#(he would have been depressed for the longest time afterwards but STILL)

[the-crow-binary]

Dracula and Lisa ☕️

OH BOY OH BOY INTERACTION LETS GO OK SO

I actually have two ways of looking at their relationship: One is "if Lisa is Elisabetha's reincarnation" (wich hasn't been confirmed canonically as far as i'm aware ?), the other being, obviously, is Lisa is her own person and not Elisabetha's reincarnation. in both scenarios she pegs Dracula

So to start with the first one:

Love them, they're cute, there's something poetic about Mathias' wife coming back for round 2 as Drac's wife. It's pretty heartwarming, ESPECIALLY considering Lisa brought Dracula's humanity back just by... being her. I don't think she tried anything special. I see it more as something like a "beauty and the beast" kinda story, where the beauty didn't try to change the beast (at least, not actively), but her personnality was so charming that it brought back to life what had died centuries ago in the beast, and encouraged him to be better. And this change is probably what charmed Lisa too, if we consider that she has no memory of her past life (maybe a few flashbacks here and there ?). The only problem is that Dracula changed for HER, not for himself nor anyone else. So, of course, when she died... he had no reason to continue on the right path. He couldn't see any reason, at least, because of his grief and the traumatic memories of losing his first wife.

But yeah, in this version, i see them having a pretty wholesome relationship. ON THE OTHER HAND...

In the context of Lisa NOT being Elisabetha, MAN, HOW THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS NOT OKAY. I mean from a story perspective, it's very interesting, BUT OTHERWISE, LISA, MY GIRL, YOU DESERVE BETTER-

Do I need to explain how toxic it is for Dracula to get in a relationship with a woman just because she reminds him of HIS DEAD EX ?? Going out with someone just because they look like your ex IS ALREADY BAD ENOUGH I MEAN OERIGHSERLGKNESRMLKGN YOU NEED TO GET OVER YOUR LOSS FIRST ?? THE WOMAN ISN'T A REPLACEMENT, SHE'S NOT SOME OBJECT YOU CAN PROJECT ON Y'KNOW ??

Ok hold on i'll explain in a little bit more details:

So, in this context, after 400 years or so, Dracula is STILL not over Elisabetha. Can't really blame him, she's like, the whole reason why he turned into a vampire in the first place... But then Lisa appears, and Dracula immediately sees Elisabetha in her. She's not her, but in Dracula's mind, it's the same thing. He cannot see her as someone else, as her very own person, and say (probably think) he is in love with her, when truly, he's in love with the illusion of his dead wife. And clearly, he'll treat her right ! This "restoring his humanity" thing is still very true, but it's not because of Lisa being herself. It's because she looks like Elisabetha (both in body and mind. I mean we don't know much about Elisabetha but i like to think she was a very smart, kindhearted woman as well), and Dracula has never been able to truly differentiate the two, wich isn't healthy for ANY of them. I can even picture Dracula slipping up and directly calling her Elisabetha at one point, when he was very sleepy (not even remembering it afterwards). Lisa definitely knew, but delt with it anyway, because she knew she had a "good" effect on him (and we know she was ready to sacrifice herself for the "greater good"). It's thanks to her that Dracula calmed down for a few years. Plus, i do think she loved him sincerely, to the bitter end... Dracula did too, in his own twisted way (like he did LEON but that's another story for another day)

But if there's something that both version shares is: Dracula... is SO BAD AT DEALING WITH THE DEATH OF HIS LOVED ONES. HE'S- HE SUCKS AT BEING MENTALLY AND EMOTIONNALLY STABLE. And not JUST THAT, but he also seems to be VERY emotionnally dependent on Elisabetha and Lisa. The whole "he's ready to destroy the world for his lover" is DEFINITELY NOT AS ROMANTIC AS SOME PEOPLE THINK. IT'S TERRIBLE. THE MAN IS INCAPABLE OF MOVING ON NO MATTER HOW MANY CENTURIES PASSES- GUYS IT'S BAD. OUR MAN IS NOT OKAY. And i find it SO GOOD AND INTERESTING. The big bad of Castlevania, the man, no, the MONSTER everyone fears, responsible for LOTS and LOTS of innocent deaths, many curses, even went as far as re-creating the RAREST and most POWERFUL of stones and making a deal with Death itself to steal a powerful vampire soul (consciously provoking the death of his best friend's betrothed in the process)... his lover die and he is CRUSHED. DESTROYED. RUINED. HE CAN'T EVEN THINK NOR CARE ABOUT HOW BAD HE'S HURTING HIS OWN SON. OR ANYONE ELSE FOR THAT MATTER. IT'S JUST PURE HATRED TO COVER THE INTENSE GRIEF. It's honestly tragic. And i LOVE IT so much... had Lisa decided to be a therapist instead of a doctor, maybe he wouldn't have turned the way he did lol

ANYWAY... i think about Drac' a lot. Less about Lisa/Elisabetha ngl but i can't think about the Dark Lord's sentimental shortcoming without thinking about them.

#long post #hehe woops #LISTEN YOU HAD 'DRACULA' IN YOUR ASK YOU COULDN'T EXPECT ME TO DO SOMETHING SHORT- #it's funny because Dracula have the potential to love someone to such an unhealty degree... #but it's not one that will make him hurt the person. nor abuse them. #pretty sure he would have let Lisa and Elisabetha go if they had wanted to too #(he would have been depressed for the longest time afterwards but STILL) #no... it's just one that makes him absolutely CRUMBLE at any sign of them not doing good- #ESPECIALLY dying. he quite literally LOSES his mind at that- #Leon probably gave him many heart attacks on the battlefield lmao #castlevania #vlad dracula tepes #lisa tepes #beevean ask #took me forever to write this post lmao #i regret nothing

[bloatedandalone04]

Love in the Dark

➪the one where the deployments become too much.

Warnings: swearing, angst, sad boy bradley, lowkey depressed reader, more angst bc im sick and unhappy about it, also new theme bc why n o t

Word Count: 2.8k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ Thank you for 3.4k followers mwah

You couldn’t bring yourself to think about the very real fact that you had spent more time alone this year than with your fiancé, who is going into his fourth month of deployment. It was nearing the end of September, and you had done pretty much all the planning for the wedding yourself, despite Bradley desperately wanting to do it with you. 

You offered to wait for him, but he assured you that whatever you came up with would be more than enough and that he would be all on board for planning the honeymoon afterwards. Really, you couldn’t hold off on planning for too long since time wasn’t slowing down, and you needed to get a move on. 

A date set for the end of the year was planned, and Bradley would be back from this deployment weeks before the big day, but it was still hard to look forward to it when you had been by yourself for most of the preparation time. 

This time he was going to be away from the ending of May to the beginning of November, his longest deployment by far during the four years you’ve been together. It truly didn’t get easier.

In fact, it only got harder. He had been deployed earlier in the year, and though that one was only a few weeks, you were still on your own. 

And you would still be on your own, even a few weeks before you were set to wed. You wished it was, but having Bradley return just in time for the wedding really wasn’t enough. 

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you began dating a guy in the navy, but you weren’t aware of just how hard it would be. All his other deployments were bad enough, but having him thousands of miles away from you for half a year wasn’t easy.

You wanted to marry him, with every fiber of your being, but you also knew you couldn’t take much more. Falling hopelessly in love with an aviator was one of the best things to ever happen to you, but it was also one of the hardest. 

Which is why you had begun pushing aside the planning of your wedding, and started to pack things away. Slowly, your shared room held more of his things than your own, with your pictures, posters, trinkets and books all stuffed away in one of the many cardboard boxes you had reluctantly bought about six weeks into Bradley’s current deployment. 

You didn’t think you could actually bring yourself to pack them, but nearly two months later there were boxes scattered around your house. It looked like you were moving in, with Bradley’s few possessions not doing much to give the place a personality. 

He was a minimalistic kind of guy, so he really didn’t have much, but yours and his things fit together, made the house feel lived in. Take away half of that, and it felt empty. It looked empty, and you hated to think that this is what he would be returning to. 

You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, so you weren’t able to confide in him and revel in the way he was always able to comfort you, even when he was so far away. Sending emails wasn’t enough, and you hated sending them, so you didn’t bother with that - with the exception of one that simply read ‘I miss you so much it hurts’.

It was a harsh jab, but it was just how you felt.

He got back to you a few days later with a reply that said ‘I miss you, too. It’s so hard to be away from you. I think I’ll be able to facetime in a couple weeks, I can’t wait to see you, pretty girl’.

It had been enough to have you push away the boxes, but you still ended up packing them when a couple weeks turned into a month. 

You were rummaging around in the cupboard that held all your mugs when you heard your phone go off from where you placed it on charge in the bedroom. Pulling it from the cord, you swipe on the answer button and watch as the screen buffers for a second before you are met with the face of your fiancé. “Baby,” he rasped, a grin breaking out on his lips when he met your eyes through the screen. 

You force out a smile, hating the fact that the sight of him didn’t help the constant ache you felt in your heart. “Hi,” was all you managed to say, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to sound excited. 

“Hi,” he said back, never taking his eyes off you. “You look so beautiful. I miss you so much.”

Giving him a tight smile, you nod, glancing up at the wall in front of you instead of looking at him. “I miss you, too,” it was so quiet, you weren’t sure if he even heard you. 

He must’ve, as he called your name in an attempt to get you to look at him. “What’s wrong?” He asked when he saw the tears that had gathered in your eyes. 

You knew this wasn’t fair to him, he had limited time to talk and you couldn’t even look at him for more than three seconds before you were breaking eye contact once more. “I just….” You trail off, sniffling quietly and taking a deep breath. “It’s hard not seeing you everyday. I’m almost done with the wedding planning, but I don’t know if-” You cut yourself off before you could confess what you had actually been up to.

Bradley gave you an uneasy look. “Y/n, can you look at me? Please?” he called quietly, his heart skipping a beat when your teary eyes found his. “It’s hard not seeing you, baby. I miss everything about you. But we’re over halfway through this now, only just over a month left before I’m back. And then we’ll be getting married a few weeks after that.” He tried to cheer you up, but it clearly wasn’t working as you just cried a bit harder. 

“It hurts, Bradley,” you confess, watching the way he furrowed his brows. “I hate sleeping alone in our bed, I’ve been sleeping on the couch for the last two months because I can’t stand being in our room without you there. It sucks waking up alone and having to live in this house by myself. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

He shook his head quickly, sitting up a bit straighter as he moved closer to the screen. “I know it’s hard, I…Why haven’t you told me you were sleeping on the couch? I hate thinking that you’re all by yourself there, baby, and it kills me to know you can’t sleep in our own bed anymore,” 

“It’s humiliating, Bradley,” you mumble, wiping your face with both hands, not realizing what you had just shown him. “I don’t want you worrying about me, I-”

“Y/n,” he cut you off, his voice shaky as his whole body went stiff. You look at him, biting down on your lip as you wait for him to continue. “Baby, where’s your ring?”

You part your lips in shock, glancing down at your bare finger. “It’s, um,” you try to explain the absence of the ring he had given you at the end of last year. You could say you were cleaning earlier and took it off, but that would be a lie. You could say it was away getting cleaned, but that would be a lie, too. Really, you took it off because you wouldn’t be marrying him once he returned back home. You wouldn’t even be in this house. “It’s on the dresser.”

Bradley felt his face heat up. “Why?” When you didn’t answer him, he started to panic as he knew where this was going. But he couldn’t let it get there, he wouldn’t. “Y/n, don’t do this.”

You stifle a cry and hide your face in your hands, further breaking his heart as he watched you sob on his side of the bed. It was then when he realized that your picture frames you had put up on the wall beside the bed were no longer there.

Tears burned his own eyes as it all set in. You had started taking down things from the walls, you took off your ring, you couldn’t even look at him. You were leaving him, and he wasn’t even there to fight for the best relationship he had ever been in. “Baby, please,” he begged, his voice sounding a bit strained as he ignored the look he got from the aviator next to him. “Please, don’t do this.”

Now you had gone completely silent, and you still couldn’t fucking look at him. 

“Y/n,” he said, trying to sound stern but he knew he just sounded pathetic. “Please, just, wait for me. Just over a month left and then I’ll be back there with you and we’ll get married and I’ll take time off so we can be together.”

“I am waiting,” you mutter. “I’ve been waiting, Bradley. For four months, I’ve been waiting for you. I can’t wait any longer.”

“Don’t do this to me,” he repressed a cry and wished you would just look at him instead of whatever the fuck had captured your attention beyond the screen. “I’m coming home, okay? I’m coming back to you, to us. Please, let me fix this. I can fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” you shrugged sadly, finally looking at him. “I love you more than anything, but you can’t fix this. This is all on me. I thought I could do this, but all this waiting around for you feels like it’ll kill me. Bradley, I’ve never felt this alone in my entire life.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged. “Please, don’t say that to me. Please, baby, let’s just talk about this when I get back. Just stop packing and put your ring back on and wait for me. You’re breaking my heart here.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, wiping under your eyes and accidentally showing him your ringless finger again. It was a sight he never wanted to see again after he proposed, and he was sure he never would when you said yes. “I can’t.”

“Fuck, Y/n,” he cursed under his breath, blinking away the tears that gathered on his waterline. “Please, stay with me, okay? I know it’s hard, it’s fucking hard for me, too. It kills me to know that you’ve been thinking about all this since I’ve been away, but we’re good together. What we have is good and it works and…fuck, baby, we’re supposed to be getting married.”

His voice broke at the end and you immediately started crying again. “I want to marry you so badly, Bradley,” 

He knew he was reaching at this point, but that single sentence had his heart beating with the smallest fraction of hope. “So we’ll get married at the end of the year like we planned,” he pleaded. “Please, say you’ll wait for me. We’ll figure all this out together, not like this.”

You went quiet again, and Bradley foolishly thought that meant you had decided to stay and wait out another month or so. At this point, he was prepared to retire early if it meant he got to spend the rest of his life with you. But then you shattered his heart with your next words, “I’m moving out, Bradley,” you informed him quietly. “I can’t stay here anymore.”

“Baby, please-”

“I can’t look at your things anymore and I can’t wait for you to get the chance to call me every couple of months,”

“Y/n, please,” he desperately tried to get you to listen to him, but he was being informed that he was almost out of time, and he hated just how literal that statement was at the moment. “I love you, okay? I love you so much and I need you. I need you to be there when I get back, I need you to promise me you’ll put your ring back on and you’ll marry me in December-”

“Bradley,” you cut him off, watching as someone began tugging on his shoulder. You sighed and got a good look of his achingly handsome face one last time before you were standing up from the bed. “You need to go, and so do I. I’m sorry.”

“Y/n, wait, please,” he tried to say but stopped when the screen went black and he was met with the sight of his tear streaked face in the reflection. He sat there in disbelief for a few more seconds before dropping the Ipad on the table and leaving the room. 

His whole body was numb as he walked down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts about what exactly just happened. Going into that call, he was a happy, engaged man, and now he had no clue where he stood with you. 

He fell onto his bed as he let the harsh reality set in. 

You broke up with him. You called off the engagement. You left him.

That was all he needed to think about before he was crying quietly into his pillow. He was glad his bunkmate wasn’t in the room right now, but even if he was, Bradley was sure he still wouldn’t be able to not cry right now at what he just lost. 

He reached his hand out and blindly dug around in his bag, pulling out the photo he kept in the pocket. Through blurry vision he was able to make out the two of you at the Hard Deck, his arm wrapped around your shoulders while yours were around his middle. It was taken on your fourth date, back when he was sure he had found the girl he was going to marry one day. 

And it was true. 

Just two dates in and he was whipped for you, ready to push away any other potential dates with other women and wanting to settle down with you. He deleted the few dating apps he had installed on his phone, removed a bunch of random numbers on his contact list and told you that he was looking for something serious at that point in his life. To be fair, he was thirty two when he met you, and he was craving that sort of domestic life he had been told comes with starting a serious relationship. 

Thankfully, you felt the same and by the fifth date, you were officially his girlfriend. 

And a few years after that you became his fiancée, and he was the happiest he had ever been. 

He cried a bit harder as he stared at the picture, wishing he could go back to that exact moment and start over. He would never want to give up the memories he had made with you since then, but he would also do anything to have a second chance and do it right this time.

Did he miss the signs? Was he not paying enough attention for him to be able to see that you weren’t doing well with the whole thing? When had he become so blind to your feelings? 

You looking so defeated and sad was something he never liked seeing, especially when he was so far away from you and couldn’t properly comfort you. When he saw how you removed your engagement ring and the evidence that you really are moving out of the house he’s shared with you for three years, he had never felt more heartbroken in his life. 

He had never felt this devastated. He felt more isolated than before. 

Bradley was usually able to cope with deployments pretty well, knowing that he had you to go back home to. 

Now he knew you were leaving him and had even started packing your things. He would be returning home to a house that no longer held your stuff in it and would have to sleep in a bed you avoided for months because it hurt you too much.

He had never wanted to hurt you, ever, but that was exactly what he had done. 

Really, he couldn’t blame you for leaving. He knew that dating someone in the navy isn’t easy, but he still felt bitter at the fact that you wouldn’t let him try to fix it in the limited way he could. There wasn’t much he could do from his place on the carrier ship, but he still tried to get you to talk to him. He tried to save the relationship, but it was too much in the end. 

He was asking too much of you, and he also wasn’t enough.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun rooster #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #top gun au #top gun maverick #miles teller #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw angst

[twiintaurus]

Hi! For the 'Fandom-Related Questions': B, F, S

Helloooo

B: A pairing you initially didn’t consider but someone changed your mind.

Probably NedCan! When I was first part of this fandom I jumped on the PruCan bandwagon and while I do still think it's a cute ship NedCan just rlly got my attention when I re-entered the fandom. The fanfic that won me over is deleted or else I'd share it here :-:

F: What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom? What fandom was it?

Probably this one and Homestuck. I entered both fandoms around the same time (Hetalia a few months before Homestuck). It would have been 2013 I think? So like four years of solid participation before I fell off for a few years (yay depression) and getting back into both slowly over the last year. Mostly Hetalia lol. I'm just re-reading Homestuck atm.

S: What’s a headcanon you have?

I'm rlly bad at headcanons for some reason tbh. But I think my most thought-out headcanon is that Italy is actually a menace. As cute and flowery as he is, he has a mischievous expression on his face too often to not be up to somethin'. Plus throughout the comics, he's shown to be way more shrewd, badass, and strong than he initially lets on. I like to think 90% of the time he chooses peace and to live and let live and the other 10% he's scheming or absolutely fucking somebody up. And then he goes and gets gelato afterward as a lil treat. He's smarter than everyone believes him to be and he just doesn't care + uses that perception to his advantage. Plus that mf knows how to play mind games like no other.

Not the most original headcanon but hey I have a lot of fun with it.

#hetalia #hetalia headcanons #hetalia ask game

[a-rainey-day]

Content warning: talks briefly of sexual assault, ptsd, birthdays, and just raine rambling

Hey friends! I know I haven’t written much lately but life got busy (I moved out, am attending college, etc etc) but I just wanted to take a moment to talk about today. September 21st is my birthday, and for the longest time I hated celebrating it.

I don’t remember many birthdays, my fiftieth birthday I spent reeling from the trauma of getting sexually assaulted by my partner at the time, and having my feelings disregarded afterwards. I had come home and ate pancakes for dinner with my sister and her boyfriend fighting off a panic attack, I still can’t eat captain crunch pancakes three years later.

My sixteenth birthday I didn’t want to celebrate, I didn’t see much reason to. I was getting harassed and threatened by the local moms for liberty branch for a video of me on a pride float giving my partner at the time a kiss on the cheek. I spent my birthday anxiously watching a school board meeting trying to stomach the cake my parents got me, watching people come to defend a stranger while dealing with my ptsd. My friends eased my anxieties, my friend got breakfast from a gas station on our way to school, other friends bought me small presents and told me I’d be okay. My birthday suddenly felt a little easier to celebrate.

My seventeenth birthday I spent chatting with a guy who was older than me, having fallen into a toxic friend group online and struggling with ptsd. I had dreaded the day for the whole month, but my friends made the day easier. They got me gifts, and I couldn’t go into my classes without my teachers greeting me with a happy birthday and a small gift. I had thought no one would remember, but they did and made an effort to make a day I hated easier on me. I was helping to build a float with the dungeons and dragons club for home coming and when I got to float building the day after I was showered with belated happy birthdays and laughter as we put the finishing touches on the float.

And now, my eighteenth birthday. I’ve been living on my own for about a month now, yesterday I was depressed and tired from working myself too much trying to make rent and dreading my classes. But on my walk back to the apartment I stopped to get myself dinner and the smile of the kind man behind the counter as he took my order and gave me a student discount seemed to snap me out of it (along with the delicious pad thai I got). I was able to call and talk with my girlfriend and rant about my job, and at around 10 I was able to open my birthday gifts a little early (it was a blåhaj, incense sticks, a new holder, and a little book called “pet this f*cking puppy”) and talked with my roommates (two of my longtime best friends) about our days, laughing nearly to the point of tears before going to work on my homework. This morning I got myself Starbucks and when I checked my social media was flooded with happy birthday messages from friends and family. I’m going to go back home to have dinner with my parents and see my girlfriend.

What I’m trying to say is, it does get easier. It doesn’t seem much like it but year by year, it does get easier. Your birthday is something worth celebrating, maybe not to you but to those around you it’s worth it. I promise you, there’s someone who looks forward to your birthday every year it rolls around.

#finn speaks #birthday #ramblings #jus talkin #hope you enjoy

[rafescoke]

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Request: The second one I was hoping could be a Rafe x reader based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by arctic monkeys. Maybe something along the lines of rafe only calling and giving the reader attention when he wants to hook up. Finally, the reader gets tired of it their feelings known.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself thinking about a certain boy more than what they had agreed on

Warnings: Hella angst, mentions of sex, masterbating, substance, cursing, toxic relationship

A/N: I’ve been updating a new fic every single day and the amount of love you guys are returning is beyond amazing. I love you so much, thank you for all of your kind words <3

p.s, again, my request box is always open. drop in any ideas and i’ll present to you my best :)

p.p.s, does anyone know why i can’t tag some users? im going crazy.

“I was thinking. . .” Rafe trailed, drawing invisible circles against her soft skin. She hummed in response, her eyes closed, feeling so relaxed under the silk bedsheet wrapping around her body.

“We should do this often.”

“Is twice a day isn’t enough for you?” she asked, hiding her smile. She felt him shift, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She giggled lightly, feeling him behind her, but she was too tired to do anything.

“We should try doing it every minute,” he simply replied, smelling into her scent. She smelt like vanilla and caramel, just the way he likes it. “Is this the perfume I bought?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, feeling so peaceful she could sleep if he hadn’t pulled her closer against his hardening member. She groaned, trying to scoot forward by an inch, but was stopped by his fingers gripping her hips.

“I’m sore.”

“I know,” he replied casually, still brushing against her bottom. Before he could do anything else she turned, now facing him. She looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes and his soft lips. Her thumb grazed over his top lip, and Rafe swore he could fuck her anytime soon if she kept doing that.

“Are you not tired?” she asked, now cupping his face. He stared into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them before giving her a smile.

“No.”

“You’re mental,” she sighed, but she failed to contain her laugh after. She giggled, still cupping his face, and she has never felt so calm and relax before. Just them two, on top of a bed in some cheap motel, sometimes hearing the couple staying on top of them screaming at each other.

“Are you?” he continued, tilting his head into her hands. She smiled when he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. He loves it. He feels at peace.

(Y/N) sighed, loving yet also hating these kind of moments where she knew they would be acting like strangers after, in front of everyone else. She remembered the exact day after she had had sex with him for the first time, and how he acted so cold afterwards.

“Hey,” (Y/N) smiled, standing beside his form as he squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight to inspect his goal. He didn’t reply, swinging his golf club upwards and hit the golf ball. (Y/N) watched as it flew and landed near the goal, and expressed a smile.

“You’re good.”

“Huh?” he looked up to her, as if just noticed her existence. (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart, especially when he had just whispered so many love words into her ear the night before.

“I said you’re good.”

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, already making his way back to where his friends were. Clearly not satisfied, she followed him suit, watching as his friends cheered for him. Rafe groaned even harder, and turned to look at her before they got too close to his friends.

“What are you fucking doing here?” he scolded, his eyes staring at a space beside her. (Y/N) raised a brow, being caught off guard, but she tried to play it cool.

“I’m a member of this country club too, Rafe,” she replied, scoffing. “You’re an asshole, do you know that? Are we not going to talk about last ni-”

“Shut up,” he grunted, looking backwards to check on his friends before pulling her a few distance away. “Look, I was on drugs last night. That was not me. Let it go, okay?”

(Y/N) has never experienced that kind of disrespect, and she swore she hated Rafe Cameron so bad that when she got home, she cried against her pillows until the night sky greeted her. 

She thought about the many other guys who tried to be with her, but she had pushed them all away for a certain rich boy living 6 houses away from her. The fact that her parents are good friends with Ward and Rose Cameron doesn’t make it any easier, not when she is forced to see him every single Saturday night for ‘barbecue night’.

“What are you thinking?” he suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, suddenly scooting away from him. He watched as she turned away, but he didn’t put much thoughts into it.

“I can still smell the weed from you,” she suddenly said, and Rafe let out a laugh. He rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that they are going to repeat the same topic they have fought countless of times before, especially after sex and they had both came down from the high.

“Don’t start, (Y/N), fuck,” he sighed, covering his face with his large hands. He watched as she scooted further, wrapping the covers around her body. “Can you please just lay right next to me?”

“I want to sleep,” she replied, and bit her lips before she could express any tears. Rafe sighed, groaning, and sat up straight, resting on the edge of the bed before reaching for his jeans discarded on the corner of the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and (Y/N) heard the metal bar of his belt clanking against his jeans button. “Since you wanna act like a bitch again.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, still not looking at him. A tear rolled down her cheeks before she could stop herself, and she quickly wiped them away.

“Whatever,” he said, and she heard the door slammed shut. She cursed, unable to stop her tears now that she was alone. The banter between the husband and wife from the room above filled the silence as (Y/N) sobbed against the pillow and she thought about how it resembled her and Rafe’s relationship so much.

He would call her when he’s under the influence, whispering sweet-nothings through the phone, saying how much he’s missing her and longing for her forehead kisses. The fight they had before the phone call will immediately evaporate into thin air, and (Y/N) will make her way to wherever Rafe is. Sometimes they’ll do it in the car in a secluded alley or sometimes in the cheap motel at Chapel Hill. 

But then it was the moments after their brief meeting that had her all moody and depress throughout the week; how he would ignore her, pretending not to see her and forcing himself to say ‘hi’ during their family barbecue.

(Y/N) never thought of herself as someone who’s prone to being in a sneaky relationship, but if that what it takes to be with Rafe Cameron, she was willing to be in one.

It had been a week since the incidence, and Rafe hadn’t call her to meet or anything of the sort. (Y/N) frowned when she thought of this, because the longest fight they had before only lasted for 2 days before he rang her up, asking to meet up. 

(Y/N) shook her head, sipping on her martini before setting it on the side of the swimming pool. She dived into the water, trying to get the heat from the scorching sun off of her, and resurfaced seconds after, her wet hair falling down her shoulders.

“(Y/N), where’s dad?” Topper appeared, squatting in front of her as she took another sip on the martini. Her eyes fell to the figure behind her brother, and she almost choked on the liquid.

“Um, I don’t know,” (Y/N) replied, staring at Rafe Cameron as he took out his phone to check on his messages, ignoring her like always. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that there were no new texts and he was just trying to act like she wasn’t there. She dived into the water again and swam to the other side, away from Rafe and his negative energy.

If Rafe knew she was going to be in the swimming pool, he would have made an excuse to Topper, perhaps saying how he has to take Wheezie to the clinic for an appointment. (Y/N) was almost never home every time he hang out with Topper, so he thought he was safe. But there she was; in the most tempting bikini, swimming and constantly sipping on a martini.

Rafe sat right next to Topper, watching her back from the corners of his eyes as she gazed at the view in front of her. She was laying on her arms, lazily humming to a rock song Rafe plays every time he’s driving.

He jolted when Topper touched his hand. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Topper laughed, “I said, do you wanna eat?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking about good she looked in that bikini. He made a mental note to guess the brand to purchase more of that sort for her. 

“Okay, I’m going in to get myself some food. Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Topper asked, sitting on the edge of the seat. Rafe nodded, his eyes still closed, and heard him walking towards the sliding door into the kitchen.

“Why are you ignoring me?” 

Rafe opened his eyes, and to his satisfaction, the girl with the (H/C) locks stared at him with her face rested against her arms. His breath hitched, seeing how beautiful she was with the chlorine water dripping from her face, down to her neck, continuing to her che-

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” she suddenly said, and Rafe had to shook his head from the involuntary thought that appeared in his mind. He groaned, watching as she dived in the water again, and almost catching a glimpse of her bottom. He smiled.

“Are you still a bitch?” he asked when she resurfaced, crossing his arms. “Because if you are, I don’t feel like fucking you right here and right now.”

(Y/N) halted her movements as she tried her best not to look at the smirking boy, and instead staring into the swimming pool as if there was something interesting in it. Rafe laughed, knowing exactly the impact of his words towards her, and thought about wanting to have a little more fun with her.

“I’m asking, baby,” he said softly, and her eyes landed on his. “Are you still a bitch?”

“I brought cookies!” Topper suddenly yelled, appearing from the sliding door and walking towards them with a bright smile. Rafe cursed, laying his back against the seat again and pretending to close his eyes while (Y/N) dived underwater, trying to hide her red face. He was glad when Topper handed him a cookie, talking about wanting to surf tomorrow - so oblivious towards the sexual tension between him and his own twin.

“What do you think?” Topper asked, munching on the cookies all the while trying to see Rafe’s reaction. Rafe nodded, muttering his agreement, but under his sunglasses, he was watching (Y/N) and she too, was watching him.

“Can I have a cookie, Tops?” (Y/N) suddenly interrupted, and without looking at her, Topper gave her a thumbs up sign. (Y/N) smiled, pulling herself up from the pool and Rafe almost had a heart attack from the sight of her curves donning the bikini and the water dripping off of her.

She walked towards them, hair swept to her left shoulder, and Rafe’s gaze followed her fingers as she grabbed a cookie and immediately putting it in her mouth. He watched as she closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet taste, all the while sitting under the glowing sun that highlighted her features even more.

He could feel himself getting harder.

“Well,” (Y/N) suddenly said, and Rafe had realized he was too busy looking at her to realize that she was already conversing with Topper. “I’ll go. Is Rafe coming too?” 

Both of the siblings’ attention fell towards him, and Rafe found himself clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, where are we?”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Topper asked, removing his sunglasses to look at him clearly. “Do you need water?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Rafe quickly added, “Can I, um, go up to your room? I think I need a nap.”

“Yeah, okay,” Topper replied, not thinking much of it. They had been spending so much time under the sun during the summer, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got sick. “I’ll go upstairs in a second.”

He muttered a thanks, quickly making his way to the top of the house, where Topper stayed. He groaned, feeling himself getting harder, and hating the fact that she was most probably liking the way he was reacting. 

He locked the door of the bathroom he has been using since the first day he became friends with Topper, watching himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes while he tried to picture her in his mind, his fingers trying their best to untie the knot of the band of his swimming shorts.

He held himself in the palm of his hands as he pictured her again, this time with her under him. He started sliding his palm over his hardened member, his other hand safely placed on the sink for balance. He thought of the way she’ll bounce on him when she rides him, and bit his lips before he could let out any sounds.

Fuck. 

He hated how easy she’ll make him hard and how she has him wrapped around her finger. It was true how they would only do the unholy thing when he was under the influence or they were both under the influence, but he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling in his stomach every time he saw her.

“Fuck,” he expressed, his grip on the sink tightening. His movements became faster as he tried to picture her mouth and around him, and felt his end coming. He left a string of curses as he finally released himself, watching the shot dripping off the sides of the sink. He grunted, having to do more work, and grabbed himself the white tissues before wiping his mess.

. . .

“Hey.”

“Hey, Rafe,” (Y/N) said, trying to maintain her normal tone. She bit her lips at the sound of his heavy breathing, missing his voice and also his handsome face. She longed to have his face in her hands again, staring at each other’s eyes and kissing each other’s lips right after.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice slurring. “No, I mean, can I pick you up?” The sound of laughter and booming music could be heard behind him, giving out his location. (Y/N) sighed, knowing the exact request behind the words, and looked at her wall to check on the time.

“It’s 12 a.m., my mom won’t allow me to go out.”

“Sneak out, then,” Rafe replied, and he said something to his friends before focusing back on her. “Please? I missed you.”

(Y/N) sighed, knowing exactly her problem.

This.

“Okay,” she replied, leaning over her mattress to close her laptop now that she had new plans for the night. “What time are you picking me up?”

“I can’t drive right now,” he said, suddenly realizing how sloshed he was. “Can you come and pick me up, please?”

She sighed again, but she had missed him so much. Him and his touches. His and his words.

Him.

“Okay, send me your location, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

(Y/N) thought about how she couldn’t do it anymore. Not when she has spent most of her life trying to make him love her. He had been friends with her brother since forever, but yet he never seemed to settle on her. She heard about the amount of girls he dated and how she tried to become like them, but after a while, she grew bored of it. She was tired of running after someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

Until the night at the party, where they had been smoking and doing coke and god knows what else. (Y/N) had watched him from the corners of her eyes, liking how attractive he looked under the party lights. He was in a black shirt, his hair messily parted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.

“Thornton, do you know how perfect your smile is?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/N) giggled, her back against the wall as she stared into his eyes. 

“You’re mistaking me for my brother, Rafe?” she asked, with that smile again. Rafe licked his lips, looking down to hers before leaning closer to whisper into her ear.

“I’ve got to confess, (Y/N),” he whispered, sending shivers down to her spine. “You’re the hottest sibling.”

When she woke up the next day, laying right next to Rafe Cameron, she had to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was living in reality, but when she tried to approach him that evening on the golf course, it was like nothing happened that night.

It scarred her until he rang her up again, six days after. 

“Rafe,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning over to open the passenger’s door from her seat, seeing how drunk he was. Rafe giggled, getting himself in before shutting the door and staring at her. He leaned towards her and placed a sloppy kiss against her cheeks, down to her neck and stopped directly before her chest.

“Just park in the back,” he ordered, placing his palm on the upper side of her thigh, too close to her heat. She bit her lips as she turned her steering wheel, entering the back alley of the club. Soon after he had texted her his location, she sneaked out through her brother’s porch and stole his car, driving straight towards Rafe.

She turned the ignition off and looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, groaning when he missed one button. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hand away, her face expressing into anger.

“Don’t pull this shit again, fuck,” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back against the seat and covering his face with his hands. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a gold ring, and noticed how it looked so similar to hers hanging around her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, filling the silence. Rafe let out a shrill laugh, still closing his eyes.

“Still a bitch, I guess.”

“This is the problem, Rafe!” she groaned, causing Rafe to look at her fully in the face when he noticed her increasing volume. “What are we?”

“What do you want to hear?” he simply said, staring at her with empty eyes. He licked his lips, “No, seriously. Tell me the answer, and I’ll say it.”

How cold could he be?

“Rafe, do you see how you’re treating me?” she asked, and she could feel her tears threatening to fall. “Do you realize the difference between sober Rafe and intoxicated Rafe?”

Of course he knew. He just chose to ignore it.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rafe said, putting his hands up in defeat. “Can we just fuck, get over whatever fight we’re having right now, and live our best lives the next day? Can we do that?”

He turned to look at her, and noticed her glassy eyes. He sighed, trying to cup her face, but she flinched at his touch.

“You make me feel like a whore,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “One second you love me, the next second you’re spitting on me.”

He just had the worst night of his life; having a fight with Ward about his business, bumping onto the pogues, catching Sarah and John B. . . and now this?

“You think too much,” he said, but his heartbeat was quickening. He stole a glance at her and watched as she stared at him with empty eyes. “I’m sober now. You know what, (Y/N)? You’re right. I can’t even look at you when I’m not under the influence.”

He turned to open the door, getting out while buttoning his shirt back, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t stand it, he knew he’ll be too broken if he sees her cry over him. He didn’t know what to do; he panicked, never preparing for this exact moment where he knew she will ask about the state of their relationship.

He watched as she sped away from the alley, her engine roaring against the silence of that particular Friday night, where his day had been nothing but miserable. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to contain his feelings, but before he knew it, he had kicked on the empty beer can on the side of the road, watching its movement as it hit the opposite wall and fell into the trash can.

He laughed at the strange occurrence, his tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and made his way back to the club.

If there’s one thing he’s so sure about himself; Rafe Cameron hates himself more than anyone else in the world.

-

add yourself to the taglist!

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron smuts #rafe x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x reader #outerbanks #outerbanks imagines #outerbanks x reader #outer banks

[writingtoforgetreality]

Zemo dealing with the reader dying by John Walker's hand. Maybe saving him, for added angst. Thank you! And your writing is just the best! :)

[Um, thank you so much? You’re the sweetest *mwah* <3 Yes, I’m a sucker for angst. Just a little warning from my side here.] | Headcanons for Zemo & others are open!

Zemo Dealing With Reader’s Death Headcanons

[no pronouns used]

It was his fault, that was what he told himself. His. Fault.

The first mistake was even letting you tag along on this mission. Zemo should have known better than that. But you were so, so stubborn. And he had a hard time telling you “no”.

Which was why he said “yes”. And look where that brought him.

Things escalated rather quickly. It all started out with an innocuous argument. John threw some things in, as did Zemo. Basically, just two men childishly bickering. It was not the first time that happened.

It certainly was the last.

Nobody could have seen that coming. Walker took one of Zemo’s comments too seriously & grabbed a gun out. Where he got that from? No idea.

But it was pointed at Zemo’s head. And John’s finger was already on the trigger.

You panicked. And one thing you were certain of, Walker was not one to be messed with. He killed that one guy brutally, after all. No way would he back off. He did not like Zemo one bit.

In the heat of the moment, & because you noticed John’s finger tightening around the trigger, you shoved Zemo out of the way right in time.

Zemo was fine.

You were not.

The bullet that was supposed to shoot through his brain went through yours.

And Zemo was too shocked to think about revenge. Walker ran away afterwards, leaving Zemo alone with your dead body.

You looked almost peaceful like that. Sleeping, he told himself, you were sleeping. Only, you were not. And he had to deal with that sooner or later.

He became a mess after that. For the second time in his life, he lost someone he cared for dearly. And he watched every single second of it. Of course he blamed himself, the bullet was supposed to hit him.

Crying. Screaming. Punching everything that came into view.

At first, Zemo lived in denial. Were it not for Sam & Bucky, he would not have been able to release your body from his tight grip.

Anger followed. John, without batting an eye, killed you. Right in front of him. And he did not even look like he was sorry. Or that he regretted it. No, he literally wore a blank expression.

Bargaining. Third stage. But it was too hard to even face Walker. Zemo would have punched the living hell out of him, for sure. Sam & Bucky kept him from doing so.

Depression. Now that one took the longest. And he still was not completely healed from that one. Sometimes, the dark thoughts came back all at once. And he was trapped in this gloomy spiral again. Seemingly no way out. Without you, Zemo was lost. Not complete. Life dragged itself along ever since you were taken from him.

Eventually, he arrived at the fifth & last stage: acceptance. Though he did not believe he could ever truly accept that you were gone. To him, it felt like you were still with him, next to his side with every step he took. Like you were watching over him. His own guardian angel.

You had always been his angel. From your first interaction until your very last. Now, you were somewhere up there & your title changed slightly.

His guardian angel.

---

MY Ko-fi PAGE | Marvel-Masterlist

#helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #zemo #zemo x reader #headcanon

[robinsarm]

Heya!! Can I get some sleepy Quentin headcanons? I'm on a "monster befriends human" kick, so maybe something involving that? You said you needed ideas, so here ya go?

Sleepy Quentin, huh, @chaoticlovingdreamer? I think I can scrounge up a couple >:3

I assume that a lot of people see Quentin as a pill or caffeine fiend, especially while he lived in the real world. But what I think some people forget is that he also has ADD/ADHD as stated by his movie. Do you understand what lack of medication and exhaustion does to a person with ADHD? It's not fun, I'll say that much.

When Quentin is really hitting the bottom of his energy tank he gets more and more distant from everyone else. He'll stop talking, start sitting further away from the fire, and intrusive/depressing thoughts start to riddle his mind. Since a healthy dose of sleep isn't on the menu for Quentin usually, he'll start to cope with his exhaustion in other ways; other ways that aren't healthy and can be left up to the imagination for now.

Some of the survivors that have been there the longest have learned to spot these signs from Quentin before he begins "coping". They'll immediately get up and take him for walks or bring him back to the fire and in front of 20+ other sets of eyes. Claudette, Ace, Meg, and Laurie are usually the nicest and manage to cheer him up faster than anyone else. Steve, in recent years, has also grown to notice and make sure his teammate is okay.

Have you ever seen the joke of someone getting hit in the head on a cartoon and they fall flat on their face, knocked out? Visualize that, and realize Quentin does that on a regular basis just without the hitting part. Like someone with narcolepsy, when Quentin’s brain and body are tired of being awake, he’s out like a light; heaven forbid he’s standing near anything sharp when this happens. From time to time, Quentin will just suddenly fold like a GMOD player hit their kill key. There’s no waking him up for a while after that. So far, it’s never happened in a trial; who knows why, Quentin is just grateful for that much. 

When Quentin is tired and actually decides that he’d rather sleep then Collapse™, he will pass out just about anywhere. On the logs, in the bushes, up a tree (won’t do that anymore because he’s prone to falling out of said trees), on someone. Quentin has no shame when it comes to finding a place to rest his head for a minute and the others, for the most part, are fully understanding.  

Sleepy Quentin can also be confused with what Drunk Quentin would look like, only in his movements, however. I’d compare it to those really yanking pulls that Boiled Over can do in-game that just send the killer 5 meters to the left. Yeah...Quentin will do that a lot when he’s really tired. It’s normal to see him firmly planted on the ground when he’s extra tired just so he doesn’t fall into something or someone. (He took out a game of Blackjack that Ace and Bill were playing and felt incredibly bad afterwards) If Quentin can help it, he won’t move when he’s on the very verge of passing out. 

Not so much headcanons but two scenarios I’d like to imagine have happened to Quentin:

I.

Quentin doesn’t sleep due to Freddy’s constant torment that he resumes every time the survivor falls asleep. But Quentin isn’t the only one Freddy torments. It’s been known that Freddy will hop from person to person if Quentin goes for too long without sleeping. However, the killer once made the mistake of pulling the same shit on the Legion which earned him a proper beating from the four teens afterwards. Because of this, the Legion made sure that the Nightmare can’t enter Ormond unless he’s in a trial. 

(I have a personal headcanon that killers can ask the Entity to block a different killer from entering their realm if given proper reasoning, and that’s how I’d see the Legion being able to keep Freddy out of Ormond)

Quentin, by an odd string of occurrences, ends up at Ormond and gets to talking to the killers - since they’re in a good mood. One of them brings up how shitty Quentin looks and actually offers if he’d want to sleep there for a bit. Quentin, taken slightly off guard, shrugs the invitation off, explaining Freddy would just show up and start attacking him again. The Legion, ever so boastful, counters with their story and clue him in on the fact that the Nightmare can’t enter the realm outside of a trial. Quentin’s not buying it but the killers insist just to prove themselves right, eventually having to hold the boy at knife-point to get him to stay and sleep. After a three hour, uninterrupted nap, Quentin wakes up and realizes they were telling the truth.

Regardless, Quentin doesn’t trust the Legion. However, if he’s feeling exceptionally tired and has a few 100k bloodpoints lying around, Quentin will pay the Legion to let him sleep for a few hours, undisturbed. They’re happy to take his money and he’s happy to sleep off his exhaustion.

Still, Quentin does sleep at the fire on occasion; he does only because of the fact Freddy wants him. If Freddy can’t get to Quentin, he’ll start tormenting and hurting his friends. Since Quentin doesn’t want that, he keeps his trips to Ormond few and far between. 

II.

There’s one killer Quentin never thought in his life he’d manage to “befriend” outside of trials. Slinger is a fat no; the man is still a hard-ass to everyone other than Zarina. The Yamaoka family keep to themselves and kill anything on sight. The original four are apathetic towards everyone. Michael, Freddy, Ghostface, Pinhead, Nemesis, Pyramidhead - all psychopathic monstrosities that earned their own circle in hell. I could go on.

No, of all the killers to actually show any sort of compassion (or just lack of hostility) towards Quentin was the Demogorgon. 

It started during a horribly unfortunate trial on Azarov’s. Felix and Yun-Jin were long since dead, leaving only Quentin and Feng to do the last two generators. The thing was, Feng seemed to be trying her absolute hardest to screw Quentin over every time the killer got close. She ran in front of him while they were both running from the killer, she blocked pallets, blocked windows, if the killer got close she immediately hid behind anything large enough. Sure she apologized at the beginning of the trial, but those quickly trailed off. Quentin just wasn’t in the mood for it. So, when he went down for his third and final time due to Feng’s not-so-subtle body blocking, Demo surprised both of them by not picking up the boy immediately. Instead, the killer hunted down Feng (for all of 20 seconds) and threw her onto a hook immediately, not leaving her until she was dead and gone. Quentin had the foresight to bring Unbreakable before entering the trial, so, by the time Feng had reached second stage, he was up and running. 

Even though hatch was visible before Feng died Quentin couldn’t find the damn thing to, literally, save his life. As he ran back into the territory where the killer was last, Quentin’s hope began to dwindle more and more as he heard and saw nothing. Demo, seeming to appear out of thin air, found him first and shred-tackled him into the dirt. On his back, Quentin thought he was going to be mori’d for sure, but then something...worse happened. The killer regurgitated Feng’s med kit onto his chest then stepped off and away from Quentin. Quentin didn’t know whether to thank the killer or puke himself. The amount of slime and saliva that drenched his clothing and neck had him pressing his mouth shut tight. What the hell is this killer doing? was the only thought in Quentin’s mind as he pealed the kit from his chest. 

Quentin didn’t believe that Demo could sit on his haunches like a dog before that trial, but he does now. 

The killer only watched as Quentin used the non-soaked medical supplies on himself until he was fully healed. Afterwards, the killer rose and started walking towards the killer shack. When Demo realized Quentin wasn’t following, it turned back, pathed behind the survivor, and herded him towards the decrepit building. Quentin had seen a lot when it came to weird shit, but this experience was quickly climbing the list. Rounding the far corner of the shack, Quentin found the hatch humming where it usually was. He turned and saw the Demogorgon, not trying to stop him but lying down like it was ready to take a nap. 

Quentin pointed to the hatch with his free hand. “I can have that?” The killer, not understanding human speech, looked down at the hatch then back up to Quentin. The survivor figured that was good of an answer as any, thanked the killer with a shaky voice, and hopped into the backdoor exit. 

Ever since that trial, Quentin has had this weird relationship with the Demogorgon. It’s fully based off the killer’s mood at the time, but for the most part, the pair seem to respect one another at the very least. Some trials, Demo will slaughter everyone mercilessly; others, the killer attacks everyone but Quentin. The survivor hasn’t found any rhyme or reason to the killer’s decision on how to treat him that day, but he’s grateful for the break when they come. 

#Quentin Smith #The Legion #The Demogorgon #DbD hc #dbd #dead by daylight

[gwendeeagain]

How I wrote the Demon fic

Don't draw devil's traps in janitors' closets is one of my longest fic series I’ve ever written, the most notable of which would be my Demon Gakushuu fic, if you’ve seen it. 

In partial response to an ask post (link here), I’ve decided to revisit my writing of this fic series! It was quite a long journey for me and I think it might be fun (?) sharing it with everyone. It’s rather long, so I’ll tag it under “keep reading”. 

FYI this thread contains major spoilers for the fic (and would honestly make no sense if you do not have prior knowledge of it).

I'll just refer to the first fic in the series as Books because it has an insanely long title. Subsequent fics are in order Burgundy, Potential, Illuminate, Illuminate rewrite, and Addendum. The main series is linked here.

Addendum is not linked in the main series for reasons I'll explain below. (link here)

Books

I think one of my biggest mistakes writing Books is my lack of plot planning, and subsequently how thematically inconsistent it became. I start off most my fics with a rough idea of how I want the story to end, and a few good themes to carry me through the plot as I write, but for Books I started off with the first chapter and nothing else. If you followed the notes of my fic you'd probably have witnessed my gradual descent into uncertainty and despair as the fic spiralled out of my control due to how wrong I felt it was becoming.

The fic took a surprisingly hard toll on me. I absolutely hated it. I refused to mark it as complete because I was dissatisfied with how it ended. I thought that everyone was out of character, that I lost the original ending and goal in my head, that it was thematically messy such that I couldn't justify any ending I tried to come up with, and I was just grasping at straws trying to make it work. 

The three things that bothered me were Gakushuu’s wings, Koro-Sensei and the introduction of Aina. When I started this fic I had plans to kill off Koro-Sensei at the end, however as the fic went on it became a celebration of life and learning how to live, and I knew I couldn’t bring myself to have any death in this fic... but at the same time I had Gakushuu find a lot of meaning in Koro-Sensei’s (to-be) death and I didn’t want to undo that. The wings were on a similar note, because Gakushuu spend 50k words finding out who he is and accepting that he was different. Turning that message around and making him go back to being “the same” ate me up inside, but at the same time I set-up the Demon Society in such a way that they would kill Gakushuu if he didn’t have his wings, and it’s supposed to be a happy ending, dammit! Aina was a particularly egregious case because I threw her (and Ikeda) in without any prior warning at the very last minute. I already had a whole world and setting planned for them which I never got to expand on in the previous chapters because I was so anxious about the other two points, and when it came down to the last chapter I realized I had no set-up for these two, who were supposed to be major players in the finale. Basically I was bad at writing.

Even now I cannot fully articulate why it was terrible for me, but compounded with my real-life stressors, I suppose it just became a bit too much to deal with. (This is a piece of fiction that I am creating from scratch. If I can't even get this under control, what hope do I have for everything else?)

((For come disclosure I was never formally diagnosed with any mental illness, but my parents are the sort of people who don’t believe mental illness exists anyways. I would say that I’ve had depressive episodes when I was younger and sometimes even now, but I’ve learnt my ways of dealing with them!))

Burgundy

Four days later I published Burgundy, a short sequel to Books, very shortly after only because I had already finished writing by that time. I actually do still have several half-finished follow ups at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to complete any sequels because I couldn't even come to terms with the ending of the main story. (Those wips are lost to me now.) I think I was hoping that forcing myself to publish the sequel would show me that it was "no big deal" that the main fic didn't end the way I hoped it would, but it succeeded in making me feel worse.

Potential

About one month after that I wrote Potential. It was a three parter, somehow a fifth of the length of the main fic, that followed Gakuhou's perspective prior to the events of Books. It was a prequel which imo made it easier to write, because I still couldn't move on from Books yet. I think writing Potential was me trying to remind myself why I wrote Books in the first place, to perhaps reignite my original passion for the series. It's kind of funny to think about in hindsight, and a little meta, because Potential was a lead up to the events in Books. It worked... a little bit, I think. I still couldn't reconcile my feelings for the whole thing, but through it I got to revisit the original premise that I fell in love with and expand more on worldbuilding it. I could reprise Aina and Ikeda and finally write about the world I planned to introduce them in in the first fic and give more context and insights to how the demon society was supposed to work.

Illuminate

Six months after Potential, I ran into a comment that said, "what would Gakuhou have done if Gakushuu had died?" And for some reason it struck an epiphany in me. After that I wrote Illuminate in one night, cried myself to sleep, waited one more night to proofread it, and then published it. Illuminate was an AU to the first three fics in the series, and it was a fic about grief and mourning. Spoiler alert: I straight up killed Gakushuu in that fic. And somehow that was what I needed.

I quite literally killed my first fic - I upended the terrible ending I hated from Books - everything I had been uncertain about at first? I killed it. Plot points didn't fit my original plans? Killed it. (When I reread the death scene, I... honestly think I was unnecessarily cruel. I must have really been out of my mind when I wrote it, hah!)

And then I wrote myself a love story about missing it, grieving it, and finally letting go of it. It was heart wrenching for me - I made Gakuhou cry about what he lost, what could have been, what he realized he loved, and at the end of it all he could say "I love you and I can move on from you." And I did!

Illuminate (Rewrite)

Illuminate Rewrite, one year later, was me revisiting Illuminate to reflect on myself where I've come with this series. I actually just swapped the places of two paragraphs to change the mood at the end for something more contemplative. I elaborated a bit more on this in my notes for Rewrite, so I won't repeat them here.

Honestly, I still have a hard time coming back to reread Illuminate even after the whole debacle has happened. I attached a lot of emotions through my journey with this, and revisiting it each time takes quite a bit out of me.

Addendum

Addendum was just me having fun! After Illuminate, I managed to reconcile my feelings with the fic series. I was finally able to mark Books as complete and move on from it, and afterwards I wrote a fun little au sequel to Illuminate so that Gakushuu can live again. I could creatively expand on ideas and just do... whatever! It's more of a loose connection of plot points than a real fic, honestly.

Addendum follows Gakushuu in a future hundreds of years later, after every human who he's once known in Books has died. And... he moves on! Gets a job, makes friends, lives his life, and most importantly move on.

I chose to publish in a separate collection, however, because it was an incomplete story and I didn’t want to have a half-complete fic tacked on to what I have settled in my heart as a complete fic collection.

And that’s about it! <3

#karushuu #gakushuu asano #gwentriestothink

[theimpossiblescheme]

So one of my favorite musicals of all time turns forty today…

Funnily enough, my first exposure to anything even related to it was through a little magazine called Cricket.  I genuinely don’t know if it’s still in circulation, but it was a children’s magazine full of short stories, poems, fascinating articles, and book recommendations.  It was old enough that not only had some of my favorite writers as a kid contributed to it (I also owe my love of Lloyd Alexander to the magazine since he always wrote the “Old Cricket” editorials at the end of every issue), but my aunt had also been subscribed to it.  One day, my grandma let me borrow an old Cricket record full of stories and poems being read out loud, and the last track on the second side was a poem by T.S. Eliot.  The poem that would eventually become “The Song of the Jellicles”—“Jellicle cats are black and white, Jellicle cats are rather small…” I thought it was a cute poem, but I had no idea there was anything more to it than that.

A few years later—when I was about eight years old—I read that poem and a bunch of poems like it had been turned into what was once the longest-running Broadway musicals.  As soon as my brain saw the words “Jellicle cats”, I immediately flashed back to that old Cricket record, and I decided I had to learn more. As luck would have it, my grandma also had a VHS of the 1998 Great Performances show.  For a long time, I dragged my feet on watching it.  What if it didn’t live up to the hype?  What if they were really better off as poems and not songs and dances?  How did you make an entire musical based on poems for kids, anyway?  But one evening I finally broke down and put in the VHS. I still have all the previews on it memorized—one for the huge Andrew Lloyd Webber concert in Royal Albert Hall, one for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and one for the movie The Borrowers.  Then after a moment of silence, the overture started and the first glowing yellow cat’s eye appeared onscreen.  Showtime.

What followed was an honestly life-changing experience.  I’ve talked before about Cats being pure fantasy and escapism, and eight-year-old me had never seen anything like that outside of Disney movies.  These were real people in these fuzzy, colorful costumes doing these incredible dance moves, performing magic tricks in real time, and transforming themselves into these fantastical creatures who sounded like humans, but behaved like cats.  Real people who did this for a living—who went to work every day and got to become something else for hundreds of audience members to see.  Who could make you laugh and cheer and cry while wearing fluffy wigs and painted stripes on their faces, and you never questioned it for a second. I marveled at Victoria’s ballet solo, Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer’s double cartwheel, Mistoffelees’s sparkling coat, Jemima and Grizabella’s beautiful voices.  And by the time the credits rolled, I decided I wanted to do this for a living.  I wanted to be an actress and make this kind of magic happen myself.

For a few years afterward, I’m pretty sure I was “the Cats girl” to everyone I knew.  I always talked about it, I had all the characters memorized, and I first discovered fandom and fanfiction thanks to dedicated websites (once I was old enough to have unlimited Internet access).  I even tried to stage my own production of it in elementary school, starring myself as Grizabella and my best friend at the time as Victoria (it never got off the ground, and it wouldn’t have been legal anyway without the Really Useful Group’s permission). And of course, it was a gateway drug to the wonderful world of musical theater; I wouldn’t have found Phantom, Great Comet, or Man of La Mancha without Cats.  It wasn’t until I was older that I learned what a strange reputation Cats had.  People respected it, but no one really seemed to like it—it was just a weird, silly fluke of a show with a strange concept and no plot.  Some even considered it the worst thing Andrew Lloyd Webber had ever written.  It didn’t make me love Cats less, but it did make me feel more… self-conscious about it.  Like it was something I needed to precede with an “Okay, hear me out…” or “I know, I know, but…” before mentioning it to anyone.  So while I still loved the show, I talked about it a lot less.

Then, about a year and a half ago, the movie came out.  And for better or worse, it got people talking about the musical again.  I was absolutely dreading the amount of people who were going to come out of the woodwork and keep saying what I’d always heard—that Cats was a bad musical and its fans were deluded, and they were never going to give it an honest chance now because of the movie’s reputation.  Hyperbolically awful reviews and video essays came out, all bashing the very concept of Cats, and I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. But then, a miracle happened. People started rediscovering the actual musical again.  People started talking about how they’d grown up with the 1998 version just like I had. People talked about liking it—actually liking this funny little show with its poems and songs and elaborate choreography in service of a loose, highly metaphorical plot.  Actual fans talked about how they loved Cats and saw multiple productions of it and cared about the dozens of characters just like I did.

And very slowly, I started talking to them.  I started learning new things, like little bits of trivia and the names of different performers and exactly what a “non-replica” was.  I made friends and talked about headcanons and favorite productions with them. I started writing again after a long dry spell.  I rejoined my first fandom ever, this time with new people I could actually interact with instead of just leaving messages in a long-dead guestbook, and I had the time of my life.  I’m still having the time of my life with everyone in the Cats fandom here on Tumblr, getting to share one of my oldest and greatest inspirations with people who feel the same way I do.  So thank you guys—for liking my ficlets and headcanon posts, for introducing me to the Mexican and Italian productions, for saying such kind words when I needed cheering up, and for letting me be a part of it.

And thank you, Cats. For sparking my love of theater and everything it’s capable of creating.  For being such a joy to watch and learn about even on my most depressing days.  For being wild and unapologetic the way few shows are brave enough to be.  And for holding a special place in my heart, now and forever.

#the schemer speaks #cats the musical #cats fortieth anniversary #I love this show and I don't care who knows it--it's been such a formative influence. <3

[the-melting-world]

The Empress | Side A: “Depth Over Distance”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a cheerful mage navigates uncharted waters…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel 

Track Origins: “Depth Over Distance” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~ 1.4k words

***

To put it simply, the Doors were gateways to a very entangled maze. Through time. Through matter. Oz’mandias had opened every Door. He had not, however, entered every Room. Some were too dark, their floors too loose to bear his weight. They rumbled with cosmic horrors. Monsters without names or faces. He made sure to mark these Doors that led to these unnavigable Rooms. He was an umbra, not Beowulf. Someday he would figure them out. 

Ozy learned through his discovery of trapdoors that all Rooms were connected. The entirety of the cosmos – or at least the knotted sliver of it that the Doors chose to reveal to him – balanced on a shifting framework. There was no way he could explore it all. True, he had located all the Doors that faced outward, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize that there were Rooms within Rooms. One Door could lead to multiple Rooms. The walls of which could shift, dissolve, reflect, and stack itself. Then you had Quasi-Rooms and Beta Rooms. Fractional Rooms and Microscopic Rooms.

It was impossible to know them all.

And yet, Ozy strived to do it. Because how could he ever ignore every secret a Door protected when he could see the outlines of each and every gateway? They glowed for him whenever he passed by, whether he activated them with his gauntlets or not. 

At the moment, Ozy was desperate to get Kipling to see a single Door.

Thankfully, she knew how to meditate. How to concentrate. Ozy held his breath as he watched Kip’s third eye flutter open. Of course, he was the only one who could see this. To Asra and the three familiars that cavorted around in the Palace Conservatory, nothing was going on in the center of Kipling’s forehead right above her eyes.

But even after all that fluttering with potential, Kip’s third eye would always give up and return to its state of rest.

Ozy stifled a frustrated sound as he sat back and rubbed his palm over his eyes and the bridge of his scarred nose. He didn’t know what it was. Kip was definitely trying. It wasn’t like she didn’t possess the willpower.

So what was missing?

“Coz?” Kipling sounded dizzy. “Can we take a break? I think I’m starting to get a migraine.”

Ozy wanted to keep going. He had an urge to hold out as long as they both could. He wanted to really study Kipling and process this thoroughly. He wanted to think.

Still, another part of Ozy – one that stemmed from maturity and experience – insisted that no good would come of that. Kipling had done her best. She had reached her limit. If Ozy were to demonstrate impatience with her now, it would be the same as erasing all the progress she had made.

“That’s enough for today,” Ozy sighed, reaching over and patting Kip on the head. He expected her to swat his hand away, but when he didn’t, he fixed her with a look of concern.

“You’ve been really patient with me, Ozy,” said Kip, “but I don’t think I’ll be able to see the Doors as well as you can in just a few days.”

Ozy folded his hands in his lap. “You don’t need to see all the Doors, Kip. Just the glyphs on the ones that you intend to open.”

Kip chewed on her lower lip. “It doesn’t sound all that complicated.”

Ozy smiled. “It’s not.”

“Then why is it taking me so long?”

Ozy didn’t know. Not yet.

The grey mage gave the gardener something else to think about for the rest of the day. Some breathing exercises. They wouldn’t be all that helpful in this case, but she didn’t need to know that. Then the two umbras parted ways. 

Kipling left the conservatory hand in hand with Asra, his snake familiar curled about his shoulders. Taro took a little longer to bid farewell to Abaco before scurrying after Kipling and hitching a ride in the crook of her elbow.

Abaco flitted over to Ozy and followed him back inside the Palace. Ozy’s mind was still going, trying to pinpoint what was causing Kip’s block. He barely made it inside long enough to hear his soft soles echoing against the domed mosaic ceilings when he was approached by a familiar face.

Ozy offered a tired smile in Nadia Satrinava’s direction. When she asked him if he wanted to soak the afternoon off in a private, isolated bath chamber, he of course accepted. He had yet to enjoy the Palace baths. 

When Nadia followed up with another question, he didn’t think anything of where it was coming from. Or what it might mean. 

So he just said yes, of course.

Moments later, Ozy was stepping into the softly lit bath chamber wearing nothing but a thin robe. Standing directly across from him, stooping a bit to test the temperature of the water was the Countess. She was also robed with her hair completely undone. Her feet were bare and she was without makeup or adornments. It was then that Ozy realized that there was something potently vulnerable and private rising in the air.

“Ozy, I need to ask you an important question.” Nadia shook the water off her hand and straightened up. “Would you prefer us to bathe with our robes on or off?”

Ozy didn’t have an answer for her. He was thinking, trying to make connections to this moment and back in the days when he was right on the cusp of adulthood. 

“Ozy? It’s okay. Just tell me what you want. If this is making you uncomfortable–”

He blurted, “I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

Nadia gathered her robe a little tighter around her as she approached the grey mage. Worry and concern clouded her features. She wanted to tell him that there was nothing wrong about being honest about how he felt in the moment, but Ozy was already rattling off faster than she had ever seen from him.

“I’ve declined invitations like this before and afterwards my companions stopped talking to me.” His eyes didn’t meet hers as he kept going. “They avoided spending time with me. As if I had declined our whole relationship, but I hadn’t. It was only a moment that I had said no to. One instance in time. There would be so much more, but for whatever reason, they couldn’t see it. And the times when I’ve accepted… everything seemed to happen so fast. It always started out nice, pleasurable even... but I always seemed to be a disappointment towards the end.”

“Ozy,” Nadia cut in. “Oz. Look at me.”

He did.

Nadia paused to inhale. Then softly, she said, “Let’s start from the beginning. Would you like to take a bath together?”

Ozy nodded with sincerity. “I would like that.” This time he meant it. Until now Ozy hadn’t realized how much he had been relying on the presence of the Countess to steady his nerves while he navigated uncharted waters with Kipling and her handle on grey magic.

Nadia cracked a small smile and moved one of Ozy’s beaded locs out of his eyes.

“If you want to keep the robes on, I will not take that as a rejection. If you want to take them off, we can move as slowly as you want. Just tell me what you decide. And if you ever want to change your mind at any point, I would never hold it against–”

Nadia’s voice became muffled against Ozy’s unexpected kiss. Her skin shivered under the robe as his arms snaked around her middle while his other hand coasted up her back and folded around the nape of her neck.

“Thank you,” Ozy said without breaking the kiss. “Your patience, your perception, your understanding – it’s so rare and wonderful that I’m often left feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

Ozy had no idea how overwhelmed Nadia herself was in that moment, what with him locking her against his strong, lean frame and muttering into her mouth, his gold ring, snug against his full lips, constantly taunting her to deepen the kiss.

But as much as Nadia wanted to move things forward, Ozy was still in a vulnerable place. She wouldn’t push him until he got everything that he needed out in the open.

“... always afraid that I’ll come on too strong. People might confuse the things that I’m genuinely curious about with…”

“Oz?”

“... for the longest I couldn’t understand why that would always happen…”

“Oz.”

“... easier to be alone sometimes, but I told myself that couldn’t be true. Not all the way at least. Not–”

Nadia pulled back. “Ozy. It’s okay.”

Ozy blinked owlishly, as if he had no idea just how long he’d been rambling.

Nadia’s ruby gaze softened. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” She leaned in and placed a tentative but lingering kiss to his slightly parted lips. “I hear you. Now…” 

She withdrew and gestured to the depression of steaming water behind them. 

“Robes on or off?”

#arcana albums: the empress #arcana albums #the arcana #the arcana fanfic #the arcana fic #the arcana fanfiction #kipling the apprentice #ozy the grey mage #asra #asra alnazar #nadia #nadia satrinava #my writing #asra the arcana #nadia the arcana #ozadia

[laceymorganwrites]

Kiss Goodnight

Word count: 1,285

Pairing: incubus!Atsumu x human!reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual assault and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, lethargy, mentions of suicide, mentions of depression and other mental health issues, this is overall very sad and has a negative view on life, please don´t read if any of this makes you unvomfortable, this will not make you feel better

Summary:  Atsumu got exiled from hell, starving he stumbles upon you who voluntarily lets him feed on you. He´s shocked that you´d be willing to throw you life away and makes it his mission to show you all the joys of being alive.

A/N: The song ´Kiss Goodnight´ by IDKhow really inspired this fic, therefore it deserves to be the title. This is the last part of my Halloween event, I really hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @varia-venus @wansseul @newfriendjen @luvsuna @babythotshq

Event masterlist

Incubi and succubi were always looked down upon by the other demons of hell. Though, that always seemed to change depending on the current ruler.

Some centuries they were just the whores, who couldn´t do anything else but fuck, sometimes they were the weaklings who couldn´t fight as was the case with the current ruler.

But no matter what stamp they had to carry, they never were demons with emotions like the others.

Atsumu was fucking sick of it all.

He didn´t want to be looked down upon, in fact he wanted nothing more than to be adored and appreciated.

Though, lately he just wished to disappear altogether.

From hell, from this fate that just wouldn´t let him go no matter what, from the claws of the devil.

The thought of escaping hell for good was always in his mind, but until now he never went through with it, not wanting to disappoint the others and least of all leave his little brother behind.

Osamu had it way worse than him, being forced to be the personal servant of the devil, Atsumu had been in the same situation multiple times, only that he had to give up the last bit of his dignity not to get killed.

He felt dirty and disgusting every time he did what his kind were supposed to do in the eyes of the devil.

Before, Atsumu never really thought about it, he always knew that he felt more than other demons, it was just in the nature of his kind.

So he never really questioned offering his body to those willing to taste it, after all he thought that sex was a sign of ultimate love.

Oh, how naive he was.

Nowadays whenever he was summoned to earth to be the plaything of some disgusting human who mistreated him worse than the devil, he always felt like a wreck afterwards.

Retching until he couldn´t taste them anymore and crying himself to sleep only to suffer from nightmares of his past and the things he was forced to do.

Maybe he was the weak one for leaving after all.

Even though he told Osamu beforehand, he never ratted him out, he just let him go. For the longest time Atsumu thought that it was because Osamu hated him, when in reality Osamu just wanted his brother to escape this gruesome reality he was forced into.

Osamu knew Atsumu had it worse than him and he hated that he had to watch, that he couldn´t do anything about it.

If only he was stronger.

Maybe then they could´ve run away together, maybe then Atsumu never had to give his body to people who didn´t appreciate him, maybe then Atsumu didn´t have to feel so guilty and be haunted by terrors every night.

Atsumu wanted to disappear while you just wanted to be seen.

Life was cruel to both of you, maybe that was what drew you to each other.

You met him in the alleyway near your place one night when you got home.

He looked so worn out, so tired, so starved and just like the type of trouble you always got involved with. Of course you couldn´t just leave him be.

Atsumu was grateful, he didn´t expect kindness from a human.

Though at first when you invited him into your home, he was suspicious.

Luckily you didn´t have any ill intentions like the others of your kind, you were a strange one anyway.

Your smile didn´t reach your eyes, it was forced and you didn´t even try to hide the fact that it was, which intrigued Atsumu to no end and at the same time made him incredibly sad.

It reminded him of himself.

You gave him food, clothes and a place to sleep without even wanting something in return.

Atsumu wanted to know why but when he asked, you simply stated that the worst thing that could happen would be him killing you, which still would be way better than your current life.

Those words touched Atsumu to the core, it hurt how much he could relate.

Perhaps he had gotten too attached to you already, well, he for a fact did judging by the way his hearts clenched for you.

Damn him and his heightened emotions, they were always what got him hurt.

For some reason he didn´t sense any danger or lies from you, maybe that was only a false sense of security though.

Atsumu learned that he could never be too careful around humans, developing a distrust against everyone who crossed his path.

“So what do you do for fun anyway?” he asked, trying his hardest to sound intimidating and disinterested at the same time while concealing the fact that he wanted to get to know you better.

He really thought he was being smart, there.

You looked at him as if he just asked you whether it was normal that trees grew arms.

“What makes you think I have fun?” you coldly stated, not being saddened by this statement anymore.

Atsumu on the other hand was bewildered.

Sure, you looked so empty and devoid of any emotions all the time, but there had to be at least something that made your face light up, that brought a smile to your face.

He wanted to find out what that was, he wanted to find out who and what hurt you to become like this, a shell of who you used to and could be.

“But you have so many fun things to do here! The cinema, arcades, concerts, festivals, the food here… there are so many things that I could list right now, but it still wouldn´t be enough. There has to be something that makes you smile” he scowled a bit, thinking about all the days he just wandered through your world, desperate to find something that made him feel alive again.

“I´ll smile the second someone puts me out of the misery called life” you dryly said, making Atsumu frown.

Your words hurt him more than anything else ever had, more than the greed of humans, more than the devil´s lust, maybe not more than leaving his brother behind.

Atsumu didn´t know what to reply to that, instead he just looked at you with the utmost sorrow in his eyes and asked if it was okay to hug you, after you voiced your indifference, he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his strong arms around you and cradling your back.

“I´m sorry” was all he said because he didn´t know what else to say, what else to do.

He had never felt so helpless in his life, all he wanted to do was make you happy, but you wouldn´t let him, you refused to see that life wasn´t all bad.

And honestly, he understood.

Because sometimes things you couldn´t control dragged you down and fogged your vision to a point where you thought that there was no such thing as happiness and the worst thing was that you couldn´t escape this mindset.

Well, not without help anyway.

But you couldn´t ask for help at the same time because you didn´t trust people, you were on your own in your mind, you didn´t want to believe that others were going through the same thing as you and it hurt Atsumu.

This stubbornness as a self defense mechanism he knew so well.

Before he left to go home again after the news reached him that Kita was now the ruling devil, he gave you a bucket list of things that always made him happy whenever he was in your world.

Atsumu hoped that before you´d be reunited you´d live a fulfilling life with no more regrets.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu atsumu #halloween event #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagine #atsumu oneshot #atsumu scenario #hq #hq imagine #hq oneshot #hq scenario #hq atsumu

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hi! I'm new to this and I don't know if I'm doing this right... Could you write a story about ghost James (not really come back as a ghost in wizard way but more like a ghost in muggle stories, the kind that no one can see and can't really do anything) watching (and maybe staying with) Sirius through the years and finally reunite with him behind the veil? And they live happily ever after in the other side?Thank you!

James hated it when Sirius was sad. It was his number one least favourite thing in the world. It was horrible to see. James was pretty sure that it started to rain specifically because Sirius was in a bad mood, sometimes. His proof of that was that it had never been sunny when Sirius was sad, and that was good enough for him. When Sirius was sad, it's like the whole planet sagged to join him in grief. He'd said that to Remus once, and Remus had replied that James couldn't possibly be more in love if he tried; James was pretty sure that his response to that had been that everyone could stand to be more in love with Sirius. 

Point is, Sirius was sad, and it was James's fault. He couldn't make it better, and that was almost worse. There had been times, during first their friendship then their romantic relationship, that he'd made Sirius sad. Some stupid fight or other, and he would make Sirius cry because Sirius hated when they fought. He'd made Sirius sad before, but he'd never been incapable of comforting him afterwards. 

He was dead. Sirius couldn't hear him or feel him. It didn't matter what James did, because as far as Sirius was concerned, nothing at all was happening. James could scream in his ear, and Sirius would hear nothing but waves and the distant echoes of the other prisoners. He knew this for a fact; he'd tried. Just in case. No one knew about the kind of ghost that he was, and he wasn't going to let Sirius be miserable just because he hadn't thought to try. 

It had taken him a minute to understand what had happened when he appeared by Sirius's side. The details around his death were a bit fuzzy. He couldn't really remember what had happened, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. From the absolutely haunted expression on Sirius's face, it didn't seem like something he'd appreciate remembering. 

It took James less than two days to figure out that nothing he did would get through to Sirius. Instead of constantly pestering him, he decided to do things that would make Sirius feel better. He talked. Shared stories even though they were all stories he'd heard before or had been there for. 

After a couple weeks, James figured out how to make himself basically solid. It didn't help Sirius it all, but it made James feel better. He could lean his head against Sirius's shoulder without falling straight through him. 

On the one hand, it was nice to be able to see Sirius even though he was dead. Spend time with him. On the other hand, he was pretty sure this was a version of hell. What had he done to get placed next to the person he loved most, but completely unable to communicate with him? He didn't know how he really felt about it. Twelve years of thinking about it, and he still didn't know. 

*

James talked to hear his own voice. It's not like Sirius could hear him and feel better to know that he wasn't entirely alone. 

Sometimes he felt like Sirius could hear him. Not as he was-- standing beside him-- but like a whisper to his conscience. An errant thought in his head that took purchase. It was wishful thinking, James knew that, but it made his existence feel important. Sirius didn't lay flat to stretch his legs because James said he should; he did it because he'd been curled up in a ball for so long that he was uncomfortable. 

It still made James feel better. 

*

"Er, Sirius? Is it just me, or does that look like Peter?" James asked, tilting his head to get a better look at the photo in the Prophet. Fudge wasn't holding it at the best angle for Sirius, but Sirius was smart; he saw it. He asked for the paper, and Fudge handed it right over. 

James grinned at Sirius. "That's my Padfoot. Let's get out of this hellhole. It was putting you in a worse mood than normal." Not that there was any good measure for that. It had been so long since Sirius had been in a normal place that James only had memories for what it was like to see him smile. When the minister visited, the Dementors had to stay back a certain amount; it's why Sirius made conversation instead of telling him to bugger off, but it didn't exactly make him happy. He was just... less miserable. 

*

If anyone could see James right now, they'd probably say that since he wasn't happy with what he was doing, he should stop. That was a load of bullocks. He was dead, what did it matter if he wasn't completely happy? His happiness was a non-issue. He had an entire afterlife that he could enjoy when Sirius was around to enjoy it with him. For now, it was more important to him that he keep an eye on Sirius. Even if he couldn't effect the world around him at all, he liked knowing what was going on. 

There was a paralyzing fear in the back of his mind that if he left now, he'd never be able to find Sirius again.

*

"No no no," James said frantically, staring at where Peter transformed and ran away. He tried tugging on Sirius's arm, but obviously he couldn't feel it. "Sirius, he's getting away!" 

But Sirius was more focused on making sure that Moony was okay and that the kids weren't going to get hurt-- or killed-- to worry about the way his own future was going. 

It had run away. Peter was slippery. It was a miracle that they'd found him the first time, and James was certain that they wouldn't be able to find him a second time. In another life, James would be able to feel something like sympathy for him. In this life-- his afterlife, Sirius's first still-- he couldn't manage it. James had been beside Sirius for nearly every second of Azkaban, and there was no forgiving someone who put you in there. 

Peter vanished, less than a speck in a dark night on a black ground, and James wanted to scream. So he did. 

*

"This cave is depressing. I feel like you could find a better hiding spot." 

Sirius glanced towards where the castle was, and James nodded. 

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't be this close to Harry anywhere else. I still think it's pretty damn risky. You should be on the beach. Soaking up the sun after so many years in Azkaban. I swear, that place is better classified as a dungeon. You could lay on the sand. Get some shades. Listen to your bloody muggle music and just breathe for once." 

Sirius wrung his hands in the way that meant he was thinking about Harry. Worrying about him. Even if he went to the beach, he wouldn't be able to relax. He'd be there, wondering how Harry was doing. Wishing he could take him away but unable to do so. Sirius could make his way on his own in large part because he could turn into Padfoot, but Harry couldn't do that. A boy with a dog drew more attention than just a dog, not to mention that no one would just let Harry go missing. 

*

Lily showed up once. James just about jumped out of his skin when she appeared on Sirius's other side at the long dining table in Grimmauld Place. "So this is where Sirius grew up," she mused, looking around at the décor. "Sort of explains why he was such a pretentious git when we were kids." 

James stared at her for a long moment. "How are you here?" 

"I don't really know," she said, frowning. "I thought about you, wondering where you were and." She held up her hands in a ta-da sort of way. "I should've guessed it was with Sirius." 

"Are you going to stay?" he asked. 

"I don't think I can. I'm here to visit. I visited Harry for a while, but I got... kicked away after a couple days. It's the longest I can stay before I have to take a break. I have no idea how you've managed to do this for the entire time." 

"I haven't done anything," James argued. "I just woke up next to Sirius and never left." 

"You woke up next to him?" Lily asked, eyebrows raised. 

"Appeared next to him, whatever." 

"No, that's not what I- Merlin, James. I always knew that you and Sirius were strangely close; I just didn't realise... well. Never mind. How's it been?" she asked, turning her attention to the man sat between them that couldn't hear a single word that was being said. 

"Rough. He was in Azkaban for a murder he didn't commit, and now he's a fugitive because he broke out." 

"He broke out? Of Azkaban? How the bloody hell did he do that?" 

"That's a Marauder trade secret, Lils. Can't tell." 

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're so full of shite." 

"Yep." 

She glanced at Sirius again, and her expression softened to something sympathetic. "It's been that bad?" 

"Yeah." James sighed, patting Sirius on the shoulder even though he couldn't feel it. "Yeah, it's been... not good." 

*

Sirius got hit with a spell, and he was falling, and James knew that it wouldn't do any good but still tried to catch him. 

Only it worked. Sirius landed in his arms, a heavy, warm weight. Sirius was as surprised by it as James. He tilted his head up and broke into a gut-wrenching smile. Equal parts sad and hopeful. "James?" 

James mirrored the expression. He'd wanted Sirius. Not like this, though. Sirius was supposed to get his name cleared and live with Harry. He was supposed to have another seventy years alive so that he could remember what it was like to not be caged up. He wasn't supposed to meet James this soon. James even knew how he wanted for it to happen. Sirius was supposed to be free and happy, and then James would move on; Sirius wouldn't need him watching anymore because he'd be fine, and he could catch up with Lily-- see if she knew anything about this whole being-dead thing. "Hullo love." 

*

It took Sirius a long time to stop marveling at the fact that he could now touch James and talk to him. In his own way, James was doing the same thing. He'd gotten so used to Sirius not being able to hear anything he said that he was pretty sure he hadn't shut up for the last twenty minutes, just so he could hear Sirius hum or say 'yeah' as he talked. 

"How do you know all of that?" Sirius interrupted at some point. James had sort of been ranting at him for staying in Azkaban for so long, and then going to Grimmauld Place afterwards. Historically, those were the worst two places in Britain. 

"I was with you." 

"You mean, like, watching me?" Sirius asked, tilting his head slightly as he tried to wrap his head around it. 

"No, I mean that I was with you. Since your first week in Azkaban." 

"You... the whole time?" Sirius asked, voice breaking. 

"Yeah," James said, giving him a small smile. "I couldn't leave you alone, Sirius. You were sad. I can't leave my Padfoot alone when he's sad." 

Sirius pulled him in for another hug even though they'd never really let go of each other, clenching so tightly that James wouldn't have been able to get away even if he wanted to-- and he didn't. He could stay this way forever. 

#prongsfoot #fanfic #marauders #james potter #sirius black #lily evans #established relationship #afterlife #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous

[magical-readathon-diaries]

Djali’s Log 1

So I guess this is the beginning of it? The big adventure I always dreamed of? Braving the Novice Path, heading towards the Academy to meet new people, learn new things, see fantastic places. Wait, should I do an introduction here? Do journals even need introductions? Well, what if one day my journal is saved for posterity for some historical reason? Maybe someone venturing onto the Novice Path in the future could benefit from reading this log and learn how to better navigate it themselves? Yes, yes, then an introduction is in order.

Hello, this is Djali, of the Great Underworld Library of Darkmeadow. I am seventeen years of age, of Iltirian heritage, and tutored in the realms of history, geography, biology, archivism, and certain magics, such as conjuration and illusion. I have spent my entire life beneath Darkmeadow and was raised by the curators of the Library, though my main overseer is, at this moment, Archivist Caddigan. My knowledge of the world and its inhabitants is limited solely to my own personal research, as this log contains my first voyage away from home, so any discrepancies or misunderstandings found within are solely the fault of my own inexperience. That’s a normal thing to put in a journal, right? Okay, focus, time to move forward.

My journey to Orilium was relatively uneventful. Caddigan arranged passage for me on a ship, which carried many other residents of Darkmeadow looking to take on the Path. I was eager to speak with them to learn how they would approach this challenge, knowing that not all who undertake it come out alive. While I did get the usual pleasantries, no one was willing to talk for long. They were still planning, preparing, or fretting for what was ahead of them. Not that I can blame them, of course. With all the stories one hears, it would be foolish not to do everything in one’s power to make sure they were one hundred percent ready. It’s just….I thought things would be different. Less…. solitary. That we would all recognize our common goal and work together, like the stories of heroes long ago. But, those stories are the past, not now, as Caddigan always tries to remind me. Still, why can’t then be now also?

I spent most of the time reacquainting myself with the map of the Path, its general layout, as well as practice some magic that may be of use during the test. I had it all down to the best of my ability, I didn’t think I can take much more of it. My head was so full of what ifs, contingency plans, and just general information it feels like it was going to burst. I think the only time I felt any solace was at night.

Though I was unable to chance a flight that night, I did fly up the mast to sit in the crow’s nest. It was made for crows after all. I haven’t done too much study into nautical topics, so that’s my best assumption. I stared for a while at the stars, still admiring, my mind wanting to focus on a single point, rather than the chaos currently bouncing around my temples. It was a nice moment, one that I will treasure always and take comfort in. Of course, I eventually fell asleep, so the morning after I needed a bit of help getting down since the blasted sun was ruining my eyes again, but we won’t dwell on that.

This was my first time leaving the Library, meaning this was probably the longest time I have been on the surface in a while. I’ve ventured out onto the topside of Darkmeadow a few times, giving Caddigan multiple heart attacks in the process, but those excursions were never that long, not enough for me to get a good sense of the outside. Being on the ship, however, exposed me to what life is like in the open air. Before I left, Caddigan gave me a blindfold, as my eyes are not used to the sun and I really would not like to spend my days in a total blinded stupor. During the day I mostly spent time below deck, just wandering aimlessly. But at night, I emerged to see a sky flooded with stars.

I’ve studied stars in the past, learned their names, positions, and what constellations they create, but actually seeing them was almost indescribable. The light was soft, gentle, unlike the harsh light of day that I unfortunately have to get used to. They were celestial pinpricks in a velvet tarp of night, the world made more beautiful just by their existence. There was no moon unfortunately, but it was still a sky worth looking at. Everything felt so still and quiet, the lap of the waves against the ship making the only noise. A salty breeze tousled my hair and for a moment I was tempted to shift into crow shape just to feel what it would be like to ride it. The captain had expressly told the Iltirian passengers not to do so, something about us “land-dwellers” not knowing how to “bend to these ferocious sea winds,” but I think it may just be his superstition of not wanting too many ‘birds of ill omen” near his ship. Not very logical thinking if you ask me, but we all have our quirks.

It wasn’t too long after that the ship made it to Orilium. Thankfully by that time I could travel fairly well in the day without my blindfold, something I was extremely grateful for as the time to start the Novice Path was drawing near. We disembarked and made our way to the campsite near the entrance to the Path. A good amount of people were already there, setting up tents, getting a lay of the land, writing messages to loved ones should they not make it out. It was honestly depressing to think about, but it was a reality. There was no certainty that we were all going to make it out of here alive. Though we were all looking for adventure, for a chance to prove ourselves worthy, that all came with a price, one that some may have to pay in full.

I don’t think I find myself particularly worried. I think it’s more like I can’t allow for failure, so I can’t even accept the possibility of it. I can’t come to grips with the fact that I may very well die in the near future. Call it the reckless abandon of youth, but It just seems so impossible. That confidence will either be my greatest asset or my ruin. But enough of that! This is supposed to be exciting! That’s what readers like! A dragging down to earth is necessary in certain parts, but only so that we can rise up again!

Clearly the mood was starting to weigh heavily in the air, as an old elf came before us and delivered a well, I think it was intended to be a rousing speech about the merits of having danger in an adventure, which I suppose is true, but doesn’t alone soothe anyone’s worries. The song he performed afterwards did a lot more in stirring up the revelry of the crowd. It’s a song we all know, a song that was practically born in our minds at birth. In that moment, all those feelings of fear, doubt, and anxiety melted away, as we raised our voices as one and came together to celebrate the calm before the storm of our journey.

The night that followed was one I admit that I will be hard pressed to forget. The archivists of the Library are, surprisingly, not the most mirthful of people, so I’ve never actually been to anything resembling a party. It was very..loud to say the least. Lots of drinking, dancing, shenanigans, which I guess is normal? They don’t exactly have any academic material on this subject, though such a text would probably be very helpful to people like me. The utter pandemonium of it all was hard to navigate at first, but I think I managed to fit in rather well. I danced the best I could with some other Iltirians. I’m not much of a dancer, another thing they fail to teach you when you live at the Library, but no one pointed and laughed so I’ll take that as a triumph.

And that has been my journey up until now. Tomorrow I begin my adventure on the Novice Path, along with the others who want to prove their worth to the Academy. It’s hard to believe that the time has finally come, that I’m only one sleep away from the most important day of my life. Here’s hoping that it’s also not the last.

I mingled through the crowd, politely taking a drink now and then. I got a few names, had a couple worthwhile conversations, some a little one-sided, but I don’t think anyone’s eyes completely glazed over as I went on about the magical properties of certain gemstones. I’m not sure if I would call anyone friend just yet, though something in me desperately wants to. There’s still the fear that the people I met tonight may very well be gone tomorrow, but tonight was for enjoying this glorious moment, not dreading the future. So, the night passed thusly, with wine and song and the hope that tomorrow is a guarantee.

When the party died down and people retired to their tents, I rolled out a pack on the ground, completely content to sleep under the sky. The stars were shining bright as ever, the lovely constants of the sky, and now there was a slight sliver of moon to accompany them. Though there was little to see, she sure was beautiful.

I’m sorry, I really can’t end the log like that. So depressing. Uh, what else to end it on?

Well, the moment I wrote that a literal tumbleweed blew past me, perfectly summarizing the emptiness of my mind.

Okay, on that note, this log is complete.

#Djali #Magical Readathon #Novice Path #urban #dark meadow #iltirian #Novice Path Entrance #Orilium