#(to a point. im having a moment. reading books slowly.)

[vanishintoyou]

it's still sooo funny to me how the party is fighting for their lives in the astral prism and shadowheart is just having her magical girl transformation somewhere out there. lynn jaheira wyll and gale having a few breakdowns while shadowheart is dying her hair for emo reasons. astarion probably helping her

[with-my-calamitous-love]

for you, i would ruin myself / a million little times

o. dazai x reader

dazai reads poetry to you after sex ・❥・mentions of sex / physical intimacy (nothing specified) and aftercare

✎ headcanon i’ve had for a while and wanted to write on it <3 here you go.

special tag for: @osamucide because i love you (im sorry this took 86 years)

song: illicit affairs

dazai, obviously, loves to fuck you. feeling your skin pressed against his, lips embedded against yours lazily while he finds different ways to draw pleasure on your body. for him, its a point of distraction. you’re too busy feeling good to feel empty, even if its for a moment.

but its that moment after the high, the returning back to earth, he especially loves. almost reluctantly, he removes himself from you, slowly easing with gentleness you’d expect from him. he was never one for brash, brawny movements. just quiet intimacy with quiet thoughts that speak volumes. he catches his breath with you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you sink into the pillows beneath him. he tentatively lifts his head from your shoulder as he collapses next to you.

he waits a few minutes. if you fall asleep, he’ll fall asleep next to you. if you’re still awake, he’ll throw some sweatpants on and grab you some water and take a shower. if you haven’t had enough, he’ll invite you to join him.

but it seems unlikely, since right now, you’re still reeling from it. stars and clouds swirl around in your eyes as he stares, lips curved with content. while he waits, he grabs a book from the nightstand.

the pages are browned and worn out. corners of pages have been folded as crude bookmarks, and the last few pages are wrinkled from the time atsushi knocked over a cup of water on his desk. though he offered to replace it, dazai never seemed to mind the way it aged, like the book itself mattered more. almost as if it were a gift from an old friend.

he sees you shift over to face him in his peripheral vision. instinctively, he extends an arm to you so you can sit up next to him against the headboard.

you don’t normally look through his things. though he wouldn’t mind- he doesn’t have much to hide, anyway. the things dazai does keep hidden are things he doesn’t have to worry about you stumbling across. he has quite a large collection of books, and seemingly, he’ll read or has read, anything. biographies, manuals, tales of clandestine meetings or stolen stares. surely, there should be something in that pile you would enjoy. some titles have peaked your interest, but you’ve never picked one up for yourself.

perhaps its because nothing could match the way dazai reads to you.

so you prompt him, though you both already know the answer: “what are you reading?”

he smiles as your voice, scratched from your previous activities hits his ear. the blankets pool around his waist, gaining all the warmth he needs simply by being next to you. “what do you want to hear?”

he gives you the choice because, to him, all poems, with even a small hint of love, in some way, shape, or form, were about you.

which is why he loves your answer so much: “anything, ‘samu.”

his fingers flip to a random page. 113.

brown eyes skim over the words, softening in recognition once he reaches the final verse. he clears his throat, his adam’s apple sitting beneath the skin you’ve kissed and touched many times before.

Leave the perfume on the shelf

That you picked only for him

Leave no trace behind

Because you don't even exist

A dwindling, mercurial high

illicit affairs

clandestine meetings, stolen stares

They show their truth one single time

But they lie, and lie, and lie

A million little times.

his voice is soft, sanguine. he’s never putting on a grandiose performance but never flattening out the words into boredom. he delivers each syllable with justice, with poised pronunciation but a witty flare that is uniquely his.

you can see in his eyes the words resonate with something he’d like to believe he buried. something about betrayal. about feeling betrayed when you have no reason to feel that way, or simply because they left. or about remembering someone for longer than you’ve known them.

but he shoves it down with a question. “do you like that one?”

his cologne has worn off. his hair, though it was never exactly neat, is feathering over his shoulders in coffee-brown tangles. you can see that flushed hint of red on his lips, beginning to swell from kissing too hard. his sleek clothes are somewhere on the floor, and you can feel- from his arm wrapped around you- residual sweat.

still, he notices how you look at him like he’s the entire world, even after reading the poem that brought up so many pushed-down things for him. you see colours in him you can’t see with anyone else.

he gazes at that colour in you, while he awaits your answer.

“i liked it.” you smile, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“thats all?”

“osamu, you could read a grocery list and i’d listen.”

you get a soft laugh out of him.

he presses his lips against your forehead, coaxing you to sleep as he lays you down. he only reads a few more poems in his head, though he may as well have the letters memorized.

a grocery list. he thinks to himself. there was a time in his life grocery lists were the furthest from his head. death and destruction seem to take up a majority of your mind, and groceries are left on the back burner.

oh, but with you? he can spend every sunday morning unpacking expensive, store bought ingredients with you, and momentarily forget about everything else in the world.

for as long as his heart remains beating, he’ll savour all of it. a million little times.

[rhyrhy]

Thinking about loser! Barista Abby! And the girl who works in the bookstore across the street…

[Contains]: cutesy headcannons!

Barista Abby! Who works Sunday to Wednesday, carefully balancing the rest of her week.

Sure, she gets hit on—at the gym, sometimes even at work. And while it’s flattering, she always turns them down. Why? Because lately, she’s found herself watching the clock, waiting for 10 a.m.

A different cozy outfit every time, a tote bag always slung over your shoulder, a pencil tucked behind your ear. Such a sweet sight. Yeah. She was a goner.

Barista Abby! Who told her coworker (and dearest friend) that she’d say something… eventually. But she never quite works up the nerve. She hates when it rains—raindrops littering the windows, ruining her perfect view of you across the street.

Barista Abby! Who wanted to duck behind the counter the first time you walked in. Crushes weren’t something she developed often, but you? The pretty girl balancing more books than you could carry, nudging the door open with your foot. The girl who always checked on the flowers outside the store, The girl who sat in her car for a few moments before heading home, deep in thought.

Barista Abby! Whose face burned when you made a flirty comment in passing, suddenly hyper-aware of herself in ways she never had been before.

“Are you on the menu?” You leaned in across the counter, eyes slowly scanning over her.

“Uh, no, but—but I could be? Like, theoretically?” she stammered.

Barista Abby! Who was a bookworm herself but couldn’t find the nerve to bring it up—until the day she saw you holding City of Thieves by David Benioff, a book she’d read a million times.

“Wait—you’re reading that? Like, actually reading it? Not just holding it for aesthetic purposes?” she blurted, pointing at the book tucked in the crook of your arm.

“You have to tell me what you think. Like, every thought. Immediately.”

And when you said you liked it? She practically beamed with excitement. “Okay, if you liked that one—please, please read The Nightingale and All the Light We Cannot See. Thank me later.”

Barista Abby! Who, over time, grew more comfortable flirting back. Who lived for the giggles she earned, for the way your smile lingered all the way until the red neon CLOSED sign flickered on.

Who perfected her coffee art—so of course, she started drawing tiny hearts and silly faces in your drinks. Who started leaving little notes on your cups. Sometimes a simple have a good day, sometimes a quick sketch of the way your hair looked that morning. Who gushed to her coworker about the spark she swore she felt when your fingers brushed against hers that morning. Who spent the whole day thinking about it—until she finally worked up the nerve to ask you out.

The sun was out, she was off for the rest of the week, and she knew you were too. So she said it. Do you want to go out with me? And when you didn’t even hesitate before saying yes? She let out a tiny scream of excitement in her car—only to immediately stop, remembering her windows weren’t that tinted.

Barista Abby! Who melted the first time you kissed her cheek after your second date.

Who finally stepped foot into the bookstore where you worked, taking in the scent of paper and vanilla—the same scent that always lingered on your clothes. And as she watched you move between the shelves, smiling at customers, in your element, she thought—

Yeah, im really, really gone.

[humaling]

holding you like home — finnick odair x reader

summary ۶ৎ you're suspicious over finnick's sudden clinginess.

warnings ۶ৎ allusions to finnick's prostitutions, finnick's awfully clingy

word count ۶ৎ 2.5k

author's note ۶ৎ mi bday special cuz im officially an adult in 42 mins ( ｡ﾟДﾟ｡)

There’s a shift in the air.

You could feel it from a thousand miles away. Hell, it’s like you have a sixth sense when it comes to Finnick—an internal alarm that goes off the second something is off with him. And this morning, it rang the moment you woke up.

Finnick’s arms were wrapped too tightly around your waist, his body practically fused to your back, his nose buried so deep in the crook of your neck it felt like he was trying to melt into you. You didn’t even have to open your eyes to know: he’s hiding something.

The problem is, you can’t figure out what.

It started with how hard you had to work just to get him out of bed. He clung to you like a lifeline, whining and pouting like a lovesick teenager. His sea-glass eyes held a look that was too intense for just morning cuddles, and when you cupped his face and asked what was wrong, he only gave you this goofy, love-drunk smile before pressing soft, distracting kisses to your lips. “Breakfast can wait,” he mumbled, flipping you over with too much ease for someone who looked so emotionally frazzled.

Then came the kitchen.

Your house is small, especially the kitchen, tucked into your inherited little wooden beach cottage, filled to the brim with mismatched pots and hanging herbs. Two people don’t fit in there, not without bumping hips and brushing arms—and Finnick? He was practically glued to you. Wherever you moved, he followed, hands around your waist, his head nestled in the crook of your neck again like he was trying to memorize your scent.

It would’ve been sweet if you weren’t so damn hungry. And if you weren’t still recovering from the thirty minutes of relentless affection earlier.

At one point, you spilled batter down your shirt from how many times you bumped into him.

That was the last straw.

You turned around, firm hands on his broad shoulders, brows raised in tired disbelief. “Baby,” you said, tone edged with warning. “Will you please just sit here and look pretty?”

He let out an exaggerated huff but nodded quickly the second your brows lifted higher, that signature ‘don’t test me’ look you’ve perfected over the years. He pressed a kiss to your nose—loud and wet and obnoxiously smug—and plopped himself down in one of the wooden chairs with a dramatized sigh. You backed away slowly, eyes narrowed, watching him as if he might leap right back up again the second you turned around.

He sat there like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t been acting weird as hell since he got back last night.

Now it’s afternoon, and you’re curled up in the pink nook by your bedroom window, knees tucked under your chin, your fingers holding a book you’re not really reading. You’ve been trying to research flowers for your garden. Finnick built you a greenhouse just last month—white picket fence and everything—because you mentioned once, half-asleep, that you wanted to grow your own vegetables. Tomatoes. Garlic. Onions. Anything so you wouldn’t have to keep hauling yourself down to the market every few days.

It took him a day and a half to build it. Just showed up grinning with dirt on his cheeks and a ribbon tied to the gate latch.

But today, your mind can’t focus on gardening.

You keep replaying everything from the moment you woke up. The bed. The kisses. The slow, almost too tender sex. The shared shower—where Finnick insisted he wash your hair. The way he kept looking at you like you might disappear if he blinked too long. He’s always been affectionate, yes, but this was different. This wasn’t just clingy. This was like he was terrified.

He finally left the house an hour ago to swim, saying something about not missing his daily laps. It took you twenty-five minutes to get him out the door. He kissed you repeatedly. Begged you to come with him. Told you it wouldn’t be fun if you weren’t there. And when you refused—because, frankly, the ocean is freezing and you’re not trying to die today—he pouted like a child and dragged his feet all the way down the porch.

You shake your head, trying to will the thoughts away. Surely, if it were something serious, Finnick would’ve told you by now. He’s never kept things from you—not since the night he finally told you what the Capitol really made him do during those long absences. Not since he looked you in the eye and admitted the truth with shaking hands and a voice that barely held together.

You didn’t flinch, judge or looked at him differently. You just held him. Because you were glad that he let you in. That he trusted you enough to share the darkest parts of himself.

You love Finnick. That much is undeniable. Sometimes you think about where you’d be if you hadn’t met him two years ago—and the image is always darker. He pulled you out of a hole you didn’t even know you were sinking into after your parents died in the fire at District 4’s fish market. It was a freak accident—took several others too, including Finnick’s uncle, the last family he had.

So yeah. It’s an understatement to say you’re worried about him.

You glance down at your notebook and realize, with a tired blink, that you’ve scribbled “causes of Finnick’s sudden clinginess” instead of “causes of pest infestations in a garden.”

Your pen stills, and you blink—once, then again—staring down at the page as the weight of it all finally settles in. Even now, with two rooms and a closed door between you, you can still feel him—his presence like gravity tugging at your chest.

Before your thoughts can spiral deeper, the door creaks open and Finnick steps into the room.

He’s a mess. A towel is draped over his head, soaked and sliding halfway down his neck. His bronze skin is glistening with seawater, droplets trailing down his bare chest and soaking into the waistband of his shorts. He’s left a winding path of damp sand from the hallway, every step tracked in prints that smear slightly with each move he makes. His feet are bare and his curls are still dripping, little beads of water falling onto the wooden floor.

You stare at him from the window nook, frozen for a second, your book slipping slightly from your lap.

He looks at you like he hasn’t seen you in years.

Then, without a word, he crosses the room, moving with that same effortless grace he always has—except this time it’s less like a flirtation and more like a need. When he reaches you, he doesn’t pause or ask permission. He just climbs right in, damp and heavy and all saltwater heat, stretching himself across your curled-up body like he belongs there. Like he has to be there or he’ll unravel.

You grunt under the sudden weight, your hands instinctively bracing against his slick shoulders. “Finnick—”

He silences your protest with a peppering of kisses across your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, lips—he leaves no space untouched. Each kiss is frantic, uncoordinated, wet with ocean and something deeper—something you still can’t name.

“I missed you,” he mumbles between kisses. “God, I missed you. I was only gone for an hour and I missed you.”

“Finnick,” you laugh breathlessly, tilting your head back as he continues his unrelenting affection. “You were literally just—hey! You’re soaking the cushion!”

“Don’t care,” he mutters into your neck, arms wrapping tight around you like you might disappear if he lets go. “You smell better than the ocean.”

“Finnick,” you say again, softer this time. There’s a flicker of something uneasy in your chest, something too big to ignore anymore. 

You push him back just enough to see him clearly, your hands moving up to cup his cheeks—firm, steady, squishing them together until his lips pout in that ridiculous way that practically begs to be kissed. It takes everything in you not to give in to the urge.

Instead, you hold his gaze.

His sea-green eyes blink at you, wide and soft, still wet at the lashes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Finnick blinks at you, lips still squished between your palms. He gives a pitiful little hum, eyebrows raised innocently like he’s got no idea what you’re talking about.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, words slightly muffled through his puckered mouth. “I just love you, that’s all.”

You narrow your eyes. “Mmhmm.”

He tries to lean forward again, aiming another kiss at your jaw, but you tighten your grip on his cheeks and pull back just enough to stop him.

“Nope,” you say firmly. “We’re not doing that.”

His brows knit together, the pout deepening. “Doing what?”

“You trying to distract me with kisses and charm so you don’t have to answer.” You tilt your head, voice still teasing but firm beneath it. “We can sit like this for the rest of our lives if we have to. I’ll hold your face hostage, Finnick Odair. Don’t test me.”

A beat passes.

Something shifts in his expression. The smile fades. His mouth relaxes under your hands, and his eyes—those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes—drop slightly, losing the usual glint of mischief. He swallows hard, and when he looks back up at you, it’s like something inside him finally gives way.

“I had a dream,” he says quietly, almost like he’s ashamed of it. “Last night. You died.”

The words hit you like a jolt, but you don’t move, don’t flinch. You just keep your hands on his face, grounding him.

“You died,” he repeats, voice cracking slightly. “And it felt so real. I woke up and—I couldn’t breathe. I thought I lost you. I thought—God, it was so stupid, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how I waste so much time just… assuming you’ll always be here.”

He leans into your touch then, like he needs it to keep going.

“I realized I can’t do that. I don’t want to waste a single second. I don’t want to go another day without making sure you know how much I love you. How much you mean to me. Because if something happened to you and I didn’t say it enough or loud enough or clear enough…”

His voice trails off, and then he breathes out—soft and hoarse, like the weight is finally leaving his chest.

“I’d rather spend one tomorrow with you, making sure you know I love you,” he whispers, “than a thousand tomorrows without you… and never get the chance to say it.”

You stare at him, heart squeezing painfully, lips parted—but the words don’t come. Not right away. Because what do you even say to that?

You don’t say anything right away. You just release his face with the gentlest touch, then open your arms and pull him into you—tugging him into your chest like you're trying to shield him from the very world that haunts his dreams.

He doesn’t resist. He folds into you like a tide pulled home, arms locking tightly around your waist, his cheek pressed into your shoulder. He holds you like he thinks you might vanish again. Like it’s your last night together. And it breaks something inside you.

You run your fingers through his still-damp hair, slow and steady, the same way someone might soothe a frightened animal or calm a child after a nightmare. He trembles once. Just once. But you feel it. And it makes your chest ache.

“Finnick,” you murmur softly, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “I know you love me.”

His arms stiffen slightly, like he’s unsure if you’re just saying it to soothe him, but you pull back just enough to see his face, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders.

“I know it,” you repeat, firmer now. “Not just because you say it. But because you show it.”

You smile faintly, eyes locked on his. “You built me a greenhouse in less than two days just because I said I wanted to grow tomatoes. You kiss my forehead every time I fall asleep reading. You get up before sunrise to untangle my wind-chimes when the sea breeze knots them up. And when you think I’m not looking…” Your voice catches a little. You look at me like I hung the stars in your sky.

His eyes are glossy now, red at the rims, but he doesn’t look away. You don’t let him.

“You’ve already told me you love me a hundred different ways, Finnick. Even when you don’t say it.”

You rest your forehead against his, nose brushing his as you close your eyes. “So next time you have a dream like that… just wake me up. You don’t have to wait. You don’t have to hold it in. I want to be the person you can fall apart with. Okay?”

Finnick nods, slow and silent. And then he kisses you—not with urgency this time, not to dodge or distract—but like he’s memorizing the shape of forever on your lips.

It’s warm and slow and almost shy, like he’s still trying to believe you’re real. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that steals your breath, his hands trembling slightly as they cradle your waist, holding you like something precious. Like something breakable. Like he’s scared he might crush you if he holds too tightly, but terrified you’ll slip away if he doesn’t.

You kiss him back just as slowly, threading your fingers into his damp curls and brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones, tasting salt—maybe from the ocean, maybe from him. Neither of you pulls away. Time stops. The only sound is the faint ticking of the old wall clock in the corner and the hush of waves crashing somewhere in the distance, just beyond the house.

When you finally part, it’s only because you both need to breathe. Finnick leans his forehead against yours again, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. “Ever.”

“You won’t,” you whisper back, just as fiercely. “You’ve got me. For as long as you want me.”

His eyes flutter open. “Forever, then.”

You smile, tears burning quietly at the edges of your vision. “Forever sounds just right.”

He pulls you in again, tucking your head under his chin, wrapping himself around you until you can barely tell where you end and he begins. His heart beats against yours like it’s trying to speak a language only the two of you understand. The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. Heavy with everything that didn’t need words.

You stay like that for a while. Wrapped in each other. The sun dipping lower through the bedroom window, casting everything in a soft amber glow. Outside, the waves keep crashing. Inside, he’s holding you like he’ll never let go again.

And he won’t.

[gay-dorito-dust]

:33 can you imagine Ford reading his book trying so hard to focus on the paragraph but like- He’s so distracted by Reader’s kisses and snuggles like like they’re acting like a cat and Ford just kalskskdjskdk

Ford was trying his hardest to get through the paragraph, he really was, but when you were sleepy ford found that you tended to become more affectionate. As was the case when he felt you snuggle up into his side as closely as you physically could while pressing tender kisses to his jaw and side of his neck.

‘Beloved.’ Ford said softly.

‘Yes my dearest?’ You purred, nuzzling your head into his chest, pressing a kiss there because you felt like it, that and you didn’t think you give Ford as much affection as he deserved…also the little hitches in his breathing were delicious.

‘I’m- im trying to read and you’re being quite-‘

‘Distracting?’ You asked and you could see the blush spreading across his face as his fingers toyed with the corners of the pages belonging to the book he was reading. For someone as smart and eloquent as him, you lived for the days where you got to see him be flustered and unsure of himself when it can to displaying affection, especially seeing as he had went without such for a good majority of his life.

‘I’m afraid so my dear, you know how easily affected I am by your preferred form of affection.’ Ford replied, feeling his mind falter and freeze upon feeling your lips once again kindly greet the skin of his jawline, little kisses scattered across it that it almost felt ticklish. He knew you were smiling and feeling proud of yourself because he could feel it pressed up against the pulse point of his neck.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about my sweetheart,’ you spoke against his skin, closing your eyes as you felt his skin grow warmer under your lips as his pulse pulsed against them as though eagerly reciprocating your kisses with his quick it was going, ‘I thought a man like you could keep his composure.’ You added with a chuckle, knowing from firsthand experience that wasn’t the case at all.

‘I’m afraid that does not count when in the presence of a true beauty of a person such as you may love.’ Ford felt you stiffen as he smiled to himself, yes he could be poetic as they come, he had to read Jane Austen’s books for a class once in college and could recite anything from that book off by heart from how often he annotated the poor book front to back, and in incredible depth too.

‘Who knew you’d be a man of such flattering words Stanford.’ You teased as you were now practically half sat on his lap that Ford had to lay a hand against the small of your back to keep you pressed against. Ford chuckles as he hurries his face into your head, hiding his sweet smile, ‘only for you my dear, only for you.’ He chants softly and you couldn’t help but thank whom ever for bringing Ford to you, for he was the best thing to have ever happened in your life, and you would gladly dedicate yourself to showing him just how much you adore him; it was the least you could do for the man you loved to death.

‘You deserve to be caressed by words, not showered in them. kissed, not smothered. Praised with words whispered in your ears rather than out loud in public as though it was a spectacle. I want to love you in moments like these, soft, slow, forgettable to most but memorable to others who don’t live life in the fast lane and forget to cherish the quieter parts in life.’ You tell Ford sincerely as you positioned your head back to rest against his shoulder, while his hand absentmindedly stroked your side softly, slowly; his book long forgotten as you both decided to enjoy each others company without making a freaks spectacle out of it.

[atlabeth]

bleedin' me dry | luke castellan

runaway with luke ending here!!

summary: luke has a proposal. it doesn't go over well.

a/n: so um. obviously im a huge percy jackson stan ive got annabeth in my name and ive literally wanted to be her since i read the books in second grade and by virtue of being an annabeth stan i hate luke but i also think he is so interesting and so good for angst and i also love the pjo resurgence we’ve got going on here from the show!! so here you go. here's some angst

title from vampire by olivia rodrigo

wc: 2.8k

warning(s): fem!child of demeter reader. luke is his own warning lmao. pushy and manipulative behavior, not the healthiest relationship! and no happy ending

“You know I love the forest,” you mused, “but you have to have a reason for bringing me out here.”

He gave you a wry smile as he squeezed your hand. “Do I have to have a reason? You said you love it—that’s gotta be reason enough.”

“I love it, but there are monsters here.” You twisted your free hand and flowers sprouted up a few feet away. “It does give me a chance to show off, though.”

You were in your cabin helping Katie clean up everything—it was the last day of summer and most of the Demeter kids had already left—when Luke knocked on the door and asked you to accompany him on “a little adventure”. Despite the teasing of your siblings, you bashfully accepted.

It wasn’t the smartest thing, admittedly, to find yourself in the forest with your boyfriend with a couple hours ‘til curfew when you still weren’t even sure if you were leaving or not, but you had your dagger. Luke didn’t have his sword, but you had been practicing.

It wasn’t like it really mattered, anyways—he probably just wanted to make out with you. It was far from the first time, and for all he knew you were leaving for the school year in a few hours.

He chuckled but didn’t say anything. You looked up at him, a slight frown creasing your brows, and nudged him with your shoulder.

“Is everything okay, Luke?” you asked. “You’ve been… oddly quiet.”

Again, it took him a moment to respond before he just shrugged. “I’ve been thinking, I guess.”

“About what?”

“Life,” he said. “Our lives.”

“Very philosophical for the hour,” you said dryly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Luke nodded, “yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

“Have you ever thought about leaving?”

“I’m still deciding whether I want to go back home for school or not, but—”

“Not after the summer,” Luke interrupted. “Leaving camp. For good.”

You frowned, a chill running down your spine. “Of course not. Camp Halfblood saved my life, Luke. I could never leave.”

“Says who?” Luke stopped and your intertwined hands pulled you back, stopping you as well.

“Says all the monsters that tried to kill me last time I went home,” you said slowly. “Don’t tell me you forgot the dracaena that nearly got me on that field trip.”

“‘Course I didn’t forget,” he said, inclining his head. “I just think you’re good enough now to make it without this place.”

“Luke,” you said with a strained laugh, “you— you can’t be serious.”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because if we leave, we’ll die,” you said slowly. “I barely made it on my own out there.”

“You’re more powerful now. And you won’t be on your own,” he said, tugging you closer. Despite it all, warmth bloomed in your chest. “I can protect you.”

“Luke…” You trailed off as he cupped your cheek with his other hand, bringing your gaze back to his.

“What’s the point of staying here?” Luke murmured, an unmistakable softness in his eyes. “Just so we can sit around at summer camp for the rest of our lives? I mean, it’s not like that’s gonna be much longer, the way Chiron tells it.”

“I ha— we have friends here,” you said, huffing another laugh as you took a step back from him. It was easier to think when he wasn’t touching you, when you were still able to sever the string connecting the two of you. “We have a life here. A safe life, Luke, where we don’t have to look over our shoulders constantly.”

“Not me.” Luke shook his head as he moved a step forward in tandem, and he took your hand again, his grip tighter this time. “You’re the only thing I’ve got keeping me here.”

“Please,” you said in disbelief. “You’ve got a whole cabin of siblings that adore you. You’re the best swordfighter here. I’m pretty sure even Mr. D has a soft spot for you.”

“Please,” he mocked, “you can’t seriously believe that.”

You shrugged. “All I know is that when you finally asked me out, I gained a whole lot of enemies.”

“Like that means anything,” Luke said.

“The kids love you too!” you exclaimed. “Their eyes light up with stars whenever you help them with their sparring. You’re a beacon of light to this place— where is all of this coming from?”

“I’m tired,” Luke said roughly. “Tired of the gods ignoring us when all they’ve caused is pain.”

You frowned, but he continued on.

“You’re telling me you haven’t noticed it?” he asked. “When’s the last time you ever saw my dad give me any kind of attention besides some fun-colored smoke? He ruined my mother’s life— he ruined my life! And our cabin is damn near overflowing with unclaimed kids. Where are their parents?

“Luke—”

He shook his head as he forged on. “And you can’t say that Demeter is any good either. I bet she makes your cereal tastes real good in the morning, but she’s abandoned you for your whole life.”

“Luke, where is this coming from?” you asked, your frown deepening further and further as you let go of his hand and took a step back. “You— you know I’m not a fan of them, but you can’t just go around saying things like this. The last thing I need is for my mother to— to smite me, or strangle me with vines or something because I’m not appreciating her enough.”

Luke huffed a laugh. “That would be the most attention she’s paid to you since she claimed you.”

“She’s a goddess,” you said. “She’s got more important things to do than send me emails asking how my day is going.”

“Really?” Luke asked, his eyebrows rising.

“Yes, really,” you enunciated. “I expect it. I consider myself lucky she claimed me at all.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” he marveled as he said your name. “Your mother has never been there for you, and you think you’re lucky?”

“Luke—” you started, but you couldn’t even finish as he continued on.

“Demeter wasn’t there for the year you spent feeling like the scum of the Earth because you hadn’t been claimed yet. Demeter wasn’t there for the childhood she gifted to you then abandoned you for.” He pushed forward still. “Demeter wasn’t there for all those sleepless nights you spent in the Hermes cabin wondering if you were ever going to know who got you into this mess.”

“Luke, stop,” you finally managed to get out, moving back in turn.

“You know who was?” He continued to forge on, capturing your wrist when you tried to take another step back, eliciting a shaky exhale as you flinched. “Me.”

You ripped your arm away from him, fire in your eyes and blazing in your blood. “Don’t ever touch me like that again.”

“I’ve been here for you since the moment you stepped foot into Cabin Eleven!” Luke’s voice rose, and you’d never been more aware of the dagger hanging off your belt. “Through every tear, every tirade, every godsdamned rant about the gods—”

You stumbled back, and your heart stuttered in your chest as your back hit a tree. Your jaw was clenched, attempting to stop your tremors trying to wrack your body.

“And you’re telling me,” his voice suddenly lowered until it was scarily soft, little more than a whisper as he leaned over you, noses nearly touching, “that you would still choose them over me?”

“If you do not get away from me right now,” you said, quiet and even, “what we have, and anything we could have, will be over.”

Luke didn’t move. “Answer me.”

For a moment, it was just that—you and Luke staring at each other. His chest rising and falling just so from the effort of yelling, his beautiful eyes devoid of any previous softness. You thought your teeth might crack with the pressure in your jaw.

“No,” you said. “I wouldn’t choose them over you.”

And for an even shorter moment, his eyes do soften.

“But I won’t leave my family,” you whispered. “Not for whatever cause you think you’re fighting for.”

And just like that, the armor went up again.

“So that’s the way this ends,” Luke said evenly, and when he moved a few steps back, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

“You know who I am,” you argued, though you couldn’t make yourself move. “My siblings are my family— my friends are my family. I’d never leave them.”

“Oh, I should have expected it,” he said offhandedly. His laughter was a cruel thing. “I always knew you were a coward.”

“Don’t you dare turn this on me,” you spat. “Why do you even want to leave in the first place?”

“Because I’m sick and tired of all the bullshit that goes on here!” Luke yelled. “We’ve been here for years, and what the hell do we have to show for it? A couple scars? A lot of near death experiences? Some deadbeat parents that ruined our damned lives?”

“I have a family that I never could’ve dreamed of!” you exclaimed. “I have sisters and brothers that love me, friends that understand me, and—”

Your voice broke for a moment and you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing the tears back. Some of the fire burning through your veins had been extinguished as you continued.

“And I thought I had a boyfriend that was there for me.”

It was there again—his eyes softening ever so slightly when he looked at you. But then he clenched his jaw. “And I thought I had a girlfriend that was there for me.”

“I won’t leave,” you enunciated. “I’m not going to help you with whatever crusade you think you’re meant to lead against the gods!”

“You don’t understand,” he insisted.

“You don’t understand!” you exclaimed. “You’re ready to leave all of this behind, and for what?”

“I don’t want to leave it all behind,” he said. “I want you by my side. We could be something truly great together— can’t you see?”

Luke took your hand again and pulled you away from the tree, gesturing with his hand around you. “You can control all of this. The whole world is your domain—we’d be untouchable.”

“Luke, you sound crazy,” you said roughly. “Where is all of this coming from, seriously?”

“I just know that we can live a better life,” he said. “Together, without the gods.”

“Witho—” You couldn’t even manage to finish the word, shaking your head at the pure absurdity of it. You hardly recognized your boyfriend purely because of the insanity he was spouting. “Luke, we don’t need to leave! We don’t need to stand against the gods, or— or whatever this is!”

This time, you took his hand as you tried to smile. “We can make this work, Luke, and we can make it work here,” you begged. “I promise.”

“Things need to change,” he said, voice steely, pulling his hand away. “And they’re clearly not going to change here.”

“Yes, they can,” you insisted, your hands clenching into fists at your side. “I want things to change too, believe me! But going off on your own isn’t going to do anything for it. We can start it here—together.”

His eyes were colder than ever as he looked down on you, and you truly didn’t recognize him. The glint in his eye and edges you would cut yourself on and the insanity he was spouting for no damn reason. You didn’t know what in Hades’ name had gotten into him.

“All we do is sit around and wait for that hag in the attic to spout prophecies, and then Chiron sends some kids off to die, and then we sit around and wait to do it again,” Luke said. “The gods keep making kids and the kids keep dying because they leave them in the world alone— we’re practically grandparents here because we’re lucky to make it past sixteen! The gods don’t do a damn thing about it, and neither does Chiron.”

He shook his head as he stared right into your eyes. “You’re not as smart as I thought if you think you can change anything here.”

“So— so what?” you asked brazenly. “You’re just gonna leave?”

Luke shrugged. “I was always gonna leave. It just depended whether you were with me or not.”

He turned around and started walking, and for a moment you were fully dumbstruck, unable to move. Then something snapped inside of you, and you moved your hands straight up through the air. Vines sprouted from the ground and tangled around Luke’s legs, stopping him and nearly causing him to fall.

“You don’t just get to walk away from me after spouting this bullshit,” you fumed as you ran to catch up with him. “What in Demeter’s name has gotten into you, Luke? Gods— this isn’t you!”

“See?” Luke smiled, ignoring your question. “You are powerful.”

“Answer me,” you seethed.

He shrugged, that small smile still on his lips. “It’s always been me. Maybe you’ve just been too stupid to realize.”

“Where are you going to go?” you asked, ignoring his jab. “Not home, clearly.”

It was a deep cut, something you never would have said under normal circumstances, but his expression didn’t change.

“I’ve got plans,” he said, ignoring your jab, and he huffed a laugh. “And I guess they don’t involve you anymore.”

All you could do was stand there, stunned as you stared at him. It was cliche, but it really wasn’t him, because you loved Luke and he loved you.

He’d always been a bit spitfire, always a little sharp around the edges, but you loved that about him—and he softened those edges for you. He was strong-willed and caring and passionate about everything, and you didn’t want to lose him. Not like this.

You knew what he’d been through. You knew what happened to his mother, what happened to Thalia, everyone he’d lost and every reason for every scar. But you never thought—

Gods. You never thought he’d actually do… this.

“Let me go, will ya?” Luke asked, tilting his head. “Or else what we have will be over— or whatever it was you said back there.”

The vines receded against your will, like his words just connected to your subconscious. You stayed rooted in place as he continued walking away.

But then he stopped. Turned around, looked right at you.

And for a moment you were fourteen again, feeling alone and forgotten going into your third month in the Hermes cabin. Grumbling your way through sword practice because the excited camp counselor who just happened to be your age refused to let you sulk for another day.

It was days after your fifteenth birthday, and the golden sickle with sheaths of wheat had finally appeared over your head at lunch. Luke had lunged at you, wrapping you in the tightest hug possible, and looked at you with all the stars in your eyes as he congratulated you. He helped you move your meager belongings into the Demeter cabin the very next day.

It was the first time you decided to go home since arriving at camp, and Luke was sidled outside your door, making wry comments every so often as he kept you company while you packed.

It was him kissing you right before you went over the hill because he said he couldn’t keep his feelings in any longer. It was you kissing him right back wondering why he waited so damn long.

It was three years of the best thing you’d ever experienced, of the most steadfast companion you could’ve had by your side—three years of Luke Castellan’s love.

Then you blinked, and you were back in the woods. Luke’s expression had softened, but the brimming tears in your eyes blurred your vision.

“I really did love you, y’know,” Luke finally murmured. “But you should know that love isn’t ever enough.”

He was out of your view before you could even muster the strength to move again, and then you were running through the forest faster than ever before.

But when you reached Cabin Eleven, there was no sign of him. And when you checked the pavilion and the forge and the amphitheater and the training arena and every other godsdamned place, you were just as disappointed.

But by the time you got to Chiron and found out the chaos that had spouted in his wake, that he had wanted you to be a part of, it was much, much too late.

Percy Jackson was fighting for his life. Camp had been left in complete disarray. Luke was working for Kronos.

And the man you loved was truly gone.

[milotraflgkl]

.☘︎ ݁˖ PT. 2 of Law being Delusional

.ᐟ WHO: Trafalgar D. Water Law from One Piece

.ᐟ CONTENT: ooc?, law being soft, hinted confession/feelings, fluff

.ᐟ WORD COUNT: 1196

.ᐟ AUTHORS NOTE: I hope yall all enjoy this, there will be a part three but i might have to make yall wait for it so i can get through some older requests that im still behind on then once im done i’ll be able to write more random things i feel like writing. here is part one!

Law had been trying to deny his feelings but every time he’d close his eyes it was just.. you. He hated it and he knew at some point he was going to need to confront his feelings, to face you and look at you after almost two weeks of avoiding you. He never realized how important you were in his day-to-day life, the times you’d bring him coffee to wake him up as well as bring him small snacks throughout the day. He wasn’t sure why he felt so strongly about the situation, especially since he was the one who told you to shut up and pushed you away. He would grumble something as he brought his hands up to his head, leaning against his hands as his elbows rested on the table. He was trying to figure out how to talk to you, to bring it all up, and to take back what he said. To tell you that he wanted to talk, to bother him, to annoy him. All of the above.

Finally, he caved. Making his way around the submarine glancing into every room to try and find your face, to hear your voice, to see you again. He finally would make his way to the lounge area, finding you sitting there reading a book that he knew he had read before and you had caught home reading it. It made him grow nervous, the realization that you probably also continued to think about him and probably more than he thought about you made this all more nerve-wracking. It was stupid, he felt like a dumb teenage boy going to confess his feelings to his first-ever crush. But- He wasn’t going to confess his feelings! … Right? At this point, there was a blur between what he was going to do in the current moment and his body started to move on its own as he walked over to you looking down at you for a moment before he cleared his throat.

Flinching you snapped up to look up from your book, staring up at him as your eyes scanned his face and tried to figure out what even was happening in the current moment. With the way that he held his hat over his eyes and tilted his head to look away from you, his body language was strange and unusual. After a moment of staring at him in shock you clicked back to reality and shut the book moving to stand up, “I’m sorry, was I in the way?” You ask him as you slightly bow your head down to him and keep your eyes to the ground, worried you had done something else wrong and he was here to get onto you.

He hated the fact that his words had caused you to believe that just being even a bit in his area meant that you were in his way, he almost reached out but he quickly remembered that he didn’t want to open up the chance of physical contact. “No, I wanted to talk to you.” He said in a flat voice, his brows furrowed as he stared down at the wall next to him that was decorated with a bookshelf that was filled to the brim with different types of books. “I wanted to apologize for telling you to shut up and pushing you away like that…” He grumbled as he had a heavy frown on his face his eyes trying to distract himself by reading the different titles of the books.

You stared up at him in shock, was he… apologizing??? You weren’t sure how to react, especially since you weren’t sure you’d ever seen your captain apologize even if he was wrong - he was stubborn in that sense. You took a deep breath and then swallowed thickly, “It’s… okay.” You whispered out, you didn’t mean for your voice to sound so quiet, and silently swore under your breath for how weak your voice even sounded. You noticed how he didn’t even look toward you but you didn’t notice how his whole body tensed up, you slowly lowered your head to look at the ground in defeat. “I thought about how I had acted previously and it was too much, especially between a Captain and his Crew.” You spoke up, wanting to say what you needed before anything.

He snapped to turn to look at you, being greeted with the top of your head pointed in his direction. His eyes widened and he paused as he stared down at you before he took a sharp inhale, reaching over to grab your shoulder causing you to look up at him. “I didn’t mind it.” He admits, that his expression was stern yet his voice almost seemed to falter at the admission and he could feel his ears beginning to heat up when you made eye contact with him staring up at him with those… eyes. He quickly retracted his hand and subconsciously wiped his hand off against his shirt and then dropped it down to the side of his body, you didn’t take the act as offense as you knew your captain's feelings on physicality, and him even trying to touch you made you feel something.

“Thank you.” You whispered back out to him, your eyes scanning his face and glancing at the pink that had decorated his ear almost giggling before holding it back and swallowing it thickly. You watched as he turned to look away again, his eyes scanning the different books but wasn’t paying attention to what they said, and seemed like he was trying to figure out the words he wanted to say to you. “I wouldn’t mind if you went back to… acting how you did.” He said in almost a whisper, your eyes stared up at the side of his face admiring his jawline and then hair that decorated up to his hair and you felt your whole body heat up by just how attractive your captain truly was. “Yes, Captain.” You respond without a thought before tensing up and looking up to see if what you had said was.. bad timing. He didn’t seem bothered.

“Good.” That was all he said before he suddenly turned around and walked off, leaving you to sit there and process the whole interaction before you started to do a small dance and squeal a little bit. You finally got your spot back to annoying your Captain and he liked you being there, you were thrilled while Law sat in his office with his head in his hands and his face best red from embarrassment at his actions and words. It would take him a while but, he’d get used to you being around. Came to enjoy it and missed it whenever you were busy or gone, often trying to go out of his way to check up on you if you haven’t been around for a long time. The crew didn’t notice at first until maybe a week or two later, they were happy the uneasiness was gone now but there was another issue…. the way that their captain was acting with you was foreign.

tags: @paraniodidiot @elationa @valval08

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Oooo I have a request if that's still okay. I have like constantly been thinking about like the fluff possibilities of like winding down after a mission with Tan (or the Twins together). Just the vibes of being in some random terrible hotel and trying to wind down from the adrenaline of the mission.

(I dont know if that is enough for a request, it's probrably more of a drabble unless you get hit with inspiration of the gods. But no pressure to write it, it's just been in my brain lately)

Also I hope you're doing okay❤️❤️❤️

OOUHHH YEAA!! love it!! thanks for requesting 💌

ADAPT.

idk how to tag this, but implied tan x reader at the end?? but lots of lemon involved. idk im confused myself😭

wc. 1033 no warnings. just some blood mentions but it’s nothing really

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Desperate times call for desperate measures. It always has, especially in the field you work in. You have to be able to adapt constantly, change your plans at a drop of the hat.

And while this situation seemed catastrophic to your fairly new team, it was far less dire than they made it out to be: your mishap with bookings at the hotel — somehow reserving a room for a year in advance. Simple mistake really; it was late. You were tired, you were in the car when searching for hotels, you pulled your muscle, your phone was dying, the list was endless.

The twins were notably disappointed to hear that the hotel was fully booked, the spa across the lobby acting like a giant slap in the face to them. While you too were disappointed, you were rather embarrassed: your first time taking charge of accommodation only for it to be fumbled. 

And so you had to adapt, put that motto into place for the dozenth time today. You found a shabby run down motel online that’s only a couple miles away, though it didn’t look the best. While this was a foreign country to you, this is work, not a holiday. There was nothing else available so it should have to do.

Tangerine pulls into the car park, exchanging a couple glances with Lemon in the passenger seat beside him. And with your seat in the back, you had a rather clear view of their disgust for the motel. Yes, it was utterly disgusting, but it did sting to see their contempt. 

The rental car pulls to a halt and you jump out, heading for the main office — practically welcoming the idea for the brothers to have a bitching session about you. 

You collect the keys and head back to the car, knocking on Tangerine’s window, motioning for him to slide it down. 

“So, more bad news,” you start, looking between either brother. “Could only get one room. There’s something going on in town this weekend, so they’re fully booked up. I couldn’t really understand him, but I think that's what he said anyway.”

Lemon’s head theatrically back forward from the news and Tangerine just sighs, a deep exhalation of air as if to tell you he wasn’t too pleased. They pause briefly, like they were gathering the courage before finally unbuckling their seat belts.

You step back from the driver’s door and head to the boot, pulling out all your bags. They join you moments later and grab their overnight bags from the floor, slinging them over their shoulders. 

“Right, which one is our shit heap?” Tangerine asks, looking around. 

“Better not be that one,” Lemon mumbles, pointing at the door with the flickering light ahead, a suspicious box sitting outside. 

You look down at the key, trying to read the number though it's hard to see with its worn use. “Number nine?” you question, tilting it towards the street light to get a better look. 

You all walk forwards in search of the room and lo and behold — it does get worse. It's the one that Lemon very vocally shared his distaste over, that same spiel continuing as you get closer to your room for the night. Though Tangerine is quiet, his brain sure to be loud with thoughts that may be too unkind to share. 

You put the key into the door and open it slowly, making sure there isn't someone or something in there. The twins cock their guns behind you, pointing their barrels into the darkness of the room while you search for the light switch.

“Fuck me,” Tangeine mumbles, taking in the room. 

You’re rather stunned too, the appearance of the motel inside somehow worse than the appearance outside. 

“Someone definitely died in here,” Lemon proclaims, looking around. “Right here, I reckon,” he points to a brown patch on the rusty red carpet beside the bed. “Christ! Look at that! That’s got to be blood.”

“Fucking hell,” Tangerine continues to mutter, glancing over the state of the walls. Bright yellow wallpaper peeling and cracking at the sight. “This is dreadful. Proper dreadful.”

“We’re gonna be killed tonight, I just know it,” Lemon continues.

“This is bad.”

“Gonna die with my last meal being a shit, warm sandwich from a service station.”

“Good god.”

Their muttering voices begin to dwindle and finally they turn to you still standing by the door, their faces simultaneously softening when they spot how unimpressed you look. How almost upset you are by their words. You knew you messed up, but they did not have to go on and on about it.

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

They glance between each other in that way siblings often do, communicating without words essentially. And then they walk towards you, hands reaching for either arm to give them a lighthearted shake. 

“It’s just been a long day, that's all,” Tangerine speaks up, trying to make light of the situation. 

“It’s really not that bad,” Lemon grimaces with the lie, his face unable to sell fib. 

You laugh, shaking your head quickly. “No, it really is terrible.”

“It’s vile.”

“I’m not even gonna be able to sleep a wink.”

“Should we sleep in the car… or?” you prosopse and Lemon immediately bolts for the door rushing to the rental out front.

You and Tangerine look between yourselves and smile at the antics. And as you go to step out of the room, Tangerine stops you — calling your name.

“Hey uh,” he rubs over his arm, seeming to stall. “I hope we weren’t being too hard on you.”

You turn to look at him and your smile widens. “I know,” you nod. “Just been a long day.”

“Right.”

You reply with another nod and itch away slowly, heading out into the night and for the office once more. And as you turn around, you see him lingering in the frame of the door, gaze following you like he was looking after you — visually surveilling your safety as you walk through the unfamiliar car park.

Well that's what he told himself anyway, that it was about your safety. Lemon’s view from beside the car painting a different picture.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[slt4kavanagh]

hey queen..it’s me again

anyways yk how in (i think) K13 Johnny tells Hughie he wants a little girl

yeah well I need girl dad! Johnny as a fic

immediately (jk no rush take your time 🫶)

Maybe it can be in like readers POV and her thoughts as she watches Johnny interact with their daughter and how it maybe heals her inner child in some way

(i hope that makes sense queen im so sorry if it doesn’t it’s almost 1 am where i live and im lowkey sleep deprived)

ok that’s all i’ll leave you alone…for now

all the softness he saved for her

pairing: johnny kavanagh x fem!reader

tw: none

a/n: if my releasing 10 copy doesn’t get shipped to my house soon i’m actually gonna end it because at this point i might as well manufacture it myself.

masterlist !

you remember the moment you found out you were pregnant—not because it was dramatic, but because everything felt slower, heavier, and somehow sharper all at once. the stick sat on the bathroom counter, nearly forgotten, and yet you kept glancing at it like it was some sort of secret code you couldn’t quite crack.

when you told johnny, he was halfway through a text, the rugby match paused on the telly behind him. you weren’t sure how he’d take it. you’d imagined a dozen reactions—shock, joy, panic—but none of those quite matched what you saw.

his eyes went wide. he dropped his phone. for a moment, he just stared at you like you were the only thing in the room. then he laughed—a little shaky, a little unsure. “you’re serious?”

you nodded, heart thudding, and that was the first time you saw the mix of everything in him—the fear, the hope, the overwhelming love.

he stood up and pulled you into a hug that felt like trying to hold onto something fragile. “our girl,” he whispered. “we’re gonna have a daughter.”

you didn’t say anything then. just let the quiet settle between you both. it was real now.

over the next weeks, you watched him change in small ways. the way he talked about ‘our baby’ like he could already feel her in his arms, even though she wasn’t born yet. how he read books he barely understood, fingers tracing the words slowly, like trying to memorize them so he wouldn’t mess up.

there was the night he came home late, tired from training, but still sat with you on the couch, wrapping an arm around your belly like he was introducing himself to someone new.

“she’s gonna have your eyes,” he said quietly. “and your stubbornness too, probably.”

you smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. “and your temper.”

he laughed, squeezing you gently. “yeah, well, maybe she’ll learn from the best.”

you thought about the childhood you never really had—the parts you missed, the people who weren’t there—and how johnny’s presence was already patching up old wounds you hadn’t known were still open.

sometimes, you caught him just staring at your stomach, a softness in his gaze that made your chest ache. he’d run a hand lightly over your bump and say things like, “can’t wait to meet you, princess.”

but underneath the excitement, there was a quiet fear too. you saw it in the way he sometimes fell silent when you talked about the future, in the tension in his jaw, the way he rubbed his hands together when no one was looking.

one night, you asked him what he was thinking.

“what if i mess it up?” he said honestly, voice low.

you reached for his hand. “you won’t. just be you. that’s enough.”

he looked at you like he’d never heard anything so reassuring.

the birth was long and harder than you’d imagined. johnny was by your side the whole time, never leaving, his hand never letting go of yours. he whispered your name like it was a prayer, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead when the pain got too much.

when she finally came, tiny and wailing, the world shifted.

johnny’s eyes filled with tears as they placed her in your arms. he was silent, overwhelmed, as if he was afraid to breathe too loud and break the moment.

he leaned down, kissing her soft cheek, then looked up at you, voice cracking. “she’s perfect.”

and in that moment, you knew you’d never be the same.

watching him hold her—the way he gently rocked her, whispered nonsense, and kissed her sleepy head—was like seeing a new part of him come alive. the fierce rugby player was now a fierce protector of this tiny girl, and somehow that healed pieces of you you didn’t know were still hurting.

you saw yourself in their little family, a whole new story beginning.

and for once, the future didn’t seem so scary.

⸻

it’s a tuesday morning. the sun’s just coming up, soft and golden through the window, and you hear johnny’s voice from the nursery—low, warm, patient.

“come on now, princess, it’s time to wake up.”

you peek in to see him rocking her gently, his big hands carefully holding her like she’s made of glass. she’s half-asleep, eyes fluttering open, tiny fingers curling around his thumb.

johnny grins, tired but happy. “look at you, ready to take on the day, are ya?”

she lets out a little coo, and he laughs quietly, kissing her temple. “yeah, that’s my girl.”

later, he’s teaching her how to crawl on the living room floor. his knees scrape the hardwood, and he makes silly noises to get her attention.

“c’mon, come to daddy,” he says, voice soft but encouraging. she wiggles forward, eyes wide with wonder, and johnny’s face lights up like the world’s been made just for her.

“that’s it! good girl, keep goin’.”

you watch from the doorway, heart swelling. this isn’t just a dad and daughter moment—it’s healing, a kind of magic that stitches up the cracks from your own childhood.

one evening, johnny’s holding her after bath time, wrapped in a fluffy towel. she’s gripping his hair with her little fists, babbling nonsense words. he’s so focused on her, you can see the exhaustion fading, replaced by pure adoration.

“you talkin’ to me, princess? what’re you sayin’, eh?” he smiles, voice playful but soft.

she squeals, and he laughs, the sound warm and steady, a promise in the dark.

then there’s the bedtime routine—johnny’s reading her favourite story, his voice gentle and steady. when she starts to drift off, he hums a lullaby, his arms holding her close, rocking slowly.

you catch his eye from the doorway, and there’s that look again—deep love, fierce protectiveness, and something like wonder that maybe, just maybe, this little girl is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

[haroun31]

Let me take care of you

●|Y!Phosphophyllite x gem!reader|●

●Dark theme--Obsession--Violence--Read only if you are in the right mind set

●I DO NOT CONDONE ANYTHING THAT IS WRITE IN HERE! IF YOU FIND IN A SIMILIAR SITUATION PLS SEEK HELP!!!

(This is an old one shot I wrote like two years ago but never posted, might had it on my book Hnkxreader on Quotev, need to think about it)

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How could this have happened? No wait, that was a question you already knew the answer to, the real question was why hadn't you done anything? You watched his mental health decline step by step, piece by piece. It had all started when Antarcticite had been taken away during that tiring winter but to tell the truth perhaps the nightmare had started even before then. Slowly like a virus, it first made sure to make its way among the colorful inclusions and then exploded in a catastrophe. 

"Im sorry. . .sniff. . .Im s-so sorry. . ."

What kind of friend were you? Can you really call yourself a friend? After all, you didn't do anything special, you only treated him with decency, like a normal friend, you never really got angry at him. It wasn't like you to get angry anyway. And deep down it made you a little sad to always see him all alone in the middle of the vast expanse of grass. Yes, he was certainly lively and a little awkward but you didn't really understand why the other gems felt such contempt towards the peppermint one. 

Clink. . .clank. . .tap. . .clink. . .tap. . .

Maybe you should have listened to them though. 

At a certain point everything had degenerated, you had lost Morga, Goshe, Ghost and Phos' head replaced by that of Lapis. Then the latter was captured and taken to the moon only for him to return completely changed. He no longer seemed like your old friend, he seemed more like a stranger to you. Since he returned from the moon he had become much clingier than usual, almost to the point of being suffocating, as if with every step you took he was at your side, as if every time you went on patrol you could feel his pearly white eye burning your back.

And then out of the blue he asked you to go with him to the moon. On the moon? At that moment you thought that the Lunarians had brainwashed him and this was another one of their stunts to capture you all.

You refused. 

And maybe it was a mistake. Like a switch Phos flipped from calm to panicked. He immediately tried to make you change your mind, even going so far as to beg you and you had the feeling that he would even threaten you if he didn't give in to your umpteenth no. You had seen how the Lunarians had changed Phos, you didn't want the same thing to happen to you. 

Maybe you should have been the one to convince him not to return to the moon but the truth was that you no longer saw him as the friend you knew and loved. That Phos had already been dead for some time. 

"I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry, forgive me. . .p-please, I didn't mean. . .it" 

Then he returned and the earth gems destroyed him and threw his pieces around the island. The one you had you put it under the pillow of your bed. A beautiful fragment of phosphophyllite. It reminded you of the past. But then he was rebuilt by someone and managed to escape. You had an idea who the culprit might have been but revealing it wouldn't change anything. 

You never saw him again until that fateful day. A festive day that should have been reserved for nothing but joy and fun. How ironic. All of you were unaware that the gateway to hell would open that night. Especially, for some reasons. For you. 

Thousands of sunspots appeared in the sky covering it with spots, then from the central one your old friends appeared and in the center of them a gem you had never seen. Gem was a kind description, he was more like a demon, devil, monster, call it what you want but that thing had no right to bear the same name as your lovely innocent old friend. 

It was a complete massacre. Most were exterminated by Alex. You had been spared from his fury only because Benito had beheaded him, now only you and Euclase remained in that room. Phos approached you two, almost gleefully stomping on all the fragments. Euclase tried to talk to him but was mercilessly beheaded before being tossed aside like an old doll. 

Now only you were left.

And you knew damn well that you couldn't do shit against him. Because fuck, at the end he was still your damn fucking friend and you cant hurt him. You already did it when you left him. So you didn't mind that much if he destroyed you. It would have been a bit like the pay for not having tried harder to save him. 

So you dropped your sword as his blade cut you in two and you lost consciousness. 

The story should have ended here right? 

"I-I. . .I just wanted everyone to love m-me. . .Im sorry please. . .you are the only one who cares about me. . .im sorry, im sorry, why did I do that?"

So imagine your surprise when you regained consciousness and the school ceiling welcomed you. You weren't fully adjusted yet, you couldn't feel your legs, a portion of your left arm and your head. Trembling hands completed what was the puzzle of your body, feeling that more and more consciousness and memories resurfaced in your mind. Did Sensei manage to calm down Phos? Did Cinnabar or Jade defeat him? 

Yet a long goopy golden string inserting your missed eye was enough to make your non-existent heart stop. Hadn't they made it? Or did Phos had a change of heart? You could hear his incomprehensible, nonsensical muttering in the background with the words he repeated the most being sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry and sorry.

He was sorry.

"Phos?" your voice was uncertain and his muttering stopped when he heard it. Suddenly the gem, demon appeared in your vision. He hadn't changed, still half destroyed with alloy spikes protruding from his neck and back. That pearly white eye stared at you with such intensity that if you had the strength you would have shuddered. From it flowed uninterrupted tears of gold that fell onto your face before sliding down and mixing with some other pool of alloy. 

He was crying.

"____. . .Im sorry! Im sorry for destroying you! I shouldnt have done it! Im sorry, im sorry, please dont be mad at me! You are the only one who was kind to me! You dont deserve this treatment please, please, please, please." he begged with an exasperated tone as his alloy coiled around you like a snake and continued to rebuild you. 

Feeling that your right arm and abdomen were solid enough you slowly sat up looking around "Phos...what happened?" All around you you could see shards of gems littering the floor. Not bodies, just fragments. As if someone had bothered to chop them all up. At the sight of such a massacre you felt like you were about to self-destruct, a small crack had already formed on your cheek and immediately Phos took your face in his hands and brought it back towards his so that you could no longer see anything. 

God, you didn't know which view was worse. The shredded remains of your friends or the demon that took over your old friend's body. 

His touch was too sweet for a monster like him and with a little powder he covered the crack "I crushed everyone"

You could perfectly see it.

"A-And Sensei?"

"I destroyed him too" he responded coldly, a rather frightening contrast to the state he was in initially. He went too quickly from one emotion to another. "What about the Lunarians?" you continued trying to look around but not being able since Phos still has a tigh grip on your face "Aechema had arrived. . .he wanted the eye of Adamant. I gave it to him and told him to leave me alone. I have no idea what they'll do now. The Lunarians who were here. . ." a dark look covered his face and the white eye almost seemed to light up ". . .they're gone dont worry."

You were worried but not for that. Why was Phos rebuilding you? Has he finally achieved his goal? He wanted to destroy Sensei right? So now he will rebuild everyone and then. . .and then you'll finally sort out this whole thing, right? "We will rebuild the others right? You're rebuilding me so the others will come back too?” You asked as his attention shifted to your broken arm. 

"The others. . ." he began, his tone was cold as inverse and it was as if a veil had fallen over his white eye as if he was getting lost in thought "They never cared about me" suddenly his grip on your arm tightened chipping the surface, his expression dark and totally no longer present in this plane of reality "No. . .they don't deserve to come back. . ." you winced at the force trying to wriggle your arm out of his grasp ". . .I wont let them-"

CRACK!

"Ouch fuck!"

You cursed holding your broken arm, fragments of the gems you were made of fallen down reflecting the sunlight. "Oh. . .oops" Phos said completely emotionless looking at the piece of your arm in his hands before trying to take your broken part and even if you tryed to back away it was no use because his alloy held you in place while he worked on fixing you. 

First he was desperate, then he was acting chill and now it was like he was emotionless?! He was such a fucking mess! A ticking bomb ready to detonate at the first mistake. You could have wriggled, screamed, rebelled but looking at the situation you were in, it wasn't as if Phos was hurting you himself, on the contrary, so you decided to let him do it. 

You will pulverized his face in the future.

Plus it seemed like taking care of you calmed him down and made him happy. His touch was loving and delicate as if he was touching the most fragile gem in the world. You just couldn't understand what was going through his mind, this was no longer Phos, but a demon with his appearance. 

Inserting piece after piece he continued his work as you watched him in silence continuing to ask yourself questions that will never be answered. Of course the most common one was, what will happen now? What does the demon in front of you plan? 

Cling, Clang, Tap, Cling, Cling

Inserting the last piece of your right arm you stretched your hand before your eyes examining the beautiful work done, your pupils then dropped to your legs, still broken, and then moved to Phos. At his side were the rest of your legs already rebuilt, all you had to do was attach them. You looked at them and then looked at Phos expecting him to finish the job or at least pass them to you. 

But his white eye simply watched you, his body giving no sign of moving. "Your uniform is destroyed" he pointed out which made you look down at it. It actually wasn't in good shape at all, in fact, it looked like you were wearing rags instead of a uniform. Kneeling at your side the demon picked you up almost abruptly making you let out a gasp at the sudden movement.

"Phos!? Wha? My legs! What about them!?" you shouted at him as you felt the alloy wrap around your body "Phosphophyllite! Give me my fucking legs! Come on!" you exclaimed again noticing how the gem had ignored you. Phos continued his advance towards where Red Beryl's laboratory was without sparing you a glance. Not wanting to play his game anymore you tried to squirm trying to free yourself from his suffocating grip but all you got was the alloy becoming more aggressive to the point of tying your wrists behind your back.

"Oi Phos! What the fuck are you doing!? Answer me damn it!"

"Let me take care of you"

That was all he said to you before entering the laboratory and taking the first clean uniform he could find then he tried to make you wear it having had a lot of difficulty in his attempt as you continued to struggle repeating that you wanted answers. That wasn't an answer! You wanted to know what was going on! Why you were the only one that Phos was rebuilding, why the others were practically reduced to dust, why he didn't want to give you your legs back! Why?! 

After your umpteenth struggle, Phos' patience was wearing thin and he swiftly twisted his alloy around your arms, pinning you practically on top of the table you were sitting on and brought his face within inches of yours. "If you don't stop I'll break your arms too. I don't care. I just need you to be conscious. Understood?" his tone was cold and his eye was empty like a doll's. 

You nodded.

"Good"

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That night Phos cried.

He cried like a baby, hugging you as he continued to tell you how sorry he was for threatening you and that it will never happen again. You didn't believed the last part. He was too unstable, the fact that he was back in his desperate phase was more than enough proof of that. For the moment you had identified 4 main phases that he tended to take on during the day, the desperate, the emotionless, the furious and the calm. The last one was your favorite. It was the only moment he was willing to answer any of your question.

The next few days were hard for you. You hated from the bottom of your soul that you couldn't do anything. Any proposal you made to reconstruct the other gems was immediately shot down and 90% of the time his mood immediately transitioned into the furious phase. Same thing if you tried to rebuild them yourself. With difficulty you dragged yourself towards them trying to sort through the thousand very small fragments. 

Punctually Phos had caught you in the act and was so angry that he grabbed your arm and broke it. He didn't give it back to you until the next day when with a loving touch he reattached it to you and then burst into tears again at the sight of your visible fractures. It was always so tiring to deal with hid mood swing. Walking on eggshell. It was not fun. And you still didn't understand why you were brought back, why only you? 

"You were kind to me, you are kind to me. My friend, my only friend. I don't want the same thing that happened to Antarc to happen to you too. I cant let it happens"

Why then not bringing the others back?

"You never know who might betray you. They destroyed me without even hearing what I had to say. . .I won't let anyone hurt you. Let me take care of you"

Which translated meant, I don't want to suffer anymore, I want to be loved even if it's just an illusion. And the only person he knew who could love him was you. 

And despite all those swing moods, despite the demon that inhabits your old friend, you wanted to help him. You felt like a fool everytime you felt pity for him, he was liyerhelding you captive! It's not fair. It's not fair how that monster uses his appearance to deceive you because he knows you're desperate enough to believe that old Phos is still there somewhere. So when he cries you console him and he absorbs that affection you give him as if it were lifeblood, desperate for more affection. Something he hasnt got in so long.

He loves taking care of you. Heal your wounds. Help you get from one place to another. Hold you in his arms. It makes him feel like he's finally useful in something, like he's no longer the pathetic old bumbling gem. It makes him feel good. Because this way he can blame his old self if Antarc had been captured, that if he had been as strong as he is now nothing bad would have happened. 

After the news that the white gem could no longer be returned, Phos no longer wanted to risk it. He didn't want to lose you too. Even though you hadn't wanted to follow him to the moon, you had always been his friend, you had treated him with so much kindness that perhaps not even Sensei had ever treated him that way. You were funny, strong, kind even if you tended to curse a little too much. 

So he was happy to be able to solve your problems. Too bad he was the one who created them. Sure he felt extremely guilty if he broke your arm but then the feeling of fixing you was too intoxicating that he simply forgot. It was so much intoxicating that sometimes he wanted to break you on purpose just to rebuild you. But of course he never did. He loved you too much. He could not. 

"I will protect you"

"From who that the only danger here is you"

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Sometimes you wondered how the gems were doing on the moon. Had they already achieved nothinghess? Were they and the Lunarians already gone? Had they abandoned you? 

But then you saw some sun spots in the sky and your non-existent heart beat faster at the idea that perhaps they would come to save you. To tell you the truth, you wouldn't have cared if they took you away but you wanted your friends to be able to be rebuilt. Obviously, however, Phos destroyed them before they could do anything. 

The only chance you had to save your friends was to take their fragments away from the school and place them in plain sight so that the Lunarians would see them and, once Phos was no longer present, take them. You were aware that you didn't know if they would actually rebuild them but it was the only way to save them. Phos kept controlling you so you couldn't. 

The demon didn't ask questions when you took a bag full of gems with you on your walks. He didnt wondered about it when you asked him to take you away from school and while he watched you scatter the fragments. He thought you couldn't stand to see the remains of your old friends anymore and he understood that. 

He had been thinking about throwing them into the sea for some time but that was fine too.

He didnt care.

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After a few years Phos decided to give you your legs back and you couldn't be more than happy. 

You finally no longer had to rely on Phos to get from one place to another. Not that you can go very far now anyway, in the end you lived on an island. Where would you have fled? In water? 

"Are you happy?"

Phos asked you wrapping his arms around you looking at you with his heterochromatic eyes. After a few years of searching he had managed to find the remains of the fragments of Lapis's head and fix it. "Im happy" he continued in a cheerful tone "I always wanted happiness and I received it with you. Only with you." closing his eyes he put his head in the crooks of your neck, a thin blanket separated you two so that you could destroy each other. 

"I love you" a lil kiss was planted on your cheek that cracked together with his lips.

You loved Phos too.

But this wasn't your adorable old friend but a demon in his guise. 

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[skiiyoomin]

HELLO! Can you write a denki x goth!reader? Reader has a shadow quirk that makes her unable to fully walk into the sun without a umbrella and looks a bit eerie but is a sweetheart, totally sun and moon couple vibes 🌒. I'm sorry If this is too especific, you can ignore If you want to!!!

ღDenki with a goth s/o

ʚCont: gn! reader, goth reader, mention of golden retriever and black cat trope, swearing, mentions of goth culture (im very uncultured in it so i apologize if i made a mistake)

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Opposites attract is the definition of your relationship. He´s the sun, you´re the moon. The perfect duo, is what people say. And it´s true. You complement each other so well, it creates a perfect balance in your relationship. The dynamic is a lot like Beast boy and Raven. He´s always bounding with energy whereas you´re reserved and on the chill side of things.

When Denki first laid eyes on you, he was a little intimidated if he was being honest. He couldn´t help it! You looked so scary and eerie he thought you were gonna gauge his eyes out or something. That all changed when you saved him during the U.S.J incident. It all happened so quick, a flash of moments that became a blur. But the moment that was engraved in his memories was your worried face asking if he was okay. Did he fall in love instantly? Maybe.

His perception of you definitely did a 180 since then. And honestly, he felt a little guilty for assuming you were mean in the first place. Nevertheless, he opened up later on to the idea of getting to know you. It started off when he attempted to bake a thank you cake for saving him. Turns out, you don´t like sweet things. But don´t fret! Denki does not lose his determination. So instead, he arranged a bouquet of flowers. You were allergic to one of them. Now he was starting to grow frustrated. Attempt after attempt slowly beated down his hopes of doing something nice for you (you appreciated everything even if Denki deemed it unsuitable, he needed perfection). At last, luck took pity on him and presented the perfect opportunity. He caught onto a snippet of a conversation you were having with Jirou. You were rambling about a book you had been saving up for. That´s it! He´ll get you the book.

"Denki? Are you okay?"

You ask a frenzied looking Denki who knocked on your door at 11PM.

"I have it" He pants with his hands on his knees. You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Have what?"

A shaky hand holds up a brand new copy of the book you had been eyeing for a while. "The book you wanted" He wheezes. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Just to what lengths did Denki go to buy the book and appear at your door looking like he ran a marathon?Your silence must have been long because he stood back him, a nervous smile on his lips as he pushes the book into your hand.

"I-wow, thank you" You managed to sputter at last. But before you could manage another word, he was already rushing down the hallway, a furious blush on his cheeks.

Ever since then he´s attached to your hip. He saw you the next day reading the book (that he gifted which was no small matter in his eyes), and the soft smile you sent his way when you made eye contact was enough to send him to heaven and above.

He stuck to your side like glue, constantly asking questions about the things you like and whatnot. And trust me when I say he became whipped real quick. The heart eyes were obvious, he was not fooling anyone. Going back to the whole Beast Boy and Raven dynamic, Denki is a very flirty guy. And the fact that he likes you boosts that to a million. He´s always using some cheesy pick up line or trying to do boyfriend things. He makes his crush on you obvious and he has no shame in it. And even though you act like you hate it, you both know you don´t. After all, if you hated it, you would´ve pushed him away long ago.

At this point, everyone was counting down the days until you finally got together. When it finally happened everyone was ecsatic because yay! no more annoying crushing Denki. But they soon regretted it because Denki with a partner is a million times more annoying.

He´s always showing you off with a proud giddy smile. Because you´re his. His partner and no one elses. Loves loves loves kissing you and hugging you. He´s a very physically affectionate person. Basically a golden retriever and you´re the black cat. He always has that lovesick puppy eyed look, like a puppy sitting by their owners feet, waiting to be acknowledged. That´s how he is with you, and when you do give him attention, he´s over the moon. He´s very vocal about his love for you and could spend hours listing off all the things he likes about you. The squad can not take it any longer.

He worships the ground you walk on you´re goddess, he´s your biggest supporter. So trust when I say he does not take any slander directed towards you. He zaps people who look at you the wrong way.

Also! Last but not least, having a goth partner means his eyes open up to the whole goth culture. Ever since he became friends with you he took an interest in your clothing style, the music you listen to, the make up style. Basically anything, and he definitely binge read anything having to do with goth culture just so he´d look cool and all knowimg when you talk to him. You ended up having to teach him yourself but you appreciated the effort either way.

All in all, Denki is the best boyfriend. End of speech.

[morose-melodies]

that's what the article said, anyway | yandere! childe/ajax x f! reader

summary: ajax got a bit too engrossed in buzzfeed quizzes and articles telling him how to pull... it seems he can't think for himself anymore

content warning: childe being a weirdo

a/n: IM SO RUSTY I miss my old writing style sm :((

there was an eighty-six percent chance that ajax liked you.

and a one hundred percent chance that you like him back.

that's what the online quiz 'do you have a crush on your friend? made by a female. 100% accuracy' said anyway, so it must be true, it's gotta be.

he'd lay it on thick with you tomorrow- woo you, make you confess your undying attraction to him because that's what the follow-up article 'how to get your crush to want you. made by a female. 100% chance of success' said he should do.

he had a plan.

...

ajax got to school a bit earlier than usual.

phase one of his plan? walk to class with you and potentially hold your bag for you, to show you he was the sort of man you'd want in your life.

he was sort of hiding around a corner, waiting for you to enter the front door, then, he'd casually approach you and make good conversation with you as the two of you walked to class together.

the door opened, and ajax perked up, peeking around the corner... just to see some guy entering.

he sighed, pressing his back against the wall he hid behind. he could feel his heart beating at an oddly fast pace- he had to be cool, or else you'd think he was a total loser who didn't understand women.

but he understood women- he understood them well, too. after all, he read the 'all about women' article three times over while eating breakfast this morning.

at this point, he probably understood you better than you understood yourself.

the door opened again, this time, it was you.

ajax gripped at the strap of his book bag, as he walked from around the corner and towards you, "hey- you're here pretty early."

"yeah."

yeah, that's all? ajax swallowed, his grip on the strap tightened, "you planning on running for class president?"

"nope."

you kept walking! you didn't even stop to pay attention to the conversation. ajax followed after you, "huh, I was thinkin' of running. would you vote for me if i did?"

"I don't know."

were you walking faster!? oh gosh...

ajax sped up after you, grabbing the back of your book bag, "hey, I'll hold your bag for you. we can walk to class together, right?" he was laying it in thick, just like he said it would! women liked assertive men- that's what the article said.

"what- no, I'm fine."

ajax slowly released your bookbag and stopped following you altogether. you're fine? he didn't believe it, not even for a moment. you must be having a bad morning or something. he'd make you feel better, he knew he could.

so he went to class instead and sat down at his desk, which was conveniently beside yours- not exactly, considering he's liked you for a while now and asked his teacher for the desk beside you.

he waited and waited for you.

until you finally got to class. you sat down at your desk, casting a small glance at him before settling down.

ajax tapped his pencil against his desk, occasionally glancing at you for long seconds.

and of course, you took note of this, and soon enough, you were annoyed. "hey," you whispered to him.

"huh?" ajax perked up. you were starting a conversation with him? he stifled a grin.

"do you need something?"

"what was that? huh... oh, no."

"then stop looking at me."

oh.

ajax slumped down in his seat, covering his eyes. his heart was pounding so hard against his chest, he had been so excited that you spoke to him! only for you to tell him off??

you were super stubborn.

Well, onto phase two, it was. buying you lunch and gaining your favor.

so, when lunchtime was near, ajax left class early. women liked food, that's what the article said, so, you'd be real grateful for this, wouldn't you?

he bought himself lunch and scoffed it down before you got to the cafeteria. he got up and approached you when he saw you enter, "lunch on me, okay?"

this had to work, right?

"okay," you nodded at him and got your money's worth of lunch - it was more than you'd usually get; ajax knew that, but maybe you were extra hungry today.

when you went to sit down, he followed after you and sat across from you.

whatever doubt he felt towards that article faded as he watched you eat, chin in the palm of his hand - he was going to cherish this.

"uh..."

"huh?"

"you gonna keep staring at me while I eat?"

"sure, if you don't mind."

from the way you were glaring, ajax expected the worst but instead got nothing. you went back to eating.

ajax smiled - it was worth it, definitely worth it. getting to sit across from you was nice and being allowed to shamelessly watch you was even nicer.

he usually had to be sure you weren't watching before he even glanced at you.

man, was he getting rewarded today!

...

when school was over, the last phase of his plan was in play. he was going to walk you home and sneak a kiss in - women like unexpected kisses, that's what the article said, anyway.

ajax caught up to you as you left the building, his arm grazing yours as he walked at your side, "I'll walk you home, yeah?"

"no thank you."

"huh?" no way you said that not after everything! "c'mon, who's it hurting? let me walk you home, it'll be nice."

you walked slowly, looking at ajax, stifling a sigh, "what's with you? i don't even know... you've been bothering me all day."

his lips parted; he was ready to defend himself, to argue, but he was caught up in what you said. "bothering?" he echoed, his heart slowly sinking in his chest.

"yeah- like, you're being weird. I don't even know your name."

"you don't... know my-" ajax felt shame wash over him. of course you didn't know him as well as he knew you... of course, you didn't...

he'd been watching you for months, like a curios shadow. he was always there, even when you didn't know it.

"that's right... i, uh... must've mistook you for someone else-!" he didn't even believe his lie, "... some other pretty girl, probably. anyway, I'll get going!"

ajax quickly turned and walked in the opposite direction of you. his mind was fuzzy, he couldn't think a coherent thought - it felt as if his life was over.

he'd never get to be with you now... not after this.

what a horrible first impression you must have of him...

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Hey, so I remembered in one of your earlier post you said something along the lines of souls women only really falling into the helpless victim or serious sword lady trop. And how Ema was a great subversion of it, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on

I’m making a souls-like and trying to avoid the pitfalls where I can

Btw, I love your art so much I would love to support you but I am broke

sorry i let this reply marinate in the docs for months (along with a lot of other replies like im having a catalogue of Fromsoft replies that read like thesis at this point *crying* my job is not letting me sit down and edit them) but here it is.

firstly, thank you for your message, kind encouragement already means a lot to me, so don’t worry about not being able to support me or anything ! After all I’m not putting out any new books or fan merch haha.

Here is a whole rant about Ema but somehow my grievances with how they handle Malenia's story in comparison to Messmer also pops up.

Regarding your question about Ema, I love her because of how complete her story feels and how her personal motivation and personality are written as coherently as the male characters.

She’s a war orphan who did her best to survive, learned the sword from the best swordman but with the only purpose is to kill demons. Ema saw firsthand how violence and meaningless killing did to people, so her aim can be seen as trying to offer those lost souls a mercy death, so they don’t have to suffer as a mindless demon for eternity (as in shura ending).

Yet, she's actually more interested in being a doctor & saving life and it’s not something expected of her because she’s a woman or whatnot, she chose that.

(+ she's skilled enough with the blade that it shows in her mannerism to the point Wolf, who had never seen her hold a sword, knows that she's good with one).

she was ready to kill Scuptor - someone akin to a parental figure to her, should he succumb to grief and hatred. because she loved him. not to mention she saw Tomoe - someone in a way is also her mentor, tried to take her own life, while her childhood friend Gennichiro slowly went apeshit. like that girl witnessed so many insane stuffs & they spur her to be strong & steadfast in her ideal to protect her loved ones, even when it means to lay them to rest by her own hands.

her dialogue in Shura ending "maybe i should have killed you long ago" feels like being punched in the guts to me, because she knew Wolf turning out that way meant that somewhere along the way, all of them had failed him, had ignored the signs that all the killings he was tasked to carry out was taking a toll on him. And so she took upon herself the responsibility to offer him a mercy death, even as it broke her heart.

It’s the passionate drive and decisions made as her own person, not out of blind devotion to another character, and how much we know of that because the game let us find more about her, that makes her stands out from the epic sword lady category, while the violence and steely resolve she was capable of makes her stands out from the helpless maiden one.

-kinda lose the plot here with Elden Ring rant jumping out-

This is one of the main points I have about the difference between Messmer and Malenia, how even though their stories parallel each other, I think Messmer has the better writing and gets a more complete story. He’s super devote to Marika, but in his own way, not what Marika wants of him. Evidently with how he still fights the Tarnished because he deems us unworthy, despite knowing Marika sanctioned us for Lordship.

We see a lot of sides to him outside of just a filial son, his rage and sorrow and love and a moment of stubborn selfishness that results in him willingly become a curse that clings to Marika than to let go. We see his relationship with other characters and even though his love for Marika outweighs all else, it doesn’t negate completely others that exist outside of it.

And precisely because of that, it’s more heartbreaking to see despite all these connections he has with other people, he yearns to be reunited with his Mother above all else. That kind of devotion is more hard hitting to me than the writing for the Empyrean twins.

Like, Malenia…. outside of Finnlay (whose description says more about herself than shedding any new light on Malenia) and the mentor that we actually don’t even know much about yet, what are other personal connection she has outside of Miq? I could argue the Marika’s Soreseal in the Haligtree was meant for her and that she still loved her Mother in some kind of way all I want, but at the end of the day that’s a headcahon I have to theorize from item placement, and not many ppl will notice that. We don’t know for sure what Malenia thinks of anyone else but her twin and it drives me up the wall.

Another comparison I want to bring up is DS2 Lucatiel.

I fr think even Lucatiel gets a better story arc than Malenia, despite also largely being shaped by her relationship with her brother.

Loss frightens me no end. Loss of memory, loss of self. If I were told that by killing you, I would be freed of this curse… Then I would draw my sword without hesitation. I don't want to die, I want to exist. I would sacrifice anything, anything at all for this. It shames me, but it is the truth. Sometimes, I feel obsessed… with this insignificant thing called "self". But even so, I am compelled to preserve it. Am I wrong to feel so? Surely you'd do the same, in my shoes?

She is trying to find her brother, but at the same time wrestling with her own troubles and limitations. We get to know a lot of her own motivation and her fear. I mean one could argue that it's because she's an NPC while Malenia is a boss, but the same thing could also be said for Messmer like I explained above.

-back to Ema-

As the extra sauce, I love that Ema boss music has such layers to it. the theme of her - someone clinging to her humanity to the very end because she has ppl love & support her, also acts as an elegy for Wolf's lost of humanity, of him not being able to escape the abuse trauma he grew up in. its opening instrument also appears in Demon of Hatred's OST. Her presence and theme affects other characters’ life, and we get to see her marks on a personal level in the story’s overarching narrative.

Which is the same as how Marika’s presence is everywhere in the Elden Ring OST, that little soft piano. A little in Radagon’s theme, in Shaman’s Village, in the final DLC boss ost where the female vocals starts belting out “Hail, Marika the Eternal”, in a boss arena where she had walked through to scavenge the remains of her fallen family and ascended to an existence she knew would kill her all the same, but she would do it again every single time. Walking down that hell with her eyes wide open.

When a character that could get me to write paragraphs about like that… man you know how much the writing cooks.

[ghosts-to-reid]

Neo Gothic III

A/N: Sorry it took so long for the next part! I went to a party and drank wayyyy too much wine. Uni's picking up a lot too so im still settling back into my routine. I hope you guys enjoy! Also MGG Reading my favourite poem??? I had to.

Summary: After the case in Texas, a new pattern emerges that links you and the crimes. Spencer is there to dull any of your worry, consoling your worry.

(When you get to the poem, I recomend listening to this. Trust me.)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 / Bibliography

A week had passed since Spencer had asked you on a date, yet there just hadn't been the right time for yet. Obviously, your finals were important, but Spencer had been helping you study after work. This is where you discovered how fast the man can actually read, making that night in the motel seem that much more special to you. These could be considered study dates, but when broaching that subject with Spencer, her would always shake his head.

"No, I want to do this properly." Is all he'd say. Not sure what this means, maybe he wants to go oldschool? Dinner and a movie, or maybe the arcade and a walka round the park? Either way, time spent with him was something to cherish in your point of view.

During one of these study dates that weren't study dates, the topic of profiling came up once more.

"Would you ever think about it?" His head was propped on hi shand as he looked up from a book in front of him, breaking the silence tha had filled his living room before.

"Think about what, Spencer?" Brow knitted in slight confusion

"Profiling. Getting into the classes at the academy. I think its worth thinking about." Honey coloured eyes met yours, they were soft and full of some adoration.

He had asked you a few times since the case you had assisted on. The confidence the boy genius had in you was touching, if misguided in your opinion. The truth of the matter was that you would love to, you just didn't think you were qualified. The breakdown upon discovering there had been a new victim was not a moment you wanted to relive, or the feeling of abject disgust at the image of the dead victims. Dissasociating from the truth of the images would only work so long, most of the reason you had been able to stomach was only due to you telling yourself they were actually images from a horror movie. Truthully, the guts that it took to do this job weren't something you were sure you were equipped with. Explaining this to Spencer many times, he would reassure you of his belief in you, but he understood your apprehension. He coudln't argue with your opinion of the gore however, he understood fully that there was a big difference in real violence and fake, and that dissaociating the victims like that wouldn't be healthy.

Still, he would persist. Shamefully, you had to admit that the walls you'd built around the idea were slowly coming down.

"How would I even get into the academy? You all have psychology degrees, or field experience. You're literally a genius. What do I have in comparison to that?" Laying the book you'd been reading face down, you sat upright to face him properly

"Practically, you'd think that would help but a lot of this comes down to knowledge. You've been absorbing more knoweledge from us that I think even you realise, and your subconcious brought it out when you were with us in Texas. It's like your brain has stored this because it knows you want to profile, because you know you'd be good at it even if you won't admit it to yourself. And because you know you want to help people." His smile was contagious as he spoke, so elequently about his faith in your abilities "And with a reccomendation from Hotch, you could be put into the academy after you graduate if you really wanted."

"Hotch would do that?" You raised a brow, unsure of Spencer's claim

"If I asked him to, yes." He was ammused by his own comment, a laugh escaping his lips "He thinks you have potential too though. I don't think he would take much convicing."

"If I say i'll think about it, can we get back to studying? I should probably get this degree out of the way before I start considering an entire career." A small smile graced your lips as you spoke, but finally spencer relented his pestering.

Truthully, he wasn't the only person who had been asking you about your thoughts on becoming a profiler. JJ had been dropping hints about how she technically was in a similar position to you when she started her training. Emily and Derek had been less subtle, parking themselves at your desk whilst discussing case details, and then asking you to weigh in. Clearly trying to perform some sort of reverse psychology on you, hoping you wouldn't notice their secret agenda. The atmosphere around the office was lighter though, as if you finally felt settled into the department. Knowing your co-workers sparked a new found joy in your job that made their offers all the more tempting.

2 Weeks after the replication case, you had finished your finals. The team had been sent to Colarado on a case, so you celebrated the end of your finals on your own, watching as many horror movies as you could in the 48 hours you had finally to yourself. The team had wrapped the case Saturday night, and hadn't picked up a new case yet, so you were eager to finnaly catch up with them all after their week long absence. Exiting the elevator, you made your way to your desk, placing your bag in its usual spot. The team were no where to be seen around the bullpen, noticing the shades of the conference room were drawn however, you'd assumed they had called onto a case. Before getting settled, Hotch's head popped out of the slightly ajar door, beckoning you over with a stern look. Not completely unusual, you were often sent on burracratic errands of file retriving for them for cases, so you didn't think twice when entering the room.

There, gathered around the table, was the whole team with huge smiles on their faces. There was a a few balloons, one saying 'Congratulations!' In winding Purple lettering, with a few small wrapped boxes beside a tray of muffins and coffee from your and Penelope's favourite coffee shop. With a start, the team all cheered "Congratualtions" as you entered, a warm feeling of happiness spreading through your chest as you took in the sight.

Penelope attacked you with a hug, whilst the group all said their congratulations.

"Guys... This is amazing. Thank you..." Was all you managed to say as JJ pulled you into a tight hug

"I knew you could do it! I'm so proud of you." JJ held your shoulders with a small squeeze, flashing a prideful look to you. JJ knew you had no living family, and a part of you wondered if she had a hand in orchastrating the surprise due to this. Either way, you were thankful for the teams enthusiasm at your upcoming graduation.

"Well, don't get your hopes up yet everyone, I don't get my results for another week. I don't even know if I passed yet." Smiling at the fuss, the team interjected with protest

"Of course you will have, you had our boy genius here helping you. And you certainly knew your stuff already." Derek slid his arm around your shoulders affectionatly, making your smile widen.

Spencer made his way over to you and gave you a quick, but tight hug. Whispering a small "Well done" into your hair before he pulled away.

"Ok, we have presents!" Garcia announced happily "Of course, we went in on the muffins, your favourite, lemon and poppyseed but without the lemon curd in the middle. Annnnddd-" She picks a cup up and hands it to you "Your favourite, Salted caramel Mocha with whipped cream. An absolute sugar nightmare but that is something you and our boy genius have in common after all. OH! And we have actual presents!" She claps happily, everyone her infectious glee as she flittered around the space, grabbing your hand for you to sit. One by one the group gave you their small gifts. Derek and Emily had given you a copy of book you'd been talking about, Penelope had bought you a little ceramic bat to keep on your desk, Whilst Rossi had bought you an empty frame, stating "Well, you'll need somewhere to put your degree in when you get it." The gifts were thoughtful, and showed how much the team had grown to appreciate you, even in a few weeks. Finally, Spencer stepped forward and handed you a small package. Unwrapping it with a curious smile, you were taken a back.

It was a first edition of Dracula, you gasped and clamped your had over your mouth in shock. You were in disbeleif that Spencer had managed to find this, and that he thought to give it to you.

"Spencer, this is too much! How much did this cost you?" The breath was absent from your lungs as you spoke, utterly taken back at his gesture. The team seemed to be equally surprised, they were still in the dark about yours and spencers recent tryst, so the gesture to them seemed all too much for supposedly platonic friends.

"Geez spence, is that a first edition?" Emily asked, eyebrows shooting up

"I have some connections." Was all he said, a teasing smile as he shrugged his shoulders. Still in disbeleif, you stood and gave Spencer another quick hug before Hotch's phone ringing interupted. Excusing himself, he returned a few moments later with a solemn expression

"Im sorry to interupt, but we have a case." His tone was morose, as usual when news of a new case hit. The pang of saddness hit everyone, any smile disolving as the team began to gather around the table. Collecting your things, you began to make your exit when Hotch held his hand up, making you to still your movements. "You might need to stay for this, Y/N."

Confusion painted your features, as did it the rest of the teams, yet you joined the others in a spare seat next to Spencers.

"Garcia?" Hotch spoke as she typed on her tablet, pausing before meeting your eyes

"Uh huh, just a second.... Y/N you might want to look aweay from the screen." Heeding her advice, you angled yourself away from the screen and in turn, more towards Spencer.

"Ok so, we have an Unsub right here in Virginia. He has been... Replicating the deaths of men in... Gothic fiction novels..." Penelopes voice trails off as she looks to you, the air shifts to one of uncertainty. One crime happening to do with the gothic was a conicdence, another unsub doing the same isn't.

"What are the chances of two seperate unsubs operating under the same MO just two weeks a part?" Emily asked, but Spencer shook his head

"Statistaically very low, these crimes have to be connected" He looked at the screen in search. "What do we know?"

"Well, currently we are on a body count of 3. The victims overlap with our previous unsub by one. They weren't conncted till now when local authorities ran it through VICAP and saw the similarities with the Texas case. We need to operate under the assumption the cases are linked until proven otherwise. Hence, your presance, L/N. Considering your recent completion of your degree and your field of expertise, I'd like to ask you to act as informant to us once more." Hotch turned to you, passing you Penelope's tablet.

"The crimes so far have replicated that of Dracula, This time replicating the title characters death. Down to the, um, beheading and..." Penelope trailed off "burning of the body..."

"I bet if the body was intact there would be evidence of a stab wound to the chest too, if he's like the texas case he'll have replicated this perfectly." You added softly, Reid gave you en encourging nod.

"The strength and accuracy of these crimes absolutely allude to the unsub being a man, the strength needed to behead someone like that is no joke." Morgan added, you nodded.

"The gothic is also very induvidual to a person, like any novel you get what relates to you from them. What other novels were replicated Pen?"

"Um, that would be the death that kicks off the castle of Otranto, yanno the... crushing thing with the suit of armour, and then with the latest vic he escaleted. Replicating Frankensein, except instead of digging up graves he just, put the vic back together..." Penelope's heart dropped, as did yours. Taking a deep breath you braved a glance at the screen. Images of violence you'd never thought humanity capable of, images you believed to be works of fiction. A pang of saddness hit your chest, when the feeling of a hand softly rubbing your shoulder broke you out of the trance you hadn't realised you were in. Turning your attention back to Spencer, who's hand rested softly on your shoulder, you gained back your clarity once more.

"So each crime he's becoming less and less precious about accuracy, so if the crimes in Texas were almost like a test run, and we interupted, then maybe he's deescalting?" Looking around the room, JJ's brow knits as she thinks.

"If you're right,then we need to figure out the significance of the gothic for our unsub, and hwy he recruited our last unsub to start the crimes in Texas. Why replicate these deaths? Why change victimology from women to men?" JJ stared at the screen.

"He breaks the boundries of literary releveance too. He goes from late 19th century, to late 18th, and then to early 19th. There's no organisation, and I can't think of any particularly strong links between the novels theme wise from the top of my head. I'd have to go back home and look through my notes. But the form fits the previous case. Dracula to start, from my experience its the novel that gets most people into studying the genre to begin with, its theatrical and camp, and in some ways epitomises the genre. But the Castle of Otranto is the birth of the gothic story, its the first story that used the word gothic for a ghost story rather than as a slur or to describe something medieval. But then we go to Frankenstein, arguably the gothic nature comes from the setting it was written in rather than the actual story, its mostly attributed to science fiction than the gothic but it teeters the edge." You ramble, once again zoning out asa you stare to the tablet in your hand, scanning through your knowledge to find any kind of link between the novels.

"Ok, L/N, Take Reid to your appartment to look through your notes, you'll get through them quicker that way. Emily and JJ head down to the recent crime scene and see if you can lend any fresh eyes to the locals. Derek and Rossi head to the local ME and find out what you can from the examiner on the victims. Penelope and I will stay here to find connections between the current victims." Hotch and the others quickly gather their things, giving you one last congratulations before exiing. Silently, you follow Spencer to his car, where he drives you both to your apartment once more.

The jangle of keys broke the silence inside the aprtment you had left less than an hour ago. Making your way around the living room and dumping your bag on your battered sofa, you quickly turn on some lamps before walking to the small kitchen situated in the corner of the room.

"Make yourself at home." You smile to him, busying yourself making two cups of tea, as he looks around the room, once more observing the space, taking in what he didnt the last time as he sat on the distressed arm chair cramed into the corner of the room.

Your place was small, sure, but you prefered the word cosy. The Kitchen and living room were in the same room, but to you it just made it easier to keep clean. The walls were lined with shelves, filled with all kinds of books, some with files and trinkets. Mementos of you that had collected over the years, that refelcted you both past and present. There were a few framed prints along the wall of famous horror movies, Scream, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Chucky, Hellraiser, you were sure your choice of movie posters could be analysed by Reid, and you were hoping silently, he wouldn't deduce a hidden part of your psyche that you weren't aware of yourself.

Glancing over to the man, you saw him observing the leafs on one of the various plants that were littered around the room.

"Did you know that Monsteras can bloom fruit? It's said to taste like a mixture of fruit salad." He spoke up, glancing at you with a smile as you returned from the kitchen with two mugs, handing him one.

"It's peppermint, sorry I ran out of coffee this morning." You place your mug on your coffee table and move over to one of your shelves, grabbing some binders and handing them to reid before grabbing a pile of your own. The pair of you sit beside one another, knees toutching as you both scan through your oldnotes. After a moment of silence, Spencer touches his knee to yours lightly, getting your attention.

"Im sorry we haven't been on our date yet..." His tone had a sheepish tone to it. The way his eyes met yours showed that he really felt guilty, but you shook your head.

"What do you mean? We've still been spending time together." Placing the binder you were holding onto the coffee table, you turned your full attention to man beside you, who mirrored your actions.

"I know, but I just wanted to do this properly with you." There was that phrase again, what did he mean?

"What do you mean by that, Spencer? What does properly mean to you?" Grabbing his hand softly, he starts slightly before melting into your touch, absentmindly intertwining his fingers with yours.

"I just mean... I mean..." He scanned your eyes, as if trying to find the right words in them. A small pleading look painted his features. "I just want to make sure I don't scare you away. Or do anything wrong... I don't date. Ever really, but the few I've been on... They just seem to run when they see the strains from my job. I just want to.., I dont know. Follow the right formula, you know take you out to dinner, walk you home, kiss you goodbye at the door. I want to experience what love should be, not the large spark that doesn't ignite anything that I have been..." His gaze had trailed away from yours, finding your intertwined hands, watching as he fiddled with your hand between both of his larger ones. A small sigh escaped your lips as you chuckled

"Woah cowboy, lets slow down with the love, we haven't even been out to dinner yet." You chuckled, trying to eleviate his anxiety. His head snapped up in panic, fear evident that he said something wrong, but you interupted before he could voice this "I'm not going to get scared away, Spencer. I've worked at that desk for a year now, and I've seen what your job entails, if i was going to get scared away, do you think I would've entertained the idea of us in the first place?" His lips draw into a small line, and he shakes his head no. "Exactly, Spencer. Besides, falling in love doesn't follow a formula. It's not the romcom script that you expect. It's quality time, it's strife and raw emotion, it's an exposing yourself to someone in more than just body, but mind and heart too. That takes time and being together, and thats what we've been doing already. Hell, we shared a bed the first day we spoke a full proper sentence to each other, i think we're already past doing this properly."

Spencer seemed at a loss for words, staring into your eyes as you brought your hands together once more, halting his fidgeting and squeezing his hand.

"If we're together, then that's all that matters to me." Spencer's lips broke into a releived smile, before he leaned forward to place a small kiss on your lips. He pulled away just as quickly as your lips had joined, however.

"Im sorry, I didn't mean to-" You cut him off by placing your lips to his again, free hand cradling his cheek as you gave him a longer, more passionate kiss. After a moment, you break a part. Spencer sported a dopey smile, eyes glued to your features.

"I was waiting for you to do that again since Texas..." Your voice was small, but full of happiness towards the doctor in front of you. Finally, the pair of you continued your research, unempeaded this time, for another hour. Eventually, you perked up, alerting the man beside you.

"There's allusions to God. Each one has some sort of religious message!" You shriked, Spencers eyes widenning, thinking for a moment before perking up himself

"You're right... Dracula is a representation of sin for the 19th century, Frankenstein is mans punishment for playing god... but how does the castle of otranto link to god?" Spencer questions

"It's about sin. It's sort of a slur piece playing on the fears of catholicsm in the 18th century, thats why Walpole set it in the crusades, its publication lined up with the catholic reformation in England at the time. It's a display of public fears." Eagerly, you went to grab your old copies of each of the books. All covered in annotations from your past studies.

"So the unsub's message is religious... So why choose the gothic as a mode to display his religious beliefs?" Spencer followed you, grabbing your copy of frankenstein and skimming through the poages.

"I'm not too sure on that actually... Maybe because the gothic itself is caused moral outrage at the time? Maybe that's what his message is, something might've happened that links his moral outrage to the genre?" Your gaze met his furrowed one, before he could speak however, there was a knock on your door. Unsure who it may be, you gingerly make your way towards it.

On the door step, there was a large, brown package. There was no shipping label, or return adress. Only a note placed central over the brown tape that held the box shut. The words 'For my Sanguinary Rosebud', signed 'Nosferatu'.

"Spencer?" Your call was weak, confusion littering your face. The man joined you, and peered over your shoulder to the box.

"That's... Odd." He reached into his pocket and grabbed a pair of blue gloves, He moved towards the box slowly, picking it up with gloved hands bfore resting it ontop of your small dining table. He retrived a knife from your draw after photographing the box unopened, and slowly slid his knife through the tape.

The smell hit you first, making you gag and back away, holding a hand to your face. 'oh my god...'

Spencer contuined to methodically open the box, slowly reveling the corpse of a raven. There was a note inside, Spencer retrived it and held it up before reading it aloud

"It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee- With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came  And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Does this poem mean anything to you?" His eyes were wide, clear with worry. Slowly you nodded.

"It's... It's my favourite..." You uttered, hand still over your mouth, eyes wide as they looked over the box "Who would do this?"

Spencers brow knitted further with confusion, you could see how hard he was thinking, trying to figure out the reason that you were targeted with such an odd gift. He quickly snatched his mobile from his pocket and dialed Hotch.

"Hotch? We have something. Y/N has been sent... Let's just say a token of affection and I think it's from our unsub... Okay... I understand... Be there soon." Turning to you he removes the gloves and places his hands on your shoulders

"The team are on their way to preserve the scene, but I'm going to take you back to the BAU. Can you pack a bag? If this is the unsub, then we can't let you stay here." He was methodical in his instructions, you were still in a state of shock from the last few minutes. Blinking in rsponse, you made your way to your room, haphazardly throwing some things into a duffle before leaving to the car with Spencer. He guided you out with a hand to the small of your back, finally talking once more in the car.

"Are you alright?" Softly, he broke you from the trance you'd been in since discovering the box. Shaking your head yes, Spencer saw through it and grabbed your hand once more, squeezing it reassuringly and pulling you into his chest, placing a small kiss to your crown.

"We don't know what this means for sure yet. He could be teasing us, he must know we're onto him and hes trying to psyche us out."

"But... why me? Why do this to me?" Your voice was meager in the wake of his claims, muffled into his jumper.

"I... I dont know. But I'll keep you safe. I promise." He broke from you, meeting your eyes with a kind smile "Im going to keep you safe."

Part 4 soon...

Tags: @pleasantwitchgarden @xamapolax @kchv

[lime1991]

those mlp infection aus on tiktok have been alright but heres my idea to consider:

the main characters of the au are the cmc. theyre not the lone survivors, and heres why: the infection almost entirely affects adults. this is just like a book i read in 5th grade, thats where im stealing this from.

Applebloom is the self appointed leader, shes best at foraging for food and growing it as well as building re-enforcements for the shelter (which is the clubhouse. it's higher up so they dont have to worry about most infected ponies reaching them.)

Scootaloo is the defender of the base as well as the group in general. shes the one who handles the weapons and is first to sacrifice herself for her friends to get to safety. She says its because he doesnt want to hold them back due to her disability, they tell her she doesnt have to think like that. but its hard not to.

Sweetie Belle is... not all there. sometimes she forgets the apocalypse has happened and that most of her loved ones are dead. Scootaloo and Applebloom take turns sleeping during the night to make sure someone is always lookout. that, and they can't risk Sweetie Belle unknowingly walking into the dark trying to get home.

Partially inspired by one of the best animes ive ever seen: School Live, Scootaloo and Applebloom sometimes, when Sweetie is having an episode, pretend everything is normal. Is the most they can do for their friend, who is clearly so traumatized that her brain blocks out the reality of their situation. Sometimes, Applebloom wishes that could happen to her.

When the infection started, it slowly took over the elderly first. Granny Smith got sick, fast. Big Mac and Applejack took care of her, but only a few days later she would turn into some kid of monstrous creature. Big Mac did the unspeakable act of putting her out of her misery.

Sweetie Bell was sent to go live with Rarity while her mother was sick. Her father began to feel ill too, and didn't want her to get herself and her friends at school sick as well. She could hear over the phone the conversations her sister and father had. How mom was getting worse, how dad was getting worse. How they stopped calling altogether.

A couple days into the widespread sickness, Scootaloo's aunts took a trip to the store to stock up on groceries just incase a quarantine was issued. They were gone for hours. They were gone for days. They never came back. Eventually, Scootaloo traveled outside of her home by herself, and could never return.

Once Big Mac and Applejack started showing signs of illness, Applejack spoke to cousins in other places wondering if they would be able to let Applebloom stay with them a while. But just like everyone in Ponyville, they were experiencing the same issue. At one point, Fluttershy agreed to watch Applebloom until AJ and Big Mac started to feel better.

After hearing that Fluttershy graciously took in Applebloom, Rarity sent Sweetie Belle off to her the moment she started to cough. She didn't want Sweetie to see her like that. She didn't want her to get sick either, and in fact, she probably transported it from their parents house and into Rarity's. That made Rarity angry. Her last words to Sweetie were about how upset she was that she'd brought the illness to her.

Scootaloo went to Fluttershy herself. She couldn't find Rainbow Dash, so she settled for the next best pony. She was shocked to see her friends had been there themselves the past few days. Scootaloo only managed to stay a few hours, because during the night the crusaders awoke to a crash in another room. Upon investigation they saw Fluttershy hunched over a broken glass. There was blood on the floor.

They went to comfort her, but she wasn't herself any longer. When she turned to face them it already looked like she'd been ravened by the infection. She was so hungry. Why couldn't the jar just open? She was so... hungry. Before she could even stand back up, the crusaders grabbed their things and fled to the only place they knew they'd be safe. The clubhouse.

[whor-pheus]

I have MANY gripes with Security Breach (who tf doesnt lets be real) and one of them is, while I love Gregory, he doesnt really feel like.. a protagonist. Like, he works well in GGY because he's in the background, or I feel like that (to the six other GGY fans on tumblr, please dont execute me if im wrong/you disagree)

And right from reading GGY, I was like "Hey, it would be kinda cool if in SB, we played as Tony or Ellis" And then when RUIN came out I was like "Hey itd be even cooler if we played as one of them in SB because then they could add to the whole 'Gregory went missing' thing."

So, logically, it would prooobably make more sense for it to be Ellis, since Tony almost definitely died at the end of GGY, lets be real, but I had more fun writing Tony even if i prolly made him ooc asf. but uh. yeah. this is my apology video for missing GGY week

The office was a simple room.  

A mahogany desk sat in the far corner, where the light from the windows didn’t quite reach, with a swivel chair tucked neatly underneath it. There were some books (mostly notebooks, though there was at least two with bookmarks, implying they were stories, of some kind) and papers strewn across it, not quite messily. ‘Haphazard’, might have been a better word. A pot full of pens and pencils sat next to an older looking computer that was more dust and sticky notes than machine. 

There were frames on the walls, the leftmost one particularly covered - drawings from young children and generic stock photos of inspirational quotes, mostly. They made up a colourful collage along the eggshell white, but had already faded into the visual equivalent of background noise. 

Two blue arm chairs sat across from one another, with a coffee table holding two coasters and a stack of magazines placed between them. Only one of the chairs was occupied. 

The door creaked slightly as it opened, and a tall woman stepped inside, a warm smile on her face. Her hair was salt-and-pepper grey with the odd bit of blonde showing through, but her face was young, the barest beginnings of crow’s feet visible behind the half-frames of the red glasses that perched on her pointed nose. 

She stepped into the room fully, holding a mug in each hand, and placed them down on the coasters. The smell of lavender lingered, even as she wandered back to close the door, and then to grab a notepad and pen from her desk. 

“Sorry for the delay.” She said idly as she sat down. The book was set in her lap, though she made no move to open it, instead reaching for the cup she’d placed on her side of the table and taking a sip from it. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” 

The woman didn’t wait for a response, clearly not expecting one, and placed her cup back down on the coaster. She crossed her legs, the flower print of the pinafore she wore distorting slightly. 

“I’m Caroline Reeves, but you can just call me Carrie.” She hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d come into the room. Her green eyes seemed slightly squinted from how wide it was, or maybe her vision was just particularly poor. “I believe you’re Anthony, right?” 

The boy in the other chair nodded slowly, still looking around the room as if there was anything else for him to see. 

“Nobody calls me ‘Anthony’.” He said after a moment, deciding that picking at the sleeves of the battered, green jacket he wore was more interesting than looking the woman in the eye. If she minded this, she didn’t comment on it. “Everyone just calls me ‘Tony’.” 

Carrie nodded, and clicked her pen on to presumably make a note of it, “Tony. Got it. Much quicker to write, so you won’t hear me complaining.” 

Tony looked up, finding a small smile creeping onto his lips despite how stupid the joke was. Carrie met his gaze, still grinning. 

“So. I normally like to spend my first session with people getting to know them. Becoming familiar, learning what they like, taking note of what they don’t, that kind of thing,” Carrie explained. Her voice was still light and friendly, but it was more mellow, in comparison to her prior joking tone. “But you didn’t seem fond of that idea, based on what I’ve been told?” 

Tony’s smile was gone. It didn’t drop from his face, per se, and he didn’t seem particularly upset by the question, itself, but he sobered nonetheless. He shrugged, reaching forward and picking up the mug in front of him. The warmth was distracting, and he stared down at the hot chocolate. 

“There isn’t a point.” He said, when the ticking of the clock in the silence became too much and it was clear that Carrie wouldn’t let him simply not reply. “Every therapist or-or counsellor I’ve been to has thought the exact same thing. They ‘get to know me’-” He shifted the mug to just his right hand, making air quotations with his left. “-and ask about what happened, I tell them, they say that I made it all up to cope with the trauma, and tell my mum to give me meds she can’t afford that’ll just screw my head up.” 

The words turned bitter as he finished them, poison dripping readily from his tongue. Anger and frustration were easy, after all. His fingers had tightened too much around the mug, and it screeched horribly as his nails dragged against the porcelain. He loosened his grip, taking a sip of it instead to force the lump in his throat down. 

Carrie hummed. 

“I get that. It’s frustrating, having people ask you to talk about things, and then more-or-less call you a liar when you do. It’s not supposed to be like that, and while I’m sure those people didn’t realise the implications of what they did, it caused damage nonetheless. Just because they didn’t mean to hurt you doesn’t make the pain stop." 

She paused, tilting her head back slightly to look up at the tiles on the ceiling. 

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.” 

That caught Tony off guard, and he looked up from where he was tracing the hairline cracks in the mug with his thumb. His surprise must have shown on his face, because the woman continued. 

“If I force you to talk about something you don’t want to so early on, I’m sure it’ll lead to you building a resentment towards me.” Carrie looked back down at him. She adjusted her glasses slightly, before continuing. “Forcing anyone to talk about something they don’t want to can lead to that outcome, especially if that person has experienced a traumatic event they’re trying to supress. Especially if that traumatised person is a child. Children with completely happy lives can grow resentful of adults bossing them around, so when you throw the mental hurdles that trauma responses add into the mix alongside that, it just creates a wall.  

“You can still talk to someone through a wall, of course, and you could probably climb over it if you really wanted to, but it’s not going to be easy, and the more you try and brute force past the wall, the taller it’s going to get.” 

Carrie paused again, to take a sip of her drink (tea, most likely, based on the colouring) and to catch her breath. 

“I also can’t very well promise that I ‘won’t be like that’.” She copied Tony’s air quotations here, though she made the gesture with both hands at either side of her head instead. “I very well might hear your story and agree with those other professionals, and I’m not in the habit of making promises I don’t intend on keeping.” 

She adjusted herself in her seat to sit straighter, and Tony mirrored her when he realised how slouched he had become.  

Carrie’s face was still friendly looking, even as she became more serious, “But I will promise you this. I will not ridicule you for anything you tell me. I will listen, and I will give my opinion at the end, if you would like it. I think you’re a very intelligent young man, and I won’t spend our time accusing you of lying, or anything of the like. If you want, this can just be for you to get everything out, and rant without having someone psychoanalyse every word you say.” 

Tony blinked up at her, silent for another long few seconds.  

“I...” He started, then stopped again as he furrowed his brow. He tried again, after a few more seconds to think of what he actually wanted to say. “I don’t know where to start.” 

The admission was a quiet one, but Carrie didn’t seem deterred by it. She looked down at her book, and pulled a folded piece of paper from between one of the pages, skimming it. 

“Well, the official record starts when you disappeared.” She said, eyes still moving over the text as she spoke. “Why not start from there?” 

“That’s easier said than done.” Tony huffed. 

Carrie put the paper in her lap, softening her smile to something more comforting than happy, “Therapy tends to be. If you’d rather start with something else, though-” 

“No.” 

Tony sighed, placing the mug down on the coaster and planting his hands on his knees to disguise the shaking. 

“It’s... Yeah, it’s kind of the only place that it makes sense to start...” He agreed begrudgingly. “Uhm...” 

Carrie gave an encouraging nod. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” 

Tony took a deep breath, and began.