#tw blood and self injury kinda?

[popcorndispenser]

Did anyone say... young Des anger issues oneshot? Ft Raymond being awesome?

...No? Just me? Aw. Oh well, here it is -

@jistda pings you right back. Your art inadvertently kicked me in the ass to remind me to post this lmao

Raymond was awoken in the wee hours of the morning by a mighty CRASH from the floor above.

The middle-aged butler slept in the Sycamore manor for the convenience of the madam and master, but in his own unique quarters, seperated enough from them that they needn't think of his existence unless they wished to. Perhaps so he didn't appear to be more of the family than he was.

Raymond was perfectly fine with the arrangement - not needing to pay rent unless he made an unnecessary expense (such as a hot bath) was well worth it in his opinion, as well as the fact that he genuinely enjoyed his job and appreciated not having to take commute to arrive at it every day. It had never stung that he knew they conspired still to keep him out of sight and mind equal, as he was so proficient in that art, working with such speed that it occasionally felt as though the rooms had been compelled to clean themselves by magic.

Seperate he was, but his room was stationed almost directly beneath the room of the young master Desmond, which was of rather some concern considering the volume of the noise he had heard and the fact that the current time was just past 3 in the morning, far too early for a young lad to be up and getting himself into trouble.

No further noise presented itself beside the hurrying of tiny feet, so Raymond was left to assume that the boy's parents hadn't been woken as he himself had... or, unfortunately, that they hadn't cared enough to pay it mind.

Raymond hefted a heavy sigh, slipping from the comfort and warmth of his luxuriant bedsheets to try and make himself presentable, changing into a comfier version of his usual attire and slipping on his patch-pattern slippers. Best to go ensure the boy hadn't hurt himself.

It was a chilly night, the air blooming with the frost of autumn, and Raymond checked several times that the windows were closed tight as he passed by. Making his way up the great staircase he had to watch his step as to not misstep. It would be a boon to illuminate his path, but alas, it wasn't possible. The only available lights were that of the great chandeliers above in the high arched ceiling, and he would not dare to risk waking the master and madam up by alighting those.

The butler paused outside of Desmond's room, hesitating to hear for anything suspicious before rapping his knuckles at the door once, twice, thrice, and calling out for him softly.

Shuffling noises that had been audible within immediately stopped, a childish behaviour that amused him to no end, to think that a sudden absence of noise was in any way /less/ suspicious.

"Young master?" He called, careful to soften his voice, again aware of the boy's parents sleeping down the hall. "Are ye alright?"

Another beat of silence. Raymond held back a slight urge to groan. Instead he simply knocked once more.

"There've been some concerning noises... just open up eh, I only wish to make sure you are alright."

The butler's accent was thicker with sleep, he knew.

"I-I'm okay!" The young master finally called back, voice wobbly and warbling in a way that instantly sent alarm bells to Raymond's head and heart and woke him the rest of the way. "I'm sorry for waking you, really." And the voice grew closer, Desmond obviously moving nearer to the door to be heard without projecting himself. "But there's really nothing to worry about. You can - you /should/ go back to bed."

"Och, I don't think so." Raymond frowned deeply, more determined than ever to see what was amiss. "If you could even allow me to see you, to ensure that you are unharmed, that would be plenty."

"My voice doesn't assure you that I am well?"

"Quite the opposite."

A pause, and then- "Okay." The boy huffed, sounding annoyed. "Okay, okay. One sec-"

Raymond waited patiently until the great oak door finally clicked open, and looked down at the sight of a remarkably uncomfortable looking Desmond Sycamore, bedraggled and eyes ringed with a loss of sleep. The eleven year old looked like he had been dragged through a hedge.

Even with the dim lighting of only the boy's nightlight and the glow of the moon peeking in through his opened curtains, Desmond's was visibly in a state. His normally well-styled curles were a mess on his head like he'd been tearing at them, and his clothes were in a similar dissaray - school tie undone and lying scrunched up over his shoulders, vest gone and his button-up tee that had been freshly ironed and crisp just that evening, now creased and wrinkled with the bottommost button missing. Yet all of this was not nearly as pressing as-

"Yer hands!" Raymond hissed, ignoring all manners as he shoved the door the rest of the way open and yanked the child's hand up to better view it. It was as bad as he'd feared - the knuckles were split and bruised purple, cuticles torn, a nail was chipped. More to that were small cuts all over his fingers and the back of his hand, deeper ones nearer to the knuckles, still oozing small beads of blood. None of it was serious damage and yet it felt like the end of the world to behold. "Bloody Mary, what in hell have you been up to-"

"I-I'm fine!" Desmond desperately protested, trying to pull his hands back to no avail. When Raymond kept looking at him sternly, prompting an answer, the humiliated child finally caved, scrunching his nose as he scowled and gestured for the butler to step further inside. "Quickly, so they don't hear!"

'Are they the boogeyman to you, lad?' Raymond mused, confused and concerned. 'One would hope a boy's first instinct when he is hurt would be to go to his parents, but...'

But the Sycamores had never really acted like a true family. From the day they had adopted Des, Raymond had privately mused if it had simply been a checked box for them, something to complete this concept of 'grow up, marry, start a business, raise a child' that society propagated no matter the circumstance, a completely cynical decision. It was an unpleasant thought though sadly not uncharacteristic of the couple he knew so well by now.

The boy's room was in a worse state than he was. Fresh sheets wrenched up and around like he'd fought with them, curtains wrenched over, and most obtrusively was a shattered vase on the ground by his study area. Having once been am ostentatious gift from the elder master's work friends, the man had placed it in Desmond's room, citing it as an apparently greatly valuable antique he'd thought Desmond would enjoy due to his 'interest in archaeology', not knowing the boy's 'interest' only extended toward the ancient Azran civilization and not much else. Well... it was currently in pieces on the carpet, so it didn't matter after all.

"I didn't mean to knock it, honest." Desmond mumbled, head bowed and playing with his hands. Raymond watched with concern as he kept digging his nails into the damage, exacerbating it further. Was he /trying/ to harm himself-? "I got the cuts from trying to bin it. I didn't think the noise would wake anyone up. Really, I'm sorry."

Raymond reached out to seperate the boy's nails from his hand before he drew even more blood, and the youngster had enough presence of mind to look abashed at being caught doing it. "If that was an accident, what of the rest of this?" The butler pressed gently.

Desmond went red. "No, no. Um. The rest, I guess was intentional. Or not really. Ugh... It's not like I was trying to mess everything up, I just..." he slumped, red eyes dim and welling up. "I got really upset and I started lashing out at everything."

"What could've possibly incensed ye so much at 3 in the ruddy morning?"

The boy tensed, screwing his eyes shut. A beat, and then- "I can't remember Theo's face anymore." Desmond whispered.

Ah. That clicked it into place. Any frustration melted out of the man like water, and in it's place sat a deep melancholy.

Raymond knew what happened to Desmond's family - had been told at length during one of the boy's many episodes of which he had never felt safe to inform his 'parents' - and ever since first even getting an implication of the details had felt a deep sorrow hearing about it. It was obvious that the incident that seperated Desmond from his parents and particularly from his brother had scarred and emotionally damaged him, and unfortunately may just do so for life. Theodore was the light of Desmond's life even as far away as he was, the reason the boy gave for everything he did, the goals he worked towards. Of course the idea of him fading away from memory would hurt.

And the boy had had one of his... episodes. Had probably punched the walls, or perhaps even that massive vase, and nearly broken his bleeding hand in the process. Had stayed alone as his thoughts spiralled, still not seeking out any comfort.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Raymond wondered softly.

Desmond's face scrunched up bitterly, and the young master turned away so any further expressions wouldn't be seen.

"I didn't want you to get tired of this stuff. I didn't want you to go go away."

Raymond exhaled slowly, feeling tears surge in his own eyes, and before he could think it through he had dropped to one knee and pulled the boy tightly to his chest, muffling Desmond's choked sob of surprise. "I will never go away, do ye hear me?" He murmered, running a hand comfortingly through the boy's hair, an action he knew the master of the house should be here to do, and felt another intense fire of anger burn through him. When was the last time Mr Sycamore had even spoken to his child?, "Through hell and high water, young master, I will stick with you. Heaven knows someone ought to."

Desmond curled up against him, a week keen breaking through the boy's lips as he wept. "I miss him. I miss him so much. God, Raymond, it hurts so much. Destroying things - destroying myself, I thought it'd help, but it didn't - I'm sorry."

"I know, I know." Raymond soothed, closing his eyes so as to not allow any tears of his own to fall. "I'm so sorry, lad. But please don't hurt yourself. It makes me awfully sad as well. Please come to me next time you feel this way."

"Okay" Desmond gasped out, hands tightening. "M'sorry."

"I know, lad."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know. I know."

In the end, Raymond cleaned up the remainders of the razor-sharp shards, all too aware that he shouldn't leave the boy alone by them, not trusting him to not mess with them again. And by morning come Desmond was perfectly presentable again, hair combed back and clothes perfectly straightened. Neither of his parents commented on his bandaged knuckles.

And though Desmond now looked as calm as the ocean beyond, Raymond /seethed/ on his behalf.

[antikr1sta]

(tw sh/blood/vent art, the text is just kinda angsty?) ...this isn't a place, where anyone should go. breathing hindered by pillowcases filled with mold. even the bugs on the walls are filled with ill will , as they burrow through skin, with no intent to kill. slowly...as though a freezing wind through rickety old windowpanes, it seeps, although a winter coat can't even warm up this frostbitten soul. so one remains shellshocked, unable to move, still, drowning in icy water. what comes to mind? a thought and a statement: being is a bother "i hate it here, i hate the smell and fluorescent lights, but most of all I hate you", he utters, gazing at his own face in the reflection of a dirty mirror; as both are only hanging on by a thread.

blood/injury tw ↓

..yeah.. i really really hate it here

[rakkuntoast]

so you know how birds can pluck their feathers for various reasons such as stress?

q!phil is locked in that birdhouse, with only the memento of his eggs probably being fucking dead and the jailed birds hanging on top constantly mocking him for falling in such an obvious trap.

his mind is not the nicest at the moment..he is scared, he is stressed, he hates himself so he resorts so stress pluck, and plucks, and plucks until it stings, until he realizes what he's doing. he sees the blood feather in his hands and he's horrified.

he instincly grabs the golden apple and downs it in one second...

the sting stops but the feather doesn't grow back.

[satans-left-cornea]

[nomiyakazehaya]

i finally caved and drew my personal take on soft body megs and oppy… 😭 i've been binge re-watching kekkai sensen again and had this brainrot au idea for a while too 🥲 also took a lot of inspiration from dragoons of final fantasy and dnf/dfo for her helm design because i absolutely love those designs despite how painful and agonizing they are to draw sometimes and the idea of megatron being a lancer and/or wielding spear type weapons in general is something that dances around in my head very often still not 100% sure what to do exactly with optimus, but i actually like the hat design so far! maybe i'll make him something like a detective or inspector position, haha 😂

here's also an actual blood red version because i really liked both versions of this drawing 🥲🥲

[notquitecanon]

Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys. 

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag.  Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit. 

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went. 

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system. 

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you." 

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."  

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?" 

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch." 

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.  

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy." 

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle. 

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe. 

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up." 

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady. 

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?" 

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin.  Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked. 

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you. 

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince. 

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin. 

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church? 

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it." 

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that. 

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through. 

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist. 

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.” 

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.” 

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.  

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”  

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey. 

“You barely know me, sweetheart.” 

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment. 

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.” 

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips. 

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features. 

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.” 

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head.  You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.” 

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.   

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless.  Two sides of a balanced scale.  

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

[whorediaries-09]

abditory;

"forgive us now for what we've done"

☆ EVENTS ☆

'tis the damn season (closed)

you can meet me at the hotel; (closed) [kinkotober masterlist]

put your life out on the line" (closed)

got the wine for you; (closed) [false god (masterlist)]

maybe it's a blessing in disguise; (closed)

music got you lost; (open) [masterlist]

✧ ONE-SHOTS ✧

Peppers Sirius Black X Reader. Fuck buddies to lovers. Modern AU!. 18+ content

Delicate Sirius Black X Reader. Friends to lovers. TW- Self harm, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Night We Met Sirius Black X Reader Set During Order of The Phoenix. Mention of major character death(s).

New Year's Day Sirius Black X Reader Set during Order of The Phoenix. Fluff and low humor.

Cardigan; Sirius Black X Reader. Hurt/Comfort.

Sure Thing; Sirius Black X Shy!Reader Fluff.

Oh Children; Sirius Black X Reader Angst.

Million Dollar Man; Sirius Black x Camgirl!reader 18+ content, drinking.

Daylight Flowerist!Sirius Black X Barista!reader Fluff.

Consume; Dark!Sirius Black X Muggle!reader. 18+ content, cemeteries, dark themes.

Born to die Cult!leader Sirius Black X Reader. Mentions of murder, gore, dark themes.

Afterglow; Felix Catton x Reader Hurt/Comfort.

Dancing with our hands tied; Sirius Black X Reader. Hurt/Comfort, injuries, blood. (potential part two)

Maneater; Neighbor!James Potter X Reader 18+ content, stalker behavior, darkish themes.

She just hit my heart; James Potter X Reader Fluff.

Don't blame me; Priest!Remus Lupin X Reader Alludes to sex, dark themes.

Pick your poison, babe; Sirius Black X Reader Suggestive Content, fluff.

Try me; Ravi Singh X Reader Cigarettes, hurt/comfort.

ψ SERIES ψ

The Seven Lives; Please read chapter warnings on top of each chapter. Status- On going (PAUSED)

No Time To Die (Status - Completed)

The hurricane with my name on it. Please read chapter warnings on top of each chapter.

Love to think you'll never forget. Please read chapter warnings on top of each chapter.

⨴MOODBOARDS⨵

Poison Ivy From my fall event (close)

Heartbeat; From 'the seven lives' series.

§ ASKED AND ANSWERED §

Call It What You Want Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Touch sensitivity.

Indentation in the shape of you Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. Fluff, bad humor.

Now I'm Covered in You Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. 18+ Content. From my fall event (close)

Trying To Keep The Water Warm James Potter X Reader. Professor James AU! Fluff. From my fall event (close)

Dark Red James Potter X Reader Set during the Marauders era. 18+ content.

Womanizer Sirius Black x Reader Set During the Marauders era. Angst, 18+ content, drinking, hints at sexual assault.

Meddle About; West Coast; FDad!James Potter X Reader. 18+ content, mentions of alcohol, age gap.

Maroon Sirius Black X Reader ex to lovers, drinking, alludes to sexual assault, hurt/comfort.

The great war; Sirius Black X Reader ex to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort. Part two to Maroon.

Do I wanna know? Rockstar!Sirius Black X Reader. 18+ content.

Dusk till dawn Sirius Black X Lestrange!Reader Hurt/Comfort, dialogue heavy.

Smoke on my clothes; Rockstar!Sirius Black X Popstar!Reader Fluff, 18+ content, use of y/n.

Into You; Ron Weasley X Reader 18+ content, porn without plot.

Wherever I go; Remus Lupin X Reader. Making out, suggestive, fluff.

Blue Jeans; Professor!Harry Potter X Reader 18+ content.

Getaway car; Sirius Black X Desi!Reader 18+ content, sexual tension, substances.

I think he knows; Ron Weasley X Reader 18+ content, mentions of war, fluff.

Gorgeous; James Potter X Reader 18+ content.

House of balloons/glass table girls; Sirius Black X Reader 18+ content.

You're in love Policeman!James Potter X Baker!Reader Fluff.

Can't you see, you're meant for me? Bsf!Dad!James Potter X Reader Suggestive content, fluff.

I'm gonna make you my wife; Sirius Black X Reader Banter, fluff, silly teenagers in love, kinda shy reader, alcohol, 18+ content.

This place will burn you up; Sirius Black X Reader 18+ content.

❁ ODE TO FANFICTION ❁

Hall of morals;

I'm running back home to you;

[gipitothefrog]

Whump

@wolfstarmicrofic

Word count: 796

Tw: blood, injury, self harm (kinda)

***

It was the full moon, and for some reason, it was worse than usual.

The night started off normally, with Remus heading down to the shack and the rest of the marauders following after him. When the transformation started, though, they immediately knew something was wrong.

Remus still cried out in pain, but the cracks of his bones seemed louder than normal, and as a wolf, he was far more vicious. Not to the rest of the marauders, but to himself. 

His claws gashed into his stomach and back, leaving scarlet trails that leaked red for a long time after he had been torn up. Nothing the stag, rat, or even dog did persuaded the wolf to stop, and the torment continued the whole night. 

When the morning came, and Remus turned back, he simply lay on the floor, unmoving. Sirius, James, and Peter all rushed to his side, and tried to heal him the best they could, but the wounds were too deep. Reluctantly, they threw the cloak back on and hurried up to the castle.

Sirius paced back and forth in their dorm.

“Do you think Pomfrey’s gone down to get him yet?” Sirius asked the two other boys.

“I don’t know, mate. I hope so.” Was James’s response. Peter simply let out a small, sad squeak.

“I’m going to the hospital wing to check,” Sirius decided after another moment.

“We’ll come with you,” said James, jumping up at the same time as Peter.

“No, it’s early. You two get some sleep. I can go by myself. Besides, you two might not fit under the cloak.”

“Pete can be wormtail, it’s—”

James was cut off by Peter’s hand on his shoulder. “Let him go alone,” the shorter boy said.

Sirius made eye contact with Peter, silently thanking him. Pete simply gave an understanding nod.

Grabbing the cloak, Sirius made his way to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey was used to the boys showing up early in the morning, before they were supposed to be out of bed, but this was earlier than normal by at least a few hours. Sirius knocked. No one answered, so he tried the door. It opened, and he made his way into the room, hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

It turned out to be in the middle. Madame Pomfrey had gotten Remus, but he was still in critical condition from what Sirius could tell. She was currently leaning over Remus, around twelve different potions on the table beside him. Sirius rushed over and kneeled near his head on the floor next to the bed.

“Will he be okay?” Sirius asked desperately. 

Madame Pomfrey looked up, only seeing him just then. “Yes, he will. He may be out for a few days, though. You never know with werewolf healing, sometimes it helps out, sometimes it doesn’t. We’ll see.”

Sirius spent the next couple of days at Remus’s bedside when he wasn’t in class. When he was in class, though, he was diligently taking notes, much more thorough than he ever had before, to give to Remus when he woke up.

When Remus finally did wake up, it was the middle of the night. Looking around, disoriented, the first thing he saw was Sirius. Slumped over in an armchair, asleep, with a half-done potions essay in his lap.

“Pads?” Remus croaked out.

Immediately, the other boy sprung up. Awake and alert.

“Moony! You’re awake!” He exclaimed, relief flooding through him.

“How long have I been out? And can I have some water?”

Sirius immediately conjured a glass of water, while saying, “A couple of days. It was really bad. I was- well we were all so worried.” Piping down for a minute, he asked softly, “Is something wrong, Moons?”

Remus took his time, gulping down the glass of water and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before answering. Looking down at his lap, he said,

“It’s nothing much. Just… my mother is sick, and I’ve been really worried. I didn’t realize that it was taking such a toll on me until, well…”

“Oh, Remus, I’m so sorry.” Sirius gingerly embraced the other boy, making sure not to hurt him in any way. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I just, I didn’t want you all to worry.” Remus sniffled. A few stray tears fell down his cheeks, which he tried to hide by looking away. Sirius gently guided his gaze back to him by his chin, then cupped his face and brushed away the tears with his thumbs.

“You can tell us anything, my Moon. You don’t need to worry about us worrying.”

Remus gave back a watery smile, before burying his face in Sirius’s shoulder and having the first proper cry he’d had in months.

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 11 - And Felt The Pulse Beat Fast

Summary: Arthur and Hosea share meaningful conversation after a night of advertising some moonshine. Meanwhile Kate finds herself involved in a dubious mission with John and the boys. She patches up Arthur as the day ends with an air of unspoken desire.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters  Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

TW: Brief mention of suicide, body image issues, eating disorder. Period typical racism.

A/N: Another long one, ~8k words. The end had me giggling and kicking my feet. I hope you enjoy! Comments and criticism are always welcome :)

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig **please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Kate and I met this strange young bastard, Beau, and his forbidden love Penelope. Poor kids are just lookin’ for freedom but they’re stuck in some old family feud they ain’t even a part of. We delivered some letters for them, Kate insisted on it. I  gave her grief about it at first, but she was determined to go out of her way for these kids. Woman’s got a heart of gold.

Somehow, I ended up marching as a suffragette, the looks of loathing on the face of the locals amused me. I don’t know much about good causes, but I enjoyed my little experience riding alongside them. Kate showed me there’s more than one path, she chose to do the right thing and we still managed to gather some useful information. 

She makes my head dizzy sometimes, this woman. Came right out and asked to kiss me again! I choked up bad. She’s always speaking her mind, like she ain’t afraid of nothing. I love that about her. I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn’t. I just can not do that to her. She’s been through too much already, and she deserves a good man. 

And I don’t deserve that kinda happiness. 

Arthur woke the next morning with a heavy weight on his chest, the remnants of a sleepless night etched into the lines of his weary face. Kate's tender words echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, refusing to fade with the dawn. No one had spoken to him with such honesty and vulnerability in ages, and Arthur couldn't shake the memory of disappointment flickering in Kate's eyes when he couldn't reciprocate her feelings. As much as his heart longed to kiss and hold her again. 

As he lay there, Arthur's thoughts drifted back to Mary, the woman he once loved. He recalled the night he proposed to her, the anticipation heavy in the air, only to be met with the sting of rejection. Mary wanted him to leave behind his life of danger, to embrace a quieter existence with her, far from the chaos of the gang. Arthur understood her desire for simplicity, but he couldn't abandon the gang; the family that needed him. He pleaded with Mary to join him, but she refused, unwilling to sever ties with her own family, especially her younger brother.

Now, years later, Arthur felt he had strayed too far down a path of darkness to ever deserve happiness again. The memory of Mary's rejection lingered as a painful reminder of his inability to change, to be the man she needed. He believed himself beyond redemption, resigned to a life devoid of the joy he once craved.

To his surprise, Kate appeared unfazed by Arthur's refusal the previous night. She greeted him in the morning with her usual warmth, as if their conversation had not left a lingering tension between them. They shared breakfast together, engaging in easy conversation that helped ease some of the weight on Arthur's shoulders. Kate mentioned that she had already discussed their findings with Hosea, who wanted to meet with Arthur later that evening regarding a potential job at the Braithwaite estate.

Her calm demeanor brought Arthur a sense of comfort amid his inner turmoil. As they finished their meal, Kate gracefully excused herself to resume her tasks with the other girls. She promised to join him for dinner as usual, maintaining their routine without skipping a beat. Arthur watched her go about her duties with a mixture of admiration and gratitude. Despite his fears of pushing her away, Kate seemed to understand. And didn’t think ill of him for it. 

As the day unfolded, Arthur found himself immersed in a job orchestrated by Uncle—an opportunity to stage a simple yet lucrative payroll robbery. He teamed up with Charles and together they executed the heist with precision. The stagecoach robbery went off without a hitch, yielding a substantial sum that brought a brief sense of satisfaction to Arthur, feeling like a proper thief he was raised to be.

As the sun began its descent, Arthur sought out Hosea near the hidden stash of stolen moonshine. He detailed his failed attempt to sell back the stolen moonshine to the Braithwaites. Hosea recounted how they had approached the Braithwaite matriarch with an offer, only to be met with a cold rejection. The old woman haughtily declared that they deserved no reward for returning what she considered rightfully hers. Instead, in a spiteful act of retribution, she offered a meager ten dollars to distribute the moonshine for free at Mr. Gray's saloon.

Arthur was puzzled by the Braithwaite's response. Hosea clarified that it was a calculated move—a means of exacting revenge on the Grays and the town drunks. By turning the intoxicated patrons into even greater fools for the night, the Braithwaites hoped to incite chaos and leave Sheriff Gray to deal with the ensuing fallout.

Amidst the chaos of the moonshine-fueled night at Mr. Gray's saloon, Arthur assumed his familiar role as "Fenton," a persona he had adopted in previous schemes alongside Hosea. The act required him to play the part of Hosea’s younger idiot brother, who also happened to be mute. His only job was keeping glasses filled without uttering a single word. Though Arthur despised the charade, he couldn't suppress a chuckle at the absurdity of their antics—the lengths they would go to for a successful heist.

Draped in the guise of Fenton, Arthur navigated the rowdy patrons, handing out moonshine liberally as the atmosphere inside the saloon grew increasingly raucous. The scene was a stark reminder of earlier days, when he and Hosea were younger and life seemed simpler, despite the risks they took.

As the night wore on, the situation escalated when Sheriff Gray himself appeared, prompting Hosea and Arthur to spring into action. Shots rang out, echoing through the old saloon as lawmen pursued them. With practiced ease, they slipped through the back door, disappearing into the shadows and swiftly making their way to the waiting wagon. In the chaos that ensued, Arthur expertly handled their pursuers while Hosea skillfully guided the reins.

A small shootout erupted as the Grays chased them through the winding back roads and fields leading out of Rhodes. Arthur remained focused, taking down their adversaries while Hosea expertly navigated the terrain. The tension was palpable, the thrill of the night's escapade mingling with the danger of their flight.

Approaching the train tracks, Arthur spotted a train. With precise timing, they crossed just as the locomotive barreled through, cutting off their pursuers. The lawmen were left stranded on the other side, unable to follow.

Once they were safely beyond reach, away from the danger that had pursued them, laughter erupted between Arthur and Hosea. It was a release of pent-up tension, the adrenaline-fueled joy of a successful escape mingling with the shared camaraderie of outlaws.

“Remind me to never take up a career in…what was it? Bartending,” Arthur chuckled, glancing back at the remaining clinking bottles they were unable to distribute.

“I didn’t know they’d throw so much of a fuss over booze, this town is odd,” Hosea answered, shaking his head as he cracked the reins of the wagon.

Arthur furrowed his brow, considering the surplus moonshine. “What should we do with all the shine we still have left?”

Hosea’s expression turned grim. “That miserable Braithewaite woman wants us to burn the Grays' tobacco fields with it, I was hoping you and Sean could handle that tomorrow night.” 

“Damn, ain’t that makin’ a bit too much noise? I thought we were tryin’ to lay low in all this. These fellas may be drunks and racists, but they ain’t afraid to kill, you saw them back there,” Arthur expressed his concern.

Hosea sighed, revealing a hint of hesitation. “Dutch thinks there's money in this somewhere. His plan is to get them all riled up on each other and use that as an opportunity to slip in and rob ‘em.”

Arthur fell silent, contemplating the dangerous path they were treading by getting involved in a longstanding blood feud. “Things could get real ugly, Hosea. Do you really think one of these families is sitting on a pile of money?”

“Can’t say. But the cash box is getting full again, Arthur. We’ve been doing well on making money. With just a bit more cash, we’ll be out of here,” Hosea replied, injecting a note of hope into the conversation. Sensing Arthur's unease, he changed the subject. “Kate told me about your adventures yesterday. How are things going between you two?”

As their wagon rattled down the road, illuminated by the soft glow of the full moon, Arthur felt a sense of comfort settle over him. He glanced over at Hosea, his trusted father figure, and knew that he could confide in him about anything. The old man had a way of understanding Arthur's thoughts and feelings without needing them spelled out.

Arthur shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing his palms together nervously, the words weighing heavily on his mind. It wouldn't escape Hosea's notice that Arthur was quite sweet on Kate. After all, it had been Hosea's idea to pair them up for the day, hoping to give Arthur a chance to spend time with her away from the group.

“I kissed her the other night, when she was singin’ a lullaby for Jack,” Arthur began, the words spilling out into the night air like a secret long kept.“She… she wanted to kiss me again today and, I really wanted to, but I had to let her down easy,”  He glanced over at Hosea, seeking some semblance of understanding in the old man's eyes.

Hosea raised an eyebrow in surprise, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You kissed her and ditched her? I thought I raised you better, son,” he teased, his tone light but laced with curiosity.

Arthur chuckled, though there was a tinge of self-deprecation in his amusement. “I know, I’m dumber than a bag of rocks.”

Hosea patted Arthur's shoulder reassuringly, his touch grounding. “You may be good at playing an idiot like Fenton,” he remarked, referencing their recent job, “but you’re a smart boy. What harm could come if you just let it happen and see where it takes you?”

With a heavy sigh, Arthur leaned back in the seat, his gaze drifting up to the blinking stars above, memories of Kate’s confession flooding his thoughts. “I just don’t wanna hurt her. And… I don’t wanna feel that kinda hurt again.”

Nodding in understanding, Hosea's expression softened with a paternal concern for the young cowboy. “I’m not gonna live forever, son. I’d just like to see you be happy with someone before I go.”

“I was happy once. I had a woman who loved me, and she left me because I couldn’t change for her.” Arthur admitted, his voice giving away the deep sorrow he still harbored about his young love. 

“Mary was a good woman, I did like her. You were both so young and naive, still navigating your own lives,” Hosea mused, his voice carrying the weight of hindsight. His gaze softened with memories. “But I don’t think she was the right one for you. She couldn’t tame that wild heart of yours.”

Arthur listened, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, the wagon jostling over uneven terrain. “Sometimes, I feel like I can’t even tame it myself,” he confessed, his tone tinged with resignation.

Hosea's eyes twinkled with a knowing glint. “That's why you need someone strong enough to stand in the ring with you,” he remarked, his voice brimming with wisdom, “and face down the beast with a heart just as wild.”

Arthur nodded slowly, the words sinking in like stones dropped into a still pond. He mulled over Hosea's advice, feeling the weight of his own heart's desires. The night enveloped them in a cocoon of shared understanding, the stars above bearing witness to their quiet contemplation.

Arthur’s confession hung heavy in the air, his words weighed down by the burden of his past. “Once she knows what I’ve done, I don’t think she can forgive me for it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, like a man confessing his sins.

Hosea let out a light scoff, his eyes bright with a hint of amusement. “Son, your bounty has been posted in almost every town in the west,” he remarked wryly. “She knows we’re outlaws, I think she’s probably aware you’ve killed some folk.”

Shaking his head slowly, Arthur gathered his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the horizon ahead. “No, no it ain’t that,” he muttered, his words heavy with hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Kate told me ‘bout her family, how they all passed from accidents or disease. She even had to bury her own daughter. I just…” His voice trailed off, grappling with the weight of his own truth. “I just don’t know how to tell her about my own. About my son, Isaac. Or Eliza.”

Hosea leaned back against the wagon’s seat, his expression thoughtful. “What’s stopping you from telling her? That’s something you two have in common,” he pointed out gently.

“Because I–I can’t tell her I’m the reason they’re dead,” Arthur confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “Family means so much to her, she’d never forgive me for throwing it away.”

The old man regarded Arthur with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “Son, if you’re so worried about her turning the other cheek on you, I think you need to tell her the truth,” Hosea advised, his tone earnest. “She’s going to find out eventually, and you know she’s a smart woman. She understands what you are and still chooses to be by your side. And I’d be surprised if she draws the line at something that happened in the past. You're too hard on yourself, Arthur. What happened to Eliza and Isaac was terrible, but it was not your fault.”

Arthur rarely spoke about his son, Isaac, even with Hosea, his closest confidant. The weight of their deaths bore heavily on his heart, like an anchor dragging him into the depths of guilt and regret. Isaac's passing had transformed Arthur into a different man, one hardened by grief and the burden of responsibility.

Hosea had witnessed the change in Arthur firsthand. Before the tragedy that befell Eliza and Isaac, Arthur was more carefree, with a spark of youthful innocence in his eyes. But as time wore on, a darkness crept into his demeanor, a shadow that never quite lifted. He carried their deaths like a scar, a permanent mark etched upon his soul.

In moments of vulnerability, Arthur would let slip glimpses of his sorrow, revealing the cracks in his stoic facade. He blamed himself for their deaths, convinced that if he had been a better man, a different man, things might have turned out differently. It was a burden he carried alone, tucked away behind layers of bravado and hardened resolve.

Hosea understood the depth of Arthur's pain, but he also recognized the resilience that lay beneath. Arthur's reluctance to share his grief spoke volumes about the depth of his sorrow. It was a wound that time could not heal, a wound that had shaped the man Arthur had become.

As the wagon turned down the familiar winding road that led to their camp, the night's chorus surrounded them with the faint hum of a crackling fire and the warm glow as it cast dancing shadows across the clearing.

Arthur broke the moment of silence, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I should’ve been there for them, Pa," he confessed, his eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of the trees passing by.

Hosea sighed, the years etched into the lines of his face. "Yes, son, but life has a way of throwing us off course, even when we try our best," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom earned through hardship. "This world can be cruel, as you well know."

"I can’t be a bad man and expect good things like Kate to happen to me. It just don’t work that way," Arthur continued, his words laced with self-doubt.

Hosea placed a reassuring hand on Arthur's shoulder, his touch a welcome comfort. "Kate sees something good in you, son," his tone was gentle yet firm. "Maybe it's time you started seeing it too."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate scrubbed diligently, the soap creating frothy suds as she ran the bar along the stretched cotton over the washboard. She sat on a small stool in the shade beneath a sprawling tree, her trousers dotted with darkened spots from the splashing water. The air was heavy with heat, but the coolness of the water in the small washtub offered a brief respite. With each steady motion, her fingers became slightly more pruned from the repeated immersion.

Beside her, Mary-Beth was busy ringing out the soapy cloth and dipping it into a clean bucket, the rhythmic process mirroring Kate's own. The girls found solace in their shared task, engaged in easy conversation to while away the chore.

“So,” Kate began, a mischievous glint in her eye, “I saw you talking to Kieran the other day. Want to spill the beans on what’s really going on there?” She nudged Mary-Beth playfully with her knee.

The young girl looked down, a faint blush tinting her cheeks as she tried to hide her face from Kate's teasing gaze. “He was just curious about the book I was reading, that’s all,” she admitted bashfully, her voice carrying a hint of embarrassment.

Kate knew Mary-Beth's romantic tendencies well. From the moment they met, it was clear that she had a penchant for love affairs and romantic tales—her nose buried in romance novels and dreams of penning her own someday.

“That’s all?” Kate teased, a playful glint in her eye. “I see you watching him groom those horses every day. Somebody's got eyes for the O’Driscoll boy,” she added, splashing a bit of water in jest.

Mary-Beth retaliated with a laugh, “He ain’t an O’Driscoll!” Her grin gave away any attempt at concealing her feelings. She glanced over towards the horses, and Kate followed her gaze to where Kieran Duffy was tending to the animals. “He’s been talkin’ to me a lot recently. I just think he’s sweet.”

Kate's eyes lingered on the scene, noticing Lenny and Javier saddling their horses nearby, while John caught her gaze as he approached them.

Just as Kate was about to respond, John called out to her, “Kate! You busy right now?”

She looked up, eyes squinting as the sun glowed behind his frame. She gestured with open palms towards the wash bin. “You need somethin’?” she asked.

John tipped his hat to Mary-Beth, who waved politely in return. “We’re heading out to the Braithwaite manor to check out some horses. Thought you might wanna come,” he explained, nodding back to where Lenny and Javier were waiting.

Kate chuckled, her tone lighthearted. “You plan on stealing them or something?”

John crossed his arms casually, “well, you know,” he trailed, “if the opportunity presents itself.” Not bothering to hide their dubious intentions. Kate has to remind herself sometimes that she is running with outlaws. For them, a job doesn't mean checking out the goods, it means stealing goods. 

He cleared his throat and explained the situation seriously, “some fella from the Gray family told us he’d pay to have their horses stolen. Also mentioned they go for $1000 a piece.”

Kate raised a brow of suspicion, “and you believe him?” 

John only shrugged, “it's worth looking into.”

She waved him off with a touch of concern, “I don’t want no trouble John, I’m sure you boys will manage fine without me.” 

John persisted, his voice reassuring. “It won’t be no trouble at all. We’ll be in and out, they won’t even know we’re there,” he said, adding an enticing detail, “word is they got some pretty nice gypsy horses. Real purebreds too.”

Kate found herself caught in the web of temptation. Stealing horses was not something she relished, but the promise of seeing such a purebred up close was alluring. If they pulled it off successfully, she knew the money would help the gang alot. She figured it wouldn't be so bad to help them in one little heist. 

As if Mary-Beth could sense her conflicting ideas, she interrupted the silence, "I can finish up here, Kate. You should go. They'll have a better chance of pulling it off with you." She winked knowingly, seeming to support Kate's unspoken decision.

She made up her mind, fixing John with a pointed look. "No trouble," she repeated firmly, more as a command than a question.

"No trouble," John assured her with a nod of understanding.

Kate wiped her damp arms across her shirt, bidding Mary-Beth farewell and promising to catch up with her later. As she approached her midnight mare, the horse whinnied in recognition, sensing the upcoming adventure. Javier and Lenny greeted her from their saddles, both looking ready for action.

Javier tipped his hat with a charming smile. "Nice of you to join us, cariño," he said, his tone warm and inviting.

Kate swiftly mounted her horse, adjusting herself in the saddle. "You boys better hope this goes smoothly," she remarked with a playful smirk, her eyes scanning the group with a hint of caution.

Lenny rode his stallion closer to Kate's, "I gotta say, having you with us doubles our luck, don't you think?" he replied, his tone light-hearted but with an underlying sense of confidence.

She smiled fondly. Together the four of them took off down the lush green path and onto the dirt road. Kate was glad for the invitation, it made her feel good that the gang trusted her enough to include her in such tasks, that they were confident in her ability to work alongside them. She felt a new sense of trust among them, and camaraderie. She felt like she was becoming a real member, and not just some lone traveler like she had been nearly a month ago. 

The journey to the Braithwaite manor was uneventful, the cool breeze of the afternoon air was refreshing against their skin as they rode. As they arrived at the manor from the south side, away from the prying gaze of the property guards. The grand estate loomed before them, a testament to the family's wealth and power. They dismounted their horses in a secluded spot, ensuring they wouldn't draw too much attention.

Kate's mind wandered briefly, wondering if Penelope would be out in her gazebo enjoying the afternoon sun. 

John's voice interrupted her thoughts, his tone matter-of-fact as he laid out the plan. "Let's keep this nice and easy. No need to rush. We're here on behalf of a buyer, looking to make a significant investment," he explained as they followed him toward the barn.

Outside the stable doors, a worker paused in his tasks, eyeing them with suspicion. "Can I help you fellas?" he asked, his tone wary.

"I hope so," John replied amiably, trying to appear non-threatening. "Heard you got some horses?"

"We always got horses," the man responded gruffly.

"Fine horses, I mean," John clarified.

The worker's expression soured, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the group. "I don't know whatchu’ talkin' 'bout, friend. Why don't you take that hoyden wench, yer greaser buddy, and his darkie friend and get off the property ‘fore I blow your face off," he retorted, spitting at their feet.

Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise at the man's unabashed racism and arrogance toward strangers. Suddenly understanding Tilly’s hesitation about being so far south. Javier quickly raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Whoa, take it easy there, amigo," he interjected, trying to diffuse the tension.

John remained unfazed by the man's hostility. "Come on now, partner. We're just looking to do some business. Inquire about a purchase," he persisted.

The worker let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine, follow me, Scarface," he grumbled, the insults never ceasing.

The ranch hand, ever welcoming, led them into the barn, his voice a steady stream of information about the horses—names, breeds, and abilities. She noticed they were not the purebreds John had heard rumors about. Still beautiful, strong horses nonetheless. 

Kate observed John and Javier exchanging a look as they walked deeper into the dimly lit space. When the man paused to pet a horse, John subtly motioned to Javier, who deftly moved behind the unsuspecting worker. 

Meanwhile, Lenny smoothly interjected with feigned interest. "Wow, look at the balls on that one," he chuckled, pointing in another direction. The ranch hand followed his gaze, oblivious to the danger lurking behind him.

With his back turned, Javier seized the opportunity, drawing his pistol from his belt. "Greaser, huh?" he muttered bitterly before striking the bottom of the iron against the man's head, knocking him out instantly. John and Javier wasted no time, swiftly moving the unconscious body to a hidden spot while Lenny began unlocking the stable gates.

Kate stood in stunned silence for a moment, her voice barely audible as she tried to suppress her surprise. "What happened to nice and easy?" she muttered.

Her comment elicited a chuckle from Lenny, who had already mounted one of the horses. "Can't get any easier than this. Let’s try to get 'em out of here without drawing too much attention," he replied casually.

Despite her swirling thoughts and unease, Kate pushed her concerns aside and mounted one of the horses. Following the three bandits out of the barn, she joined them as they sped off through the sprawling property, the rush of adrenaline mixing with a sense of trepidation.

The thundering hooves of their stolen horses echoed through the property. Behind them, shouts and the pounding of boots indicated that their presence had been discovered. Several ranch hands emerged from the buildings, brandishing rifles and shouting warnings.

John, Kate, Javier, and Lenny spurred their horses into a full gallop, kicking up dust and dirt as they raced across the open fields. The pursuing ranch hands fired off a few rounds in their direction, but the distance and the speed of their mounts made accurate shooting difficult.

As they reached the fence at the edge of the property, they leapt over the barrier. The group plunged into a dense thicket of trees, the branches clawing at their faces and clothes. The sounds of pursuit faded behind them as the guards were forced to slow down and eventually give up the chase. They whistled loudly, and soon their own horses caught up and began to follow in tow. 

Javier led the way as they made their way through the landscape to find the supposed buyers at Clemens Cove. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The encounter with the buyers proved to be an intriguing yet unsettling experience. They were met by a pair of brothers who seemed to operate in uncanny harmony, sometimes speaking in unison and shrouding their business with secrecy. Details about their clientele and operations were kept hidden, with only a vague promise that one of them would be available for future dealings, if they wished to become business partners.

During the negotiation, one of the brothers made a direct offer to purchase Kate’s prized black Hungarian outright, offering her a substantial sum. However, Kate politely declined without hesitation. Her bond with the mare ran deep, and no amount of money could sway her decision to part with her cherished companion.

The brothers’ offer of 50 cents on the dollar for the stolen horses was not quite what John had anticipated, but it still amounted to a respectable deal given the circumstances.

After concluding their business at Clemens Cove, the posse set off back towards the rolling plains. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm and serene glow over the lush green hills. Their horses trotted steadily along the trail as the  landscape unfolded around them, painted in hues of amber and gold, as they made their way back to camp.

"Hoyden wench…" Kate echoed with a chuckle, mimicking the ranch hand's harsh drawl. "I've been called a lot of things, but that sure is a first."

Javier, riding alongside her, piped up from the saddle, his expression puzzled. "What the hell does that mean, anyway?"

Lenny let out an exasperated sigh. " 'Wench' was a term used by slavers for black women. And 'hoyden' means she's too much of a 'tomboy’,'' he explained.

"Well, I can understand the 'tomboy' part, but she's not even—"

"Doesn't matter, amigo," John interjected, his tone matter-of-fact. "If ya skin ain't as white as a baby's bottom, it's all the same to them."

Kate nodded in agreement, her thoughts drifting back to the locals she had observed while running letters with Arthur. Witnessing their prejudice up close and personal was a stark reminder of the challenges faced by Lenny and Tilly in this region. As a woman of Italian descent, her skin carried a honey-brown hue, bronzed by the Lemoyne sun. Even this slight difference posed a threat to the narrow-minded locals, a reality that churned her stomach with discomfort.

"I'm ‘bout ready to get the hell out of dodge," Lenny added, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Speakin’ of racist hillbillies, Javier and I are heading out to Shady Belle. Got a tip there's some raiders sittin’ on guns and ammo. You guys want in?" He turned to John and Kate with a casual invitation.

Kate shook her head, "thanks Lenny, but I think I'll pass this time."

John chimed in with a polite refusal. "As much as I love killing racists, I gotta get back to Abigail for dinner."

Javier and Lenny exchanged nods of understanding. "No worries, compadres," Javier replied. "We'll catch up with you later."

As they bid farewell, Kate and John veered onto the familiar dirt path that led back to Clemens Point. 

The gentle melody of song birds and the steady pounding of hooves on the dry soil filled the atmosphere. Before they could approach the camp, John's voice broke the peaceful ambiance. 

"Hey, I know I sound stupid for saying this, but thank you for being a friend to Abigail. All of this has been really hard on her," he explained, his tone earnest and reflective. He glanced ahead, his thoughts drifting to his woman back at camp. "I know it may not look like it, but I'm trying—I'm working on being the kind of father she wants me to be and the husband she needs."

Kate gave him a sympathetic look, her eyes softening. “You don't sound stupid, John. This life ain’t easy for nobody, especially when there's a child in the mix.” She was slightly surprised to hear him open up to her. 

John sighed, his expression heavy with regret. “Still, I know you and I ain’t all that close, but, I did somethin’ pretty bad. I worry she might never forgive me for it.”

With a sideways glance, Kate nodded reluctantly. “Yeahhh, Abigail already told me ‘bout all that.”

“Shit, she did?” John's eyes widened in surprise.

She couldn't help but chuckle, a hint of mischief in her voice. “Oh yeah, she’s told me everything John.” Abigail didn't babble to Kate just for the sake of gossip; she understood that Abigail needed someone to confide in, someone to listen and truly hear her. She needed to feel seen, heard, and understood. Especially in times like these. 

“Well goddamn, now I feel like a proper dumbass.”

“She still loves you, John, and your boy does too. But love doesn’t come for free—it takes a lot of effort. Keep pushin’ to be a better man, she sees your effort. I promise you.” Kate's words were gentle yet firm,

"Thanks, Kate. Say, you’ve been ridin’ with us for a while now. You think you’re stickin’ ‘round for the long haul?” John asked, his tone curious.

Kate shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “I can’t say for certain. But for now, that’s the plan. Never thought I’d be workin’ with outlaws, but I guess it’s sometimes kinda fun,” she replied, hinting at their recent endeavor. Though petty horse theft was one thing, running from the law for murder was another.

“I noticed you and Arthur get along pretty well. He the reason you're stayin’ put?” John probed further. No doubt trying to get a grasp on his brother's affairs.

“Arthur’s a bit of a mystery to me. But we’re just friends, is all,” Kate answered, her tone casual yet guarded. She knew things between her and Arthur were only just beginning, but it was still undoubtedly complicated. The fact that some of the members had taken notice of their relationship sparked a tinge of worry. 

“You’re a tough woman to read sometimes,” he smirked, the scar on his cheek crinkled slightly. “Well, whatever the case. Take care of yourself, ya hear?” He expressed a genuine smile as he rode ahead back into camp. 

Kate followed behind, the aroma of Pearson’s signature stew filling her lungs with its savory fragrance. She left Lorena to graze peacefully among her own four-legged companions and headed toward the chuck wagon, eager to enjoy a well-earned meal after a day filled with adventure. The camp was alive with the usual sounds—crackling fire, distant chatter, and the occasional whinny of horses—creating a familiar and comforting backdrop to the evening.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As Arthur returned to camp under the blanket of stars, the world seemed silent except for the faint rustle of night creatures and the distant crackle of a dying fire. He dismounted his mare with practiced quiet, the shadows of night his ally in avoiding unwanted company.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, his frustration palpable in the tight set of his jaw and the weariness etched in his movements. Tonight, he had no patience for idle chatter or bullshit from the guys. Especially the ones awake at this hour.

Burning the tobacco fields with Sean had proven to be no easy task. Though never any job orchestrated by Dutch ever was. It was nights like these where Arthur questioned when all the shooting and robbing would end. What the point of it all was. 

Behind his tent, the open end of the wagon served as a makeshift wall. Arthur rummaged through crates, finding what he needed—a needle, thread, alcohol, and cloth. Wincing as he prodded the bullet graze just under his armpit.

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit” he mumbled to himself.

Getting shot had never been part of Arthur's plan on any job. He prided himself on his quick draw and accuracy, always aiming to fire first and hit his mark before danger could strike him. But shooting under cover of night, navigating through a blazing tobacco field while avoiding being burned alive—such challenges could make even the finest gunslinger stumble.

The guards had descended upon them as soon as the smoke rose, but Sean had urged them to press on, insisting they keep pouring the moonshine without hesitation. Arthur couldn't help but worry that the young Irishman's ambition might one day lead him into an early grave.

Surprisingly, the only injury Arthur had sustained was a bullet graze, still needing a few stitches but nothing life-threatening. Meanwhile, Sean had returned unscathed, already regaling their escapade around the campfire with a bottle in hand.

Under the cool night air, Arthur peeled off his sweat-dampened shirt, the chill of the air contrasting sharply with the warmth of his body. The lantern's dim glow cast shadows, highlighting the glistening of sweat on his chest and stomach.

He dipped the cloth into the alcohol, its sharp scent biting into his senses. As he attempted to clean the wound tucked under his arm, frustration crept in. The injury was beyond his line of sight, a challenge exacerbated by his own size.

Placing one arm against the side of the wagon for support, Arthur tried again, unaware of Kate's quiet approach behind him amidst the backdrop of the night's stillness.

“Need some help there, big guy?” Kate's voice was endearing, soft, almost motherly. The tone made Arthur's knees weak and his face grow warm.

Startled, Arthur nearly leapt out of his skin, quickly lowering his arm and stepping back, almost out of the lamplight. The nickname, though used innocently, stirred something akin to shame in his belly.

"What're you doin' up?" Arthur asked, attempting to appear unbothered.

Kate shrugged, her demeanor relaxed. "Couldn’t sleep. I was brushing Lorena when I saw you come in. Figured I’d say hi," she explained. "You want some help with that?" She gestured to where small trickles of blood traced down his side, her eyes lingering slowly over his bare torso.

If it weren’t for the cover of night, Kate would have seen the deep blush that crept up to his ears. "I think I’ll be alright," Arthur managed, his mouth suddenly dry.

Kate took a step closer, her gaze shifting to his shirt hanging from the side of the wagon, a round, deep red stain contrasting against its usual pale blue.

"Well, it sure don't look alright," she noted, her eyes returning to his side. "Tough spot to reach too."

Arthur's breath quickened. "I’m fine, don’t worry 'bout me," he replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into his tone.

Kate only brushed him off with a playful wave of her arm, “oh quit it! You stitched me up before, let me return the favor.” Before Arthur could react she placed a gentle hand on his bicep, “here, turn around.” She said quietly.

He complied, turning his back to her. His body froze when her fingers returned with the wet alcohol cloth. Barely noticing the sting, as her hands alone felt like fire against his cold skin. Her warmth is intoxicating. 

A moment's silence embraced them, and Arthur prayed she couldn’t hear the beat of his heart as it raced in his chest.

Her words startled him from his thoughts, “see, ain’t so bad,” her tone soft like she was comforting a child. “Why’d ya hesitate?” A hint of curiosity and concern filled her voice from behind him.  

Arthur lowered his head slightly, “I um, well I know I ain’t much to look at.” He mumbled. 

Kate continued to clean his wound tenderly, “what do you mean by that?” 

He let out a deep sigh, there was no point in being dishonest with her, “I…I just don’t like folk seein’ me without a shirt. I ain’t what I used to be. I’m gettin’ old, gettin’ heavy too.” His hand subconsciously rubbed over his belly. 

Arthur's weight was his biggest insecurity, a constant reminder of his struggles and the pain he carried. Years had passed since Eliza and Isaac's deaths, but part of him had withered away back then. The guilt had gnawed at him, devouring his spirit day by day. He sought solace in alcohol, drowning himself in the numbness it offered. His relationship with food became a twisted dance of indulgence and deprivation.

Some days, he ate to fill the emptiness inside, seeking comfort in the fleeting sensation of fullness. Other days, food seemed an enemy, a symbol of his lack of control. He despised his belly, the way it was soft and curved, a stark contrast to the man he once knew in the mirror. His size served as a relentless reminder of his deepest failure, haunting him with each glance.

Each morning he woke, Arthur grappled with the weight of existence. The world, in its merciless ways, kept him breathing, a living monument to his own remorse. He often wondered if the world would be better off without him, a sentiment that lingered like a dark cloud over his soul.

Kate sensed Arthur's tension, the silent turmoil that echoed beneath the pads of her fingers as she tended to his wound. She felt the subtle movement of his muscles, synchronized with the rise and fall of his breath. "You're a strong man, Arthur. Age and scars don't make you any less handsome," she reassured him with genuine honesty, her voice a soothing balm.

With practiced ease, Kate finished cleaning his wound and reached for the needle and thread. She gently maneuvered his arm to rest on the side of the wagon, adjusting her position for a better angle to begin stitching. Arthur's nerves betrayed him, his hand clenching into a tight fist at his side as he tried to compose himself. His head felt dizzy, as if he had been holding his breath all this time.

"I reckon you're just sayin' that to be kind," Arthur finally admitted, his self-doubt palpable in the air.

Kate chuckled softly, the sound carrying warmth and sincerity. "I've met my fair share of ugly bastards in my lifetime, but believe me, you are certainly not one of them," she assured him, her voice like a gentle flame against his skin. Her words were a rare gift, stirring something deep within him that he had long kept hidden. Arthur closed his eyes briefly, letting her words sink in.

"You're a very handsome cowboy, wrinkles, scars, size and all. I think you're a lovely man," Kate affirmed, her words carrying a sincerity that tugged at Arthur's heart. "Besides, I know I'm not the picturesque woman myself. I'm no stranger to the cruel effects of time and livin' rough. Today, I was even called a ‘hoyden wench’ by some bona fide racist ranch hand," she added with a light laugh, as if brushing off the insult.

Kate had a way of making Arthur feel like they had known each other for a lifetime. Since the day she opened up to him about her life, she had been unapologetically honest with him. It was as if she already knew she could trust him with her personal tragedies.

Hosea's words echoed in Arthur's mind, a comforting reminder of the wisdom his old father figure imparted. Hosea simply wanted happiness for him—not wealth in money, but richness in love. He wanted Arthur to find purpose and meaning in life, to share that journey with another soul.

As Kate's needle deftly worked the thread through his skin, Arthur felt a warmth bloom in his chest. Kate's words eased a heavy burden, if only momentarily. 

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, summoning the courage to speak. “Well, I’ll say this. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with a lady who can hold her own,” he began, his voice laced with sincerity. “You’ve got a strength and beauty that’s hard to come by. I think it’s pretty admirable.”

Kate giggled softly, the sound sending a warm flutter through Arthur’s chest. “Thanks, Arthur. First time I’ve heard that in a while,” she replied, her eyes meeting his.

Arthur marveled at how he had summoned the courage to kiss her the other night, feeling as if he could barely face her now. Yet, if she leaned in to kiss him at this moment, he knew he would succumb to his desire, despite what he had told her before. She lit a fire in him.

“S’true. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole damn holler,” Arthur said, unable to hide the light chortle that escaped him.

Kate leaned closer, her breath tickling his neck as she whispered, “You have quite a sweet side, Arthur. I adore that about you,” her hand lightly squeezing his arm.

His heart swelled, and Arthur knew this was the moment. He needed to tell her, despite the nerves that threatened to overpower him. Hosea may have been right; she had stayed by his side despite everything. But as he searched for the words, unsure of how to broach the subject, his nerves got the better of him once again. There was never an easy way to say it. Just the memories of them alone felt like acid in his throat. 

Kate took a step back, placing her tools down on the back of the wagon. “I reckon I’m about done stitching this. Try to stay out of the crossfire next time, yeah?” She teased, holding up his bloody shirt with a knowing look as she handed it back to him.

Arthur felt a pang of regret. “Wasn’t my intention to get shot,” he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. He slipped the shirt over his shoulders, tugging the sleeves down his arms.

“Nobody intends to get shot,” Kate mused, taking a step back to give him space.

Turning to face her, Arthur was struck by the sight of her eyes, a sadness that mirrored his own that evening under the moonlit sky when they kissed. His heart throbbed at the sight. Since the day he met her at Emerald Ranch, she had a welcoming presence that drew him in, along with a deep sorrow that resonated with his own. It was as if she knew him before she even met him.

He looked down, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I appreciate your help, darlin’,” he murmured. Then, letting out a deep breath, he added, “though, I really don’t deserve it.”

Kate brushed off his self-doubt. “Don’t fuss over it, Arthur. I’m here whenever you need a hand,” she assured him. “I think you should get some rest though; from Sean’s stories, it sounds like it’s been a long day.”

Arthur nodded silently, watching as Kate bid him farewell and faded back into the night. His heart silently begged, please don’t go. But she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts under the blanket of stars.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate lay beneath the star-studded sky, her eyes fixed on the milky purple and white swirl above, like celestial clouds in motion. Her heart echoed the rhythm of hooves against her ribs. Thoughts of Arthur filled her mind, his presence vivid in her thoughts.

The image of his body lingered before her, along with the stories he shared about himself. A longing surged within her to reveal how beautiful she found him, to explore him with kisses and her wandering hands.

Patience wavered as a persistent ache in her belly reminded her of the closeness she craved. Intimate moments with Arthur kindled her core, igniting a blaze of desire. Each quiet, vulnerable encounter with him deepened their connection. Funny how his true colors always showed when he was alone with her. 

Kate smiled to herself, feeling a rush of desire she hadn't known for what felt like a century. As good as she was on her own. She felt like life had finally granted her an anecdote to her lonely heart. 

---

AN: Phew, its out there. I know that was pretty dialogue heavy, so I hope I didn't bore you guys. Next chapter is going to be a long one, and may take me awhile. But it will be worth it, I promise!

As always, thanks for all the love!

[brandnewhuman]

Hi dad. I got an angsty one for ya.

How would the slashers (anyone you wanna write for, as many or few as you want) react to a reader who they've kinda fallen for and acts comfortable around them, but is really just putting up an act to stay alive? maybe the reader could fall for them, but they're scared out of their mind and Stockholm syndrome isn't happening. 😈😈😈

Trigger of love

Headcanons

☆STARRING☆

☆Brahms Heelshire☆

☆Michael Audrey Myers☆

☆ Jason Voorhees ☆

☆ Jesse Cromeans ☆

Tw: major character death, description of injuries and bones breaking, canon violence, mature language, toxic relationships, mentions of blood, description of mental illness

A/n: THIS IS THE JUICIEST TASTIEST ANGST REQUEST EVER BRO. so happy to finally have the opportunity to write it, even tho it has taken me ages but I'VE DONE FINALLY. That's my shit right here, really tragic stories with really tragic endings and never ending dramas ANYWAY ENJOY

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

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE:

I genuinely think brahms would end up killing you

LET ME EXPLAIN OKAY? DON'T COME AT ME

he wouldn't do it on purpose, it would be something accidental. Your behaviour would bring out the worst tantrum ever in history 

Not your fault bro I know but it is what it is

The fact is that everytime brahms does something bad it has some sort "justification"

Like Idk if it makes sense but take greta for example

He did all those things at the beginning cause she was breaking the rules, and he killed Cole cause he was hurting her 

You're not doing anything wrong but at the same time he's hypersensitive to people's behaviour so he knows you're not really doing it because you love him but more because you fear him

It's like living with his parents and even tho there's some sort of comfort in it because it's all he knows, he still wants to feel truly loved 

You don't try to escape but don't let the Stockholm syndrome kick in either and you don't even give a chance to actually believe he's not going to hurt you

Which again, not your fault cause his tantrums are enough on their own to make someone shit themselves, and he knows it 

We love a self-aware king

So he finds himself in this shitty in between where he can't say he doesn't has what he wants but neither that he's happy

For once in his life, having his own selfish need of you staying ecc it's not enough and he wishes for you to be happy as well

You do everything and beyond to keep him happy 

Never once broke a rule, never once tried to get away, never said no to giving him affection or anything he asks for

You have even taken care of him when he was sad ecc

But he can still see it in your eyes how scare you are of him

You flinch away everytime he just as much as lifts his hand, you always tremble slightly around him, your eyes has never stopped being glossy 

The only time he sees any other emotion in you besides fear is when you're alone and he's not really sure how much better that is cause you look so defeated and sad and overall depressed 

Needless to say the guilt is eating him alive, to know he's the one who has ruined you like that will never leave him a moment of peace 

It's literally driving him crazy

At first he was like 'yeah whatever, fuck you. You'll stay anyway and I'm not going to say sorry' 

Oh boy if he did regretted it

Once again, he feels like he felt while living with his parents all over again and after a while he develops this fear of you killing yourself like they did

My man here is collecting trauma like pokemon cards 

He tries everything like everything for real

He becomes more patient, he tries to take care of you instead of making you take care of him, he treats you like you could break if he's not careful enough

At this point my boy doesn't even fuckin wants you to be in love or for you to get the Stockholm syndrome, he just wants to show you he's sorry and that he has learned his lesson 

It's like living in some sort of loop from hell where he can't fucking make it right even if he really wants to

He has even stopped spying you and invading your privacy without you having to ask for it

Has even considered to let you go but he has found out about this underlying fear of someone telling the police everything and making him end up in a much worse situation than being a prisoner in his own house 

Funnily enough his insecurities about his face ecc are subsided by how much of a monster he feels on the inside

Like you have made very clear you're simply scared of him as a person, not because of his face.

And that's something he will never be able to get over 

After countless months of trying and being in his best behaviour he just kind of snaps 

You haven't seen him all day and you didn't felt observed either which made a very appreciated break from your hypervigilanting and stressing routine 

Just when you thought everything was calm and you decided to head up to go to bed, there he was waiting for you at the top of the stairs 

He seemed calm but you could seem the slight trembling of his body, one you recognise from numerous fits of rage he had in the past

He didn't straight up started to yell but you sensed there were like wrong and right answers to each question he was making 

He kept asking you if you loved him truly, if you were happy or if you wanted to leave 

To everything you always answered what he wanted to hear even tho the feeling that you were saying the wrong thing was only growing more and more

'You're scared of me, aren't you? You'll never want to be here'

At this point he knows you're lying and for a second something seems to switch in you

He has stopped wearing the mask around you so now you can freely see how pained he actually looks

You have never noticed before how tired he looks too

You have spent so much time being scared of him that now that you see it and you like really look at him you can see how defeated and miserable he has been

There's no trace of pretending or lying or trying to manipulate you in any way 

Now you're still scared but not as much and for once you actually decide on your own to try and help him 

You can't stand to look at him crying like that, it looks like he's going to die from a heartbreak anytime soon 

You start to go towards him with your hands up forwards so he knows you mean no harm

It's really like trying to get a stray animal to trust you

He has his hands covering his face and you can see how violent are the sobs, you actually take a minute to let yourself be amazed by the fact that even with such a hard and brutal crying he's able to conceal the noise 

He's used to do it since he was a kid and it shouldn't surprise you that much but in some way it does 

When you finally reach for him that's when he pushes you away screaming

Which scares the shit out of you and makes you lose your balance

It's a cliché but he swears it all happened so fast but at the same time so slow

He saw how you made yourself trip backwards and your face contorted in panic as you felt the void behind you, realising you were about to fall down the stairs

He tried to grab you but you were trying to hold on the rail so you just completely missed his hand 

You basically flew down the really long staircase and all he could do was watch 

He had that paralysing feeling of guilt and fear clawing at his guts as he watched you fall 

But when he heard the disgusting sound of your neck basically snapping against the hardwood floor, that's when he really felt sick 

He almost wanted to run away and pretend nothing has happened cause in his mind, if he got near you now that would make you dead for real

For now as he watches from afar you could still be alive 

BTW baby bro here is not stupid and I'm not talking basic level of knowledge nono

I'm talking he has studied and read about a lot of stuff including books about medical things like injuries ecc 

Basically he's like really smart 

That being said, and I know you know where I'm going with this 

From the moment you fell he knew you wouldn't survive.

Either that or you would end up disabled 

He knows too that when you snap your neck you don't die on the spot but you feel a ridiculous amount of pain until the injure does its course of action

That's yet another thing he feels guilty about your death

He should've put you out of your pain at least but he didn't, he just stared at you while shaking and crying silently 

He didn't even dared to move in case some invisibile and unnoticed force of the universe would notice what he has done and decided to punish him for it

Which thinking about he felt like he was already being punished 

It's kind of sad cause he didn't actually meant it, it was truly an accident but he will always blame himself for it as if he was the one actively pushing you 

Now he knows that no matter what he does or how much he changes he's always destined to be the cause of the death of the people he loves. 

Which he should've seen coming since not even his parents could bear his existence 

MICHAEL MYERS:

Tbh he's not that shocked about it

I mean bro at least acknowledges the fact that he is the fucking boogeyman and everyone will always find him scary

He doesn't even tries to excuse himself because he knows he kills and he's a overall unhinged man and that's something a normal person will never get over 

What bothers him is the acting nice 

When you both met, you really didn't knew who he was

He happened to have been badly injured and was like bleeding the fuck out on your backyard 

yes, you basically just took him inside as if he was some sort of stinky and pitiful ugly cat

That and the fact that you're taking care of him stirred him away from the idea of killing you

No shame in being oblivious to the most juicy gossip in town but bro was really just waiting for you to recognise him

When you did, and you started to act all nice and scared ecc he has to admit he took advantage of it

He knew how to scare you into never running away and never snitching him to the police so he could use you for food ecc

At some point he was impressed by how well you're able to keep up with this 

No lashing out, no crying and you have never broke down 

He could tell tho that you have never been this stressed 

Your hands are always trembling, you don't sleep well at night so you're getting clumsier by the minute 

When you drop stuff, burn food ecc he doesn't mind much but as time goes by it's hard for him to not get attached to you

Which it frustrates him cause he it makes him even more aware of how you see him

He has come to know you by invading your privacy a little bit

He had to since you were not exactly open to let him get to know you

The more he finds the more he likes you

And the more he likes the more he realise he has basically killed you from the inside 

It's hard to think all of those things he has found out are about you cause now you look more like a shell of what you used to be

And he definitely feels the guilt of being responsible of you losing your spirit

You're the first person he really cares about and loves like really truly loves

But that goes against everything he is now cause he can't possibly choose between be with you or killing

He starts to dwell on the past too much and the more he thinks about it the more he gets mad about the situation 

Before you he has never really care too much about the injustices he has suffered 

As a matter of fact he has never really grasped the fact that so many people have failed him and that's why he will never have a normal life

There was a time where he kind of did but that was long ago when he was just a kid 

At some point he just accepted what everyone said he was, that he's only purpose and role in life was to be a monster to everyone

Whether he wanted to or not it wasn't really important 

No one would help him nor he could make people change their minds

Besides, his reasoning is that if so many people is saying it then it must be true

And in his own selfish way he thought that the only one who got the consequences of it was him and the idiots who happened to be killed by him

Now that he sees the result of what everyone and himself has done with him on you he just feels sick

He finds himself spending hours observing you and daydreaming about how a normal version of him would've lived a normal life with you

He tries really hard to show you he can be gentle 

Spends hours observing other couples and what normal people do with their loved ones to understand better how he should act in order to get closer to you

It's so frustrating for him cause he literally doesn't has a choice anymore and he sees in you everything that's wrong with him that he can't change

He feels for the first time as broken as he really is 

At some point he wishes you could just drop the act of being nice, treat him like trash so he can tell to himself you're like everyone else therefore he doesn't need you 

But even if you were to do that he knows he would never be able to kill you

Everytime you touch him even if it's by mistake he gets a bubbly feeling of hope inside that maybe you're starting to see him as something different than what he is 

But then he looks at your eyes and he sees the same glossy and sad scared stare looking right back at him

He knows there's like nothing else he can do and for the first time he just gives up 

He needs to like get used to not be able to see you so he starts with small steps

He starts to staying out for a couple of hours more than usual, then hours turn to days, days into weeks, weeks into months and months into a year 

Everytime he comes back and you see him he can immediately see the shift in your behaviour and how you lose all the already weak sparkle you have gathered from knowing he was far away from you

That's the worst part of it for him

He needs to see you, he wants to spend time with you and looks forward to see you for the last few times before going away fr 

But you on the other part seem to flourish when he's not around, to count the minutes and seconds until he's gone 

It kinda makes him feel like he felt when he was a kid and he wanted to see his parents 

The day he finally came back for the last time after a year you were asleep

He didn't even sit on the bed, nor did he woke you up or did anything that could steer you away from your sleep

He sat on the floor near your bed in complete silence 

He took off his mask knowing that you would never see him and he just stared at you

He wanted to look at you, take in every detail of your face to burn it in his brain so he would never forget you 

He just wanted to look at you not as the shape, but just as Michael. Even if just for one time he wanted to pretend he was just that and that you were being stared by a person and not a monster 

For once his difficulty in expressing his emotions was useful because if he were to let go of all the things he was experiencing he could swear he would just explode or melt away 

The only thing that came out of him was a tear, which he swiped away slowly before getting up and putting on the mask again

After that he never came back, obviously you were over the moon and he was just well going on with it 

He occasionally stalks you but after some time he stops cause it makes him feels sickeningly alone 

Here something to think about if you need to cry: sometimes he thinks back at when he was trying to get closer to you 

One of the things he wanted to do the most was holding hands but you always looked so scared when he tried to do that he just dropped it 

He understands how it might look to you that this tall ass bastard is trying to hold your hand 

That and the fact that he wasn't really good at being careful and gentle didn't help his cause 

So from time to time, when he thinks about it he stares at his hands 

You know when you like pretend to be holding someone's hand while holding yours? 

Well he does that and finds ironic the fact that he has learned to do it gently now that he will never be able to do it with you

JASON VOORHEES:

Listen, LISTEN

I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK, IM A JASON APOLOGIST FIRST AND A HUMAN SECOND

jason my beloved what are this foul gremlins making me do smh

He is one of the few slashers I genuinely think could change for you and try to make things better

Jason doesn't kills just for funsies 

He kills because his sense of duty and to protect himself and his home and all that jazz

I don't really think he genuinely wants anyone fearing him

If anything it's the opposite. He has been treated like a monster his whole life, no one has ever gave him the opportunity to be something else

Like why would he enjoy ending up being what everyone has always thought of him? Doesn't make any fucking sense mate

Like I said he has to, he genuinely thinks there's nothing else for him to do and there's no other place in the whole world for him

IM GONNA CRY BUT LIKE HE'S AT LEAST GRATEFUL OF HAVING A PURPOSE CAUSE HE GENUINELY THINKS HE'S SOME SORT OF SICK JOKE OR MISTAKE 

 So my Wild take of the day for which I'm ready to bet my own ass is that if he could he would very much appreciate to just be left alone and live a normal life, not bothering or harming anyone

The fact is that much more like so many other slashers he can't really communicate to tell you at least his reasons for being a murderer 

That's something that torments him daily, to know that in your eyes he's merciless and overall really evil

Assuming you survive being hunted down by him, he would do near to everything to show he's not a threat for you

You must have been someone who he didn't deem fair to kill 

Like you were respectful, you didn't seem to be a fucking moron messing around and ruining his home 

Once again, I'm gonna assume you just don't know about him and crystal lake ecc

cause otherwise for you to be there is pretty much a death wish from your part

That being said, if you don't know anything about him there's a good chance that the scariest part of Jason (sadly) it's his appearance and behaviour 

JASON BABE YOU'RE HUGE LIKE SCARY BIG, WHAT THE MCFUCK IS ONE SUPPOSED TO FEEL SEEING YOU CHARGING AT THEM LIKE A FUCKING GRIZZLY BEAR 

The whole being chased around like a fucking animal is not a vibe i guess 

LET ME BE DELUSIONAL ABOUT THE FACT THAT WITH ENOUGH TIME HE COULD BE QUITE NICE TO BE AROUND 

I won't let anyone ruin my mental image of him being a sweetheart once you know him

THAT MAN CAN'T BE THAT EVIL. YES, I CAN FIX HIM. IF YOU THINK YOU CAN'T THAT SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM

Now, jason may be shy and a gentle giant but he's not stupid

He knows very well how you think of him and how does he looks like to anyone who sees him

He can see through your act, you can't fool him

He can see the same scared look in your eyes he used to see on other people's face when he was a kid

The only person who has always looked at him like he's just well a human being with feelings is his mother

And maybe it doesn't makes sense and It may be controversial but deep down jason appreciates the nice act 

Like he just can't bring himself to care anymore. At least someone is trying to be nice 

Keep in mind this man has known nothing from the world beside humiliation, pain and loneliness 

Idk if anyone ever thinks about it but it torments me a great deal the thought of Jason's miserable life

Being stripped away from your humanity, having to choose a path of violence to protect yourself, having to witness how they kill the only person in the whole universe that could ever love you 

That shit it's just not fair and even if he knows you're scared of him he sees it as the most caring and thoughtful anyone has ever been with him in a long time

Think about it, anyone who has ever seen him has either tried to kill him or has been incredibly cruel 

The fact that, even if out of fear and self-preservation, you try to still reach to his human side and treat him with respect at least it's already enough

I think he could be one of those slasher that could make you fall in love without falling for the Stockholm syndrome type of infatuation 

HE IS, OKAY? I WILL TAKE NO FUCKING CRITICISMS. YOU WILL GENUINELY FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM OR ELSE I'LL STEAL YOUR FUCKING PET

Jason would literally try everything to get you to feel less stressed around him

It breaks his heart to see your eyes glossy or your body shaking because of fear 

In the process he gets clumsier by the minute so at the in of the day you're both stressed 

He is because he's scaring you just by breathing and you bc obvious reasons

You can notice how different he acts tho and somehow, his efforts manage to go through your thick layer of fear 

You could swear he almost tries to make himself look as harmless and gentle as possible

You can see him trying to take as little space as he can or bringing you things that might cheer you up 

He cleans up from blood and gore before getting back home 

He even makes his cabin more homely for you so you feel more at home and less kidnapped 

And at some point it works 

That plus you somehow piecing together what has happened to him it's starting to make it easier for you to not relax but overall feel less terrified around him

He would spend so much time watching you from afar because he knows he will never get to know you or see you without fear 

The days where he can observe you without you noticing anything are his favourite. He gets to see a version of you more relaxed and natural

He would literally spend an eternity being far from you if it means you can feel better 

He would spend his free time improving the cabin and daydreaming about what it would be like to be liked by you

Not even like dating you because he feels it would be wrong for him to even think about it

Please for the love of God, try to be friendly with him

Having the opportunity to know him better is taking away some of the fear

You know very well it's not Stockholm syndrome cause it feels genuine

One day you take a good look at him while he's taking care of his flowers I'm the garden 

You observe every part of his rotting being and you can't exactly explain why but you feel your heart ache and your eyes glossy 

Not for you, but for him

It's almost like some sort of illumination comes to you and makes everything painfully clear

You have obviously noticed he's not alive cause we're stupid but not that much 

You take a really good look at his clothes and body, at his mask and everything you look at to get more details about him

Everything in his appearance screams hurt, wounded and mistreated. A whole life and a afterlife filled with getting hurt and abused by the world 

His bright blue eye has always a layer of sadness in it even when he's doing something that makes him happy

It hits you just now how little human he must feel. 

And that leads you to realise that he has not only changed so much just to please you but has distanced himself as if he's very own existence could be offensive to you

From that day you started with small steps like saying good morning or good night to him, keeping him company when he tended to his garden, trying to get closer to him even if that means just being in silence and standing next to him

That grows into "talking" with him, taking walks around the woods, spending evenings reading inside the cabin 

You insist in eating together, tending his wounds, mending his clothes and overall doing anything that could make him feel less like the shell of a human being 

At first he doesn't really get it but the more you do it the more he silently realises how much he craves those types of things. 

I personally think that with enough patience you both could build a good relationship and you could even talk him out of killing people and settle for just scaring them away

He's favourite thing to do is curling up next to you in bed, his head on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeats while you mindlessly caress his back while telling him about anything you want 

JESSE CROMEANS:

🎶DADDY LET ME KNOW THAT I'M YOUR ONLY GORL🎶

Some funzies before doing some emotional terrorism

Since you all want to be a menace with this requests I'm going to use post accident Jesse

To say this man is on the verge of tears every single day is an understatement

So long story short you were jesse s/o

He was like the love of your fucking life and you were his

His whole world goes around you, you're the only thing that makes him genuinely happy besides his work

You found out about the whole chromeskull thing in the worst way possible

He was scared of coming back after the accident with his face so he just kind of distanced himself

Everytime you would ask when he was coming home he always had an excuse

You both went a long time of just calling each other's, spending time on calls and sometimes even falling asleep with the phone still on

He missed you so much but he couldn't bear the thought of you looking at him like he was monster

It was killing him to know he was so close to you but couldn't reach you

You find out who he really was on accident

Cleaning around to distract yourself you ended up gathering many things that needed to be put in the attic so that you did

Once you were there you found some tapes. You checked them out of curiosity and oh boy you regretted it

You felt so sick you almost threw up

All those girls, there were some many of them in each tape and each one of them different from the other

It was horrifying to watch the love of your life mercilessly torture and kill helpless and innocent people

Now everything made so much more sense and It actually made you feel even worse to know that this whole time, while you were talking with him, Jesse was killing people

What hurts the most is feeling like you've been played, like you were something he has used to entertain himself until he finds a new victim

Needless to say you didn't stayed in your shared apartment a day longer, you didn't even take with half of the things you own

Most of them were gifts Jesse bought you so bringing them with you was only going to make it worse

You were scared out of your mind. So scared that in fact you couldn't even find the courage to go to the police, afraid that maybe that would end up with your being another one of Jesse victims

Obviously no one told Jesse what was going on. They all collectively agreed their boss was dealing with enough shit to keep adding more

They all needed Jesse to focus on work

That didn't worked well cause as soon as you stopped answering the phone he decided enough was enough

He needed to check what was going on so he found the courage to overcome his insecurities and go find you

He was heartbroken when he found you left

He immediately thought that you just got tired of waiting for him, that he has drawn you away

Long story short he went after you to find you and try at the best of his abilities to explain everything and win you back

He did not see the coming all that panic and terror in your face when he knocked at your door

He did think it was bc of his face so he tried to calm you down and explain

Needless to say you didn't calm down and he being the man he is, just kind of kidnapped you

Now onto business here

He knows you have every right to feel like this but it still upsets him deeply to know that he will never get the chance of being with you like before

He thought that you being scared and acting crazy every time you saw him was the worst but now he is kind of rethinking it

You started acting like this after he "snapped" at you

You were panicking and screaming while he tried to tell you something, that lead to you taking his mask off accidently which ended up in him pushing you off too hard

After that things went really fucking downhills

It wasn't like you were still out of your mind but the look in your eyes is unbearable

The first time you started the whole acting nice thing he almost thought you were starting to at least tolerate him but then he saw it

It's the same look some of his victims had while trying to gain his trust, seeing it on you was the worst thing he has ever experienced

He just couldn't stand it anymore, his face, you hating him, his favourite victim who was the one that has damaged him so badly killed by that cunt of Preston and now this? Mate is done

He has tried everything and anything but now he just kind of gives up

You notice the shift in his behaviour, how he comes by just to bring your meals or things you may need, he doesn't even goes near you or talks and his eyes are always anywhere but on you

I gotta be real with you guys, I don't think there's like a way to make this up

HE'S HURT OKAY? BRO'S EMOTIONAL DAMAGE IS BIG AF

He would even start sending his assistant to take care of you so he doesn't has to face you at all

It's just painful cause he already feels like his life is ruined and everything is falling apart with him not being able to fix it

You know what? I'm gonna fix it cause I can't take it anymore

You have probably grown used to be basically trapped at home, it's not like you're suffering with god knows what kind of abuse cause you basically have all you need to distract yourself aside from going out

Jesse comes home very rarely and as much as you hate to admit it you have been feeling less and less scared of him

You still think what he does is horrible but the thing that bothers you it's him lying to you

You do have to admit you miss being with him. Not like when you were scared but like when you didn't knew and he was just Jesse

You wonder from time to time if he's angry at you for how you have reacted since he hasn't shown himself for quite sometimes

As if on clue you hear something break in the bathroom and what seems like someone crying

That would be another of Jesse's mental breakdowns about his face. He thinks he looks so bad he can't even bear the sight of himself in the mirror

You slowly try to approach the bathroom and putting your ear against the door, you try to hear what's going on

You have never heard Jesse crying nor making any sort of noises come out of his mouth so it's actually quite shocking to hear him sob so hard

When you open the door the scene breaks your heart and in that moment you don't see chromeskull or the homicides, you just see your Jesse, the same one you have always loved and that has always helped you when you were down, on his knees bawling his eyes out and shaking

You just do what comes naturally aka you get closer and you just hold him as tight as possible

He tries to hide away, panicking bc he doesn't want you to see what he has become, but you just keep hugging him and saying that it doesn't matter

The moment you hold his face on your hands and look at him with the same understanding gaze you used to have it's the moment he feels his heart beating right again

It's not gonna be easy to accept everything but at least you're coming around it and he makes sure you know how grateful he is for it everyday

[creative-caramel-coffee]

SICKTEMBER PROMPTS 2023 :)

So I was thinking Im going to kind of do sicktember? like Im only going to use some prompts (the ones i like) which i showed below. I will maybe write a fic for each of them, but no promises. And there not going to be posted in order (cuz It depends on what im motivated to write and when).

1. Hopelessly bad at self-care (WANDANAT x R)

TW: fever, Flu, non-sexual nudity, implied sexual joke (just one), slight angst, traumatic past (mentioned)

4. Hiding an Illness (WANDANAT x R)

TW: Blood, fainting, bloodloss, stitches, getting shot, injury, hiding injuries (duh), slight angst (kinda)

6. Sick and Iniured (WANDA x R)

TW: broken bone (mentioned), fever, Flu, injury, vomiting, non-sexual nudity

8. Persistent Fever

11. Beginner's Guide to Faking Sick (WANDANAT x R)

TW: vomiting, slight angst, migraine, non-sexual nudity, fever

13. Anxious Stomach (WANDANAT x R)

TW: vomiting

15. Sick in an Inconvenient Place (WANDNAT x R)

TW: vomiting, exhaustion, talks of medication, anxiety, secrets, slight angst

16. Consulting the Internet/Web MD

19. Curled Up With a Pet

20. Cramping Pain (WANDNAT x R)

TW: pain medicine, blood, period, cramps, bleeding on the bed, non-sexual nudity, Reader has their clothes removed (not in a bad way though don’t worry … you’ll see), hiding injuries / sickness, slight angst,

23. Coughing Fit

24. "Did you just sneeze?"

25. Confused/Disoriented

27. Uncooperative Patient

28. "I should have stayed home" (WANDANAT x R)

TW: exhaustion, talks of medication, fever, secrets, blood / nosebleed, cold, fainting, stitches, injury, swearing, fighting

29. Side Effects/Adverse Reaction (WANDANAT x R)

TW: Vomiting, surgery, medicine, getting shot

BTW Bold + underline = finished and linked :)

[pechaberriesandsoju]

Don't You Dare

This is a re-upload of the original Don't You Dare lyric fic I wrote back when I originally did my self shipping on a side blog. I finally decided to edit it up some more and put it here. I only finally decided to say fuck it and finish it up recently cause I got a bit stumped on my newest lyric fic and I thought this would help. And it kinda did. Also, for those who remember this from my old blog?? HIIII READY TO BE SAD AGAIN?????

Anyways, just like before, this is before Echo changed her name to Echo. Before she became an nsr artist. But it does take place after the main events of the game. And yes, there is a slight crossover mention here because your girl is addicted to crossovers, and it's incurable.

Pink italics are lyrics like before. The song used is Don't You Dare(Make Me Fall In Love With You) by Kaden MacKay.

Anyways, tw: Self Depreciation, blood and injury mentions, lots of angst, character a not noticing and acknowledging the signs that character b genuinely likes them. And possible grammar errors because grammar was never my strong suit.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Pro.ship and com.ship and what not, do not interact. Respect my boundaries.

Don't you dare make me fall in love with you

Kore knew better. Or she should know better. He's an NSR artist for crying out loud - she's just an assistant.

Her job is to work on security drones and new tech with her father. His job is to sing and dance and make people swoon. He was literally programmed for it, after all. Maybe that's what this was - he was being kind due to his programming. These gestures of kindness are nothing but actions from his "perfect boyfriend" programming. Nothing more, nothing less.

Don't you dare enchant me with those eyes

Yet here she was, still enchanted by those eyes. Those damn glowing green android eyes. Curse Neon J for making them so expressive. She had to give him credit, though. They almost gave her a sense that there was genuine care and curiosity in his eyes. But that could just be her mind tricking her. She shouldn't be getting close anyway.

If I fell through your skies,

There's no way you would catch me

She stopped in her tracks when a hand gently pulled her back, eyes glancing back over her shoulder in time to make eye contact with bright glowing green ones framed by green curls. Shit was all she thought, as he carefully reached for a box she was carrying, a warm smile on his face. "Here, let me help. You looked like you were about to fall." His robotic voice still made her heart soar - she hated it. Kore didn't respond. She kept a straight face and nodded before continuing on, maybe even speeding up a little. She wanted to avoid small talk as much as possible.

There's a tear in my heart,

But your patch wouldn't match me.

She wished he didn't fret over her like this. She wasn't fragile. Yes he was an android and she was...human. Yeah, human. Another reason why they couldn't be together. They're too different. It could lead to issues in the future. Besides there are better humans he could fall for. Ones that weren't as short as her, not as scarred and battered as her. Physically and mentally. Eloni deserves better than her after all.

Being near you still adds to the size of my sighs,

Kore didn't get why he insisted on being near her when they visited. The other 1010 units would stick near by but not as close him. For the fifth time that day she let out a heavy sigh as she moved her line of sight back to the circuit board before her. She couldn't focus with him being so close to her. It made her mind wander to what ifs and maybes- things that wouldn't be possible. Not with him anyways. Not him with her to be exact.

There's still seismic events at hellos and goodbyes,

She hated how her heart ached seeing him have to leave. She hated how her mind tricked her into thinking he genuinely looked disappointed that he was leaving her behind. It wasn't real. It couldn't have been real and she needed to get it through her mind that it wasn't real. They wouldn't match anyways.

She especially hated how her heart leapt when he entered the room. The way it raced when he gave her that damn smile and waved at her like he was genuinely excited to see her. He was just being nice- it's all his programming she reasoned. It's not real.

And I still need reminders of why it's unwise

To stare

Kore cursed to herself when she realized she was staring at him. She only caught herself cause they made eye contact and he immediately smiled and winked at her. She had to pull herself together- this wasn't professional of her. She had to remind herself that it wasn't wise to be falling for him. To not fall for his damn programming. Not read into it. He was just being nice. She needed to pull it together.

So don't you dare

         ⋅⋆∘✯∘⋆⋅

Don't you dare make me fall in love with you

Don't you dare do something so cliché

"Oh stay still." She froze as he reached up to her face, heart racing as he gently pushed back some of her hair out of her face, fingers barely grazing her skin as he pulled away, a warm smile on his face. "There we go, wouldn't want that to get in the way as you work." He teased lightly, her chest growing warm from the action.

How long had these feelings been chewing away at her? They definitely got worse over time. She hated how it got harder to fight off. When he would make silly faces across the room to try and make her smile. She hated when it actually worked. And she hated how it made her heart race when he gave her that smile every time they saw each other. She hated how he genuinely brought a smile to her face and made her laugh. She hated how it made her fall for him more. It wasn't fair.

Just get out of my daydreams,

You're an unwelcome guest

Kore jolted with a start as she realized she was spacing out again. Her thoughts had turned into daydreams of what ifs again. Another dangerous habit she's developed ever since these feelings showed up. She couldn't let them distract her this much. It was bad for her work. Gold eyes glanced down to her sketchbook in front of her, widening at the sight of a small faint beginnings of a sketch of Eloni on the corner of her work. She muttered a curse under her breath as she quickly erased it. Her cheeks warm as she got rid of the evidence of her feelings.

And stop making me miss you

'Cause you leaving's for the best

She hated how she missed him. How she longed for him to walk through the door during those long weeks. How she wished he was there to make silly faces, and send absurd memes and videos to her during meetings, anything to make her break into silent giggles or snickers. She hated how her heart ached for him during these periods of time. It lead to more distractions. Distractions lead to more errors and more errors lead to more work.

'Cause I just couldn't stand having you as my crutch

The idea of blaming him for her errors felt unfair. But the emotions he was putting her through made it feel like it was justified. But Kore kept fighting it. She kept fighting the feelings. She should know better. She knows better. She'd hold him back. He didn't deserve to be held back.

You're a simmering stovetop, I was tempted to touch

But god, did she hate how she felt how relaxed she felt when he showed up the next day. She wouldn't admit how her heart almost leaped out of her chest when he sat next to her during the meeting. She wouldn't admit how she struggled to pay attention to Tatiana, Neon J, and Tony talking over the next upgrades and blueprints. She would definitely refuse to admit how her heart stuttered for a second when she felt his hand brush against hers under the table. How she fought back the blush the grew on her face when she saw his smile grow in the corner of her eye. How part of her wanted to reach for his hand, and just hold it, but then it came rushing back. She shouldn't. She couldn't. It wasn't real. It's the programming, Kore, she reminded herself. She would never admit how her chest ached when she pulled her hand away, and how she swore she saw his smile falter when she pulled away. It was more than likely a trick of the light. Why would he be disappointed about it? It's not like he actually really cared about her. It's more than likely a game to him anyway.

If you ever return, it'll burn me too much

To bear

Another distraction was another mistake - she hissed when she pulled her hand back, tools going scattering to the table as she stood up abruptly. Her hand stung from the hot metal. Even if it was touching her for a second, it burned. As she quickly made her way to a sink in the warehouse, it reminded her of why it wouldn't work between them. She was too accident prone, more these days now that he occupied her thoughts. It would be disastrous for him to be with someone who got injured as much as her. No one would want to be stuck with someone like her. She ignored how her chest and eyes burned at the thought as she ran her hand under cold water. It was a fact, after all. And you can't argue with facts.

So don't you dare

      ⋅⋆∘✯∘⋆⋅

And I know it's all so shallow, but a shallow cut still stings

Watching 1010 performances and interviews made her chest hurt. Alot. It was selfish of her to feel a type of jealousy when others held his attention. She knew it was selfish of her because he didn't return the feelings. She knew this by now. He just wanted to be friends. And she had been a shallow, selfish person for falling for him and that programming of his that made him this nice. For reading into it too much. She hated it, but it stung her heart so much. And she hated how it stung.

And before my heart becomes Amelia's heir, I need to clip its wings

"Fuck fuck fuck.."She cursed to herself as she stared at the page,  filled with sketches of him. This was getting out of hand. She couldn't be in love with him, she shouldn't be in love with him. He didn't even feel the same way towards her.  She swallowed her heart for once and ripped the page out of the sketchbook. She ignored how her heart started to ache as she crumpled the page and tossed it out. She ignored the tears that filled up her eyes as she slammed the sketchbook shut and stormed out of the warehouse. She ignored the ache all the way back home. She ignored it as long as she could. She had to after all.

So don't you dare keep mocking me with those

Thousand little things that I adore

Eloni made it hard to ignore these feelings every time he and his brothers visited. He'd always try to stick by her side when he wasn't rough housing with his brother or talking to the other NSR artists or B2J. He'd be sitting nearby as she sat on the ground, elbow deep in a bouncer drone, immediately handing her a tool she was reaching for when she didn't ask for it. Always helping without prompting. He kept talking to her about his day or about something that reminded him of her or showing her memes and videos that he thought would make her laugh. And it always brought a smile to her face no matter how much she tried to fight it. He made it difficult when he always helped her up from the ground when she didn't need it. Everything he did....she adored it. And she hated it. It made it harder to distance herself from him. From her feelings for him.

Let me ignore you, don't let me care

She tried to ignore him. Tried to distance herself as much as possible. She ignored how it it hurt her. How it made her feel awful doing this to him. But she had to stop this somehow. It was a difficult task but she had to if she wanted to spare him from her one sided attraction. She was almost successful for the day. Until the turrent drone they were testing started to malfunction. Mostly everyone got out of the way in time- except for him. She knew he could be easily repaired but she couldn't stand by and watch.

She acted before she could think. She didn't even realize she shouted his name as she tackled him out of the way. It only sunk in what she had done when she opened her eyes too look down at him, almost in the same position they were in when they first met. This time was different. She was the one above him this time, bright green eyes staring up at her in shock. Her heart stopped for a second when she saw a red droplet fall on his face, but then she remembered. Androids don't bleed. But she does.

The adrenaline started to fade, the stinging in the back of her neck came rushing in, the feeling of warm blood dripping down her neck registered not too long after. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she stared down at him with a straight face, ignoring how her body shook as she started to push herself backwards to sit on her legs, hand reaching to cover the shallow cut on the back of her neck, fingers brushing past what was left of her hair to try to stop the bleeding.

"Guess we're even now." She stated, ignoring the pain in her neck as the blood seeped through her fingers down her back, and how the ache in her chest came back. How guilt consumed her, dread of what would come next slowly creeping in.

    ⋅⋆∘✯∘⋆⋅

And don't you dare leave me still in love with you

It had been a week or so since the incident. Her neck had healed a few days after it had happened, but Tony insisted she rest longer. It was probably him worrying over her as her father, but more than likely, it was to keep the others from worrying and wondering about such a fast recovery. She was grateful for the time away, though. Yet it was also hell. The aching feeling came back when she realized she missed him. Kore tried to distract herself from how much she missed him as much as possible. It worked until he started texting her. Then it got harder. He'd check up on her, send her updates on what his brothers and his day were like, and wish her a speedy recovery. It warmed her heart yet made the ache so much worse. She hated it. She hated how she was still in love with him.

Nothing's fair when love is war

She responded to the texts at first, but it made her hurt more. So she gradually started to keep quiet. It made her feel guilty. It made her feel sick. Not as sick as the thoughts of how this was more than likely him being kind out of pity. It must have been. Or this was some sort of sick game. Some bet he lost or something. It didn't feel fair though.

And I just can't endure any more of the fight

It felt like a losing battle the longer she went on. The aching pain in her chest wouldn't leave, the doubt that he ever cared dug it's claws deep in her and refused to let go.They both made it hard to sleep. Hard to focus on anything. Made it easier for her to space out and think of those damn what ifs. They got cruel over time, reminding her of how they were never meant to be, should never be and could never be. She was exhausted from it all.

When the casualties rise with my heart rate each night

Then the gift came in. It made her heart sink and race all at once. Especially when Tony confirmed it was from Eloni. Part of her didn't want to open it. The other part was consumed with curiosity and was touched by this. Yet she was hesitant to open it as it sat on her bedroom desk. Her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest as she carefully opened it. Gently removing the soft grey and green tissue paper, her eyes widened at the sight of a plush bunny. It looked familiar to her. Then she remembered. Eloni was with her when she was looking at the listing for it. They talked about it for a while - she never got it in the end. Kore claimed it probably wasn't a good idea anyway, so why give into another childish desire.

Her eyes began to water, she acted quick and blinked them away as she gingerly took the plush out of the box, as if it would fall apart if she wasn't careful, like it was an illusion somehow. It was bigger than she thought, much softer too. Her fingers ran over the grey fur, gliding over the transition to pink fur on the left side of its face. She let out a sigh as she moved to sit on her bed, thoughts of doubt starting to speedily sneak up on her again. They sunk in faster than she expected, tears filling her vision as her mind raced with the thoughts and shame for even believing something like this would mean anything more.

Though I know I'm to blame for the glances I'd steal,

For the time I kept spending pretending it's real

She knew it was her fault as the tears streamed down her face, dripping down her chin. Her grip on the plush tightened as she brought it closer to her chest, body shaking as she let out a strangled sob. This was all her fault, for believing any of her hopes of being with him could be real. That there was a chance that he truly loved her the same way she loved him. The "perfect boyfriend" programming he had did its job- it made her fall for him no matter how hard she tried to convince herself she wasn't in love. She had fallen for an fantasy and now she was paying for it.

And now that it's ending, I still have more feelings to spare

The sobs slowly started to become to much for her, she fell backwards onto her bed, hold on the bunny plush still tight as she laid there staring at the ceiling with blurry vision. Kore mentally cursed at herself for falling for him, wishing she only saw him as a friend like he saw her. She wished it didn't hurt as much as it did. That her heart didn't ache so much over him. And she dreaded how the ache would haunt her when she goes back to work, and would double every time she saw him. She wished it had been easier to ignore him, to just not care. Maybe then her heart wouldn't be broken if she had just kept her walls up.

The wishing turned into hoping as she hoped she would be able to keep this under wraps. She didn't want to ruin what they had. Even if part of her was tempted to ruin it, just for a chance to admit how she truly feels about him. She didn't want to risk it. It wouldn't be fair. But it already wasn't fair, he had made her fall for him inadvertently just by being kind to her. It was too late now.It wasn't fair for him. It wasn't fair for either of them.

But don't you dare

How dare he, no- how dare she fall for him like this. How dare she fall for someone as perfect as him when she knew the risks.

Don't you dare

[finalgirlkateausten]

bruised like violets

post-4x08 "the first ones". after that utter wreck of a mission, Jack refuses to take up infirmary resources when so many of his men are worse off than some chewed-up wrists. Sam won't let him get away with his silent self-punishment. TW for minor injuries, self-loathing, mentions of minor character death

The white bandages around Carter's wrists keep peeking out from under the sleeves of her BDU jacket. Jack keeps frowning down at them while he watches her, carefully disassembling her weapons and cleaning the rest of her gear. He's working on his own P90 right now, but it's slower going, when every snap of his wrist burns his skin, makes his eyes water a little. He doesn't mind though. The pain he'll sit through while the zip tie burns heal won't be anything compared to the soldiers who lost their lives to Goa'uld and Unas and the fire of friendly semi-automatics. Fraiser and her team have their hands full enough already; he can suffer a little until his cuts scab over.

He's returning his gun to the armory rack when he becomes cognizant of the presence at his shoulder. "Sir. You haven't gotten checked out yet?"

He looks over his shoulder at Carter. Big mistake, her blue eyes are searching and a little worried, and something hurts in his chest. "I got checked out enough to know I'm not a Goa'uld. They're busy down there, I don't need to be in anyone's way."

"You need to get your injuries seen to," Sam retorts, one eyebrow lifting.

Jack pulls back his sleeve from his left wrist, the fabric rough against the irritated skin. It almost feels like he's looking at someone else's arm, despite the fact that he can feel the tightness when he moves his wrist, the sting that's settled under the skin.

"I'll be alright," he mutters absently.

"Not if those cuts get infected," Sam says, her eyes boring into his. "I mean, really, sir, we were crawling around in the dirt on what is likely the home planet of the Goa'uld. D'you really wanna risk it?"

Jack stares at the floor. She can be downright pushy sometimes. "I'll live, Major," he grunts.

Still frowning, Carter turns away, returning to her pack. Jack gets a moment of relief to think she'll finish what she's doing and leave him to his silent self-flagellation, but then she pulls her field first aid kit out, carrying it back over to him. She inclines her head toward the bench, pulling out gauze, medical tape, and some cleanser. "Sit down."

He does. "Since when do you give the orders?"

Sam doesn't answer, instead pouring the cleanser onto a pad of gauze. He hisses when she begins to dab at the dried blood and barely-healing scabs on his right wrist.

"Daniel is safe," she reminds him quietly.

Jack winces, his stomach knotting at how quickly she's caught on to the storm whirling around his head. "Yeah, well, how about Rothman? Hawkins? The rest of SG-11?"

"SG-11 was dead before we even got there, Sir."

"It was the Goa'uld homeworld." He closes his eyes. Whatever she's doing burns even more now that the wounds are open again. "We got too comfortable. Thinking they'd all moved on to become dictators across the galaxy. I should've been ready for some kinda bullshit to happen."

"And I'm the one who's supposed to be able to sense them," Carter replies, an edge to her voice. "Yeah, we didn't know exactly what we were walking into. We never do. We did what we had to do to get home alive... sir."

He opens his eyes again. Looks at her. By now, he recognizes the blank expression she wears when the other option is folding in on herself and succumbing to tears. Without conscious thought, he turns his hand as she dabs neosporin on his wrist, locking his fingers through hers.

Are you ever going to call me Jack?

But saying that out loud would definitely not be leaving it in the room.

"Hey," he says, his voice rougher than he realizes, "what's the point of me being in command if you're going to beat yourself up too, huh?"

Sam doesn't quite smile. He wonders if she gets lost in his eyes sometimes, like he always does in hers. "At least I let Janet bandage me up instead of running off and hiding." She gently pries his fingers away, delivering a soft pat to the back of his hand before she layers gauze over his skin. His stomach flips.

"Must not've hidden very well, since you found me."

She does the thing where her bottom lip pulls briefly between her teeth. Jack shoves his free hand into his pocket as the idea of brushing his thumb over that lip crosses his mind. "I think sometimes you think you need to be alone when it's maybe not the best idea after all."

"Well." The pain in his chest has turned into a familiar but terrifying warmth, always Carter-induced. "I mean, good ideas are generally your purview. Not mine." He's glad when she wraps the final bandage over his wrist and moves onto his other arm. The gentle precision she's using is doing something to him, to his brain-- he shouldn't be alone in a dark room with her much longer.

"I dunno," she offers, administering the stinging cleanser once again, "honestly, a better idea would probably have been to drag you down to the infirmary instead of doing this here."

"You're more than trained for this," he points out. "It's just band-aids, really." Her fingers along the inside of his arm make him jump more than the ointment on his cuts.

Carter hums. "Not what I meant."

He knows. "I'm glad it's you," he says, even though he shouldn't.

She won't look at him now. "Teal'c would've been rougher. Faster, though."

"Teal'c wouldn't talk, either," he says softly, knowing she knows he doesn't mean that as a good thing. "And he'd leave me here, too. To my own devices."

Sam sighs. "I'm heading back to my lab once we're done here. If you want to listen to me explain quantum physics while I try to distract myself from writing that damn mission report."

"Hey," Jack protests, "Hammond told us all to take the night off." He doesn't wait for her protests about physics being stress relief for her. "We should at least go see if there's blue Jell-o in the commissary."

Finally, a smile. She glances up at him before finishing the layer of gauze and grabbing the roll of bandages again. "Or pie."

"Or pie," he agrees. "I mean, come on, is there anything food doesn't fix?"

"Flesh wounds," Carter says pointedly, tearing the bandage and tucking it into itself.

His hand twitches as he stops himself from taking her hand again. "Well, that's what I have you for." He stands up, bumping his shoulder against hers as she packs away the first aid kit. "Hey, look at that. We match."

Sam brushes her fingers over the bandages, her own more visible since she'd pulled up her sleeves to work. She hums, her fingers moving from bandage to skin. Jack holds himself very still, waiting as her touch ghosts from his palm back up to his forearm. He's surprised when she lets her hand land there, squeezing his arm once. "That's better."

"It is." He lays his hand over hers. "Thank you."

She's staring at him, and his heart is trying to escape his chest, and he wants to close the distance and kiss her but he's just so tired. For the thousandth time, he reminds himself to be content just knowing that she knows. That she maybe even wants to kiss him herself right now.

"Come on." She takes his hand and leads him out of the armory, letting go once they're in the open hallway. "Jell-O time."

They're alive. Daniel's alive. And he still has her, in the ways that really matter.

He looks down at their matching bandages and finally starts to feel a little better.

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Story # 27

TW: Blood, knife, injury, angst, death mentions, implied past torture, choking, bruises, a little flirty by the end

Notes: I am so sorry for disappearing. Had writer's block. Have this kinda long piece I spent days writing. I hope it is up to your standards.

Villain's eyes met the empty, stone cold ones reflected back at her in the mirror, a sight utterly devoid of life. It almost made her wish to laugh, the fact that she still expected something different every time, all while repeating the same patterns, much like an insane man does.

She looked away before her eyes would catch the patchwork of bruises across her cheekbones, the cracked lips with a faint stain of cherry lipstick and the scratch on her nose that always seemed to reopen no matter what.

It was even funnier, how vain she used to be, so painfully aware of minor details and tidbits she knew were inconsequential. But maybe that also meant she had the mind to worry about such things, rather than the decaying mess that remained, barely even functioning, almost primitive really.

But it didn't matter. None of it made a difference. She would just continue her cycle of monotonous tasks, and she wouldn't bother to dwell on the sentimental aspect of it. The villain went from loving change, to abhoring it, to completely disregarding it.

Ignorance is bliss. Words of wisdom; the most comfortable example to live by.

The criminal let out another tired sigh, not the first and definitely not the last as she walked back to her room, forgetting why she even left in the first place.

The cool midnight air seemed to hit her abruptly, as the stray hairs of her messy hairstyle flew even further out of place and the sheer curtains on her window swung back and forth. Except she didn't remember having her window open. . .

Hero made no effort to hide himself at all, sitting on her windowsill and leaning casually against the frame. At the sight of her, the crime-fighter gave her a soft smirk, more self-satisfied than anything else. "I really don't get why you'd keep the windows closed on a night like this," he drawled lazily, closing his eyes, letting the moonlight illuminate half of his form.

"What do you want, Hero?" she asked impatiently, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she reached for a knife in her sweatpants's pocket, always there in case she needed it. There was no point in asking how he got in; the man loved being cryptic to an infuriating degree, part of the theatricality he employed to paint over his jaded side.

The hero was definitely a better actor than she was.

"I'm bored," he remarked, rolling his eyes and sauntering over to the door, almost completely disregarding her presence.

"Enough games," she hissed, twisting the blade in her hand so that the blade was pressed against the hero's carotid artery, bitingly cold against his skin, letting a streak of crimson snake down his neck.

"Agreed," he answered coolly, wrenching the knife out of her hand and tossing it back with an air of absolute casualness, yet his eyes were still flashing with danger, a subtle warning sign the villain knew not to ignore but didn't care much about following.

"You don't actually want me dead, love," he attested, looking down at his nails appreciatevely as though they were perfectly manicured (the way they usually were), and not actually dirty and chipped with an impossible amount of blood caked underneath them.

She only replied with a vicious snarl, lunging at him, twisting her fingers around his neck and pressing down on his windpipe and smiling savagely as he let out a pathetic choking noise. The villain wasn't exactly a sadist, but the hero's ego, even if it was mostly an act, was infuriating.

Still, he ripped her hands off his neck, gasping for air, and he slammed his leg into her shins regardless. The villain almost felt foolish remembering the hero was much stronger than he looked, which was saying something, considering that even with the slight diminishing of his figure, the hero was still somewhat lean.

The force of his kick sent her stumbling back, and if she hadn't held onto the desk with a white-knuckled grip, she would've lost her footing. Not that the hero gave her a chance to react much beyond that, trying to shove her to the side with more ruthlessness than she was used to from him. The villain was correct in assuming the crime-fighter had been holding back in those previous fights.

Well, so was she.

As the hero's hand crawled up her arm, ready to pop her elbow out of the joint it was tethered to, something entirely savage painted across his visage, she quickly broke her hand out of his hold, punching his nose, making his eyes water. She used that momentary distraction to her advantage, aiming a kick to his shins to get him to lose his footing.

Except all Hero did was laugh, moving his leg out of the way only narrowly, the near-miss so frustrating she let out one of the filthiest curses she knew. "You think I haven't memorised your tricks by now? Do you really think so poorly of my intelligence, my dear?" he sneered, giving her a split lip as he slammed his knuckles in her face.

"You goddamn bastard," she growled, pure venom dripping from her tone as she grit her teeth so hard it hurt. She wanted blood all over him, staining his skin crimson, pooling around his mangled corpse. She wanted to rip the hero's heart from his chest, just wished for his infuriating cackles to stop, for his existence to be no more. The desire was so deep and profound, it was exhausting, slowly eating away at her.

The villain raced out of the room, the hero on her heels, faster than she'd remembered. His energy seemed limitless, his own thirst for destroying her just as powerful as her own for him.

Ironic how they hated one another as fiercely and as passionately as lovers yearned for each other.

While the hero had the advantage of strength, the villain had a much better knowledge of her own home than he ever would, not that he really paid any visits. Her hands worked like machinery as she pulled her throwing knives from underneath a floorboard and concealed herself in the shadows, trying to keep her shallow breathing quiet and her eyes wide open, wishing she could see behind her, trying to find her monster of a nemesis before he found her.

"Oh, come on. I missed it when you weren't a coward," he taunted. He wasn't normally this reckless, compromising remaining hidden for a worthless, petty insult. Maybe the hero's fragile ego was no longer a pretence anymore.

"Is not being a fool cowardice to you?" She threw a knife, and he dodged only narrowly, still it left a jagged scratch across his cheekbone, stabbing through the drywall instead of his flesh the way it was meant to. The hero ripped it out of the wall, throwing it back, missing terribly. Close combat had always been his strong point, but accuracy with projectiles was more the villain's thing. Instants later, her second knife was already between two of his ribs.

The hero, stoic as ever, bit down on his lips to stop himself from howling out in pain. He didn't collapse to the ground the way she desperately wanted him to. He was nothing, if not a fighter.

"The next one goes in your heart," she bit out, ready to strike, to end her worst nightmare.

"You know," the hero attested thoughtfully, an enigmatic look in his eyes, "I don't even get why you claim to want me dead so bad. If you really did, you'd try harder. But even if you really had any half-baked desires to kill me, why?" he asked, stalking towards her, trying to keep the breathlessness out of his tone, but otherwise showing no signs of discomfort. A knife to the ribs was a far cry from what he'd been subjected to before anyway.

"Why?" she breathed out, voice barely above a whisper but trembling with rage. She knew he was trying to aggravate her emotions, invoke her ire and manipulate that to his advantage. But it was just too much, too heavy of a burden, too painful to address calmly and rationally. "I trusted you, and you left me for dead!" she screamed, shameful tears streaming down her face against her will.

For a moment, something in the hero's demeanour shifted, sobering up only slightly as the cold indifference thawed and his eyes went a little wide. 

If the villain hadn't known him so well, wasn't used to seeing his face so much that she'd unintentionally memorised his features, she wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible change to his features. She cursed herself for getting lost, even for an instant in those cruel, midnight blue eyes, in the way they softened. The way they could be tormenting, gentle, almost loving, happy, smug; so many tricks he could play with those eyes that she hated staring into, whirlpools that sucked you in and never let you go. 

"I didn't have a choice," he bit out tersely, wrapping a hand around her neck and choking, his other hand pinning her arms down so that she wouldn't be able to break out of his hold. "The agency found out that I never tried to kill you. And for that, I was punished. They had me 'retrained' for a few months of hell. They threatened to kill my goddamn brother," he snarled, his bruising grip on her neck tightening.

"And I still let you live. I knew you would make it. You really think that it was an accident you survived? I still risked all this for you!" His voice broke, and she could already feel his own hot tears on her skin, no matter how hard the hero tried to bite down on his lips and stifle his own tears.

Even someone as stoic as the hero fell prey to the vulnerability strong emotion demanded, and his grip loosened against his will, only slightly, but enough for the villain to wriggle out. 

She fell to the floor, gasping for air, hoping with every fibre of her being that the hero didn't try anything else. She wasn't sure she had enough energy to resist. But the hero looked too exhausted to even think straight. "Why did you, then? If we are enemies and no more, if all we feel is hate towards one another, then why not keep it simpler?" she breathed out, her gaze refusing to meet his own, her tone barely above a whisper.

To her shock, Hero laughed, a broken sound through his hitching breath, through tears that stopped faster than they should. "Can't you tell? You know me, I avoid the things I hate until they force me to meet them. Yet, I ran right back to you, pathetic as always." He was sitting down on the floor now, leaning against the wall, his wound taking a toll on him. 

"Pathetic?" she questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

"Running with my own two legs to someone who only wishes to kill me."

"I. . .I don't think I do. What's the point? What is left in my life for me to fight so hard for? I thought it was a game, that you thought I was some toy for your entertainment. And I know that this might be my worst mistake, but. . . " she trailed off, getting up from where she was and walking over to the hero and offering him her outstretched hand.

Terrified as he looked, he tentatively slid his own hand into hers as she walked towards her living room. "Trust isn't on my list of favourite things," he'd told her the first time they'd met, like an off-hand joke of sorts, but it couldn't be more truthful now. 

With the hero lying down on her lap, his breathing uneven and medical supplies from the bathroom cabinet around her, the villain carefully grasped onto the knife in his abdomen and swiftly pulled it out, with a sharp hiss escaping from the crime-fighter.

"Easy," she whispered, running a hand through his hair, lifting most of his shirt up and setting the filthy knife down on the coffee table, surprised to notice the hero's breathing slowed.

It was a flesh wound, definitely somewhat deep, but not as horrible as she'd feared. It was strange that the hero didn't fidget, or let out any noises of distress as she cleaned up his wound, but again, the man wasn't particularly fond of vulnerability, and this much of it must have been overwhelming anyway. 

It was even stranger how even when he was wounded, there was something weirdly beautiful about the crime-stopper. Sure, he was muscled, and that was attractive, but she already knew; could already tell from the costumes he wore. He'd become a lot more slender anyway, probably a side-effect of whatever the agency had subjected him to. His body was riddled with scars, different shapes and colours, some seeming to be from years ago, and some barely weeks old, criss-crossed on his skin in irregular patterns that each came with a story, some definitely more gruesome than others. 

His face was beat-up, covered in scattered bruises, the skin dry and dark circles under his eyes. It all made him look older than he really was. And it's not that he wasn't naturally handsome, it was the fact that being this much of a mess, he shouldn't have still looked this good, especially that before, when she'd started fighting him, the hero was almost a little meticulous when it came to his looks. 

A lot like she used to be. 

"There," she added, breaking the empty silence with finality to her tone when she finished bandaging up the hero's wound and tending to his smaller cuts, even the bruises on his face, an activity that felt strangely intimate, even if it was purely out of necessity. She found him an old, zip-up jacket she'd had to steal from a random man during a robbery to divert the attention of the authorities.

He pulled himself up, putting it on, careful not to jostle the wound too much. "Can you hand me the gel you used for my bruises?" 

Raising an eyebrow, she gave it to the hero, wondering if he had any bruises she couldn't see, but instead he inched closer to rub the gel into the marks on her neck, surprisingly gentle. A little paradoxical how touching the contusions hurt, but the hero's fingers working through the tension in the villain's muscles was entirely soothing. 

"I mean, I gave you these, so it's only fair if I fix what I did," he explained, "though, I think you really don't mind," he added, letting his lip curl upwards with a soft smirk and a playful look dance across his eyes. 

It was embarrassingly flustering how relaxed the hero seemed to be as he shifted his position to lie down on her lap, but for a moment the cockiness faded as his gaze, oddly reminiscent of a lost puppy met her amber eyes, searching for reassurance. 

She nodded her approval at him, and he let tightness seep out his posture as he made himself comfortable. One of his hands wrapped around her arm, pressing his lips, surprisingly velvet-soft in a passionate kiss to the back of her hand. The crime-stopper traced haphazard patterns into the skin of her arm, a cheeky, almost boyish smile on his face.

"Pretty," she mumbled in a silky voice, scratching at the hero's scalp and almost brushing through the tousled hair with her fingers. "Can't believe I let myself mess you up." 

"Come on, you just despise how unbearably attractive blood looks against my skin. Still, you're awfully ravishing, angel," he purred, still running his fingers along her arm. 

Villain was incredibly far from an angel, and thus she'd never been called that before; she had enough comparisons to the Devil to her heart's content, though. But it sounded so honey-sweet in Hero's warm voice that it really didn't matter.

Love, much like wildflowers, will thrive in the strangest of environments. It is as unpredictably powerful as hate, but in the right circumstances, more rewarding than it is taxing. Maybe it cannot fix a broken past, but it creates a sweeter present and a kinder future, persevering even through the trials and tribulations it must endure.

I think you asked me to tag you for fics with h/c in them, but if you don't want to, or I got it wrong pls tell me @roblingoblin285

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

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Calathea.

tags: f!reader (she/her pronouns), medium angst with a happy ending, established relationship, knight of favonius!reader, childhood friends

tw: reader is recovering from an injury sustained on a patrol, blood mention

a/n: after kaeya popped up briefly in the newest archon quest, it got me thinking about the persona he puts on and his loneliness and it somehow got me thinking about peacock calatheas and thus this fic was born. my fellow plant people know how much work and love it takes to maintain a calathea and it kinda just fit kaeya in my mind. this is lowkey highkey very self indulgent + part of my yay me celebration thing

“Kaeya, can you settle down? You’re driving me crazy,” when your boyfriend ignored your annoyed hiss in favor of accompanying you in your shared home, you sighed in defeat. “Can’t you go and bother Lulu for an hour? I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Lulu?” Kaeya chuckled, amusement dancing in his eye. Of course that’s what gets him to grace you with a response. “That’s not something I hear every day.”

“I know a grumpy bartender who’d love to be in your place,” you can’t hold back a snicker of your own. 

Diluc hated the nickname you continuously referred to him as since you were 3. He didn’t mind it at first. That went out the window when the old nickname slipped when the both of you were on duty with a handful of new knights present though. Even now that he was gone from the Knights of Favonius’ ranks, Diluc would shoot you dirty looks when ‘Lulu’ fell from your lips.

“Now get off your leg,” Kaeya motioned his hands for you to back away. “You shouldn’t be on it for too long, remember? I can take care of the rest.”

He’s more like a mother hen than a peacock. Your lips can’t help curling into a smile despite the roll of your eyes.

“Barbara said a little light movement would be good for me,” you protest, shooing the blue-haired man away from you once more. “Walking around our house to take care of my plants isn’t going to land me back in Barbara’s healing arms.” The young deaconess healed what she could. Now the rest was up to your body’s own natural healing. "With how restless you’re acting, you’d think you’re the one Barbara put on lockdown.”

“Me? Restless?” Kaeya’s looked at you with an eyebrow raised in mock surprise. “Perish the thought.”

“Little Kaeya is the last plant I have to tend to and I promise I’ll rest on the couch and let you serve me to your heart’s content, alright?” Exasperating as his behavior was, however, you appreciated the amount of attention and care Kaeya displayed since you were injured. He even asked Jean to move his schedule around to allow him to be home in order to help you.

“Just don’t overwork yourself,” you warned him when he announced he’d be working odd hours until your recovery.

“Do what you love and you never work a day in your life, they say,” was all Kaeya replied with a teasing smile. “Taking care of you is something that I love. So I can’t overwork myself in the slightest.”

He’s lucky I love him so much, you huff silently but your chest is warm. You move to wipe your damp cloth against the leaves of Little Kaeya, your peacock calathea, when the next words come from Kaeya’s mouth: “Has Barbara told you when you’ll be able to return to duty?”

You took your time responding to his question, wiping the next leaf of your plant tenderly. “Maybe this suits me better,” there’s no surprised look or sound that escapes from the man and you know he’s suspected your thoughts for a while. You’d been worrying how to bring it up and you find yourself thankful he allowed an opening. “I’ve never been the best Knight of Favonius. I only joined because I was chasing after you and Lulu.” It was a miracle you passed the selection test in the first place. But with no real idea in mind of what you wanted for yourself and the fear of being left behind by your friends, you decided to become a knight.

Then Diluc left your ranks, never looking back, and only yourself and Kaeya remained. Crepus’ death had shaken all three of you. The days playing among the vineyards of Dawn Winery were a far off memory, lost in grief-tinted nostalgia.

"I think you were quite the fine knight,” Kaeya replied so smoothly you almost believed him. 

"At least if I got in, Noelle should know she’ll make it at some point too.” With a final few wipes, Little Kaeya was pristine and as vibrant as ever. “Looking handsome as always, Little Kaeya,” you beamed with pride.

Kaeya held his chest as if he were in pain, “I’m hurt, I thought I was the only Kaeya in your life.”

“Well he is a peacock,” you pointed at Little Kaeya’s leaves, exact replicas of a male peacock’s feathers. Calling it ‘Kaeya’, the icy peacock of Mondstadt himself, seemed very fitting to you at the time. “And I have enough room in my heart for the both of you. Maybe I’ll work at Flora’s, she and Donna mentioned needing a new helper.” You nod at your Dendro Vision, resting on the bookshelf nearby. “They want me to help keep the flowers preserved longer since I have the capability to do so. And it helps I can speed up the growth process of any blooms they want to start growing themselves.”

He’s smiling but you could tell it was bittersweet. “Flora and Donna, huh?” Kaeya sighed audibly. “That’s who’ll be taking my [First] away from me?”

"Don’t be a big baby, you’re in your 20s now,” you poke Kaeya’s cheek softly.

A gloved hand held your own before kissing it tenderly. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll just miss my favorite partner.”

It occurred to you, not for the first time, there were more similarities to the Kaeyas that stood before you than he’d ever care to admit.

Calatheas are beautiful, that was attracted you to them in the first place. The patterned foliage pulled you in the first moment you saw them. Beautiful as they were, however, calatheas were one of the divas of the plant world.

The water needed to be just so. 

The humidity in your home needed to be just so. 

The sunlight filtering through your windows needed to be just so.

Anything that upset that balance even a little and the plant would react with a fragility that surprised you the first time you saw your plant’s leaves curling. You maintained a stable system for it since, despite your busy schedule.

Kaeya is beautiful, he had been since the first day you met him. I’m gonna be his wife some day, the younger you thought with a surprising amount of confidence for a 6 year old.

He was beautiful when he shyly hid behind Diluc who introduced you both after Crepus took the boy in.

He was beautiful when he laughed. 

He was beautiful when he developed the cocky yet observant attitude the whole of the city knew him for today. The flare he held was so vibrant it was sometimes easy to forget that Kaeya was a lonelier person underneath it.

I’ll never forget that day. It rained hard after Crepus’ death; it felt like the heavens themselves were mourning.

“Kaeya?!” You rushed out your door the moment you spotted him from your window, not caring about the icy rain pelting your skin. “What are you doing here, you’re getting soaked!” You dropped the towel in your hand when you noticed the cut down his right eye and the blood pouring down the side of his face.

You weren’t able to get out another word before he pulled you into his chest.

Kaeya held you so tightly you thought you would bruise, fingers digging into your back to ground himself. Yet in that moment, all you could do was hug him back just as fiercely. The warm water rolling down the side of your neck was the rain and the sobs racking Kaeya’s body was the thunder.

To this day you weren’t sure how long you’d stood out there before you pulled Kaeya into your home to tend to his wound. When he placed a wet Cryo Vision on your table, you pursed your lips before continuing your movements. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been blinded.

Neither Kaeya or Diluc ever divulged the full extent of what happened that day and you had long since stopped asking. If Kaeya ever planned to tell you the truth, he never hinted at it. That was fine. He could tell you whenever he was ready. You could only hope that one day the two brothers would rekindle their old relationship, you knew that would make Crepus smile warmly from the other side.

You’d been hesitant to tell Kaeya your thoughts of leaving the Knights. It had been on your mind even before the attack happened. Four years ago it terrified you to think what would happen to Kaeya if you left his side in the Knights along with his brother.

Four years later in the present, the hilichurl attack you survived taught you that that alone wasn’t enough reason to stay in a profession you were unsuited for. You could support Kaeya in other ways while you stayed true to yourself.

You cupped Kaeya’s face in your hands, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “I’m always gonna be your partner, whether I’m a knight or not,” you promised firmly, staring into the diamond shaped pupils you’ve known since you were a child. The two of you like this was never a matter of ‘if’ but always a matter of ‘when’. “Even if it isn’t on the field, I’ll be here for you to come home to. You can’t get rid of me even if you try.”

“I’m holding you to your word,” Kaeya’s breath tickled your forehead before you lightly tugged him down to kiss his lips firmly.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

uhhh I kinda went crazy with this. might edit it for ao3 in the morrow bc I love it that much. the allium duo joint exile fic

tw: abuse, kidnapping, injuries, suicidal ideation, self hate, manipulation, brainwashing, vomiting, ableism (either unintentional or solely as a manipulation tool), mutilation, starvation, possessive behaviour, obsession, threats

it's raining, when they’re exiled.

ranboo has his suit jacket pulled over his head and when droplets slip through to the tips of his claws he hisses and jitters. sometimes, it looks like he'll almost disappear and reappear, like the endermen he so resembled, but instead he falls to the ground with a pained screech, the calves of his feet burning on impact with the sodden ground where his skirt isn’t long enough to protect.

still gripping painfully onto tommy's arm, dream slowly walks back to where he fell, and hits him with the butt of his axe. the screech of pain is distorted, almost otherworldly, and it’d be terrifying if it wasn’t so fucking sad.

“get up,” he hisses. “or i'll fucking kill you, and then-“

dream doesn’t have to finish his sentence. shakingly, ranboo gets onto their talons, wincing as they try and match the brutal pace dream immediately sets back on.

(he'd tried to save ranboo. he really had. he'd said it was all him, he lied, but ranboo had confessed, trying to get him out of this mess, and now he was in it too.)

(tommy wants to be sick.)

he’s not quite sure when and why things happen. they’re on a boat at one point, cramped and barely afloat. water sinks in and burns the bottom of ranboo's feet. there’s shouting after that. an explosion. a beach. tommy drags a shaking ranboo under a tree to keep the rain from falling on him. more shouting. more explosions. pain.  blood on his collarbone. pain pain pain. blurring vision.

tommy drags himself under the tree and curls up next to ranboo and hopes he'll fucking bleed to death.

——

it rains far too much in logstedshire.

that is what tommy names it, the logs tell him too. they send their messages from the primes. maybe, if he listens, they'll accept him despite his sins.

he doubts it. he doesn’t deserve it.

he dug a den on the first day, for ranboo to hide under, but even the dirt under there grew too damp and after tending to burns all across his face, he'd spent what energy he had left with the aching scars and bruises and gnawing hunger in his gut to hang up a tent. it's only big enough for one of them, but that's okay. tommy doesn’t mind sleeping on the beach.

(it allows him to pretend maybe the tides will come in and he won’t wake up at all).

he pinches himself. dream wouldn’t like him having those thoughts.

honestly, tommy isn't sure what dream likes. it’s not like he and ranboo were stupid enough to break the rules- they’d learnt that painfully over the first week. it just seems like dream always favours the one of them, and who that was switched on a dime. one day, he'd bring ranboo chocolate (watching him like a hawk to prevent him giving any of it to tommy) and hit tommy for daring to look at him. another, he'd spend all day hanging out with tommy and shout at ranboo until he cried when he so much as said a word.

it was easy to resent ranboo, sometimes. when he got hugs and gifts and food and got to spend the day playing around instead of being forced to mine. but tommy remembers the times where dream extended that kindness to him and remembered how awful it made him feel when ranboo was being treated like shit. it was almost worse.

he just tries harder to be good. if he's good maybe he'll be able to get dream to stop. if dream likes them both maybe everything would be okay.

it never is.

——

when ranboo shows tommy his memory book for the first time, he really is sick.

which is annoying, because he'd only had scraps ranboo had hidden today, but fuck. it was bad.

tommy could recognise dream's handwriting from a mile away. even if he couldn’t, the pages blatantly ripped out would give the game away, along with what was in the book.

“my name is ranboo,” the first line read. “my home is logstedshire. my best friend dream keeps me and my friend tommy safe here. l'manberg kicked us out so dream is helping. if we follow dream's rules to protect us everything will be okay…”

ranboo rubs tommy's back, as gently as they can. “are you okay? are you sick? i'll ask dream for a potion.”

tommy shakes his head weakly. “no, it's…”

he can’t fucking break this spell for ranboo, though. his throat dries up when he tries. ranboo was always the happier of the two, excited in a way that was almost funny in each passing day. it was like ranboo had become the loud, excitable one and tommy had grown quieter and more distant.

and this was why. he didn’t have a fucking clue what was wrong, did he? he's happy because he thinks this is safe, thinks this is normal. and maybe it's selfish of tommy but prime he wishes he could live in that fantasy land where he doesn’t know it’s not normal for your best friend to hit you and starve you and never explain why. at least one of them should get to live that life.

“nowt. just hungry.”

ranboo furrows his brow in concern. “i'll be good today, then.”

tommy feels sicker at that. dream had started switching from his weird hot and cold game to being… nice. usually. it was weird, at first, but it was alright. dream was a good friend, even if he wasn’t as cool as ranboo. but the thing was, it was even worse when they actually fucked up.

they wouldn’t be hurt at all. dream wouldn’t change a thing with them. it was always the other who bore the full weight. no food, no privileges, any sort of thing they’d earned the right to keep taken away. if it was more serious, then they’d be hit, or shouted at, and dream still sometimes used the axe. they’d be abandoned to tend to themselves and do the tedious work of survival while the one who actually fucked up would have the guilt eat up at them as dream chatted like everything was normal.

ranboo forgot to make armour to destroy yesterday. a grievous enough sin, apparently, that now tommy's still smarting bruises.

he's not stupid. he knows that isn’t right. he likes dream, it’s better to have him as a friend than a jail or and he was pretty sure he was trying to help, but what dream does to them isn't okay.

but ranboo doesn’t need fo be burdened by that knowledge. they, at least, deserve happiness, even if it is fake.

——

ranboo moans in pain as tommy finishes up bandaging the stumps where his tails once lay.

he can still smell the enchantment on dream's axe, hanging in the air like pollen. it almost drowns out the stench of blood and the ash of the ruins around them. he’s not sure which is worse.

it’s all tommy's fault. it has to be. he tried to pretend like he could own things, and he knew ranboo would bear the brunt of that punishment. dream had just done what he always had done.

“it's okay, big man, it’s okay,” tommy tries to soothe, running fingers through the overgrown mop of hair that almost reached down to ranboo's waist. he just flinches more.

tommy just screwed everything up, didn’t he?

a week. that was what dream had said. he'd visit in a week, to watch them. until then, it was all tommy's responsibility to take care of ranboo, and he wasn’t sure he could. there was just so much blood.

he shudders, thinking about what dream will do to him if ranboo dies on them. being without his best friend was bad enough, but dream could make anything worse.

tommy sobs, trying to keep the tears from landing on ranboo's already scarred and tattered skin the best he can. he fails, and the faint smell of burning flesh joins the horrible mix and ranboo lets out another faint moan.

if dream could see him now. he'd always been there to watch over them, and what if when he came back to watch, there was only one of them left?

“well, watch me now,” tommy mumbles to the air. he was meant to be there to watch them.

watch them. watch them. that sits wrong. he's meant to be their friend, right?

“you were only here to watch us.”

tommy mouths it more than speaking it, but it feels like a proclamation. he was only there to watch them. just watch. he wasn’t their friend. he didn’t care about making them better. what he cares about is watching them.

and then what? would he even care if ranboo died?

would he kill him himself?

“ranboo.” tommy hisses. “can you stand?”

“tommy?” ranboo slurs, eyes half open.

“ranboo! fuckin'- this is important, okay?”

“i- i think so-“

“okay, then this is what you’re going to do, big man. there’s a cabin through the snow that way.” tommy points vaguely in the direction of techno's place. “there’s more bandages there than i have. i want you to run there, as fast as you can, and not look back.”

“but-“

“i don’t know how to do this,” tommy admits. “i've dealt with shit before but never like this. if you have those supplies you'll at least have a chance of surviving. now go, before you die.”

“but dream-“

tommy's throat constricts. “i'll explain. he'll understand. he's our friend, right?”

ranboo nods, before stumbling up to his feet, limping across the ruins towards the vague direction of the tundra. tommy whispers a silent prayer to the primes that he’ll make it. that at least one of them will survive.

ranboo deserves it more than him, at least.

——

dream, unfortunately, did not kill tommy. if only he’d be that merciful.

he pretends it’s mercy. he pretends to be concerned and he treats tommy with condescending kindness until he doesn’t. then, tommy sometimes swears he does die, but when he's better dream is even more smothering and the cycle continues.

he’s not stupid. tommy knows why he does it. he wanted two pawns, and if he lost one he'd do anything to keep the other. nothing personal.

it's easier to see it like that, at least. it's hard, sometimes. but it's easier.

dream does not call the room he’s in a cell, but it is. it’s in a prison, and he's locked in most of the day. the baby-blue wallpaper and fuzzy carpet he'd installed hadn’t changed that, nor had swapping out the sparse furniture for a million blankets and decor more suitable for someone half tommy's age. he almost misses the dark obsidian and lava- at least that didn’t treat him like a child.

because even if sixteen was a child- he could admit to that now, because ranboo was certainly just a child- what tommy had gone through had undoubtedly aged him out of that.

they train, sometimes. on days where dream doesn’t panic when tommy has so much as a paper cut, or on days when he's not beating tommy's head into the wall. sometimes, tommy helps repair dream's endless supply of cloaks. sometimes, he cleans blood off of dream's weapons and tries not to think about how it got there.

(sometimes it’s his, and that’s easier.)

dream, in almost paternal tones, calls tommy his protege. under his breath, tommy calls himself a glorified servant.

every day, his thoughts drift to ranboo. his kind smile, the scars that ran jagged lines over his entire body, how absurd he looked in his half-ripped suit and tiara, trying to keep his hair in an orderly braid and failing miserably. dream would help sometimes, if it was a good day. dream insists on braiding tommy's hair the same way now, and tommy almost wonders if he misses him too before he reminds himself that dream does not care for either of them at all, because the alternative is worse.

(either way, it’s clear tommy would be the favourite. dream says as much, saying how thankful he is that tommy is the one that stayed because he was far more fun and ranboo was boring. tommy reminds himself it’s a lie and it makes him feel less sick.)

maybe ranboo is dead. part of him hopes he is. that way, he was free. the primes would surely guide his way, and he'd be granted the happiness he deserved. fuck, even if they didn’t, there couldn’t be anything worse than this.

could there?

——

tommy doesn’t know how long he spends in the prison before dream decides to take him out on his “first mission.”

which is a meeting. of fucking course it is. because tommy’s mission has always to be a glorified page, hasn’t it.

tommy skims his fingers over the waters edge absently as dream rows. maybe they’re leaving the server. maybe if they didn’t tommy could make his own escape. if he sank to the bottom it’d be deep enough no one could save him in time, if he were to jump. and if dream didn't constantly shift from looking at the ocean to tommy, clearly aware of the same possibility.

dream always got so fucking mad if he tried to die and failed, so it was best to make sure that the opportunity wouldn’t fail.

they stop too quickly to have gone far. idly, tommy wonders how far they must be from-

logstedshire.

the ruins lie there, same as always. tommy hadn’t noticed how bloodstained those ruins are until now, red and green.

the skeletal remains of two tails still lay on the floor, undisrupted.

“what the fuck.” tommy says under his breath. “what the fuck.”

“aww, didn’t you like the surprise?” dream laughs, and tommy immediately prepares for the worst. “chill out, i'm kidding. you act like i'm gonna kill you. we're obviously not here for this, we're going to see techno.”

tommy feels an equal amount of hope and fear bloom in his chest at that. techno's cabin was this way. and if it was, then maybe…

suddenly determined, tommy walks as quickly as he can, trying to match dream's confident strides even with the limp in his leg. he can barely feel the humid awfulness of logstedshire shift into the equally awful ice of the tundra, all caught up in his thoughts.

maybe there would be a grave. or maybe ranboo would open the door, or he'd be in the cabin, because surely techno would take him in. he'd be wearing a cleaner suit, and he'd have cut his hair back to shoulder length. they liked it long, actually, so maybe they’d keep it. they’d be smiling, like always, and they’d greet him with a hug. “tommy, it’s been so long!” they’d say. and, he hoped, they’d add “i realised dream was a fucking bitch” and tell techno to punch his lights out.

or maybe there would be no hints at what happened. but tommy can hope, even if he really shouldn’t.

when they get to the house, techno's already standing outside, waiting. “i dunno why you had'ta keep me waitin’ this-“ he says, cutting himself off once his eyes drift to- “tommy?”

“i told you it was important, right?” dream laughs.

“he's dead.”

“prime, no. he's… he wasn’t well, y’know. not in that place. so i found somewhere better for him, and started helping when i couldn’t before.” dream shrugs. “of course, that’d be illegal even though it was the right thing to do, so i kept it quiet. don’t go telling l’manberg, though, or they’ll have my head for not killing him myself or something.”

liar. liar liar liar. tommy wants to scream the truth to the world, but dream wraps his arm around his shoulders tight and squeezes his bruises, a reminder to stay quiet and be good. so he nods.

techno growls. “i knew they were bad, but…”

“it’s okay. i just thought maybe tommy needed a change of scenery, y’know? he's… he's fragile, after everything. he’s not well, y’know, physically or mentally. so he might say some weird stuff, but i knew you'd be able to handle that.”

techno snorted. “yeah, i got my hands full with ranboo-“

“ranboo? ranboo's here?”

he was alive. he is alive. tommy feels more sick than he ever has in his life and he’s not sure if it’s from excitement or fear.

“oh yeah, you two were in exile together, weren’t you? c'mon, he's in the livin-“

tommy pushes himself free of dream's grasp, excited to finally see his friend, practically his brother, again for the first time in- months, maybe. he could never even be sure. time felt like it dragged too long to tell.

bursting through the door, tommy sees them. he won’t miss them for the world. their hair's different, in a ponytail, and they're dressed in much more casual clothes than they’d normally be caught dead in, but he could recognise that face anywhere.

“ranboo!” tommy scoops ranboo into a warm hug, barely noticing how they remain limp. “oh, prime, i missed you so much-“

“do i know you?” ranboo squeaks, and tommy's heart breaks.

“ranboo, it’s me! we were in exile together, remember-“

“i'm sorry. i'm really sorry. but i- i don’t remember a thing.”

oh. of fucking course. because he didn’t have the memory book, he must have forgotten everything by the time he’d healed enough to really be cognisant again. tommy scans his face for the slightest hint of recognition, but there’s none.

tommy must be a fucking bitch, because he bursts into tears then and there.

“i'm sorry! i'm sorry!” ranboo cries out, desperately trying to find a way to salvage the situation, and tommy keeps sobbing. and sobbing, and sobbing. the floor falls underneath him, and he curls up, shaking, like a fucking pussy.

he didn’t even cry this hard when dream was at his worst. but the idea of ranboo not knowing who he was, his only friend, the only person who ever cared for him no longer being able to… it was stupid, but that must be his breaking point, he guesses. like a fucking idiot, that makes him cry harder.

“i'm so so sorry about this,” tommy vaguely hears dream say, “he's not mentally well, is there a spare room i can help him calm down in?”

“yeah, there’s one upstairs.”

tommy barely registers as he's lifted up like a child, carried away from ranboo, but he does when he hears dream whisper harshly in his ear.

“tommy, if you fuck this up i'm never letting you out again. ever. smile and play nice and act like l'manberg ruined your life, or you'll wish i'd let you die.”

tommy nods, still sobbing.

“and dry your eyes. you’re making me look bad. stop acting like an abused puppy, i practically spoil you.”

tommy tries to stop, but the tears refuse to stop, even as he tries to dry them with his hands desperately. dream's voice softens as he ruffles tommy's hair affectionately. “look, i know it’s tough, but this is for you and ranboo, y’know? if i'm able to make things right, you can be friends again. i'll make sure he remembers you, tommy. i know how to fix it, just let me, okay?”

tommy nods, finally managing to go from hysterical tears to a more reasonable level of crying.

“that’s good enough. just smile and pretend everything’s fine, okay? i'll even let you listen to your discs for a while when we get home if you’re good. and remember it’s for ranboo too.”

it hurts tommy's face to force a grin, hurts his heart to try and think of how to pretend to play along with dream's story and throw his home under the bus. but tommy isn’t stupid. he doesn’t believe dream’s bullshit, but he knows what he’s implying. behave and ranboo won’t get hurt.

that, at least, is a comfortingly familiar game to play.