for the wall of text lmao,,

Okay so this took me forever to answer cuz everytime I went into my inbox I cradled this post like "If I answer this I'm gonna lose it I don't want this ask to be gone I wanna look at it forever :'(" Until I realised I can just answer you publicly to keep it on my blog forever lmao I hope you don't mind? I have to put it under a cut tho because this got wayyyy too long

Anyway first of all please don't apologise for the wall of text I LOVE getting walls of text?!? This is like being a 3 year old who's just been unsupervised for a moment and managed to get into the sweets hands deep mouth smeared and 2 hour sugar rush incoming every time I read it ok. So no need to apologise. Also THANK YOU ACTUALLY CUZ THE HANDPRINT IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME TOO OK?? I had this idea for ages (and also because it was just the natural conclusion to Gepard's actions anyway) so I'm glad I'm not the only one who goes a tiny bit feral about the idea and symbolism ok thank you thank you thank you Next, I honestly spend hours agonising over the problem of Gepard being incredibly lawful and honest while Sampo is, in his very essence, at the very least a troublemaker and also a good amount of criminal (thief/conman/scammer yadda yadda) What makes this the most difficult is really that both these concepts are at the core of their character; almost everything Gepard is has something to do with his unwavering sense of justice and almost everything Sampo does has something to do with his 'shadiness', at the very least. So to subtract from one in favour for the other felt really really hard to do and I think if I wouldn't have had the basically 70k+ word build up I wouldn't have managed to find even just the resemblance of a believable middle ground for myself. In the end, I think that Gepard's sense of justice is ultimately a sense of loyalty to the people of Belobog (as seen by his character text about standing between Belobog & the Supreme Guardian if need be); which he believes will fend the best when they follow the rules and laws set down by their government. But since he is also (at least now) loyal to Sampo and his wellbeing, he can see that what Sampo did while maybe 'not right', isn't worth causing the mental anguish nor be punished that harshly if it makes Sampo this distraught. Not to mention, 'this' version of Gepard is slowly learning to be more selfish and so ultimately, he put his own desire to be close with Sampo above his sense of duty (basically for the first time) which, granted, is a step away from canon Gepard's attitude but I hope made believable enough through my painstaking work I put in :')

Also, yes, Sampo is enough of a clown to just have handkerchiefs with him at all times (same as the candy for the Moles, he's always prepared in that regard) (Also the handkerchiefs are surprisingly durable and do make a good improvisational rope if the need arises)