#Also something about Nightmare who used to read to Dream when they were kids so it's like his main response to help calm people down

[somegrumpynerd]

A bunch of doodles inspired by @wickjump saying Cross has an eternal kicked puppy look (and steadily devolving into dadmare because y'know. My Brand)

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader : how batfamily would react on them trying to end their life

Route : recovered dove

Please read warnings before reading this one!

If you do not feel like reading it, it's okay! (Spoilers will be at the end of this part) Please have tea or hot cocoa, and read relax 💖 and remember there are people who care and support you 💖 I'll be posting more fluff in future parts

Warnings : heavy topics, mentions of death, implications of self-destructive behavior and suicidal behavior, hurt/comfort, traumatized characters.

Idea for this part from this ask here . I also used this idea for comfort part form here

Author's note : I'm including this part in route: Recovered dove only because I want to show that mental healing of Joker's kid is a long way, it had ups and downs, but in the end they have family who acres about them now.

You don't know what exactly triggered it. Maybe it was the fact that everyone started discussing break out in Arkham asylum instead of the usual breakfast convention, maybe it was how Bruce said he didn't have time for you, maybe it was how Alfred was distant today, so you thought something wrong, maybe it was that Dick ignored you today, maybe it was that Jason's aggressive demeanor when you saw him, maybe it was Tim's comment when you brought him coffee, maybe it was Damian's harshness when you meet him near your room today.

That all made you feel so lost. To see them all being unwelcoming to you again was overwhelming. Is it because your father is free again, and they thought you'd be helping him? Wait if your father is free... he will want you back. You don't want back! No! You don't want to be with him again! You do not want to be experimented on again, be beaten up by him again. You thought it was finally over, that you were taken away from that life, never to return. You thought you found family! Why does he have to ruin your life again? He drove her away from you already, the only person who protected you before Batman and his birds, the only person who was your family before them, your mom ... and now he is doing it again; he is taking your family away again! But were they your family? You thought that Bruce was thinking about you as his own child, you thought that Alfred was proud of your progress, you thought that Dick was happy to spend time with you, you thought that Jason was enjoying your shared reading time, you thought that Tim liked to study with you, you thought that Damian finally accepted you. Were you wrong? Was it all a lie? Did they want to use you as bait for your father? Or did they think you would be able to tell them something about him? Was that a reason why they got close to you? But now that they see they were wrong, and after they made sure you didn't know anything, they decided to drop the act?

Was it all a happy dream that's just ended? If it was a dream, you don't want to wake up to the nightmare of your previous life. You can't take the suffering anymore. You need to make it stop to end it, to end it all.

You didn't know how long you were in you were in your thoughts, when you got up. You wanted to live. The room that became your own, became your safe space now felt like JOKE. You needed to get away from it. You struggled to open the window, as it required much strength from your shaking hands. But you were persistent in your efforts to open it, and in the end window opened. You looked down, it was quite high, and you knew that for your body, which was unlike theirs, weak and fragile, it would be enough. You've seen a grown man die when he fell from his high back in a crime alley, so for you, it will definitely be enough. Oh, crime alley, you don't want to go there. You don't want to return to life with Joker. You stood up on the windowsill, looking at the green grass down, feeling the cold night wind against your skin. Your head felt heavy, ringing in your ears just made it all worse. You took one step, and you felt incredibly calm. You took another step, only to be pulled away from the windowsill on the ground and held up. You didn't register the loud voice, the way someone was shaking you. You just sit there staring at nothing in particular, not even able to cry because of how tired you are.

In the meantime, Damian, the one who pulled you away from the window, had already called everyone and was trying hard to make you snap out of it. Yet it was not helping. When Bruce arrived, he moved Damian, who was looking at you with extreme worry, aside. Bruce recognized your expression; he had seen it before - thousand-yard stare - your own mind was protecting you from whatever you were feeling. As he was trying to help you, holding you against him, trying to soothe you, the rest of the family arrived in your room, seeing scared Damian, worried Bruce, and you... you looked so broken. It was too hard on them all

A few hours later, when you fell asleep after you came to your senses and cried for a while, Bruce and others started figuring out what made you feel this way. And it didn't take long; they are a family of detectives, after all. And this all made them feel really bad, guilty. As it turned out, on this day, you were too unlucky to notice only the bad sides of things.

There wasn't any breakout In Arkham asylum. Turns out, the lead they were investigating turned out to be false. Bruce, indeed, was busy, but he failed to communicate this in the normal way: he only added that he would try to make some only by the time you stepped away, which he didn't notice. Alfred was distant because he had a migraine today, but he still wanted to work around the house; there were too many chores to be done in the Wayne manor. Dick didn't mean to ignore you, he was too tired after his few nights of being up and he just failed to notice your quiet presence, being too busy thinking about his bed. Jason was behaving aggressively because of the lead about break out from Arkham asylum, which was the one that he followed for his case, and since it was false; it took the case he was working on back to square one. Tim actually was mumbling about his case, quietly cursing criminals, and not you; just like Jason, he had too much trouble because of that stupid lead. Damian stepped in at the last second to help you avoid stumbling and falling when you were waking in your room, which resulted in his harshness to you, but you were too deep in your panic to notice that his gaze was more worried than angry. If Damian wouldn't have been worried and decided to check up on you... non of them want to think about it.

They spend night in your room and in the morning, they talked to you, communicating how things actually were the previous day, and expressing how important you were to them.

It was a shock to everyone. Even Bruce thought it was going fine, that your session was working and helping you, that you were feeling safe, and that your relationships with the rest of the family were getting better. And he knew that what happened damaged the whole family because they almost lost you. He regretted that he didn't phrase his words correctly, feeling like he failed to show his care for you. He knew he should have been careful with words, he knows how impactful they can be. And since he said he hadn't got time for you he started making time for you. He wants you to know that he cares for you and he will make time for you wherever you need him. His one daily check-up became 2 check-ups, and when he had more free time, he checked up more. He pays extra attention to you. Even your little sneeze will make him worried to the point of examination in a medbay. He stays with you, and sometimes talks with you, encouraging you to open up and share your opinion and feelings. He tries to lessen the influence of "bad guidelines" (that were with you because of Joker) in your head. He helps you talk through your feelings, helps you show them and process them. He reminds you that you are cared for now. And he promises that he will protect you. After hearing you out, learning your fears and insecurities, and when he learned out that most of all you are afraid to go by your father's way, he promises you that he will do everything in his power to prevent you from taking this way. Bruce wants you to be happy, to make good memories. You already got unlucky with your father, who made you experience hell, but Bruce will try to be the best Dad he can for you.

Alfred felt so guilty. He knew you needed care, but he was distracted. He feels like he let you down, by forgetting how fragile and sensitive you are. He knew you were struggling; he had seen it himself. If only he had paid you more attention. But Alfred, better than anyone else, knows that he shouldn't be focusing on the past; he needs to work on the present, and he needs to make sure you feel better. He makes sure to make you more happy while he can. It's always your favorite tea at the tea time you share, with his cookies, of course, which he bakes with you from time to time. It's always your comfort shows or documentaries on TV when you two watch something. He also makes sure no one dares to make you feel uncomfortable, even if it will make him look around like Hawk. But Alfred understands that he can't always be around; that's exactly why he makes sure that he teaches you at least a few techniques that would be able to help with worry and anxiety, and he practices them with you. You are his little star, who may be really quiet but still efficiently lights up his days, and he doesn't want to lose you. When you share that you are afraid your family will reject you, he personally goes to everyone, making sure that they won't be saying something that contains a message. He wants to see you all grown up and happy in the end; he will work hard to make sure your life in Manor will be good.

Even when Dick just heard how Damian called for help for you, he felt shocked, what to say when he saw and understood the situation. What do you mean his baby sibling tried to make their life end when he was blissfully unaware, sleeping in his old room? How? What he missed? Just a few days before, you seemed on your way to becoming the happy sunshine of a kid, and now that has happened? He is your older brother and he missed all the singes?! He needs to sit down. It's too hard to accept this version of reality for him. The reality is that he can lose another member of the family. He knows what it is like to lose a sibling, and he will never want to experience it or feel this pain again. And knowing that it's you who tried to end your life makes it all worse. He tries to understand what pushed you, trying to see what he can do to prevent this from happening. He also tries to distract you from all the negativity in your life with quality time and different activities. The incident shook him hard, and while he hoped to introduce you to cuddles differently, he had to do it now. He needs to make sure you are close, still warm, still safe, still alive. And it seemed like cuddling with him made you calmer; you didn't even realize how touch-starved you were until then. It became a sort of comforting ritual for both of you, cuddling, sometimes just cuddling, sometimes while watching something. While cuddling he often says sweet words of reassurance to you. And while he knows he can't stay in Manor forever, he makes sure you know that he is always here for you, just a call away.

Jason was mad at himself for allowing himself to snap at you earlier. He feels incredible guilt that he was the reason that you were in that state. For a few days after, he could only watch you in your room or living room until he talked about his feelings and the incident (how he calls it because he can't speak that out loud, it physically hurts him to admit it) with Bruce and Dick. He started slowly approaching you, continuing your reading sessions, but also, sometimes, he decided just to start talking with you. He shares with you his experiences in the crime alley, and you share yours; you both know that only you two in the whole family could understand the full horror of this place, and that's aside from the fact that both of you know the full horror of Joker. He says to you that you'll never become like him, because he sees you are different. Jason tries to comfort you, yet he knows he is not ideal in it, but he is willing to try as much as he can just for you. He can understand that you feel lonely; he can only imagine how lonely you get when all the family is busy with vigilante work. It got him thinking, remembering. He remembers times when he was still Robin, and sometimes, when he got hurt, he stayed in his room alone, and. he hated it. Back when Dick gifted him a plushie of a bat, and now, in another attempt to comfort you, he brings this old plushie to you. He tells you that this plushie kept him company and protected him from everything bad, and now it will protect you, and now you'll never be alone anymore; your family's love will be here for you.

Tim was second after Damian to arrive in your room. This sight horrified him. He just froze, in shock. For once, he didn't know how to act or what to do. After everyone made sure you were okay, and his brain began working again, he started to do what he knew best - investigating and researching to find ways of how to help you, trying them with you in the meantime. Art therapy? He tried to hold a few sessions with you. Special games? You both alredy beating third one. Special music? Here is his player, listen when you want. He becomes more attentive to you, noticing every little detail. He knows as a person who likes studies like him, you would want to learn more about your mental health and how to care about yours. He found a way to explain the basics of it all to you in a way that is easier for you to understand, and only when she reads articles (that he chose, of course) about mental health and coping mechanisms. You want to cuddle with him while reading? Good, he will do it (he is happy that Dick showed you how to cuddle and totally not jealous). You want to stay with him while he works? Okay, sure, he is here for you. He makes sure you can ask him anything; he reminds you that you are safe with him and with others. So when you ask about Arkham and your father there he makes sure to show you that Arkham is hard to get out (even if it's not true).

Damian didn't like how it felt to see you on the windowsill. He doesn't like how it feels to see you in this state. He doesn't like fear. But fear made one thing clear: he cares about you. He hadn't understood how important you became until that incident happened. You are his sibling, and even if he did not choose you, even if he was against the idea of you being in the family at first, now he knows you held a place in this family like everyone else. And now he knows that he will do everything in his power to make you safe; he will protect you even from yourself. He asked Bruce to install precautions in your room. He follows you like your shadow everywhere you go. He makes sure that there is no danger in your way. He checks up on how you sleep after patrols. He makes sure to be nicer when he is around you, and he heads to ask Father, Pennyworth, and Grayson how exactly to behave around you. He joins in Tim the research of ways for you to cope with traumas or ways to comfort you, and when he sees articles about how communicating with animals improves mental health, he brings Titus to you, and when he goes for walks with Titis he makes sure to take you on them too since he also found out that walks improve mental health, and since it's walking with Titus it's beneficial in double. He protects you and he cares for you even if he struggles with proving it

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinion and have a good day 💖

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Spoiler:

Next chapter connected to this (click here) and after that I'll finally write about Joker's kid! reader hair dyeing adventures

[omiangelic]

shared moments (dabi)

a handful of shared moments between you and your maybe more than friend, touya todoroki, the flame villain.

this is a prequel to the first fic i posted, pheonix, but it could be read as a standalone !

wc: 2.8k

reader is not described but is implied to have a quirk that makes them colder. i also imply that they're a nurse who frequently works with burn patients, including dabi's victims.

cw: 18+ ONLY !!! no smut, just kissing, grinding, and shirts come off but it ends pretty quickly after that. dabi accidentally wounds reader (a small burn from trying to wake him from a nightmare), mentions of abuse, murder, dying, and nausea. soft yet emotionally stunted and avoidant dabi

playlist: maybe by flower face, zombie by everglow, voidstar and longlegs by grim salvo

He’s shaking, head in your lap. You think he might be crying, but his hands are covering his face as he curls up as tight as he can. Dabi didn’t usually spend the night, but on rare occasion you can wrangle him into sleeping a few hours before running off who knows where. Tonight had been fun, daresay cozy, watching bad movies under a blanket so you could use him as a space heater and he could use you as an icepack.

It’s near four in the morning, far past when he usually sneaks out of your tiny apartment, when you awoke to his distress. He’d been squirming on his side of your too-small bed, mumbling and whimpering unconsciously. Even now, you don’t think he’s realized the small burn on your arm from trying to wake him, but you don’t move to soothe it; you’re too busy trying to soothe him. You rub his side over his shirt and pet a hand through his spiky hair even though he’s long since stopped shaking. You pretend you don’t care you have work in a few hours.

Now, he’s completely motionless, arms fallen to the cushion of the mattress. His voice is raspier than normal when he finally speaks, “…Sorry about that.”

“’S okay. I’ve seen worse.”

You both know he’s caused your ‘worse’.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on up here?” You tap your fingers softly against his temple. It’s a miracle he hasn’t moved yet.

“Don’t think that’s something you’d wanna hear about.”

“You can tell me anyways,” you can practically hear him go over the notion in his head. You met almost a year and you hardly know anything about the man besides his preferred snacks and the types of movies he likes to make fun of.

He thinks for a bit before stating, “you’ve never asked about my scars.”

You hum in agreement. The healed tissue is naturally textured but worsened from insufficient aftercare. The skin grafts look like they were done by someone with medical experience, at least. “Were you dreaming about when you got them?” The scar tissue on his face always made it look like the flames had tried to take him in its hands; like it wanted to soothe him. Console him. You want to do the same.

“Kinda,” he says after another long pause, like he’s trying to find the words, “maybe more like ‘why’.”

He can’t see you frown at that. You don’t like the implication it carries.

He’s quiet for a long time while you brush through his hair. It’s gotten longer- you think you can see blonde roots peak through the inky black.

“My old man…real shit guy,” he takes in a shaky breath and subtly curls deeper into your lap, “I’m gonna kill him one day.”

(You didn’t think he was serious, then.)

“All he cares about is power. He bought my ma so he could create a child more powerful than him. I’m the oldest of four- and his biggest failure,” you wince at the way he chuckles, “It’s funny. He got what he wanted. My youngest brother is a prodigy. He’s one of the top students at U.A.,” Dabi stops again, like he has to prepare himself for what he’s about to say, “I hated that kid for so long. Tried to kill him when he was a toddler, wanted to prove I was better than him. When I was twelve or thirteen I told dear old dad I got stronger,” another pause “He didn’t care,” another pause, like he’s debating telling you the rest at all, “I burned down half a forest, woke up three years later. The fucker who fixed me up showed me pictures of my funeral and everything. Ma got institutionalized not long after…but I gave myself a new name, since I died that day.”

“What was his name?” You ask impulsively. You wish you could take those words back, stuff them in your mouth and swallow them down

“Who’s?” He looks up.

“The boy who died.”

Dabi looks away again, contemplates before relenting, “Touya. Touya Todoroki”

“Touya sounds like a sweet kid. I hope he’s resting easy.”

It’s like the words flipped a switch in him. He shoots to sit up straight. His eyes are angry. Scared.

“You don’t know shit about him.”

“That’s not the point.”

He gets up, paces the length of the bed a few times, stops, looks at the ground, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know shit about me.”

“And whose fault is that?” You really need to learn when to shut your stupid mouth.

He looks up. Sees you fully for the first time since waking. He can see the welt he caused on your arm in his post-nightmare panic. His anger dies. His eyes widen. You reach to slap your hand over it to shield it from view, but he has his jeans on and his jacket and boots in hand before you can find words to say. He’s out the door before you can ask him not to leave.

(You call out of work that day. You won’t hear from him for three weeks.)

Later that day, the search results for Touya Todoroki hurt as bad as you expected them to. There aren’t many paparazzi pictures of him, only a handful of him with his dad at award ceremonies.

His dad. Pro hero Endeavor.

The news coverage of his son’s death is minimal, and it’s mostly about Endeavor taking a leave of absence from hero duties to grieve with his family, but the obituary is public. The white haired boy in the picture looks so young. It’s not very detailed aside from denoting that his funeral was a private ceremony.

You open a new tab and search for fire related quirk malfunctions or natural disasters from around the same time. Its not hard to narrow down that the forest fire that destroyed Sekoto Peak was Dabi’s doing. The flames had been massive and unnaturally hot, nearly impossible to contain. There was barely anything left besides charred bone fragments from wildlife and the partial jawbone of the only human casualty they could find. The victim is unnamed, but it says the police were able to identify them through dental records and bring closure to the family.

There’s a handful of pictures of Endeavor at the scene. They make your stomach churn.

A third tab. Endeavor. There are news articles about his most recent achievements and a few about his youngest son, Shoto, who recently passed the entrance exams into U.A., just like Dabi said.

You feel nauseous.

It’s so comfy laying here wrapped around him like a koala. He’s cold and hot at the same time. There’s one hand cradling the back of your head to his chest while the other rubs your back over the blanket he draped over you.

You don’t usually let him in when work gets you like this. He’s usually the cause, being the most prolific fire quirked villain in the country, but you felt like you needed him today. A little boy had come in with his parents after his first quirk manifestation. All you could see was a young Touya Todoroki when you looked at him. Now all you feel is the pain you feel for the real thing who has you cradled in his arms like you’re more than maybe a friend.

Dabi is prickly when it comes to touch- despite the nerve damage, his scars are sensitive- but for you, he makes exceptions, especially since this is his first time seeing you since his meltdown last month. When he woke up in his dingy-ass apartment today, he knew he had to see you, knew something was wrong. His gut was right. You practically collapsed crying in his arms when you opened the door.

You’ve barely said anything since he’s settled the two of you down on your bed. Every time he thinks about saying something, you burrow impossibly closer into his chest like if you try hard enough you can crawl in his ribs and clean out all the ash and soot that make him up.

He wants to apologize for how he left. He wants to tell you he was scared, that he’s still scared, because he’s never let anyone get close the way you have, and he doesn’t know why he yearns for you to be closer. It’s the only time he ever wishes things had gone differently. If he was closer to a normal guy, less of one of the most wanted villains in the country, maybe he’d let himself be happy to be known by you.

But the only thing Dabi can do is destroy. He burns too hot to be anyone’s light.

Dabi is ruthless. He’s a monster, a villain, a killer; there’s nothing that could clean the blood from his hands.

That doesn’t stop him from pretending things are different, even if just for a moment. You’re naturally cooler to the touch and he finds it hard to imagine ever choosing to be anywhere but in your arms. It’s such an unfamiliar feeling.

Dabi’s never had to comfort someone before. He’s never really wanted to, either.

He isn’t one to be soft or kind or comforting. It’s all so confusing. How do you drag this out of him? Why is he so content with this moment? Something about you makes him different. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

He’s scared. He’s angry. He’s unhappy.

You pull yourself away from him completely, scooting to lay on your back on the other side of your bed.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “you can go now. That was probably really uncomfortable for you. You can leave now, if you want.”

Your eyes are so empty. He’s never seen you like this. He doesn’t know what to do. He thinks he wants to stay, make his last visit up to you with more time tonight, but would you rather he go? Should he ask about what upset you? This is so new to him.

He leaves.

The next time he’s over, you pretend to not notice the tension in the air. You move around in your usual sync, gathering snacks and scrolling through the worst rated movies you can find. You feign obliviousness to the way his eyes linger on you for longer than usual and curl up on the opposite side of the choice from him, like the months of slowly shifting closer to each other didn’t happen.

The jokes are bored and the laughs are empty.

He doesn’t spend the night. You don’t ask him to. He doesn’t know why he feels so hollowed out when he leaves.

A few weeks later, after watching movies and ignoring elephants in rooms, you fall asleep. Dabi waits, lets whatever’s playing continue to run while he watches you breathe in and out at a steady rhythm.

The credits roll. He turns off the T.V. and welcomes the darkness lit only by the city as he gets up to lay you down on your little couch. He’s never done this for you before- he doesn’t know why he’s doing it now. Your eyes flutter open as he kisses your forehead and tucks you into your blanket you keep out here.

(He did it without thinking, like it was natural, a habit. He was a big brother, once. He hadn’t realized that part of him survived.)

You look up at him as he stares down at you, eyebrows furrowed at his surprised expression. His eyes flicker to your lips without his permission. He’s already leaning over you, it’d be so easy to crawl on top of you, kiss you, wherever and however you want.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it. Maybe it’s Himiko’s insistence he grow up and take the risk, maybe it’s a moment of weakness where he allows himself to forget who and what he is, but he’s pressing a soft kiss to your lips without realizing. The contact makes your head jerk back, eyes wide in shock, surprise, wonder. You look at him like there’s something worthy of being looked at. His mouth moves to apologize, but you’re shooting your hands to hold his scarred cheeks and pressing you lips to his before he can try. Your skin is so cold against his had surprised at the lack of steam. He thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He doesn’t reciprocate in his shock. His response is even further delayed by the fact that he’s never done this before. He feels like a teenager- or what he imagines what being a teenager under more normal circumstances would allow him. As you move to pull away, afraid you’ve somehow overstepped, Dabi is snapped out of his shock, and he’s pulling you back in. His kiss is messy, wet, spit slick as his tongue licks into your mouth with no hesitation. The taste of his urgency is unexpected but he feels so incredible you can hardly stand it. You revel in the way his dull nails bite into your skin when you whimper at the sensation.

His hands are heavy as they make their way down your body, nearly pushing like he needs a constant reminder that this is real. Before you know it, he’s on the couch, on top of you, pushing at your shirt and you’re pulling it over your head in compliance. Dabi takes the moment to yank off his own; his torso is a marble of normal and scarred skin with a shiny barbell through each nipple. You wonder briefly if the metal is hot like the rest of his skin as his lips crash back into yours. One hand in your hair, the other on your waist- he’s pushing you down, pulling you in, until he's all but crushing you in his desperation.

You moan when he lets up, “Dabi-“

“No, no- don’t call me that. I don’t want to feel like a villain with you,” he’s equally breathless, practically heaving above you.

“…Touya?”

Your uncertainty is immediately discarded when he fully moans at the sound of his given name on your lips, “yes, yes, thank you-“ and he’s kissing you again, cradling your face like you’re porcelain but grinding down like you’re the farthest thing from fragile.

His grip tightens when the pressure of his hips makes you moan.

The weight of his body makes you dizzy. His lips and hands move down your neck, licking, biting, and sucking at all the skin newly exposed to him and it feels so good you don’t now what to do with yourself. You decide on shoving your hands in his hair; you’re pulling it at the root when he bites down next, and he’s moaning into your throat like it might kill him to be quiet.

What does he want from me? The question crashes through your brain like a bullet. You don’t know if you want to actually ask. Would it be so bad to let this happen, just to have him close like this? Is the burden of wanting from afar easier to carry than having him halfway? Yes. Of course it is.

Your sudden unresponsiveness stills him. He pulls away to find your eyes distant and face neutral.

“Touya?” You ask after a silent minute filled with his thumbs rubbing circles in your waist, “what did that mean? To you, for us?”

He gulps, “I don’t know.”

He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He hadn’t thought at all.

“You don’t know,” you echo.

He’s off you before you can decide what to make of his answer.

“Sorry, don’t know why I did that- sorry,” you think you hear as he fumbles around for his coat and his boots. You don’t say anything. You don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus on the ceiling it’s almost too dark to see. You think you hear him pause at your door, but your head is so loud and intelligible you aren’t paying attention.

The static doesn’t block out the sound of your front door shutting, though.

(Neither of you realize he left his shirt behind until after he’s already out the door. You pretend you resist the urge to cuddle it to catch his scent on it, and he will pretend he doesn’t imagine you doing just that.)

Ever the coward, Touya runs. He throws up his shame once he’s in his own apartment. He knows he shouldn’t have left. He didn’t want to- but he didn’t know how to stay either.

He hates himself more than he has in a long time for tonight.

His burner buzzes in his pocket. It’s Shigaraki. plans in motion.

He doesn’t think you’ll forgive him for doing this, but it’s been building since before he met you. It’s not like he has any sort of life or future to look forward to anyways. It’s not like he gives you much to miss anyways.

Soon. Endeavor’s head. Soon.

dividers by @/issysh3ll and @/thecutestgrotto

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[whole-circus]

Hihi I recently started reading your works and stchnvdhnifbmb I'm obsessed now lol

I must ask how the creeps would react to someone who was there for them before they became the way they are now? I'm quite curious (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；)

Take care and hydrate <333

Creepypastas with reader that had knew them before tragic eventes

➥ with Jeff the Killer, Homicidal Liu, "Ticci" Toby, Eyeless Jack, Ben Drowned

Ahh you waited so long for this Im so sorry!T^T

Also you guys have no idea how sweet that is! Im glad that someone likes to read my scribble! <3 Lots of love and also remember to hydrate! I choose couple of pastas, but feel free to inform me if you would like someone else!

.•┈••✦ 🖤 ✦••┈•.

☆ Jeff the Killer

During one of this normal days, or maybe during calm night? You finally saw him..You were looking at eachothers, not sure what to do - sure, he may be a killer now..but this killer was once your friend? Does he even recognize you? But to your suprise, he just started laughing. It wasn't his casual maniac laughter..this one were more friendly, just like the laugh of him you remembered. The laugh of your best friend. He remembered you..and even if he is way diffrent now, then the part of him is still your best friend. You are finally something good in his miserable life, and he almost felt normal once again. Its funny how you make a man like him smile and sigh in relief, just by your presence. And he doesn't care what he did do somehow deserved you again - all he could do is being grateful for that.

☆ Homicidal Liu

You manage to meet Liu on one, ordinary night. Even if he looked, oh so diffrent, then inside you could still recognize his past self. When it comes to Liu, he couldnt believe his luck in that moment. He craves for sense of normalcy like nothing else, its his only true wish..but now you are here again? He start to remember all this nice moments from his childhood..you were in all of them! Even if he didnt recognize you at first, he felt so many strong emotions and could find something familiar..and like that after a quick chat you finally were in eachothers arms once again. There you were..his only hope and only love, you have no idea how long he had waited for you - and when he finally got you, he wont let you go again.

☆ "Ticci" Toby

After everything he had done, Toby really became all this names they used to call him in school - he was a monster, a freak in fact. Could you even look at him in the same, sweet way you used to as a kid? He was scared, constantly scared..so he didnt made a first move. Until that day. When he finally saw you again, he finally felt at peace. The feeling when you were again in his arms felt like coming home from a long journey. He was able to feel the same thing, the same love and care from you. And he already felt much better, just from seeing your smile again.

☆ Eyeless Jack

He was sure you wouldn't recognize him..now he was a monster after all, a inhuman being, a demon straight from poeple nightmares. But he wished, he dreamed that you would look at him in the same way - they way you used to when everything was normal. Meeting you again made him so incredible happy..he almost feel human again! All he could do was just hug you, and sob quietly.. you had so much to talk about, but you have time for that..the only thing that matter is you right now.

☆ Ben Drowned

Ben wasnt the same person you used to cherish and care for..shit, he wasnt even a person, a human anymore. So was he still worth of your friendship? Your sweet words and hugs? Was he even worth looking at you? But he finally decide to meet you once more, he had all eternity and he needs you to make it worth exisitng. So when he showed up at your doors? He had it all planned, the things he will do and say..but just seeing you made him tear up and look in guilt to the ground. His always cool and smug persona, was replaced with the seriousness and culpability. And when you took him into your warm embrace? When you started to shush him ,a dcomfort him? He felt at peace once again, almost like nothing else matters but you both. You already made him the happiest and nothing can compare to you, nothing else in this world.

.•┈••✦ 🖤 ✦••┈•.

[rustys-lodge]

Heyyy! i was wondering if i could request a supernatural fic. Deand and sams little sister (10) has been having really bad nightmares and one night she wakes up in a wet bed. This fic would mean a lot because i struggled with this for a long time🤍🤍 Lots and lots of comfot!!

A/N: sorry for the delay, i accidently didn't save every time i wrote something so i had to rewrite it many times. Also ik the gifs dont match the story but id personally rather have a picture in my mind of who im reading about so yeah ❤️

-----

You had just woken up-jolted awake-in the dead of night when sticky pyjamas started itching your legs.

You sleepily pulled your leg up, your fingers roaming around to feel for the itchy part when realization hit you-You wet the bed. And as a storm of thoughts started hitting you, tears pooled down your face.

You didn't mean it. You didn't want that to happen. The things haunting your dreams took full control of you. Of your body. You didn't mean for this to happen. What will Sam and Dean think of you. What would they-

"Kid."

A little gasp escaped your throat before you went quiet. You blinked through the tears, still under the shock and fully unprepared.

"Get out, get out. Get out." You histerically shouted, pulling the covers up to hide your body. "Get out!"

But Dean's furrowed eyebrows showed no cooperation. He wasn't about to leave you. And his careful steps contrasting your harsh demand for him to go only showed that.

Your small hands gripped the covers harder as he closed in on you. "Kid, what's gotten into y-"

"Don't-"

"Don't ask me to leave when you obviously need my hel-"

"I don't. Please lea-NO"

A yell that you did not permit escaped your lips when Dean's thigh was only inches away from resting on the bed. "Don't sit! i-i-" A storm of choked up sobs welled up and burst . And it seemed like Dean finally understood when he sighed, understanding and sympathetic.

"Oh kiddo..." His hand gently went for the covers, which you held tighter, but he tugged at it a couple of times and you let go, bringing your legs close to your upper body, enveloping them in a defensive manner.

And just as if you weren't humiliated enough, Sam entered your room, a mixture of worry and sleepiness puzzling his features.

"She..." Dean hesitated, causing embarrassment to flush your cheeks and more tears to gather in your eyes.

"I...I'm sorry. I-I was having such bad nightmares and i-" You sniffled, unable to hold the tears in. "I don't kno-"

"it's okay...Honey, come here." Sam came over, holding his hand out for you to hold. "come here." He softly pulled you out of bed. "Let's go take a quick bath."

You followed Sam to the bathroom, and a shower and a fresh change of clothes later, you find yourself settled in between your pillow,ms, right beside Sam.

He handed you your little bunny when he noticed a change in your features. "Don't...think about it too much, pumpkin." Sam spoke. And it somehow arose that embarrassement and fear within you again. Your cheeks heated up. You were once again feeling the same you were earlier.

"I'm sorry that i caused you troub-"

Your little mumbled was halted when Sam cupped your cheeks, enveloping the entirety of your face. "We're sorry that you have to go through that every night. And that you had to witness the monstrosities of the world at such a young age."

You lowered uour gaze to the ground as he continued. "Please do not apologize to us."

Your brother shifted his body to lay on his side, facing you, and as you did the same, he wrapped his hand around your back, pulling you close to him.

"Nothing can hurt you now. I got you."

------

I'm sorry you struggled with that ❤️❤️ i hope this fic brings you the comfort needed ❤️

[lucisfavoritedemon]

Through The Portal: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The strange girl slowly begins to reveal her secret past and her true connection to the brothers, and her terrifying encounters with Bill Cipher.

Pairing(s): Stan x platonic!reader, Ford x platonic!reader, Bill x reader

Warnings: flashback, mentions of torture, angst, fluff, mentions of hopelessness, unrequited love, self confidence issues. Age gap (reader looks 21).

A/N: The events and ideas are based on a theory I have about the Nightmare Realm. This is in no way canonically true, just my theories based on what we canonically know about the Nightmare Realm.

The next couple of days were a bit weird. I didn’t sleep very well as thoughts of waking up in that dreaded world again ran through my mind. I hardly slept when I was in that dimension, and now sleep seemed to be something unfamiliar to me. It was strange not having to sleep with one eye open anymore. My body felt uneasy about it.

Mabel being the good hearted person she seemed, showed me around the house. She made sure I could make my way around easily and not have to worry about being awkward. She was a good hearted person, and definitely seemed like she had a heart of gold.

I noticed Stan had avoided me after his comment about me not changing a single bit. It was true though, I freaked myself out when I first looked into a mirror. Still looking like the 21 year old girl who disappeared 40 years ago.

I didn’t get stuck on that fact very long though, the thing I got stuck on was what he called me. Toots. A pet name I haven’t heard in a very long time. I felt like maybe this comment was also the reason he was avoiding me. It probably felt weird for him to call me that again after so long. I couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind though, what happened to me all those years ago? He probably thought I ran out on him after promising to stick with him after everything he had been through.

I walked along the beach trying to find scraps of metal, or plastic that could have washed up on shore. That’s when I noticed a man walking around with a metal detector. I decided to approach him wondering what wonders of the world he was looking for.

“Hello.” I smiled as I walked up to him.

“Oh, uh, hey.” He smiled back, taken aback a bit by my kindness.

“What ya doing with the metal detector? Find anything interesting?” I questioned.

“I’m searching for gold, but I haven’t found anything yet.”

“Gold? Not necessarily impossible, but very difficult here on the beach to find. Uless, you know you find a gold earring, necklace, or ring.”

“Huh?”

“And what are you doing looking for gold anyways?”

“I’m trying to make a fortune.”

“A fortune? Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

“So I’ve been told. I can’t help it. I naturally have a curious mind.”

“I can tell. It’s none of your business anyways.”

I looked him over, sensing a sort of sadness with him, “something happened and you owe someone money.”

His eyes widened, “can you read minds?”

I giggle, “no, but I’ve been told I can read people pretty well.”

“I’ll say. Yeah, I may or may not have ruined my brother’s chances of going to his dream school and making millions of dollars. My pa kicked me out because of it, and I’m determined not to go back till I make a fortune.”

“Woah, sadder than I thought it would be. Well, if you need a place to stay while you go on your mission to make millions, I have a spare room you can use. My parents' house is big enough, and they won’t mind.”

“A-are you sure?”

“It’s the least I could do. You look like you could use a friend in this lonely world, and I want to offer my friendship to you.He smiles and nods, reaching his hand out, “name’s Stanley.”

I smile and take his hand to shake, “nice to meet you Stanley, I’m Y/n.”

I walked downstairs trying to remember where the kitchen was. My nightmare last night disorienting me worse than they ever had. I walk in to see Stan making breakfast and the kids sitting at the table whispering to each other. That was till Mabel noticed I was standing there.

“Y/n! You’re awake!” She beamed as Stan froze in place.

“Morning Mabel, Dipper, Stanley.” I greeted everyone.

“Just Stan is fine, thank you.” He kept making breakfast, an unenthused look on face.

“Sorry, Stan.”

I walked over and sat at the table. I looked out the window at the woods surrounding the house. It wasn’t long till my gaze was yanked back towards the kids as they were staring at me. Mabel was smiling, and Dipper looked like he had a billion questions for me.

“So, did you and Grunkle Ford go through the portal together? Or how did you and Grunkle Ford meet?” Mabel broke the silence.

“O-oh, um…we met when he went into the portal. I didn’t meet Stanford until he went through the portal..”

“What was in there anyways? How long have you been in there?”

“Those are hefty questions, I…” I started to speak when Stan walked over with plates of pancakes.

“And ones that should remain unanswered.” Stan spoke, “I’m surprised you’re not helping my brother in the basement anyway.”

“Wh-what would I help with?”

“I’m sure Ford would figure something out. I think you should go ask him.” Stan stated, hinting that I shouldn’t be interacting with the kids. “Come on, I’ll show you where the basement door is.��� He offered, gently guiding me out of the kitchen.

“Stan, what’s going on?”

“I don’t want you around the kids. Whatever happened to you there, it was unnatural. I don’t need them figuring out you’re supposed to be like 60.”

“You don’t think I know that? I understand that I’m a freak, but you don’t need to point it out. You have no idea what I went through, and how difficult it was to survive.”

“If it was that hard, why did you go through your darn portal in the first place?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Something went wrong Stan! I didn’t want to leave you. There was a malfunction, and I got sucked in. I’ve spent 40 years trying to survive hoping to get back to you, but I guess that doesn’t matter.” We stop at the entrance to the gift shop of the Mystery Shack, “I know where I’m going from here.” I say and walk through the door to the gift shop. I open the vending machine door and head down to the basement.

Stan had no right to judge me like that. He had no idea what I went through, how hard I tried to find a way back to him, but that didn’t matter to him apparently.

“Y/n?” Stanford’s voice rang out.

“Hey…”

“What are you doing down here?”

“Stan doesn’t want me upstairs around the kids.”

“What? I thought you two were friends?”

“We were…but he thinks the fact I am unaged…if the kids find out it’ll freak them out.”

“The nightmare realm really messed you up huh?”

“You have no idea…Bill was obsessed. Would do anything to get me to reveal where you were. He went as far as manipulating my mind to look like he was torturing Stan…he knew you two were my weakness…”

“Now talk! Or Stan gets it!” Bill threatened.

“You’ve used that on me too many times, Cipher! Stan isn’t here, and I know you wouldn’t go after him in the mind!”

“Is. That. Right.” Bill squinted at me.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you Bill, I don’t know who this Sixer fella is.”

“To think I was starting to like you, but the lying is getting annoying.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t know who he is.”

Bill snaps his fingers making chains appear around my wrists and ankles. He makes me levitate there as one of his henchmaniacs yells to electrocute me to get me to talk. Bill laughs and suddenly my body is sent spasming as hundreds of volts of electricity surges through my body.

“To think I actually liked you. You were the first person to try to build a portal from my decaying dimension to enter yours. I would have loved for us to be partners in chaos had you succeeded. Too bad you decided to lie to me.”

Bill stops electrocuting me for a minute. My body is weak as I float there in front of Bill and his henchmaniacs. “I-I don’t know where he is…he escaped this dimension years ago…”

“And the truth comes out. Maybe you’re still useful to me afterall.”

I shot up in the chair I was sitting in, cold sweat running down my forehead. I pant heavily as I take in my surroundings. I was in the basement with Stanford. I slowly remembered I wasn’t in the night realm anymore. I looked down at my wrists still feeling like I had chains on them.

“You okay?” Stanford’s voice broke me from my thoughts.

“These nightmares are getting more and more vivid.”

Stanford looks at me knowingly. His eyes are filled with concern and guilt. I knew he felt bad leaving us refugees in the asteroid when he decided to venture out to find materials to build his weapon to defeat Bill. I never blamed him though. He only did what he felt he had to do.

“Why don’t you head upstairs. I feel the longer you’re down here, close to the portal, the more of a grasp Bill will have on you.”

I nod, “what about Stan?”

“Tell him I told you that being down here isn’t good. You need to get accustomed to society again, and being down here is not going to be any good to you.”

I nod, “thanks Stanford.”

He smiles softly, “you know, you can call me Ford if you like.”

I smile softly, “thank you, Ford.”

He nods, and goes back to doing what he was doing. I head back upstairs feeling even more disoriented than I did that morning. The nightmares hit me harder and harder each time I close my eyes. I slowly opened the door to see Stan. Mabel, and Dipper are sitting in the gift shop laughing and joking with each other.

Stan notices me and glares, “what do you need?”

“Ford said it wasn’t a good idea for me to stay down there. He wants me to try and get accustomed to society again.”

Stan rolls his eyes, “fine. If you say so.”

“Look, you can be pissed at me all you want to, but I’m sorry I left you behind. I’m sorry it took me so long, but if you had never opened that portal, I wouldn’t be back here. I realized I never thanked you for doing so. So, thank you. Thank you for bringing me back home.”

Stan’s eyes widened. He wasn’t expecting either of us to thank him. He knew what he did was idiotic and reckless. He smiled at me softly, “you’re welcome toots. I couldn’t leave you there for any longer. But, New Jersey is your home, not Gravity Falls?”

“Gravity Falls is now. It’s where my two best friends are. There’s nothing left for me in New Jersey.”

[pleasestayawayidonotlikeyou]

if it's ok can you do a bad sanses x scp child reader. where nightmare find them in her negative universe all alone trying to survive (since she lost her father and friends) cause something bad happened and takes them in as their healer (cause the child doesn't want to kill). nightmare found her when she was 7/8 years old, nightmare would see a bit of his passive self in her, and the child would be neutral with the whole situation given they have seen crazier things from where their from (and just wanted to escape their situation from their world). but is a good kid and despite not wanting to hurt anyone she would rather get themselves hurt to protect those she cares for (would literally take a hit from anyone who tries to hurt dadmare, killer, horror and dust because of their past trauma and defend them with her telekinesis). their drawbacks of their abilities is if she gets extremely hurt or looses a limb when having zero energy she can't regenerate until her stamina is helped (energy like full sleep and have food or beverage basically having good stamina) but still can't die. (this is based off an oc of mine so here is more info with a pic to help) she sometime would have her breakdowns like the others from past trauma (also her soul would be perseverance) I'm sorry for the long read i hope your ok with this and if you have any questions I'm happy to answer :3

Holy shit this took too long to write-

Featuring: Nightmare, Killer, Dust and Ted.

Masterlist

Nightmare

Ah yes. Another dumb kid for him to add to the collection.

Since you were quite useful with your healing powers and all, he took you in. Big mistake.

Nightmare now finds himself caring for another kid (the other kids are the Killer Dust and Ted), oh well.

Is very impressed with your ability to regenerate limbs.. it's... Fascinating..

His grumpy self turns into one a bit more content.

You're like a memory of himself in the past, the voice that always keeps ticking in his mind, except you are real. "I am too.."

Didn't find out about Killer bringing you into missions until Ted came furiously to him demanding to know why would his boss let a child go to mass murderer missions.

Spoiler alert, he didn't know and quickly became enraged, that's his kid, how dare Killer bring you to missions without his knowledge!?

Nightmare finds it adorable when you try to protect him, he's already a god silly, he can't die!

Dust

Stay still, he wants to study you.

He may or may not like SCPs...

Holds a notebook and pen, writing down any information he can get out of you.

Impressed with your powers, but not surprised, he knows Nightmare wouldn't take in a healer who can't defend themselves.

Watches in the shadows, if you need him just call his name.

Finds Killer's idea of bringing you to missions dumb, but there's nothing he can do can he?

You two may have time alone, and he uses that time to gossip about Killer's dumbass.

On really really rare occasions, he'll vent about his past, about the guilt he feels about his actions.

Killer

Another one to be influenced by him.

Nightmare doesn't let you near killer without supervision, that's a big no no.

He doesn't want to wake up hearing laughter with his face painted with permanent marker again.

Killer likes having someone around, especially because you can

He finds it cute when you try to protect him, you're not even to his waist! How are you going to fight a fucking god like dream?

Well, his jaw is on the ground now. "HOLY SHIT NIGHTMARE WHAT KIND OF POWERS DOES THIS KID HAVE???"

Yep, he's bringing you in missions now.

Also Killer named a cat after you.

Ted

The fact that you need to be healthy to be able to regenerate is the perfect excuse for him to cook more food.

He repays you when you heal him he makes your favorite dessert.

Ted thinks you're too naive and innocent for battle, and gets pretty annoyed every time you go in missions with them.

Even knowing you can regenerate and defend yourself it still keeps him worried, what if you run out of energy?

Also blames Killer for any scratch you get, he's the one who made you go with them so he's the one to blame.

He's the one who's with you almost 24/7, acts like an actual big brother, may even apresent you to his Papyrus.

When you defend him in an argument, he feels so fucking special, no he doesn't have tears on his eyes you're just hallucinating.

[kaermorhenatnight]

Light in the shadows

Rolan smut, NSFW, minors don't interact, please 

Huge thanks to @commander-krios for proofreading and for all of the comments, suggestions and corrections! You’re amazing!

Rolan x fem!reader smut, Reader is one of the tiefling refugees from Elturel, afab, she/her. No y/n used. She's been friends with our favorite tiefling bachelor and decides to make her move during the tiefling party that they should have after act II. Tav appears and is gn (they/them)

CW | spoilers for acts I and II with mentions of violence, cursing, p in v, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, spells used for sex (including detect thoughts – consensually), Rolan's POV for a moment, biting and hickeys, tail play, Rolan is insecure about his body at first, dom Rolan, dirty talk, edging, Karlach x Shadowheart makes an appearance because I love them

Word count | 5,5k

Note: I tried to keep the spells as correct as possible (including components, duration and spell slots) because I am fun like that. If I messed something up about that please let me know! English is my second language so any tips and corrections about my writing are more than welcome! 

Read on Ao3 here

Enjoy!

It was a nightmare. All of it. If not for blood pouring down your temple, sharp pain in your side and pounding in your head, you could pretend it was all a bad dream, that you would soon wake up from. Saying the shadow-cursed land was unwelcoming would be an understatement, but the attack... The screams. Zevlor, the calm, brave, strong Zevlor, just froze. Cal, Lia, and many others were dragged away. Others were bleeding out in the dirt. Some of you tried to fight, Rolan yelled to fall back, protecting the kids with everything he had. If not for his well-aimed spells, and the fight Cal and Lia put up keeping the cultists busy, none of you would have made it to the unexpected sanctuary of Last Light Inn. 

Rolan took care of your wounds as best as he could. Despite your protests, he convinced the lovely cleric, Isobel, the woman responsible for the safety of the Inn, to come downstairs and lend some of her magic to help with your head injury. 

Even though he went to great lengths to ensure your comfort, you could see all of his thoughts were preoccupied with his siblings' kidnapping and his perceived guilt in their capture. He was drinking himself numb, screaming at the kids who were just trying their best to show gratitude for all he'd done. He even lashed out at Tav when they offered help. Luckily for all of you, Tav not only brought Cal and Lia back safe and sound, but they also found, saved, and sent back to the Inn a slightly tipsy Rolan, who had disappeared to rescue his family on his own without accepting any help.

He did apologize to Tav afterward and thanked them for saving his ass, but gods, you and his family had to force it out of him with threats of violence.

You weren't that close before. You were good friends with Lia back in Elturel. It’s how you met him the first time. You liked him. He was fun to be around, although you would never feed his ego by telling him that, or risk being mercilessly made fun of by Lia, by sharing it with her. He was smart and funny, even if a little snarky and grumpy. You thought it was only natural that the difficulty and stress of your current situation brought you closer together. It didn't mean anything. Although you couldn’t help noticing him not being that attentive towards anyone else after all of you got to safety and could tend to your wounds. But you didn't want to give yourself hope. You couldn't. Life was difficult enough without getting your heart broken if you let yourself believe he might feel about you how you feel about him.

Right?

After what you heard was a terrifying and exhausting battle, the curse devouring this land was finally lifted. The sky started clearing up. A small party sounded like a pleasant idea, not unlike the gathering you held at Tav's camp after they helped you back at the grove.

And now you sit here, wine bottle in hand, watching with glee as everyone laughs and dances, celebrating the victory and honoring the fallen. Tav told you the truth about Zevlor. You can't find it in you to be angry at him. Honestly, you are just happy he survived and escaped. 

Cal and Lia are on the other side of the room laughing, bothering Rolan about something. He lets out a frustrated groan, but the music of Alfira’s lute and the noise of conversation around them drown out what they are saying. You just look at them, smiling, happy to see them safe, happy to see Rolan relaxing in his own way, with his family by his side.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

“Come on, she's been pining for you for so long. And she's not subtle about it either. How can you not see it?” Lia is a little too loud for Rolan's comfort but everyone around them doesn't seem to notice anyway, in the haze of celebration. “I mean, I know I'm pretty great, but she wasn't coming to visit so often just to see me.”

“That’s a lovely tale, but I would appreciate it if you stopped spinning it. You are seeing things that are not there.” 

“Gods, you are the dumbest smart person I know.” 

“Are you also gonna pretend,” Cal chimes in, “your tail doesn't sweep the floor like you're a godsdamned kitten when she's talking to you?”

Rolan groans, hiding his face in his hands, trying to feign annoyance, while his cheeks and ears burn.

The truth is he couldn't believe you'd ever even look at him. In his eyes, you were a strong warrior, someone who he had once seen kill two people with one swing of a sword. Powerful, strong, courageous. And he's just a scrawny wizard who keeps getting his ass kicked. While he appreciates his siblings' attempts to support him, the amount of faith they are putting in his chances is ridiculously unrealistic. 

He's going to try, one day, when he might have a chance. But he's not going to delude himself that he has it now.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

“Unless you are casting a sending spell, I don't think he's gonna be able to read your mind.” Tav sits next to you and nudges your shoulder, pointing at Rolan with a quick nod. “I’m sure Cal and Lia, as happy as they are to be reunited with him, won't mind if you steal your boyfriend for an hour or two for some… relaxation… upstairs.”

What?

“What?”

“Hey, I know there's not much privacy on the road and this might be your last night under a solid roof for some time. I imagine it must be hard for couples to spend quality time together in such circumstances.” They don't sound like they're teasing. In fact, Tav sounds painfully sincere and supportive.

‘Couples’. 

‘Boyfriend’?

“I— I'm not… I mean… We…” You trip over your own words, not sure what to say. “We are not a couple.”

“Oh.” The surprise on their face is confusing you. Why would they think you are a couple? Were you that obvious with your crush that they just assumed this level of openly shown adoration must mean an established relationship? That would mean Rolan must see it too. What if he starts pushing you away, displeased with your feelings for him? “Well, apologies for assuming.” They rub the back of their neck, clearly embarrassed. “I just saw how attentive he was… and the way Cal and Lia were talking about you… Sorry, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It's alright, no apology needed.”

You sit in silence for a moment but it keeps bugging you.

“What did Cal and Lia say?”

“Well, how happy they are that Rolan and you ‘found each other’ and how ‘less unbearable’ he is when you're around… Like I said, I didn't know they meant friendship and it was rude of me to assume.”

Oh. 

“I see,” you say and turn to look around the room. No matter how hard you try you can't not think about it. You would think the two of you were a couple if you heard them speak like that. It spreads warmth in your chest knowing Rolan's siblings see your influence on him that way. Your thoughts might be too obvious in your expression because Tav nudges you again.

“You wouldn't mind that though, huh?”

Your skin is naturally red. Usually, it’s hard to see blush on your face, but now you are convinced a blind person would notice.

“Don't be embarrassed. There’s enough darkness in the world to be negative about, some love here and there is what truly makes everything worth it.” They smile at you with encouragement. “And… he has been staring at you throughout our entire conversation.”

You look up and the moment Rolan's eyes meet yours he looks away, his face slightly darker.

“I know it's not my business and far be it from me to mingle in your love life… but it's rare to have a moment of peace like this. Go talk to him, enjoy the celebrations.” They get up and wander off to talk to other people. After all, they're the hero of the hour everyone wants a piece of. Again.

And…they're right. You probably won't try to make a move, but you can't let your confused heart stop you from spending time with your friends. Especially after all you've been through. As soon as you walk up, Lia puts her arm around you and hugs you.

“I thought you were gonna sulk there alone forever! Is your head acting up again?” she points at the almost-healed wound on your temple. 

“Oh no, I can barely feel it.” 

You smile. It's nice. Cal is leaning against the wall, wine bottle in hand. Lia is holding you with her arm around your shoulders. 

You start with small talk, but in your current situation, weather and gossip don't really hold up. But as soon as Lia mentions the upcoming threat of the Absolute army, Cal steps in.

“We can discuss it tomorrow. And the day after that. Today, let's talk about nice things. Like Rolan finally getting that big boy job in Baldur's Gate.”

Up until now, you tried not to pay too much attention to Rolan, being very self-aware of your gestures, but now you can do it unsuspiciously. There is something in the way he is leaning against the table, in his relaxed posture, in the lazy smile, that is making you melt a little.  

“Oh yes, it almost makes me want to treat you with more respect,” Lia laughs, poking Rolan in the ribs with her finger. “The Great Wizard Rolan of Elturel!”

“Ha… ha… love the respect.” Rolan rolls his eyes and straightens his robe where she wrinkled it slightly. You can't help but follow his hands’ movement with your eyes, wishing to feel them on your skin. 

What is wrong with you? You are trying to have a conversation and your mind just wanders off into territories you would prefer not to explore in a room full of people.

“I did say ‘almost’.”

Your eyes meet Rolan's again. He smiles, almost shyly, and his cheeks darken. You fight the urge to look away. Maybe thanks to Tav's encouragement, maybe because of the wine, you hold his gaze and return the smile. 

“Well, look at that,” Cal says loudly and hurriedly finishes the wine in his bottle. It takes him a few chugs, too many to be fully comfortable. “My wine is finished. Lia, wanna go get some more?” He gives his sister a look that you cannot fully decipher before they both walk away, leaving you and Rolan alone. You move to stand next to him, taking Cal’s place by the wall.

“It's good to see you feeling better,” he says, shifting ever so slightly like he's trying to stand closer to you. 

“I could say the same thing about you.” You catch yourself moving closer. “You were a wreck without these two.” 

“They're… they're family.” He looks down, his fingers clench on the edge of the table, and his brow furrows. Even after everything, he still blames himself.

“I know.” You give his hand a sympathetic squeeze and his entire body tenses. Oh shit. Did you overstep a boundary? “Sorry,” you mumble, panic taking over your body as you move your hand away, trying to take a step back, but Rolan reaches out to you quickly and takes your hand in his. 

“No! No, it's… thank you.”

He doesn't let go. You are only holding hands but it feels more intimate than anything you've ever done with anyone. Gods, you want him. You want to be close, to hug him, kiss him. You want to let him know how much you care, how dear he is to you. And if not now, then when? If he doesn't reciprocate, so be it. You are adults. Your friendship can survive a moment of embarrassment.

You take a step towards him, put your free hand on his chest, and press a kiss against his lips. You brace yourself for rejection as you start to pull away, but he doesn't let you. He puts his hand on your cheek and pulls you back in. 

Kissing him feels right. Like his lips were made to be on yours. Like his hands belonged on the curves of your waist.

You are careful at first. Just relishing in the softness of the gesture. But when he parts his lips and you feel the warm flash of his tongue on your bottom lip, you are gone. Your hands find the front of his robes to pull him even closer. For a moment, you forget where you are but a heavy arm falling on your shoulder painfully reminds you.

“You two should get a room.”

You turn, letting go of Rolan in panic, but when you see the smiling, heavily intoxicated face of Karlach, you relax. “Get it? Cause we're in an Inn!” She laughs joyfully, swaying on her feet, and then wanders off, not even trying to walk in a straight line. 

“Ugh, they are going to be so obnoxious about being right.” Rolan rubs the bridge of his nose.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, Cal and Lia were trying to convince me… uh— that you…” he pauses and all of his confidence leaves him. But you are starting to understand and it makes your hearts flutter.

“I like you, if that's what you're getting at.” You spare him the embarrassment. “I really like you, Rolan.”

“Well, I gathered that.” He smirks and touches his mouth. “Do you… want to go upstairs?” He glances at Karlach who is now wrapping her arms around Shadowheart. “To ‘get a room’?”

You laugh and grab his hand. 

“Sure, I'd love to.”

He pulls you behind him towards the stairs. “Have fun!” Lia says to you as you pass her by, and Rolan cringes, avoiding her gaze. 

As soon as you leave everyone's line of sight, Rolan turns and takes your face in his hands.

“If I had known…” He is so gentle, fingers barely grazing your skin. His eyes wander around your face, drinking you in. “I wanted to wait until we got to Baldur's Gate and I became a wizard's apprentice and… when I'd finally be somebody… I would ask if you'd allow me to court you.” 

“Rolan, what are you talking about?” You place your hands on his. “You don't need validation from some stuck-up jerk in his stupid tower to be somebody.”

“Actually, the Ramazith Tower is quite impress—”

“I adore you,” you interrupt. “You. Not what you can do or what you can become.” 

You feel dizzy. He's so close. 

He kisses you again. Slowly. Purposefully. His tail wraps around your leg and pulls you even closer. You whimper as the tip, you're not sure if it's accidental or not, strokes the inside of your thigh. Rolan pauses for a split second before repeating the motion, this time definitely on purpose.

“Fuck— Rolan… I'm sure there's an empty room here somewhere,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “I— Someone will hear us.”

“Well, if you can't stay quiet…” You can almost hear his smug smile before you feel his tail loosening its grip, getting more freedom of movement to climb up your leg and grind against your cunt.

You press your face into his chest in a desperate attempt to muffle a moan that is forced from your throat. He steadies you with a firm grip on your waist but doesn't stop.

You can't talk, you can't think, you can barely breathe. He has you wrapped around his finger and he hasn't even taken your clothes off yet. Every stroke brings you closer to release and makes it harder not to cry out in pleasure. You muster all of your self-control to grab his tail and move it away from you. 

“Let’s find a room,” you say, voice hoarse. “So I can get you out of these robes and make you see stars.”

He swallows hard and tugs on your arm to lead you to a door in the corner. The door seems stuck at first, but one strong push gets it open. The room is not in the best state, most of the furniture is broken and scattered across the floor. The bed, except for dust and a few broken pieces of wood on top, is holding together pretty well though. A quick spell and a flick of his wrist from Rolan cleans the sheets enough for them to be almost presentable and even smell like lavender and vanilla. Flames appear on the candles that are still left on the walls.

“There are some advantages to bedding a wizard,” he says with a confident smile. 

“I can't wait to learn what the others are.” 

He places one hand on your cheek, pulling you into another kiss, and the other hand travels down until it stops between your legs. Him palming you through your leggings is enough to make you whimper. When he starts moving, his fingers circling your clit, your knees buckle underneath you and if Rolan didn't catch you, wrapping his arm around your waist and anchoring you against his chest, you might have fallen.

Even through the fabric, with movement restricted by both of your bodies pressing against each other, he brings you achingly close to release.

“Rolan… I— Gods…” Your breath is reduced to huffs and whimpers. He eagerly muffles them with a kiss so hungry and sloppy, it's all tongue and teeth clashing. 

“Let go,” he whispers, breaking the kiss and letting you come up for air. “I've waited so long to see you come undone in my arms.”

 As aroused as you are, the dry friction of the fabric becomes a little uncomfortable. You can't think of anything other than how much you want to get rid of all the clothing that separates you from Rolan right now.

“Take off your clothes then,” you say, shifting a little to move away from his touch. “And fuck me into tomorrow.”

You think you see his jaw tense up a little, but can't be certain in the dim light. 

He leads you towards the bed and sits next to you, helping you get rid of your clothes, but when you gently tug on the hem of his robe he nudges your hand away.

“What's wrong?” This time you are sure something is bothering him.

“It's nothing,” he assures you, but his posture and tone of voice betray him.

“If you don't want to do this, you don't have to… I mean, obviously, you don't have to, but… I mean— I don't want you to feel pressured.” 

“It's not that. I… really want this with you. I promise I will make you feel good.” He looks down and whispers to himself. “I just don't want you to see me.”

You know there's a lot of insecurities under Rolan's confident facade. He acts arrogant to hide how unsure of his abilities he is. He worries that Cal and Lia not being his blood means they don't see him as real family. He doesn't believe he is worth something in your eyes, or anyone else’s, until he proves himself in the city. 

Despite all of that, you would never assume he felt insecure about his body. You always thought he would consider any focus on the physical appearance beneath him.

“Rolan... why?”

“I'm not exactly the… physical-prowess type. I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed with what you see.”

“I could never be disappointed with you. With anything about you.” You tangle your fingers with his and place a kiss on the back of his hand. “You can read me.”

“What?”

“Detect my thoughts. At any point, you can look into my mind. No need to warn me or even ask. Just look.”

You are scared. Scared that your feelings are going to overwhelm him, that they would be more than he is in for. But he needs to see for himself the way you feel about him.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

Rolan stares at you for a moment, wrestling with his thoughts, before leading your hand toward the clasp at the front of his robe. 

With shaking fingers, you help him out of his robes and then the shirt underneath. You want to memorize every inch of his skin you uncover. You want to kiss every part of him. Feel every part of him. You slide off the bed and settle between his legs. He watches you wide-eyed as you unbutton his pants and pull his cock out. 

You start slowly, licking the tip  before moving up and down the shaft. Rolan lets out a ragged breath, clutching at the sheets. When you suck the tip into your mouth, he whimpers softly. But it's not enough. For you anyway. You want to feel him hit the back of your throat. Choke on him until tears stream down your cheeks. You want him to completely ruin you. 

Your hands wander, stroking his thighs and then his stomach. Tracing the infernal ridges, you relish in the softness of his flesh as you dip your head down until your nose brushes his navel. Your throat contracts around his cock and gods, you love the sounds that he makes. 

When you pull away briefly, only to dive right back onto his cock, Rolan shifts slightly and you hear shuffling of fabric where his discarded robe lies next to him, as he pulls a piece of copper from a pocket. Then he whispers words of a spell and you feel tingling in your head. You look up. Rolan's eyes are set on yours. 

You allow him in your mind. Let him see everything. All the lust and yearning. How you try so hard to burn the view in front of you into your memory forever. The view of his chest raising with heavy breaths as you continue to suck his cock; Muscles in his forearms flexing under prominent veins; His soft stomach you want to lick and kiss and leave bite marks on. He was scared of undressing because his body is not built like a brick house but gods, and now also Rolan, know it's not what you want, not what you need. Every single part of his body sends shivers of lust through you. You want him, need him, in every way possible.

You drag your tongue against the side of his cock. You can feel his presence in your head fading as his focus falters and then completely disappears when you suck in your cheeks and take his whole length again. Tears form in the corners of your eyes in reaction to the gag.

Rolan caresses your cheek, pulling you away and wiping your tears with his thumb. 

“I— Wow.” He helps you up and pulls onto his lap. He's holding you close, one hand gently scratching your back and the other gripping your thigh, his face awestruck as he stares into your eyes.

You hoped hearing your thoughts would put Rolan's mind at ease, but it did so much more than that. You can see a sudden surge of confidence that you didn't expect, even in him. He roughly grabs you and pushes you down on the bed, caging you with his arms. 

“I am going to make you beg for me.” His voice is almost a growl in his throat. He lowers himself and without any further hesitation, dives down your body, his tongue pressing flat against your clit.

It's so much better than anything you imagined, and you imagined a lot. Every lick, every flick of his tongue sends a burning hot jolt of pleasure from your cunt through your entire body to the tips of your fingers and toes. You dig your nails into the sheets, trying to ground yourself. You buck your hips, begging for more friction, more pleasure, more.

You feel the tingling in your mind again and let him in immediately. 

The coil in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter and you can feel that if he keeps going like that it will soon snap. That's when he stops. Raises his head and looks at you, smug and a little mischievous. He knows what he did. 

“Rolan, what the fuck?”

“You need to be patient. I will take care of you, I promise. But I want to take my time.” Before you respond, his head is back between your legs. The spell connecting you fades, but he doesn't need it anymore to know when you are close. He listened to the change in the pitch of your moans. The slight difference in the way your body tenses. And he's always been a quick learner. 

The buildup is even faster this time, and again, he brings you painfully close to release before stopping. 

“You're mean,” you whimper, tears now streaming down your face.

“A little.” He chuckles but goes back to work immediately after he sees your muscles relax a bit. His grip on your thighs is unyielding, holding you in place so he can devour you. 

You can feel your orgasm approaching again and you don't think you can take the teasing anymore. You reach down and grab Rolan's horn, holding to it like a lifeline. “Rolan, please… I can't— Let me finish… Please…” Your legs are shaking, your body burns. You feel like you're going to die if he pulls away now.

He doesn't. When he can see how close you are, this time he just looks up to watch as you cum on his tongue, keeping the pressure and tempo going as you ride out your orgasm. He only stops when you push him away, high in the afterglow. 

“Hells, Rolan…”

“Told you I was gonna make you beg.”

“You fucking asshole,” you laugh, grabbing his hand and urging him to lie next to you. He complies, clumsily kicking his shoes and trousers off, cleaning his face that's still dripping with your slick with a quick spell. His cock is now digging into your thigh and he's littering your neck and shoulders with kisses. Gentle at first, then harder, with more teeth, leaving marks. You expected this possessiveness from him yet it still surprises you a little. He pulls your leg to rest around his hip. His tongue is soothing the bites and bruises he has left on your skin.

“Do you want to continue?” He raises his head and bucks his hips involuntarily, grinding against you.

“Fuck yes.” 

You turn to him fully, wrapping your arm around him and pulling him closer. His lips, kiss bruised, are back on yours. You flip him on his back, straddling him, his cock between your folds, the tip hitting your clit as you start rocking your hips.

His grip on your thighs is strong, desperate. He guides your movement, pressing his head back into the pillow. 

“Ride me,” he pleads, his nails digging deeper into the flesh of your legs. And how can you refuse, when he's asking so nicely?

You shift to press the tip of his cock against your entrance and then sit down taking him in one swift motion. He thoroughly prepared you with his mouth but the stretch still steals the breath from your lungs. 

“Hells,” you sigh, stilling for a moment to adjust to him. 

He whispers your name with a reverence usually reserved only for the gods. Then he whispers something else. A spell. And you feel a gentle pressure of the mage hand at your clit. You start rocking your hips and his cock starts pressing deliciously against all the right spots inside of you. He has to recast the mage hand every other minute but he does it without any delay, the moment it would disappear, it appears again, as if he's counting the seconds to make sure your pleasure never falters.

“Rolan, you fill me so well.” You don't even think about it, the words just spill from your mouth. But they don't go unnoticed. You can see Rolan's eyes darken as something changes in him. He grabs you roughly again and rolls over to be on top of you. The slow rolling of your hips is replaced by his thrusts. The first two are restrained, but then he picks up the pace. He steadies himself on his elbows, chest pressed against yours, breathing heavily in the crook of your neck.

“Say it again,” he groans into your ear. His voice is low, lustful. A demanding hunger, that mirrors your own.

“You make me feel so good— Gods…” Your sentence is cut short by a moan Rolan pulls from you, his mage hand steadily circling your clit. “I never want to stop doing this. You fuck me so well, Rolan.”

The sounds he is making are animalistic. His movement becomes erratic and soon you can feel him twitching, spilling into you. The warmth of his seed fills you and the sweet honey of his incomprehensible praises tickles your neck. The mage hand seems to flicker for a moment as Rolan's climax overwhelms him, but he quickly gets his bearings and the steady pressure on your clit is back. His cock is slowly softening as he pulls out, shifting to kneel between your thighs. You can feel his seed spilling out of you as your muscles contract and relax, grieving the loss of his cock. Rolan looks between your legs like he's hypnotized for a moment. Droplets of sweat are glistening on his chest, his hair is in disarray. He is so fucking handsome.

When you feel Rolan's fingers circle your entrance and then, carefully minding his claws, sink into you, the tension inside comes close to snapping again. Your back arches as you're inching closer and closer to release and then when it overflows you, your vision blurs, your whole body tenses and soon you are gently pushing Rolan's hand away, overstimulated.

As he pulls his fingers out, he casts a spell and you feel his seed disappear and your thighs and his fingers are clean and dry again. It puts your mind at ease, not having to worry about any surprises in a few months.

“I don't think I could ever get tired of that view.” Rolan cocks his head slightly, his gaze caressing your body. His tail wraps around your calf.

“Well, I could never get tired of presenting it to you.” You let out a breathless laugh, collecting yourself. You sit up and place a quick kiss on his lips. It feels almost out of place, the gentleness of it, after what you just did. Slowly both of you start putting your clothes on between the kisses and you want to ask if he would like to stay here or go back downstairs, but you don't get that chance.

The door opens with a thump as it hits the wall and two people stumble inside not even noticing you at first, their limbs tangled, their lips joined. You wouldn't even recognize them if not for blue flames engulfing the tall figure of Karlach accompanied by Shadowheart. Good for her. You see a flash when Dancing Lights is cast. 

“Oh shit, sorry.” Karlach laughs, when she finally notices you, one arm around Shadowheart, the other rubbing the back of her neck. You can hear Rolan behind you struggling to put his robe over his shirt and trousers faster. 

“Don't worry, we were just checking out.” You can't help but laugh. Normally the situation would be mortifyingly embarrassing but right now your heart feels so light you can't find it in yourself to be anything other than joyful. You grab Rolan's hand as he finishes tightening the last clasp on his robe, and pull him towards the door, grabbing your jacket from the floor on your way out. “Have fun!” You manage to say before the door shuts behind you. The muffled noises you hear from inside the room tell you they definitely were planning on having fun even without your encouragement.

“Well,” Rolan clears his throat, trying to regain the scraps of his dignity. “That's a less-than-ideal ending to our evening. But I'm sure there are many more evenings to come.” It's not a statement, not really. It's a question. And even though he's smiling, you can see a hint of panic and insecurity in his eyes. You grab his hand. It feels so nice to be able to do that.

“Of course. You are not getting rid of me that easily.” 

His smile of relief could melt even the coldest heart of stone.

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

Chapter 1: It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Olivia

Olivia has lived at the orphanage as long as she can remember, but her life changes when she meets a little girl named Sara, with whom she's connected with in a way she would've never imagined. In other words, what if Sirius had a daughter he never knew of? What if he meets her during the events of the Order of the Phoenix?

Word count: 3200 ish

Story masterlist here!

Dear Diary:

It seems a bit silly for me to be writing this at my age, but after all these years, I feel the need to write down everything that happened. Not really for myself, but for my family, my children, so that they can learn about the truth of their legacy.

As much as I am a grown witch nowadays, back when I was a teenager, and even a child, I lived in the muggle world, with muggles, thinking I was a muggle myself. I didn’t even believe magic really existed; it was something I thought was only possible in books and movies. But all of that changed. And it started a summer night after a nightmare, more than 20 years ago.

I was sleeping in my bed, sweating from the heat of June, twisting and turning in my sleep trying to find a cooler spot on the mattress, to no vail.

A dream was making me stir. A nightmare. There was a man standing in front of a woman with dark long locks and frightened brown eyes. I knew her, somehow. The man’s eyes were different, they were… like the ones of a serpent. Cold. Hard. Evil. He screamed two words, and a green blast of energy hit the woman making her scream in agony before falling to the ground, dead.

“No!”

I jolted up in bed, awake. Breathing heavily, still sweating from the heat, and shaken from the dream, I looked at the clock on my nightstand and sighed. It was still the middle of the night, too early for breakfast, but also too late to fall back asleep fast after a dream like that and get a good night’s sleep.

The other girls in the room were still sound asleep, lucky them.

I lived in an orphanage. At 15 years old, I had been placed in three different care centres, and I knew this was going to be the last one; no one would adopt me at this age, and I was also too old to be worth changed to another place. I’d stay here until I was old enough to leave and then they’d kick me out.

I never knew my parents, or any other family members. I didn’t even have a last name. From what I’d been told, I was handed to the first orphanage I lived in after my mother’s passing, but they also didn’t know her name. They only knew mine because of a small bracelet I had as a baby with a plaque on it where it said it: Olivia.

I’d always been alone. I was used to it.

Corny, I know.

I did spend the rest of the early morning reading in bed until it was time for breakfast. It was the holidays, so there were no classes and the older kids like me were allowed to walk around town until our curfew, if we wanted to.

Originally I had made plans to go to the mall with some of the girls of my dormitory, but in the end I stayed behind. The reason? A new kid was brought to the orphanage.

It wasn’t as if I welcomed every new kid personally, because that would be weird, but this girl… She wasn’t older than five, and the first time I saw her she was crying, sitting in the hall with a bright pink suitcase by her side, clutching a stuffed dog to her chest while she waited for the social worker who had brought her there to finish her admission papers. I couldn’t just ignore her when I reached the end of the staircase, right in front of her. That would have been rude. And I wasn’t that emotionless.

“Hi,” I walked to her slowly, not wanting to startle her, and when she looked up I tried to give her a soft smile. “I’m Olivia.”

She didn’t answer at first, her tiny hands clutching the stuffed dog like a lifeline, but after a few sniffles she told me her own name: Sara.

She was a cute thing, really. Dark blonde hair and stormy grey eyes. We were kind of opposites, considering I had black hair and brown eyes.

“That’s a cute dog you have there,” I pointed at the stuffed animal, and she nodded, her fingers clutching its ears. “What’s his name?”

“Mr. Pad,” she murmured, a pout on her lips.

“That’s lovely.” it’s soft-looking darkish brown fur seemed worn out, and I imagined she’d had that thing for a very long time.  

I stayed with her for a few minutes until the social worker walked back to the hall, done with her task, alongside the orphanage’s headmaster. They were going to show Sara her new sleeping area in a room with other girls her age, but when they asked her to go with them, the kid looked up at me with her glossy grey eyes and asked me if I could stay with her.

I thought about the plans I had with my friends, but I also felt a pull in my stomach to stay behind with the little girl. She needed someone.

“Olivia, you don’t have to…”

“No, it’s okay”

I couldn’t say no, not really. The poor girl was probably going through enough stuff already. I wouldn’t abandon her as well.

Truth is, from then on, we would always be together.

We became friends, sort of. To say I took Sara under my wind would maybe be a bit too much, but it kinda happened like that. Ever since the first day, she sat with me in the dining hall during meals, and she asked me to spend time with me during our free time, which by then was most of the day, as we didn’t have any classes because it was summer.

She was a sweet kid. When the director saw how the girl clung to me, she filled me in on some basic information: Sara was four years old, and her mother had passed away not long ago. They didn’t know for sure what had happened. There was no father around, or any other relatives, so she ended up in the system.

I felt truly sorry for her, really; I didn’t even remember my mom nor my dad, so I missed something I never really had, but this kid had to remember a mother she loved and who loved her back, and that wouldn’t come back anymore ever again. We sort of bonded in an unspoken way about not having had a father, and having lost our mothers.

I guess that’s why I didn’t mind her clinging to me; I was glad she had found some comfort with me, at least. And I didn’t mind her presence; she wasn’t a loud, rambunctious child as others her age (although, after a few weeks, when she opened up more, I discovered she also had an adventurous and funny side, hidden under her grieving); many days, I would sit and read in a small garden behind our building, and she’d sit with me playing with her stuffed dog.

She reminded me of myself, kind of: I saw her a few times playing with other children her age, but most times, she ended up sitting by herself or with me. And she seemed content like that. She also started getting better with her grief after the first few weeks, and a month after I first met her, I asked for permission to take her out to a nearby park during the day.

That’s how we ended up together sitting on a bench eating sandwiches in the middle of July. It was the first time I saw her smiling as carefree as she was at that moment, and it made me feel really good for her.

She had become attached to me, and I realized I had grown fond of her as well.

“Liv,” she said, playing with the ears of her stuffed dog “Can you read to me?”

It wasn’t something unusual for us to do. The first few days after I met her, I had went to her room with one of my favourite books, thinking that maybe reading it to her would cheer her up. Sara was still learning how to read properly, so I worked with her through the first novel, and after that with the second, and now with the third we read together. She was loving it, and I was enjoying sharing this with her as well.

I started to read then, noticing how the girl started to play with the pendant of her necklace. It was one of her habits I had picked up first, as she did it really often; the necklace had been her mother’s, and it had a ring and a small pendant with an inscription hanging from it:

You are my one true love

Yours forever, S.B.

From what Sara had told me, her mother always said it had been a gift from Sara’s father. However, the little girl had never met him.

We stayed in the park most of the day, until my voice got hoarse from reading and Sara got tired. We packed our things and we left hand in hand, walking back to the orphanage. Everything was great, we were having fun, it was a beautiful day.

When we got to a crosswalk, however, my eyes caught something… odd.

Living in the United States, I was used to seeing… weird stuff. And weird people, to be honest. But never in my life had I seen a man dressed like that: large silver robes that looked more fitting for a medieval movie, alongside large silver and gold necklaces and rings, a long white beard, and a round silver hat made of the same fabric as his tunic resting on his head.

My first thought was that he looked like a wizard. I couldn’t have known how right I was.

After a group of people walked right in front of him, though, he was gone. Vanished, as if he had never been there. But I had seen him, watching us. I didn’t give it much of a thought, though. He was probably dressed up to go to a costume party, or some convention.

What I didn’t expect was to see him again the very next morning, in the orphanage.

The headmaster asked me to come to her office after breakfast, and, what was even more odd, she wanted Sara to come as well. Apparently, someone had requested to see us.

It was the same man I had seen at the crosswalk, now dressed in a similar robe but in more blueish tones. I entered the office alone at first, while Sara waited outside with the headmaster. The man smiled kindly at me, standing up to greet me.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Olivia.”

“I’m sorry, but… I don’t know who you are,” he wasn’t American, that was obvious. If his clothing didn’t give it away, his British accent sure did the job “But I saw you yesterday, didn’t I?”

“Indeed you did. I’m sorry for not introducing myself properly the first time. My name is Albus Dumbledore,” he stretched out his arm, and I awkwardly shook his hand “Let me tell you, you have a striking resemblance to your mother.”

“My mother?” that caught me off-guard, making me freeze. This man knew her?

“Miranda Fox. A lovely young woman. She studied in the school that I’m headmaster of, back in Scotland.”

The shock of hearing my mother’s name for the first time in my life only allowed me to silently nod my head for him to know I was listening.

Miranda Fox.

My mother’s name was Miranda Fox.

But how could I know this man was telling the truth?

“I’ve been looking for you for quite some time now”

“For me?”

“You see, I would gladly spend some time talking about all of this over some tea and lemon biscuits, but we must make haste and there is really no way around saying this… You’re a witch, Olivia.”

He couldn’t be serious, right?

“Is this a joke?” I was growing more and more sceptic every passing second.

My first thought about him yesterday had been that he indeed looked like a wizard. But I never imagined that he would actually be one.

Magic wasn’t real. I was sure of that. It just… Wasn’t. I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, but the old man’s expression remained calm, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. He didn't seem like someone who would joke about something this ridiculous.

“I can assure you, this is no joke, Olivia. Magic is quite real. It’s as real as you and me standing here right now,” He gave a gentle wave of his hand, and to my utter shock, the teapot on the headmaster's desk lifted into the air, pouring tea into two cups that floated gracefully before us.

My mouth dropped open. There was no string, no trick. No way this could be real, and yet… there it was.

“But—how? I mean… how can you expect me to believe this?” I muttered, trying to make sense of what I had just seen “I can’t be a… Witch. I don’t know anything about magic!”

“Magic flows in your blood, Olivia. You inherited it from your parents — and you can be a talented one, at that, I’m sure of it.” He offered me a cup of tea, but I declined, and he smiled politely taking a sip of his own cup. He set the cup down again, his eyes watching me behind his glasses “Unfortunately, certain… circumstances kept you from learning about this part of yourself sooner.”

“But… How? I’ve never… I can’t be a witch.”

“Without proper instruction and studies it is very difficult for an inexperienced witch or wizard to fully develop magical potential. You’ve surely had incidents as a child, even if you don’t remember, when you were angry, overjoyed or sad… where something inexplicable happened.”

“My mother,” I repeated, still numb from hearing her name. The idea that I was a witch was outrageous, but this—he knew her. “You said she studied in your school?”

“Yes. Hogwarts. She was a bright and determined student. I knew her during her school years, of course, and afterwards she joined me alongside other witches and wizards in the Order of the Phoenix, an organization I was the leader of,” his gaze turned distant, letting out a sight “She disappeared… Many years ago. No one knew where she went, or what happened to her… Only recently I have learned that she left hastily by herself, without telling anyone where she was going or what were her reasons. No one knew, except her older sister, Adler.”

He pulled out of his tunic a folded piece of paper that he handed over to me. It was a letter.

“There are many details to explain to understand the full story, but your aunt contacted me a few months ago. She had travelled overseas to look for your mother and you.”

He handed me the letter, and my fingers trembled as I unfolded it. The writing was neat but hurried, as if Adler had written it in a rush. I scanned the words quickly, feeling a lump rise in my throat as the truth began to sink in.

“There was really someone looking for me… For us.” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“She was,” Dumbledore confirmed gently. “She loved you and wanted you to be safe. She, too, passed before I could reach her in person.”

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. In the letter, Adler explained how my mother had fled England after learning she was pregnant, to be safe from the war. A war? Fifteen years ago? My heart ached with the weight of it all.

“Your mother wanted to keep you hidden—from the world, and those who would have done you harm. Sadly, she hid you as well from those who would have loved you.”

“What happened to her?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Dumbledore hesitated, his expression becoming sombre “I’m afraid that is a much longer story. One I will explain fully in time, but for now, you need to know that Miranda loved you very much. She did everything in her power to protect you.”

I bit my lip, my emotions swirling between confusion, curiosity, and something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years—hope. “You said I’m a witch,” I said slowly. “And that my mother was one too. What about my father?”

Dumbledore’s expression softened, his gaze thoughtful. “From what I’ve been told by your aunt through our latest correspondence, I can tell your father was a wizard as well. I’m afraid, though, that I don’t know his name.”

I blinked, nodding, trying to still wrap my head around all of the new information. My mother. My aunt. My father.

“I don’t understand,” I finally said. “If this is true—if they were trying to protect me—why didn’t anyone ever come for me sooner?”

“They would have, had they had the chance,” Dumbledore said softly. “But circumstances in the wizarding world were dire. It’s been too long, too unfair… But it isn’t yet too late.”

“Too late for what?” I frowned.

“For me to help you”

“Help me?”

“I know this is a great deal to take in, Olivia.” he said, his tone full of sincerity “But there are dark times ahead. I want to take you and Sara both with me to England, to a place where you will be safe, and where you can learn about who you really are.”

I glanced toward the door, as if I could see through it to the other side, where the girl was waiting.

“Sara?” I asked, my voice thick with emotion “What does she have to do with this?”

“She is part of this too,” Dumbledore assured me. “Her mother was Adler Fox, your aunt. Initially I travelled overseas to look for her, after I learned from your aunt’s passing. I had made a promise to keep Sara safe. But I also continued your aunt’s mission to find you, and so… Here we are.”

I looked at Dumbledore, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place. “Wait,” I whispered, my heart pounding. “So Sara and I are cousins? We’re… family?”

Dumbledore gave me a gentle smile, nodding. “Yes, Olivia. You and Sara are family.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I felt an overwhelming rush of emotion. Sara, the little girl I had been looking after for weeks, the one I had felt so protective of… she was family. My family. The realization hit me like a wave, but it was strangely comforting.

I wiped at my tears again, glancing toward the door where Sara waited. I wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

“When do we leave?” I asked quietly.

Dumbledore smiled warmly. “As soon as you are ready.”

Taglist: @lj0990 @fvckiminthecloset @earphonejack09

[crownedhades]

talking about killer sans again. and szpd.

this is part 2 to this post that i made a bit ago. please read it before this one, otherwise you will not understand a damn thing. thank you kindly.

also i will be mentioning color again lol. you can probably guess what my favorite dynamic is by now.

.°• ੈ♡₊˚•.

now, before we begin, i would like to further empathize why i don't actually think killer has szpd. he has many traits that simply disprove the possibility.

hes an emotional train wreck whenever hes not surpressing them (phase 1)

but also because he Misses People and Misses His Old Self

schizoids do not miss people. its rather uncommon and fairly rare.

it is specifically noted here in this comic drawn by rahafwabas that he wants to be sans again, he wants to return to his old self, and that he hates what he has become.

this comic clearly depicts traits that disprove the possibility of him being schizoid. sure, whatever, hes trying to supress his emotions even now, but only because hes a delusional idiot (the comic is about him thinking that he Has to listen to the player) that color had to knock some sense into.

so, at most, if youre really depserate to tie szpd to this kid, then he might have "schizoid tendencies," aka schizoid coping mechanisms. but never the actual disorder.

if you want another reason why hes not schizoid,, take this comic drawn by rahafwabas.

yes, schizoids can dissociate from reality where things start to feel Unreal. but.

in this comic, shortly after petting the cats snd notices dream, he almost immediately gets up and goes over to dream. almost out of subtle desperation.

this would probably not happen with an actual schizoid. we would be far too "get away from me" to walk over to dream and squeeze his face or whatever. why would we even touch someone like that, also?

not only that! but the title of his timeline is "something new" based on his desire to feel something new, a new emotion, when hes not supressing. schizoids have no desire to feel anything much less something new.

emotions, to many schizoids, are a threat to us. theyre unsafe and lead to illogical decisions that we resent.

illogical decisions? such as the one comic (that i dont have saved this time) drawn by rahafwabas where killer was tied choosing between color and nightmare. killer, if he was truly schizoid, would never feel conflicted. if i, a schizoid, were in his shoes, i would have cut off both color and nightmare for having the audacity to force me to have an emotional reaction.

of course, that comic is far more complicated than just that, but you get what im saying, right? right? hes not schizoid!

.°• ੈ♡₊˚•.

but now on to me comparing him to schizoids aka myself bc i relate to him 😋

theres this specific comic that i reblogged that i heavily resonate with, at least when it comes to my own relationships with people.

now, keep in mind, what i am about to talk about i feel absolutely nothing for. at most i might feel irritated, confused, or bewildered. its not a vent, just reasons why i relate to killer.

i am a schizoid that is not entirely repulsed by the idea of having friends and long-lasting connections. especially since i am a schizoid that is trying (struggling) to achieve remission.

but it becomes difficult when i begin opening up about my disorder since not everyone understands it, especially if i open up later on into a friendship rather than being clear about it right at the start.

mostly when it comes to how i feel about people. i hold very little, almost zero attachment to even friends i have known for years. it does not bother me whether or not they are or aren't in my life. i am fully indifferent to the possibility of i or them leaving. the second i deem someone unsafe or a waste of time, i cut them out of my life.

which is a problem to people who are emotional and hold strong attachments.

imagine you have a friend that you love spending time with. they always know the right things to say to you and theyre just your best friend overall. now imagine they start opening up about a disorder, claiming that their feelings for you is not mutual and they care little about the sentimental times you have spent together.

that has to hurt, right? at least thats what people have told me. that my lack of feeling or attachment to them hurts, even if i prioritize them above everyone else that i know. even if i tell them everything they want to hear.

i feel like this hits home with killer and the people that care about him. sure, there are moments where he genuinely cares, but phase 2 and beyond he just... doesn't. in redemption stories phase 2 and up might logically deem the person to be a priority, someone he is obligated to be around, but its not like he actually feels anything for them.

phase 1, of course, would love color as a friend and companion more than anyone else in the world. color is his other half, the only person who is willing to put up with his emotional variations and bullshit.

sure, there are stories and interpretations where color gets exhausted and tired of killer's... everything, but the community has made their connection undeniable.

now, i do not understand the concept of queer platonic partners, but i do try to understand it. and i kind of think that the concept of qpp fits killer and color. i dont see them as having romantic feelings for each other, but i do think they would be very close to the possibility.

qpp or safety person, color is the first person to have ever successfully reach killer and his unstable heart. the first person to look past the villain killer depicts himself to be and just... sees killer for himself. his true self.

.°• ੈ♡₊˚•.

if you look up posts on reddit about schizoids, you may notice that reddit schizoids are overt heavy, meaning that they are unlikely to mimic others to blend in. at most they might try to act normal in professional settings.

now on tumblr, it is covert heavy, where mimicking and schizoids having connections outside of work is a bit more common. sure, they still talk about dropping people in a snap, but theyre simply more... willing to try. not everyone, of course.

universally, i have noticed, is that anger is the most common emotion that schizoids feel.

there is this post specifically that i have reblogged where a user is talking about how annoyed he gets with other people.

now, killer would not avoid confrontation like we would. so he does not relate to schizoid in this manner. but i do find comfort in the fact that killer would do everything that i would not. he is a source of feeling anger freely and shitting on people in my head, or imagining him just going... beserk because someone pissed him off.

i really like it when killer is angry. i like it when he is violent and just... acts on his hatred. his determination. i like it when hes not supressing anything. i like it when hes uncontrollable and purely unpredictable, like a rabid animal that wants to destroy what it loathes.

theres a deep sense of satisfaction that i feel from it. a man who is nothing more than a walking paradox. where on one hand he supresses his emotions as much as he can, but on the other hand theres a part of him that relishes in the chaos that he creates. where he hurts people. where he doesnt care about the consequences of his actions, he just does whatever he wants.

where he defends his autonomy and independence. where he doesnt give a flying fuck what nightmare does or says to him.

killer will do what he wants even if it means he has to fight for his freedom til his very last breath. even if it means dying because nightmare has lost use for killer, or realizes that killer wont be some stupid rag doll for him to manipulate like chara/the player did to killer.

this is the version or interpretation of killer that i like. a version where gaslighting and guilt tripping doesnt work because he doesnt care. where even if nightmare would blackmail or threaten other peoples lives, killer continues to not care about anything but his own freedom.

.°• ੈ♡₊˚•.

i might make a part 3, i dont know.

this is literally just me rambling about killer. there is no coherent consistency and i do not plan for it to be orderly or consistent.

i am just dumping whatever first comes to mind.

[katzenmas]

okay but think about Nikto. Nikto who was not always no one. He was his mother's son, his sister's younger brother, the smiling kid from apartment 56 in the orange complex, the runt of the litter in his class.

Nikto who once had a name. A little boy who had a funny nickname that was yelled by his friends as they skipped class and ran from the guards in school. A boy who had dreams and nightmares and stupid petty fights with his classmates. Nikto who in his teenage years buzzed his hair and started wearing darker clothes. A boy who was offered his first cigarette at 14 and coughed up half a lung after one hit. A fight with the kids from a neighboring school left his nose crooked and blood filling his mouth, but his hands were slung over his friends' shoulders and they laughed. Nikto who watched wars break out. Had to hear it on the radio, see it on the news. Two old men talking about yet another conflict while playing chess in a park. History class in school talking about 'The Great Patriotic War', the horrors suddenly becoming too real. The need to do something pressing into his mind as he read the newspaper about an attack on a theatre by Chechen terrorists. Nikto who's mother's face paled when he said he enlisted. His older sister who tried to tell him to go to univeristy, study and then leave to go to a different country, live a better life, a life he deserved. His grandma who let silent tears spill as she remembered how her own husband did not return to her. A 17 year old boy who made up his mind, he wanted to serve his country, answer the call of duty. Nikto who went to training camp, passed it, but barely. A young fresh-faced boy who layed in his barrack bed and wondered if he made the right choice. He though he could never get used to the wight of his gun. Nikto who as the years passed adapted to the harsh military life. He revelled in it. The man came a long way, no one would be calling him the runt of the lotter now. His body filled out, muscles and skin hardening, his face that held baby fat even into his late teen years all but completely dissapeared, being swapped for a five o'clock shadow and a square jaw. Nikto who got into the helicopter with a smile, joking around with his squadmates as they set out to their next mission. The man who took down 13 hostiles by himself but was overwheled, the man who was not deemed worthy enough to go back for, the man who left at the hands of the enemy. Nikto who finally became no one. Nikto who's mind was spliced in so many directions that he could not make out the heads or the tails of life. Nikto who was no longer a boy or a man. He was death, he was nothing. Nikto who forgot his own name, forgot what life was like before the torture. Nikto who looked into the mirror, at the deformed thing that used to be his face. His minf trying to, but never quite coming up with a picture of what he looked like before. Nikto who came back changed. The voice in his mind also splitting, making him think that he was no one but also everyone at the same time. A big void of bodies and sounds trapped in one broken body. Nikto who had a chance to go back home. The door to the apartment where he supposedly spent his whole life was unfamiliar to him. The peeling paint and the rickety lock looked like things he knew, but the more he tried to remember the harder it was. Nikto who watched the woman who was supposed to be his mother fall to her knees when he said that her son is dead. The dog tags and envelope methodically handed over to her. He watched as another woman slowly made her way over to the weeping lady, embraced her and wailed. Wailed for a man who was dead but also alive. Screamed a long forgotten name and prayed to god, a god that Nikto himself remembers praying to during those months of being caputered. But they don't get an answer from him, just like he never did. He mutters an apology and turns away from the door. Leaves the orange complex with the women who grieved him behind. Just as he left himself behind. he was no one. He was Nikto.

[coyotelip]

wolfstar microfic: owl || fluff!! wolfstar raising harry pt.7 || @wolfstarmicrofic || wc: 951 || all parts on ao3

Remus wakes up a few minutes before his alarm clock, which is no longer surprising. The routine feels comfortable to his quiet personality, so he slowly stretches his stiff limbs under the heavy blanket and slides his feet off the bed, putting on his house slippers. With a light wave of his wand, he pulls back the thick curtains, letting in the sunlight, which falls in a flat line on their bed and highlights Sirius's hair spread across the white pillows in a beautiful halo.

As is his routine, Remus allows himself a few moments to admire his sleeping husband, who is clutching the blanket with one hand while the other lies under his head. His puffy lips are slightly parted, and a stain of drool is visible on the pillow beneath them, which makes Remus chuckle with delight.

The next step in his routine is to return to the bed, kneel on it, and lean over the sleeping Sirius to press a soft kiss on his hair. At the same moment, he hears the sound of his alarm, which Remus doesn't have time to look up at, noticing movement under the covers.

Surprisingly, Sirius doesn't show any signs of waking up, continuing to breathe deeply into the pillow, but a mop of dark hair slips out from under his arm and covers, followed by sleepy green eyes that look at Remus with displeasure.

With a wave of his hand, man turns off the ringing, keeping his eyes on sleepy Harry who had suddenly appeared in their bed unnoticed by Remus. “Hello, little one. What are you doing here?”

The movements of the boy's small hands rubbing his eyes seem to blow Sirius away, and he jerks awake, as he always does when he's not awakened by kisses on his face.

“I had a nightmare and I came to you,” Harry explains, barely intelligible, still not opening his eyes wide. Sirius's hand, which had been clutching the blanket, now lies in front of the boy, as if to protect him, and the man hugs him and holds him close, still not opening his eyes. Pulling Harry's head close to his chest, Sirius kisses the top of his head.

“You still haven't told me what you dreamed about, kid,” Sirius's voice sounds like one of Remus's favorite tones, husky and seductive, but the man refuses to unpack such thoughts with a child still in their bed.

“Uh, there were owls,” Harry says nervously, as if he's ashamed or afraid to say it out loud.

“And what was so scary about the owls? You see them almost every day, they bring us mail and fly around the yard innocently,” Remus says gently, pushing the child to explain further, but also to calm him down.

“Mmm, but it wasn't like that.” Harry squeezed harder into Sirius' arms and tried to hide his face in his chest. “There were a lot of them, they weren't just flying around the yard, they were creeping into the house. There were millions of them! And they all wanted to give me a letter, but I couldn't read it,” the boy's voice was shameful, as if not being able to read letters was something bad for a four-year-old.

But Remus just smiled and sat down closer to the boy, putting his hand on his head and stroking it soothingly. “It's okay, dear, it was just a dream. We never get more than one owl at a time, and even if they try to break into the house, you know Pads will shoo them all away with his furious glare.” Remus glances over at Sirius, who is gently looking at Harry in his arms, but after he says that, he tries to imitate his most terrifying look to reassure the child.

Harry studies the imitation carefully for a few seconds and then laughs out loud, kicking Sirius in the stomach. The latter throws back his head, now playing a mortally wounded and now dying from a brutal attack by a four-year-old in the middle of the day.

“He's not scary at all,” Harry says confidently to Remus's face.

“Neither are owls,” the man replies, reaching for his watch on the bedside table. “Here, look,” he puts the tip of his wand to the watch and whispers the words of a transfiguration spell, making the thing turn into a small owl that fits in his palm.

The bird moves its head uncertainly and opens its wings, testing new body, and then notices the boy in front of it. The dark brown eyes of the owl and the green eyes of the boy are both open wide and stare at each other without blinking. From the outside, it looks comical how they both feel afraid of each other and expect the other to attack first. However, the owl tilts its head slightly forward, pecking at the air in front of it. Sirius reaches out to it and lets its tiny legs slide from Remus' palm to his so man can bring the bird closer to Harry.

“Don't be afraid of him, he's just as small as you are,” Sirius says softly in the boy's ear, encouraging him to raise his hand and touch the white feathers.

The child's touch is uncharacteristically light, and within a minute Harry's lips are breaking into a smile as he watches the owl turn its head to meet his hand. “Can we keep her?”

Remus laughs softly, “I'm afraid not, because it's just my watch and I need it to go to work. But when I get back, we can go to the shop together and buy you an owl just like it, okay, dear?”

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I once read a fanfic somewhere a few years ago where Nightmare—Corrupted and Passive—were two different people, and something happened that made Passive come back of course as his 6 year old self and Corrupted was still trapped in his head, talking to him.

And like passive knew something was wrong but didn’t know or remember anything, feeling like Dream and the rest of the Stars were hiding stuff from him.

Anyway the fanfic ended with the Murder Time Trio ganging up on passive and beating the poor kid until Corrupted came back in like a bout of desperate group hysteria.

I distinctly remember killer being so terrified going back into stage 1–as if being that way, feeling those emotions, was something he believed to be a genuine threat to his life—that he believed he needed corrupted to not be that way. Codependency 🤝 Killer!Sans, it’s just like that.

Shit was well written but crazy. Many times I found myself just having to pause and think because holy hell these guys are fucked up. And I think that author, whoever they were because I sure as shit can’t remember anymore, did a good job at showcasing that.

And if I remember correctly this was made in the era where everyone thought Killer’s tear goop was hate, so I’m pretty sure “determination” and “stages” weren’t used in reference to killer, but the writing was interesting and still something I can potentially see happening. (Some parts at least)

There also another fanfic, maybe it was a sequel this one I don’t know, where st1 killer basically went “fuck you, I’ll do my own thing” to both nightmare and color and attempted to run off on his own.

But his process was always hindered because nightmare always reverted him back into Stage 2–who didn’t care about escaping or about being “fixed” or being “sans again.”

It was interesting because nightmare was written as if he desperately wanted some emotional response from killer and also didn’t want him leaving him and would also never ever show or admit to wanting any of that at all, but stage 2 was never capable of giving him exactly what he wanted besides not expressing any desires to leave, besides being convinced that he needs Nightmare.

I remember there was beef between Cross and st1 Killer, where cross had a stick up his ass and used the shit Killer did in st2 against him, and st1 was like, “at least you had a choice and you still did the same shit I did. So what’s that say about you?”

I also distinctly remember Cross and st2 Killer being sent on a mission together by nightmare, and killer was already so unstable that when they encountered an au of Chara, he completely lost shit, I think was triggered into something like st3, and started brutally attacking them.

[anjels001]

Chapter 3: The Kind of Problem You Don’t Find in School (Part 1)

Author’s Note:

I posted this chapter a little earlier than planned, but the same deal from the last one still applies!

If this story reaches 20 reposts, I’ll create an AO3 specifically for it and start uploading there too.

And hey — if we hit 200 likes, I’ll drop the next chapter today!Huge thanks to all the new followers and the amazing messages — you’re all awesome!

My inbox is open for questions, comments about the story, or just to chat.I’m also open for writing and art commissions, so feel free to send me a message!

See you in the next chapter!

----(>ú<)-----

Look, I didn’t want to be special.

If you're reading this because you think you might be... well, maybe it’s better to put the book down now. Trust me. Believe whatever your parents told you about your birth, keep living as if nothing is real — and, if you can, stay away from saltwater.

Being special is dangerous.

It’s confusing, terrifying... and a great way to end up alone, hurt, or worse.

If you’re a normal kid, reading this thinking it’s fiction, great. Enjoy it while you can. I envy you. But if, somewhere deep inside, you feel something... a weird vibration, an unexplained chill, a voice whispering your name in the middle of silence — stop. Right now.

Because it might be that you’re like me.

And, in that case... well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

My name is Perseus Telis Jackson. But everyone calls me Percy — except my mom, who only uses my full name when she wants me to do the dishes or when I'm in trouble.

I’m twelve years old, with some pretty ugly scars on my face, and dreams that give me dark circles that would make a sleepless panda jealous.

The scars are three, all on the right side of my face, going from my temple to my chin. I’ve had them since I was three, and they’re the ones that caused the biggest mess in my life.

A lot of people thought the culprit was my ex-stepdad, Old Smelly Gabe, and he ended up getting arrested. Seriously, I don’t miss him. Like, at all.

My mom never told me what really happened that night. She just said she found me covered in salt and sand, sleeping on the ground as if nothing had happened, but with my eyes still full of fear. I don’t remember anything. All I know is, since then, sleep has never been peaceful.

Almost every night, I dream of things that don’t make sense. Gigantic waves, voices whispering in languages I don’t understand, creatures with eyes that glow like headlights in the dark depths of some place that feels... way too familiar.

If that sounds weird, maybe it is. But for me, it’s routine

It’s not like I had a “how to be a normal kid” manual anyway.

At school, they say I’m too mature for my age. The truth is, when you grow up with the kind of silence that only bad dreams leave, you end up learning to keep a lot to yourself.

And, well... if I knew where all of this would lead, maybe I would have done things differently.

Maybe I would have pretended nothing was real, that the scars didn’t matter, that the dreams were just dreams.

Because the truth is, all of this — the scars, the nightmares, even my name — is just the beginning.

You must be wondering why all this? The introduction? The warnings and all that?

Well, it all started a few months ago. I was a student at Yancy Academy — a fancy, half-prison-like boarding school up in northern New York. It’s the kind of private school where they send kids that adults aren’t quite sure how to handle. And yes, that includes people like me.

Am I a troublemaker? Yeah... I guess you could say that.

Not that I go around beating up classmates or setting fire to lockers — well, at least not on purpose. But problems seem to follow me. Or maybe I follow them. Anyway, the fact is: my file at Yancy’s office is almost as thick as a Latin dictionary. And I’ve only been there for a year.

I could start this story from several strange and confusing moments in my life, but the truth is, things really started going wrong in the last month of May. That’s when my sixth-grade class went on a field trip to Manhattan — twenty-eight hyperactive kids (and two or three sociopaths) crammed into a yellow school bus, along with two teachers who looked visibly regretful.

The destination? The Metropolitan Museum of Art. The objective? To observe “cultural relics” from ancient Greece and Rome.

Yeah, I know. It sounds like punishment. And, honestly? Most of the time, Yancy's field trips were just that: punishment disguised as an educational outing. But this time, I had a tiny bit of hope.

Because the one guiding the tour was Mr. Brunner — our teacher, and he was... different. He had thinning hair at the temples, a scruffy beard that always seemed on the verge of giving up, and wore a tweed jacket so old it must have witnessed more intense battles than most of us. And he always — always — smelled like coffee. That strong, bitter scent, like the man himself was made of old books and sleepless nights.

At first glance, you'd probably mistake him for some retired librarian or a historian who got lost on the way home. But there was something about him — the way he spoke, as if he measured every word carefully, and the sharp look behind his glasses — that made you feel like he knew more than he should.

He was our Latin teacher, but his lessons went far beyond declensions and dead verbs. He told stories, made bad jokes, and let us ask weird questions without losing his patience. Sometimes, it even seemed like he enjoyed it when someone brought up a topic off the syllabus, like "dragons in Greek mythology" or "how the gods would dress today."

And the coolest part? Mr. Brunner had an entire collection of Roman weapons and armor. Real stuff. Swords, shields, helmets... all hanging on the walls of the classroom or piled up on shelves with handwritten labels. Sometimes, he'd bring in a different item to show the class, and at those moments, the room would go silent, almost magically. It was the only class where no one — not even me — would fall asleep.

Of course, sometimes I’d catch him watching me when no one was looking, like he recognized something about me, but all of that would make sense later. But, that day, all I knew was that Mr. Brunner was the only adult in the school who didn’t look at me like I was a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

I was hoping everything would go smoothly on the trip. At least I hoped I wouldn't get into trouble this time.

Man, was I wrong.

Actually, I tried — really tried — to be a good student. I did my homework, studied for tests, and when I didn’t forget because of my ADHD, I even turned in my assignments on time. My teachers knew this, but... things always went wrong.

Like, have you ever heard of someone having bad luck? Now imagine someone with an invisible magnet stuck to their forehead, attracting embarrassing and unfair situations like it’s some kind of superpower.

That’s me.

If someone threw an eraser at the teacher, I was the one who got blamed. If the fire alarm went off for no reason? Somehow, it was my fault too. I don’t even want to remember the day a rat showed up in math class. (Spoiler: I was in fencing club at that time.)

Yeah, fencing club. I participated. I wasn’t the best or the most disciplined, but I was quick, and the instructor said I had reflexes as sharp as a cat’s. He just forgot to mention that, sometimes, my brain didn’t tell my feet in time. Still, it was the only extracurricular activity where I didn’t feel completely out of place.

Even so, no effort seemed good enough. There was always something that went wrong — as if the universe thought it was funny to put me in situations where everything went wrong in the most spectacular way possible.

And that was just this year at Yancy.

Understand this: bad things just happen to me on school trips. Always.

In fifth grade, for example, we took a trip to the Saratoga battlefield. There was a cannon from the American Revolution there, all surrounded and with a thousand “DO NOT TOUCH” signs. I swear on everything sacred: I didn’t touch it. But somehow, the cannon turned, fell, and almost hit our bus. The result? Expelled from school.

In fourth grade, we went to visit Marine World — you know, the behind-the-scenes tour of the shark tank. I don’t know how — seriously, I have no idea — but I triggered a lever that kids weren’t even supposed to be near and... well, the whole class got a salty shower while the sharks got a live screaming show.

Before that? Better not even get into the details. You get the pattern by now, right?

So, on this particular trip to Manhattan, I was determined to break the curse. No historical disasters, no mysterious buttons, zero messes. I was going to be good, stick to the plan, stay invisible. Easy.

Then came Nancy Bobofit.

She was that annoying student — red-haired, freckled, with a supernatural talent for getting on everyone’s nerves, including plants. And for some cosmic reason, she’d picked Grover as her favorite target.

Grover was an easy target. Skinny, awkward, shy. He cried when he got frustrated. He was the only sixth grader with acne and a patchy little beard coming in on his chin, which made everyone think he’d been held back like three times. He also had a doctor’s note excusing him from PE — something about a muscular condition in his legs. He walked kind of funny, like every step hurt. But don’t be fooled — you should’ve seen how fast he moved when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Despite all that — or maybe because of it — Grover was brave. In a quiet, almost invisible way. Always trying to see the bright side, even when he was shaking in his sneakers. He was the kind of person you wouldn’t expect much from, but when everything went wrong, he’d be right there next to you. We’d been friends for just over a year, and ever since, it was like he just knew when I was feeling off. Like a connection from another life.

But at that moment, on the bus, Grover just hunched his shoulders and tried to pretend that the chunks of peanut butter and ketchup sandwich Nancy was throwing into his curly hair weren’t bothering him. But I saw his ears trembling. I saw that and thought: “Hold it, Percy. Don’t screw this up now.”

Because, of course, I couldn’t do anything. I was already being watched. The principal had threatened me with an in-school suspension — which, honestly, is worse than a regular suspension. It means you have to come to school but can’t go to class. You just sit in a room all day doing stupid assignments. If anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly fun happened... I’d be toast.

And there was Nancy, acting like the queen of comedy, tossing sandwiches at Grover while I counted to ten. Twice.

(Spoiler: it went bad. Really bad.)

[moon--mama]

Some more ideas I have now that I’m done reading Iron Flame:

**Andarna is the seventh breed of dragon, which means Violet’s second signet might be something that no one has seen in 600+ years. What if it’s something like “purification” and she’s able to heal venin? Sort of like healing or mending, but purifying instead.

**I expect that Xaden will attempt to tamp down the reality that the earth magic is tempting like a drug. With the issues he and Violet already have in being honest, it’s going to be a wild ride that will probably lead to a breakup at some point. This series has had far too much spice and fluff to go on another three books without some turmoil. Of course, that’s not what I want to see happen, but there aren’t any rainbows without rain.

**in a breakup scenario, or even an Evil Xaden scenario, Violet knows the ultimate secret that could utterly wreck Xaden’s life. If she let it slip that he was hiding his mind reading signet, literally no one would trust him again. His leadership would absolutely be called into question. She’s not amazing at keeping secrets, so it’s only a matter of time.

**General Sorrengail’s communication before the final chapter states “we have tried every method we know of, as you requested. There is no cure. There is only control.” It’s from a random Nolon Colbersy. This leads to several thoughts. First, why was Lilith trying to cure something? Who or what was she trying to cure? Could be a venin, could have been papa sorrengail, could be herself, or could even possibly be Violet. Second, is Colbersy alive? Third, “we know of” suggests that perhaps there’s information they don’t know—in a society that has been happily deleting and omitting information for centuries, it’s likely there’s some more info out there.

**the shared dreaming about the Sage: What if the Sage was going after both Violet and Xaden on purpose, since together they’re a crazy weapon? Since they both kept having the same nightmare, and Violet kept thinking about how real it was because it kept changing subtly, it seems like a powerful venin might be able to project themselves into a dream. The dragon crew knows very little about mind powers, since they kill off most intinsics. Maybe the Gryphon riders have some answers—but if they aren’t talking to each other about their recurring identical nightmares, it’s unlikely that they will talk to other people.

**knowing Xaden can read minds makes this series suddenly more hilarious. Think about all the times Violet thought something cringey and then Xaden responded. She has thought to herself over and over “oh? I must have accidentally said that out loud.” I was even getting annoyed that it kept happening until the big secret came out, and now it’s just funny to think about.

**another sad thought about the mind reading—Xaden and Cat were betrothed. Xaden developed new powers what, three years ago? It’s hinted that he used to be in a relationship with Cat, like an actual relationship, even though he’s now completely over her and plays it down to Violet. What if there was a sudden moment when he went to see her and he was able to read her mind for the first time? That would have put a quick end to any relationship. Poor guy was probably pretty shaken up to realize that he could now pre-scan his ladies to find out why they were interested. If they were betrothed, it’s also likely that he spent a lot of time at her uncle’s house as a little kid, so there’s probably some Riorson family memories tied up in his relationship with Cat too.

**I don’t think it’s possible that Tairn’s previous rider is alive. The dragons have that telepathic link that hurts when it’s severed. Turning venin evidently doesn’t sever dragon links, since Sgaeyl seems to be freezing Xaden out (he still has signet powers, the GPS link to Violet, etc) However, I do think it’s possible that the venin general is still alive. Xaden kept watching for his body in the river and never saw it.

**is the venin magic just a gigantic glaring plot hole? Because you can’t tell me that every single infantry person wouldn’t “reach for power” if it was there and it meant saving the lives of their friends or living through a battle.

**we never actually saw what happened when Xaden “turned” venin. There might be more that was said or done. His POV cut off when he woke up from his memory/nightmare. Do we count the dream as a memory?

**At one point, Lilith said to Violet “when you become a mother” and not “if.” I wonder if this will take an “oh no we left all the contraceptive tinctures in Basgaith” turn at some point. Are Venin still people? Can they have children? Does that make the children part Venin? Maybe we will find out.

Okay that’s all for now but I’m sure more ideas will occur to me.

[ladysomething]

I know that writing is not a simple matter, but I didn't expect to consider so much. Thank you and SaiyanWitcher for creating such a wonderful fic.

I think this has gone beyond the ordinary fic, since you have created a character like wygig Charles. This is more like a serious thing.

I really hope Charles can win WDC.

I'm still a little worried about whether the contract will strike out in the follow-up content.

God, I can't imagine what a nightmare it would be for Charles to reauction. And what Max would definitely do to protect his beloved Omega.

thank you for your kind words. there is an extensive amount of work that goes into a fic like wygig, and both @saiyanwitcher and I really appreciate it whenever people mention it. it makes us feel warm and gooey haha.

also because you have specifically mentioned Charles, I do feel like I want to ramble about him a little bit, particularly in light of the US election yesterday.

I always knew that wygig, and Charles in particular, were a vehicle for telling a deep and complex story about gender, a woman's place in the world, and the complexity of being in love with somebody who fits into all the traditional moulds of upholding societal values.

partly this is because of my own interest in gender and gender politics - as I mentioned a few days ago, I've studied it in the past.

partly this is because when SaiyanWitcher told me that she would like for me to write an omegaverse fic, I knew the only way I would want to do it was if I had something to say. reading essays on omegaverse and whether they are subversive or uphold traditional gender dynamics was how I realised that I wanted to fit into a bit of both: be subversive by making commentary on our system through omegaverse.

however, the longer I've been writing this (January will mark a year since I wrote the first chapter), it's become more and more a Point for me. wygig is not just a romance with a side of commentary, the entire point of it is to critique gender roles and gender politics.

the biggest and most obvious example on this is obviously Charles avoiding all of the things that mark a traditional omega (nesting, scenting, even having heats), but also in his journey with wanting kids.

obviously he rejected everything in the past, but that's not really a way for him to live. he was effectively denying himself his wants and needs, just because he hated his second gender and what it meant for him.

ultimately his journey is about reconciling the two halves of himself: his hopes and dreams, with his wants and needs.

max, of course, makes up a huge part of that. Max has, for the majority of the story so far, been a huge obstacle in Charles' path of self realisation and acceptance, because he has been the picture of a traditional alpha, and of somebody trying to oppress Charles (yes, of course that wasn't his intention, but he still did it - also its own point).

But Max's part in Charles' journey is to uplift him. To give a voice to him, and his needs, and to make him feel safe. His role in Charles' gender journey is protect him by allowing him the space to be who he is. His role is to do for Charles the things he simply can't for himself because of his gender: to be publicly equal to Charles, to give him the tools he needs to amplify his voice, and to meet Charles half way with love and support and zero self interest.

anyway. I know that probably makes wygig a little too real for people, and I have been told multiple times in the past that it's difficult to read/triggering, because of how deeply it explores these topics. of course I understand that - it was designed to be difficult to read.

but I'm so happy that so many of you are along for the journey, and love and appreciate what I'm trying to do with this beast.