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dee-writes-smut · 12 days

Text

WINTER

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY in the aftermath of your kidnapping, you find it harder than normal to cope and continue on with life, causing you to push the people closest to you away. (THIS IS A PART TWO)

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of injuries, pain, torture, severe depression, and PTSD. If you thought the last one was dark, buckle up.

AUTHORS NOTE wow, three fics in two days?! What happened to me? I have just been super motivated to write creatively recently, which is exciting! So here, enjoy the second part of the Season's series, Winter.

Winter's embrace was a bleak grip, the world laying shrouded in a suffocating blanket of ice and snow, each flake a cruel reminder of nature's indifference. The landscape stretched out before you like a desolate wasteland, barren trees reaching up like skeletal fingers towards a sky heavy with the promise of more bitter cold to come. There was no warmth to be found here, only the biting chill that gnawed at your bones and numbed your very soul.

Gone were the vibrant colors and lively sounds of spring, replaced instead by a deafening silence broken only by the hollow howl of the wind as it whipped through the skeletal remains of once-thriving forests. The air was thick with a palpable sense of despair, each breath a struggle against the icy grip of despair that threatened to crush you under its weight.

As you trudged through the snow, each step felt like a punishment, a relentless march towards an uncertain fate. The landscape seemed to taunt you with its emptiness, a cruel reminder of the futility of your existence in a world so devoid of life and hope. Shadows danced across the frozen ground, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock your very presence.

And yet, amidst the desolation, there was a perverse beauty to be found – in the stark contrast of black against white, in the delicate lacework of frost that adorned the barren branches, in the eerie stillness that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was a beauty born of darkness, a twisted reflection of the cruel whims of fate that had brought you to this forsaken place.

In the heart of winter's icy grip, you found yourself consumed by a sense of isolation and despair, a prisoner in a world that had long since abandoned any pretense of kindness or compassion. It was a season of suffering, of unrelenting cruelty, of darkness so deep that even the faintest glimmer of hope seemed but a distant memory. And as the cold crept ever closer, you couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be an end to the endless winter that had consumed your very soul.

(Wintertime, Velaris)

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, I sat alone on the edge of my bed, my gaze fixed on the empty space where my wings used to be. The pain, both physical and emotional, gnawed at me like a relentless predator, sinking its claws deep into my chest, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. My once majestic wings, the very essence of my being, were gone, severed from my body by those who sought to break my spirit.

With trembling hands, I traced the scars where my wings had been, feeling the phantom sensation of membrane-like skin against my fingertips. The memory of their hard, bone-like ridges, their graceful span; it lingered like a bittersweet melody, haunting yet achingly beautiful. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the world around me with their shimmering veil, but I refused to let them fall. Crying felt like admitting defeat, acknowledging just how shattered I truly was. So instead, I pushed the pain down, burying it deep within me, where no one could see.

But the emptiness inside me was a vast abyss, yawning wide and hungry, impossible to ignore. I had always prided myself on my resilience, my strength, but now I felt like a mere husk of my former self. The trauma of my kidnapping weighed upon my mind like a heavy shroud, casting shadows that danced and twisted in the corners of my consciousness.

As the days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, I withdrew further into myself, cocooning my heart in layers of solitude and silence. The world outside seemed distant and hazy, a blurred landscape of faces and voices that I could no longer connect with. I couldn't bear the pity in their eyes, the whispered words of sympathy that fell like stones upon my wounded soul. So, I built walls around my heart, brick by brick, until I was encased in a fortress of my own making, impervious to the outside world.

Even Azriel, my steadfast companion, my unwavering ally, found himself barred from the inner sanctum of my heart. He tried to reach me, to break through the barriers I had erected, but I turned away, unable to bear the thought of exposing my vulnerability to anyone, even him. I didn't want their pity or their well-meaning words. All I wanted was to be left alone with my pain, to drown in it until it consumed me completely.

But even in my darkest moments, a flicker of hope danced on the periphery of my consciousness, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished. It whispered of resilience and redemption, of healing and renewal, but I pushed it away, hiding from its warmth like a frightened child. For now, I would remain adrift in a sea of darkness, lost and alone, clinging to the fragile thread of hope that promised a way out of the abyss.

The memories played out in my mind with vivid intensity, each scene etched into my consciousness like a brand of torment.

I remembered the moment I was jolted from unconsciousness, the harsh voice of my captor slicing through the haze like a blade. "Wake up, whore," he hissed, sending a shiver down my spine and igniting a primal fear within me. Blinking against the darkness that enveloped me, I felt the oppressive weight of a bag over my head, suffocating and disorienting. Panic surged through me as I realized my bound state, my struggles against the restraints futile in the face of impending doom.

The voice, dripping with malice, mocked my defiance. "No need to struggle, sweetheart," he sneered, his words a cruel reminder of my helplessness. As I strained to make sense of my surroundings, fear clawed its way through my throat, leaving behind deep grooves of despair. The familiar scent of damp earth and mildew filled my senses, a chilling reminder of the unknown horrors that awaited me.

A flicker of hope emerged in the form of Azriel, my steadfast protector, but it was quickly extinguished by the looming presence of Lyris, a childhood friend turned tormentor. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he brandished a dagger, the cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light.

With a cruel smirk, Lyris descended upon me, his voice filled with twisted pleasure. "Time to finally take what's mine," he taunted, the blade poised to inflict unimaginable pain.

The first cut tore through me like a bolt of lightning, a searing agony that ripped through flesh and soul alike. My cries echoed off the walls of the chamber, lost in the darkness that enveloped me.

But the torment did not end there. With each merciless stroke of the blade, Lyris carved away my very essence, leaving behind a shattered shell of my former self. I watched helplessly as my wings, once symbols of freedom and strength, were mutilated and discarded like worthless scraps of flesh.

And as the last remnants of my identity fell away, a hollow emptiness consumed me, leaving behind only the cruel scars of my torment. I was no longer whole, no longer the person I once was. I had been robbed of everything that defined me, my essence stolen by the darkness that lurked within the depths of my captor's soul.

As the soft rap echoed through the hollow corridors, it felt like a distant echo of a life I once knew, one filled with warmth and camaraderie. Reluctantly, I approached the door, each step heavy with the weight of my turmoil, the heavy thud of my heart matching the rhythm of my footfalls.

Feyre stood there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway lanterns, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the bonds I had once cherished. In her hands, she cradled a delicate tray, a small offering of sustenance amidst the darkness that engulfed me.

"I brought you some food," she offered, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room, a fragile thread of connection in the vast expanse of my solitude. "I thought you might be hungry."

My response was curt, a reflexive defense against the vulnerability her kindness exposed. "I don't need your pity, Feyre," I retorted, the bitterness in my voice a stark contrast to the warmth of her offering. "I can take care of myself."

For a fleeting moment, hurt flickered in her eyes, a silent plea for understanding that cut through the barriers I had erected around my wounded heart. But she quickly masked it with a forced smile, her resilience a testament to the depth of her compassion.

Without another word, she set the tray down on the table beside me, the scent of warm food mingling with the heavy silence that enveloped us. It was a gesture of kindness in a world that had grown cold and indifferent, a fleeting glimpse of the friendship I had once treasured.

As Feyre lingered in the doorway, her gaze lingered on mine with a quiet intensity, a silent invitation to let her in, to share the burden of my pain. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, her voice a gentle reminder that I was not alone, that there were still those who cared enough to reach out a helping hand.

But I shook my head, my walls still firmly in place, my pride a shield against the vulnerability her presence exposed. "No," I replied curtly, my voice a harsh echo of the emptiness that echoed within me.

With a nod of understanding, Feyre turned to leave, the weight of her disappointment a heavy burden on my already burdened soul. And as the door closed behind her, I was left alone once more, the silence of the empty room a stark reminder of the walls I had built to keep the world at bay.

The evening air was thick with the scent of spices and laughter as I made my way through the bustling streets of Velaris, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm hue over the cobblestone pathways. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the weight of my own thoughts, as I navigated the vibrant tapestry of the Night Court.

Amidst the lively chatter and cheerful bustle of the city, familiar voices pierced through the haze of my melancholy. Mor's vibrant laughter echoed through the air, drawing my gaze towards her radiant figure standing across the street. Beside her, Cassian, his presence as imposing as ever, offered a welcoming grin that tugged at the corners of my lips despite my inner turmoil.

"Hey, there she is!" Mor's voice carried on the breeze, her smile bright as she beckoned me over. "Come join us!"

Cassian's invitation followed, his boisterous enthusiasm contagious as he gestured towards the tavern. "We're heading for a drink. You should come with us."

My heart clenched at the genuine warmth in their gestures, a stark contrast to the icy grip of my own despair. The desire to lose myself in their company, if only for a fleeting moment, warred with the overwhelming sense of unworthiness that gnawed at my soul.

But as Mor reached out to take my hand, her touch a gentle reminder of the bond we shared, a surge of jealousy and resentment swept through me. My gaze flickered to Cassian, his powerful wings a constant reminder of everything I had lost. Anger boiled within me, bitter and consuming, as I struggled to suppress the envy that threatened to engulf me. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass," I managed to say, my voice betraying a hint of regret. "I'm not really in the mood for drinking tonight."

Mor's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with reassurance. "That's okay," she said softly, her words a soothing balm to the ache in my heart. "But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

With a nod of understanding, I watched as they disappeared into the throng of revelers, their laughter fading into the night. Left alone on the deserted street, the weight of my solitude pressed heavily upon me, a reminder of the chasm that separated me from the warmth of their companionship. As the echoes of their laughter dissolved into the stillness of the night, I couldn't shake the pang of resentment that lingered in my chest. But even amidst the darkness of my despair, I knew that I couldn't risk dragging my friends down with me. So, with a heavy heart, I turned away, retreating into the shadows once more, the silence of the night swallowing me whole.

The faint glow of moonlight, a silver cascade, filtered through the windows, casting ethereal patterns across the dimly lit kitchen of the Night Court's sprawling estate. I stood amidst the chaos, surrounded by a haphazard array of pots, pans, and ingredients scattered across the countertops. My attempt at cooking had quickly spiraled into a messy disaster, each failed endeavor only serving to fuel my frustration further.

As I grappled with the stubborn lid of a jar, a voice sliced through the silence, its presence both unexpected and unwelcome.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Startled, I turned to find Rhysand standing in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the luminescent backdrop. His wings, a breathtaking display of power and grace, unfurled behind him like the majestic sails of a ship, the membrane-like skin gleaming in the moonlight. They seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, each beat a testament to the freedom and strength they embodied. My heart clenched at the sight, a bitter pang of jealousy twisting in the depths of my soul. Once, I had known that same sense of freedom, had soared through the skies with effortless grace, my wings slicing through the air like a blade through silk. But now, they were gone, cruelly ripped from my back by those who sought to break me.

An ache, dull and persistent, throbbed in the space where my wings had once been, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. I longed to feel the wind beneath me, to taste the exhilarating rush of flight once more, but it was nothing more than a distant dream, forever out of reach.

"None of your business," I snapped, my voice a whipcrack of frustration, my fingers still wrestling with the stubborn jar lid. The last thing I needed was his pity, his condescending attempts to help when I clearly didn't want it.

Rhysand's gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he approached with cautious steps, his movements a ballet of grace. "You're making quite a mess," he observed, his voice gentle but firm, like the soothing murmur of a distant stream. "Let me help you."

I recoiled from his touch, the anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava erupting from the depths of the earth. "I don't need your help," I spat, my voice tinged with venom, the bitterness like bile in my throat. "I don't need anyone."

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence hanging heavy in the air as Rhysand regarded me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "You're clearly upset," he said softly, his words a gentle caress against the storm raging within me. "Let me help you. Let us help you."

But I refused to listen, the tempest of my emotions raging unabated, the walls around my heart fortified against any intrusion. With a strangled cry of frustration, I shoved past him and fled from the room, the echoes of his words following me like a haunting refrain, the cadence of his footsteps a melancholy echo in the corridors of my mind.

Alone in the sanctuary of my darkened chamber, I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my own solitude pressing down upon me like a suffocating avalanche. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging, as I buried my face in the pillows, the emptiness consuming me like a ravenous beast, its jaws gnashing at the frayed edges of my soul.

"Mind if I join you?"

Nesta's voice broke through the silence, her presence a welcome intrusion in the stillness of the night. I turned to face her, my expression guarded and wary, unsure of what to expect. She stepped onto the balcony, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed upon my own shoulders. There was a quiet understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

"I know what it's like," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet expanse of the night. "To push people away, to build walls around your heart so high that no one can reach you."

I bristled at her words, the anger and resentment bubbling to the surface like a dormant volcano awakening from its slumber. How dare she presume to understand the depths of my despair, the darkness that threatened to consume me from within?

"You have no idea what I'm going through," I snapped, my voice tinged with bitterness. "You have Cassian, you have someone who loves you unconditionally. I have no one."

Nesta's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she reached out to take my hand. "I may have Cassian, but that doesn't mean I haven't faced my own demons," she said gently. "I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning in darkness, to feel like there's no way out."

I recoiled from her touch, the walls around my heart growing ever taller with each passing moment. "I don't need your pity," I retorted, my voice laced with venom. "I don't need anyone."

Nesta's expression faltered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it with a steely resolve. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever change your mind. No judgments, no expectations. Just someone who understands." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own sorrow.

The library exuded an atmosphere of solemn tranquility, its shelves adorned with ancient tomes and illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. I sat ensconced amidst the towering pillars of knowledge, a solitary figure in the midst of a vast sea of wisdom, my thoughts tumultuous and unruly.

"I’m joining you.”

The voice, sharp and unwavering, pierced the silence like a dagger, its intrusion disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the room. Startled, I glanced up to find Amren standing before me, her gaze penetrating and incisive, cutting through the veil of my solitude with unnerving precision.

"Fine," I sighed, my voice tinged with resignation as I gestured for her to take a seat. Amren wasted no time in settling herself across from me, her movements fluid and purposeful, her eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made me squirm.

"You look like hell," she remarked bluntly, her words a harsh echo in the stillness of the library.

I bristled at her candor, the urge to lash out bubbling up from the depths of my despair like a tempest on the horizon. But there was something in Amren's gaze, a glimmer of genuine concern beneath the steely facade, that gave me pause. She wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; she genuinely wanted to understand the turmoil that churned within me.

"It's nothing," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet her probing stare.

Amren snorted in disbelief, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she leaned forward, her eyes boring into mine with unrelenting intensity. "Don't give me that bullshit," she retorted, her tone sharp and unyielding. "I may not be the touchy-feely type, but even I can see that something's eating you alive."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing with each passing moment as I struggled to find the words to express the depth of my despair. But before I could respond, Amren reached out and grasped my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the steel in her eyes. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through," she said softly, her voice a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the library. "But I do know one thing: you don't have to face it alone. We're your friends, and we're here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging, as I looked into Amren's unwavering gaze. In that moment, I realized that she was right. I didn't have to carry the weight of my despair alone. I had friends who cared about me, who were willing to stand by my side through the darkest of times. But even as the realization washed over me like a tidal wave, a part of me rebelled against the idea of letting them in. The walls around my heart, built brick by brick in an attempt to shield myself from further pain, felt impenetrable, insurmountable.

With a trembling breath, I pulled my hand away from Amren's grasp, my movements abrupt and jerky. "I don't need your help," I said, my voice strained with emotion. "I don't need anyone."

Amren's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with barely concealed anger as she stared at me, incredulous. "You're a fool if you think you can face this alone," she spat, her voice cold and cutting. "But fine, if that's how you want it. Just know that when you finally come crawling back, don't expect us to welcome you with open arms."

And with that, she rose from her seat and stormed from the room, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own despair. Even as the silence settled around me like a suffocating blanket, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at my soul

As the twilight descended, casting its ethereal veil over the Night Court's training grounds, I found myself standing alone at the edge of the courtyard, my heart heavy with the burden of my own anguish. The fading light painted the world in hues of amber and indigo, a melancholy backdrop to the tempest raging within.

With measured steps, Azriel approached, his presence a soothing balm amidst the chaos of my emotions. His silhouette merged with the shadows, his eyes alight with concern as he drew near. "Are you alright?" His voice, a tender caress against the backdrop of the evening's symphony, reached out to me, offering solace in the darkness.

I turned to face him, my heart aching with the weight of unspoken words, the tumult of my soul laid bare in the vulnerability of my gaze. "Do I look alright?" I whispered, the bitterness of my sorrow echoing in the stillness of the night. "Do I seem like someone who has it all together?"

Azriel's expression softened, his gaze a mirror to the storm brewing within me. "I'm just trying to help," he murmured, his voice a gentle melody that stirred the depths of my wounded spirit.

Tears welled in my eyes, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me whole. "Maybe I don't want your help," I confessed, the admission a fragile confession of my deepest fears. "Maybe I'm tired of everyone trying to fix me, like I'm some broken thing in need of repair."

The hurt that flickered in Azriel's eyes pierced through me, his anguish a reflection of my own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice laden with remorse, a silent plea for understanding.

My resolve wavered, the walls around my heart crumbling in the face of his compassion. "I don't need your apologies," I confessed, the weight of my pain heavy upon my shoulders. "I just need… I don't know what I need."

With that, I turned away, the vulnerability of my confession hanging heavy in the air between us. As I retreated into the enveloping darkness, I felt the warmth of Azriel's presence recede, leaving me alone with the ache of my own brokenness. And in the stillness of the night, I grappled with the realization that perhaps, amidst the chaos of my despair, what I truly longed for was the one thing I had pushed away—the comforting embrace of someone who cared.

But even as I yearned for solace, the sight of Azriel, the one who had rescued me from the clutches of darkness, stirred within me a tumult of conflicting emotions. His Illyrian heritage, his wings—symbols of strength and freedom—served as painful reminders of the horrors I had endured. And in his compassionate gaze, I saw reflected the shadows of my past, haunting me with memories I longed to forget. It was hard to see him, to confront the echoes of my trauma that lingered in his presence, yet even amidst the pain, there remained a flicker of hope—something that clung so tight, that wouldn’t let go, and that throbbed in the presence of him.

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liveontelevision · 24 days

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Hallo!!! I’d just like to say to start I ADORE your work! Especially with Lucifer, the way you depict him is SO refreshing you have no idea.. your work practically canon in my eyes I love it!!! You’re super awesome.

I did also notice that in your Lucifer works you talked about his more ‘unappealing’ traits, so-to-speak. Like his temper, his possessiveness, and especially his paranoia and panic.

I suffer with a paranoia disorder and some ptsd of my own, and it was really nice to have those traits made known, but not have them severely criticized, y’know?

I understand and agree that Lucifer would need a patient partner when it comes to these things, someone to stick around and be reassuring through it all; And while they can get frustrated, not criticize or even leave him for it; something I theorize may have been a reason for Lilith’s own departure.

But what if the reason for the reader’s patience is because of their own panic issues? Or their own temper?

Now to be fair, not sure how i’d exactly want it to go. It could be them comforting him when he panics, or Lucifer when they panic, or just a simple heart-to-heart about their combined struggle and the resilience that is forged because of that…

Like while their breath quickens, hands clutching into their thighs as their brain practically screams at them to calm down through all the mind-numbing internal noise; boiling tears stream down their face as they shiver within the darkness of an empty corridor. Perhaps Lucifer steps around, bearing witness to their storming off, getting a glimpse of the uglier side of their lover. The strange, uncomfortable, terrified side of them. But that isn’t what he sees, not at all. His gaze softens as he stares into their tear-blinded irises and carefully sits in front of them. He sees a person. A real, true human being.

(hahaaa got a bit too silly sorry xP)

All I know is that I think Lucifer, while also being equally concerned, would appreciate having someone who could understand what he’s going through; Well, as close as a sinner could get to understanding it, at least.

But what do you think? Would he act any different? I’d love to know ^^ ❤️

Thank you so much for getting into these details! After reading this I realized how much I connected my own mental struggles to what I write. So just seeing that you're about to relate to it as well made me feel really good :)

This was honestly a little hard for me, trying to get into this mindset. Even though it's not super motivated by Lucifer's character, I kinda needed to write this for myself honestly :') but still, I hope you enjoy this!

---

Comfort

CW: Descriptions of depression and panic attacks, flulff, angst

You were head of heels for Lucifer. And you’d do anything for him, that goes without saying, even if you do enjoy seeing his reaction to your devotion. You knew Lucifer as the king of Hell before anything else, so your first impression of him was obviously different from the Lucifer you know and love today. He was always portrayed in media as some suave, flirtatious, powerful being. No one dared talk negatively about him, his true authority being misinterpreted as pure malicious intent. But that didn’t stop the media from tearing Charlie apart. Why didn’t he defend his daughter then? In summary, Lucifer was known for two things; incredible power and little consideration for the actual ongoings of Hell, even with whatever his daughter was involved with. At first. His saving the hotel, defending Hell on extermination day, and encouraging his daughter, was the side of him that only a handful of trusted people could experience firsthand.

Luckily, you got to be one of those people. It’s easy to take his goofy exposure and temper and make it appear that he is an aloof king. But no one can handle being a hermit for centuries without having a different view on life. And being an outcast from his original realm? Being abandoned by his brothers? Even the most powerful demon couldn't experience that without it taking a mental toll. That was obvious. Comforting Lucifer would never be an easy task, even for someone who’s experienced exactly what he has. And who knows exactly how close Lillith was to him? Was she able to see him in this state? Was it another factor of himself that he chose to bury in fear of rejection and abandonment? It was a pitiful thought, but definitely not an impossible one.

Whether or not you truly understood Lucifer's past, you wanted to be there for him. It felt good to comfort such a powerful being, being an anchor for someone who has an absurd amount of baggage. But it’s not like you always knew what you were doing. You weren’t this perfectly healthy person who knew what to say all the time. When you first got together, you had your doubts about even having feelings for him. He was an icon, a celebrity, royalty. It was great he confided in you, but was his status clouding your judgment? Were you only enjoying the dominance you had over his emotional state because of who he was? Was your admiration misconstrued as love? It took a while for you to get over this mindset. The longer you were together, the less it became you constantly praising and fawning over him, the more it became being in love with your best friend.

You didn’t really bother to bring any of this up to him, the idea made you cringe. Would bringing up your doubts about the relationship only transfer those feelings to him as well? The moment passed, so there’s no need to get him worked up over nothing.

That’s a great example of how your mind works. You assumed that all these spiraling questions, that brought you to the brink of tears, just went away. That, because you realized how much you loved him and how much he loved you, that meant that you never needed to express these thoughts. Nothing could be done about it, those feelings were in the past. Why bring it up now?

There was also the question of how much you gave into the relationship. You gave Lucifer your all, gave him your heart and body, and yet you don’t feel comfortable enough to share your own suffering? You could've blamed Lucifer if you wanted. He should be supporting you the same way you support him. Or you could blame yourself. Obviously, if you wanted support you should feel comfortable asking for it. But why do you have to ask? Lucifer never asked for it. Why don’t you feel comfortable sharing your feelings? Your own trauma? What’s wrong with you?

That ended up being your downfall. Nothing ever just goes away. How could you constantly comfort Lucifer and push him to let out what he needs to, yet refuse to express anything that truly upset you? Demons are essentially immortal, these feelings couldn't be bottled up forever. But they can be bottled up until you break.

Lucifer had an especially rough day, he was looking forward to finding his sweetheart and venting about how shitty his meetings went and how Alastor pissed him off, along with some other daily struggles. That’s all it was; a daily vent session that helped him decompress. What he wasn’t realizing was how much that affected you. It wasn’t really his fault, or he wasn't doing it on purpose at least. You weren’t really the type to share your own struggles, you mentioned that to him once or twice. You felt that crying and letting it all out, venting about struggles that simply don’t need to be discussed, none of that really helped you when you were struggling. But today, you were struggling.

“Ugh! That tacky son of a bitch made fun of my suit today, can you believe it? Like - I mean - C’mon! We basically wear the same things but in different colors, I don’t know what he’s on about. Oh, and I had to go to the Embassy today. Luckily I didn’t need to meet with anyone but I - “ As Lucifer started his long-winded complaints, he stripped himself of his boots, hat, and jacket, then approached you. You were lying in bed, which wouldn't exactly be strange if it were early in the morning or late at night, but it was nearly dinner time. You were wearing your usual pajamas and had been scrolling through your phone for who knows how long. Did you have anything to do today? You didn’t have time to think about that.

Lucifer placed a quick kiss on your forehead, then between words, one on each cheek, then a final, slightly lingering, kiss on your lips. He finally plopped down and laid perpendicular to your lounging body, laying his head in your lap and looking into the ceiling as he went on. You set your phone aside, that had been plugged in and turned on since late last night, leaving it hot to the touch in your hand. You had become numb to it at this point.

None of this seemed to really come off as an issue to you. Who doesn't have a day or two where they can't get out of bed? You were sure you’d be ready to get back to work the next day, so it’s not a problem. Plus, Lucifer was here! You could get some quality time in with him and convince yourself that you weren't wasting a whole day. He went on and on. Talking about the Embassy got him on the topic of Heaven, which led to him sharing a story of how his brothers weren’t supportive of a specific invention he was sharing. “It was really something, you know. If I could've just been accepted by them, if they supported me.. like you do! maybe things could've been different. Maybe - “ Plop. Lucifer flinched at the sudden drop of water that hit his cheek. He wiped it away before finally discovering its source.

You were crying. It was silent, and you were holding your breath to prevent it from turning you into a heaving, sobbing, mess. Lucifer was quick to sit up, seating himself on his knees as he tried to question your disposition. He was finally noticing your overall situation. You are in the same spot that he left you in this morning, wearing the same pajamas, scrolling through the same phone that never left the nightstand. He started to feel ashamed that he didn’t notice any of this sooner. You had shifted your gaze downwards, picking at your clawed fingers like you would your skin when you were alive. This is embarrassing. You don’t want him to see you this way, you look like a mess. You tried your best to keep tears from coming from your eyes, but the fact that Lucifer was sitting near you in absolute silence somehow made it worse. You hitched your breath, trying to control your emotions in any way, then let out a shaky exhale that made your body shrink.

The moment seemed to go on forever. It felt like his eyes were burning into you. You had to do something. Anything. “I’m okay! I’m okay, Luci. Sorry, J-Just a rough day. But it's over now! We can just relax now. Promise.” You quickly said, your voice raspy due to it being the first words you had spoken today. You shifted yourself over, pulling the blanket aside and patting the spot next to you. Lucifer didn’t know how to respond. He’s seen you like this before, everyone has rough days. And why would you lie to him? You could go to him for anything. You knew that, right? He reluctantly moved into the bed, holding his arm out to allow you to snuggle into his side, finally resting your head on the center of his chest. Your eyes looked vacantly towards the other side of the room, as your finger mindlessly traced the seems on the side of his shirt. A monotonous task that kept your mind on anything other than how you were feeling. Today was just one of those days where every little problem you’d encounter was tipping you over the edge, sending you into a spiraling mess.

He knew something was wrong. He didn’t push you away, you clearly needed the contact, but the warm spot that you created from staying in bed all day was apparent when he went in to hold you. Sure, he’s seen you like this before. But this was different. “Darling..? Erm.. Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to - I should’ve.. How was your day, love? Wanna.. talk about it?” He always struggled with words. It’d take him a while, but he’d always manage to get what he intended when he spoke. “Oh, um.. It was good.. My day was good. Didn’t do much, but that’s okay. Just a relaxation day I suppose.” Ah, relaxation. You’ve used that word before. He always wondered; How come relaxation never meant going to a spa or doing something legitimately soothing? Was laying in bed all day really what you considered relaxing?

“ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. Go on, you were talking about your brothers? What were you - “ Your diversion was immediately noticed. Before you could even finish your question, Lucifer had taken your chin and angled your head upward to look at him. It was a struggle for you to meet his eyes. You gulped, and no matter how much you wanted to pull away from his grasp, you didn’t. Tears were welling in your eyes the whole time, and even though your breath had calmed, you still seemed winded. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Please. Let me help.” It seemed like everything just fell into place. Lucifer finally picked up on things you never realized came from your insecurities and paranoia. And he wanted to fix it, not stop it, actually fix it. You hated how the idea of it surprised you. It shouldn't, of course, he’d do this for you.

“ I-I promise it’s nothing.. I’ve just been feeling off today, I just want to be close to you. That always helps.” You smiled up at him. No matter how forced, he returned your smile. “Well.. Do you think.. Talking would help?” You tensed up as he spoke, an obvious sensation to Lucifer since you laid suddenly uncomfortably on his chest. “Hun, you know that stuff really isn’t for me… I don’t benefit from that, I think. So don’t worry. Just - be here. For me? Can you do that?” You began to sound agitated. It wasn’t an aggressive plea, more like a plea for this conversation to be over. He wasn’t a huge fan of how you spoke, it came off as a sort of insult to him. Did you not think he could help you in the same way you did for him? He could try. He wanted to try.

He planted a small kiss on your forehead, then traced his hand up and down your back, feeling your tension melt as he did so. He pressed his cheek against the top of your head and picked up your hand in his. He traced your palm, running along the wrinkles and folds of your skin, then lightly grazed his claw up the length of each of your fingers. He sent a starfish motion across the entirety of your hand before finally interlacing your fingers. You stared at his movements the whole time, watching only for a moment before your eyes glazed over, leaving you in a sort of mindless state. He squeezed your hand after giving it attention, which brought you back to reality. Your eyes had continued to drip, leaving a few small specks of wetness on the part of his shirt that sat below your face. With the newfound grip he had on your hand, he pulled your still clasped hands up to his face, rubbing his cheek on the back of your hand before pressing gentle kisses across your knuckles. His eyes looked at you, half-lidded, with your hands still held to his lips.

Well, you weren't lying when you said being around him helped. Just the sight of him caring for you in this way, calmed your mood. You managed to accept that your actions today wernt like you. That something had taken over in your mind to keep you weighed down in your shared bed. “Thank you.” It barely came out as a whisper when you said it, bringing your clasped hands to your own lips and pressing a kiss on his own knuckles in response. “Of course, love. Anything for you. I mean it.” These actions weren't exactly new to the two of you, these were methods you occasionally used to help Lucifer fall asleep, or calm him down after a rough day. But he was using it on you. He had learned how to take care of you, by watching what you do. Noticing how you act on a daily basis and how that contrasts from the version of you he’s seeing right now. It was a subconscious transaction that you two had. But when you did notice it happening, you could hardly contain the mixed emotions you felt. Embarrassment, Pride, Love..

“ I mean it.” He repeated, snapping you from whatever state of mind you caught yourself in, “You know that, don’t you? You know I can help you, right? ” Now, this was new. He’s never questioned you like this. For some reason, it became difficult to respond. To admit that you knew he had your best interest in mind. “Tell me.” He wasn’t demanding, he seemed genuinely concerned as he spoke. Your cheeks flushed, feeling some sort of embarrassment. “Y-Yeah, I know.” You were quiet, still.

Lucifer didn’t seem completely convinced. “I’m sure you do. But can’t you just.. I want to know what goes on in your head.. If that makes sense. I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this - No, I want you to try and talk to me. Just try?” You almost scoffed, trying to play it off as some kind of joke. “It’s not important, I’m feeling better now, that’s what’s important.”

That’s when he became agitated. He gently sat up, lifting you up with him. “No! It still matters. Tell me how you feel. Or - how you felt, I don’t know..! Talk to me. Please.” He had a tight grasp on your arms, almost shaking you as he spoke. You tried to calm down, you really did, but you felt forced into talking. Not in a negative manner, just in the way that your instinct to isolate yourself in this state was being challenged. You were physically reacting, tensing under his touch and lowering your eyes to the point he couldn't see them. You rubbed your hands against your thighs, trying to figure out what to say. It seemed like it took too long for you to respond. When you did it came out in the form of broken sobs, your hands moved from your thighs to your cheeks, running your forearm across your face to wipe tears. You broke.

You finally open up about your day. About how today, you felt like you didn't have any reason to get out of bed, how it felt okay to just rot there. You tried your best to describe what makes you this way, but you really weren't all that sure yourself. And despite how much Lucifer struggles with his own words, you were almost silent when it came to describing how you felt. He would nod his head and keep a calm composure, just like you do for him. It took everything in him to just hold you as tight as he could, to repeat I'm so sorry and it'll be okay and I love you so much. But that's not what you'd do at this moment, and he realized how much he'd hate that for himself. It’d feel disingenuous. You loved physical affections, even the slightest intimate moments were improved by a simple hand-holding, or just sitting close to Lucifer. And right now, you felt ashamed for wanting to push him away. But you didn't.

He cooed you, and pulled you in close, his arms engulfing your curled up body. He continued to rub your back, just like you’d do for him, and would ask if you needed anything multiple times, even if you politely rejected each time. Just to be safe. You let out a gross mixture of sobs and apologies, and possibly some things that you’d regret saying later, but the dam was broken at this point. After you had calmed down, he loosened his grasp to let you sit up, your body stiff from holding it in that position for so long. He was quick to create some tissues out of thin air and hand them to you, catching sight of your reddened eyes and nose, but he also made it a point to not stare at you. He’d turn his gaze to the floor, or to your hands, or he’d rest his head on top of yours. “So..? How are you doing?” He almost sounded nervous when he asked as if he might have messed up at some point. “I feel disgusting.” You said bluntly, your voice nasally due to your nose being so stuffed up. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I told you this stuff doesn't work for me, I feel awful still.” A bittersweet smile hit his face, but you were still making it a point to keep your eyes away. “I know, love. But, I’m glad you did it. I’m.. well, I’m glad you’re talking to me - I know it was hard.. So.. thank you, I suppose. You did good.” His words were choppy as if he was still figuring out what he wanted to say. He said what he needed to though.

You let out an absolutely exhausted sigh and leaned back into his chest, bringing both of you back down onto the bed. After a bit more backrubbing and hums of affection, you finally lift your head to look up at him. He was absolutely glowing. The smile on his face brought you butterflies that you didn't realize could resurface after being with someone for so long. “You did so well~” He said in a low tone, keeping his eyes locked on yours, and keeping your head turned upwards by gently holding your chin. “W-Well, don’t say it like that.. Perv..” You let your suddenly dirtied mind blurt out a nervous response. “Hey, that one’s on you. I would never proposition a damsel in distress.” He tapped your nose, speaking in a theatrical voice, before meeting your lips in a much-needed kiss. “Love you.” You muttered into his lips, only to feel his smile form in response. His eyes weld with affection for you when he pulled away. “I love you.”

Even if you felt awful after your little outburst, the reality of laying in bed all day finally hit you with a burst of adrenaline. You weren’t able to sleep after that and Lucifer had no complaints about that. The rest of the night was spent doing silly little things, Lucifer demanded you do your nightly routine, insisting it would help your mood. He provided snacks, started a movie that you mentioned you wanted to see a while ago, and sat behind you as he either brushed your hair or spent the time to give you a thorough massage.

You were so proud of him. You always struggled alone when this kind of thing happened. And, although a little awkward, he was exactly what you needed him to be at that moment.

---

OMG LOOK AT MY LITTLE TAG LIST ILY GUYS:

( @vififofum @thornwolfy235 @tinywolfiegirl @chipper-chip @bat-boness @misfitgirlwrites @nayomi247 @lonelynmisunderstood )

#sorry for angst #hazbin hotel #hazbin #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel fandom #lucifer morningstar #hazbin art #hazbin hotel art #lucifer x you #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader

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camille-lachenille · 12 days

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Was thinking about just how much characters in the Silm and LOTR deal with pain an injuries on a daily basis. It’s not always said plainly but they exist in the story, they live, they are important, and I wonder how much of them are inspired by Tolkien’s own experience of war injuries/illness. How many of his fellow soldiers came back home disfigured and disabled and were faced with disgust or contempt?

Sure, there’s the whole fairy-tale/mythic aspect of loosing a limb in your heroic quest to get the Magic Object, but what about Gwindor, who was captured by Morgoth and, when he finally managed to escape, was so changed by his sufferings that his beloved rejected him? Gwindor’s not a hero, he’s a simple soldier who suffered through war and captivity and became disabled because of that. How much pain did he live with daily even if it’s never said on the page?

And, still in the CoH, there’s Brandir the Lame. He was born disabled, couldn’t be a warrior, yet held a position of power until his people wanted action and scorned him. Brandir is a healer, a man of wisdom and lore; how much of it is because he tried to cure himself? To ease his pain but also try to "fix" himself in the eyes of his people and be the worthy leader he thought they wanted.

There is Sador ‘Labadal’ too, who chopped his foot off in an accident and is looked down for that by several character (not the least of them being Morwen).

These three characters are all disabled and looked upon with pity, contempt or outright disgust. They did not become disabled in the doing of great deeds, their stories aren’t heroic, and so their disability makes them worthless in the eyes of many.

If you take Maedhros, on the other hand (pun fully intended), he is seen as made greater by his disability. He suffered unthinkable torments and was freed at the price of his right hand, and did many great and terrible things after that. It is similar for Beren, who also lost his hand (arm chopping is not a love language!) but it always portrayed as a good and heroic character, because his disability is the direct result of him taking part in the great designs of the world rather than a banal accident.

And that’s only for the Silm characters, because we don’t want to forget about Frodo of the Nine Fingers, who bore the One Ring to the very fires of Mt Doom. Frodo who returned home sickly and traumatised, plagued with chronic pain, nightmares and a poor health and was only looked at down by the hobbits who did not take part in the quest if the ring. Frodo may be a hero for Men and Elves but he has little to no recognition in his homeland.

Another character I nearly forgot (shame on me!) is Celebrían, She was captured and tortured and despite her physical wounds healing she was never the same again, to the point she had to leave her family to seek healing elsewhere. I see this as a form of mental illness, probably depression and PTSD. And Celebrían is not thought as lesser because of her disability. She is seen as a tragic story, yes, but it’s better than most of the other disabled characters in the Silm.

Anyway, I don’t really know what my point is here, just that I noticed a pattern in the representation of disabled characters in Tolkien’s works, first of all that they exist at all, and second that how they are treated certainly reflects the views of society on disabled people during Tolkien’s lifetime. The way he writes disabled characters isn’t perfect, far from it, but they are here, and I, as a disabled reader, am immensely glad for their existence and I play in the gigantic sandbox of the Legendarium with these characters and others whom I imagine as disabled in any way.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings #gwindor #brandir #sador #frodo baggins #celebrían #disabled characters #tolkien legendarium #half baked ramblings by a sleep deprived tolkien fan #tolkien meta

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splicedm0th · 1 month

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Random fort frolic headcanons bc I think about them too much

Silas has the largest record collection in Rapture. He's also up to date with the latest music because he regularly smuggles and sells records from topside. When theres no one around he blasts rock n roll.

Hector is aroace. He controls Fort Frolics security, and also has to carry out all of Cohens dirty work. He's severely depressed and burnt out, but he used to be extremely talented and passionate about his work.

Martin was a soldier in WW2 but got sent home after sustaining injury, he suffers from PTSD and night terrors from it. He's known Cohen the longest and even though he hates him he can't leave him, he left everything topside for Cohen.

Kyle and Silas where roomates, he hired a small room at the record store before he could afford his own apartment.

Kyle probably became the most famous out of the disciples, maybe because of his extreme talent at his young age. But ofc Cohen got jealous and tightened Kyle's schedule which decreased his public appearance and concerts.

While everyone left Cohen Kyle decided to stay with him, not because he still admired the man but for his own safety. He'd planned an escape through a bathyspear but got caught before he could make it.

#bioshock #bioshock meme #bioshock rapture #fort frolic #kyle fitzpatrick #hector rodriguez #martin finnegan #silas cobb #sander cohens disciples #sander cohen

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whovianderson · 3 months

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Why does Fox Mulder mean so much to me?

Trigger warnings: discussions of trauma, abuse, cancer, suicide, depression

Fox Mulder is so much more than a character to me. Never have I seen the inner workings of my mind represented in the way that I do in him. I feel like we understand each other, like we function the same way in this world.

Not to state the obvious, but Mulder is traumatised. Samantha’s disappearance changed his brain chemistry, and in turn, his life. As someone who has complex PTSD as a result of relationship abuse, I relate to this more than I can say. In ‘Oubliette’, Mulder’s desperation to change the course of events was out of fear of a repeat of what happened to Samantha. In this, I see myself trying to ensure that nothing like what I experienced happens again, both because of its effects on the other person, and on me. Of course, I've had to learn the hard way that I am ultimately powerless to control what happens to others. The difficulties I’ve had coming to terms with that are portrayed perfectly by Mulder's distress when he realised that Lucy had sacrificed herself for Amy, despite his best efforts. There's also a sense of inevitability and inescapability from the cycle of trauma when such things keep happening that is deeply harrowing.

In ‘Demons’, Mulder’s fear of not knowing something traumatic that happened reminded me of what I have been grappling with for years. As well as trauma from a past relationship, my sister has further traumatised me due to her severe mental health problems. It would trigger my own too much for me to know everything that is happening to her, but the unknown is worse for me, because I can't process it. My traumatised mind jumps to the worst case scenario. Thus, once again, Mulder’s reaction to being left in the dark felt like I was looking in a mirror. The sympathetic way in which his behaviour in this episode was written shows how no reaction can be considered disproportionate when it's because you're traumatised, and that is beyond validating for me. The depiction of flashbacks here also felt painfully accurate.

In ‘Memento Mori’, I recognised a lot of Mulder’s emotions due to my own experiences of life-threatening illness in people I love. Little did I know how much harder ‘Redux’ would hit! In ‘Redux’, Mulder believes he is responsible for Scully’s cancer and impending death. I know firsthand what it’s like to hold yourself responsible for someone else’s life, what it feels like to believe that you are killing somebody. I was continually shown that I couldn’t save the very person who told me I had to, because she kept getting sicker. As a result, other people’s suffering has become synonymous with my own personal failure and the consequent guilt in my mind. I would rather be failed by somebody else than have failed myself. This means that exactly like Mulder, on the verge of suicide in this episode, I would rather be the one who dies than feel so crushingly guilty. While horrible to witness, I have never seen the mental deterioration of a character who has assumed responsibility for another’s life so accurately portrayed, and that makes me feel more understood than ever before.

The entire premise of ‘The X-Files’ is that Mulder refuses to come to terms with his sister’s disappearance. His constant search for an alternative explanation, no matter how far-fetched, is what drives his character from the beginning. As an audience, we can see how that’s a form of denial, as can characters like Scully. Scully says “if it’s only by knowing where he’s been that he can hope to understand where he’s going, then I fear Agent Mulder may lose his course”. I haven’t finished the show yet, but having watched seven seasons, I am confident when I say that the crux of its development is that Mulder comes to understand “where he’s going”, without relying on “where he’s been”. As someone with a past that they quite frankly would rather die than relive, it brings me so much hope to think that I don’t have to dwell on it, that like Mulder learns to over the course of the show, I can live my life free of its shackles. That’s why ‘Closure’ is such a significant episode. However much one tries, it is impossible to explain away trauma - it happened, and one simply has to come to terms with its incomprehensible injustice. That is exactly what Mulder does here. It’s ironically titled, because there is no closure when it comes to the past, but he shows that personal growth isn’t dependent on getting that closure. Instead, he is of his own volition able to let go of the coping mechanism that has driven him up to this point: his belief that Samantha was abducted. Engaging in various types of therapy, including EMDR, to overcome my own coping mechanisms in response to my trauma is the scariest thing I have ever had to do (and that’s saying something). Seeing not only that journey represented onscreen, but shown coming to fruition, means everything.

Mulder’s trauma should incline him to be distrustful of everyone, as his ‘trust no one’ catchphrase would suggest. He evidently knows this, and yet he wants to believe in other people’s integrity so much so that it overrides the fear, and he trusts them anyway. He will take people at their word, whether that be about UFO sightings or something else. He chooses to see the good in everybody, despite having every reason not to, because, in his words, “if you don’t start trusting someone, you don’t stand a chance”. This attitude is possibly the aspect of my own personality about which I am most insecure. I used to hate myself so much for it that I wouldn’t open up to anyone at all in an effort to change who I was. I suppose I hated acting against what my experiences had shown to be true: that I could ‘trust no one’. Since meeting Mulder, though, I have thought of him every single time I begin to hate myself for being this way. This soothes me more than I can possibly describe. He makes me feel like it’s okay to be like me, or should I say, like us. Me wanting to believe in other people is not the detestable thing I had always viewed it as. I don’t think I would be able to carry on if it weren’t for his presence in this part my life. I cannot overstate his impact on me here.

Part of the reason for both me and Mulder being so trusting of others is because we do not trust ourselves. Deep down, he is insecure about whether his belief in Samantha’s abduction is credible, and so he relies on others to evidence it. For me, I do not treat my experiences as legitimate, and so I need other people’s responses to give me the validation that I cannot find within myself.

If it weren’t already obvious, I am autistic. My predisposition to trust, taking things at face value, is one manifestation of my autism. That’s not to say it’s the same for every autistic person, of course, but for me and for Mulder, I believe it is. In general, he is one of the most clearly autistic-coded characters I have ever encountered. He is ostracised by his peers and written off as ‘spooky’ for being different, something that many of us go through. Maybe, like it is for me, that’s part of the reason why he trusts people right off the bat: he wants to get the rejection that he’s used to facing out of the way before he puts in any effort. Or maybe he’s just a bad judge of what is and isn’t appropriate in a social context, again very much a trait of autism. And that’s not to mention his devotion to the X-Files and to Scully. Him surrendering every part of himself to them is exactly how I relate to the world, because all-or-nothing thinking is a huge way in which my autism functions. I was actually only diagnosed with autism two years ago, and having representation, implied or otherwise, in a character as alike to me as Mulder has helped me settle into my new identity.

It would be remiss not to further explore the fact that Mulder wouldn’t be Mulder without Scully. In the pilot, he tells Scully about his theory because he desperately wants someone on his side. She ends up not being the person he thinks he wants, but the person he actually needs. Without her, he wouldn’t have made it to the place he does in ‘Closure’; she challenges the beliefs he uses to cope, but most importantly, she loves him through it. Scully shows Mulder how genuine love can be when you’re not just being told what you want to hear, and as a result, she becomes the only person whom he can truly rely upon. The most important similarity between me and Mulder is of course that I too am in love with Scully! Scully is an incredible character who I would love to write more about in her own right, but I don’t feel as personally connected to her as I do to Mulder. I guess I’ll just say that I hope that I, and every other Mulder out there, find our Scully. People like us have so much love to give. We love so much and so deeply that people who return our love in full are almost impossible to find. One in five billion, you could say.

I cannot wait to get to know different facets of my all-time favourite character as I finish watching ‘The X-Files’. I know he will only become more important to me, especially since I know he ends up struggling with depression like I do. I hope I’ve demonstrated in writing this how beyond grateful I am to have been introduced to him, someone who is practically more me than I am! The fandom is a wonderful place to be, but in writing this, I also aim to remind myself how much the show and Mulder’s character mean to me personally.

Like Mulder, I am constantly moving, driven by the thought that “I wouldn’t know what I’d be missing”. But every once in a while, something comes along that makes me want to stay with it forever. And ‘The X-Files’, specifically the character of Fox Mulder, is one of them.

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

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{7} - Paradise Gardens - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Book Two to Hotel California

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humour

Pairing: Ateez X Reader

Words: 8,120

Warnings: Anxiety and PTSD, mental illness, and inferred depression. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Emotional turmoil is always a fun thing haha but I promise there is light at the end of the tunnel! Next chapter should be a bit longer hopefully, so I hope you'll excuse these shorter ones for now. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

Falling.

The harsh whipping of wind against your skin is all you can hear as you tumble towards the earth. Each breath is a struggle as you attempt to fill your burning lungs with air, the pressure of such an altitude detrimental to your every move. Your chest aches, throat scraped raw with the shrill shrieks of terror that escape you as you tumble through the sky. Tears leak from your eyes uncontrollably, lids squeezing shut in tandem as you can barely get a grip on your surroundings.

Everywhere, all you can feel is pain.

Free falling has always been described to you as a feeling of utter weightlessness, but there isn’t a cell in your body that you cannot feel. All of which are heavily screaming at you in terror.

Never have you been able to feel the full weight of your heart as you do right now, every twitch of your fingers sending jolts of unpleasant electricity racing up your arms. The cold of your body slicing through the air is unlike any sensation you’ve felt before, and with every foot lost, you gain momentum.

Is this how it all ends? After nearly killing a man that you love, having him admit your worst fear for the moment that you are to blame, and having your heart nearly burst from your chest at the sheer pressure of its pulse, you will land upon the earth like a falling star?

Your skin begins to heat, replacing the utter cold you had been feeling only moments before.

You don’t want to die. Not like this. Not now.

You got yourself into this mess, you can certainly get yourself out of it. Though, you have no idea how far the ground is from you. You could make impact at any second, and you count yourself lucky that you’ve lasted this long already.

Concentrating hard, you focus in on your room back home. Perhaps you can simply transport yourself onto your bed, and forget that this ever happened for a little while. Hopefully, you won’t be disturbed, either. None of them will probably want to see you, anyways. Not after what you’ve done to their brother.

Yet, no one will be able to blame you as much as you blame yourself. The guilt begins to eat you alive, mind darkening into that familiar negative territory the longer you allow your thoughts to go unchecked.

A sob tears from your throat.

Faintly, you feel several worried brushes against your void. Three are much more urgent and firmer than the others, constantly keeping pressed up against you as their strings all hum furiously with movement.

What would happen should you choose to open your mind to them? Would they forgive you? Would they figure out what’s going on and leave you to suffer?

No. You know that they wouldn’t. They could never.

But then, how long would it take for them to find you?

Too many thoughts continue to race through your mind, clouding your better judgment and drowning you in self-doubt. Your emotions are all over the place, but the constant ache in your chest reminds you of the harsh reality that has just occurred. Honestly, you just wish you could numb the pain.

How much time do you have left? You seem to be falling for quite a while. Perhaps you started from a higher altitude than you had originally realized. Jongho’s blood is still running through your veins, after all.

Again, several frantic brushes against your void are felt, much more urgent than the first.

Fear grips you once more as you attempt to crack an eye open. You can barely see through your blurred vision, the wind whipping passed you and stinging you all over. All you can recognize is mountains, and a large lake that seems to be getting closer and closer with each passing second.

Another scream of absolute horror rips passed your lips. You feel as if your heart is about to burst from the intensity of its beating within your chest. The ground below gets closer and closer, and your mind scrambles with what to do.

Only one thought begins to get clearer and clearer: you need help.

A glint of gold flashes out of the corner of your eye, and your whole body shakes as a tremendous roar pierces through the air. A presence begins to fall alongside you, large and ominous, but you do not feel threatened. No. Instead, you are relieved; comforted in an unfamiliar way as a faint glow begins to emanate from your brow.

Suddenly, it’s as if the whole world stops.

No longer feeling the intense harshness of the wind as it whips passed you, you crack open your eyes.

A level view of the surrounding mountains greets your gaze, and it is then that you realize that you are gliding through the air. Your hands grip onto something solid beneath you, and when you look down, you see scales beneath your fingertips.

Not just any scales.

Dragon scales.

The dragon is unlike any that you have seen before, the sheer size of it spanning at least fifty metres in length. The scales are a matte black, gold weaving throughout the cracks between and glinting beneath the light of the moon. Spikes line the crown of her head, golden veins lining the horns which protrude from her skin. Seamlessly, she blends into the night surrounding her, nothing more than a dark blur against the clouds.

You don’t have to meet her gaze to know that it’s a deep gold.

A second later, and a dark blue dragon circles around the larger one’s back, followed by a green amphiptere who’s tail flicks worriedly behind her. Both shift to fly closer to you, situating themselves above the large dragon you rest upon and flanking you on either side.

Silent tears continue to stream down your face the entire flight back to the dragon’s nest. Luckily, it seems as if you’ve managed to teleport yourself quite close by.

Fifteen minutes later, and that little cliff face is in sight, an albino wyrm slithering restlessly back and forth.

Mon is the first to offer you help down from the large dragon’s back, sliding up beside you and allowing you to grip onto him as you climb down. Both Xiron and Yerra hover close by, offering their assistance in any way that they can.

A blink, and Wyno is standing before you.

You don’t even have a chance to say anything before both of her hands are coming up to cup your face tenderly. Nothing but concern can be seen in her golden eyes as she searches your gaze.

“My Child,” her voice is low, steady as she searches your bloodstained face. “What happened?”

Several frantic brushes are felt against your void, each male trying desperately to reach out to you. You know they’re probably worried out of their minds right now, but the feeling only makes you feel worse.

For the third time that day, you break down.

Immediately, Wyno wraps you in her arms, your whole body collapsing into her hold. Sobs wrack your entire form, tears streaming seemingly endlessly from your eyes as your grip tightens around her. Gently, she strokes your back, cooing comforting words into your ear as she begins to calm you down.

You can faintly hear worried whines coming from the three young dragons surrounding you. Soft coos of their own escape them as you feel them tenderly nudge their heads against your lower back and legs. A reassurance that they’re all here.

“Shh,” Wyno brings a hand up to cradle the back of your head. “My Child, let it all out. I’m right here; you are not alone.”

You sob harder.

“Whenever you’re ready, My Child, know that I will listen to whatever it is you have to tell me.” She assures you.

Your void rumbles. Urgently, each male attempts to reach out to you, desperate for an answer.

Faintly, you brush back.

The instant you finish brushing against their strings, their attempts to contact you strengthen tenfold.

You nearly stumble on your feet, legs threatening to give out at any moment. The constant feeling of them pressing against your mind only makes your mood drop further, your throat tightening as your emotions consume you.

“I can’t-“ you shake your head, whole body trembling in her embrace. “I can’t-“

“Let’s get you inside,” Wyno keeps her voice steady, wrapping her arm around your waist carefully for support as she begins to guide you towards the cave.

A minute later, and she’s sat you down in a small wicker chair. Another, and a steaming cup of tea is handed to you, the three young dragons surrounding you on either side. A cloth rests in her hands as she dabs the damp material against your skin, cleaning the now long since dried blood from your features.

Slowly, you manage to get your breathing under control, thanking Wyno lightly. She sends you a small, tense smile back. Once she’s finished cleaning you up and attending your wounds, she pulls a silk robe around her shoulders. Then, she’s sitting across from you.

“Do they at least know where you are?” Calm are her words, gentle in her inquiry.

You shake your head, taking a light sip of your tea.

“Do you want them to know where you are?”

A brief pause where you consider her question.

A blink, and you’re shaking your head yet again.

“At least-” your voice comes out raw and strained. You clear your throat. “At least not for now.”

“I do not know what happened, My Child, but do not underestimate the lengths they will go to find you.” She addresses you cautiously. “They would tear the whole world apart looking for you.”

Your gaze drops, a sadness taking over your features.

“Do they at least know that you’re safe?”

“I-“ you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut as your head begins to pound beneath their constant bombardment. “I don’t know.”

Wyno inhales a deep breath before making a clicking sound twice through her teeth.

A blink, and Stella appears hovering in the air between the two of you.

Softly, the raven coos at you, circling lightly around your head as she sees the state of distress you seem to be in.

More clicks can be heard from Wyno, Stella landing on your shoulder and standing at attention. You swear you almost see the raven nodding in understanding.

“Do you have anything on you that Stella can bring to them to let them know you’re alright?” Wyno turns her golden gaze to you.

“Uh,” you swallow lightly, blinking all the while. “Yeah.” You clear your throat. “Yes.”

Moving your hands to the back of your neck, you unclasp the necklace you always wear. The chain hangs precariously from your hand, the replica of Arwen’s Evenstar dangling like a gem in the somewhat dim light of the cave.

“I have told Stella not to let them know where you are until you are ready to see them, but they are stubborn.” Wyno informs you. “They might demand she tell them. They may search her mind, or force it out of her with their powers. Either way, she will stay with them until the task is complete, and I summon her again.”

You nod your understanding, watching as Stella gently clasps your necklace in her beak by the chain. Another soft coo is heard from her.

“She wishes you well,” Wyno hums, somewhat approvingly. “Also, that she’ll peck out the eyes of whoever hurt you.”

You manage a small chuckle at that.

“Thank you, Stella.” Your lips pull upwards weakly in the corners. “But I did this to myself.”

A concerned caw greets your ears.

“Hurry, Stella,” Wyno inclines her head. “Before they start tearing the realms apart.”

In the blink of an eye, the raven has disappeared from sight.

Your gaze falls to the cup in your hands, thumb tracing the side of the ceramic gently. Your shoulders curl in on yourself, but at least you immediately begin to feel some relief from their constant brushing against your void. Still, you recognize those same three strings - one royal blue, one lavender, and one yellow - all humming faintly in worry, even more so than the others.

“Now,” Wyno draws your attention back to her once more as she sits forward in her seat. “What is it that you believe you’ve done that warranted you crashing to the earth like an astroid of old?”

Your whole body stills, and you swear you forget to breathe. Finally, that feeling of numbness you had so desperately been hoping for begins to spread throughout your body. It starts in your chest, creeping outwards as you continue to stare down at the cup of tea held desperately in your hands.

Your lips part, only to close shortly after. No words escape you despite the fact that it all wants to come spilling out. You don’t want to burden Wyno with your problems. Problems of which you hadn’t realized had still been bothering you until today.

“Speak, My Child.” She keeps her tone steady, but still tender all the same. “It is best not to allow these thoughts to fester, lest they continue to consume you. I promise that I will listen, and provide my best insight should you desire it.”

Mon soon slithers beneath the legs of the chair, resting his head by your feet and nudging you in comfort. Xiron comes to sit on one side of you, while Yerra takes the other. Faintly, you register the feeling of a wing wrapping around your back in comfort. Turning your head, you see a translucent blue hue shining beneath the light of the cave. You smile weakly.

“I-“ Again, your voice catches in your throat. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Begin wherever you deem it necessary for me to understand.” She smiles assuringly at you, a hand reaching over to squeeze your knee.

Softly, you nod your head. Taking a deep breath in, you begin.

You do not start at the very beginning, no, but you go far enough back where you deem all of these current issues started.

Naturally, you begin with Miyeon’s torture. You explain to Wyno every minute detail of that day that demon appeared in their domain. Nothing is spared, and you divulge to her the hurt you had undergone. The hurt you’re still suffering from because of her. Facts of which even the males have never been privy to, lest they recall the state your body had been in when they arrived back home.

The way you can see her jaw clench, claws sharpening into points as she curls her hands into fists on her lap has you shifting in your spot. Low, threatening growls escape her with each exhale, her fangs on full display as her lips curl back over her teeth.

Luckily, none of the males seem to appear at any point. Looks like Stella is keeping them away for the time being. A fact which helps your shoulders to relax, even unknowingly, the longer that they stay away.

Quietly, Wyno takes your one hand in hers, listening to everything you have to tell her. She is able to calm herself enough to allow you to continue, patiently sitting beside you the whole time and offering you comforts in her own way. You don’t seem to realize, but when you are explaining what happened three days after the events of Miyeon, your whole visage begins to glow softly.

Recovery is a tricky path to navigate, but even she can tell that those eight males have helped you in more ways than you realize. You spoke true two days ago, and you understand that. Even if your state of mind seems to be battling your logic and reason for the moment.

Sometime during your recount, you manage to finish your cup of tea. You place the empty cup down, only for Yerra to gently rest her head in your lap. The young dragon nuzzles into you affectionately, nothing but worry shining within her eyes. Though, she cannot help the way they flutter shut once you begin to stroke your free hand over the top of her scales.

The more you speak, the more you seem to relax. The words flow from you like a steady stream, cleansing your soul with each second that passes. The fact that Wyno simply just listens is more than you could have ever hoped for right now, and you’re grateful she’s letting you get it all out.

When you finish your recount of the harpy meeting, Wyno finally allows herself to let out a snort.

“You certainly did put that chicken in her place, My Child.” She grins, noticing how your lips quirk faintly. “Only a true Queen could do that.”

You can feel your cheeks heat, thanking her lowly before continuing.

Finally, you begin to breach the events of the last twelve hours. Of course, you remain vague about all of the explicit details, but from the knowing look in Wyno’s gaze, you can tell that she’s long since figured that out.

“Yes, I had assumed something of the sort,” Wyno nods, recognizing how you begin to slow down in your retelling as the most recent memories begin to consume you. “I can smell him all over you.”

A grimace crosses your features as your fingers begin to subtly press a little firmer into Yerra’s head. She appears to be sleeping, eyes closed as her chest rises and falls evenly while resting in your lap.

“You consumed his blood.” Not a question, but an observation.

“And he consumed mine.” You confirm.

“Which explains how we found you tumbling through the air earlier.” Wyno nods.

Your brow furrows. “I did that?”

“My child, who else could it have been?” She chuckles. “You have already divulged that the eldest’s blood allows you to glance spirit souls. Is it not so farfetched to believe that the youngest’s could allow you to teleport?”

“No.” You rub the tips of your fingers together gently over the skin of your thumb, mocking the way they would trace over your therapy pebble. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Now, tell me what warranted all of this.” She squeezes your other hand reassuringly.

You take a shaky breath in, averting your gaze in shame as you confess to everything that has just happened to you.

The whole time, Wyno remains quiet. Her golden eyes scan your face carefully, noting every small twitch of your brow and downturn of your lips. She can hear the pain you fight through with each word. The guilt, self-doubt, and remorse you hold onto comes through loud and clear.

Your gaze is haunted, and a chill runs down your spine. There are tears in your eyes as you admit to what Jongho said right before you disappeared, whole body trembling as you succumb to your emotions once more.

Faintly, you register Mon slither out from beneath the chair.

“My Child, please look at me,” Wyno’s voice is gentle as she shifts forward on her chair to get closer to you.

You raise your head, whole body nearly jolting as you feel something being placed carefully onto your shoulders

“Do you truly believe those were all of the words that he wanted to say?” Wyno reaches forward to help Mon wrap your jacket around your upper body.

Your whole body deflates. “I don’t know.”

“After the evening you have just told me the two of you had shared, do you truly believe that he would blame you for this?” Wyno attempts to reason with you, hands rubbing over your arms lightly in comfort.

“How could he not? It’s all my fault.” You choke on a sob.

“Tell me, My Child,” she manages to get you to meet her gaze and you notice her eyes flash, “do you blame them for what happened with that one?”

You blink, caught off guard by her sudden question. “Of course not! I could never-“

“Do you not think that they do not blame themselves for everything she has done, and all that she continues to do to you?” Wyno continues to reason.

“But it’s not their fault! I-” Your voice catches in your throat.

Wyno quirks a brow, looking at you expectantly. You fall silent.

“We act in ways we deem appropriate at the time in which these incidents occur. It is not your fault you were deceived; you do not control the actions of others.” She holds you firmly in her grip, squeezing your arms reassuringly. “You do not think I cannot still see the guilt that clings to them for ever allowing you to reach such a broken state at another’s hands?”

You remain quiet.

“You nine are all more alike than you think.” She hums. “Yes, you probably could have taken a moment to think things through, but when someone you love is at stake, logic is not always your friend.”

“Jongho still got hurt because of me.” You reply lowly, eyebrows drooping as you stare at the ground.

“You said he jumped in front of you. Not once, but twice, correct?” She tilts her head knowingly.

You nod your head.

“Then, that was his choice.” She shifts her hands to hold your own in her grasp once more. “He could have let you been hit both times, but he chose to save you. I have known him far longer than you, My Child, and were he feeling truly petty, he would have let both those weapons meet their marks. Do not twist his efforts to protect and help you into something that they are not. I have seen the way he looks at you. How his aura shines alongside your own. Do not make the man you love into a heartless monster. Least of all towards you.”

Tears begin to gather in the corner of your eyes for the nth time that morning, and you do whatever you can to blink them away.

The sun begins to rise over the horizon.

“Just because you blame yourself, does not mean that they will.” Wyno is a bit blunt when she says this, but you know it’s all spoken with good intent. “You made a mistake, and it seems as if this was the final piece which shattered the glass you had been looking through to keep yourself sane.”

“My Child, you are trying so hard to be brave, and strong when you haven’t allowed yourself proper time to grieve who you once were. Whether any of you wish to acknowledge it or not, that woman did kill a part of you that day. You may not have ceased to breathe, but she certainly destroyed a portion of who you once were. A portion you may never get to reclaim, nor should you want to.”

Wyno takes a moment to pause, inhaling deeply before she continues.

“I did not lie when I said that you have become stronger because of what has happened. Everything in your life leading up to this moment in time has made you who you are. As much as you wish to believe that you are passed this trauma, it will live with you every day until this whole rebellion is complete.” She states. “Whether it will end in victory or death, that has still yet to be determined. Do not create more issues where none lay.”

Your hands begin to shake, the numbness that had been felt throughout your entire body receding.

“But this is an issue, Wyno!” You practically spring to your feet, barely registering the huff of surprise Yerra lets out as she just catches her head from hitting the floor. “I indirectly hurt their brother. I nearly caused the death of a man I love because I let fear control me. How could they even bear to look at me now after what I’ve done? This incident has only just solidified that I’m barely holding myself together. I can put up a brave front, and act like I’m fine, but I’m not! I’m no Queen, and I need to stop pretending to be one.”

Wyno takes a moment to observe you carefully, golden eyes trailing over your figure as she watches you tremble in your spot. Your admission seems to have surprised even you, your eyes wide as your chest heaves.

“What is it you are truly afraid of, My Child?” She stands to her own two feet slowly.

At the way you remain silent, she’s quick to continue.

“Do you truly believe that they could hate you for this? For anything, for that matter?” She takes a step closer, staring you down all the while. “Do you believe they would turn on you for worrying about your family in the same ways that they worry about you? You have already confided in me that they've told you that they do not blame you for this. Is it not within yourself to believe them? Have they ever lied to you, least of all when your own feelings are concerned?”

Your hands cling desperately to the edges of your jacket, tears beginning to stream down your face as you watch her approach. Faintly, you register Mon brushing up against you back and holding you steady.

“Even now, I would bet all of the jewels in all of the realms that they are continuing to reach out to you in that mind of yours to know that you’re safe.” She says. “To know that you are still alive and breathing.”

Sure enough, you feel the faint brushes of assurance from all seven of them as soon as she says this. All several of their strings continue to hum in worry.

“Do you know how difficult it is to convince that Captain of theirs to change his mind when he sets his own course of action?” Wyno comes to stand before you now, placing her hands onto your arms reassuringly. “None of them have the ability to be patient when your safety is at risk, let alone your own personal wellbeing. I would bet anything that they wanted to appear here instantly after pulling the information out of Stella using any means necessary. However, they held off. For you, because that is what you asked of them.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat.

“Your Eight Kings do not particularly enjoy taking orders, or listening to others who attempt to command or control them.” Her tone is firm as you meet her gaze. “However, they will always listen to you.”

A blink, and you’re swallow thickly.

“No, My Child. There is no need for you to pretend to be their Queen,” she wipes your tears away so gently as she cradles your face in her hands. “You already are.”

You lower lip wobbles and she pulls you back into her embrace. One of her hands supports the back of your head while the other strokes comfortingly over your spine. Again, you bury your face into the side of her neck.

“Whether you know it or not, whether you acknowledge it or not, they have always viewed you as their Queen.” She whispers lowly into your ear.

A shudder wracks your chest as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Let me ask you this, My Child,” she tilts her head so that it rests against your own. “If the roles had been reversed, would you not have done the same? Would you not have given anything to protect him in the moment, if you had been able to?”

“Without question.” You breathe, tightening your hold subconsciously around Wyno’s back.

“This is not the first time you have experienced each other being injured in front of your very eyes.” Wyno says, and your mind flashes to the very first time you had ever met the dragons. “I’m sure it will not be the last.”

You let out a shaky chuckle. “No, I’m sure it won’t.”

“Then, cease this pointless self-blame you seem to be so adamant to condemn upon yourself.” She pulls away to stare deeply into your eyes. “Acknowledge your emotions and allow your mind to rest. It does no good to dwell on the things we cannot change. I’m sure those Kings of yours would tell you the exact same.”

The corner of your lips quirks slightly. “I tell them that all the time.”

Wyno shoots you a playfully incredulous look. “Well, there you go, My Child. Afford yourself the same leniency.”

Darting your gaze to the floor, you let out a small sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Suppose?” Wyno chuckles. “My Child, I am always right.”

A playful wink is sent your way, and you cannot help the soft puff of laughter that escapes you.

“Now, go get some rest.” She motions for you to follow Mon who brushes his head against your back again in comfort. “You must be exhausted.”

A nod is all that you can muster in response as you allow yourself to finally relax. A wave of intense fatigue washes over you, body instantly slouching as you turn to face Mon. Slowly, you trudge after him down a side path leading deeper into the cave, eyes blinking tiredly as Wyno’s words echo through your mind.

She’s right. Your emotions were high, and you overreacted. You didn’t even give them a chance to calm you down before you unknowingly transported yourself away. Still, it doesn’t make what Jongho said in the moment hurt any less, even if that might not have been what he meant.

Perhaps this is exactly how Seonghwa felt all those months ago when he royally screwed up. He did look the most concerned out of all of them, a sad understanding on his features as you practically clawed at your own face in worry.

Speaking of, you’re pretty sure you’re body is still covered in blood despite Wyno cleaning your face. Only, you cannot find the energy to care right now. Not when Mon seems to lead you to the nesting area, nudging you towards what you assume is his own bed.

With the help of Mon, you’re laying down, allowing the wyrm to settle close to you for warmth as he wraps himself protectively around you. Softly, he coos to you, and without another word, you allow the gentle rumbling of his chest to lull you to sleep.

Meanwhile, Wyno heaves a tremendous sigh as she paces back and forth just inside of the cave’s mouth. Boris’ eyes track her every movement, his head resting on the ground as he looks up at her. Repeatedly, she taps her fingers over the skin of her crossed arms, golden gaze glinting in the dark semi-dark of the cave.

For twenty long minutes, Wyno allows you to rest with the babies in the nests’ deep chamber. Long enough to sort out her own thoughts before summoning those Kings of yours here.

Making her way outside of the cave with Boris in tow, Wyno looks out upon the cliff face. Briefly, her eyes dart over to the spot where Xiron had been pinned down by an arrow, your body hunched over him for protection.

She takes a deep breath.

The second Wyno clicks her teeth to alert Stella of her request, they all appear before her. Frantic looks of concern are clear on Wooyoung’s, San’s, and Mingi’s faces, and even Yeosang is having a difficult time maintaining his composure. Seonghwa’s hands twitch, while Yunho’s gaze darts every which way in search of you.

The longer all of them go without seeing you only increases their worry tenfold. Of course, it doesn’t help that they felt a shift in your internal workings of your mind just over twenty minutes ago.

“Where is she?” Hongjoong steps forward, a wild look of desperation on his features.

“Calm yourself.” Wyno commands, raising a hand to halt him in his tracks.

Hongjoong’s eyes flash, his nostrils flaring.

“You dare tell me to ‘calm myself’ when Our Queen has been missing for hours?” His voice is low, ominous as a hint of a growl coats his words.

“She has not gone missing. She’s been here with me this whole time.” Wyno replies cooly. “I thought Stella informed you that she was safe.”

A caw is heard from the raven as she flies over to perch on Wyno’s shoulder.

“She did.” Yunho responds, somewhat bluntly. His one hand is closed into a fist, your necklace clutched tightly in his grip.

“Please, Wyno,” Yeosang begins. “We’ve been worried sick.”

“I am well aware of your urgency.” Wyno’s eyes flash, noticing how both San and Wooyoung begin to pace restlessly before her.

“Then, why won’t you let us see her?” Wooyoung snaps, clear irritation on his face as he chews on his bottom lip.

“We’ve been waiting this whole time for a summoning.” Seonghwa adds, nothing but urgency in his tone. “Please, don’t keep us from her any longer.”

“I called you here because it is easier for you to come to me, than for me to go to you.” Wyno begins, keeping her voice even and breathing steady as Boris shifts beside her.

“Are you saying that you’ll deny us entry after everything?” Hongjoong’s lips pull back in a snarl. “She is Our Queen, not yours. She does not belong to you.”

“Neither does she belong to you.” Wyno retorts, quite pointedly. Already, her patience is wearing thin.

Several low, threatening growls sound from across from her.

“We aren’t afraid to tear that whole nest apart to get her back, Wyno.” Yeosang states, tilting his head pointedly as he narrows his gaze at her. “Friend, or not.”

“Each threat you speak does not make me confident in allowing you access into my home to retrieve your beloved.” Wyno stands tall, shoulders squared as she looks across at all of them. “If you would stop to listen for five seconds, you would have already been led inside by now.”

Again, Seonghwa’s fingers twitch, but they all choose to remain quiet.

“Before I grant you access, I need to know that my own words which I have spoken in reassurance to her are true.” Wyno says, eyes narrowing pointedly. “As much as I do know you, you can all be quite unpredictable when it comes to her.”

Several low warning growls reach her ears once more.

“So, she told you what happened.” It’s not quite a question that escapes Mingi’s lips, but the hesitance comes through all the same.

“I know that because of what happened, her mind was in such a fragile state, she condemned herself to fall upon the earth freely.”

A collective stillness passes over all of them as both San and Yunho inhale sharply. Immediately, tears are springing to Wooyoung’s, Seonghwa’s, and Yeosang’s eyes. Mingi’s whole body begins trembling, chest heaving with every breath.

“No…” Hongjoong falls to his knees.

“We were lucky the bond alerted us to her distress, even unknowingly.” Wyno continues. “Even now she is still riddled with a tremendous amount of self-doubt and guilt. My words can only help her so much. She needs you.”

“Then, why are we still standing outside?” Wooyoung grits his teeth, tears cutting tracks down his cheeks as he steps towards Wyno.

A warning rumble escapes Boris’ chest, and Wooyoung scowls, freezing in place.

“Do you want to know what her biggest fear out of all of this was?” Golden eyes observe them carefully, watching every subtle twitch of their brows.

“Wyno-“

A sharp look from the dragon stops Mingi’s words right in their tracks.

“She was terrified of you.”

Their hearts drop, and each male stills in their spot. Not even their chests move as they forget how to breathe, more tears falling freely down each of their faces.

“She was terrified of what you might do to her in retribution for harming Jongho.” Wyno infers. “She believed, despite it all, that you would hate her. That you would despise her, and curse her very existence for what she’s done.”

This time, it’s Seonghwa who falls to his knees. His hands brace himself on the ground, sobs wracking his entire body as he attempts to catch his breath. All he can think of is how badly he’s failed you yet again.

Yunho places a hand onto Yeosang’s shoulder, noticing how the younger male has gone eerily quiet. Were it not for the fact that Yunho can still hear Yeosang’s heart thundering inside of the shorter male’s chest, he would have thought that the younger had died as soon as those words had left Wyno’s lips.

Immediately, San wraps Wooyoung in his embrace, letting the younger male sob violently into his neck. Both of them begin shaking uncontrollably, clinging to each other for dear life.

Behind him, Hongjoong can hear Mingi cursing. Knowing the younger male, he’s probably pacing and ripping at his hair as tears fall freely from his eyes. However, all Hongjoong can do at the moment is stare forward, nothing but the crushing weight of devastation suffocating his heart and flooding his entire being with a numbness unlike ever before.

“But she didn’t harm him.” San’s voice trembles, and he feels Wooyoung squeeze him tighter.

“It wasn’t her fault.” Yeosang states, voice sounding much calmer than he is right now.

“We would never-“ Seonghwa chokes on a sob, “could never blame her for this.”

“There is next to nothing in this world, or in all of the realms that could make us hate her.” Yunho keeps his words low, even. “Let alone blame her.”

A firm nod from Wyno is all they receive in response.

“How could she ever think we could hate her?” Wooyoung’s breath stutters with his wails, that complete feeling of devastation choking him out just as it does with the others.

“I do not think she had been thinking clearly, given the events that had occurred throughout the night.” Wyno says. “You seven should be all too familiar with what the weight of crushing guilt can do to your reason. All rational thought ceases to exist.”

A hushed understanding passes over all of them as they nod solemnly.

“Please, Wyno,” Hongjoong finally lifts his gaze. “Please, take us to her.”

Never before has Wyno seen the man before her look so utterly broken. Yet, she knows. She just knows that this is all just fallout from that reckless and selfish demon who has haunted you since the eight of them all fell in love with you. Since they chose you to be their Queen.

Softly, Wyno nods her head.

“I will take you to her.” She voices gently. “However,” they all tense, “you need to all realize why I had to go about it this way.”

“Do you truly believe that we are capable of ever hurting her?” Mingi’s crestfallen expression says it all.

“No.” Wyno shakes her head lightly. “I do not.”

“Then, why-“

San’s inquiry gets cut off by the eldest’s shaky voice.

“You did this for her.”

Wyno’s golden gaze flits between all several of the males now turned towards her. Her expression says it all.

“Come.” She turns, guiding Boris back into the cave with her. “She’s currently sleeping.”

The walk through the cave is silent, save for the few sniffles that Wyno can hear coming from some of the males behind her. Luckily, they seem to manage to compose themselves just as they reach the nesting area.

Frowns tug at their features as they don’t immediately see you.

“Where…?” Hongjoong’s brow furrows, knowing that he and his brothers can just make out the faintest hints of your scent mixed in with the rest.

“There.” Wyno motions off to the side with her head.

Shifting their gazes to where Wyno has guided them to, they see both Yerra and Xiron curled up with each other. A wing from each dragon is spread out between them, as if covering something hidden beneath.

Slowly, the two babies retract their wings as they get closer, and the sight that greets them would normally be adorable given any other circumstance.

There you rest, curled up with your arms around Mon as you sleep soundly. The babies surround you on either side, keeping you warm as your jacket seems to have fallen off of your shoulders. Mon is more than happy to be held in your arms, and he continues to let out gentle coos as you sleep, reassuring you that they’re all here to protect you.

Unfortunately, it seems as if the slight shifting around you has woken you up.

Groggily, you blink around at your surroundings, your head lifting as you attempt to gather your bearings for the moment. With the help of Mon, you manage to sit, rubbing at your eyes all the while as he slithers around your back. The albino wyrm curls around you protectively as you hear several sharp inhales come from in front of you.

You freeze, but what you fail to see is how all of them take a hesitant step towards you.

A soft call of your name has you slowly lowering your hands, somewhat cautiously. You blink to clear your vision, and the instant you see them all standing in front of you, tears spring to your eyes once more.

Nothing but concern is on each of their features as they look at you, their hearts squeezing painfully as they hear your own begin to thunder inside of your chest.

Carefully, San takes a step forward, his hand raising to reach out to you. “Baby-“

“I’m sorry.” Your lower lip trembles, the first of your tears spilling onto your cheeks. Your voice is raw, all of the events finally catching up to you as you attempt to clear your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut, whole body beginning to shake. “I’m sorry.”

Arms wrap around you instantly, and you jump as you feel yourself being pulled into someone’s chest. Unknowingly, your one hand fists his shirt for dear life.

“Shh, My Divine.” Seonghwa soothes you, rocking you gently in his embrace as his hand strokes over the back of your head. “It’s okay.”

You sob harder, more apologies falling from your lips.

“It’s not your fault, Dearest.” Yeosang keeps his voice low so as not to startle you.

“We’re not mad at you.” Mingi is the next to speak. “We could never be mad at you for this.”

“Please, My Love, do not think that we are.” Hongjoong kneels beside you, reaching out to tenderly caress your back.

“If anything, we thought we were going to lose you.” Yunho breathes, a hint of fear clinging to the edges of his words.

Wooyoung collapses in front of you, grasping your hands in his desperately. “Please don’t run from us like that again. We would never forgive ourselves if something happened to you.”

“We could never hate you, Starlight.” Mingi whispers, stepping in closer.

“Please don’t be afraid of us.” San pleads, swallowing somewhat thickly. “We could never, never hurt you, Baby.”

With each male that speaks, you manage to calm down more and more. Apologies no longer fall from your lips, and your breathing is starting to even out. It seems as if you’re able to finally begin thinking clearly with all of them surrounding you like this.

Softly, you begin to nod your head and a collective sigh of relief if heard from all of them.

Wooyoung squeezes your hands, smiling at you faintly. “Please, don’t scare us like that again.”

“We were in a frenzy trying to find you until Stella showed up.” Mingi admits, running his hand through his hair which stands on end in every direction.

“Let’s get you home, My Love.” Hongjoong stands, helping you to your feet along with Seonghwa.

A catch in your breath as you are swooped up into the eldest’s arms.

“You should get some rest, My Divine.” He pulls you tighter against his chest, holding onto you securely as if you might disappear again at a moment’s notice.

All you can offer them is a small nod in response before you’re all turning to face Wyno once more.

“Thank you for watching over her.” Yunho tilts his head in acknowledgement towards the alpha of the dragons, clutching your necklace a little firmer in his hand.

“Always.” Wyno hums, a small upturn to her lips as she watches you rest in Seonghwa’s arms. It looks as if you’ve finally calmed down, for your head leans against his shoulder, your breathing evening out steadily. “I am more than happy to provide for one of our own.”

Exhaustion tugs at the edges of your consciousness, but you force yourself to stay awake. Just enough so that you can turn your head towards Wyno.

Softly, you incline your head in her direction, blinking at her gently as you mouth your gratitude. She mirrors your movements, a tender smile pulling at her features in understanding.

“Go home, My Child,” her voice is low, nothing but a sweet caress to your ears. “Allow yourself to rest.”

A small nod is all she receives in response before the eight of you are disappearing from sight.

The front foyer is quick to greet you after that. It appears to have been cleaned, everything back in its regular place, and no Jongho in sight.

Seonghwa goes to take a step towards your room before your voice is halting him right in his tracks.

“Please,” the call is weak, but they all still manage to hear, “I need to see him."

An understanding passes over all of them, and immediately, Seonghwa is stepping towards the youngest’s room with the others surrounding you both. Hongjoong is quick to push open the door, guiding the way inside as you all follow behind. Once beside Jongho’s bed, Seonghwa softly sits you on top of the covers.

Swallowing thickly, you take in the sight of a still unconscious Jongho. He looks so peaceful, sleeping soundly beneath the comfort of his sheets. His chest rises and falls evenly, and he doesn’t appear to be in any pain, but you still cannot prevent the way your heart twists in guilt seeing him like this.

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking tenderly against his skin.

“He’ll be okay, Dearest.” Yeosang reassures you, moving to sit beside you on the bed.

“He just needs some rest,” Wooyoung affirms, a slight nod to his head.

“Just like you do, My Love.” Hongjoong places a comforting hand onto your shoulder.

“Are you injured?” Mingi finally voices his concerns, noting how all of his brothers turn to observe you carefully now.

You shake your head, voice rough as you speak, “Wyno healed me.”

“We’re sorry we couldn’t be the ones to take care of you this time.” Seonghwa averts his eyes in shame, and you notice how the others do as well.

Again, you shake your head. “That’s not on you. That’s on me.”

“Petal,” Yunho’s worried voice reaches your ears.

“It seems all we ever do is apologize to each other,” you say, somewhat lowly.

“It’s hard not to feel remorse when it concerns the one you love.” Hongjoong squeezes your shoulder gently, and you’re briefly reminded of that talk you had with him in the garden all those months ago. You place your hand atop his. “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You look up at him, protests forming on your lips.

“You’ve had a long night, Dearest.” Yeosang reasons, helping you back to your feet. “You need to rest.”

“Besides, he’ll probably be all better by the time you wake up.” San assures you, a light smile pulling at his features.

A small weight is felt settling onto the skin of your upper chest, and you turn your head to see Yunho securing your necklace behind you.

“Thought you might want this back.” His voice rumbles out lowly, a faint upturn of his lips as he sees your fingers brush over the jewel hanging over your skin once more.

“Come on, Angel.” Wooyoung begins to lead you out of the room with Seonghwa. “We can talk about everything later. For now, let your mind rest. We promise we’ll take good care of you.”

You nod, allowing the comfort of Your Kings to surround you once more as you fully embrace the light of the morning sun shining through the windows. The night might have been dark, but you know. You just know that everything will be alright with them by your side.

Jongho will be fine.

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moments-on-film · 7 months

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Moments on Film: Carmy and Inappropriate Affect

Among Carmen’s many physical and psychological issues due to his undiagnosed PTSD from various sources and depression, he also displays inappropriate affect, a psychological term which I will describe below. Carmy has exhibited behavior that suggests inappropriate affect from the first episode in season 1, to the last episode in season 2.

The first time I noticed this, it was in the scene where Richie comes to Carmy’s aid in 1x1. Richie comes outside and essentially rescues Carmy from being beaten up by the Ballbreaker players waiting to come inside for the tournament. Richie is funny in the scene—to us as audience members—but it’s not intentional and Richie is actually very serious and pissed, exhibited by the fact that he lays into Carmy in the next scene. Yet in the scene outside, Carmy smiles and is about to laugh. Why? Perhaps he finds Richie funny, or the situation ridiculous, but from what we have seen of his personality profile so far, Carmy is a very serious person so this behavior feels very sudden and odd. Richie literally just shot off a gun. It is not an appropriate response to the situation.

According to Better Health, inappropriate affect is defined as:

“a condition where one's emotional actions or displays do not logically relate to a situation or stimuli. Common examples of inappropriate affect include smiling at the news of a tragedy or remaining unemotional during a very emotional situation.

When mental health professionals are looking for insight into what may be causing one to manifest inappropriate affect, they’ll often look for past trauma or other psychological concerns. Inappropriate affect is usually a sign of a deeper psychological or physical health concerns such as PTSD, depression, or some form of brain damage.

The following are some major signs of inappropriate affect: expressing emotions that do not fit reality; abnormal emotional responses; depression, irritability, or outbursts of anger without an obvious cause; manic episodes.”

In this post, I’m not going to get into Carmy’s other signs of inappropriate affect, such as depression, irritability, outbursts of anger without an obvious cause or manic episodes, which he certainly suffers from, perhaps I will in a different post. Here, I’m going to focus on several examples of Carmy’s abnormal emotional responses.

Above is another example of Carmy laughing in a serious situation. The delivery guy comes to deliver a 200 pound order in 1x8 and Carmy discovers that it’s pork and not beef. Pork is useless to Carmy. The name of his restaurant is literally “The Beef” and he needs it to survive. The stakes are very high for Carmy to have a successful, profitable run of service every time he opens the doors. He’s trying to save the one thing his brother left him, he owes his Uncle Jimmy $300,000 and promised he’d pay him back, his sister Natalie could lose her house if the restaurant fails, Sydney’s well being really matters to Carmy and she’s now under his protection and care as her boss, and the entire staff at The Beef relies on their jobs to live and pay their bills.

I don’t think Carmy takes any of this lightly. He understands the stakes. As he told Sydney in 1x5, “we lose one service it could kill us.” Granted, the delivery guy (shoutout to the actor portraying the delivery guy) is so deadpan in his “delivery”, that it almost is funny, but given the high stakes, Carmy’s reaction is abnormal here and will continue to be abnormal in the following scene in the walk-in when he realizes how behind he is on prep and that the restaurant is not prepared to open. This sets off a chain of disturbing dissociative behavior that almost results in him burning himself up, and the restaurant down.

Gif credit: The very kind @tvfantic87

Another example of possible inappropriate affect is in the moment when Carmy is reading Michael’s final words to him in the season 1 finale. There was so much buildup to this moment and so much emotion tied to the fact that we learn that Michael told Carmy that he loves him, and uses the words that Carmy has been playing in his head to comfort himself all season, “let it rip.” In this moment I was truly waiting for Carmy to break down and cry, to have the desperately needed release of a catharsis, but he never does. He gets emotional for a brief moment and then, as if on a dime, his face twists into a grimace and he laughs. I attribute his laugh and “what?!” to Carmy reading the part of the recipe “the smaller cans taste better”, in reference to the small cans of tomatoes, which has puzzled Carmy all season, and also the fact that he’s so happy and relieved that his brother didn’t forget about him. His reaction could also be an inappropriate response to the situation due to his inability to process his feelings because of his suppressed emotions and trauma about his brother’s death.

To me, the most glaring display of inappropriate affect comes in 2x10. Carmy is trapped in the walk-in during the opening night of his restaurant. He has no idea how the night has gone. For all he knows, his beloved Sydney and Richie are at each other’s throats, his mom is terrorising his pregnant sister, his evil former boss from New York has sent food back to Sydney and could be verbally abusing her, he’s not there to protect her, the restaurant is tanking and all hope is lost. Carmy sits down and looks up. He sees the messily ripped tape, radicchio is spelled wrong, and all at once it becomes clear to him that he has let everyone down by not being there to help his staff and lead his team. This scene is what is called a “private moment” in acting. He’s supposed to be alone, no one is around. It’s extremely private. No one can get in and he can’t get out. You would think he would use this moment of solitude to break down and cry, but again, he never does, and I found it very odd. Instead, he smiles and almost bursts into laughter. Why does he do this? I believe seeing the tape being messy and ripped, and not neatly cut with scissors like he has tried to train staff to do, is why. We know this is his pet peeve. It’s almost like it’s so awful all he can do is laugh, but in this moment it feels very, very off—because it is. It’s another example of his manifestation of not having the right affect. Even listening to Claire’s voicemail, on top of having that viscious fight with Richie should have broken him down, but it didn’t. He put his head in his hands. He still has not cried. This is particularly odd because in 1x2, Carmy tells his sister “I-I know tons of people that cry out of nowhere”, but we never see him have this response, ever. Honestly, the first time I saw the scene below, during the slow push in on his face I thought, he’s about to break character. That’s honestly what it looks like to me—a bad take that should have been reshot because the actor was not in the moment. And yet—-Jeremy Allen White is an incredibly skilled and focused actor, (as I wrote about HERE), which leads me to believe this choice must have been intentional to convey inappropriate affect caused by trauma.

Carmy needs professional help and therapy and he needs it badly. He has got to do something to help himself have a desperately needed breakthrough and come to terms with his past trauma and demons for the sake of his mental health. Al-Anon is a good step but it’s not enough. It’s a monologue, he needs one on one help and a dialogue. In Al-Anon, he only speaks to what he wants to share. In therapy, he would be asked questions and given exercises that would help him unravel his tangled mind. His panic attacks, nightmares and outbursts are a threat to his health. He must change his environment and get help. No one else can do it for him, and just like many of his inappropriate affect reactions to some of his more desperate moments, it truly is no laughing matter.

©️moments-on-film 2023

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #the bear season 1 #the bear season 2 #mental health #my thoughts

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mysticfoxdesigns · 2 months

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What are your headcanons for your holoforms of the Rescue Bots?

I have a few different headcanons for my holoforms! Just remember these are my own personal opinions, you don't have to agree 100% with them

I am going to be more specifically talking about my Cyberaligned lore, but these can also translate to general headcanons

The Holoform Headcanons

Age

So I have talked about my headcanons for their Cybertronians ages before, but these are what those ages translate to in human terms the holoforms more often then not will resemble their respective ages

Heatwave: 25

Chase: 24

Blades: 35

Boulder: 23-24

Side characters

Quickshadow: 25

Blurr: 19

Salvage: 20

Hightide: 55

Holoform Races

These are the races and ethnicities that holoforms appear as.

Heatwave: Yaqui mixed

Chase: Japanese

Blades: Indian and Black

Boulder: Samoan and Black

Side characters

Quickshadow: British and Korean

Blurr: White

Salvage: Black

Hightide: Scottish

Pronouns

What human pronouns the bots have chosen to use.

Heatwave: He/Him but doesn't care too much

Chase: He/They

Blades: They/She/He depends on mood

Boulder: He/Him

Side characters

Quickshadow: She/Her

Blurr: He/Him

Salvage: They/He

Hightide: Uses anything, does not give a fuck

Heights

The heights the holoforms generally appear at. They have control over the height of their holoforms as well as other physical features.

Heatwave: 6'2

Chase: 5'8

Blades: 6'4

Boulder: 5'4

Side characters

Quickshadow: 5'4

Blurr: 5'5

Salvage: 6'6

Hightide: 6'8

Scars

The damages they received in bot forms will appear on their holoforms.

Heatwave: Fire burn scar from training covering his back.

Chase: Minor scars from rescues. Lichtenberg scars equivalent, caused by both his outlier ability (electricity) and being STUCK BY LIGHTNING

Blades: Rescue related scars. And specifically to Cyberaligned, their shadow play scars are the most prominent scars, but they have several more from their time in the war.

Boulder: Minor rescue related scars

Side characters

Quickshadow: Many scars from the war. Has a large one crossing over her forehead and temple area.

Blurr: Some scars from rescue missions. In Cyberaligned has a prosthetic left arm from his time with M.E.C.H., as well as scars revealing the dissection he went through

Salvage: Has scars from their encounter with M.E.C.H. in Cyberaligned, however was saved early on and did not suffer much.

Hightide: Many scars from the war. Most prominent is the one over his face and chest.

Queer Orientations

TBH, Cybertronians are genetically asexual and do not have genders. But this is just fun stuff I like to think of for if they were actually humans

Heatwave: Biromantic (fem preferred)

Chase: PanAegoromantic or Cupioromantic for RB, but for Cyberaligned it is hard to categorize him within the Aro identity due to lore.

Blades: Homoromantic (aka GAY AS FUC-)

Boulder: Demi-romantic Gay

Side characters

Quickshadow: Biromantic (equal preference for fem and masc)

Blurr: Biromantic (no real preference for a certain gender)

Salvage: Homoromantic

Hightide: Apothiromantic (though does not have a strong repulsive urge)

Disabilities

Both mental and physical disabilities are included here. I did as much research as possible and only used disabilities I am knowledgeable in for this.

Heatwave: Generalized anxiety. Some back problems in Cyberaligned as he used to work in the mines

Chase: Autism

Blades: PTSD, Autism, ADHD, generalized anxiety, depression

Boulder: While he doesn't have anything right now, if he were to remain within his caste he would have self image issues similar to Bulkhead as well as muscle issues as I have him in the construction caste

Side characters

Quickshadow: PTSD, bipolar depression

Blurr: ADHD. In Cyberaligned has a prosthetic/replacement left arm and PTSD

Salvage: Generalized anxiety and PTSD symptoms after M.E.C.H. encounter

Hightide: PTSD, depression, generalized anxiety

I do have some updated art of their holoforms coming out at some point, I have been busy with zines though so I have not been able to work on it. But soon y'all will see their updated looks!

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feelslikeacruelsummer · 11 months

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marvel headcanons

weirdly specific headcanons for my favorite characters,

some traits may not align with canon or popular fan opinions. these are just my opinions, to each their own !!

!! TW: s/h , ptsd , disability , neurodivergence , anxiety , depression , alcohol

Gwen Stacy :

lesbian + non-binary

she/they

has a secret spider-girlfriend

obsessed with pop-tarts and tries them in every universe

spends her free time at the animal shelter petting dogs, the workers from many universes know her since they come by so often, and they always welcome her.

won’t admit it but secretly wants to be an english teacher when she grows up

Peter Parker :

trans ftm + bisexual

he/him

his parents are rich lawyers who travel a lot, so he’s always lived with his Aunt, May. doesn’t have contact with his birth parents

has social anxiety and a severe anxiety disorder

has a soft spot for dalmations

in the process of filing for a psychiatric service dog for his panic attacks

has adhd

Wanda Maximoff :

bisexual with a female preference

has a wife !!!

massive swiftie

has two twins and an adopted daughter

disability mom, billy has angelman syndrome and tommy has autism and epilepsy

in therapy to work on her trauma trigger responses ie. controllingness

has suffered with severe depression

loves loves loves dogs (has two goldendoodles, snowflake and rocky)

Yelena Belova :

queer woman

convert jew, found herself in the religion and found a community through a support group for, and run by, woman in her synagogue.

absolutely in love with Kate Bishop

very protective over kate and shows her off to everyone

has a ptsd service dog named sasha, who helps with her flashbacks

has struggled with s/h, but is in therapy and getting better

has a very sexual relationship with kate and everyone in the compound steers clear of the hallway where kate and yelena’s rooms are

Kate Bishop :

pansexual + demigirl

madly in love with Yelena Belova

super innocent but would do unholy things for her girlfriend

hates all dogs. except her dog, pizza-dog-lucky. lucky is different.

slight mommy issues

bottom asf , and a massive brat

super snarky but easily gets her feelings hurt

was homeschooled her whole life, and she never lost that childish energy

thinks her girlfriend’s protectiveness is cute, but loves to push against it to see yelena get all hot and bothered

always spends the holiday season with clint’s family (partially bec she loves them and partially to save on heating bills in the colder months)

spam posts every detail of her life on insta stories + makes mini-vlog reels 24/7

Natasha Romanoff :

demiromantic + unlabeled

hates labels, she likes who she likes end of story.

has a massive soft spot for cats, and has 3 of her own, Tumeric, Spots, and Dart.

has a massive unrequited crush on wanda

she’s labeled as the “bed-hopper” by her friends for her string of serial hookups after she left the redroom, but she wants nothing more than to settle down with a wife and even more cats.

top

big mommy issues and that usually comes across in her relationships, as she seeks out (sometimes older) people with nurturing qualities.

battled alcoholism during the dark days in the blip from losing her sister, but she has an amazing therapist and is now sober

Kamala Khan :

bisexual

she/they

really into tarot

best friends with America Chaves and has a small gay crush on her

constantly gets in trouble with teachers for being too loud and talking in class

has inattentive adhd and always forgets to take her meds

has a very popular carol danvers x fem reader fanfic on A03 that she hides from her parents but she always neglects her homework to make sure she updates regularly for her readers

loves tacos

has sensory issues and gets sensory overload breakdowns due to sound and this can trigger her powers to go haywire while she’s overstimulated

her family puts a lot of pressure on marriage but she just wants to live in a house with america and spend the rest of their lives together reading fanfic and rewatching avengers movies

she kissed america once and they never talked about it again, though they both have hinted at wanting to do it again.

#kamala khan #gwen stacy #marvel headcanons #spider gwen #ms marvel #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #peter parker #spiderman #trans spiderman #natasha romanoff #black widow #yelena belova #hawkeye #kate bishop #i actually made this wtf #part two will happen eventually

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actuallyevilgay · 4 months

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The Apathy (Part 4)

Astarion x Male Reader/Tav

DNI if you are a minor. Dead dove don’t eat. Please read my about before replying. Content: Astarion x Male tav, this is post epilogue.

Summary: Astarion learns the details about Tav's encounter with the guards. Tav continues to work at Jilvy's tavern, trying really hard. Reminders: Astarion is the vampire ascendant, Tav is not a heroic figure. Contains headcanons for several characters, contains headcanons for illithid brain alteration but not evolving. Tav uses daggers and magic. Astarion is an Arcane Trickster Rogue. I created several npcs. Some Neverwinter lore is mentioned but might not be lore friendly. Content Warnings: Tav suffering from depression / ptsd, self-neglect. A/N: Read part 3 here. Current Part may be a bit shorter? Idk, been busy. If this updates slow, blame the holidays. If it updates often, it's because I have nothing else to do haha.

.......

‘’Three warm drinks, for our guests.’’ The watchshield guardswoman who previously announced a crime in the city square was now leading Astarion and his Bodyguards through a very prestigious looking building.

‘’He is on bedrest currently, unfortunately you’ll have to wait until he wakes.’’ She bowed her head to the disguised vampires, trusting that they were a band of adventurers eager to put their feet in the criminal case.

Astarion looked to Vand and Ty, who stood their ground for a moment as he sat down on a couch. Vand, who was the quiet one.. Remaining put. He stretched his legs and cracked his shoulders before resting his hands on his hips. Ty on the other hand was eager to keep up his excited Adventurer persona, plopping down on the couch next to Astarion Childishly.

‘’A warm drink sounds great, don’t you think so, boss?’’ He turned to Astarion who grinned. ‘’I Can’t wait, my body is aching for some precious warmth.’’ He wasn’t lying, he was speaking a simple truth. As their bodies did not produce warmth, the winter could be a little too distasteful for vampires, even the vampire ascendant himself.

There are several ways for vampires to gain some body warmth.. Linger around a heartfire, fight, travel around magma.. Friction through physical contact.. Or drinking blood from a living being. Whether it was thinking or unthinking. A warm beer or a hot drink could do the trick too, or sunlight immunity during the spring and summer.

‘’What’s a walking corpse to do in the winter?’’ Astarion jokes as they received their drinks. ‘’Dunno, freeze to death even more?’’ Ty joked back. There’s an awkward chuckle among the guards, even though they didn’t catch on that their guests were vampires. It was much more likely that it reminded them of the time neverwinter was partially overrun by undead. Something with a necromancer and curse.

The rivers around this place supposedly never froze, so long as the water was connected to the volcano in the distance. Natural hot springs existed nearby. Neverwinter did not mean neversnow necessarily. What’s a winter without snow if not a secondary fall?

Once the hot liquid got through his throat, Astarion cleared his breath when the guardswoman returned. ‘’He’s awake enough to answer your questions, though I doubt he’d say anything new.’’ The woman looked unsure, yet for the vampire lord nothing was certain. Any tidbit of clue towards Tav’s whereabouts was worth wringing out of these folks. To him, they were simply just walking vermin with heartbeats. He, a predator. And If the world feels threatened by your existence, who do you really trust? Certainly any adventurer eager to come through the door.. Or Blades for hire. What a simple world, ripe for the taking.

And as he had for quite a while now, through doors he walked with ease.

The guardsman didn’t seem as badly injured as the rest of the guards described him to be. Bandages covered the area of his stab wound, there were bruises… The most exceptional and noteworthy thing about his state was the bandage wrapped around his head. A concussion? Hmm. Hopefully this conversation would not be a headache.

Vand and Ty made their move to position themselves near the door of the infirmary room. Trying to seem less suspicious, Ty pretended to distract Vand with a blade trick.

‘’Don’t mind my friends, I’ve come here to ask about your attacker. There’s some things I need to know to track him down easier.’’ Astarion remained focussed.

The guardsman nodded. ‘’Forgive me, I may speak.. Slowly. He dropped a roof on my head.’’

‘’A roof you say?’’

‘’Yes, I was simply.. Renting a room. He broke in- and- …lunged at me with a hideous dagger!’’

‘’How did he drop a roof on you?’’

‘’How? I don’t.. Uh- There was a flash. Purple.. Pink? Light. Before I knew it he was gone as I was.. bleeding out under the rubble..’’

The guardsman proceeds to cough up some blood. ‘’Did a number on me.. Bastard.’’

The feeling this guard was giving him felt ominous, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep the friendly facade. ‘’Are you being fully honest with me?’’ Astarion’s disguised eyes looked at him with more intensity every second.

‘’Yes.’’

Astarion leaned forward, his voice became malicious. ‘’You don’t understand. You need to speak the truth. Tell me your real thoughts.’’ A charm spell flowed out through the spoken words, and before the guard could notice, it started taking effect.

‘’Some homeless trash.. Thought he looked like easy pickings- A monster. Blasted through the roof after- Ugh..’’

‘’After what?’’

‘’After I..’’ As the guard spoke in detail of what he attempted that night, Astarion’s cold blood boiled in fury. He was about to choke him.. Then- rationale calmed him down. He came here for information, so Killing had to wait. Just for a little bit.

‘’Describe him.’’

The guard’s description that followed was vague, it almost did not sound like Tav, until the following words fell from this pig’s lips. ‘’He looked dull, almost like a doll.’’ Once more the memory of Tav’s departure crawled back into Astarion’s head. He was about to crack. Oh no, no.. He was going to cave this pig’s skull in.

‘’Where did you store his weapon?’’

‘’It’s in the evidence collection chest, head guard’s quarters. Keeps discarded trinkets.. Like trophies.’’ With that answer given, Astarion gave a nod to his spawn. Ty immediately put on a joyful smirk, ‘’Enjoy your time, Master.’’ before going out the door and casting an invisibility spell on himself.

The charm spell put on the guard started to slowly wane, making the guard come to his senses. ‘’What the.. What are you- I did nothing wrong! What did you do to me?’’ Once more, he began throwing a coughing fit.

Astarion giggled, then chuckled, then laughed at the man. ‘’Oh, oh, oh. No.. No this won’t do.’’ His disguise self spell began to drop while he cracked his knuckles. He did some hand stretches to loosen up the building tension in his wrists.

‘’I’ve made a vow to punish every moron who dares to put their hands on the very few little things I genuinely care about.’’ A deep breath.. He put a foot on the bedrest.

‘’And,’’ With the click of his fingers, a knife of ice formed in his hand. ‘’I’ve not done anything to you yet.’’ He pointed it towards the man’s crotch.

The guard winced in response, realising what was about to happen to him. ‘’Hmm.. I can’t play with you here though.. Pity.’’ Astarion clicked his teeth, erasing the ice knife. ‘’What to do.. What to do..’’

A pause.

‘’How quickly do they bury their dead in neverwinter? You might make a fine freezing corpse..’’

……

Did you think that was a nice, cozy little niche tavern? Well. It did have a rush hour. Jilvy wasn’t joking around when she put out a sign bringing her book club back. It invited customers to buy and read a specific book from a store next door, discussing its chapters openly in the tavern.

Customers still had to pay for their drinks and snacks, but for book club days especially, the amount of snacks and drinks required would pile up.. Not just that- Book club days had special menu items that would only be brought out to customers visiting that day.

You were sure you’re sweaty, even if the heat was not unwelcome. Despite Jilvy’s best efforts, you were prone to getting cold easily. Bad circulation and neglect does that to a body.

‘’Tav, Tav-’’ Jilvy tried to get your attention as you were rushing to get through the dishes.

‘’Tav- Please take a break. Thank you, but you really should lie down.’’ Her concerned voice hovered over you, putting the rapid wiping of plates to a halt. She climbed onto the counter so she could touch your forehead and take your temperature.

‘’You really should lie down in your bed, dear.’’

‘’Are you sure..? It’s a busy night.. I can handle myself.’’ A partial lie. You could certainly continue on, but handling yourself like that was going to end with a fainting spell sooner or later. While you finally could eat the correct amount of food to sustain yourself, your body wasn’t used to it anymore, leaving you with limited energy and bad constitution.

In truth, you wanted to keep working to keep your mind off the visions. Sleeping was something you could not do peacefully, at all.

Every Time you went to bed, it was a risk. You’d rather hide under the covers than sleep under them.

‘’Yes! If you’re ill, that is not good for business.’’

‘’It’s just a cold.. Let me clean a few more plates at least.’’ Your response was met with Jilvy’s motherly glare. When she looked like this, all you could think of was ‘’No but’s, and that’s that.’’ Because she never actually said the words. You just knew what it meant.

In defeat, you put the sponge and towels down, hanging your head.

‘’It’s not going to make me feel better.’’ You mumbled, moving past her.

You could swear Jilvy’s eyes burned into your back, but not with anger, only heartfelt worry.

A part of you felt a loathing for it, being pitied? Or being cared for?

No.. It was more like guilt. The stares of the tavern clients were more exhausting than Jilvy’s mothering banter ever would be. Jilvy cared about you, she definitely did. The customers might view you differently. You were just a face behind the counter, never striking conversations unless talked to. You were Jilvy’s little project to them. Something to whisper about.

When Gale, the wizard that came here a few days ago.. Started frequenting, you wondered why. He took a lot of time in preparing these insane presentations for the book club, making himself popular and driving more customers to return for the hours.

How long do Wizard holidays last? He certainly enjoyed his vacation. The troublesome encounter from his first arrival never made another appearance.

Gale never talked to you, he just glanced with a strange familiar expression whenever you handed him his drinks and snacks. There were times he wanted to try and make conversation, only to withhold whatever he was going to say to you.

Maybe he just thought you were attractive? Perhaps the friend he was trying to find liked book clubs, and staying here would have them wind up sooner or later.

As you head to the backroom and walk up the stairs towards the living area, you hear faint shuffling coming from a storage closet. A rat?

On tippy toes, you quietly walk over to open the closet. Nothing ordinary with it- yet a whisk of wind went past you, blurring your vision briefly.

‘’What the-’’ You could’ve sworn you heard footsteps just now.. No, it had to be the snow outside. The loud hail clattering against the window summoned all sorts of paranoia the night before. Like visions of blades clattering against each other, or a mere bristling of unsettling winds. A shiver ran down your spine as a result.

Your strength definitely did not last today either, Jilvy was right as she always was.. The faint feeling of an upcoming headache overtook you. The building around you trembled from a quake only you were experiencing.

Weakly, you manage to make it over to your bed, eyeing the wardrobe in front of it, which was half open.

Certainly you tidied it up earlier? The wind must’ve crept in through the walls somehow. You always close the doors behind you. You can’t stand it otherwise.

As sleep forces its way through your heavy body, another shiver runs down your spine.

If the paranoia from the visions you experienced hadn’t troubled you many nights before, you’d be sure someone was watching you right now.

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