#sometimes I write

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Beef

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Requested : "Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?" EDIT: I saw this same request being written by another writer and I want to say, don't send multiple writers the same exact request. I find this super disrespectful.

This one took some turns of its own while writing, I hope it's to your liking!!

When his group first came to the community you were excited. Finally you'd have a real huntsman around to share experiences with, you had missed it so bad.

Before the fall your family owned a shop, your father a butcher and your mother a taxidermist. You and your siblings learned every skill from hunting to skinning, prepping and using each part of the animal so none would go to waste. You hadn't hunted in so long, you weren't sure if you still could hunt succesfully. Even now you'd donate large, strong antlers and bones to the blacksmith in Hilltop to use in weaponmaking. You donated the furs you didn't fashion into items yourself to the seamstresses and prepped each type of meat for meals.

But somehow the new hunter didn't take the shared interests as something positive.

He brought you animals, yes. But never without throwing a judgy look around your workplace. Even when he came in with someone else who'd compliment your clean work he'd only scoff, dump his kills and head back out.

"Sheesh, what crawled up his ass?" The large moustached man laughed. You only shrugged as you lugged the deer behind your counter. "Hell if I know. Ain't digging it out tho. He seems to be doing okay with everyone except for me.." You returned the laugh while the man who's name slipped your mind helped you put the deer on your workbench, only to quickly drop the fake smile and leaning against your workbench.

You thanked him with a sigh and he gave you that look that told you to spill your thoughts.

"Fine. It sucks he's so weird. It'd be awesome to have a partner to do all of this with and to go hunt with." You busied yourself sharpening yuour knives, clearly still annoyed by the whole ordeal. "And..?" The long winded drawl made you roll your eyes at the man's persistance.

"And he's drop dead gorgeous, okay? There. I said it. I have a crush on the man. Happy no-- Ah fuck!" Your knife hit the floor with a clatter as you grabbed at your bleeding hand.

"Alright, up and out withya. To the doc we go." You were led to the infirmary and passed the source of your annoyance on the way.

Not that you were listening, but you still caught his voice in passing. "Damn folk 'ere don't know how ta do shit." You caught his glance in your direction and if you weren't busy keeping yourself from bleeding out you'd confront him.

It was a clear message that you weren't allowed to use the injured hand for your work and risk pulling the stitches, and honestly it just hurt too much to do anything with it. It sucked even more than having to leave your old home behind. There were people counting on your work so they'd have food.

It didn't stop you from going to work and doing as much as you could one-handed. You got there extra early to make up for the extra rime everything would take now, and by the time you'd normally open you found Deanna on your steps, greeting you with her usual smile. "I knew you'd be here stil working, but I brought someone to help until your hand is better. You shouldn't be overworking yourself."

As quick as she had entered she had left again as well, leaving you with your new work companion.

The hunter.

"Good morning." You gave him the kindest smile you could, but were only given a grunt in return as he tossed a bundle of tied up small game on your desk, rounded the corner and fished for a knife to start taking them apart.

Besides you explaining where to put all the different parts of the animal you two barely spoke, until the snap of bone pulled you away from your focused work of skinning yesterday's deer. "The hell?" You turned around to go see what he was up to.

"What are you breaking bones for?" His station was a mess, he pointed at the difficult point he was cuting along. "Easier ta reach without the bone in the way." Without even looking he continued. "Ya should know tha'. Damn city girl doin' mah work."

Again with his snarky comments. You shrugged it off and went back to your own station. Yiur bkood bloiled but you weren't gonna let him get to you, you had work to get done. "Try not to do that, we can still use the bones if you keep them whole."

You tried so hard to focus on your work, skinning the deer with only one functional hand was so difficult and even though you were having extremely conflicted feelings about it you still had to ask him for help.

"Can I borrow your hands for a minute? Can't do this on my own."

You held the large deer up and moved it as Daryl cut away the skin in the most choppy manner, creating a clear line where you stopped and he started. "Can you please work a bit mote delicate? That's gonna take me ages to clean up." You huffed from keeping the deer in place, but also annoyance. Why didn't he work like a hunter? He must know the code, right?

"Why're ya so on mah ass 'bout how I work? Gon' toss it out anyways. Just need the meat, tha's it." He got snappy at the end and you just stared at him, anger clear in your eyes. "Seriously?"

You let go of the deer and stepped away from the counter. "You're sent to MY shop. To help me because I happen to fuck up my hand for the first time ever since I got here years ago and all you can do is talk shit about me?" The knife that laid on the desk before now in your good hand and pointed at his chest. "God I can't believe I even fell for your hunting woodsman charms. You're just an asshole who doesn't give a shit about these animals or the hunter's code." With a clatter the knife hit the floor as you tossed it to the side with shaking hands.

"Get the fuck out of my shop and go find me someone who cares." With angry steps you turned around and headed out of the room, needing a break to gather yourself first if you wanted to get anything else done.

Now alone in the workstation, Daryl snatched up his catch from this morning and headed out.

~~

"You did what? Pookie you gotta listen to the girl." Carol sat down next to him and snatched the cigarette from his fingers. "You know you disrespected her life's work by now following her rules in her own shop, right?"

"I'on get why tha's even important anymore. We gotta eat, tha's all." Daryl's annoyed grumbles did nothing good it seemed as Carol continued to scold him like he was a child. "Did you for one second maybe think this work is all she has left to hold onto her old world self?"

"Cept this ain't the old world no more. She's waistin' time doin' all tha extra shit."

Carol was up and at the front door by now, putting out the cigarette in one of many ashtrays there. "Alright, up with you. You're apologizing with me right now."

The two took off to your shop but found no one there. Daryl's half finished rabbit still out in the open on the table while the deer was gone. "Ain't here. I'll head back tomorro--"

"No we're not. I know where she lives, come on." Carol practically pulled him along on the way to your place despite Daryl's protests.

You were working in your basement area when you heard a knock on the front door. "Come in!" Everyone who came to your place knew the door was unlocked and was free to come and find you, seeing you were either cooking, working on lounging when you kept the front door open.

"Hey, it's Carol! Heard about your hand, need some help around the house?" She needed an excuse to get an answer and find out where you were, so when you called back she knew to head downstairs.

Meanwhile Daryl just stared around to keep his mind busy. He found rabbit skins from prey he brought in wrapped around a pair of boots. He recognized the fur seeing it was a rare color. Further into your livingroom there was a deer pelt draped over the back of your couch. Also caught by him. The white spots over the back had one small flaw from where his bolt had struck right on a white dot. He remembered being proud of his aim for a minute that day.

"Daryl, come on." Carol's whisper-yell had him roll his eyes and as he passed your coatrack he noticed the hooks were all antler parts and the knives laying in the basket on the hallway table had bone handles.

So that's why you were so angry when he snapped the rabbit's leg and skinned the deer so carelessly. You did really use everything.

The two walked down the stairs to your workshop, Carol up front with Daryl following.

"Oh wow," Carol's exclaimation had you laugh. "Yeah, I get that a lot." You stood with your back turned, struggling to hang a piece of skin.

"Here, lemme help ya." Daryl's gruff voice was suddenly right behind you and you spooked, letting go of the pelt but Daryl caught it just in time, draping it over the wire. "Like tha?" His hands stayed up there and adjusted it to your liking, having stepped back to watch him and give Carol a questioning look. She just shrugged and gestured at the man who was again staring around the room. "What brings you here?"

Daryl looked at everything except you, he knew he'd lose all ability to speak if he did. Hell, he already had a difficulty getting his words out now seeing how wrong he was for not listening to you. "Came ta say sorry." He stared at the basket of furs labeled 'Donate'. "Shoulda known better than ta get angry. 'N I get why ya work thr way ya do now." Next to the basket sat a crate filled with thick, sturdy bones labeled 'blacksmith'.

You nodded and gave him an option. "Come back to the shop tomorrow. I'll have tou clean up that deer skin you almost ruined and you're following my teachings. I'll forgive you for wasting the rabbit."

Daryl chewed at his thumb, the other hand stuffed in his pocket and fidgeting with the fabric inside. "Yeah, alright." He nodded and looked over at Carol who had the brightest smile on her face. One that screamed victory.

"We'll get out of your hair, I'll bring by some lunch tomorrow at your shop." Carol waved on her way up, and just as Daryl was about to follow her you quickly spun around to grab something. "Oh, here." You held out a thin knife wrapped in leather, a small engraving of Hilltop's blacksmith on the handle. "I saw you took the rabbits, so if you haven't prepped them yet you can try this one. They're great for smaller animals."

He stumbled over his thanks as he accepted the knife and quickly headed out after Carol.

~~

You were back at work early the next morning, painkillers and a small breakfast in your system already and hoping to finish that damn deer. It still proved a challenge to get it from the cooler onto the workbench but you managed eventually, just before Daryl came in.

"Mornin'." Hid gruff voice sounded through the workplace as he rounded the corner and placed the knife from yesterday on the table. "Thanks fer lettin' me borrow it. Worked like a charm."

You picked up the knife and held it out to him again, only to recieve a questioning grunt in return. "It was a gift. To keep."

Daryl never got gifts. Everything he had was scavenged and well taken care of for longer use these days. It felt weird to keep it but he thanked you again and pocketed it.

Meanwhile you had grabbed the deer skin and laid it out where he'd be working. "Look here, I'll show you how to clean this up and you'll go fix the rest, okay? It'll take a while but it'll be worth it." Daryl stepped up to you and observed the way you took the knife to the uneven spots of skin and carefully smoothed it all out. The precision in your work was impressive to say the least. "How long've ya been doin' this?"

You dropped a cut off piece of meat into a plastic container and thought back to the old world. "I guess ever since my parents thought I was old enough to handle knives." You held the tool out to the hunter and watched him take it from you. "Your turn. I'll be hopefully finishing that deer so just ask whatever, whenever."

You were lucky a lot of the cutting could be done onehanded, and holding back pieces was okay enough to do with your wrist or hold something down with your elbow. But now that you had all the easy access meats off and seperated you ran into a problem.

"Fuck.." You needed help. The same kind of help that had you kick him out yesterday.

"Sup? Need hands?" He was at your side in a second, waiting for your instructions.

"I need to take off the ribs but I can't." You leaned aside to point around the carcass. "If you can press down here, and there." Daryl followed your instructions and put pressure on the spots you pointed out. "Then I can take this here apart." Your movements were followed and suddenly it was way too hot in your always cold workplace. Yesterday you'd be happy if he decided thr Kingdom was a better home for him but now that he apologized and proved to better himself after your misunderstanding you were back to being the lovesick puppy Abraham had made you out to be when he brought you home after the infirmary visit.

With how Daryl held the spot clear and open you had to get close to chop through the bone and separate it all in workable bits.

"Can I take one a'those later? Michonne asked ta cook fer her kids cuz she's out 'n Carol's off ta Kingdom--" "Throw the kids an old world barbeque! I'll come help. I'm sure you're skilled in roasting over an open fire with how much you traveled." The excitement was clear in your voice, and the sudden compliments and offers of gifts and assistance had him nervously fidgeting. But thinking about having a fun experience with the kids instead of just cooking and having dinner sounded way better than his original plan, so he agreed.

"Ya got supplies ta fix tha' in half a day?"

~~

The two of you cleaned up after finishing thr needed work and while you carried the prepped meats, Daryl had the bowl firepit on a kart together with the metal rack to hang over it. Yeah, he lived in a community now but he never guessed he'd be carrying around a whole barbeque setup like he was getting ready to throw a party in the old world. "Gotta drop by tha' house fer a sec, get Jude 'n RJ."

After he got the kids and you had everything set up Daryl got the fire started while you made a quick pantry run and dug through Daryl's kitchen for anything to add to the meals.

You brought whatever you found and set it on the side of the porch steps, keeping a path to the house cleared and sat yourself down in the front lawn as you watched uncle Daryl in action, letting the kids toss wood onto the fire and poke at it with a stick but making sure they kept their distance and wouldn't touch the hot metal.

It was heartwarming to see him laugh and have fun with them and watched him speak quetly to the kids with a finger pointed your way before the two came running towards you.

"Daryl says the fire's good for food! Can we put some on the thing?" Two pairs of big, begging eyes stared at you and saying no would be the worst so of course you allowed them, under surveillance and with an assisting hand. "Alright, pick something you wanna eat first and put it on a plate, Daryl will take it to the fire and I'l helf you put it on the rack, okay?"

A chime of "Okay!" baely left them before they were at the collection of prepared meats where you and Daryl joined them in picking.

While Daryl roasted the food over the fire you were tasked go keep the kids busy, but wirh hoe much they loved chatting about everything and anything it was an easy task.

The whole evening was fun and food and family and it reminded you of everything you missed in this new world.

Everything was good in this moment, especially when you heard a little exchange between uncle and niece.

"Uncle Daryl? Can we have more dinners with her? But also mom and aunt Carol next time." You watched Daryl look towards you for a moment before turning back to Judith. "'Course, she's teachin' me ta prepare food so we can do this with e'ryone if ya want. But!" He raised his hand and pointed at RJ, who came over to him too now. "Yer gonna be the ones askin' folk ta bring food too, so e'ryone has somethin' ta eat, 'kay?"

The two happily nodding kids proved that your time in the community just got a lot more fun.

Now, after the kids were long brought to bed you and Daryl stayed around the fire. Having taken the meat rack off and set asidr you were just relaxing and picking away at the leftovers.

"So," you started, watching the flames in front of you. "That community barbeque plan of yours, it sounded amazing especially how you brought it over to the kids. But, aren't you afraid it'll drain recources too quick?"

Daryl shrugged it off. "Maybe. But those kids'll make folks keep stuff aside fer it." The idea of those two running around the place collecting people brought a smile to his face. "'Sides, I ain't wastin' meat no more with yer lessons tha' I hope ya will keep givin' me."

Oh. He wanted to stay? At the shop? With you? You were pleasantly shocked with that news. "What? Ofcourse I'll teach you. But only of you promise to take me out hunting when my hand's okay again."

He let out a breathy laugh and nodded. "Yeah, I'd love ta have ya around."

You stretched and laid down in the grass, looking up at the night sky.

"S'gonna be fun."

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead #twd x reader #daryl x reader

[ruhlare]

#sometimes i write #e

[oldstateofmind]

nobody else can heal it (but you) [part l]

➜ pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader ➜ warnings: spoilers from ATSV, a bit of angst cause i’m human, violence, torture, hanahaki disease but make it nightmares instead. english is not my first language. ➜ words: 4.3k ➜ a/n:  I’ve watched this movie 3 times by now because I’m obsessed with Miguel. His character is so interesting and captivating, he’s so grumpy and sad and that just makes me wanna fix him. Ugh, I have a soft spot for anti-heroes. And being voiced by Oscar Isaac is the icing on the cake. This first part sets the tone because I just can’t jump straight to smut, but I promise I’ll compensate next chapter.

chapter l. bad disease

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Ao3

l.

It starts with a hiss; then a shadow moving in the corner of your vision.

In the dark, cold envelops your body; chilling to the bone. It’s awfully quiet besides the continuous dripping of water in the distance, the echoes of each drop remind you of a ticking clock; counting the time you’ve left – for what, however, you’re not really sure.

You rub your arms in an attempt to bring a bit of warmth back to your skin, and as always, it’s useless. It seems like a forever winter inside the place you’ve found yourself in for the past 2 weeks. 

What once started as a nightmare that made you wake up in the middle of the night, now plagues your mind every time you close your eyes. There’s no escape from it, no matter how hard you try. You’re more than tired, it’s exhausting not getting more than 3 hours of sleep when your job requires attention and disposition.

Even the pills Lyla gave you last time you were at the HQ didn’t work – actually, they made it even worse. Because then, your body was completely knocked out while your mind was terribly awake, reliving the scene over and over again. You threw them down the drain once you woke up. Never again.

And even though you already know what happens by now, it is still dreadful to wait for the nightmare to unfound. Your senses are hyper-aware of every single tiny sound, every movement in the dark. 

There’s something poetic in the way you can feel him move even with your eyes closed; the way you could recognize the pattern of his breathing in the distance even when fear creeps into your brain. Your spider-sense tingles as his heavy steps are headed toward you, it screams danger. Goosebumps break out across your body, sending a small, cold shiver through your spine. 

Red is the first thing you see. And also the last.

-

“...to Y/N.” Someone is calling you in the distance, but the hazy feeling of the nightmare still lingers within you. It’s hard to focus when your brain still hasn’t turned off properly for weeks, still trapped in whatever curse this is.

“Earth to Y/N, is anyone there?” There’s a snap in front of your eyes, and you suddenly flinch with the unexpected sound. The touch on your shoulder grounds you a bit.

You blink your eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to brush off the dreadful feeling still creeping into the back of your mind. As your eyes adjust to reality, Gwen’s face is filled with concern.

“I’m sorry, guys.” It’s the only thing you manage to say, how could you possibly begin to explain what’s been happening?

“You’ve lost your cue twice now, what’s happening with you today?” The girl presses, still holding onto your shoulder. And for that, you’re grateful. 

Not getting enough sleep has been causing you to lose grip on reality – and that scares you the most. Not being able to tell if the sounds are coming from your head or from somewhere else. Or worse, having to avoid him because it’s unbearable the feeling that eats you from the inside out; the sense of fight or flight kicking in every time you hear his voice. Not tolerating being in his company as shadows follow you around like a ghost, tormenting you into remembering.

And it’s just not fair. 

“Nothing!” You say, adjusting the bass strap on your shoulder. Hesitating on letting you go, Gwen squeezes your arm before retracting her hand. You try to smile, “I’m good. I…I’m good.”

The smile stretched for too long, awkwardly pulling your face into a grin rather than a genuine beam. The avoidance of looking at the member of the band doesn’t really back you up on your lies. You hear Hobie huff in annoyance, while Gwen’s piercing gaze still hasn’t left your face. You feel slightly guilty about keeping your nightmares a secret, but it’s not like they would understand, would they?

After all, Miguel O’Hara was a difficult subject for you to talk about.

“I know that look, I have seen it in the mirror quite a few times,” The girl admits. And you knew it was true.

When Gwen joined the Spider Society just a few months ago, the melancholy gloom that followed her was palpable. The teary eyes whenever someone asked about her life, the avoidance of returning to her world, always crashing at yours or Hobie’s. Her father was a tough subject on which she never really dwelled, too painful to remember.  

However, even if she could relate to the feeling of losing sleep over someone, she wouldn’t understand how it felt to be torn apart by your own brain, to have precious memories distorted in a sick and twisted nightmare that was a culmination of your worst fears. To know it was coming and having no power to stop it. And all the while having the face of the person you cared about the most in the world, in all universes.

No, no one could begin to understand. 

You bit your lips, signing in defeat, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“That’s rubbish. Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Hobie chimes in, crossing his arms over his chest. He raises his eyebrow, seeing through your facade without breaking a sweat.

“You’re not even glowing like you usually do!” Pavitr shouts from the audience, waving his hand toward you. Sometimes he would come by to watch the band practice, but today you had not even seen him coming, which was a terrible sign because Pavitr always made an entrance when he stopped by.

“I thought you would be grateful for that.” You scoff.

“Hey, you can’t blame me! My eyes are sensitive.”

The typical headache starts to pound in your head like a thousand bells ringing directly in your ear. It’s disorientating the way your senses feel out of place – like a fish out of the water. Not even having superpowers was helping you stay afloat. 

You took pride in being a Spider Woman, doing your job as best as you could so that at the end of the day, Miguel would see you. Your talent, your dedication. But lately, you feel yourself falling further down in his list. And it hurts.

“It’s just that–” You sigh, rubbing your eyes again, foolishly trying to make the pain go away. The ache in your head was bad, but the one in your heart could bring you to your knees. “I’m not getting much sleep these last few weeks.”

Gwen snaps her fingers excitedly, “You should try one of those pills they hand over at the–” 

“No!” You shout before you can stop yourself; memories flood your troubled mind. The blood, the screams. Talons ripping flesh, pain consuming your body and soul. But the worst of all; his words. Gwen stops in her tracks, caught off guard by your sudden outburst. The guilty eat you away. 

“I mean, I–I’ve tried it,” You whisper, the lump forming in your throat makes it hard to say a single word, “but they… didn’t work for me.” 

The trembling of your hands caught everyone’s attention. And It’s just too much.

“I’m sorry.” Whispering, you turn around to hide your face. You take the bass strap from your shoulder and place the instrument in its case. “Let’s just wrap this up, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“Oi, Y/N,” Hobie calls for you, but you’re already grabbing your coat and heading toward the door. “We are here to help you, it’s what a band is about, innit?” 

You look over your shoulder at them, heart aching at the thought of leaving them with no explanation – as a frightened animal, cornered with nowhere to run, all bite and no apologies.

“Right,” You agree but vanish in thin air seconds later.

ll.

Time becomes its own entity when you lose track of it. It’s another late hour, probably somewhere between 3 AM, and the coffee you got from your favorite spot in town is hot against your cold fingers. You dangle your feet at the edge of a building, admiring the view of a sleepy neighbor – no matter the time, New York is always full of light. 

It’s been a few days since you left the rehearsal in a hurry, the band has been trying to get in touch with you but you’ve been avoiding taking their calls and answering their texts – you’ve been avoiding a lot of things lately. 

Like swinging in the middle of the traffic, as an example. Something that came naturally, but now it has become too dangerous. The notion of space and distance have been lost days ago together with the full awareness of your surroundings. You’ve been trying to do your job, but it has become almost impossible to pay attention to your movements when the heaviness of your limbs begs for you to slow down.

There’s also Lyla, who you've lost count of how many times she chimed in while you were working, telling you about a meeting that you had missed out on. Not that it was totally required to be there, but if once you counted the days to be in the same room as Miguel, just so you could see him, now you avoided it like the plague. 

You haven’t heard from him ever since you disappeared – only stopping by the HQ when extremely necessary – so you might not be in that much trouble. However, it definitely did some heavy damage to your heart noticing how O’Hara didn’t really need or wanted to see you in the first place. Not even a call, not even a message.

And that was devastating. 

For too long, you've been yearning for Miguel; only to be trapped in an endless nightmare. While awake, you had to live with the fact that he was out of reach – tearing your soul apart. While sleeping, violence and death had his face – tearing your whole being apart. No matter when or where; you were maimed by the same man.

Blowing out your coffee, you sigh. The lack of sleep has been taking a toll on you. It started off as simply missing the timing from one building to another, and now you can feel the nasty bruise forming on the side of your hip. Actually, your body now looks like it has been painted black and blue with the number of bruises it’s collecting. 

And you still can’t find the answer, nor any clue on how to make them go away. It will kill you eventually, you’re sure of that. It was just a matter of time now. Maybe then you could finally rest.

The bitter taste of the coffee spreads in your tongue and you welcome the caffeine with open arms. You’ve been trying to stay awake for the most part of the day, only hitting the bed when you’re completely and absolutely worn out. It does give you a few more minutes, but as the sun comes down and another moon appears, you can feel yourself slipping away, getting fewer and fewer hours of sleep, and slowly descending to madness as the nightmares start to feel more vivid, clouding your judgment.

Maybe you should ask for help, after all. 

As a result of a very slow mind, it takes you more than it should to sense a new presence on the rooftop with you. Startled, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You quickly throw away the coffee, lamenting not being able to finish it. 

You pull your mask down; if it was another one of those villains of the week the guy was fucked because you had run out of patience. “Honestly, I’m in a really bad mood today,” You say to whoever is hiding in the shadows, your senses tingling as the figure slowly walks towards you, “No tricks, please. Let’s do this quickly.” 

The movement stops, and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Another guy who thinks that making a scary little entrance will impress you. You’re about to make a joke when the shadow speaks, making your heart stop for a second.

“Y/N.”

The cold creeps in underneath the flesh, freezing your blood and yourself in place. All the hair in your body stands up as your body tenses with trepidation and fear. There it was again, that voice that haunts you night and day. 

No, please. I’m awake, aren't I?”

It was hard to tell, as your surrounding started to blur; the sound of the street and surroundings go silent, as the only focus of your mind is the man in front of you and the way his eyes glow scarlet against the dark of the night. Your heart hammers your chest so furiously you’re afraid it might break free. 

“Y/N.” 

Miguel calls out for you again, his tone nothing more than a whisper. But you have seen this scene before; a hundred times you’ve heard those same words roll out of his tongue as if it disgusted him – as if you didn’t deserve to be mentioned it.

You flinch as he steps forward, memories of talons ripping your skin apart make you fight against the rising panic; the outcome of the nightmare is inevitable, you’ve tried to change it, but the aftermath was always the same; killed by the man you loved the most.

“Stay away from me,” You warned him. It was useless when fate seemed to have your lines already written, with no chance to change the full stop by a coma. “Please, stay away from me.”

Miguel stops, the glowing of his suit hurts your eyes. You can’t see his expression, there’s a dark shadow covering his face, but the red tint gives his demeanor a haunting feeling – another shiver runs down your spine. Your vision starts to blur; the fine line between reality and dreamland crashes together in your mind. Nothing feels real, the foggy state of mind wraps around you, gradually taking over your sanity.

So you flee. Or at least you try. 

Before you could jump from the building, Miguel’s strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you directly in his direction. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and quickly you are able to untangle yourself from his grip, kicking him in the process. 

“Y/N.” You know it’s his voice, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it. It’s disconnected from the man you’ve grown to love. Dread gnawed at your insides as the nightmare turns into another torture section. His mouth is moving but you can’t make up the words; every sound gets lost in the loud rush of blood in your ears.

Not that you need it, anyway. You’ve been living the same dialogue over and over again to know like the back of your hand.

“Don’t hurt me again,” You plea, raw panic in your voice. Your mind is erratic, coming up with ideas on how to escape, but your body doesn’t follow the same line of thinking, “Please, I’m so tired.”

But it’s all in vain; the man bolts in your direction like an animal ready to devour its prey. You find yourself half mad with terror – your throat tightens as anxiety eclipsed your thoughts. 

Before Miguel can get to you, you attack. 

It never works as the man is way above your abilities, but you try – anything to be freed from having another slow, painful death. Gathering the last of your strength, you shoot a web that miraculously lands on his foot and it sticks to the ground. Quickly, you jump from one wall to another, landing a kick on his chest. 

It doesn’t do anything more than startle the man, but it gives you enough time to soar across the night sky, landing on another rooftop. The glowing of your watch catches your attention. Usually, you don’t have it with you, nightmares don’t really give you the option to flee. 

But it seems this one does. 

“Y/N!” Miguel roars. In the slip second your eyes had darted toward the gadget, the man had torn apart the single web holding him in place. He huffs, shoulders hunched forward as tension grows between you both. 

Against your better judgment, you shot him a glance. And like magnets, his eyes find yours in mi the sea of lights that only New York could offer.

You press the bottom, eyes fixed on the man coming towards you like a bolt. His talons cut the air in front of your eyes – almost like a kiss – the petrifying realization makes you fall on your back towards the portal. 

Then everything turns black.

lll.

When you open your eyes again, you’re absolutely and awfully exhausted. The weight of your body holds you down against the cold floor, almost as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. You had lost ownership after not taking care of it. Your eyelids are heavy, and for a moment you consider just going back to sleep, finally giving in to the sweet taste of relief. 

But then, the warnings in the back of your mind start to go off, and you remember why you can’t. Grunting, you take off your mask and pick yourself up. There was no rest for you, not until you find out what the hell happened. And if it was all in your mind, of if Miguel was there. 

Because that definitely didn’t feel like a dream. The phantom feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist still lingered, and the intensity of his gaze still made you shrink. A chill runs down your spine in trepidation. If he was really there were the nightmares just a premonition of the future?

No. Miguel would never do that. 

Even though he didn’t… like you as you liked him, the man didn’t have a single motive to want you dead. Miguel was many things, but mostly he was righteous. Dedicated to his job in an unhealthy, and obsessive way? Yes. However, he still had kindness hidden underneath his scowl, and even though his heart was mostly painted black by the loss of his old life, it still beat for the new ones the Spider Society protected. Besides, he still had some humor in him; a completely dated and cringe type of humor, but there.

And every time it made an appearance, you would find it adorable. A tiny smile appears on your lips. How could you not treasure every moment with him when it was all so rare? 

“Y/N?” Someone calls for you in the distance. You are still picking yourself up from the floor, the sudden movement makes you dizzy, and nauseous. You’re pretty sure you hit your head. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” Margo comes into view, she quickly puts one of your arms around her neck and helps you get up. “You look terrible.”

“You should see the other guy,” You try joking around. And even though the blue avatar softly huffs, her expression of concern is serious. You must look worse than you thought. 

Margo helps you get into a chair, gently holding you until you’re comfortable in your seat. “I’m sorry for barging in, I honestly didn’t know where I was going.”

“Where you running from something?” She jokingly asks. She grabs a tablet, reads something on the screen, and goes back to work.

“Yeah,” You groan, running your hand through your hair, “You could say that.”

The room was as quiet as it always was, the only sound coming from the girl who was softly humming a song. Looking around, you notice there was no one around, only the machines as a company. You wondered if Margo ever feel lonely here; the place was big enough to fit a few dozen Spiders, however, it was always deserted. The truth was that no one actually liked to be around villains after they were captured, and sending them home was a dreadful job. Margo was definitely a viable asset to the team. 

You can feel your senses start to relax, the darkroom was a perfect invitation for a well-deserved rest. But with the sleepiness came the loss of concentration, and the last time you let your guard down, you fled from a very real Miguel. 

Small talk would be, then. “So… who’s next?”

Margo picks up her tablet, tapping a few things before showing you a picture. “She calls herself 'Torment'. But you’re probably familiar with her. After all, you and Hobie caught her a few weeks ago.”

Wait. A few weeks ago? That's exactly the time when the nightmares started to occur.

Suddenly, a flashback hits you like a bullet. A purple and blue cloud, the touch of a finger. The laugh.

“Margo, I need to talk to her,” You demand, getting up from your chair as if you had been electrified. The pieces fall into place and make a clear picture. How could you have let this fly over your head? Of course, the nightmares weren’t something normal! It had to be a product of something, or someone. 

“Y/N, I need to send her ho–”

“It’s urgent,” Holding the girl’s hand in yours, you squeeze them in a silent plea, “Please, Margo. Just give me 5 minutes.”

Margo presses her lips together; you must look desperate because she sighs, defeated. Then nods, “Make it quick.” 

“Thank you.” 

-

The Send Home Machine had come out of its cocoon, and now sat atop a circular base; waiting for the command to start the process of pulling the strings to weave the portal back home. You always thought the whole mechanism was a bit too much, but if it worked, then who were you to complain?

Margo brings Torment in, and she immediately recognizes you. 

“Oh, I knew I would see you again!” The woman’s face lights up like a Christmas tree – that couldn't be a good sign. She claps her hands, bouncing on her feet. “Looking for answers, darling?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear that spreads through your veins. It’s anger. “What did you do to me?”

The woman laughs, throwing her head back. You can clearly see she was having too much fun with you. “Now you’re interested in what I’ve to say? You didn’t seem that excited when I first came to you and your little friend.”

Your blood boils. If she wasn’t already locked up and ready to be sent home, you would definitely teach her a lesson or two. Your knuckles go white as the woman stares, the smile on her face is disturbing. How could she find pleasure in tormenting someone like that?

The sound of the engine turning startles you, Margo sends you an apologetic look as the machine descends from its place atop the base. You’re getting out of time.

“What do you want?” You shout, desperate. You can’t imagine going another week, another day haunted like this. “Tell me!”

Torment’s stare is piercing, a shadow crosses her face when the smile fades into a thin line. The silence was agonizing, and with each tread of the web, you felt your sanity slipping away. This was your last chance.

“I’m so fucking tired!” You cry out, hitting the glass so hard it almost cracks. “Do you know how it feels to not get a single hour of sleep because your nightmares are too fucking real? Do you have a single idea of how torturing it is to have him, of all people–” Margo was listening, but you didn’t care. You wanted answers and you would get them. “Why him?”

“Poor little thing. You haven’t figured it out yet?” she hums, furrowing her eyebrows. And you hate the look of pity she has on her face. It was her that did this in the first place! “That must be tough, to keep all of that to yourself.”

No one knew about your feelings for Miguel. Well, you had a slight hunch that maybe Peter B. Parker might have noticed it. But otherwise, you kept all to yourself. Treasuring little moments as precious jewelry.

He was your boss! And besides, he was still too caught up in his late family. He would never open his heart again after the tragedy bestowed upon him. You couldn't blame him; a man forever stuck in the past, reliving each moment when he was happy.

However, sometimes, you would catch him looking. Exchange glances in a crowded room; during meetings. You would spend time with him alone; in a comfortable silence hard to find, or in an easy-going atmosphere that left you smiling like an idiot. 

But that was what they were, fleeting moments. And even though sometimes you dreamed about a future where you could give him all the love he deserved, they were just that; silly dreams. There was no space for you in his life. You had accepted that long ago.

“You see, my abilities are a gift,” Torment simply says, still unphased at your suffering. “They search deep in your soul for what you seek the most. The nightmares are just an incentive to make you finally take the big step.”

“What?” A memory comes to the forefront of your mind; a finger touching your forehead, the slight shock that sent you back a few steps. Miguel’s face appears right after the electric feeling dissipates. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well,” There’s some sort of twisted kindness when her smile appears again, it irks you profoundly, “Take care, darling. You can thank me later.”

The machine finishes threading the web, encapsulating the woman inside a honey-colored web. The last thing you see is her waving at you before disappearing into nothing.

Outraged, you punch the glass again, and again. No, no, no. This can’t be happening! That woman must be lying, there’s no way the cure to this torment is–

“Calm down, Y/N!” Margo holds your wrist before you can land another hit. She’s saying something but you can’t hear it. Anxiety takes over your body as you crouch on the floor, hiding your face in your arms. 

You will have to tell Miguel. 

And that was worse than any other nightmare. 

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #across the spider verse spoilers #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #sometimes i write

[corpium]

*whispers* I'm finally doing it. I'm writing Harrymort.

Breath shaking and still disillusioned, Harry waits with his wand out, ready for an attack. To his right, bookshelves line the wall. To his left, a fireplace burns, faced by a pair of plush armchairs. Before him, Voldemort sits behind the desk backed by the bay windows. Harry wonders if they’re spelled to be shatterproof. Squints and sees a web of magic engrained into them.

“Come now, Harry,” Voldemort purrs, wand aimed lazily in Harry’s direction. “Let me see you. This room is much too small for hide-and-seek.”

He’s right, Harry realizes. Hiding now would only serve to irritate him. So Harry, back to the door, ends the charm. Voldemort watches hungrily as it ripples off him, red eyes taking in his gray forearm and the dried, bloody runes peeking out from under Harry’s torn robe sleeves. His gaze climbs upward to linger on Harry’s ragged, mottled throat, making Harry’s tender skin prickle with awareness. His carotid twinges painfully with his heartbeat.

“Come to kill me again, Harry?” Voldemort murmurs. Only after he says it do his inhuman eyes slide up to meet Harry’s.

“Would it stick this time?” Harry asks, equally quiet.

“No.” Voldemort narrows his eyes at him. “Shall I kill you instead?”

“Do you think it would work?” Harry asks. He knows, deep in his bones, in the connection that still pulses with the life of the yew tree, that it wouldn’t. Doesn’t want to think about what that means for his future. 

Voldemort’s eyes drop to his neck once again. “I suspect it would be a useless endeavor…. You are, it would seem, already dead.”

Satisfaction, fully his own this time, tugs at Harry’s lips. “Only a little,” he says.

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

OR: Harry is the Power He Knows Not, and Voldemort wants.

OR: It's been almost 9 years since I wrote that one steter fic and I am still enamored with the idea of hungry, magical trees and there's a FORBIDDEN FOREST RIGHT THERE HELLOOOO???

---

For once in my fanfiction "career" I'm actually writing the fic in its entirety before I post it. And look, it only took 35k for these two yahoos to have a conversation without attempting to murder each other! Amazing. I'm so proud.

#harrymort #my fic #i was going to stay completely silent about this fic till i finished but i am just so excited for it #hopefully am not jinxing myself #sometimes i write #by any means

[eddiemunsxns]

Steve needs to.

Steve needs to latch his mouth on Eddie’s throat after they’re done, not too firm or feather soft, teeth holding on as he exhales through his nose.

Steve needs to feel Eddie’s pulse shift from rabbit quick to syrupy slow while they lie there skin to skin.

Steve needs to use soothing nips to feel the blood dance against his spit soaked lips.

Steve needs to pull Eddie’s still slick hand to the back of his head, threading those talented fingers into Steve’s hair to fix him in place, holding on while he drums a mindless rhythm into his skull.

Steve needs to trace his tongue against the fiery vein underneath his lips until Eddie melts further into him.

Steve needs Eddie to do that thing where he murmurs out Steve’s name so husky and tender into his ruined hairline like a well known prayer.

Steve needs it so so much it sets his own blood ablaze.

Steve needs Eddie to understand why he needs it so bad.

Steve needs him to know before he opens his mouth to release Eddie’s strong, steady heartbeat with one last fragile press of his lips.

Steve needs it, all of it, to remind him of what he almost didn’t have.

What would have been lost forever, if he didn’t make it in time to save Eddie that day.

#sometimes I write #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #Steddie snippet #I have no idea what this actually is #I’m trying to get back into writing and this was a short little project #I have a lot of feelings ok? #steddie fanfic #if you can call it that #steddie blurb

[zyrafowe-sny]

Me, starting the slow process of posting my 20-ish Hades drabbles: well, technically, in two different ways these drabbles do involve major character (D)eath...

#sometimes I write #my wips #hades game #hades

[nothingunrealistic]

1, kleinsen

1. “I love you, please don’t go.”

“And as soon as the new car gets delivered, the minivan is mine for good.” Jared flops onto his back so that he’s lying across the entire foot of Evan’s bed, legs dangling over the side. “The Jaredmobile is gonna hit these streets harder than —”

“Are you really calling it that?” Evan has ridden in Jared’s mom’s minivan, soon to be Jared’s minivan, and it is mobile, but that’s kind of a low bar. It probably shouldn’t be hitting anything hard.

“Haven’t decided. But I know what bumper sticker is going on there first.” Jared sticks his phone in Evan’s face. “Check it.”

“‘Caution: This vehicle makes frequent stops at your mom’s house.’”

“It’s gonna be true. Especially at your mom’s house.”

“You mean my house?”

“Is your name on the property deed? I don’t think so.” Jared grimaces, wriggles around, and nearly whacks Evan in the face with his phone as he pulls out a mechanical pencil he was lying on. “And when, after I’ve spent another week chauffeuring your sorry ass around, she invites me to stay the night —”

“Mom works nights.”

“— is it gonna be you saying ‘please, I love you, please don’t go’ in the morning?” He rhythmically raps Evan’s knee with the pencil. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

“You’re gross. And that’s my pencil.”

“Finders keepers, bro.”

“Boys?” Mom knocks on the door and opens it half a second later; in that half second, Jared shoves himself upright and slaps the pencil into Evan’s hand, and something that sounds a lot like Jared’s phone hits the floor. “Everything okay? Is that project coming along?”

“Going great, Mrs. H.,” Jared says, over top of Evan’s “Fine, Mom.”

“Good. That’s good. Well, I’m heading out to work.” She already looks as frazzled as if she just came back from a shift. “There’s money on the table so you two can order dinner. I think Domino’s is doing their half off deal again, but make sure you check. Jared, will your mom be able to pick you up? I’ll be back too late to give you a ride home.” And suddenly Evan is terrified that Jared will say some stupid thing about Mom giving him a ride, and she’ll get mad and tell him to go home now, and Evan will have to finish this English project on his own, and he’ll probably get a terrible grade, and Jared will be mad at him even though it’ll be Jared’s fault in the first place, and —

“Won’t be a problem,” Jared says, perfectly polite.

“Great. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Evan, I love you.”

Mom walks back out, but she doesn’t shut the door, so Evan counts to five before he says, “Thank you for not saying anything weird.”

“To your mom? What, do you think I’m some kind of male chauvinist pig? Thanks for nothing, Billie Jean.”

“Is that what that song’s about?”

“What — no. Never mind.” Jared bends over and retrieves his phone from the floor. “I’m hungry. Let’s get some shitty half-price pizza. Which is a ridiculous deal, by the way.”

“I think it’s a March Madness thing.”

“In April?”

“Maybe it’s an extra-long deal.”

“Madness is right. How much money are we working with here?”

“Probably twenty dollars.” An engine starts outside; Evan shifts over on the bed to look out the window, watching to confirm that it’s Mom’s car, until it turns left and vanishes from sight. “But, uh, when the pizza gets here —”

“Yes, I’ll get the door so you don’t have to have a breakdown about it. Never fear.”

(angst/fluff prompt list)

#inbox #cockbiteproductions #dear evan hansen #jared kleinman #evan hansen #heidi hansen #kleinsen #sometimes i write #first time posting any new writing since august! what the last season of billions (and 7x03 in particular) does to a mf #also this ask is coming up on four years old lmao. i do not work quickly #brought to you by seeing a windshield sticker with that same text on my walk home from work one day

[beebopboom]

“Nothing Last Forever”

The irony is not lost to him of who he is saying this to

Staring into those eyes that have changed and yet they still hold the same heartbreak from all those years ago when they received the same news

The eyes that taught him that this was idiocy but inevitable

he’s never thought of himself a star before

The irony is not lost to him of where he is standing

Standing in a room full of the stories that were wrote down because people held the same fear

Stories that never would have been written without the knowledge Crowley gave them

is it really a surprise of why he loves them so much?

But those eyes have been covered and every story does have an ending

He has spent millennia’s watching as people have come and go. Collecting and reading their words that linger.

He knew them, the people behind the stories - perhaps was even their friend.

was he selfish to keep them around?

Even the ones that misspoke, the words that got lost in translation. All those imperfect ones were just as important to him - sometimes even funny to look back on.

He sees himself and Crowley in these stories sometimes. He sits there and reads, wishing them into every happy ending.

Until the book is put down, closed and the story comes to an end. Characters locked in a place of time, in their own world. Enjoying the time they had together now that they were left alone.

Is that not what they have been doing?

Sitting around and waiting till their book had been picked up and used again?

All those loose ends and uncertainty. Asking the question, “What happens now?”

Their book was only the first one, wasn’t it?

They had tried to prepare but Gabriel was not something they could have predicted. Their story once again taken out of their hands without them knowing as he walked down that street all those days ago. Had there ever really a choice? Their book was reopened and continued.

Sometimes he wonders if it was ever closed or if it had been laying wide open on the center table to be ogled at. Had they ever truly been left alone? Free?

Not all stories have a happy ending of that he is very aware. They hurt you and burn you while they burn themselves. Destroy themselves. Fire is fire no matter what form it takes.

Why then did that kiss burn so good?

He remembers the feeling when he learned that this place, his friends words, had been taken from him in a fire.

Probably because it’s similar to now, lost and hurt. Similar but easier to deal with - he had Crowley then.

They had won and he had lost everything but it was ok because he still had Crowley

and when the bookshop came back he made sure they wouldn’t take Crowley away from him again

The irony is not lost to him that he just did that himself

He knew that this wasn’t their ending, he wouldn’t let it be. He needed Crowley, wanted him by his side.

Crowley would always be there even if he wouldn’t follow. He knows that. He sees that. He loves him for it.

But he needed to do this. Whatever these “big plans” of Heaven were he couldn’t let them play out like they did last time. He couldn’t risk it no matter how much they are hurting right now. There was no guarantee they would get lucky again. 

There was no hiding within the words now, no cover of protection. Not when they have been read and repeated. Lingering in the back of their minds.

Nothing lasted forever, even stories, but god he prays that they do - that this wasn’t their last kiss

#sometimes I write #not often but it happens #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #good omens writing

[belphegor1982]

One of these days I'm going to take the "Percy (mistakenly) low-key always thinks he's the only adult in the room" trope to its logical (ish) conclusion and throw the guy a Liam's Quest-shaped curveball. Like, the younger they are the older (ie. teenager) they become and vice versa. Congrats, my guy, all your teammates are kids/teens, you officially are the only adult in the room - now what? You get insights about each other, that's what

...but maybe not at 1:25 AM. Bed's calling.

#critical role #vox machina #sometimes I write #tempted to write it for #the legend of vox machina #more than the stream canon #vex and vax just escaped from syngorn are half feral with mistrust and don't even have trinket yet #keyleth is an adorably awkward gangly teen dealing with her looming aramenté #grog is leaner and his voice is squeaky but still he's grog and will protect his little buddy at All Costs #pike a tiny black-haired force of chaos and kindness and will protect her new big brother at All Costs #(what else is new :D) #scanlan is even tinier than pike. also confused and polite and concerned that his mom will worry if he's gone too long #every day when they wake up they're a bit older and they wonder if they're dreaming their weird group #meanwhile percy hovers between Done™ curious and half out of his mind trying to find a solution to bring everyone back to their normal age #idk I hope I manage to do something with this at some point #vax'ildan #vex'ahlia #keyleth #grog strongjaw #pike trickfoot #percival de rolo #scanlan shorthalt

[writtenmemxries]

(I can't get no) satisfaction

rated t | 3.6k words

He glances briefly at the guy still asleep on the bed, flashbacks of his black complexion glistening with sweat and his full lips smiling blissfully. From where he's standing, he can barely see the tribal tattoo on his chest, but he remembers what the inked skin tasted like on his tongue. He shudders as images of different tattoos and olive skin fill his mind. He closes the door behind him and doesn't look back as he goes down the stairs as quickly as possible. (He doesn't tell anyone about it.) ——— Or, when Buck's dad passes away, he downloads Tinder as a coping mechanism. A story of grief, guilt and gentleness.

When his dad passes, he downloads Tinder. It’s more of a reflex than a conscious decision, due to a feeling he can’t shake off—the knowledge he should have done something, he should have done more. He’s a trained firefighter with a basis in first aid: he should have seen the signs. His parents visited no more than a week ago; they wanted to see their grandkid, obviously, not him specifically, although he did have lunch at Maddie’s on his day off to spend some time with them. Something about trying to make up for lost time, being the better man, something Eddie was trying to do with his parents, too.

He should have noticed something then: how his dad complained about his digestive system, how he kept rubbing at his chest, like he could feel something coming. Buck should have known.

At first, he was angry at his father: angry for not taking care of himself, for not taking care of him when he was a kid. Then, guilt started gnawing at him, never leaving him alone: on the job, at night, he could always feel that heavy weight on his chest, like a huge worm was eating his heart piece by piece.

He wanted to talk to Maddie about it; after all, she lost a parent, too. She’s lost a brother, she’s lost grandparents—she knows how it feels, the grief, the hopelessness. But he never did. He didn’t call Dr. Copeland, either; too much time had passed since their last session together and he didn’t want to feel like he failed her, too, like he failed all of the women in his life: his mother, for not being able to save Daniel; Maddie, for not protecting her from Doug. His ex-girlfriends, for never being enough, never enough, not even now, for the blood of his blood.

So, he downloads Tinder. He tries to be there for someone else, he needs to feel like he’s still good for something, anything, be it sex or small talk, showing off his charisma and broad shoulders— anything.

The profile he hasn’t opened in over six years is still up, untouched, with a dozen of unread notifications staring at him from the message section he doesn’t have the guts to click on.

He cringes as he reads his bio and looks at his old pics, nothing but cocky smirks and muscles on display. He updates his account then, thinking about that time years ago when he helped Bobby write something catchy and interesting on his dating profile; how Bobby didn’t even need it, because Athena was there all along, he just needed to widen his horizons, see the bigger picture, and all those cliché sayings people tell you to make you feel like there is still a chance for you out there.

The worm in his chest laughs at him, and it sounds a lot like loneliness and vulnerability, abandonment issues and defencelessness he can’t remember how to fight off.

He briefly wonders whether he should add a pic with Christopher, just so that people know he has a kid. The worm quiets at that, the ever-present loneliness subsiding at the thought of the family he chose. But then again, it’s not really his kid, is it? Besides, Eddie is dating. He has a girlfriend now, one he seems to truly like, and he looks carefree and happy, a sight to see that makes Buck’s chest swell with pride every time he sees his best friend’s rosy cheeks and fresh smile.

He doesn’t dwell on the underlying jealousy that beats against his ribcage like a ticking bomb.

(He hooks up with a stranger that same night.)

[continue on ao3]

#i swear it's not as silly as it looks i actually poured my heart out into this one #there are some of my fears and feelings in it so. give it a chance if you want? #buddie #buddie fanfic #911 abc #sometimes I write #evan buckley #eddie diaz #maddie buckley #fanfiction

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Daryl is so used to being covered in walker guts he'd still do down on you like a man starved when you're on your period.

Your hands on the heating pad he just brought you and his on your thighs keeping them open.

He'd keep going till his jaw starts cramping and you're a fucked out mess, no longer there enough to register the cramps.

When he comes back up everything from the tip of his nose to the bottom of his chin is just red. His once grey beard a slimy bloody mess.

He's always happy to help.

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #twd #the walking dead #twd x reader #twd smut

[windlion]

Trick or treat!! 🦹 <- anon costume

Happy Halloween! Excellent costume, couldn't tell who you are :D

The purple tiefling who was Mollymauk had not addressed him directly as of yet, and truly, Essek did not expect him to.  They were strangers, and he did not have the easy amiability of the Clays to recommend him. Therefore he could be forgiven for not understanding at first.

Mollymauk apparently had just as much respect for personal space as Jester, which was to say none at all.  One taloned finger tapped him in the chest, over his heart, and Essek held himself back from flinching by main force.  "Heavy."

Beauregard cackled like a hyena, "Thelyss is not heavy, Molly-- I could pick him up one handed and throw him."

Essek, frozen with the split second memory, of grief weighing him like a leaded shroud and holding his feet to the fiery flesh that was the ground was entirely too late to react. "Do not."

It turned into an undignified yelp as Beauregard demonstrated her point ably with one arm around his middle.  Flexing her arm consideringly like measuring a sack of potatoes at market, Beau turned and yelled over her shoulder, "Hey, Fjord, I think we finally found a weight light enough for you to train with."

Forced to dangle head first with a view towards his knees, Essek folded his arms and waited with an impassive if aggrieved expression.  He'd been through this with Verin: the more he reacted the worse it would be.

Thankfully Fjord was the voice of reason, calling from across the room, "Ah, hell no, Beau. Put him down.  Caleb's gonna kill you with his eyes and I'm not dumb enough to piss off two wizards.  Even if one of them's travel-sized."

Beau laughed as she set Essek back down, with rather more care than he'd been anticipating.  She clapped his shoulder before shifting back to her seat around the fire.  She'd never even put down her drink. "Maybe we need to get you and Caleb training with us.  Runs in the morning."

Pulling his clothes back to rights, Essek arched his eyebrow at her, "I am not that much of a glutton for punishment, Beauregard."

She shot him a sidelong look, knowing, but anything she would have said was cut off by Mollymauk pronouncing again, with a nod, "Heavy."

It was followed this time by him immediately gesturing to himself, "Empty."

It seemed introductions were in order between the last addition to the Mighty Nein and one of the very first of them.  The best of them, if they were to be believed, and Essek did.  Court protocol provided a script and an automatic polite bow, one hand swept to his chest.  His voice didn't betray the butterflies in his stomach.  "Essek Thelyss.  I'm glad I was able to meet you, Mollymauk Tealeaf."

The purple tiefling seemingly accepted this, his head tilting consideringly, and he reached out to tap Essek's chest again.  "Heavy, and stiff."

For an amnesiac still working on stringing together sentences, that was a surprising amount of smug judginess. This time Essek lost the battle to control his composure, wry. "Oh, I can definitely see how you fit in."

Mollymauk smirked at him, turning the tap into a soft, proprietary pat.  Essek might not know the tiefling but he knew the Nein, and he rather thought that was a "You, too."   Mollymauk trailed his hand upward, ending with his fingers lifting Essek's chin up, before he stepped back, tail jauntily swinging behind him as he set his eyes on some new objective.  Essek attempted to remember how to breathe. 

Beau hadn't stopped laughing throughout the exchange, and she grinned at his expression, "Congrats, Molly likes you.  Or he's going to make your life living hell, one of the two."

Essek huffed, glancing up to see Caleb looking back at him, eyes warm.  "Are you sure there's a difference?"

"Tieflings, man."

#wind is a ridiculous creature #sometimes I write #*throws a wild shot in the dark* #how about some . . . CritRole? #I don't THINK I ever put this one up #so here have a tidbit!

[oldstateofmind]

nobody else can heal it (but you) [part ll]

➜ pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader ➜ warnings: spoilers from ATSV, a bit of angst cause i’m human, confrontation, hanahaki disease but make it nightmares instead, english is not my first language. ➜ words: 4.8k ➜ [part l] ➜ a/n: Okay, I’m so sorry! I know I promised there would be smut next, but then this chapter started to get bigger and bigger so I decided to split it into a 3 part series. I love how this one turned out and wanted you to read it as soon as possible. Please, stay tuned for the next and final chapter! Also, come say hi!

chapter ll. fate at the hand of my mistakes

Caught by the sudden wave of sorrow, you almost miss the moment Miguel’s presence tingles your spider senses. But as with everything regarding the man, you were already too aware of his existence due to the number of nightmares that plagued your dreams. It was inevitable that at some point, you could recognize him by the sound of his steps alone. All of him was embedded in your mind, for better or worse.

Ao3

VI.

The silence was deafening. 

You’ve been passing from side to side for what seems like hours now. Hand running through your hair in a frantic motion, biting your lips and nipping the delicate skin of it. Your mouth feels dry as you finish telling your friends everything that has been happening for the past few weeks.

When the words began dripping from your mouth, you couldn’t stop. To expose your feeling and hand your heart on a plate was unbelievably hard, but once you took a deep breath and began telling them, it felt like a dam had broken on your brain, letting all the submerged feeling float to the surface. 

The mortifying idea of being seen was frightening, but it was all out now. 

You can’t gather the courage to look at them; to take note of each expression. Recognizing your feelings was already a task too complicated to do on your own, having to verbalize them to your friends was even more exhausting. You weren’t drowning anymore, but it was still hard to gasp for air. 

Pavitr cleaned his throat amid the silence. “So… You like Miguel?” 

Unbelievable.

“That’s what you gathered from what I just said?” 

It’s the first time you dare to look at the little group. When you broke down after the confrontation with Torment, Margo had called them in a hurry as you spiraled down, falling from the pedestal so hard that you were afraid of the aftermath when you hit the ground. Thankfully they were there to catch you.

They had gathered on the small couch Margo kept at a forgotten corner of the lab; piling up on top of each other. Gwen was the first to show up, and the one who helped you put your thoughts back together. You breathed in and out, trying to calm down your heart as her hand rubbed your back. You’ve never been so grateful. 

You catch the smirk growing on Hobie’s face before he says, “Well, Miguel is a walking nightmare, there's nothing new here.”

“Hobie!” The group shouts in unison.

“You’re not helping, man,” Pavitr whispers, poking Hobie’s side.

“It’s just my opinion on that wanker–” He says in his defense, throwing his hand in the air. But Gwen stops him with a cushion on his face before he can finish. It's the first time you want to do something else than cry.

“We are glad that you decided to tell us, Y/N,” The girl says, glaring at Hobie who does not look slightly intimidated. “You shouldn’t be suffering alone, it’s your life that we are talking about here.” 

There was a fine line between wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the situation and wanting to cry at the amount of feeling bubbling up inside you. Your heart swells in your chest seeing your friends trying to help you, even when it wasn’t news to anybody that Hobie didn’t like Miguel, or that the rest of the group was a bit wary of the man. But seeing them trying to understand was enough. At least they never asked why – and even if you could put it into words, it felt shallow compared to the intensity of affection you felt toward Miguel

“Thank you, Gwen. I just–” Words now often got caught up in your throat and you hated feeling so vulnerable. You swallow down the tears threatening to fall. If you thought long enough about it, you were doomed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It seems pretty obvious to me,” Margo chimed in. The girl had the tendency to be straight to the point, never dancing around any subject.

“Margo, I can’t just tell him–” You start, for what seems the eleventh time, the same old speech you have been repeating over and over again. 

“Why?” She presses, her piercing gaze seems to see right through you. “Yes, it’s the only way to make the nightmares disappear, but you’re only in this position because you’ve been harboring these feelings for so long that they became so powerful that even a villain had to intervene. They were hurting you and the nightmares are only the materialization of it.”

You close your eyes as you start to feel the edges burn, turning away so they can’t see your lips quivering in a pitiful attempt to stop the tears from falling. The need to scream at the top of your lungs almost wins you over – you’ve never been so worn out in your life as you are right now. 

Margo was right. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept the fact that your feelings were starting to eat you alive, chopping every bit of your soul whenever Miguel wasn’t around. Whenever you spent lonely nights looking through your window wishing it was different. Wishing he was there, wishing he would love you. 

How long could you spend your life wishing for something until it damaged you beyond repair?  

“Are you that afraid of the answer?” Her voice is soft as if it saying any lounder would shatter the fragile state you found yourself in. 

“No… I’m afraid of the confirmation,” You confess. As you turn around to look at your friends, a defeated smile adorns your face. “Sometimes it hurts less not knowing, you know?”

“How can you be so sure, Y/N?” Gwen is the one who raises the question, the gentleness in her tone is nauseating. How could she propose that idea when she knew who Miguel was and where he stood? 

Even if there’s a small hope that Miguel might not reject you, you always stop yourself from clinging to it. It would only cause more damage than the acceptance you've been trying to wave as a white flag – you were defeated anyway.

“Love is a beautiful thing, Y/N. You shouldn’t be afraid of it!” Pavitr jumps from his seat, walking towards you with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. Sometimes he would glow more than you and your suit. How he did it, you weren’t sure. “I was the one to confess my feeling to Gayatri, I was shaking like a leaf! And look at us now, we are so happy!”

Every now and then you wondered how Pavitr could be so… happy. Life seemed so easy when wearing his rose-colored glasses. You wondered if it was part of his personality, being so cheerful and hopeful, or if he did a hell of a job hiding his fears. Nonetheless, you believed in his sincerity, not in his advice; there was no way Miguel would correspond to your feeling. 

You sigh, defeated. If the lack of sleep didn't kill you, the heartbreak would. “I would like my funeral to be just for those in my inner circle; nothing too big. Also, I’m not a big fan of those funeral wreaths–”

“Stop that! It’s your life on the line, don’t play with it.” Gwen interrupts you, she looks upset by your self-deprecation and lack of confidence. But you couldn’t help, It was your coping mechanism expecting the worse in all situations. “I can only imagine how it feels having to confess your feelings when you’re not ready. But there’s no easy way out of this one.” 

Caught out off guard, you weren’t expecting Gwen to hug you. To think she was living in a shell all this time due to all her traumas, but decided to take a step forward to show her true self was heartwarming. It’s warm and inviting, and you helplessly cling to her, appreciating the show of affection. They gather around you, and the warmth of each encouraging smile is uplifting.

Hobie gently bumps your arm, his smirk is enough to make you feel that everything was going to be alright. “Don’t let that tosser be the reason you’re not here to play with us anymore, won’t you?”

V.

Miguel's apartment was on one of the lower levels of the tower. 

It was a rare thing having him back home, he would usually linger at his office for as long as he could, only going back home to sleep and eat – when he did so, he had the terrible tendency to skip those. It was always up to the spiders to bring him something to eat, Jess would be the first to send him home when the bad mood started to show up. Miguel often neglected himself, and you couldn't help but think it was a sort of punishment for what he did. 

It broke your heart, but there was nothing you could do to help him. The guilt he felt was a weight he would carry forever on his back – something to inflict on himself every time he faltered in his mission. Besides, he would never share the pain with anyone else, perhaps it was the only reminder of her daughter, and no one could take that away from him.

As the day turned to night – which made everything more real – you watch the city disappear once the elevator reached below the surface level. The underground city had its beauty as well. Even though the dark was prominent here, the lights and the neon sighs were a sight for sore eyes. 

Everything was splendent, such a contrast with the city on the surface. It wasn’t a mystery why Miguel would rather have his apartment located here, where the sun couldn't reach. Sometimes you wondered if the lack of sunlight was the reason why he was always so… grumpy. However, when you have eyes so sensitive to light like his, it’s inevitable to hide from it.

On the way down, you couldn't distract yourself with anything. You picked your cuticles, and bite the skin of your lips till it was bleeding; your leg never stopped bouncing. Anxiety sky rocked as you watched the numbers change, the sound of each level counting down the seconds until you were at his door. 

As much as you wanted to be brave, it was impossible. Every single outcome that played in your head was worse than the other. Why couldn’t you just imagine something good for once? Your self-sabotaging mind was draining, and when you finally stopped at his door, it felt like you could collapse at any minute.  

Breathing in and out, you press the doorbell. It was now or never. 

“Hi Lyla,” You greet the AI as soon as she appears on the screen, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Could you tell Miguel I’m here to see him?”

“Hey girl, it’s been a minute!” Lyla greets you excitedly; the fact she objectively points out you’ve been away churn your stomach. 

You would stop by to check on him every now and then, sometimes you would even prepare a meal when he was too stubborn to eat – Miguel never went more than a few hours away from the screen of his lab. However, the soft humming in the kitchen, his eyes on you – those were easy days you wish could turn into forever.

“Yeah… You know how it is.”

“Sure…I’m calling him, just a moment!” Lyla was not originally programmed to have feelings and a personality, but she developed into such a proportion that you could feel the irony in her synthetic voice.

The door opens without ceremony, and you step inside feeling your heartbeat reverberating through your body – each step slower than the other, mind aware of each intake of breath. Like the back of your hand, you had memorized his place, walking past the entrance into the living room as if it was yours. How easy it was to cloud your brain in a haze of familiarity that each room brought to you.

“He’s coming in a minute, you can wait here,” Lyla interrupts your thoughts, appearing at the corner of your vision. 

You slowly nod, feeling your hands start to get clammy, “Thanks.”

Before she disappears, you could swear you caught a glimpse of an amusing smile on her face, as if she knew something you didn’t. You shake your head, the lack of sleep has proven how much it can affect your perception, this must be your mind playing another trick, using the fluttering feeling bubbling in your chest as a weapon.

As you look around, waiting for him in the leaving room, you notice how it feels empty, joyless. Often you found yourself looking at these white walls wondering if Miguel didn’t want to at least add a bit of his personality to them. Did he think of himself as a stranger? Or maybe a phantom, doomed to live a life behind the screen with no real joy? 

There’s a pang in your heart as you think about how lonely must it be; to be at the top, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people who would eventually go home to someone, while he was stuck here, paying all alone for his sins. 

Caught by the sudden wave of sorrow, you almost miss the moment Miguel’s presence tingles your spider senses. But as with everything regarding the man, you were already too aware of his existence due to the number of nightmares that plagued your dreams. It was inevitable that at some point, you could recognize him by the sound of his steps alone. All of him was embedded in your mind, for better or worse.

However, as you turn, you’re caught off guard by the sight of him anyway.

Miguel stands over the threshold, folding his arms over his chest. He must have been working out because the white tank top he’s using hugs his chest in a sinful way. His hair is a little bit more curly than usual, damped at the tips. The sight of him makes your mouth go dry, and you have to swallow down before speaking.

“Hi.” It's the only thing you manage to say as you watch the muscles of his arms contract against his chest. 

You can’t read his expression, and it makes you nervous not being able to predict what he’s thinking. It takes more than a heartbeat for Miguel to answer, still seeming unfazed by your presence. And it’s torturing having him so close, yet so far.

“Hi.” It’s dry, almost cold. The ache in your chest grows larger by the minute.

“H–How are you?” You try to play it cool, hoping the trembling in your voice is not noticeable. He raises an eyebrow as you point at him, “Working on those muscles, I see!”

It’s instantaneous the wave of cringeness that washes over you. The words feel wrong on your tongue, every movement is met with strangeness. The gap left by the nightmares is bigger than you thought, placing you back where you started. And honestly, this felt worse than the day you met him. Because when he looks at you, there’s some sort of sadness behind his eyes; disappointment. Miguel shakes his head slightly, stepping into the living room and heading to the kitchen. 

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” He asks, not even bothering to look at you. 

As you fight with your mouth, trying to find the right words to say – to at least start a conversation – he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, unscrews the cap, and drinks it all in one gulp. And then again, your brain is slow to process any answer when he’s standing in the kitchen like that; the light reflecting his toned body, the sweat running down his nape to underneath the collar of the shirt.

You look away, resolve faltering, “I…I came to check on you, it’s been a while.”

“And whose fault is that?” Your eyes widen in shock at the small outburst; the bottle crushed in his hand. 

He quickly recomposes himself, throwing away the bottle. You were expecting Miguel to be wounded by your disappearance, but not to the point of being rude to you. It was rare to see him so… angry outside of missions. You took pride in being someone who he could always count on; having him looking at you as if you were a complete stranger not only stung, it maimed you. 

“Miguel, I’m sorry–” You start, not knowing how you’re going to end the sentence, but doing anything to revert the situation. It’s clear that he’s upset, but you’re not exactly sure why. You step towards him, but this time, he’s the one who steps back.

“Oh, so now you’re sorry? No puedo con esto,” The muscle in his jaw tightens as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“Miguel,” You call for him, feeling desperate. He won’t look at you, as if the person standing in his living room is unfamiliar. You despise it the feeling crawling underneath your skin, and hates it even more because it’s you are to blame, “I’ve been dealing with a lot lately, and–” 

“Running away from me is one of them, so it seems,” The cut is clean, borderline cruel. Miguel’s stare burns your skin; the bitterness is cold to the touch. And if there was any chance of this working out, they were very slim at the moment. 

“I didn’t…” The guilty that settled in your heart the moment you started avoiding him comes back in full force and hits you in a wave of emotions that makes you nauseous. But you can’t find your voice, can’t find the courage to say anything more than, “I don’t know what you talking about.”

Coward. You were such a coward.

The look of disappointment on his face is heartbreaking, and you regret everything you ever said from the moment you step into this place. You were supposed to tell him how much he meant to you, how come you’ve done the opposite? 

Miguel looks down, shaking his head as he murmurs something in Spanish under his breath. You don’t know what it means, but by the looks of it, it’s definitely not something good. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you, Y/N,” Miguel sounds defeated. He rests his hands on his hips as he sighs, “I’ve been cracking my head trying to understand where it all went wrong. When did our relationship become…this” 

You could hear the sound of your heart shattering, the heavyweight finally crushing the muscle you kept in your chest. Suddenly, the need to touch him is overwhelming – the need to spill everything out in one sentence clogs your throat. But like in your nightmares, you find yourself frozen in place. 

Miguel doesn’t seem to notice your internal turmoil, wrapped in his own demons. “But you wound’t even spare me a moment to just… talk to you. You stopped answering my messages. Avoiding me like I’m some kind of decease.”

As Miguel continues to spill out everything that has been haunting his mind, all you can do is watch the man fall from grace. It’s agonizing to see him like this, so helpless. And all because of you. 

No. It wasn’t completely your fault. And he needed to understand that. 

The nightmares were a ghost that crept into your life and took over your action. It clouded your brain, made you seethings that weren't there, and miss those that actually were. The messages were just an example. As you tried to make a point to your friends, you found out that not only he had sent messages, Miguel had called you. Multiple times. 

How did you even miss those? And how can you begin to explain the motive behind it? You curse the woman who put the spell on you. You curse everything that happened that made Miguel think you didn’t care anymore, because you so painfully did. 

“I–I never meant to upset you, Miguel,” Your voice it’s almost above a whisper. Tiredness eats your bones; the headache from unshed tears pounds your head, “I was just in a really tough spot and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Miguel looks at you in disbelief. “Y/N, I was so worried when you started missing the meetings. The next thing I know,Lyla is the one telling me about the accidents you've been having during work because you stopped talking to me. Do you how dangerous those injuries can be?” Miguel doesn’t look at you. Instead, he rubs the bridge of his nose – and you knew that movement very well by now – it was an attempt to contain his rising anxiety. 

The intensity of his words leaves you breathless, and even though the remorse is sickening, your heart skips a beat when the intonation changes – when his voice goes softer when talking about how concerned he was. The spark of hope swiftly ignites brighter in your chest.

But then, Miguel stops, dropping his hand and looking directly at you. “Then, when I came looking after you, what did I get?” Miguel’s voice is filled with hurt and resentment, it’s impossible to stare back when he looks betrayed. “You ranfrom me, Y/N!” 

His voice is like a knife to your heart, cutting so deep you didn’t know you could bleed only from words alone. Flashbacks from that night play in your mind on a loop; from the other side, it seemed so real and spine-chilling. But now, the images turn into something else, as if a fog had lifted from your eyes; the touch of his fingers on your wrist and theneed in his voice when he called your name.

Fuck. How much worse could this get? 

Miguel turns away, not giving you a choice to answer his pleading. He must be so tired of your excuses and half-spoken words – you were tired of them too. There’s another pang in your chest, devouring you with the certainty that you were not the only one suffering all these weeks.

Miguel sighs, breathing in deeply, “I care about you, so much I–” He taps his knuckle against his lips, cutting whatever he was going to say in half. His eyes finally lift to your face, crestfallen in an unusual sadness. “But what am I supposed to do when you look at me like I’m a monster?”

Your body moved before you could think about anything else. In a second you were standing in the living room, heart beating in a furious rhythm as you listened to his voice break at the end of the question. And then in the other, you had reduced the distance in just a few steps, stepping into his personal space with no warning; breaking the wall you both had built around each other. 

You immediately search for his hand, holding it tight. It’s you who is begging for him to stay this time around, and thankfully, he does.

“You are not.” You say, steadfast in your conviction. It takes you a bit of confidence to look up, to stare deep into his beautiful crimson eyes. But once you do, it’s impossible to drift your stare anywhere else. Miguel has always been handsome, but up close, he was breathtaking. “You are not a monster, Miguel.”

The way his eyebrows scrunch is adorable, mouth opening in surprise at your advance, but no words come out of it. He’s only staring at you, and you could swear his eyes gleam with your reflection against it. His body is unbelievably warm from this close, and you can’t help but notice each tiny drop of sweat gliding down his neck – each wrinkle around his eyes, his strong bone structure, the tiny curls of hair on his forehead. 

Oh, You could stare at him forever. 

“I’m sorry,” Still holding his hand and with a new resolve settling in your bones, you bring his knuckles to your lips, kissing them softly. They are rough against it, but you welcome how real they feel against your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

You notice how his breath fluctuates at the simple touch. Your stomach turns at the thought, but it’s not anxiety that settles deep in your gut, is anticipation.

“Porfavor, bella,” Miguel’s voice is breathy as if you had knocked the air out of his lungs. And maybe you did. “Explainto me because I’m tired of trying to understand your pretty little mind.”

You blush at the compliment, caught off guard by his choice of words. Glancing at him, you study his face, but can’t find any sign of mockery. Instead, there’s only fondness at the crease of his eyes, the gentle smile settling at the corner of his lips – which are the solemn reason why you almost lost your train of thought.

“Do you see these dark circles?” 

Miguel's smile widens. He brings his hand to your face, tracing the soft spot underneath your eyes with such gentleness you could cry. Warmth spreads over your body, and you don’t let go of his other hand, needing something to ground you as his touch completely destroys your defenses. “Kind hard to miss.”

You scuff, still basking yourself in his touch, the sun in on his hands. “A few weeks ago, Hobie and I went on a mission to stop a villain named Torment,” The words roll out of your tongue with ease now, having his attention like this was addicting, and you would do anything to compensate everything you put him through. “You know, usually villains don’t have superpowers that go beyond the physical type of injury.”

It’s easy to keep the memories at bay when the warmth of his skin lightens your dark and disturbed mind. However, they are still there, feeding on your fears and doubts and waiting for the perfect moment to get you. “But this one did.”

“What do you mean?” Miguel's tone is concerned, he tries to cup your face but you step away as a shadow crosses his eyes. 

Suddenly, everything feels wrong. 

You take a deep breath, it was a matter of time until reality crushed down your state of mind. It was too good to be true; to be wrapped around his aura without feeling threatened. You drop his hand, turning slightly so you won’t look at him – because you know what you will find there. It was the only way to keep going before the nightmares crept into your mind and twisted the moment. He deserved to know, and you deserved to finally be at peace.

When you speak again, your voice is shaky, “She planted nightmares in my head, twisting memories and images of something…. someone dear to me.” At the corner of your vision, you notice how Miguel tries to touch you again but stops halfway through when he sees your vacant stare; light starts to dim on your face.

You are starting to run out of time. In a moment, those shadows would be biting at your heels. And then it would be too late for both of you. 

Shaking your head, you gather enough strength to keep going, “It slowly deteriorated my mind, I think at some point I was seeing things because of how much I was sleep deprived. I don’t think I’ve got more than 2 hours of sleep these last few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me right away?” Miguel asks, desperation at the edge of his tone, “I could’ve helped, we could have found a way to stop–”

“I couldn't." It’s weak, it doesn’t explain a thing. If anything, it only serves to irritate Miguel even more. 

“Why?” He pleads, trying to make sense of the nonsense you’ve been mumbling about, “I thought we had a deal, Y/N. You were always there for me when I needed you, why couldn’t I do the same for you? Por qué?”

You turn towards him and your throat burns. And it’s no help when the desperation in your voice overwhelms your senses. “Because they were about you!”

Miguel goes quiet, eyes widening as his mouth stays slightly open. You rapidly cover your face with your hands, letting a shaky breath escape your lips. The only sound you can hear is the beating of your heart, and it’s so painfully loud. “Torment told me that her powers search for what you desire the most and twist them into something beyond recognition in your mind until it bleeds to the real world. My theory is that; you either fight against that fear, doing exactly what you are most afraid of to make them stop, or you succumb to them.”

When it was clear Miguel wasn't going to say anything, still baffled at the amount of information you had thrown at him, you hysterically let a laugh escape. “How funny, right? The things we love the most are the ones that haunt us forever.”

You were tired of running away. You wanted Miguel to know, and you wanted him to correspond so badly. You wanted to give your to love him and wanted to have his love back. 

“So, there you have it, Miguel,” You look at him, finally speaking the truth that had been locked in the deepest of your soul with such ease it scares you. “I love you.”

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #across the spider verse spoilers #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #sometimes i write

[aobawilliams]

Watched film Red recently and anyway AU where after abandonning Uta in Elegia, Uta manages to convince Gordon that 'hey living on a island where everyone is dead is not the best place to raise a kid' and due to a convoluted plot that can only be made by an actual child, they move to Dawn Island.

Anyway this'd be after Shanks last visit there but before Garp moves Luffy to the forest so Luffy is like :D Uta you're not dead (because him and the village totally assumed "she's in a better place to learn to become a musician" meant she died, yeah.)

They probably get into a fight over the fact Uta now hates Pirates and especially Shanks (and refuses to admit she feels jealous and mad over the fact Shanks left Luffy his hat and a dream, when he didn't even say goodbye to her), soon after Luffy is sent to the Bandits, and Gordon finds a job as a music teacher in High Town.

Time passes and Uta forgives Luffy even if she still hates pirates, they probably met a few times but she doesn't truly reconcile with him for a while (maybe after Sabo's "death"?). Ace and Uta hates each other at first but find an agreement in the mutual hatred of their father for choosing piracy over their kids.

When he set sails, Luffy invites her to join his crew. She refuses.

Gordon and her are pretty popular in High Town as music teacher/musicians, despite being outsider. Being from Elegia does bring some prestige, even if the island doesn't exist anymore. They're not part of high society but the nobles being able to invite them as musician for a party is seen as a sign of idk being rich or something.

I guess she still becomes the one piece equivalent of a youtuber but instead of planning to change the world and destroy piracy or something, she ends up somehow joining the Revolution Army. Not so much as an active member, but maybe more the kind that goes around everywhere and brings information and contacts. (I don't have the details in mind though - anyway she does meet Sabo there, but since he doesn't recognise her she just assumes he decided to abandon Luffy and Ace. She never finds out about the whole Amnesia thing - or if she does it's after he gets his memories back. Her abandonment issues are off the charts.)

#cro shouts into the void #Mentionned it to Panda but since I don't think I'll do anything with it I should probably leave it out here #sometimes i write #one piece #one piece film red #i dont actually remember if Gordon raised her on Elegia or if they just came back there later for her concert but you know whatever #Uta totally keeps despising pirates but Luffy get a pass because he's Luffy. #She didn't know Sabo that well before he 'died' only met him a few times (both with Ace and Luffy and later during nobles party) #anyway thats food for thought. releasing this in the wild in case someone would be interested. 👀.

[corpium]

Harry Runs Away WIP

@liquidluckandstuff remember that prompt where V learns a bit of info about Harry's home life while possessing Harry in OotP? This was my attempt at starting it with no plan. Just like Harry! uh... content warning for implied dismemberment i guess xD

Excerpt:

The postman shoved the box into Harry’s hands. “Come to the Leaky Cauldron at five tonight if you want them to live,” he said with an easy smile before turning around. “Wait, what?” asked Harry, but the postman just walked to the next house. “Who…. Hey!” said Harry, the box heavy in his shaking hands. “What are you talking about?” The postman did not respond. Instead, he carried on with his business and slid a piece of mail into the neighbor’s letterbox, then moved on to the next house. “What,” Harry whispered, staring down at the box. It was a solid cherry red, engraved with scroll work. He shook it lightly—something rattled around inside. Harry looked around the street but didn’t see anyone about but the postman, who was sliding mail into the next neighbor’s letterbox. Feeling exposed, Harry stepped back and closed the door. He sat on the stair landing, out of sight of the windows, and opened the box. He inhaled sharply at the sight of what lay within: two fingers, one bony, one meaty. The meaty one still wore Vernon’s wedding band. Petunia’s wedding band and engagement ring rattled against each other as Harry’s hands trembled.

#WIP #sometimes i write #my fic

[marlenacantswim]

as halloween approacheth, i call to attention the Hot Fuzz Halloween Special fanfic i've been working on for the past half a year, and have big plans for. i've posted what i have so far, should you like to witness a werewolf nicholas.

go forth and get in the halloween spirit with some angelbutter!

#i'm slow to update but i do update #this is gonna be a wholeass novel when i'm done with it #running my mouth #made this with my hands #hot fuzz #angelbutter #nicholas angel #danny butterman #sometimes i write