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#even if i have to scream about them to the void lol

ughgoaway · 6 months

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I'm trying to get the 12 days of Christmas fics done before December so I'm currently trying to write like a half a fic/ a whole fic a day and I am just UGH.

like I have inspiration and ideas and I am enjoying it but also I hate the pressure I put on myself??? idk just feeling weird I guess. and I've only got like 3 done which feels like a lot but then I look at my list and go "fuck" soooo idk.

#me stressing over something no one asked for and i give myself the timeline of #and there are no repercussions if i dont do them all but still im just like AHHHH #well aside from the mental ones from myself lol #idk why i even decided to post about this #screaming into the void i guess #i am having fun tho i swear ahahaha

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thebearer · 3 days

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Going into the restaurant when you and Carmy have only been dating for a few weeks. You weren't trying to visit him, you just like the pasta. He spots you and asks why you didn't tell him you were coming.

"I don't want to bother you at work"

"Next time, bother me."

"next time bother me" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

i would fall HARD. if we hadn't said i love you, i would've that night lol.

i can only imagine his confusion, seeing you and your friends. he hadn't really told anyone, not even richie or sugar or sydney, that he'd been seeing you. ever the secretive person, he nearly falls out when he does see you. when he hears your name on richie's sheet, telling your order.

"i'm sorry," you squeak, a little blushy and bashful when he comes out to see you. "i don't... i didn't mean to be stalker-y. it's my friends birthday, and the pasta is so good." you blink up at him. "didn't mean to bother you."

"you're not bothering me." carmen shakes his head. "never, but next time, bother me. make sure you get the best seat in the house."

he goes out of his way to have marcus put a candle in the cake, really does everything up. always peeking through the window to see your reaction to the food, blushing when your gaze meets his.

"cousin," carmen stops richie. "hey, uh, table nine. there's- don't give them a ticket. no ticket on them."

"why?" richie frowns. "they complain or somethin'? did you mess somethin' up-"

"-no, it's not- no." carmen runs a hand over his face, hoping he's hiding his blush. "that's, uh, that's- i've been seeing the girl on the end." richie nearly breaks his neck turning to look, eyes wide in shock.

"don't fuckin' make a big deal about it, alright?" carmen hisses. "but, i-i can't charge her, y'know? be jagoff of the year if i charged her at my own restaurant."

"yeah you would be." richie snorts. "i got you, cousin." he pats carmen's shoulder, shaking his head as he voids the check. "can't believe you didn't tell me. i knew, i fucking knew something was going on, ya know? natalie thought you finally got medicated or somethin'."

screaming. screaming. screaming.

i might have to do a full work on this, it gave me the butterflies.

#thebearer #bearblahs #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto fluff #richie jerimovich #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy fluff #carmen berzatto x you

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intynidad · 11 months

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The cult leader yan fic is so @#*")-/_+&-?! I can't explain it but *eats fic from how good it is*

Also, I would like to know what does the deity think about the influx of followers, but not for him but for them?

-teacher anon (am I really an anon if I don't ask anonymously LMAO anyways)

I hope my fix tasted well lol

I’m glad you like it so much! Welcome teacher anon!! Also have anyone play cult of the lamb? Because this is inspire by it lol

Yandere cult x cult leaver reader x yandere deity pt2

You sink to your knees, your hands clasped in prayer, as your consciousness begins to drift away, transcending to the ethereal realm of your master.

In the depths of this mystical connection, a resounding voice booms around you, its source elusive yet all-encompassing. It speaks with a commanding presence, echoing from every corner of your being, as if the very fabric of existence is alive with its words.

"Little lamb..." the voice reverberates, its power resonating through your core, drawing you deeper into its enigmatic embrace.

“Master, may I speak freely?” You said still looking into the ground

“You may, my little priest…” Only when your master gives you permission do you dare to rise from your feet, no longer in you cabin but in a dark void where you feel the very fabric of darkness crawls and grabbing your body, not in a malicious way but in a way of making sure you don’t fall.

“You did what I asked you…?”your master say with difficulty

“Yes master, your flock is growing and many people have done the oath in your name”

“Yet they do not follow me” your master booming voice rise in volume

You get to your Knees again and put your hands together.

“They are-are just mindless lambs that do not understand the magnificent of your presence my lord, give them some time and they shall learn” you say not fearing for your life, yet for the ones of YOUR followers

You felt an invisible hand take your cheek delicately

“Make them understand, little lamb and i shall reward you with pleasures and salvation that your human mind cannot comprehend yet”

And with a movement of the same hand you were gone,back into your cavin with a small tear falling down your face.

Meanwhile, in the ethereal realms of your master, a powerful figure gazes upon the chains that bind their form. The once unyielding iron seems to have weakened, but its grip remains firm and unyielding. Despite the exertion and relentless struggle, every attempt to break free is met with the unrelenting resistance of the chains that hold them in place.

However, your master is a patient and tenacious being, having endured the weight of captivity for what feels like an eternity. The longing for freedom courses through their veins, fueling their determination and resolve. They refuse to surrender, even in the face of imminent liberation. The shackles may hold them for now, but the spirit of liberation burns brightly within, ready to seize the moment when the chains finally yield.

When he amasses a multitude of devoted followers and receives the offerings and sacrifices needed, the barriers separating the mortal realm and his ethereal existence will weaken. With each loyal disciple and every sacrificial act, his power grows, edging closer to the coveted goal of manifesting in a tangible form. The anticipation of that transformative moment fills him with an intoxicating mix of anticipation for when he finally gains a physical presence in the mortal realm, he will unleash his divine influence upon the world…

And claim you as his rightful spouse, he dreams of the day he might finally claim you and hear you scream but not from pain but from the pleasure he is planning to give you.

Once he get a physical form he will not let you go,his little lamb

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animeomegas · 11 months

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More Baxter thoughts~

Imagine post Step 4, MC telling Baxter that he was their first kiss. They sort of laugh and explain that for some people 18 would be considered a late bloomer, but that was the right time for them. They joke that Baxter was just too irresistible.

MC is trying to keep the mood light, just joking about it, but that doesn't really go to plan.

Because Baxter is shocked for three seconds, pleased and flustered for one second, and then deeply guilty from then on.

He feels guilty for not knowing, for taking MC's first kiss even if they kissed him first, and he feels even worse for ghosting them now, which he didn't think was possible.

He tries to just smile and say he's honoured, but he cannot sleep that night because he feels so guilty. He wants to punch 19 year old him in the face (don't we all).

I think MC'd have to firmly pull him from the guilt and kiss him until he truly understands that they'd forgiven him for the shenanigans he pulled 5 years ago, and that they definitely don't regret him being the first person they kissed.

Actually that would be a good strategy to pull his head out of the guilt cloud: MC should ask him if he regrets being the first person they kissed and then watch this man backtrack at the speed of light and vehemently deny it lol.

...

But also, imagine MC face timing Baxter for the first time after they had to go home.

They'd both do it late at night, I think, maybe they'd both be in bed, and when the call connects, they both just stare at each other for several moments.

Until MC pushes out an 'I miss you' and Baxter melts and says it back.

MC was sort of expecting to be teased about missing him when it's only been a day since they left, but Baxter isn't about to deny that he's already wishing they were with him again.

Just imagine them softly talking about their days to each other, tucked up in their respective beds, wishing the other one was close enough to touch and hold.

Imagine them having to end every face time with a reminder about when they were going to see each other next, just to soften the bitter blow of the end of the call.

Imagine MC taking a screenshot when Baxter looks cute, his hair mussed from his pillow.

Imagine Baxter taking a screenshot when MC starts nodding off, head propped up by one dangerously swaying hand.

Imagine neither of them wanting to bring up staying on the call as they sleep, but both thinking about it every time.

Just... soft Baxter and MC, because they'd be the cutest sappiest couples, especially when they're alone.

...

This third one and final one is not as cute, but imagine an artist MC who is just enamoured by the mole on the upper back of Baxter's thigh.

They really want to not be creepy, but also... they really want to sketch it.

And so they sketch it, but it doesn't capture the beauty properly, so they add colour and edit and keep going until they have a near photo realistic image of the back of Baxter's thigh XD

Baxter finds the drawing one day and basically blue screens for a good 40 seconds before he attempts to compliment their art work and tease them about the subject material at the same time, the words coming out as a jumbled, flustered mess.

That is all XD Thank you for letting me scream my Baxter ideas into the void haha.

#baxter ward #baxter x reader #our life #hcs #headcanons #baxter x mc #our life beginnings & always

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worriedvision · 1 year

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arguing with alhaitham and reader goes to leave, goes missing for a bit, and comes back with no memory at all ! (make it hurt tysm)

Oh wow I'm doing another Alhaitham ask lol! Gender neutral reader, angst with no happy ending in the end. Basically really bad communication lands up having consequences. As much as I would like to do a part 2 of this, I feel like this is better just as itself. If anyone else feels like doing a part 2 of this, however, feel free to do so!

Another argument, another insult session between the both of you. Your insults were never hitting deep with Alhaitham, you didn't use his weaknesses against him.

However, Alhaitham was particularly mean this time. He insulted the fact you never got a vision, he insulted the fact you got too emotional at times, and he implied that he could aim a lot higher than you. You begin to cry, and Alhaitham lands the final blow before you run out crying.

"You are an embarrassment. Even Kaveh is more logical than you." Alhaitham shrugs, you running out and slamming the door behind you.

Deciding you needed some time to process those words, and to slowly get over the statement so you could both have a logical conversation that wasn't laced with insults. When you caught wind of a commission regarding a domain in Liyue, right before you enter Sumeru, you take it. You knew the traveler had so much on their plate, and recently they were enjoying the Mondstadt Festival, and you figured it was the least you could do for all they have done to help so many people.

The domain was very strange. Every turn you made, you heard a male voice telling you to leave while you still could. At the time, you believed this person was in a dangerous situation based on how they were out of breath when screaming out for you to leave. Pushing forward, you eventually come across a short man, clearly almost passed out completely.

"Why are you here, mortal?" He gruffs out. "My karmic debt has caught up to me, it will kill you." He chokes out, spluttering as he looks around. As he goes to grab his weapon, however, you take it instead.

The fight was difficult, but eventually the onslaught of enemies stopped completely. An opening in the domain seemed to be almost ready, but it was clear you needed to investigate another part of the domain. Ignoring Xiao's warnings, you rush in.

'Mortal, you must sacrifice something near and dear to you.'

"Huh?" You ask, looking around to see nothing but void surrounding you. "Who said that?"

'Oh, you poor thing. I can tell you are so...deeply hurt by your lovers harsh, harsh words.' The disembodied voice coos, you hearing a very muffled voice calling out for you. 'Let me take away the suffering.'

"What are you talking about?" You tilt your head, failing to comprehend how you forgetting someone special to you would help this individual.

'Dear, I am here to comfort you'. The voice explains. 'I can help you. I feed off of your negative energy, and this hurt from an argument is perfect.'

"Why did you say I have to sacrifice something near and dear to me?" You ask, hearing Xiao screaming for you to stop responding and wait for him.

'Just hurry up and say yes, and I can make you forget everything bad that lover of yours has said.' The voice tuts, clearly losing patience. You feel your health getting worse by the second, and in a moment of desperation you follow the rules. Saying yes, you feel yourself passing out as Xiao finally gets through the void.

"Well, I am the bearer of good news." Doctor Baizhu hums. "You are physically fit."

"What about the effects of the karmic debt?" Xiao asks, crossing his arms. "I need to know the magnitude of these memories being stolen."

"I'm afraid I can't say...It doesn't seem to have affected them, but neither you nor I know what they have agreed to forget." Baizhu hums.

"I should have forced them out when I sensed them. No mortal should be near me in a domain like that." Xiao huffs, looking down at his mask. "This all happened because 'someone' was worried about my lack of presence."

"So I can go home? I kind of need to get my commission sorted out, and I have some house chores I should get around to." You ask, Baizhu nodding.

As he watches your retreating form, he senses Xiao is feeling incredibly guilty for you coming along.

"Don't blame yourself for this. In fact, you got them out of that domain before the karmic debt got to them physically." Baizhu states, Xiao simply teleporting away.

"_, my dear." Alhaitham lets out a sigh of relief, thoroughly confusing you. "I have been worried sick about you leaving after the argument. It's been days! I wanted to apologise, tho-"

"...I'm sorry, sir." You start, just looking at him. "But I don't know you."

#alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #angst #xiao #baizhu

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hootbon · 3 months

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Since I saw someone else talking about their fucked up ideas, I am too lol because I suddenly remebered them. But, pretty much just how my lore making brain decides to look at characters.

Kinger: He’s a king chess piece, obviously. He didn’t have to work for that position, unlike the queen, no chess piece can ever become the king, but a pawn can prove itself and become a queen, in a way. Kinger is now forced to be a lowly magician, because he never had to work for anything on his way up. Cracks from pressure, knowing he didn’t do anything, and now has to make up for it, whist his queen, the one who worked to gain that role, is no longer around

Ragatha: A rag doll, something that is quite literally a toy, old, not many people would chose that sort of doll over the newer kinds. Tossed around, ripped, lost, decapitated— so what? It’s a doll. If the doll breaks, you can just sew her back together again. If she does something wrong, you can watch her unravel in front of your eyes until you decide to stitch her back together again, though no one really cares for fixing her. She can be replaced easily, and so easily broken, used and abused by people endlessly, that’s what she’s made for. If she gets too chatty, you can just take out your thread and needle to shut her up

Pomni: A ballerina, she looks quite beautiful when she dances, she is a living ‘doll’, a puppet. A puppet by the strings, not much she can do, but be there helplessly as the ringmaster tugs them. A puppet, also a doll, are just used by someone else’s hand, she has no control over what they might make her do in the circus, and she never will.

Gangle and Aingle: The two sisters, ‘twins’ even if one of them doesn’t actually exist. A false persona, a forever toxic relationship, in a way. Bound to someone who looks like you, is always around you, but acts nothing like you do, wants to be the opposite of you, in a way. With all that ribbon, Caine could really tie the loose ends of the circus, like the abstraction issue for example…

Zooble: Quite handy with a thread and needle if they do say so themselves. Almost like the druggie of the whole group, they let intrusive thoughts kick in one day and than… they could never have enough. Dysphoric, their body never looked normal anyways in the first place, so it didn’t matter if they took parts of those now gone and tried to use them to fill the void of their own ever ending spiral of lack of self-esteem, right? They never liked the person in the mirror, so they change it every day, it only feels normal to be scavenging the halls after hair raising screams of pain can be heard in the hallway, sewing parts together to make something they enjoyed. A bad habit? Of course not, they never see it that way, they are simply making use of what others never appreciated, and now aren’t around to appreciate

Jax: The fluffy murder set bunny, we all love him. His silly little pranks go from sudden silly string ambushes, to agonizingly terrible ways for any mortal being to die— good thing you can’t! Caine would never let you. He’s just a bunny, a sweet little guy who wants nothing else but to put a smile on your face— well, that’s a lie, all he wants now is to satisfy his needs, and out a smile on his face. What is he thinking? You’ll probably never know, ever since Kaufmo disappeared for a few hours and came back, starting to act differently from normal, Jax acts like it’s the end of the world. Silly Jax, it’s just all fun and games! Kaufmo needed some help, so Caine got our friendly twins to help tie up those loose ends!

…Basically random shit, character design analogies and random ominous comments I thought of on the spot for these guys

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #freakshow au #tadc freakshow #I just think you guys need to hear this

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golbrocklovely · 2 months

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i need to complain about this for two seconds lol

it has gotten on my LAST NERVE that this fandom constantly expects colby to pay attention to everyone. give everyone likes, notices, whatever. and when colby doesn't follow thru, he's seen as an asshole. but sam is never expected to do that.

prime example being the merch and reposting/liking fans.

colby has CONSISTENTLY been reposting and liking fans merch posts for a couple months now. and yet, what he's doing isn't enough. there are fans that think he doesn't repost enough of a "variety" of fans, aka he doesn't post plus size fans enough and according to some fans "only reposts fans that look like shea" basically.

imma need yall to consider not using colby to build up your self esteem and do so quickly.

bc look, i'm a plus size individual. i KNOW what it's like to be ignored for my body or made fun of for how i look and just in general to seek validation in men. i get it, i truly do. what i am saying is that colby DOES pay attention to a variety of fans, but bc he isn't constantly reposting bigger bodies, yall see it as him ignoring plus size fans.

this, tied with his dating history that you all love to think you know, you've have come to the conclusion that his type is a skinny, dark haired, blue eyed girl, and anything other than that is ignored.

and i can scream this from the roof tops, until i'm blue in the face: WE DO NOT KNOW COLBY LIKE THAT SO STOP ASSUMING.

we don't know his dating his history, hook up history, nothing. we don't know what his type is. just bc you've seen him with a couple different girls (that he may not have even been dating in the first place) over the years, doesn't mean you know his type.

not to mention if he has a type that is skinny girls with dark hair and blue eyes..... WHO FUCKING CARES?????? he's not trying to fuck any fans. he's reposting who he sees he's tagged in/what the algorithm shows him. be pissed at that, not at him.

bc fun fact: you're not owed a notice. a like. a repost. just bc you bought merch. how many fans have brought merch over the years and never got seen? thousands have. millions even. you aren't owed something just bc you gave money to them. what you are owed is the physical merch and that's it.

we've been having this same conversation for years now, literally since i joined the fandom. and back then, at 23, i felt the same way. i genuinely hated the idea that colby, and sam for that matter, wouldn't find me attractive and thus wouldn't repost me or like my merch pics. but as i've gotten older, and started to LIKE MYSELF, idc if snc think i'm hot or not. i think i'm hot, i don't give two shits what two random boys from kansas think.

stop relying on colby to make you feel better about yourself. stop relying on influencers in general to fill the void inside of you. work on yourself. snc are entertainment, and that's it. they are not your boyfriends who are gonna hold your hand and tell you you're beautiful. i'm sorry, but that's reality.

or... at the very least, if you're gonna continue to shit on colby for this, do the same to sam. sam literally doesn't repost any fans and only start to this past merch drop so like........... where's the outrage for him?

right, i forgot. sam does nothing wrong, but colby does everything wrong. my bad, must have forgot :)

#personal #text #sam and colby #sam golbach #colby brock

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phatcatphergus · 3 months

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Hi, you reblogged me with a lore dump about Q! Tubbo and you mentioned that you'd be willing to do a character analysis? Please, I'm invested at this point

Ahhhhh omg hi! I can't believe you came back for more lol. You shall soon be a qtubbo stan like the rest of us.

I do want to preface this by saying that this is my personal lore interpretation so it's subjective. So many people have great analyses of his character, so I recommend watching a couple streams or looking at the tag for a broad scope as well!

That being said...

I think the best word to describe qtubbo is loss.

He was brought to the island having already lost parts of himself he didn't know. Through his time on the island, he lost respect, credibility, friends, family, teammates, nieces and nephews, penpals, godkids, mentors, and himself. He never had something he didn't end up losing, whether by choice or force. He loses what matters most to him, yet he continues giving his all to everyone he meets.

He came to the island with loss and no sense of who he was or where he came from, yet he spent all of his time for the benefit of others. He worked day and night so that other people wouldn't experience the loss of what he could prevent such as items or supplies. He never wanted anyone to experience what he experienced, even when they were the ones perpetuating it.

No one ever cared about him unless it was for a reason. His relationships were transactional and needed to be because who would ever care for someone with no firm sense of self or where you came from? When he couldn't provide a transaction of care, he made himself useful, he became indispensable so that even if people didn't like him for him, they could use his skills until they didn't need him anymore.

The only time he actually felt that someone cared for him, just to care about him, was Fred. Fred had no emotions, no sense of self, and no past to speak of. Fred was someone who had no reason to hate or use Tubbo because Fred was like Tubbo. Fred was the first person who could care for Tubbo because he wanted to, and not because of his use or someone's sense of responsibility.

Losing Fred meant losing the one person who cared about him without strings attached. Anyone else only cared about him because he was useful, a leader, an engineer, a neighbor, a business partner, a babysitter, someone to steal from, or just someone to poke fun at. Until Sunny.

With Sunny, Tubbo knew better than to expect her to stay with him. He learned from his past that he doesn't deserve something as wonderful as Sunny, that he can only love and wait until she is ripped away too. If he wasn't good enough to keep Fred, why on earth would he be even partially enough for Sunny.

He mourned her loss the day he got her. He knew he wasn't the best for her, he wasn't anywhere close to what Sunny deserved, but he did his best regardless and loved her more than life itself. Sunny became his tether and the only reason for him to stay alive. Sunny needed him like he needed Sunny. Sunny was the only reason he kept himself alive after Fred's funeral. Through the jeers, through the belittlement, through the disregard for his feelings, Sunny was there and provided him with enough purpose to keep going.

Fit and Pac dating made his only sense of security start to crumble. The two people he figured would stick by his side were moving along without him. They wouldn't need him in their life because they would need each other. They don't need his friendship anymore, his usefulness has worn itself out. He doesn't see them extending a hand to him as they step forward because he's too focused on the empty voids in his past where others should be.

He tries to break them up, and even if they hate him, he can rationalize that he did it for the right reasons. They may hate him but they're stuck with him, kicking and screaming by his side. Everyone tells him that he needs to find Fred, that he's projecting his romantic life onto theirs. In reality, he is too scared of leaving the island the exact way he started, with nothing to his name and no one by his side.

His character is such a battle between what he wants to do and what he feels that he needs to do. His entire run through purgatory was fighting others for eggs that weren't even his. He spends his days working on projects for other people and picking apart his failures when others can only see his success. He works tirelessly so that Sunny won't ever understand what it's like to be underestimated, beaten down, mischaracterized, and alone. Even if the world is against them, he will be in her corner to fight until his dying breath.

He loves so deeply and so purely. He tries to compensate for the lack of it that he has received after giving it away to whoever asks. He is depressed, anxious, and on alert. He has gone through trials and events with his head high and carrying the weight of others on his shoulders. He loves and he gives and continues to even when the people he gives his love to throw it to the side.

He has people in his corner, but his fear of them leaving has already made them vanish in his mind. He's a killer and a father. An engineer and a friend. A penpal and an adversary. He is loss and he is love.

#He is so complex and deep that its hard to put into words sometimes #hes shaped by his experiences but refuses to let them define him #he would rather throw himself on a blade for you then let you do something for him #he doesnt believe that hes enough for sunny but tries anyway #he is a tragedy and a comedy #I hope this makes sense #anyone that wnats to add something please feel free #everyone has a different take on him and that's so awesome #i am running on 3 hours of sleep and a dream rn so this may just be word soup #tubbo #qsmp tubbo #qsmp #qsmp character analysis #asks #I also may make a post about qtubbo and how he relates to being in your 20s at some point bc that's definitely something I've thought of

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lupinmoonlight · 8 months

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Could you do smth like they meet again after years??? She's a professor and he too so she saw him at the first day in the great hall and after that they run into each other in the teachers' room. They were friends when they went to school and they were always attractedby each other.

Thank you and btw I love your writing:)

Lost and Found

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You and Remus Lupin had a crush on each other ever since you were students at Hogwarts but never had the courage to even speak. You spend the next 20 years living your separate lives, you as an Auror, and he, just surviving. Unable to live under the stress of your profession anymore, you retire and start teaching at Hogwarts, still hoping to fill the void Remus had left behind. In September 1993, everything changes. (3,190 words)

Warnings - Fluff, cheesy, angst, a bit of hurt/comfort, a bit of self-hatred, kissing, mention of wizarding war and lost of loved ones, my grammar (english is not my first language), not proof read.

Notes - I am almost ashamed of posting this considering I received this request over a month ago. I am so sorry anon, I have been traveling all of August. Thank you so much for your request and kind comment. I hope you like this one! (sorry if it's too cheesy I got carried away lol)

June 1978

One last glance, that's all you wanted. You pulled your hair back, looking discreetly across the Great Hall. As always, Remus was there, just a few seats away. He looked sad, just as sad as you, but it couldn't be for the same reason. The warm, golden rays of the sun reached through the windows and danced across his face, as if the sky itself was trying to comfort him. It graced his scars, making them glow a beautiful shade of gold. You were doomed. Absolutely doomed. And sad. And in love. And doomed.

You would always sit close, steal glances, exchange the occasional smile in the library. You had become experts at unsaid conversations, your hearts screaming out words that your lips never uttered. 7 years of unspoken love, of quick glances, of butterflies in your stomach, of hoping he would sit next to you in potions, of worrying when he would disappear for a few days. You knew why, it was easy enough to figure out for anyone who paid close attention. But you didn't care. You loved him for 7 years. 7 years that were about to be ripped away from you.

Remus felt your gaze and looked up. Your eyes met, and for a split second, time seemed to stop. You wanted to say something. I love you. But the lump in your throat held your words hostage. The weight of the impending silent goodbye threatened to shatter the fragile world you had created.

As breakfast came to an end, you all began your journey towards Hogwarts Express. The station was alive with chatter, laughter, and tearful goodbyes. But amidst the chaos, there were two souls whose worlds had never been more silent.

You found yourself in a compartment and gazed out the window, lost in thoughts, watching what had become your second home for 7 years slowly disappear in the distance. Every time the train jolted, you wished it would be Remus entering your compartment, as if he would be braver than you. Why didn't you go to his compartment? You were a coward that's why. Because being rejected would hurt more than saying goodbye.

Remus sat a few compartments away, his heart pounding in his chest. Despite the presence of his three best friends, he felt alone. The knowledge that this journey might be his last with you was gnawing at his soul.

The train finally pulled into King's Cross, and students disembarked, eagerly searching for their families. You made your way through the crowd, hoping, stupidly praying for one last moment with Remus. As you approached the barrier between the platform and the muggle world, you took a deep breath and looked back. And there he was, Remus, looking just as lost as you felt. Your eyes met across the platform, and everything went quiet, blurry.

You crossed the barrier and found yourself on the muggle side of the platform and looked back once more, catching a fleeting glimpse of Remus, who seemed to be vanishing amidst the crowd. You felt a visceral ache. A lump formed in your throat, stubborn and solid, just as you had been during those 7 years, refusing to admit your feelings. You hated yourself. Coward, you kept telling yourself. But you loved him. Was teenage love supposed to be this painful? Because if yes, you were done with it. Never again, you thought. You wiped away the unshed tears from your eyes, put on your most determined face on, and went to your parents waiting in the crowd. You had a career to build, and Aurors were not made of lovesick teenagers.

1981 - 1991

After graduating, the world outside Hogwarts proved to be colder and crueler than you had imagined. The First Wizarding War was a brutal, heart-wrenching time. As planned, you took the path of an Auror, but not for the same reasons you had wanted. Rather, it was in a desperate attempt to right the world's wrongs, to lose yourself, to numb yourself. It was your refuge, but it was also a painful reminder of the war's cost, a daily confrontation with terror and death. Was Remus alive? The question gnawed at you the moment you opened your eyes every morning. It consumed you. You had not seen each other in over 10 years, but the mere thought of him losing his life felt like someone was ripping you open with their bare hands, no magic. Maybe that's what drove you, in the end, to be an Auror. Stupid teenage love.

The horrors of your profession haunted you every night. You had been dishonest with yourself. Sure, you wanted to "right the world's wrongs". But really, every time you were out on a mission, you were looking for him, the boy, now man, with sandy hair, with golden scars, with the softest voice, kindest eyes, shyest smile. But he was never there. So you gave up and did everything you could to bury every memory of him as deep as possible, unreachable, and decided to try and go teach other lovesick teenagers. At least then, you would feel at home.

And home, you were. The old headmaster was still there, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Professor McGonagall, head of your house years ago, welcomed you back with the expression of a proud mother. In her eyes, you had made it. You had been successful. An Auror retiring to teach young witches and wizards. But you didn't feel successful, you felt broken, empty. And the only other colleague who seemed to reflect that void was Severus. You had been surprised to see him as a teacher. The man had always been isolated, grim-looking, sad. He reminded you of a dementor, and maybe that's why you enjoyed sharing a cup of tea with this old classmate in the staff room, to torture yourself and forget about your lost love. Had he really been a dementor, you don't even think you would have been affected because all that was left was nothing. Longing. Hurt. Despair.

Yet, in your first term as a teacher, you had this stupid hope. Maybe. Maybe Remus would walk through the Great Hall. Of all four troublemakers, he was the prefect, after all. Of course he would be a teacher. You had been so obsessed with this idea that you started losing sleep months before the term started. You surveyed the staff table like a hawk, looking for him. You were going mad. Here you were, grown, accomplished, yet still obsessing over your teenage love, retracing your steps through the halls like you used to 20 years ago to catch only a glimpse of him. Except now you knew he wouldn't be there.

September 1993

You sat at the long staff table, your eyes idly scanning the crowd of eager young faces gathered in the Great Hall. You were numb. Not even waiting for anything anymore. Just going through the motions. Professor McGonagall had just finished calling out the names of the first-year students when the staff entrance at the side of the Hall creaked open.

You turned your head reflexively, expecting another late-arriving student or perhaps a staff member who'd lost track of time. What you did not expect was the sight that greeted you, freezing you in your seat.

A man stepped into the Great Hall, pausing for a moment to soak in the ambiance as if he too were revisiting old memories. Older and more weathered than you remembered, his sandy hair was now tinged with grey, and his face bore scars that were definitely not there during your Hogwarts years. His robes, though neat, were faded and had seen better days. But it was his eyes- those gentle blue eyes, filled with a unique blend of sorrow and kindness- that told you everything you needed to know.

Remus.

Your heart was pounding so loud in your chest that you were sure the entire Hall could hear it. The moment his eyes met yours, he too froze in place, as if the mere sight of you had rooted him to the ground. A mixture of emotions swirled in his gaze- surprise, confusion, and something softer, more intimate, that you hadn't seen in anyone's eyes for a long time.

Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden but not unwelcome, as you shared a look so intense, it was as if no one else existed. A look that whispered of years lost, of what could have been, and- perhaps- of what still might be. Not a word was spoken, but in that moment, volumes were said, a dialogue only you could understand.

The gravity of the moment was so strong that you barely registered Remus moving again, navigating his way through the Hall to join the staff at the table. As he sat down beside you, the familiar scent of him struck you like a freight train- parchment, coffee, and a hint of pine trees. It was intoxicating, transporting you back to a simpler time, back to late-night study sessions and furtive glances. Your cheeks flushed as you realized that the empty chair next to you would be his for the entire year. There you were, a lovesick teenager again.

You found yourself struggling to maintain your composure as Dumbledore rose to his feet to introduce the new staff member.

"Before we continue, I'm pleased to welcome Professor R.J Lupin, who's kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he announced, his eyes twinkling as he gestured towards Remus.

The students erupted into applause as Remus stood up awkwardly, a sheepish smile on his face. You found yourself unable to clap, your hands trembling in your lap as you watched him. It was surreal to see him here, after all these years.

As soon as the ceremony ended, before the feast even began, Remus got up from his seat and made his way out of the Great Hall almost immediately, without saying a word. He looked almost...flustered? Impossible, you thought. YOU were flustered. How could he be?

For days after your wordless reunion, you and Remus moved in parallel orbits, close yet never intersecting. The tension between you was palpable; an emotional undercurrent that resonated through every stolen glance and momentary brush of your eyes. You would catch him staring at you across the Great Hall during meals, only for him to look away, flustered, when you met his gaze. He would spot you in the corridors, seemingly engrossed in conversation with Professor McGonagall, but he knew you were acutely aware of his presence.

You both longed to talk, to share the feelings that had overwhelmed you during that first eye contact, yet you were both paralyzed by a mix of fear, vulnerability, and the weight of years that had gone by. Remus, scarred by the war, lost everyone he loved most, was terribly afraid of loving again. And you, scarred by years of void, searching, numbing, were terribly afraid of being rejected.

The tension reached its peak one fateful evening when you found yourselves alone in the staff room. You had come to fetch some papers you had left behind, while Remus had sought the space for its quiet ambiance to prepare for his next lesson. As you entered, you were met by the aroma of ancient books, polished wood, and a hint of brewing tea. Remus was standing there, looking startled but then quickly regaining his composure.

"Ah, good evening," he stuttered, his voice tinged with the nervousness he felt. It was the first time you heard his voice in 20 years. It was deeper, but just as rich, just as soft, making you feel just as weak.

You felt your cheeks flush as you stepped further into the room. "Good evening," you responded, your voice a half-octave higher than you intended.

It was awkward, the air was thick with unspoken sentiments and unanswered questions. Remus cleared his throat and offered a formal, almost painfully awkward introduction.

"You might not remember me, I'm R-"

Might not remember him? Was he dumb? Clueless? Blind? No. He was just a man, you thought.

"I know," you cut him off gently, trying to act as if he had not consumed 99% of your brain capacity for the last 20 years. "I do know, Remus."

The air lightened a little at your words, as if acknowledging your shared history made it easier to breathe. Almost easier.

"I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?" he offered, trying to navigate the awkwardness that hung in the room.

"Yes, thank you", you agreed, grateful for a way to break the emotional deadlock.

As Remus moved to pour the boiling water into the cups, his hands were less steady than he'd have liked. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to leap out and bridge the gap that had opened up between you over the years. He handed you the cup, your fingers brushed ever so slightly. The contact, though fleeting, sent a rush of warmth surging through you both.

From that day on, you became inseparable- or as inseparable as two Hogwarts professors could be. You found excuses to bump into each other in the hallways, 'accidentally' coinciding your evening strolls by the lake or the Forbidden Forest's edge. You began to steal moments wherever you could- sitting together at meals when you could manage it, pausing in empty classrooms for brief, whispered conversations.

Yet, for all your newfound closeness, you both tiptoed around the deeper emotions and unspoken confessions that hovered in the background. You would catch yourself about to say something too revealing and would quickly pivot the conversation to safer topics. Remus, too, would often find himself on the verge of saying something he feared could ruin everything but would pull back at the last moment, as though treading on dangerous ground.

The late-night strolls became your sanctuary, where the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and your carefully guarded feelings.

"You've changed the curriculum quite a bit," you would say, your eyes sparkling as you discussed his innovative teaching methods.

"And you've managed to make Arithmancy popular. I've never seen so many students signing up for it," he would reply, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to decipher the mysteries hidden behind your eyes.

You would both laugh, the tension easing for a moment, yet neither of you would take that final, daunting step to acknowledge the flame that had been rekindled and now burned almost painfully.

It was a dance you both had perfected, a dangerous game you played. And though you circled around your feelings, it was clear to you both that this delicate balance couldn't last forever. It was as if you were students again. Desperate, lovesick, terrified teenagers.

And you couldn't take it anymore. You wouldn't. That night, the air was particularly cold, the air crisp, and the half-moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grounds.

"It's been weeks, Remus. Weeks since you came back into my life," you began, your voice shaky. "We keep circling around each other like we're afraid of something."

"Afraid?" Remus responded, trying to maintain his composure. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Isn't there?" You looked up, your eyes meeting his. "Then why haven't you touched me? Why haven't we talked about what's really going on between us? Why haven't you invited me out for a coffee?"

Remus looked away, visibly wrestling with himself. "I can't. I can't give you what you want."

The raw pain in his voice struck you, and you felt your own eyes brimming with tears. "And what do you think I want, Remus? Is it so wrong to want to be with you? Or am I not good enough for you?"

He took a deep breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You deserve someone better, someone who can be there for you in all the ways I can't."

That was it. The dam of emotions you'd been holding back for years finally burst. "Better? Do you have any idea how many nights I've lain awake wondering if you were even alive? Do you know how terrifying it is to love someone and not know if they're dead or alive, Remus?"

Your words struck him to his core. Of course, he knew what it felt like. He had lived it for 20 years.

Your voice had risen to almost a scream, your body shaking as you confronted him, assaulted him with your words. "All those years, I never had the courage to approach you, to tell you how I felt. We lost all that time, and now here you are, yet you've never felt so out of reach."

Remus couldn't look at you. His gaze was fixed on the ground, and he seemed to be shrinking into himself. "You don't understand. I'm not good for you."

"Why? Because you're a werewolf?" you snapped, the words tumbling out of you before you could stop them.

Remus's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock.

"I've known since Hogwarts, Remus. And I never cared. Are you blind? All I've wanted for the past 20 years was to be with you, to even just see you, to-"

Before you could say another word, Remus closed the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed you against a tree. Your eyes met for a split second- a second filled with anger, surprise, confusion, but above all, an overwhelming love- and his lips crashed into yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. His hand snaked up to your neck, feeling your pulse, as if he was trying to convince himself that this was real. You pressed your body against him, the heat radiating from him was intoxicating, dizzying.

But then the kiss slowed, its intensity giving way to a slow, loving gentleness, one that you associated with him so much. Remus's hands moved from your neck to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had spilled onto your cheeks. Your hands found their way to his chest, gripping his robes like they were a lifeline, like he would vanish any second.

Finally, you broke the kiss, a little out of breath, but remained close, your foreheads touching. "I'm sorry," Remus whispered, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry for all the years we lost, for all the pain I've caused you."

You shook your head, your eyes searching his. "We can't get back the years we've lost, but we have now, Remus. That has to count for something."

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time since the war, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility for a future- a future filled with love, warmth, and a happiness he had never thought he'd deserve.

"Okay," he said softly, the word heavy with the weight of the promise it carried.

"Okay," you repeated.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #professor remus lupin #professor remus lupin x reader #marauders #golden trio era #hp fic #sorry it's so cheesy idk what got into me

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sleepingdeath-light · 10 months

Text

yandere hcs ; stardust cookie

requested by ; anonymous (23/05/23)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | super epic

character(s) ; stardust cookie

outline ; “yandere stardust cookie headcannons? also your writing is so addicting I keep coming back and rereading all your fics lol”

warning(s) ; unhealthy obsessive behaviours, implied acts of violence, possessive stardust cookie, yandere stardust cookie, stalking

stardust spent the vast majority of his life drifting through the cold and unforgiving void of space — of course he had the stars for company but there are only so many one sided conversations one can have with the cosmos before something snaps

he’d come to the city of wizards seeking answers then companionship then vengeance once he became aware of his origins — and it was through that chaos and anger and fear that he met you

patient, protective, fragile you — a mortal no stronger than a twig yet holding a heart worth far more than its weight in platinum or gold

someone who helped to talk him down from the edge of his mania, who spoke in a voice that rung as bright as galaxies and as warm as the light of a thousand distant stars

you were so familiar despite never having met before — you felt like the cosmos and the void and the life held within, you felt like home

both the home he’d known his whole life and the home he’d been searching for as long as he could breathe in that breathless ocean of stars

he didn’t want to hurt you, to lose you, so then he started to listen — to fold in his wings and retreat his talons until he was human again

human enough, at least

went through all of the necessary motions: fusing with his other half, protecting the city from his attack, apologising and offering his service as an apology

and your companions — but most vitally you — believed him, or at least believed him enough to mostly take him at his word

he promised to keep his distance and help moonlight with her mission of protecting the city and rebuilding it to its former glory and bid you all farewell — biting back his grimace as moon started sighing dreamily about the ocean and it’s song

but he couldn’t stop thinking about you

during the day he was haunted by the brightness of your eyes and the warmth of your hug, ghosts of your fingertips brushing against his spine as he patrolled the ruins of the city from above

and at night your voice tormented him — the tinkling of your laughter morphing into your screams of terror from during his attack, played on repeat like some twisted record that he couldn’t shake or erase

he rarely slept most nights because of it

staying up at night, your face tattooed on the insides of his eyelids — teasing him with how present yet out of reach you were

it had been a month of moon pestering him and him brushing her off before he snapped and tracked you down one night

he’d found you in no time at all, having tracked you with his old friends’ aid (nobody hides from the stars, after all), and he lost his nerve the moment he saw you

asleep, vulnerable and peaceful — completely aware of the entity looming over your resting body

he was torn between taking you then and leaving you be because you were just so… beautiful when you were at rest

beautiful like nature, like the stars, like nebulas, like spiralling galaxies and like everything he’d known and loved — yet you still somehow eclipsed them all

he decided to leave you be

watching over you until the break of dawn, at which point he swiftly took flight and returned to the city before moonlight cookie even realised he was gone

(not that she ever did, all she did most days was sleep and stare out at the ocean)

he goes back the next night

and the next

…

he never does anything to you, though, he’d never dream of hurting you — doesn’t even think he could — he just watches you sleep

watches you smile and shuffle around

listens to you sigh and murmur and snore and breath

the most he’s ever done is brush some hair out of your face and lay beside you and listen to you breathe — revelling in the way you subconsciously snuggled closer to him and feeling warmth blossom in his chest at the way you buried your face in his neck

like you knew he was there

like you wanted him to be there

(of course you didn’t, though, you were asleep, but that didn’t stop his mind from wandering)

(from hoping)

and this little routine of his continues for months at a time — him trailing you and laying beside you as you go about your journey, blissfully unaware that you’re being followed

and he never gives you the slightest hint that he’s there, he’s not ready yet, he’s content as an observer

until him

until he stops by earlier than usual after you’ve just drifted off to sleep, face buried in the pillow of an inn that you’d stopped by for the night — your friends sleeping around you, piled in beds and sleeping bags and all so comfortable looking

he almost envied the simplicity

almost

and he didn’t intend to hurt him, but he could hear him from the window ledge of your assigned room

hear his crude remarks about you

about your body, your mouth, how you’d sound

and it infuriated him — bringing out a side of him that he had tried to keep contained since he almost destroyed the city of wizards

and suddenly he’s all wings and talons and teeth as he lures the drunkard outside with the promise of a good lay and good booze — an easier lie than he’d like to admit

he tortures the man until the break of day and brings back one of his ribs to keep safe in his home — a reminder of his role as your protector

(self assigned, of course)

what remained of him wasn’t even recognisable as human — no body to bury except for fragments and smears

and you were none the wiser

nobody talks that way about you — his light, his heart, his home, his you — not the drunk, nor a musician, nor a duke nor a king nor a god

they didn’t deserve you, none of them did

he didn’t either, not really, but that didn’t stop him from coming back

from hoping that one day you’d be able to accept him wholly

to love him

to adore him

to covet him

to want him

not yet — he wasn’t ready — but some day, and he was willing to wait as long as it took

because you were worth it

because he had nothing but time

because he couldn’t imagine a life without you in it

because you were his even if you didn’t realise it yet

his stars, his void, his nebula, his supernova, his everything and more

… if only he could bring himself to finally say it to your face rather than just whispering his affections to the endless night sky

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #yandere hcs #yandere x reader #yandere crk x reader #yandere crk #yandere cookie run #yandere cookie run x reader #yandere stardust cookie x reader #stardust cookie x reader #cookie run x reader #crk x reader

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cornflowerbluewrites · 2 months

Text

I really dislike it when someone asks me for a fic update or asks me when I plan to update a fic. Like, there is a reason why I’ve started including the ‘please don’t ask about fic updates’ paragraph in all my most recent series.

Part of it is practical. I really do mean it when I say I’m busy. I work a full time job and I’m going to grad school. I write fic in the time I have between keeping myself a functional person.

But also, some of it is just how my brain works. When people leave comments asking me to please update the fic or insisting that it’s been ages since I updated a specific fic, I know it’s just because they’re so interested in my story and want to know what happens next, but I feel so bad about not updating that I start avoiding updating because of the people telling me it’s been so long. Like, asking about updates genuinely wrecks any motivation I have to update and does the exact opposite of encouraging me.

Which is why I started asking people to not ask me about them in my authors notes!!! Like! It wasn’t just a random bit I started doing!!!

But despite my request to hey please respect this boundary I’ve stated, I still get people who ask about fic updates! And some of them even like, reference my note about not asking, so I know they’re reading it, I guess they just like, assume it’s all well and good to ignore my request if they try to be nice about it and because it’s them. I don’t know.

I don’t even know why I created this post other than to scream into the void a bit about this tho g that keeps happening no matter how often I try to head it off at the pass, lol.

Anyways, fic writers are people too, please respect our stated boundaries even if they might seem silly or inconsequential to you, thank you.

#alice talks #alice speaks #screaming into the void #alice screams into the void

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m00nsbaby · 7 months

Text

Violent things.

Steven Grant + Marc Spector + Jake Lockley x F! reader. Part I. (Out of 3.)

Tags & warnings. Lots of talks about death, violence, abuse. Inspired by Moon Knight's 5 episode x Corpse Bride. (+ this one is for my delulu girls since the reader is a bit delulu lol.)

Word count. 6.2k

Summary.

"Oh man!" What an interesting accent. "Wow, these meds are really amazing," he whispered as he tried to catch his breath. Hah, he did that too. "I thought I was dead." He hadn't even looked at you properly; he was just suddenly relieved to be in the presence of someone else. "Oh, no," you cleared your throat. "You are dead."

Each person had a different 'other side.'

Except you. Or well, technically, you had it, but it had been a long time since you'd been in it. In fact, apart from the bright colors, you couldn't remember much of it.

You'd been in excessively bright representations of what people imagine as 'heaven,' parties with mead, and you'd even tried candies that would have turned your tongue green if you'd eaten them in life.

Although, of course, that's how the most common ones looked; there were stranger ones too. People seeing themselves in their tiny cat-filled apartment or wandering the halls of their old school. Either way, it was fine because it was only temporary while they reached their destination.

Everyone except you.

And a few others who had the misfortune of lacking emotional intelligence even in death.

Literally.

It's okay, though. Over the years, you got used to this 'life' and the idea that you would never see him again, although getting used to it didn't mean you stopped missing him.

Stopped thinking about him.

Stopped wanting him back.

Anyway, work kept you busy because, yes, even in death, you couldn't escape the damn bureaucracy. You didn't have a real name for your boss because she also looked different to each person; to you, her face was very similar to that of an old friend, even though you couldn't specify which one.

She took pity on you somehow. She explained your situation, although it took you a lot of energy and time to understand it. She did everything possible to keep you from becoming one of those lost souls who simply roamed around here. She also pulled you back onto the path when you began to stray.

"There are 3."

You frowned.

"What do you mean, there are 3?"

"There are 3." she shrugged as you walked through the corridors of the psychiatric void. This was a new scenario, and your clothes were different too. Something more modern, you didn't recognize it as something from your time.

Yes, a few years weren't that long, but fashion moved disgustingly fast in the world of the living.

"Do you think you can handle them?" Should you mention to the boss that she looks like a chatty hippo, or is that the kind of thing you keep quiet to maintain good working relations?

You bit your lip and then nodded.

"Good luck." Her mocking smile was never a good sign.

Before you could object, she had disappeared. You took a deep breath; those were funny expressions that had stuck with you even now that you didn't have to breathe for real.

Your shoes echoed in the empty halls as you headed for what you assumed was the main entrance.

The door opened by itself.

Or rather, it opened before you even extended your hand.

"Whoa." You muttered, your eyes widening at the guy in front of you.

A rebellious curl fell over his forehead, and his huge brown eyes were even wider in surprise. He was dressed appropriately for the situation; it looked like a uniform for a psychiatric ward patient, and although it was loose-fitting, you would swear you could see his muscles from miles away.

And he, on the other hand, practically screamed in your face.

"Shit!" He jumped in place, bringing a hand to his chest as he laughed in disbelief.

Oh yeah, there was a bloodstain right on his chest. Nothing to worry about, not anymore at least; once you died, you technically couldn't die twice.

Although finding a functional washing machine in any of the many 'beyonds' was trickier than it seemed. If this Marc Spector guy was in the same situation as you, it was quite likely that he would spend the rest of eternity with that stain on his clothes.

Unless the boss offered him a job.

It would be wonderful to have him here forever.

Were you overthinking? Probably.

"Oh man!" What an interesting accent. "Wow, these meds are really amazing," he whispered as he tried to catch his breath.

Hah, he did that too.

"I thought I was dead." He hadn't even looked at you properly; he was just suddenly relieved to be in the presence of someone else.

"Oh, no," you cleared your throat. "You are dead."

Your voice sent shivers down his spine, and when he finally bothered to look at you more closely, you could see a touch of fear in his expression.

You were used to it by now, so why did it hurt this time?

"You're joking."

"Maybe if there was someone else to see me lying to you, it would be more fun, don't you think?" You tried to joke, but the poor guy seemed on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

That was a good sign; maybe you could keep him after all.

Marc pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as he tried to regain his composure.

"Do you expect me to believe this is the afterlife?"

"No, not the afterlife, an afterlife. This one is yours, well, for now, this is the path."

He fell silent, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if his body still needed oxygen.

You waited.

And waited.

But he never said anything, so you caught his attention by clearing your throat.

"Welcome, dear… traveler," you murmured as you clumsily searched for your notes in your pockets.

Ah, there they are.

"I will be in charge of…" You continued reading. "Guiding you on your way to…" How could you call this? Heaven? Valhalla? Mictlan? "What comes next."

Marc looked at you as if you were crazy, and you had no choice but to continue.

"It's a place that's difficult for the human mind to comprehend, so for you, it's something more…" You looked around with a furrowed brow. "Familiar."

He scoffed, his tone full of irony.

"I really am crazy," he muttered in a whisper.

"Together, we will traverse the 10 steps that will lead you to eternal rest." Your arm moved awkwardly up and down. What a stupid choreography your boss had given you. "Although," you stepped out of character. "Sometimes they are doors, and it seems that will be the case this time."

"Who are you?" He asked out of nowhere, and you swallowed hard.

"Your guide."

"Are you some kind of… Goddess? Are you God?"

You laughed, partly embarrassed, partly genuinely amused.

"I'm just your guide."

Marc had to settle for your answer.

"Are you ready?"

"Can one be ready for something like this?"

You shook your head but gave him a resigned smile. You felt sorry for him, as well as for all those who passed through your hands, but at least you did your part by taking them to what you would never know.

You offered him your hand, and hesitantly, he took it.

The contact with his skin made you swear that your heart was beating again.

You took a slow step through the corridors of the psychiatric ward with him behind you, his fingers gradually clinging to you. This was the first time in a long time that Marc allowed himself to be afraid, even when his thoughts were divided between his desire to cling to life and, on the other hand, that 'finally' feeling that had been intoxicating him for the past 10 years, ever since Roro left.

A few minutes of walking, and you knew by pure intuition which was the first door.

Unfinished business.

The first scene was… Something.

No one likes to witness the way they died, but much less what happens afterward. Have you ever heard that the last sense you lose is your hearing? Marc could clearly hear Layla scream his name just after the gunshot.

Or at least, his body managed to register the sound because he didn't remember it, but you could clearly see the scene at this moment.

"You left something unfinished." Your voice was as gentle as you could make it as you surrounded his body on the ground.

A strange feeling overcame you as you watched the curly-haired girl kneel beside him.

Holding him, begging him to come back.

Not sadness or pity, as it usually happened; you felt… uncomfortable? Annoyed?

Marc released your hand to get closer, appreciating the scene up close, and you knew how much he wished to touch Layla when his hand moved in her direction, trying to get her attention.

"Layla?" He whispered, his voice broken, his attention focused solely on her. He didn't even look at his body, which was slowly giving in. He didn't realize how she cradled him between her cheeks and kissed his lips one last time just now.

Your stomach churned; fortunately, you had already forgotten when was the last time you had ingested something.

"Baby?" He asked louder, and you knew it was time to intervene.

"She can't hear you," you whispered from behind, only able to observe Marc's back. The way his body contracted and suffered from small spasms due to crying.

Isn't it curious how all those things become muscle memory? Your breathing shouldn't be a problem when you weren't in your physical body, yet these things still happened.

"What were you doing here?" Your gaze wandered through the darkness inside the pyramid, your steps careful as you approached the open tomb of God knows who. A disgusted expression appeared on your lips at the sight of the mummified corpse.

Everything was better when you pretended that maybe you didn't really look like this.

Marc gave an ironic laugh, still crying, but you decided to give him space.

"I was trying to save the world."

You scoffed. 'Well, to each their own,' you thought as your fingers traced the edge of the tomb.

Hopefully, they buried you in something nice and expensive too.

"This might hold you here; we still don't know what will happen next because it's very recent."

"No." He interrupted, still kneeling in front of himself.

It turns out that the last thing his body registered was the way Layla grabbed his chest, taking something that rested on it afterward. The girl stood up, still with a broken heart but doing her best not to collapse.

You recognized that expression quite well.

"She'll take care of it."

Everything around him became blurry, apparently, that was the point at which he stopped fighting.

Marc slowly got to his feet, his eyes red, and he sniffed repeatedly. If you had the chance, maybe you'd tell him that he didn't need to do that, nothing would come out of his nose.

He looked good, though, even after getting shot, he still seemed attractive.

The good thing is that you still had 9 different opportunities to make him stay with you, but there was still one question. What did the boss mean when she said there were 3? An administrative error or something like that?

"She'll figure it out," he sounded sure as he pressed his nose bridge and took deep breaths. "She'll fix it."

"Then this is closed." You shrugged. Over time, you learned which dead ones to trust and which not to. Maybe Marc wasn't so wrong.

Nine opportunities.

"Congratulations." You offered him your hand, and he took it again.

That had to mean something, right?

You didn't pay much attention to the way he looked back, as if that would give him one last look at Layla. She had been gone for a while now. In fact, in the world of the living, this had probably happened hours ago.

The good thing (for him) is that apparently, she hadn't died yet.

Well, for you too, so you wouldn't find her wandering around. Romances that not even death could separate were the worst.

No more was said as you guided him through the passageways of the old pyramids as if you were an expert archaeologist, or perhaps an amateur with a lot of free time. One step forward from both of you, and everything around him looked different.

Vengeance.

"I have to tell you now." The cold streets of New York made you feel alive, especially in the short skirt you were wearing. The breeze cooled your legs and tousled your hair.

This seemed more common, even in the seedy side of the city. Apparently, Marc had been a normal person occasionally in his life, not someone who went on pyramid expeditions for fun.

"You won't be able to get revenge on anyone by being here." You walked ahead, trying to find the next door. It wasn't worth wasting time on this. "Sometimes divine justice serves in your favor and takes care of them, but it's not worth staying for a trivial matter."

And you knew it well.

When Marc's silence seemed suspicious, you looked back.

His clothes had also changed; he was wearing a leather jacket and a rather peculiar cap. It was gray, and it fit him ridiculously well.

He looked at you with wide eyes, his hand still holding yours.

"Cariño?" That accent was new. Did Marc like to play someone else occasionally at night? It wouldn't surprise you from someone like him.

Weird, like you.

Different, perhaps.

"What am I doing here?"

"Oh no, are you one of those?" You confronted him, one hand still holding his, and the other going straight to his face. You opened one of his eyes wider with your fingers, and he stayed still.

Had he drunk too much the night before or something? Jake didn't experience these things, never.

He didn't lose track of time; he didn't dissociate or lose control of his body; he didn't forget, and he didn't sleep.

This didn't make sense, at least not for him.

"You are dead, Marc," your words made his stomach churn. "I'm guiding you, we're only on the second level." Vapor came out of your mouth as if it were freezing, and your body still had that natural warmth that one emits when they are alive.

He furrowed his brow, looking at you as if he were seeing a ghost.

Well, that's what he was doing, but when you're dead, you don't have the right to see other dead people like this.

"I'm not… I'm not Marc."

Oh.

The boss's words made a bit more sense now. So, were they really brothers? Twins perhaps? Or whatever they were called when they were three.

The poor guy seemed about to have a crisis, very similar to Marc when you first found him.

"Jake Lockley." Your mind clicked, as it always did when you had these encounters with the souls you guided. A hazard of the job, there were things you knew and things you didn't.

He nodded slowly.

"Listen, sweetheart." He slowly released your hand, and the gesture didn't please you. I mean, if you couldn't keep Marc, maybe it could be one of the other two.

"I don't know what kind of joke you're playing," he walked past you while searching in his pocket for what seemed to be keys. "You're beautiful, and maybe we had a pretty fun night, but it's likely that what we have won't work, especially when you're calling me by another name and trying to play those little mind games with me, which, by the way, don't affect me in the least…"

Jake bumped into someone as he moved away from you clumsily.

"Sorry," he muttered, still confused. The other person ignored him, but when he looked back, his eyes widened in surprise. "¿Qué mierda?" You heard him mumble as he stumbled, sitting on the pavement.

Turns out Jake had bumped into himself.

And you suppressed the 'I told you so' smile.

"See?" You watched him pass you as well, and after a few seconds, you decided to approach him, extending your hand.

He looked at it in silence before taking it and getting to his feet.

"You're not playing, right?"

"Nope," you let go of his hand as you inspected his face. He looked so similar to Marc, yet so different at the same time.

"Are we dead?"

"I'm a little deader than you, but yes."

He bit his lower lip, and you saw him take off his cap and run a hand through his disheveled curls, more out of desperation than aesthetics.

He took a deep breath several times, more than you could count, and looked back. You saw the other Jake moving away in the crowd, and without saying anything, you turned to follow him without losing track.

Jake had to snap out of his crisis to follow you.

And him.

"Is that it? Are you not going to give me an explanation?" He hurriedly walked, doing his best not to bump into anyone until he realized that no one seemed to be affected by his shoves, not even moving them.

"We can't lose sight of you."

"This has to be a bad dream."

Maybe you liked Marc more than him.

"It's not a dream, Jake." You let out a deep sigh as you continued walking behind him. "You died, Marc did too, and…"

"Steven?"

"Right."

You finally turned to look at him when Jake from his memory stopped in front of a car.

It was a nice car.

"I still don't know what happened to you and Steven, but Marc got shot right…" You touched the center of his chest, and he didn't show how your touch made him shiver. "Here."

He wasn't sure if it was worth explaining to you right now that if Marc died, he would drag them both down with him.

"And who are you?"

"Your guide." You gave up; you would have to go through this again.

"Are you a product of my imagination?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Why do you look like one of my one-night stands?"

"I look like this all the time, actually," you looked down; this outfit was terribly uncomfortable. "Except for the criminally short skirt."

The sound of the door made you look forward. Apparently, the other Jake got into the car when you were distracted.

You opened the rear door of the car and looked at the confused guy in front of you.

"Get in."

And he obeyed; you got in afterward.

They were silent for most of the way, neither of you knew exactly where you were going because Jake had vague memories of this particular memory, if that made sense.

He had traveled this same road so many times for the same purpose that this could be any day of his life.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Your voice broke the silence, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"I was interrogating some guys in Cairo."

Ah, well, it seemed that he was just as strange as Marc.

"I see."

Jake somehow saw himself as the most stable of the three; he had learned to deal with the blows of life that he was forced to take to protect Marc and Steven from them.

But nothing had prepared him for the idea of failing them.

For failing them so horribly.

If he kept thinking, he'd go crazy. Even more.

You didn't know how long you had been here; everything seemed more tedious when Jake decided he didn't want to chat with you, or anyone, for that matter.

You assumed it was shock or something similar, and as for what this scenario meant, you understood why revenge wouldn't retain him.

Because Jake got rid of everyone who got in his way. To him or to Marc.

Both of you watched him drive, dispose of bodies, clean his clothes, and repeat as many times as necessary.

Well, he observed with a disgusted expression, and he took the liberty of covering your eyes with his hand. Well, it wasn't anything you hadn't seen before; apparently, the innocent face always gave the wrong impression.

The night ended with him crawling heavily to his apartment, tired, regretful, and often injured.

You looked at him beside you. Why did he seem so distraught by his own actions?

"So, can we cross revenge off your list?" You tried to joke when the expression on his face weighed on your chest. He didn't hear you; he kept looking at the path he had taken to the apartment.

If this was a divine way to make him regret his actions in life, it was quite functional, to be honest.

"And now?" His eyes fixed on you.

And you looked back at him.

"Do you still have the keys?" You pointed to the car.

He searched his pockets, and the keys jingled. Without saying anything, he opened the front passenger door for you to get in.

The gesture made you bite your lower lip to avoid smiling.

He got in afterward.

"Where are we going?" He started the car, and the roar of the engine added an extra note to the pain he was carrying at the moment.

He wasn't going to drive his car ever again?

Driving was the only thing that brought him peace, and the car was the only thing that belonged to him and only him. In fact, the vehicle was in his name, as was his driver's license. They were the only legal documents with Jake's name on them, even if it had cost him a fortune to bribe those in charge to get them without having to present any other proof that there was nothing suspicious behind them.

They were the only proof that Jake was real.

"I don't know, you'll feel it when we get there," you murmured without bothering to roll up the window; you just let the breeze hit you as the car started moving.

He didn't believe you, but apparently you weren't lying, his instinct was guiding him through the empty and dark streets of New York.

His home.

After a few minutes, Jake took a moment to look at you while you seemed completely absorbed in the detailed memories of Jake, who seemed to have even memorized the signs that adorned the streets he was driving through.

"What are you?" The question sounded a bit more offensive than he would have liked.

"Your guide."

"Are you sure you're not some kind of fantasy of mine?"

Was he flirting with you or insulting you? Either way, you smiled.

"None of that," you cleared your throat and finally looked at him. "I'm at the point where you are right now, and I'm staying here."

Should he inquire further, or were manners no longer as necessary when you were dead?

"For how long?"

"Huh?"

"You seem to know a lot about this; how long have you been like this?"

The way you shrugged was enough of an answer for him.

You had to close your eyes for a few seconds when you realized the effect the question had on you. You usually didn't talk about yourself, especially not with the people you guided. They were always more concerned about themselves, and with good reason; the boss knew well what had happened to you, but having someone directly ask about the situation left a disgusting taste in your mouth.

"My dear."

"Huh?" You looked at him immediately, furrowing your brow.

"What?"

"Did you say something?"

"I didn't say anything." The most similar you came to a normal conversation began when Jake released the wheel for a few seconds, raising both hands to declare himself innocent of whatever you were accusing him of.

"I heard you."

"I didn't say anything, I swear on my… death, I guess." He ran a hand through his chest, furrowing his brow.

Even with a bad feeling, you smiled.

And he did too.

Things were more fun when you collected as many jokes as you could about being dead.

"Alright." Your head returned to its position against the seat, and your gaze returned to the outside.

Jake looked at you for a few extra seconds; he knew that smile well.

"I think I can get us out of here," he thought, hoping that Marc and Steven could hear him.

Strong emotions or feelings.

The movement of the car eventually stopped, and you could no longer feel the leather under your fingers; you recognized the grass immediately.

Your eyes were forced open when a couple of children ran past you, laughing and pushing each other. You were beginning to feel tired, even though you were less than halfway there.

You sighed, your body feeling heavy as you stood up.

A couple was enjoying a homemade BBQ, even though the clouds seemed threatening to ruin it.

"Jake? Marc?" You looked around.

Ah, there he was.

Near the children's mother, looking closely at her with a radiant smile. It wasn't difficult to guess that he was Steven; his messy hair and tired eyes didn't resemble the features of Marc or Jake. Well, they did, but not really. Does that make sense?

Finally, one of the three didn't look at you in fear or confusion.

"Oh Gods, hiya!" His accent made you smile, and you waved back in greeting, approaching him as he was only a few steps away.

"You must be Steven."

"And you must be my guide." As if it were a friendly arrangement, he extended his hand, and you shook it gently, enjoying the contact. "Jake explained to me."

Was there a gap between door and door that you didn't witness for them to have a chance to talk? Well, you'd ask later.

"You seem calm."

"I'm totally freaking out on the inside."

You laughed again and nodded. You liked Steven, you liked him more than the other two.

"What level is this?"

"Third." Your attention shifted to the couple next to you, the woman's huge brown eyes told you in seconds that she was the mother of the three.

That was something they had in common, those lost-puppy eyes.

"Strong emotions or feelings." You took a step closer to her, your eyes scanning her face for more familiarities among the triplets and her.

The little wrinkles at the edges of their eyes when they smiled also seemed to come from her. And the curls definitely came from their father.

"Well, I love my mom." He seemed just as distracted by the scene as you were.

You didn't mention that love, at this point, wasn't one of the emotions that could retain you.

The situation wasn't new to you; there was almost always a familiar memory here. You didn't count friends separately because time had shown you that friends were the family you chose; the lines blended easily in those cases.

Maybe this was the reason why you would stay with one of them, and with just 5 minutes exchanged, Steven seemed like a good choice.

The children ran by your side again, and Steven's attention was completely stolen by them. You tilted your head to the side with tenderness and a slight curiosity.

"They're not ready yet; you can go play for a while, understood?" The taller boy nodded, stopping right in front of his brother, who ended up crashing into him.

Both laughed.

"Is it you?" You pointed to the younger one.

Steven seemed as distant from the situation as you. He shook his head slowly before looking at you as if he wanted an explanation. It took him a few seconds to be able to murmur.

"I don't… I don't remember."

"Marc?" The woman called, causing an amusing scene between the two children, Steven, and you since everyone turned to look at her expectantly. "Take care of Roro, please."

Roro?

"Do you have another brother?" Your voice came out so low that not even poor Steven could hear it.

It was a silent agreement in the way you followed him while he continued to follow the children with his mind in a tangle of thoughts. Was this what Marc had been hiding so eagerly?

You could swear a shiver ran through you from head to toe when your eyes settled on the cave the two children were heading towards, and the thunderclap sealed the deal on the bad omens.

You had witnessed these scenes before. When someone was about to die, it always felt like this. Being sensitive to death was one of the quirks that came with the job.

"Steven?"

He didn't even look at you.

"Lads?"

No answer, obviously.

"It's… It's dangerous, they shouldn't…" He seemed to have lost his breath. "They are going to..."

And you nodded slowly.

"I know."

The small steps were only a few meters away from you as the rain intensified. Both you and Steven were getting wet.

"Let me…" He was never able to form a complete sentence. "I know I can…"

You knew he couldn't, but you still followed him into the cave.

You walked in darkness for a very short time, with "I want my mommy" echoing in your ears over and over again.

The cave seemed to end in the living room of what you guessed was their house. Both of you arrived dripping wet, Steven with red eyes after what he had just witnessed.

You were still wondering what role he played in all of this.

Had Marc's emotional burden somehow reached him? After all, he was also their brother, or at least it seemed like it.

You stopped abruptly when both encountered Steven's mother, hands on her hips, her cheeks red with anger. Steven jerked when she yelled the words, "This is all your fault."

Everything was happening too fast, even for you, who had learned the art of controlling the emotions of the moment. It was usually the boss who handled these kinds of situations.

You were never strong enough.

You moved past the scene, your hand learned to Steven's wrist as you directed him upstairs. He couldn't stop looking as he moved awkwardly, stumbling over his own feet.

"It's this way," you whispered, leading him into the room.

You sighed calmly when finally the silence enveloped you. Inside, one of the children was playing alone. The scene tugged at your heartstrings a little more, but hey, at least there was no one screaming.

"I must be remembering wrong," he whispered as a last hope while he sat on the floor, defeated. He took a seat in front of the child. "It must be Marc's doing."

You pursed your lips, deciding not to say anything as you watched his hands tremble. This kind of thing wasn't in the manual.

"Maybe so," you gave him false hope before knocks on the door diverted both of your attention.

"Open the damn door, Marc!"

Another shiver, as horrible as the first one.

"It's not my mom, it's not my mom," the child whispered, covering his hands. Steven and you could do nothing but watch.

"Open this door!" More loud pounding.

More knocks, more panic, more fear.

Until the voice of the kid made you look again.

"Bloody hell! Look at the state of this place." His little eyes focused on a bunch of Legos in front of him. They weren't even scattered. "Better sort it out before mum sees it." His accent was the same as… Steven's.

"Marc! Open this door right now!"

Witnessing that was enough to clear your doubts; you weren't foolish. After your death, no one could really receit you. Your brain easily connected the dots, and apparently, Steven's did too; he had more clues than you did up to that point.

They weren't brothers.

Marc, Steven, and Jake shared the same body.

"When danger is near," Steven narrowed his eyes as he read from the poster on the wall above the child, "Steven Grant has no fear."

He took a deep breath through his mouth with heaviness.

"He made me up." That was the next thing he said, and you couldn't help but watch the child as he organized his Legos.

The door burst open with a shove, and that was your next cue; it was time to get out of there.

"Steven?"

Wendy, whom you had been referring to as 'the mother,' entered the room, her eyes red, and an aroma of alcohol that even you could sense.

"You are going to learn…" She took Marc's belt, the one that hung next to his toys. It was a horrible parallel, and you could swear your chest hurt. "to listen."

Her steps were slow as she coiled the belt in her hand.

"Steven?" You whispered, pushing him in the chest. He stood on tiptoe to get a better view of the scene.

"I wanna see what she did." He mumbled with difficulty.

You gave him another push with all your might.

"Steven, we have to go."

"Let me see what she did." That was the last thing he said before you slammed the door shut, muffling the poor child's cries of pain inside the room.

"I don't hate her." It was the only thing he could say after what seemed like hours. The sun seemed to have set.

You nodded slowly, your head resting against the door just like his.

"I know."

"She was sad."

You had to swallow the urge to tell him that it didn't justify what she did, but you chose to nod and offer him some peace.

"She was."

There were a few more seconds of silence before you murmured, "We have to go."

He nodded and was the first to stand up, intending to offer you his hand, just as you had done with Jake a while ago. You took his hand and stood up, but you didn't let go of his hand.

You descended the stairs slowly; the house suddenly seemed filled with people. Apparently, this wasn't over yet, and you started to seriously think that Steven wouldn't get out of here. How much more could his heart take?

Everything seemed blurry, although of course, you didn't know that the reason behind it was that Marc had never entered the house that day; the memory was clouded by a window in between.

"What happened here?" He whispered behind you.

"Your mom, Steven."

Her photo was on one of the tables, behind two long candles.

"Don't talk nonsense." He took a few steps forward to see what you were seeing. "My mom and I already sorted this out; it must have been something that ha- happened." They were all wearing black clothes around him. "in the past." He completed in a whisper.

You looked at him again, his eyes filled with tears as he shook his head.

"No, no, this can't…" He swallowed hard, making your own throat ache in response. "Marc would have told me."

You doubted it, but it wasn't the time to remind him that Marc seemed to be hiding many things from him.

"No, this can't be happening." He mumbled, again losing his ability to string sentences together.

Breaking your heart once again. The front door of the house opened in front of both of you, and you understood that it was time to move on.

Without saying anything, you tapped his shoulder, getting his attention. You pointed to Marc outside the house, just a few meters away, drinking from his flask with teary eyes.

"Marc?" He whispered to himself as he moved awkwardly and quickly towards him, leaving the house with you behind.

You decided to give him space; his memory allowed you to stroll through a couple of nearby gardens, and you waited on the grass while Steven processed the moment when Marc finally broke down.

Kneeling on the pavement, his body tense until the English accent of the other became noticeable in the way he spoke to himself.

The place was getting darker, and after a few hours, you sat on the sidewalk, watching the scene from afar. Steven had the opportunity to digest the situation as much as he could, and although for any normal person this would have been the end, you knew this wasn't the point for Steven.

He was understanding, strong within his sensitivity, and he knew how to deal with things that Marc couldn't.

You finally understood the feeling he was facing and what he was releasing.

Grief.

The grief of losing his mother as a child, and the grief of losing her again as an adult. His brother, his father.

The grief of losing himself while trying to understand that he wasn't 'the original' but Marc.

Meanwhile, as the crying finally subsided, Steven was talking to himself. Or so it seemed, because no one else (meaning you) could hear the voices of Jake and Marc arguing with him. "I know how to get us out of here." "Jake, we're not going to harm her." They didn't have to say more for Steven to understand that they were referring to you. "I'm just saying it might be an easy job." "Are you suggesting we kill someone who's already dead? You've truly outdone yourself." "At least I'm looking for a solution, unlike you, Mr. 'resigned.'" "We can't leave Layla alone," Steven whispered, his gaze fixed on you in the distance. "See? Steven's on my side." Marc rolled his eyes. "And what do you want to do?" "I'm just saying… if there's a way out of here, she's the one who knows it."

Meanwhile, when the imaginary crickets began to resonate through Marc's blurry memory, Steven returned to you.

"Hey?" You looked at him, who knows how long you had had your eyes closed. "Can we continue?"

You nodded and gave him a small smile.

"Let's move on."

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