#a cope being faced with the rot inside him

[artgletic]

case study of the self-identified god

#obsessed with the fact that rain world is a game about survival #yet every character we meet has the express goal of trying to optimize killing themselves #every creature in game seems perfectly content fulfilling their role in the ecosystem no matter how many cycles they do the same thing #(rly obvious with gourmand's entire route. guy who lives their life to the fullest without the slightest hint of resentment) #it was really only the ancients who thought they were above it and thought of it as something to escape from #5pebbles is so interesting because the only reason hes “”“godlike”“” is because of his vast knowledge. if he was in any slugcats shoes he #would die instantly which is ironically what hes been trying to do this whole time #this comic was kind of exploring the idea of awareness (divinity) as something that drags down ones enjoyment of life (walking). #if 5p would humble himself down enough to walk around like any other creature #he would a) be much happier in life and b) achieve the ascension he's been gunning for for millennia like all the slugcats did #but he never will. #getting rid of all his work on the problem or even his awareness of it entirely #would just be a trick of convenience that steals away his godhood #and him calling himself godlike is kind of a cope LOL #a cope being faced with a problem he was never meant to solve #a cope being faced with what he did to moon #a cope being faced with the rot inside him #oh well. #anyway fuck 5 pebbles i hate that guy #rain world #rain world fanart #rw five pebbles #rain world five pebbles #rw gourmand #rain world gourmand #five pebbles #rain world void worm #rain world ancients #also JUST KIDDING ilu 5p. you suck but i💛u

[everythingne]

wing damage - mv1 [2]

Max spends the weekend with you to hopefully lift your spirits. A night out leads to a bit more than both of them are expecting as feelings easily resurface and are created with the assistance of being blackout drunk.

max verstappen x influencer!horner!reader

fc: sophia la corte

warnings/notes: implied blackout drunk sex (towards the middle), very suggestive scene (towards the middle), drinking in general, allusions to coping via alcohol, max and nadine made bad decisions (also a reminder the readers nickname is nadine and is used as placeholder for y/n!) also not me coming back over a MONTH later with part two <3 i hope these feeds u

(part one)

It takes two rings for Max to answer my call.

I feel a little desperate when I ask if he can swing by my apartment, knowing he wasn't quite back in Monaco yet. He says he's stopping by the store, voice muffled by the wind, and that he'll be over in thirty or so minutes. The apartment is too quiet and I take the time it takes for him to get here to clean up my mess from the past few days of rotting in the suffocating silence of my apartment.

Without Jacob I felt weird. Lost. Like there should be something there, but I'm met with quiet. But, I guess that's what happens when the person you've lived with for years is suddenly dead to you.

The loneliness I had expected has arrived, even with two roommates. I've isolated myself far away from them.

Max knocking on the door brings me out of my thoughts and I grab the door handle moments later, swinging it open nervously as greeting him as cherrily as I can.

Being immediately brought into a hug by Max lets me know I didn't do a good job.

"C'mon. Pop open this wine, throw on Legally Blonde." He hands me a bottle and grins at me, squeezing my wrist before bringing inside a pack of sodas in one hand and a blanket and bag of snacks in his other hand.

“For you," Max holds out the blanket with one hand, "I was on the phone with your dad when you asked if I could swing by, so I asked Geri for her best post-breakup gift and she made me go buy… everything that’s in this bag plus the blanket—minus the drinks."

I find myself laughing out a thank you, taking the world’s softest blanket into my hands and promptly smacking my face into it.

“God, my mom is a saint.” I mutter into the fabric, before throwing it over my shoulders and bringing him inside. Max kicks off his shoes at the door, tucking them next to my heels from going out to party the past few nights.

"Looks like you've been having fun." He chimes and I shrug, sitting at my kitchen island and leaning on the counter. Max pauses when he notes me not leaning into his playful attitude and a small pout forms at his lips.

“I have the dough for pasta out to thaw,” I say over my shoulder to him as he follows and sits next to me—laying the bag of treats and the sodas on the counter. He just nods in response and we lapse into silence as he looks at me and tries to figure out how to approach this. When we'd been in the paddock, he'd be so angry I was surprised his head didn't burst into flames, but now that it was just us in a much more subdued moment, I could tell big bad Mad Max Verstappen didn't know what to do.

“Hey,” he says after a few moments, leaning over to squeeze my knee in a motion so similar to my father I wondered if he picked it up from him. I hum in response and Max's eyes flicker around the room before settling on me.

“Uhm. Jacob was a jackass. He shouldn’t have done that to you, and he…he’s a dick. I’m not very good at comforting people but if you ever need to just…vent or let off steam. Yeah. I’m here.” he folds his hands into his lap, partially leaning towards me.

I can’t help the little smile that breaks across my lips and I nod, “yeah…thank you, Max.”

"Now come on," He grabs me by the waist and hoists me up, resulting in a high-pitched laugh to echo from my throat. He grabs the blanket and throws it over me once again, before he snags the bag of treats and moves to the couch. He sets me down gently, which I'm thankful for, before he throws himself down next to me and grabs the remote.

"Are we watching the first or second Legally Blonde?" He asks, letting me rest my head on his chest as I toss the blanket over us both.

"The first." I hum, "Not feeling very Elle Woods patriotic today."

"We can watch that tomorrow." Max hums and I look at him briefly. His eyes meet mine and he smiles, shifting so he can pull me to his chest as he says, "What? You think I'm just gonna leave you alone while both of your roommates are out this weekend? Nah, you're stuck with me."

I laugh softly, finding a blush forming on my cheeks and I snuggle in as close as physically possible, "I don't mind being stuck with you at all."

thenadinehorner made a new post!

Around midnight Max and I make the pasta, because my apartment is too cold for the dough to thaw, I end up ditching the completely homemade idea and just use pre packaged noodles. We've decimated the first wine glass, and thats when I find my courage to ask,

"Do you wanna go out tomorrow?"

Max turns to look at me out of the corner of his eye, stirring the pasta into the mix of lemon, alfredo, and cilantro in the pan and he narrows his eyes, "How much have you been drinking this week?"

"I just broke off a several year relationship, Max." I sigh, "Come on, tell me you don't wanna go party!”

"Didn't answer my question." Max turns to me, looking over with a tiny grin and I groan, moving to press my chin to his shoulder and blink up at him in my wine haze.

"Past seven nights? Four days, including tonight. But come on, I've never seen you party in person!" I take another sip of my wine and he laughs softly, lifting to plate out the pasta for the both of us.

"Fine, but don't tell you father I'm taking you out. He'd probably kill me with his bare hands for even letting you drink alcohol with me." Max laughs softly and I laugh as well, happily taking the plate of pasta from his hands.

"Oh come on, he practically treats you like a son." I slurp up some of the pasta and groan, rolling my eyes back at the taste. Max watches me and I notice his smile wobble as he turns his head away, choking out a laugh.

"Yeah, but you're his daughter, that's like... a line." He hums, holding a hand over his mouth as he speaks with food in his mouth, and I narrow my eyes at him. I shrug, swallowing some of my wine and walking back over to the couch as I glance at Max over my shoulder,

"I'd cross it." I say. Though, I don't know what I mean when I say it, or how far I would cross that line. But it riles Max up enough for me to choke on the pasta and sputter out a reply,

"No, no," I wave a hand, "I mean, like I'll cross the line and go to the club."

"Oh, good—Okay, Christ." Max laughs, sitting down next to me and taking a good sized bite of his pasta. We leave the other bottle of wine for another day. Maybe to pregame tomorrow.

nadi.h.jpg made a new post! (private!)

liked by blubellhals, oliviahorner, danielricciardo, and 204 others...

nadi.h.jpg: IM SO DRUNK!!!

tagged: maxverstappen

danielricciardo: OH GOD.

landonorris: u ok hon?

bluebellhals: NADINE HORNER. (u look sexy but CALL ME GIRLIE?)

oliviahorner: OH MY GODDDD AHAHAHAH MAX CHUGGING THE FUCKING BOTTLE IMC RYINGGG

charlesleclerc: oh my god???

carlossainz: OH?? estas borracha ??!!

"Nadi!" Max laughs, dragging me by the elbow down the nearly empty London roads. I giggle and cling to his arm before he scoops me up, considering I'd given him my heels long ago to carry.

"Max!" I giggle back, pressing my cheek to the side of his head as he situates me in a hold against his chest. He laughs and half presses me to the wall so he can fiddle with the keys to my apartment building, and then when he gets it, he lifts me so I'm over his shoulder.

"How are you doing this blackout drunk?" I slur and giggle, kicking my legs in my short dress as one of his hands comes to cover my rear from poking out. He takes a few tries to hit the right floor on the elevator as he sways,

"I'm so fucking drunk I have no idea." He laughs back, his hand absentmindedly squeezing me a bit when I slip and I let out a little gasp that makes him chuckle, "Ay, don't get any ideas alright? Just making sure you don't fall and die."

"Aw, you care." I laugh as the elevator dings and he brings me out and to my room. When we get there he sets me down and helps me out of my jacket before I do the same to him, my scattered mind letting my hands linger a bit too long on his sides.

"We're already gonna be hungover when we wake up," I hum, trailing my fingers along his ribs, since I can feel them on his sides through his shirt, "We can have more wine, right?"

"You don't need more," Max laughs, resting his hands on my hips, "I don't either, I'll end up vomiting."

"Ew!" I giggle, leaning into him for support in the tiny hall. His hand rests on the entry table to balance himself as he wraps his arm tighter around me, I blink up at him and watch the way his eyes flicker around my skin. His eyes lower to my lips and I feel my breath hitch, I step closer until theres no more space and look through my lashes before tilting up and grinning at him with a drunken giggle.

"Like what you see, Maxie?" I hum, sliding my hands up his sides until wrapping them around his back, nails slightly scratching through the thin white shirt as I tilt my head at him in tease.

"Oh, don't do this to me." He groans, eyes rolling and shutting tight as he lets out a breathy sigh, "Don't do this to me, Nadi."

"Do what?" I question with genuine concern, watching as he opens his eyes and his grip tightens partially. He's in my space, nose almost touching mine, but he's not invading me. Infact, I'd let him stay here forever.

"You know you are a line I can't cross." He murmurs, lips ghosting mine and I want to connect us so bad but when I tilt forward he pulls back and groans in the back of his throat. I hate the way it makes a flame ignite in my stomach. I'd never seen Max like this, but yet in the past four years I'd been infatuated with the guy who broke my heart.

"I don't want you to do this and regret it." He whispers, "Because I've loved you for a very long time, and if you let me do this, it won't be good for either of us. And we're drunk as shit, so I'm not thinking straight and I doubt you are too."

"You're a very coherent drunk." I hum and Max snorts, watching me sway in place as the world swirls around me.

"Thanks, it's the trauma." He says and I laugh, pitching into him hard enough he stumbles. Pushing me the other way so I don't fall, he catches me against the entry way table, his hands on either one of my hips and holding me tight to make sure I stay put.

Was he always this attractive, or was I just stupid drunk?

"Y/n." Max whispers out a whine of my birth name, all it does it make my breath hitch and my heart thrum as he brings a hand to my throat and feels my pulse under his thumb. I close my eyes, rolling them as he pulls me in with that hand, ghosting his lips along the edge of my jaw.

I find enough courage to whisper, "But what if I said yes, hm? I don't have a problem with doing this with you."

"Do you know how many times I've imagine this exact moment?" He growls against the skin of my neck, teeth nipping at the skin with each word he breathes out heavily against my perfume covered skin. I bring a hand to the back of his head, bump his teeth into the skin, and to my delight he bites.

"Fuck." I whisper, "we can't."

"Oh, but you just said we could," Max lifts his head from my neck, eyes meeting mine, his hand dips and I flutter at the feeling of him tracing a tiny shape into the inside of my thigh. He indents it with his nail, leaving a crescent as he whispers, "didn't you, sweetheart?"

As he accentuates his words with a soft kiss to soothe the bite, his fingers skim the edge of my skirt and tug to lift it up a bit higher. I bite my lip and he uses a thumb to my chin to pull it back out, capturing me in a slow kiss as his hands drop back down to my thighs to pick me up, setting me on the entry table.

He kneels, looking up at me with those big eyes and he asks permission, and my hands find his hair as I nod and that stupid cocky grin splits across his lips and makes my heart tumble into his hands.

Thank god my roommates are gone.

I wake up with a splitting headache and a bout of nausea that makes me almost lose it over the side of my bed. I don't remember much past leaving the club when I'd started to get super drunk and force myself to sit up to check the time.

And then I realize I am very much not wearing clothes.

"Oh fuck." I hiss, turning to look around my empty room. Well, save for the familiar blonde man shaped lump next to me in bed.

Wait a fucking second.

"Oh my god!" I shout without thinking and the mass stirs, a soft mess of English and Dutch seeping from his lips. He pushes himself to his forearms and looks over, blinking before his face drops into the same horror I'd just gone through.

"Oh fuck." Is all he can manage, then there's a soft banging on my door and my step-mother's voice echoes through the apartment and Max brings a hand to his mouth as he groans, "Oh, I'm so dead."

"We both are! Get up!" I hiss under my breath, scrambling to get out of bed and curb my nausea as I grab the first big knit sweater and leggings in my hamper and throw them on while Max roots through his suitcase to find something to wear. I dip into the bathroom and throw my hair up to mostly hide its mess, luckily the sweater covers most marks left on my skin. When Max comes in I grab his face and squint at him through my hangover.

"If anyone asks, you slept on the couch, and I let you use my bathroom to get ready because the warm water isn't working in the guest bathroom." I hiss out and Max nods, a blush on his face as I slam the door shut and call out to my step-mom that I'm coming to answer. Making my way into the foyer, I scoop up the discarded clothing and astray items, tucking them into a bin by the door and quickly doing a once over of the main room of my apartment.

I needed to light a candle.

I unlock the door and pop it open, rubbing at my head and Geri chuckles at my clearly hungover state as she asks, "Bad time?"

"I'm so hungover I might throw up." I say and she nods, giggling as she continues with a slightly curious look in her eyes. I know she's trying to figure it out.

"You don't exactly sleep in until four in the afternoon for fun." She hands me a bag, "Max is still here I assume, he left these. Just stopping by to give them back."

"He's showering, yeah. Geri, if I saw you were coming I would've grabbed them so you didn't have to come up here." I laugh, taking the bag. When the collar of my sweater shifts, Geri's eyes flick down and she raises her eyebrows at me and it's that moment I know she's caught me.

"Don't say a word." I point and she raises her hands with a shocked laugh, nodding to me.

"I don't even want to know who gave it to you," She says looking away with red on her cheeks and a loud laugh, "I'm just gonna go, because if I'm here any longer your father might get impatient. Also you are an adult, and it’s none of my business!”

"Thanks, Ger." I run a hand through my bangs to smooth as best I can and Geri nods, flicking her eyes across my body with her new knowledge and stifling a laugh into the back of her hand. Part of me wants to reach over and whack her, but I refrain from letting my embarrassment get the best of me. She gives me a tight hug, wishes me well, and starts to walk away. Before I can shut the door, she calls my name over her shoulder and I poke my head out to see her standing in the elevator doors as she shouts,

"Tell Max to be a bit softer next time!"

And my response is a slam of my apartment door and a loud groan into the wooden material it's made of. I step back and turn to see Max poke his head out of the doorway of my bedroom.

"Just Geri, this is yours." I say, walking over to him and setting the bag into his hands, "and..."

"I'm sorry." He sighs, running a hand through the front of his now wet hair. I try to ignore how much I want to do the same thing. I swallow it down and bury it as far as I can. He's twenty seven, not much older but enough for my father to raise an eyebrow. I was only twenty two, barely so.

"I'm just as much at fault, it takes two to tango, y'know." I hum and he huffs out a laugh, and despite myself I say, "if it makes you feel better, even if it was a stupid decision... I don't entirely regret it. Even if I don't remember it that much."

"I don't remember much either." He agrees, "can we just agree to not... ever, talk about this happening again?"

"Happily." I nod as I feel a weird sort of relief and embarrassment rush across my skin. I would happily pretend this had never happened. But when my eyes meet his, theres something within their depths that tells me this wouldn't be a one time hookup. Call me crazy, or horny, or whatever you want, but there was something that has shifted. Something new was settled between us, and Max and I would never be the same.

But we painfully would pretend to be. To save face.

taglist (thank u for ur support <3!)

@rosegasly @uuzhanggggggg @biitch-with-wifi @1655clean @struggling-with-delia

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic

[qierxing]

Fathoms Below

Commissioned by the amazing rainbowsillz

TW/CW: Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy coping mechanisms and mindsets, Blackmailing, Threats of Violence Yan!Azul x Mer! Reader

You're not exactly a go-getter.

It's not in your species' nature to be so, when one of your greatest strengths is to simply go with the flow and see where the sea currents take you. Even in the darkest trench, you'll always find a way through (using your handy glow in the dark biology).

It is, however, just like you to be curious when the waves take you to the next interesting destination. 

This shipwreck must be recent. Last time you were here, you don't recall broken masts and a proud figurehead buried in the sand here. You float along while examining the wreckage with a meticulous gaze. The glimmers of buried jewelry here and there don't interest you. No, you have no interest in such trinkets.

There's a gaping hole within the port side, jagged wood ripped into razor sharp teeth revealing the insides. It's dark and cloudy with mud and debris, but that's no issue for you. Rot and time have claimed the interior, but there's still some items that survive. As you swim closer, you discover quite a few things littering a toppled desk. 

There's a glass bottle that is scratched and covered in dirt but still intact. Within, there's parchment rolled up, perfectly preserved and safe from the salt waters. You tuck the bottle away in your bag, making sure it's snug inside so there's no chance it would fall out. Another cursory glance has you catching a curious metal object, no bigger than a clam shell, with strangely colored needles inside. You decide to also pocket it, just in case it turns out to be useful.

All in all, it's a fruitful exploration that has you quite satisfied. You are tempted to continue, but the rays of light are already dimming above into sunset, and your parents would not be happy about having to spend hours finding you again, especially not in a new unfamiliar area.

But just as you're almost to the colony where your family has settled down, you hear some strange sounds. Mischievous laughter mixed with crying has you turning your head in mild confusion. Following the commotion, you find a clearing with a large metal pot, surrounded by several other merfolk. You vaguely recognize them as your neighbors, their faces somewhat flickering in your memory. 

"What's so funny?" The quiet question has them turning around in panic, surprised by your unexpected presence. There's some awkward coughs and furtive glances exchanged between the gaggle.

A nearly unnoticeable teary sniffling has you glancing at the pot, realizing someone must be inside. When your suspicious eyes meet the clique's again, their faces sour as they sheepishly swim away, clearly annoyed they were deprived of their fun. 

It doesn't take much to piece two and two together. Sighing, you wait for a moment, then two, but nothing else happens. The mysterious sniffling has stopped but there is no sign of them being willing to leave the dark pot.

The calls of your parents carry on the currents, lulling you back home. You chance another indifferent glance back before swimming off towards home.

—

Apparently, the metal circular item you found is called a ‘compass’ by humans. According to your father, at least. When you pester him more about it, he shrugs and says that human sailors would use it to find their way on their voyages. The red needle would supposedly point you to your path. That was the only thing he knew about it.

You’re absolutely delighted with this fascinating discovery. So much so, that you can barely contain your excitement during class to go and test your gadget. 

"[First] [Last], are you listening?!" You let out a shocked yelp at your compass being swiped away by another finned hand. Your teacher peers down at you with disapproval in her beady eyes. The compass glints in her claws, just out of reach. 

"Pay attention to the lesson. You can retrieve your toy tomorrow." And with that, you watch sullenly as she swims away with your treasure. Snickers echo around you from your classmates but you ignore them, propping open your notebook in annoyance. The day seems longer without your compass in hand, but finally, the bell rings and class is over for the day.

The rest of your classmates waste no time swimming out the door, chattering about plans and playdates and what not, but you still remain in your seat, vindictive and resentful. 

"I can't even test out that compass until tomorrow." You slump over and your head hits the coral slate with a dull thud. Ms. Ulyana can be so stingy sometimes. Besides, you already knew everything taught in the magical theory section today.

"Excuse me?" You don't bother raising your head, still moping about the loss of your precious gadget. 

"What." You're not in the mood to be made fun of or exchange polite conversations at the moment.

"Isn't this yours?" You sit up abruptly, and see a young octopus mer holding the compass in his hands. You vaguely remember him sitting in the back of the room, hunched over his notebook, his glossy silver locks covering his face. 

"How did you…?" He smiles faintly with mischief flickering in his pupils.

"Octo-mers are great at camouflage, did you know?" The boy shrugs casually, setting down the gadget in front of you. “And…” He starts mumbling, fidgeting nervously with his fingers where you can’t hear him. 

“Er, what did you say? I didn’t catch that.” You awkwardly interject. 

“It’s….it’s thanksforhelpingmeout!” He blurts out quickly. This time, you hear him perfectly clear and stare at him in mild confusion. When did you help him out? You wrack your brains but come up empty. Instead of embarrassing him by denying it, you just nod along.

“Well, still, thanks. I’ve been waiting all day to try this out.” You grin. “You’re the coolest, uh…”

“A-Azul. Azul Ashengrotto.”

“You’re the best, Azul,” You hold out a confident hand. “I’m [First]. Wanna be friends?”

He hesitates, eyes staring intensely at your open palm offered. “Y…You want to be friends with me?”

You tilt your head. “I think anyone willing to get into trouble for me is worth befriending.”

“Even if…I’m just a crybaby and octo-twerp?” His lower lip trembles, teary voice nearly cracking.

“Who called you that?!” You put your hands on your hips, raising a tentacle to intertwine with one of his own. “I’ll give them a hearty zap if they do such a thing!” Azul splutters as you administer a gentle shock through your tentacles. It’s absurd enough to make him burst out laughing and you join in happily. 

Within that small classroom, a fond memory is created with that childish laughter.

—

The compass seems to get wonky underwater in the depths, so you reluctantly take to the shallows where the sea pressure is a little nicer to your gadget. 

It's strange to be so close to the sky as merfolk. The clouds remind you of the sulfurous gasses that are spewed in the deeper marine trenches. But it's much more transparent compared to the opaque heavier gas, lighter and much more friendlier looking. 

The red needle points straight ahead, and you breach just slightly, spotting a beach in the distance. Despite reservations, you drift closer, still only keeping your face above to render your sight usable. 

Misty fog clears and reveals palm trees and jagged rocks littering the golden sands. It's no island, since the land stretches further back into the atmosphere, with no end in sight. But there's no sign of life, save for the seagulls circling above and tiny crabs scuttering below. A little bit disappointing for your destination.

The stories you heard from elders were always about wild islands with treacherous fauna and mysterious treasure buried deep underground. Maybe even a group of thieves lurking around. This was just a barren reef that held naught but the bones of those unfortunate to wash up here. 

Still, you move forward, trying to see if there’s anything at all on the sand. Some multi-colored sea shells here and there, hardly in the condition to be collected, let alone be traded for with others. You glance at the compass in your hands with an annoyed huff.

“Useless thing…” You mutter under your breath. It’s a childish hope, but you had thought it would lead you to somewhere amazing, that you could tell your own tale about. That way, Azul could finally stop scoffing at you for your ‘ridiculous’ dreams and prove everyone else wrong.

The item barely makes a sound when it meets sand, and you turn away. The disappointment has already dampened your spirit to the point where you want to find the darkest nook and curl up and sleep.

A throat clears behind you, and you freeze at the unexpected sound.

“I believe this is yours?” The voice is tinged with specks of haughtiness that has your hackles raising subconsciously. 

A human boy has the compass you tossed in hand, inspecting it with a thoughtful look, before turning that gaze to you. His purple eyes are mesmerizing; they remind you of the vibrant sea shells in the various reefs dotting the Coral Sea. It takes an embarrassing moment for you to compose yourself to finally reply.

“It isn’t anymore.” He raises a judgemental eyebrow, and you almost shrink in on yourself. 

“Why not?” You cross your arms defensively at the judgemental tone. “It isn’t good to litter, you know.”

Your ears burn at the pointed accusation. Is a human seriously going to lecture you about pollution when they’re one of the causes for said situations? 

“That item used to belong to humankind, how is it littering when I am merely returning it to its place on land?”

“In this condition? I’d be surprised if it still works.”

“Well, it clearly didn’t work when I was trying to use it.” You fold your arms petulantly as the boy’s eyes slant in judgemental surprise.

“What use does merfolk have for human gadgets?” You bristle at the questioning tone. “I thought your kind has no need for these kinds of things, since you have an innate sense of direction.”

“So what?” You snap. “Who said that mers weren’t also curious about exploring either?”

“Exploring?”

This back and forth ends in a humiliating embarrassment when Vil (he introduces himself with an air of elegance that makes you think of royalty) informs you that the compass is not some kind of magical gadget that can lead you to your desired location. You thought he would be more smug and condescending about it, but he only patiently explains the usage of the compass and how the red needle is only meant as a stalwart guide, as it will always point north wherever you are. It’s a little disappointing, but still. You could see how it was useful as a human.

“That sucks. I wanna explore a new land one day and be able to tell all about it to my folks.” You flick your tentacle and splash some water out in musing. Vil has settled on a rock near you and now the animosity has simmered away into genuine curiosity for each other. It’s nice. When was the last time you were able to talk this freely about your dreams?

“I’m sure you can,” Vil smiles, and your breath is momentarily taken away. 

It feels good to have someone who believes in you, for once.

—

"...I think he’s a good person.”

The sound of someone choking makes you whip your head to see Azul keeled over his large book volume. After recovering, he looks up at you with incredulous disbelief in his sapphire eyes.

"You can't be serious? He's a human!" He spits, hostility coating his words like tarred ink. 

"Ugh, so what?" You puff out your cheeks. “Why do you have a problem with this anyway?”

“Because he’s a human! And besides, how do you know he won’t do something suspicious like sell off your fins or tentacles once you turn your back, huh?!” Azul retorts, making you roll your eyes. 

“This is not the age of the Sea Witch, Azul, it’s the modern era,” you coldly reply. “And that’s rich coming from you. Did you get that tome from the library or someone else?”

Azul flinches, cheeks blotching into a mottled dark purple as his tentacles writhed around the book as if to protect it from your disdainful gaze. Of course. Last week you swore one of your classmates had become mute, and another one’s P.E grades had dropped drastically, despite performing well in the past years. Azul sure has been working hard perfecting his unique magic these days.

“I earned this book fair and square!” Azul protests. “That human is another thing completely!”

“His name is Vil.” It’s like talking to a stone wall. You knew Azul disliked hearing about Vil, but not to this extent. “And he’s my friend.”

“I’m your friend too!” Aquamarine eyes narrow as your closest friend snarls at you. “Doesn’t that mean anything?!”

“Not when you’re insulting my other friends!” Without meaning to, your own tentacles begin to thrash in irritation, buzzing with the hum of electricity. “Ugh, forget it. I knew you were going to be like this, just like when you make fun of me for my weird treasure hunting.”

You’re not a fast swimmer, so even if you storm off, it must look silly, just floating away as your tentacles drift behind you. Despite the desperate calls of your name echoing behind you, you don’t turn back at all.

—

Perhaps you should’ve thought about at least making up with Azul before you made your decision.

“How are you going to explore the world if you can’t even leave the sea?” Vil had said with a disapproving frown. “You can’t let sentimentality shackle you from your potential.”

The words echo in the back of your mind. Sentimentality. Yes, that was one way to put a label on your relationship with Azul. You can’t deny entirely that reaching out that hand to him that fateful day was entirely out of a genuine desire to make friends. That little regret permeates the way you end up having to cheer Azul up from another self loathing session or whenever you’re having to reassure him that you won’t ever leave him all alone. It’s not that you actually believe in your words, but rather, it was the quickest way to quiet his tantrums. And although Azul matured greatly in magic and smarts, he never did quite grow out of his childish belief that you would always be there to coddle him. Not even when those sly eels attached themselves to him, taking over your role of being an actual friend.

So you take to the surface with your parents’ tearful blessings, leaving only a brief message with an acquaintance you made in your elementary school days. Rielle had hesitated, but ultimately wished you luck up on the surface. You can’t blame him. If you were braver, you would have made the effort to say the bitter words to your friend yourself. But that would be wasted time on a flood of tears and ink and even worse, a complete meltdown that would take days to mend.

When the volunteers handed you the transformation potion, they told you that although you trade your fins for legs, most mers have to adjust for a long period of time, having been so accustomed to swimming and utilizing your unique biology. At the time, you threw those warnings to the wind and chugged down the potion. Nothing would matter if it meant you could break away from the sea foam. You hadn’t realized the gravity of this until you’re stumbling over yourself and constantly ending up with aching bruises on your knees and shins. 

You hadn’t quite realized, until Azul is the one pushing you back and shrugging your apartment door shut behind him with a deafening click. Although it took you weeks to figure out how to walk without falling, Azul moved with an ease as if he’s always been human. It almost makes you envious enough to forget that he’s pinning you back on a wall, pupils dilated and breathing heavily like a madman. 

“Azul, let go! What the hell? How did you even know where I lived–?!” You’re not entirely panicked, more confused and annoyed. Even if he was erratic at times, he was still that baby octopus. He wasn’t exactly like the Leech eels who were known for their sharp teeth and ability to maul things to shreds. 

“It wasn’t easy, you know,” Azul mutters, a thin sharp grin strained across his face. “Do you know how hard it is to follow your tracks after you abandoned me like that?!” You scoff. One month and he’s already thinking it’s the end of the world that you weren’t glued to his side night and day. 

“Abandon? Please. You must be insane to think that me going to the surface to study is the equivalent of abandoning someone,” you spit back in his face and he recoils only slightly, but still remains steadfast in his strong grip over your hands. Even as you wiggle, he gives no indication of letting go. 

“Well, that doesn’t matter now,” you bristle at the way he ignores your reply. Bad habits die hard– he’s always loved ignoring anything he didn’t want to hear from you when convenient. It’s almost relieving in a way, to see that he hasn’t changed a bit. “We’ll be returning back to the Coral Sea.”

“What?!” Now you’re angry. It’s one thing to hear Azul to be delusional, it’s another to have to entertain those delusions. “You must be out of your Sea Witch’s mind to think that I’ll–” Your words die in your throat when something cold and hard presses to your jugular, digging into your voice box.

“You will.” Azul’s pupils are still dilated, black taking over sapphire pools and leaving only a cold abyss. Your eyes dart down, following the magical pen that gleams with a silvery gemstone that makes your heart almost stop in place. “You will, and you know why, my dear?”

“Because I earned you first, fair and square.”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #my works #commissions

[underratedgrapeju1ce]

You mentioned Sonic and Rouge are technically Shadow’s caregivers and he needs supervision. You also mentioned he hates it, how does he cope later on ? Does it change their relationship with them ? How do they learn to go through it ?

warnings for suicidal ideation and mentions of throwing up/gagging, proceed with caution!

this got long.

Shadow has always been hard headed. Stubborn. Independent. Insistent that he can handle himself even when he's falling apart. That was how he lived his life: show no weakness, take care of yourself.

So when he was left blinded, unable to trust his own thoughts, and scrubbed raw from the inside out, his every memory exposed and no longer his own, he didn't exactly know how to cope.

Sonic would say he had it easier. Shadow disagreed. Though he knew what Black Doom had done to him was likely worse, Shadow was, depressingly, somewhat used to it.

The manipulation, being seen as both worthless and a perfect target for blame--- it was all second nature by now.

Subjectively, he tries to argue, Sonic losing his freedom is a more novel, and thus more terrifying occurrence. Omega tells him he's intellectualizing his feelings again. Shadow doesn't answer.

Rouge usually stays with him. They were close before, for their standards. Sometimes mission partners, roommates for their collective financial benefit, trusting enough that Shadow smiles around her when he can muster it. Sure, they weren't arm-in-arm, ruffling each other's fur and throwing get-togethers, but they felt connected. And that was enough for them.

Shadow missed that now.

Now, Rouge watched over him like a nurse rather than a companion. Sonic wasn't nocturnal, so she had "night shift" as they called it. It made Shadow nauseous with guilt, how exhausting his presence was now. He was forcing his closest companions to do the equivalent of care for an infant, and he voices it as such.

They assure him they do it because they cared. Sometimes Shadow screams that he knows they're here because they pity him. A few hours later he cries to them and begs them not to leave.

After that, he feels the sickening dread that he's let himself be seen vulnerable and weak. Sometimes he gets sick from it, and Sonic has to hold his quills back. The cycle begins anew.

Technically, Shadow doesn't need to sleep. He voices this repeatedly. Sure the insomnia makes his useless eyes throb and his head feel as if it's being drilled with an ice pick, grinding his skull to dust, but he prefers that over the possibility of dreams.

He does not want to relive the altar. He does not want to see his father wearing his own face and using it to torture the ones he loves. He does not want to remember the collective of the hive embracing his every thought.

Black Doom is dead. He knows this deep in his soul and in his bones and in his mind. He knows this, because the deep, humming buzz in the back of his head for his entire life---an oddity he never took note of---went quiet when he was blinded. His mind is silent. Shadow sobs, quietly so Rouge does not hear, so he doesn't have to explain how utterly lonely he feels in his own mind. The guilt makes him choke and cough and gag. The Ultimate Lifeform was meant to cure sickness.

Of course Shadow had considered killing himself. All of Gerald's creations had a kill switch, right? If he simply knew.

Logically, it made sense to him.

He attracted threats to the planet. He was prone to violence and impulsivity. His father's blood rotted in his veins. He was a weapon. He was dangerous. And now he was a burden on his companions lives.

He had explained this calmly and simply, as if proposing a craft project. Even without sight, he could see Sonic's horrified disbelief. It only made Shadow confused.

Shadow was stubborn. Independent. Cold. Now, he doesn't know what he is at all. Weak, burdensome. About as good as a broken gun. He does not know how much longer he can logically allow himself to go on living.

But in the fleeting moments his hatred of himself and his weakness and his contempt towards his friends dissipates, and he clings to Rouge and lets himself cry, allows himself to sob and tell the empty room that what happened to him wasn't fair, he was a child, he didn't deserve this---god, he didn't deserve this, none of them did---and when his sobs turn to shaky hiccups and he allows himself to be seen,

Shadow does not want to die.

His last final "fuck you" to his father.

Shadow will keep living.

#holy HELL this is way too long #whateva #writing #sonic #sonic au #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog 2005 #shadow the hedgehog #shadow sonic #project shadow #sonic fanfiction #drabble #whump #angst #rouge the bat #rouge sonic #black doom #e 123 omega

[cocopop-04]

Robin was dead. His mother had sold him out and the Joker had trapped him, beat him bloody with a crowbar and left him to die in a warehouse set to blow. And so, Jason Todd was dead. But the Joker wasn’t.

It wasn’t fair, not to Jason and not to every person who believed in Robin. The Joker had killed him and yet he was still alive, still breathing, rotting away in Arkham until he found his next opportunity to escape. Tim couldn’t blame Batman for being unable to kill the Joker – he had his own set of morals and reasons why he wouldn’t cross them, and Tim could accept that. But next time it might be Batman whose heart stopped because of the Joker.

A flame had been lit inside of Tim, a fiery determination, a thirst for revenge. It was all the Joker’s fault. But the Joker was well protected. Tim had killed before, and he knew he might be able to kill the Joker too, no matter the cost to him. But Joker’s death was the problem just as much as it was the goal. It would topple the careful balance of power within Gotham, and the resulting power struggle that was sure to follow would paint Gotham’s history books red, on a level never before seen. Batman wasn’t equipped to deal with that fallout in the best frame of mind, and he certainly wouldn’t cope in his current state.

Still, Tim was tempted. Wipe the Joker from the face of the earth, gun him down or sink a blade into his throat and take Gotham down with him. He would be responsible for thousands of deaths – Batman’s included – with just one action, and nobody would even find out if he planned it well enough. Tim thought it over for days on end, aching to kill the Joker and yet unwilling to sacrifice Gotham to do it.

It would be worth it, he thought some days, the collateral. But he remembered Dick, tears flowing down his face, stricken with anguish as he returned to Wayne Manor to find out if it was true that Jason was dead, only to find his brother already in the ground. He remembered Alfred, the man who was never anything but put together, visit Tim at Drake Manor only to sit on the couch and sob as everything came crashing down on him. The man who, a week later, had come back and, with tears in his eyes, spent the afternoon telling stories of the grandson he would never again see, who would never again laugh or cry or punch a criminal, or sit in the library reading quietly next to Alfred, or comfort a panicked victim as Robin.

Tim couldn’t put them through all that pain and grief again, he refused to let Batman die, refused to give Alfred another person to mourn.

As much as Tim wanted to end the Joker, he wouldn’t kill Batman to do it.

From my fic An Avenged Bird on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51758287

#dc #tim drake #dc comics #batfamily #batman #batman comics #the joker #ao3 link #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #dc universe #alfred pennyworth #unhinged tim drake #cocopop's fics #cocopop's posts

[samsgff]

*Using the events of s5 with a little bit of alternations*

⚠️ tw for suicide nd alcoholism ⚠️

Once Sam jumped into the hole dean felt like he was stabbed right through the heart.

Days, weeks, months had gone by and Dean was still grieving. See everyone has their own way of grieving Dean's way was to rot at Bobby's house, he did not move an inch from his bed, he let himself drown completely in his sorrow. Bobby tried his best to convince him to go on hunting trips with him and constantly told him it'll help, but dean's only reply was "I'm done".

Day after day, the bottles of boose kept increasing, but drinking was his only escape. It was his way to numb the pain, it was his way to fill in the void inside of him that kept growing ever since the incident. It was his way to be at peace, it allowed him to sleep without rewatching his brother jump to his death. However some coping mechanisms lose their purpose at some point. The alcohol was not doing it for the now only child winchester, even so he tried to keep on going but what was left for him to hang on to if the only person he ever cared for was gone? And so one night, when Bobby was out, Dean went looking for some pills and since he knew Bobby more than his own father he knew exactly where he kept them so it didn't take much time for him to find those colorful tablets. He wrote a farewell letter to his adoptive father his one and only father, thanking him for taking him and his younger brother under his wing and apologized for being such a pain in the ass for the past few years. Dean knew the right dose, he always has. As he swallowed those pills down with whiskey he could feel the inside of his stomach already lightning up in flames, but he didn't care, he wanted it to end, he wanted to be where he belonged, in hell, next to his sammy.

Few minutes later, everything went silent, his body was completely numb, his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

The old man arrived at his house, he opened the door, it was quiet way too quiet. He placed his keys on the coffee table and called out: "Dean?" his eyes caught the letter, he opened it with shaky hands, that can't be, Dean wouldn't do that he tried gaslighting himself. He dropped the letter and ran as fast he could breaking down the door and holding Dean's unconscious body between his arms. "No Dean wake up" He yelled. "Wake up now boy" he yelled again as his eyes filled up with tears. "Dean don't do that to me" he mumbled while holding his body closer to him. "Castiel!!" he screamed. "Get down here cas now!" he screamed again hoping the angel would answer his prayers. And he did. "what happened?" he asked confused. "Fix him now or i swear" Bobby threatened. Cas placed his hand over Dean's forehead and it only took a few seconds before he opened his eyes again.

He adjusted himself, looked at his hands all confused.

"No no noo" he screamed in anger.

"WHY DID YOU BRING ME BACK?" he looked at the angel and his adoptive father with eyes full of tears.

"i was ready to go i was ready to die" he yelled.

"Well too bad because i wasn't" Bobby snapped

"the only person who brought a purpose to my life is gone. The only person i ever loved and cared for and looked after is gone. And there's a hole inside of that just keeps on growing and growing everyday and it- it hurts it hurts so much i thought- i thought i could numb the pain but it's crushing me it's sucking the life out of me i can't i just can't" he cried out.

Bobby and Cas stood above him, with sadness and despair in their eyes.

"i think i could help" Cas mumbled

Dean looked up to him with the tiniest bit of hope.

"i could erase every memory you ever had with sam it would be like he was never your brother- like he never existed" he continued while avoiding eye contact.

"no i can't allow that" bobby added

"this is my decision bobby" dean replied firmly.

"do it cas" he said as he stood up and faced him.

"but this is going to hurt" castiel warned him before proceeding.

"i said do it" he repeated.

The angel placed the palm of his hand over the hunters forehead and channeled every power he had, it didn't take long before dean fell to his knees screaming as all of the memories with his younger brother flashed before his eyes. Bobby looked away since he couldn't handle seeing his son in that condition.

Once it was over dean fell to the ground unconscious.

"his body is going to need a little of time to readjust" cas told Bobby in a reassuring tone.

"i hope you realize the consequences of what you just did" the adoptive father added before leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.

#jensen ackles #spn #jared padalecki #sam winchester #sam and dean #dean winchester #castiel #spn season 5 #my fic #demons #lucifer spn #samifer #bobby singer #alternate universe

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

“Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful dead and rotting?”  - Li Susu, probably.

Some male leads shield their lovers with their bodies to protect their life, but only Tantai Jin is bonkers enough to shield with his her decaying corpse, even protecting her from his own blood falling on her and sullying her. He treasures the little that he has left of her more than anything in the world, including himself and his own life.

Since the moment Xiwu died, he’s been going through a vicious circle of disbelief, anguish, denial of reality, and finally acceptance and grief, but instead of going through it all at once, he does it in stages to cope because he can’t bear to accept the whole harsh “truth” all at once - that not only did his lover leave him, but that she would rather die than stay with him, suggesting she might have never loved him. 

First, he struggles to accept she died, after he does, she convinces himself she loved him and cared for him, selectively forgetting the terrible reality of her praying to heavens above to never meet him again in any lifetime. It’s a copying mechanism not to come completely apart at the seams due to the pain such revelation would cause him, but it’s also his way of comforting himself with the notion she loved him, that he was wedged inside her heart and thus, a part of her truly belonged to him.

It’s only Ye Quinyu’s tough love which makes Tantai Jin face all of it and cure his copying selective amnesia. When he finally recalls Xiwu’s final words to him, it causes him excruciating torment, as his brain, body, heart and soul exploded with pain at the onslaught of terrible “truth”.

Despite the fact that he’s given everything of himself to Xiwu, sharing his whole being, including his deepest darkest secrets, insecurities and vulnerabilities, Tantai Jin still feels the eternal regret of not loving her enough and not treating her right because he misunderstood her her and judged her unfairly. He wants to repay her kindness forever and protect her in death when he failed in life. 

Qingyu and Tantai Jin have both lost all their loved once but what sets the two men and their reactions apart is their past. Qingyu has spent more than 20 years of his life being loved with a strong support system of people who constantly taught him sense of duty and sacrifice for others. On the other hand, Tantai Jin had never experienced any of that. For those same 20+ years, he had been love-starved, actually starved, physically and emotionally abused, demeaned and feared by everyone, and betrayed by those few he cared about. No one ever taught him how to love the world, they only showed him how to hate it through the constant abuse he received from it. Until Xiwu barged into his life like a bright star, bringing light to his dark world, blinding him with her kindness and beauty. 

She’s become the center of his universe, she anchored him, comforted him and offered him solace when no one else did, taught him how to love her and himself, and care for others. However, she has perished. And what does a universe do when it loses its center? It collapses on itself, just like Tantai Jin is falling apart now. He has lost her, and with her, he has lost himself.

The most heartwrenching acceptance and resignation in the history of dramaland.

The way he is touching her and looking at her so reverently, as if she’s a goddess on a pedestal (which he made for her and on which he actually placed her) and he was worshipping her, clinging to her in death as he used to cling to her in life. His eyes always search for her, he wants her to be the first thing when he opens his eyes and when he closes them. 

Give Luo Yunxi all the awards because he slays every single scene. The emotional range he exhibits in a single minute is out of this world.

#till the end of the moon #luo yunxi #bai lu #cdrama

[bestworstcase]

also.

i know the general expectation is that jaune will share the details of what happened to penny and ruby will lash out at him in a blind rage and they’ll have a horrid fight—

but honestly i don’t get the sense that ruby has that kind of violent, burning anger in herself rn. beneath her disintegrating facade of Being Okay, what we keep seeing is 1. utter, hopeless despair, and 2. cold, venomous self-loathing. ruby is very, very angry but it’s a glacial sort of wrath and it points inwards.

conversely jaune has armored himself in brittle anger. beneath the surface there’s a bloody core of lacerating guilt, but he’s coping with it by spitting it outwards as harsh, embittered cynicism. he spent most of 9.6 in a state of simmering hostility toward team rwby—as overjoyed as he is to see them, as relieved as he feels, they are also a brutal reminder of all this pain rotting inside him and he lashes out and lashes out and lashes out in all these small, mean, cutting little ways.

he also presented ruby with crescent rose as a gift, intending it to be a happy surprise (<- but think about that for a moment. jaune saw crescent rose when he fell. both he and it landed on the beach. he spent thirty odd years holding vigil over that beach, waiting for crescent rose, and then… he picked up crescent rose and left. after all that time he spent waiting for his friends, he took ruby’s weapon away from her—and didn’t go back to look for ruby or his other friends. why?)

how is he going to react if/when he notices that ruby wants to get rid of crescent rose? or when ruby doesn’t “lick her wounds” a bit and then bounce back to being the relentlessly hopeful ruby rose he remembers? or if ruby doesn’t like whatever he has planned, or if blake and yang aren’t happy about him driving the cat away (or if ruby and/or weiss expresses doubt about whether they really made the right choice, in the storm)?

like… this doesn’t feel like it’s building toward a guilty confession. especially not with how overtly jaune returning crescent rose is paralleled to tai springing the arm on yang. i think we’re headed for jaune telling ruby what exactly happened to penny in a moment of frustration, as a harsh jab to try to shock her out of brooding, echoing the ‘tough love’ treatment tai gives yang in V4 after she doesn’t just pop the arm on and magically become okay again like he expected her too—except with catastrophic consequences because 1. whereas yang had had months to adjust to not having her arm, it’s only been a few hours since ruby’s whole sense of self shattered; 2. an ill-timed stab at dark humor (directed at someone who uses dark humor to cope) is way, way less cruel than throwing something like this into a grieving person’s face; and 3. tai’s ‘tough love’ bullshit was counter-balanced by the support and understanding yang got from oobleck and port in the same conversation, whereas ruby’s support network is three other traumatized kids who have no idea how badly she’s suffering or why and keep accidentally rubbing salt in her wounds.

just… i think jaune’s ‘confession’ is going to be more of a kick in the teeth while ruby is at her lowest and her breakdown is going to be more of a howling despair than a seething rage

#rwby v9 spoilers #i’m worried! i’m very worried for her!

[henrys-wee-hen]

No-one Fucks With The Lobos - Chapter 23

Brain rot go deep

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48070186/chapters/123590164

There was no mention of Josephine’s death in the morning news. Nothing at all. But, Teddy heard on the wind via his guys that she’d died. Someone had nailed her clean through the skull at point-blank range. There was no chance of survival at all… I feigned sorrow as Teddy murmured something along the lines of it being maybe the Kennedys, or the Santiagos, or the Masons… the guys understood the assignment.

Teddy was already in the office when I walked in with a bowl of cereal for breakfast.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he purred, appraising me. I had my robe on, nothing beneath it. My tan had developed into a healthy glow, even covering my scars. I felt real good, smelled even better – and I wanted to forget about Josephine fucking Maine.

“Hey,” I muttered, finishing my spoonful of cereal. I discarded the bowl on the edge of his desk, moved in front of him, and straddled him. It took no time at all to free him from his trousers and get him hard enough that I could start riding him. And he watched me, opening the robe and appraising every fucking inch of me, feeling me with his hands.

“God, you’re fucking amazing,” he groaned, gripping my hips as I ran my hands through his hair. He kissed me deeply, moaning into my mouth, which only made that sweet little coil in my abs grow tighter, quicker. I did all the work, taking what I needed, what I wanted, while Teddy spurred me on. I hadn’t realised that tears were pouring down my cheeks until I was forced to take in a huge, shaking, deep breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. Teddy stilled me.

“No – N-no Teddy d-don’t stop!” I whined. “Please don’t stop! Please – baby, please!” I clung to him, and he growled something, standing. He put me on the edge of the desk, still inside me, and started to move slowly.

“You’re fucking – crying – sweetheart –“ he growled, kissing my throat.

“D-don’t stop –“ I panted, clinging to him for dear life. Because if he stopped right now, I’d lose myself entirely. If he stopped, I’d spin out. I’d spiral. He was grounding me more than anything, his eyes boring into mine.

“I’m right here,” he breathed, his pace quickening. He was close. “I’m here, and I’m not – fucking going anywhere, baby – I’m right here –“

“Teddy –“ I clung to his shirt, sniffing, reaching up to kiss him. His entire attention on me. His focus on me, on my needs right then… I felt the coil inside me snap, and I arched my back into him. He kept moving, allowing himself a release that dripped out of me and all over the fucking floor between his feet, missing the edge of the desk.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he whispered, nuzzling my neck. “Fuck… are you… alright?” I could only nod. But I wasn’t really alright. The gravity of what had happened the night before still hung around my throat like a noose. I shook my head. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, regaining his composure. “What am I going to fucking do with you, hmm?” Teddy’s voice was so tender. I leaned against him, closing my eyes as he held me close and soothed me. The door behind us opened, but Teddy waved whoever it was away. And I didn’t care who’d seen what. I needed him right now.

Teddy knew what it was like to take a life. I knew too, but only because I’d had to shoot at suspects. One of the reasons I didn’t want to be a part of Teddy’s violence was because the first person I’d ever killed was a criminal, someone who’d shot at us. And my shot had hit, because I was a really good shot. But taking a life because a girl looked at my man? Sucked his dick? That… wasn’t me. And I wasn’t coping well with it at all. That’s why I needed Teddy right now. I needed him to consume every facet of me so it would stop hurting. So the guilt would stop eating me.

“Again?” I looked up at him, eyes wet. Teddy’s face fell into one I couldn’t quite read. “Please?”

“N… No, baby,” he murmured, stroking my face. “What’s going on?”

“I…” I couldn’t form the words. The thoughts were flying around my head so thick and fast that by the time I caught one of them, it had already morphed into something completely different. I just… cried. I just cried. And Teddy held me, barely questioning why, whenever he tried to slip out of me so that I’d be more comfortable and could actually sit on the desk, rather than resting on my tailbone to give him a better angle, I wrapped my legs around him tighter and kept him in place. It wasn’t remotely comfortable for him, but it’s what I needed, and he didn’t question it. Because I hadn’t questioned any of the issues he’d had on his comedowns, and still didn’t. We never questioned each other’s motives…

But fuck me, I was questioning mine right now.

“Let me out of you, (Y/N), honey,” Teddy said softly. I loosened my grip with my legs and let him slide out of me. He tucked everything back in, then held me close again. After an age, I felt stable enough to push back a bit from him. “You good now, or no?”

“I’m not remotely good, Teddy,” I said softly. “Not even a little bit. Who the fuck am I?” My voice was so fragile, so weak.

“Because of Josephine?” I nodded. “It… is it your first time seeing someone die?”

“No.” I sniffed. “I’ve seen loads of people fucking die in the force. But… But I’ve never killed someone because they pissed me off.” A little chuckle rumbled in Teddy’s chest. “What? It’s not funny, Teddy!”

“I’m not laughing at you, baby. I’m fucking… it’s my fucking fault she died. I shot her.”

“Yeah, but only because I told you to!”

“I’d have fucking shot her in a couple weeks anyway, just to spite my mom. You just asked me to do it quicker.” He wrapped those strong arms around my entire body and held my tightly, resting his chin on my head. “I’d have fucking killed her eventually, (Y/N). Don’t you fucking dare feel like shit because of some whore.”

“But what if it isn’t the last time, Teddy? I don’t want to be a monster.”

Teddy stiffened a little. I felt it. He stiffened, and hesitated.

“Well…” He sighed. “That’s my fucking job, I guess.” His voice was tiny.

“Teddy… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” I looked up at him. “You’re not a monster.”

“I fucking am if I’m alright with killing people.” His face told me exactly how he fucking felt.

Shit.

“I didn’t mean you’re a monster.” I reached up and stroked his face. “I’m sorry, Teddy. Truly. I didn’t think.”

“You don’t like the killing aspect of my life. I understand that.” He pressed his lips together. “Killing people doesn’t make you a fucking monster, (Y/N).” I watched him. I loved the little nuances of his face, of his expressions… the softness of him. “I’m not a fucking monster because I shot her, and you’re not a fucking monster because you asked me to. Sometimes, in this life, in my fucking world, you have to get rid of people.” He looked at me finally, his eyes shining and sad. “She’d have ruined everything for us if I hadn’t got rid. And my mom would have sent her guys after you to take you out. So… it was your life, or hers. And I can fucking promise you, (Y/N), your life is far more fucking meaningful. You’re doing shit with yours. She would have been a financial fucking leech.” I bit my lip to stop it from wobbling. “The first time you kill someone, or you get that fucking close… it’s horrible. It’s the worst fucking thing… but it gets easier.”

“I hope it doesn’t, Teddy.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I hope it never gets easier for me.”

“Sadly, baby, it will.” I nuzzled his neck. “And no, you can’t drain my fucking balls dry every time you feel horrible about it…” the small smirk in his voice told me I was off the hook. I smiled against his skin. “And no amount of walking around fucking naked will make me change my mind about that.”

“We’ll see,” I whispered, pulling back. I wiped my eyes. “You make the pain go away, Teddy. You make it all go away.”

“I know, baby. Just like you take mine away.” He gazed down at me and kissed me softly, tracing my hairline around my ear. “Now, go and get some fucking clothes on, and come back in here. I wanna run some stuff by you.”

It seemed like the world didn’t give two shits about Josephine Maine’s death. Bellafrancesca called Teddy to tell him the sad news, and Teddy put on a brave face about it, said how sad it was. I was sitting across his lap, on another downer about the entire thing, while he made phone calls and took care of the business that didn’t involve me.

While I lay there, though, I thought about my re-entry into society. About seeing my friends again. My parents, in another state, would get a phone call… and then… the police force. Rebecca. What she’d say or do to me when she realised I’d gotten engaged to Teddy fucking Lobo… the people who killed her father… I sighed softly. Being out in the world again would be nice. Being on Teddy’s arm would be nice. Being (Y/N) Lobo would be nice… Another cacophony of emotion ran through me. Teddy adjusted his grip on me, trailing his fingers up and down my shin.

“Yeah, mom, I know. I’m not fucking sad about it. You were gonna fucking throw her at me – mom! Mom – MOM!” He gripped my leg. “Mom. Did I fucking kill her? Did anyone think about the fucking Kennedys? Or the Masons?! They obviously fucking knew you were trying to get us together, and they wanted the piece removed.” He looked at me, and I looked at him. He put her on speaker.

“- not a piece, Tedward, she was the perfect partner for you!”

“Yeah, in your eyes, mom. Not in mine.”

“So someone has killed her to get her out of the way. And I think you did it. Or did you have your little police officer do it?”

“Neither of us killed Maine’s daughter, mom. Get it out of your head. Word on the street is that it was one of the other families. If you’ve given one daughter fucking access to me, to try and make a fucking match, doesn’t it stand to reason the other families would want to fucking do the same thing? They’d wanna take her out to improve their own chances.”

“Where were you, then, last night, Tedward?”

“Last night?” Teddy rolled his eyes. “We went out to get us some take-out, but then (Y/N) felt a bit ill so we came home without it and I cooked us something.” Not a total lie. Teddy had cooked us both a healthy meal of salmon and some green veggies, but we hadn’t been heading out for take-out. Well – not the take-out Bellafrancesca thought we were getting. “And then, if you really wanna fucking know, we spent three hours getting fucking lost in each other, and I made (Y/N) come five ti–“

“That’s enough, Tedward.” Bellafrancesca’s tone was vicious. “I don’t wish to hear it.”

“Well, mom, you need to get fucking used to it. (Y/N) and I are still getting fucking married, and I want you there. You’re my only living parent.”

“What about (Y/N)’s parents?”

“They’ll fly in when we send out invitations and book stuff. But you’re not letting us get anywhere with it. Three of the venues I’ve asked about have said no because you’ve already booked’em.” He inspected my hand, my ring. “If you don’t wanna give us a decent party, mom, we’ll go to the fucking town hall and do it there. Then have the mother of all fucking parties, then disappear off somewhere hot and expensive for a couple weeks.”

“(Y/N) is a police officer and always will be, Teddy. Think of how that will look for the family if you marry –“

“Yeah. It’ll look like I managed to get the hottest, smartest, sexiest fucking thing alive to take a knee in front of me and show me a real good fucking time.” He grinned at me, and I kissed him. “It’s up to you, mom. Town hall wedding, or a decent wedding. Either way, I’ll be marrying the person who completes me more than you completed dad, even.” The look in his eyes when he said that was breathtaking. I grinned and kissed him again.

“I will think about it.”

“You’ve got a day.”

“Tedward –“

“Mom, I’ve got work to do. I’ll find you another fucking assistant. One that doesn’t wanna fuck me, this time.” He cut the call, sighing heavily.

“Town hall wedding sounds like it could be a lot of fun, Mr Lobo.” I curled up against him again.

“Don’t wanna wait?”

“And give your mom the satisfaction of keeping me as (L/N) for longer? Nah. I say we do it tomorrow. That way, when I come back out into society, I’m already a Lobo. And I can get to work properly.”

“Mmm… sounds excellent.”

“And I hope you were serious about that holiday somewhere expensive and hot…”

“Oh, absolutely. Somewhere Caribbean… or Mediterranean… How does Italy sound?”

“As long as we both get to fuck each other senseless as many ways as is humanly possible, I couldn’t give less of a fuck where we go, Tedward Eddie Lobo.”

#teddy lobo #teddy lobo x reader #tedward lobo #renfield #dracula

[chounaifu]

places a hand on the back of proton's neck, a firm yet grounding touch, before tugging him against his chest.

His state during the late night transit home had not been shaken off; psychosis was an unpredictable disaster-- difficult to predict, and labor intensive. Nerves damaged like city streets after an uncontained fire, brain murky and rotting like stagnant tsunami flooding. A man who is sick in the head can learn better methods to cope with the fallout, but, much as a city grows weary from rebuilding after a storm, so does Proton.

The soft reality: he is gradually learning to control this affliction.

The cruel reality: this thing has permanently disfigured him from the inside out.

The cadaver of a man is reanimated briefly when cold air hits his face, skin bitten by the wind in Saffron City. Frustrated hands that were once touching at his face are now tugging his coat over his neck more closely. For a moment, he can ignore the way that he tastes battery acid on his tongue, as he walks purposefully through the crowd. Proton knows where he is going.

He detests being in such a weak mental state, where he becomes acutely aware of how his organs want to shift from place to place, or how that god-awful screeching bounces back and forth between his ear drums. What feels like a wave of nausea hits him occasionally; when it comes on full force, he slips into an alleyway, rubbing both hands against his face, perhaps firmly enough to open his skin and bleed the disease out-- but no, just with the right amount of force to prevent himself from collapsing.

By the time he reaches a familiar building, and stands in a familiar hallway, in front of a door that he knew the code to like gospel, he barely has time to press the first number on the keypad, before the painful static in his palm nearly shorts out the security system. The electric whining is audible; it is likely this is how Proton's presence was made known.

When Archer opens the door, Proton props all of his body weight against the doorframe with a grip of his hand, and his head is angled downward; he shakes like an addict suffering from withdraw.

But he eventually looks up, and, through his struggling, greyed out vision, he sees the color blue.

"Meant to call before I showed up, but--" Proton begins in a ragged voice, only to be cut off as the back of his neck is gripped. He assumes that he is being pulled indoors (and he is, as he had been so many times before), only, he did not expect the immediate, grounding embrace, nor the lack of questioning.

I hate how well you see through me. Anybody else would've killed me this way, with this vulnerability.

Words go unspoken. After all, they never talk, but they didn't have to.

Proton inhales sharply, weary from the barrage of symptoms on his nervous system-- but he clings to Archer, knees buckling as he sinks to the floor, his forehead finding sanctuary against his stomach.

One of these days, I'm gonna make you sick, too, I'm afraid-- If you keep letting me in like a stray.

Finally, there is silence.

#➤ 《 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐌𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐄𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 》 Answered #➤ 《 𝟗𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭; 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 》 In Character #➤ 《 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 》 Verse One #♡ 《 𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫; 𝑾𝒆’𝒍𝒍 𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑮𝒆𝒕 𝑩𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 》 Aʀᴄʜᴇʀ #reiketsui #{You sent this to me in August. I've had it in my drafts since then. I'm the slowest writing boyfriend in the world but HERE YOU GO SWEETY.

[reneebrxndxn]

Upstairs Storage Closet - Redwood Prom

where Ike and Renee get trapped in the supply closet together, they "talk" which goes as well as one would expect and Nicki saves the day.... @isaacapatow

ike apatow

Did they send you too? -Ike pauses inside the room, jam-crowded with a bunch of jars of preserves and linens and a stack of the plastic containers that they'd raided from a dollar store, so much stuff that he has to close the door to even fit inside- If you've got this covered, I can go. I'm sure they don't need two people finding the dandelion wine.

Renee Brandon

-Renee was unaware that Ike had been in the storage closet until she walked in.- No, I was coming up here to grab extra napkins. It looks like someone spilled some punch. But yeah, I can grab the wine if you want to go back.

ike apatow

Fine. -he goes to the door, some plastic tub lids tucked under his arm, but the lock won't budge- The fuck... -there's high-pitched giggling from outside, but then the giggles quickly disappear before Ike even has time to protest- Seriously? That better not have been your kids.

Renee Brandon

-Renee doesn't say anything at first, letting him walk past her to the door. She starts to grab the napkins but stops when she hears him swear which makes her stop- What better not be my kids?

ike apatow

Who just locked us in here, Renee.

Renee Brandon

-her face falls a bit- Please tell me you're joking.

ike apatow

-he scowls at her, the expression clear: would i joke about this? - and folds his arms, leaning against the wall with one foot kicked back- Somebody's bound to come along soon, at least.

Renee Brandon

-he head falls and she rubs her hand down her face.- Great.... -She gathers the supplies in a box and sets it down before sitting on a chair and takes off her heels- Yeah, you're probably right.

ike apatow

-he watches her, impassively, not saying anything for a while before asking- Is there anything to drink?

Renee Brandon

-With her not being his favorite person she figures she'd keep quiet instead of striking up a conversation. So it comes as a surprise when he asks her a question- ummm.... -She looks at the shelves and nods- There's some shub, some juice and some water and Kool aid packets if you want some punch

ike apatow

Water's fine.

Renee Brandon

-She nods and grabs a bottle of water to pass to him. As she hands it to him she glances up at his head.- Your head looks like it's healing up nicely.

ike apatow

Yeah, it is. I had enough people nagging me about keeping it uncovered and tending to it, I guess, to keep me from fucking up. -nurses some of the water, not really drinking it- I still smell it, though.

Renee Brandon

-She nods as she sits back down- That's good. -She considers opening one of the bottles of wine when he adds to his statement- Smell it? How so?

ike apatow

The burning. From when you seared it shut.

Renee Brandon

-She feels a mixture of relief that it wasn't rotting but guilt at the same time- I'm sorry about that..... I had to get the bleeding to stop fast before you lost too much.

ike apatow

I'm not criticizing you for doing it. I'm just saying. -rolls the bottle in his hands, gusting out a sigh-

Renee Brandon

-Renee taps her fingers on the nearby bottle- I'm not a therapist and I'm not your doctor, but I could offer my opinion on why you still smell it if you want.

ike apatow

-shrugs, but he's watching her intently, not blinking-

Renee Brandon

-She takes the shrug as a sure and sucks on a breath - It's your brain's way of coping from trauma. Like when an amputee feels pain from their extremity that is no longer there. When your brain focuses on the memory of it, you have a physiological reaction to it. Instead of phantom pain, it's smell.

ike apatow

Do you think I have trauma?

Renee Brandon

Mental trauma, maybe. After what happened, it's normal to be affected by it. You may not think it but it's possible you're still dealing with the effects of it.

ike apatow

-taps the water bottle against his side, with his arms folded- After what happened, Renee?

Renee Brandon

-She pushes out her breath- Yes.... after I screwed up and almost got us both killed.

ike apatow

Mmmmm. -takes a few long swallows of water- Somebody'll come for us soon.

Renee Brandon

-she leans back in her chair and folds her arms across her, hugging herself tightly as she shivers just a bit.- Hopefully soon....it's getting cold in here.

ike apatow

-he pushes off from the wall, reaching up onto one of the higher shelves to tug down some of the spare linens, all of them smelling like the lavender and rosemary strewing herbs that Bea folds into them for storage, the scent stirring as he hands them to her- It's a cold autumn.

Renee Brandon

-She watches him as he reaches up to grab the spare blankets and hands them to her- Thank you. -She gives him a small smile before standing up to wrap around her and hold them tight to her- It is, and lord knows it's not helping Henry right now.

ike apatow

I'm not making small talk with you. Not even about your kid. -returns to his place against the wall-

Renee Brandon

-She nods as she holds the blanket closer to her- That's fair. -She looks down at her lap and chooses to watch her knees bounce instead -

ike apatow

It's ironic how you keep acting like I'm gonna attack you or tear a strip off you or something.

Renee Brandon

-she looks up at him, genuinely surprised- I thought you didn't want to make small talk.

ike apatow

-snorts- Is that generally how people make small talk with you? Pointing out that you treat them like they're rabid?

Renee Brandon

-Her brow furrows and she shakes her head- No, Ike. I... -She pauses and she sighs- I don't know how to be around you, alright? You don't want to talk, fine, I won't try to talk to you. But now because I'm not talking, you think I'm scared of you, which I'm not. I'm trying to be courteous of you.

ike apatow

Courteous? Explain courteous to me.

Renee Brandon

Courteous. Aware of your feelings and honoring your wishes. Courteous, meaning be respectful and considerate.

ike apatow

-stares at her, then starts to laugh. and laugh and laugh, doubling over, until he's sobbing with laughter-

Renee Brandon

-Renee watches him, unamused by his reaction and heaves a sigh - Alright... What's so funny?

ike apatow

You are, Renee. You are. -slows his laughter, snuffling, dragging his sleeve across his face- I don't think I've ever met anybody so completely lacking in self-awareness. It's almost impressive.

Renee Brandon

-Renee sighs, pulling the blanket tighter around her- And what do you mean by that, Ike?

ike apatow

Mmmm. Naw. I'm gonna let you do your own homework on that one, because you know what, Renee? I know you're not gonna. So this way neither of us wastes our time.

Renee Brandon

-Renee grinds her teeth a little as she pulls herself into a standing position- No, Ike, actually, I would rather you just tell me this time because this whole guessing game you like to play is really starting to wear thin. I can't read your mind, I get mixed messages from everyone else when I try to figure out whatever lesson it is you're trying to get across....so I give. Yield, surrender, admit defeat, so on and so forth.

ike apatow

No you don't. You want me to fix everything so you can tell yourself you did everything you could and I'm still unreasonable. I'm not gonna do that.

Renee Brandon

Yes, I do. Honestly, I'm getting really tired you telling me what my intentions are. I'm not asking to gaslight you or make you out to be the bad guy or whatever contrived thing you come up with. I just want to know.

ike apatow

I know. It must be awful hard for you. But don't you worry about it, Renee, I'm not about to denounce you in town square so you can just keep on playing the victim and acting like I'm out to get you. Your halo ain't gonna be tarnished by the likes of me. -reaches over and hammers on the door with his fist, still looking at her- Hey! Get us the fuck outta here!

Renee Brandon

Really? Did you not hear a word I said? I.... -she doesn't finish and instead just groans- You're so God damn infuriating! -She falls back into her seat- You're just so adamant that everyone wants to blame you all the time. It must be so hard to believe that anyone else is willing to take the blame for their own mistakes. It's either that or you like taking the blame for some reason.

ike apatow

You're ... not taking the blame for anything. Are you serious?

Renee Brandon

For what happened at the clinic and your head? Yeah I am because it was my fault.

ike apatow

And I'm the only person you're willing to say that in front of. Because I already know that.

Renee Brandon

No, Ike. I told Ares, I told Jake. I'll tell Ermano and Jemma.

ike apatow

-looks at her for a minute, then, because he can't help himself- What did Jake have to say?

Renee Brandon

Well he wasn't thrilled, but we're working things out.

ike apatow

He wasn't thrilled? That's all you're gonna give me?

Renee Brandon

-she breathes a sigh- I mean, concerned about what happened, worried about the injuries, glad we're okay, and like a parent, wanted to make sure I learned my lesson from the stupidity of my actions.

ike apatow

But you're working things out. That's nice for you.

Renee Brandon

-she nodded- We are, yeah. Or at least trying to with....everything....

ike apatow

I wasn't concerned about your little affair, Renee. I don't care. It'll all work out for you.

Renee Brandon

Believe me, I know you don't care.

ike apatow

-looks at her, flatly-

Renee Brandon

What?

ike apatow

Your capacity to feel badly-used by people. It's somethin' else. But hey! At least you got your handsome movie star looking after you like a parent and worried about your injuries and concerned about the danger you were in.

Renee Brandon

-she scoffs as she shakes her head- You act like there's not a single person who cares about you.

ike apatow

That's not what I said. I'm not talking about me.

Renee Brandon

So you have a problem with someone caring about me.

ike apatow

...do you ever listen to yourself? I mean, do you ever think about any experiences outside of your own?

Renee Brandon

Yeah, Ike, I do. Or at least I try to when someone shares them. I know that's probably hard for you to believe, but it's true.

ike apatow

It's hard for me to believe because you sure as hell don't extend me the courtesy.

Renee Brandon

And I apologized for that, didn't I? I misjudged you and I was wrong and I am sorry. That's not be blowing it out my ass, it's the honest to God's truth.

ike apatow

Yeah? I'm sure your opinion of me's really changed. Not like you're constantly waiting for me to rat you out, or call for the Redwood version of your beheading. Anyhow. Doesn't matter. You'll go on being the camp's golden haired saint and martyr, and I'll go on being whatever the fuck I am. -hammers on the door again, adding a kick this time- SOMEBODY WANNA GET US OUT OF HERE?

Renee Brandon

-And there it was - the problem. At least she finally knew what it was now. But clearly the conversation was done - not that she felt better at all-

Nicki Torres

-it took Nicki probably longer than she would have liked to realize that the kids' attempts to set into motion Operation Bulbasaur had backfired when she noticed that Jake was at the party and Renee was nowhere to be seen....and neither was Ike. She headed up to the supply closet and heard Ike's residual pounding- Hang on, I'm here. -she unlocks the door and pulls it open, smiling as she spotted him- Look at me, rescuing you again. We really need to stop meeting like this.

ike apatow

-muttering as he sweeps out of the closet, gathering Nicki and hauling her with him as he goes, holding her clamped against him almost painfully tight- Thank fucking god. Whoever you were with is gonna have to do without you for the next fifteen. I'm gonna fuck your brains out.

Nicki Torres

-Nicki hoops in surprise as he yanks her in but walks alongside him, even as his arms seem to be almost crushing her- Now this is feeling more like prom.

#renee && isaac #c: isaac 003 #isaac event 002 #tfh.event

[nicawlette]

FRAGMEMORIA EVENT INFO.

1 . What if your biggest mistake hadn't been a mistake at all? Nicolette knows she killed someone that night that sealed her fate, but she can no longer picture the face of the dying body in her arms. What had been a source of guilt and regret has now become an empty void that she chooses to fill with her own narrative to cope. The memory may be unclear, but there's only one answer that makes sense, right?

Nicolette now believes with wavering certainty that she managed to succeed and kill the man that abused her, rather than his son. This has managed to appease some of the lingering anger and bitterness over her failed revenge attempt; however, because she cannot remember the truth, it hangs over her shoulders anxiously and leaves her with a sense of regret she can't comprehend.

2 . The saying blood is thicker than water does not apply to her. Family is the people you choose, though she's never really experienced what it feels like to have that kind of bond with anyone. It was never something put into words, until the moment it was. Another way to anchor someone to your side and in your life, but it's hard not to feel lost when the anchor is gone.

Her bold declaration of family ties with Zhilan has been forgotten, along with the entire confrontation with his father. The distance between them has reopened and Nicolette has returned to the idea that he is too kind to be tarnished by her hands. Good things remain unreachable to her, and recent developments have only solidified that ideology.

3 . A confession is a monumental event. Yearning can be a heavy thing, but unrequited feelings are even heavier. Nicolette feels like she's being crushed by it, but there's no escape in sight. At the end of the day, she has no one to blame but herself. Pain like this is a consequence of handing someone a knife and expecting them not to go for the throat. You'd think she would've learned her lesson, by now.

The bathroom confession never happened— the shift in her relationship with Wang Yi lives and dies in his bedroom where he'd tended her to wounds. What had seemed like a sign of something more was clearly all in her head, made evident by his blatant avoidance of her following the event. In her mind, Nicolette has not seen or heard from Wang Yi since he promised she could call him for help, until they wake up in bed together. Neither can piece how they got there, but Wang Yi's indifference and forced distance tell her everything she needs to know about her misguided feelings.

Overall, Nicolette has been left feeling carved out once again. Longing has taken root and rots her from the inside, but she cannot understand why she's mourning things she never had. It's like she's lost pieces of her soul, and it will leave her feeling extremely bitter. Besides Break, her closest bonds have been severed, and she's likely to return to old self-deprecating ideas of not being deserving or capable of sincere relationships. Expect her to push you away and begin self-sabotaging whatever's left.

#WELP. #cool. i hate this a lot thanks for asking #isola event: fragmemoria #abuse mention cw #long post

[maggicktouched]

 ♡ + any or all of the following... from x because it was getting too long

fenris:

Responsibility: Fen was born with the world on his shoulders. Before he could even grasp his favorite rattle, he was handed more responsibility than anyone should ever have to hold. In Dvalinn's defense, he tried to protect his son from some of it. Where Fenris' mother was harsh, his father was gentle. Where his grandfather demanded more of him, his father gave him grace. He did this in hopes that if he could show his son gentleness and understanding, one day, when the world gave him more than he could chew and no one was there to help him, Fen could provide himself with those things and cope with the crushing responsibility placed on him.

Dvalinn never asked Fenris to look out for his sister. That was a responsibility he took up on his own. If anything, Fenris, in all his four-year-old wisdom, would almost get onto his father for letting her be too independent. When their father would sit back and allow her to work through a problem or pick herself up after tumbling out of a tree or falling off a horse, Fen would always butt in to say "help her daddy!" or "we ain't sposed to go up there" or "Mummi says we's too little!" He followed his sister around everywhere, sometimes to keep her out of trouble, and sometimes because he wanted to be roped into it.

I think if anything Dvalinn would have told Fen it wasn't his job to take care of his sister, but he couldn't bring himself to. He knew what it was likely going to be like for them after he was gone, and didn't think he had much of a right to tell them anything.

His father's death placed the first crown upon his head. He was a boy king, tasked with the wellbeing of an entire population of witches, and accountable for their success and their failures. In most verses he wasn't even ten when this was put upon him. What could he do? He was a child, isolated, abused, and frightened. His mother, though he often disagreed with her, had all the answers, and she wanted the control. He let her use him.

But inside of him something ugly was brewing---a consequence for being asked too much of at too young an age---a gnawing anxiety was becoming a desperate need for control. A fear of loss, as he had lost his father, was mutating in a vicious need to keep from losing anyone or anything ever again. His mother, oblivious, taught him to be ruthless thinking it would serve her purpose, and for a while it did, but eventually she forced him to make an impossible choice.

She tried to kill his sister. Misguided, difficult, stubborn, but his sister, and the person he loved most in the world. He watched as she refused food and water. He watched her lay in a bed without speaking or bathing, slowly rotting from the inside out, and he had to protect her. It was his job. His responsibility in life---to take care of his people. His pack.

He had his mother executed, and in doing so, he took control of the Fox Clan as well as the Wolves. Now even more people depended on him. He couldn't let them down. He couldn't let anyone down.

It didn't matter the cost. It was always his burden to pay it.

Socializing: Fenris is very good as socializing on the face of things. He's a charming guy, if a little quiet, but he's certainly not shy. He's been painstakingly taught the art of small talk and pleasantries. But beyond that he has very little in the way of social skills. He doesn't make friends easily, and he doesn't really want to. He loves the people he loves incredibly deeply, and he knows how much it hurts to lose them. He's lost both mother and father, no matter how fucked their relationship or how young he was when they died, it left a deep scar on his psyche. He doesn't really want to care about anyone other than his family. So he keeps people at a distance.

This is a tangent and you didn't ask it, but I'm gonna say it anyway because it sort of goes with socializing.

Fenris cannot stand bullying. He's not a good guy. He's a massive prick who is not opposed to using fear to get what he wants... where he believes it matters. But childish teasing? Looking down on someone for their clothes or talking shit about their personal appearance? He fucking hates that shit. In our Harry Potter verse, he spends a lot of time avoiding the other Slytherins because he thinks they're immature. They're beneath him. They've not got proper manners. They don't know how to act.

And Fen will step in sometimes if he thinks people are going too far. Normally he steps in with his sister. That's probably where people see it first. Fenris is violent. He goes from the quiet, soft spoken guy in the back of the class content to observe, to a vicious fighter. And he's good at fighting. He's been taking sparring lessons since his father died. He's good at fighting with magic, and he's good at using his fists. After the first couple of instances where someone makes the very foolish mistake of fucking with his sister, he has a reputation among the students as someone to avoid, so when he steps between other students, they tend to lower their hackles, shut their mouths, and go about their way.

He "studies from home" several times during fifth year because I think if he didn't, he might actually have tried to attack Umbridge for what she did to those kids. They allow it because they think it has something to do with his position and responsibilities as the leader of two clans.

Visual: Fen has splendid eyesight. Unlike Beck, he can do just random spells from books he reads because he can read, but he also does specialize in magic. He focuses on three things: protection spells, healing spells, and enhancement spells. That combination of things makes him deadly as an opponent. The enhancement spells work by making him stronger, faster, and more impervious to physical damage. By the time he's a teenager, his wolf form is as big as an SUV and it takes a pretty serious gun to wound him. These only get stronger as he gets older and more skilled and uses more blood sacrifice to fuel them. But they can effect other parts of him too. His sense of smell, his hearing, and his eyes.

In his wolf form it is much more automatic, because he does it more, but he can do this in his human form as well. He can see farther than a human, he can choose to see a broader spectrum of color, and with enough focus he can see spirits and magic itself move through the air.

Ancestors: I don't know if he has any feelings on his ancestors that are his own. He has feelings about his mother and father because he knew them personally, and he doesn't feel like his grandparents count as "ancestors" because they're still alive.

In general, witches are taught to think very highly of their ancestors, especially their female ancestors. They descended from women who became witches through very painful and drawn out sacrifice that ended up saving their home. They call these first witches The Great Grandmothers of the Forest and if anyone wants to read more about them or The Cold Sowing that information can be found here. He is a direct descendant of two of those first witches, and that ancestral line is why he has his position---why his family leads their respective clans.

He respects them, but he doesn't really think about them or any of his ancestors. He's too concerned with the present to pay attention to those who are dead and gone.

But sort of a fun fact: He has the ancestral wand that has been passed down for thousands of years from those first witches. It is a tradition for a mother's wand to go to their firstborn son, and a father's to their daughter. So technically, both Beck and Fen have very old, very powerful wands that have been connected to their bloodline for thousands of years.

Delight: Can he even feel delight at this point? Lol. But he is a pretty hard person to even crack a smile out of, better yet to delight. The closest he probably comes to this kind of a feeling is when he and Beck just get a second to actually spend time together that isn't weighed down by so much other bullshit. They do, quite genuinely get along like two peas in a pod, and they do love each other. There's just so much shit in the way of it. But on the odd chance they get a rare day when Fen doesn't have ten million extremely stressful things to get done and Beck isn't trying to get away for whatever reason, and they sit and talk to each other, it feels like they're kids again. They laugh and needle each other and tell inside jokes and gossip. Fen also has a deep love for the outdoors and cool leaves and random rocks and if he can just breathe for a second than he can almost feel like a person again---like a real brother again---and he can be happy. Maybe even delighted.

#I hate that so much of Fen is wrapped up in Beck #but like it really just is that way #he's very isolated #hcs;; fenris

[verxsyon]

·:*¨༺ ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐋𝐘𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐒 ❞

marrying the person you are in love with has to be the best decision you have ever made. here, we explore the daily life of our four unique suitors as newlyweds.

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. luke + artem + vyn + marius x gn!reader

✧ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭. headcanon (bulleted) ; 1.3k

✧ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. married au ; fluff, suggestive (artem + marius)

✧ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚. i just started playing tears of themis and i’m completely hooked. i think the game is telling me to simp for marius since i have so many cards of him (luke, i’m sorry!). not officially writing for the fandom, however! just a huge brain rot that needs to be let out.

𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐄

epitome of childhood friend romance. in my opinion, he’s the top tier bestie anyone could ask for.

he has been with you for as long as you can remember — through thick and thin, and through the good and the ugly. it’s natural for him to make jokes here and there around you, including marrying you when he comes back to stellis. little did you know, he was very serious about it. years later he will be at your door to put a ring on your finger, and the rest is history.

whenever he comes home from work, you are either cooking in the kitchen or sleeping on the couch while the TV is on. you two have a special welcome home greeting, which starts with a kiss on your temple followed by an exchange of heys.

you: “hey, lu.”; luke: “hey, you.” and afterwards, he’ll pepper more kisses along your jaw until he places one upon your lips before asking how your day went.

he loves to update you about his investigations. realizing that he can’t keep everything to himself, his goal is to confide in at least one person he can trust. it makes you so happy to hear that he’s enjoying his job despite the amount of stress he may be experiencing.

on his day-offs, he’ll marathon crime shows with you — popcorn, drinks, and everything. his favorite show to marathon is sherlock since he is inspired by him.

he claims to miss you whenever he’s away for long hours performing his investigations. to cope with his concern, your husband keeps a picture of you in his breast pocket so you’ll always be in his heart no matter where you are in the world.

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆

he may appear cold and strict on the outside, but is actually a warm and awkward softie on the inside.

due to his status as basically being married to his job as a senior attorney, romance is the least of his worries until you enter his life. his approach to you for a date isn’t as smooth as the both of you had expected, but he improved in that aspect when he popped the question.

even after months into your marriage, he still doubts how he gives you affection. are his lips in the right place? is he holding your hand right? ever since the incident where he accidentally groped below your back when he was trying to hug you, he remains self-conscious whenever he touches you.

to make him comfortable with initiating intimacy, you would walk around the house half-naked and observe his reaction from there. instead of admiring your body, he rushes to lend you a piece of his clothing to cover yourself. what a gentleman indeed, but this is not the result you wanted.

“artem, honey.” he flinches at the heat enveloping his front. the sight of your bare legs makes his skin flush and paralyzes his movements. you guide his hands to your sides with a gentle smile on your face. “relax. you’re doing everything more than perfectly.”

a hidden talent of his is that he can cook, and my goodness his food is brilliant. on some days when you come home late at night, seeing a delicious platter by your husband is quite the treat. to further practice his romantic skills, he would set up wine, candles, and flowers as well. to be honest, he doesn’t need to go all out because cooking dinner is already romantic enough for you.

he is fond of children, especially their positive energy. in fact, it’s canon that he visits orphanages and hangs around them. the moment you step into one, he knows that the children will automatically love you. he would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine having a family with you, but time will tell when the two of you will be ready.  

𝐕𝐘𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

a wise person once said, “he is the whole package.” a psychiatrist who is also a criminal psychologist and he’s hot as hell? not to mention that he’s also good at pretty much everything the universe has to offer.

his emotions are still hard to read even after marrying him, but he’s trying his best to make them transparent. although you can’t tell in plain sight, he appreciates every single thing about you, most especially your belief in him being loved.

in addition, he appreciates your knowledge in classical music. you have brought up the fact that you did play piano a while back multiple times while the two of you were still dating. his wedding gift to you was a grand piano, which made you cry not because he had thought of you, but because it cost thousands. that being said, you are touched that he had thought of you.

the grand piano surprise motivates you to regain and refine your musical skills from the past. you challenge yourself by practicing a difficult piece, which vyn recognizes almost immediately just by a few notes. your hands crash and burn against the white keys, startled by your husband’s sudden presence.

“keep playing, my love.” he snakes an arm around your waist to pull you into a kiss. “you are doing so well.”

besides psychology, he’ll be glad to teach you some of his hobbies such as equestrianism and gardening. in comparison to luke, he is also quite knowledgeable in areas either related to or outside of his expertise. you don’t know whether to admire or fear the capacity of his intellect.

whenever he’s free of work, he’ll take you on bike rides around the city and perhaps have picnics at the park. spending time with his spouse is what he deserves from juggling between teaching students to treating patients to solving cases on a daily basis.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐕𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐍

a little shit. always a little shit, but is your little shit who deserves a slap in the face (affectionate).

your first meeting with the heir of the pax group was insufferable to say the least, justified by his constant teasing and duping. he was a person that you wanted to avoid at all costs, but he eventually managed to win your heart and settle down with you.

the von hagen household isn’t itself without the two of you bickering left and right. the topics in questions are usually miniscule, and marius is aware that lawyers do not invest their time in such types. he always forfeits from the arguments in your favor, suggesting that he’ll make it up to you with gifts.

speaking of gifts, he loves spoiling you with a range of his own paintings to stuffed animals from the arcade to luxurious brands of the pax group. he has done so much for you already, you tell him to stop buying all those things. of course, he doesn’t listen and still does it anyway to keep you happy.

the ultimate king (haha, get it? that’s his codename at nxx. okay, i’ll stop now lol.) of teasing doesn’t let you breathe in peace, whether that be in public or at home. as an act of revenge, you do the same. except more, um… spicy.

he sometimes catches you in your robe when he comes home from work. he seems to not suspect much other than you look very sexy in it; after all, he was the one who bought it. you’ll make your intentions known by whispering in his ear, “i’m not wearing anything under.” let’s just say he doesn’t waste any time to wipe that so-called innocent smile off your face.

somewhat on the same side of the spectrum, he paints portraits of you which he hangs around the house. you made a mistake of telling him to “draw me like one of your french girls”, and now he won’t stop pestering you to take your clothes off. (the paintings of you are priceless; they’re for his eyes only.)

✧ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬. (if your url is in bold, that means i can’t tag you!)

@dreamiehrs​ ; @help-wtf-am-i-even-doing​ ; @lilikags​ ; @sleepyyangyang​

#✦ .fics #tears of themis #tears of themis x reader #tears of themis luke #tears of themis artem #tears of themis vyn #tears of themis marius #luke pearce #artem wing #vyn richter #marius von hagen #luke x reader #artem x reader #vyn x reader #marius x reader #luke pearce x reader #artem wing x reader #vyn richter x reader #marius von hagen x reader

[prettyboykatsuki]

♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader 

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault 

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you 

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you. 

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in. 

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still. 

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm. 

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind. 

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion. 

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people. 

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved. 

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too. 

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable. 

But it isn’t. 

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body. 

TARTAGLIA 

You never wrap his wounds with care. 

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table. 

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile. 

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?” 

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag. 

“Take your shirt off,” 

“Take me for dinner first at least,” 

You give him an unimpressed look. 

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth. 

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him. 

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,” 

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish 

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it. 

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes. 

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it. 

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles. 

“C’mere” 

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over. 

KAEYA 

Sobriety is a fragile thing. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery. 

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest. 

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink. 

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him. 

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile. 

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,” 

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below. 

“Why’re you...” 

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks. 

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile. 

“What could you possibly mean?” 

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways. 

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?” 

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow. 

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you. 

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?” 

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head. 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns. 

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him. 

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,” 

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC 

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion. 

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. 

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin. 

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” 

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag. 

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth. 

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,” 

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed. 

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull. 

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you  and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet. 

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest. 

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him. 

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling. 

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy 

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring. 

“Of course I do,” 

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you. 

#genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #writing #formal #there must be mnat errors in this but its 5am and i am sleepy.. take it or leave it <3

[captaintiny]

to live is an act of courage

Agron has found his way to his home village, with Nasir and a handful of other rebels and refugees in tow. They are welcomed with open arms and much joy. He tries to adjust to his new life, but Agron continues to be shrouded in guilt and grief. His mother offers advice, and comfort. [ao3] a/n: I didn't mean to get fixated on a decade-old TV show with a half-dormant fandom, but here we are. enjoy.

“Agron?”

His mother’s voice behind him caused Agron to turn, and the others with him to fall into respectful silence.

“I would see you inside to help me prepare food for tonight’s meal.”

Agron felt heat creep up his face at her request. She knew as well as he did, as well as everyone did, that he could not aid her in this. Not with his hands. Such tasks were still beyond him. He wanted to refuse, but his tongue simply lay heavy in his mouth, resolute in its silence.

Nasir’s gentle touch encouraged Agron to stand, and he did so, though not without difficulty. His physical injuries had mostly healed, but the weight of misery upon his shoulders was as debilitating as any sword wound. They turned towards the house, but his mother held up a hand, and smiled softly.

“Gratitude, Nasir, but I would have time with my son alone, if you are willing to part from him.”

Agron expected a refusal, but his mother looked at Nasir pointedly with an expression he could not place, and whatever silent words passed between them were enough for Nasir to not beside him and relinquish his grip on Agron’s arm.

“As you wish, Ida,” he said, turning his attention back to the group they had been sat with, and gave Agron’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he went.

His mother held out her arm. “Come.”

Agron followed.

Inside the house, his mother guided him to sit at the small table and placed a small plate of vegetables in front of him, with a knife for peeling. He did not resist, but shame burned in his eyes and clogged his throat as his hands rested uselessly in front of him.

“The weather is turning cold quicker than I expected,” she said, switching to their home tongue, ignoring his obvious discomfort as she plucked herbs from hanging bunches and crushed large cloves of garlic. “Nasir seems to be coping well, despite being this far north of the golden sands of Syria.”

Agron did not speak. His mother seemed undeterred by this, and continued to make idle conversation for a time, humming intermittently to herself as she continued to ready meat and spices. When the stew was prepared, she hauled it to the fire and covered the pot with a lid.

"Speak your mind, sparrow," she said, not looking up from where she stoked the flames. "You have not strung more than five words together since you returned over a moon ago.”

Agron shrugged non-committally, not wanting to burden his mother with yet more of his failings.

"Agron…" she chided, standing up and crossing to him, resting her strong, weathered hands on his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. "I am your mother, do you think it goes unnoticed to me that you carry such heavy ?"

He sagged even further, screwing up his face in a desperate attempt not to cry. "Mother, please—"

His mother moved to crouch at his side, grabbing his chin between her thumb and finger and pulling his face round to meet her gaze. Her hazel eyes gazed back at him, more wizened and wrinkled than when he had been captured, but no less warm, or kind.

"Child. I know you. You would rather carry an impossible burden alone, than see others share in it. You have been this way since you could walk. But you must take care. Keeping it in here," she tapped his chest lightly with her free index finger, "can damage you beyond repair. The rot will eat you from the inside and then the ones you were determined to protect, are left to care for you all the same. You are my son, little sparrow. Speak your heart. Your grief will not poison me."

Agron was suddenly six years old again, hobbling back into the house with two skinned knees, bravely staving off tears until his mother cradled her in his arms and all pretence fell away.

It was much the same now, and he fell forward to bury his face in her shoulder. As her arms snaked around his waist, coaxing him from the chair to the floor, his wrapped around her neck, clinging to her as sobs began to wrack his exhausted and battered body. He wept for Crixus, for Mira and Naevia, for Gannicus and Oenomaeus, and all those who they had lost to Rome. He mourned Duro, properly, deeply, feeling grief instead of anger for the first time in months, perhaps even years.

Agron wasn't sure how long they remained there on the dusty floor, while she rocked and shushed him and he howled like a wounded animal, but it was long enough that the pot had begun to bubble as his tears subsided. His mother guided him to sit nearer the fire, draping a blanket around his shoulders. She remained close, tending to the flames.

"I'm sorry," he croaked eventually, voice hoarse from grief and under use.

"Whatever for?"

"Coming back here alone… I have brought you shame…"

"Nonsense," his mother replied firmly, stirring the stew, the smell of which was beginning to fill the small house.

"But—" Agron protested, guilt clawing at his chest, threatening to break free in the form of a scream.

"But nothing," his mother said, voice suddenly stern.

Agron worried his lip, eyes downcast, feeling like a scolded child.

"You think I and the others you call family believe it shameful that you return, when Duro does not?"

The guilt squeezed his heart harder, and he looked up at her with eyes full of unshed tears. "Mama, I swore to protect him!"

"And I have every faith that you kept that oath, sparrow. But do you truly believe I would rather have stories of how you valiantly followed him to his grave, than be able to hold you in my arms?" Tears streaked his mother's cheeks as she looked at him with eyes full of pain, and pity. "You believe that I would rather have two dead sons than have my grief for Duro's passing tempered by the blessing of your return?"

Agron had no reply. He buried his face in his hands, injuries momentarily forgotten, but the pressure sent pain coursing through them, and he hissed, then let out a strangled sob.

"I am not your son," he said through gritted teeth, staring resolutely at the floor. "Your son was a proud warrior. I am a shell. I am nothing. I am useless like this Mama!" Agron protested, rising to his feet. "I cannot wield a sword, nor a shield, I can barely raise a hoe or scythe. I cannot lash bundles of grain or even peel a simple vegetable!” He gestured helplessly to the table she had first sat him at. “I am a burden to anyone that would care for me, and I cannot give anything in return. I am nothing but a drain on your supplies and your hearts. I would be better as a memory—argh!"

His hand flew to the sharp pain at the top of his head, and realised his mother had thrown her wooden spoon at him.

"Enough! " She said, voice slightly raised, hands trembling.

Agron was too stunned by her outburst to reply.

"If Duro yet lived, and had it been him in your place, would you now consider him useless? Would you rather him dead? Would you consider that a kindness? Or would you dedicate every breath in your body to caring for him, and to praising whichever gods saw fit to grant him life? Would he be a burden? Will I yet become such, when I am old and frail and cannot lift the pot to the fire? Will you wish me dead then?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why, sparrow, are you so intent on believing the same of those that love you?"

Whatever retort Agron had prepared died in his throat. His mother took his silence as an opportunity to continue, though her tone softened.

“Nasir spoke to me, some days past. He told me of your time in Sinuessa, and how you were separated.”

Agron returned to sitting by the fire, pulling the blanket tighter around him. Being apart from Nasir was not a memory he enjoyed reliving. He remained silent, holding his mother’s gaze as an encouragement for her to continue.

“Before you left for Rome, do you remember what you asked of him? What you wished for him in your absence?”

It took a moment of thinking, but then the words came back to him. Painful as it was to recall the moment, the smallest of smiles tugged at his lips. “I asked that he lived. That he would find joy in the days to come.”

Agron’s mother sat beside him, put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him into her chest. “Little one, that is all we wish of you too.”

Fresh tears spilled from Agron’s eyes. “What can I possibly offer him, Mama? Being a warrior is all I have ever known. What am I without it? He deserves so much more than… this.” He gestured feebly to himself, but all this earned him was a chuckle from his mother.

“Still, you fail to understand, sparrow. You love Nasir, do you not?”

“With all my heart, mama.”

“And if - gods forbid - Nasir were to lose his legs to a wild boar tomorrow, and be lame for the remainder of his life, would your love for him fade? Or would it stand as strong as ever?”

“There is nothing on this earth, or in the heavens, that could lessen my affection for him.”

“I did not think so.” She lapsed into silence for a moment, lifting the hand around his shoulder to gently card her fingers through his hair. “I have no doubt that you made a fine gladiator, and an even finer commander when you were among the rebels. You have always shown great skill in the art of battle. It is why your father called you little bear when you were but as tall as my hip and used branches for weapons. But Nasir does not love you for the way you hold a sword, child. It was not the spilling of Roman blood upon sand that captured his heart, but your smile. Your eyes. The way you say a little prayer of thanks to the boar you kill for food when you think no one can hear you. He loves you because you are kind, and gentle. He loves you because of a thousand things. You have worth, my little sparrow, simply by virtue of being. Nasir loves you for who you are, not what you can do.”

Agron’s cheeks flushed. His mother tilted his face up so their eyes met, and it felt as if the tenderness he found there would sustain him until his dying breath.

“Do not think of this as an end, child. But as a beginning. You are alive, you are free. Perhaps you can regain strength in your hands enough to one day hold a sword, perhaps not. But what does it matter when those hands can still provide a loving embrace? Or wipe tears from sad eyes?”

Her thumbs moved to brush his from his cheeks as she spoke, and he smiled weakly in response.

“Gather the others for evening meal. Tonight we shall have wine and merriment, and I will see you be part of it.”

“Yes, mama,” Agron murmured, leaning in to kiss his mother’s hair. “Gratitude… for everything.”

She waved him off with a chuckle, but her eyes were still soft. “Shoo, little sparrow! Else my stew will burn. I’ll not have all that effort go to waste.”

Agron knew she wasn’t really talking about the food.

As Nasir reached the house, Agron pulled him aside for a moment, and before he could question, leaned in for a long, tender kiss.

When they broke apart, Nasir smiled against his lips. “You have not embraced me like that in some time, my heart.”

Agron felt a pang of guilt at his admission, but pushed it aside and instead rested his forehead against Nasir’s, closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

Nasir chuckled a little. “Whatever words were broken with your mother seem to have great effect.”

“It was less the words broken, and more the spoon thrown at stubborn head, which brought me to sense.” That earned Agron a laugh, and it was still the sweetest sound in the world. “I shall speak more of it when we are to bed, but know that her wisdom has yet moved me. I do not think it has healed all wounds I bear, but it has certainly revealed a path forward where there was none before.”

Tears spilled from behind Nasir’s eyes as he smiled, and held Agron close. “I have missed you so, my heart.”

“And I you,” Agron replied, lifting his hands to cradle Nasir’s face. "But come, I have been told there is to be much wine and song tonight, and I fear another attack from kitchen tools should I be absent too long.”

He linked his fingers through Nasir’s and lead him inside. They were met with cheers and laughter, and his mother handed them each a bowl of stew. When Agron brought the spoon to his lips, the meal tasted like home, gratitude, and love.

#nagron #spartacus starz #agron #ash writes #sometimes what you need is a cuddle #and sometimes what you need is a bonk on the head and your mother to tell you to pull yourself together