#I think it was more a nightmare than a dream | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

llamagoddessofficial · 2 days ago

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@interactive-fiction-ideas - thank you for commissioning a headcanons post!!! I've missed doing these.

"What would it be like, for Nightmare and Dream (and their respective gangs), if there was a truce and Nightmare became uncorrupted? I was thinking that Nightmare still has some lasting physical and mental side effects from the corruption."

This is a long one, so most of it has gone below the cut.

For reference - I imagine all of them are currently living in one place. Probably a condition of the truce is that Nightmare and his gang aren't allowed free reign of the multiverse anymore.

Nightmare... really isn’t happy about looking like his ‘passive’ self again. When he looks in the mirror, he feels sickened by what he sees. It’s the face of the person he spent years running from. The massive crack in his skull hasn’t healed, and now that there’s no corruption to cover it, he’s resorted to fashioning all kinds of ways to hide that side of his head - bandages, masks, custom engraved coverings. He misses being able to hold multiple things with his tentacles, or grab things without having to stand. Other than his skull, his time corrupted has left some physical remnants; he's a little taller than he once was, and his bones are greyish and dark at the joints, as if stained. He wears exclusively modest and body-covering clothing to disguise the maks. He’s definitely mellowed, now that the Corruption has gone. He’s less cruel, less explosive, less malicious. But “passive” is certainly the wrong word; don’t mistake his quietness for weakness. He's not afraid of anything anymore, and he won’t take the same shit he once did. He rarely smiles, he’s quiet, he keeps to himself and his old crew. There's a sharp glint in his eyelights when he feels annoyed or threatened. His time corrupted has left more than just physical marks. He told Killer, Dust and Horror that they were free to go, if they wished. But they stayed. He says nothing about it, of course, because it’s not in any of their natures to express their real emotions... but he’s never been more grateful. He couldn’t imagine dealing with all this change alone.

Dream is obviously a lot happier about the current state of affairs than Nightmare is. He’s achieved his goal, he’s gotten what he’s been fighting for all this time. The war is over! Nightmare has been ‘saved’ from the corruption and the multiverse is safe!

Dream and Nightmare’s new relationship is, unintentionally, a touch comical. Dream, the eternal ray of sunshine that he is, is delighted at his brother's return to 'normal'. He’s determined to forge a new sibling dynamic and show Nightmare that he’s been forgiven and can start anew. He's friendly to a fault. He likes setting up activities that everyone can do together, to get to know each other and get past their old differences; movie nights, game tournaments, supervised trips out to town, etc. Nightmare, confused by Dream’s bright sunny attitude after almost a lifetime of trying to kill each other, goes along with it to honour the truce - but doesn’t much care for being surprise hugged. ... It’s not all sun, though. Dream’s dealing with his own demons now. He hoped beyond hope that the Corruption and Nightmare were two different people, he wanted to just wipe the slate clean and forget the pain. But he’s gradually realising that it was his brother behind the wheel during all those atrocities, all that killing. He's so tired but now, it's clear that all the damage can’t simply be ignored... there's so much more work to do. Though he knew in the back of his mind things would never truly go back to the way they were, he's still struggling to fully confront that fact - and he’s struggling to comprehend that the monster he was fighting all those years is the same person he fought so hard to get back. The moments where the happy mask slips are the moments when he and Nightmare get the closest they ever could to real reconciliation.

Blue is confused. Is he a famously strong, kind and forgiving person, even in the face of great evil? Yes. Is he happy they’re all no longer at each other’s throats all the time? Of course, it’s nice to know the war is over. ... But it’s bizarre to see everyone acting so friendly, after everything that happened. Dream tries to hug Nightmare, Nightmare holds him away by putting his hand on Dream’s face, everyone can't help but laugh. And Blue is sweating. Did they all forget that barely a year ago they were genuinely trying to kill each other? Did they all suddenly forget that he and Ink and Dream used to talk about these skeletons like mad dogs that needed to be put down? Sure, forgiveness is great. But why is nobody acting like this whole truce is absolutely nuts? Blue is the one who helps Dream work through his emotions about everything. He keeps him grounded, tethers him to reality, reminds him that things won’t instantly go back to how they were. He reminds Dream everyone will need time to heal. He’s honestly quite surprised by how naive Dream can be when it comes to his brother; in most other things, Dream is incredibly strategic and excellent at predicting people. But Nightmare is Dream’s big blind spot. He also finds himself in a strange not-quite-friendship with Dust.

Dust is only one who’s as clearly confused as Blue is about the current state of affairs. The only one who apparently remembers that Nightmare is a MASS MURDERER and this whole tenuous peace is incredibly weird. When Dream acts like everyone is besties, it's Blue and Dust who share the concerned glances. The two end up with a confusing little bro bond, often ending up standing away from the group together. Dust is confused. Very confused. He's gone from working for Nightmare kinda unwillingly, to playing peace kinda unwillingly. But like... what else has he got? It’s not like he has a home to go back to. It’s not like he has anyone else. Though he can’t stand any of the people that now frequent his life, the thought of leaving Killer and Horror and Nightmare behind made him feel strangely sickened. So he’s... lingering. Wandering around, looking for something to do, sleeping a lot and wondering if this is his life forever now. This weird pendulum swing has left him back in a position that’s equally as unusual as before. Only now, he’s ‘not allowed’ to kill. Whatever, I guess? It’s fine by him. The less work he has to do, the better. His strange camaraderie with Blue provides him a source of entertainment. He finds himself enjoying Blue’s company more than he probably should considering they've attempted to dust (haha) each other a few times. He likes that Blue doesn’t overtly judge him for his past, but equally, he doesn't pretend it didn’t happen - Blue isn't naive about it, he knows he’s ‘hanging out’ with a mass murderer. The honesty keeps things easy. Blue, Horror and Dust end up spending a lot of time together. Dust likes how patient Blue is with Horror.

Killer misses murdering but he’s really, really liking the messiness and confusion of the current state of affairs, it’s so much fun to watch everyone squirming. Killer is openly friendly to Dream and Blue, which is incredibly confusing to them - Dream nervously accepts the friendliness, Blue not so much. When Dream comes up with his 'activities’, Killer's often the most excitable and open to the concept, even more so than Blue. He convinces the others to join in. His enthusiasm is much appreciated by Dream and they have some friendly banter every now and then. ... But it’s also completely clear to everyone in the room that if something changed, and Nightmare decided he wanted to end this ‘truce’, Killer wouldn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. He’s as loyal as ever to Nightmare and he’ll go wherever his boss goes. Whether Nightmare is softspoken and stern, or a commanding madman, Killer is right there. It doesn't matter how friendly he gets with these new friends - if Nightmare said the word he'd end it. I can definitely picture Nightmare and Killer, in this circumstance, establishing something that’s approaching a real friendship. There’s still a weird power dynamic, and Nightmare’s past abuse toward his underlings hasn’t been forgotten. But the two of them have been through so much together - and every step, they trusted one another completely. If Nightmare did some reflection there’s real potential.

Horror is, honestly, up there with Dream for people who are most happy about the way things have gone. There's not much to say about him, other than this is a pretty ideal situation for him! No one except Dust really notices the way Horror starts to settle and calm down. Now that the war has ended, Horror has more time than ever to visit his brother. He’s got food, his family is safe, he liked killing but it could honestly get pretty physically and mentally stressful and now he doesn’t even have to worry about it any more. But most of all, he’s happy that the gang stayed together. He got quite attached to the Bad Sanses - he was the most genuinely emotional out of the group and anyone could see that him and Dust were close buddies. He’d miss all of them if they went their separate ways. Now? He gets to hang out with them, but without any of the executing. Dust isn’t as wound up, he lashes out less. Nightmare looks weird but he and Killer have been talking more and shouting less. Dream’s brightness gets on his nerves sometimes but the weird ‘games’ keep his mind off things. He gets to cook and clean. He visits his brother often. Blue is kinda funny. ... This is nice. He likes this.

Ink has, for the most part, skedaddled. He was there for the fun of it all, the drama and the emotions, the adrenaline high of the multiverse being on the line. The battle of good versus evil, the character development, the crazy ‘plot twists’. Now that it’s over, he’s mostly gone back to harassing Error. He visits from time to time, but only to see Dream and Blue - not out of any real desire to help the bad guys rehabilitate. Occasionally Dream might ask him to drop by for a group activity and he does so as a favour to a friend, sometimes he gets curious about how Nightmare has changed and wants to see the new dynamics / discover how the epilogue to this ‘story’ is progressing... but he's not all that invested. Now that they can speak without attempting murder, Ink seems to have developed a fondness for Killer, but that's about all. If he’s not dropping by because he misses his friends, he’s occupied with bothering his opposite once more.

#llamagines #commissions

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guiltyasdave · 2 days ago

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almost killed your light

chapter 6 • series masterlist

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~3.7k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 36), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, nightmares, death of characters important to reader, grief, the angst is once again angsting, suicide (not reader!), canon-typical violence, hunting & a dead deer, it's finally backstory time!!!!

a/n: i can't tell you how thrilled i am to be posting this! it's easily the saddest chapter of the series, and also the first part of the story that i came up with, so this is a pretty big moment for me <3 thank you for all the lovely comments, for being so patient and a biiiig smooch to @sizzlingcloudmentality, thank you for looking this over!

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

“Do you think—” Joel clears his throat, searching your face. “Do you think it might help to talk about them? To help you to keep the memory?”

You don’t want to talk about them, if you’re being honest. As long as you don’t talk, don’t speak any of it into existence, you might still be able to pretend that the last twenty years were nothing more than a bad dream. That you’ll just need to finally wake up, and you’ll be sixteen again, and the world will be back to normal.

But you’re still shivering, still feeling the threat of forgetting, of nothingness breathing down your neck. So you nod, slowly, and with the quiet safety of Joel’s slow breaths in your ears and the warmth of his body beside you, you start laying your heart out for him.

How they called you out of class, something about a family emergency, that they had your father on the phone. His frantic voice in your ear, crackling through the receiver, countless miles away on a work trip, accompanied by your mother. Too far to reach, too far to come and save you.

Take your brothers and go home. Immediately. No stops along the way, no matter what. Go to the basement and stay there, do you hear me? Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

It hadn’t been the first time that he urged you home from school, made you hide from an invisible threat. It was part of your life, just like the never-ending survival lessons and the fully inhabitable basement under your house was part of it.

But something had felt off this time. Maybe because you knew that he wouldn’t be waiting for you at home, that you were on your own. Maybe you just had a bad feeling. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

You weren’t sure what he had said on the phone before you had come on, which excuse he had given, but you got both Felix and Tim out of class without issue and packed them into your car. Of course they wanted to stop along the way, only six and eleven years old, giddy to be out of school early.

You denied demands to get McDonalds, to go to the arcade, even to spend the day roaming the woods around your house. With your father’s words still echoing through your head, you parked in front of the house, herded them straight down to the basement, and put the radio on. And then you waited.

It took until the late evening, all three of you getting antsy, itching to get back upstairs. What bad could possibly happen, really? Until the warnings started. Until early morning when they turned into silence.

Eventually, different voices returned. Talking about quarantine zones, about safety. About an organization called FEDRA. Don’t trust anyone, least of all the government. A principle far too ingrained in your upbringing to betray it now. So you stayed. In the safety of the familiar homey scent of wood-panelled walls and floors, the always slightly stale air, the electric yellow glow that never made up for the lack of actual daylight.

But you managed to get an insight into what was actually going on. An infection, spreading too fast to contain. Changing people, turning them into monsters. It sounded like one of those movies that your first boyfriend used to like. Too strange to picture, until the first time you caught movement on the security camera footage. A man stumbling out of the woods, his movements all wrong, unnatural. Weird shapes growing out of his body, out of his head. Fungus, the voices on the radio had said.

Sometimes, when you struggled to fall asleep at night, you wondered where that boyfriend was now. If he was still alive, if any of your friends were. If anyone was.

As time went on, though you never said it out loud, the hope that your parents had made it, that they were coming back to you, started to grow smaller. You took on the duties of caretaking and leadership as best as you could.

Made food, to the best of your abilities. Tried to teach them schoolwork, at least a little. Answered questions, sang lullabies, held them when they cried. Just a little while longer, you used to tell both them and yourself. Because things would go back to normal eventually, right? Keep them safe.

Weeks turned into months, Thanksgiving and Christmas passed you by, and you were still down there. Watching as the world outside turned white with snow, then watching as it melted, as nature slowly crept closer towards the house, as sunshine started to filter through the trees again. The days got longer, and the terror settled into something deeper, more numb, but at the back of your minds like a steady pulse.

The first time you decided to go out, you were petrified with fear. The world outside the back door seemed endless, far too loud, far too bright, far too open. The birds sounded deafening in your ears, looking up at the sky burned in your eyes.

Clenching your teeth, the packets of seeds crinkling between your fingers, you took the first hesitant step towards the overgrown patch of earth where your parents used to grow vegetables.

Your hands were shaking the entire time, your breath coming in short huffs that never quite seemed to reach your lungs. Your eyes kept skimming the treeline, your legs ready to bolt at the smallest of movements. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. The wind felt strange on your skin, the damp earth was clinging to your skin uncomfortably. But you had to do this right, had to provide, had to give them something more than just pure survival.

Hands grabbed at you as soon as you gave the signal and the heavy door swung open. Held you tight, relief swimming in their eyes, mirroring yours. What did it look like, what did it feel like? Did it smell different? Did you see a monster? You didn’t, but now you had something to count down to, something tangible. A few weeks, and you would have something fresh to eat, something that didn’t come out of a can. Something that tasted like before.

You retrieved your mother’s notebook from the kitchen, tried to replicate the dishes that you remembered. You read bedtime stories, listened to long winded monologues over space travel and dinosaurs, went through the same comics over and over and tried to think of new stories when the existing ones became boring. You brought Tim’s guitar down from his old room and listened to him pluck the strings in the evenings. Sometimes, you sang together. It wasn’t like before, but it wasn’t terrible. A life you had been prepared for, in a weird way.

For two years, you were the only one who ventured outside. Still with a rigid spine, still with your fingers twitching towards the shotgun you always carried with you, still hyper focused on your surroundings. But for two years, nothing bad happened. Your hands got more used to the movements, handling fruits and vegetables with practised care. You sometimes wondered what your father would say if he saw you now. If he would be proud of you. You didn’t want him to be proud. You wanted him to come back.

You never saw another monster, not when you were outside and not on the cameras either. Nor did you ever see any humans. The radio stayed silent.

The next spring, Tim wouldn’t stop begging to come outside with you. He had just turned fourteen, and was not a child anymore, I can take care of myself! At nineteen yourself, you had never wished more to feel like a child again.

After endless fights, in which he called you overprotective, afraid of your own shadow, overdramatic and, particularly hurtful, not his mother, you finally agreed. You also promised to teach him how to shoot, which your father had just been getting started on when everything changed.

Once it was time to actually step foot outside, he grabbed your hand tightly, blank fear written in his wide eyes.

“Hey,” you murmured, squeezing his fingers reassuringly and crouching down to his height. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.” Please let everything be okay. Please don’t let today be the day when something happens.

He nodded, squared his jaw, took a deep breath and turned back towards the door. He looked so much older in that moment, so much like your father, that your own breath faltered for a second.

To his credit, Tim stayed close by your side the entire time, just like you had made him promise over and over. Your whole body was on high alert, eyes flitting over the garden that nature kept claiming back more and more each time you came outside, over the darkness of the treeline.

Once the patch had been taken care of, your spread targets over the long grass, handing Tim the bow and arrows that you had practised with as well. He had wanted a gun, but you couldn’t bear the risk of shots alerting anyone to your existence.

Tim was good with the weapon, once his nerves had calmed down a little. When the sky slowly turned orange and you ushered him inside again, he beamed up at you. “I can help you now,” he said. “I can protect us.”

Felix, only nine years old at the time, had been whining non stop about being left alone, but you couldn’t bear the thought of bringing him upstairs, out of the safety of the basement. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

It took two more years until the three of you left the basement together. You had a terrible feeling about it, the impending dread breathing down your neck as soon as you opened the door. But Felix needed shooting practice too, Tim argued, and you knew he was right. Neither of you said it out loud, but the question of what if lingered in the air around you. What if something happened to you? What if the two of them ended up alone? They had to be prepared for that. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

You handled most of the gardening, because you liked the way you could move your hands to do something, to provide something that wouldn’t exist otherwise. But you told them everything you knew, everything your parents taught you. In the evenings, you scribbled everything you could think of into a notebook, filling pages upon pages with knowledge that you hoped you would always be able to give in person, but couldn’t risk the opportunity that it would be lost if you couldn’t.

It was Tim who first brought up the idea of hunting. In a way, it made sense. You had seen far more wildlife on the camera footage over the years than monsters. Twice, you had even seen groups of humans, but they were mostly male and carrying heavy weapons, and you never felt safe to interact with them. Those sightings had been few and far in between though, while you saw deer almost every week.

Still, it would mean venturing out further than ever before. Further away from safety than you’d been in five years. But it would add another component to your meals, and better nutrition, you supposed. There were enough supplements stored in the basement to last you your whole lives and then some, but the prospect of providing them with something new, something fresh? It was tempting.

Gritting your teeth, you eventually agreed. Tim had become a great shooter, much better with the bow than you had ever been. His bashful grin when you told him that made your heart sting. You always tried to be everything they needed, but in moments like these you wished your father had been there to praise him instead of you for once.

You had really wanted to at least leave Felix behind, but he wouldn’t have it, obviously terrified of the two of you not coming back. So, after going through every possible eventuality a thousand times, the three of you put on dark clothes, shouldered your weapons, and set out into the woods. Your heart was racing, all your senses on the highest alert, your fingers wrapped tightly around the shotgun in your grip. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

It was a beautiful morning. Spring was slowly merging into summer, the air was still crisp and so different from the air in the basement that it almost felt unreal. Birdsong was floating through the trees as the three of you very slowly made your way through the semi darkness of the forest surrounding your house. Early daylight was filtering through the leaves and mist was rising from the soft mossy floor.

You were quiet, no words exchanged between you, just like you had made them promise over and over. It felt like barely any time had passed when Tim’s hand shot out, stopping both you and Felix in your tracks. He pointed up ahead, where your squinting eyes made out the lithe, brown silhouette of a deer in the dim light.

He exchanged a nod with you, then drew an arrow. You watched him take aim, heard the silent woosh, saw it hitting its target. The animal went down with a low thud. For a moment, none of you moved. Tim blinked slowly, like he couldn’t believe his own eyes. A breathless laugh escaped you, until you caught yourself, your eyes darting around nervously. But nothing moved, the forest kept on peacefully existing around you.

Dragging the deer back to the house was challenging, as was the dressing, but you managed. It had been one of the most-hated lessons that your father gave you, but now, once again, you felt grateful. As long as you didn’t think about why he wasn’t there to do it.

But that night, when you made a stew out of fresh vegetables and meat, you actually felt a little proud of yourself. If nothing else, at least you were keeping your promise.

It wasn’t until a few months later that you encountered one of the monsters. It lunged at you out of nowhere, forcing all air from your lungs as you both collided on the forest floor. A scream tore from your throat, your hands grasping desperately to bring the shotgun into position while simultaneously holding the snapping, rotting teeth away from your face.

“Tim!” you cried out, pressing yourself against the ground, hoping to give him a clear shot. But there wasn’t the familiar whooshing of an arrow flying through the air. Two shots rang out in quick succession and the creature on top of you stilled.

Gasping for breath, you pushed it off of you, trying to make sense of the scene in front of you. Tim was frozen, his hand extended towards the quiver on his back, the bow still at his side. Your eyes found Felix. Sweet, eleven year old Felix, who read comics to fall asleep and asked to sleep in your bed after a nightmare every other week. Felix, with the gun you had given him for emergencies only shaking in his grip. His whole frame was trembling, tears quietly streaming down his face.

With your own legs unsteady, you got onto your feet, crossing the short distance and pressing him tightly against you.

“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, enveloping him in your arms. “You’re okay, we’re okay. Let’s go home.”

You didn’t want to go hunting again after that. You had managed without it before, and you would manage again. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

But, after the initial shock had worn off, your brothers did want to go into the forest again. They practiced shooting even more often, unwilling to accept defeat, to bow down to this threat that effectively was out of your control. Afraid that they would sneak out if you said no, you eventually caved and the three of you made your way into the forest again.

You were on the verge of panic the entire time, but miraculously, everything stayed calm. No sudden surprises, no attacks, only the quiet trees and you, and the promise of a good dinner that evening.

Life was good, in some ways. Tim turned eighteen and you got up at the crack of dawn to prepare a cake for him. He taught Felix how to play guitar. On some days, you were brave enough to spend whole days in the actual house, only retreating to the basement to sleep. You still ran into monsters sometimes, and while that never got less scary, you built more of a routine with every time it happened.

Eight years had passed since your father called you and sent you home from school. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

It was early October, and you had caught a cold. Nothing you couldn’t just sleep off, just a persistent headache and a sore throat really, but your brothers were determined to help. Determined to get ingredients for soup, something your mom used to make when one of you was sick.

Your protests that they didn’t have to, that you didn’t want them outside on their own, fell on deaf ears. Eventually, you gave up. They weren’t kids anymore, and you didn’t doubt that they could hold their ground. Just— you had a bad feeling. And you had promised.

After the door on top of the staircase fell shut, you drifted off into a feverish sleep, haunted by dreams that didn’t make sense. You were shaken awake by Tim, his eyes red from crying, his face more distraught than you had ever seen it. He stumbled over his words, choking on apologies, on explanations that you couldn’t make sense of. Until he led you up to the living room you never used, a room from before. Until you saw Felix sitting on the couch, all gangly limbs and too long hair that you had been planning on cutting. Until you saw his forearm. The twitching. The bite mark, already red and swollen with infection.

The unthinkable had happened. One moment of surprise, one movement that happened too fast, was all it took.

You had made a pact about this, years ago. That you wouldn’t let each other turn, wouldn’t let one of you become a monster.

The three of you sat there for hours, holding each other, watching as the sky turned orange until darkness fell. None of you said much. There wasn’t anything to say. The twitching got worse.

Finally, his throat hoarse, Felix said, “I— I think it’s time. You should—” His voice faltered, and you nodded quietly, squeezing his hand.

The shot didn’t sound real. The trigger didn’t feel real under your finger. The red blood, soaking through his t-shirt. His limp body hitting the ground. It wasn’t real, because it couldn’t be.

Tim and you dug through the night, and as the sun rose on a new day, which didn’t make any sense at all, because how were there any days left to live, you were standing over the fresh earth of a grave. The grave of your little brother who never made it past the age of fourteen.

Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe. Promise me that you’ll keep them safe.

You didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Closed the door to Felix’ room, and promised yourself that you’d never open it again. Time didn’t seem to pass, though according to the clock on the wall, it had to.

Tim didn’t leave his room for two days. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to comfort him, when all you wanted to do was scream. Why he had to go hunting, why he didn’t protect his little brother. You wanted to scream at yourself, too. Why you were stupid enough to let them go.

Eventually, you fell asleep right where you were sitting. When you startled awake, the door to Tim’s room was open, but the basement was empty. A folded piece of paper with your name on it waited on the table in front of you.

You knew before you even opened the letter. One of the guns was missing. Tim never used a gun to shoot anything.

His body was right beside his brother’s grave. Blood had tainted the earth around him. Choking on a sob, you fell to your knees beside him. Pried the gun from his limp fingers.

When you were done, two graves lined the edge of the garden. You didn’t look back. Your feet carried you down the steps. You washed the blood of your hands, your sight so blurry through your tears that you barely saw what you were doing. Then, you closed Tim’s door, too.

Twelve years passed, until you walked up those stairs again.

Joel’s arm wraps around you hesitantly, like any sudden movements might scare you off. You sink into him, unaware of how badly you needed to be held like this.

“I promised,” you whisper into the warmth of his shoulder. “I promised, and now they’re both gone.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” His voice is low. You feel the movement of your hair where his breath fans out on top of your head.

You shrug. On better days, you have been telling yourself that, too. Instead of an answer, you focus on his breathing. Letting it slow yours down, letting it calm your nerves.

Finally, he very quietly says, “I had a daughter. Sarah.” His breath hitches on her name. You look at him, the question that you can’t ask written in your eyes. “Outbreak day. She was— she was fourteen, too.”

Your own pain is reflected in his eyes. Clear as day, now that you know. Like it was there the entire time. You nod silently, reaching for his hand. Tightening your hold gently, and he squeezes back.

Leaning your head against his shoulder again, you close your eyes.

thank you for reading! nothing makes my day the way comments and reblogs do, so please consider leaving one <3

#janas fics #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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thesweetnessofspring · 2 days ago

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Can you also write how Haymitch must have felt when Peeta strangled katniss???? Pleaseeeee i love u forever

Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.

The old song echoes in my mind as the adrenaline drains from me and I'm left with one kid sedated and the other in a neck brace.

It plays over in my head and I hate myself for not catching it. For not knowing Snow would be up to something, for believing it could be so easy. For thinking I'd ever get to keep my kids.

Doctors take over both of them, poking with needles and prodding with fingers and drawing blood and flashing lights in their eyes. I can't stand to watch them work on Peeta: bruised, frail, and so entirely unlike the boy who I last hugged six weeks ago.

Did we even get him back?

Old memories, ones I try to forget. There is no alcohol for me to suppress it, so I focus on the news trickling in from both kids.

Undamaged.

Venom.

She'll speak.

Torture.

Back up in no time.

Irreversible.

Beetee explains it, as he's done for over two decades now. Simplifying concepts down so even I can understand. He's the only one I'd trust with knowing what the hell it all means.

Beetee's the one I trust to talk to Katniss. Calm. Logical. Honest. I let him and Plutarch speak, only giving the sunniest answer I can when Prim asks, but Katniss still looks devastated. Plutarch has to put his spin on things and of course makes things worse. Katniss tries to get up and run away, growling and cursing, but her morphling line trips at the spike in her heart rate and knocks her out.

Prim stays, making sure she's comfortable while I shuffle my way back down the hall, where my other kid sleeps strapped to his bed, who knows what nightmares prancing in his mind.

Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.

How I hate those words more than ever. Louella. Wyatt. Lou Lou. Maysilee. Ma. Sid. Lenore Dove.

Peeta.

I look at him, twitching and grimacing in his sleep, kicking against the restraints as he tries to get out of them and away from what's frightening him in the dream.

This is Peeta, I remind myself. And I know just by looking at him, despite the weight loss and wounds, that this is my boy. But when I look at him, I see another of my ghosts. Lou Lou. Also twisted and changed from whoever she'd been before. Frightening at first, but more scared herself than we were of her.

Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.

Peeta.

Worth keeping, every heartbreaking bit of him. So I'm not letting Snow take him. Not again. Not ever again.

#thg fanfiction #haymitch abernathy #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #anon ask

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winterzsurprise · 2 days ago

Text

Change My Mind [8]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 7.3k

hello, sorry for ghosting you all. I got busy with school and projects. This chapter is brought to you by my PCD because I saw hobi a few days ago and its kicking my ass. I think this chapter being focused (kinda) on Hoba says a lot so yeah. Not proofread, will fix and add more later. Any tips on recovering from pcd cause woahhh wth

please do tell me if ya'll want to be added to the taglist. pls leave a comment or my jk pcs will be sleeping outside my window

edit 16/04/25: fixed grammar mistakes, added new scenes during Hobi and Reader's interaction in his studio, and a couple of paragraphs here and there, that is all.

<<Prev || Masterlist || Next>>

________

When Seokjin came to consciousness, it wasn’t to the ear-shattering blares of Jungkook’s alarms a few doors down nor was it to someone shaking him awake. For the first time in his life, he was instead woken up by the feeling of someone’s warm touch tracing the sharpness of his jaw.

His eyes flew open, heart jackhammering in his chest at the thought of someone climbing into his bed while he was at his most vulnerable state only to calm down at the sight of you looking down at him with the softest look in your eyes and the breath in his lungs was punched out.

Seokjin is not a poetic guy, that was Namjoon and Yoongi, but if he had a morsel of their creative minds, he would’ve waxed anthologies upon anthologies just to describe how your gaze, overflowing with the sweetness of love, had made his mind stutter and his heart skip a beat. He’d say how it can definitely make a man win a war all by himself and the heat of your love to keep him warm during the winters.

Realization came to him like a sudden flash of thunder, his brain becoming more aware of the haziness and the peculiarity of it all.

Your gaze, usually warm and friendly, is mellowed out and overflowing with the sweet, stickiness of love as if you’re looking at him with all the love that exists in the world. His fingers trembled when it reached out to touch your cheeks, scared that once he touched this image, this hallucination of his would fizzle out and he’d wake up with more longing than he’s already feeling.

This is a dream, it must be. You’ve never looked at him like that.

Yet. His mind whispered.

He was dreaming but the warmth of your cheeks and the softness of your skin brushing against his fingers felt so real it made him shiver.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Li-like what?”

He didn’t know if this dream was a nightmare or not, hearing your voice and feeling your fingers caressing his skin so softly . It was cruel how gentle you were handling him, how the heat of your hands when it cupped his cheeks had sent electric shocks throughout his body, stirring every part of him awake.

Then before the question could even leave his lips, you leaned down to press your lips on his and his brain short-circuits.

Your lips are as perfect as the rest of you, it slotted in between his so perfectly it ached. He felt breathless from the brief contact, stomach ticklish as his mind repeated the same sensations and memories over and over again. Suddenly, the cumulation of longing and withheld desires surfaces and his fingers twitch at where they laid on either side of your face.

It’s just a dream, you can do everything you ever wanted. A darker, greedier voice at the back of his head whispered and he almost let himself follow its whims.

“There you go again.” You said and his brewing thoughts faded into the background. “Stop looking so… sad.”

“I look… sad?”

“Like a kicked puppy,” You laughed, hand coming up to his cheeks and the smell of your sweet lotion invaded his senses. “I’m here with you now, stop looking so defeated.”

You kissed him again but this time it was in the spot in between his eyebrows and the tip of his nose. Seokjin didn’t know how greedy he could be, never knew how hungry he was until he felt your lips pressing against his skin.

It’s just a dream , the logical part of his brain whispered to him but it still felt wrong .

He shouldn’t be doing this, he should be better than this. He needs to wake up before he completely lose himself in his own imagination.

This dream was toying with the already frayed thread holding his flimsily gathered self-control. It's like dangling a game in front of a predator who’s been starved for years. It’s so tempting to just lean in and kiss you, to pull you down and let his hands roam down the curves of your body.

“Jinnie.”

“Yes?”

“Stop holding back.” He takes a deep shuddering breath as his brain catches up on your words. “I want this. I want you.”

snip!

Suddenly overcome with the molten heat of desire lighting his skin, he surged up to capture your lips with his, hands cradling and pulling your face to him. With a yelp, you tip over to fall on top of him. Seokjin waited for you to push him away, to fight against his hold, to stand and walk away from him with a disgusted look on your face but none of those happened. Instead, your hands cradled his face and brought him closer for a kiss as breathtaking as you make him everyday.

Seokjin didn’t care that he was dreaming, his body burned with the intense desire he had tampered down for so long and if he didn't kiss you now he might actually combust.

How long has he longed to feel the heat of your skin against his? How long had he stirred restlessly at night wondering how comforting it would be to feel your weight on top of him and your body pressing against him? He couldn’t count how many nights had gone where he’d wake up sweaty, body electric from the rampant and unsatisfied need running in his veins, wishing he could expel the carnal hunger rooted deeply within him with you.

And he had tried, god knows how he tried to find someone else, to move on like you had done but his skin would crawl from their touch and his stomach would churn whenever they looked at him. Even staring at someone longer than what is appropriate felt like committing the biggest sin.

You had ruined him for any other woman without even doing much and he didn't know whether he should be thankful or not.

Seokjin doesn’t dream often but when he does, it is never about you.

Until tonight.

You gasped into his mouth as his kisses grew hurried and his roaming hands grew more confident in its exploration, teasingly brushing the underside of your breasts before it would fall to and your fingers threads into his hair before tugging on them. The sting of his scalp immediately melted into hot pleasure that dripped down to his abdomen. He was undeniably hard, bursting at the seams from harmless kissing and if lust wasn’t clouding his mind, he would’ve been embarrassed.

He trailed kisses down your throat where your perfume smells the strongest and he groaned before beginning to lave his tongue over your skin and gently sucking on them, relishing in the soft sighs he’s reaping. You shifted under him, no doubt feverish with desire like he is, and your thigh brushed against him, making him tighten his hold onto your waist as a shuddering exhale left him.

Seokjin wasn’t pure, he’s had one or two experiences with women before you came into his life, still it was embarrassing how he had reacted from how you had nudged against him.

“Jinnie…” You sighed and his heart stuttered at how sweet his name sounded spilling out your lips. “Stop teasing me, I want you.”

He detached himself from your throat to take a look at his masterpiece, gently thumbing the small but purple bruises on your skin before daring to look up.

And god, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

With your hair strewn messily around your head, you looked like an absolute angel with a halo. Your lips are swollen red and your eyes are blown black as it stared back at him with the same exact amount of need itching his skin. Letting his eyes fall to your neck littered with his marks and the uncharted territories of your thighs, he swallowed hard as his pants grew tighter.

“Jinnie…”

Seokjin…

“You’re so pretty like this, baby.” He whispered.

God, he wanted to do a lot of things with you.

His head a mess trying to figure out what he should do first, fingers twitching as he figured out if he’ll start with shedding your top off—which he just noticed was one of his hoodies, holy fuck —or begin unbuttoning your denim shorts.

“Jinnie please...”

Seokjin…

All those years with only him and his pent-up frustrations whenever he’d see you wear your pretty dresses—the sensual floor-length maxi length dress you had worn for the luxury themed Christmas party with the high slit on the side of your thighs dangerously matched with a pair of red heels forever ingrained into his brain—finally resurfacing and all of a sudden, he’s insatiable, ravenous and one kiss away from his sanity snapping.

You were his to have, to hold and to revere.

God, he feels crazy just thinking about how you were his . He was descending into madness from the unbridled desire he's been holding back and now that he's got you within arms reach, he doesn't know what—

“SEOKJIN HYUNG!”

He shot up from his bed with a scream beyond what his parched throat could tolerate and he started coughing.

Mind immediately catching up on what was happening, he quickly pulled his blanket up to hide the painful tent in his pajamas. The surprise from having his name called out by a voice that belonged to someone else fades and irritation begins to burn his back.

Jungkook, who was the one who had woken him up, eyes half open and blinked blearily back at him, absolutely clueless of what he had just interrupted.

“Why did you wake me up?! Did your parents not tell you how rude it is to wake up someone so abruptly?!” Seokjin didn't really mean to scream that out so loud but he was frustrated.

Who wouldn't be in this situation?

“Why so grumpy? Was your dream really that good?” Seeing the blush spreading on his face, a shit-eating grin grew on his lips. “Was it about noona?”

“What do you want?” He asked, attempting to stir the conversation away.

“Namjoon hyung called me to wake you up, something about needing your voice at the studio to record a demo he had made this morning.”

Turning to the windows, he immediately noticed how the sun was barely even peaking through the horizon and groaned exasperatedly. Namjoon’s mind is usually a blessing but all he could think about was how he wanted nothing more than to strangle the man for having an inspiration this early in the morning, interrupting the only pleasant dream he’s had in years.

Jungkook, although had woken him up due to an order, wasn't safe from the bubbling wrath at the pit of his stomach. How could the men he's supposed to be his brothers by heart do this to him?

If he slept in the car, would it—

“So… how was your dream with noona?”

“GET OUT!”

__________

To say his family was enthusiastic would be the understatement of the year.

The moment the news reached his mother’s ears, it quickly spread throughout the clan and everyone had demanded to hold a banquet, at least a week-long feast to celebrate their first ever tethered in the family.

While he understood their enthusiasm, his shared sentiment quickly soured when the excitement stretched over to the next week and it plunged into the negatives when his aunties began to demand him to discreetly arrange a soulbinding without the other members of the nexus knowing, reasoning that man is born greedy and having multiple men pine for one girl is not a good look.

They didn’t say it outloud but it was clear what they thought of the nexus connection and it pissed him off.

Despite the concept of soulmates existing since the dawn of time, those who are considered normal think of multiple connections as some kind of taboo, something that shouldn’t even exist and having seven men only tethered to one woman is contradicting what mankind deem is typical and expected in a relationship. The underlying judgment under the fake smiles of his aunts’ and the playful comments of his uncles about having to compete with six other men had spoiled his excitement faster than an unrefrigerated fish.

He wouldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t judged a passing throuple before, he was guilty of once being a little unsettled when he had heard the five trainees a floor below them were all connected to each other. It was human nature to be unsure and frown upon the unnatural after all—not that he’s excusing his behavior from before.

But now that he’s found himself a part of a nexus, Hoseok had surprised himself when he realised how easily he had welcomed the idea of polyamory like a fish to water. Maybe it was the bond forged by sweat and tears he's had with the other guys had made it an easy pill to swallow but being a part of a nexus, he had understood why, despite being against what was considered normal and typical, those throuples and the five boys downstairs fearlessly flaunted each other despite the world's efforts to shame them all.

He eventually learned how to ignore their pestering calls and messages for the sake of his public image because he wouldn’t know what would fly off his mouth if he ever heard them utter another veiled remark about how impure and disgusting it is for one woman to entertain seven men.

Today, he finds himself confused by how Jin has been acting whenever you’re within a meter away from him, flinching back with his ears practically glowing with how red it has turned and stammering every word out like a flustered high schooler because for as long as he know, their oldest has long graduated from acting cute around his crush.

Jungkook choking on his food from his constant laughter whenever they see the eldest fumble and stumble on air only stoked their curiosities further.

“What is it? Why do you keep on laughing?” Jimin asked, voice low and careful to not be caught by their eldest who is currently hissing, and bent over on one leg as he held onto his toe that he had just stubbed on the corner of the island counter.

“Let us in on the joke, come on.” Taehyung goaded on.

Jungkook, surprisingly, shook his head.

“Does all of those years mean nothing to you?”

“Where does your loyalty lie?!”

“Even if I want to tell you guys, Jin knows all the passwords to my accounts. I just hit Grandmaster rank there, I’m not risking it.” Jungkook replied before continuing to stuff his face with his breakfast.

This didn’t deter the two other maknaes, if anything, they grew more determined to uncover the secrets their youngest and eldest managed to gain in a short time. Silently, the rest of them cheered on Jimin and Taehyung, also eager to learn what the secret was but not having the energy to bother.

Almost a month since Jungkook’s birthday, the doctors had finally given you and Jimin the green light to continue work when he found out you both can now last an hour and a half without being in the same room.

It also meant that the tour could finally continue, the management had already informed them of their new schedules.

Days since he found out his tethered status, yet even with a very enthusiastic Taehyung’s help, Hoseok is yet to find what kind of soulmate link he has.

All they knew was that it can alter their appearances but they hadn’t specified what part of the body it’ll affect. There's a thousand possibilities and most of them involve being hurt, something he's not willing to do. He had to turn down a couple of Taehyung's suggestions in the fear of accidentally hurting you in the process. It hurts him to reject Taehyung and seeing his excitement dull but who in their right minds would agree to his experimentations when all he could suggest was pinching him, cutting a small wound on his palm, shaving a patch of hair on his leg or arm, and finally, trying if baldness can also be inherited by the other.

Hoseok thinks the boy had momentarily forgotten they share the same soulmate.

He wasn't rushing to find out his soulmark anyways. Hoseok can wait, he has done so for two years, he can wait a couple days more.

Tossing all the stress of yesterday to the side, Hoseok found himself staring blankly at his monitor, an unfinished melody looping on his speakers, and wondering if there is a soulmate mark out there that can gather all of his thoughts and feelings to become a song he'd just randomly blurt out to help him.

He has a vision.

There’s an almost non-existent melody playing at the back of his head that had been tormenting him since the day he had found out his new status. Ideas overflowed in his mind so much that he might as well have none because of how cramped and cluttered his brain had become. If he were to explain it, his mind was like a lottery ball machine that is teeming with so much it refuses to spill anything out.

Hoseok wanted to dedicate a song to you with a melody as sweet as your voice yet as sparkly and bright as the glint in your eyes. He wanted the word to know that he's been spoken for while barely revealing anything but his mind wasn't cooperating.

Maybe Yoongi can help me with this one...

A shrill sound of his phone shattered through his train of thoughts. Seeing his mother's name on the screen, he quickly picks it up but to his surprise it was Jiwoo who welcomed him.

“Hey, mom’s wondering if you guys plan on ever introducing her and her parents to us and the others?” His sister began, her head popping from the side and covering most of the screen while their mother’s body stood behind her.

Almost every member has complained about their parents wanting them to go through a soulbinding ceremony as soon as possible, claiming it was useless to drag it out.

While he does understand the benefits of being formally and spiritually bonded, everyone thought it was better to court you first.

A bit traditional and pointless as they're all tethered but dating and courting you with roses and fancy dinners has been at the back of everyone's mind. With their eldest insistent on doing so, the others had no choice but to follow.

There's also the North American tour they have to start. The management had made it known how important it is to continue their tour, saying it had been delayed for too long and ARMY were getting antsy so it was difficult to make room for a pre-bonding party and the soulbinding ceremony itself.

“We can't delay the tour any longer so we'll have it once we return home. Besides, the guys and I wanted to properly court her before any binding takes place.”

His mother made a disapproving sound. “I’m worried. You all know that not being formally binded means you guys are more susceptible to hyperactivity, right?”

“Of course we know, we all had a discussion a couple of days back but the tour’s just a couple of weeks. When we all return to Seoul, we'll finally seal the deal.”

“I'll ask the other moms for help arranging it so you guys won't stress about it during the tour, okay?”

“Do you even know how to woo a woman?” Jiwoo asked, a teasing grin on her lips.

“Obviously! What do you take me for?!”

“You buried yourself in work for years, I think I have a good reason to be suspicious of your ability to woo a woman.” Jiwoo retorted. “Your last relationship was back in high school and she dumped you for reasons you haven’t told me yet.”

“Because it's dumb and I’m not giving you more ammo than you already have.”

“Children, the both of you,” his mother sighed, shaking her head. “Can I finally speak now?”

When she was answered by the ashamed silence from the both of them, she continued.

“What are you planning for your date? Where will you guys be when it's finally your time?”

Hoseok turned away from the intense stares he's receiving through the screen because for someone who had insisted he had plans earlier to his sister, he absolutely has no idea on how he'll take you on a date.

A food trip date around a city in disguise has been taken, a dinner on a yacht and a date on a fair got snatched away by their youngest before anyone could even start raising their ideas. A musical in New York is out of the equation too, a romantic night walk in Paris also.

Basically, almost all the date ideas he had were stolen by the others and he’s beginning to consider locking them all in their rooms and cut their charger cords.

“See? I can’t trust my baby brother to know how to woo a woman!”

“What does she like? We’ll help you.”

“The others got most of my ideas, except Jungkook. Nothing can make me ride rollercoasters.”

“Even if your soulmate asks you to?”

Hoseok pondered for a moment.

Does he love you more than he values his life?

“I don't need to anyways, she's got the other maknaes to ride it with her.”

“I mean—”

“What does she like? We need to give you ideas on how your date with her will go.” Their mother interrupts before they continue bantering. “Have you all decided on whose first and last?”

“Jungkook goes first, I don't know how that kid did it but he won against all of us in rock, paper, scissors.”

“You guys are losers.” Jiwoo sighed in the background. “The world's biggest boyband are dorks trapped in handsome bodies.”

“How about you?” His mother asked.

“Miraculously, I got second.”

“Where would you guys be at the time?”

“I can choose between Hamilton and Newark. Chicago is already reserved by someone else.”

“Stargazing?” Jiwoo suggested.

But before he could respond, a knock cut him off. Turning to face the door, his eyes met your concerned pairs as you entered with a plastic bag in hand and a styrofoam food package inside it.

You had your hair in a braid today matched with the most minimal makeup due to you waking up late compared to their usual schedule yet Hoseok thinks you the cutest human he’s ever laid eyes on.

Moreso when you’re the one who’s bringing him food.

“Yoongi had me bring this up to you and to tell you to take a break.”

“Is it time for lunch time already? I think I just ate earlier.” He says, standing up to take the food from your hand and muttering a ‘thank you’ under his breath.

Stepping aside, he invites you into the studio and motioned his hand towards the sofa on the corner of the room. Instantly, you fall into its plush cushion comfortably with your feet hanging on the side and the rest of your body on the cushion.

You look absolutely cozy in your loose pants and oversized hoodie combo that he almost leaned down to fit himself into the space next to you and cuddle up to your side to see if you’re as comfortable as you looked.

Like the others, he had sometimes laid next to you, but he always maintained distance from your body. He wasn’t like the maknaes who had grown used to your hugs and cuddles. Whenever it does happen, he’d always freeze up and pull out his phone to distract him from the loud thuds of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

Hoseok wouldn't lie and say he was never jealous of how easily the maknaes could saddle up next to you. It was something he had to learn to swallow or force to the back of his head every time its ugly face rears into his mind.

Seeing you strewn comfortably on his couch, he thinks that maybe he could finally muster up the courage to cozy up next to you.

“Aren't you a bit too comfortable lounging in my studio like this?” He jokingly said.

“We've been together for years, you should know how I act when I see a couch.”

“Still, it would be nice if you could have a bit of decorum.”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m your soulmate.”

It was astonishing how a word could evoke so much within him. Hearing the word ‘soulmate’ felt like a balm after years of stolen gazes and aching yearning to be yours. You were confirming and acknowledging the existence of the still undiscovered bond between you both, something he hadn’t thought he’d ever get, and it made his chest warm.

It was a bit hard at first to get you and Namjoon—who still couldn't believe the very subject he had dedicated a school paper to deny happened to him—to accept the bond but to be constantly exposed to each other at the dorm and be surrounded by the familiar joy from the days before the marks’ manifestation, the both of you grew to welcome the idea more comfortably with each passing day.

And today just happened to be the day where you had verbally acknowledged the bond.

He's sure the others would be ecstatic to hear that you're beginning to accept and see the link in a positive light.

“Were you talking to someone before I came with the food? I didn’t interrupt anything, right?” You asked, grounding his mind to focus on you.

“Just my mom and sister asking about the tour, don’t worr—”

“LIAR! We were teaching him how to woo yo—!” Jiwoo’s voice screamed from the phone before his mother’s reprimanding hushes took over.

“We’ll call you back later to continue our discussion, son. You both have a nice day, alright?”

“Bye mom!”

“See you, auntie.”

With his screen returning to Twitter’s homepage as the call drops, the pin drop silence in the room had reminded him how it's just you and him together.

Alone.

In his studio.

Never in his life did he think having you alone with him would be so daunting.

He stared at his chair in front of the unfinished melody on pause on his monitor then to you who had sat up to unfurl the knot on the plastic bag where two food containers, one rectangular and the other a deep cylinder, stuck between the decision to continuing his work before eventually settling next to you to uncover his food himself.

“So," He began but his voice sounded weaker than he wanted and he cleared his throat. "What did you and Jin have today?”

“We settled with a salad and chicken paired with a milkshake. Yoongi ordered our lunch from that new store by the intersection, you know, the one you pointed out on our way here.”

Leaning down to take a sniff of the biggest container, he then turned to you.

“What did you get me?”

“Guess.”

It doesn't take a genius to know what is inside the container and it made his chest warm at how his friends always remember if he’s craving for something. Yesterday during dinner, he had asked Yoongi if he ever plans on making beef bone broth anytime soon.

Said bone broth is now filling the cylinder container while kimchi fried rice and bulgogi filled the other.

“Did Yoongi order this? Because if he does, I will thank him with my forehead touching the ground.”

“Yeah but Namjoon was the one who brought it up.” You answered as you opened the lid of the big container while he brought the bone broth up to his lips for a couple of quick sips. “Also, the reason why I came here was because we need you down in the styling department. There’s changes made with the tour outfits and they wanted to see if it fits.”

“Now?” He asked before placing down the soup to start eating from the larger container.

“They’re busy with the maknaes now so eat slowly or you’ll choke.”

“But that means they'll have to wait for me.”

“You're paying us to wait for you, so don't worry much.” You said, waving him off.

“You know you don't have to worry about money or working, right?”

He knew not to bring up the matter of jobs and money, but he really couldn't help but be a bit disheartened at how you continue to refuse their offer to pay and buy you everything you'd ever need.

You might just be the only person he knows who'd vehemently deny being spoiled by seven billionaires who are already at her beck and call. Hoseok knew you liked working as their makeup artist but couldn't you still enjoy working for them while dressed in clothes and wearing jewelries they want to adorn you with?

If you were more accepting of their fortunes, you'd have all the diamonds and precious gems in the world filling the kitchen and lounging area of their dorm by tomorrow.

But unfortunately, he and the others have to hold back on spending ridiculous amounts on you.

“I know but sometimes I'd rather be Y/N the makeup artist.” You say, standing up to leave. “It can be a little exhausting being the Bangtan’s Soulmate Y/N.”

For a moment, he panicked. Shouldn't he have brought it up again? Had he set back the progress they had made since the day Jimin had told them what happened?

He almost broke down from how worried he was at your reaction, until you returned with a kombucha in your hand to offer him.

“Don't look so distressed you'd get wrinkles.” You teased.

“I was worried I messed up by saying that, the others would have my head if I had.”

“I'm not angry or annoyed. Surprisingly.” You fall to the space next to him with hands intertwined on your lap and your eyes staring a hole onto the ground. “Didn't know there'll come a day where I'd be more accepting of the fact.”

“Me too.”

__________

Ever since this morning, everyone in your department had been bugging you about your unexplained and sudden absences that spanned over for weeks. Your friends from other departments had jogged up to you in the cafeteria, asking if you felt better after catching a stomach bug.

Minhyuk had successfully spread the news that you got sick from drinking yourself dumb during Jungkook’s birthay with his expansive connection as a cover up and you were struggling with how careful you have to be with your words and keeping your answers as vague as possible.

But out of all the events of today, all you could think about was how Alexa’s gaze had eyed you skeptically and scanned you from head to toe as if she was searching for something. It lingered on your forearm when you had tugged your sleeves up to your elbows and you had subconsciously closed your hands to try and hide the musical note tattoo hidden between your fingers.

Who knew having soulmates could make you a little paranoid?

That being said, there’s been a new rotation for makeup noonas so you couldn’t accidentally activate your soulmarks with Taehyung and Jimin. Even then, everyone had been instructed to take Amoneuron before they leave the dorms to dull the body's sensitivity to the new bond and to somewhat slow the effect from having someone of the opposite gender touch you pre-binding. It would stall it long enough until you both activate your soulmate mark together.

You were assigned to those with the less noticeable soulmarks like Namjoon and Hoseok while Minhyuk and Nabi were assigned to Jimin and Yoongi, Saeyoung—one of the oldest make-up noonas—was lined to only assist Namjoon; which left Jihae and Alexa to tend to Taehyung and Jin

Minhyuk had the stinkiest grimace on his face when he heard.

It was Jihae’s honest mistake since the changes had been abrupt and the pairings were given out on-the-spot. It wasn’t until later did she realise her mistake.

“So you’re saying, the girl with the wild delusions about Jin being her soulmate will be handling Jin? How did that happen?” Hoseok asked, voice barely a whisper as you both dismount the elevator.

“Jihae, bless her old soul, made a mistake when she was matching us up.”

Hoseok’s eyes scanned your face, searching for something you don’t know yet before turning his attention back to the front.

“You and I both know who Jin loves right?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, confused. “Of course..? What are you getting at?”

Instead of giving you a proper answer, he just smiled and said: “Good.”

"Hey, I'm not gonna be jealous. He's only got one soulmate and that's me."

A radiant smile splits his face as he lightly pinches your cheeks. "I'm glad you know."

The double doors to the correct styling room parts open and you both head in to see all the stylists and make-up noonas fluttering around in a somewhat organized chaos while the rest of the boys either sat in front of the mirror or stood still in the middle of the room as someone takes their measurements and hold up accessories to their faces.

Like second nature, Hoseok heads to the last available seat at the far left next to Yoongi and a standing Namjoon who’s scrolling through his phone while his stylist fetched a different top from the clothing rack.

“How’s the bone broth? Is it good?” Namjoon starts as the dancer sits down and you began to pull out the palettes and bottles from the rack in his shade.

“Our leader takes care of us so well, I loved it.”

“Why do you say it like he doesn’t care about us at all, Hoseok?” Yoongi instigated next to him with a blank expression as he scrolled through his phone.

“Oh come on, hyung. You know I don’t mean it like that.”

Instead of replying, Yoongi just grinned.

Soon enough, Hoseok’s primary stylist approached you both and began to list down possible make-up looks to match the outfit he’ll be wearing in the US. Picking up the primer and twisting the lid off, you began to work as the stylist pulled up reference pictures of his past make-up looks and other idols faces for inspiration.

Spreading and patting the product onto his face, your heart began to pick up a pace as you grew hyper aware of how close you are to him. Being aware of the unknown soulbond connecting the two of you had changed how you perceive what you used to deem as normal and routinely.

Hoseok has always been stunning with his cute nose and a jaw sharper than the finest of blades but since when did he begin to look as radiant as he does right now? And why are you so nervous?

You take out the foundation bottle with shaky hands and try your best to collect your composure.

But having your brush glide gently down the slope of his nose and having to touch his chin to tilt his head up made the task almost impossible.

It didn’t help that instead of his usual routine of scrolling through his phone, Hoseok was openly staring up at you with an unreadable look. You felt the heat of his gaze as it roamed up to your eyebrows, down to the tip of your nose before it paused at your lips. It left a trailing blaze that instantly melted the wall you tried so hard to establish between you and your soulmates during work.

You were tempted to keep your brush resting on top of his eyelids just so your heart could rest a little.

Every time you sensed it lingering on your lips, your heart would soar. You don't dare to listen to the voice in your head that tells you to look up to meet the other pair of eyes trained on you.

You could see Namjoon staring at you from the edge of your eyes, no doubt hearing how fast your heartbeat is going. You try not to fluster under his gaze too and switch your brush to the other hand to shake the tremble off of your dominant hand.

When Aera, Hoseok’s stylist, had walked away to answer to the other stylist's call, you narrowed your eyes at the dancer.

“Stop looking at me like that and do your usual scrolling through Naver.” You whispered, resolution faltering as a grin splits through Hoseok's perfectly sculpted face.

“I left my phone on the makeup table though.”

Without skipping a beat, you turned to pick up his phone and pushed it into his hand.

“Please look away, you're distracting me.”

Then, as if his stage persona had possessed him, his smile sweetened into a flirty grin. Suddenly, you were faced with an immovable force that is Jung Hoseok. His eyes flit down to your lips and his entire demeanor takes a sharp turn when his gaze grows heavy with longing, deep, desiring red flashing across his eyes and for a moment, you thought he was going to lean in to devour your whole.

Your heart skipped a beat and this time, Namjoon had snapped his head to the both of you.

“Stop teasing her, Hoba. You don't distract your make-up artist when they're doing their job.” Their leader said in a low voice, careful of any eavesdroppers as he placed a hand on his shoulder in almost a warning.

“I've never seen you be flustered like this before, noona. It's a bit addicting to see you turn red for me…”

Namjoon sighed. “Please remain professional inside the BigHit building please. We agreed to not let our personal feelings affect our work, didn't we?”

You sent the man a silent thanks and continued to work. When Aera returns, Hoseok had begrudgingly returned to his usual programming with him scrolling through his phone. But it didn't mean that your heart had calmed down from the previous encounter.

“Y/N? Are you sure you’re okay?” The stylist, Aera asks, concern marring her face as she touches your forehead. “You’re a little red.”

“I-I'm fine, don't worry.”

Hearing this encounter, a proud smile grew on his face.

Doing the rest of his make-up passed by uneventfully, Hoseok had listened to their leader and kept up a professional facade in front of other observers with an ease and coldness of a perfectionist dance leader. Yet even then, you couldn't stop the tremble and the suddenly halts whenever his heady gaze flashes in your mind.

When it was Namjoon’s turn, Minhyuk had finally appeared after discussing with the other stylists, his bright presence immediately drove away the emotions from earlier.

“God, I know we should be professional and all that but I really hate seeing her doing Jin's make-up.” The other make-up artist whispered as soon as he arrived, his eyes trained at the girl behind you. “She looks so smug and it's making me want to scratch her face with a foundation spatula.”

“Isn't a foundation spatula blunt?” Namjoon asked, confused.

“You underestimate how much I hate her with my entire being, Namjoon. Even the bluntest, roundest edge can be turned into a weapon in the hand of a hater.” Minhyuk responded as he took the eyeshadow palette you were stretching out to him before reaching over the brush container for the correct one.

“I think you've just given me inspiration.”

“Well, I’ll be honoured to know that my random blabbering has helped the magnificent leader, RM of BTS.” Minhyuk then bowed his head exaggeratedly, making Namjoon chuckle.

With Minhyuk taking over Namjoon’s eye makeup, you looked over your shoulder to see what he was referring to and found yourself staring at what might just be the most uncomfortable look you've ever seen on Taehyung and Seokjin as Alexa made her preference for Seokjin obvious as she flutter around him, singing honeyed praises and touching his face longer than a staff should. With Jihae busy bouncing ideas with the head of the styling and Saeyoung, Alexa was left unattended with all the freedom to do whatever she wants.

Irritation prickled your skin, not because you were jealous but because she was practically coaxing out a soulmate hyperactivity out of him with how long and often she's brushing against his face. It wasn't like with Nabi who's careful not to touch your soulmates or Saeyoung and Jihae who are already married old women. Alexa, despite being tethered, is yet to find the person with the letters on her skin to complete the bond. She has also expressed strong romantic feelings for Seokjin which could still trigger hyperactivity.

Catching Taehyung’s gaze through his reflection in the mirror, he gave you a panicked look, his thoughts the same as yours.

Luckily, there hasn't been any rising dread or your senses being dialed up to the nines which means the medicine is working.

“That amount of touching would be dangerous, no? I think I should step in.”

But before Minhyuk could begin to march towards them, Seokjin turned to Alexa with the politest grin as he finally let her down slowly if the amusement in Taehyung's eyes were anything to go by.

Shocked and embarrassed by being rejected by the idol in presence of another, she hastily left the room to the confusion of the leaders and oldest women standing near the entrance. Turning to you and Minhyuk, Jihae raised an accusing eyebrow to which you both replied with a shrug. With a sigh, the woman excused herself from the conversation to tend to Seokjin and Taehyung.

“Serves her right.” Minhyuk snorted before turning his attention back to you and ushering you away. "Go calm down the bond with your man. There's chocolate in my bag and go eat it with him."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, hyuk?"

"Only when you're drunk. Now go!"

Quickly retrieving the sweets from Minhyuk's bag, you jogged up to Jin and offered the chocolate to him. With no second spared, he tore through the wrapper and tossed the small candy into his mouth. Its sugary taste bleeds into your tastebuds before the candy touched your tongue. Despite not experience any hint of hyperactivity, there was still a rush of cold relief flushing through your body from having your soulmarks get activated together, as if it was glad to have the bond still intact. A resonating warmth soon replaced the coolness and Seokjin expelled out a long exhale.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

_____________

“Noona, have you packed everything you need?”

You huffed. “Of course I have. I've been doing this for years, you know?”

“Well, even if you forgot something, the others can bring it to you anyways.” Taehyung shrugged as he pushed open the doors of the van and stepped out, offering a hand to you as you followed him out with Jimin behind you.

“I'm starting to hate having idols for soulmates. Leaving the country at midnight to evade reporters and stalkers just isn't for me.”

“On the bright side, you'd never have to worry about money and losing your best friends.” Jimin replied as the three of you strolled into the hidden entrance of the airport. “Plus, you get to have handsome men with all that money and companionship.”

“Can't deny that…” You sighed as the two bodyguards assigned to the three of you guided you into the establishment and you yawned. “God, I'm so sleepy.”

Taehyung pats your back.

“We can sleep on the plane then you can choose between the two of us who you want more," Taehyung paused as he considered his words. "Or you can have both of us at the same time."

“Tae, you know how bad that sounded, right?”

“It's not my fault that you have a rotten mind, Jiminie. You know that I don't mean anything by that.”

TAGLIST: @wildestdreamsblog @canarystwin @prettywheenicry @jmnscutie @sassy-snassy @misuguru @11thenightwemet11 @yoongibaybee @rinkud @bri602 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @marvel-potter-1d-korea @comingupwithacoolnameishard @sooha-neul @juju-227592 @coffeewanderer @x-uno @diamonddia-mond @eggsysstuff @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @sld88 @katsukis1wife @bjoriis @btsgangleader @butterfly-lover

#bts x reader poly #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #kim namjoon x reader #kim seokjin x reader #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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mintyys-blog · 18 hours ago

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Minty

Since you did Pearl reader do you think you can do Lapis or Jasper reader?

TRUST | mark grayson x lapis! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: trauma

The next time you saw Mark, it wasn’t on the hill.

It was in chaos.

You hadn’t meant to be near the city. Too many people, too much noise, eyes that felt like daggers. But the sky had cracked open with the sound of something wrong, and your instincts pulled you toward it.

That’s when you saw him—Mark, bloodied, breathing hard, grounded by some brute in black armor. The air around them shimmered from the force of their blows, debris flying, buildings crumbling.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t think. You moved.

The earth below cracked as you shot forward, trailing water behind you like wings. The villain had Mark by the throat, lifting him for the final blow.

“Get your hands off him.”

Your voice rang through the air like thunder, low but sharp, and your hand lifted—water surging from a broken hydrant behind you like a spear.

The armored man turned, but not fast enough.

The water hit with enough force to send him flying into a crumbled bus. The metal shrieked as it bent, cradling his impact like a coffin.

Mark coughed and fell to one knee, hand to his ribs. “Y/N…?”

You dropped beside him, hands trembling, more from panic than effort.

“I told you I don’t like people,” you said, voice still quiet—but laced with something raw, unfiltered. “But if someone hurts you, I’ll kill them.”

Mark blinked, surprised—not at your power, but at the fury in your tone. The way your eyes shone like tidal waves barely held back.

He gave a strained chuckle, even as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’m special, huh?”

You didn’t smile, but your eyes softened. You reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing his jaw, just enough to check if he was real. If he was still here.

“You are,” you whispered.

That was the first time you touched him.

And he didn’t flinch. He leaned into it.

The fight wasn’t over. The villain was stirring. But in that moment, with your palm against his skin and your body shielding his, you felt something shift.

Not the earth. Not the wind.

You.

You’d always been scared of feeling too much. Of trusting too deeply. Of losing control. Maybe it wasn’t so terrifying anymore. Maybe it didn’t have to be.

Things had been… better.

You’d started to speak more. Not a lot, but enough. Enough that Mark noticed. Enough that you noticed. Sometimes your hand would brush his, and you wouldn’t flinch. Sometimes you’d laugh—quiet, unsure, like the sound startled you. Like it wasn’t yours.

But then came the night.

The nightmare pulled you under like a riptide.

The mirror.

The cold, endless reflection. The weight of isolation so heavy it pressed against your chest even in sleep. You were screaming in your mind, fists pounding against glass that never cracked. The memory of being used, manipulated, trapped in a loop of someone else’s control—it bled into the dream until it was all you could feel.

You woke with a gasp.

Sweat clung to your skin. The room felt too small, too loud, too close. And the water… the water responded.

It twisted around you like a storm, rising from your palms and the pipes in the walls, swirling into jagged shapes. You couldn’t control it. Your hands shook as you tried. Your breath came in short, ragged pulls.

You fled.

Out the window, through the clouds, to the only place that ever felt still—the hill.

You landed hard, dropping to your knees. The grass bent under your weight, and the sky above was a dull gray, no stars tonight.

The wind howled.

The water spiraled around you—angry, wild, writhing like it remembered too. No matter how much you tried to force it calm, it refused to obey. You dug your fingers into the dirt.

“This is why I stay quiet…” you muttered. “Why I stay away.”

You hated this. The feeling of weakness. The feeling of being small again. You were supposed to be past this.

Then, suddenly— “Y/N?”

You didn’t need to look.

Mark.

He landed a few feet away, breathless, like he’d flown nonstop to find you.

Your heart stuttered.

“Don’t,” you rasped. “Don’t come closer. I can’t— I don’t have control.”

The water flared in warning behind you. You weren’t lying. A misstep and it could hurt him.

“I don’t care,” Mark said firmly.

You finally turned to face him—eyes wide, glowing faint blue, fear bleeding through.

“I’m not safe like this,” you whispered.

“I’ve seen you at your worst,” he said, walking forward slowly. “And even then, you never scared me.”

Your hands clenched.

“I was trapped, Mark. In that mirror. Watched the world pass me by. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.” Your voice cracked. “And now, when it comes back… when it wraps around me like it used to, I feel like I’m drowning.”

“I know,” he said gently, reaching toward you.

You shook your head violently. “Don’t—”

But he stepped closer anyway.

And wrapped his arms around you.

The water shot up like a wall—but stopped. Hovered. Hung there, trembling, unsure.

You froze. His warmth pressed against you, real and grounding. No fear. No hesitation.

You felt your own hands tremble before they clutched the back of his shirt, gripping like you might sink if you let go.

And slowly, the water fell.

A quiet rain.

You buried your face into his shoulder, breath shuddering.

“I hate that it still controls me,” you choked out.

“It doesn’t,” he said softly. “You’re fighting it. That’s what matters.”

You didn’t answer, but your hold on him didn’t loosen. His heartbeat was steady against your cheek. And for the first time since the nightmare, you felt something anchor you.

You were still afraid.

But you weren’t alone.

Not anymore.

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #lapis! reader #invincible #invincible x fem!reader #invincible x you #invincible x reader #invincible x y/n #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark Grayson #fluff #angst with happy ending

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sharkwidow · 3 days ago

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You're not alone | Natasha Romanoff

ᯓ★summary: when the nightmares return, you're not alone. not this time.

ᯓ★setting: trailer in norway. post-civil war.

ᯓ★warnings: trauma from HYDRA, nightmares, comfort, Natasha being protective

ᯓ★words: 1,306

---

The nightmare started like always: with the cold.

Blinding white light. Distant voices, distorted, coming from every direction. The hum of machines. The metal chair, the smell of disinfectant, the restraints locking you in place, as if you ever had a chance to run. But deep down, you knew you didn’t.

The sound of your own breath—rapid, shaky—echoed in the cold room. Sweat dripped down your neck as the voice inside your head repeated commands you didn’t want to follow. “Ready for reset,” they said. And each time, you felt your mind slipping away.

“Name.”

The order came like a whip.

“Name.”

“I… I don’t know.” You whispered, barely audible, already forgetting who you were.

The pain hit fast, like memories being shredded apart from the inside. You were losing pieces of yourself, memories erased one by one. Natasha’s face blurred. You didn’t know what was more terrifying: not remembering what they'd done to you—or not remembering her.

---

You woke up with a choked cry, chest rising and falling too fast, your skin clammy and cold but your face wet from hot tears.

You sat up abruptly, hands trembling, panic still clutching your body like chains. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You just needed to get out.

The trailer door creaked open.

Natasha stepped in, sharp-eyed and alert like always. She didn’t need to ask. She could see it in your face.

“What happened?” she asked, voice firm and straight to the point.

“I— I don’t get it, I just— I can’t—” you stammered, trying to breathe, trying to explain something that felt like drowning.

She crossed the room without hesitation. She crouched in front of you, steady, grounding. She didn’t speak yet. Just watched you with those sharp green eyes, letting you find your words.

“They were erasing me again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t remember anything. Not even you. I was trying to hold on, but everything was gone.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched—just for a moment. A flicker of fury passed through her expression, but she didn’t let it show. Not fully. That wasn’t for you to carry.

She gently placed her hands on your face, thumbs brushing away the tears. Her voice was low, serious, grounded.

“Listen to me. That’s not going to happen again. I promise you.”

You leaned forward, needing the contact, needing to feel something real. She held you tight—arms wrapped strong and certain around your shoulders. And finally, you let yourself fall into the safety of her hold.

“Natasha…” you whispered through tears. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” Her voice softened, still carrying that unshakeable strength. “You’re not going to lose me. Not in your dreams. Not in real life. You have me.”

“How do you know it won’t happen again?” Your voice cracked, still shaken by fear.

“Because you’re not alone,” she said simply, directly. “Not anymore.”

That answer landed deeper than anything else. And it was true. You weren’t alone. Not with her.

Natasha didn’t pull away. She stayed close, right next to you on the floor. She let the silence sit between you for a moment. Her presence was enough to calm the air around you.

“Fear doesn’t win,” she said finally, her voice quieter. “You don’t let it.”

You nodded, breathing just a little easier now.

“And if those bastards ever try coming back,” she added, her tone darker now, colder, “they’ll regret it.”

You gave a weak, tired laugh. “You sound so sure.”

“I am sure,” Natasha said without missing a beat. “About them. And about you.”

She looked at you then with that spark in her eyes—the one that said she saw everything about you. The good, the broken, the brave. All of it.

“They had no idea who they were dealing with,” she continued. “They didn’t know how strong you are.”

You looked up, blinking. “Do you?”

She smirked faintly. “Yeah. I do.”

You exhaled slowly, letting yourself lean into her side. She put her arm around your back, fingers tracing slow, grounding patterns.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever,” she said quietly. “And I’ll be here, every time the nightmares come. We’ll fight them together.”

You looked at her—your mother, your protector—and finally felt a little safer. A little more you again.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Natasha brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re mine, kid. That’s what we do—we show up. Always.”

You curled up closer to her side. “I don’t want to forget who I am.”

“You won’t,” she said firmly. “Because I’ll remind you, every time. Every single time if I have to.”

And in that moment, with her arms around you, and the night finally quiet, you believed her.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #avengers x teen!reader #marvel masterlist

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starlightwoofwoof · 2 days ago

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okay so ……. why do I always say that when I begin posts- anyway

so I really wanted to put all my Glisten/Perfect ideas I have for my DW x MLB AU in one post because I feel like I talk about them too much- I love talking about them but yeah, I need to talk more about other characters lol

First of all, let’s talk about nightmares

Now, Glisten does seem to have nightmares normally, as seen in his interaction with Astro, which I’m extremely curious of what they’re specifically about-

but in this AU, because of Perfect’s sheer existence, he started almost immediately having them a little more often after Perfect’s defeat, and they were somehow even scarier than his previous ones (until Astro was tired of it and stepped up, of course)

This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot- I like to think Glisten’s first nightmare after his akumatization started normal at first. He’s basically on a runway with the other toons in the audience, and he’s showing off a new fabulous outfit and everyone’s hyping him up

until Glisten hears a giggle from behind the curtains backstage

“Alright, alright, we’ve had enough of ‘admiring’ you. Make way for the real star of the show!”

Perfect shows up and brings up his vanity mirror and everyone directs their attention to him instead due to ✨ magic ✨

and then Perfect bullies the crap out of Glisten yadda yadda yadda-

I haven’t thought of anything beyond that but I like to think it got really spooky and trippy- cause to be fair, dreams can get very weird sometimes

lol sorry idk why I went full fanfic mode for a split second there uh

anyway, next

who wants lore noooooooottttttteeeeeesssssss-

okay, one more thing, I’ve yapped too much already lol

sooooooo I got a comment on Perfect’s original post about how Glisten and Perfect’s ordeal was Midnight Sparkle from MLP Equestria Girls Legends of Everfree Core ……… and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I don’t think because that was exactly what I was going for

and so I was like “you know what frick it” and I redrew that one scene in the movie that everyone made bases of and all that-

this looks incredibly weird without context I hope you know what I’m talking about-

man all of this kinda makes me want to give this dynamic to other characters, honestly, definitely not on Glisten/Perfect’s level but I think it would be kinda cool-

one more thing, thank you guys for all the DW x MLB fanart recently!! I appreciate it a lot and I hope to see more :] 💙✨

okay I think that’s enough for now lol okie byeeeeeeeee

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unlimitedlust · 20 hours ago

Text

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 4

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

Two posts in a day, that’s a record for me! I hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think it’s happening between them, I’ll see you in the next one!!

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @a-differentbrandof-beans

Disclaimers:

As the story progresses I’ll let you know if the chapters have any sensitive topics beforehand.

This story will have smut scenes in the future, but you’ll be warned!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

End of Author’s note.

His lips were softer than she’d imagined, warm and impossibly slow at first, like he was learning her mouth one breath at a time. The moment she kissed him, the rest of the world blurred. Nothing else mattered except the taste of him and the way one of his hands slid into her hair pulling her closer.

His other hand slid from her waist to her lower back, pulling her under him with both tenderness and possession that made her breath catch. The mattress shifted, creaked beneath the slow, deliberate press of his body on top of hers.

His mouth claimed hers with a hunger she’d never imagined he’d show her. Not like this. Not to her. She gasped into the kiss, and he swallowed the sound, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to feel her soft skin under his touch. Her legs parted, welcoming the weight of him between them, and his hips sank lower, grinding slowly into hers like he wanted to give her a small taste of how he’d do it.

She moaned at the feeling of his bulge against her core and he kissed her harder. His teeth grazed her bottom lip. She arched beneath him, fingers twisting into his hair as the kiss turned desperate, messy, real. Way too real.

“Y/N.”

Eric’s voice was distant, but then when he called her again it got clearer.

“Y/N.”

Her eyes snapped open and reality crashed over her. The room was still, quiet, lightly illuminated by the first shy rays of sun coming from behind the curtains. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her chest rose and fell too fast.

She turned her head and found him there. Propped up on one elbow beside her. His green eyes were filled with concern and his free hand rested on her waist just like in the beginning of her dream.

“You okay?” Eric whispered lowly, voice hoarse with sleep.

“W-what? Why?” Was all she could muster as she too was trying to understand what was real and what wasn’t.

“You were calling my name,” he said, voice lower now, gentle. “Kinda like… you were out of breath.”

She blinked and her eyes widened. Her lips still tingled and she could feel her cheeks getting beet-red at the realization that she was having a wet dream with Eric, and to make things even worse, she was calling for him in real life.

She tried to answer, but the words stuck somewhere between her chest and throat.

He watched her for a beat, brows drawing together. “Nightmare?”

No, she thought. Worse. She gave a small shake of her head and tugged at her blanket at the same time she squeezed her legs together, trying - and failing - to dull the ache between them. “No. Just… Weird dream.”

Eric was way too sleepy to read deeper into the situation, so he just gave up on pushing any further and laid back down, getting ready to sleep again.

Y/N laid frozen under the covers long after Eric’s breathing slowed again beside her.

The dream clung to her like smoke, curling into the corners of her mind no matter how hard she tried to shake it. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel the weight of him, the heat between their bodies, the way he kissed her like he wanted to devour her.

And god, at that very moment she wanted to be devoured by him.

The rest of the weekend blurred in a mess. She tried to act normal, or whatever that meant, but something had changed. In the way she didn’t get angry anymore when she caught him looking at her, in the way she now wanted to be seen by him and, specially, in the way she now waited eagerly for their next argument just to have him making a sassy, flirty remark towards her.

She was turning into what she swore, since high school, she’d never become: one of those Eric obsessed girls, and she hated herself when she realized that.

She’d laugh too loudly when someone else made a joke, just to fill the tension.

That dream made something shift inside of her. She was always aware that Eric affected her somehow, and she always thought it was some kind of negative and hurtful way, until that very fucking dream.

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

And the worst part? He hadn’t changed. Not really. He was still cocky, infuriating, annoyingly charming. He still knew exactly how to push her buttons and smirk when she snapped back. But somewhere between their silent stares and the tight corners of shared space, something else had started to simmer.

Or maybe it had always been there. Maybe the hate was just smoke and this was the fire.

On the last morning, she packed her things in silence. Eric was in the kitchen with the others, half-listening to a story someone was telling, coffee mug in hand, hair still a mess from sleep. He laughed at something, and the sound twisted something low in her stomach. God, she hated him. She hated how good he looked when he was relaxed like that, completely unaware of the chaos he left behind in her head.

She said her goodbyes, lingering with Alex since it would be the last time in a long time they’d see each other, and then jumped into her car, eager to get away from that house, from him and the dream that still haunted her.

By the time she pulled into her apartment’s garage, she felt like she’d been holding her breath the whole way back.

She threw her bag in the corner of the room and collapsed onto her bed without changing. The sheets were cold. Nothing like the heat of that shared bed, or the ghost of a touch, or the promise of a kiss that had only existed in her mind, but felt more real than anything she’d known in a long time.

She must have been ovulating. It was the only plausible reason for her hyperfixation. The ovulation period did wonders to a woman’s mind and dignity so once it was gone she’d go back to normal, to despising his existence.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

But later that night, when she stepped out of the shower, hair dripping, skin flushed and warm, she caught herself doing another thing she swore she wouldn’t.

She checked her phone.

No messages. No missed calls. No Eric.

She didn’t even have his number and he didn’t have hers, so it was obviously an impossible scenario.

Still, her fingers hovered over her screen like she expected something to appear. Something impulsive. Like did you sleep better without me? Or next time, try not to moan my name so loud when you dream about me.

She dropped the phone face-down on the bed, cursed under her breath. This wasn’t her. She didn’t dream about boys who used to make her life hell. She didn’t want them to do it all over again.

And yet, when she closed her eyes that night, he was already there, behind her eyelids, waiting for her in her sheets, marking her skin.

#fanfic #fanfiction #smut #romance #self insert #bill skargard #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard x reader #bill skarsgard x you #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgård #eric draven fantiction #eric draven x reader #eric draven #the crow 2024

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rosetterer · 2 hours ago

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time by rosetterer

Bucktommy, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Refrenced Character Death (if redacted redacts), Hurt/Comfort

Tommy was already used to Evan waking up in the middle of the night; usually, it happened because of the nightmares that haunted Evan's mind but now that a week had gone by, more often than not, when Tommy would wake up to go to the bathroom, he'd find Evan staring out into nothingness. When he'd asked him about it, Evan had told him that he would just wake up, almost like his mind suddenly remembered what had happened, and then he was unable to stop thinking about it.

But now it wasn’t exactly nighttime anymore, but it was still early. Tommy could barely see the blurry 5 A.M on his phone as he slowly awakened from sleep. He turned the lamp on, twisting himself around to take a look at Evan, and found him sitting on the side of the bed. He was whimpering quietly, but it had been enough to wake Tommy up.

”Evan, hey,” Tommy said, his voice coming out hoarse.

He moved across the bed, placing a hand carefully on Evan’s back.

”What are you doing, baby?” He asked, glancing down at the phone in Evan’s hands.

”He’s not replying,” Evan said then, his voice quivering. ”He should be u- up by now, he’s not replying- He’s not-”

”Sweetheart, what are you talking about?” Tommy asked gently, placing his chin on Evan’s shoulder. ”Hm?”

”After my coma dream, I’ve texted him every morning to make sure that this- this is real,” Evan said, and a memory of him having explained this to him before entered Tommy’s mind. ”He’s not replying, Tommy, he-”

”Okay, okay,” Tommy said, gently taking the phone from Evan’s hands and placing it on the nightstand. ”Evan-”

”He- he should just reply,” Evan continued. ”This isn’t real, this isn’t real-”

”Evan,” Tommy continued, wrapping his arms around Evan’s waist. ”I’m sorry, baby, but this is real. The funeral was yesterday.”

”No,” Evan gasped out.

Tommy rubbed his thumb against the sliver of skin peeking out from under the loose shirt Evan had worn to bed.

”I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered to him again and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

”I don’t want it,” Evan said, voice quivering even more before breaking entirely.

Salty tears fell down his cheeks.

”I don’t want this, I don’t want this to be real, I don’t-” A sob broke out of him. ”I can’t do this, Tommy, I can’t live like this, I can’t-”

”Hey, shh,” Tommy soothed him, holding him even closer. ”Come here, baby. Come here.”

He turned Evan around in his arms, and he latched onto him, gripping at the back of his shirt so tightly that Tommy knew it was going to get stretched out.

He let Evan cry against him; it hadn't been the first time this week he'd done so, and they both knew it wasn't going to be the last. But this was something Tommy knew how to do; how to take care of Evan. It had always come so naturally to him, and these days, there were so many other things that he didn't know how to do. So many things that were uncertain.

He knew that when they one day would discuss what had happened after the hook-up, there was a big possibility he would say or do something that would ruin everything. He and Evan seemed to take turns in doing such things.

If only he could just put his thoughts into words without it coming out all wrong: that he was terrified of losing Evan. That he was terrified of losing him because he’d never felt this way toward anyone else. And how did he feel toward Evan?

Well, to put it simply, he loved him.

Now wasn’t the time to say it, even though Tommy wanted to. Now wasn’t the time to talk about their relationship, even though he had slept in the same bed as Evan and cuddled him to sleep every night since Bobby had died.

”Why does everyone leave?” Evan whispered into his chest, breaking Tommy out of his thoughts.

”Nobody wants to leave you, baby,” Tommy answered, the words escaping him before he could even think through them properly. ”Nobody, okay?”

”… Maybe not,” Evan said after a moment, sniffling. ”But they still do it.”

”I’m sorry,” the apology slipped out as well. ”I’m really sorry, Evan. I know now is not the time to talk about it but-”

”Why not?” Evan asked, lifting his head enough to look up at him.

”There’s no rush,” Tommy stuttered out. ”We… We have time.”

Tears welled up in Evan’s eyes again, and Tommy just knew that they were sore from all the crying. He’d have to remember to pick up some eyedrops when he actually managed to get out of this house.

”Shh,” Tommy soothed him again and pressed Evan’s head back against his chest. ”We’ll talk eventually, baby, but for now… Let’s just be here. Just the two of us. I swear to you that I’m not going anywhere.”

A whimper was muffled by the fabric of his shirt. He held on tighter.

”I promise you, sweetheart,” he said and kissed the top of Evan’s head. ”I promise.”

#bucktommy #bucktommy fanfiction #911 spoilers #<- just in case #911 spec #oh bobby we're really in it now #read it on ao3 too if you want and leave a little comment :)#ro writes

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thatfrailsoul · 3 hours ago

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– I think I dreamed you into life

Divinatory Jukebox: “I Knew I Loved You”, by Savage Garden.

tarot pick a pile reading → one, two, three

Those eyes, those smiles, that sweetest smell once they let you closer… A face that you could recognise in an instant, even though it never was caressed by your gaze before. A voice that you can almost hear, as you are walking through this life, one step after another, devouring the distance and the time keeping you apart… All of it, every single detail, feels more like a memory, rather than imagination and desire to find that someone. It seems more like a fate that is taking a little longer, a secret that you somehow know and await to manifest. Something that, each day and instant, is whispering to you sweetly about all those moments your hearts are destined to share. But there is a missing peace in there somewhere. A detail they don't mention, leaving it all to your imagination and dreams. But it is so important… to know when and where your encounter will be, and what to do in the meantime… isn't it?

There is a little spot in your heart, buried under all the emotions, all the memories of people that were once there, and those that stayed… There is a little corner that is still not filled, that nothing and no one really fits. Almost like it's being saved for someone special, without you knowing a thing. A little surprise, a gift, something so precious that the life itself can’t resist the urge to give you clues and signs about them. About that one person that stands out so much among the others, with so many threads of destiny that are pulling you closer. A lover, a friend, a mirror of your own soul, made of the same stardust that birthed you into this world... There is someone, out there, that you still need to meet, and yet every inch of you already knows them. You feel them, you know they are coming, that your paths will soon cross each other.

So slow down. Calm your breath, your heart, your mind. And pay attention, listen closely, to the message that the pile that is calling you has for you right now.

p.s. There is a way to keep the messages of the universe much closer. A little box of treasure with all the guidance, all the advices, secrets we discover… A way to find my readings right in your inbox, where they are safe, all yours, and you can savour each word with your own rhythm, whenever your heart wants it… Through my free newsletter to which you can subscribe right here, obviously only if you want to.♡

p.p.s. Which pile you felt called by? Let me know, or follow me for more readings like this one.♡

– Pile One,

the stork: the two of cups and the three of coins

The voice of your tired and lonely mind is so loud lately… So motivated and persistent to let you know that it will never happen. That there aren't people that are so perfect as you imagine them, not even you compare to the one you envision… The one you feel so real only when you dream, eyes closed, with heavy breathing, as you search for them through your unconsciousness, the only light among all those nightmares, and the only place they seem to live in…

One after another, so many faces, voices, words… and not even one seems to be the one. So you are starting to think that perhaps you should just accept it and stay still, finding enough in those that are around you… But then again you are overwhelmed, like in a fever, with all the details about them that you already love so deeply, that start to feel more and more like memories, and not only what you dream of, not something that is so easy to forget and give up.

There is a constant battle within you. The cold reality and pure need to feel that warmth of a connection that is deeper. The mind that is ready to give up, that feels ashamed and even guilty for nurturing for so long a dream that never became more real… And a heart that knows, somehow, that it is possible, that it is worth to believe in and wait for it, that you can't be the only one to long for such connection, and thus you should be able to find it, to find them, sooner or later.

But even if it is so… There is no need to consume yourself so much for it. To fight so strongly, to exhaustion, for something that will either way find you, even if you will not do every single thing to make sure it happens, or perhaps to force it.

This soul, whoever they are, or whenever they are now in this moment… they exist, you know? They are living, breathing, moving through their days and journeys. They are writing their own story, their chapters, their slow or fast moments. And with each decision, with each step, they are following that thread that pulls their hand tenderly but so reassuringly, showing them the right and safest way. A way to find you.

So please breathe. There is no time running out, chances missed, or obstacles not avoided. There is nothing between you if not just life. The journeys, the stories, that you need to live on your own first. Before sharing another one with them, side by side, exactly like you hope for. There are just things that you need respectively to experience, to create. The things that only you or them can manifest. You can’t do everything on your own, speed up the process, find the right path, and run right away to that person. And it makes you feel hopeless, just because you think that these things are the only ones that could give you reassurance, be those signs that everything is going well, that this dream is still possible… But you don't realize, in this frustration, how many confirmations and signs are here already. In you and in the reality around you. In your growth, in your confidence, in your courage to be honest about whom you want to walk on your journeys with, and the confidence to say it out loud, to not settle for someone that you don't feel right and aligned for the life you want now. You see only connections that won’t work, people that leave, the emptiness around you. And not the space that they are making for someone else, right by your side, giving you the real chance to welcome them in your life once you will find each other.

Give them and yourself some time, some space to live your separate stories. Focus on your journey, on the things that you desire to experience, to do, to make, but put on hold just because there isn't someone to witness it, to enjoy them with you, to appreciate or admire it the same way you do. Don't bottle them down, don't write those endless lists of what you would do once you have someone to share it with. Just do it for yourself, now, when you the most want it.

Follow your mind, not only the heart's calling. Give it something to love and to be nurtured by too, now, so it can calm down and stop being so judgemental of your heart’s desires and whispers about someone that is not here. Fill your life with joy, with appreciation, with true presence. With healing and growth. And those things that you will finally feel and live, not those that you need to, but those that you want to, will be the ones to guide you faster to the one you are hoping to find one day. Because the things that connect you are not the choices about the work, the place where you live, how you dress, talk, or look at others. How many things you want to do with that someone, or how many plans you have prepared for the moment you will be in front of each other. No, a connection like this goes right through your hearts, somewhere deeper, stitching you through all those things that make you both bloom with love and joy, not for someone else, but for the world around you.

p.s.

buy me a tomato 🍅 (if you want to)

– Pile Two,

the garden: the wheel of fortune and the stars

It is so interesting to have you here… Glimpsing silently into a story that is not really about you, but that you would like so much to live just to don't feel so strange and different for not having it… For not having that love, that someone special to run towards.

You are here, reading these words, looking for the answers to the questions that you don't even ask yourself, just because others made you feel like it is wrong, to find enough in just your self, in not needing someone else’s love to surround you and nourish you to help you heal and grow.

But… You are not wandering lonely and pointlessly around now. You are living. Experiencing this life, these journeys. You are becoming more and more you, with each step. Shedding the past, healing the wounds, creating space for the real you to bloom. And... it is not useless, it is not wasting your time, being too isolated, egocentric or antisocial. Just because you are not looking obsessively for someone to hold your hand, to warm you up, to love you… Just because you are finding it all in your own self, looking first in your own eyes, trying to understand that soul in the reflection of a mirror, instead of seeking someone else's gaze in hopes to find in there any answers.

So many of us heal, discover our true self, through the connections with others. Through their opinions, their actions, their decisions… And how they makes us feel, what they force us to feel, not leaving any room for hiding or second-guessing. And it is right. In the good and in the bad. It is normal and needed to have someone that shows us who we are, how much we are deserving of love, through giving it to us or by denying it... But it is also okay to understand it all on your own. To feel all of this within, growing and healing through a connection that is much deeper, hidden inside, and not somewhere out there, in another soul that you need to meet in order to realize it.

There is no need for judgement nor any forcing, there is no need for you to wait to feel and create precious moments just because so many souls want to do it with someone. You can do it on your own. You can be the love of your life, the closest and dearest soul. You can be the one that you share the deepest bond with. The one that you will never be not mesmerized by. The one that you could never forget, never stop believing in. The one you can't wait to meet, some day, looking in the eyes of who you will become, feeling their love and understanding overwhelming your soul.

You can do it. Even if some dream of a perfect love, or others are longing for a true friend… You can do it differently, you can feel the closest to the person you will become one day, feeling complete already, not waiting nor looking for anyone else. Because this is who you are, this is what your soul truly wants. Who it is truly looking and calling for. And it is more than enough.

p.s.

buy me a tomato 🍅 (if you want to)

– Pile Three,

the scythe: the page of cups and the six of swords

In a sense… they already saved you. Not by being in your life, right here by your side. Not by holding you, hugging you, protecting you from this world. Not by whispering to you sweet and comforting words… But by just being a possibility. The chance itself that there is someone, somewhere out there, who would understand you right after the first glance, feel you after the first smile… It was enough to save you. To save yourself in the meantime.

It might not be ‘’ideal’’, the healthiest, the most romantic and heroic way to survive… But it is the reality. In which, sometimes and for some reason, we do feel alone and vulnerable, in danger even, among the people that we trust our heart with, after they scratch and crush it... And we do need to hope that there is someone different out there, to give us the strength to go through it, when our own love is not unfortunately enough to make it.

There is nothing strange or shameful in this. In giving yourself hope, someone to believe in, even if you don't know yet the sound of their voice. And in surviving for them, for a chance to meet them and be with them. In looking for them in the eyes of others, sometimes believing that you finally found them, convincing yourself a little too much perhaps, just to be hurt once more, when you didn't expect it anymore… It is fine. It is all okay. You are not delusional, your head is not too much in the clouds, your heart is not too romantic for the harsh reality of how the relationships are becoming now. You are not too naive because of your belief, or too egocentric when you choose it over some poorly made promises of those that never deserved to come so closely.

We all have someone, someone that we connect with so deeply, understand so naturally, so easily as breathing. And that's it. This is the truth. But some people believe it and some don't. Some know it from the beginning, others forget about it or refuse to hope for it. And some… learn and understand it amidst and despite everything. Exactly like you did. Choosing to focus on this thought, on this feeling, rather than the bad endings of the stories that everyone is so fast to believe in, surrendering to it.

They exist. Many of them. All the souls that you will feel finally safe and at peace with. And each your breath, each your step and decision, is already guiding you to them, exactly like it is supposed to be. You just need to remind it yourself, for a moment. Now that the life seems a little too stagnant, a little more cold and lonely, with all those judgemental voices screaming so loudly. Don't look at them, don't listen. Turn around, focus your gaze on your direction, your goals, the things that you believe in. Let them stay behind, becoming more and more indistinguibile, in their assumptions, and inability to have peace when someone still has hope for being loved and appreciated. It's their way of thinking, their experiences, their choices. They don't influence you, or your own journey. Nor the one of the souls that are looking for you, as you dream about them, hoping.

p.s.

buy me a tomato 🍅 (if you want to)

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the-hell-event-ate-my-gems · 22 hours ago

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A little opinion about Kalim and Jamil relationship ( mentions of their dream but nothing too big or specific) (+ I'll also make a parallel with Leona and Ruggie relationship)

Tbh I don't see an easy way to fix their friendship....

...Yes, they are both two children trapped in the adult game; and Jamil doesn't want to hate Kalim, he hates those who have something they don't deserve when he can't have anything for himself, Kalim represents this, but Kalim is kind to him, so Jamil hates himself for hating Kalim because Kalim will never make it easy, Kalim will never be like "them" and Kalim... Kalim was left in the dark, not knowing half of Jamil's problems or understanding Jamil's wounds.

It is possible to draw a small parallel between Jamil and Leona

Both are dissatisfied with the system of their own world, but Leona internalizes the hatred he feels in a spiral of self-destruction and Jamil externalizes this by becoming cynical and bitter towards others who he believes do not deserve the position they have.

And thinking about it, the difference between Leona and Jamil is that Leona accepted help. He accepted Ruggie by his side, they worked together, do evil things together, laugh together.

In Leona's nightmare, the one who is against him is Ruggie, because Leona, in his depression, doesn't see himself as worthy of that trust, but in Ruggie's dream, Leona is a glorious king, someone who gave food and school to everyone equally, where everyone celebrates and sees Leona as good as he sees the leon. However Jamil and Kalim... Jamil didn't accept help, he rejected it... (I'll not do a big spoiler of their dream) but in Kalim's dream, he and Jamil are happy because Kalim always thought that Jamil was always happy in his position, so that desire to do parties and make everyone happy because he believed that Jamil liked it too, and the truth is that Jamil felt exploited... Without a voice... where no one would ever help him in anything and just give him more work....

Kalim wanted the past back because he thinks Jamil was happy in the past but Jamil... Jamil is so hurt and bitten by the system....

Leona and Ruggie are aware that they are both trapped in the system, but they see themselves as equals

Leona apologized to Ruggie and the other accepted it. Leona doesn't see himself as worthy of that trust, but Ruggie still trusts him because the basis of their relationship is this crazy sincerity that they both have with each other. (You can see it as platonic, family or romantic but their bond is - as Rook describes - strong as diamond)

Jamil and Kalim don't have that.

Jamil was given to Kalim as a servant and no matter how kind and fun Kalim is, he will never understand how Jamil is trapped in this system, because no matter how good Kalim is, Jamil will never be anything more or less than a servant, a voiceless slave.

Now in Kalim's view... oh my sweet summer child, Kalim has traumas, he was kidnapped several times and these kidnappings were probably of people Kalim trusted, uncles or family friends or even brothers without magic. So Jamil's betrayal shows that he is alone, that he can't even trust Jamil, the one he thought would be his best friend and trusted servant. And this makes him a little angry and cold towards Jamil and rightly so, because Jamil's betrayal hurt him deeply.

And it is because of these dynamics that it is easier to see Leona and Ruggie together in a happy future than Jamil and Kalim side by side in a future

Because Kalim's kindness blinds him to Jamil's wounds....

#twister wonderland #kalim al asim #jamil viper #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #twst thoughts #twst wonderland #twst kalim #twst jamil #twst ruggie #twst leona

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lighttailoring · 6 hours ago

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@supervisormeero THANK YOU ahh. DID YOU KNOW - Emily is a literal actual poet who will just casually drop the most beautiful combination of words you've ever come across in your life onto a page at the same time as coming up with the most innovative plots and spot-on characterisation??? Number One Dedra's Wrongs Supporter, Poet Laureate of Keero, I'm always honoured whenever you even mention me. SO WITH THAT IN MIND

OK so before we start it would be remiss of me not to recommend Frictious and Imperial Matrimony to anybody who hasn't already read them - two absolute masterpieces of multi-chapter fics that are both just so good and made me cry several times (❤️) but I really wanted to take this opportunity to rec a few of my absolute favourite short fics of yours.

Immutable Indiscretions

Does she say anything in his daydreams? Is this what he imagines, when he imagines her? Briefly, she wishes he could grant her passage into those made-up scenes; she wishes she could see herself as he sees her, however it is that he sees her.

This fic is >:) personified (and yet still contains the pure poetry you see above). Everybody's WFH worst nightmare - it also gave me a headcanon about Krennikeero (I have just decided that's what I'm calling Syril/Dedra/Krennic from now on) that not even Season 2's plot can erase.

Lost Time

With a flick of her wrist, Dedra turns on the lights and, for the first time in a decade, truly sees Syril Karn. Sees him as more than a memory so sharp that she bleeds when she remembers, sees him as more than a murmur in the triumphant crowd of her dreams.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHY THIS ISN'T MORE POPULAR?!!!??? This should get as much attention as Zealous imo and I should tell you that more and I'm sorry that I don't but. They both survive Season 2 in the worst way. The most well-timed bolt of lightning in history. Angry washing up. All the memories and moments and grief so powerful that it became a part of you just hitting you like a freight train. BEARD. (You are going to heaven purely for the inclusion of the beard.) I love this fic so much.

Invisible Stitch

She’s fully capable of bending the ground to her will. She’s fully capable of catching herself. She doesn’t need him. Has never needed him, and will never need him. Of course, without him, her lifeless body would be dangling from some moldy rope in Ferrix’s main square.

Every time I do an invisible stitch now I think of this fic <3 This is the Ferrix aftermath scene that we're never going to see, perfectly imagined and just so... claustrophobic and tense but also hypnotic. You can sense all of the emotion they don't know how to name let alone express just lurking under the surface of them both.

To Live By Nightfall And Die By Dawn

With her undershirt in his hands, breath crumbles in his chest. He drops the garment as though it has bitten him. Waves of uncertainty crash, again and again, against his ribs. Should he return to her? Should he start to dress, cling to the meager hope that she might ask him to stay? He falls and flails and fails to right himself, terrified. Inexperience whittles him down to the bone.

They watch each other sleep <3 I don't think I need to say any more really do I

Glaciofluenza

The thought of those words leaving her mouth—even the concept of her tongue curling around them—is enough to leave her numb with panic. There must be a diplomatic way of saying it. An order to be issued that doesn’t also incidentally humble her, or make him think that he’s anything more to her than what he is.

That had been the problem last time.

I love this fic SO MUCH and I think it's especially because it's a silly Fic Trope, because like a dream with a metaphor so obvious that it feels like your own brain is shouting at you in frustration, it takes the core of Dedra's issues and makes them literal. Plus: pyjamas; cuddling-while-working; awkward interactions between the two most awkward people in the world.

It's "You're My Ideal Reader" day at @andorappreciation, so I wanted to take a minute to appreciate my fellow Keero writers (and everyone who has tirelessly kept our small fandom alive over the past almost-three years. I wasn't even on here for all of them!).

Here are a few of my absolute favorite Syril/Dedra fics, along with accompanying rambles about why I think they're great. I'm focusing on writers who I know are on Tumblr, but there are some great fics in the tag by people whose socials I don't know.

Now, for the fics:

A Zealous Man Burns for One Thing by unknowntelephone @lighttailoring, on here - Rating: Mature. This fic and its sequel, The Body and the Blood, are everything to me. They're technically a historical witchfinder AU (think Salem Witch Trials) with Syril as a priest and Dedra as a witchfinder. There's so much going on here, though, that calling it an AU almost does a disservice to the fic. It's so much more than that. It deals expertly with concepts of love, lust, and "sin" in the face of a harsh and unforgiving god (sounds a bit like the Empire, hm?), and the writing is spectacular. The first part serves as a retelling of the events of Andor's first season translated into a folk horror setting, and the second creates a new storyline for Syril and Dedra's characters.

Favorite excerpt: He tries to explain himself; tries to convey, in his own small, meagre way, how merely being in her presence has filled his life with grace, given it meaning. How she has shown him that, if nothing else, there is a just God. That perhaps the dream of creating His Kingdom here on Earth might be worth clinging to. She says nothing in response. Her upper lip curls into a snarl.

My Empirical Heart by limitedpractice @air-mechanical, on here - Rating: Audiences Teen and Up. This is my favorite version of the Broom Closet Scene, and I wrote a version of the Broom Closet Scene. @air-mechanical does it all: she's nailed Dedra's disorientation and fear in the moments following her salvation with expert flair, she's dug into Dedra's head to pull out why she's so fearful of being close to Syril and why it horrifies Dedra to owe someone her life, and she's written a kissing scene that balances perfectly on a thin wire between awkward and steamy. (At different points, it's both.) The writing is lush, and the characterization is impeccable. I know Tony Gilroy has said there was never a take of the Broom Closet Scene where Syril and Dedra kissed, but I think if he read this fic, he would've decided to adapt it in a flashback. @air-mechanical has plenty of other Keero works, too, and some involving Major Partagaz. Check them out!

Favorite excerpt: Dedra kisses him again. She kisses him hard, a closed mouth kiss onto his pliant lips. He has no right to be so unmoved. No right to feel so soft. No right to ignore her. No right to deny her after he’s just demonstrated that he’ll give her anything. Dedra kisses him harder. She pushes into him as if pressure is all it takes to break someone. Syril doesn't buckle. He doesn't whine. He doesn't gasp and pass out and hit his head. He doesn't do any of the things she's told herself that he'd do, that she was looking forward to him doing, that she needs him to do.

He just stands there.

Christmas in Evergreen by SerenaMandrake @calidris-pygmaea, on here - Rating: General Audiences. Last year, around Christmas, a few of us were throwing around the idea of putting Syril and Dedra in a trope-riddled Hallmark-movie scenario with Dedra as a corporate lawyer and Syril as a small-town cop. @calidris-pygmaea actually wrote it, thank goodness, and it's everything I could've hoped for. It's a hilarious, anti-Hallmark Christmas story, with two people who forge a bond based on how much they hate Christmas (and how much they love their jobs). There's genuine warmth in it, even though the two main characters remain cold as ever. (As they should and would be.) This one, too, has a sequel in Fifty-Five Cubits an Hour, which turns up the heat but maintains the humor and creativity of the original. Both of these fics are hot chocolate on a chilly day, to me. @calidris-pygmaea has also written other Keero one-shots and multichapters, so check them out!

Favorite excerpt: Every single radio station is playing the same carols, and Dedra is driving too fast. It's two days before Christmas, and she'd assumed that no-one in this hopeless town would be bothering to give speeding tickets. They're barely bothering to keep anything else functioning — every document she needs has been more difficult to acquire than it should have been, and even locating a cup of coffee at 6am was a challenge. But about the speeding tickets, she was wrong.

Scattered Wavelengths by unknowntelephone @lighttailoring, on here - Rating: Mature. This fic is an excellent example of what Syril and Dedra's relationship could be. Syril brings Dedra to a special place from his past, and it means everything to him to have her there. At the same time, Dedra tries desperately to figure out why this is so important to him, and on what level, if any, she should care about this place or the man who'd brought her there. The writing is descriptive, sharp, and accurate to the show. As a bonus, there's even some Uncle Harlo backstory. It's a sweet moment in the lives of two relatively bitter Imperials. I would also like to recommend several other works of @lighttailoring's, but they are very VERY explicit and I'm not sure that's allowed for Andor Appreciation Week. If you're 18+ and okay with reading smut, they're extremely well done.

Favorite excerpt: She suddenly wants to get closer to him. Her legs carry her, almost unbidden, across the half-metre of concrete and rusted railing between her body and his. She wants to look into his eyes like she does with her suspects; to locate the speck of whatever emotion it is that he’s feeling and lock onto it, isolate it, draw it in and absorb it into herself so she can inoculate herself against it. But he’s too quick for her - he steps behind her swiftly and slides his arms around her, his chin gently brushing against the top of her head.

The absolute fucking audacity.

In Limbo by weirdopalido @karnpuffs, on here - Rating: Audiences Teen and Up. There is nothing tumblr user karnpuffs can't do. Art? She's got it. Memes? You know it. Hilarious fanvids of Dedra's brain making Windows XP error noises? Absolutely. Bracelets based on Syril's cereal? No problem. But you might not have known that tumblr user karnpuffs also writes, and I absolutely love her version of how Syril and Dedra get away from the Ferrix riot — a question I'm not sure we'll get an answer to in canon, given the time jumps. There's so much deliciousness going on; general awkwardness from awkward people, fake dating for the sake of escape, "there was only one bed" (and who doesn't love "there was only one bed?"). There's humor and a sense of genuineness between two people who, for the first time, are really seeing each other.

Favorite excerpt: It was over. No escape, no way out. Like a reflex, she reached under her jacket for her blaster, but only held it firmly in her hand. A single shot would have jeopardized their cover, but she needed the sense of protection that holding the blaster gave her. Her throat was dry from the smoky air, she felt dizzy and had no choice but to cling to Syril for support. She gripped his arm even tighter, digging her fingers deep into his flesh through the layers of his clothing. Somehow she found comfort in the fact that she could make him feel her pain and anger.

Aren't You a Little Short for a Stormtrooper? by Sarcasmismydefaultmode @sarcasmismydefaultmode, on here - Rating: Audiences Teen and Up. Listen. This fic is fun. Back in the days when Season 2 seemed like a distant hope, the Syril/Dedra fandom saw a grainy filming photo of what looked like Dedra wearing armor and ran with it... and this fic was the result. With time an enemy of the Empire, she goes to rescue Syril before the Rebels can hunt him down and neutralize him. As bad luck would have it, she has to wear a Stormtrooper suit to do accomplish her mission. Despite the funny premise, these two are kept in character, and there are several nods to iconic moments from A New Hope in the writing. Plus, Attendant Heert is here!

Favorite excerpt: Dedra’s eyes searched his, feeling like they’d been warped back to that moment outside the ISB when he first accosted her, his eyes intense and focussed solely on her, his hand daring to reach out and cling to her arm. Just as then, there was equal parts desperation and adoration in his gaze now, only slightly tempered by the annoyance he felt towards her ambivalence for him. It fed her own irritation that he had not moved past that, had not moved past the distraction of his worship of her with the chances she had given him since Ferrix, but it also called to something in her, to her own sense of power, power that she still held over him, that he was still hers to command if she was wise.

I also want to give a shout-out to @hegodamask, who is not a writer but is an incredibly talented gifmaker and poster of meta and headcanons. She deserves so much credit for not only being a founding member of the fandom, but also for keeping us going when all we had were release date delays and trailers that looked like they were filmed underwater. You're awesome, Ellen! 💕

Another shout-out to @chipthekeeper, who both writes Velcinta fic and, as I'm sure everyone knows, has been an essential part of the Andor fandom for a very long time over at @andorshitdaily. Thank you not only for your writing (and creating the Velcinta AO3 tag!), but also for keeping our spirits up and making so many people laugh over this endless hiatus, Chip.

#keero #dedra meero #syril x dedra #syril karn #idk how else to tag these i just think you should read all these fics right now if you haven't already

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