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illyrianbitch · 4 months

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Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: ANGST, Helion being compassionate and its sexy, Inner Circle slander (sorry feyre baby), Y/N is kind of a bitch (but its warranted and a slay), family trauma.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was Helion, the High Lord of Day, who had seen the flicker of hope in your eyes. A man of discerning wisdom, he recognized your yearnings of a better world. He knew you, he knew your heart, and he trusted your vision— with the promise of your support shall he need it. You knew that your support, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing to Helion. He had always held a heart of gold, of understanding, and he would have helped you without anything in return. But you had insisted, declared that you needed to give him something to thank him. Your support, he had agreed on. It was all you had left, anyway.

Now, you stood before him, pleading. Your chest was tight and a calm panic filled your veins. You needed to act. You needed to keep things in place.

"Helion, please," your voice, normally composed, now carried a tremor, a plea that hung in the air, reeking of desperation. Low light poured through stained glass windows as the sun slowly set, painting a kaleidoscope of muted colors on the marble floors.

His eyes, usually filled with warmth, held a regretful sympathy.

"Y/N, I wish I could," He replied, his voice caressing the air, "But with the current state of affairs and your father’s growing paranoia, it's too risky. I can't jeopardize my people. My help is needed elsewhere."

Approaching you, he extended a large hand, gently cupping your chin, his touch reassuring and pained. "Give me some time, sweetheart."

Desperation deepened in your eyes, and the intensity of your plea swelled. Aching with fear and worry, your gaze remained locked on his. "I don’t have time. Hewn City corrupts swiftly. You know this.”

Helion sighed, a sound filled with a blend of both compassion and helplessness. "Perhaps you should reach out to Rhysand. His influence might help, now more than ever."

Yor felt a bitterness surface, like bile rising through your throat. A soft scoff left your mouth as you roughly pulled Helion’s hand away from your chin, withdrawing from his touch in offense. "Rhys had a chance to help. He didn’t. He couldn’t care less. I won’t go crawling to him."

Helion's gaze softened, a tender response to your rough tone. He let out a sigh and pulled you close to him once more. His touch sent a wave of comfort through you, something that happened often when you visited him to discuss these things. Helion was a man who loved physical connection— you didn’t mind it. It made you feel seen, understood. Now, you craved that feeling more than ever.

"I don’t understand this contempt you hold. Surely they will want to help you. They miss you."

You rolled your eyes at this. Of course Helion would think so. As much as you trusted him and his admiration for you, he always did love your family. Your sister and your cousin would always be in your life, tied to you in one way or another. Frustration tinged your voice.

"It's too late. Going to Rhysand now would draw unwanted attention or, worse, he’d halt my efforts because of some perceived danger."

There was a moment of silence, and your eyes bounced around the room, searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t Helion's burning gaze. Once more, he moved a hand to gently cradle your face.

"You cannot foresee every outcome. You're not a mind reader, Y/N."

A bitter laugh escaped you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "I might as well be when it comes to family."

"You've accomplished so much. Allow yourself a reprieve. You can't bear the weight of the innocents lives in Hewn City alone."

You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes as you admitted, "I can't afford to stop. If I do, they'll think I've given up."

"No," Helion asserted, his voice unwavering. "Your dedication is commendable, but you need to care for yourself. Let me help you."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him, his brows furrowed slightly and a sad smile on his face. He moved his hand once more, gently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then, he ran a finger along it, a soft caress carried by a weight of understanding. You shuddered at the lightness of his touch.

"Stay, Y/N,” He suggested, his voice smooth and low, “Let me be a distraction. You take care of others; let someone take care of you."

You leaned slightly into his caress, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. A fleeting sense of comfort teased at the edges of your weary soul. Yet, reality swiftly reasserted its grasp, and you gently withdrew, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"I appreciate the offer," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. Your hand delicately intercepted his, guiding it away from your cheek. "But I can't afford the luxury of distraction right now."

He acknowledged your decision with a small nod.

“I wish I could do more for you."

A tender smile found its way to your lips and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment of gratitude.

“I know.” You replied before you winnowed away, leaving the luminous embrace of the Day Court behind.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You were on edge. You had been for the last few weeks. Now, after failing to convince Helion, you could feel it catching up to you, a dark hole forming in the pit of your stomach. It felt like you were being swallowed alive, eaten by your own anxieties and fear. But you didn’t have time for this. You couldn’t risk falling apart, becoming vulnerable. No, not at a time like this.

You had mastered the art of drowning your thoughts, of discarding the weight that threatened to pull you under. Tonight would be no different. The impending storm would be weathered, as it always had been. You would begin to drink your worries away, give them time to manifest, and then shove them away into the crawlspace of your mind, free to collect dust and rot away.

You moved toward a small table where a simple platter of dark amber liquid awaited. Your fingers tightened around a small crystal glass as you poured. As the first sip touched your lips, you felt the familiar burn, a welcomed distraction. The amber liquid offered solace, if only for a fleeting moment.

And then, you stilled. The creak of the floorboards behind you announced their presence, and you felt it—a pricking at the base of your neck, the subtle disturbance of the air as someone entered, no, appeared. Your body tensed instinctively, shoulders rigid, as you ceased your movements. You took a moment to compose yourself, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply-- a futile attempt to ground yourself.

You downed the drink, the warmth spreading through your veins, and set your glass down, a definitive thud echoing in the silence as it met the table. You turned around slowly, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety beneath your skin momentarily masked by a face of composure. The simple décor of your home surrounded you—the tattered tapestries, broken furniture—all a testament to a life you had built in the aftermath of your return. One that lacked the color that you once held.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Your voice, laced with both mockery and a hint of something darker, hung in the air.

In front of you, Rhysand stood tall and proud, a figure of authority. His eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a look determination. His gaze held yours strongly, and for a swift moment, you saw them soften. But the tenderness quickly dissipated, his eyes narrowing with a slight tilt of his head. You ran your eyes along his face, then down his form, taking in the detailed and intricate patterns of his clothing— an embodiment of Night Court royalty. Then, you looked at him again, your jaw clenching. It had been a while since you looked into his eyes, a violet color deeply embedded into your mind. For a moment, his presence consumed your thoughts, distracting you from the other man that you felt in your home.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark figure stepping out from the corners of your room. A darkness licked at your skin.

"Hello, Azriel," you acknowledged him, your eyes remaining fixed on Rhysand.

Azriel's presence was a dark whisper. The edges of your room seemed to blur with shadows as he stood there, a silent observer.

"I’ve come to request your help," Rhysand's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying the weight of urgency.

Your response was swift, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's rich."

The corners of the room seemed to darken further as Rhysand's frustration manifested in the clenching of his jaw. The subtle play of shadows accentuated the lines on his face, revealing the strain of a desperate plea.

"Please hear me out."

You shook your head. They shouldn’t be here. This was risky, dangerous. You needed them to leave. They needed to disappear, to let you go and never find you again. That was the only way you would be able to survive.

But every fiber in your being was screaming to do the opposite, to embrace your cousin and explain to him, tell him everything. You wanted to get on your knees and beg for the kindness he always showed you, to ask him about your sister. For him to tell you about his life, his love, his child. But you couldn’t. And from inside you, your heart tugged you to Azriel, his stoic form. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to catch his gaze. It was all so wrong. This disconnect, this anger you felt for them, for your situation, for yourself… it was eating you up. But this wasn't the time. So you pulled your thoughts together and focused on the one thing that had never let you down: your fire.

You reminded yourself of the resentment you held, deep down. Reminded yourself of how they had failed you, separated themselves from you, your vision, and the suffering of the good people here, in Hewn City— your city. Rhysand's city.

Ignoring his original words, you looked at Rhysand with the hint of a wicked grin on your face.

"Where’s your child bride? I heard she’s reading at the same level as your babe. You must be overjoyed."

Rhysand's expression tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. The mention of his mate touched a clear nerve, and for a brief moment, you reveled in the discomfort you had caused. It was a twisted satisfaction, a way to regain some sliver of control in this unexpected encounter.

His temper flared, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability replaced by a presence of anger that you knew all too well. He bit down on his frustration, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. But you pressed on.

“I’m only kidding, take a joke, Rhysand. 500 years and you still have the emotional regulation of a teenager. Nice to see some things don’t change."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and confusion, observing you and your wall of icy nonchalance. His name sounded foreign on your lips, spoken with such malice and distaste. Even the last time he had seen you, during a bloody war against Hybern, you had not been so venomous. This was a fact you both thought of as you stood here, now, in front of one another again. You moved gracefully through the room, ignoring their presence, and opened a small box that sat on your table. The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the air. You took a seat.

Azriel and Rhysand exchanged glances. Your fingers idly played with the box, an ornate creation that held delicate, candied treats. With an almost casual indifference, you brought one of the sweet confections to your mouth, savoring the taste as if the weight of their presence meant nothing to you. You could feel the tension building in the atmosphere, heightened by their growing sense of agitation and frustration. It radiated off of them like heat. You welcomed it with open arms, like a freezing child in the cold.

"These are the loveliest desserts,” You explained, bringing the candy close to your face with an examining eye, “Hard to come across here. But I know a guy.”

“Want one?" you offered, dropping your candy back into the box and extending it toward Azriel, whose stoic expression remained unchanged.

"What? Doggy can’t take a treat?" You taunted with a measured smile. You didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or the way his shadows began to snake up his arms, angry and riled up.

A tense silence lingered as Azriel remained perfectly unmoving, his eyes holding a depth of attentiveness that made you uncomfortable. But the discomfort within you sought distraction, and you continued with your mockery. You waved your hands in the air as a dismissal.

"Bah, you guys are no fun."

The room felt charged as you baited them, your attempts to deflect the gravity of their visit becoming slowly evident in every casual gesture.

Rhysand's frustration reached a boiling point, and he took a step forward, shifting the conversation.

"We didn't come here for sweets and jests. We came for you."

You chuckled, a sound that held a bitter edge. "Me? You must be desperate, Rhysand."

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by a steely resolve. "There are rumors of rebellion here,” He took a pause, glancing around the room as if he was contemplating continuing. He spoke again, “But, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. I cannot afford an uprising."

Your laughter cut through the air like a blade. "Is the idea of civil unrest among your people an inconvenience? My, what an issue, must be terrible."

Rhysand's patience waned, his features hardening. "Stop this, Y/N. We need your help to prevent a disaster."

You leaned back against your furniture, your eyes narrowing as you regarded him with a chilling indifference. "I've heard nothing about any unrest. You've wasted a trip."

Rhysand's gaze bore into yours, an unspoken challenge. "Azriel has been in Hewn City, gathering information. He's heard the rumors. I know you're lying."

In that moment, a silent battle waged within you. The desire to help, to make a difference, warred against the fear of exposing yourself to the dangers lurking beyond your sanctuary. The memories of the past, the reasons you returned, echoed in your mind. You wanted to help, but you knew their presence could unravel the delicate life you had crafted.

Rhysand's voice softened, a genuine plea beneath the layers of frustration. "Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. Why do you refuse to acknowledge that?"

Then, his eyes softened, sensing a crack in your facade. Inner turmoil clouded your eyes as you locked gazes with him. The conflict within you played out in the subtle tremor of your fingers, a telltale sign of something bubbling beneath your icy exterior. But as quickly as it manifested, you shut it down, fast enough to resolve Rhys of his attentive eyes. He swallowed and fixed his composure.

"Azriel has gained information that it's not just a rise against me. There are whispers of a rebellion against Keir himself. I need you to listen for information from your father."

Your father. A wave of nausea rippled throughout your body and you clenched your jaw in response. The title sounded strange coming from Rhysand, a stark reminder of your place here, of your place in his family. No, no. You thought. I will not let them see me falter.

Rhysand continued, "Azriel has gathered intelligence, but we need someone on the inside. We need you."

A cynical smile now played on your lips as you taunted them, "Maybe it's time for a change. The mighty High Lord struggling to keep control – how novel."

Azriel, who had maintained a cold silence until now, spoke up for the first time, taking a heavy step forward towards where you sat.

"We both know you do not mean that."

You turned your gaze to him, eyes dark. "And what do you know about what I mean, Azriel? You don't know anything about me."

Rhysand put a hand out in front of Azriel’s form, biting back his retort. The room hung heavy as you finally declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Rhysand's eyes met yours with a determined glint.

"I will be back. Family does not give up."

His words pulled out a surge of anger bubbling within you. Family? Without a second thought, you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "Family, huh?" Your voice dripped with bitterness, and you moved toward him, anger etched on your face.

But before you could reach him, Rhysand winnowed away with a controlled fury, leaving Azriel lingering.

Azriel stood still, his eyes slightly narrowed, his brows furrowed at you. You met his gaze and felt a wave of guilt through your body, filling the hole where your fury once was a second before. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Azriel was….. Disappointed? Hurt? But you stabilized yourself, pushing the observation away. Your anger, raw and unfiltered, had an intensity that took even him by surprise. He held your gaze. Then, like a wisp of darkness, he too disappeared, leaving you alone with the remnants of unresolved tension and the taste of bittersweet candied treats lingering in the air.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

a/n: hello hello!! welcome to my lil new fic!! im new here and i have no idea what im doing but i hope at least one person enjoys what has become my creative fictional baby. when i tell you this story has a place in my HEART....y/n here is multilayered and complex and flawed but that is why i love her!! serving cunt 24/7!!!

tumblr scares me so any feedback is so very loved and any advice is great too!! mwuah

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secret-third-thing · 5 months

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In honor of spotify wrapped coming out...

I spent too much time today making these templates in canva. I am NOT a graphic designer. I cannot figure out how, for the life of me, to get these to post to a normal size (DM me if you know how)

Link to Template You can edit these 100% - categories, text, images, EVERYTHING you can think of. I'd love for you to credit me, but at the end of the day, I can't make ya. <3 Enjoy

See what I mean about sizing?!?! Also I think this is the ugliest one but HEY if you love it, use it!

#spotify wrapped #ao3 fanfic #fanfic writers #fanfic #im just a lil guy on the internet pls let me live in peace.

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w1nterk1tty · 11 months

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pretty words - writing prompts

starlight - write a scene about your character's nightly routine

elixir - write a scene where your character creates a magical potion

aurora - write a scene where your character sees the sunrise

ethereal - write a scene where your character experiences something otherworldly

lyrical - write a scene where your character has to make a speech or perform poetry

lullaby - write a scene based on a dream you've had

snowfall - write a scene about a winter's day

vanilla - write a scene where your character bakes

retrouvailles - write a reunion scene

hitoritabi - write about a solo journey

raconteur - write a scene about a storyteller

sirimiri - write a scene in the rain

#winter’s diary #pls yall use this i love it sm i put a lot of effort into it obv #writing #writing prompt #prompt list #writing ideas #writing inspo #creative writing #writers of tumblr #writeblr #writers block #writing community #fanfic writer #queer writers #writers

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dairyocchi · 18 days

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i desperately need knb (kuroko’s basketball) to get a popularity resurgence 😕 like where are all the haikyuu and other sports anime girlies at you’ll love knb trust

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norakelly · 1 year

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Harry potter never grasped what he truly missed, until he had his own family.

The adorable giggles of his daughter as she tip toes across the wooden floor to jump in her parent's bed. Ginny in her towel wrapped hair, who reads Teddy’s letter from Hogwarts out loud, making Harry miss his godson more. The Loud and enthusiastic laugh of James' in the morning table as he tries to convince them to get a pet dragon. (A big fan of Charlie he was:)) Quiet and rare remarks of Al. Mostly over his favorite books, and maybe even about the Daily Prophet, (A habit he started very recently, which was not a shock to the family although he was five) where he’d read his mother’s name out loud whenever it appeared. Harry couldn’t quite yet comprehend how he, who woke up to the war being his concern, is now being awakened by tiny little hands who simply wants a breakfast. He beams proudly at them, and with a sense of gratitude for making those million thoughts that used to invade his mind fade away.

He was finally, home.

#hinny #harry potter #ginny potter #ginny weasley #james sirius potter #albus severus potter #lily luna potter #teddy lupin #harry and ginny #harry james potter #hinny fanfic #im not a good writer but idk #hope this is ok #pls comment if it is #im writing after a long long time #hinny drabble #post war #post dh

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agaypanic · 1 month

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“you gotta write a part 2”

#agaypanic #i love yall #but it took over a month to write #obvi i wouldn’t write a part 2 rn #bc i have other requests to get through #but pls i’m so tired #😭#regina george #regina george x reader #mean girls #fanfic writer #fanfiction writer #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr

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heyshinichiran · 8 months

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"Mou, Shinichi. I already married you. No need to flatter me, silly."

She giggled and he couldn't stop staring at her. He can hardly even believe at what's in front of him. To him, she's the most ethereal thing to ever exist, especially in that long, white, silky dress.

#somebody make a fanfic pls #im begging shinran FF writers #they deserve a HEA #married shinran #fan art #shinran #words by me lol sorry if u think it's crap #shinichi kudo #mouri ran #detective conan #detco #dcmk #ran mouri #kudo shinichi #heyshinichiran #Credits: https://t.co/KBmXPAgOFf #anime otp

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a-shoebox-named-meap · 10 months

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aight. have some nimona canon divergence AU fic ideas because i’m no writer but i AM going insane

as a huge fan of canon divergence AUs where One Small Decision Changes Everything™ i can’t stop thinking about little bits and pieces from the nimona movie like:

what if the squire had shown ambrosius the video (ohh a fic like this would be Delicious) (mm ambrosius x squire tag team) (ballister’s two biggest fans) (this might be one of my favorite ideas so far) (lots of potential here i feel like)

now there have been a lot of people asking “let’s feel some ANGST what if real ambrosius had walked into the director’s office before nimona” but i will take that and raise you: what if ambrosius had walked in while nimona was doing her thing in the director’s office. perhaps around the time when the director stabbed fake!ambrosius. please consider. may the chaos ensue

ballister had noticed his sword-laser-cannon powering up and moved it away from the queen but it hit something else! or someOne else! (or it killed the queen anyway but still hit somebody else in the process) (oh gods what if it took off his own arm) (or even ambrosius’s—) (can you imagine the kinda twist that would occur if he took off ambrosius’s arm by accident and ballister not resting until he found out who the real culprit is skdjdjdjdjddj) (oh but wait let me make this WORSE what if he hit ambrosius instead of the queen ((don’t worry ambrosius is wearing armor, he doesn’t die he’s just,,, gravely injured?)) and ballister, even if he still gets framed for it, will stop at nothing to find out who did this to ambrosius) (now incorporate nimona into that storyline and hoohoohoo) (i’m rubbing my hands together like a maniacal fruit fly right now)

what if they had uploaded the squire’s video when they got it huh. what then. back it up to the cloud. or just TEXT it to ambrosius you Fool. you absolute Buffoon. (but perhaps this seemingly obvious course of action results in some unexpectedly dire consequences oh no—)

“ooh… nemesis.” “nemesis?” at which point nimona and ballister get stuck in the closet, nimona reveals her shapeshifting abilities, and oh, screw it, if ballister’s situation with his arm-chopping nemesis is really so cOmPLiCAteD then maybe since they’re breaking out of jail anyway they might as well kidnap ambrosius while they’re at it. aka the au where nimona breaks ballister out of jail and she takes ambrosius with them. (i am FEASTING on the possibilities of this one)

let’s take todd’s suspicion and blame directed towards ambrosius (“why didn’t you tell us ballister was working with whales?”) and dial that up to 100. slowly, though, not too fast, it’s gotta build momentum. let’s breed some mistrust in ambrosius. let’s see people refusing to let ambrosius lead the manhunt for ballister on account of their close relationship. let’s see people turn their backs on him thinking he was a conspirator. let’s see ambrosius losing the public’s favor. let’s see ambrosius starting to feel some doubt when he’s alone in his room — let’s see ambrosius wondering what if people are actually as wrong about ballister as he knows they are about ambrosius himself. (what if everybody hates ambrosius too—)

this one is not nearly as straightforward a canon divergence but ponder this: the director noticed the squire was there in the locker room (?) that day and swapped out the swords after the squire had left. or maybe she swapped it out before the squire was ever there. the squire never knew the director had been there. there was no video evidence. now what? up to you >:)

ok hear me out. the squire is a #1 ballister fan right. the squire is probably very careful with the swords and armor he handles. the squire is probably intimately familiar with the swords and other various weaponry and armaments of the institution. the squire is probably very familiar with ballister’s in particular. when ballister first picked up his swapped-out sword he noticed something was off about it, but what if — WHAT IF — the squire had noticed something was off about it first. now of course there’s Possibility #1 where he sees the director swap the sword, and then he checks out the sword and feels that something is wrong with it etc etc (or maybe he mistakes the sword change for an equipment upgrade) BUT now let’s combine this with the previous bullet point for Possibility #2 where the squire DIDN’T see the director swap the sword but he DID notice something was off about the sword before ballister did and actually investigated it. would he discover the hidden weapon, or not? if he did would he bring it to ballister’s attention? ambrosius’s? the director’s? what if he caught the hidden weapon but didn’t mention it and then the queen died and the squire was left fully believing ballister killed the queen (ballister knows mechanics, you’ve seen his arm, it’s plausible he built the weapon into his sword himself) and then ballister and nimona kidnapped him and interrogated him and ballister and the squire were left spiderman meme-ing each other like *points* “i thought YOU were behind all this!” and now the squire is an unwilling sidekick dragged into this by nimona and ballister to figure out who the real culprit is and there’s ACTION and ADVENTURE and COMEDY and it’s absolutely metal—

the squire really feels like a lynchpin in this story is all i’m sayin

if you can’t tell i’m also a fan of happy endings. in my brain most of these canon divergences result in a similar happy ending as the movie. except maybe faster (not always). which i enjoy because i’m sappy and silly anyway thank you and goodnight

#nimona #nimona fanfic #nimona fic #nimona netflix #nimona au #ballister boldheart #ballister blackheart #ambrosius goldenloin #nimona spoilers #nimona squire #nimona director #i don’t write fic but for the fic writers out there (i appreciate you all dearly) pls accept my humble offerings #i’m sure i’ll have more ideas later #my head is spinning #meap posts #nimona stuff

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girlwitheconverse · 6 months

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MUSEUM

╰┈➤ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Genre: romance, angst

Story type: one shot

Word count: 2k

TW(s): death, mentions to the greek myth of Leda and the Swan

masterlist

“And then Johnny told me that I should go home and take a break, can you believe that?” Simon says as he paces around his room, he stops and looks at you: pretty as always as you listen to his rants from where you are: sat on his bed with his favorite shirt on you.

“Why would you need a break?” You ask confused as you fidget with the pillow on your lap.

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Simon says with a smile as he sits on the bed next to you, “I’m perfectly fine, don’t I look fine?”

“You look handsome and at your best, as always.” You reply with a smile as you place your hand over his, “Maybe it’s Johnny the one who needs a break.”

“That’s what I told him!” He says as he leans with his head on your shoulder, “And do you know what he said after? That I should talk to Price and find a solution!”

“Talk to Price? Like a child who goes crying to his daddy?” You chuckle and kiss the top of his head. “Will you go and talk to Price?”

“I guess I will, if he gives me some days to spend back home I could convince him to take you with me…” Simon says as he hugs you “And we could go see the museum that you wanted to see so badly.”

“The one I begged you to take me before the last mission?” You say excited and look up at him with wide eyes, Simon nods. “I can’t wait! Go and talk to Price now!” You say happily as you jump off the bed.

“Okay…I will, you calm down.” Simon chuckles as he walks to the door, but you stop him before he can exit his room.

“I love you, Simon.” You whisper with a nostalgic smile as you hug his pillow, Ghost looks at you confused.

“I love you too, sweetheart, I’ll be back soon.” He says with a smile as he walks to Price’s office, on his way there everyone avoids him – like they've been doing for weeks now – and gives him weird looks. After knocking he enters Price’s office and sits on the chair across the desk, in front of the Captain.

“Hello, Simon, everything’s okay?” Price asks with a soft smile as he looks at Simon from head to toe.

“Of course, everything’s perfectly fine.” Simon says as he shrugs his shoulders, “I wanted to ask for a few days off – Price’s expression fills with hope at his words – for me and Y/n, I want to take her to a museum that she’s begging me to visit.”

The hope in Price’s eyes dyes immediately as the last words leave the Lieutenant’s lips.

“Oh God…Simon…” Price says as he looks at him with a sad expression.

“What? We can’t have a few, maybe three, days off work?” Simon asks, a little irritated.

“Simon…I thought you had got over it…” Price whispers, “Simon…You know well what happened…”

“What? We already used all our days off?” Simon acts confused but there’s only one thought going on repeat in his head: your voice saying ‘everything’s okay’.

Price sighs and looks at Simon in the eyes, “Simon, Y/n got killed in action two months ago…You know it…She died in your arms, Simon.” The Captain says as he remembers how painful your loss was for everyone on the Task Force.

“Why do y’all continue to repeat this shit? It isn’t funny…Y/n is in my room waiting for me to take her to that museum.” Simon says and it doesn’t take long for Price to realize how deep in denial Simon is. Ghost continues to shift in the chair as he looks around the office.

“Simon…Y/n is dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Price says as he looks at Simon with pity in his eyes.

Ghost stops his movements and looks down at his feet with a sigh, “I know it…” he whispers as reality hits him.

All the times in these two weeks where he talked to a pillow in his room which had your scent on it, all the times he hugged that same pillow, slept hugging it — all while pretending that it was you.

“But we didn’t go to that museum…” he whispers as he fights his tears, he won’t cry in front of Price, he may be close to him but he’s still the Task Force’s Captain.

“I’ll give you the days off that you asked for anyway, you can take some time to deal with your loss…Maybe you can go to that Museum Y/n wanted to see, even without her.” Price says as he looks down at the paper on his desk.

“I’ll take them, maybe…Maybe I do need a little break.” Simon says as he finally looks back at his Captain, “I’ll go prepare the luggage.”

“After this mission we’ll go back home and you’ll take me to the Museum, like you promised me!” You say happily. You and Simon are hiding in a building as you wait for the enemy to show up. “Even if you always postpone it, the exhibition will end and we still won't have gone!” You huff with a pout.

“Why do we have to go to a boring Museum?” he rolls his eyes annoyed, “we could…I don’t know…have some fun just us two instead…The exhibition will stay for another four months…”

“No. I want to go to the Museum!” You insist as you continue to stay alert anyway.

“If that’s what my darling wants…” Simon says as he closes his eyes and leans against the wall.

And that’s his mistake.

He usually doesn’t make mistakes during missions. Usually.

But this time things are different, he feels more relaxed. He shouldn’t.

He doesn’t notice the red dot on his chest. But you do.

“Ghost!” You scream as you move him away from the sniper’s viewfinder just as they shoot.

The bullet hits you in the chest.

“Y/n! W-Why…” Simon whispers in shock as he takes you and hides behind a wall, away from the sniper’s view. Or at least he hopes so. “Stupid idiot! Why did you do that! Hang in there!” he says as he calls for help through his earpiece.

“Oh shit…!” you moan in pain as you start to breath heavily, frenetically looking around until your eyes stop in Ghost’s, you smile, understanding that the end for you is near.

“Oi! Don’t pull this shit on me! Don’t smile like it’s the last thing you’ll do!” he says as he places his hands over your wound to try and stop the bleeding. “You aren’t going to die…You can’t die!” Simon says as tears start to form in his eyes.

The pretty brown eyes that you love so much.

“Simon…Hey…” I smile up at him, it’s ironic how it’s me who’s dying but I still want to comfort him.

“What? Help is on the way…You’ll live…Y-You can’t die…” his voice continues to get lower as he speaks “You can’t…Leave me…Alone…Here…Please…Don’t leave me alone.”

“Everything's okay…” You whisper with a forced smile, a smile that costs a lot. Just that takes away what could’ve been some more seconds of life. “I love you.”

“I love you too…But please…We…We have to go to that Museum, right? You really want to go there! You can’t die before going there!” he says as he hugs you, “Yea, that’s right…Help will come and you’ll survive and we’ll go to see that shitty museum, I’ll be bored but I’ll still listen to everything you say about the art pieces there…”

He continues to talk and hug you for minutes, unaware that for half of the time he was hugging your dead body.

“God, I don’t even know the name of the artist…But you’ll tell me, right? What’s their name? Y/n? Y-Y/n?” he stutters as he looks at your body in his arms, that’s when he notices that you aren’t breathing anymore.

Half an hour after you got shot.

“Fuck!” Simon curses as he wakes up. He’s sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the small apartment where he now lives. He couldn’t stay in your shared house after you passed away, there were too many memories. Everything reminded him of you.

And when he finally got some sleep the memory of your death went on replay in his dreams, or more like nightmares. Every time he closes his eyes he sees your lifeless body in his arms.

Every. Fucking. Time.

Even when he blinks.

And your last words echo in his ears, in his mind, in his heart.

“Everything’s okay.”

“I love you.”

I love you.

You loved him, that’s why you didn’t hesitate to save his life at the cost of yours.

But he didn’t understand that — he didn’t want to understand that.

Blaming himself was easier.

“Fuck it.” Simon says as he stands up from the ‘bed’ and goes into the bathroom to take a shower.

He will go to that stupid Museum, even alone. That was your last wish, and he will honor that.

Cold water runs on his tattooed body, as he cries, again. He doesn’t deserve the luxury of taking a hot, relaxing, shower — that’s what he thinks.

It should’ve been me, goes in replay in his head. He deserves to die, not you.

He was the monster, not you, you were his little ray of sunshine in his rainy days — everyday.

“Da Vinci, uh?” Simon says as he looks around the exhibit of all Da Vinci’s works, the only missing is the Monalisa, the Louvre didn’t want to give it, they were afraid of someone stealing it.

He stood in front of Y/n’s favorite: Leda and the Swan.

He didn’t know why she liked that particular piece, for him it was kind of disturbing, especially the fact that Zeus slept with Leda in Swan form.

And the fact that she birthed eggs.

When Y/n was still with him she would tell him all the myths she knew and he would often comment with things like: ‘that’s fucked up’ , ‘what the fuck?’ , ‘how do you like this kind of things?’

But now, his new apartment was full of books about Greek mythology and Greek myths.

Now there’s a fresh tattoo on his chest, right over his heart, a simple phrase: Y/n, my goddess. You told him many times that saying that someone is as beautiful as a goddess (worse if the goddess is Aphrodite) is basically asking to get cursed for life.

But he didn’t believe it, nor does he believe it now. But he can only hope for a curse, in the end, you’re already dead…

What curse can be worse than this?

His death? That would be a blessing.

Giggles.

He hears a girl giggle and that takes him out his thoughts, deep and dark thoughts. He looks to his right and sees a girl giggling as she looks at a painting and talks with a guy, her boyfriend maybe.

“What do you find so cool about this painting?” the guy asks as he tilts his head and looks at the painting, the lady with an ermine.

“I don’t know…I just…like it.” The girl says with a smile.

This could’ve been us. He thinks. I don’t even know why she likes this painting so much.

“Swans mate only one time for their whole life.” A girl next to him says, Simon turns his head and looks at her. She’s smiling as she looks at the painting. “I mean…at least that’s what happens the majority of times.”

Simon looks at her with wide eyes. ‘You’re my swan, Simon.’ was the thing you said to him when it was your one year anniversary. At that time he didn’t understand what you meant, but now he does.

“Sir? Are you feeling alright?” the girl asks worriedly.

“I lost my swan.”

If you liked my work (if I made you cry) like, comment and reblog! <3

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morverenmaybewrites · 2 months

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So close!

I'm so close to finishing the latest chapter of TPDGSGtGC (ridiculously long acronym). Just two more scenes or around 1,500 words left to write. Might release it along with a separate story I'm working on. Might not. I'm a slave to the muse. Send help.

#jason todd x reader #i have been struck by the fanfic writer curse and i don't know if my recent bout of misfortune is making me write faster or slower #pls help i have 7 other ideas in various other fandoms i desperately want to write down SEND HELP #am i not sisyphus have i not suffered enough

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anotherferalrat · 22 days

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YOU COWARDS.

You fools!

I have. SCOURED. The shiguang tag on ao3.

And you mfs have failled me.

WHERE'S ALL THE POST S2 ROYALTY AUS??? IT WAS LITERALLY. RIGHT. THERE. CHENG XIAOSHI WAS LU GUANG'S KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR. LI TIANCHEN LITERALLY WENT you both are the homosexual supporting cast and this is MYYYY fanfic.

WHERE'S THE PRINCE XIAOSHI AND ADVISOR LU GUANG FICS? WHERE'S XIAOSHI BEING THE PRINCE LOVED BY ALL AND LU GUANG DIRTYING HIS HANDS AND CORRUPTING HIS MORALS TO SECRETLY KEEP THE KINGDOM SAFE??

Where. Is the prince lu guang. With his personal bodyguard/knight xiaoshi fics? Where's the angst where cheng xiaoshi feels useless bc lu guang keeps trying to sacrifice himself whenever they're in danger?? WHERE'S LU GUANG NEARLY DRIVING HIS KINGDOM INTO THE GROUND OR GIVING UP HIS THRONE BECAUSE PRINCE LI FROM A NEIGHBORING KINGDOM KIDNAPS THE PERSON MOST IMPORTANT TO HIM

WHEREEEEE. IS THE INHERENT ANGSTTT. OF LOVING SOMEONE YOU CAN NEVER HAVE. BECAUSE OF YOUR STATION but doing it anyways<3?????

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milkyvast · 5 months

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/ Undertale yellow spoilers

🫠 when a fan ut hits me

#any undertale ao3 fanfics writers pls write angsts of them pls pls #undertale yellow #undertale #utdr #flowey the flower #uty clover #undertale yellow spoilers #ut yellow #Blaze #idk theyre implented to me thoughts #starray #Its always moray that notice him different litwrally from those 8 weeks lassons #Hgrhhh i may make mine own starray fic instead #i needed some fics angst of them is so unfair hrghhhhhh #IS UNFAIR HOW IVE ATTACHED TO THEM AAAA

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sheepispink · 1 month

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A Pearl (1/2)

based on the song by mitski because i love mitski and hot traumatised men

Summary: Years of horrific memories still weigh down on him even as he promises to let you help him move on. All you want to do is help, but its not enough.

Part 2 Masterlist

tags: Leon Kennedy/Reader, Hurt/No comfort, Angst, fem! reader, mentions of re4 (no specific spoilers dw guys), mentions of ptsd, heart wrenching angst 😘

other notes: for clarification, the timeline goes— after the raccoon city incident, then he goes on the re4 mission, then it’s like the smaller missions like damnation etc. Towards the end and next chapter it’s basically vendetta. But theres no actual spoilers bcus tbh.. i haven’t watched any of the movies except id 💀

Ch1: Before it Ended

Like a dream is how you’d always describe it. His coworkers, your friends —anyone who had heard of his name— would come up to you, fawning over your pretty looks and lovely personality. They’d ask you every time, “How did it happen?” And always, you’d replay that memory in your head.

“It was winter,” You’d begin by recounting the snow that fell upon your face that day, the breeze that bristled your bones, and the way his hair looked frozen in place. You’d remember the laughter that bubbled in your throat when you saw that and how his lips curved ever so slightly for what you believe was the first time. Some of the soft strands of your hair had itched your skin; It was messy from having been shaken from the depths of sleep, and now your fingers tuck the rogue locks behind your ear. Eyes like a pretty lake, hair like wheat, with his random strands and dirty blonde roots you would soon learn to run your fingers through. He stood before you, only the dim porch light illuminating him on that winter night. “Why are you out so late?” You had asked him, your hand reaching forward to tug him into the warmth of your apartment. Little did you know that’d tug him into your life as well.

The refusal was clear; he shook his head, puffs of warm air escaping as he explained that he had something to tell you. His clothes were dirty, scratched in places, and his combat knife was only hastily put away—just work, he explains, desperate to leave a good impression on you. He had finished, and he was sure that now that he’d have time, he’d be free from the shackles of the years that would creep up on him. Cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing—you still aren’t sure whether the cold or a blush caused that. “I know I’m always gone, and we dont see each other as often anymore, but I swear- I’ve sorted everything out. I’ve fixed it.” He says his words rushed and mumbled, like his heart was spilling out then and there.“I know this is sudden- i know, but- i just.. Will you marry me?” He blurts out and every puff of air that leaves his mouth feels like another log added to the fire you didn’t know was built in your heart for him. A campfire, as you’d always describe it, is comforting and warm, the perfect reassurance in cold times. Perhaps you should’ve chosen something detrimental to life, but you preferred the romantic speech.

Everyone loved the tale as you did, enamoured with how you managed to get the stoic agent to fall head over heels with you. He’d walk over right then, slinging an arm around your waist, giving you a tender kiss to your cheek, and plastering a smirk on his lips. “Still telling everyone that story?” He’d tease as his fingertips gently rubbed your side, the silver band on his ring finger twinkling with the same light his wine glass did. “As usual.” You’d reply, that same bubble of happiness rising in your throat again as you tilted your head upwards, waiting for the small peck that always came.

Always.

A year would go by, and you’d been learning more and more about each other. Nothing seemed to be too big of a step for you. Opposing voices, loud huffs, doors slamming shut until the other would open it quietly, apologise, crawl into the warmth of their shared bed, and work things out with sweet reassurances. Work was tough; he was on more missions than ever, being considered one of the greatest men to serve your country. Warmth that you always described as adoration filled your heart whenever you heard that phrase; you couldn’t be more proud of him for it.

Besides, not even that could tear you down; nothing could break the delicate encasing that surrounded the pair of you. A greenhouse, you’d say, because it held all the things that grew only with a person’s own nurture and care. Like your relationship, crafted and melded by your kind words and your soft voice. It’s a shame greenhouses are made of glass.

Weekends were quieter now, something you had decided to take in stride; you decided to plan something nice for when he returned. The he anniversary he had missed too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him now, resorting to spraying his cologne on the pillows in that cold bed to retrieve some imaginary warmth. Then it came—the day he’d return. Open arms is what you welcomed him with; he had always loved to hug you, and holding you close was a remedy for his mind, he’d say. But those words stopped forming after some time. You ushered him into the shared bed that night, your arms curling around him after the nice surprise you had set up earlier had gone well. Perfect, you had thought. The bed was still cold, though. You thought about bringing it up with him but decided against it; the warmth of his arms was enough for you.

You should’ve brought it up with him, for the time would have entered where he couldn’t handle it. He had awoken with a jolt, sweat trickling like beads down his temples. Eyes wide and chest pounding, he sat there with eyes darting for a threat and hands searching for yours. Your fingers would intertwine with his, warm against his cold palms, as you sat up beside him. It’d be over soon; thats what you promised— you’d do this together.

Nights like those started occurring more often than ever, until one day, he’s awoken with a sharp jolt again. His movements are much more frantic, his hands searching and searching.

Though, this time, it doesn’t find itself in yours.

It’s tightly wrapped around your neck, his mind screaming to murder you. Bloodshot eyes and prominent streaks of black down your arms— the horrors he had tried so desperately to push away— return to his mind. Your breath wont come. No sweet words, and he looks down to see his hand contaminated with that same murky colour. The sink of his chest feels like a knife as he sees your arm grab out at him, like they did everywhere he went. Those creatures who would grab him, claw at him, and still threatened to take his life. They had destroyed his mind instead.

But there is no mutant, no bloodshot eyes and no streaks on your skin. All he sees is what he’s done to you, his body weight pressing on you as his hand keeps a firm grip around your neck. Your mouth begs for air, denying the sweet reassurance he needed as he sees you turn pale, your eyes flickering with tears. There’s no threat in here; not even the cold breeze from the open window chills his bones. Nothing can hurt more than the desperation in your eyes as your hands claw—No—plead at him for relief. He immediately lets go, scrambling to the other end of the bed as he watches you pant, his heart filled with fear. Fear of himself. You quickly turn to him, mustering out your honeyed phrases through choked breaths. But they’re just letters dancing about, barely going near his ears in the walls he had built between the two of you. Ignorance is bliss, but he can’t break his gaze when he sees the deep streaks of scarlet he left on your neck. Frozen in regret and shame, you tentatively wrap your arms around him to comfort the pair of you. But he feels your tears on his neck; the fear you felt eats at his gut and his conscience. You had never felt so cold before.

The days he had left for missions were the worst nights of your life, you’d say, having been away from your heart for so long. But even as you see him drinking his morning coffee, those eye bags prominent, you think your heart might be buried in Spain, infected with the plagas of love that died out.

Unspoken was what had happened that night— a silent promise between the pair of you with small random affections to bandage up the wound he had inflicted. He was still going on the small missions, but they were shorter, and he was back to fill the bed every night. The flowers in the vase never died—a different shade, flower, or even scent every week. A different kind of love.

This continued for weeks, up until you were out with some friends, each talking about their love lives, which was always a topic between the three of you. One of them gushes about how their husband’s love language is gift-giving, describing each and every homemade affection they receive on the daily. Soon it gets around to your turn, and when you speak about his love language, physical touch comes to mind again. Whether it was playing with your hair, rubbing your hands as you walked in the cold, or leaning on you after hard days, he always wanted to be near you. Your mouth fails to respond; no words form yet no examples are recalled in your brain either. You laugh sheepishly, trying hard to wrack your head for something sweet he’s done, until you just laugh it off and talk about how you love him again.

The bed’s empty when you slip inside it; he hasn’t returned yet and he won’t be back for another hour or so. The ceiling accompanies you as you desperately try to remember an act of affection in the last few weeks. It’s only now that it finally hits you, like a tonne of bricks through your skull—

He’s been distancing himself from you.

Knowing that you get caught up in little things, he occupied your mind with flowers and sweet notes. Not once have you actually heard him say any of it or felt his touch, if not accidental. He sleeps at a distance at night, and even when you shuffle closer somehow, you wake up further apart than before. You havent had a meal with him in weeks and you haven’t actually heard that raspy voice you remember as he complains about his day. You cannot remember the last time you felt warmth, and you can’t remember when you last cried this hard.

You’re in the bathroom, wiping away the stray tears as you look at yourself in the mirror. A heavy ache that still scrapes against the walls of your heart, unsure if you feel better or worse after coming to terms with this. Every pump feels like it’s dragging you down instead of keeping you alive. The rush of blood is like-

The front door clicks open.

You almost freak out and you’re not even sure why you would. Why are you scared of this? Why are you suddenly scared of him? Your feet hurries you back to your shared bed, settling under the covers once more to try to play it off as just tiredness. You still can’t figure out why you’re doing all this or why you start to form excuses for your behaviour in your mind. He never does. So why would you? The footsteps draw closer; they’re just slightly heavy, much softer than when he wears his boots. You hear the bedroom door unclick and your shoulders tense with every second.

But you dont see him enter. Slow breathing and closed eyes— you’re even lying on your side as you pretend to be asleep.

————————————————————————

Leon breathes out a heavy sigh, his chest sinking to drain out all his exhaustion from today. There’s a rustle of clothing as he undresses, pulling on some random sweatpants and a spare shirt for the night. Why should he even care if its clean or not? He walks over to his side of the bed, rummaging around the bedside table for something. Then he pauses, his eyes catching onto something in his peripheral view. Tear stains?

You hear the creak on the bed as he leans half his weight on it, about to reach out to you. Your heart beats faster. Is it because you dont want to worry him with your tears, or are you afraid of him? You don’t know. His fingers brush your cheek ever so gently, his voice echoing out your name so, so softly.

“Hey.. you awake?” He asks, and even though your heart is melting into a little puddle so easily, some stubborn stick clogs your throat. His sigh fills the room again and he pulls the blanket over you, tucking it snugly over you before brushing the hair out of your face. Maybe he’s just tired these days, you think. He’s been through a lot after all; it explains all of it. Really, you shouldn’t have been so upset at all—his work and life are on an entirely different level for you.

You’re about to open your eyes, pretend you woke up, and give him a sleepy smile. Images of him giving you a tight hug and one hand rubbing the small of your back as he tells you to fall asleep again fills your mind.

Then he speaks again, the bed creaking as he steps back off of the bed, the warmth leaving as fast as it came. “She’s really knocked out.? Phew.. I do not want to deal with some stupid tears..” He mutters out, his raspy voice much lower and breathless—almost exasperated. A low groan leaves him as he dumps his work clothes somewhere. Then, the bed screams again as he lays his weight on it before he shuffles himself to the end of the bed. He looks back at the space between them, another huff of air leaving his lips.

“That’s good enough. I fucking hate being woken to push her away from me..” Eventually, his breathing evens out, and his shoulders are still tight and tense as his body relaxes into the bed. The night falls quieter, and your mind feels blank.

You don’t know when you fell asleep or if he saw your fresh tears when he woke that morning.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4 #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfiction #re fanfic #resident evil 2 #fanfiction #angst #spent so long editing this 😭😭😭 pls like this guys #writers on tumblr #reader insert

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