#I know the notes will be flooding again with people saying these are lies and this whole post in misinformation

[psychostxr]

𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢 | worth

PAIRING. jordan li x female! reader

WORD COUNT. 1.1k

WARNINGS. angst, cursing, homphobia, insecurities, racism (some are very brief)

NOTES. inspired by @maraschino-ch3rry post about jordan not being marketable

KEYS. (y/n) - your name e.g. paige, sam, etc. (l/n) - last name e.g. cole, thomas, etc.

Fairy lights and flowers decorate the foyer of Godolkin's Student Union as the night of Brink's Memorial Gala unfolds. Your satin dress flows elegantly, hugging and highlighting your figure with a refined slit. Champagne glasses twinkle as they float by on silver trays, a luxury you can't resist. Grabbing a glass of champagne, you take a small sip.

Your eyes wander, tracing the guests who have gathered for the occasion. The guests, staff members, trustees, benefactors, and a few students invited or could afford to buy tickets are here to 'support' Godolkin University. As for you, you're here to support your partner, Jordan, and find trustees willing to vote for them.

When you finally spot Jordan entering the foyer, your heart pounds against your ribcage at the sight of them. Jordan looks hot in their black suit, and the half-pearl half-chain necklace adds to their charm. However, Jordan's expression doesn't match the mood of the event. They're frowning.

You wonder why until you see their parents trailing right after them. Downing the rest of the champagne, you place the glass on a nearby waiter's tray and scurry over to Jordan, careful not to trip over your heels or dress.

"Jordan!" You grin, pulling them into a hug. Their arms wrap around your waist as your lips kiss their cheek before grazing their ear to whisper, "Stop frowning. You're too attractive in that suit to be sad."

Jordan chuckles, a smile cracking across their face. "Thank you," they murmur, kissing your cheek in return. 

Jordan takes a step back, revealing his parents behind them. You plaster on a fake smile towards Jordan's parents.

"(y/n), meet my parents, Paul, and Kayla Li. Dad, mom, this is (y/n)." Jordan pauses, gulping. "My girlfriend."

"Hi, it's so nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Li," you say, offering your hand to shake.

Jordan's parents glance at each other, almost like they're communicating telepathically. Then, both of their lips quirked upwards. Paul chuckles, reaching out and eagerly shaking your hand.

"You have a girlfriend?" he questions, "Why didn't you tell us?"

Before Jordan can come up with an answer, you interrupt, "I'm sorry, that was my idea." You pull your hand away and rest it on your décolletage. "I didn't want Jordan to tell anyone. I'm a very private person."

"That's okay, dear," Kayla reassures. "We're just happy that Jordan's found someone is all."

"Well, it was nice meeting you both," you say, catching Jordan's parents' attention, "But Jordan and I have duties to attend to tonight." Like schmoozing trustees and securing votes for Jordan. "I hope to see you again soon."

Hooking an arm around Jordan's, you guide them away from their parents and towards the influential guests at tonight's gala.

"Private person, my ass," Jordan remarks once you both are far away from their parents. "One search of you on Instagram and pictures of me flood the app."

"You love it," you quip, unhooking your arm to hold Jordan's hand. "People know we're together, so they can't try shit when you're not around. Unless they want to get their ass kicked."

"You can't blame me. I don't like to share."

Rolling your eyes, you stop in your tracks, causing Jordan to halt.

"Earlier, before you arrived, I was scouring the guests, and I think a few people here would vote for you with enough persuasion. We just need to show them the marketable side of you." You gesture to a man nearby drinking champagne. "That's Daniel Travis, one of the trustees for Godolkin. We can start with him and work our way with the others."

Pulling Jordan, you walk towards Daniel Travis and put a smile on your face. "Mr Travis, I'm (y/n) (l/n), and this is my partner, Jordan Li. Could you spare a few minutes to talk with us?"

He lowers his glass. "Of course. What would you two like to talk about?"

"Well, as we know, trustees decide the rankings. And during the incident with Golden Boy, Jordan went down in rankings. We wondering if you'd like to vote for Jordan," you explain.

"I don't like to ring my own bell, but I am putting up the best stats of anyone here in forensics and combat," Jordan adds, "And to be honest, I'd love your vote."

"I've looked at your Q Rating, Name Recognition, and Social Trending, Jordan. They're down, and it's no secret," Daniel states bluntly, "Frankly, being bi-gender and Asian won't appeal to certain audiences in America, so, in terms of marketability, you're not in the best position."

Jordan's face falls at Daniel's harsh assessment. It's a tough pill to swallow. Daniel shifts his attention to you.

"But you (y/n)?" he says, "Your ratings are through the roof, and your control over your powers is remarkable! You're a marketable asset. But, you see, you could achieve even more if you broke up with Jordan."

The suggestion hangs in the air, a poisonous idea souring the elegance of the gala. Jordan feels a surge of anger and frustration at Daniel's audacity while you're shocked by his proposal.

You squeeze Jordan's hand, hoping to give them peace of mind while you resist the urge to use your powers and toss Daniel into a wall. Your eyes flash with a mix of anger and disgust.

"You must be out of your mind to think I'd ever let someone like you dictate my relationship," you retort sharply, "Now if you have nothing important to say, we're leaving."

With that, you lead Jordan away from the conversation, finding a quiet corner of the gala to catch your and Jordan's breath and collect your thoughts.

You knew that success could come at a cost, but compromising your relationship with Jordan wasn't a price you were willing to pay. Wrapping your arms around Jordan, you pull them into your embrace and kiss their temple. 

"Jordan, I'm so fucking sorry," you apologize softly, "I should've dug for more information on Godolkin's trustees before making any moves. I didn't expect that from Daniel."

Jordan sighs, resting their head on your shoulder. "It's not your fault, (y/n). But Daniel's got a point. My numbers are down. Nobody wants to see a bi-gender Asian Supe. Your numbers would be higher if we weren't together."

You shake your head, holding them tighter. "Jordan, don't listen to him. I love you with every fiber of my being. No marketing scheme or student ranking is worth more than my love for you. I don't care about the numbers. I care about you." You tilt their chin up, looking deeply into their eyes. "You are more than any label or statistic. I love you for who you are. Don't let anyone make you question your worth or our love. Because if anyone thinks otherwise, they can fuck off."

© psychostxr — all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, translate, or claim any of my works as your own.

#gen v #gen v x reader #gen v x you #gen v imagine #gen v fic #the boys #the boys x reader #the boys x you #the boys imagine #jordan li #jordan li x reader #jordan li x you #jordan li imagine #jordan li fic #psychostxr

[greatooglymooglyyy]

If We Were Vampires (C.S.)

summary: chris learns to look past his fear of growing up for a future with the girl of his dreams

contains: angst, lots of emotions, chris pov, 3rd person, a bit of fluff, some suggestive content, cussing, 1.5k words

“So what, Chris? You expect me to just sit around waiting for you to man up?”

“I never said you had to. If you feel like you wanna go, then go.”

Chris replays the moment over and over again as he lies in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It’s been a week, and he still can’t figure out what went so wrong. He doesn’t even know how it started. But then again, he doesn’t know how any of this started.

Everybody knows what he thinks about relationships. Or more accurately how much he never thinks about them. There were just a million other things he found more interesting than chasing after some fairytale of finding the one.

But then he met her. She’d come out of nowhere, like a siren in her flowy white dress, and he’d been stuck in her orbit ever since.

He tries to call her again, but the phone goes straight to voicemail. If it wasn’t for his texts going through, he’d be sure he was blocked. Frustration floods over him and he goes to make another call before realizing she is the one he’d normally call when he felt like this.

“God, I feel so stupid.” He says, sniffling and burying his face in her neck.

“It's not stupid. You’re allowed to be sad.” She replies, her voice soothing as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“Over the fucking ninja turtles?” He asks, laughing a bit at himself at how dramatic he feels.

“Over your childhood coming to an end.” She supplies, pulling away so she can look him in the eyes. “You’re allowed to be scared of what comes next.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as his eyes bounce between her kind warm ones. Somehow this girl he never went looking for has become one of the only people who can talk him off the edge.

He rests his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat for a while before he speaks again.

“Come with me to what’s next," he requests quietly, a prickle of fear rising when he realizes how much he means it.

She's silent for a beat before she holds him tighter. “If you let me,” she whispers, the slightest tinge of sadness coating her words.

The only thing in his head now is her face. Her face when she lay next to him, wiping away at his tears. Her face when he’d agree to watch one of her lame shows just to see her smile. Her face before she stormed out of his house, her hand swiping over her eyes to fight back any tears. It makes him sick to think of her like that. But it makes him even sicker to know it was his fault.

He wants to go to his brothers’ room for advice but he knows what they will say and he needs to figure this out for himself. Opening up his notes app, he begins a list of pros and cons, making the title her name and typing until his fingers ache. He stares at the list, his vision going blurry with emotion. One side is so much longer, it’s almost comical and he chokes out a laugh that turns into a sob.

There’s only one thing that haunts both sides of his list and it makes his chest ache. ‘one day, I’ll lose her.’

It’s the truth no matter which way he spins it. They might get months. They might get forty years. But one day one of them will be left behind.

Chris closes his eyes, resolve taking hold of him suddenly. He might lose her eventually. But it doesn’t have to be today.

He picks his phone up to send her a voice memo, hoping against hope that she’ll listen and understand. “Hey…I tried calling but…um…I guess you don’t want to talk to me yet. Which I get.” He sighs, annoyed at himself for how bad he’s rambling.

“Listen, I’ve been an idiot. All that bullshit about labels and dating, I didn’t mean any of it. I was just scared. But I’m way more scared of letting you walk away from me. I’m ready to grow up… or at least I’m ready to try.” He pulls his finger up, letting the memo send as he cringes at his stupid way with words.

Shaking his head and letting go of whatever morsel of ego he has left, he records another message. “Anyway, if you think you can give us another shot, please come tonight. We’re still having our craft night. It will be fun. I know Nick wants to see you… and I.. I need to see you too. Let me know.”

Hours later, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter staring at the nonexistent replies in their thread when Matt walks over.

“You alright, man?” He asks, a hint of concern in his tone. He takes a spot next to his brother, peering over to see what has his attention. Matt sighs when he sees her name and places a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “You gotta stop torturing yourself.”

Chris looks up at his brother, trying and failing to hide the shine in his eyes. “I really fucked this up, didn’t I?”

Matt can’t quite find the words for a moment, stunned at the hurt on his brother's face. He composes himself quickly, biting his lip and shaking his head. “It’s going to be okay. She’ll come or she won’t. And then we’ll know.”

As their friends start to pile in and crowd around the table, Chris forces himself to stay in the moment. After his third time of running to the door at a knock and it not being her, he stays glued to his chair, trying to focus on his diamond painting.

He tries feebly to be a good host, making small talk and mild quips about Madi’s technique, but he’d like nothing more than to head downstairs and rot in his room.

Nick catches Matt’s eye, the two exchanging a brief “what the fuck do we do” glance before they head over to him. Nick leans over his shoulder, commenting on how hard of a pattern Chris chose but he just gives a disinterested nod in return.

Determined to make him laugh, Nick starts to go big, starting down rants that he knows Chris will love. He considers it a personal win when he hears Chris’ trademark laugh and places his hands on his brother's shoulders.

Chris looks up at his brothers, knowing despite their efforts to be sly exactly what they are doing, and gives them a small weak smile. He places his phone face down and gives his friends his full attention. There will be plenty of other nights to miss her.

“Must be the pizzas,” Nick mutters when he hears a faint knock on the door. He jogs down and swings the door open, stopping in his tracks when he sees her. A smile of relief breaks across his face and he pulls her into a tight hug, whispering a soft “thank god.”

They go up the stairs together, anxiousness taking hold of her when she spots him across the room. “Hi everyone.” She says quietly, the chatter pausing for a second as they look up at her.

They call out greetings but she doesn’t hear a word because Chris meets her eye, blinking slowly as if he’s convincing himself she’s really there. She wants to apologize. For being late, for ignoring his calls. But there are so many people here so she waits.

He wants to go to her and sweep her up in his arms. He wants to kiss her until they run out of air, make her understand exactly how much he wants this. But there are so many people here so he waits.

But it’s okay. For the first time, he’s confident that they’ve got time. For the first time, he’s relieved with how much time left there is to give her.

Tonight he’ll tell her for the first time how much he loves her. Tonight she’ll tell him back in a thousand different ways, her nails leaving small trails down his back as his skin meets hers again and again. And tonight he’ll watch her chest rise and fall until he can make himself believe she’s real.

But for now, he just breathes out a ragged breath and holds out his arms for her. So she goes to him, settling into his lap and starting a painting of her own. And even if he can’t make this last forever, he can have it now. And maybe it will even be enough.

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[adventuringblind]

Toxic Reappearance

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Request: no this is pure self indulgence. However, they are open for Max, Charles, Lando, Oscar, Daniel, and I’ve now added George to the list.

Summary: an old friend reappears into your life, one that left you traumatized. Having thought you’d never see them again you didn’t ever say anything. When Charles figures out what’s been going on he may just be to late to save you from your past.

Warnings: toxic friendships, abusive behavior,

Notes: written in second person. I feel like abusive friendships aren’t talked about enough. It still hurts and still leaves you with trauma. I’m basing the reader’s feeling off my own from when I went through it. George is actually my stand-in for someone else involved.

Masterlist

Charles always tried his to appear calm and collected. However, when you started acting different then what he’d used to, calm and reasonable went out the window.

You’d always struggled with friends. Mainly because the one you had was incredibly possessive. She managed to cut you off from a good chunk of the people you once were close with. Using guilt and lies to confuse everyone involved.

You knew her home life wasn’t the greatest and mentally she wasn’t in a good spot, so you tried to be her rock.

It started out great in grade school. The two of you were fast friends and could hardly ever be seen without the other in two. Then it started to become a toxic loop. One you couldn’t get out of due to the guilt every time you tried to set boundaries.

You were so young. You wanted to help. Not that her home life is an excuse for what she did, but it puts it into perspective. Helps you understand why she did what she did.

Playful punches when she was annoyed with you. Blaming not knowing her own strength on why it was so hard. Never being allowed to have your own interests. Always overshadowed by what she was feeling.

You shrunk into yourself. Not able to talk to anyone because you believed her. You thought she left bruises on accident, your boyfriends kissed her first, she really just wanted those revealing pictures of you to bless you with compliments only to turn around and compare your bodies.

In your sophomore year of high school she had to move. Her mom had received a job farther away. You were able to cut contact after that. The weight slowly lifting off your shoulders. The bruises that once littered your skin now clearing without fear of them coming back later.

You’d talked about it, understood that what happened was not okay in the slightest. Your family was floored when you opened up about it to them a couple years later. Then you decided it was in the past, determined ti put everything behind you and move on.

Unfortunately the past has a way of catching up with you.

It was around this time that Charles sped into your life. Quite literally.

You’d been walking through the town. Busy with people in town for the grand-prix weekend. You’d wanted to go but it was more expensive then you could afford. Settling for enjoying it from afar.

You were not at fault for what happened next, having looked both ways before crossing the street. Only to be met with a nice looking car whipping around the corner. It was so fast your only reaction was to protect your head and brace for impact. Surprise flooding your system when nothing happened.

You slowly looked up. Thanking your guardian angel for saving you from what could have been disastrous.

The man in the driver seat frantically got out of the car. Rushing over to you to make sure you were okay. His frantic apoligizing almost went unheard as you began laughing.

You blamed the adrenaline. "I can't believe I almost got hit by a really nice care and now a good looking man is trying to make sure I'm ok."

The man had no words to respond with. Finding himself oddly flattered. The woman he could've killed is completing him? It feels like a corny romance movie.

He offered you a ride to your destination, which you accepted. Joking about how he could be a serial killer.

He assured you he wasn't. Explaining how he was racing this weekend. Killing someone was definitely not on the agenda.

You two exchanged numbers that day. Getting to meet up with him a few times before he left. Then having to resign to text and video call.

You two became good friends. The first truly good friendship you'd had in a while. You were grateful for Charles and his never-ending patience. And he was grateful you were there to listen in good times and in bad.

You were ecstatic when he invited you to a race Monaco. He got to show you around his world and his home. Your eyes lighting up at every little piece of himself he shared with you.

It was then that he asked you out on an official date. Letting the feelings that he'd developed for you spill out.

Obviously you'd reciprocated.

Now, you two have been in a relationship for two years. Learning and growing with each other. First over long distance before Charles had enough and asked you to travel with him.

You were thankful that remote studies had become increasingly popular since quarantine. Giving you the opportunity to follow Charles all around the world.

It was exciting for both of you. Sharing experiences together brought you closer together.

You'd also become friends with others around the paddock. You got along with most everyone. George has become a good friend through your travels.

So it only made sense when he was excited to introduce you to his girlfriend.

You and Charles were walking to the Ferrari garage when he came running up to you.

"Charles! Y/N! I want you to meet someone!" He shouts to you. Joy clearly evident in his voice.

Charles immediately noticed your entire demeanor change when you turned around. The woman he didn't know embracing you in a tight hug. You looked like you wanted to throw up but tried to put a smile on for George.

"You two already know eachother?" Charles asked quizzically.

"We were best friends growing up! I'm surprised she hasn't talked about me." She was referring to you and you knew you should respond but the shock of seeing her wouldn't let you.

She looked different, but you'd still recognize her anywhere. She'd started modeling after high-school. Turns out she met George at a show and they hit it off.

The whole time they talked, you were silent. Trying to choke down the need to tell George to leave her before he gets stuck. But maybe she'd changed and has been able to heal some.

When you and Charles continued walking, he immediately was trying to figure you out. Asking questions you couldn't hear. Your breathing labored.

He got you into his driver's room as fast as possible. "You don't have to tell me everything right now, mon amour. But I do need to know if this is a security issue and if you're okay."

You shake your head and play with his fingers. "I don't think so. She just wasn't the greatest friend." You confessed, hoping it would be enough for now.

Charles pulls you into him. He's unsure what to do, having never been in this situation. Seeing you respond to someone like this makes him more nervous than he wants to admit.

Through the next few months, you opened up little by little. Though with the girl constantly with you, it was starting to send you backwards.

It felt like your body just reacted to her. Your conversations with anyone were distant. You started flinching away from sudden hand gestures.

Charles tried his best to keep you separated from her. It never worked, though. She always found you, and you are too nice to tell her to go away.

It's was even more concerning when he noticed George exhibiting similar behaviors.

The group had gone out to the bar to celebrate the end of the race weekend. George seemed closed off to everyone. Responding almost exclusively to his girlfriend. Her hand on his bicep made him flinch away.

You also were very quiet. She was sitting in between you and George, giving the benefit of control.

Charles was ready to kick her out. You'd finished telling a story only to immediately be shut down and made to feel inferior.

When the two of you arrived back at the hotel, you broke. Falling into Charles and letting the tears flow freely.

"I can't do it anymore." You wailed. Taking comfort in Charles embrace and his hand smoothing your hair.

"We'll figure this out mon amour. I won't let her hurt you."

Things only got worse from there.

She'd managed to get into your phone while you weren't paying attention. You curse yourself for using the same pincode since high school.

When you went to check it, you noticed things were missing and out of place.

You stared at her, pondering if you should say something. And letting the anger win, you did so.

"Did you go through my phone?" You kept your voice as if you were just curious. Hopefully, to deter her from getting angry.

It didn't happen that way. She was furious you'd evernask such a thing. Ranting about how she's been so loyal to you even after you started ignoring her when she moved.

She'd gripped your shoulder far too aggressively. Telling you she only wants to see you happy.

The missing contacts on your phone were frustrating. Even Charles' number was missing. All your pictures with friends had been deleted. Including those on your socials.

You curled farther into yourself after that.

Charles struggled to help you open up. Having to treat you like glass that might shatter.

You'd started wearing sleeves regularly. Barley letting him touch you in the simplest of ways. Changing in the bathroom when you once didn't care because he'd seen it all.

It hurt him seeing you like this, and he became determined to fix it once and for all.

On the other side, George had been exhibiting similar behaviors. It felt that nobody could get in contact with him. His girlfriend practically held his phone hostage.

The shirtless pics had suddenly stopped, and he'd started wearing sleeves daily. It made everyone concerned for his well-being.

His teammate needed answers. So Lewis made his way to find them.

Two men on a mission, practically the same one, run into each other.

"Lewis! How are things?" Charles tried to put a smile on his face.

"Could be better at the moment, I'm actually really concerned about George." Lewis' honesty never failed to throw Charles off.

"I'm worried about him as well. Y/N has also been worrying lately."

"Maybe we should talk somewhere more private."

The two ended up back in Charles' driver room. Knowing that the female in question would most likely be around the Mercedes garage.

"Maybe we should talk to George and explain our concerns?" Suggested Lewis. His boy sprawled out across the floor.

Charles shakes his head in response. "I've done that already with my girlfriend." He sighs in pained defeat. "She doesn't want to be around her, but for some reason, it always ends up happening. She barely lets me hug her now."

"I think George is too nice to tell her to get lost." Confesses the Brit. "I don't know what we can do then. Unless it becomes a security thing." He shrugs.

"Have we ever actually caught her being aggresive?"

It dawned on them both that they'd never caught her in the act.

And so the two males formed a plan.

It took three mire race weekends to catch her. She had you gripped by the shoulders and backed into the wall. Oddly enough it was George who had arrived on scene first. His race suit tied around his waist.

He’d made an attempt to reason with the irrationality angry woman in front of him. The situation only becoming more escalated.

It wasn’t long that the staff and drivers around the area were alerted by the commotion. Charles and Lewis caught each others eyes before the two were jogging to the center of the scene.

Charles stepped defensively in front of you. Lewis managing to putt George farther away. Now that three drivers are involved, it didn’t take long for security to step in.

“I think we need to talk about what happened.” Sighs Charles. Grateful that she’s gone but feeling that this won’t be the end of situation.

You find yourselves back in yours and Charles hotel room. Accompanied by Max and Lando who though you were going to the bar as usual. Charles explained why that would probably not be happening tonight, the two deciding they would help the mood by bringing alcohol with them to the room for a mini party of sorts.

George was constantly looking over his shoulder and you checked the room multiple times over to be sure everything is locked.

You immediately sank into Charles the moment you felt safe. George is pacing back and fourth mumbling to himself, attempting to get words out that seemed to be difficult to say.

“Do you think we can help with the anxiety?” Asks Lewis. He found his home on the couch. George pauses for a moment fumbling around with his words.

Lando and Max are completely clueless and find themselves seated at the table. Trying to be supportive but not knowing how.

“She’s crazy.” George finally manages. You shake your head in agreement, to exhausted for words. “I’ve tried breaking up with her multiple times but she keeps coming back.” He slumps against the wall. His body curling in on itself. “She knows where I live, she’s messaged me with multiple phone numbers, she somehow manages to get a key to my hotel rooms, she’s even broken into my car.” He’s crying now, all the boys shooting him and you looks of sympathy.

“She was the same way when we were younger. It seems to have escalated more now.” You drawl, eyes closed from feeling safe in Charles arms. He pulls you closer, his fingers playing with your hair. It was the first time he’d had you those close in months. Determined to embrace every second of the contact.

“No wonder you two look paranoid.” Lando places his head in his hands. Max shot him a look, saying that was probably a poor choice of words.

This time around, though, you knew things were going to be different. You had people around that could help.

After everyone left for the night, George having gone with Lando so he didn't have to stay in his room, Charles didn't let you go.

Things were going to get better for you. Finally getting the help you needed all these years. Almost an element of closure.

When you put on comfy clothes in front of him, he wasn't sure what to do. His eyes couldn't leave your body. It looked like you had been at war.

The tears slide down your cheeks as Charles places gentle kisses on each painful mark.

"My kisses are magic, I assure you."

You smile at him through the tears. Overwhelmed by all the emotions you'd gone through in one day.

"Good thing I have you around to make it better then."

#x reader #fanficion #f1 fic #angst #f1 fanfic #formula one #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc is a simp and you can't change my mind #charles leclerc fic #max verstappen #lewis hamilton #lando norris #george russell #toxic frienship #ferrari #ferrari racing #scuderia ferrari #charles lechair #mercedes #mercedes amg f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 racing #racing #fluff #charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader #this is a long one #open requests #requests are open

[space-mermaid-writing]

Cuddles [Alpha!Loki / Omega!Reader]

Summary: Loki is surprised that you ask him for cuddles

Ko-fi | Masterlist | Word count: 0.9k

Author’s note: This is pure fluff

Cuddles

Loki has retired to the reading corner of the tower's library. It’s a slow day and he is minding his own business. People rarely linger in the library and that is one of the reasons why he likes this place.

So he is somewhat irritated when he notices a presence right next to the couch that won’t leave even after several minutes of ignoring. He looks up and over the top edge of his book.

You stand there watching him patiently with a blanket wrapped around you. When you see that you have his attention, you ask, “Uhm… are you open for cuddles?” Your voice is quiet, almost unsure. No wonder, since it’s the first time ever you’ve asked the alpha for this. Sure, you two are friendly with each other and as one of the few omegas of the team you’re probably closer to him than the others – except for his brother of course.

But fact is, Loki is a very private person and you respect that. So even to say that the both of you are friends may be a stretch. And you have never been touchy with him before. Until now…

Loki is certain that he misheard. Or maybe you think nobody else is available. Surely, you would prefer someone else! Therefore he helps you out by pointing out, “Rogers is upstairs watching a movie with the birdman.”

You just blink at him, not sure why he tells you this. “I know…?”

“… so, you don’t want to ask them?”

“I… no, I…” Suddenly uncertainty floods the air, while you take a step back. You feel rejected and decide to retreat, so you duck your head and mumble an apology. “Sorry, I’ll just go and-”

“No, wait,” Loki interrupts you, sitting up to reach out to you and stop you from leaving. He’s not used to being sought out for anything besides missions and the occasional polite invite for group activities.

But apparently you did know you have options and chose to come to him anyway. It is a surprise to him but not an unpleasant one.

You halfway turn you head back to him, ready to leave quickly at any point. Normally, you're very confident, but the few days before your heat have you always feel vulnerable, and asking the Asgardian out was out of your comfort zone. But you craved a calm presence like his. So you are waiting for his words.

Loki waits until you make eye contact. “I’m not opposed to cuddles if you want them.��

You scrunch your nose. While it’s not a rejection, you don't like the answer. “It’s okay to say ‘no’,” you tell him, a bit of your displeasure creeping into your voice. You’re annoyed about your own temper. “I don’t want to be in your way.”

“You won’t,” Loki reassures you with more emphasis and adds a soothing scent. “In fact I insist you stay here.” He pats on the cushion next to him on the couch.

Wary you glance from Loki to the space next to him and then right back to him. He seems honest enough, even though he is the god of lies. In the end the craving that brought you here in the first place wins and you tiptoe to him. The Asgardian lies back down and you arrange your body at his side.

Loki waits until you settle down, before raising his book to go back reading.

Cuddled to his side, you’re careful to still give him space which means that you keep your arms and legs carefully tucked close.

A few minutes go by but you’re not yet fully happy about it and you start wiggling and rearranging your blanket. You feel restless, readjusting several times and trying the new position for a few seconds before discarding it and turning again.

Loki lets you do your thing for a few minutes before he decides to step in. He puts his arm around you and pulls you even closer to him.

You inhale his scent that reminds you of fresh mint, parchment and maybe something else you can’t name yet. Closing your eyes you relax instantly. It also makes you stop fussing around and humming content.

You mumble into the fabric of Loki’s shirt, “Want some of my blanket?”

This time Loki does not hesitate to agree. He is proud that you consider him trustworthy enough to share something from your nest with him. “Yes, absolutely.”

Since his arm is still around you and he holds his book in his other one, he waits until you have arranged your blanket over him. His legs are too long and not completely covered, but he doesn't mind.

You’re completely happy to be surrounded by a mixture of his and your own scent. It’s perfect. Placing your head on his shoulder, your eyes drift to the book in his hands. It looks old and out of place with the almost parchment-like pages. You have never seen something like it before.

“What are you reading?”

“These are fairy tales from Vanaheim.”

That would explain it.

“Can you read it to me?” you ask him.

Loki paused. He is reluctant to turn down your request. “It’s not written in all-speak unfortunately. I’m not sure if I can translate it on the fly.”

“That’s fine. I just like hearing your voice.” You get a sniff of pleased alpha even though Loki tries not to show it too much. He starts reading out loud instead.

It’s a language you have never heard before, but it sounds pleasant. Although you’re pretty sure he could say anything and you would like the sound of it.

You close your eyes and concentrate on the alpha’s voice that you feel vibrating in his chest. You didn’t plan on falling asleep but you can’t help it. Slowly, your mind drifts off, purring happily.

You’re sure you only imagined the kiss gently pressed on top of your hair.

#Loki x reader #Loki / reader #Alpha Loki #Omega Reader #Loki / you #marvel #mcu #mcu prompt #spacemermaid writing #a/b/o dynamics

[wc-confessions]

re: WC misogyny

This is solely to get my thoughts out abt this bc I’m probably not gonna be able to articulate this to the best of my ability but I feel like it’s incredibly important to say that these books are pretty damn misogynistic and so was the fanbase for the longest time.

Not saying that to be "throwing the word around without knowing what the word means", because misogyny is defined as a dislike/contempt against women. This can also absolutely be an unconscious bias (which is primarily what I see anyway!) I've seen far more people dismiss these characters while holding up male ones that do similar/worse things (i.e. Thistleclaw primarily but a lot of the MV characters to an extent)

The reason why discussion about sexism usually ends up against cats like Mapleshade, Squirrelflight, Frecklewish, and Nightcloud is primarily due to how the universe of the books is written to chastise these characters while their male counterparts go thru barely half of the shit thrown onto the girls.

Mapleshade gets her kids and herself exiled for breaking the code while Appledusk literally gets a slap on the wrist for breaking the same code she did? The Riverclan leader just tells him "well, you'll not do it again so you don't need to be punished" while Mapleshade doesn't even get to bury her kits. Even if she's the Warrior Cats evil woman that's still really fucked up!? And this goes to Frecklewish as well, who does not watch them drown oh my god. The flood that kills Maple's kits is incredibly loud--saying Freckle would have been able to do anything else OTHER than watch dismisses the fact going to the flooded stones was an idea doomed to fail (of which Mapleshade has a lot of in MV specifically.)

Frecklewish absolutely ended up in the Dark Forest over Oakstar or Ravenwing (who both condemned the kittens to their fate instead of?? idk punishing Maple and not the kits who didn't even know they were half clan?) because of the way the fandom perceived her at the time. Freckle's a lot like Squirrelflight where fandom opinion only recently shifted to people defending those characters--she's pretty awful for calling the same kits she doted on half-clan creatures! But I don't think she deserved to go to cat hell forever when the cat who actually caused those kittens to end up dead (and every other cat in MV!) ends up in Starclan without even so much of a trial.

Speaking of trials--Squirrelflight and Leafpool literally end up almost being sent to CAT HELL for following Starclan's orders. Leafpool ends up having forbidden kits but Starclan goes "it's okay!" until it isn't. Brambleclaw almost being involved in Firestar's fox trap murder never gets mentioned or brought up while both of the girls are questioned about if they even belong in Starclan because they "broke the code and lied"?? There's a pretty damn big bias towards the toms for doing bad/worse actions but Bramble never went to Starclan and had his ticket for heaven almost revoked. Oakstar didn't get put in the Dark Forest because he exiled 3 innocent kits.

I think it's important to note the fandom has a lot of say over how characters like these get interpreted (which is why Nightcloud ended up being hated a lot despite the fact Crowfeather is just. actually abusive to Breezepelt.) That's why I brought up unconscious biases, because I think generally a lot of WC content creators tend to stick to presenting the stories in a more radical/black and white way.

I think the discussion really should be that the books and the stories ARE pretty misogynistic but unconsciously so? A lot of the story beats I mentioned weren't written by just one person, and the Erins have different opinions on these cats than the fans do. That's not me stating an opinion, that's just me saying recognizing that it's very male-oriented IS an issue these books have.

Anyways this got way too wordy, Ashfur is one of my favorite villains so I don't even know why I typed all of this up /j.

#confession #long post #mapleshade #frecklewish #squirrelflight #leafpool

[chang-bunnie-bini-bop]

hiraeth • seo changbin [part two]

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✰ pairing - roommate!changbin x fem!reader

✰ warnings - reader passes out, very smalll angst, slightly suggestive [?]

✰ word count - 2.1k

✰ notes - what do you think he's hiding??? ALSO im so sorry i left you all hanging...i promise ill update frequently...'kay?

✰ tags - @hyunjinslittlestar @dunno-wut-to-do

✰ sypnosis: changbin takes care of you after you manage to somehow make your condition worse. but he's hiding something.

hiraeth - the longing for a home that you cannot return to, or never was.

masterlist | requests open!

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“So, do you want to tell me what happened?” Your roommate asked hopefully, curious, obviously. 

You decide to respond truthfully, mostly because he would probably see right through your lies. 

“Not really.”

Changbin was just…that kind of person. Wise, but funny when he needed to be. He knew exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. 

He wasn’t the type of person to be afraid of his flaws, but to embrace them. This was a trait many people probably admired about him, but to you, it was the one thing that frustrated you most. 

You wished you could be like that. 

“Well,” He started, slapping his own thighs and getting up. “I’m just gonna-”

For some reason, a primal sort of instinct overwhelmed your mind immediately. You didn’t want him to leave.

You panicked and acted without thinking. 

Your arms darted out and wrapped around his stomach, head resting on his back. 

Changbin froze in his position, sagging slightly as your hand patted his tummy and attempted to pull him closer. 

You were so embarrassed, there was no way you were going to lift your head, not after pulling him around like he was your teddy bear. 

He turned around, holding your outstretched arms gently and folding them in your lap. 

You averted your entire face down, hair falling in between your eyes and effectively masking your whole face. 

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

“Your hair is so thin. Its become so ugly after that haircut.” The mom scoffed, yanking at the girl’s hair as she brushed through it. 

“Agh! Mom, careful! Also, I love the haircut. It makes me feel happy.” The girl talked back, earning an extra tough tug to the hair again. 

“Well, useless girl. Clearly, you’re ugly on the inside and outside.” Her mom made sure to push her head as she stood up, brushing her clothes off. 

“Now go to something useful, unlike your sister.” She spat. 

The thirteen year old resisted the urge to roll your eyes spitefully, knowing that it was probably better to just…listen to her. 

Maybe…she was just some useless girl. 

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

Yoe opened your eyes, and sunlight flooded your features aggressively. 

You whined and put your hand in front of your face, effectively blocking the sunlight. 

I probably fell asleep. 

Getting up, you look around the unfamiliar setting. 

Changbin was fast asleep beside you, putting cutely and hugging a Pokémon plush. 

It wasn’t uncommon for both of you to fall asleep next to each other, considering your biggest fear was loud noises, and thunderstorms occur pretty frequently. 

You had just…needed someone beside you. 

Now you had him. He groaned a bit and shuffled, the sunlight hitting him directly in the face. 

You almost had the urge to hug him again, but instead, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his cheek, thankful for the good nights rest. 

He squirmed slightly and almost woke up, prompting you to jump out of bed quickly and walk into the shared bathroom, which smelled like men’s perfume. 

The scent was so familiar you almost keeled over. It wasn’t strong, but it smelled sweet, like honeydew. 

You brushed your teeth, turning on the shower. Feeling almost lightheaded, you pressed your hand to your forehead, and yup, you had a high fever. 

You cranked up the temperature to the highest, needing to get your muscles loose after the tension of yesterday, your tantrum combined with your excessive workout. 

You threw off Changbin’s shirt, squishing at your own belly and deciding to wear loose-fitting clothing, today was a bloated day for sure. 

The shower you took felt like true luxury, a paradise in which you didn’t have to worry about your feelings, but rather yourself for once. 

The steam fogged up the mirrors, but you didn’t care about how misty they would be later. 

You stepped out and wrapped a towel around yourself, grabbing your huge t-shirt, puffy sweatpants and undergarments. 

The light-headedness returned, and only after you finished putting your clothes in the hamper did you realize your own mistake. 

Oh my goodness. I’m so stupid. 

You had taken a boiling hot shower, with an extremely high fever. 

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

“Y/N-AH! I’m inviting some friends over for a while, is that okay?” Changbin yelled into the bathroom, rolling his eyes when you didn’t respond. 

He felt the steam of your shower circling his feet from the crack in the door, and his eyes widened. 

“YAH! Don’t use all the hot water! y/N!” He yelled, accentuating the last half of your name. 

“Hey, are you okay?! Y/N!” He knocked aggressively on the door, worry flooding his voice at the lack of answers, jiggling the locked handle. 

Then he heard a sickening thud. 

“Y/N! Hey, what was that?! Are you OKAY?!” Changbin screeched, banging on the door. 

His eyes widened in panic, and fright flooded his whole body. The door was locked. 

The master key. 

He ran to the kitchen and rummaged through the drawer, finding the key within a few seconds. 

Changbin ran back to the bathroom door and shoved the key into the lock with shaking hands. 

He managed to open the door slowly, covering his eyes in case…well, you know. 

“Y/N…?” He opened one eye, steam flooding his features. 

Your body was slumped over, the hamper of clothes knocked over and your hand resting on the pocket of one of his hoodies. 

Changbin took a deep breath, the heat almost unbearable. 

The older lifted your finished body over his shoulder while he pulled the hamper up again. 

Changbin adjusted his tank top and carried you to his room yet again, mirroring the previous night. 

He lightly tapped his hand on your cheek, attempting to wake your disgruntled body up. 

“Y/N-ah. Wake up, love.” He shook you lightly, and that’s what woke you up, finally. 

“C-changbin?” You stuttered, rubbing your eyes and gasping in pain as his hand pressed against your forehead. 

“Did you really take a hot shower with a fever?” 

You thought that he would gloat, laugh, make fun of you for being oh so stupid. 

But his tone was one of concern, of worry. 

For you. 

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, engulfing you in a blanket of warmth, which you definitely needed after the chill of of the room had overwhelmed your body. 

Your small frame shuddered, and you sagged in his hold, temporarily unaware of yourself, of anything. 

Numb. You felt numb. 

Like you didn’t care if you were happy or sad. 

Loud knocking tipped both of you out of your world, and Changbin grinned sheepishly at you as he motioned to himself. 

He wasn’t wearing a proper shirt. 

You rolled your watery eyes and walked to the door, hoping it wasn’t anyone important, considering your messed up state. 

“Hi-Is Changbin there?” A man asked. 

The first thing you noticed about him was that he was the epitome of perfect. 

Everything about him looked well put together, and his smile even had dimples. 

And then there was you, who was suddenly feeling very shy in front of him. 

“Yeah, Chan! I’ll be there in a sec!” Changbin yelled from the other room. 

You rolled your eyes. He was probably trying to find a good shirt that actually fit him and his muscles. 

Chan smiled down at you, and your mind immediately soured. Pity. 

But it didn’t seem like it. 

“What’s your name? Are you his roommate? He’s told me a lot about you.” Chan asked with a slight Australian accent, laughing at the end shyly. 

“Oh, my name is Y/N. Sorry, been having a rough week.” You responded, suddenly having the urge to shout ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie’ and see his reaction. 

“Everyone has those every once in a while.” Chan tsked, and Changbin chose that moment to emerge from his room, clad in a comfy shirt and sweatpants to mirror your own. 

Standing next to Chan, he suddenly looked way smaller, and you resisted the urge to coo at him. 

“Okay, we’ll be in my room, 'kay? I’ve ordered a nice lunch for you, and there’s a hot water bottle on the counter.” Changbin pointed out. 

Ever so thoughtful. You smiled at him for the first time in two days. 

“What about you? Did you eat already?” You asked, wanting to make sure he wasn’t skipping as he normally did. 

“Yup. I got Chan to confirm.” Binnie playfully slapped the man’s shoulder, and they both laughed while heading to his room. 

“Oh, and Jisung’ll be over soon.” Changbin called out, and your mood considerably lifted. 

Your best friend Jisung had already met Changbin, so he was a mutual friend along you two. 

You decided to slump on the couch and watch a movie, popping some pain medication and waiting for your food. 

When the doorbell rang, you bounced up from the couch and received the food, uttering a hushed thanks before shutting the door. 

You only just realized how starving you were. 

The package was ripped open and your mouth watered at the smell of the hot soup inside. 

For once it was actually hot. 

After gulping the soup down, which definitely helped your sore throat, you made a mental note to thank Changbin for all this.

The doorbell rang again, and you rushed to open it, almost knocking your toe onto the coffee table in the process. 

This time, it was Jisung, who bounced over to wrap you in a ginormous hug. 

Instead of pulling away like you normally did, you stayed in the hug for a while. 

This is what you needed. 

“Are you…okay, Y/N?” Jisung asked, and the question that you had waited so long for was finally voiced. 

You could feel your eyes tearing up painfully, and you sniffled quietly, the comforting embrace of your best friend made everything so much better.

“Oh no…I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have asked that!” Jisung bent down till he was about your level before wiping your tears off, concern lacing his voice and worry painted on his face.

“N-No. Don’t feel sorry. I’m just so happy that someone finally asked me that.” You avert your eyes, not wanting to see the full force of your best friend’s worry.

“Oh, Y/Nnie…” Hannie wrapped you tightly in his embrace again, and this time, he picked you up and headed to the couch, turning on some random movie. 

The day was full of cuddles and snacks, though you wondered what Chan and Changbin were doing the whole time. 

“I’ll see Changbin for a sec, yeah?” Han stood up and walked to your roommate’s door. 

You didn’t think too much about it, but then again, he had been seeing Chan and Changbin in that room quite often, hasn’t he? 

You knew it wasn’t your place to snoop, but you couldn’t help but wonder, what was he doing in there?

Either way, you decided to cook some dinner, knowing that Changbin often liked to skip his dinner, which you certainly did not enjoy.

You brought up a plate to his room, knocking on the door softly. 

Shuffling noises echoed through the area, and a very tired Binnie openned the door, however, his face lit up in happiness when he saw the food. 

“Aweee, Y/N! Thank you!” He took the tray, which had three bowls on it, into the room. 

Setting the tray down, he bounced back to the door to give you a quick, one-armed hug before running to the kitchen for some water. 

You saw your chance. 

“What have you been doing in there?” You ask, raising an eyebrow as he visibly panicked. 

“Nothing. Just some work. College never waits!” He grinned awkwardly, and that’s when you knew he was lying.

“What is up with you, Chan and Jisung lately? Are you…” Your eyes widened, and so did his. 

“What?! No, ew! It’s just something else…Y/N.” Binnie finishes oddly.

He sipped quickly at his water, bolting to his room again and shutting the door. 

You sigh to yourself before heading to bed. 

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

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masterlist | requests open!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

#binibop writes <3 #skz #skz fluff #stray kids #stray kids changbin #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #changbin

[midnighskyline]

Long awaited words-Yuta Okkotsu

Genre-Angst

Trigger Warning ⚠️-blood, mentions of death ☠️

Word count-??

Note- Hiii!!! This is my first time posting so be nice pls😭, you can give me constructive criticism 💞

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"Does it hurt?" Yuta's voice rang out. Drops of blood fell for the corners of your mouth; as you laid on Yuta's lap your eyes began to blur and you weren't sure if it was from blood loss or your bitter tears because you knew you were going to die.

"Only a little" you replied, voice strained.

You don't know how long it's been sence got injured, you don't know how long it's been sence Yuta rushed to your side after seeing the curse you were fighting drive a pipe through your stumic, you don't know how long it's been sence Yuta Okkotsu told you that 'everything will be alright' and 'helps coming,' and you don't know how long it's been sence you lied to yourself and believe him.

"Try to stay awake, ok?"

You smiled, flashbacks of you and Yuta entered your brain. One; the first time you laied eyes on the boy was when he stepped into your classroom, like the others you prepared to attack him, and like the others you got your ass kicked by Rica. Two; it was two months after he joined jujutsu tech, he was sitting outside with his back leaning against a tree. His eyes were closed as small sweat beads dripped from his face, he just looked so peaceful, so harmless and in that moment you didn't see someone who had no business being a sorcerer, you didn't see someone who was practically housing a curse. For the first time sence you've know him you just seen Okkotsu Yuta, a first year just like you. You didn't know what changed but you're glad they did because from then on you and Yuta spent a lot more time together and eventually the two of you became friends. You remember walking up to him and sitting down, with a deep breath you asked why he wanted to become a jujutsu sorcerer

"Why do I- I...I guess its because deep down I want to have the confidence to feel like I belong. It probably sounds stupid but-"

"It doesn't, I mean- I'm sure it does to some people but not me. Everyone has goals and everyone should fight for those goals"

"...so what are your goals?"

One more memory flooded in with the rest, it was when you got sick and sence Maki and Panda partnered up on a mission you were supposed to go on and inumaki was on a solo mission Yuta decided to take care of you.

"You really don't have to, y'know"

"I want to, it's what friends do and we're friends, right?"

"Right"

"Hey hey, keep your eyes open" Yuta brought you back to reality, you smiled again

"This is what people must mean when they say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die"

"Don't say that, you're not going to die, I told you helps coming"

You looked at the dark sky and you could see the night-colored vail being lifted and maybe, just maybe you weren't going to die in the middle of a forest. He called your name to get your attention, your eyes shifting to look at his as tear drops fell from his eyes and onto your cheeks.

"Please stay awake" you vision started to darken and your once warm skin began to colden, 'your going to die' you mind and body told you 'I guess I'll never get the chance to tell him how I feel.' Yuta hugged you closer "Don't leave me" was the last thing you heard before you succumbed to your unconscious state that welcomed you over.

The sound of beeping and soft snores gently shook you from you sleep. A plane white room, bright lights, and a weight on your legs.

Your eyes slowly traveled down to where you seen a resting yuta. Your hand moved to settle on his messy black hair.

"Yu-ta" your voice was slow and deep, 'how long have I been unconscious?' You wondered. You smiled at the sleeping boy

"You were right...I didn't die" you lightly stroked his hair "I love you" those long awaited words came out almost to natrally it startled you, you almost missed the way Yuta's cheeks turned a bright pink and a smile spread across his face. He slowly sat up and looked at you making your eyes widen

"I love you too"

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Hello again! Thank you for reading I appreciate it, tell me how it was if you'd like. It's my first post and I was super excited to post it but I'm not sure that it's any good🤔. Hope you enjoyed!

Bye now💞💞

#jjk #Yuta Okkotsu #Yuta x reader #Yuta angst #angst #jjk x reader angst #Today on tumblr #tumblr

[cowgurrrl]

It Will Come Back

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (except this is all backstory)

Author’s note: now we’re cooking with peanut oil 🤠

Summary: “I get mean when I’m nervous, like a bad dog.” Cop Car by Mitski [3.3k]

Warnings: survival stuff, parental anxiety, PTSD symptoms, Jane being the best, some smoochy smooch

More survivors filter in. Slowly, but they still show up— nobody you recognize or care about. You still haven't seen Matt, and you're quickly losing hope. Not that there was much to begin with. Time crawls on, and suddenly it's been weeks since that September night. Adam and Jane are inseparable most days. She wants to be next to him and hear what he has to say or teach her, and she laughs. Full-bellied, air-stealing, big laughs at his jokes or a funny face. Seeing her interacting with someone, especially a man, like that hurts something deep inside you. The whole time you think, she deserves a dad. She wants a dad. She's worthy of a dad, but her mom can't ever fucking pick 'em right. He's not her father, and there's nothing you can do to change that, but to her, he's a safe person to be around. That's enough for now. 

There have been murmurings of a wall going up around the Quarantine Zone— nobody in or out without clearance or a death wish. After that, FEDRA will clear the rest of the QZ and get whatever survivors are here into apartments. Maybe even give us jobs again. May is still hounding you about coming around and helping at what is now the makeshift hospital, where she spends her days tending to new survivors and stupid FEDRA soldiers who take bullets to the shoulder for not paying attention. You don't care. The entirety of your attention is on Jane.

Is she eating enough? Is she sleeping? Is she getting nightmares like you are? Does she see the blood staining your hands when she closes your eyes like you do? Seeing your mom kill four people in front of you can't be good for your mental health. How do you help her get through it? What can you do to ease this aching burden you handed her without a second thought because at least she was alive? Is she happy? Would she even tell you if she wasn't? Would she still let you see that part of her, or is she aware of just how fragile you are these days? You're still in survival mode. You're not sure when you'll get out of it, if you ever will.

One night, before the last dredges of summer heat can slip away, Jane sighs as she lies next to you, staring at the ceiling. You look down and push her hair out of her face so you can see her better through the darkness. She leans into your touch, snuggling closer and throwing an arm over your abdomen. 

"What's wrong, bug?" You ask quietly as you kiss her temple. 

"D'you remember when we used to sit outside and look at the sky before bed?" She asks like it was years ago instead of a few weeks. In a way, it feels like it. You take a deep breath and nod. 

"Yeah, I remember."

"I miss the moon," she mumbles. "Is it still there?"

"The moon?" You ask, and she hums. "Yeah, the moon is still up there. It'll always be in the sky."

"Do you think Daddy looked at the moon like we did?" She asks, and you freeze. She rarely brings him up, if at all. She doesn't know why he's not around but understands that most families have two parents. Still, you know she thinks about him, and you've told her it's okay if she does. You just didn't expect her to ask you that.

"I don't know," you admit. "What do you think?" She looks like she thinks for a moment before reaching out to play with the ends of your hair. 

"I think he did." She says, and you smile. She doesn't say anything else, falling asleep in your arms not even ten minutes later. You do your best to follow suit, closing your eyes and snuggling her to your chest, but your mind floods with memories of sitting on the balcony of your apartment with her, looking up at the night sky. 

It was her favorite thing to do. She would smile as you pointed out constellations and listened when you told her stories about the formations. You told her that the Big Dipper was the Little Dipper's mom, so they were never far apart. You told her that the Big Dipper loved the Little Dipper so much that they were put in the sky for everyone to see their love forever. You told her they were like you two. Before you finally fall asleep, you start coming up with a plan. 

Over the next week, you take notice of the patrol shifts. You figure out when and where they patrol and when they change shifts. For the most part, it's the same rotation every few days as a few FEDRA soldiers patrol the perimeter of the QZ. However, most of them are focused on where they're building the wall, protecting the workers, and making sure nothing gets in or out. You figure if you stay away from the building site, you're in the clear. When you're alone, you pull your bag from under your and Jane's bed to check your gun. The grip still has blood, but it's loaded, and you have extra ammo. You glance around before tucking the gun in your waistband, the weight of the metal a comfort against your skin. 

That night, you almost decide to change your whole plan. In the past few days, FEDRA has gotten especially jumpy, and in turn, they've gotten brutal. They've recently implemented a curfew, making everyone get off the streets and stay in their shelters from the hours of nine pm to six am. At first, the punishment for being caught outside after curfew was a slap on the wrist. Then, it became a fine that nobody paid because nobody had money anymore. Now, it's time, ranging from hours to days, spent in lockup. You've seen May helping a few people once they leave lockup, bruises and cuts littering their skin. As if fighting Infected wasn't threatening enough, now we're living under constant fear of getting the shit beaten out of us by FEDRA. 

Waters doesn't even look at you when he walks through the shelter. None of them look at any of us. Their eyes are hollowed by whatever they've done since the beginning of the end. You would feel bad if you didn't know he and other FEDRA soldiers lived the most lavishly out of any other survivor. Rumor has it they spent our food budget on ammunition, and rationing will start sooner rather than later. Empathy is hard to find on both sides these days. 

Still, you quietly slip your shoes on and rouse Jane awake. When she opens her eyes, she blinks at you several times like she can't comprehend that you're sitting up instead of lying next to her. "Wanna go see the moon?" You whisper, and a huge smile breaks out across her face. She sits up and puts her shoes and jacket on before tiptoeing out of the room behind you. The hallways are empty, so you sail through the old high school and to the double doors leading to the street without any issues. As you approach the door, you put a hand on Jane's shoulder, pull your gun from your waistband, and keep it low before opening the door to check that the streets are clear. Jane gets the silent message and stays back until you wave her on. She looks up the second there's no roof over her head and marvels at the vastness of the sky.

There aren't as many stars visible as usual, but you chalk that up to the new crazy amounts of pollution let off from the bombings and the building of the wall. Still, the moon is full, bright, and shining across Jane's smiling face. She's looking up, but you're looking at her, watching how she takes in the rare sight and lights up when she spots the Big Dipper. You want the joy in her eyes to stay there forever, but she quickly turns pensive as she looks at you, her eyes shifting nervously from you to the empty, dark street.

"Are we gonna get in trouble?" She asks, keeping her voice quiet so it doesn't echo across the buildings. You hide your gun away again and walk over to her, putting your hands on her arms.

"No, we're not gonna get in trouble. I know how to keep us safe, and we're not going far," you say and point to the fire escape ladder leading to the roof on the side of the high school. Still, you can feel Jane's anxiety as you hold her. You nudge her to make her look you in the eyes and smile when she does. "Do you trust me?" You ask. She thinks for a minute before nodding. "Then, let's go look at the stars."

She clings to your neck as you climb up the fire escape, not even looking down at the creaky metal under your shoes. You shush her gently and rub her back as you get higher and higher, assuring her that she's safe and you would never let anything happen to her. When you finally get up to the roof, you can see more of the night sky and even what's left of the city around you. Much of it is rubble or half-toppled over buildings, but there's still a lot left in the heart of the QZ. You wonder if that was on purpose. Jane gasping stops you from unraveling that thought anymore, and you quickly look down to see her wide-eyed and pointing at something on the horizon.

"Mommy, look," Jane breathes quietly, afraid it'll disappear if she speaks too loudly. It takes your eyes a second to adjust, but when they do, you can't help but smile at how the little flashes of light flit around. "Fireflies," she says. "Did you know fireflies light up like that so they can talk to their other firefly friends?"

"I didn't know that." You say, amazed at her intelligence, but she just giggles at the thought of knowing something you didn't. You guys lie on the roof together and gaze up at the moon. It looks bigger and brighter than you remembered. Maybe you've fully lost your mind and forgotten what the moon looked like. Either way, you're happy just to lie next to Jane and look at it with an appreciation you certainly didn't have before Cordeceyps took over your life. 

The night is cool and still a product of the transition between seasons. It always fascinated you how the world seemed to pause and take a breath before switching from summer to autumn. The cicadas are still out in full force, and you can hear them from wherever they took shelter after the bombings. A bird flaps its wings overhead and lets out a desperate call, practically begging for another bird to return its song. Distantly, you can smell cement being poured in an effort to keep you safe. You think you can smell the blood on the gun digging into your side too. The blood you spilled in an effort to keep her safe. How much farther will we each go to keep up the fantasy of safety? 

You're not sure how long you're out there, under the stars, with her, but you know your eyes get heavy, and your body relaxes for the first time in weeks. Jane rolls over to be closer to you, her fingers intertwining with yours, and you turn to look at her. She takes a deep breath and stares at you, the gears in her mind working overtime as she thinks. You wish you could peek inside her brain to understand how it all works, how she is as amazing as she is, but you can't. So, you wait her out. After a minute of just staring at each other, she squeezes your hand and smiles.

"I love you, Mommy." She says. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a second, you think you'll choke on your emotions. You lean down and kiss her forehead, squeezing her back.

"I love you, too, Janey." You say, but before the words can even leave your mouth, you hear the unmistakable sound of metal scraping metal. Someone is coming up the fire escape. You sit up and shield Jane's body with your own as you pull the gun from your waistband. You flip the safety and aim the barrel toward the noise. Your heart thrums in your face, and your ears ring as the scraping sound gets closer and closer. Jane whimpers behind you, and you reach back to touch her shoulder but stay laser-focused on the person coming for you. When the person comes over the ledge, your finger twitches to hit the trigger, but you stutter as you make out familiar features. His flashlight also helped protect him from catching a bullet.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Waters asks as he lowers his own gun that was pointed in your direction. You're not as quick to waver. "Lower your weapon," he says like it's a nuisance even to have to voice. "Don't be stupid about this, sweetheart." There's enough of an edge to his voice for you to comply, and he watches you as you put the gun on the ground and raise your hands. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"I could ask you the same thing. I got a call about some movement on this side of the QZ and was sent to check it out," he says. "You're lucky it was me. Anyone else would've shot on sight."

"Oh, so I should be thanking you?" You ask. Jane clings to your legs and shyly buries her head in your thigh, and you sigh as Waters glances between her hands and your eyes. "She wanted to see the stars." You answer his unspoken question and his Adam's apple bobs. 

"I should put you in lockup for breaking curfew. Not to mention you're armed." He says. It's more of a statement than a threat. He doesn't seem like he likes the thought of separating you two, even though he was more than keen on it when you first got here.

"So, do it," you say. "Do whatever you have to do, but you're not gonna touch her." He takes a deep breath as his radio crackles with someone asking for a report about your movement. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze while pressing the talk button.

"Nothing here. Must've been a cat or something. Circling back now. Waters out," he says, and you let out a shaky breath. He nods almost imperceptibly at you, and you nod back— a silent agreement. "Let's go." He says once the moment has passed. You grab your gun but show him how you release the magazine and pull the slide to spit out the bullet left in the chamber. He doesn't try to take the firearm from you. In fact, he turns his head when he sees you tucking it in your waistband again. Jane all but jumps in your arms, and the three of you silently climb down the fire escape. When you get to the bottom, you tell Jane to go inside and lie down. 

"I'll meet you in a second, okay? Adam is there if you need anything before I get back." 

"But, Mommy," she whines, and you shake your head.

"No but's. I need to talk to Mr. Waters. I'll be there in a second. I promise," you say, and she huffs but complies, disappearing behind the high school doors. Through the cracked glass, you can watch her walk down the hallway until she turns into the classroom/bedroom where you've been sleeping for the past few months. Once you know she's safe, you turn back to Waters. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"The world ended. I can't be a little nice sometimes?"

"Not when you wear that uniform," you say, and he chuckles. "If you're expecting something in return-"

"I'm not." He says, and you throw your arms up in defeat.

"Then, what? You had no problem throwing someone from our shelter in lockup for breaking curfew. Why is it different for me?"

"Do you want me to put you in lockup?" 

"Obviously not."

"Then, let it go." He says, and you roll your eyes before walking away from him and up the stairs. 

"Goodnight, Waters."  

"Owen," he calls, and you turn around to look at him. "My name is Sergeant Owen Waters." 

"Well, then, goodnight Sergeant." You say. With that, you slip back into the school and down the hallway, leaving him in the street. You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting an impending headache as your adrenaline finally starts to leave your body. You almost scream when you collide with another body in the hallway, your nails digging into the person's arms as they reach for you. 

"What happened?" Adam's voice pulls you from your shock, and you sigh as you push away from him.

"Why are you even awake?"

"Did you get caught out past curfew?" 

"It's none of your business."

"It is when Jane tells me about it." He says, and you scoff. It could be the leftover anger from your interaction with Waters or your frustration with this entire situation, but you can't hide it anymore. 

"You know, I got along just fine on my own for years. So, I don't need you to play Dad to my daughter just because the world ended, alright?" You spit, trying to push past him to crawl into bed with Jane, but he grabs your arm. Your nails dig into his skin until he lets go of you with a short cry, and you grip his wrist tightly as you back him into a wall. It would only take one quick turn for you to break it. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"Just because you don't want to see it doesn't mean people don't care about you and Jane," he says. "You didn't want help from anyone even before all this shit happened. You don't know how to handle it when someone cares about you, so you just push them away."

"What? You want to be the one to take care of us?"

"What if I did?" 

"Give me a fucking break, Adam."

"I'm serious," he pushes. You let your guard down enough for him to slip his wrist out of your grasp, but he doesn't make any other move to get away from you despite the fire seething in your veins. You're suddenly all too aware of how close you two are. You can make out the freckles littering his cheeks and the scar on his upper lip he told you about on your date a few months ago. You can't remember the last time you were physically this close to anyone else, let alone a man. "Something awful happened, and a lot of people died, and we did a lot of horrible things to stay alive. I know you get nightmares from it because I do, too," he says, and you clench your jaw. "But we survived. We survived and ended up in the same spot, and I care about you and Jane. I did long before any of this. Shouldn't that count for something?" He asks. Your mind is swimming, and you shake your head. His heart beats against yours, and you're close enough to smell the cigarette he smoked before bed. It's annoying how fast you lose track of the conversation when he's looking at you like this.

"If you ever grab me like that again, I will snap your neck. Do you understand me?" You ask, and he swallows hard.

"Yes."

You have no idea who moved or blinked first, but you know you were kissing him against the wall of an old high school before you could even realize it was happening. He tasted like cigarettes and mint and something familiar. 

And Jesus fucking Christ, if you didn't crave something familiar like that.

#when you’re lost in the darkness #look for the light prequel #tlou hbo #the last of us fic #the last of us x reader #the last of us angst

[unproblematicme]

Shortcut

(Wrote this after watching Season 2 of Good Omens. I'm rarely in the mood for crossovers, but sometimes it happens.)

Determined gold meets concerned brown. A staring contest ensues. Since Muriel never knows when she is in a staring contest, Crowley wins. Muriel looks away, taking in the mahogany wood bed with the soft sheets and the magic circle surrounding it. It’s incomplete because Crowley had to get into the bed without disturbing the runes. With a doubtful glance on her face, Muriel looks from Crowley to the piece of chalk in her hand and back.

“Are you sure?” Muriel asks.

“Absolutely.” With a determined nod, Crowley falls onto the mattress. “Complete the circle.”

“We don’t even know if it works.”

“I trust you.”

“But why? I’ve never done this.”

“You’re good with books, no?”

A little proud grin chases the insecurities from Muriel’s face for a second. “Well, I got the hang of it rather quickly.”

“See.” Crowley nods at her. “And you found the ritual in a book, right? And you did what the book said. What could go wrong?”

“Actually, a lot,” she answers. “It simply not working is not even that concerning. It working but not as intended? Pretty concerning. You could get trapped, in a dreamless sleep or, worse, in a very dream heavy sleep.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” Crowley waves dismissively.

“And,” Muriel adds, “it could actually work as intended. He will not like that.”

“Leave that to me.”

Muriel falls silent. Again, she eyes the setup and bites her lips. Once more, she meets Crowley’s eyes and smiles a sad smile.

“I’m not Aziraphale,” she whispers.

Looking at her expression, full of self doubt and fear, Crowley’s face softens.

“I know, Buttercup,” he says. “And yes, I wish he was here. For many reasons. But none of them is that I do not trust you with this ritual, alright?”

Letting out a sharp breath, Muriel nods in new found determination. She smiles as she holds up the chalk and squats down to close the circle. 

“You need to stay focused,” Muriel says firmly. “The… further you go, the harder it will be to get you out when you lose yourself.”

“Got it.”

Crowley gets comfortable on the mattress. Awkwardly, Muriel lets her eyes flick around.

“Should I use a sleeping miracle on you?”

“Won’t be necessary,” Crowley says. “I’m good at falling asleep. Get yourself a book so you can read while you monitor me.”

Smiling brightly, Muriel nods and dashes out of the room.

Focused on his breath, Crowley closes his eyes. The overall situation makes sleep harder lately, but having spent weeks on finding the book, studying the ritual and easing Muriel’s anxiety without even a tiny nap, helps a lot.

Soon Crowley feels his eyelids grow heavy before they flutter shut and he drifts off.

A moment later, Crowley finds himself in a pub. Looking down, Crowley sees he is not dressed for the occasion. But nobody in the mediaeval pub seems to take note of his tight black jeans, dark shirt and leather jacket. 

Laughter and song ring around him and red evening sun streams through the small windows. At least twenty tables are lined up in the large taproom, all occupied by different people of all ages and classes. At the bar sits a familiar blond man. His cheeks are reddened by wine and maybe something else and he waves at Crowley. The white robes look even more out of place than Crowley’s attire but that does not stop people gazing at him in adoration. But he only has eyes for Crowley.

Bittersweet emotions flood Crowley as he walks towards the door. It’s hard to leave. Especially, as a soft hand lands on his arm. Against better judgement, Crowley turns around. Crowley’s heart beats with pain and longing as he stares into Aziraphale’s pretty face. The lightest trace of offence lies on the angelic features but still a smile lifts the cherub cheeks.

“Will you really just leave without at least one drink, dearest?” he says. With a coy flutter of his lashes, he whispers, “I rented a room above the pub. In case it is too loud for you here.”

It’s proof for the success of Muriel’s spell that Crowley rejects the beautiful gift the dream offers him. 

“I need to go,” Crowley says.

Aziraphale’s midnight green eyes fill with tears. “You… leave me?”

“I’ll come back, angel,” Crowley promises. “I’m always coming back for you.”

Before Aziraphale or his own stupid heart can stop him, Crowley turns and hurries to the exit of the pub. He kicks open the door and stumbles outside.

He steps onto a large stone bridge. Surprised, he looks behind himself where no trace of the pub is left. Alright. He is lucid, but this is still a dream. Things can change randomly in this place. Or at the will of its ruler.

There are other people on the bridge, but they don’t acknowledge him. Or each other. They stare into the distance, sometimes they disappear, or reappear, sometimes they step through doors that materialise out of nothing. Maybe they aren’t real, maybe they are guests like him if, unlike him, not in control of what is happening. They are welcome, he is probably not. Not like this.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley performs a veiling miracle. Demonic power surges. It seems to have worked but he isn’t sure it has. Or if he did it too late.

Crowley can’t know if he’s discovered yet. He assumes he’d notice. Either way, he has to proceed so he looks to both sides of the bridge. To the left, it stretches to a large ocean, its image wavering before his eyes. On the right, he sees a huge gate with two gigantic leafs in a long and high stone wall. Crowley has no idea how anyone could open it. But he can see the merlons of castle towers behind the walls. That has to be his destination.

He walks up to the gate. As expected, it doesn’t move when he leans against it with all his weight. For a moment, he considers turning into a snake and slithering upwards, just as he has done all those lifetimes ago in Eden. To get to Aziraphale. 

But it would take long and who knows what kind of surprises this place could come up with meanwhile. He decides on using a miracle. If the veiling miracle worked, it will hide him further. If it didn’t, the miracle to open the door won’t work either.

Crowley lifts his hand and focuses on the right leaf of the door. It moves! Ever so careful, willing the metal hinges to be quiet, Crowley creates a gap just big enough for him to slip through.

He reaches a garden. No, two gardens. It’s an untamed place with a small rivulet travelling through the high grass, passing rocks, overgrown by wildflowers. It’s also a garden, worthy of a castle, with broad straight paths of pure white pebble stones, leading around orderly flower beds with well-groomed plants. Artfully cut trees stand at every crossroad and line the main path up to the castle door. The two versions flicker before Crowley’s eyes and it takes him a moment to find his orientation. 

Carefully, Crowley looks out for any guards, but sees none. He decides to see it as a good sign and hurries around the building, wary of the changes of the flora and the ground. No intention to walk through the main entrance he lets his eyes wander along the walls.

“Bingo,” he whispers as he sees a narrow, simple wooden door. Next to it, is a window and he peers through it into a big kitchen. Nobody is there so Crowley opens the door. He is a little surprised to find it unlocked, but maybe the Lord of this place just feels safe enough here in the heart of his realm.

But then Crowley steps over the threshold. As soon as his foot meets the ground, his surroundings blur and shift. The light wooden floor of the kitchen turns to black marble stone, the warm orange light of the hearth fire disappears and is replaced by a cold lightblue glow. Without a sound, the walls stretch away from him, widening the space to at least 10 times the size. Pillars of the same dark marble as the ground appear on the sides as Crowley finds himself in front of a throne.

A slender man, clad in black, sits on it, tilting his head as he scrutinises Crowley.

“And where do you think you are going?” he asks.

“Lord Morpheus!” Crowley exclaims, way more happy than he feels, and bows. “What an honour to meet you.”

Unsurprisingly, his charms don’t work. They’re either lost on the King of the Dreaming or leave him unimpressed. Crowley has a hard time reading the man. The man that is no man. When demons and angels are in human form, this form shapes their nature. Crowley can use his talent to assess humans, their intentions, their character, just as well on them then. 

Dream of the Endless is a whole different thing. Even in this form, taken to be understood by mankind, he doesn’t look very human. Sure, he is beautiful, in an uncanny, unearthly way. His body, while very tall, might pass as a lanky human male if not for his skin which is the colour of the moon, just as pale and luminescent. In contrast stands his black hair, stretching from his head in messy strands, not unlike a sea monster's talons. To say his eyes were black as well would not do them justice. They are, but deeper and darker than his hair and clothes. The universe lies in their depth, vast, empty, Stygian. Sometimes, stars glow in this darkness. Or die.

“I would say the honour is all mine for courtesy’s sake,” Morpheus finally says. “But a trespasser can hardly expect my courtesy.”

“Trespasser sounds very negative…”

“That’s because it is.”

“Right. Look I…”

Crowley falls silent when Morpheus narrows his dark eyes at him.

“You aren’t from Hell,” he says after a while. “Not anymore. There is some of it still clinging to you. You’re a demon. But not of Hell.”

“Nope.” Crowley says. “Kicked me out.”

“Twice an outcast then,” Morpheus says, his voice awfully neutral. “So you haven’t come here to enact Lucifer’s revenge for the lost game, I suppose.”

“Whaaaat?” Crowley exclaims. “Never! I was rooting for you actually. Big fan.”

“How flattering,” the Dream Lord says drily. He sounds uninterested, but for the first time something akin to amusement plays around the corners of his mouth. “So what do you want?”

“To ask for your help,” Crowley says genuinely.

“Hmm. And you thought breaking into my castle, the heart of my kingdom, would soften me to your inquiry?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Crowley says, gesturing wildly. “You try to get an appointment and they never call you back.”

“You’ve come all this way.” Morpheus sighs. “It was a bold move and sure took some effort. I will admit I’m curious what made you go to such lengths.”

“My friend. Aziraphale, the angel,” Crowley explains. “I think he is in trouble. He went to Heaven a few months ago and I haven’t heard of him since.”

“And what do you need from me?”

“Since my last break-in, they cranked up security in Heaven,” Crowley says. “No demon, especially not me, gets in. Your realm, however, could be a shortcut.”

“No,” Morpheus says firmly. “Many people cannot reach their loved ones. I can’t allow them all to use my kingdom to get to them.”

“But… but, this isn’t just about Aziraphale,” Crowley hurries to say. “He is in Heaven, they are keeping him and Heaven sure is plotting against Humanity. They always are. You… you sure don’t want all the Dreamers to die, do you?”

“Me having my preferences for the Waking World’s fate does not justify a meddling of this dimension,” Morpheus says. “Besides, nobody sleeps in Heaven. Nobody dreams in Heaven. I can not reach it.”

“Really?”Crowley asks. “Damn.” After a beat, he asks, “If someone were to sleep in Heaven, you could? One person would suffice?”

“In this case, I could, but still wouldn’t.”

“Wow, you're irritating."

"So I've been told." Morpheus nods.

"Listen, this is important," Crowley pleads.

“Your friend was not captured. He went willingly, didn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but no, I mean, I can’t be a hundred percent…”

“Even if I would agree to allow this inappropriate use of my realm, just to reunite you with your lover,” he says, “I would not do it for an unwilling lover.

“He is not… un…willing. He’s just-”

“I know your deepest thoughts, Crowley,” Morpheus interrupts. “Your friend left you to return to Heaven.”

“Yeah, well, if you look into my nightmares, you won’t get the most optimistic interpretation of things,” Crowley grumbles. 

Morpheus hums thoughtfully. “Maybe not. What is your… optimistic interpretation?”

“There isn’t really one,” Crowley admits. “But I don’t think he wanted to leave me. I… I did believe it at first and I was angry. However, I had time to think about it and he… he wouldn’t.”

“If he wouldn’t, why did he?”

“Maybe they threatened him,” Crowley says quickly. “I mean, Michael threatened to erase him from the Book of Life, maybe the Metatron threatened to erase…”

“Wait!” Suddenly, Morpheus is no longer sitting on his throne, but standing right in front of Crowley. Up so close, he is not much taller than Crowley, but still an impressive presence. “They spoke of the Book of Life?”

“Erm, yeah.” Crowley nods. “I thought it was just some horror story. But apparently, it’s real.”

“It is real. I just thought… no matter. Wait here.”

With that, Morpheus dissolves into whirling sand and disappears.

Coughing, Crowley pats his shirt. “Rude.”

He can’t say how long he waits. Time is a funny thing in the Dreaming, but still he gets nervous and is relieved when Morpheus returns.

“I will help you,” Morpheus declares.

“You will? Really?” Crowley asks, surprised. “I mean, yes, good decision!”

“Under two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“One, there needs to be a Dreamer in Heaven,” Morpheus says. “Someone needs to fall asleep up there.”

Crowley nods. “I’ll think of something.”

“Two, when you find your friend, you both come to me and he tells me everything he knows about the Book of Life.”

“How do you know he knows anything?”

“I don’t. But if he does, he has to share it with me.”

For the first time, Crowley hesitates. He doesn’t feel comfortable making agreements for Aziraphale. In addition, he doesn’t know if he can trust Dream of the Endless with sensitive information about the Book of Life. Then again, while the Dream is a petty, resentful being who can hold grudges over aeons, he would not deprive himself of the objects for his disdain by erasing them from the universe’s memory.

“Alright!” Crowley says. 

“Very well.” 

Morpheus offers his hand and Crowley shakes it. The Dream Lord’s skin feels cold and smooth, like polished marble.

And Crowley wakes up.

End Chapter 1

Let me know if you would be interested in more

#good omens #aziraphale/crowley #muriel #crowley #aziraphale #the sandman #dream of the endless

[wordsmithwhumpsandfluff]

Hi hi!! Alright, a request: Spirit + Aiden, but he's the sickee and she's got no bloody idea of how to deal with him (but she also cannot possibly leave the man in this state! She's not a monster!) cue, cuteness 🥺🥺 (tummy bug prefarably, but whatever best fits your plot)

Ya'll, I'm lovin' the ending of this one!!!!

Should I do a part 2??👀

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

Aiden felt like he was dying.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat, his stomach twisting painfully. He’d spent the better part of the morning sitting in front of his toilet, waiting for something to come up, but nothing did.

He felt too sick to eat anything before he left home. And even when he got into the heated campus building, he felt too cold to take off his warm jacket and gloves.

Now he was in his Criminal Justice class, not really watching or listening to his professor, really just staring off into space with his arms wrapped around his abdomen.

He was glad that his energetic classmate, Brody—who was a friend of his and another intern at the city’s police department—wasn’t there that day. The guy was observant as hell and would’ve dragged him out of class and forced him to go home if he were.

The whole class passed in a blur, and by the end of it he had taken no notes and was dragging himself to his feet to go to his next lecture.

———

“Black Dahlia,” Spirit said, and Birdie frowned.

“Really? Of all the flowers, you pick one that literally symbolizes sadness?”

Spirit shrugged. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s gloomy!”

“Why are we even talking about this again?” Spirit asked. “I’ve told you before, I practically live in a box. My dorm is too small for me to add a pot of flowers, and I’d probably let them die anyway. Not everyone has your ‘magical plant touch’, Bird.”

Pouting, Birdie stopped in front of her next lecture hall. “We’re not done talking about this,” she stated, walking into class.

Rolling her eyes and chuckling, Spirit continued down the hallway, on her way to the library. Her class had been cancelled thanks to the stomach flu that had been going around since Christmas. Too many teachers were calling in sick, and not enough TAs were well enough to fill in for all of the classes.

As Spirit walked, she startled at a sudden commotion.

Not far down the hallway, a few people were staring at and backing away from some guy braced against the wall, doubled over with a puddle of sick in front of him. People were saying “Eww” and “That’s nasty”, and not bothering to help him at all.

It took Spirit a second, but she suddenly remembered him and walked forward, going over to Aiden’s side. She didn’t know what exactly she was doing. She and the guy had barely interacted since she got a concussion, and she wasn’t exactly the best when it came to comforting.

Once beside him, she reached out awkwardly to touch his back before letting her arm just drop to her side. “Um, hey. . . you okay?” she asked

He vomited in response and she cringed. After coughing, and spitting into the sick, he looked up at her and seemed to freeze.

God, he thought. Why her of all people? He had no idea why he thought that though. His cheeks burned and he felt ridiculously embarrassed for some reason.

“I’m fine,” he lied, wiping drool off of his chin with the back of his hand, only to cover his mouth with the same hand as he gagged again. His mouth flooded with vomit, but he swallowed it back down.

Spirit raised a brow at him. “Fine?”

He lowered his hand, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“I wish I believed you,” Spirit droned, “but I have a few spots of your nasty puke on my shoes.”

Aiden looked down and, indeed, there was a few drops of watery yellow vomit on her sneakers. He cringed. “Sorry. I—” His hand flew up to his mouth again to muffle a sick burp. He was going to puke again. He knew it.

There were still people around them, staring and whispering. Suddenly, it felt as if he was back in high school and Aiden hated it. He just wanted to curl up and die.

“C’mon,” Spirit said—more of a demand than anything—grabbing his elbow and forcing him to walk with her. “What’re you staring at?” she snapped at the onlookers with a menacing glare that had everyone quickly walking away or minding their own business, and Aiden felt so relieved.

He still felt so embarrassed, though, even without all of the eyes. Here he was, likely looking like the most pathetic display of a man while this beautiful badass helps him.

He was feeling dizzier. The world kept blurring and un-blurring, and he was sweating despite how cold he felt.

Spirit opened a door and pulled him into a room. A bathroom, he realized. The boys’ bathroom.

Aiden let out a relieved sigh when he saw there was no one in the bathroom. He could just imagine a bunch of guys calling her a bitch and yelling at her to get out.

Spirit guided Aiden into the handicap toilet stall, and he collapsed onto his knees, immediately vomiting.

In the large stall, Spirit could crouch down beside him. Her hand automatically touched his back, and she started to rub a little between his shoulder blades. “Okay. Get it up.”

They stayed there for a good twenty minutes with Aiden barely being able to get a breath in between each gush of sick and Spirit trying her best to be comforting.

When Aiden stopped throwing up, or rather when he was entirely empty, he whimpered and hugged his arms tightly around his unhappy gut. “I feel like shit,” he groaned. He startled a little when he felt a cool hand cup his forehead.

Spirit scoffed. “You have a fever. You’re throwing up like you’re auditioning for The Exorcist, and you have a fever.” She pulled her hand away, looking annoyed. “You have the goddamn stomach flu that’s going around, don’t you?” The words sounded more like a statement than a question.

Surprised by how mad her tone was, Aiden said nothing, quite literally staring at her like an idiot.

Spirit glared. “Great. Now I’m gonna get sick, too.” She stood and groaned, starting to pace. “I can’t get the freaking stomach flu! Jesus, if I get sick, it’s your fault. Who the hell goes to lectures when they have the fucking flu?!”

Aiden flinched a little, feeling guilty and a little emotional, likely the effect of a fever-cooked brain. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Spirit stopped pacing and looked at him, but her glare melted away a little when she saw the pitiful look on his face and the feverish flush coloring his sickly pale cheeks. She sighed, crouching down beside him again and reaching for his jacket. “Take this off,” she said in a slightly softer voice. “You’ll cook alive in this.”

Aiden frowned. “It’s cold, though.”

Spirit shook her head. “Your mind is playing tricks on you.” It was still January and the weather was still in the fifties so she understood why he’d wear the jacket outside, but the building had shockingly powerful heaters and even in a t-shirt with her hoodie tied around her waist she was warm.

She managed to get Aiden out of his jacket and took his gloves, shoving them in his jacket’s pocket. Then she stood up, reaching a hand down to him. “C’mon,” she sighed. “I’ll drive you to your place.”

Aiden let her help him up, shivering without his jacket, but he frowned. “You don’t have to do that. I can—”

“No, you can’t,” she deadpanned without letting him finish. “I’m not gonna let you on the road. I swear, you’ll drive into a light post or something. I’ll drive you.” She walked out of the stall, and he followed without any more argument left in him.

They left the bathroom and walked down the hall—Aiden cringed at the sight of a janitor cleaning up his mess from earlier—and he followed Spirit out into the parking lot. It was even colder without his jacket outside, but he knew Spirit likely wouldn’t give his jacket back if he asked for it.

She’d grabbed his keys from his jacket pocket and asked where his car was.

“There,” he answered, nodding towards his sky-blue BMW.

Spirit raised a brow. “Nice car,” she said sounding genuinely impressed, and Aiden couldn’t help but wonder what kind of car she drove.

She got into the driver’s side and Aiden slumped into the passenger seat, sighing and leaning back against the soft leather, closing his eyes.

“Address?” Spirit asked, and he told her. She put it into the GPS in her phone and drove off.

As she drove, Spirit kept glancing at Aiden, frowning. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to pass right out, and Spirit could’ve laughed.

Spirit couldn’t help but notice thanks to the blush his freckles were more pronounced. And because of his glasses, the pinkness of his cheeks and his freckles, he looked like kind of. . . cute.

Spirit focused entirely on the road as soon as the word popped into her head.

Aiden didn’t live far from campus—a seven-minute drive without traffic. She parked in the parking lot of a decent-looking apartment building and shook Aiden’s shoulder a little to wake him up. He blinked dizzily for a few seconds before managing to focus on her. “Hey,” he said in a tired and hoarse voice.

Spirit felt his forehead again, and this time she cursed, brows furrowing. “Dammit, how did you already get hotter?!”

Aiden couldn’t help but smirk deliriously at the words. “You think I’m hot?” he joked with a little chuckle.

With an unimpressed frown, Spirit pulled her hand back and got out of the car, going around to Aiden’s side. She realized the idiot had forgotten to put on his seatbelt, but that didn’t really matter anymore.

“Okay, come on,” Spirit urged him, grabbing his arm.

Aiden groaned, his head spinning as he stood and he swayed dangerously on his feet, making Spirit yelp a little. “I swear to GOD, you better not fall on me you fucking giant!” she said, but she didn’t yell it much to Aiden’s relief.

She took his arm around her shoulders to help steady him and she walked him into the building. Never had Spirit ever been so glad that she was an athlete.

“Second floor,” Aiden mumbled dizzily. “Apartment twenty-three.”

Spirit nodded. It was a struggle since there was no elevator and they had to take the stairs, but they got to the second floor eventually and Spirit found his door.

She unlocked the door with the only other key on his car-key ring and they stumbled inside together. Spirit shut the door with her heel.

She led the giant guy to his couch, and he collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh. Spirit let out a relieved breath now that his weight was gone and she rolled her shoulder.

“Okay, wait here,” Spirit said, walking over towards his open kitchen. She started opening cabinets and drawers. She found a hand towel and grabbed that, and then she found a medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Pepto. And she found a bucket under the sink, just in case. She wet the towel with cold water from the sink and carried the stuff back to the living room.

Aiden’s eyes were closed but the flew opened as she sat on the couch beside him, planting the bucket at his feet and placing the towel on the coffee table. Aiden watched her as she opened the Pepto bottle and poured some of the pink goop into the measuring cap.

“Here,” she said, handing it to him.

Frowning, he took it and downed it in one gulp, grimacing at the nasty sweet taste.

Spirit took the cap and set it on the coffee table, grabbing the towel, but not moving to touch it to his face. He watched her with dazed eyes as she seemed to get lost in some sort of mental gymnastics.

Spirit hesitated before clearing her throat. “I don’t know, um. . . Y-your fever is really high, so. . ." she bit the inside of her cheek, feeling awkward and a little embarrassed. But then she sucked it up, reaching up and stroking the side of his face.

Her touch was gentle. She brought the towel from his temple down to his cheek, and then repeated slowly. She tried her best not to meet his eye, focusing on her hand while he just stared at her, blinking heavier and heavier.

Slowly losing consciousness, his feverish thoughts became stronger. “You’re pretty,” he mumbled, sleep ebbing at his brain.

Spirit let out a little amused scoff. “You’re delirious.”

Aiden hummed in response. Then, “I wan’ta ask you out,” he mumbled, eyes slipping shut and Spirit froze, her hand and the towel stopping on his cheek.

“What?”

But she got no answer.

Because he was already asleep again.

#fluff #fever whump #aiden #spirit #thebrilliantidiots #PART 2?????????????????????? #Y'ALL HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I LOVE THESE TWO!!! #Aiden is my bbyyyyyyyyyy #What will Spirit do now???👀👀👀👀👀

[theofficersacademy]

                                 Delthea   Sain   Forde   Kris (M)                        Soren   Leonardo   Lianna   Micaiah   Python                               Griss   Mark   Sylvain   Sigurd   Azama

TEAM TAG: #AOpi2024 WEEK ONE

The cardinal took you as far as she could go, promising to await before the rift, that your safe return be secured.

'As far as she could go' was not far, it turned out. When she tore open the rift, it was on the wall of a shop within the town nestled at the base of the mountain Garreg Mach sits upon. A little close to home, was it not?

Well... No time like the present to jump right in!

The water rushes in, faster than you can get out of the way. The half-built settlement you'd woken to is nearly submerged now, and still the water rises, taking with it hopes and dreams already short in supply.

You make it out, somehow. But not all of you did. Some mourn their losses quietly. One wails and shrieks, cursing the goddess and her foul temperament.

A strange pang clutches at your chest. Just how many homes must you lose in such short order...?

After some time, Keranes clears her throat.

"We... we must go on."

WHAT YOU KNOW

Your first home was destroyed in a blaze of light, and then your second home fell to a massive flood before it could ever get off its feet.

At least, that's what you remember, even though you're pretty sure you haven't been here for quite so long.

These few people remaining... they consider you part of their family. The lot of you are all any of you have left, after all.

The only thing you can do is persevere and seek yet another refuge, someplace you might be able to call home again one day. Your current best prospect lies on the other side of the Ruthalia mountains, where you hope the people - known to be generous - will welcome and shelter you,

and so that's where you're heading.

WHAT TO DO

Right now, it's about survival. Very little was salvaged in your wild escape from the flood. Even as you head to a new location to settle anew, you still need to eat, drink, and steer clear of danger.

Easier said than done, given your current route is slated to take you through the cavernous tunnels beneath Ruthalia.

Food

Being strictly vegetarian, your fellow villagers are familiar with some of the edible stuff around here and will be glad to help point it out if need be. Mosses, lichens, scraggly herbs... Hope you like salads.

(Or bugs, if you're of the obligate carnivore or 'damn I really want protein' persuasion. Just watch out for the cave spiders, is all.)

Roll 1d10 for every post after your starter. Starting with your third, with every post, add +1 to your d10. 1-8: +1 food (your choice if plant or insect) 9-10+: ping key

Water

You chance across the occasional subterranean pool of water, aglow with bioluminescence. That's... probably still drinkable, right? Just. Maybe boil it first, or something.

Roll 1d10 for every post after your starter. Starting with your third, with every post, add +1 to your d10. 1-7: +1 water 8-9: there's something in the water. watch out, it's coming right for you...! 10+: ping key

Wood

Light is life, some say, and it turns out you've very few torches on hand, much less wood to burn for warmth. You can't very well feasibly lug cords of wood along with you either, so what's one to do?

The villagers note there are fungi down here that should serve well as combustible fuel, and prove lighter than wood to boot.

Roll 1d10 for every post after your starter. Starting with your third, with every post, add +1 to your d10. For every full rank in Axe present, subtract -1 from your d10. 1-7: +1 combustible 8-10+: oh no! spores erupt from the forest of fungi. better hope they're not toxic. . .

Night Shift

You take turns playing sentry for the night - or what you assume to be night, given your sense of time underground is just a mite skewed. Who knows what dangers await in the dark?

This might be a good time to chat and bond with your teammates and fellow villagers.

Roll 1d10 for every post after your starter. Starting with your third, with every post, add +1 to your d10. 1-7: all is well 8-9: a creeping moss and snaking brambles have begun to encroach on your group - better find some way to fend them off before they snatch away a teammate 10+: ping key

IMPORTANT NOTES

Apollyon Ouranos is intended to be mostly driven by the players unless otherwise stated. The above prompts are intended first and foremost as a setting to play in. You are not expected to spend every single post going 'oh i found a mushroom. yay. +1 for me.' Focus on bonding with your teammates!

Short replies are encouraged. At the moment, there is no set time limit for replying, but players who are absent should be skipped accordingly. Be sure to communicate with your team in chat.

IC failure should not be taken to mean your narrative is doomed.

A word on NPCs: If I am available and have spoons, I may provide NPC interaction - however, at present, NPCs are fair game to be played with much as you would use an NPC within a regular non-event thread. You should have at least one accompanying you in your thread at all times.

Team Pi's team doc! Please do use it to take notes, keep track of materials, and overall jot down any important information to share with the team. Failure to do so may incur IC consequences. . .

Ping Mod Key for questions or additional info.

#AOpi2024 #TOAApollyonOuranos2024

[roguelov]

Like Real People Do

Summary: Still grieving the loss of your love, Eddie Munson, you prayed for him to come back to you. You just never expected it to be like this. He was alive. But, at a cost. He was a thing. It didn’t matter. You could fix him, you have to, you needed to get your Eddie back

Word Count: ~5k

Reader: Gender Neutral

Warnings: Angst, grief, body horror/mutilation

Notes: Concept art of Eddie here, more parts to come!

“Eddie!”

His high pitched screams resonated. It was only cut off by the gurgling as he choked on his own blood. You clambered after him, screaming and crying. You were almost at his side. You almost had him, you almost saved him. Your eyes jumped up. The dark swarm of bats circled. They screeched - no, cackled. They were enjoying this.

You reached a hand out. A useless attempt. His body was miles and miles away. No matter how much you ran, no matter how much you begged, no matter what you did, he was too far away.

The bats screeched and descended.

You screamed.

You shot up in your bed, screaming. You kicked off the sheets as you scrambled forward. Eddie. You fell off, hitting the floor.

The heavy thud jerked you out of your nightmare.

Sprawled out on your back, your chest heaved, breathing in short, quick bursts. Your heart and brain raced in tandem. Each pumped your body full of adrenaline, ready to fight or flee, only to understand the issue wasn’t real. Or at least, it was merely a warped memory. A distorted nightmare.

You sniffled. Your bottom lip trembled. You dug the heel of your palms into your eyes as the tears poured out.

It had been more than a week. Possibly two, maybe longer. But, who’s to say? Time passed differently when you grieved. Seconds were hours, and days were months.

But, in the end, it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter because he left.

He left you.

Eddie ran off, even after he swore he wasn’t going to be a hero. But, he lied. And it cost him his life.

You let out a silent scream, thrashing around. How could he? Why? Why would he do that?

Of course, you already knew the answer: to protect, to not run away or be a coward. Who knows what would have happened if he didn’t. Would the demobats have flooded into Hawkins? Would you, Dustin, and Eddie have all died?

Then again, it didn’t matter.

Vecna still won in the end. The gates were opened. People rushed out of town, while some stayed. You were among the many who stayed. To be honest, you didn’t really have a life outside of Hawkins.

This was all you know.

All you had. Just you, this trailer, and your friends.

You exhaled loudly.

Your throat was raw. Itchy and dry. Your tears dried up, for now. Picking yourself up, you meagerly crawled back into bed. You threw the sheets over your head, blocking out the world, and cradled a pillow. The pillow in particular had a rough material wrapped around it.

Eddie’s vest.

Steve was kind enough to give it to you once everything settled down a bit.

You buried your head, inhaling deeply. It still smelled like him. It smelled like his soap, a warm spice, mixed with the saltiness of sweat. It smelled like the Hideout, like his room, like a night under the stars when he played you a song, like years layered upon each other, like home. You bitterly wondered how long it would last.

But instead of drowning in the present reality, you let your mind drift. You let yourself believe it was him. It was you and him in bed as you snuggled into his chest. It was easy. He already haunted your every waking second.

A phantom hand rested over your shoulder pulling you in closer. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

It was Eddie, his voice soft and soothing.

“Just … just a nightmare,” you mumbled into the vest.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” he cooed.

“Yeah … I know.” You squeezed the pillow tighter, falling asleep to the ghost of your love.

Unfortunately, the gaping hole ripped out of your heart couldn’t be filled. Your friends -Steve, Robin, and Nancy - tried. God, they tried. They constantly checked on you. They tried to get you to move around, to talk, to eat, but you could barely do that. You would nibble on the meals they brought sometimes, you gave short answers, and the most you would do was roll over from one side of the bed to the other and walk to the bathroom.

And they even sacrificed their time. They stayed over whether all of them or just one. All to keep a close eye on you, care for you. They even held and comforted you as you screamed yourself awake from all the horribly terrifying nightmares.

But, they started to drift away.

You didn’t blame them. Your friends had their own families to worry about, they had other priorities. Not to mention, Hawkins was a bizarre news attraction now. The ‘earthquakes’ drove citizens away but brought along news vans and twisted tourists. All the while, those few who knew the truth sat on pins and needles anticipating when Vecna would attack.

To be honest, you liked it better. You liked the isolation.

You hated the hush murmurs from your living room, you hated the pitiful looks, you hated how they walked on eggshells around you, you hated how they didn’t even say Eddie’s name as if one mention would somehow shatter the pieces that were already broken.

So their daily visits became every other day to now every two or three days.

Yet, an odd feeling started to build.

You knew the strange pressing feeling of eyes on the back of your head, the way the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and it was a new constant.

When your friends were here and when they left.

Someone was watching you. Someone outside of your trailer stood and watched. But, every time you opened the blinds you never saw anyone. You chalked it up to delusion, grief, and paranoia.

It, however, quickly changed one night.

In your kitchen, you grabbed a glass of water. The prickling sensation was back. You pushed back the curtains over the sink, peering out. You already anticipated nothing, anticipated the vast vacant forest surrounding your trailer.

You were wrong. A figure loomed in the tree line.

Your breath hitched. The glass fell clattering into the sink. Without thinking, you stumbled outside.

It couldn’t. No. It can’t be.

You opened your mouth to say his name, but it got lodged in your throat. It constricted, tightened, as your bottom lip began to tremble.

Hope quickly flooded your heart.

You knew it couldn’t be true, it couldn’t be him. It was probably another trick of your mind. And yet, like a weed, hope spread its infectious roots. You wanted nothing else than for it to be him. So, you chased after the illusion. Like Alice, you will follow this white rabbit into the deepest depth just to ease your curiosity and heart.

You slowly picked up your pace. Your bare feet hit the damp, dewy ground, stepping in twigs and the occasional rock. But, it did not - would not - deter you. You hissed at the spark of pain and pushed forward.

“Please,” you croaked out.

The figure, cloaked in darkness, stopped. It stood in the middle of the woods. Your home vanished behind you. No lights flickered in any direction.

The silhouette was ambiguous. Yet, one feature stood out: the head or specifically, the hair. As stupid as it can be, you recognized the hair. You knew it. You knew those curls your fingers raked through a dozen times, you knew the soft texture your nose and face buried into it, you knew how the dark woodland brown shimmered like fire in the sunlight.

You knew it.

You locked your chapped lips. “Eddie?”

The figure stayed perfectly still. It continued to face ahead. Its back to you.

Cautiously, you approached. With every step, leaves crunched and twigs snapped. Each sound was as loud as a gunshot yet, the figure never wavered, never flinched.

“Eddie, please, answer me.”

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. As you approached, the figure’s shape became more defined. It was a man, but he seemed to be wearing something. Like a cloak.

You kept your steady pace, inching forward. “Eddie, I -“

Your eyes widened.

Your feet wouldn’t move any closer. Nausea settled into the back of your throat. A faint whimper rumbled. Pained and disgusted.

It wasn’t a cloak. No. It was worse, so much worse.

That thing, those damned creatures who took him away from you, was now apart of him.

A demobat, stretched and elongated, covered his back. Its jaw unhinged and buried its face, almost its whole head, into the base of his neck. Its torn, battered, wings and grotesque appendages flowed down his back like a twisted regal cape. It curled around his upper arms clasped in place by digging its appendages into his arms. However, the worst was the ‘tail’. You’ve seen the demobat up close. Its rear consisted of an odd entanglement of tentacle-like appendages woven together. With its head latched onto his neck, the bat draped down his spine. But the tail? It embedded into his skin, it appeared to go into his spine, only to protrude back out a few inches later. They skimmed across the ground unmoving, just dangling.

You tore your gaze away, but the image was seared into your mind. It made your skin crawl. Bile inched up your throat only to worm its way back down. You doubled over coughing.

“Jesus H. Christ,” you whispered, or accurately whimpered.

The man peered over his shoulder. You, however, started at the ground as you uprighted yourself. Your mind tried to comprehend what you saw as you continued to battle against the lingering nausea.

He cocked his head and completely turned around. He approached you. In three easy steps.

He opened his mouth, a gurgling noise came out.

You jerked your head up, and instinctively held your breath.

The man tried again. This time it was a word, one single word. “(Y/N).”

“Eddie?” Tears prickled in your eyes.

He didn’t need to answer. It was him. Distorted, but it was your Eddie.

His eyes were a murky black. It blended into the midnight background. Inky veins, mimicking lightning, spread outward from his eyes. When he opened his mouth to speak again, his teeth, now razor sharp, somehow twinkled in the dark.

“(Y/N),” he repeated.

Your hands carefully reached towards his face. If you moved too quickly you feared he’d run off like a frightened rabbit. Or, what you truly feared, your hands would go through him. Just another illusion your broken mind conjured up. But, he didn’t move or acknowledge the gesture.

Your hand hovered an inch away. It had to be Eddie. No, it was him. He just wasn’t fully here. The upside down had a hold on him. There were so many wrongs that could happen. But, you just wanted to touch him again, to hold him. You had to know if he was real.

Taking a deep breath, you cupped his cheeks. He tensed. His skin was cold. Not icy, but a cool chill. One of your hands wandered down his chest, down his tattered Hellfire Club shirt landing over his heart.

It beat. A slow steady beat.

“It’s me, Eddie. It’s (Y/N),” you mumbled fighting back against the wave of tears.

His hand gently curled around the hand touching his heart. Long, blackened claws scraped against your skin. You shivered. He guided your hand back to his face. He closed his eyes burying his face into your palm.

“(Y/N),” he whispered in relief.

“Yeah, Eddie, it’s me. I’m right here.” The floodgates of tears broke. You smiled as tears streamed down your face. “I’m not going anywhere. Not ever again.”

Eddie opened his eyes. His brows knitted together. A frown tugged on his lips. With a clawed hand, and a soft fleeting touch, he wiped away the tears.

“I’m okay,” you sniffled. You swallowed the lump of emotions in your throat. “How about we go home, yeah?”

He stared. A deer lost in the headlights. Then, ever so slowly, he nodded.

“Good, great.”

You grabbed his hand, intertwined your fingers with his, turned about, and began retracing your steps back home. Eddie followed, dragged along by your steel grip.

In silence, the two of you walked. Tears continued to run down your face. Both in relief that he was alive and a painful sorrow of seeing what he was now. Your faint sniffling rang loudly in the quiet woods. Eddie, however, didn’t react. Didn’t say a word. He simply let you take him wherever you pleased.

Thankfully, in the distance, a porch light flickered through the maze of trees. Your porch light. You sighed in relief. You picked up pace and finally broke through the trees.

Your trailer stood in front of you.

Well.

Your’s and Eddie’s trailer.

You both worked tirelessly throughout the year hoping to pay it off soon. Eddie played at the Hideout almost every weekend night to scrap every cent together. You worked at the grocery store picking up insane hours.

And it was supposed to be a surprise.

You placed the last down payment only a few weeks ago. You started filling it with your combined things and all the essentials. It was supposed to be your new start together. A plan cultivated over a year, now completed. Expect, only you moved in. You moved into a space built, and planned for two. And the vast empty space would only suffocate you.

You tugged Eddie forward, stepping around front and inside.

You lead Eddie over to the couch. He stared at you, waiting for something. You lightly pushed on his shoulders, and he fell down, with a slight bounce, onto the creaky couch.

You stepped back.

Your red rimmed eyes finally soaked in every detail in the light.

It was horrible. Far worse in the light.

His Hellfire shirt, one you helped brainstorm and design together, was splattered in dried blood and flecked in dirt. His exposed abdomen was covered in scarring. His sides took most of the damage, riddled in bite and claw marks. You let out a shaky breath and sank to your knees in front of him. Your hands instantly touched the patches, running over the rough, warped skin, over the valleys and grooves.

Eddie didn’t flinch. He watched you curiously.

You glanced up.

His wide black eyes connected with yours. He cocked his head. His hair, covered in leaves and twigs, fell back exposing his face more. Your eyes jumped to the other scarring. Similar to his stomach, his neck was covered. One scar in particular crawled up the side of his face stopping at his cheekbone. The further you searched, you could see clearly as the appendages of the bat dug in and under his shoulder and near his collarbone. The skin inflamed and irritated, encrusted with blood too. Actually, his skin as a whole was paler than usual.

“Oh, Eddie,” you whispered.

He remained silent.

You sighed, leaning back. What were you doing? What should you do? You rubbed your temples as a headache started to throb. You were running on an empty stomach, hardly any sleep, and now the wearing effects of adrenaline.

Hands laid on top of yours. Your eyes snapped up seeing the vast inky darkness boring down at you. Eddie’s hands laid on top of yours delicately cradling your face.

He leaned in.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You couldn’t deny the fear that spiked within you.

He pressed his forehead against yours. He closed his eyes. He mumbled your name again. And strangely, it soothed you.

A smile twitched on your lips. You sniffled, “Thanks, Eddie.”

He pulled away, sitting back on the couch. His posture was stiff, almost perfectly straight. He was an odd guest in a home that should be his.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll …” you trailed off. Do what? Call someone? At this hour? Give him new clothes? With that monstrosity fused into his skin? You blew through your mouth, “I’ll get a wet rag. Let’s try to clean you up a bit.”

It was the only thing you could think of.

Standing up, you shuffled over to the kitchen grabbing a rag and running it under warm water. You walked back over and sat on the couch next to him. His eyes that followed you the whole time, turned and faced you. All the while, eerily silent.

So unlike the Eddie you knew.

You cupped his face, guiding him a little closer. You brought the rag to his face and barely touched his cheek.

A mistake.

He hissed, flailing backwards. He swiped at you furiously. You tumbled backwards onto the floor. Pain rippled through you. You bit the inside of your cheek preventing the blood curdling from escaping. Eddie scrambled off the couch, rushing into the corner behind it. He cradled his cheek, glaring at you. Yet, his intense glare, one that would frighten anyone, vanished. Vanished at one look.

Holding your cheek, you glanced over at him with tears in your petrified eyes. A bated breath was shared between the two of you. A pained heartbeat. You removed your hand. You winced. Wearily, you looked down at your palm.

Red. Blood.

Oh shit.

You sprinted over to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you leaned towards the mirror. Four jagged lines slashed across your cheek narrowly missing your eye. It was relatively deep. But not enough for stitches. If anything, it stung intensely.

You darted around, flinging open cabinets grabbing peroxide and a small rag. You quickly cleaned it out and gently held the warm rag to your face. You sighed, leaning over the sink. Blood speckled the porcelain. You bit your bottom lip.

Fuck.

When you looked back up in the mirror, a figure stood behind you in the hallway. Eddie. He peered at you quizzically. His eyes dropped to the rag on your cheek. Realization dawned on him. He frowned.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you assured him. “It’s just a little scratch. I’ll be fine.”

He stared unconvinced.

Your lips thinned. Okay then. You spun around, dropping the rag revealing the damage he had caused. He flinched slightly. His gaze softened, ashamed of himself.

“I’m fine, Eddie, I swear. It was my mistake I shouldn’t have -“ What did you do? Was it the water? But why? Water never had an effect before it was always - oh. Fire. Temperature. The water was too warm. You knew better. Everything from the upside down liked it bitterly cold.

Things from the upside down.

Your face scrunched up in disgust. It was something you knew, but didn’t want to fully admit. Taking a deep breath, you continued, “I’m sorry it was my mistake. I should have known better - I do know better. And like I said, I swear I’m okay.”

He didn’t move. Eyes locked on his doing.

You turned back around, taking more random supplies, cotton pads and gauze to make a makeshift bandage that covered your whole cheek. It was sloppy, but it would do. You whirled around facing him again. “See? All better.”

His frown deepened. He shuffled away back into the living room.

You huffed. This wasn’t the reunion you imagined. Wait - no. You shook your head. Eddie was back. Broken, yes. But, he was back and you’ll fix him. He’ll be his old Eddie self. Hopefully.

You strolled back into the living room. He sat on the couch, on the farthest end pressed up against the armrest. He kept his gaze down. Almost to distract himself, his fingers traced over the gaudy patterns.

You cleared your throat, wanting to break the tension. “I don’t know if you remember but you picked that out.”

He glanced up.

You plopped down on the other end staring down at the mesh of floral patterns. “It was months ago. We were at a thrift store trying to find things for a house we didn’t even fully own yet. And this was in the back of the store.”

A smile crept onto your lips.

“You said it was perfect. You immediately flopped down on it in the middle of the store groaning loudly and closed your eyes. Like you were in your own home. I called you dumb or something along those lines. And you opened your eyes and pulled me down. I fell onto you and you refused to let me go.”

You looked up at him with a soft smile.

“You started whispering how this is exactly how you imagine it, both of us laying on this couch and eventually falling asleep together. And … and among other things.”

A blush wormed its way across your cheeks.

“But yeah.” You brushed off the feeling that tried to bury in your heart. “I told you no but I secretly went back the next day and paid for it. They were kind enough to hold onto it for a few months. Even cleaned it up a bit which was nice of them.”

His gaze fell back down to the couch. He continued to touch it. The fabric was worn down with a few tiny stains. It wasn’t perfect. Far from it.

He frowned.

His mind tried to sift through his memories. All of it blurry, warped. It was as if he was trying to swim through a chaotic sea. He fought, ferociously swimming. When he broke the surface, he was pulled under in seconds. The only thing clear was him: Vecna. His voice was a lullaby. An eerie siren call, enticing him and guiding him through the storm. Whatever he wished, Eddie would do without question.

But, one other fought through the storm. You. Your name alone could temporarily calm the sea. Your name was a sliver of sun bursting through the grey storm clouds.

The memory you retold was hazy to him. He could remember small bits like your laugh, the odd looks people threw at him, or how your breath hitched when he whispered sweet nothings. But, when he tried to dig deeper, the sea dragged him back under.

The memory whisked away, forgotten.

Your throat constricted. Eddie’s silence was suffocating. You wanted him to laugh, to smile, or maybe even tease you. Instead, he sat perfectly still unable to say a word, or anything other than your name.

It wasn’t enough. It was too much.

You pushed down the swell of emotions. You cleared your throat. “I … I think I’m going to go to bed, okay? It’s late and tonight has been a lot. I, uh, I guess you can stay here on the couch. I’ll be right over there, in the bedroom, with the door opened if you need me.”

You walked away without looking back at him.

Eddie watched as you shuffled into your bedroom. Or what should have been your shared bedroom. His hand rubbed his chest hoping to soothe the ache. A child’s attempt to cure a pain that wasn’t physical.

Like you said, you left the door open. You crawled into bed, back into the same position in the same spot you were for weeks. Your back faced the doorway as you curled into a ball.

Your cheek stung.

A harsh reminder. Yet, you welcomed the pain. It was better than the chilling numbness that was beginning to settle over you.

You’ve cried yourself to sleep so many times it was natural at this point. The silent tears fell, soaking your pillow. Exhaustion dragged you down into the darkness. You pulled the pillow with Eddie’s vest closer.

He was here. He was home. But, at a cost. He wasn’t fully here. A monster, a creature. You squeezed your eyes tight and buried your face into the pillow. Eddie was in there, you’ll get him back. Because if you didn’t? You didn’t know what you’d do with yourself.

Thoughts of Eddie, thoughts of trying to find a solution, swirled in your head.

Sleep shortly followed.

Eddie, however, stayed awake.

An hour later, after your muffled sniffling faded, he strolled into your room. He squatted down on your side of the bed. With parted lips, you breathed in and out in calm even breaths. He reached up and brushed your tear stained cheek. Your head instinctively turned towards his touch. He dropped his hand. His eyes fell to the pillow in your grasp. He recognized the material covering it.

It was his. That was all he knew. It was his and important to him.

He sighed through his nose. Standing up, he looked around. A few pictures were propped up on the dresser in the corner. All of them were the two of you. He leaned down taking a closer look at one of them. It was the two of you on a picnic table in a park. You sat on top of the table with Eddie on the bench in between your legs, his back pressed to your chest. You held up the camera pointing it down at the two of you. You both stuck out your tongue. Eddie held up a finger pointing at your nose, while with your free hand you held up bunny ears behind his head. Neither of you suggested it, you only said you were going to take a picture and you both acted as a unit, a goofy chaotic unit.

Eddie touched the picture. His reflection shown in the glass. It didn’t match. His face twisted in anger and stormed off. Without realizing it, he darted into the bathroom. The faint light from the porch streamed in through the living blinds, yet he could still perfectly see his reflection.

His black tar eyes were not the warm honey brown. He lifted his hands. Long black nails - claws - were obviously not human. He lifted his upper lip exposing his teeth. The sharp teeth were made for a monster. For tearing and mauling. He spun around looking over his shoulder. The bat, the grotesque inhuman thing, was now part of him. It wasn’t truly sentient or alive. Just a thing, like an unwanted backpack forever glued to him.

A thing which connected him to his new life.

A life he didn’t ask for.

He growled and whirled around punching the mirror. The shattered pieces fell into the sink. He retracted his hand. Cuts dotted his knuckles. A dark unnatural red oozed out. Yet, in seconds, the skin stitched back together. The damage disappeared as if it never happened.

Shocked. Confused.

He stumbled backwards. The back of his knees hit the tub and tumbled into it. He stayed there wide eyed, staring at his hands. His eyes trailed up his arm seeing the wing curl around his arm. If he lifted his arm up, the wing followed. He shivered. He pulled his attention back to his hands.

Blood speckled his knuckles.

He raised a claw, slicing into his palm. Blood dropped out. It splattered on his shirt and into the tub. The skin, like before, with tiny minuscule threads, reached out stitching itself back together.

He repeated.

And repeated.

And repeated.

Frustrated, he slammed his bloody hands on the rim of the tub. He picked himself up and out of the tub. But he didn’t stop there. He forced open the door and sprinted out back into the woods.

He paused.

Looking back, no lights were on inside. You continued to sleep soundly, comfortable in your bed. His hands curled into tight fists, oozing blood.

He ran off.

Gone.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, hitting your eyes. You groaned and rolled over. Eddie. You instantly shot up. You scrambled out of bed and into the living room. But, he wasn’t there.

Panic set in.

“Eddie?” You whirled around, your eyes searching the entirety of the trailer. Not on the couch. Not behind anything. Not here. Tears welled up in your eyes. “Oh, god, please, Eddie,” you cried out. “Where are you?”

Your final prayer was the bathroom.

With an insane amount of force, you kicked it open. The door banged against the wall shaking the whole trailer. Pictures and antiques hung on the wall or peacefully resting on end tables, toppled over crashing to the ground.

You flicked on the lights.

With your blurry vision, you saw nothing.

No Eddie.

A sob burst out.

You stepped further into the empty space. “Why?” You cried. “Why did you leave me?”

Again.

Blinded and drowning in tears, your head swam in bitter disillusion. He should have been here. He had to be. You squeezed your eyes shut. You doubled over and used the sink for support. Tears cascaded down your face. It surprised you how much you could cry. Despite the hours, despite the lack of water you drank, despite it all, you still cried.

You clutched the front of your shirt.

Your heart stung. It bleed. It cried out for the massive whole tore inside of it to be filled. But, the solution was impossible. Eddie was dead. And, last night was another poor example of your waning mental stability.

You slammed your hands down unleashing a god-awful scream. You screamed and screamed until your throat was raw.

Why? Why? Why? Why did you go? Why am I always haunted by you? Why did you run off? Why do I live? Why do I have to keep going on without you? Why do I sleep in our bed alone?

Why don’t I get a happy ending?

Sniffling, you slowly peered up at yourself in the mirror.

Your heart rate spiked.

A shaky hand reached out and touched the crack mirror. This wasn’t your doing. You surely would have remembered. Through the broken shards, your shattered reflection revealed something plastered to your face. Your fingers skimmed over the gauze. Your eyes watched intently. Ripping the gauze off, you cursed as a pain rippled through you.

Four slashes cut into your cheek.

You whirled around. You needed to reassess your surroundings.

Blood, not yours, dotted in the sink, however, most of it was in the tub. It stained the bottom of the tub as it crawled its way down the drain. Blood handprints wrapped around the lip. You dropped to your knees and carefully aligned your hand over it.

It was his. His size, his shape.

It was real. He was here.

A blubbering cry broke through your lips.

Eddie was back.

All you had to do was find him and never let him go again.

#stranger things #Eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #vampire eddie munson #monster!eddie #tw body horror

[pynkhues]

For the game!! Top fav fics atm! 💝

Ooo, I'm kinda all over the place with my fic reading at the moment, haha, but off the top of my head:

Delinquents by phloxmagpie. Good Girls. Beth x Rio. T. 120k words.

-

“Yeah,” she breathes, and then she finds that he’s half an inch closer to her on the hood now, that the tip of his pinky fanned out on the metal nearly, nearly touches her thigh through the thin material of her dress.

She wonders what it would be like to touch him. It feels like it would be the easiest thing in the world right now, to reach down and lay her hand on top of his. She wonders what he would do. Then a door slams and more people spill out of Jeremy’s house. Beth swallows and looks up, focusing on the stars. They’re bright tonight. Electric. 

“Guess it’s startin’ to wrap up. You know how you’re gettin’ home?”

“No,” Beth admits. “Dean and all his friends are still drunk.”

Rio gnaws on his lip.

And then, because she suddenly feels light, because she suddenly feels dangerous, and because the bubble between them feels like it’s worn so thin, she becomes entranced by the idea of making it POP. 

“You could take me.”

-

A highschool AU of Good Girls never feels like it should really work given so much of the context of the story is steeped in how women are made invisible in their own lives, but Megan really, really delivers. She transplants the story in a way that just makes sense, and the worldbuilding is so immersive that you can really sink right into it. The way it builds and grows and breathes just really hits all the right notes for me in a story, and it's one I was so delighted to see her update this week!

-

Million Dollar Baby by phoenixgryffin. Succession. Gen-fic (although a little Kendall x Rava). M. 10k words.

“Yeah,” says Kendall. “There was a. A, a scare, I was supposed to be watching Sophie, and…uh. Probably you heard—”

“Heard something, yeah.” Roman’s not looking at him. “Was over in jolly old England paying Mumsy a call—”

“But that’s. That’s over. I’m turning—uh, turning over a—new leaf or whatever. DIY sobriety.” 

“Can’t fuckin’ OD with the mini-me around, huh.”

“Uh-huh,” says Kendall somberly.

“God, Ken, learn to take a joke.” Roman lightly punches Kendall’s arm, glances at the sleeping Iverson again. “Fuckin’—unconscious, huh.”

“Don’t wake him up,” says Kendall, suddenly aware of how loud they’ve been talking. “Don’t fuckin’ do it, Rome, he was screaming for four fucking hours last night, we could hear him through the walls—”

“Okay, okay, keep your hair on,” says Roman, but he moves to the other side of the room. “Hey, you dye it now? Looks awful.”

“No,” lies Kendall.

-

The Roy siblings meet Iverson! God, I just love this fic so much. It really leans into the pre-canon world of the Roy's in a way that resonates, and the differing levels of discomfort all of them have with a newborn being in the room - much less a newborn that's their cringefail brother's son - feels really true to character. The author has really captured the tone of the show too, which is to say it's equal parts heartwrenching and funny. I only read it for the first time recently, and since then, I think I've re-read it a dozen times.

(One more Succession, an IWTV and a Stranger Things rec under the cut)

-

I Figure You with Love by alaczije Succession. Kendall x Stewy. Explicit. 6k words.

-

The caption reads: can we get @realkendallroy a welfare check

Below this, the top reply laments: 

bruh he DEAD dead 😭😭😭

“Oh, what the fuck,” Stewy says blankly.

He taps the thumbnail to view the photos full size—which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea. They flood the screen, blurred but unmistakable, in pixelated technicolor. Stewy recoils, as though ducking a slap to the face, then closes Twitter and stares stupidly at his phone. It buzzes in his hands a few seconds later. He takes the call without hesitation.

“Have you seen it?” Sandi Jr. demands. “Is this real?”

“I literally just saw it,” Stewy says, bouncing to his feet and giving into the urge to pace around his spotless kitchen. “And no, I don’t know. Who’s the source?”

“ATN.”

“Wow.”

-

There are a lot of fics out there that deal with the aftermath of 3.09, but this really is one of my favourites. The dialogue is so good, and the way it hits all these different beats in terms of the business, the characters' histories, and Stewy's despite-himself-worry makes it feel like it was written just for me. Plus it's hotter and funnier than it has any right to be.

-

Body and Blood by i love you bug (A_Stranger) Interview with the Vampire. Lestat x Louis. Explicit. 2k words.

He stuck a cigarette in the holder, the holder in his mouth, and lit it indulgently. Lying back against the furs with his arms bent to the sides and smoking as some blood ran lazily down his exposed pecs into the strained folds of his once-white undershirt, he looked a picture of rich debauchery. Louis wanted to rip his throat out. He pulled his pants off instead.

Lestat barely moved to help but watched him, smoke curling between their faces, eyes wide and youthful as if he was curious what Louis would do next, as if he hadn’t started something and abandoned it half-cocked to relax and pretend he was a wealthy Italian housewife.

Louis felt his eyebrows raise.

“Are you busy?”

Louis smirked around his cigarette holder. Louis felt his eyebrows drop.

“Mamma just needs a little break,” he simpered. “Can’t you take care of me?”

-

There's been a lot of really fun fic for IWTV since the terrific AMC series aired, but I have a real soft spot for this one. It's funny and sexy and it really messes around with sex, gender and the family unit in a way only a story about a family of vampires can really pull off. It's a ball, and if you like the show, it's defs one to read.

-

Modern Medicine Falls Short of Your Complaint by sansbanshees Stranger Things. Chrissy x Eddie. T. 5k words.

-

Chrissy nods, reassured. Her brow furrows after a second though, eyes squinting as she strains to listen, too. “I don’t—I don’t get it. Why are his shoes different?”

It’s the way she asks, so serious, that gets him. He can’t help but laugh, which makes her burst into giggles, and she looks so confused by the whole thing, yet somehow still so weirdly sunny and just—it has to be a crime, right? Chrissy Cunningham has absolutely no right to look that fucking cute, as blitzed as she is.

Maybe it’s the wings? They suit her. Shit, he’s buying her as an otherworldly, ethereal being, but it’s almost too obvious of a costume, in her case. 

“You’re funny,” she says, even though he didn’t actually say anything, flashing him the beaming, megawatt smile of a truly drunk girl at a party.

It’s cute. She’s cute. It’s also close enough to a compliment that he feels a little heat building beneath his collar, creeping up his neck, and he has to remind himself that this is not actual reality and there’s no way she’ll remember any of it come Monday.

-

Look, I just still love them a lot, and also I have a total thing for pre-canon moments of connection (as you can probably tell from the Succession rec above, haha). This just gets me, and I love it a lot.

Ask me for my Top Fives

#top five ask game #fic recs #gg fic #succession fic #iwtv fic #st fic #welcome to my ama #nbc good girls #hbo succession #amc interview with the vampire #netflix stranger things

[tempobrucera]

How about a director's cut for Tainted Church? 😊

Oh, yes, definitely.

Sacred Heart - Tainted Church is probably one of my favourite smut stories that I wrote? And after that (you know which one) photoshoot I had to.

I started (and have one in the middle and ended) it with a bible passage because it's smut that plays in an actual church, it's not a prayer or something, it's just something that is in the bible and is about sin, kind of

It has more metaphors in it than some other stories again by default. Thomas "dresses up" (which is a stretch, lol, he wears a clerical collar) as priest in this fic to seduce Reader to fuck in a church. Because he's quite desperate to get Reader to sin and be the one who gets Reader into that position in the first place and he isn't afraid to take some more, lets say, drastic measures, to get his way here

Even tho he dresses up as a priest and a religious kink was definitely the main reason why I wrote this, one of the first notes I made was: "What if Thomas is the personification of the devil?" And I kept to it, and I hinted at it through the whole fic (will come back to it) and also made more notes for this for the second part

I needed them to get to a church in the first place. I was thinking about a wedding invitation, about a confirmation, anything like that, first. But Italy is a really conservative Christian country actually, so I thought maybe I don't have to go that far but with that also go further, because Thomas wouldn't say no to his parents asking if they join him to go to church for some holiday (in my head it was something around Easter btw) and he knows that Reader wouldn't say no either even when they don't like churches or the concept or the concept of god and that they would never say no to something where Thomas tells them to do the opposite. He knows all that, so he takes it as his advantage

Reader loves the architecture in churches though which is really me. I love the architecture in religious buildings in general, it's something breathtaking. Old buildings in general and how much they have seen as they'll get to an age a human being could never

"You don’t like being judged by something so intangible as god, you know that he doesn’t either." -> I have said it before already but it can take a while to write sentences like this. Like there are probably 10 versions of this sentence and it's the only version that stuck. Also I found it an interesting concept to put two people who might be nonbelievers but still feel uncomfortable being judged by something that might be not exist into this scenario

"The deal is sealed. Oh, if you would have known that you just signed a contract with the devil, maybe you would have taken the way out." -> That Reader is saying yes to Thomas and the church visit is like a deal / a contract with the devil, just that Thomas was cheeky enough to not make it clear that this is in fact a deal, because he isn't planning on letting Reader off the hook now

"There’s nothing sacred to Thomas; you should have known." -> I love that little sentence here so much. It's like Reader should have known better, blaming themselves, because Reader knows Thomas

Thomas actually asks Reader to be honest with him when he asks if Reader is getting aroused. And the natural reaction of Reader is to still lie, even when it's really clear that it's a lie, especially to Thomas. But Reader lies because that's a normal reaction, or would you just be truthful from the start when you're ashamed of something? They are on a way to a church, and Reader desperately tries not to be desperate, while Thomas tries to get Reader desperate before they even reach the church and he wants Reader to be honest about their arousal

"In the distance you can hear a bell ringing; you should have taken it as a warning." -> Church bells have been rung as a warning throughout history. For example as a warning of invasion or as a warning when there's a flood

"“I don’t like starting things and not ending them.”" - He is lying, maybe not the first time, maybe not the last time. But in this case Reader is aware that it could be one

"Its disingenuously sweet. Too sweet for such a hellish tongue." -> You know, the devil and hell

"“You really are the devil,” you say. “Maybe.” He takes another drag and blows the smoke into your face. “But we will see who is going to go up flames when we step over the threshold. You or me.” -> He isn't denying it, or saying it's true. But he is having a lot of fun with playing with that shameful arousal of Reader with the things he does and says. Like, what he's saying is, yeah, maybe I am the devil but when time comes to tell, Reader might also go up in flames, end up in inferno because Reader is that sinful right now

"“I’m a sinner disguised as a saint, always.”" -> Actually there's a passage in the bible "And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light."

He lies about his parents, and maybe he lied about his parents from the start. Who knows. Only Thomas can tell

Thomas is praying next to Reader and all Reader can think about is getting between his legs, on her knees, which is a place of worship, kneeling but probably not sucking Thomas off

"A bouquet, made of arum lilies, twigs of cypress, red orchids and baby’s breath, that Thomas got you a while ago." -> I love love love the symbolism of flowers

"It’s such a shame you think, that they don’t survive long after they’ve been cut. How the flowers decay from a beautiful wonder of nature to a wilted bunch of sad looking creatures." -> Don't ask me how I wrote this because I can't tell you, I re-read it and was like how did that come out of my head, I really like it

Same goes for the memento mori part, no clue how I wrote this. But I know why I wrote it, both of it, because these two parts go together actually. The flowers that die and people die as well, much later, but that you have to consider it, you only have an estimated timespan on this earth and you have to enjoy your time. For Thomas that means, because death is around the corner, that it's okay to sin while being on earth. And obviously the link between that, the devil and Reader saying that Thomas is the death of her

The fire is coming up through the whole fic, like going up in flames, the warmth, the inferno in Readers stomach, ect.

Even tho I wanted to have Thomas a certain way, to get Reader certain places, I always wanted him to be gentle in the small gestures

But still when Thomas gets Reader where he wants to have her, it's also uncomfortable, it hurts a bit and they think maybe it should, because Reader knows what they are doing is a sin, that was Thomas is doing is shameful, but Reader is sosososo aroused by Thomas, and Thomas is still so soft to lure them, Reader would do anything, Reader would believe Thomas anything in that moment. And they both love each other deeply because they otherwise wouldn't do this together

Thomas leaves half moon shaped marks on Reader with his nails -> The half moon symbolises life and death as well

"“Pray.” For the first time you can see the shame in his eyes. Thomas kisses your forehead gently." -> As I said, Thomas despite everything is gentle, he's in love. And in the end, he's ashamed as well, of what he just did. He can't pray it away but Reader might can, that's why as shameful as it is, he has Reader do it. Also there's the saying: "Tell the truth and shame the devil". Reader is being honest, praying because they sinned, and Thomas can only look on feel all the shame in that moment

#ask #anon #fic director's cut

[ocean-anchored]

Dear future self... April 7, 2024

My overthinking brain. Everything's felt so perfect, I knew it was going to hit me one day, & probably pretty hard. Given that I feel so much & so deeply. The worst part, is it's not even really that he's done anything wrong. I just have narrowed into every little detail & have picked it apart to create these stories that are probably untrue & yet here I am, I barley slept & I'm ready to pack up & go home now. It's 9:27am on a sunday morning. I don't know how it started, I think the major components is because I've been on my period so I know I'm more emotional & my poor hormones I feel are so out of whack still. The other side is I'm mentally burnt out. I needed this quiet weekend & appreciated it. But like he said last night... because we've been intimate, now there's consequence that my mind is flooded when he doesn't touch me. I think there's something wrong with me, or I'm overstaying my welcome. The last few days I've heard him say to a few people that I'm leaving sunday, maybe monday, which has sat in the back of my mind, ok maybe he wants me to leave sunday. Noted. Then last night when he asks & I say that I'll probably leave tomorrow (being today) he acts surprised. We have a small conversation about the feelings & that I shouldn't feel like that, it's a learning curve for him but he likes me being here. I try to just accept it, but I still feel off. I already always feel like a bag of coal when I'm on my period, so now I feel worse when he doesn't touch me as much, & it's stupid because I know it's just because he can't touch me. I get it, but my brain doesn't. I feel so... far. & when I can't shake the feeling I just try to go wash my face. When I come back & lay down, I feel like I've done something, he's got his chew in which means no more kisses & he barley touches me. Again, I've been pushing away. So once again I can't pretend I'm not crying there so I go to the bathroom. He catches me & I go lay down. I "try" to explain this, but it feels impossible to be able to explain a crazy brain to someone who doesn't understand & someone who hasn't really done anything wrong. But I try. I try to explain that I feel disconnected & that I don't feel like he wants me etc. He holds me for a few mins & tells me it's not true. Mind you, he does ask if he can do anything & know that's where I probably went wrong. I should have just asked him to stay for a bit. I guess in my head, I thought, well I'm literally crying because I said I want to be close to him & he can tell I'm hurting so maybe he'll think to stay but he doesn't. He leaves & in that moment I break just a little more. Feeling more alone. More undesired. More disconnected. I didn't have my phone or anything so I don't know what time he actually came back to bed, but I was awake. Because I was crying in the bathroom for who knows how long. he held my hand when he came to bed & fell asleep. But didn't touch me or hold me throughout the night. I just want to go home. Why do I feel like this. I am so scared. So scared that I've given my heart up so fast, to what truly does feel like the one & someone I would be so blessed to have for the rest of my days, but man is the devil really getting in my brain. Planting lies. Literally to the point that I feel like we need to take a step back. I started thinking, ok maybe I need to only visit for 2 days, 3 days max. Maybe being out here too long makes it too unsettling for him & too much to try to get used to that he needs to miss me more, because then maybe if he misses me more, he'll want to hold me more when i'm here. He'll want to kiss me more. Not get used to my presence that his physical touch slowly slips away & start questioning everything again. My thoughts have gone right into aybe he's not ready for this, he's not ready for someone to be around full time. He's never had this, his past relationships were all close enough that they didn't spend nights together.

#personal #dear future self #life update #cf

[bllsbailey]

Trump Fact Checks Biden State of Union in Real Time

In a rare contrast between a former president and a sitting one steamrolling toward a 2024 rematch, former President Donald Trump real-time fact-checked President Joe Biden's State of the Union speech Thursday night, calling his rival "so angry and crazy."

"That may be the angriest, least compassionate, and worst State of the Union speech ever made," Trump wrote in his post-speech analysis. "It was an embarrassment to our country!

"Whether the Fake News Media likes admitting it or not, there was tremendous misrepresentation and lies in that speech, but the people of our country get it, and they know that Nov. 5 will be the most important day in our nation's history," Trump wrote just after the speech finished.

Trump's real-time messages did not pull any punches in a presidential general election cycle that officially kicked off with Biden's rare and controversial use of the State of the Union as a campaign speech, former Sen. Rick Santorum, R-Pa., told Newsmax in post-debate analysis.

"He's done nothing for Israel compared to what I have done," Trump wrote, when Biden claimed to be the most pro-Israel president in American history, a claim Trump had made for years during his administration to a word.

"It's only words he speaks, not TRUTH!

Also, Trump warned Biden has enriched Iran and destabilized the Middle East.

With the border the No. 1 voting issue in the GOP presidential primary exit polls, Trump noted it was not first and foremost in Biden's America.

"Biden talked about the SNICKERS Bars, before he talked about the Border!" Trump lamented.

"It took him over 40 minutes to get to immigration, and then said nothing about it," he added.

Trump also repeatedly noting Biden had to interrupt his speech with coughing.

"Don't shake people's hands going out – he keeps coughing into his right hand," Trump added, noting the media pool feed was favoring views of Democrats clapping and not showing the Republican side of Congress.

"See, as he's getting ready to cough yet again into his right hand, the Fake News Media rushes him off the screen!" Trump wrote, noting the camera's panning.

Trump rejected Biden's remarks on the Second Amendment, warning of gun grabs, and the Biden administration permitting crime to run rampant in Democrat-run cities throughout America.

"He's talking about violence, but migrant violence is leading to the worst crime wave in history," Trump wrote.

Biden opened with warning Russia's Vladimir Putin to not take Ukraine, but Trump noted Putin only did that under Biden's watch.

"Putin only invaded Ukraine, because he has no respect for Biden," Trump wrote on Truth Social, which showed a brief outage on Downdector.com, perhaps because of a flood of traffic. "Would have never happened under the Trump administration, and for four years it didn't happen!"

Biden then weaponized Jan. 6 once again against his political rival, as Trump noted the only deadly weapons at the Capitol were in the hands of the government.

"The so-called 'Insurrectionists' that he talks about had no guns, they only had a rigged election," Trump wrote. "The only gun was that used on Ashli Babbitt, who sadly, is no longer with us!"

Trump was already hitting Biden before the president even arrived, after he was reportedly blocked by anti-Israel protesters.

"The president is very substantially late," Trump trolled. "Not a good start, but let's give him the benefit of the doubt. I'm sure he had very important things to do, but he is just now getting into the car.

"They will have to drive very, very quickly, you just don't want to be late to the State of the Union. They will need Mario Andretti to be at the wheel of the limo."

It was not just Biden taking Trump barbs either. "Push back on them" Rep. Maxine Waters, D-Calif., was not spared.

"Maxine Waters, very nice woman, even though she's constantly saying she wants to beat up or kill people on the opposite side of the aisle," Trump wrote. "If I ever said that, they would call me an insurrectionist, and all hell would break out!"

But, ultimately, Biden cannot say anything that can measure up, according to Trump.

"There is nothing he can say tonight that can absolve him from letting 15 million people into our country illegally," Trump posted. "He'll probably blame me, but I had the safest border in the history of our country, so that won't go very far!"

Trump was having a little bit of fun early before Biden went in heavy on his political opponent and Jan. 6.

"This is the longest walk in presidential history," Trump wrote, calling the delayed start "very disrespectful to our country." "It is ridiculous! Now he's actually taking the selfies at their request. He's not a Photographer – he's got to get moving!"

Eric Mack ✉

Eric Mack has been a writer and editor at Newsmax since 2016. He is a 1998 Syracuse University journalism graduate and a New York Press Association award-winning writer.

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